Page 29 of Angel of Light (Lords of The Commission: New York #5)

ALISON

I remember this place from when it used to be my grandfather’s headquarters.

Nostro Imperium .

Tucked into the gut of New York City, right in the middle of reputable businesses who swore by their virtue, while the alleys whispered the truth in the form of their dirty secrets.

Men with a fuck load to lose climbed down to the underworld to solve the problems that had no solution in the real world.

Those white-collar gentlemen used to come here to dine and make a pact with the devil. Some made it all the way to Senators and CEOs of large corporations, piggybacking off the mafia’s favors. Others had their body parts scattered around three different states for fucking us over.

How the hell do I know that?

A sudden memory from the past hit me as if it had always been a part of me. I looked up at the restaurant’s facade and then back to the private parking place right in front. I rummaged my brain for a single moment in my existence when this memory had crossed my mind besides right now.

Nothing.

Other than the night I witnessed my grandfather’s men carrying a body to the trunk of one of their cars parked at the spot right behind me, I had no recollection of the image that now came to me.

It’s as if it happened yesterday, and yet it never happened at all.

I’d seen the man come in like many others. After a while, the yelling got louder before a muffled gunshot slashed through the atmosphere and froze me in my spot.

“Take the trash out and spread it so that there’s no possibility it can be found by those pigs.” Meaning, take the dead body, cut it, and scatter the pieces so the police can’t find him.

And right there, I knew there were so many more memories like that, buried under fragile veils that were supposed to work as tombstones. That bomb had done a lot more than crumble a building, that’s for sure.

Was this what the doctor was talking about? The selective memory thing to cope with trauma?

It seemed like I had learned a lot more Mafia lingo than I had initially thought. I was just compartmentalizing and locking those boxes away. Apparently learned how to handle a gun, too, going by what Max said earlier.

I looked up at the new backlit sign, Bella Notte. Beautiful Night.

It had changed a ton since then. No more checkered red and white tablecloths. No more green chairs. No more whispers of Don Giancarlo Battaglia. This place always reminded me of him, and as I stood here, I realized I hadn’t been back since he died.

They changed the name, but it would always be the kind of place where power didn’t need to announce itself. It was inbred in the brick walls like a living thing despite the new coats of paint and layers of lavish design.

This was where men knelt, bled, and swore loyalty. Where I first learned that loyalty was a fragile being and love, or in my case, a kiss, could easily get you killed. Or trapped in a basement and tortured with a thousand cuts.

Now it was a high-dine restaurant, housing a two-Michelin-star chef who served experiences rather than meals. I’d promptly pass on the palate explosion if only that meant I could be back at my apartment, curled in Max’s arms.

I looked over my shoulder towards him. He’d fallen into step behind me, back to taking his place as one of my brother’s men. Eyes cold. Chest puffed. Face unreadable and stoic.

My bodyguard of sorts.

The mask was back on. There was no other way, right?

Matt demanded my presence tonight, so like the good little sister, here I was. But as soon as I had my chance, his head was coming off. There was absolutely no chance that I wouldn’t be giving him a piece of my mind for not telling me about Adrianne.

A member of the restaurant’s staff opened the door for us as if we were royalty. As soon as I stepped foot inside, I saw a flash of red practically running past me and clinging onto Max.

My heart stopped. My blood froze in my veins, yet there was no denying the warmth that crept up my chest and settled right on my cheeks and ears. Was this the same brand of fury that Max had felt just over an hour ago?

Zoe. The woman I’d seen him kissing so fucking fervently that morning at The Ritz when Matt asked me to marry Vincenzo.

My fists clenched. My teeth ground on each other, but I had to keep my fucking composure.

I followed her movement, watching as she threw herself at him, arms wrapped around his neck, body flush against his.

She stretched her neck to kiss him. In a reflex, Max turned his face, and her lips clashed with his beard instead of his lips.

Never had I wanted to strangle someone as much as I did right now.

“Oh my God, Max. It’s so good to see you,” She cooed in such a damn sweet voice I could throw up. My gaze dropped to where Max’s hands had landed on her hips, and even if they were there to push her off him, the sight alone was enough for daggers to be shooting from my eyes in their direction.

I was aware of how I was looking at them.

