Page 3

V incenzo makes all of New York City go silent. The hustle, the bustle, the horns, the lights—they all fade away when he steps out of a black SUV sporting a midnight blue suit, white shirt, and eyes only for me.

Ronnie and my mother hug and gush over him while I hang back, suddenly tongue-tied and shy, the little girl who hugged the wall at the eighth-grade dance all night.

Get it together, Angela. You’ve had a fabulous day out in New York, you're about to go see a sold-out Broadway musical—and there’s a man who looks like a cross between a young, hot George Clooney and the sexy guy who sells perfume that costs more than your car payment staring at you.

“You must be Angela. I’m so glad Ronnie talked you into coming. When he and my father talk business tomorrow, you have to let me give you a tour of the city. Lunch? Shopping? A museum?” Vincenzo’s voice is low and smooth, and there’s a trace of the city in it as he bends his head over my hand.

Thank God I had my nails done...

“I—Thank you.” I giggle and pray for a sudden dose of suaveness to grace me.

“Charming. So charming. I like her, Ronnie.” Vincenzo looks at me with twinkling eyes and keeps a hold of my hand as he looks into my eyes, then over his shoulder at Ronnie.

“Oh, I think that’s a mutual assessment,” Ronnie chuckles, hands spread. He puts his arm around Mom and gestures to the long line spilling across the wide sidewalks under the theater marquee. “Princess, ladies first,” he says, and gestures for me to get in line.

“Oh, my dates don’t wait in line at the theater,” Vincenzo says with a quiet command that makes my knees unexpectedly buckle. “That’s the kind of leadership you can expect from us, Ronnie.” His smile is broad, and he sweeps us to the head of the line. “Carlo.” He nods to the man in a burgundy vest, and we slide right in.

“Impressive,” I find my tongue and make sure there’s a little hint of teasing in my voice.

“You’re Ronaldo Argento’s daughter. Of course I’ll impress you,” he whispers, bending down so his face is close to mine, lips behind my ear. The scent of his cologne hits me hard, in a good way. Spicy and smoky, with vanilla, bourbon, and citrus.

“Well, thanks for making a business trip so much fun,” I manage to choke out, trying to compose myself.

“With you, business would always be a pleasure. Perhaps we can talk about that tomorrow when you come to dinner?”

“Dinner? Tomorrow?” I admit it. I have the whole “swept off my feet” thing going on. Rich, powerful, gorgeous, and asking to see me again five minutes into date number one?

“You’ll be there, won’t you? Without you, business loses its pleasure, lovely one.”

Lovely one. A pet name. An elegant pet name, right from the start.

Sue me, I swooned. “I’d love to come to dinner.”

“See, Angela? I told you that you two would hit it off! It’s fate.”

As we walked into the glamorous lobby with its plush atmosphere of red velvet and gold, I thought I caught a scowl on Vincenzo’s face, a hardening of his features.

It only made him look hotter.

Fuck, the hidden craving for bad boys. It has to be genetic. Or maybe it’s because he sort of looks like David Bonetti, my ninth-grade crush. New Jersey and New York are prime “hot, dark, and Italian-American” ground, after all.

“I suppose you could call it fate, Mrs. Argento. My father and your husband might like the title,” Vincenzo laughed, good humor and perfect smile suddenly back to the forefront.

We collect our programs, and the crush of bodies all around us, swarming to get to their seats, threatens to undo me. “I guess they did bring us together,” I laugh, eager to be witty and charming and gorgeous.

Vincenzo nods, smile fixed. “Insisted on it. But, to be fair,” his voice drops as we file into the long, well-dressed line, two abreast, walking down the aisle to our prime seats, “it’s my father more than yours. Your father just handles the money. My father handles the products.”

“Oh? And you’re going into the family business?”

“As if first-born sons ever have a choice.” This time his laugh is bitter, but so silky. His hand lands on my hip, but lightly, guiding me into a seat, tripping over pumps and glittering skirts as we take our place in the center of the row.

A dangerous gentleman.

Dangerous? Really?

Nah. Powerful, maybe, but harmless.

“Talk more later, you two! It’s starting!” My mother hisses, waving her program.

***

“T HAT WAS MAGICAL,” Mom sighs and spins. “Take my picture, babe. And then one of Angie and Vincenzo. And then one of mother and daughter. Should we get one of the two boys, Ang?”

