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MARCO

“ A nything else, sir?” the waiter, Ronaldo, asks as he refills my wine glass.

“No, that will be all.” I hand him a fifty-dollar bill and add, “I’d like some privacy while I work on business.”

Ronaldo nods his head, knowing exactly what I’m asking. The Caparellis have owned this bistro and a handful of others around the city for decades. The staff are well compensated to be discrete and follow the commands of anyone in the family.

I watch as he folds the bill and slips it into his pocket before closing the curtain to the private dining room. Rolling out my shoulders, I let out a heavy sigh. With only the sound of Vivaldi’s concerto playing overhead and the muffled chatter of the customers on the other side of the curtain, I feel somewhat at ease.

At least, as much ease as a mafia Captain can feel when the cops are circling like hungry sharks. We recently came into possession of a file containing sensitive documents pertaining to the Las Vegas Police Department’s shady dealings. Of course, we have a few cops on our payroll, but this is something else—a different breed of cop out for their own financial gain.

These officers have formed a group that skims money from police pensions to line their pockets as well as bribe anyone and everyone in their way. They aren’t just a threat to the Caparellis; they’re a threat to the city. It’s in everyone’s best interests that they be taken down.

Of course, it’s never that easy. These things take time. A delicate touch. And then a sledgehammer of justice no one can escape. Unfortunately, we’re still in the “taking time” phase. I, for one, can’t wait for the sledgehammer part.

I open my briefcase and pull out a few contracts I need to review from businesses in my territory. I read over the first several lines, already absorbed in the paperwork that comes with being a mafia Captain. More than I originally thought, that’s for sure.

“Miss! Excuse me, you can’t–”

I look up at Ronaldo's familiar voice, who left a few moments ago. The curtain is yanked back, revealing a curvy brunette with fire in her sky-blue eyes. It can’t be her. The woman from the shitty motel room last night. But those eyes…

“I’m terribly sorry, Marco,” Ronaldo apologizes. “She just walked right in, and–”

“It’s alright.” I hold up a hand to stop him from tripping all over himself. Ronaldo is a good man. He’s been in our employ for fourteen years and has proven himself a loyal friend of the family. “I must have forgotten about our appointment,” I say, turning my gaze to the woman storming toward me.

She has on a black pencil skirt that stretches tight against her thick thighs and wide hips. Why do I get the sudden urge to grip her waist and dig my fingers into her soft curves? Jesus, I didn’t know I had a type, but as my eyes trail up her frame, I’m realizing this is it.

Snap out of it , I scold myself.

Her red faux silk blouse and black skirt undoubtedly came from a second-hand store, but I give her credit for showing up in professional business attire. Aside from her shoes. She’s wearing black Converse, but at least they’re clean. Coupled with the determined look in her eyes, my curiosity is piqued.

Glancing over at Ronaldo, I give him a single nod, silently telling him to go back to his post and keep everyone else out.

I can’t say I’m not intrigued by this woman’s presence. Last night, she was cowering in the bathroom of one of the seediest rent-by-the-week motels I’ve been to in a while. I was about to break her father’s wrist and nose, but then he alerted me to her presence like a desperate idiot.

Those crystal blue eyes peered at me through a crack in the door, begging me to use my power for good. I can’t explain it, and I thought I was going crazy for most of the night, but I swear I could feel her gaze follow me outside, into my car, and all the way back to my house at the Caparelli compound.

I stand as she approaches the table, pulling out a chair for her. She stops abruptly, staring at the velvet upholstered dining chair and then at me. I barely suppress a grin, knowing I caught her off-guard.

The feisty woman takes a seat, pulling the chair closer to the table before I get the chance to push it in for her. She grins to herself like she won this round. Truthfully, the thought of going toe to toe with her… does something to me.

I shove that thought aside and sit across from her, gathering the papers into my briefcase and setting them aside. Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms over my chest and wait for her to speak first. It’s a classic negotiation tactic, though I’m not even sure what or if we’re negotiating.

