Scorned Obsession (Scorned Fate)

My office vibrated with the pounding music of Club Aristos. Other evenings, I would have tuned it out, but not tonight. Tonight, I found out Bianca was back in New York. She fucking fled to the West Coast the week after her brother’s wedding. I had been in a shit mood ever since.

The men in her family frowned at our friendship, but they normally stayed out of our hot-and-cold drama. Every effort to find her was hitting roadblocks that led to one conclusion: She’d assumed a new identity. Bianca left no credit card trails under her name. I lost track of her phone. My investigator reported she wasn’t visiting her relatives in LA. The only reason I assumed she was in California was because she sent me a postcard of the Pacific Ocean. It had a postmark of Malibu.

It said…

Hear that, Sandro?

That’s the sound of freedom from your prying eyes.

The brat.

The urge to throw her over my knees and redden that ass had never been so strong. As soon as the image came to my mind, I shoved it away savagely. But it was too late. My cock had thickened beneath my trousers.

Off-limits, I growled to myself. Bianca is off-limits.

I glared at my desk’s bottom drawer, fighting the desire to rip it off its tracks. A box of things I’d given Bianca was delivered to this club the same day she left New York. I called her, but she had her phone off. I thought she was just in a snit.

Finally, I had stormed Jabbin’ Java, and Renz smirked when he saw me. “Don’t break anything.”

“Where is she?” I snarled.

At my blatant offense, all traces of humor left his face. “Leave her be, Alessandro. Would you give her that?”

Renz De Lucci was only twenty-five, but he had more wisdom than his hot-tempered older brothers. He’d fallen into the De Lucci obsession at eighteen and married his pregnant girlfriend in the midst of a mob war. The obsession was a popular myth in their family. According to Bianca it was like a Cupid’s arrow, but instead of love, it was obsession. She had hinted it affected women, too. Well, if she were obsessed with me, then where the fuck was she?

“I care for your sister.”

“I know,” he replied. “But it’s time to let her go.”

Every sinew of muscle inside me rejected those words even when logically, if I cared for Bianca at all, he made sense. After I’d determined I wasn’t getting any help from him, I gave him a brief nod and left the café that day, but it didn’t mean I didn’t do what I did best.

I lurked. I stalked. I tried to find clues to where Bianca had gone.

The pounding of the music resurfaced, and I realized I had yanked open the drawer. A carved box sat in its depths, taunting me to lift it. Everything I’d given her over the years was inside it.

She returned it with a note.

I don’t need these anymore.

Thank you for looking out for me. I got it from here.

I got it from here? A snarl bubbled up my throat.

She had no clue how I kept the mafia shit from touching her. She was the prized daughter of Cesar De Lucci, for fuck’s sake. Her father had many enemies. Many of them swam in the underworld’s filth, hiding and afraid of Cesar, but that didn’t mean they weren’t plotting for the right time to strike. I swam with such scum so I could keep tabs on them. Each time I removed a threat to her, I only became more unworthy.

The blood on my hands was nothing like what she grew up with.

Let her go.

I couldn’t. I was forever tied to her, even if she rejected the idea that a protector was all I could be. And the reason I drove all her boyfriends away was because she was safe as long as the De Luccis looked out for her. If she were to marry…

I shut down the line of thinking I wasn’t prepared to face.

The door to my office opened, letting in the irritating music of the club. Griselda Scavo stepped in. She was my club manager and former fiancée.

She must have sensed my irritability at the music and quickly closed the door.

“What do you want?”

She raised a brow. “You’ve been holing up in your office for months.”

I pretended to pound on my laptop. On the screen was the report of the last private investigator I hired to find Bianca. “Nothing new there.”

“And sometimes you disappear and no one knows where you are.”

“Nothing new there either.”

“Sandro, now is not the time to bury your head in the sand.”

I cast her a disinterested look. “Excuse me?”

“We have a problem.”

“We…” I narrowed my eyes. “Elaborate.” I leaned back in my chair. As much as I had my focus on Bianca, that didn’t mean I couldn’t multitask and know when shit was about to hit the fan.

“Gian wants me to marry a capo from the Philly mob.”

“And that’s my problem, how?” It was a big problem. The Philadelphia mob had been pushing for a firmer alliance with the Rossis. Gian was my cousin, but he was adopted and the only Rossi who wanted to become boss. The rest were wary. After all, two bosses were killed less than two years apart. No one knew exactly what went down, but I did, and I was determined to keep the truth buried.

The Philly mob smelled blood in the water and wanted to move in on our territory.

With Gian as their puppet.

“We used to be engaged,” she said.

Of all the fucking reasons Griselda could come up with.

No matter how many times we’d gone over this, she seemed to have amnesia each time she brought it up.

“You broke up with me because I was a bastard son and not the spare heir.”

“I wouldn’t have minded.” Her breath hitched.

