Femme Fatale Loved (Pericolo #3) (2 page)

It’s been a long time since I’ve had to think logically. I haven’t had to work my way through dirty deeds or get my hands messy. I’ve not had to think about anything, only just live a merry existence, and I, greedily, don’t want that to end. I want to live blindly and allow myself to continue on this path of forgiveness.

However, that’s not the case, as the old me, the one that doesn’t back down, snaps to life.

“What’s the plan?” I ask, debating if I actually want involvement or not, but the ghosts of my past aren’t settled. I need closure, and if this is my way of finally getting it, then this is what I have to contend with. “I want this over.”

“For now, we don’t touch that money,” Enzo begins, stepping up as a leader for the first time in a while. “We wait.”

I knew I was asking for trouble when I decided to clean this table, but when I feel a large hand press against my left butt cheek and slowly begin to grip its ampleness, I stop. I freeze, allowing whatever brute has his dirty hands on me to have his fun while I wait to pounce.

“Enjoying yourself, handsome?” I ask, playing sweet.

Slowly, I stand up straight, stepping forward so his hand falls away from my ass, and I turn to face him. The culprit is a regular in the bar; he tries his luck with all the girls who work the bar. I’d been lucky enough to survive this long without being groped.

“Oh yeah,” he grunts, his menacing eyes grazing across my body, taking a moment too long on my breasts. “You ladies here are all so damn fine. Especially you and that Suzanne. I just hope you’re as accommodating as she is.”

He takes a calculated step forward, and he oozes with desperation. I allow him, give him this moment to revel in a little tension, and opt to let him have a moment to think he runs this show and has a chance. It’s the most fun I can have in this job.

“You and your tight jeans, low-cut tops; you’re just asking to be touched,” he says, closing the distance enough to put his other hand on me. “I don’t see that man of yours around much either, so do you need a little extra company? I can be that, you know? I can keep you warm at night.”

He yanks me forward; I trip unsteadily on my feet as his hand goes into the back pocket of my skinny jeans, and my lips tighten together to keep my anger from exploding. However, when he puts his lips on my neck, I react. I twist enough to get his lips to stop from smothering me with sloppy kisses and allow me to reach and grab for his crotch.

“I think you’d do wise to get out,” I hiss, leaning in while my grasp on his balls tightens. “Or I’ll shove your balls so far down your throat, the next time you see them will be when you shit them out.” I watch him wince and smirk. “Or if you prefer, I can carry on squeezing until you’re pissing out of a straw for the rest of your life. The choice is yours, handsome.”

“I-I’ll leave,” he stutters, his voice strained. “Just let me go.”

“Gladly,” I agree, stepping away enough to let him run. “And don’t come back!” I shout and go back to my table. I will admit I love the sanctimonious smirk I wear because even though my vicious past is behind me – sometimes, I love exerting just a little bit of power.

Clapping resonates from behind me, and I half expect my boss to have seen my public assault on the desperate punter. I stand up, beginning to turn around just as the person speaks.

“You just can’t shake that psychotic nature of yours, can you?”

I spin around, a blush creeping over my face as I come face to face with my brother. I melt into a smile. What else does he expect?

“It’s an ingrained coping mechanism,” I comment, giggling.

“Is that what you call it now?” he asks, his grin curling up a little more.

“It’s in my genes then. They’re your genes too, Enz, so you’d know,” I joke, heading back over to the bar. “What’s brought you here? You never visit me at work.”

“Bruno let everyone out early, so while he went home to his wife and kids, I just wanted to boycott your shift,” he tells me, offering a nonchalant shrug. “It’s not too shabby in here.”

I place my arms on the bar top, leaning in to listen.

“What’s really brought you here? You never come here, so what’s changed?”

I decide if I’m to get anywhere with my brother, I need to supply him with alcohol. I grab a tumbler and put a few cubes of ice in before I pour him a scotch on the rocks. I push the glass toward him and watch as he picks the drink up and takes a sip. Not a casual, midday sip, but a considerable gulp.

If anyone took us leaving hard, it was Enzo. For nearly the past year, he’s struggled with the grief of Manuel and the desperation to make sure the rest of us are happy. He’d be a fool to notice I hadn’t noticed, but regardless of what he thinks, we all landed on our feet nicely. Sure, I’m in a job I can’t see myself sticking with, but I’m happy.

