The Woman at the Docks: A Mafia Romance Page 8

  I tucked that in the bottom drawer of the nightstand with a smile as I put the clothes away in the closet, then put all the bathroom products on a bag that I hung for the doorknob.

  It worked in two ways. As a reminder to bring them with me to the bathroom in the morning. And as a makeshift security system seeing as my door didn't have a lock.

  My instincts said that I could trust Luca Grassi. But my rational mind reminded me that I didn't know him from Adam. And that he was a criminal. And that I had no idea what he might be capable of.

  I did not change into one of the new silky pajama sets Michael had picked out for me in their pretty, delicate floral patterns or polka dots.

  Nope.

  I stayed in Luca Grassi's shirt.

  I tried to convince myself this was being prudent, not dirtying another set of clothes.

  But I knew the truth.

  I wanted to wear it.

  Chapter Seven

  Luca

  I should have fallen right to sleep.

  I was exhausted even after my nap earlier.

  But as tired as I was, I couldn't force unconsciousness.

  Instead, I lay awake listening to Romy move around her room, putting her new items away. Like me, mind too active to sleep.

  Though I very much doubted her mind was on what my mind was on.

  Namely how much I liked the look of her in my shirt, the way it cut a little high on her thigh, showing off most of her long, tanned legs. I also found my thoughts consumed with the fact that I knew she wasn't wearing panties underneath.

  Was that fucked? Especially given the situation?

  Yep.

  But it was the truth regardless.

  It was nearly light out before I finally passed out, catching just about two hours before my phone started ringing, demanding I get up, get my day started, knowing my men would start showing up since we couldn't talk about anything important over the phone.

  Clearly, I wasn't used to sharing a space with an unknown woman.

  Because I didn't even think twice about charging into the bathroom even though the door had been closed.

  So in I charged, coming to an abrupt stop at the sight in front of me as Romy let out a startled gasp.

  Her hair was a wavy mass around her shoulders, her eyes wide awake despite not getting much more sleep than I had.

  She was gorgeous.

  Even first thing in the morning.

  But that wasn't what made it feel like I'd been knocked in the chest.

  Oh, no.

  That was because she had her foot propped up on the counter, soap covering most of her skin, which meant that not only was her leg and thigh on display.

  Oh, no.

  Because she wasn't wearing pants—or panties—the entire side of her round ass was as well.

  Desire was a kickstart to my system, making my cock harden, and making my breathing shallow out.

  Even as Romy yanked her leg down, letting the shirt fall back into place.

  "I, ah, I thought I locked the door," she said, a razor still in her hand.

  "I should have knocked," I told her, shaking my head, embarrassed for the invasion as the need to reach out and touch her gripped my system.

  "I'll get out. I can finish this later."

  "No." The word slipped out too quickly, a bit desperate, and I wondered if she knew it was because I was battling a raging fucking hard-on and didn't want her to know. I needed to go back to my room and take a couple deep breaths, get my shit together. "It's fine. Finish up. Let me know when you're out," I told her, going back out, shutting the door, leaning back against the wall directly outside, eyes closing, taking a shaky breath.

  "You gonna try to say that was a mistake?" Lucky asked, making my eyes shoot open, finding him standing there with a takeaway coffee in his hand, giving me a smirk.

  "You better have brought one of those for me," I told him, knowing it was going to be a long day.

  "I didn't bring shit. Your Senior Kiss-Ass brought something for everyone. Even that pretty girl in there."

  "How did Dario know what she would want?" I asked, ideas of going back to bed forgotten.

  "He brought her four different things," Lucky said, shaking his head. "Like I said, kiss-ass."

  "Easy," I told him, knowing the two didn't get on well, but not wanting any outward animosity among my men. It made us look weak.

  We all talked business, compared notes about what everyone had learned so far. Which wasn't much, but it had only been a few hours.

  About ten minutes later, I could feel the air in the room change, knowing that Romy had walked in behind me, making me turn to find her standing there in black leggings and a gray tank top, her hair falling around her bare shoulders.

  No bra.

  Which was made pretty obvious by the cold air and the thin material, making that desire issue rear up once again.

  "Oh, hey," she said, looking off-put at the men gathered around her gaze going to me first. "I'm all done in there," she told me, giving me a small smile.

  I gave her a nod. "Dario brought you some coffee options. Pick one out. I'll be back in ten," I told her, watching as her gaze went to Lucky, her second friendly face since Michael was off his shift, replaced with some guys she didn't know.

  With that, I took a quick shower, reaching down, knowing I would never be able to think straight if I didn't deal with some of the desire already. With images of Romy in my head, it wasn't exactly a drawn-out affair.

  I dried and dressed, foregoing a shave—uncharacteristic of me, but I didn't want to waste any more time—then heading back to the kitchen, finding Romy hopped up on the counter, her long legs dangling, a coffee between both hands, watching as Lucky flipped a frying pan in the air before settling it on the burner.

  "Apparently, Lucky can cook," she told me, sounding amazed by the possibility.