“That’s a lie and you know it. I never held it against you.” I shrugged. “Besides, that’s in the past. You were right to break the engagement.”

“My parents⁠—”

Oh, fuck no were we going to revisit that shit. “Old news. So, what’s the problem now?”

Her eyes widened. “You’re okay if the Rossis form an alliance with Philly?”

“That’s up to Gian.”

Her eyes flashed and she leaned in. “You know what a sadistic bunch of assholes the Philly mob are and with the New York Albanians doing their dirty work, they would make the Rossis look like Boy Scouts.”

“I’d like to see them try.”

“That’s why you need to step up and take over from Gian.”

“Not interested.”

“I’m pregnant.”

It was as if Griselda pulled the pin off a fucking grenade and tossed it on my lap. Foreboding prickled the back of my neck. Was it a dud? What damage would the shrapnel cause? I hadn’t decided yet. Griselda and I had a complicated relationship. She was mine once. The doe-eyed, dark-haired beauty of the Scavos, a family that had been linked to the Rossis since the beginning. We’d been engaged at sixteen. She dumped me at eighteen. Love wasn’t even a word I associated with her because I didn’t know its meaning. It was a word a killer like me never entertained, even with Bianca. Fuck the women in my life. I should exile myself to Tibet and become a monk.

She was staring at me like I had the answer to her problem. “Are you sure?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you want me to show you the pregnancy test? Or…” She smiled slyly. “Accompany me to the doctor?”

“What exactly are you asking me to do?”

“Tell Gian the baby is yours.”

Bianca

I enjoyed traveling in anonymity, but I missed New York. Nico set me up with a fake identity, complete with credit cards and a burner phone. But now I was back to simply being Bianca.

I had come no closer to figuring out a direction in life. Who I was outside my family. I called Mom often just to chat because I felt unmoored on the coast of California. New York had my heart.

I glanced out of Jabbin’ Java into the bustle of Hell’s Kitchen. I’d been back two days and there was still no sign of my shadow. Or maybe he was around—shadowing. Renz said he had barged into the café and demanded to know where I was. But something my brother told him made Sandro back off. Still, I’d received reports of Sandro doing his sneaky stuff inquiring about me. Sandro stalking was a part of our weird relationship. Admittedly, I’d done my share of stalking too, but I hadn’t in the last year. Because my heart was becoming less resilient. Because each time I repaired it, it would get shredded again. Each time I sneaked into Club Aristos to catch a glimpse of Sandro, he disappeared into his office with a woman. Each time I died, because what else would they be doing in there?

Which was exactly why it pissed me off when he scared my boyfriends away in the guise of what was good for me. My pride kept me from storming into his office and doing the same.

So I weaned myself off Sandro, except he kept turning up like a bad penny.

A squeal sounded on my right.

“You’re back!” Ivy shrieked.

She rushed toward me. Behind his wife, my brother Nico followed more leisurely. It wasn’t that he wasn’t excited to see me. Nico and I had met up twice in California. I rose to greet them. From the sheen of sweat still coating their skin, I assumed they had just finished sparring at The Grindhouse boxing gym. Ivy’s hair was up in a topknot and she was wearing a white tank and hot-pink track pants. Fashionable as always.

“I’m all sweaty, but you better not care,” she announced before wrapping me in a warm, tight hug. A sting of tears burned my eyes, underscoring how much I missed my family.

“I don’t,” I croaked. “Sorry for missing fashion week. I heard it was another success.”

Ivy pulled away. “Bah, we know why you stayed away.”

Nico embraced me next. “Welcome back, sis. So have you decided to stay?”

I hadn’t let everyone in on my plans yet. “I don’t know yet. It seems like everyone has left Manhattan now that I’ve returned.”

“You did surprise us,” Nico shot back. “Dad and Mom are on their way back from Italy. Matteo is bummed he couldn’t be here, but he and Sera are in Chicago to make sure Luca doesn’t have a meltdown.”

Sera was the wife of my eldest brother, Matteo. I had antagonistic feelings toward her uncle, Luca. But I felt sorry for his son. “It’s Elias’s first birthday, right?””

Nico gave a brief nod.

It was hard to put into words the tragedy that had befallen Luca. I didn’t want to think that it was all his sins catching up with him. It appeared he hadn’t accepted that he’d lost his wife and continued to search for Natalya. Hiring the best hackers and private investigators. Holing himself up at the mansion. In the early days of Natalya’s disappearance, the family understood him. But now—what was it, ten months later?—they were beginning to fear for his sanity with his obsessive search for his wife.

He insisted Natalya was not dead.

A shiver went up my spine.

I was actually feeling a smidgen of sympathy for him. Just a smidgen.

“So, what are you guys up to tonight?” I asked.

“Date night,” Ivy said. “After I kicked Nico’s ass.”

