Hard Lessons: A Mafia Romance Page 2

  “I am.” She was already dragging her knickers and pants up. After fastening them she slipped on her bra and blouse.

  Luca did up his black jeans, but didn’t bother with his t-shirt. He strode to the door, the muscles in his back and shoulders rippling. He paused at the small table in the hallway, picked up his gun and slid it into the waistband of his jeans so it sat at the base of his spine.

  Quickly Serena patted her hair, hoping she didn’t have the just-fucked look. Their visitor could be any number of people come to welcome Luca onto English soil—or not.

  She hoped they were friendly acquaintances, but it wasn’t wise to presume. Clearly Luca wasn’t taking any chances.

  Not that Luca wasn’t more than capable of looking after himself. Hell, he’d brushed shoulders with some of the worst of the Mafiosi in Rome, some of whom had been on his side, some he’d had to square up against.

  He was tough, skilled, and, if he needed to be, ruthless. The guy had grown up with drugs and arms being dealt in the room next to his bedroom. His father—may his soul rest in peace—had lived into his seventies at the center of an organized crime ring and never been caught by the police or a bullet. Sadly he hadn’t been so lucky at dodging cancer.

  But a friendly visit—no bullet dodging—would be a good start to London life. Luca would be an asset to Cosa Nostra business here. With his bulk, disregard for getting down and dirty when necessary, and his keen, sharp mind, he’d be welcomed with open arms.

  Linking her fingers, she walked to the kitchen area. She hoped a lucky streak would come Luca’s way and he’d be able to stay below the cop’s radar. Attention from uniform wasn’t something either of them needed right now. A quiet life, with a few low-key jobs for his uncle; that would suit them well. She wanted to be able to relax in her new home. See the sights, enjoy the shopping, perhaps some of the nice spas and restaurants that she’d read about in glossy magazines.

  “Luca, finally.” A deep, heavily accented voice boomed through the apartment.

  Serena shut the cupboard door on a stack of containers holding rice, cereal, and pasta. In the next she found a wineglass then opened the refrigerator. It was also fully stocked including a nice cheese board from Selfridges. Pulling out a bottle of Pinot, she turned at the sound of footsteps on the tiled floor.

  “And you must be Serena, what a pleasure.”

  A short bald man held out his hands. His smile was wide and his cheeks rosy. His nose and ears were too big for his head. Flanking him were two beefy guys with grim expressions and faces that reminded her of bulldogs. One had a beard, the other clean-shaven but with a tattoo of a cross on his right cheek, just below his eye.

  “Serena, this is my uncle, Giovanni Bianchi.”

  “Wonderful to meet you.” She stepped up to him and he kissed each of her cheeks. His cologne was strong and spiced.

  His grin widened and he clasped her shoulders. He gave the impression of a cuddly bear, though it would be foolish to think he wasn’t as dangerous as an angry, cornered viper. “Nephew, you have done very well for yourself, your beautiful lady is a goddess.”

  Serena laughed.

  “You’re right.” Luca slipped his hand around her and pulled her from his uncle’s grasp. “She is a goddess, and also bewitching, enchanting, and the love of my life.”

  “Which makes you a very lucky man.” Giovanni squeezed Luca’s shoulder. “And I would like to invite you both to my home tonight for spaghetti, Maria’s old family recipe.” He tapped the side of his nose. “A secret recipe.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” Luca squeezed Serena a little closer. “Doesn’t it, mio amore?”

  “Yes.” Serena really wanted to stay in their new home, recover from their journey, have Luca to herself, but that would have been rude. Refusing to attend dinner at the Bianchis was not an option.

  “But right now,” Giovanni said, nodding at Serena’s wine, “I’m afraid that will have to wait; there is business to attend to.”

  Serena held back a frown. They’d only just arrived and Luca was having to go off with Giovanni on business? It didn’t seem fair.

  “Understandable.” Luca nodded. “Always work to be done.”

  Giovanni’s attention stayed on Serena. “And you will do very nicely for this job.” His grin broadened. “You’re just his type.”

