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Slowly, Leo eases out of me and rolls onto the bed beside me. I turn to look at him, mesmerized by his gorgeous masculinity. Every inch of him represents strength and power. He radiates authority. And when he touches me, it’s like he effortlessly commands my body, playing with me like putty until he makes me sing.
One arm flung casually above his head, Leo turns to look at me, and a lazy smile stretches across his lips. But instead of saying anything, he reaches out to wrap his arm around me. And he pulls me to him, bringing me against his body in a shockingly tender embrace.
My cheek rests on his shoulder, my palm falling over his beating heart, and my leg naturally settles across his body, entwining us as he holds me close. And despite myself, I find the comfort of his arms so compelling, I can’t pull away. Instead, I sink into the welcoming warmth of darkness as sleep overcomes me.
21
LEO
The sun hangs low in the sky as I stand inside one of the long-abandoned cabins near the edge of my property. My mind swirls with conflicting thoughts as I wait for my men to arrive. And Tia’s face lingers behind my eyes, an unexpected presence that refuses to be ignored.
Despite the pressing matters at hand, the anticipation of seeing my new bride tugs at the edges of my focus. It’s a problem I hadn’t anticipated—a distraction that threatens to compromise my carefully honed discipline. Business comes first, above all else. It always has. But the thought of having Tia between the sheets once again has been dogging my mind all day.
I can’t stop thinking about the intoxicating way she looked at me, the way she moved so sensually beneath me. Her smell lingers in the back of my mind, a subtle spicy citrus scent that makes my mouth water, like the bouquet of a fine gin.
The memory of her body wrapped around mine, makes me ache. And I know I can’t let myself dwell on our night together if I’m going to have my shit together for this meeting.
I shove all thoughts of Tia impatiently to the back of my mind as ten Valencia men file through the front door and line up before me, several of my most trusted captains following them in, guns held lightly in hand. The Valencia family’s inability to fall in line weighs heavily on my mind, a relentless undercurrent beneath the surface of my thoughts.
As the head of the Moretti family, I cannot afford to be lenient, especially not in the precarious world of organized crime. Loyalty is everything, and the Valencias’ have breached the vow they made to us on more than one occasion since they bent the knee.
So, today is a test of whether they properly heard the message I delivered personally on my wedding day. I sent word for their members to be brought in for a reckoning—a reckoning that will determine whether they remain loyal allies or face the consequences of betrayal. Any proof that they’re trying to steal from me today will require swift and decisive action.
The forgotten cabin I’ve chosen to conduct this grim business in bears the scars of past conflicts. Though its windows are still intact, the walls are splattered with dark stains, and the furniture is in disarray, several chairs broken from the number of interrogations that have taken place here.
It’s a fitting backdrop for the confrontation that awaits, and a convenient location away from prying eyes and law enforcement that has been growing increasingly pricey to bribe lately—one of the many reasons I need to come to an understanding with Mayor Romney. If I can garner his cooperation, I won’t be quite so hard-pressed to be discrete.
The Valencia members shift uncomfortably as they stand before me, avoiding my eyes as they hold their duffle bags full of collection money. A motley crew of men, they seem to bear the weight of their responsibility in the hard lines etched into their faces.
I stand at the center of the room, a silent observer of the unfolding drama. Loyalty is a delicate balance that requires trust, which can be easily shattered and challenging to rebuild. It’s a lesson I aim to impart upon them today.
They wait quietly, a collective facade of fearful submission. I meet each gaze with a steely resolve, and once again, my thoughts flit momentarily to Tia—not far away in the main house on the far side of the property—before I pull myself back to the present. Focus is a luxury I can’t afford to sacrifice.
“I think you all know why I brought you here for collections today,” I state matter-of-factly. “Your don has proven unreliable when it comes to delivering the amount he’s promised me every two weeks. Let’s hope you all received the message I sent and you’ve become more… aligned with the choice to pay tribute rather than die.”
No one looks up or says a word, a sure sign my message was delivered properly. Let’s hope it was clear enough that I don’t have to manage any more problems.
I signal to my men, who begin the process of collecting the earnings these Valencia men have accumulated. Using the table before me, they take one duffle bag at a time and count the money inside. The room is tense, the air charged with anticipation. My gaze moves from face to face, searching for any hint of guilt or deceit.
But if anyone thinks they’re going to get away with something, it isn’t obvious to me just yet.
As the bags of money are brought forward one by one, I calculate the expected sum in my mind. They had better hope their bags match what I know they owe us. The first few men present their earnings, and to my satisfaction, the numbers align with my expectations.
Perhaps my message on the day of my wedding reached them after all. Loyalty, I remind myself, is a currency more valuable than gold in our world. And though it can take proud men time to accept when they’ve been beaten, it seems that perhaps Don Valencia has finally given up his juvenile attempt to undermine me.
But just as I start to think this might be a day without violence, one of the men steps forward, his eyes intently avoiding mine as he hesitantly places his duffle bag on the table. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple, a telltale sign of unease. I watch him closely, my senses sharp, as he releases the bag of money that looks lighter than it should be.
Silence radiates through the space, and the Valencia men seem to hold a collective breath as they wait for my captain Drake to count the contents. He sets the bundles out on the table for everyone to see, a distinct difference from the way he handled the previous three bags.
He suspects the bag of being light as well.
My pulse quickens, the anticipation of confrontation crackling in the air as he pulls the last bundles from the bag and turns to me with a subtle shake of the head.
“This isn’t the agreed-upon amount,” I state, my voice cutting through the room like a blade as I take a slow step forward.
The man stammers, his excuses feeble attempts to mask the guilt that clings to him like a second skin. “W-We had some unexpected setbacks. I can have the rest for you next week—”
I raise a hand, cutting off his pathetic attempt at a compromise. It’s the same excuse I’ve heard countless times before. “Your reasons for the missing money are not my concern. Loyalty is. Your family pledged allegiance to the Morettis, and once again, the Valencias have dishonored their vow.”
