CHAPTER ONE
Saks ineffectually wiped the egg from his face with his napkin as anger blazed in his heart. He heard Chrissy’s heels clack across the marble floor of the diner, but he didn’t care. How dare she try to use him? But what could he expect of Pandolfo Serafini’s granddaughter?
“Marcus,” said the elder Serafini, “go get Chrissy.”
Serafini’s enforcer dutifully strode to the doors. Saks shook his head. If Chrissy had any smarts she’d be long gone.
“Anthony?” said Uncle Vits. “What happened?”
“What the fuck do you think?” Saks slid to escape the booth but the bulk of the two crime bosses stopped him. It was like a fragmentation grenade through his heart to learn Chrissy was the Serafini woman his uncle expected him to marry. Saks promised himself a long time ago not to enter the family business, and marriage to Chrissy would force him into that shady world. It wasn’t in him to make his living off the misery of others—which was exactly what his family and the Serafinis did.
“You will show me respect,” growled Uncle Vits. “What did you say to the girl?”
“What did I say? Matrona, Uncle Vits, that, that girl—” Saks stuttered while he struggled to find the source of his indignation. He wished the floor of the diner would open under him and send him straight to Hell. Preferable to the stern stares both mafioso stabbed him with.
“That girl?” snarled Serafini. “What’s wrong with Chrissy?”
Saks wanted any conversation but this. She was more than willing to go to bed with him, but he’d put the moves on her first. But what was he going to say to Serafini? Accuse him of sending Chrissy to jump into his bed? But her words haunted him, too.
“I’d go to Hell first before I marry a Rocco man.”
Thinking these words over didn’t make them sting any less than the first time he’d heard them. But did they mean she had no clue who he was, or that she had no intention of going through with the crime bosses’ plan?
Instead of speaking, Saks sighed with exasperation and felt around the table for a napkin to wipe his face. The waitress quickly dropped a batch of paper napkins before him, but wiping away the sticky mess proved difficult.
“Your nephew. He doesn’t show respect,” said Serafini.
This was a serious accusation. It could force both families to go to war.
“Respect?” Vits raised his bushy eyebrows. “And what about your granddaughter? What woman dumps her food on a man, eh?” He pointed to the smeared mess on Saks’ clothes.
“Oh, that’s not all she does,” said Saks. The memory of Chrissy’s abuses stacked high in his mind.
“What?”
“When I met her in the Red Bull, she slapped my face.”
“She what?” said Vits.
Gandolfo Serafini’s face turned red, either from indignation or embarrassment. Saks wasn’t sure which. “You,” he said, shaking his finger in Saks
’ egg-covered face. “You made improper advances on her.”
Saks laughed. “Me? She’s the one who put the moves on me.” He was stupid enough to fall for it. Why would such a classy woman jump into his bed? He should have known better.
“Why, you—” snarled Serafini. He glanced at patrons in the diner who were staring at the whole scene, and stepped back.
Marcus returned stone-faced, but without Chrissy. “Sorry, Mr. Serafini. She left.”
Pandolfo Serafini nodded his head curtly. “Go start the car.”
“Yes, Mr. Serafini.”
“Pandolfo,” said Uncle Vits. “You don’t have to leave. Eat. Have a nice breakfast. This little problem, we fix it, eh? Young people have problems, they get upset over nothing.”
Marcus stopped mid-step; Saks gauged him, Serafini, and Vits. Marcus’ jaw clenched, and he opened his jacket, ready, Saks assumed, to draw a weapon if things turned ugly. Serifini glared at Vits, and Saks’ great-uncle did his best not to lose his cool. He wore the mantle of the wise old head of the family now. He deliberately set himself above the fray and waited for things to sort out before he decided what to do. Vits waited, specifically, for Saks to offer apologies and smooth over this clusterfuck on the edge of exploding.
What ticked Saks off more: Pandolfo Serafini staring at him like he wanted to kill him, or his uncle expecting Saks to clean up this mess?
Pandolfo scoffed. “Your nephew casts aspersions on my granddaughter’s character. This I won’t tolerate.”
“Anthony,” said Vits with a shrug, “has always been independent. Regardless, he needs to make this right with your granddaughter.”
“Generous of you,” said Pandolfo.
“Me?” said Saks incredulously. “After this?”
“Anthony,” said Vits authoritatively. “You’ll make this right with Christina.”
The icy gaze in his uncle’s eyes bore into Saks. Vits intended to make Saks pay if he didn’t do what he wanted.
“Yeah, sure,” capitulated Saks. He still couldn’t believe his uncle tried to salvage this ridiculous state of affairs. “You think I can leave the table to wash Chrissy’s breakfast off my face?”
“After you show respect to Mr. Serafini,” Vits said.
Saks was ready to blow his gasket, but he held back. You didn’t insult the Serafinis or his uncle—and live to walk away from it. Up to now they’d tolerated his rudeness. But to go further would earn him payback by a thrashing administered by thugs in an alleyway. Whether they were his uncle’s men or Serafinis’ was the question.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Serafini. I didn’t mean to insult you or your granddaughter.”
Serafini stared at Saks. There was death in those eyes. Saks could well imagine what end Serafini could offer if he so chose. But then he took a long breath. He waved his hand as if waving away the whole affair. “It’s as your uncle says: young people have difficulties. The hot blood of youth. Inconvenient at times, not so at others. But,” he said, shaking his finger at Saks, “I’ll not have you treating Christina like a common whore, you understand? The girl is exceptional.”
Saks was hyper-aware of the frosty glance Vits gave him, and Marcus who moved one hand inside his jacket pocket to reach for his gun. Saks didn’t dare misstep now. “I agree, Mr. Serafini.”
Serafini relaxed and smiled. “Good. Tell your uncle when things are on track, and he’ll get in touch with me. Have a good day. Both of you.
Saks moved from the booth toward the restrooms, humiliatingly aware of how ridiculous he appeared. The egg was hardening on his face and little bits of napkin stuck there, too. Chrissy had some nerve dumping the breakfast on him.
To his annoyance, Vits followed him.
“What,” said Saks when his uncle entered behind him, “you stalking me, too?”
“Stalk? What stalk?”
Saks ignored his uncle as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. “Three-hundred-dollar shirt, ruined,” he muttered. He pulled off his jacket, and his shirt, leaving him in his undershirt.
“You spent three hundred dollars on that? Mamma mia, Anthony.”
Saks held back the cutting remark he had for Vits’ Walstore wardrobe. “Yes,” he hissed as he splashed water on his face.
“What did you mean, she came onto you?”