“What about the bathroom hottie from Maine?” she randomly asks, pulling out her cell and swiping her fingers across the screen.
I roll my eyes. “That was five years ago, Nic. Get over it already.” I’m such a freaking hypocrite, but you will have to ply me with copious whiskies and rip every nail from my fingers before I’ll admit I think of the hot stranger more than is normal after all this time.
A few seconds later, she thrusts his image in my face.
“Why the hell do you still have his photo on your phone?” I ask, reluctantly taking it from her.
Fuck, he is seriously hot, and I still get shivers remembering how incredible the sex was. Which is why I deleted his pic from my phone a long time ago. Men like him are a distraction I don’t need and can’t afford.
“After I got Renzo to send it to me, for you, I couldn’t quite make myself delete it.” My underboss had snapped a pic of the man when he wasn’t watching. It’s standard protocol for the random men I pick up for sex. Insurance in case they try anything. No one ever has, but I can never let my guard down.
I arch a brow. “Does your husband know you drool over pics of other men?”
“Pfft.” She waves her hands about. “If you think Dario doesn’t check out hot chicks, you don’t know him very well. We’re allowed to look as long as we don’t touch.”
Dario and Renzo are both loyal to their wives; a rarity in the world we inhabit.
I hand the phone back to her. “I don’t know why you even mentioned him. What the hell has he got to do with anything?”
“He is the only man I have ever seen you show any interest in.” She stows her phone back in her purse. “I thought maybe something would happen.” Her features soften as she squeezes my hand. “Don’t tell me you’re not lonely because I won’t believe it.”
I shrug, unwilling to enter into this conversation. “I’m too busy to be lonely,” I lie. “I find a man to fuck when I want sex, and the rest of the time, I’m content doing my own thing. I’m not unhappy. I live my life the way I like it.”
“That makes me sad for you. I want you to experience love because no one deserves it more than you do.”
* * *
“I don’t like you going in alone and unarmed,” Renzo says, staring glumly at me as I hand him my Stryker and my gun from the back seat of my blacked-out SUV. We are parked in the secure private parking lot of the building The Commission operates out of.
“Relax. I’m meeting The Commission—not going before The Triad to explain why I blamed them for something I orchestrated.” I flash him a wicked grin, grateful it didn’t take long to get an audience with Don Mazzone and his esteemed colleagues.
Calling my brother-in-law helped to fast-track the meeting. Don DiPietro, Cruz’s father, is close to retirement, and increasingly he is bowing to his eldest son’s decision-making. I talked to Cruz, and he put a word in his father’s ear. It was Don DiPietro who proposed a meeting with me to listen to my ideas for resolving the turf war that has broken out on the streets.
“You have many irons in the fire,” Renzo says. “Be careful you don’t get burned.”
“Don’t worry. I know how to handle myself,” I say before exiting the car. Renzo insists on coming up in the elevator with me, and I don’t object. I know he needs to do this for his sanity. To say things have been a little tense between us this past week is an understatement. Repairing our relationship is at the top of my priority list after I make my pitch and watch the dominoes fall into place.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath when we step out of the elevator onto the twentieth floor, spying Leonardo Messina striding this way.
Bennett’s underboss is a smart man, and I bet he never forgets a face. I hope he doesn’t remember the broken, battered, frightened girl he carried from the Greco’s basement twenty-one years ago. I’m confident I look different enough not to be instantly recognizable, but there’s still a smidgeon of doubt.
Thrusting my shoulders back and lifting my head, I skim a quick hand down the front of my white and gold Prada skirt suit and walk forward with a poise gleaned from years of projecting an image of power and control.
His gaze is appreciative and respectful as he watches me approach, slowing to a stop as we meet in the middle of the hallway. Leo extends his hand. “Donna Conti. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
I am guessing Bennett must have told him about our meeting because there are no pictures of me online. I have made sure of it. Thanks to Bennett’s tech companies, most of the families now have the resources to ensure there is no footprint on the internet. Guarding our identities, and our movements, is vital with the FBI breathing down our necks all the time.
I clasp his hand in a firm handshake. “Likewise, Mr. Messina. Your reputation precedes you.”
“As does yours.”
“I’m hoping that’s a good thing.” My lips lift at the corners.
“Absolutely,” he replies without hesitation, his brow puckering as he glances over my shoulder at Renzo. “Have we met before?” he asks, and all the tiny hairs on the back of my exposed neck lift. I turn around and subtly glare at my underboss.
“I don’t believe we have,” Renzo coolly replies.
While I’m reluctant to offer his name, without knowing why Leo has made that observation, I have no choice but to introduce him now. “This is Renzo Dutti. My underboss from Philadelphia.”
