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Daddies of Pine Hollow
Jaxon
Dane
Nash
WITH THIS RING
By
Tara Crescent
CHAPTER1
MIRA
The most exclusive poker game in Italy takes place every February in Venice at a club called Casanova. The people that attend are generally rich, powerful, and well-connected. But those things don’t really matter. There are only two criteria for entry. The first is that you must be a part of the underworld. The second and most important is that you must be sponsored by someone already in the game.
I’ve been attending for the last three years, and to tell the truth, I’ve always felt a little out of place. I might be the oldest daughter of the Caruso crime family, but I have no real power of my own. My father won’t allow it.
This year, the game is on Valentine’s Day, and I arrive at Casanova shortly before nine. Helen, the club’s dealer, comes out from behind the front desk to greet me. “Signorina Caruso,” she says, her voice warm and welcoming. “Good evening.”
“I know I’m early.” I take off my coat and hand it to a waiting attendant. “Are any of the others here?”
“Just Signor Sidorov.”
“Ah.” Like me, Andrei Sidorov is the oldest child, but that’s where the similarities end. Andrei is heir to the Sidorov Bratva, an outfit that controls large areas of Russia, Belarus, Romania, Hungary, and Croatia. Four years ago, as a way of checking their advance into our territory, my father contemplated marrying me off to Andrei. Then, a ship carrying thousands of kilos of cocaine, a joint venture between the Caruso and the Castella families, blew up in the Adriatic Sea. We took serious losses, losses we still haven’t recovered from. My father was convinced that it was the Sidorov that sank his ship. The wedding talks ceased abruptly, and ever since, our families have been bitter rivals.
The poker game is neutral ground. Plus, my father doesn’t know I’m here.
“Would you like to join him at the bar, or shall I escort you to the back room?” Helen asks.
I’ll be damned if I’m going to hide. I take a deep, steadying breath and then straighten my shoulders. Seeing Andrei is always a punch to the gut, and I need a moment to prepare myself. “I’ll join Signor Sidorov.”
I slide onto the empty barstool next to Andrei. “You’re early.”
“As are you.” He leans in and brushes a kiss on my cheek. He smells like sandalwood and smoke, an earthy aroma that goes straight to my core. “I’m surprised to see you here. No Valentine’s Day plans?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” There’s a drink on the counter in front of me, and it looks like an Old Fashioned. My favorite cocktail. “Is this for me?”
“It is,” he confirms. “I saw you walk in, so I took the liberty of ordering for you. To answer the question you didn’t ask, Mira, I never make plans for Valentine’s Day. It gives women the wrong idea.”
“That you’re available? Enjoying playing the field too much to settle down?” Andrei is thirty-one. In our world, men get longer leashes than women do, but I’m surprised his father hasn’t insisted he get married. Then again, his family seems to be nothing like mine. Andrei’s sister Natalya works for the bratva, the third-in-command after her father Vadik and her brother. I can’t imagine Aldo Caruso appointing me to such a position.
His lips twist into a wry smile. “Something like that.”
I study him discreetly as I sip my drink. There’s no reason I should be as attracted to Andrei as I am. He isn’t traditionally good-looking. His dark hair is cut ruthlessly short. His face is square, his nose broken. He looks like a rock, big and powerful. Maybe it’s because he’s forbidden fruit. Maybe it’s because every time I’ve met him, it’s been here, in this atmosphere of sex and sin.
Or maybe it’s just because it’s Valentine’s Day.
I tear my gaze away and look around the club. It’s early, so there are less than fifty people here. A group of women have occupied the table closest to the center stage. Judging from their laughter, they’re waiting for the show to begin, and the bottle of prosecco on the table isn’t their first. At another table, a trio of men in suits are brokering a business deal. I think I recognize one of them, a lieutenant of the Spina Sacra, talking to one of Renato Grimaldi’s underlings. “Do you know what their conversation is about?”
Andrei looks over. “Weapons,” he says. “Spina Sacra would like to expand their reach into the arms trade, and Renato Grimaldi is the intermediary of half a dozen manufacturers.”
My mouth falls open. He just gave me valuable information, information that could change my family’s fortunes. But in our world, nothing is free. “Thank you,” I say tightly. “What do I owe you?”
He puts his hand over mine. His platinum signet ring glitters under the club’s golden light, a firebird etched on its face. “There are many things I want from you, Mirabella,” he says. “But none of them are owed.” He downs the rest of his drink and gets abruptly to his feet. “Antonio and Dante just walked in,” he says. “Shall we join them?”