  “Whose type?” Serena asked, not liking where this was going.

  Luca tensed.

  “David Watson, distinguished Member of Parliament representing Peckham, only from the back benches of course, but still, he’s an MP, which means he has power. Power I like. Power I need.”

  “Go on,” Luca said, his voice tightening.

  “David Watson is an MP who until recently was behaving himself.” Giovanni turned and walked to the window. A bulge in the material covering his lower back showed he was also carrying. “Great view, don’t you think?”

  “Si, we really appreciate the apartment,” Luca said. “It’s great.”

  “Yes.” Serena forced a smile and squeezed a little closer to Luca. “Thank you.”

  “It is my pleasure. Anything for my favorite nephew and his beautiful lady.” Giovanni turned, hands on hips.

  Serena’s heart tripped along. What exactly were they to do with this MP fellow?

  “David Watson,” Giovanni said, “is rather partial to a liquid lunch on Friday at his favorite haunt, The Rook and Tower. It’s an upmarket public house, discreet, overpriced, dark corners for dark deeds. Think of it as the London version of Maritozzaro, si.”

  Luca nodded. “I’ve been there a few times.”

  Serena also knew Maritozzaro. It was a Rome hangout for mafia types who were schmoozing with the corrupt population of the police, justice department, and of course politicians.

  Giovanni looked at his Rolex. “Which means you’ll have to get a move on.”

  “Now?” Serena said.

  “Si, now.” Giovanni nodded. It was clear he expected to be obeyed without question.

  “What do you need from him?” Luca asked.

  “I need.” Giovanni paused then jabbed his finger in the air, the softness that had been around his eyes hardened, leaving anyone who saw him in no doubt he was not a cuddly old Italian grandfather. “I need him to know he cannot screw me over this way. He owes me favors, there’s promises he hasn’t been good for. What’s more I know he’s had the ear of the Parvo.” He looked as though he might spit after saying the name of Cosa Nostra’s rival. “He’s been pulling strings that aren’t playing to my tune and I want him to hurt, in here.” He banged his chest. “Go for the heart, the jugular, make his balls twists until they go fucking blue.”

  Luca nodded. “We can do that.”

  “I knew I could rely on you, nephew.” Giovanni gestured to Serena. “Put a dress on, some lipstick, heels. I’m sure his wife of fifteen years would throw him to the paparazzi dogs if she saw him salivating over a gorgeous Italian woman when he’s supposed to be in the House of Commons studying bylaws and amendments. Get evidence, photographs. Show them to him and send them to me. I want this guy over a barrel and squirming. Maybe then he’ll play nicely for my team.”

  “Of course.” Serena set her hands on her hips. This was something she could do, make a man salivate. So she made for the bedroom and her suitcase; the sooner they got to the job at hand, the sooner they could get back to their new life. “I’ll go and get changed.”

  Chapter Two

  The Rook and Tower was situated down a back street on the junction between Westminster and Chelsea. Tall with worn brickwork and window-boxes stuffed full of ivy and daisies. The windows were high and dark, the woodwork painted shiny racing car green. Three stone steps, worn with centuries of footfall, led the way to the closed front door.

  On the opposite side of the street, Giovanni’s bearded lackey was in position. Big and brooding, he lurked in a doorway puffing on a cigarette.

  Once inside the tall-ceilinged bar area, Luca leaned in close to Se
rena. “No more than necessary, you’re mine, remember.”

  “I’ll do what needs to be done.”

  He frowned, a neat crease forming between his eyebrows.

  She raised one eyebrow. What, didn’t he trust her? Didn’t he think she could flirt and seduce without it meaning anything?

  “Behave,” he growled. With his jaw set tight, and knowing there was no time to argue, Luca quickly split away toward dimly lit seating nestled in the shadows.

  Serena stepped up to the dark wooden bar, her heels clicking on the tiled floor for several steps until she hit a rug.

  Two members of bar staff were working and the faint tang of cigar smoke filled the air. It seemed to be emanating from a room to her right.

