The Bossman (7 page)

He turned her around without releasing her hair. The tough guy look slid away, replaced by an earnest expression. “I’m sorry if I sound bossy--it’s just the way I talk. It doesn’t mean I won’t bend for you.”

Her heart thundered at his concession. How could he transition from bossman to considerate lover in the blink of an eye?

He slipped his fingers inside her bra and rolled her nipple between them. “I thought you liked me being the boss of you. Are you going to let me be in charge?”

She wanted to say no, because she understood he was asking a serious question, but she couldn’t think straight with her head pulled back and her nipple being tortured. He withdrew his hand from her bra and reached between her legs, running a finger inside the rim of her panties. A tremor ran simultaneously down both inner thighs.

“Are you, little girl?” he asked, his finger lightly brushing over her moistened labia.

“Yes,” was all she could whisper.

“Good girl,” he said and leaned forward, pressing his lips over hers with a hard, demanding kiss at the same moment his fingers pinched her clit. She shuddered, a small orgasm rippling through her.

He released her when it had passed, looking satisfied with himself as he sauntered to her dresser and started going through her jewelry.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Looking at what you wear,” he said, picking up various pieces and examining them. “Is this what you like or what you can afford?”

She gave him a withering look. “It’s what I like to wear.”

He held up his hands, grinning. “Okay, okay. That’s why I asked.”

“I hate diamond heart pendants if that’s what you were wondering,” she said, crossing to the closet and choosing a blouse.

He grinned. “Yes, that was what I was wondering. Looks like you prefer semi-precious gemstones in large, arty styles. Is that right?”

“Yeah,” she grinned. “That’s pretty good.”

He blew on his nails and buffed them. “See? Some Neanderthals know how to pay attention.”

She picked up a pillow and tossed it in his face, but he caught it easily. “Uh oh. Now you’re in trouble,” he said, lunging to catch her around the waist, and giving her ass a hard slap.

“Ow! No fair!” she yelped, covering her behind with her hand.

“Mmm hmm. You mess with the bull, you get the horns,” he said, holding two fingers up in a
Dances With Wolves
buffalo imitation.

She giggled.

He picked up his gun from the dresser. “Listen. I’m going to leave this here for you. I don’t like the idea of you being here alone.” He narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger in her face. “And I did mean it about you locking the door.”

“I appreciate the concern, but--”

“I’m leaving the gun. Do you know how to use it?”

She nodded. “Yes. My dad taught me. But I don’t need a gun here, Joey.”

He ignored her. “I’m putting it up here,” he said, reaching to a high corner shelf in her closet. “It’s loaded and the safety’s on.”

“But what will you use?”

“I think I can find another one,” he said drily.

Right. Of course.
Her skin turned ice cold, the reality of keeping guns in her house, of keeping men who used guns in her house not just distasteful, but bone-chilling. No matter how sweet his words, or hot the sex, she couldn’t forget who or what Joey La Torre was: a made man in the mafia. A killer. The kind of guy who winds up in jail or dead--just like her father.

Sophie seemed nervous as they drove to Al’s for the barbecue. He remembered the way she’d bristled when he’d invited her and wondered if it was painful for her to be around her father’s
compares
. He put a hand on her knee and squeezed but she only stiffened. Parking the car, he led her through the side gate into the backyard where the men were all standing around the grill and the children were playing a game of touch football on the lawn.

He greeted them and introduced Sophie. “You all remember Sophie Palazzo? Artie’s daughter?”

“Yeah, of course,” they all said.

“Hi, Pauly,” she offered, with an awkward little wave. He wondered if Pauly was the only one she remembered. “This is Alex, Sammy, and my brother, Don Alberto.”

Al stuck out his hand and she shook it, not quite meeting his eye. “It’s good to see you, Sophie. It’s been a long time--too long.”

There was criticism in Al’s remark, and Sophie didn’t miss it. She gave a little shrug. “Well, it hasn’t been high on my list, but Joey didn’t give me much of a choice this time.”

