Page 5 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

I set my water glass down and roll some strands of fettuccine around my fork. Outside, a flash of lightning is chased by a growl of thunder. A sudden outbreak of sharp pings on the roof can only be hail.

My father’s chair creaks as he leans back and lets his eyes roam over each of us before speaking. “Junior Mancini wants to get married again.”

Of all the events in the world that I sincerely don’t give a fuck about, this has to be near the top.

Mancini runs his family out of Seattle. He’s vicious and not too bright but he’s never crossed us, or at least he’s never been caught.

His port connections come in handy when we need someone to look the other way and ignore an incoming cargo shipment.

But over the years we’ve done him so many favors by keeping his competition at bay that he’s securely under our thumb.

“Who is he marrying?” I ask, not because I give a shit, but because the answer to this question must be the reason why we’re hearing about it.

“He’s asked for permission to marry Cecilia Grimaldi.”

My fork clatters to my plate. I sure as hell didn’t see that coming.

There was a time when the Grimaldi family was the most powerful on the west coast. Now they’ve shriveled, their dominance reduced to a vague echo of what it once was.

But they’re still part of the old guard and the name carries weight.

Mancini can’t risk a rift with us so he’s stuck crawling on his knees and begging for approval.

But no one sitting at this table can hear the Grimaldi name without thinking of a summer twilight that was abruptly fractured by rapid gunfire and blood. We never talk about that day. What jumps into my mind is the terrified face of a young girl who saw things no child should ever see.

Mutual respect and a longstanding business relationship added our whole family to the guest list when Matthias, future heir to the Grimaldi family of San Francisco, married Daniela Cascione.

The Casciones were based in Philly and the union was strategic, although the bride and groom really did appear to have fallen in love.

The wedding between two high profile Mafia families was a target rich environment but a stretch of peaceful years had turned them complacent. Security was inadequate. By the time the alarm was raised over two incoming helicopters, the bullets were already flying.

The toll was catastrophic. The fierce Benvolio Grimaldi, legendary scion of organized crime, lost all three of his sons. Several of his grandchildren as well. The Cascione family fared even worse. All but wiped out, even the bride.

Not long after that, old man Grimaldi had a stroke. Piece by piece, his empire crumbled until not much remained except a decaying vineyard and partial control of the vital Northern California ports.

I’m guessing this is why Mancini is pouncing on the Grimaldi girl. The old man can’t possibly live much longer. His grandsons will inherit what’s left of the family but the eldest, Matthias, vanished off the radar in recent years and the other two are fucking idiots.

Personally, I don’t like the thought of Mancini getting his sticky fingers over so much west coast port traffic. He’s the type who will take a mile if given an inch so that inch needs to be withheld.

As for the girl, that’s a puzzle. Cecilia can’t be more than twenty-five. Mancini is in his late forties and ugly as sin.

“What’s Mancini holding over their heads to make that happen?” I ask.

My father’s eyes spark with satisfaction that I’ve asked the correct question.

“Three days ago the youngest Grimaldi boy had an argument with a Made man in Mancini’s crew.

The Grimaldi kid was accused of cheating in a card game so he panicked, pulled a gun, and a wild shot clipped the artery of Mancini’s man, causing him to bleed out within a minute.

Now the kid is on the run and Grimaldi is trying to earn a pass for his grandson. ”

“By sacrificing his granddaughter,” I finish.

At least now I understand the situation.

The jackass who put a bullet in Mancini’s guy is Gabriel Grimaldi, Cecilia’s twin.

I remember him as a scrawny clinger, constantly trying to show off his silly magic tricks and always failing to fit in.

He was a lousy sidekick for his brother Angelo and never seemed to catch on that he was the butt of a lot of jokes.

My impression of Cecilia was brief. Her family called her Cici. She was quiet and well behaved and too young for me to notice much else.

But I can’t ever forget the moment she froze with terror when the choppers came. Without a second thought, I tackled her to the ground and shielded her until the gunfire stopped.

In the aftermath, she turned her head and saw her parents lying among the carnage. A flashback of her agonized face still has the power to twist a knot in my chest.

Over the years I’ve had random nightmares that I didn’t get to her in time, that she panicked and ran toward danger before I could protect her. I always wake up feeling sick.

“After their parents died, Cecilia and the boys were taken in by their grandfather,” my father says.

“But she’s been allowed to live on her own for a while.

She went to college in Arizona and stayed there.

She steers clear of the family business and uses a different last name.

” He waits for this information to sink in before continuing.

“It’s my understanding she hasn’t yet been informed of her brother’s predicament. Or of the deal to save him.”

“So what if she doesn’t feel like get married?” Tye asks.

“Then her twin brother is living on borrowed time,” I explain. “She has almost no family left. She’ll do whatever it takes to avoid losing him.”

I haven’t laid eyes on this girl in twelve years. She’s a total stranger. But I held her in the worst moment of her life. And I understand the personal toll taken by a loss that profound.

If any of my brothers are ever threatened, I’ll do what’s necessary to keep the executioner away. In my case, that would mean piling up a body count until every threat is eliminated.

Cecilia doesn’t have that option. Protecting her brother will mean marrying a detestable pig.

Outrage sticks in my throat. I’m still distracted when my father reaches into his pocket.

“I’m going to break a rule right now. We won’t be making it a habit.

” He pulls out his phone, which is typically forbidden at the table, and starts scrolling.

“I’ve already checked into Cecilia. She lives alone, keeps to herself.

She doesn’t go out often. A childhood horseback riding accident doesn’t seem to affect her much and her medical records all show a clean bill of health.

She’s just a law abiding civilian who stays under the radar and works as an accountant for a local construction company. ”

That’s quite a detailed report. My father’s motives are often a mystery, even to me. It’s clear he didn’t just start keeping an eye on Cecilia this week.