My mouth could be shut, but my face had damn loud subtitles, and I was seething in all oral languages and signs. I glided my hands over my coat, straightening fuck all before standing taller and clearing my throat.

“Oh, umm, Zoe,” Max managed to peel her off him enough for her to look my way, but her damn hands were still touching something that wasn’t hers. “This is Miss Battaglia, my boss’s sister.”

My heart dropped to my feet at the sound of his words, and yet it hadn’t stopped beating in the new rhythm of jealousy and rage.

Miss Battaglia, am I?

I plastered a smile on my face that I was sure Max knew to be the fakest I had ever given, “Pleased to meet you, Zoe, but if you don’t mind, my employee and I have a dinner we need to get to, and we’re already late.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Battaglia. Of course,” She replied, smiling back before turning to Max again and raking her fingers through his hair in an intimate gesture.

When had I become this possessive over him? Maybe since he’s been inside of me more in the last twenty-four hours than not. Where’s that damn gun when I needed it?

“Call me when your shift is over. I’ll be singing tonight, so maybe you can give me a ride home.”

“Yeah, Max. Maybe you can give her a ride home. You can take the company car, and she can ride in the front seat. I know from experience how exhilarating those can be. What do you say?”

My voice dripped acid and jealousy, and even though I never liked the sentiment, there was no masking it right now. Besides, he’d shown me how possessive he was of me. I didn’t feel insecure in doing the same.

Without waiting for his response, I turned on my heel and headed towards the end of the restaurant. Matt was a man of tradition, and that’s where my grandfather always held any important meetings.

Max called from behind me, and I made a point of ignoring him.

I took my coat off, handing it over to a man to my right, happy to have chosen a short, skin-tight black dress and high pumps. Those would have my ass swaying extra sexily with the anger that now had me walking faster and more determined.

Was I being fair to Max? Maybe. Maybe not. I couldn’t see clearly with so much ire running through me at the sight of that woman touching him. Trying to kiss him.

He deserved to squirm for introducing me as Miss Battaglia. To her, of all people. He should know by now how much that bothered me.

“Alison,” Max called, but I kept my strut tight.

As I neared the private room at the back of the restaurant, my future husband was the first who came into view.

“Alison. Beautiful as always,” Vincenzo greeted, placing a kiss on the back of my hand as I made my way towards them, “I’ve saved you a place beside me.”

Oh, got it. I was playing house with my future husband, even though I wasn’t supposed to remember that.

“Don Massimo,” I replied with a smile and a curt nod, feeling Max’s gaze burning a hole through Vincenzo’s skull from behind me.

My hand was still trapped in his as he guided me towards the bar where Matt and Francesca were standing. His cane was leaning against the side wall, forgotten for the moment, as he put up a front where his debility had no role to play.

As my eyes scanned the space, there were two faces I didn’t recognize, and I knew immediately that his show was in their honor. How could a Mafia Don show weakness when their power derived from strength, or at least the illusion of it?

Tall. Strong. Handsome.

Mafiosos, for sure. Their striking presence and crafted poise told me their power matched that of the rest of the guests tonight. They weren’t soldati, that was clear. The dominance was too strong for yielding men.

They looked alike. Probably brothers or at least cousins.

It didn’t really matter who those men were, but it was clear that in Vincenzo’s eyes, he had something to prove to them.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” I greeted before smiling towards Francesca, “And lady.”

She had her Mafia Donna persona in place, ready to talk business or pull out her gun and enforce her way if it came to it. Her round, pregnant belly didn’t deprecate from the fact that she was just as ruthless as any of the men standing in this circle.

“Alison,” Matt placed a kiss on my cheek before introducing me to our two guests, “Don Lazzaro, Lucian, this is my little sister, Alison Battaglia. Don Lazzaro Barone and his brother run Miami.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen.” Why any of that would be of interest to me was beyond me, but I knew that I was playing the part of the Don’s wife tonight.

Don Lazzaro extended his hand to take mine, placing a lingering kiss on my skin before tucking my hand in the crook of his arm and walking me towards the table.

“ Bellissima ,” Beautiful. He cooed, “I came to New York on business, but it seems there will be some pleasure in the mix, after all.” His voice was smooth and smoldering, but somehow it didn’t come off as a tacky pickup line.