He stiffened with the rest of the men.
What the fuck?
He took Sophie by the elbow, in a hurry to lead her away before any more damage was done. Al had raised his eyebrows and he wanted her out of there before his brother spoke.

He tugged her along until they reached the side of the house, where he bent his head and hissed, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She lifted her chin. “What?”

“Don’t give me that. You were deliberately rude, not just to my
compares
, but to the boss.”

Her lip curled. “The boss?” she sneered. “The boss is your brother.”

He gave her a little shake. “That’s even worse!”

When she continued to look stubborn, he released her, fearing in his frustration he might squeeze her arms too hard or frighten her. He put his hands on his hips and blew his breath out, looking back toward the direction of the men. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said. “Keep your mouth shut if you can’t say something nice,
capisce
?” She started to stalk off and he caught her arm, pulling her back. “
Capisce
?” he demanded.

A muscle in her jaw jumped. “
Capito
,” she spit out, pulling free of his hold. “I understand you perfectly.” The bitterness in her voice cut him like glass.

She stalked into the house like she owned the place, so he left her on her own. She would know enough women inside to make herself comfortable, if she could manage to be polite. He walked back to the grill, gritting his teeth at the prospect of facing the men after that less than ideal introduction to his new girlfriend.

Al ignored him when he came up, so the others took his cue and looked into their drinks, or off into the distance.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said.

Al gave him an appraising look. “Real nice, Joey. So, I guess she is a bitch like her mother.” He looked at Sammy as if the two of them had been discussing her.

His teeth snapped together, the muscles of his jaw straining so hard one side started twitching. Al’s eyes traveled from the fists clenched at his side to his face. “That wouldn’t go well for you,” he said, flicking his eyes back to the fists with his customary superiority that made Joey want to throttle him. With great effort, he unclenched his fingers.

“She was bitchy,” he said, satisfied that he kept his tone even. “But she’s not a bitch.”

“If you say so,” Al said, flipping a burger.

“Sophie Palazzo!” Alberto’s wife Carmen greeted her when she walked in the large, expensively outfitted kitchen. The women were gathered around the huge granite-topped island talking in loud voices as they chopped or arranged food. “Al told me you were coming. It’s good to see you.” She moved forward to receive kisses. “Ma, you remember Artie Palazzo’s daughter?” Carmen said to her mother-in-law.Doña Teresa narrowed her eyes and gave Sophie the full up and down sweep with her eyes. “Sure, I remember. You came with my Joey?”

She presented herself to Doña Teresa for kisses as well. “Did you fix his knee yet? That was the reason I had him call you, not for dating.” She circled her hand in the air to disparage the entire concept of dating.

“Ah, dating’s fine too, Ma. You should be happy. Joey hasn’t brought a girl around since he broke up with Alessia over a year ago.”

“He should’ve married her!” Doña Teresa cried and Carmen gave Sophie an eye roll behind her back.

She found her Aunt Marie and gave her a huge hug, genuinely glad to see her. Marie began her usual gossip, which was a relief, as it kept her mind off her fight with Joey, off the rudeness of his mother and away from her general discomfort at being there.

When the men came in with the meat, she kept herself completely occupied with Marie, foolishly thinking Joey would be easy to blow off. Of course, he came to stand at her elbow and when she didn’t take the hint, he put his arm around her waist and directed her to a white leather couch in the living room. Like all Sicilian family gatherings, the house was packed with noise and people--children running amok, loud voices exclaiming and chattering. It usually made it easy enough for her to fade away, but it seemed coming as Joey’s date made that impossible. His mother plopped herself in the easy chair next to them.

“So how is your mother?” Doña Teresa asked.

“She’s well. She lives in Florida now.”

“So I heard. Remarried, eh?”

She nodded, willing the knots in her belly to release. She was fairly certain Teresa disliked her mother, which caused her to remember, with a sharp pain in the chest, that her mother had been the cause of her father’s death. She wondered who here knew. Probably none of the women. But how many of the men? Pauly? Sammy? Tony? Was his killer here tonight?

“Do you like him?” Doña Teresa asked. “The new husband?”

She chewed her lip and shrugged. “Not so much. But he makes my mom happy.”

