Page 39 of Cara
“Damn, has that much time really passed?”
I nod, watching the bodies sway on the dance floor.
I’ve felt every second of these years.
Bo gazes discreetly into his glass as he tilts to drink. “Have you checked onher?”
I'm not looking at him when I answer. “Yes.”
“She’s good?”
“Joined a new gym. Did some dry cleaning. Nothing too out of the ordinary.”
“She hasn’t moved? Hasn’t met anyone?”
My eyes drop down. “No.”
I won’t tell him that she follows the same routine every day, that not a single picture I’ve seen shows her with a smile, that her door has three locks on it. If I did, he’d tell me what I already know. That I should’ve already booked a flight by now. That I should get her and bring her back to me.
You aren’t what she married.
Look at where you are and where you do business.
The woman straddling Dario’s lap howls with laughter as he laps greedily at her breasts. With that, Bo pats my leg, standing to find Dante so we can leave. I nod, leaning my head back against the cushions.
“Boss!”
I ignore the group entirely.
Dominic Strata. Vito.
The meeting is tomorrow.
Ihaveto be ready.
When hands drift slowly over my thighs, I fix my eyes on hazel ones. I shake my head, but the woman is too drunk to notice. She slides onto my lap and drapes her arms around my nape. She doesn’t react when I crane my neck, sighing with disinterest. “There are others here who will show you a good time. I'm not the one.”
Her breath warms my cheek. “But I can’t stop looking atyou.”
My chest swells when her mouth connects with my throat.
For a brief moment, everything’s different. This girl who smells of tequila and Cuban cigars suddenly exudes vanilla, white lilies, cherries, cotton. Her short ringlets transform into long, waist-length locks, a cascade of black waves.
If I close my eyes… she could become someone else. I could feel relief for once. Her lips gently brush from my throat to my cheek. I draw in a steeling breath, nearly touching her, almost giving in.
Until my eyes part, and I see anyone but Sophie Marcello.
I push her off, standing, ignoring her frightened gasp and Dario’s questions as I exit the room.
Instead of using the restaurant, the meeting with Strata is scheduled at one of my clubs. It's not even noon, giving us plenty of time to dine before the staff wanders in to prepare for the weekend rush. Respecting custom, we remove our jackets to demonstrate that there are no wires, nothing to incriminate. The moment his men file into the open space, scanning the rows of mine, we both know this meeting could end in disaster. That’s why I order my men out. He does the same.
Dominic Strata is visibly younger than I am.
His father was a Mafioso before they clocked him in broad daylight. Rumors spread that it was the ‘Ndrangheta, and they were right. He still hasn’t claimed his seat. Too many men are grappling for it. But if this man has Vito’s ear, Vito’s influence, I'm sure it’s only a matter of time.
I can’t resist asking. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.” His lips curl into an unsettling grin. “Too young for this shit. You?”
