Secret Babies for the Italian Mafia Boss: Chapter 4

Two weeks later.

“Luca.”

I’m lost in thought, washing blood from my hands, but I got the information I needed about drugs that weren’t mine that invaded my club last night. Pain always makes cowards sing.

“Luca.”

Everyone knows the rules. No violence on the main floor. No drugs unless they are bought from my men. No touching women who are unwilling.

You’d be surprised how many times a night those rules get broken, every night, which is why I have permanent scars on my knuckles.

“Luca!” Alvize yells.

“What?” I snap out of my thoughts.

“I’ve been calling your name for five minutes. Are you okay?”

I grab a towel and dry my hands. “I’m fine.” I wasn’t fine. Everyone knew it too. I haven’t been the same since that one-night stand five years ago. I’ve tried searching for her, and I’ve come up empty. I’ve given up.

Her body still plagues me every night. I can still hear the sweet voice, the shyness of it, and the way she sighed and moaned. Her phantom warmth still causes my heart to skip a beat. She’s ruined me for anyone else. I’ve only been with a few other women since then, and they have all been a means to an end. I pretended the entire time they were Camilla.

Just to get through the sex.

“Luca.” Alvize sounds frustrated. “What the hell is going on with you? Do I need to get you to a doctor? You’ve been getting worse. You’re lost in your head.”

“I’m not lost. I know exactly what I’m doing when I’m doing it. What do you want?”

“Mr. Thompson wants to meet with you.”

I freeze while I pour my whiskey, then slide my eyes to Alvize as he slumps against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Why the hell would he want to meet with me? We decided years ago not to intervene in each other’s territories or connections. If he goes back on that, he won’t win the war. I’ve grown, and he’s stayed stagnant.”

“I don’t know, but whatever it is, I don’t think it has anything to do with the truce you made. He doesn’t sound too well. He wants to meet with you in an hour.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I took care of business, isn’t it?”

The drug dealer on my floor groans and tries to get up but collapses in a useless bloody heap.

“Take care of that, will you? I’ll meet you in the car. I want to stop at the coffee shop on the way.”

Alvize drags the unconscious body across the floor. “You always want to stop by that coffee shop.”

“They have the best caramel latte I’ve ever had. Plus, Cora is a sweet girl. She runs a small business. It’s important to support small businesses.”

Alvize screws on the silencer to his gun and aims it at the drug dealer’s head. “I don’t disagree with you.”

“Don’t kill him. Let him tell his friends what happens when you break my rules. Dump him in an alley. I don’t care.”

Alvize gives me a nod, and he lifts the guy into his arms before walking down the steps. I stand there for a minute and down my whiskey, a habit I need to cut back on. Sighing as the burn heats my throat, the glass clinks on the table when I set it down, and I head out of the room, taking one last look at the bed I’ve been sleeping in every night for five years.

Fixing my cuff, I head down the stairs. The club is empty since we are closed and looks so much different in this light. The lights are on, revealing a sleek black floor, the chandeliers are sparkling like ice in the winter, and the bartender is behind the bar, stocking up on the alcohol we will need tonight.

I push out the door, and the brightness from the setting sun blinds me for a moment. I’m so used to being in the club, which is dark and has no windows. I need to try and get out more.

I hear the roar of my Mercedes G6 and wait on the sidewalk for Alvize to come to a stop. The matte black paint gives the car a stealthy and lethal appearance.

“Ready to see what your rival is up to?” Alvize raises his voice when I open the door.

“No. It’s a waste of my time, but let’s get it over with.” I click my seatbelt and lean my elbow on the door, rubbing my mouth with two fingers. “Let’s go.”

He turns on the blinker, pulls onto the road, and I pass the other clubs. This main street stays alive every night. It’s the place to be. It’s where money flows and lives change for the better.

Sometimes for the worse.

