The Bossman (2 page)

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t? Come on,” he coaxed. “Your car paid in full for one date with me. I’m not that bad, am I? Besides, I’m hardly a client. I’m a family friend.”

She exhaled. “I’m sure you can buy sex from someone else for a lot cheaper than that,” she said.

Smiling a wicked grin, he inched closer, invading her personal space and loving that she didn’t step back. “Well, I didn’t say anything about sex, but if it’s on the table, I am absolutely interested in that, too.” He resisted the urge to give her the up and down sweep of his eye and instead enjoyed watching the pink flush bloom under her golden skin. “The bargain was for a date, though.”

“One date, no sex?” she asked, her voice wavering. She looked at him under long lashes, her eyes pale green, the color of cash.

He gave her a wink. “Tomorrow night?”

“Okay,” she said weakly.

“Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up.” He pulled out a hundred dollar bill for the massage and handed it to her, planting a kiss on her cheek, Sicilian style.

He heard her mumble, “Thank you,” as he shut the door, strutting out to his BMW like he’d just scored a date with the prom queen. Little Sophie Palazzo was all grown up. He remembered thinking she was hot when she was teenager, but now, at thirty, she was the proverbial brick house. There was something about her that was exotic and exciting--and, despite the fact she was working a service job and almost had her car repossessed, he felt she outclassed him in every way.

After Alessia, that was a nice change.

His cell phone rang and he glanced at the caller: Al--his brother and boss. “Hey, Al.”

“Where are you?” his brother demanded.

“Just running an errand. What’s up?”

“Meet me at Angelo’s,” he ordered, referring to their favorite coffee shop.

He sighed. “Be right there.”

Being his brother’s bitch was okay most of the time, but over the last few years, he’d experienced a significant drop in personal fulfillment, which had been part of the break up with Alessia. He drove to Angelo’s and plopped down across from his brother at a patio table.

Al had been his boss since about the day he was born. He was eight years older, which had been a lifetime when they were kids, and he had been the one who had ridden Joey hardest--harder than their father, even.

Al had made sure Joey beat the shit out of any neighborhood kid who stood up to him before he even started kindergarten. Al taught him the rules of the street. The rules of vengeance. The rules of crime. The rules of death and honor. Al had been his capo when their father was still alive, had ordered his first hit and sponsored him to be “made” when he was only twenty-two.

“Stan Matranga bought a house here in Oakbrook,” Al informed him.

The Matrangas were the other organization in Chicago and the two families were in a constant state of chess with each other. Strategizing about the game was, actually, one part of his job he enjoyed. Al listened to him first, over Vito, his underboss or Carlo, his consigliere.

“Oh yeah? You paid a visit yet?”

“No, I was going to send you.”

Joey kept his face blank and nodded. Of course Al would send him--because Al’s life goal was to make sure Joey wasn’t a pussy, a suspicion he’d held ever since he realized Joey preferred sharing his toys to fighting over them.

“What do you think? You want to bring back up?”

He considered. He’d be visiting as an emissary, which meant it was doubtful he’d get whacked. He might get beat up, but knocking off the boss’s brother would start a war. Of course, moving into Oakbrook was a shot across the bow, so maybe they wanted war. “I’ll go alone.”

Al considered him and he held steady under the gaze. Now that he’d accepted the job without flinching, Al was worried about him, he could tell. This was always the way with him--he’d throw Joey to the lions, then pace beside the pit until he came out safe and sound.

Joey shrugged. “I’ll go now. I’ll text you when it’s done.”

He drove to the address Al gave him, checking and rechecking his gun.

Stan opened the door himself, blocking the entrance aggressively. He was not the boss of the Matrangas, but he was a capo, and his showing up in their neighborhood did not bode well.

“Stan,” he said with false friendliness. “Heard you moved in over here.”

Stan’s eyes darted right and left, verifying he was alone. “Yeah, just getting settled,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind if I don’t invite you in--boxes are still getting unpacked, you know.”

“Of course, of course. What brings you to our side of town?”

He jerked his thumb in the direction of the interior. “Wife liked the neighborhood here. Said the schools were better, for the kids.”

