Scorned Obsession (Scorned Fate)

I found Sandro staring at the freezer in the garage, lost in thought. He said he remembered something, and when he saw me holding the six-pack of blueberry soda, a smile crossed his face. Divina must have cleaned out the stores for my favorite drink, but Sandro’s thoughtfulness did something to my hardened heart. It cracked a little and let some of my fondness for him sneak through. How something as ordinary as blueberry soda could bring back the good times. It wasn’t easy to find and only a few Manhattan bodegas carried it, but he made an effort to stock it in his fridge.

Plus, his revelation about being the interim boss ate at me. He was going to disappear, fake his death, so I would be free? As much as my feelings toward Sandro were in limbo, I would never be okay with that, especially since this whole predicament started because of my obsession with him. There had to be another way. One that we could both live with.

Sandro had been right all along when he said we didn’t work. Now that I’d seen the world he’d been trying to hide from me, I agreed.

But I intended to make the best of my situation. I had the tenacity from both sides of the family. I was a De Lucci and a McGrath. We didn’t wallow. We made shit happen. Well, right now, that was getting dinner ready.

Sandro had been called away and I was left alone to do as I pleased. I glanced around the kitchen. Groceries were still scattered about. I had only put away the perishables. A layer of dust covered the shelves and I cleaned what I could so I could get started on the sauce for the baked rigatoni. If I was going to survive my captivity, which, if I were honest, was better than being locked in a room, I should make my stay bearable. Be useful and keep my mind busy as I counted my days to freedom. Growing up, the kitchen was a sanctuary. I was determined to make this kitchen mine.

“Damn, it smells good in here,” a voice called from the mouth of the kitchen. I turned and a smile spread across my face when I recognized the big, burly man in fatigue-colored cargo pants and a gray shirt striding into the kitchen.

“Sticks!” He was the head of security at Sandro’s dance club. While he engulfed me in a bear hug, another man behind him who I didn’t recognize, walked straight to the counter and set down shopping bags imprinted with the label of a kitchen equipment store I’d given Sandro. Sticks was the only one who’d been with Sandro for years. He used to be a member of a motorcycle club before he joined Sandro’s team at Club Aristos.

“So, who’s watching the club when everyone is here?”

“Club’s indefinitely closed, sweetheart.” He ran his hand over his bald head. He was the epitome of club bouncer, his physique so at odds with his name.

“What? Why?” This was news to me.

“Kinda hot right now.” He winked at me. “Now that the boss has kidnapped his bride.”

My smile fell. “My family is looking for me.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Harlem is crawling with De Lucci soldiers and those military types who hang around The Grindhouse.”

I crossed my arms. “And you’re okay with Sandro kidnapping me.”

Sticks mimicked the gesture of my arms, the warmth on his face cooling. “You and your brother put him in a difficult situation.”

“They should have dropped us off at the hospital.”

Sticks laughed. “You’re not that naïve.”

“Renz is the last person who would threaten the Rossis. He’s a business owner, not mafia.”

“You really think your pop is gonna let this simply slide?”

“How is forcing me to marry a Rossi the best idea?”

“Uh, guys,” the man who came in with Sticks interrupted. “Should I head back outside?”

Sticks exhaled deeply. “Bianca, this is Miller. Do you need his help around the kitchen?”

Miller had already slunk toward the exit of the kitchen and a pettiness in me kicked in. “As a matter of fact, I need some shelves cleaned.”

I could hear the other man groan, but Sticks chuckled. “Consider him your slave for the rest of the day.”

“Where are you going?” Miller muttered to Sticks.

“Got admin stuff to do, or do you want to handle it?”

“If you mean deal with Griselda, no, thanks.”

I forgot Griselda was the club’s manager.

“That’s what I thought.” Sticks looked at me. “He’s all yours.”

Somehow, Miller and I worked around each other. I found out he was a former army veteran. He was thirty-two and grew up in Memphis. Single. Unlike Sticks, who was brawny, Miller should have been the one to be called Sticks. He had taken off his worn-out tee and had on a stringer tank top. And the only reason I knew what those skinny-strap tanks were called was because I’d heard Nico, my gym-rat brother, mention them often. Still, it looked out of place on Miller’s runner’s build.