I struggle with deathly daydreams, with the grief like Enzo does; I wake up with night terrors and cold sweats, but my life thrives on a happier note. I don’t miss the days when I was just a pawn to my family. I don’t miss the horror show, and I certainly do not miss my father.

It wasn’t until I was free that I realized just how much he held me back from accomplishing all that I wanted in life.

“You don’t need to think so much,” I tell him, raising an eyebrow at him.

He’s just vacant as he occupies the bar. He’s staring down at the varnished wood, unmoved, rarely blinking, and it starts to worry me. Enzo is a ghost of himself, and it pains me to watch.

“Enzo,” I murmur, moving to stand directly before him. “What is it this time?” I ask, executing a softer tone.

This time, the man who looks at me isn’t my usual carefree brother. He’s stiff and tortured, but what I hate most is the look in his eyes; it almost screams that he’s lost in this life. But as quickly as it appears, it disintegrates, and the stoic man the Dio Lavoro made comes back.

“I think we need to see what his agenda is,” Enzo admits, nursing the tumbler in his hands.

“Stupid move,” I utter under my breath, allowing his mood swing to slide –
for now
. “Do you really think he deserves our time? After all these months, why should he be given a chance to find some sort of absolution?”

“It’s not absolution,” Enzo admonishes, cutting my thought away. “He’s after something, and I just think we’d be wise to kill it before he gets his hands back on us. I want to continue protecting you guys how I know I can, but with him lingering like he is, we’ll never be completely free.”

I’m playing the skeptic now.

“But is that wise?”

“It’s not a case of it being wise. It’s a case of us showing our alliance against him.” Enzo looks at me, a sadness to his eyes that I haven’t been able to forget.

“Why have you suddenly changed your tune?” I ask, grabbing a glass to pour myself some liquor. “What is going on with you, Enz? You’re quieter, and you’ve been a hell of a lot more withdrawn. I can’t figure you out anymore.”

“I’m fine,” Enzo affirms, a lump evidently forming in his throat.

“You’re not,” I defy him. “I know you, Enzo. I’ve watched over the last few months how you’ve secluded yourself. Sure, you come to meals and come out with us and make sure you never miss anything, but there’s something, I don’t know, missing to you.”

He matches my gaze, and I watch the internal battle that ignites in his eyes. The man who I doted upon as a substitute paternal figure has finally been worn down. A tiresome energy clings to him, and he looks exhausted with the life we’ve had to adapt to.

“Enzo,” I whisper, my worry thickening.

“It’s nothing,” he reassures, placing a hand on my arm as if to aid the notion. “I’m just not adjusting to this life as well as I had hoped, Lia.”

“It’s because you still act like we all need saving,” I admit, a shade of regret in my voice. I reach out, covering his hand with my own. “It’s far from that now. You did your job, Enz. It’s time you got out there and enjoyed what this life has to truly offer.”

“I can’t,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “We’re still Abbiatis, and there is no escape.”

“Yeah, we might be, but we aren’t the Dio Lavoro anymore. We left that behind. We aren’t some sort of prestigious bloodline. We aren’t royalty, and we aren’t anything we used to be. It’s time to embrace what you, Carlo, and Bruno fought for.” I lean forward; I cannot stop the optimism from masking me. “It’s time to live for us.”

He sits back in his stool, placing both hands over his tired face before rubbing it. I hate seeing how tense he IS; loathe seeing how much he still carries upon his shoulders.

“You’re right,” he mutters, dropping his hands back onto the bar top. “You’re always fucking right.”

“Course I am,” I gloat, a bright smile on my face. “I know we might find everything catching up to us, but I’m not living in the past, Enzo. It’s time to forget the past.”

“Some parts of my past are harder to cut away.”

I watch the glaze that forms in his eyes, and I recognize the look immediately. I know who it is he misses; the one piece of his past that holds him to the demons of what we used to be.

