Page 29 of Vicious Kingdom (Dynasty of Queens #3)

“ W e’re running late, sorry!” Penelope chimed in my ear.

“No matter, I’ll meet you soon,” I said, grateful that my lateness wouldn’t matter.

“Thanks! We’ll be as fast as we can,” she said and then hung up.

I tucked my laptop into my bag. When the phone rang, I thought it was Penelope calling to chew me out. She might seem like bottled sunshine that shit rainbows, but when her temper flared—damn! The queen of the Italian mob was a force to be reckoned with.

But the don and his wife were late, which canceled out my own forgetfulness. I hurried to the door of the cafe. Thunder greeted me.

“Ah, crap,” I muttered.

The bakery was just a few blocks away. If I ran, I could just make it before the rain began to pour in earnest. Going back to the counter, I asked the barista for a plastic garbage bag.

The delay was well worth it, because by the time I stepped outside, the skies had opened and fat drops pelted me with increasing steadiness.

I cursed and wrapped my laptop bag in the garbage bag, securing it tightly.

Then I bolted. My shoes slapped against the wet pavement as I dodged other pedestrians scrambling for cover.

A businessman with his briefcase over his head, a mother yanking her complaining toddler along, two teenagers sharing a flimsy umbrella, laughing as they huddled together.

“Sorry!” I called, squeezing between an elderly couple who glared as I sprinted past.

The rain intensified, turning from scattered drops to sheets of water. My hair plastered to my skull within seconds, and my clothes grew heavy, clinging to my skin. Water streamed down my face, blurring my vision. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear it away.

Thunder boomed overhead. I flinched but kept running, my feet splashing through puddles that soaked my ankles and socks. The sprain was better—much, much better.

But this fast pace was going to irritate it.

Oh, well. Just a problem for future me to deal with. Right now, I was concerned about the water.

The neon light of a pudgy baker whose feet seemed to dance as the pairs of lights blinked on and off beckoned in the distance. The last block never felt so far.

I burst through the door.

The scent of butter, sugar, and yeast enveloped me like a warm hug.

I stood dripping on the black and white checkerboard tiles, creating a small puddle beneath my feet.

The space was cozy—almost cramped—but in the most inviting way possible.

Glass display cases lined the right wall, showcasing rows of pastries that looked like they belonged in a museum rather than someone’s stomach.

Croissants with golden, flaky layers. éclairs topped with glossy chocolate.

Fruit tarts arranged like jewels in a crown.

“Mama Mia!” Tony exploded, ambling out from the back. “What happened? You’re soaked through!”

I gave the jolly man a winning smile. “Hi Tony. Do you have a towel?”

He said something, held up his hand, and hustled away.

The poor thing. My best friend Serena and I used to come here after school.

She told me it was an auto accident, but I later learned that Tony was a mobster.

His deformities and mangled body were the result of torture.

He was difficult to understand owing to a chunk of his tongue having been removed.

I shivered.

Focusing on something more jolly, I tried to decide which treat I was eating today.

Who am I kidding? It wasn’t which one—it was which one was I eating first . It would be a sin to come to Tony’s bakery and not indulge.

Tony came back, handing me a towel. “Coffee?” he lisped.

“Please!” I generally didn’t drink it unless it was heavily doctored, but Tony only had to put sugar in his to make it tasty.

As I patted my body and wrung out my hair, I mentally prepared for this meeting. Alessandro Mancini knew I’d discovered their little family secret, and now he had a job for me. Me. Working for the mob.

How exciting was that?

That was what came of making friends with a mafia princess.

As a kid, when I wasn’t being trotted around by my parents, I was ignored.

I was a lonely child, which made me bond with Serena, the other sheltered girl.

It was hard to say who had it worst—me, who was forced to be around people I hated, or Serena, who was not allowed anywhere.

Even this bakery was a fancy kind of prison.

When we used to come here to do homework, it was so that Alessandro’s man Tony could watch us.

Looking around, a wave of nostalgia filled me.

The walls were painted a soft yellow that reminded me of fresh lemon curd, and vintage photographs of Italy promised days filled with la dolce vita.

Standing here, it felt like coming home.

The door chimed.

Rounding on the newcomer to warn them about the puddle of water on the floor, I gaped.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Leo gaped at me too.

The look of surprise was priceless. Water trickled down his face in rivulets, and his hair was a soaking mess.