I flex my dominant hand when it becomes stiff, the joints popping with relief. Ten minutes in a silent car ride later, we pull into the parking lot where the coffee shop is that’s settled between two other stores. It’s a quaint strip. The building is made of red brick, and the windows in each shop are large and inviting, showing what each store has to offer.

“Looks like the coffee shop has a neighbor. A bakery. Man, a donut sounds so good right now. Looks like they just opened,” he says as we get out of the car.

“You go get the donuts, and I’ll get us coffee. Deal?”

“Deal.” He bolts over to the bakery, and I chuckle. The man has always had a sweet tooth.

I push the door open, and immediately the aroma of fresh coffee hits my nose. Booths are aligned along the wall, and the floors are a bright purple epoxy. Each wall is painted a different color; if I stay here too long, I know I’ll get a headache.

I like shades of black, gray, white, and green.

Duller colors.

There are varieties of different tables and chairs too. Not one is the same. It looks like everything was thrifted, and some seats have different colored cushions with different patterns. A few young people have their laptops out, their attention on their screens, and they don’t notice me.

“Luca.” Cora smiles behind the counter. “Let me guess, the usual and a black coffee for your friend?”

“You know me well, Cora,” I say, leaning against the counter. I watch Cora work, a smile still plastered onto her face, and her cheeks are rosy. “You are happy today.”

She nods. “I am, aren’t I? My best friend came back to town. I thought she was dead, honestly, with who her father is. But she’s back, and she has the shop right next door. She owns the bakery. I’m very happy.”

“I’m happy to hear you got your friend back. That must be nice.” I tip the jar a couple hundred dollars as she slides the drinks across the counter.

“Actually, you might remember her. We were at your club for her birthday.”

“Camilla?” Her name flows effortlessly from my lips, and a surge of hope fills me.

“Yes! She’s back.”

She’s back.

And she’s going to be mine.

“Thank you, Cora. And congratulations.”

“Thanks, Luca. I’ll see you later. Have a good day.”

I lift my drink in the air. “You too.” Cora is a sweet girl, and I’d even maybe consider her a friend. I’d protect her if she were ever in trouble.

I give her my back, and my façade drops. My head spins with determination, and I push my way out the door; it takes all I have not to march through those bakery doors and demand answers, demand her to be mine, but I know that won’t work.

I don’t know what happened to her for all these years, but she’ll tell me in her own time. It’s time I plan to earn. I slide into the SUV and watch out the windshield, my eyes on the bakery, and Alvize strolls out the door, a box of donuts in one hand and shoving his face with a pastry in the other.

And then she’s there.

I hold my breath as I watch her clean the windows out front. Her apron has flour fingerprints on it, and her long hair I love so much is up in a messy bun.

She’s more beautiful than I remember.

Her hips are wider, her thighs thicker, and I only want to grip them while she rides me.

“Man, these donuts are to die for. Oh my God,” he groans as he sits in the driver’s seat. “And the girl that runs this place is the girl from the club all those years ago, I think. And guess what else I found out?”

“What?” I ask, never taking my eyes off her.

“She’s Camilla Thompson. The daughter of—”

“—Mr. Thompson.” A plan begins to form in my mind. One that will change the course of the meeting.

“Bingo.” Alvize puts the SUV in reverse, and I steal one last glance at the woman who has turned my world upside down.

I watch her until I can’t, until we are too far away for me to notice anything about her, and I turn around. The miles between me and my end goal are less and less.

Eventually, we are at an iron gate, and it swings open, the guard letting us in without question.

“Odd.”

“No. They are expecting us.” I double-check to make sure I have my gun in my holster.

It’s there.

And if anyone tries anything, I’m not afraid to pull the trigger, even if this is the home of the beauty that haunts my dreams.

When we park, a guard is waiting for us at the door.

“Mr. Bianco,” he greets, opening the door, and I pause on the porch.

“You aren’t going to check me for weapons?”

“You have one on you. I’m not stupid.”

