BREAKING THE LAW_A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 3

  “Yeah, I’ve had my fair share of those too,” she conceded, sympathetically. “Welcome to Miami.”

  Andrea sighed dramatically.

  “Can I get another?” she asked, forcing a depressed note into her voice as she signalled at her empty glass. “May as well drown my sorrows while I’m here.”

  “Ah, chin up,” the server laughed, reaching for her glass. “It’s Tinder. Pull out your phone and make another connection.”

  “No thank you,” Andrea replied. “One rejection is more than enough for one night. But thanks anyway.”

  The bartender made a commiserating noise as she slipped the drink before her.

  “I’m Tracey,” she offered, holding out her hand and Andrea accepted it.

  Sofia. Your name is Sofia.

  “Sofia Moran.”

  Their palms met and for a terrifying second, Andrea was afraid her hands were drenched in sweat.

  The blonde studied her face.

  “You’re not from Miami, are you?” Tracey asked and Andrea had to swallow a laugh.

  She had been born and raised right here in Cutler.

  But Sofia hadn’t.

  “Richmond, Virginia.”

  “Ah,” the bartender chuckled. “That explains it.”

  “What?”

  “Well, you dress the part, but you’ve got the ‘good Southern girl’ thing going on. You can take the girl out of the south…”

  Andrea’s smile froze on her face.

  I knew it. I’m going to get found out. Shit! My cover is blown!

  She willed the panic to subside and tried to reclaim Sofia’s confident state of mind.

  “Just trying to blend in,” Andrea said quickly and Tracey laughed, placing her hand over hers.

  “Trust me, honey, you don’t want to blend it. Everyone in Miami looks the same. You want to stand out.”

  Andrea glanced at the bartender’s hand, wondering if she was reading too much into the gesture, but her cop’s intuition told her that Tracey was not merely being friendly.

  I wonder if her angle has ever been questioned.

  Andrea mentally filed Tracey away for future use.

  When she got in touch with Agent Draggan later, she could have him check her out.

  “Anyway, pretty girl like you won’t take long to get noticed. Especially not in a place like this,” Tracey continued, her smile widening as she shifted her eyes toward the entrance, slipping her hand back to her side of the bar.

  Andrea turned to see where she was looking and her heart sped up slightly.

  Of course. She was inside Il Toro for a reason.

  Everyone knew that Giovanni owned the high end Italian eatery in the heart of downtown, and that his crew frequented the spot.

  The problem was, there was no rhyme or reason as to when they showed or for what reason.

  “You should start there and become known as a regular. Make friends with anyone you can. You’re the new girl in town, sweet but ready for adventure,” Draggan told her. “You might not contact anyone for days, but at least you’re making your presence known. Use your ears, not your mouth. Don’t ask a lot of questions and don’t volunteer information. I know that you haven’t had the full FBI regiment of training, but I think you’re ready.”

  Bullshit, Andrea thought, watching as Carlo Suzzi and his wife wandered inside the establishment, dressed like a Hollywood starlet couple.

  Angela Suzzi was dripping in diamonds from ears to hands, a mink stole around her shoulders despite the eighty-degree heat in the evening.

  Her lumpy, potato form was barely held together in a Vera Wang which likely cost more than Andrea paid for rent in a year.

  The underboss was in an elegant pinstripe suit, laughably reminiscent of Al Capone, with a matching fedora.

  Escorting his wife toward the hostess station, neither of them bothered to look up, as if they expected all eyes to fall on them.

  Miami royalty, she thought scornfully. Murdering, pimping, thieving monarchs.

  “You shouldn’t gawk. They don’t like it,” Tracey murmured to her. Andrea turned her head back toward the bartender.

  My ass, they don’t like it. They command it. Purposely.

  “I’m sorry!” she breathed, tinging pink as she added a slight southern drawl to her voice for effect. “They just look so glamorous. Who are they?”

  Tracey picked up a glass from the sterilizer and put it in its proper place, a small grin on her face.

