Lure (Mafia Queen Book 1) Page 5

  “I think it's fantastic,” I said, grabbing a fancy European chocolate bar off the tray of a nearby cigarette girl. Seemed like a weird thing to serve in a bar, all that candy, but it looked like the Moretti's were going for authentic all the way. “You don't like it?”

  “Mm,” Lucky said, leaning back against the wall next to me. He was dressed in a three-piece suit—the jacket and pants white, the vest black. His tie was red and his shoes were these fabulous two-tone wingtips. “Maybe I'm a little biased since I know my mother decorated the joint?”

  “Don't say that,” I told him, taking a bite of the chocolate and letting it melt in my mouth. It wasn't quite as delectable as the man standing in front of me, but still … delicious. “I found it charming before; don't spoil it for me.”

  Lucky laughed and made my heart skip a little, just like he used to do to me as a little girl. I hadn't seen him in twenty years, but standing next to him … I almost felt relaxed.

  What a mistake that would be …

  Lucky Moretti was just another asshole in the families' webs, an underboss with a future in crime. His hands were as red as Marcell's, just as coated in blood and pain and crime. I would not let myself forget that—even if he was a tad charming.

  “Dance with me?” he asked after a moment, tilting his head to the side and showing me white-white teeth in a big, genuine sort of smile. “Give your old childhood friend a spin around the dance floor?”

  I looked him up and down for a moment and then held out a hand, dropping my wrapper into a nearby trash can before letting Lucky pull me away from the wall.

  His big hands found my hips; my fingers curled together behind his neck.

  Our connection … it was electric. And I was fucking pissed at myself for feeling that way.

  “I'm surprised to see you back in the fold,” he said, his voice low and even, almost kind. That was the thing with Lucky. He had the face of an angel, but the morals of a demon. He had this way about him that made you feel like you could trust him, like he was different than all the rest.

  In reality, he was as much a mobster as the rest of them.

  “And why's that?” I asked as he twirled me around to swanky big band jazz. “I'm Carlo's daughter, aren't I?” I raised my eyebrows just before Lucky spun me in a tight circle. I wouldn't admit it to myself, but with his hands on my hips and his eyes locked on my own, I felt a little breathless. He was one slice of my past that I didn't regret quite so much.

  But trouble, he certainly had that in spades.

  “You made a life for yourself outside of all this,” he said, but not like he was condemning or praising me, just like it was simple fact. “I'm just surprised to see you here. Whatever happened to that uppity lawyer beau of yours?”

  Lucky swished a smirking smile at me and then dipped me so low that my hair brushed the floor.

  “He's living in my loft with his cat,” I said when Lucky righted me and pulled me so tightly against his chest that my breasts squished between us, and the hard bulge inside his slacks teased my belly. “Bo,” I said aloud, just so I could hear his name ring in my ears.

  Bo was light and magic; these men were all darkness and poison.

  And inside of me, I had that same dark glitter, that want for pretty, awful things.

  I just couldn't let myself have it.

  “Bo,” Lucky said, trying the name out like it intrigued him somehow. “What a moron he must be to let a woman like you go.”

  I read the implications behind his words, but I didn't comment on them. Lucky and I had spent quite a lot of time together as kids, but relations between the families were often strained and unpredictable. Around the time that I turned nine, the Morettis and the Costellos were at war again. Over what, I had no clue, but it seemed as if times were changing. With influences leaking in from across the border, it was starting to look like we might be stronger together than apart.

  That's what Carlo was doing, preemptively guaranteeing that the Costello Crime Family lived to see the next century.

  And I was the goddamn linchpin.

  “If you'll excuse me,” I said as the song ended and I stepped away from Lucky. Being too close to him for too long was just asking for trouble.

  “You'll save me a slot on your dance card?” he asked as I smiled slyly and moved away, weaving through the spectacularly dressed crowd toward the bathrooms. I wondered what he'd make of my not answering.

