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Truth be told, if Grady wasn’t an untrustworthy asshole, I’d think the guy was hot. He’s tall (though not as tall as Mario), clean-shaven (I much prefer stubble), has chocolate brown eyes instead of blue (nowhere near as mesmerizing), but otherwise a symmetrical, outwardly handsome face that’s… used to getting his way. And that’s where his looks go straight down the toilet. Arrogance is an ugly bitch.
The strong cut of his jaw and the flash of white teeth don’t enamor me but remind me of a wolf preparing to attack its prey. Still, he’s classically good-looking in a haughty sort of way, like a cruel king sitting on a throne. There isn’t a doubt in my mind he robbed, stole, and plundered his way to his position of leadership in the CID.
Casually, he folds himself into the seat across from me and crosses an ankle over his knee. “How was your night?”
Night? Why’s he asking me about my night? That is none of his goddamn business. Still, I don’t want to seem defensive.
I fold Mario’s wallet in half and slide it onto my lap.
“Not bad.” The biggest lie I’ve told in a while. “Uneventful after the funeral.”
“Ah, right,” he says with a sympathetic nod that’s all show. “And you’re doing alright after all that?”
After all that. God, what a douche.
“I’m fine, thanks. My mom and I weren’t close.”
Truth.
He nods thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “I understand.” He pushes himself to standing and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Hungry? I was thinking maybe we could grab something at that new little bistro on the corner.”
My boss… is asking me… to get lunch with him? This triggers every radar on my professional business radar there is.
“I’m good, but thanks. Maybe some other time.” I plaster on a fake smile that seems to pacify him.
He fake-smiles back. “I’d really like to have lunch with you.” He lowers his voice and shuts the door. The skin on the back of my neck prickles.
“Not today, Grady, but thanks.”
He drums his fingers on my desk and lets them brush mine. I recoil.
“Excuse me,” I begin, prepared to tell him off, when he sighs and draws away.
“It would be in your best interest to play nice, Emma,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
Before I can respond, he leaves. I sit, stunned.
“That was… weird,” I mutter to myself. Was he hitting on me? Did he cross a line? Was he just threatening me?
Did he know more about my night than he let on?
Whatever. He’s an arrogant jerk who just likes getting his way.
I shake my head and try to go back to work. For fuck’s sake, the absolute worst part about an office job is the inability to actually do your work. I mutter to myself as I make more notes from my inbox, categorize the next steps I need to take in order of priority, and tally a few more emails that have come in since I entered the office this morning.
Finally, I’ve satisfied enough of my daily requirements that I can… play.
Time for the good part.
I slide my desk drawer open and take a blank notebook out. Open to a fresh page. Write R Fam at the top of the page, in lame code so no one suspects what I’m doing if they stumble on my notes.
I type Mario Rossi into the search bar.
My jaw drops. There is the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
There he is, with a woman on his arm.
Two women.
Driving a race car with a leggy brunette at his side.
Kissing the neck of a stunning redhead.
I was played. Mario Rossi is a player. A wealthy player who thinks he’s above the law.
We’ll see about that.
My eyes go wide at the hits. I sigh, shake my head… then pick up my pen and get to work.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mario
“After all these years, after everything we’ve been through…” Romeo steeples his fingers at his desk as his voice trails off. He looks tired and weary. His wife Vittoria, after several years of trying, finally had a baby, making Romeo far more powerful in the eyes of The Family. Rank and position are only one jewel in the Rossi family crown; a wife and children are the next most important requirements. He’s tired, though, my oldest brother, and probably not just physically. Late night feedings and the weight of responsibility can tire a guy.
I half expected him to grab me by the ear and drag me off to punish me, like he did when I was twelve years old and he caught me smoking a joint behind the high school. I wouldn’t raise a hand against him even in self-defense. There was a time when I was almost as afraid of Romeo as I was my father, but time proved my father to be no more than a narcissistic bully, whereas Romeo was driven by brotherly concern and the need to keep us all safe. He’s become the true patriarch of the family.