“Ah,” said the older woman with a glint in her eye. “That’s important.”

“Hey, Joey,” Sammy called to him. “Come on, Al’s breaking out the cigars.”

Joey patted her on the knee. “I’ll be back in a little bit,” he said, getting up and leaving without waiting for her reply. Even though she’d been the one avoiding him before they sat down, his abandonment irritated her. But hell, this wasn’t a date. This was a family gathering, one of hundreds she’d attended over her lifetime. She certainly didn’t need him to hold her hand.

“I’m taking off, Doña Teresa,” a young college aged man said, leaning down to kiss her.

She didn’t need him to hold her hand, and she didn’t need to wait for him to take her home, either. “Are you driving past Oak Park?” she asked, ignoring the raised eyebrows of Doña Teresa.

“Yeah, you need a ride?”

“Yes, please,” she said, jumping up to grab her purse and give her Aunt Marie a quick kiss.

Fuck Joey and this stupid barbecue.

“You seen Sophie?” he asked his mother, not spotting her anywhere when he returned.

“She left with Eddie,” his mother announced, looking delighted at the drama.

He scowled. “What? When?”

“Right after you left.”

He swore.

“She’s beautiful. But she doesn’t love you.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve only been dating her for a week, Ma. Of course she doesn’t love me.”

“I mean, I don’t think she ever will. It has nothing to do with you-- it’s about who you are. She can’t handle
Cosa Nostra,”
she said, referring to the Mob family. “She’s just like her mother.”

“She’s
not
like her mother,” he hissed for the second time that night, although he grew tired of defending her. Maybe they were right. But even if they were, he wasn’t writing her off, not when this thing between them felt so deep.

He said his goodbyes and drove straight to Sophie’s where he tested the door and found it locked. His first thought was to be pleased she remembered to lock it followed by a fear she wasn’t home yet, that she’d gone somewhere with Eddie. But that was stupid. He pounded on the door with his fist, knowing it sounded overly-aggressive, but unable to stop himself.

He waited a few beats and repeated the pounding. Though he heard nothing, he sensed she was inside. Why wouldn’t she answer? Probably because he was banging on her door like he was going to break it down. She put on a good show, but he knew she was scared of him, still.

“Sophie?” he called. “I just want to talk to you. Open up.”

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Sophie looked wary, but stepped back to let him in.

“Thank you for locking the door,” he said, making a mental note to get a key.

She looked surprised at his thanks, clearly expecting a tirade.

“Did you leave because you were mad?”

She didn’t answer.

“Did you leave to get away from me or to prove something to me?”

Her brow furrowed as if she were considering the difference. “Prove something to you,” she admitted.

He ran a hand through his hair, more relieved than annoyed by her answer. She’d wanted him to follow.

He paced the length of living room. “I’m not happy with you,” he told her. “What the hell were you trying to prove? You don’t show up at the Don’s house, insult him and then leave without saying goodbye. And you don’t walk out on a date with--”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted.

He stopped his lecture, surprised. “Yeah?” he said doubtfully.

“Yeah,” she said heavily. Her hair was falling in her face and she didn’t brush it back, letting it curtain her expression. Her eyes danced around at the level of his chest, not quite meeting his gaze. “I didn’t want to be there,” she confessed. “But that was no excuse for being rude, or for blaming you for it.”

He opened his arms wide and it was her turn to show surprise. She stumbled into them with a look of relief. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the faint smell of citrus in her hair. When they pulled apart, he led her toward the sofa.

“Please don’t use your belt.”

By some miracle, he managed to hide his surprise. She expected punishment? The thought hadn’t even occurred to him, as irritated as he’d been. But it was her fetish, and he knew from being capo you never miss giving a consequence when it is expected.

“I decide if and how you’re punished,” he said evenly. “But right now we’re going to talk about why you were mad at me.”

He pulled her sit beside him, waiting to see if she would offer any explanation.

She rubbed a thumb over the side stitching on her jeans. “I guess I felt like you dragged me somewhere I didn’t want to go, but I know that’s not really true.”

“It’s not true I dragged you?”