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Lorenzo is not wrong. “Perhaps you’re right.” I get into the elevator and make my way past the doorman and into the car that is waiting for me just outside the doors of The Larussio. The driver looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Where to, miss? I understand we’re going computer shopping.”
There will be time to contemplate all the emotions swirling in my mind, all the things that he said without saying much at all, and my feelings about the dark-eyed devil later. Right now, I need to get a computer and get started on the research he talked about. Not because he told me to, but because the thought that I might have missed something in all the time I spent researching the past, delving into my father’s, the De Rosas’ and Larussio affairs that might make some sense out of the decisions Papà made keeps playing over and over in my mind.
The computer shopping is easy, and when I go to pay for my purchases, the shopkeeper's eyebrows raise as the driver hands him a credit card. He takes it instead of the one that I have offered. The man rings up the merchandise and hands Darryl the receipt. Just one more reminder that now even my devices don’t belong to me.
I follow Darryl out of the store with my newly purchased electronics. Lorenzo should pay for these things to replace what he stole. But that doesn’t ease the feeling sitting in the middle of my stomach. Nothing a Larussio does is miscalculated, especially by Lorenzo. I can’t help wondering what role I play in the plan he’s orchestrated, and whether I come out alive or dead after he’s done having his fun.
Chapter9
Lorenzo
The alarm rings,and I get out of bed, still groggy from a restless night thinking about the beauty who has disarmed me with her charm and is quickly gaining my respect with her quick wit, tenacity, and strength. But the truth she seeks is harmful not only to me but to my entire family, and that is something I need to keep at the forefront of my mind.
As soon as I’m ready for the day, I walk to Salvatore’s suite. He answers my knock himself. “Come in. Dominic and I were just going over the plans for the funeral before he and Emelia go out shopping. There’s something we want to run past you.”
Dominic sits in one of the dining room chairs facing the window. I take the chair next to him. Salvatore joins us and gestures to the coffee on the table. I pour a cup for myself, waiting to see who will start the conversation and if Great-Uncle will join us.
Dominic is quiet and thoughtful this morning. I take a grape from the platter on the table and pop it in my mouth, giving him time to formulate what’s on his mind. “What if they expect Emelia to attend the funeral and they fucking ambush her?” he asks.
I shift in my seat. He’s smart to contemplate it, and it’s one of the scenarios that has played out in my mind more than once. “It’s a possibility, Dom, but her father is a proud man. He’s not going to want anyone to know that she’s broken alliance with him and her family. It would bring nothing but dishonor to his name. If she shows up by herself, they will not harm her, at least out in public.”
Dominic’s eyes bore right through mine. He doesn’t want to hear what he’s already deducted from what I said, although it needs to be said. “The dynamics change when you walk up to that graveyard with her. You leave them no choice but to fight to get her away from you or face embarrassment for the rest of their lives.”
“She’s not going alone. I don’t trust the fuckers to give two fucks about what people think of them. They’re backed into a corner, Lorenzo. They’ve already been embarrassed by us, so who’s to say they don’t turn on Emelia and kill her to make a point?”
I nod and take another drink of my coffee. My job is not to tell the boss and underboss what to do but to ensure the right questions are asked and that we’ve considered all tactical possibilities and outcomes while mitigating the risk. “That’s always a possibility.”
He shifts in his seat. Dominic is always going to do what’s right for the family. Even in choosing Emelia to be by his side, he selected someone who fought relentlessly to bring Alena home safely. We owe her the courtesy of ensuring she has the opportunity to say goodbye to her family. She has been accepted into our folds, and we take care of our own. “She’s not going alone,” he says, and I expected nothing less.
I nod. “Then it’s settled. We plan for the two of you to attend. I’m sure you’ve discussed the tactical operations further. I assume we’ll have the area surrounded, eyes on their cousins?”
Salvatore nods. “The capos have all the logistics worked out. There won’t be one person left unmanned. The minute they pull guns, they’ll all be dead.”
“We have a backup plan in place in case it fails?”
Salvatore’s eyes meet the challenge. “We won’t fail, Lorenzo, but the family interests come first. De Rosa doesn’t put his family first. That much was evident when we tried to negotiate with him for Alena. This time, we have soldiers at the docks. Right now, he thinks there is a chance in hell that he can get them back. We take his beloved shipping docks and distribution center hostage. We let the soldiers stay there with readied torches. We hold that over his head until Dominic and Emelia have attended the funeral and are back at home safely.”
I grin because Salvatore has the mind of a leader. There was never any doubt in any of our minds, but he proves his worthiness of that title every single day, standing by each of us with unwavering loyalty, while besting our enemies with relentless brutality.
Things are well in hand here. “Good plan,” I tell them, standing and walking toward the door. “Izzy Arden and I will follow you and Emelia today. I want her to get some shots of you and Emelia purchasing clothes. We need some shots of her looking sad, perhaps with loss of hope, and maybe even anger at you,” I tell Dominic.
He grins. “You’re a cruel man, Lorenzo Larussio. Tell me you have this reporter on a leash and that I don’t have to worry about her popping up every time I go out.”
I can’t help but smirk at the thought of Isabella being on anyone’s leash. She can be relentless in her pursuit of a story, but that’s what makes her good at her job. It’s what sets her apart from everyone else. Her name is respected by papers across the country and her work sought after by those that can use it for aftermarket sales. The fact that she conceded to work for us will be advantageous no matter the reason, which neither of them need to know for now.
“We shall see,” I tell my cousin, smiling. “Text me where you’ll be. I’m going to go pick her up, and we’ll meet you there.”
He and Salvatore turn, each meeting me with dark eyes, both questioning and curious. I should let someone else handle the lovely Isabella who hides behind the cloak of the professional name she’s chosen. Izzy Arden is cutthroat and relentless when working on a story, while hiding the softness that permeates Isabella. The loving daughter hurt by the thought that her father abandoned her as a young woman. Seemingly turning his back on her when in all reality nothing could be farther from the truth.
The fact that I care at all should be reason enough to hand the assignment off to one of the capos to deal with, but the softness of her body, the creamy complexion tinged with rose when she’s embarrassed, or aroused, fills my thoughts during the daytime, while eliminating every possibility of sleep at night.
Darryl knows exactly how to get to Isabella’s home now and pulls up to the curb. “Would you like me to go and get her, sir?” he asks.
“I’ll take care of it. Keep the car running. Dominic and Emelia are heading to a dress boutique right off Main Street called Elite Style. As soon as we have Isabella, we’ll meet them there,” I tell him before getting out of the car and walking up to the suburban home. I ring the doorbell, and a few moments later I hear the click of heels on the tiled floor of her foyer.
She opens the door, and my breath catches. Her hair is hanging in large loose curls, paired with hoop earrings. Her eyes are brighter than the sky, brilliant and alive. My eyes are drawn to her cupid-shaped lips, framed with liner and a muted red-brick color of lipstick.
Isabella meets my gaze and holds the connection for longer than we should. I clear my throat, my eyes grazing over the long skirt with the slit, wispy little blouse, and brown boots. Everything about this woman is appealing, but so are a thousand other women in the city, all of whom I can spend a night with and then say goodbye to in the morning. It’s worked for my entire adult life, and the thought of changing it for even a day should not be a consideration.
