So why is there this burning knot in my gut, working its way up my throat? Maybe it’s indigestion. The food tonight was too rich, too Frenchified compared to a normal Italian wedding. Too much cream in everything. Too much butter.
I check my phone, just in case there’s news from back in the city, but there’s nothing.
Then I casually text a quick message.
Tease.
No harm in flirting, right? And there’s obviously something I should know about between Carlo Bianchi and Gatti. And it’s not like Carlo’ll have a shot tonight with Gatti, not on his wedding night.
No matter how tight those pants of his might be.
Chapter Three
Carlo
Ilook around the room to find the source of the text, but Nick Fontana has moved from the singles table and is by his Boss’s right hand, of course. And when Idofind him, he’s not even looking my way. He’s right there ignoring an intimate conversation between Luca and Finch D’Amato, staring hard at Ray Gatti as he continues his terrible speech.
I text back,u up for it later,and then I add another response:?
I watch as Nick ignores his phone for a good sixty seconds, and then checks it under the table like it’s no big thing. But I’m watching close enough that I see the smirk he gives.
Maybe. Wearing those tight pants for me?
Oh, Nicky. My pants aren’t so tight, but I like flirting with Nick Fontana. He was always going to be my go-to for tonight. And I’ve been blessed by the hookup gods, because Papa is in one of the houses down the end of the beach, while I’m upstairs from this very ballroom, on the third floor of Villa Alessi, and no other guests are in my wing—my room’s the only bedroom.
It was such a stroke of good luck that I checked it over, then checked again, and I even got Teo Vitali, the Morelli security guy, to scan my room for bugs and cameras. Clean as a whistle, according to him, which is good, because work doesn’t stop, and I’ve brought my laptop with me this weekend to deal with the wall-to-wall Morelli shit. Real estate and wills and contracts… They’re keeping me busy, even if therearefewer criminal matters these days. If I was a pure criminal defense attorney I might even find myself tightening the belt a little. But the Morellis will always keep Bianchi and Associates in business.
As for the lonely bedroom, I figured it was another effect of my being a last-minute addition, pulled in to make up the table numbers maybe. It’s a great room, anyway, and it’ll be perfect for Nick and me later on. No one will even notice if we sneak away.
I’ve stopped texting long enough to catch Nick’s attention now. He’s looking at me, pretending not to, but he raises a questioning eyebrow when our eyes catch for a second.
Come to my room later and find out what’s under these pantsI text back.
It’s not like he doesn’t know already. Nick and I have been fooling around occasionally ever since I got him off a reckless driving charge a few months back. He was getting rid of a tail, he told me, and the Feds just wouldn’t shake loose.
The guy looks like the quintessential gangster; he’s built like a linebacker, each limb thick as a tree trunk, and the man knows how to fuck. The problem is that technically he’s my client, since Bianchi and Associates represents the Morelli family exclusively and is on permanent retainer. At Bianchi and Associates, we might bend the law as far as it’ll go, but we never break it. I’ve made it my business to find every loophole I can, because that’s how we keep the Morellis safe—mostly—from the reach of the law. And my father has two golden rules for his firm and everyone who works in it: never get personally involved with our clients, and never ask them for a favor.
So, while Nick Fontana is the fuck of the century, I have to keep it on the down-low from Papa and from the rest of the firm. I’ll admit it’s not the first time I’ve been tempted to fool around with a Morelli, but there was something about Nick that made the risk seem worthwhile. We’ve hooked up a handful of times. Five or six.Maybea dozen. Just last week he happened to be in the same vicinity as me, so… And lately we seem to be running into each other more often. It’s been convenient to meet after I’ve been in court, or before Nick has to head out with Luca D’Amato to do whatever it is they do during their workday.
It’s nothing serious, though. Can’t be. He’ll always put the Family before me, and I can hardly be known to consort with criminals as anything more than their lawyer. But the things he likes to do in bed are the things I like to have done to me, and it makes him that much more addictive. Plus, he was too interesting to resist. He may look like he has nothing going on upstairs, but naughty Nicky turned out to be cleverer than he looks. He has street smarts and the kind of cunning that can make a man go far.
After a few more booty calls, I’ll be over him. For sure. In the meantime, though, I have no objection to indulging.
Sure you don’t prefer the groom?he asks.
I respond,Didn’t think u were the jealous type, and fuck it, I start texting again right away, asking what time he can meet up, but everyone starts clapping and I realize Gatti has finished. I give an awkward, cynical clap with my phone still in my hand.
The band starts playing a waltz and the father of the bride leads her out onto the dance floor. After a minute or two, Gatti cuts in and begins stomping all over the hem of her dress. I turn back and raise a finger for the bartender, leaving my phone open with the unsent message on the bar next to me while I think about whether I really should send the invitation or not. With every Family here? With my father a not-insurmountable distance away tonight?
“Same again?” the bartender asks, and his eyes stray to my phone, still open on my message to Nick. I click it off.
“Same again.” Nick still hasn’t texted me back, and when I glance over my shoulder, he’s not even looking my way. When the bartender comes back with my drink, I motion him close, then lean in and ask in his ear, “So who does a guy have to suck off around here to get a whole bottle of that tequila to take away?”
This close up, I can see some yellow bruising on the guy’s jaw, and I noticed already that his nose has obviously been broken before. It gives a slightly dangerous edge to his youthful good looks. But his eyes go so wide that I can see the whites all the way around the dark irises. He moves back, saying, “Sorry, sir, we’re not really supposed to…”
“Maybe you could make an exception for me? A special favor for your best patron tonight?” I wink and he blushes, grins back. It’s nice to be proven right in my assumptions. And hell, maybe Nicky will see I havechoices. Might make him text back fucking faster. “I’m staying right here in the Villa,” I tell the bartender. I check his name tag, lean in, and add, “Right upstairs on the third floor.Matt.”
“Uh...” He takes a breath, looking around the room nervously, and then he’s called away by another drinker down the end of the bar before he can reply. Probably just as well. I’m flirting too hard with an innocent kid, when I know damn well that whenever Nick Fontana clicks his fingers at me tonight, I’ll go running.
