Page 1 of Sin City Obsession (De Salvo Empire #1)

Chapter one

First Impressions

After eating a cheap, greasy dinner in an airport and jumping on a six-hour nonstop flight, the last thing Alessa Adimari had the patience for was some unobservant buffoon trying to walk off with her sole piece of checked luggage.

She had barely shouldered her way up to the belt when she spotted her suitcase, and then promptly watched an older man’s free hand latch onto the outward facing handle in a firm grip.

He stood sideways to the conveyor belt and was talking loudly, agitation in his tone, into the cell phone at his ear.

It couldn’t have been more obvious he wasn’t paying attention.

Alessa ground her teeth and shoved toward him, narrowly avoiding plowing over a wandering child in her effort to cut off the luggage thief.

“I don’t care what they’re telling you!” the man half-shouted into the phone as she finally stepped into his path. “Just remind them”—he narrowed his eyes at her, upper lip curling—“I’ll call you back.”

Alessa pointed at the suitcase. “That’s mine,” she said firmly. “You need to pay better attention.”

The man flicked a half-hearted glance to the side and said, “Nice try, girl. Go find someone else to swindle.” He took a step forward as if he were going to walk straight into her, undoubtedly assuming she would scamper out of his way.

He had no clue who he was up against.

Alessa latched her hand onto the top handle, forced to make contact with the side of his sweaty knuckles in the process, and jerked the suitcase forward until it was awkwardly between them.

He came to an abrupt stop, but didn’t let go.

She hadn’t expected him to, so she indicated the handle they were now unwittingly sharing—and the ombre blue, white-monogramed scarf tied to it.

“Is that yours, too, then? You just happen to have one that perfectly matches the scarf my nonna gave me sixteen years ago?”

He started to curse, but the word faltered on his tongue and his gaze dropped to the object in question. “What … the fuck?” His eyes snapped back up to her. “Your what? What the hell kinda scam is this? ”

Alessa tightened her grip. “You tell me, thief.”

His face reddened and his nostrils flared. “I’m no thief!”

“Then let go.”

He dragged in another loud, huffing breath. “It’s just a fucking scarf. My suitcase is marked with blue. Obviously, this is mine, now get your filthy hands off!”

She couldn’t stop her face from revealing how utterly unimpressed she was with this man’s comprehension skills.

“You mean to tell me you don’t know how you marked your own luggage?

” She gave a shake of her head and leaned in closer so she could lower her voice.

“The ‘A’ on that scarf stands for Adimari. There’s a photo album tucked inside the suitcase with pictures of me and my entire family.

I will happily stand here and scream like a goddamn banshee until security arrives, and we can let them dig through the suitcase until they confirm who it belongs to, but at that point I’m going to charge you with attempted robbery. And assault.”

The man in front of her stammered, his face flushing but no coherent words escaping.

Alessa continued. “Or you can let go, turn yourself around, and step back up to the conveyor belt until your suitcase rolls by. I’ll take my leave, no one gets detained or has an ugly notation added to their record.” She plastered a dishonest smile onto her face. “Your choice.”

He swallowed hard. “Y-you can’t do that to me,” he said, but for the first time his voice had lost some bravado.

Her smile held steady. “According to whom? ”

He dropped her stare and looked back down at the scarf. His hand flexed, his grip slackening and immediately tightening again.

Alessa waited for thirty seconds. When he did nothing more than grind his teeth, she released a deliberate humph and drew a deep, audible breath. The kind a person might need before intentionally shrieking over the usual cacophony of a crowded public space.

The man’s head snapped up and he released the suitcase as if it had caught fire. “Don’t!” He took a large step back. “Don’t fucking do that!”

Alessa pinched her lips and arched a brow, drawing the suitcase up to her side.

He glanced around as if he’d already been caught misbehaving. “Christ, just take the damn thing, all right? Even if it’s mine, it’s just clothes and shit. Replaceable. Have a field day.”

Alessa blew out the excess breath she’d taken, popped up the telescoping handle, and adjusted the strap over her shoulder where her carry-on still hung.

“I sincerely hope your suitcase was lost in transit, jackass.” She spun on her heel, kept a firm grip on the handle, and started for the exit.