He sincerely doubted Stan’s kids went to public school, but he didn’t pursue it. “You know, Al wouldn’t like it if he thought you were doing business on our side of town, do you hear what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, sure. I know what you’re saying. But don’t worry--I’m just living here. Not doing any business.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Just living here.”

Joey gave him a long look, letting him know he doubted every word of it, then he nodded slowly. “Make sure you don’t.”

Sophie tossed the sheet from the massage table into her laundry bag and put on a fresh one. She gave the floor a sweep, which only took thirty seconds, considering her entire studio was the size of a small bedroom. Stepping into the lobby, she reached for her cell phone to turn on the ringer.

There was a message from Bruce, the guy she was sort of seeing, asking to take her on a date next weekend. She should have used Bruce as an excuse for why she couldn’t go out with Joey. Why hadn’t she? It seemed a sign of just how little space Bruce occupied in her brain.

She sighed. Did it say something that she preferred to text him so they didn’t have to actually talk? Their relationship was as about as exciting as the rocks she collected for her windowsills. Even so, she texted him back a yes. She needed to have someone to throw at Joey if he came on too strong.

She dialed her Aunt Marie, the only person from her father’s side of the family with whom she kept in touch. “You’ll never believe who showed up in my studio today.”

“Who?”

“Joey La Torre.”

“What? Really? What for?”

“A massage! His PT recommended it and Doña Teresa remembered I’m a therapist.”

“Did he like it?”

“I have no idea. Right when I finished, a tow truck showed up to repossess my car and Joey ran out and put a gun to the operator’s head.”

Since Marie was married into the Family, that part didn’t faze her. “Do you need money, honey?” she asked with concern.

“No, no. I’m fine. Thanks, Aunt Marie. I just forgot to make my payment, you know.”

“So you can make it now?”

“Uh, yeah.” She didn’t exactly want to tell her aunt Joey had paid it off for her.

“Did you get Joey to book another appointment with you? He could be good money, you know. Send you new clients and all.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

“No, but uh...he asked me out on a date.”

Marie gave an exaggerated gasp. “That’s wonderful! Oh he’s perfect for you, don’t you think?”

“Um…”

“He broke up with Alessia last Christmas. They were engaged, you know. She was just devastated--thought they were going to start a family and everything. But I don’t think she was smart enough for him. He’s the brains of the family. They say he’s more of consigliere than Carlo. Don Alberto gets his advice on things first.”

“Yeah, well…” She realized she couldn’t tell Marie her reservations--that she could never be in a relationship with a mobster--without insulting Marie and her choice in her husband, Sammy. “I just don’t know if he’s my type.”

“Of course he’s your type! He’s every girl’s type. Do you think he’s too old? He can’t be more than 10 years older than you.”

Her heart rate increased inexplicably. Why would his seniority in age be titillating? Somehow it added to his authority and power, making him far more exciting as a date than any guy she’d gone out with in recent years. Hell, he was more exciting than any guy she’d
ever
gone out with.

But that didn’t mean she would get involved with him.

#

Sophie’s full, glossy lips were all he could think about as he drove to pick her up. It was the first time he’d felt excited about anything for a long time. Just paying off the lien on her car had been a turn-on, knowing large expenditures on a woman equaled foreplay. When she answered the door, he drew in his breath and whistled.

“You just made my night.”

“How?” she asked, stepping back to let him in. She wore a short black skirt with bare legs and strappy heels, and a purple silk spaghetti strap tank with a scoop neck.

“I hoped you’d wear another short skirt.”

She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was pleased, as she’d obviously made an effort. She’d put color on her lips this time, instead of just gloss, and they were even more pouty, if that were possible. She only lacked a few inches of height to look like an elite model. But no, models didn’t have cleavage like that. No, she was better than a model.

He leaned in for a kiss on her cheek, catching a whiff of an earthy sort of perfume--almost like vanilla. Every nerve ending was firing in anticipation of being near her all evening. And of course, ever since she’d mentioned sex as part of their negotiations, it was all he had on his mind. But he knew he’d have to work for it. He’d have to work just to get a second date. She was not that into him.
Yet.