He hopped off the countertop where he used it to clean the top shelves.

“All done,” he announced. He looked longingly at the pot of minestrone I was stirring. “You preparing a feast?”

“Since I found out there are six guys in the bunkhouse, I’m making sure I have enough.” Sandro and I hadn’t discussed what he expected from me yet, but I fully intended to cook for everyone on this property. Baked chicken and potatoes were in one oven, and rigatoni was in the other one. I was also making garlic bread.

“Do you want a bowl of this?” I asked. “It’s ready.”

“I could use a bowl.” His smile was almost shy and he couldn’t meet my eyes. A flush crawled up his neck. Maybe I could gain his sympathy. Sticks more or less pledged his loyalty to Sandro. But Mom always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. If I were nice to Miller, maybe in a few days I could convince him to let me use his phone. But…ugh. I didn’t want to get him in trouble. So I nixed that devious idea.

There was no harm in gaining allies, though. Soup bowls sat stacked beside the stove, so I opened the lid of the pot, and stuck a tasting spoon in it.

“Since you’re the only one here, see what else it needs?”

I blew on the spoon and held it out.

“I’m not…uh…an expert…uh…in this.” His face was flaming by now. How could Miller work as a club bouncer if he got tongue-tied around me?

“Tell me if it needs salt.”

“What’s going on here?” a voice boomed.

The hand holding the spoon rattled and spilled the soup.

Annoyed, I turned to see Sandro striding into the kitchen. My tongue went dry at the leashed power I imagined straining under his well-tailored black suit. Raw aggression saturated the room. Sandro’s dark brown eyes were almost black. His wavy black hair was messier than usual, and an errant curl fell across his forehead adding to the wildness in his expression.

When I found my words, I said, “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m giving Miller a taste of my minestrone. I’m feeding your men.”

“I didn’t tell you to.”

I closed the lid, tossed the spoon in a dirty cup, and turned to my husband, hands flying to my hips. “Well, I’m going to do it whether you like it or not.”

My peripheral vision caught Miller slinking away, and that was when I saw Sticks, who was trying not to laugh.

Sandro’s glare narrowed at Miller’s retreating form. “Where are you going?”

“Outside,” Miller said.

“Not so fast. Let’s get one thing clear.”

Sandro started after Miller. I grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare⁠—”

He switched his glare to me. “I’ll deal with you later.” Then he looked at Sticks. “Keep her here.”

Sandro shook my hand off him and went after Miller.

I started to follow, but Sticks blocked me. “Please don’t get me into trouble, too.”

“That’s blackmail,” I exclaimed.

“I’ll have to put my hands on you, and I don’t think boss is gonna like that either.”

I tried to get around him, but for a man of his bulk, Sticks was annoyingly agile.

“Look, let Sandro make things clear with Miller. Boss knows he hasn’t explained to the rest of the crew just how close they’re supposed to get to you.”

“This is ridiculous. Then why isn’t he the same with you?”

“For one thing, he knows I’m crazy about my wife and he’s known me for years.”

“Miller’s been with you for two.”

Sticks raised a brow. “Just how chatty did Miller get? The man’s private.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t give him a choice.”

Sandro

I stormed ahead of Miller and into the outside patio, away from the bunkhouse where the other guys could see and hear.

Miller was a good bouncer. He ignored the girls who flirted with him to gain entrance to the club and single-handedly took care of belligerent or drunk patrons twice his size. So it was a shock to see him all flustered and staring at my wife like he’d fallen in love with her.

I spun on him. “What the fuck?”

“Boss?” His brows furrowed.

“What was that in there?”

“Your wife was offering me a taste of her minestrone.”

I clenched my fists, trying to fight back the red clouding my vision. What I was hearing was, Your wife was offering me a taste of her lips. As I blinked, cruder words formed and red turned to murderous.

I sucked in a giant, ragged breath. “That’s the last time you’re going to be around Bianca alone.”