She still had an escort to meet and a job to get started on, although realistically, she would only be making necessary introductions and re-confirming notes tonight.

She caught sight of a digital time display as she strode through the throng of departing passengers.

It wasn’t even half-past ten. Ordinarily she would consider that plenty of time for work to get done, but damn.

Time zones really did fuck a person up. She’d been in the air six hours.

If she’d stayed in the same zone, it would have been after one in the morning.

Not a dramatic difference, probably, but with how wonderfully she hadn’t been sleeping, she could feel the drag all the same.

Finally her gaze alighted on the mostly glass-paneled exit wall, and the small group of people clearly waiting to pick someone up. She scanned the informal line-up. Supposedly the locals were sending someone to retrieve her, but she had no intention of hanging around if they were late.

Except they weren’t. She spotted a broad-shouldered man with muscles nearly bulging out of his dress shirt holding a cliché sign bearing a single name—her surname—at the front of the group.

Or, almost at the front. A half-step ahead of him, but aside enough not to obscure any line-of-sight, was another man.

A distractingly good-looking, dark-haired man in a damned pressed suit.

He looked like he belonged more in a boardroom than standing around at an airport playing pick-up.

Alessa gave herself a sharp shake and adjusted course for the steroid-popper with the sign. She wasn’t terribly surprised when both sets of eyes snapped her way once she cleared the pedestrian traffic. She offered a cautious, but polite, smile to both. “Cavallo?”

The one she’d been ogling lifted his hands from his pockets and offered one to her in greeting. “Ms. Adimari,” he said, a smile tipping his lips, “I’m Rocco Cavallo II. This is my head of security, Emanuele. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She tried to keep the surprise off her face even as she shook his hand.

Cavallo the second? That meant the Underboss himself had come to greet her.

She hadn’t expected that type of reception.

Which either meant they were trying to prove their allegiance now that it was being tested, or they didn’t plan for her to make it to her hotel.

She chose to keep that concern to herself for the time being and simply remain vigilant.

“I’m honored that you would come out yourself, Mr. Cavallo.

” She glanced between them as her arm swung back to her side. “Please, Alessa is fine.”

The big guy inclined his head. Up close, she could see the age lines beginning to form on his face—as well as a faded scar low behind one eye. He’d lived a hard life, as one did when they worked as muscle in the mafia. “Can I help with your suitcase?”

She glanced down to it on reflex, pushed away her pride just a little, and wheeled it out in his direction. “Sure. Thanks.”

Underboss Rocco Cavallo swept an arm toward the doors. “Let’s get going, then. Are you hungry? We can stop somewhere for a quick bite if you want.”

Alessa obligingly followed his lead, falling in between Cavallo and Emanuele. “I ate before take-off,” she said, “so I’m fine.”

“Airport food is shit,” Emanuele said.

Alessa shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

Cavallo turned a disarming smile on her as they crossed the threshold into the late-night desert air. “Well, tomorrow you’ll have better. The restaurant at the hotel is one of our best. All your meals are on the house, of course, so feel free to take advantage.”

Alessa did her best to focus on his words, or at least the dimples that teased when he smiled, and not gasp desperately against the rush of heat that had slammed into her when she’d stepped out in his wake.

She had researched her destination, of course.

She’d seen what the weather was supposed to be for the next week, and it stood to reason it would be a drier heat than she was used to.

But damn. She had not been prepared. Not physically, as she was still wearing pants, and not mentally, because already it felt like something heavy was pressing on her.

Behind her, Emanuele chuckled. “First time spending summer in the desert?”

She blew out a breath as they adjusted course and Emanuele picked up his pace to stride ahead. “The only place I’ve been aside from Jersey is Italy,” she said. “I spent a couple summers there when I was younger. I don’t remember anything hitting like this.”

Cavallo was the one who chuckled this time. He slowed and turned to face her as they approached a waiting Cadillac and another man who stood like a statue beside it. “Spend a lot of time in Italy?”

A strange guilt sparked in her chest. “Not in recent years.”

Emanuele popped the Caddy’s trunk and swiftly swung her suitcase inside.