  Inside the restrooms, a few finely dressed women loitered, doing lines of cocaine on the countertop. Their diamond necklaces dripped low as they put gloved fingers to a single nostril and inhaled expensive, powdered confidence and false joy with the other.

  Carlo always used to say, 'only the sad and the ignorant sample their own wares.'

  I ignored them and tucked myself into a stall, pulling my cell out of the tampon box.

  At the café, Bo had already texted, I know I'm early, but I miss you, babe.

  I smiled and shot off a quick response.

  On my way, I told him, slipping out of the dress and pulling out the tank I'd shoved into my purse. Vincent had checked my bag again today, but I'd rolled up a pair of panties in the shirt and sighed when he'd unrolled it. 'Just in case my tampon leaks—I was trying to be discreet,' I'd told him and he'd promptly rolled it back up and returned it.

  I had jeans on under my dress, and a plan in mind that I could only pray was going to work. I rubbed at the rosary around my neck and hoped for the best.

  As soon as the women left the bathroom and I had a moment to myself, I stashed my dress back in my purse and slipped into the hallway, heading toward the small kitchen that was used to prepare the appetizers.

  There were guards back here, too, but they belonged to the Moretti family and without my jewelry and my dress, they didn't seem to recognize me.

  “Sorry I'm late,” I said to a waitress, just as she was passing through into the kitchen.

  The men didn't stop us—I would never have gotten into the building if I wasn't supposed to be there.

  “Late?” she asked me as soon as we'd slipped past the swinging kitchen doors. I handed over a hundred dollar bill and a smile.

  “Just don't mention you saw me unless somebody asks, okay?” I said, and then moved through the mess of kitchen staff before I could attract anyone else's attention. Before I left through the back door, I grabbed one of the jackets all the waiters and waitresses were wearing and slipped it on. I also had a pack of smokes (Millie's, not mine) that had somehow ended up in my purse and stayed there.

  As soon as I hit the back door with my shoulder, I lit up and came out into the New York City night with a cigarette hanging from my lips.

  I smiled tightly at the men on either side of the exit and moved down the sidewalk like I was just stepping out to have a smoke. Getting back into the building should be simple enough, as long as I put my dress back on.

  I'm doing this, I thought as I rounded the first corner, I'm actually fucking doing this.

  Putting the slip on New York's Big Four crime families was not the easiest stunt in the world to pull off—and it wouldn't last long. I'd pop in, give Bo a heart-stopping kiss, and have a cup of coffee. After that, it was back to the party I went before anyone was the wiser.

  My motivations for seeing him were purely selfish—I needed a drink of fresh water, a beam of sunshine, a smile that wasn't hiding a thousand sins.

  There's darkness deep inside that heart of yours, Adelasia, I told myself as I tossed my cigarette into a trash can and kept my head down. It's a thorn you've never managed to pull free.

  Sucking in a sharp, cold breath, I had to fight my own self-deprecating thoughts. Being a mafia princess didn't mean I had to give into either nature or nurture—I could make my own damn choices.

  At the same time, there were signs. Lots of them. Bo's face, for example, when we lay in bed one night and I spilled all my darkest, dirtiest thoughts to him. He couldn't hide that disgust; it was written plain as day across the w
ide, open blue expanses of his eyes.

  “Fuck.”

  I cut that train of thought off at the station and breathed a sigh of relief when I found the coffee shop, letting myself into the cozy, warm interior and casting my eyes around for Bo.

  There.

  A smile lit my face as I hurried over and covered his eyes from behind with my hands.

  “Guess who?” I asked, feeling girly and childish and so completely and utterly relieved, I wanted to sob. I knew, knew, that I was using Bo as a crutch and yet … I couldn't seem to help myself.

  “Hey, baby,” he said as I dropped my hands and waited for him to stand up and wrap his arms around me. “How was your trip?” he asked, sliding those big, comforting arms around my waist. “I can't decide if it getting cut short is a good thing … or a bad one?” He raised an eyebrow in question.

