In case it came down to plan B, I needed to be divorced.
I didn’t want to think about what I would do if plan A worked. If I went to the F.B.I., if the law was on my side and protected me against the foreign warlord, what would I do with Vincenzo?
It was easier to plan for the worst and hope for the best.
With the paperwork in hand, I marched into Mama Ana’s. The restaurant was packed with an early lunch crowd. But as I guessed, a crew of Made Men sat at the back tables with their ruthless leader holding court over them.
Vincenzo was made to be a king.
My steps faltered for a split second as my eyes adjusted from the sunlight to the warm glow of the interior. He wasn’t the boss yet, but the way the men acted around him said he could be.
This is beyond stupid.
I stopped dead in my tracks, right next to a blonde mom with her three kids. She was trying to feed the youngest child a bite of pasta, but the little boy was moreinterested in grabbing the dish of freshly grated cheese and spilling it on his oldest sister.
What was I thinking? Marching into the beast’s den and serving him with divorce papers in front of his men? That was a good way to make an enemy of the whole organization! I already had one nightmare threatening me—and by extension my family. I didn’t need the Morelli Famiglia putting a target on me by insulting their cherished golden boy in such a public manner.
Before I could retreat to wait outside for Vincenzo, the mobster caught sight of me. It was as though time stilled. That dark gaze flickered with surprise. The corners of his eyes softened a fraction. He lifted his hand, crooked his fingers in an invitation.
I shook my head, heart in my throat.
And the toddler chose that moment to fling meaty ragu with a scream of rage.
His mother leapt to her feet, rushing to me with an apology. “Oh, crap, I’m so sorry! He’s teething.”
The imp giggled, and his sisters chuckled as I brushed clumps of pasta and sauce off my chest.
“It’s fine.” I ground out between my own pearly whites.
“That’s going to stain,” the mother gasped, holding her greasy napkin out. She looked close to tears.
“My dry cleaner is good,” I lied. Between this and Vincenzo ripping my clothing off, I was down to one more outfit.
I was going to have to go shopping soon.
“I can pay for it,” the mother offered.
“It’s fine, really.” I shivered. Because there was something alive, standing right behind me. “Excuse me.”
I risked a peep at Vincenzo. He was fighting a smile. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I stepped around him, going to the back hall where the bathrooms were. The monster followed.
“V! Let’s go man, we’ve got to get to the docks.” One of the Made Men, a bristly fellow with a thick double chin, intercepted the shadow stalking me.
As the door to the back hall fell closed, I heard the cold response. “Get out of my way, Beppo.”
There was a crash behind me, as Vincenzo and two other soldiers barreled into the hall.
“Signor Messina said—”
“I’ll deal with my father. Now fucking move before I cut you down.” Vincenzo’s voice dripped with calculated force. It made me shiver. These mobsters were hard men, living a hard life. It wasn’t the laidback life of leisure. They worked tirelessly to keep their control over the city.
As I ducked into the bathroom, clipped, vicious strings of Italian hissed from behind me. Vincenzo wasn’t happy with the soldier. There was no amount of wealth or prestige that would make me want to be on the receiving end of that conversation.
I set the manila envelope with the papers on the counter, out of the way of the sink. Reaching for a paper cloth, I looked at the damage to my shirt in the mirror. What a freaking mess! Nothing could go right.
Just breathe. It will all be okay.
It didn’t feel like it.
