The Groom (8 page)

He tried to tell himself it was
worry for her health that had him thinking about her, but Lyle wasn’t
interested in playing the denial card. She was beautiful and mysterious and
Lyle was curious about her. As he left his room and trudged past Twila and up
to the second floor, he could just hear her Southern twang in his head. “Don’t
go hitting the sheets with someone new until they’ve cooled off from the last
woman,” she’d say, hands on her hips and lips pursed. He shook his head as he
rounded the long, narrow pool built into the floor, turning on the machine that
caused waves in the water and offered resistance.

Getting into a new relationship
was absolutely out of the question. He was obviously in no condition to go
jumping headfirst into something serious, and he had never been a casual dater.
He could count on one hand the number of serious relationships he’d been in,
and those were only when he’d had the time. Years of medical school,
internship, and residency hadn’t left him much time for a social life.

The feelings he was having for
Katrina were merely curiosity. She was a very beguiling person, and the
mysterious aura she exuded on stage merely had him a bit infatuated. Lyle was
certain most of the men that frequented Parson’s had a schoolboy crush on the
sexy singer. It was pathetic, but he was sure it would pass. Meanwhile, he
didn’t plan to alienate her just because he had a little crush. The least he
could do was follow up to make sure her stitches healed and that she was
recovering well from her attack. Her sultry voice and sparkling personality
would be the least of his worries.

Besides, he told himself as he
dove into the pool, swimming against the waves with long, smooth strokes, there
was a man’s name tattooed on the back of her hand. Lyle had finally caught a
glimpse of the cursive, black scrawl as they shared coffee on the patio. Even
if she was no longer with this man named Carmine, the fact that his name was
tattooed on her body indicated a deep history. She was likely in no position to
get into anything, serious or otherwise, any more than he was.

_________

THERE WAS
A man sitting in front of her door when she arrived home, and Katrina was
brought up short as she immediately recognized his face.

“What are you doing here?” she
snapped as she fished her keys out of her purse, brushing past the stocky
Italian who had come to his feet and was now leaning against her doorframe. She
avoided his dark eyes—a move of self-preservation more than anything.
Alessandro Moretti was bad news of the sexually attractive kind; a part of her
past that she chose to avoid and it wasn’t only because of his connection to
the Giordano crime family.

“Is that any way to greet the man
who loves you, Gattina?” he crooned, his voice thickly accented. Katrina
fumbled with her keys and kept her eyes lowered, grateful for the thick curtain
of her hair shielding her from his probing gaze. His nickname for her, little
cat, brought back a feeling of familiarity that she had worked for months to
forget. Alessandro was toxic, much like the drug that had held her captive for
so many years. While the pleasure of a one-time encounter with him could
possibly lead to several more, Katrina reminded herself the heartache that
would inevitably follow.

“You don’t love me, Sandro,” she
remarked dryly as she pushed the door open, leaving it open for him as she
stepped inside. “And I know you’re only here because Victor sent you to look
out for me. Am I wrong?”

He shrugged, his wide shoulders
rippling beneath his skin-tight, black T-shirt. Alessandro might have been a
bit short—he was really average, but Katrina was taller than most
women—but he was large in all the ways that counted, including
personality.

“My Gattina, I am insulted you
think I would come only out of obligation. Your father would not trust the safety
of his only daughter to a lowly soldier. During a meeting with his most trusted
Capo, he spoke on the situation with the Pirelli family. When he asked who
among us was up to the task of looking after you, of course I jumped at the
chance. Are you not happy to see me?”

So Alessandro had been promoted.
Katrina wasn’t surprised to learn he had advanced in the Giordano Family
hierarchy. From the moment the youngest son of Victor’s closest friend was
accepted as a soldier, her father had favored him. Bitterly, Katrina had
eventually come to realize that he was grooming young Alessandro much the same
way he’d groomed Carmine. Part of the reason she’d broken off their
relationship was Alessandro’s strong emotional connection to her father and to
the Family. She’d already lost one man to that lifestyle and didn’t think she
could take losing another.

She sighed, leaning against the
kitchen counter with her arms folded across her chest, eyeing him sternly. “I
can’t say that I am happy to see you, Sandro, considering the circumstances. By
the way, if you’re going to stalk me, I’d advise you to step your game up a
tad. I sure could have used your help last night.”

