Chapter One

"Maybe love at first sight isn't what we think it is. Maybe it's recognizing a soul we loved in a past life and falling in love with them again." —Kamand Kojouri

"Get me a salted caramel latte!" Rocco called out from the car window.

"Aren't you supposed to be my bodyguard?" Matteo yelled back.

"Like you can't guard your own body." Rocco rolled his eyes and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

Matteo stomped into the coffee shop, muttering under his breath. "No good bodyguard. Should replace him with a G.I. Joe doll."

The heavenly scent of coffee filled his senses, shucking his grumbling right off the proverbial grinder. A glass display showed doughnuts, scones, and bagels. He really didn't eat sugar, but, damn, it was tempting.

"May I help you?"

Matteo glanced at the barista and suddenly the whole world shifted into slow motion and came to a screeching halt. There was a tunnel and the only two people in it were her and him. He'd never believed in love at first sight—lust, sure, but not love—yet the tiny slip of the woman behind the counter had him rethinking. Or salivating. Eh, same thing.

Heart-shaped face. Light brown hair. Blue crystalline eyes stared wide-eyed at him. So incredibly beautiful they seemed to pierce into his soul, almost too ethereal to believe. She wore some type of jaunty red beret that matched her work shirt. The name Brasserie stitched on her t-shirt. French. Should've known.

She was so God-damn gorgeous it almost hurt to look at her.

"May I help you?" she asked again, tilting her head.

The tunnel collapsed around him, bringing him back to reality with a thud. He had to shake out of the daze she cast over him, and stop looking at her plump lips. Her very kissable, fuckable lips.

Matteo cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Medium salted caramel latte and a large black coffee."

She smiled and turned to work, and holy fuck. If her front side was heaven to look at, her backside just about killed him. Jeans molded to a nice little ass he wanted to bite. And maybe fuck … hell, who was he kidding? He definitely wanted to fuck that ass.

Luckily, no one was behind him waiting impatiently. It gave him time to watch her. Admire her. Shit, now his damn slacks were too tight across the front and having a hard-on during a business meeting was not on his agenda for the day.

She turned back around and set the two cups on the counter. Then she rang him up.

"Ten dollars, please," she said, her voice soft and melodic.

He grabbed his wallet and slapped some money down. "Keep the change for your tip."

Her eyes widened. "That's a hundred-dollar bill."

"Yeah. So?"

She bit that puffy bottom lip and he just about groaned. Fuck! He started doing math in his head in an effort to—how should he put it—deflate.

"It's a ninety-dollar tip," she whispered.

He leaned closer to whisper back. "I had excellent service."

A smile tugged on one corner of her mouth. "Why was Cinderella so bad at soccer?"

He blinked. What did he miss? "Uh. Why?"

"She kept running away from the ball."

It took a second for the joke to make sense, and then he laughed. And laughed some more. "Oh, my God, that's hilarious."

She shrugged. "Jokes are a girl's best friend."

"I thought that was diamonds."

"Only in a Marilyn Monroe song."

He grinned. They stared at one another, and time stopped. They were the only people in the universe. In her gaze he saw a thousand different lives and in each one there she was, holding his hand.

"My name is Matteo," he said, liking how she looked at him. Not like he was mafia because there wasn't one hint of recognition in her beautiful eyes.

She pointed to a name tag he hadn't seen. "I'm Macy."

Just then the bell over the door jingled, dragging him back into the real world. He half turned, seeing two people enter the coffee shop. Hell, he had completely lost his perspective. Any one of his enemies could've just waltzed in and shot him in the back. They would've also killed Macy, and that thought made rage bubble up. The thought of something happening to her was unacceptable. His world wasn't meant for someone like her.

"I, ah, I have a meeting to get to," he said quickly. Then hesitated. He should do the right thing and never return. Trouble was, he rarely did the right thing. "Do you work tomorrow?"

She nodded, and he smiled.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow, Macy."

He winked, grabbed his two coffee cups, and left the little shop. Rocco leaned against the passenger side of the car, keeping watch. Protecting his body like he was paid to do. Only he knew Rocco was more than a hired gun. They'd grown up together and Matteo considered Rocco his best friend and confidant.