  “Oh, you know,” I said noncommittally, but I was more concerned with burying my face into his camel coat, breathing in the cucumber-melon scent of his aftershave. “It's a lot harder when I'm working for the prosecution than for the defense.”

  I didn't clarify, just let him think I was working on one of my real cases, the one from Austin, Texas where the shelter workers left an escaped kitty stuck in the wall until he starved to death. They only removed him after he died and started to stink up their workspace.

  Something that horrendous … it reminded me of my father.

  The Costello Crime Family … would absolutely do the exact same to anybody that dared threaten their business, their morals, or their way of life.

  One hand grasped my rosary as I leaned back and tilted my face for a kiss.

  Bo's mouth swept mine with the freshness of a summer breeze, sending little tingles through me. I would not admit to myself that they were purely from relief. Touching Bo was not at all like touching Marcell, or Caj, even Lucky. Then again, alcohol is poison and it feels great at first, doesn't it? But it's easy to consume too much.

  Bo was like … a fresh glass of water. Not remarkable perhaps, but necessary.

  When I tried to take our kiss a bit further, putting my tongue into his mouth, he pulled away.

  “Not in public,” he laughed, and those little tingles died away as quickly as they'd come. “I'm still working on my intimacy issues …” he said softly.

  I made myself take a deep breath and pulled away, trying to be understanding. After all, he was just refusing to give me a kiss in public—I was outright lying to his face.

  “I'm just really happy to see you,” I said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. There was a pumpkin spiced latte waiting for me which was fine, except that Bo knew I preferred cappuccino.

  God, I'm on edge today, I thought as I slapped away the petty thought.

  “How was your trip?” I asked instead, holding the paper cup between two hands and studying Bo's face from across the table's smooth surface. He had these big, open eyes that told the whole world how he was feeling.

  As soon as I asked about his trip, something strange happened in them. Embarrassment? Frustration? Confusion? Maybe all three. I was guessing he hadn't won his case.

  “It was …” Bo started and then paused as the bells over the door jingled and my eyes flicked to the frosty glass.

  Shit.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Lucky strolled in the door and leaned his shoulder against the wall, like he was standing in the long line for coffee. As soon as our eyes met, I felt my stomach bottom out.

  “Everything okay?” Bo asked, examining my expression with curiosity. “Adelasia?”

  “Just fine,” I said, keeping a smile on my face. I had no idea if Lucky was going to walk over here or not, but I decided to maintain my cool and act like I didn't give a shit that he'd seen me. So what? As far as he knew, I was helping my father of my own accord. My being here didn't mean a damn thing. “You were saying?”

  Bo took a sip of his drink and raised a blonde brow at me, but he continued on with his story anyway. Meanwhile, I could barely take my eyes off Lucky as he swept up an espresso and took a seat two tables away, near a wall covered in books.

  In all of New York City, this was my favorite place to grab coffee. They owned several first edition classics that I would die to get my hands on. Just being near the damn things filled me with an easy sense of relaxation.

  Seeing Lucky sitting next to them, an espresso in hand, his mouth half-cocked in a wily smile … I felt something else. I just wasn't exactly sure what that was.

  After Bo and I had finished our drinks, we stood up to say our goodbyes.

  “Where are you off to next?” he asked, still working on the assumption that I was passing through from the airport, on my way to my next consult.

  “California,” I said, thinking on my feet.

  And then I very purposely leaned in and brushed my breasts against his chest, taking Bo's face between my hands.

  “Try not to get into too much trouble without me,” I said, pressing a kiss to his lips. I could tell before I tried that he wasn't going to let me put on a show for Lucky.

  “I'll be good,” he promised, giving me an extra kiss on the cheek and forehead. “And I'll be waiting for you, princess.”

  Bo turned and left the shop, his coat billowing out behind him as he strolled down the sidewalk and out of sight.

