Tori Carrington - Dangerous...

Then he turned, opening the front door at the same time as Vincenzo Tamburo, the head of the Peluso crime family, climbed the last step, two of his henchman in tow.

Whatever lingering emotions might have remained after nearly kissing Gia vanished instantly, yanking him soundly back to the reality of the here and now.

Lucas gave the other man a nod and the mafia don nodded back.

Christ.

Vincenzo Tamburo headed the second most powerful crime family in the city and was not a man to be taken lightly even when he was smiling, as he was doing now. He was ruthless and deadly, known to go to any and all lengths to keep his power intact. It was said that last year he’d had his own son-in-law whacked, the man’s body found at a Queens dump site, while his severed head had never been recovered. It was rumored that Tamburo had it preserved in a jar in his safe to remind himself that he could trust no one.

The son-in-law’s crime? Taking some initiative in his new role in the family and making his father-in-law a fortune from a Brinks-truck robbery that Tamburo hadn’t authorized.

Lucas stared at the older man’s wide back. Jesus, he hoped Gia knew what in the hell she was getting herself into.

And he hoped that when all was said and done, he would be able to protect her from the worst of it.

3

AN HOUR LATER, Gia stood at the French doors of her father’s office, trying to soothe her nerves by rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms. It wasn’t that her meeting with Tamburo hadn’t gone as expected. It had. What she hadn’t anticipated was that the overbearing man would shake her to the core with his leering stares and arctic smiles.

She’d suspected that her familiar connection to her father’s old “friends” would change somewhat for the duration she sat at the helm. After all, she’d known these men all her life and they had been like uncles to her, providing her with lavish birthday gifts, big bear hugs and enthusiastic cheek pinches. They were probably as surprised as she was by her new title, however temporary. At worst, she’d allowed that perhaps they’d try to treat her like that child they’d watched grow up.

She’d never expected Uncle Vincenzo to look at her as if he’d prefer to see her hanging from a meat hook.

The question was, could Vincenzo Tamburo have given the order to pull the trigger of the gun that took her father’s life?

“Romulus! Stop!”

Gia blinked the backyard into focus. Or, more precisely, she watched as a hundred pounds of lean, mean Bucciuriscu canine lumbered onto the patio outside the doors she stood in front of, covered in soapsuds.

“Come back here right now, you,” a guy that was more gangly teen than man demanded as he followed the stubborn dog.

Romulus’s red tongue rolled out of his mouth in a doggie grin as he considered his pursuer and then proceeded to shake off the suds, covering the teen and the doors, causing even Gia to take a step back.

“Oh, Romulus, you no good hound,” the kid said in exasperation. “If you were my dog, I’d be having you for supper.”

Gia smiled for what felt like the first time in months. Romulus was one of two of her father’s purebreds, the other, Remus, of course, after the infamous mythological Roman twins.

She watched as Romulus planted himself, making it impossible for the kid to budge him from the patio.

Gia opened the soap-speckled doors. The kid looked up at her, having to shield his eyes from the sun. “Oh, God. I’m sorry, Miss Gia. I didn’t see you there.” He grimaced. “You didn’t hear what I said, did you?”

“What’s your name?”

“Fusco, ma’am. Frankie Fusco.”

“Please, just call me Gia.”

She bent over and stroked the snout of the hulking guard dog.

“Yes, Miss Gia.” Frankie tugged on a handful of fur at the back of Romulus’s neck and nearly lost his fingers to the dog in the process.

“No, he won’t do anything for you that way,” she said. “Buccuriscus are highly aggressive dogs. You have to show them who’s boss.” She whistled for Romulus’s attention and then snapped her fingers, pointing to her side. “Here, Romy.”

The dog instantly obeyed, coming to stand next to her.

“Sit.”

He sat.

She patted the back of his wet head. “Where are you washing him?”

“Out by the garage, Miss Gia.”

That meant that Frankie had chased the dog a good ways around the grounds. Not surprising.

“Just Gia,” she said again.

“I couldn’t call you by your first name, Miss Gia. It wouldn’t be showing you the proper respect.”

Respect definitely had its drawbacks.

“You try commanding him,” she suggested.

Frankie followed her lead.

Romulus barked once at him and stayed put.

And then he stood again and shook himself out, spraying Gia with whatever suds and water remained on his thick fur.

She and Frankie looked at each other and laughed.

“Come on,” Gia said. “Now that I’m dressed for the job, I might as well help you out.”

“Oh, no, Miss Gia.” Frankie looked stricken. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Are you disobeying an order, Fusco?”

“Me? Oh, no. No, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Come on, then.”

Gia ordered Romy to heel at her side and she and Frankie walked the span of lawn behind the house toward the garage.

“How long you been working here?” Gia asked.

“Two months tomorrow, Miss Gia.”

“And your duties?”

He reached down to pat Romy, who growled at him threateningly. He snatched his hand back. “Well, washing the dogs. Running errands for the guys. Stuff like that.”

“Do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it. I’ve been trying to work for the family for years.”

Gia smiled at his exaggeration. He couldn’t be more than a day over eighteen.

“I was bussing tables at the Guarinos’ and running numbers when I met your father, God rest his soul.” He looked awkward about mentioning her dad. “My condolences, Miss Gia.”

“Thank you.”

“Anyway, I met your father and he brought me out here to see to some things. I stay in the stables with the other guys.”

Gia looked toward the converted stables in question that were barely visible through a thatch of trees and flowering bushes, and then turned back toward Frankie. She could see why her father had been taken with the teen. He didn’t appear to have an insincere bone in him. His obvious youth aside—she’d met more eighteen-year- olds who looked forty than she could count over the past month—he was open and enthusiastic and apparently relished his connection to the family.

Of course, she’d seen much of the same misplaced interest growing up. Especially from the kids who came up in the area of Brooklyn that the Venuto family had controlled since Prohibition. Where teens in other neighborhoods might join gangs, in the Venuto neighborhood, the family was the gang. And, it seemed, every kid wanted to be a member.

They rounded the corner of the garage to find one of Vito’s goons standing in shirtsleeves in the summer heat, his shoulder holster and firearm clearly visible. Romulus’s brother, Remus, sat quietly waiting his turn for a bath.

“Romy, sit,” Gia ordered.

The dog whined at her and then did as she asked.

“Thanks, Miss Gia,” Frankie said, appearing not to know what to do. He held out his hand to shake hers, and then stared at where it was covered in suds and drew it quickly back. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

“No bother,” Gia said, looking around. She’d have to ask Vito to have his men cover their weapons.

Just as she thought his name, she spotted Vito at the edge of the part of the driveway leading to the garage, speaking to a man she didn’t recognize. Of course, she had yet to name all of the personnel around the sprawling estate, but she was pretty sure she hadn’t seen this guy before.