“Mom, please. You’re acting like a total tourist.”

“I am not! Everyone takes selfies, honey.”

Vincenzo pulls me under the glittering lights and puts his arm around me. We have big smiles, and my cheeks hurt from laughing at the musical comedy we just watched. I beamed, I cried, and I grabbed Vincenzo’s hand at intermission as we were tripping and stumbling back to our seats. It was a fairytale night.

“Wanna get some coffee on the way back to my hotel?” I ask as my mother finishes a frenzy of flashes. “I mean... Me, going to my hotel. Not you—”

“I know. That’s not a requirement of this whole deal,” he sighs. He looks down at his watch, an expensive gold piece with a dark lapis face and tiny diamonds set around it.

Damn. Loaded.

I’m not shallow... but I guess my mom’s tastes have started rubbing off on me in the last couple of hours.

“I can’t, I’m afraid. I have a few calls to make. But I’ll see you tomorrow, Angela.” He kisses my cheek, then my lips, soft and swift, blurring the lines between gentleman and flirt.

“Thank you for a wonderful time,” I whisper.

He cups my cheek and nods at me with a seriousness that I don’t fully understand.

“My stomach is all in knots,” I tell my mother as he leaves in his shiny black car.

“It’s butterflies!” she squeals. “Ronnie, tell her. It’s butterflies.”

“Butterflies, Angie. I’m telling you, Vincenzo is the man for you. He’s a good man, mature. Not like some of the young things you’ll find on campus, sniffing after a pretty rich girl like you.”

“I’m not rich! You’re rich .”

Ronnie stops fawning over my mother to cup my face in both hands, standing back with narrowed eyes, his face full of sincere admiration. Even love.

“You are my daughter . What’s mine is yours and your mother’s. I had a hundred gals I could have married, a hundred chances to get someone knocked up and carrying my kid. I’m glad I waited, Angie. You’re the best daughter a man could ask for—and Vincenzo’s gonna treat you right. I know it.” He drops his hands and steps back, clearing his throat. “Because if he doesn’t, Papa Bear is gonna make it so he never walks again, capiche ?”

“Aw, Dad. Stop it. I can take care of myself.”

Ronnie’s mouth drops. My mother squeals and spins on her stilettos. People stare.

“Shh, Mom, what’s the matter with you?” I hush, hurrying over and forcing her arms down. “People will think you won the lottery or something! We’re gonna get mugged.”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called him Dad,” Mom whispers, tears filling her eyes.

“Now, that calls for butterscotch sundaes for my girls,” Ronnie claps his hands together. “C’mon, the night is young and so are we!”

Oh, wow. I guess it is. I haven’t called anyone Dad in... wow. A long time.

I guess travel really is broadening. I stop worrying for a little bit and just enjoy the life Ronnie is giving me. Theater tickets, hot dates, and sundaes as a midnight snack. He’s a good dad. I let him put his arm around my shoulders while his other drapes around my mother’s back, and we stroll like one happy little family.

***

“J OANNE, JOEY WANTS us there around five.”

“But, honey, dinner is at seven,” my mother steps out of the shower in the hotel suite.

Ronnie paces, rubbing his hands. “Business, honey. Put on your party face. Angie, are you wearing something pretty? Vincenzo’ll be there.”

“He’s a sweet boy,” Mom gushes, hurrying to the closet, selecting a flowing red dress with blousy, transparent sleeves. “How’s this, Ron?”

“Joey’ll be drooling—and that’s good.” Ronnie nods and paces, fist coming up to his chin. He rests his head on his clasped hands. As he paces, I see him take a few swings at the air, starting to shadow box.

“What’s the matter, Pops? You and Joey have a touchy contract to negotiate?” I asked.

“Ohh, it’s the same old thing. He always gets antsy after taxes. Doesn’t like someone else handling his books. Wants better security. Doesn’t like that my cousin is going to leave me the business.”

I slip back into my room of our palatial suite and pull off the sweatshirt and leggings I wore during my campus tour. “What business? What cousin?”

“My cousin in New York, Angie. You’ve never met him. He’s semi-retired. We’re in the same business. Don’t you worry about it, sweetie, it’s just that I’m going to take over his share of the business, and no one expected that. Didn’t think I had the killer instinct to be a success.”

