Page 5 of The Mastermind (Mafia Rivals #1)

I was his big sister and if nothing else, respect had been bred into us, so he didn’t tell me to piss off to my face, but his eyes said so loud and clear. Snatching the glass from my hand, he stalked to the other end of the bar.

‘You let him disrespect you like that?’ Cesare snapped, narrowed eyes trailing Ciso.

I stepped in front of him, visibly blocking his ferocious gaze.

‘You leave him the fuck alone, Cesare. I mean it.’ As the oldest, I was a mama bear when it came to my siblings, especially since our mother had become a husk of herself for reasons shrouded in family secrets.

As lethally dangerous as Cesare was, I wouldn’t hesitate to take him on if he threatened my loved ones.

His head snapped back to me, nostrils flared and eyes darkened dramatically. ‘I don’t remember giving you permission to use my name,’ he said, his voice low and infinitely lethal.

I hadn’t used it since that night almost a decade and a half ago.

Except in my helpless dreams when my traitorous hand snuck between my legs and I woke in a sweat, poised on the precipice of yet another thwarted climax.

‘This isn’t the Dark Ages. If you don’t want to be addressed when we’re speaking, feel free to stick to your side of the room. ’

‘You’re playing a very dangerous game, sweetheart.’

A shiver sizzled through me. ‘Now who’s taking liberties?’

His mouth twitched again but his eyes remained lava hot, smouldering with their promise to devastate. ‘You have the nerve to talk to me about taking liberties when you’re playing dirty?’

A cool breeze washed over my neck. Sore loser or not, the look in his eyes was deadly serious.

Cesare Salvatore hadn’t spoken directly to me in years.

That he’d crossed the room to do so tonight, in full view of his family and mine, with Vesuvius-hot feuds and bodyguards who even now watched us with hands hovering near their weapons, was gravely significant.

‘I’ll say it again. I have no idea what you’re talking about. ’

A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘You have until the next race in Azerbaijan. Hand over the mole and stand down whichever official you’ve got in your pocket tossing penalties my way and I may consider drawing a line under your little shitshow.

’ He stepped forward and leaned close. His breath washed over my ear and the most vigorous shiver yet juddered through me.

This close, I know he didn’t miss it. That he didn’t really care about his effect on me.

Yet my belly clenched in shame as he continued.

‘Don’t, and I’ll make your life hell for the rest of the season. And that will be just the start.’

Shock replaced the lustful shiver as I watched him wander back to where he’d come from. He jerked his head at Rafaelle, the other terrifying Salvatore.

With the same height and build and only eleven months separating them, people often wondered if the brothers were fraternal twins. Granted, they were thick as thieves and often one was never far behind the other, Rafaelle tending to trail his brother in his rightful place as Cesare’s second.

Together they turned heads, in fear and the kind of morbid fascination reserved for ruthless, beautiful predators. But somehow, my eyes always skidded past Rafaelle to his brother, my breath always catching at the first sight of the heir.

‘What the fuck did he want?’ Ciso grumbled, returning with my champagne. ‘And why the hell did you send me away?’

I didn’t want to hurt his pride by telling him Cesare would eat him for breakfast and barely remember the meal afterward, so I took the drink and took an unwanted sip to buy myself time to digest what Cesare had said.

A mole.

Bribing race officials?

What the fuck?

‘Maddie?’

I pinned a smile on my face. ‘We’re having a great night. I didn’t want him to ruin it.’

Scepticism narrowed his eyes. ‘Then why tolerate him in the first place? I came over because it didn’t seem like you were in a hurry to tell him to fuck off,’ he said, suspicion joining the scepticism.

‘Think about it. What do you think would’ve happened if I had?’ I nodded to where a drunk Stefano swayed on his feet, surrounded by a few more Mancinelli lieutenants and a gaggle of the race bimbos who gravitated to power and fame like vultures to carrion.

The product of my grandfather’s third wife, my uncle was only five years older than me and a complete hothead who gave shoot-now-ask-questions-later a whole new meaning.

‘With them in that state, do you want to end the night with a body count and a trip to jail we’ll need to explain to Nonno?

And a possible summons to the race authorities? ’

He frowned. ‘Of course not, but?—’

‘Let it go, Ciso.’ I firmed my voice.

His mutiny lingered.

Knowing there was a fifty-fifty chance he’d ignore me, I gulped down another mouthful of champagne and set the glass down. ‘I’m heading back to the hotel. Don’t stay too long, yeah?’

I felt his brooding gaze all the way to the door. The two bodyguards assigned to me peeled themselves from the shadows and fell into step beside me. I didn’t acknowledge them, nor did they me.

I learned the lesson the hard way not to trust or confide in the men my grandfather chose to guard me after a horrifying showdown the night I came face to face with a Salvatore for the first time.

Men who were supposed to guard me had turned on me on a dime to save their skins, leaving me to my grandfather’s weeks-long wrath and a painful reminder of our family’s number one rule.

Bitterness churned through me at the memory of that night and of the control exerted on me since then, especially when my other flaws rose to the surface like unwanted sludge.

I was a grown woman of thirty-one and yet I’d had sex only a handful of times in shadowy places with faceless men whose names I didn’t recall.

My father believed I was a virgin, taking pride in assuring my grandfather when the subject of ‘organising a husband for me’ came up.

It would have been hysterically funny if it wasn’t desperately sad and pathetic.

So I dragged my mind from it as the armoured SUV rolled to a stop and my bodyguards ushered me inside.