He slides the phone over until it’s two inches from my plate. I’m curious enough to snatch it up and take a look.

Once I start looking, I don’t know how to look away.

While we’ve been discussing Cecilia Grimaldi, I kept picturing the girl she used to be. That image is now smashed to smithereens as I get my first glimpse of the woman she’s become.

Her waves of thick reddish brown hair are the same but everything else about her has changed.

The photo was taken from the other side of an urban street where she sits alone at a small table outside a café.

The youthful roundness in her face has been honed to sculpted perfection.

The word ‘pretty’ is deeply inadequate. She’d turn my head anytime, anywhere.

She bears little resemblance to the girl I met twelve years ago and yet when I look at her, a powerful sense of recognition strikes.

A hardcover book is open on the table and Cecilia writes on a page with a silver pen.

She’s engrossed in her task, taking no notice of the busy setting as her free hand plays with a section of her long hair.

She’s probably dressed for her office job, all covered up in a dress that’s somewhere between red and pink beneath a buttoned white sweater.

Her legs, crossed at the ankle beneath the table, are hidden under tights that match her dress color.

Pinching my fingers on the screen, I zoom in to study her more closely.

No matter how many layers she wears, Cecilia’s got a body that doesn’t fucking quit.

Her full breasts stretch that dainty sweater out of shape and I can see enough to imagine there’s a lot more fun concealed under all that fabric.

These days I’m so deprived that my cock doesn’t need much inspiration to jerk awake.

When I look at this girl, I can imagine running my thumb over her full lower lip.

I’d pierce her concentration by pushing her primly locked knees apart.

Those tights would get ripped to strings before I hike that dress up over her hips.

I’d destroy every little pearl-shaped sweater button and take everything I want.

But the longer I stare, the more I realize my reaction to Cecilia isn’t merely physical.

Of course I’d love to fuck her. Who wouldn’t?

This image of her sitting there alone, scribbling in a book with an untouched croissant sitting on the table stirs my emotions in a weird way.

All around her, the tables are full. She’s oblivious to everyone, including the photographer secretly snapping her photo.

I’d give a lot to know whether she’s lonely, if she’s content to shut out the world or if she’s secretly wishing for some excitement.

Whatever happens next, Junior Mancini sure as shit isn’t getting within a thousand miles of this girl. The very idea of his grubby fat fingers defiling Cecilia’s body makes my blood turn hot and my fists tighten.

Tye bumps my shoulder and hovers. He gives Cecilia’s photo a grunt of admiration.

“Absolutely fucking would,” he declares and then returns to shoveling food into his greedy mouth.

Getty bangs on the table. “You’re hogging the view. Hand it over, Jul.”

Like hell I will. He can wait. I’m not finished with my appraisal.

But now that the dining room rules are out the window for today, my little brother has decided to push his luck. Getty lunges across the table, trying to snatch the phone out of my hand.

All he succeeds in doing is knocking over a water pitcher. He is always the last of my brothers to learn he’ll never get the better of me.

Chaos erupts. Fort isn’t too pleased about the cascade of ice water that just landed in his lap. In a rare flash of temper, he responds by knocking Getty’s chair over. Getty, sprawled on the ground, kicks Fort in the shin with the heel of his boot.

“Fucker,” Fort growls and dumps the bowl of grated cheese on Getty’s head.

Getty’s face reddens with rage. He looks like he got caught in a snowstorm. He’ll smell like cheese for a fucking week. Wait till Mel sees what’s become of the pricey shit she has to order from New York.

Meanwhile, my father’s expression constricts with disgust, expecting me to monitor the pack while Tye cackles like a demented carnival clown.

“Asshole.” Getty gives Fort another kick.

Fort grimaces and stomps on Getty’s knee.

“What the FUCK?” Getty seethes. “Did you wake up this morning with a death wish?”

The guard who was in here dropping off food earlier pokes his head into the room, blinks, and instantly retreats. Good thinking.

“HEY!” I smack the table before blood is drawn. “Knock it off. Save the fight for the rest of the world. It’s over. Sit down, both of you.”

Fort settles down first and accepts the extra napkin I toss at him to mop up the water on his pants.

Tye quits laughing and reaches for the platter of sausage and peppers. “I’ll just do everyone a favor and finish this off.”

Getty finds dignity tough to come by while there’s tiny flecks of cheese sprinkled in his hair. He plunks down in his chair and continues to look homicidal.

I send him a peace offering by handing the phone over. He glares, grumpy as a rabid dog, but he still takes a look.

“Damn.” He releases a low whistle and holds the screen closer to his face. “The skinny little Grimaldi girl had some kind of fucking glow up.”

Fort gets curious enough to risk his life by leaning into Getty’s space so he can see Cecilia Grimaldi for himself. Lucky for him, Getty is too preoccupied to notice.

A slow grin spreads across Fort’s face. “If she needs a place to sleep, I can sacrifice some room in my bed.”

Now that my brothers are all drooling over Cecilia, jealousy squeezes my chest. You’d think no one but me has the right to have dirty thoughts about some girl I haven’t seen in twelve years.

I’m still stewing over this inner drama when I notice that my father is watching me.

His anger over the dining room scuffle has already faded.

Now he’s simply thoughtful. I wonder if he’ll notice that I’ve already air dropped Cecilia’s photo to my phone, just in case I need to refer back to it again later.

“Mancini is waiting on my answer,” he says. “Care to weigh in?”

“The answer is a hard no,” I say. “I’ve got a much better idea how to solve the Grimaldis’ problem.”

My father, without a trace of surprise, nods. “I thought you might.”