Homecoming: A Secret Baby Romance (15 page)

I laughed and left the gym, forcing myself down the hallway because there was nothing more my body wanted to do than to turn around and find out exactly how good he was. I hoped that my desire would ease with distance, but instead, I was still overheated when I got back to my old room and fell into the soft mattress, groaning in frustration. “Fuck it. Time for a cold shower.”

* * *

T
he next morning
, precisely at eleven, I found Daniel waiting for me in the foyer, dressed not in the casual clothes he'd worn the last week for me, but instead in a black, somber suit, looking for all the world like a Secret Service agent. I’d also dressed for the trip, wearing a black dress that I'd always kept ready, knowing the sort of lifestyle my family had. Mob daughters have to go to funerals too often, in my opinion.

“Ready?” Daniel asked, standing up and buttoning his coat. I looked and was touched that next to him were a dozen roses in a basket, mixed white and red, ready for me. “I asked the gardening staff to pick out the best.”

“Thank you,” I said, my throat tight with emotion. He might have most of the time alternated in his personality between that of the Terminator or a cocky Lothario, but I too often forgot that he actually did have a tender, observant side to him. “They're beautiful, and I know Angela would have liked them. Come on. I'd like to save my tears for the graveside, if you don't mind.”

Daniel drove me in his BMW, back in his silent mode but slightly more comforting than he'd been earlier in the week. When we got out, the bright sunlight dazzled me, and he silently offered me a pair of Ray-Bans from his inner coat pocket. I put them on and walked with him to the grave site.

It wasn't that hard to find. The dirt was still freshly turned and the Astroturf that had been laid on top screamed out against the dark, rich green of the surrounding grass. I had to resist the urge to reach down and tear the plastic off, at least tearing away the lie that under the turf wasn't just a pile of dirt but the body of my best friend.

“I hate the turf,” Daniel said quietly, his hands crossed in front of him. “I remember that from Bucky Francetti's funeral last year. They'd lined the edges of the hole with it, and it looked to me like they were making a mockery of him with it.”

“Some people are comforted by it, I guess,” I said, kneeling and laying the flowers on top of the small mound. “Twenty-three years. She was too young and too good to end up like this.”

“I didn't know her, but I saw her once when you brought her by the Don’s house,” Dan said softly. “She did seem like a good person. I'm sure you’re right.”

“I've spent the past week wishing that I'd gone to Uncle Carlo before that day, saying I needed help and protection. I was scared out of my mind, but putting on a front for everyone. If I had and you were there . . .”

“You can't beat yourself up about it, Ade. Besides, even if the Don had assigned me a week earlier or two weeks earlier, or whatever, it wouldn’t have stopped what happened to her. My duty would be to keep you safe and protected, and I would’ve been with you, not back at the apartment with her.”

I turned and stepped closer to Daniel, reaching up and putting my hand on his shoulder. “You have kept me safe, and I thank you. For the past week, I've felt more secure and safer than I have in months. Maybe in my entire life.”

His hand came to rest on my hip, and we came closer until my body pressed against him. His lips lowered toward mine, and I tilted my head, wanting at that moment for nothing more than to feel his kiss. I could tell in his eyes that he wanted it too, when suddenly, he pushed me away, taking a step back. I nearly fell on my ass as I stepped back, the heel of my shoe catching on the edge of the Astroturf blanket on top of Angela's grave. “What the fuck?”

“We can't,” Daniel said, stepping back again. He turned and scanned the area, his head moving like a radar dish. “For both of our sakes—we can't.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Don't tell me that you don't want me,” I hissed, stepping around to look him in the eye. “I saw it in your eyes just now, and I've seen it in your eyes before. Tell me you don't want me!”

“Of course I do,” Daniel said, his eyes flickering with desperation and anger and something else. “But I can't, Adriana. Like I said, for both our sakes.”

“What do you mean?” I asked softly, my anger fading as I saw the emotion in his icy blue eyes.

“It can never be just the two of us, Ade,” Dan said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “First—and I'm not bragging—I'd ruin you for other men. I've made that mistake in the past, and while I'm more than willing to fuck some skank and leave her wanting me for years afterward, you're better than that. I won't ruin your life, because no other man is going to compare to me.”

“So why does there ever have to be anyone else?” I asked, putting my hand on his chest. “You and I, we've been eyeing each other for a long time. I think I can make my own decision about whether you're the type of man I want.”

“You know nothing!” Daniel hissed, pushing my hand down. Seeing the hurt in my eyes, his face softened, filled now with more hurt, and for the first time in his life, fear. “If I ever touch you, if I ever do what I want to do, I'm a dead man. Don Bertoli has promised me that much. And I'm also worried about something more.”

“What?”

“I'm worried that you're a dead woman as well,” Daniel said softly. “I can face my own death, Ade. I've never had a life of my own, except what Carlo Bertoli has gifted me with. But I won’t see you dead. I . . . I care about you too much for that.”

Daniel blinked and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out another set of sunglasses, this time mirrored aviators. He slipped them on, obliterating my view of his blue eyes, and his face seemed to lose all traces of emotion, once again the perfect Terminator. “I'll wait a few rows away until you're done saying your farewells to Angela.”

T
he next day
, Monday night, after dropping off Adriana, I was back at the Starlight Club, wearing one of my suits. I was desperate and needed to do something to get my mind right.

Never, in the close to ten years that I'd been doing work for Don Bertoli, had I drifted so close to disobeying an order from him. And the rule I'd nearly broken wasn't some minor little thing like wearing the wrong type of tie or being a little short on a pickup from one of the businesses under his protection. Screw up like that, and you'd get a few words, and maybe be punished with making it up out of your own pocket. For someone with my rank within the Don's organization, I'd get a frown at most and be tasked with going back out to make sure things were rectified as soon as possible.