“Why let me take it in?”

“You’ll see why,” the guard says. “Follow me. I’ll take you to Mr. Thompson.”

Alvize must feel the same way I do because he pulls out his gun.

“There’s no need for that. I promise.”

“I don’t take promises from my enemy,” I state, following the guard up the staircase.

It’s a nice home, but it almost seems empty. There are no pictures or paintings on the walls. It’s quiet; the only sound is the hum from the air conditioning.

This can’t be where Camilla was raised because if I had a woman like her in my life, I’d have displays of how proud I am of her everywhere.

We stop at double doors, and the guard swings them open. I step inside, waiting to be attacked, but I’m not.

Instead, I’m left staring at Mr. Thompson lying in bed, very ill.

I’m shocked. He must have kept this under wraps because I haven’t heard a thing through the grapevine of shared connections we have.

“Mr. Thompson,” I greet, dragging a chair to the edge of the bed. I take in his form, weak and fragile. I could kill him easily right now, but I think of Camilla and how she’d hate me if I killed her father.

“Mr. Bianco. It’s about time we meet.” He coughs into a handkerchief. It’s wet and intense until he’s gasping for breath. “I can guess you can put two and two together as to why I asked you here.”

“I can’t say I can. You’re ill; that much is clear, but I don’t know what I have to do with that.” I cross my right ankle over my knee and lean back in the leather chair. Alvize stands next to me, gun in his hands, ready to fire if he needs to.

He won’t. Thompson doesn’t have the strength to fight. I lift my hand and gesture with my fingers for Alvize to put the weapon away.

“How can I help you, Thompson? Let’s get down to business.” My mind begins to move, calculating everything I know about him from the past. He’s always been a wealthy man, and he only got wealthier as the years went on. There were rumors he had hidden a fortune, but they were just rumors.

I want to ask him. He won’t need the money anymore.

But then, he has Camilla.

He could give the money to her. It makes the most sense, considering she would be next of kin. It’s something to keep in mind and unforgotten.

“I don’t have long. When I’m dead, Camilla will be a target. She needs to be protected, something I haven’t done a great job of.”

It must be what Cora was talking about earlier.

“I’m giving you all my networking connections.” He hands me an envelope full of information so many other men in my position will want.

“Why?” I hand the envelope to Alvize.

“You’re the only one who hasn’t tried to kill me and go back on our agreement. I’d say you are a man of honor.”

I’m so far from honorable.

Not with what I have planned.

“I’ll protect your daughter under a few conditions.”

He wheezes. “Name them.”

“I want to own the building she has her bakery in. Don’t ask how I know. You know men like us; we always know everything about our enemies.”

“Fine. That’s perfect. She can pay you to rent it, and you can keep her safe.”

“I want her hand in marriage too. I want that in the contract.”

His eyes widen, and another round of brutal coughing hits him. “Why?”

“Consider it a way to keep my investment close.” I won’t tell him the truth. I won’t tell him that five years ago, I took his daughter’s virginity, and it was the best sex I’ve ever had, and I can’t get her out of my mind. I need to have her. She belongs to be. I don’t care what I have to do, even if it means lying to one of the most brutal men who has made his mark in history.

“She won’t tell you where the fortune is. She couldn’t care less about it.”

“All more reason for her to tell me.”

“She won’t. Only to spite you.”

I lift my mouth in a knowing smirk. I love that she’s got a little fire. Something I really want to ignite.

He holds out his hand, a gentlemen’s deal, until the paperwork is signed. “Everything is yours. You’ll have the contract in an hour.”

I meet his handshake and stand. “I’m sorry agreements couldn’t be made under better circumstances. I swear to take care of your daughter, Mr. Thompson.”

“You’re the only one I know who will. Don’t let anything happen to her. She’s been through enough.”

I don’t know what he means, but with a curt nod and approval from her father, I walk away a richer man.

And money has nothing to do with it.