  “You don’t know who they are?” she chuckled. “Really?”

  She shook her head.

  “Should I? Oh, let me guess – “

  “No, no!” Tracey stopped her hastily, obviously not wanting Andrea to draw attention with her apparent star-struck attitude. “Never mind. You want another drink?”

  Andrea glanced at the half-finished vodka soda before her.

  “I probably shouldn’t…” she sighed, but Tracey was already pouring her another.

  “One more won’t hurt. What else are you doing tonight anyway, right?”

  “You’re a good bartender,” Andrea praised, grateful that she had no issue handling her alcohol. For a relatively ‘good girl’, drinking was one thing she knew she could do without issue.

  Just like my daddy. I bet Daddy would have liked Tracey too. Blonde, big tits. Just his type. Exactly the opposite of Mom, she thought with bitter resentment.

  Andrea was annoyed that her daddy issues were surfacing at the most inopportune time, and she shoved them aside.

  Maybe I’m not handling my alcohol as well as I like to think.

  “Damn,” Tracey commented darkly, as she wiped the bar near Andrea. “Looks like we’re going to have a slew of regulars gracing us with their presence today.”

  Again, Andrea turned to see where she was looking.

  “You need to pay up your tab and get out of here,” Tracey said, a slight urgency in her voice. “Or don’t pay it. Come back later and take care of it. Just get out of here quickly.”

  As she assessed the newcomers, a hint of recognition flowed through her.

  Her mind flipped through the rolodex of pictures she had forced herself to learn through the last week.

  August DiFranco. Tommy Fagioli. Frank Massuto. All soldiers under Marco Sardelli, her target.

  The men were laughing raucously as they made their way toward the bar, their voices already grating on Andrea’s nerves.

  Oh, come on, she pleaded with fate. Not yet. Not today. I need more time to feel this place out.

  She reasoned it could be worse; she might have run into Sardelli himself, and Andrea knew she was not equipped to deal with him that night.

  She wasn’t even sure she knew how to approach him once she did see him. She just hoped that her anger for what he had done to Valentina wouldn’t be obvious when they did finally come face to face.

  Tracey’s right. I need to get out of here, Andrea thought but she didn’t immediately understand why the blonde had told her to leave.

  In any case, Andrea knew she had to get moving.

  “Hey Trace!” August yelled, plopping himself down on a stool close to where Andrea sat.

  “Hey, asshole,” she replied flatly, the lilting tone gone from her voice. “The usual?”

  August pouted, pretending to be hurt by the insult but his eyes were fixed on Andrea as his friends lined up at his side.

  “Why you gotta be like that?” he asked, leaning one arm onto the bar to leer at Andrea. She could see that his dark eyes were bloodshot.

  He’s either already drunk or high, she thought, shifting her gaze away and studying her drink. Do not instigate contact with them. You’re not ready tonight.

  “One of these pricks wasn’t your Tinder date, was it?” Tracey whispered and Andrea shook her head quickly.

  “Thank fuck for that.”

  “What are you broads whispering about over there?” Tommy Fagioli called.

  “Broads?” Tracey echoed. “What the fuck is this? The six
ties, Tommy?”

  “Yeah, Tommy, shut up,” August laughed, rising to switch seats so he could be closer to Andrea. “That’s not a nice way to make an impression on a beautiful lady.”

  “Maybe you outta ask the girl if she wants company first,” Frank warned and Tommy laughed.

  “Auggie don’t ask permission for nothing, ain’t that right, Auggie?”

  Andrea could not believe her shitty luck as her mind flipped through the rap sheet attached to this guy’s mug shot.

  Of all the people’s attention to catch, it had to be this asshole.

  August DiFranco’s priors include kidnapping, assault, threatening, sexual battery and rape. Victims always drop charges or disappear.

  “Hey, baby,” August purred, sliding beside her, his leg touching hers.

  Andrea wanted to shudder but she managed to keep herself together.

  “Hi,” she replied, taking a sip of her drink quickly and reaching for her purse, signalling Tracey for the bill.