Our carefully vetted hotel was only a mile away. The well-oiled machine that was the Mancinelli mafia famigghia had booked the whole floor so there would be minimal cross-pollution with unapproved guests.

When we arrived, I barely took note of my surroundings or the usual gaping audience that I tended to attract with my burly bodyguards wherever I went.

Thankfully, this was Italy and in a luxury hotel people tended to think they were in the presence of some overblown celebrity instead of what I really was – the granddaughter of one of the most notorious members of Cosa Nostra to ever come out of Sicily in the last century.

I made it to my hotel suite with very little fanfare, ignoring all but the most important texts pinging on my phone from my sister, Sofiya.

A little rabbit told me tonight’s celebrations were… interesting?

I groaned under my breath.

For a family that ran an organisation that thrived in the underbelly of society, we sure were shit at keeping secrets.

Or maybe the more accurate assessment was my sister’s ability to pry secrets from stone.

Her uncanny gift of telling truth from lies, bullshitter from traitor, had become an invaluable asset Bonafacio relied on more and more.

Lately she’d been more absent than present at our home in Upstate New York.

My enquiries as to why had earned me a sharp rebuke from my father and stone-faced silence from my own sister.

Not gonna lie, it’d had hurt a little. Okay, a lot.

It had raised my suspicion that either Sofiya really didn’t want to be close to me as I dearly wanted, or that Bonafacio was succeeding in driving a wedge between us for his own purposes.

Is it worth asking where you are?

I hedged in answering her question, partly through worry, partly because I needed time to parse through my own thoughts.

Nowhere interesting

The reply was laughably predictable.

Nothing interesting over here, too.

Yes, I was a little annoyed by her non-answer. Annoyed and worried.

*Eye roll emoji* Answer my question, Mads.

Or I’ll go digging myself.

While it’d taken me a long time to accept the inevitability of my surname and birthright, Sofiya had acclimatised to being the daughter and granddaughter of a gangster long before she’d hit puberty.

There’d been no need for me to protect her as I did my two other sisters because she’d toed the line from the moment it was shown to her with a cunning dexterity that left me speechless and a little terrified.

Because Sofiya was always three steps ahead.

Despite her being my little sister, I had no idea what her end goal was.

She was the one most comfortable in Bonafacio’s shadow and it’d made me wonder if it was the reason for the distance between us.

She doted on Narciso though and I was guessing that was where she’d gotten the info tonight.

Sore losers being sore. Nothing to worry about. Promise.

I held my breath, hoping she’d drop it. She didn’t answer for several minutes. Then another dreaded ping arrived. Grimacing, I read it.

Cool. Thinking I’ll join you in Azerbaijan. Thoughts?

She was testing me, feeling me out. Probably on Bonafacio’s orders?

I’d known since I could walk and talk that my father, uncle and the smattering of cousins all jumped to my grandfather’s bidding, but I’d believed I stood between my siblings and Bonafacio’s absolute control of their lives.

Lately, with Sofiya’s activities and secrets, I wasn’t so sure I’d succeeded.

Telling her to stay away would have been as good as shouting from the rooftops that something was going on.

Having her come would be asking for another set of eyes on a situation I wasn’t sure was a problem yet.

And if Sofiya thought Narciso was under threat from the Salvatores, who the hell knew how she would react?

I paced my hotel room, pressure building behind my eyes as I considered my response.

I had two weeks before the next race. I could go home, head her off at the pass. But… she was a resource I may well need by then, if I hadn’t gotten to the bottom of things myself. With a sigh, I surrendered to the inevitable.

Sure, it’d be good to see you. x

I watched the speech bubble pulse for five seconds, then disappear.

Shaking my head, I tossed my phone on the bed, then finally allowed myself to replay my conversation with Cesare.

I was 99 per cent sure his trigger finger was itching for retribution after losing the race to us.

But he’d seemed dead certain of his allegation. And as much as I was unwilling to admit it, I came from a family who stopped at nothing to win.

It didn’t even hurt that the men in my family would go over my head as the official Mancinelli family’s consigliere to make a damning decision to bribe our way into a championship. The end result was the only thing that mattered, especially when pitted against the Salvatores.

I stepped beneath the shower, Cesare’s threat ringing in my ears.

But then, in my vivid imagination, the tenor of his voice changed, his meaning taking on a different, more sensual timbre.

I’ll make your life hell for the rest of the season. And that will be just the start.

My nipples pebbled under the cascading water, the promise of more forbidden interactions with the Underboss of the Salvatore Organisation sending ripples of danger-edged delight through me.

Bracing one hand on the wall, I squeezed my eyes shut as the other hand slid down my belly to the hot, pulsating place between my legs.

I moaned when I breached my puffy lips, unsurprised to feel myself already wet and slippery. My shaky gasp blended into the hiss of water as I toyed with my over-sensitised clit.

The shape of his mouth, the sensation of his breath on my neck, the glorious headiness of his scent. The promise of fury and shattered control in his eyes.

And always… always… that kiss .

The one that had set us on a path to hell. A taste of the forbidden blended perfectly with danger.

All it took was remembering the feel of his Salvatore mouth on my Mancinelli lips, his outlawed tongue sweeping in to stroke mine, my middle finger sliding deep into my pussy, and I was unravelling.

My choked moans filled the shower as I came hard enough to feel my heartbeat pound in my ears. To accept that I was still, all these years later, hopelessly addicted to Cesare Salvatore. To the last man on earth I should be thinking about, never mind lusting after.

The enemy heir who could spark a war with a snap of his fingers.