“My name is Imogine Mansfield, and I’m here about my father’s debt,” she says, playing right into my hand.

I stare at her, not saying a word. My gaze wanders over her round cheeks, slightly upturned nose, full lips, and exposed neck, where I can see her pulse pounding.

Imogine swallows thickly, then continues. “I came up with a weekly payment plan that will start in small increments and grow larger over time as I get a second job with better tips. Or a third job if necessary.”

She pulls a notebook out of her purse and flips to a page with neat handwriting and a chart with payment dates and amounts. As much as I admire the work she put into her plan, it doesn’t matter.

“No,” I simply say. “That’s not how the mafia works.”

Imogine nods to herself, a bit shaken. The mysterious, curvy, captivating woman slowly closes her notebook and slips it back into her purse, obviously stalling for time.

I lean forward slightly, curious as to what she’s going to do next. It takes a lot of courage mixed with a bit of naivety to walk into a family-owned bistro and storm into the back room to talk to the Captain of the territory.

Her cheeks turn from pale to pink to red as she regains her footing in our conversation. I watch in fascination as she straightens her spine, lifts her chin, and meets my gaze. Goddamn, the fierce look in her eyes has me nearly gasping for breath. Countless men much tougher and more brutal than this five-and-a-half-foot, twenty-something woman have sat across from me and cowered in my presence. Yet here she is, standing her ground.

“I thought that might be the case,” Imogine says curtly. “I’ve come up with an alternative solution. I’ll work for the Caparellis. One year, five years, whatever it takes.”

“Why would you put yourself on the line for your father’s debts? He’s only going to bury himself under more unpaid loans again.”

Imogine clenches her jaw, that spark of a fight back in her gaze. “I would think you, of all people, would understand family loyalty.”

Well, shit. She’s got me dead to rights. “What kind of work?” I ask, though I have no intention of taking her up on the offer.

Without missing a beat, Imogine produces a resumé from her purse, sliding it across the table. I glance at the well-organized and neatly typed sheet of paper, though I still don’t comment further.

“As you can see,” she starts, nodding to her resumé, “I have experience in all kinds of fields of work, including child care, bartending, waitressing, and a few odd jobs here and there. I can work in one of your restaurants or casinos or look after any kids you or… your… uh, mistresses might have. I’ll be discreet, of course.”

I’m rarely surprised, but hearing her talk about me having mistresses and children has my head spinning.

“I have no need for a nanny. I don’t waste time with relationships, and I’m certainly not a father.”

I don’t know why I told her that. She doesn’t need to know any details about my life. In fact, she shouldn’t be here at all. Why am I entertaining this meeting?

My phone rings, startling us both. Glancing down at the screen, I see it’s the Underboss. “Enrico,” I answer, thankful for the momentary distraction. I need to gather my thoughts enough to end things with Imogine and get back to my paperwork.

“The inner circle is being followed,” he says, his tone all business. “Boss just got confirmation that he, Lorenzo, you, and I have detectives assigned to each of us. Not sure if their assignments have started yet but we know their orders have been issued. We need to lie low.”

I grunt, leaning back in my chair and wiping a hand over the stubble on my chin. Thinking about the half-dozen contracts I still need to sign, I wonder how I’m supposed to lie low while keeping everyone under my jurisdiction safe and happy.

Without meaning to, I look over at Imogine, who is doing her very best to pretend she’s not eavesdropping. I’m struck with a brilliant idea that has absolutely nothing to do with her intoxicating combination of curves, dark hair, blue eyes, and inner strength.

“I understand,” I tell Enrico. He informs me of a meeting I’m to attend at Aurelio’s mansion later in the evening and then hangs up.

Turning my attention to the woman who waltzed into my life at just the right time, I rest my elbows on the table and focus on her.

“I have a solution to both of our problems,” I tell her, watching questions fill her light-blue eyes. They’re framed in long, dark lashes, making the bright color all the more potent. “I need to keep a low profile for a few weeks while still meeting business partners and friends of the family. You will be my cover.”

