Chapter 3

Chapter Three

I dreamt of that night. Specifically, after Brogan spread my legs and pulled them over his shoulders. We needed the towel. Then he’d rolled me onto my stomach and framed my legs with his as he thrust. The mirror slanted against the wall gave me the best view of his muscled ass curling into mine at a slow, tortuous pace.

“Halaesa,” he murmured.

My eyelids were weighed down by lustful memories.

“Use this if you change your mind.” I peered at him as he put a phone in my hand. “I think we can help each other.”

I grabbed his wrist as he pulled back. “Wait. Where are you going?”

Brogan averted his eyes. “Your vacation is over. Vincenzo will be here. You’ll have to show your face at Rigoletto. ”

I released his wrist. “Good luck.”

His eyes jumped to my face one last time. He stood in the checkered pants and white chef’s coat from the catering event with his brown curls tied back. Brogan inclined his head and slung the bag over his shoulder, with his suitcase of guns and ammunition rolling behind him .

I couldn’t sleep after I heard the door shut in my empty house. My mind drifted to the quiet, solitary man and the sad boy he held inside him. I couldn’t reason it out on paper. My draw to him had been, and continued to be inexplicable, yet unrelenting.

Brogan was right, of course. An hour after he left, I exited the shower in time for the maid to enter my bedroom. I gave her a brief greeting and got ready. I could be solitary, too.

Vincenzo arrived an hour after that, when I had readied for the day. Vinnie “The Mouth” Bertollini wore the hell out of his suit, standing at six feet and two inches with bodybuilder broad shoulders, baby blue eyes, and a two hundred dollar haircut. He’d always had style, but after he took on the Pannareli family as his client, he made money like he only dreamed of. Brogan succeeding meant an end to that. I should stay out of it.

“Tell me more about the retreat.” Vincenzo flashed perfect veneers and I think his sunglasses might have tingled when the sun hit them just right.

He wanted to show me his new ride on the way to Rigoletto, the restaurant I owned that was doing fairly well for its fourth year in business. I could describe the car, but they never held any interest for me; it’d be black, have a leather interior, and top of the line. However, Rigoletto was born out of circumstance. I had no idea what to do with my trust fund at eighteen and reached out to the only person I still called a friend. Tristan suggested a restaurant and promised to be the chef.

As it turns out, you can’t only have one chef and talented chefs weren’t easy to come by when they knew you were affiliated with the mob, or worse, the ones who did apply weren’t the kind of people I wanted at Rigoletto.

That was the other issue. Everyone in the Pannareli family thought they should eat for free. So did the FBI.

Vincenzo’s eyes followed mine to the blacked out SUV. Pannareli or FBI? It made me sick that the two invoked the same feeling from me — fear.

“I’m going in with you,” Vincenzo said and opened his door.

I brushed my long loose curls away from the black halter, one piece I wore with a crisp white blazer. My eyes hid behind large sunglasses as I exited the vehicle.

“Don’t worry about it.” I eyed him as he came around the car and took my arm through his. “Were you with Cabbrieli last night?”

“We’re engaged now. The relationship is closed.” He cut his manicured hand through the air.

“That requires a conversation,” I said smoothly.

He glanced to me as his alarm sounded. “You slept with someone at the retreat?”

“We agreed to an open relationship. If that changes, we need to come to another agreement,” I amended.

He jerked us to a halt. “I’m not sitting around wondering if you’re fucking other guys when we’re married, Halaesa.”

“Then we’ll close it,” I said lightly. Vincenzo’s shoulders returned to their usual position and out of his ears. “You get what I’m saying, though?”

“It’s closed now. Married or engaged to be married — it’s the same.”

I didn’t take advantage of the open part of our relationship other than the worst twenty-four hours of my year. Word got back to me that Vincenzo was terrified that I would dump him and only agreed to be open because I asked. Truth be told, I thought it would help when he inevitably found out most of the men he knew fucked me while we were together. I knew their wives and children.

I could see Agent Teresa Seli within my red brick building. Sade talked her ear off, so they didn’t see us at the glass doors. I loved Sade to death. She managed my life and my restaurant. I’d be lost without her. She also genuinely liked the agent who made my life a dull kind of miserable. Agent Seli had a husband, Agent Seli. She brought him in for their anniversary and straight out told him that she kept hoping I’d go into witness security and rat on the Pannarelis.

Sade had her hair braided while I was away. Two strands framed her diamond face while the rest were piled high on her head. She had a small frame. Her collar bones stretched her skin. High cheekbones reminded me of a marble sculpture. Agent Seli grew up in the same neighborhood as Sade and their families knew one another despite their ten-year age difference. Sade promised the FBI agent wasn’t a problem for her.

Sade’s big cat eyes spotted me and she smiled. Agent Seli looked smug as she picked up her glass. It was only ever water, even off duty.

“Tristan is training the new cook. I think you’ll like him. How was the retreat?” The toughest question I’ll be asked for the next week.

“A mix, like always.” I nodded to Agent Seli. “You’re in early.”

“Off duty,” her honey brown almond eyes scanned me. Her husband was punching above his weight class. “Give me the name of that retreat. You look refreshed. I thought they were blowing smoke.”

“We don’t have any reason to lie,” Sade said without missing a beat. “She’s right. You’re glowing.” Sade smiled. “Careful with the new cook. Tristan is already on him.” She grinned.