“Hey.” Nico dragged her into a one-arm hug. “I let you win.”

“Riiiight,” I said dubiously. Ivy could totally kick Nico’s ass. She’d been a practitioner of the martial arts for years.

“Come with us,” Ivy said.

“And be the third wheel?” I rolled my eyes. “You guys can’t keep your hands off each other in public.” They were still in the honeymoon stage for sure, although Sera and Matteo had been married for over a year and behaved the same.

“Bianca can’t,” Renz called out and walked up to us. “She’s helping with deliveries today.”

Ivy laughed. “Now that’s not the way to get your baby sister to come home and live in New York.”

“I don’t mind,” I replied. “Gives me something to do. I worked in a vineyard restaurant for a few weeks.” Besides traveling up and down the coast of California, I picked up short-term jobs to keep myself busy. The objective, after all, was to quit moping over an infuriating man and find out what to do with my life after college. Was he watching from outside right now? Lurking in alleys and dark corners? Sandro never freaked me out, and I drew comfort that someone was watching over me, but I hated that he was doing this selflessly. Why didn’t he want more from me?

“You’re making the deliveries?” Nico hiked a brow at me.

“I’m tagging along just in case Renz has to double-park and needs someone to move the van. It’s where?”

“Brooklyn.” Renz checked his watch. “We should leave.”

I hugged Ivy and Nico again. “Let’s do breakfast tomorrow.”

Nico smirked. “Make that lunch. We’re going to have a late night.”

Ivy shook her head in amusement. I could have sworn her cheeks grew redder, and it wasn’t from the workout.

“Gross,” I muttered dutifully. But I was secretly tickled by how cute they were. That was the kind of love I wanted.

Thirty minutes later, we were in the thick of rush hour traffic. Renz kept checking the time while cursing at the vehicles in front of us.

Meanwhile, I was busy absorbing the essence of the city I grew up in. Okay, “essence” might be a stretch of what I was trying to reconnect with because I had no intention of inhaling the eau de smog of Manhattan. Did I like the hectic pace? The honking of horns? I spied a rolling cart selling hot dogs. A man in a suit hung around after receiving his order and chatted with the vendor as he served another customer. They appeared to be friends, shooting the shit with each other.

The crush of people in Armani suits, Adidas track pants, and well-worn jeans all blended under the shadows of New York’s skyscrapers. A socialite in the latest-model Audi idled beside us. On the other side sat a man in a T-shirt with a baseball cap in a beat-up truck, windows down, while country music blared. The logo of a farm was on the door, and he had probably finished making deliveries to a restaurant touting farm-to-table cuisine that started in California.

I didn’t need California. I had everything I loved right here in New York, including family.

Renz sputtered another expletive. “Fucking move! This is not lover’s lane.” As if to emphasize the point, he blasted his horn. “The light’s green, motherfucker.”

“Do you always curse this much when you make deliveries?” We De Luccis cursed a lot, including me, but this seemed over the top for Renz.

He flashed me a grin. “Only time I let loose when I’m not around Sam.”

I laughed. “Oh, I see.” My brother’s daughter, Samantha, was almost six years old. “Might I remind you I was around Sam’s age when Mom and Dad got summoned to school because I called my classmate an asshole?”

He emitted a deep-chested chuckle. “Yeah, Liz and I are trying to hold off getting those summons for a few more years.”

“Losing battle, brother,” I quipped. “But…you seem on edge.”

Renz ducked his head to check both sides of the intersection before we crossed into Brooklyn. “I detest last-minute orders, but it was a favor for a colleague. Her baker is sick and they need dessert and bread.”

“I heard Liz is cooking Irish stew tonight.”

“Yeah, Mom’s recipe too,” Renz muttered.

My mouth watered. “Now my stomach’s grumbling.” I felt myself getting impatient. “Well, hurry up, then.”

Renz snorted, and I didn’t complain when he cut in and out of vehicles that were taking their time deciding where to go.

The delivery van finally made a turn into a row of upscale Brooklyn brownstones and slowed to a crawl. “This is the street.”

“What number is it?” I asked.

“511.”

“This is 480. It should be close,” I said. “Look, a car just pulled out.”

“I see it.”

“You didn’t need me after all,” I told him as he swerved to claim the spot.

“I appreciate the company of my baby sister,” he replied.

“Aw. You missed me.”

He switched the car off and turned in his seat to face me. “Everyone missed you. Sam kept asking when her aunt Bianca was coming for a visit. I hated that Sandro drove you away⁠—”

“He didn’t,” I protested. “I needed a change of scenery.”

“All right. Let’s talk later. You’re staying at my place, right?”

“Try to stop me. I’m gonna get my fill of Liz’s stew until you can’t roll me out of your apartment.”

He barked a laugh and got out of the vehicle.

I rolled down my window and called, “Sure you don’t need help?”

