Page 1 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
PROLOGUE
RILEY
The air crackleswith tension as the stranger holds court across the bar.
I can’t take my eyes off him. All evening, I’ve soaked in his power like a bubble bath until I’ve absorbed every ounce.
This man radiates control mixed with an undeniable dark charisma as, one after another, men dare strike up a conversation. Exchanges are brief and to the point, before the next brave victim steps forward and is treated to an equal share of scrutiny and contempt.
My reaction is puzzling. Not attraction, per se, though he is handsome, tall with broad shoulders, short dark hair and high cheekbones. Not fear, despite the sense he sees beyond the perfect makeup, black dress, and high heels, straight to my hollow core. Not disinterest, which is how I regard almost everything these days.
I steal another glance, which he returns with a bone-chilling ferocity. Adrenaline races through me, and suddenly, everything seems brighter.
“Drink?” a server asks, drawing my attention. I stand between the bar and a cluster of pub tables set up for tonight’sevent. It’s the perfect place to observe, and where I can avoid conversations on either side.
I return an empty champagne flute to the server’s tray and, flashing him a weak smile, take another. He nods and continues on, and I return my attention to the man across the bar.
Except he’s gone.
Loss rushes in. He disappeared, just when I decided the solution to my problems isn’t spending months coddled and pitied, but the exact opposite. Beneath his scrutiny, I feel alive,awake. Like I’ve been jarred out of a long tumultuous slumber a different version of myself.
I move across the open space, desperate to catch sight of him, until I’m standing in the middle of the club. Clusters of people surround me like jet bumpers in a pinball table. Minutes tick by as my eyes bounce from group to group until it’s obvious that my stranger has escaped me.
Once more, Fate’s lifted me high and then dropped me like dead weight.
I take a fortifying sip of champagne and swallow back my disappointment. It’s for the best. I’m not a reckless person. My life was orderly and safe until events not within my control sent me spiraling. Pursuing a powerful man like him? Clearly, I don’t know which way is up anymore.
Laughter filters across the space. A few groups over, my best friend, Emily, and her boyfriend and my new boss, Ciro, are in a large group, giddy and in high spirits, pleased as punch at all the attention. Tonight is the groundbreaking celebration for the new Riverview Casino on Brooklyn’s waterfront. Ciro’s business, C&C Enterprises, won the lucrative contract. “Money coming in like you wouldn’t believe,” Ciro likes to boast. If the family rumored to be building the casino saw the chaotic state of his office, they’d think twice about his managerial abilities.
I moved to New York City a week ago at Emily’s prompting. Ciro needed a bookkeeper with strong organizational skills, and I needed an escape. What better place to fade into obscurity than New York, right?
My grandparents discouraged me. They distrust Ciro. Too ambitious. Too loud. Trouble written all over him. I don’t disagree. But how long can a person survive abject numbness before forgetting how to breathe altogether?
Ciro insisted all C&C Enterprises’ employees attend the club event. So here I am.
I glance around once more, then softly shake my head in defeat. “Dwelling on what you couldn’t control, Riley,” my therapist back home in Marietta, Ohio, liked to remind me, “will inhibit what you can control going forward.”
Easy for her to say when her entire world hasn’t imploded.
Light catches on my champagne flute, and a kaleidoscope of fireflies dance across the glass. An illusion of light within this dark club. A trick of the eye. A reminder that life, time,loveare fleeting.
I lift my glass, desperate to capture the light for a little longer. Because at heart, I’m an optimist. It’s just that Fate’s been too cruel for me to be hopeful about anything anymore.
Out of nowhere, my elbow’s jarred, and then everything happens in slow motion. A tall, leggy blonde brushes by, swinging her handbag as she passes. The crystal flute in my hand goes flying. Champagne rains down on me as the glass shatters on the hard concrete floor. The woman walks away, oblivious. Whatever illusion of control I thought I had slips.
It’s not my ruined dress or the champagne dripping from my face, or even the alarm in several guests’ expressions that sends me into a panic.
Gucci.
Her handbag was vintage Gucci.
The room tilts, and fireflies cloud my vision. Bitter pain pierces me, and my breathing shallows. I clutch my hands over my heart, fearing the fragmented pieces might come tumbling out.
Breathe, Riley. It’s a panic attack. Over a stupid designer handbag, nothing more.
I glance around. Great, a few people are staring. New York was supposed to be a fresh start, and now I’ve caused a scene at a work event.
Move … run.