  Serena sat on a tall leather stool that reminded her of a chocolate button. She kept her chin tilted and her spine straight.

  Act as if I’m supposed to be here.

  That was what she always told herself when she was somewhere she shouldn’t be, which in her life, seemed to happen fairly often.

  The chink of cutlery told her a restaurant area was situated through an archway in the wooden paneling. The scent of herbs now laced her nostrils.

  “Drink, ma’am?” A barman smiled as he wiped a glass with a blue cloth. He had a wide gray handlebar moustache that was curled comically at the ends.

  “Yes, please, Pinot if you have it.”

  “Certainly.”

  He set about pouring and Serena had a sneaky look at Luca. Dressed all in black, he almost blended into the dark seat he’d chosen. Before him was an empty glass, left behind from a previous customer. It looked as though it could be his.

  “Here you are.” A glass of wine was set before her.

  “Thank you.” She opened her Prada purse and pulled out a twenty-pound note Luca had given her beforehand.

  He took the money and gave her nine pounds change. “Enjoy.”

  Serena smiled. “I will.”

  Going by the photograph of David Watson he was nice enough looking, with neat hair and a kind smile, and this kind of job—flirting, preening, getting close to someone for blackmail—she could do easily. Maybe she could have been an actress in another life.

  Because whatever she made it look like, she loved Luca. He was the only man she wanted to be with, to get up close and personal with. Though she supposed, she should be thankful that God had blessed her with the looks and the body to make her irresistible to men. At least that was what Luca told her often enough—she was irresistible, and she was all his.

  She took a sip of her wine, the chill lacing her tongue.

  A group of men emerged from the restaurant. Pot-bellied and ruddy-cheeked, none of them were her hit.

  One brushed close to her, his arm skimming her back.

  She saw Luca tense.

  I hope he can keep his cool.

  Luca was away from his home turf and clearly on edge. It wasn’t helping that they’d barely had time to catch their breath since arriving and now were at Giovanni’s beck and call.

  The men wandered to the window and took up residence in low bucket seats. A waiter was quick to deliver a decanter filled with amber liquid and a tray of crystal tumblers.

  The place oozed old money, secrets seemed to be etched into the fabric of the walls, and oriental-style carpets were worn at the edges. The pictures hanging to her right were portraits of old men staring sternly at the artists.

  A couple entered from outside, the door slamming shut. The woman wore a smart blue suit and held a briefcase. She looked efficient and businesslike.

  Serena was pleased she was no longer the only female, it stopped her being so conspicuous, but she was beginning to wonder if David Watson was really here, and if he was, would The Rook and Tower be the right place to get incriminating pictures of him?

  “Whiskey on the rocks.” A deep voice at her side.

  A flip of anticipation caught in her belly.

  David Watson.

  It was him. She knew it instantly.

  Compared to the other patrons he had boyish good looks, a straight nose, a twinkle in his eye, and a full head of hair. She’d guess he worked out too, or ran or cycled or something, no bloated belly or red jowls going on. Though if liquid lunches were his thing, it was likely only a matter of time.

  “Whiskey in the afternoon, I like your style.” She smiled.

  David turned. His eyes widened at little. “Er... yes. It’s been a long week.” He laughed softly.

  “Tell me about it.” She lifted her drink to her mouth and took a sip. She didn’t break eye contact.

  “What do you do?” he asked, signing a slip of paper the bartender placed before him. He obviously ran an account here.

  “I run a fashion company, in Rome. I’m in London on business, meetings, you know, boring stuff.”

  He let his gaze trail down her body, roaming over the tight black material of her dress that hugged her curves. His attention settled on her cleavage, displayed generously and topped with a locket that sat on the first rise of her breasts. “You clearly know a thing or two about fashion even if you find the meetings boring. You look amazing.”

  Is there a slight slur to his words?

  “I like to think so. Fashion has been my life.” She licked her lips.

  His breath was already thick with alcohol. He’d been on the stuff for a while.

  Good.