“I got this,” he hollered back.

Fine. I better check out my new phone. It had a new number that I was going to be more stingy with. I didn’t realize how much my identity was tied to a phone number. Maybe because I’d had the same number since I was old enough to have a phone. I set up my apps, promising myself not to download everything cool and clutter this new device. New phone, new me. It was then I looked up.

A couple came into my line of vision.

Sandro?

My gut clenched. Was my mind trying to stamp his image on every man with his build? He was in deep conversation with a dark-haired woman. His date?

The cappuccino I had at the café backed up my throat. I watched them enter the brownstone that Renz went into.

What. The. Hell.

As they reached the bottom of the steps, Sandro put his arm around the woman. I blinked again and squinted. Maybe I was hallucinating and the man wasn’t Sandro.

But I would know his hulking silhouette anywhere. He was in all black. He looked good in black. But I hated he had his arm around another woman. The familiar shredding in my chest started.

Before I could stop myself, I snatched the keys and got out of the van. All thoughts about putting Sandro in the rearview mirror evaporated in the face of my resurgent obsession.

The back of my mind was screaming at me to park my ass in the vehicle, but this compulsion to find out who was with Sandro was impossible to ignore. I was going to regret this later. I knew I would. But it seemed one thing I hadn’t gotten under control was my impulsiveness when it had anything to do with Sandro Rossi.

I snuck between a narrow alley to get to the back of the brownstone. People were milling around. A big catering truck was parked there, taking over what little space there was in the back. I stared at my attire of black cigarette pants and a Jabbin’ Java T-shirt. I could pass for Renz’s assistant.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

But it was a losing battle. The compulsion was too strong. Sandro and the woman were like magnets drawing me in, and I was helpless to control my limbs.

I kept my head low as I passed the workers, but someone grabbed me and shoved a catering tray at me.

“Bring this to the kitchen.”

A harried-looking woman noticed my shock. She gave me a double take and saw my T-shirt. “Oh, you’re with Lorenzo?” She grinned. “Be a sweetheart and help out a bit, would you? I’m kind of short-staffed.” She nodded to someone who disappeared into a door. “Follow her.”

I hope the smile I gave her wasn’t too shocked or excited. “Okay.” This was turning out better than expected. I was still cautious because I spotted men who had Rossi soldier stamped on their faces.

Without question, Renz and I had landed in a mafia gathering. Catering staff and arriving guests crowded the hallways. More mafia. I finally recognized some of them, although in my panicking thoughts, I’d forgotten their names except they were top soldiers of the Rossi crime family.

Shit.

I spun around just as their gazes shifted my way. I ran into a room where bottles of wine were being unloaded from boxes.

“Hey, you,” the guy with the wine said. He had a slight British accent and looked like another caterer. Maybe a purveyor of fine wine, or a smuggler. “Bring this up.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Alessandro Rossi and Griselda just arrived. They’re going to toast to the engagement.”

“Engagement?” I parroted.

“Yes.” He frowned. “Engagement. Alessandro is getting married to Griselda.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Although I hear she’s already pregnant, so they want this to go quickly.”

There were enough times in my life that made me familiar with the feeling of blood draining from my face. The way you felt like you were stepping into a nightmare, frozen, lightheaded, and with an overwhelming urge to throw up.

The time the Queen Bee in my high school declared at lunch that I gave her boyfriend a blow job in the locker room. It was an outright lie, but the boyfriend didn’t deny it.

That time I wasn’t sure whether I lost my virginity with consent or not.

And yes, the infamous time I left Harvard and rushed to Club Aristos after I heard Sandro got shot while rescuing Sera. His ex-fiancée, Griselda, blocked my entrance to the club and slammed the door in my face.

Except she wasn’t an ex-fiancée now, was she? All those times, I replayed how I would have handled those situations differently. I should have known the woman with Sandro was her, but my mind was in denial.

The man snapped his fingers in front of me. “Hey, are you daft or something?” He stepped back and assessed me. “You have a gorgeous face. You want to earn extra money?”

Don’t be a tease, Bianca.

I’m going to be sick. I think I’m tipsy.

Then it’ll be more fun. Drunk sex is the best.

Ouch, it’s hurting, stop!

I focused back to the present. “Sure, but I don’t think…” My chin dipped to my T-shirt.

“No problem. Here, put this on.” He handed me a dark apron. “Gian loves pretty waitresses. You know how to pour wine, right? This is expensive stuff.”

I called up a smile. “I’ve served in a pub for years.” Despite being born into privilege, Mom always stressed the importance of hard work.

“Pub, eh? Then you’ll do just fine.” The man seemed to relish me working for him. He was the second person who asked me to help. Well, Renz didn’t count. Either I looked like a pushover or I seemed capable.

Desperate people did desperate things.

And I was about to prove it.