“You’re not a boxer! You don’t need killer instincts. You can go a long way in life being kind and respectful,” I call back, considering that designer pink number I packed but was afraid to wear last night.

What the hell? It might be nice if Vincenzo drooled over me. I grab my control-top briefs that I always wear to hide my pouchy belly and slip them on, followed by the dress.

“Mom! Does this look okay?” I run back out of the room, and Ronnie stops pouring himself a whiskey.

“Yowza.”

I giggle. “That’s old man for good, right?”

“That’s old man for ‘Vinnie is gonna propose’!”

“Vinnie? Eww, no, not Vinnie. Vinnie and Joey? It sounds like Joe Pesci and Danny DeVito are going to show up to turn dinner into a bad mobster movie. Vincenzo is so elegant.”

“Vinnie, Vincenzo, whatever. Joanne, come see your daughter! I think Vincenzo’s going to propose on the spot when he sees her in this dress.”

My mother leans out of the bathroom, a curling iron in one hand. “Oh, sweetie! That’s stunning! That’s from that new fashion house you wouldn’t visit with me. We’re going to go back there and this time you’ll come and try things on, won’t you?”

“If I’m not at college, sure, Mom.” I roll my eyes. I mean, I can play at being a pampered princess for this week, I guess, but I’m sure it’ll get old.

I think it’ll get old.

I wish the annoying little voice in my head would shut up—the one that’s whispering, “You are getting a life that a million people would kill for. A life of shopping, dressing up, wining, and dining. You could volunteer! You could do charity work. That’s an important job, you know. Raising babies. Bringing up a family. Kids are so bratty these days. Someone to really spend time with them and mentor them, to be that good role model...”

Yeah. I think that little voice in my head has been taking lessons from my Mom. Maybe Mom has a few points. Just a few.

***

“A NGELA, WOW. WOW, THAT’S some dress. You look stunning.” Vincenzo kisses me on both cheeks and takes my hands in his as we arrive at his father’s mansion in the city.

I didn’t even know people could have mansions in the city if they weren’t a movie star or something like that.

“My father is in the library, Ronnie. Go ahead in. Joanne, my mother is in the kitchen. Why don’t you go on in? I’ll take Angela on a tour of the terrace and the garden.”

“Oh, I’d love to see the garden,” I gush. I do love flowers and gardening. “Back in New Jersey, I used to make Mom plow up most of the lawn to—”

“Angie, not now.” Mom waves me to silence with an embarrassed titter. “Vincenzo doesn’t want to hear about some little tomato stand you had when you were a kid.”

“Lemonade stand?”

“No, a tomato stand. I grew the best Roma tomatoes and these big heirloom beefsteaks that were so juicy...” I lick my lips at the memory, and I love that Vincenzo laughs and beams.

“I love it,” he enthuses, leading me away.

The terrace is lovely, long and white, with graceful urns full of overflowing ornamental grasses and flowers. The garden is small (it is NYC, and space is at a premium), but it’s exotic and even has a greenhouse. “I love it,” I gush, heading into the lawn, not caring about my strappy sandals.

“Good. Good. Look, we’re going to end up here, so... The garden can be yours. My mother likes it for looks, but she never comes out here. Dad couldn’t care less, he just thinks it’s a status symbol to say we have a gardener.”

I nod politely, but I’m confused. “End up here? Mine?” I shake my head now, confusion deepening. “Like, some flowers from it?”

“No. When the deal is all done.” The charming smile fades. “Some racket, huh? I don’t like it any better than you.”

I want to ask a million questions, but for once, just for once, I wonder if playing dumb will get me better answers. “What do you think we should do?” I ask softly.

“Thank God you’re not the little innocent airhead Dad said. Look, I think it’s purely political. Ronnie’s just a capo. No one expected him to become the boss of the Argento family, but...” he spreads his hands. “What are you gonna do? A heart attack at fifty-one, my dad said. Otherwise, Ronnie’s cousin would be taking over. Anyway, I think it’s just protection, but in this world, protection is valuable, right?”

“Right!”

“I’m not ready to settle down yet. To be honest,” Vincenzo slides up to me and puts his arm around my waist, “I have a little business I can’t just abandon—her name’s Gabrielle, and she’s not the kind of woman you just walk away from—no offense! If things had been allowed to happen between us naturally, you know? It might’ve worked.”

