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She nods and walks away as he turns toward me.
With one hand on the table and the other on the back of my chair, he looms above me, all strong and demanding. “One glass. That’s all you get, and you better have it gone by the time I get back because I’m taking you to my place and finishing what I started Saturday night.” His eyes eat me up from top to bottom as though I’m his favorite dessert.
I swallow past the lump of desire lodged in my throat, and when I squeeze my thighs together, Rex’s eyes darken. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and I’m helpless against it.
Stella sets the glass on the table, seemingly oblivious to the moment Rex and I are having.
To show him just how ready I am, I grab the goblet, tip my head back, and drain half the contents in one giant gulp. “Hurry back.”
Taking the glass from my hand, he leans forward and places his lips against mine, softly. A low, moan rumbles from his chest. It’s masculine, sexy as hell, and my blood runs hot with desire.
“Wine never tasted as good as it does from your lips,” he says. “Makes me wonder what it’ll taste like on the rest of your body.”
My lips part, hoping he’ll either come back for seconds, or decide to say screw his father and carry me out of here, straight to his bed—or the to the nearest bathroom, wall, or balcony. I’m really not picky at this point.
With a gleam in his eye, he turns and walks away, leaving me in a pile of hormones at the table, counting the seconds until he gets back.
“What the fuck do you want?”
I plow through the door of my father’s office. It’s not really an office, more like a large room hidden in the back of the restaurant where he and his buddies smoke cigars, talk business, and play poker. I typically try to avoid it at all costs.
“That’s no way to talk to your father,” he sneers, puffing on the cigar between his fingers. “No respect these days,” he says to his friends gathered around the table.
They’ve all got a glass of liquor in hand as well as cigars—no doubt the finest from Cuba if I know my father—and a few of them have half-naked women sitting on their knees. I wish I could say this wasn’t the norm, except it is.
“Who’s the girl?” he asks me.
“That’s none of your damn business.”
The chair screeches as he stands up. I get my height from my father. Toe to toe we’re the same build, although he manages to tower an inch or two over me.
“It is my business. Every fucking person who walks through those doors,” he says, pointing toward the front of the restaurant, “is my goddamn business. Every girl who wets your dick is my business.”
“She’s a friend.”
“You mean code word for whore. When are you gonna settle down?”
My blood boils to the point of explosion, and I clench my hands into fists to prevent myself from jacking him right in the jaw. “She’s not a whore. There are many things that set us
apart, Father, and our taste in women is only one of them.”
His thick lips stretch into a wide smile, a laugh ripping from his throat. “He’s got balls, this one,” he says to his friends before turning back to me. “You’re more like me than you know. You give any more thought to my offer?”
It’s not something I’m proud of, but my father, Sal Ambrosi, is a powerful man—much more powerful than most people are aware of. He grew up in poverty and fell into a life of crime, following in the footsteps of his own father. He began working for Joseph Salamanca and became one of the biggest earners and most trusted members of the Salamanca crime family. By the time my father was thirty, he had risen to prominence, becoming the underboss to Joseph Salamanca, and eventually he took over as active boss upon Joseph’s death.
My father wants me to become a “made” member of the Mafia. In other words, he wants me committed to a life of crime. It pains me to admit that as a young child, I idolized my father and was eager to follow in his footsteps. He was my hero, strong and respected with power and prestige. In my eyes, he could do no wrong.
I was young and foolish.
It wasn’t until I saw him murder a man in cold blood that I started second-guessing my desire to be a part of the Family. The aftermath of that day ultimately pushed me over the edge, the lives hurt because of his action—because of my actions.
I’ll never forget the part I played that horrible morning in May, fourteen years ago, and I’ll never forget the look of fear in her eyes.
Bianca DiMarco.
A stranger who has no idea she inadvertently saved my life.
All I have to do is conjure up the memory of that scared little girl, not much younger than I was, to remind myself why I’m choosing to live a life without crime.