  He shot her a smile, shrugging. "My ma hopes I settle down with a woman who likes to cook for me, but she insisted that cooking was a life skill and her sons needed to know how to feed themselves too. You cook, babe?" he asked, reaching into the fridge for eggs one of the men must have brought with them this morning since Michael had only picked up a few bare essentials food-wise.

  "Yeah. My mom taught me too. Different types of food than you learned, I think, but I make a mean Venezuelan specialty. They might even beat your chef's fancy bread thing from last night," she said, teasing him.

  "Well, your cooking might surpass my chef's Panzanella, but it is not going to beat my omelet."

  "Oh, come on. Everyone can make a good omelet," she told him, getting a hair tug from Lucky as he moved past her on the way back to the fridge to grab spinach, mushrooms, and mozzarella cheese.

  "You're going to be eating those words, pretty thing," he assured her.

  I'd had one of Lucky's concoctions. And I had to admit, they often rivaled even the most intricate meals from the women in the family.

  I stood back, my black coffee giving me agita. Or, let's be real, the scene before me might have been doing that.

  I was not a jealous man. I'd never been serious enough about a woman to feel that way. So it took me an embarrassingly long time to recognize the churning in my stomach and chest for what they were.

  Once I did, though, there was no denying it.

  It shouldn't have surprised me that Romy would take to Lucky. Women often did. From kids to elderly women, they all liked him. He was fun and charming.

  But I guess a part of me didn't want that to be true with Romy.

  I wanted her to smile like that in my direction, give her laughs to me like she did with him.

  Did that make sense? Was this the time for things like that? No on both counts.

  But it didn't change the truth.

  I didn't even bother to excuse myself as they bantered about the proper way to whip eggs, walking back toward the front door, figuring I would go outside and talk to the new guard shift, knowing I needed to feed them a story but not
the whole truth.

  But as I pulled the door open, I froze, finding the last person I expected standing there.

  Matteo.

  There was a family resemblance. We had the same skin color, the same eyes, the same fit builds. We had the same dark hair color as well, but where I kept mine shorter and neat, he let his grow out long, a wavy mass around his shoulders or tied up. Today, it was down.

  I wasn't sure I ever saw Matteo in a suit unless he had to be. And he didn't have one on this morning either, standing there in black jeans and a white tee, looking rested and carefree.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked, wondering if our father had demanded he pitch in.

  "I heard we have a situation," he told me, shrugging.

  "You heard we had a situation, or you heard we had a beautiful woman here?" I teased, getting a smirk out of him as he reached up to rub the back of his neck.

  "Well, maybe I heard both things," he admitted.

  "How much have you been told?"

  "Not much. Apparently, whatever is going on is not for everyone to know."

  "Lorenzo is coming to visit soon. New York is getting antsy for more. So Dad wants to make sure we play our cards close to our vests on this one."

  "What, do they get an itch every two or three years?" he grumbled, even though he rarely had to deal with them himself. "So, what is going on?" he asked, moving inside when I jerked my head toward the guards out front.

  "Romy told us she was told women—and specifically her sister—are being trafficked down in South America and coming in through our ports."

  "Who the fuck would be that stupid?" he asked, shaking his head.

  Matteo might not have been a huge part of our daily activities, but he had as much family loyalty and pride as the rest of us, immediately pissed that anyone would have the audacity to try to fuck us over.

  "That's the question," I told him, nodding.

  "Poor girl. Knowing her sister is being trafficked," he said, hearing Romy's tinkering laugh from the kitchen.

  "Yeah," I agreed. "Are you on this with us? Or were you just dropping in for the gossip?"

  "Do I detect derision, big brother?" he asked, brow raising. "I think you forget that while I might not show my face for the daily shit, when there is a problem, you can count on me."

  That was true.

  And it was unfair to always consider him a bit of a slacker.

  He could—and would—pull his weight when it was needed. But between our father and I, it simply wasn't necessary often.

  That said, if you called him and said shit was going down, he was there. And he had always been good in a crisis.

  "Fair enough," I agreed.

  "You look like you haven't slept in a week, so I won't take your surly ass comments personally. Can I meet her?" he asked.

  It was a rhetorical question because even as he was saying it, he was making his way toward the kitchen, leaving me to follow behind.

  "Oh, look who the fuck it is," Lucky said, turning to find Matteo walking in, sending his cousin a smile. "The prodigal son returns," he added as Matteo approached, both of them hugging before parting. "Babe, this is the other brother, Matteo," Lucky introduced him. "Matteo, this is our new friend Romy. She was doubting my culinary skills," he added as Romy's eyes moved over my brother, likely taking in the similarities and differences between us. What conclusion she came to was beyond me, though.

  "You're probably going to regret that," Matteo told Romy. "Are these up for grabs?" he asked, going to the coffee tray with all of Romy's other choices.

  "Don't take this one," Romy warned, tapping her finger on the top of one. "Trust me," she added. "I don't know who thought fruit flavor works in coffee, but they're probably the same people who put pineapples on pizza or chocolate on pretzels."

  He took her advice, picking a different one up at random. "You mean culinary innovators?" he asked. I knew for a fact that he hated pineapple on principle, let alone on pizza, but he liked poking at people more than he liked taking their side.