But what I almost did would be like breaking one of the Ten Commandments, a sin that could never be atoned for. Every man in Don Bertoli's organization, from the lowest lackey to even Pietro Columbu, his second in command, had been taken aside by the Don and told in no uncertain terms from the time she was eleven years old and started puberty—Adriana was not to be touched.

And the day before, I'd nearly lost it. Her lips had been so close, her green eyes so filled with soft desire, her generous curves so perfect pressed against me. I'd nearly damned us both. It had taken every ounce of my willpower to push her away and step back, and I'd tried the night before to get rid of my weakness by myself, jacking off until my cock ached and I felt like a guilty teenager again. It hadn't helped, and the next day, my desire had returned in full strength, fueled even more by the outfit she'd worn, her legs amazing in those tiny little shorts. I couldn't trust myself, being constantly distracted, and I knew I acted like a total asshole, barely talking at all through most of the day until we were both relieved when Julius showed up again, right on time to do his night shift.

So I found myself at the Starlight Club, one of my suits on like a suit of armor more than a layer of blended wool. If I couldn't be the man who could resist Adriana, then come hell or high water, I could remember that I was a Bertoli man, one of the best fucking Bertoli men there was. And Bertoli men were allowed—in fact, sometimes even encouraged—to do what I was about to do. I looked up at the sign and figured it was worth a try.

The Starlight Club was pretty quiet, but it was a Monday night, and there were only perhaps a dozen patrons inside, their sweaty faces looking slack and simian under the dim lights.

“Welcome, sir,” the manager said, coming out from behind the bar to shake my hand. We'd known each other for a while, since I was the man most often tasked with the pickups at the club. The manager always had his payment on time and ready to go in a simple white envelope, and we'd enjoyed a couple of conversations in the spare time I had. “Business or pleasure?”

“Both,” I said, distracted. When he gave me a concerned look, I waved it off. His cash was secure for tonight. “Not that type of business. Tell me, is there a girl named Carmen working tonight?”

“Yeah, she's scheduled for a dance in five,” the manager said, relaxing. This sort of business he had no problems discussing. “She said you looked interested last time you were here.”

“I am,” I said, reaching into my coat and taking out two hundred-dollar bills folded together. I held them out, raising an eyebrow. “Think you might be able to reschedule the dance, let me have some private time with her?”

“What type of private time?” he asked while still making the money disappear. While ninety-nine percent of the customers probably suspected it, only the select few like me were permitted access to the other services the Starlight Club offered. “Carmen's one of my best. She's pretty pricey. She’s selective as to who she gives private time to.”

“I bet,” I said, reaching back inside and showing the wad of cash I had with me. Bertoli rewarded his men handsomely, and I lived a frugal lifestyle. “Tell her if she's worth it, she's not going to need to dance for a month afterward if she wants.”

“And what do I get? Sorry, business and all.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, and he quavered a bit. He knew what I could do, and he'd be lucky that I didn't just destroy the entire club. I unbuttoned my coat, showing him the Beretta in a holster under my left arm, then reached into the pocket next to it and pulled out another hundred-dollar bill. “That's three, plus a bonus for you personally if Carmen's worth my time and money. Good enough?”

“Yes, sir,” the manager stammered, stepping back. He reacquired his smile quickly though, and swept his arm to his left. “If you'll just follow me, I'll make sure you're comfortable before getting Carmen.”

I shook my head, pushing past him. “I know where to go. Get Carmen and send up some bottle service. The good stuff, none of that fake label shit you pass off on the mooks.”

I went into the VIP room and hung up my jacket, sitting on the reclining couch. I'd had my choice of places to go. Don Bertoli controlled most of the places like this in the Seattle-Tacoma area, but I didn't need whips, chains, or anything kinky. Not that I had anything against it, but my cock was more than enough for the women I dealt with.

Carmen was quick, coming in like a little pixie in her green silk robe and no heels. She was tiny, maybe five feet tall if you were being generous, with long, thick black hair and large doe eyes that I bet made most men think she was performing just for them when she was on stage or in a private dance. Her blindingly white teeth were perfectly even, and I wondered how a girl so pretty wasn't trying to make a living doing something else. But hell, I’m the last man who should judge anyone. Besides, I didn’t know her or her circumstances.

“Hey, Papi,” Carmen said, sauntering her way across the room and sitting next to me, placing a hand on my thigh where it lay light and warm, enticing. “When Terry came in and said you were out here, I was so excited I had to get here as quick as I could. I hope you don't mind that I forgot my heels.”

I knew she was lying—it was part of her appeal, I was sure. On stage, the high heels added to the act, but in private, she could be the naughty young girl much more easily. “I bet. So I guess you've been thinking about me?”

“You have no idea,” she said, turning more toward me and rubbing her tiny little hand over my chest through my shirt. “I haven’t been able to keep you out of my mind all week. In fact, I've done some naughty things while thinking about you.”

I chuckled, trying to relax into the lying fantasy. With some of the women I’d been with, lies were necessary, and I certainly didn't want to know the truth in a lot of cases anyway. “So how about after the bottles get here, you and I talk about those naughty things some more?”

Carmen pouted, and I had to admit she could pull off the hurt, innocent look very well. “I'd like to show you if you'd let me.”

I nodded and reached for the knot on her robe. “Perfect. But I have to warn you, Carmen. I'm not an easy man to please.”

She let me undo the bow, leaving her robe held closed just by the simple crossing of her belt, a bit more of her cleavage becoming visible in the extra slack. “I know all about you. Two of the girls in the back tonight are hatin' on me right now. You're a legend, both for your generosity and your . . .”