“You can always reach out to her,” I say, trying in vain to get him to budge. “You can’t say this life will put her in danger anymore. I’m living the picket fence dream with Zane, Carlo’s living life with Sophia, and Bruno and Allana are well and truly living married life to the extreme. It’s time you did it too. We’re all safe and happy.”

I watch him fight; the indecision is murderous.

“We could be untouchable if you gave it a shot. You don’t even need to fight much to make it happen. We know so much about so many people; we have leverage. Sure, they have a lot on us, but that’s where we get the opportunity of a truce. There’s no reason to doubt it, Enzo. We have allies; we have peace.” I slam my hands down on the countertop, deciding we’re not going to dwell. If he is going to mope, it’s up to me to think of a way to change things. “So drink up and get rid of the solemn look because I really kinda fucking hate it.”

I watch as Enzo listens, picking his glass up and downing the remaining scotch. As he slams the tumbler down, I’m ready with the bottle to top it off. I could keep this up, but Enzo just needs a little nudge when it comes to making himself happy. If I have to drink him into submission, I will, and I’ll do it until he listens.

As he nurses the glass, I watch the door open, and although the whitewash of bright daylight illuminates the figure, I'd know that masculine body shape anywhere. Sighing contently, I watch as he moves into the bar, the door shutting behind him, and he clocks me staring.

"What can I do for you, Detective Maverick?" I ask teasingly, watching as he occupies the stool beside Enzo.

"Thought I'd visit my future wife at work," he announces, leaning forward across the bar.

"I haven't said yes yet," I reply, my smile brightening with every second.

"That's all a formality," Zane confidently quips at me. "I've gotten it approved by the head of the family, so all I'm waiting on is for you to say yes."

Enzo laughs, as he watches me intently before he speaks. "Zane nearly had a panic attack before he could ask me," he starts to say with a light, mirthful tone to his words. "Why are you holding out?"

I feel a small, coy grin take over the enigmatic one I had. The blush heats my cheeks, and I wonder what shade of pink I've gone to this time.

Why am I holding out?
That's a good question. It's not my father's hold on me, nor is it fear.

"I'm waiting for the right moment."

"Sweetheart, we've had lots of them," Zane admonishes, a cheeky expression marring his face. "But I know however long I have to wait, the moment you say yes will be mind-blowing."

"I want you surprised," I say, leaning forward. "That's all. I want to say yes when you're least expecting it."

“Like now?” he asks, an expectant grin pulling at his mouth. “No, okay, I get it, but don’t keep me waiting too long.”

“I’ll make sure you’re not going gray when I finally say yes,” I tease, giggling a little before leaning over the bar to get a kiss. “It’ll be worth the wait.”

“Oh, I know it will,” he murmurs, kissing me again before reluctantly sitting back down on his stool.

“It’s nice you can all be happy.” A new voice slurs his words together as he sloshes his drink and raises his glass to Enzo, Zane, and me. “Nice you’re living comfortably, being an Abbiati and all that.”

I look at Enzo, and he’s already watching me. This is someone from our past, someone who was once part of our father’s alliance. Now, he’s a drunk propping up the bar. I revert my gaze to the punter and watch him for a fleeting moment. I barely recognize him, but then, there were a lot of names, too many faces, and an overflow of jobs that people were used for. Key characters were all I could keep up with; those who weren’t important didn’t make it into my life. I only needed those who would help grant me survival. Everyone else was none of my business.

“The downfall of your family ruined a lot of lives. My family can’t pay the bills, let alone pay for food.”

I walk down the bar, noticing Cassie, my colleague, is keeping clear. She must have been serving him, but now, he’s striking up a conversation, and she’s doing the good thing and keeping out of it. I don’t blame her; she’s not good with dealing with drunks. She’s just good at luring men to the bar for drinks.

“If money’s an issue, stop drowning your sorrows with what you have left,” I say, unsympathetically.

I don’t make the best barmaid when it comes to playing agony aunt. I just like looking good, serving drinks, and having some good banter with the regulars. Someone who walks in straight from my past is not going to get award-winning service from me.

He looks up at me, his eyes heavy with the assault of the alcoholism he’s reached today. He’s even swaying slightly, unsteady even sitting down.

“Like you’d know what money issues are. You’re the spoiled princess of Salvatore Abbiati.”