Gilded Princess: A Dark Mafia Romance (Five Families Book 1) Page 2

  “Here.” The deep, smooth voice comes from behind me at the same time a hand extends past me and places a black Amex card on the counter. “On me.”

  A shiver of awareness skates down my spine, and the small hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Amanda stares over my shoulder without reaching for the card.

  Okay, so it’s not only me then.

  The man behind me chuckles, the noise soft and rich like melted dark chocolate. He steps forward again, his arm just barely grazes mine as he pushes his card further toward Amanda with his index finger. My gaze zeroes in on his veins like a homing beacon. What is it about those veins on a man’s forearm?

  “And an Americano, please.”

  The movement snaps Amanda out of her daze and she licks her lips before taking his card and ringing his drink up. “You got it. Seven eighty-four.”

  I snag my iced tea off the counter and take a step to the side so I can get a better view of the kind stranger. He tilts his head to meet my gaze, never shying away from my blatant stare. Taking a sip of my drink, I let the taste of crisp blueberries and tart lemongrass quench my thirst as I give him a proper once-over.

  The corner of his pouty lips tips up on the side as he holds himself still, almost like he’s encouraging my perusal.

  He’s tall—I’d say six-two or six-three with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. Colorful ink peeks out from underneath one sleeve of his black polo shirt, swirling down his arm and stopping at his wrist. I spot a familiar logo on the pocket, and a pair of Ray-Bans hang on the open top two buttons.

  Light-brown hair with what look like natural highlights from time spent in the sun. And with the way his biceps strain the sleeves of his shirt, I’d bet he spends a lot of time either on a field or at a gym.

  Long sooty lashes frame big dark-green eyes that currently have mirth dancing in them. Something low in my belly clenches when he sinks his teeth into his plump bottom lip and stares at me with an intensity that wasn’t there ten seconds ago. It should be illegal for a man to have lips so plump.

  “Here’s your Americano,” Amanda says, breaking the connection. He reaches for it and murmurs his thanks, never taking his gaze from me.

  “Thank you. For the drink,” I say after I take another sip.

  “It’s my pleasure.” He trails off, and I know he’s subtly fishing for my name.

  “What’s life without a little mystery?” I let the mischievous smile I’ve been holding back spread across my face as I spin on my heel and walk toward the exit. I pause with one hand on the door and flash him my most flirtatious and inviting smile. “See you around, Americano.”

  I don’t wait for a reply and push open the door and let the thick, humid air greet me.

  I swear I hear him murmur, “Count on it.”

  Slipping my sunglasses on, I pull out my phone and see that Dolores is ready for me. With a renewed sense of excitement, I make my way across town to pick out a showstopping dress.

  Chapter Two

  MATTEO

  “No.”

  “What do you mean no?” Dante, my second, asks. He’s also my best friend, so he’s not afraid to call me on my shit.

  “I mean, I’m not going to some fucking ball like we’re in Georgia in the nineteen hundreds.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t have time for this, Dante.”

  I loosen the tie around my neck and unbutton the top button. The claustrophobia lessens, but I can’t shake the oppressive feeling of expectation from the meeting earlier today.

  A full wall of windows behind my desk displays the stunning views of New York City from thirty stories high. The sun warms a path inside my office, highlighting part of my desk and matching armchairs.

  My father said I was crazy to want an office—a proper office—to work out of. He much prefers the old ways of sticking to the underbelly of the city. To his credit, it’s served him well for most of his life.

  But that was before the Feds swooped in and started picking us off one by one. The five families used to be gods among men with armies five-thousand deep across the globe, and now we’re down to scraps.

  I tried to tell ‘em—fuck, I tried to tell all of them that this wasn’t the right path for us. I sure as fuck don’t want to get picked up on some bullshit RICO charge. And I haven’t done half the shit they have. Unlike so many of them, I have my own rules.

  Morality is a gray area that ebbs and flows, but I never cross over my lines.

  No skin.

  And no children.

  Ever.

  It’s one of the reasons I sought out and sat down with the Brotherhood a couple of years ago. They’re an Irish family that operates similarly to ours—but their limits align with mine—and not the rest of my family’s.

  Which is why having their support is pivotal in my plans for the future. They have interests in a lot of different areas of the city, but they’re based out of Boston. Mainstream movies and TV gave the general population a skewed version of how connected families run. Sure, some shit is eerily on point, but other stuff couldn’t be further from the truth.

  We usually keep to our own families, but that doesn’t mean we’re warring with everyone. We’re mostly cordial with each other. Until we’re not. And then it’s every man for himself—five families or not.

  But for now, we’re on good terms with the Brotherhood. Affiliated with the IRA—Irish Republican Army—the Brotherhood controls the ports along the coast. My father and uncles have taken issue with their ban on skin through their ports, and they’ve had more than one run-in.

  But I’ve never had issues with them—and I’ve never participated in any of my father’s hair-brained schemes to double-cross the fragile alliance we have with them.

  The Brotherhood isn’t larger than us, but they have a different kind of weight around here. One that I’m hoping to harness when my full plan is executed.

  “Matteo?”