"Who's the chick?" Rocco said as he took his latte.

"My future wife," Matteo said and Rocco choked a little on his drink.

"You're evil, man," Rocco muttered as he wiped some spewed foam off his shirt.

"And I'm not a liar. Come on. Business awaits."

****

Matteo entered the jewelry store with Rocco trailing behind.

"May I help you?" asked the sales associate.

"Tell Roberto that Matteo Romanelli is here," Matteo said.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Just tell him, and then, get the fuck out of here." Matteo glanced at Rocco and gave an imperceptible nod toward the door.

"Everyone out!" Rocco said loudly. "Move it!

Fear filled the faces of the half dozen customers as Rocco shooed them out.

"Sir!" the sales lady cried. "What are you—"

Matteo leaned forward and snarled in her face. "Are you fucking stupid or just hard of hearing? Get Roberto and then get the fuck out. I won't say it again."

The woman gave a fearful nod and backed away, scurrying through the employee door. A moment later, Roberto came out and Rocco let the woman leave, locking up behind her.

"Check the back room," Matteo ordered, and Rocco went hunting for anyone left behind. "I honestly thought I'd never have to come in here to talk to you like this. I thought we were on the same page."

Roberto was a small, Hispanic man, with slicked back hair and a sliver of a moustache that reminded him of Gomez Addams. The Romanelli syndicate had lent him money to start up his jewelry store, with the guarantee that payments would be made in unmarked diamonds.

Rocco came out and gave him a pointed nod that the coast was clear.

"I-I don't know what you mean," Roberto stuttered, fear blanketing his face.

"And now you're a liar, as well?" Matteo shook his head sadly. He pulled out his gun, screwed on a suppressor, and shot the main glass case that faced the entrance. "I don't like people turning me into a fool."

"N-No fool," Roberto said shakily.

"Where are my diamonds?" Matteo demanded.

When Roberto didn't answer quickly enough, Matteo shot another glass case, causing Roberto to jump.

"You came to me, Roberto," Matteo said, moving in so close Roberto shrunk away in desperation. Rocco grabbed the man's jacket to hold him still. "You asked me for enough money to open this store when all other means failed. I thought payment was simple and clear. Raw diamonds that you turn into flawlessly, unmarked cut ice."

"It's not as easy as that—"

"It is fucking easy!" Matteo yelled, making Roberto jump. He shoved the gun under the smaller man's jaw. "You think this is a negotiation? You think you have any say in this? I can have you killed, Roberto, and I can take the entire contents of this store, serial numbers or not. I have everything to gain and you have everything to lose."

"Please," Roberto begged in a shaky whisper. "I-I have a shipment coming in at the end of the week. I promise."

"What do you promise? Hm?"

"I promise I'll cut the stones for you."

"You bet your God-damned ass you will, or I'll take my displeasure out on your family. Your wife. Your daughter. Your son." Matteo shot another display case, this one right next to where they stood and Roberto jumped about a foot in the air. "I want this business deal to work, Roberto. Right now, you're worth more to me alive than dead. But don't think for one fucking moment I won't make an example of you. Understood?"

When Roberto only nodded, Matteo pushed the barrel of the suppressor against the man's forehead. The smell of urine permeated the air. Matteo wrinkled his nose and stepped back, unscrewing the suppressor so he could slide his piece back into the shoulder holster under his suit jacket. Rocco joined him and together they made their way to the door. A splash of color caught Matteo's eye and he looked in the shattered case—an aquamarine stone, hanging at the end of a delicate gold chain, and it flashed through his head that it was the exact hue of Macy's eyes. Without thinking too deeply about it, he took the necklace.

"I'm taking this as a downpayment," he called out. "See you at the end of the week, Roberto."

Out the door they went.

"What's with the necklace?" Rocco asked.

"No reason. I just like the color."

"Uh huh. Sure."

They reached Matteo's bulletproofed Bentley sportscar, and a few seconds later they were on their way. With Macy on his mind, Matteo decided to take the longer way back, driving in front of the coffee shop. He slowed down, looking out his side window, hoping to get a glimpse of brown hair and eyes the color of the Mediterranean Sea.