  "Those are the people who brought us chicken and waffles potato chips," she said, grimacing.

  Matteo gave her a smile. "So how long have you been with us, darling?"

  "Well, let's see. Your brother kidnapped me about a day and a half ago. I've been here since then."

  Matteo shot me a raised brow. He didn't need to say anything. We'd been having silent conversations across the room from each other since childhood.

  He was shocked about the kidnapping. He was questioning why our methods had changed so much in so short a time. He wanted to know if she was still technically a prisoner.

  That last one, that was a gray area.

  "I have to go have a sit down with our father. Are you coming?" I asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting him to come with me. It was bad enough I had to leave her with Lucky and his charm. I didn't need Matteo there with Romy too.

  It shouldn't have mattered.

  She wasn't mine.

  And yet...

  "Oh, you know me. I can't go being a productive member of this family. Expectations will raise. I will fail to meet them. Everyone gets disappointed. It's a vicious circle."

  "You got this?" I asked Lucky, tone a little harsher than it needed to be, making him pause in slicing up some spinach, giving me a long look.

  "Yeah, I have it covered, boss," he said, tone a little pointed.

  I should have felt bad for pulling the authority card on my cousin, one of my closest friends.

  But I was in too surly a mood to care as I stormed out of there, met with my father and Leandro, comparing the notes from all the individuals we'd interacted with so far.

  From there, I made my way to the docks to talk to Angelo who had isolated all the videos of shipping containers coming in from South America—in particular Venezuela—for the past several weeks.

  Nothing seemed off.

  All the businesses we'd imported from had been connections since my father was my age, old, trusted importers of legal goods.

  "I hate to say it, but could she be fucking with us?"

  My knee-jerk reaction was to say no, to insist that she had been too impassioned about her sister.

  But then again, the worst criminals were very convincing with their false words.

  I drove back to the rental, feeling anger bubbling up.

  And instead of calling it what it truly was—desire disappointed, jealousy of my brother and best friend's charm with women in general and this one in particular—I went ahead and blew the fact that we hadn't learned anything about traffickers and containers full of women yet. I created a backstabber and liar where I wasn't sure there was one yet.

  "I need to talk to you. Right now," I added after walking inside to find Lucky, Matteo, and Romy sitting at the card table playing poker using pieces of dried wagon wheel pasta as chips. "Basement," I added, yanking her chair backward, making her body lurch, her hands flying out to slap on the table instinctively.

  I didn't look at my men.

  I knew what I would find on their faces.

  Shock.

  Confusion.

  Maybe a little disappointment or anger mixed in.

  Romy shot me a look of pure, undiluted derision before turning back to Lucky and Matteo.

  "If you'll excuse me. The warden is back. And he's in a bad mood," she added, pointedly moving out in front of me so I would have to follow her through the kitchen and down into the basement.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked as soon as we made it to the bottom, staring at each other from underneath unflattering fluorescent lights.

  "Why are you lying to us?"

  "Lying to you about what?" she asked, brows pinching.

  "Don't act stupid. I am not going to fall for it."

  "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but I can't answer your questions if you don't ask ones that make sense."

  "Angelo did some digging on all the containers coming in from that corner of t
he world. They're all old, trusted importers, sweetheart. So let me ask again, what were you doing at our docks? Who do you work for? And don't feed us some bullshit story."

  "You think I would make up a story like that about my sister?" she asked, tone hollow, hurt. "Do you have any idea how bad of karma that is? It's like calling into work because you want the day off and saying there was a death in the family. It's bad form."

  "Criminals don't give a shit about bad form, Romy."

  "I'm not a criminal, for God's sake. I thought we were past this. What the hell is going on today? What do you want from me?"

  "What do I want from you?" I asked, tone getting low, rough.

  "Yes, Luca, what the hell do you want from me?" she demanded, voice getting more heated.

  I knew a thing or two about heat right at that moment.

  Desire was a live wire sparking through me, little fires shooting off everywhere until the flames overtook me completely.

  There was no thinking, no debating if it was right or wrong or somewhere in between.

  One moment, I was three feet away from her, raging.

  The next, I was closing the space between us, backing her against the wall, grabbing the nape of her neck.

  "This is what I want," I told her before my lips crashed with hers.

  Crashed.

  That was the only way to put it.

  The collision that could leave mangled debris in its wake.

  Her body stiffened for all of two seconds before it went lax, languid, until her hands were raising, grabbing the arms of my suit jacket, holding on as my lips pressed harder, deeper, demanding more from her, not satisfied until they got everything they were seeking.

  A low whimper escaped her as her lips parted for me invited me in, and demanded more from me as well.

  Her arms moved up, snaking around my neck, crushing her body to mine, her breasts against my chest, her hips pushed against my cock.

  On a moan, she went up on her toes, letting my cock press against the juncture of her thighs, getting a shudder from her and a growling noise from deep in my chest.

  My hands would have gone down, would have sank into her ass, ripped down her pants, pulled her off her feet, pressed her against the wall, and I would slammed inside her.