I’m here to present a giant check to Mayor Suarez’s wife’s new charity, Brighter Tomorrow’s Initiative. It was the price of his cooperation on the subject of our secret club casino. I have no doubt that money is being funneled into their pockets somehow, but that doesn’t concern me. Photos with the county board members, Mayor Suarez and Police Chief Knowles will be a bonus. They know who we are and will resist having their image forever tainted by ours, but I’ll insist.
Again, I’m bringing a big check.
The sun is strong, sparkling on the Bay waters to our right. Summer is in full force, the temps still in the high eighties. I admire the 55-foot Catamaran Luxury Yacht anchored about a hundred feet out before I turn my attention to the Zerillis.
My hand swallows Santino’s as I shake it. He’s six inches shorter than I am, but you wouldn’t know it from the way he’s always carried himself. Tonight though, he’s pale as fuck and leaning on a cane. “Santino, good to see you.”
He meets my eye with a steady gaze. “Alessandro.”
I turn to the small, quiet woman standing next to him. “And this must be Palmira?” I take Palmira’s hand and kiss her dry knuckles. “Pleased to meet you finally.”
Santino’s first wife died when Milo was ten. I’d heard he’d finally remarried six years ago. Looks like he replaced her with a replica.Same small stature, and quiet demeanor. He likes his women submissive. How boring.
I return the pleasant smile she gives me, silently wishing her luck. “Where’s Giada?” I ask, hoping she’s a no-show.
Milo pipes up. “She’s already in there with her high society girls.” He takes a drag of his cigarette, the cherry burning bright. His words come out on a stream of gray smoke. “At least she’ll class you up some, LaRocca. Shine away some of that New York gutter sludge.”
“Watch your fucking mouth, Emelio,” my brother says, flicking his Zippo lighter open and closed in agitation. It’s a tic but also a threat.
I smirk and pat Rocco’s chest affectionately. This verbal dance between us and Milo is almost as old as we are. I’m enjoying his bitterness and jealousy immensely. Though I would enjoy stabbing him in the face more.
“Shall we, gentlemen?” I motion to the door.
We enter the open space, which is lavishly decorated in gold and white. There’s a dance floor with a large chandelier hanging above it. There’s also a dining section in front of a stage with candles lit on a couple dozen round tables.
There’s no denying our grand entrance has garnered the attention we wanted when all eyes turn to us. The boys saunter in, some going to mingle with the crowd, some heading to the bar.
“Mayor Suarez is over there by the bar,” Gunnar says. “I’ll meet you there.”
I hear his words, but I can’t process them, and I can’t move. Because she’s here. In Tampa. In this building.
Lennon.
And fuck she’s beautiful.
She’s blossomed into a stunning woman. Her hair is a darker shade of auburn. Long bangs frame her heart-shaped face, emphasizing her cheekbones. Her body.Jesus.Curves that are accentuated by the tiny top and skirt she’s wearing.
How is she here? Am I hallucinating?
The willowy brunette beside her leans in and says something in her ear.
Lennon’s gaze rises, clashing with mine.
It feels like I just got hit in the chest with a defibrillator. Definitely not hallucinating.
I watch the shock widen her pale green eyes and then I’m on the move. My blood is pumping through my veins like liquid fire as I stalk toward her, ignoring the people trying to get my attention, not letting her gaze go.
And then I’m in front of her, seeing nothing but her.Again.A decade swept away in an instant.
I have so many questions that have piled up over the years, but right now I can’t remember a damn one. Or why they’re important.
My gaze trails down her body, the tight T-shirt showcasing the swell of her cleavage, a tiny gold cross nestled there.She’s the perfect contradiction of innocence and sin. I fight the urge to take off my jacket and wrap it around her so no one else can put their unworthy eyeballs on her. My gaze flicks to her left hand. No ring.
How has no one scooped this woman up yet?
Or maybe she just doesn’t wear a ring at work. Claws of jealousy tear at my insides.
A flush the color of ripe strawberries covers her chest and is traveling up her neck. An almost uncontrollable urge grips me. The urge to flatten my wet tongue against her collarbone and drag it up her neck. I imagine her skin tastes like strawberries and cream.