“Boss, it was all innocent, I swear.” He swallowed. “I just have never seen…ah fuck…”

“Never seen…” I gritted. A muscle in my eye started jumping. “Finish it.”

He backed up a couple of steps. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Finish what you were gonna say,” I growled, deleting the distance between us until our faces were a breath apart.

“She’s gorgeous and…she just has this energy around her. I mean…it’s hard not to get drawn in. I was doing my job…but she’s so nice to me. No girl has ever been that nice to me unless they wanted access to the club.”

Ah, fuck. His words punched holes into my jealous rage and it leaked out. Miller was one of Sticks’s pet projects. Three of the bouncers at the club were military veterans who’d come home from their deployment with PTSD and were abandoned by their families. I financed their recovery and offered them jobs as long as they stayed clean and regularly attended their veterans’ group meetings. Miller joined us two years ago, and from the looks of it, he was able to take back his life and find a purpose.

As long as his purpose wasn’t drooling over my wife.

I wasn’t immune to Bianca’s charms and guileless gaze. She had enough practice on the men in her family who had spoiled her rotten. Another thought occurred to me. “Has she asked to use your phone?”

“No, boss.” Miller scratched the back of his head. “Sticks made that clear. Total isolation.” There was an accusing tone lacing those last two words. Dammit. This was dangerous. I’d briefed my men on dealing with crime family business: Always look the other way and do not get involved. If something bothers you enough, come to me first. That was before I became boss. An oncoming headache pressed against my skull.

“Come on,” I grumbled. “Let’s make sure my wife knows she can’t use any of my men to defy me, either.”

When we returned to the kitchen, Bianca had a glower on her face. She and Sticks were in a stare-off. Palpable relief crossed her face when she saw Miller was unscathed.

“What the hell was that, Sandro?”

“Hello to you too, wife.” I didn’t pause and walked straight to her. I grabbed her by the elbows, hauled her against me, and slammed my mouth on hers in a quick but devouring kiss. Quick enough so she wouldn’t be able to bite off my tongue, but fierce enough to brand her as mine. I set her aside, and she speared me with a lethal glare and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Her defiance was making me hard, but I was supposed to gain her cooperation, not further alienate her.

“I needed to make a few things clear with Miller.”

“Oh, that I’m your willing wife and not a captive?”

I prayed for patience. “No. That I’m a jealous son of a bitch and I will cut out his eyes if I catch him staring at you like a lovesick puppy.”

Sticks coughed a laugh, while Miller gave a strangled sound.

“That wasn’t how he was looking at me,” Bianca whispered.

“You have no idea about your effect on men, Sunlight.” Men like Miller, like me, had lurked in the dark for so long, we starved for the sun. Bianca’s light was forged in a morally gray world and still had the resilience to remain pure. “So Miller gets a pass. But I want to make it clear to Sticks.” I gave my head of security a look. “None of the men are to be in a room with you without him.”

“Because I’m immune to your charms,” Sticks deadpanned.

“Get out, both of you. I want to have dinner with my wife.”

“Oh, but I made enough for an army,” Bianca protested.

“Is the food ready?”

“Almost.”

“Then they can come back when it is.”

I stared pointedly at Sticks again and he took the hint and left the house with Miller.

I nodded to the minestrone soup. “Your husband is here. Aren’t you going to offer me a taste?”

Bianca huffed and spun away from me. “You are such a Neanderthal. I don’t understand what you want from me.”

She uncovered the pot and took a spoon to dip in the soup. She blew on it a bit before offering it up for a taste.

Her cheeks were flushed, probably from laboring over the hot stove, but I couldn’t help noticing her hitched breathing. Our eyes met, and as I lowered my head, her eyes dropped to where the spoon disappeared into my mouth. When she withdrew it, I licked one corner of my lips. “It’s as tasty as I remembered.”

The whole scenario was familiar but also different.

As if knowing where my thoughts went, she asked, “When was the last time you came to our house?”

“The one on Tenth Street or the De Lucci mansion?”

“Either, the last time.”

“Before Russia, Tenth Street.”

“My fifteenth birthday?”

“Yeah.”