  “Hey, you can’t leave now,” August cooed. “I just got here. Let me buy you a drink. Tracey, get this girl a drink. What’s your name, bella?”

  “Sofia but I can’t stay. I have to get home to my dog. He’s a pit bull.”

  Why the fuck did I say that?

  The men howled.

  “I love that name. And I love dogs,” August announced. His hand found her thigh and Andrea’s body tensed.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Is this the way it’s really going down? I’m going to kill him one hour into my cover and fuck everything up before I even meet Marco Sardelli? Draggan is going to be fucking pissed.

  And it’s not like you have your gun, now do you? And this goon’s probably got at least a hundred and fifty pounds on you.

  No. She would do everything in her power to find out what happened to Valentina. It had been almost three years and her aunt deserved proper closure, even if Aunt Stella didn’t know she needed it yet.

  Tracey slammed a mug of beer onto the bar, spilling half of it and causing a spray of foam to fly up and hit August’s chest. He turned around to glare at her threateningly.

  Andrea recognized just how cold and malicious the man’s eyes were.

  He looks dead inside. I wonder if he is.

  “Can you use a little more finesse?” he growled at the bartender, but Tracey didn’t seem apologetic in the least.

  “Nope,” she replied hostilely.

  The two had a silent face-off and Andrea realized that Tracey had purposely given her time to make an escape.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I – I need to use the restroom. Just the bill, please.”

  Tracey nodded, her eyes still locked on August.

  “Sure thing, Sofie.”

  Andrea squirmed past August’s wiry frame, his hand gripping her leg almost painfully.

  She resisted the urge to break his fingers, making her way toward the washrooms, clutching her purse.

  “Hurry back, bella. I’ll have a drink waiting for you.”

  Exhaling, Andrea slid out of sight, falling back against the wall, trying to compose herself.

  I’m not ready for this, she thought, panic threatening to overcome her again.

  Get it together! She yelled at herself. You have a job to do. People are depending on you. Valentina is depending on you!

  She took a deep, shaky breath and pushed into the woman’s washroom, listening to the door whoosh closed behind her as she stopped to stare at herself in the mirror.

  Her vivid blue eyes were darker than usual, the stress of the evening catching up to her, but she looked lovely, classy even, she thought with a tiny bit of pride.

  She had been given a thorough make-up tutorial and was wearing contact lenses too.

  Without the large frames overtaking her face, her high cheekbones and flawless skin were glowing.

  Her tresses hung stylishly along the curves of her face, freshly cut but still long enough to brush over her shoulder blades.

  Damn, I clean up pretty good, Andrea thought, slightly awed by the transformation.

  Sofia Morano is better looking than I am, Andrea laughed, turning away from the sink, but I’m smarter. Don’t forget that.

  You can do this. Use your head. That’s why Draggan picked you. He knows you have a personal investment.

  With renewed confidence, she stepped toward the door just as it swung inward, catching her off guard.

  She gasped as August wandered inside the bathroom.

  “You’re in the wrong washroom,” she sputtered, but she had a feeling he already knew that.

  His leer widened and he locked the door behind him, his back against the exit.

  “No, cara. I am exactly where I want to be,” he replied, stepping toward her. “And if you scream, I will snap your thin, little neck.”

  Chapter Three

  It seemed to Marco that he had spent more time in his car, deciding whether or not to enter buildings, than he had actually going places that Tuesday.

  Yet, here he was again, sitting in another parking lot, trying to strike the entire day from his mind as he stared at the family’s restaurant.

  Go take care of business with Carlo and have a drink. You can use one today.

  He really didn’t have much of a choice; Carlo was expecting his drop off that day, and the last thing Marco wanted, was to hear more bullshit from one of his colleagues.

  I’ll be home in an hour, tops.

  Locking the Audi, he made his way inside the restaurant, which was busy as always, but Marco had no problem finding Carlo and Angela, seated in their usual booth.

  He strode toward them, double checking his breast pocket for the money.