  “You want to tell me what that was all about?” Lucky asked, sliding into the seat opposite me and looking like a god among men. The playful expression on his face reminded me of a coyote, sly and wily as hell.

  Mm.

  So the men my father wanted me to date resembled a wolf, a fox, and a coyote.

  How canine of them.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, frowning as he passed me a fresh cappuccino.

  “How do you put up with all of that dull, asinine bullshit? Oh, Lazy,” he said with a small shake of his head, one long finger tracing around the rim of his cup. “How long do you think you'll be able to go before you get bored of him?”

  I pursed my lips.

  “Maybe that's none of your goddamn business?” I asked as I moved to stand up.

  Lucky reached out, lightning quick and touched my wrist with such gentle fingers that I froze in place.

  “It's exactly my business,” he said, nice and easy and casual. “If you're dating me and the bland lawyer in the wool coat at the same time.”

  “Oh, didn't you know?” I asked, carefully pulling my wrist away from him. “I'm dating four men right now.”

  Lucky just leaned back and crossed his arms casually behind his head.

  “Marcell and Caj are a different matter altogether,” he said, cool as a cucumber.

  The blood drained from my face as I leaned over and put my palms on the table.

  “What the hell is going on in this fucking city?” I hissed, feeling my fingers curl into claws. “I hardly believe a single one of you is the type to share a woman.”

  “Times are changing, Lazy,” he said, staring me down with eyes the color of a mottled summer sunset—blue and gold, gray and brown, all mixed into a shade that was difficult to describe. For me, that color was a relaxing evening on the veranda, a glass of wine in one hand, a book in the other. “Do you know what polyandry is?”

  His question was casual, but sharp enough to make my chest feel tight.

  “One woman, many husbands,” I replied, just as casual, just as sharp. “So what?”

  “It's a part of history that isn't often talked about,” he continued, glancing sidelong at the windows to the coffee shop. It had just begun to rain outside, a slanting shade of drops to cleanse the city.

  “Yes, I'm aware of that. Unfortunately, the heavy hand of the patriarchy has its fingers in many pots—including written and recorded history. Believe it or not, Mr. Moretti,” I said, intentionally foregoing the use of his first name, “as a woman who grew up in the mafia, I'm more than aware of such idiosyncrasies.”

  Lucky laughed, dropping his hands into his lap and leanin
g forward, eyes still bright and sparkling. He was enjoying this, jerking me around like a puppet on a string.

  “Instead of splitting the land among several sons, a parent might choose to marry them to one woman and keep it all in the family.”

  “Where are you going with this?” I asked, feeling irritation creep across my skin, hot and achy, like embers drifting from an out of control bonfire. I wanted to put out that flame—desperately.

  “You think your father would really play the field with you? Only if he wanted you dead. No, we have much bigger plans, Miss Costello.”

  I stood there fuming for a minute before I stood up and stormed out of the coffee shop, slamming the door behind me.

  I just wasn't sure if it was Lucky that I was running from … or the rapid thump and bass beat of my heart.

  “You want me to marry three men?” I asked Vincent the next morning, after I'd cooled my head a little.

  He barely glanced up at me, perusing the paper as he nibbled on a piece of toast.

  “Good morning to you, too, cucciola,” he said as he continued to ignore me. “Anything you want to report from last night?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and stood tall, refusing to budge until I'd gotten some answers. After about five long, agonizing minutes, Vincent glanced up at me and sighed, the wrinkles on his face rearranging themselves as he took on a putout facial expression.

  “Adelasia, the world is a rough place. We all do what we need to to get by. And besides,” he said, gesturing at me with one hand, “what do you have to complain about? You'll never want for nothing!”

  “Except free will and choice,” I ground out, goose bumps prickling my skin as righteous indignation took over. “Except the life that I really want.”

  “What's to want?!” Vincent shouted back, that famous Italian temper of his getting the better of him. “You'll have three strapping giovanotti for your bed, protection, money. What else is there?”

  I just stared at him for a second, turned, and went storming for the front door.