  “What?” I snap. I’m a little surprised that I was off daydreaming about shit while I was still on the phone. Fuck, I need some sleep. I run my hand down my face and sigh. “Sorry, man. What is it?”

  “It’s fine. But that masquerade ball? Madison’s going. I just got word an hour ago from my source and I confirmed it myself before I called.”

  I clench my fists without conscious thought. “A date?”

  “Nah. No cousin or sister either.”

  My mind spins as I try to see all the different angles and possible outcomes. If she’s without a date, then she’s alone, which could go either way.

  “Think about this, man,” Dante murmurs.

  “That’s all I fucking do is think about this—about her!” I flatten my palms to my desk and lean over it, my head hanging low.

  Dante’s quiet on the line, letting me work through my shit like he knows I need to do. After a moment, he says, “You know I’ll back you, but you also know I caution you because I care. I just want you to be sure about this. Once you go public, and when someone spots you together—which they will because there are about a million people attending tonight—there’s no way to undo that. It doesn’t matter how you spin it.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I blow out a breath and then my mind snags on something. I lift my head and look at my phone. “Wait. How many people are confirmed yeses?”

  I hear papers rustle for a moment. “St. Rita’s and their alumni, their sister and brother schools and affiliations, politicians currently campaigning, some minor royalty, and various socialites. And our boy finally snagged an invitation this year.”

  “Fuck.”

  “That was my thought at first, too. But maybe we can use this to our advantage? There will be close to five hundred people there tonight, and mandatory masquerade masks, so the chances of you two being in the same vicinity are slim. This might be your chance to see how he’s really doing, too. This is the longest he’s gone without a proper check-in.”

  Guilt churns my gut, sour and acidic, and I exhale through my nose. “Last we spok
e, he said he had more secrets than we could ever need, but he was close to uncovering something big. Something that could ease our transition period when it arrives. I don’t want to fuck that up by showing up tonight.”

  “And Madison?”

  I walk three steps to my left before spinning on my heel and walking three steps to my right. I repeat this pattern a few times as my fingers tangle in my dark brown hair. I’m sure it looks like a mess right now, but I can’t seem to stop tugging on my hair when I’m thinking like this.

  After a minute, I stop in my tracks. “Fuck it. I’m going. Get me a new suit and a mask. And don’t forget to get one for yourself. If I have to suffer through one of these bullshit events, so do you.”

  I don’t trust anyone on a good day, but stick a bunch of dirty politicians and entitled rich assholes together, and I’m two seconds away from pulling my favorite gun.

  “I saw her the other day, you know. Ran into her at one of her favorite coffee shops. She.” He trails off, and my patience wears thin.

  “She, what?”

  He huffs. “I don’t know, seemed sad or some shit.”

  I wave a hand in the air to dismiss his words. “I’m sure she’s fine. She always gets cranky before she’s had enough caffeine.”

  “C’mon, man. How long are you gonna do this?”

  I bristle at his tone. “Do what?”

  He sighs, the noise loud and full of disappointment. But he doesn’t need to sling that shit in my direction—I’m plenty frustrated with myself.

  “You can’t keep her on ice forever. At some point, you’re going to have to let her go.”

  Rage courses through me, swift and potent. The urge to cause destruction rides me hard, and the only reason I don’t act on it is because he’s my best friend.

  “She’s not on ice. I have a few trusted people check-in on her every so often. She’s free to do whatever she wants—see whomever she wants—”

  Dante’s sarcastic laugh interrupts me. “Do you hear yourself right now? Did you somehow forget about that guy in the spring you scared off?”

  I scoff. “That guy was an asshole. And his dad is a dirty judge—and not one we can benefit from.”

  “Yeah, alright, I’ll give you that one. But what about all the other guys since you two split?” When I don’t answer, he sighs. “Listen, man. I get it. At first, you had to have eyes on her for her safety because you were climbing the ranks, but it’s been years. And if you’re not planning on locking her down, then I think you should cut her loose.”

  My breath gets trapped in my lungs as I envision a life without her. Something a lot like agony protests the very idea.

  I can’t let her go. But I can’t keep her either.

  I’m the worst kind of bastard for it, but even knowing that doesn’t mean that I’ll change. I don’t bend for anyone. Not anymore.

  I can’t bring myself to condemn her to this life, but if I don’t choose a fucking wife soon, I’ll never be boss. Not of my family and not of the five families.

  It’s a bullshit archaic rule that I wish I could demolish, but even when I’m boss, I’m not sure I could immediately kill it. There are too many old school guys in the five families that still cling to it.

  I’m acting as underboss for Dad, but it’s not in an official capacity until I get married. For a bunch of sexist motherfuckers, they love to make sure guys are locked down first before they promote them up. I’d like to say it had something to do with holding onto your humanity, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.

  They like guys to have wives for leverage. Skim off the top? We’ll ostracize your wife from the families for a while.

  Fuck up a run? We’ll take your cut and fuck up your house, terrorize your wife and kids a little.

  Kill the wrong guy? We’ll pass around your wife as payback.

  So, no, I’m not fucking eager to bring a woman—any woman—into this life until I’ve cleaned house a little.