“He’s straight.” Agent Seli chortled.

“We’ll see,” Sade mused with a little shrug.

I heard them greet Vincenzo as I went into the kitchen. My face went slack when I spotted Tristan with a handsome man of equal stature and mass, but otherwise totally different. Tristan caused a great deal of head scratching until you discovered his mixed heritage of Japanese and Nigerian. He pulled the best from both and left the rest. Come to think of it, Tristan also had his hair tied back, like Brogan. They dressed identically, too.

Tristan’s hazel eyes jumped to me. Brogan already saw me gaping at the doorway like a goldfish. “Halaesa, this is Tim O’Conner. He knows Mediterranean.” He grinned at me like he’d bought me the best birthday present. “Tim, this is Halaesa Carusso, the owner.”

“Come to my office, Tim . I have a few standard questions,” I said and pulled my sunglasses off.

Brogan AKA Tim met my eyes and licked his thumb as he finished a dish. “I made this for you.”

My brow twitched, and I saw Tristan shimmy a little. “For me?”

Brogan walked the plate over. “They expected you in. I cleared any allergies and preferences.” He played the part well. Brogan glanced to Tristan and back to me.

Rather than lose my temper or resort to childish antics, I walked calmly to my office in the back of the restaurant.

In contrast to my home and the front of Rigoletto , I decorated my office in jungle green velvet and white. Brogan took note as I sat behind my white desk and set my sunglasses down. I crossed my legs and shook my head.

“You work here now?”

Brogan set the plate in front of me. It smelled divine.

“This is one place they come to consistently.”

“You’re going to make me a part of this whether I want to or not,” I spat.

“Better than sitting on the sidelines and watching them do it to other people,” he said like an asshole.

“I fucking knew better.” I shook my head at him.

“Eat.” He nudged the plate. “I went to culinary school in Italy. That’s where I’ve been. My dad’s butler knew a guy who knew a guy that could get me out of the country and set me up. I didn’t know your Don Carusso gave the order.”

Did I just set myself up to be murdered?

“Who told you that?” I asked.

“I asked. They couldn’t wait to tell me.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you think I’d take his actions out on you?” I didn’t say anything, and he scoffed. “I need money. You need a cook. This is where the guys I’m hunting eat. It makes sense.”

Brogan didn’t stay to explain the name or apologize for forcing me to help him. I would’ve if he asked. I couldn’t kill them myself like he could. My part would have to be small .

“The new chef is an asshole,” Vincenzo said as he came into my office.

I laughed and turned around to him. “Play hooky. Stay in my office with me. Work from here.”

His grin spread quickly as he looped his arms around my back. “Consider it done. You seem better, Halaesa. I’m glad. Seeing you well makes me happy. You were worrying me,” he confessed.

“It’s a bad night, is all. The lead up gets worse every year,” I sobered.

He nodded and kissed me.

I managed to steer clear of Brogan for twenty-four hours but I trapped myself in my office because he got into work after me and I didn’t want to see him. He’d haunted my dreams with his deadpan comments and random bursts of sympathy.

Tristan knocked on my door before letting himself in. “If you’re going to be here why spend the whole day in your office?”

I glanced to my computer that had switched to the screensaver. “I wanted to be here in case the new cook doesn’t work out.”

His brows quirked as he sat on the white velvet sofa chair. “You don’t like him? He doesn’t say much. He didn’t lie on his resume.” He grinned. “Have you tried anymore of his meals?”

I crossed my legs and kicked my stiletto on my toes. “Sade brought in his sole. He’s good.”

Tristan smirked. “Sade and Chloe are trying to get his attention.”

My lips curled. “They think he’s good-looking?”

“As if you hadn’t noticed. Vincenzo came back for dinner last night.” Tristan laughed.

My eyes slid to the bottom drawer of my desk that sat ajar. The opening allowed me to see the black motorcycle glove Brogan left behind. He’d need it. I brought it to his job for him. Obviously, I couldn’t hand it to him with everyone in the building. I’d ask him to stay behind and once we’re alone I’d give him the glove. He had to know it was missing.

“He wants to close the relationship.”

Tristan burst with loud laughter. “I guess he is that good looking.”

My phone vibrated on my desk. Tristan leaned with me.

“He knows we’re talking about him,” he teased.

I spun my chair to the wall of books. “Are you headed here?”

“That’s why I was calling. Little Nine died. I have to be there. It sounds like an overdose. His wife is hysterical.”

My cheeks tingled and like I might lift off the ground. “Little Nine” Ninetto Tognazzi was named after his father, “Big Nine”. Ninetto’s mother was Mansueto’s wife’s sister. They always kept it in the family. He jumped the ranks last year and joined the Pannareli’s tradition.

“Did he have a history of drug use?” I asked.

“He did. I can’t. You know,” he said. “I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll be down with this any time soon.”

“Tomorrow,” I agreed.

“Someone we wanted to die?” Tristan asked.

“Yes. Drugs,” I said distractedly.

It could be a coincidence. Little Nine snorted piles of cocaine when I’d see him out.

“If you try to catch Tim’s eye you might trip over Sade and Chloe. That’s not me deterring you. Just a friendly warning.” He smirked at me before standing.