“But our parents...” I lead, heart quickening, palms sweating. What the fuck is a capo? He has another woman? Why is he telling me this?

“Mom has her heart set on a June wedding, which I said you’d never go for. Don’t have to take a honeymoon unless you want one.”

I lean on one of the expensive marble statues dotting the border of the garden path, mind reeling.

Wedding.

Honeymoon.

What the actual hell?

“Excuse me, Mr. Vincenzo. Lemonade? Iced tea?”

“Thank you, Carlotta.” Vincenzo takes two glasses from the uniformed maid. She could be a model—probably on some X-rated website with her little black dress and honest-to-God frilly white apron. As she passes, he gives her a long, lecherous look, and she deliberately brushes against him.

“Lemonade. Just made with Mom’s old recipe and it’s delicious.” He walks out to meet me on the path, but his eyes keep zooming back to Carlotta and her lambada-worthy curves as she saunters back inside.

“Thank you. I thought you said her name was Gabrielle?”

“Hm? Oh, you caught me. Look, if I have to get married to give Argento a fair shake, I’ll do it, but I told my old man I’m not done sowing my wild oats. I shouldn’t have to take a wife until I’m older, closer to when I’ll take over the business.”

“Well... I agree! We don’t need to get married.” Maybe Vincenzo’s nuts. Maybe I’m nuts. Or in a bad dream. I take a quick swig of cold lemonade (and it is as delicious as he said), and—nope. Not dreaming.

“I’m not saying that! I’m just saying you’re not like the other little princesses I’ve met. You seem less sheltered, more mature. Might as well be honest instead of lying to you and keeping the mistresses on the side.”

“Other princesses?”

“You know how some of the old Dons are. They send their little girls to all-girl Catholic schools, have a guard on them twenty-four-seven, and won’t let them leave the house unless it’s to go to mass or shopping with their mamas. A bunch of innocent little ‘yes, sir’ ‘no, sir’ virgins who don’t know which end of a cock is up.”

I’m no prude, but I’m disgusted by the way he speaks just now. “I’m sure they don’t choose that life.”

“And neither did we, right? But we don’t turn down the money.” He laughs and drains his glass with a sigh.

“So, I’m suitable?”

“Yeah, Angela. I’m amenable to a roommate sitch... for now. And like I said, you don’t seem like those scared little mice I see at ‘family funerals.’ I figured we might as well talk for real before the parents take over. Then it’ll have to be all lovey-dovey or my mother’ll pitch a fit.”

“What about my mother?” I whisper, more to myself. Does she know about this? Are these clues spelling out what I think they are? Dons and bosses, family business... I’m in the middle of some mafia drama, and I can’t turn the channel.

“Exactly why I’m treating you right. I know you’re Argento’s only child. I promise you, you’ll never want for anything. We can stay here, we can get our own little place. My wallet is your wallet.” The charming smile is back, and even though I don’t like a lot of things about this side of Vincenzo, I have empathy for him. He might have more power, but he’s still under his dad’s thumb, and he’s still getting forced into a marriage to a woman he doesn’t love.

“You’re being awfully gallant about this, but this isn’t the 1600s. You don’t just marry off your kids to—”

“You’re new to this, aren’t you?” Vincenzo cuts me off with a harsh scowl. “Families like ours are the kings of this world. We have more power than presidents, more money than princes. An alliance through blood is the only kind of insurance we have that we won’t turn on each other—or that we’ll stick together. My family’s bigger in the business than yours, but Ronnie could do bigger. This alliance will combine our houses, and boom. We’ll be one of the biggest dogs in the junkyard. You get it?”

“I get it.” We’re both pawns, but Vincenzo doesn’t mind too much, because one day he’ll be big. He’ll be the king on this bloody chessboard of organized crime.

“Your dad is too nice. This is my dad’s way of keeping him in line, too. How could anyone refuse to follow orders when this is at stake?” Vincenzo asks, his hand boldly reaching out and cupping my chin, lifting my face to his like he’s going to kiss me.

At the last second, he stops and steps away. “Not that we’ll have any problems.”

“No. We certainly won’t.”

Because I’m getting the hell out of here the first chance I get!