  The problem is that the only woman I ever wanted to call my wife fucking hates me and has for the last two years.

  Indecision plagues me for a moment.

  Fuck it. I’ll figure it out as I go. I always do.

  I stand up and adjust the sleeves underneath my black Tom Ford suit. “We’re going. I don’t put it past any of those slimy fuckers to snatch her up in some ill-fated attempt at blackmail.”

  I don’t mention that I know it would work too, and Dante’s kind enough not to call me out. I don’t know how many people would still connect her to me, but if they did their homework like I always do, it’s easy enough to find.

  “And our sleeper? Should we tell him?”

  “Nah. We’ll keep our distance from him too, so he can work his magic. He’ll be home soon enough. I want him to have his freedom just a little longer.”

  The words taste like ash on my tongue. There’s nothing free about what he’s doing. And it’s exactly the reminder I need of our stakes—and they’re fucking high.

  The last thing I need is the complication of a woman. They fulfill a need, but I can’t offer them more than a night. Not while I’m in the middle of a coup—one that’s taking a surprising left turn.

  “How was the meeting? They pulling the marriage angle again?”

  It’s a testament to our lifelong friendship that he can read me so well, even through the phone. I rake my hand through my hair and blow out a breath. “Yeah. They’re persistent fuckers, that’s for sure.”

  “I bet,” he murmurs. “How long do you think you can hold them off for?”

  “As long as I have to. Everyone knows I can’t move up until I pick a wife.”

  “And our plan is contingent on the support from certain families,” Dante interjects.

  The reminder just irritates me, so I change the subject to something less . . . hostile. “Any word on Mama Rosa’s?”

  “Nah, the fire marshall maintains it was arson, not an accidental kitchen fire, but we’ll get his official report in a few days.”

  “Who the fuck attempts to blow up a pizzeria joint in the middle of the day?” I grit out between clenched teeth. I fucking loved that restaurant. “Alright. Keep me posted. I’ll see you tonight.” I end the call and spin to look out into the city, letting my mind wander a bit.

  I’m not sure if the explosion at Mama Rosa’s was a message aimed at me or something tied up with my friend from the Brotherhood, Sully, and his bullshit.

  He’s one of the most genuine friends I’ve made in the last five years, but man, does he have some shit going on right now. He’s always been there for me, so I’m down to return the favor.

  Most of my friends are my cousins or the kids of made men I’ve grown up with. And I can’t exactly talk shit about different family members—especially not with what I’m planning.

  No, I’ve gotta put my mask on and perform for everyone in the family like a goddamn circus act.

  But soon, I’ll be able to rip off that fucking fake piece of shit persona I’ve been wearing like a fifty-pound weight around my neck. Then they’ll all wish they took my ideas—and my threats—a little more seriously.

  When I’m done cleaning house, this city will run red.

  “Yeah,” he says after four rings.

  I tip my head back to stare at the ceiling, looking for patience. Despite popular belief, I’m not a master of cool and unaffected like so many people think. I’m just better at controlling my impulses and keeping my face blank.

  I’m still in my office, sorting through all the administrative stuff for my legal businesses—and my less than legal ones. I started a semi-underground fighting circuit six months ago, and I’m working on rolling out our unofficial street racing circuit.

  It takes a lot of greased pockets and even a favor or two, but the return on this is going to be killer. Not only just the betting, but it’ll help wash cash from my less than pristine businesses.

  “Just giving you a head’s up that I’ll be there tomorrow night.”

>   Even though we’re talking on burners, I still keep my words clipped and my meaning intentionally vague. No need to tip anyone off of our connection just yet. We’re not quite ready for that bomb to drop.

  “Okay. That it?” The derision in his voice rings clear across the empty space of my office.

  I soundproofed my office—my entire floor—when I bought the place. It gives me the freedom to put calls on speakerphone and walk around. Pacing always gives me perspective, something about the action shakes ideas loose and helps me focus.

  “What? Too busy to chat with me?” My lip quirks up when I hear a feminine giggle through the line. “Ah, I get it now.”

  “Nah, I don’t think you do. Later.” He ends the call before I can respond, and I stare at my phone on my desk for a moment.

  Not for the millionth time, I wonder if I made the right decision in sending him into the lion’s den all those years ago.

  Chapter Three

  MADDIE

  I adjust the silk bow attached to the black-plated gold filigree mask on my face. The detail work is absolutely stunning, and as soon as I saw it, I knew it’d be perfect for tonight.

  My blue eyes stare back at me in the full-length mirror of the ladies’ room, the color bright and icy against the dark mask. I ducked inside as soon as I got here to give myself another once-over to make sure I don’t have lipstick on my teeth and my makeup didn’t completely melt off in this heat. Going solo to one of these events is bad enough. I don’t want to give Blaire or anyone else any more ammo.

  I touch up my favorite deep-red lipstick, making sure the line is sharp and smudge-proof. I can’t believe Dolores forgot she had this masterpiece, or so she claimed. That woman is sneaky. I didn’t need a single alteration, so I really wouldn’t be surprised if she made it especially for me.