Her brow furrows, and her cute button nose scrunches up. No, not cute . Not anything. Just a nose.

“Cover?”

“My excuse to go to restaurants, clubs, and the myriad of errands someone of my position does on a day-to-day basis.” Imogine nods slowly, though I can tell she doesn’t really get it. “You’d be my fake girlfriend,” I say, spelling it out for her.

She blinks, then rears her head back as if just realizing what I’m asking. “Wait, me? Girlfriend?” I nod. “I thought you didn’t waste time with relationships,” she says, a smirk curling up one side of her lips. She recovers quickly, I’ll give her that.

“I don’t,” I confirm. “This is strictly business. I will forgive your father’s debt in full, and in exchange, you’ll be available for me to take on fake dates around the city. You’ll be my cover,” I reiterate.

“But…” Imogine’s confidence wavers, her eyes darting around my face and back to her hands, which are fidgeting in her lap. A blush spreads across her cheeks, and I’m dying to know what she’s thinking. “Do you really think people will believe we’re a couple?”

My brow furrows, not understanding her question. “Of course. Why wouldn’t they? Is it because I’m… several years older than you?” I realize she’s a solid fifteen years younger than me, if not more. “Truthfully, lots of men in my circles have younger, beautiful partners. Some of them use each other for financial gain and arm candy, but others I believe are truly in love.”

“Younger, maybe, but I’m not sure I fit the beautiful part,” she mumbles.

I almost don’t hear it, but when her words finally register, I frown. “What?”

“I mean, look at you,” Imogine says exasperatedly. She lifts a hand and waves it in my general direction. “And look at me.”

I try not to, but I’m only so strong. My eyes wander from her silky brown hair down, down, down, to the curve of her neck and lower, to her ample chest. “I’m not sure I understand,” I say after clearing my throat. “You’re perfect.”

Shit, I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but seriously, how does she not know how gorgeous she is? The more I study her reaction, the more I begin to realize she thinks she’s not good enough to play the part. Why does that make me irrationally angry?

Imogine makes no effort to hide her radiant smile. Giving her this compliment changes her entire expression. Some part of me tucks that information away. She likes my praise. Fuck if I don’t like giving it to her.

With a new surge of determination, the mesmerizing woman tilts her head to the side, considering my offer. If I were a different man, a softer man, I might think she’s adorable. However, that word isn’t in my lexicon.

“I have a counter-offer,” she says, resting her elbows on the table to mirror my stance.

Again, this woman has managed to surprise me. Twice in one day. In one conversation. “You don’t have much leverage here,” I remind her, though I secretly love the challenge she’s putting in front of me.

“I’ll accompany you to any and all meetings around the city for however long you see fit. In exchange, you’ll forgive my father’s debt and pay two months’ rent for our motel room.”

My features remain stoic, but something scratches painfully at the empty spot where my heart used to be. Imogine can’t be older than twenty-five, but she’s already experienced the kind of trauma that either breaks a person or hardens their heart. Staring into her endless eyes, I sense this enigmatic woman isn’t broken, nor has she lost her soul. She’s managed to turn her pain into resilience.

Here she is, holding her head high as she asks for rent money.

“Fine,” I eventually say, holding out my hand for her to shake on our deal.

“One more thing,” Imogine adds.

I can’t help the grin spreading across my face as I shake my head. “Better quit while you’re ahead,” I warn.

“My father can never know about this.”

“Deal.”

She wraps her much smaller, softer hand around mine, her porcelain skin contrasting my darker, olive tone. Instead of shaking her hand, I simply hold it, feeling the weight of it in mine, how smooth her skin is, how delicate her features.

Imogine withdraws her hand, snapping me out of whatever spell she had me under. We exchange numbers, and she jumps to her feet before I get a chance to pull out her chair for her. She walks through the curtain and out into the main dining area without so much as a thank you or a goodbye.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?