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I dressed quickly and applied a small amount of makeup. My hair was pulled back into a chignon. I looked hard, I decided. Like I was made of stone.
And to face this day, I would have to be.
I was a boss bitch, and everyone who saw me would know it.
Chapter Five
Vincent
I drummed my fingertips on the surface of the hard wood table. Everyone was impatient. Everyone was ready. We were just waiting on one more person. The head of the Feluciano family.
The one and only Francesca Feluciano.
I had barely slept the night before. I was so eager to see her, desperate, dying to know if the sparks I felt were real. If she felt them too.
If I could use the bond we had once shared to my advantage.
The doors flung open at exactly 2:15. I knew because I was staring at my watch. That’s when I realized it was deliberate.
The woman sure as hell knew how to make an entrance.
Lithe and curvy, Francesca wore head to toe white. Not a dress. Not a ploy to use her feminine wiles. She was a chess piece, strong and intimidating. Her suit fit her flawlessly. Her hair was polished and held back from her face in a way that only drew attention to her stunning features. She looked like a living statue, made perfect under the hands of a master artist.
No. Not an artist. Only God could make something so perfect, I thought in awe. Someone so perfect.
Her cheekbones were so high and sharp they could cut glass. Her enormous, soulful eyes were sparkling with vigor and attitude. Her nose was straight and beautiful without being the least bit cute. There was nothing cute about the woman at all.
But those lips . . . wide and perfectly formed. Stained red without any of the gloppy gloss so many women seemed to favor these days. Her lips curved up slightly as I stared.
She knew I was looking at her. She knew we all were. After giving us all time to admire her, she strode across the room to take her seat at the table. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, along with the tip of an ornate white cane.
I hadn’t realized she needed a cane. It wasn’t in her dossier. I made a mental note to find out what it was for.
“I call to order the meeting of the five families.”
“Now that we are all here, can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Gianni Gambini complained. The man was never in a good mood, but I respected him. He didn’t give in to his hotheaded nature.
I still felt the need to speak up. He was disrespecting her. I wouldn’t allow any man to talk to a woman that way, particularly one so formidable.
“We should begin by welcoming Francesca to the council,” I said, giving her a steady look. I was trying not to drool or stare, but I had a reason to look at her, so I took it. My body clenched at the exact moment our eyes met. I felt her gaze go straight through me. Intelligence shone from those eyes, a definite challenge to what I anticipated to be an epic battle of wills. A hint of playfulness, as well.
And something else. Something that sent a feeling of disquiet right to my core.
Something was wrong. She hid it well, but I felt it.
I just had to find out what it was.
“Thank you, Vincent,” she said with a regal nod. I bit back a grin, remembering how I’d called her a queen all those years ago. “I am also eager to get down to business. There is much to discus.”
And so it began.
Chapter Six
Francesca
Four hours and twenty-seven minutes. That was how long I had to wear my mask. That was how long the damned meeting took.
On the surface, it had been a success. Beneath it all, however, I felt unsettled. One man had watched me carefully. I had felt his eyes on me for nearly every second. One man who seemed to see right through me.
I’d watched his lips quirk when I made a good point. I’d watched him tilt his head and wait for me to work my way out of a sticky negotiation. And when I had come out of top, I could practically hear him applaud.
My enemy. The one man I didn’t need as an ally. A man so handsome and dynamic, he nearly took my breath away.
Vincent Margarelli.
“Damn him,” I hissed under my breath, kicking off my heels and unstrapping the small gun on my ankle. I handed it to my driver, Joseph. I always carried, but I didn’t like it, particularly the ankle holster. It was just necessary. I still had a gun under my arm.
“Can I have a cigarette?” I asked him. He shook his head ruefully but complied, pulling a pack out of the glove compartment. Joseph had been with my family forever. He knew better than to deny me. But his eyes told me he did not approve.