“Well, I’m ready,” she said with a shrug. He had the impression she wanted to get their time together over with as quickly as possible.

He held out his arm. “After you.” He escorted her to the BMW and opened the door, helping her in before shutting it after her.

“So,” he said, settling into the driver’s seat and turning on the car. “I got the feeling you weren’t happy to see me yesterday,” he said, addressing the issue head-on.

Her head snapped up with a deer in the headlights look. “No, I...”

“Come on, Sophie--don’t lie to me. You were nervous and then you were annoyed. Is your beef with me or the Family?”

She uncrossed her knees and shifted her hips around in the seat. “No, that’s not it...I don’t have a beef,” she fumbled.

“The truth, Sophie.”

Feeling her eyes searching his face, he looked away from the road to meet them. The pale green of her irises stood out, framed by long, mascaraed lashes. She dropped her eyes to her hands, which were tangling in her lap. “It’s just...I haven’t really seen anyone much since my dad died.”

He said nothing, waiting for her to elaborate.

“I don’t have a beef,” she said with an exhale that sounded like maybe she’d just let go of it, whatever it had been.

“Is it with me?” he asked, more gently.

“No,” she said, lifting her eyes to his face again. There was a softness about her now, like she’d dropped the chip on her shoulder. “You’re just not my usual type, that’s all.”

He grinned. “What’s your usual type?”

She flashed a quick smile. “Not you.”

“Well, if I had a type, it would be you,” he said, earning a snort.

“I heard you just broke off an engagement with someone,” she said.

“Oh yeah?” he said, surprised. “Where’d you hear that?”

“My Aunt Marie--you know, Tony’s wife? I called her after you came by yesterday.”

Though it probably meant nothing, he enjoyed a certain triumph hearing she’d asked about him. “Yeah, I just realized she wasn’t the right girl for me. Too empty.” He felt curiosity in her gaze but didn’t glance over.

He took her to the nicest restaurant he could think of, Epic, a swanky River North establishment with views of the Chicago skyline. The maître d’ welcomed him by name and sat them in a private booth by a window. He asked if she liked wine, and when she said she did, ordered a bottle of 2004 Napa Valley zinfandel.

“So, how was your knee after the massage?”

“Actually, it was really good. What was that thing you did at the end, when your hands got hot?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You felt that?”

“Yeah. What was it?”

“It’s called Reiki. It’s an energy healing.”

He digested that. It had certainly felt like energy--a pulsing wave of warmth had loosened all the strain around his titanium joint. The waiter opened the bottle of wine and handed him the cork to smell. He made a show of smelling it and then gave her a little eye roll, which made her smirk. He sampled the wine and gave the waiter a nod.

“I’m not sure I’d recommend your services, though,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “Why not?”

Joey leveled a knowing look at her. “You know why not.”

Something about his look made her heart pound in her chest. He was so maddeningly direct, the man had kept her off-balance from the very start of their date. She shook her head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His lips twisted into a smirk and he regarded her with heavy-lidded, appreciative eyes, as if she was a fine wine he intended to savor. “You purposely tortured me.”Her cheeks grew warm. All the superiority she’d felt doing it drained away under his direct accusation. How stupid of her to think he would be embarrassed. Somehow he’d turned the tables so she was the one squirming. “Maybe just a little,” she admitted.

He lifted his glass. “To a great first date,” he said.

She clinked his glass. “It’s not the first date. It’s the only date. Remember? One date?”

He grinned. “I’m planning on locking you into another one. Don’t you know that’s how it is with the Family? Once we have our hooks into you...”

She giggled uncomfortably, because that was exactly what she believed, and he was calling her on it. Like he’d been calling her on everything that night. She took a deep drink of the expensive wine and screwed up her courage. “Look, maybe I do have a beef. It’s just--my dad died when I was still a teenager, you know? And my mom, she never... she--”

“--hated the Family,” he filled in.

She met his eye. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I guess she blamed his death on the organization, so I did, too. I know you took care of us afterward. I remember the money drop-offs, the visits. Maybe it’s not fair to hold a grudge.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just wish he was still around, that’s all.”