Time hasn’t completely ignored him, though.
Even across the distance that separates us, I see a greater hardness in his eyes now. When he smiles at the person he’s talking to, his gaze remains untouched by the gesture. Distant. Cold. His hair is not so tightly cut, but it seems like his suit is; there is a distinct stretch in the material across the breadth of his back when he extends his arm. He is bulkier than before—a man, whereas he once possessed the slender strength of youth.
Idly, I wonder what he looks like beneath that suit.
Down, girl.
Without knowing exactly why Father brought me back, I’m fairly confident it was not to resume a relationship with Luca Marzano.
After all—that’s why he had sent me away.
Everyone knows: Luca Marzano is an Untouchable. He’s above the law, above reprisal by his peers even. Without the permission of the Commission, the Mafia cannot touch him.
As for me? Well, I flew too close to the sun, and I touched an Untouchable.
Sadly, I got burned. My family and the Marzanos are not friends. We might even be considered enemies, although, at one time, Luca and I were anything but.
And it’s that which led to my expulsion from New York and my father’s virtual abandonment of our relationship. It’s okay, though—I learned in the process that I was far greater than a mere Mafia princess. I was destined to be so much more.
I’m a fucking general-queen.
It’s not a typical position for women in our world. We are generally considered to be lesser halves of our male counterparts, useful as bargaining chips in marriages designed to increase wealth and standing. We were taught from babyhood to be quiet, look pretty, and stay sweet and agreeable.
I am pretty, but I’m anything but sweet and agreeable.
The Don of the West, Sal Fiorelli, welcomed me with open arms and a middle finger directed at my father. A member of The Commission who held power in Los Angeles, he saw me first as a potential tool. A bird in the hand for dealing with east coast famiglia—which was fine. I understood my position, had counted on my lineage and background making me useful.
It wasn’t long, though, before he saw something in me I had never dared consider a Don might actually let me develop—an intelligence and innate ruthlessness that made me a natural leader. He became a second father to me and supported me, as under his tutelage, I built up a syndicate of my own. Using what I knew of the ports of New York City, I was able to increase the Mafia’s port theft market in Los Angeles by thirty percent.
I sigh and look at my dog. “Any advice, Kiss-Kiss?” I murmur quietly to him, smiling as his ears flick in response to the English translation of his Italian name. He nudges his nose in my direction across the table. I should steer clear of Luca Marzano. In spite of a lingering resentment for my father’s machinations years ago, I want to make things right with him. It’s why I’m here—along with a tiny desire to rub my success in his face and see if he’ll entertain my efforts in the New York business.
I can lift his profits, too, I feel certain.
He hasn’t yet given me any direct instructions, but I know he wouldn’t want me picking things back up with Luca. Additionally, I still harbor some bitterness that Luca let me go so easily. He didn’t fight for me, didn’t try to follow.
That’s hard to forgive.
In spite of that, he draws me to him, kind of like those cigarettes I occasionally need after a meal or a particularly rough day. I hate them and don’t indulge too frequently, but I fucking want them.
With a signal to Baccio, I slide out of the booth. Baccio follows at my hip as I walk toward him, putting a little extra-dangerous sway into my hips as I walk. I’m not averse to using every asset at my disposal. As a woman in a male-dominated playing field, I’ve learned to use what the good Lord gave me to make it level. My innate sensuality, my brain, and Baccio are the prime weapons in my arsenal.
Although, I have to admit that Luca’s looking faintly dangerous himself.
He stands with his back to me as he exchanges words with a member of the Valachi family—Angel, if I remember correctly. His voice is everything I remember—deep and cultured, with an intriguing huskiness. His men, circled around him, eye me warily as I approach, one of them extending an arm to block me when I move to tap my former boyfriend’s shoulder.
Baccio growls, a rumble low in his throat, and I give the man a quelling look. Obviously, he doesn’t know who I am.
Before he can warn Luca of my presence, I speak. I like having the advantage of surprise, and I have a feeling I’ll need to capitalize on every advantage I possess if I’m to be in New York for any length of time.
“Hello, Luca.”
Chapter 3
Luca
“Hello, Luca.”
The words drift across the space and seem to leech onto my flesh, sucking the life out of me in the space of a second. I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is. Five years later, I recognize her voice as instantly as though it were only this morning I last heard it.
Carina.
She is untouchable. Forbidden to me. A wave of memories flash by in quick succession. All the times we snuck out during family events and made out. Carina’s smiling brown eyes take center stage in my mind. Long dark hair moving in the breeze. Her laughter… Fuck. We were teenagers when we started our wild affair—me, nineteen, Carina, seventeen.
A couple of crazy kids.
My Achilles’ heel. That’s what she was. What she still is, if I look long enough.
I don’t do that, though. With the memories comes an onslaught of guilt in the instant awareness of what I took from her. The worst part is, she doesn’t even know. I never thought I’d see her again. I honestly thought Francis’s ghost was going to be the worst of my punishment, but seeing Carina is so much worse.
I turn and face her. My men still flank me, a circle of protection, but an army wouldn’t stop the onslaught of emotions I feel at seeing her. I could dismiss them, but for just a moment, I allow this barrier between myself and Carina so I can take in her dark beauty.
She’s the right to my wrong, but like the sands of time, she slipped through my fingers and took a piece of me—the last little bit I thought of as my humanity—with her. She stole it without even knowing she was a thief.
When the old Don Valachi found out about me and Carina, he put a stop to it. The last thing the Valachis needed was for the Scarpettas and Marzanos to join forces. So, what we shared was sliced clean, and neither of us had a choice in the matter. I let her go because there was nothing I could do about it as a foolish young man and because it was easier than facing her day in and day out with the knowledge of what I had done.
But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Pushing down the guilt, I focus on her like a man bent on appreciating a good-looking woman in front of him. Like a man who didn’t take her brother’s life.
Her face is slimmer than it was when I last saw her, her dark eyes magnified behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses that somehow only manage to make her look sexier. Her curves are exaggerated by the knee-length pencil skirt that’s painted onto her womanly figure, accentuating the tuck of her waist and flare of her hips. The tailored white shirt fits her perfectly, the few open buttons showcasing the shadow of her cleavage—not too much, but enough to distract a man.