Page 3 of Stroke of Luck

“Did she say Leto?” a voice says from below. The sound of hard bottom shoes making their way up the stairs and the somber looks on the other men’s faces tell me that I’m not going to like what’s about to happen.

The guy in black, whose name I still don’t know, bends over and pulls me to my feet so I can meet the imposing man face to face. He watches me with a calculating gaze as he takes the final step, placing him right in front of me.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks, sliding his hands into his pants pockets.

I frown at him, looking him up and down, then tilt my head to the side as if I’m examining one of my art projects. “Nope, I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

An arm shoots out and he grabs my jaw, his grip bruising. “Do not lie to me, girl. It will not help you to play dumb.”

Oh hell no! Who the fuck does this asshole think he is?

“Take your hand off me,” I growl. “I’m no girl, but I’m not sure if you’re man enough to find out.”

This only causes him to lift a brow at me. His deep green eyes hold a hunger that makes me want to shiver, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise. This man is a predator through-and-through, and in this moment, I’m his prey.

“Baby girl, you have no idea how much of a man I can be, but now is not the time for that. What are your parents’ first names?” he presses as he drops his hand.

I want to brush off his request, but the small amount of self-preservation I have tells me it would be in my best interest to just answer. “Arnaldo and Maria.”

“Paolo, tell Enzo to find them. If they are part of La Famiglia, I need to speak with them immediately,” he orders, not taking his eyes off me. “Remo, if you could please escort Miss Leto to her room—we wouldn’t want her to wander off before we find her parents.”

“Yes boss,” the brooding nightmare answers as he grabs my bicep and hauls me back the way I came.

“What the fuck? You can’t do this! I have rights… This is kidnapping! I’m going to call the police!” I holler as I’m dragged away from the others.

Remo let out a harsh sound that may be a laugh. “Othello is the don of the Italian mafia here in Chicago—the police work for him.”

How the fuck did I end up in a house with the mafia?! God, why does shit like this always happen to me?

I watch Remo as he escorts our house guest back up to her room. There’s no denying the fact that she has spirit—I’d seen that last night when she’d told me off. There was something alluring about her and the wildness she had, so carefree and chaotic… everything I’m never allowed to be.

Giorgio stands next to me, his eyes bouncing between Miss Leto and myself, as if he’s not sure what to do with himself. If Giorgio was anyone but blood, there’s no way he would have made it to the upper echelon of the Lastra family business.

“You like her,” Giorgio whispers. “Oh, I know you won’t admit it, but why else would she still be alive right now?”

I glance at my little brother out of the corner of my eye before turning and heading for my office on the lower floor of the house. Not at all discouraged with my lack of response, he follows after me, not wanting to be left out if Enzo locates her parents. We pass by the lap pool, sauna, and the workout room, bringing us to my domain at the end of the hall. Living in a world where I’m hunted all the time by those who want to take what I rule is a reality I’ve accepted. This space is the hub of the Lastra La Famiglia branch in Chicago, while my uncle is in New York, and my grandfather still rules our domain in Italy.

I push on one of the wall panels, revealing Enzo waiting in my office, cell phone in his hand and an expression of worry on his face, which is unlike him. Enzo, my right hand, under-boss of the La Famiglia, cold as ice and sharp as a fox. For him to look worried means that something is extremely wrong and he’s been blindsided. Whereas Remo is unemotional out of disinterest in others, Enzo is detached from everything and everyone but a select few he’s chosen… those in this house.

“Boss, I have located the woman’s family, and they are indeed ours,” Enzo says, handing over the cell.

I glance down to make sure it’s muted before I take it. “There’s more,” I say, prompting him to continue.

“Arnaldo’s mother is Rosetta Leto, wife to your grandfather’s best friend who died two years ago. From what I understand, there has been an… agreement of sorts between them,” Enzo explains, albeit poorly.

I groan, knowing who the bitter old hag is. Even without her husband having grown up as childhood friends with my grandfather, she would be a force to be reckoned with. The Riccis own many commercial harbors and have an exclusive agreement to send and receive our goods.

Taking a seat at my desk, I lean back against the worn leather, preparing myself for the battle that’s about to go down.

“Othello,” I answer, holding the phone to my ear.

“Boy, do you know who I am? I am not someone to be spoken to in such a manner!” a raspy voice snaps in Italian. “I’m told you have my granddaughter because the stupid thing fell into the river?”

Interesting. It seems grandmother and granddaughter have no love for each other.

“That is correct. It seems she hit her head and has some mild memory loss. Seeing as she is staying in my home, I’m sure you can understand the need to verify who she is, Signora Leto.”

The woman grunts her displeasure on the other end of the line. “We are not a family to be trifled with, young man. Especially when we are to bring our families together with a marriage alliance per my late husband’s wishes.”