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CHAPTERTWO
Sergio
“Boss?”
Gino’s husky voice draws my attention to the bar. I look over to my bodyguard, our stoic yet fiercely loyal enforcer, built like a brick-eating linebacker. He’s loyal to the core and not what I’d call the most intelligent guy I’ve ever met, but he can knock a grown man out with one solid punch and sniff danger out a mile away. In other words, he’s a goddamn human pit bull.
I’m glad he’s here tonight.
“Yeah?”
“You wanna drink?” he asks. When he grins at me, his gold tooth flashes. Goddamn Italian icon.
I shake my head. Opening night means I need to be in complete control.
“I’m good, thanks.” There’s a time and a place for a drink, but tonight isn’t one of them.
I stand at the entrance ofBella Notte, my pride and joy, and take in every detail. I scan the crowd for any signs of trouble. I can’t help it—Bella Notteis my baby, and the people here are under my protection. I can’t deny the sense of pride, ownership, and responsibility I feel. It’s taken years of work and planning to get here, and I won’t let anything slip. So I’ve checked every lock, gone over every detail, made sure everything is perfect.
Florence Mascarelli, affectionately dubbed “Aunt Flo” by our entire crew, saunters in as if summoned with a platter of meatballs. At first, I didn’t get why half the women in the family would crack up every time I said Aunt Flo was coming to visit, until my cousin Marialena filled me in. “But she likes it, Serg,” she assured me. “Makes her feelfeminine.”
And if that doesn’t say anything about who she is, I’m not sure what would.
“Food?” Gino continues. “Flo brought her meatballs, and they’re fuckin’ awesome.”
“Thanks, Gino,” she says, giving him a salacious wink. “They’re my best, but for the love of God keep an eye out for one of my lashes, okay?”
“Yourwhat?” Timeo, my younger brother, asks, coming in from the stockroom with a heavy box of liquor.
“My falseeyelashes.Good God, they charge an arm and a leg at the salon so I decided to do myown,but boys, I fucked it up somehow because one of them fell off and damn if I can’t find itanywhere.”
I suddenly have no interest in eating any of her meatballs.
Flo talks with a thick Boston accent and the kind of confidence born of decades of sleeping around. She’s brash, she’s bold, and she’s an Italian boy’s wet dream. With a particular fondness for bold prints and V-necks that show cleavage all the way to her navel, she turns heads with effortless confidence and undeniable sex appeal.
“I thought we had a caterer coming in?” I ask Timeo. He winces as if in pain.
Maybe hewillbe if he doesn’t tell me what I wanna hear.
“We did,” he says on a groan. “The new chef was supposed to show up, but guess who came down with the flu right before opening night?”
I blow out a breath, trying to draw on the tiny reservoir of patience I have. “We got a backup plan?”
Flo grins. “I provided the appetizers, Boss, but don’t worry, we’ve called in reinforcements.”
I stifle a groan. Flo’s “reinforcements” could be anything from the ladies at her church to the bingo crew she gets drunk with during Monday Night Football, and I don’t trust she didn’t just raid a damn food pantry before she got here.
“You don’t call me Boss, Flo,” I remind her.
She only smacks her gum and taps my chest as she walks by, reeking of drugstore perfume and luxury leather. “Oh, honey. Weallcall you ‘Boss.’ You were born to be the boss, don’t you know? You were ready to command an army when you first exited thewomb.”
“What’s this furry thing in the meatballs?” someone yells from the other end of the bar.
“Don’t eat it!” Flo screams, leaving me in her dust.
I look to Timeo. “Tell me you really have a backup plan.”