  As he approached, Carlo’s wife lifted her pig-like head and offered him what she believed to be an alluring smile.

  “Ah, Marco!” she squealed in her high-pitched voice. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Come and sit, caro.”

  Carlo glanced up from his steak, barely acknowledging him except to grunt his approval as Marco squeezed in beside his boulder-shaped wife.

  “How are you, caro? I need to visit your mama. I just get so busy, you know?”

  “I’ll tell her I saw you, Mrs. Suzzi. She’ll be happy to know you’re doing well,” Marco replied, the deadness in his tone not turning her off at all.

  Angela wasn’t going to visit his mother any more than any of the other wives were.

  Katrina Sardelli was a reminder of what they could all lose in an instant, and no one wanted to deal with that.

  You wouldn’t want to face the fact that a rival family could put a bullet in your husband’s brain the way they did my father. It’s much easier to ignore the reality by stuffing your face with overpriced lobster and French champagne. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, right Angela?

  Of course, Marco said none of that.

  She patted his knee and the action was anything but endearing, her fat form pressing against him suggestively despite her mothering words.

  Angela Suzzi had never been a great beauty and age had certainly done her no favors. Still, that didn’t stop her from blatantly hitting on every male she managed to pin into a corner.

  Her husband’s infidelity only fuelled her perversion to fuck anyone she could, and the pair sickened him every time he was in their presence.

  “Carlo, hand me a menu?” Marco asked, gently removing Angela’s hand from his leg.

  The underboss put his fork down and tossed a leather-bound book at him.

  Casually looking around to ensure he wasn’t being seen, Marco slipped the envelope out of his inside pocket and placed it inside, sliding the menu away.

  “On second thought, maybe I’ll just have a snack at the bar,” he said, rising from the table.

  “Oh, stay for supper, caro!” Angelo cooed, but Marco was already turning away.

  “Another night. Grazie.”

  Her husband had not said one word, but that was more his way.

  Others thought it was a way fo
r him to exercise intimidation, but Marco sometimes wondered if it was because Carlo had a hard time formulating full sentences.

  The underboss had been a boxer in his youth, taking more blows to the brain than anyone could count.

  Still, he was a permanent fixture in the Caprese family, and had been for two generations. Giovanni loved the man like a brother.

  Oh, well. It was none of his business anyway.

  My business for tonight is concluded. Tomorrow I’ve gotta find another way to move the shipments without getting seized, since someone keeps blowing our cover.

  Marco had an idea, but he didn’t know how Giovanni would feel about it.

  It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission sometimes, he reasoned.

  But that was a matter for the next day.

  Tonight, he was done with all the unpleasant tasks he had been faced with, and all he wanted was a scotch and soda.

  Marco entered the lounge, cringing slightly when he saw two of his soldiers fooling around at the bar.

  Tracey was tending bar but she seemed distracted, her eyes darting toward the back hallway.

  He took a seat and called out to his boys.

  “Can you stronzos keep it the fuck down? This is supposed to be a classy place.”

  “Marco!” Tommy yelled, raising his glass. “There you are.”

  “It’s a fucking Tuesday night, paesano. Are you drunk?”

  Frank shrugged nonchalantly.

  “Auggie’s idea,” he chuckled as Tracey approached him.

  “Scotch and soda?” she asked tersely and Marco nodded.

  Fuck, of course August is here. If Curly and Moe are here, so is the biggest stooge. One drink it is, and then I’m out of here.

  The thought of hearing August’s voice for even a few minutes made him shudder.

  “Where is that asshole?” Marco asked, his jaw locking. It was no surprise that Tracey was tense. August’s presence put everyone on edge. The soldier was unpredictable, unstable.

  Marco had been forced to clean up enough of his messes over the years and he had asked Giovanni to move him somewhere else.

  August was Marco’s least favorite person, and he wanted him shipped out.

  He could safely say he loathed his underling.

  But August did his job somehow and followed orders, even if he was prone to going off the deep end.