Alessandro’s eyes widened as he
crossed the room swiftly, his hands coming up to her face. “Is that what happened
to your head? Who did it, cara? Did you see his face?”

Katrina swatted his hands away
and ducked out of his hold, desperate to put a few feet of space between them.
Her mind might have been made up concerning a relationship, but her body often
forgot, and it had been too long since she’d been with anyone.

“It was kind of hard to see him
in the dark, and of course, with his hands around my neck, I was more concerned
about trying to breathe. I think it’s safe to say it was one of Pirelli’s
goons.”

Alessandro snatched his phone
from his pocket and started scrolling through his contacts, one finger of his
free hand pointed at her accusingly. “You should have left like your father
wanted you to. It’s not safe here.”

“Not even with you around?” she
challenged with raised eyebrow.

Alessandro scowled and shushed
her as a voice spoke in rapid Italian on the other end. “I’ll deal with you in
a moment, Gattina.”

Katrina ignored him as he spoke
in Italian with whomever he’d called. She could have followed the conversation
if she tried hard enough, but she didn’t speak Italian often enough to follow
the rapid pace as well as she could have a few years ago. She left him pacing
in the living room and went into her bedroom, digging through her closet until
she came out with clean clothes. She’d just turned the shower to hot when
Alessandro came barreling into her room.

“Gattina, I’ve just spoken with
your father. We will not rest until the man responsible for hurting you is
found. If the Pirellis think they can fuck with you and get away with it, they
are wrong. In the meantime, your father has ordered me not to let you out of my
sight for a second.”

“And I’m ordering you to leave. I
am not one of the Family anymore, Sandro.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed,
raking a hand through his thick, black hair, “you’re always part of the
Family.”

Katrina rolled her eyes. “Spare
me the company line. This is why it could never work between us because you
don’t know how to think for yourself. You’re going to end up dead just like Carmine.”

“This is how you speak of your
brother? You were not always so angry and bitter, Gattina.”

“I’m not angry, Sandro, I’m just
tired. I’m telling you, just like I told Victor, I’m not running. I like my
life the way it is, and there’s no way you, him, or the Pirellis are going to
bully me into leaving it. Your business with them is none of mine, so if you
insist on keeping tabs on me, do it from a distance. I don’t want any of my
friends getting hurt because of your bullshit. You can tell Victor I said it
too. If he has a problem, he can take it up with me.”

Alessandro smiled as he reached
out to tug on one of her untamed curls. “You’ve changed, Gattina. I like it.”

“Sorry, but the new Katrina isn’t
interested in anything a Capo has to offer.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed
it, once. “I may not want to be with you anymore, Sandro, but that doesn’t mean
I don’t care. Be careful out there, okay?”

Alessandro shrugged her off with
a gruff laugh. “It’s you I’m worried about, cara. I can take care of myself and
you too. Don’t worry, you won’t even know I’m around.”

“Good,” Katrina mumbled as she
turned to enter the steam-filled bathroom. “Lock the door on the way out, will
you?”

She closed and locked the door,
not bothering to wait for a response. Despite the fact that she wasn’t ready to
turn tail and run off to Venice just yet, Katrina couldn’t deny the little
chill that ran down her spine at the reminder of what had almost happened the
night before. She doubted the inept soldier sent after her would have killed
her, but the message had been clear. She knew her father was a man of pride and
backing down wasn’t something he was likely to do, even with his only remaining
child in danger. The most she could hope for would be that the two families
could work out whatever turf war or beef there was between them peacefully.
Otherwise, she could lose the only family she had left, as well as her own
life.

Katrina sighed, dropping her
clothes to the floor and sliding into the hot shower, grateful for the soothing
spray as it soaked her from head to toe. Droplets of water slid through her
hair and down her shoulders, tracing the lines and puckered scars running up
and down the inside of her left arm. Much like those scars, she knew that her
father’s mark on her life was one that would probably never fade. No matter how
much she tried to change her life for the better, the cloud of his name and
legacy would forever hang over her head. She wondered morosely if they wouldn’t
one day be the end of her.

_____

Lyle held out for two days before
he would allow himself to return to Parson’s. He told himself it was only
because he wanted to check on Katrina’s stitches. That was only partly true. If
he were being honest with himself—which he certainly was not—he could
admit that he’d missed her singing. And on a Friday night, after a sleepless
Thursday and two back-to-back eight-hour procedures in the OR, he was in need
of the soothing balm that was her voice. He’d come with the thought of killing
two birds with one stone.