  “And everyone needs to wear clothes, right,” she added, with a giggle. She flicked her hair over her shoulders and jutted her chest forward. “It’s never going to be out of fashion to have fashion.”

  “Ah, I will agree with you to a point.” He sipped his drink. “But there are times clothes are not necessary.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “What are you suggesting?” She leaned forward. To a distance that invaded his personal space.

  “I’m not suggesting anything.” He didn’t move away. “I’m merely stating that there is fun to be had without clothes.”

  She kept her face hovering near his. “Well, aren’t you a nice find in this dull place.”

  “I could say the same.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Could you now?”

  “Mmm. That Friday feeling is just about to hit.” His pupils were wide. Hope glowed from them. He took another gulp of his whiskey.

  I’ll give him a bit more hope.

  “I’d say it has hit.” Enjoying the power she held over this man she’d just met, Serena leaned forward and kissed his cheek. At the same time she ran her fingertips through his hair, just above his right ear. It was a seductive, teasing gesture that she hoped would go straight to his cock.

  “Ah, yeah, Friday feeling loaded and ready,” he murmured.

  She pulled back a little and smiled—a smile that said she was a dead certain. Whatever he was thinking about, she was thinking the same thing.

  She glanced at Luca. His phone was held forward. He’d got the shot. But fuck, his face was like thunder.

  Serena sat back again and twirled the stem of her glass, willing her heart to slow; it had suddenly picked up a notch.

  Luca really didn’t like that kiss.

  Tough, you’re doing your job, Serena. He’ll have to cope with it.

  “You smell good,” David said, tipping close again and inhaling.

  “It’s called Temptation.” She held out her wrist, baring the inner aspect to him.

  David drew it to his nose. He breathed deep.

  Serena crossed one leg over the other, flashing her stockinged thigh.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, his attention roaming to her legs. “Really... unusual in a good way.” It was clear he genuinely thought they would be naked and fucking soon.

  She pulled in a deep breath; it was kind of fun to be flexing her feminine allure. “I was beginning to think on my one free afternoon here in London I’d come to an old folks’ pub.” She gave a conspirator smile then nodded at the gaggle of guys in the bay of the window. They were involved in a loud con
versation, their deep voices speaking over each other.

  “My meeting was just around the corner,” she said, “and when it finished, I headed into the first pub I found.”

  “Perhaps I can liven it up for you.” He pulled up a barstool and sat, his knee brushing hers. “Your trip to London, that is.”

  She smiled encouragingly. “You could start by telling me your name.”

  “Name...” He raised his eyebrows. “Why don’t we omit names, and have one of those ships that pass in the night moments.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “You’ve had a long boring week.” He paused, appeared to hold in a hiccup, then carried on. “And so have I. Maybe we could inject a little magic into it.”

  “Magic. I like the sound of that.” She connected her gaze with his and rested her hand on his arm. Allowed her dress to slip a little higher, exposing even more stocking.

  Get the shot, Luca.

  “Ships that pass in the night,” she murmured, “magic. You’re sounding more mysterious by the minute, and I do love a man of mystery.”

  “And I think I’d love everything about you,” he said, closing his eyes and breathing deep.

  Serena twirled the necklace at her cleavage and kept her face lingering near to his, knowing the shots would look deeply suggestive and incriminating.

  She pulled back, satisfaction rushing though her. David Watson, MP was such a soft touch, it was almost cruel... almost.

  They talked for an hour; two more drinks were consumed at David’s expense. Serena touched him at every opportunity she got, kissed his cheek again and rubbed off the lipstick with a gentle caressing stroke. She made sure his attention, if it wasn’t on her face, lingered on her breasts or her sheer black stockings.

  The guys by the window grew louder and ordered more brandy. The couple left.

  Luca stayed in his wingback chair, a newspaper on his lap now and his phone rising at opportune moments. His face was cast in shadow but she knew his expression was dark. Luca wasn’t good at sharing, even if it was for a job.

  And the job was done. Serena felt sure Luca would have enough evidence to make even the most trusting wife suspicious. And he certainly had shots the press would have a field day with.