We spend the afternoon at the waterfront property, sitting side by side at the only desk in the space, poring over the architect’s designs for every floor in the vast fifty-thousand-square-foot, four-story building. The upper levels will accommodate our various real estate businesses and the ancillary companies we have set up to support our interests over the years, and the lower levels will house our import-export business. While the real estate and ancillary businesses are legit, and it’s how we have funded this project, the import-export business was set up purely as a front to hide our drug operation.
“Allante has sent through his first surveillance report,” Fiero says, lifting his head from his laptop to glance at me. Clicking out of the file I am presently working on, I open my inbox and retrieve the email from our PI.
I peruse the image files taken at the private airstrip, examining the photos of my fiancée and her team as they board a jet.
“She went to Vegas,” Fiero confirms, skimming through the written report as I zoom in on a pic of Catarina talking to that asshole Renzo at the bottom of the airplane steps. She is wearing a white pants suit, and her hair is down; the wind blowing errant strands across her face. Large designer shades cover her eyes and half her face, but her lips are painted the same red she wore last night, and her makeup is flawless. She looks hot as fuck, and my cock is already straining behind my zipper. I only have to look at her and I grow hard, which could be problematic.
“You’re a lucky bastard. She’s stunning,” Fiero adds.
“She is, and I am. Why did she go to Vegas, I wonder,” I muse, tapping a finger on my chin.
“It’s one of the states she supplies, so it must be business related. Pity we didn’t have a man on the ground to know exactly what she was up to.”
“We need to secure a contact in every state she has business in,” I say, deciding on the spot to extend the surveillance. “We need eyes on her everywhere.”
“I’ll get Allante on it.”
Allante has worked with us for years, and we have a significant investment in his PI firm. We have helped him to develop his network and quickly grow his business, funneling plenty of work his way.
Fiero fires off a quick email as I gather up my things. I told Mama I would take her out to dinner tonight, and I don’t want to be late. I need to break the news to her about the wedding, and I want to do it in person because I’m not sure how she will react.
Most Italian mamas dream of marrying their sons off from the cradle. Not our mama. She is very attached to me and Gabe and solely reliant on us. After losing her husband and two eldest sons, we are all she has.
I blame my dead father for her ongoing anxious disposition because he did his best to break her. Although she is learning to live again, she is fragile and will never be whole. The internal scars she bears won’t ever fully heal. Mama leans on us out of necessity and fear. She may worry a wife might divert my attention, but I want to reassure her that won’t be the case. I would like it if both women in my life could get along. Truth is, I think they need one another.
“Done.” Fiero leans back in his chair, watching me pack up. “I thought you were planning to shadow your fiancée yourself?”
“That is still part of the plan, but I am heading to Berlin tomorrow. I have one final job to take care of, and with the wedding and other work, I’m too busy right now. I’ll let Allante continue to watch her for the time being.”
* * *
I have just dropped Mama back home after dinner when I receive a call from Allante. “Massimo, I think you should see this in person.”
“Send me your coordinates, and I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
My cell pings with the details as I park at the side of the road and retrieve my duffel bag from the trunk, pulling out the items I need. I quickly get changed into black cargo pants, a long-sleeved black top, black ball cap, and a pair of black sneakers. Then I head across the city to Manhattan, meeting up with our PI on the street across from a row of busy restaurants.
Opening the passenger door, I slide into Allante’s car, removing my ballcap and running a hand through my hair as I look in the direction my PI is facing. “What’s going on?” I ask over the successive clicking of his camera as he takes pics through the tinted glass.
“Take a look for yourself.” Sitting back in his seat, he hands the Nikon camera over to me. Scrolling back to the start, I flick through the pictures of the two women embracing on the sidewalk before heading inside the French restaurant. “Your fiancée is with Anais DiPietro,” he supplies.
“I know who she is.” The wife of my enemy is my enemy too. “Send those to me and cc Fiero,” I instruct, leaning across him as the door of the restaurant opens and the two women emerge behind their bodyguards. Catarina is not wearing her usual white. She’s wearing a simple fitted black dress that would look plain on most women, but on her, it looks magnificent. Her hair is down again, cascading in soft waves over her shoulders, and I wonder if this is her natural look or if the straight lines she usually sports is her actual hair.
The men watch the street, their eyes skimming over Allante’s car without interest, as the women exchange words. Carefully veiled annoyance is evident on my fiancée’s face while blatant anger is crystal clear on Anais’s face. Allante snaps more pics as I analyze their body language for signs I can decipher. Catarina holds herself with confidence while Anais crosses her arms around her chest and juts out her lower lip. It’s obvious who is in control, and prickles of apprehension skate across my chilly flesh.
My phone pings, and I accept Fiero’s call. “What the fuck is she doing with DiPietro’s wife?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”
“You think this is Cruz’s doing? Is she working with him to undermine us? Spy on us?”
“It’s something we can’t rule out. We know Don Mazzone suspects Donna Conti has an ulterior or additional agenda. She is the one who suggested herself for the marriage contract. Perhaps this is why.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t marry her.”
“This is even more reason I should.”
“How the hell do you figure that?”