I handed him the towel, hiding my giggles behind my hand. “The better question is what are you doing here?”

Was he going to tell me?

Of course, he won’t!

I might have a past with him, I might have stalked him, manipulated chess moves into producing the desired effect, but we were nowhere close enough to start telling one another intimate secrets.

Like the one that his sister and I were besties; or that his sister-in-law was fast becoming my only friend in the city.

“Leo!” Tony squealed coming out with my coffee in hand. He garbled another string of words, this time in Italian.

Leo gave a pointed look to where I stood, but Tony waved his hand at me.

“She’s cool, dude,” he said.

The slang was hilarious, and if I wasn’t wet, I would have given old Tony a hug.

Leo dried his head then dropped the towel to the floor and wiped the water with his foot.

“You never answered my question,” he said, plucking the towel up and bunching it in his fist.

“Oh, I’m here to meet someone.” Your brother….

Imagining his reaction if I said that was fun.

“Who?” he asked a little too sharply.

“My friend Penny.” Partially true. “We met at the marina earlier this summer and have a vested interest in sailing.”

Something dangerous simmered under his eyes. “I see.”

I set my empty espresso cup down on the counter.

“I thought you didn’t drink that swill ,” he clipped out.

“Normally, I don’t.” I shrugged. “But when Tony is kind enough to make it, I don’t refuse.”

“You know Tony?”

“Yes, only the best baker in town.” And your brother’s guard dog. “My turn to ask a question. What are you doing here? This isn’t your usual haunt, Americano.”

Leo stilled at the old name. The hard edge in his voice softened. “Like you said, it’s the best bakery in the city.”

My heart pattered.

The ringing of my phone effectively killed the moment.

“The road is under water, we’re stuck!” Penelope wailed. “It could be a while.”

“I’ll wait.” I held Leo’s dark stare. “I have nowhere else to be.”

Penelope chirped a goodbye and another apology.

“You wait upstairs? You’ll be more comfortable,” Tony urged, coming to open the case and make me a box of treats.

“Antonio!” Leo barked, launching into a string of violent-sounding Italian.

But the baker set down the box, folded the lid to close, and glared at the businessman. “I’m the boss when boss isn’t here. I say she can go upstairs.”

Smiling, I hurried past the baker, taking my box of treats, and tripped lightly up the steps. My ankle throbbed in protest, but I ignored the ache. Cursing, Leo followed. His heavy tread made the stairs creak.

“You know,” I mused, flopping onto the worn sofa in the landing where Serena and I spent many hours. “One might ask how well you know the baker if you’re willing to yell at him like that.”

Leo scowled. “It’s none of your business.”

“Come on! I’m going to be your wife,” I protested.

The moment the words flew past my lips, we stopped short.

The declaration spiraled in the air between us.

It was as if we each held an end of a taut string, uncertain who would drop it first. I’d said it so casually, like a swift toss over my shoulder, when in reality it was a profound, defining fact.

“Let’s play a game,” Leo suggested. Going into Alessandro’s office, he produced a bottle.

Normal people would point out the fact that he was making himself at home, just as I was.

But we were avoiding the big, unspoken truth.

“What’s the game?” I sat up at the sight of the don’s good liquor.

“Truth or dare. You don’t want to tell, you drink. You don’t want to act, you drink twice.”

“Trying to get me drunk for any particular reason?” I hedged, but already my mind raced with the possibility. Maybe he would admit he was in the mob. Maybe with that secret free, we could grow closer.

Are you willing to tell him some of yours? A wide array of emotions spread through my chest, and I bent for the pastry box on the coffee table to hide the reaction that no doubt scrawled over my face.

“Ladies first.” Leo draped himself over the opposite end of the couch.

“Whose office is that?” I asked quickly, forgetting the rules.

“That’s not how you play,” he chuckled. “Since you gave away your question, I’ll take a dare.”

I had a good one of those too, but I wanted a little liquid courage before I dared him. “I dare you to tell me whose office that is.”

“Tony’s.” Leo rubbed his chin. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What made you so sad a moment ago?”

My heart dropped to my stomach. I picked up the bottle and took a long pull.

His exhale was a long rumble in his chest.

“Your turn.” I pointed the bottle at him.

“Truth.”

“Why did you kiss me at the engagement party?” I asked, heart racing at my own boldness.

His jaw tightened. I could see the internal debate playing out behind those dark eyes. For a moment, I thought he’d reach for the bottle, but instead he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.