Having elected to drive instead
of taking a cab, he parked his car in a garage a few blocks from the bar and
walked. All of his worries over her well-being abated the moment he opened the
door and stepped inside, immediately spotting her in her usual place. The lounge
was packed, more so than usual, and Lyle chalked it up to people wanting to let
their hair down after a long workweek.

Her presence lit up the stage,
filling the room with an aura of electricity further amplified by the blue glow
of the lights overhead. She wore jeans and a leather corset-like
top—those damned shoulders were bare again and glistening with some kind
of glittery concoction made to tease. She strutted back and forth on the stage,
a pair of black and silver high-heeled boots pounding out a staccato rhythm on
the stage’s floorboards as she belted out the lyrics to “Sweet Child O’ Mine,”
her voice rasping a bit more than usual with rock star flair. Her guitar rested
against her abandoned stool, and a quartet of musicians took up the rest of the
stage behind her; a guitarist, drummer, keyboard player, and bassist, playing
the song as if they’d been born to do so. A duo of backup singers danced in
place behind microphone stands just behind and to the left of Katrina, their
voices blending perfectly with hers.

Lyle slid into a seat near the
bar, nodding “hello” to the bartender; he’d have to remember to ask for her
name. She lifted a Scotch bottle in silent question and Lyle shook his head.
Tonight, he just wanted to listen.

The audience was rowdier than he
remembered, many of them holding bottles and mugs in the air as they sang along
in the way that inebriated bar patrons do.

She's got eyes of the bluest
skies

As if they thought of rain

Katrina seemed to revel in the
participation of the crowd as she beamed at them from her stage, the throne
from which she reigned in this tiny corner of New York called Parson’s. She
whipped her hair wildly and belted out the high notes, working the crowd into a
frenzy as they paid tribute to their siren of song with whistles and cheers.

“Come on guys, help me out on
this chorus,” she encouraged, flashing him a smile as their eyes met from
across the room.

Oh, oh, oh,

Sweet child o’ mine.

She ended with a deep bow, her
hair nearly touching the floor before she tossed it back in a fan of curls, a
deep throaty laugh curling from her chest as she reached for the bottle of
water on top of her stool. She took a swig as a low buzz filled the room.
Katrina didn’t seem worried as she turned to the band to converse with the
drummer for a moment before turning back to her audience; she knew that they’d
come for her and weren’t going anywhere. She could command their attention with
a single note.

“All right, I hope everybody’s
having a good time tonight,” she said once she’d taken her place beneath the
blue and magenta spotlights once more. The crowd roared in response. “That’s
what I like to hear. It’s Friday night, folks, and you know how we do it at
Parson’s. One dollar longnecks, half price mixed drinks for the ladies, Angie’s
famous burgers, table dancing is totally okay with us, and of course, me and my
boys here are gonna keep it rockin’ for you until . . . well, hell, just
until!”

More cheers rang out overhead as
she stepped down from the stage, taking the stairs slowly as she made her way
through the crowd, pausing at a few tables to clasp hands with the people
reaching out to her with friendly smiles.

“Let’s have a hand for our
fantastic band, Tequila Sunrise!” More claps and cheers. “And if you don’t have
a drink in your hand, you’d better get one because it’s time for my favorite
part of Friday night. Who’s ready to sing with me?”

“I am!”

“Whooo!”

Katrina laughed again, that
purring sound that Lyle was sure was stroking at the back of every man’s neck
in the room. It certainly had him hot under the collar.

“Any requests?”

Shouts rang out all over the
room, and Katrina leaned forward with one hand to her ear, pretending to strain
to hear them.

“Love In An Elevator!”

“Sweet Home Alabama!”

“Benny And The Jets!”

Katrina’s eyebrows shot up and
she pointed to the man near the middle who’d made the last suggestion. “I think
we have a winner, folks. That’s one of our favorites here at Parson’s. Whadya
think?”

Whistles and catcalls tore
through the crowd as she turned to the band with a nod. “All right, I want to
hear everybody on this one, loud as you can and when that mic comes to you,
don’t let me down.”

The music started up again, and
the audience clapped rhythmically to the cadence of the drummer, their voices
nearly loud enough to drown out Katrina and Tequila Sunrise.