De Lucci’s Obsession

Among the sea of black, blue, and gray expensive suits, Cesar De Lucci stood out in the crowd.

As I weaved in and out of the dinner guests, balancing the appetizer tray of gravlax and caviar on a palm, my previous impressions of him rapidly morphed into newer ones. He seemed taller with broader shoulders. His tanned skin contrasted sharply with the crisp white of his dress shirt.

His chiseled face was sensually attractive, not somberly austere.

His demeanor broody, not boring.

And definitely not an expression of someone with a stick up their ass.

Surrounded by guests eager to make his acquaintance, one would think Cesar was a celebrity.

But it was his intensely masculine presence that commanded attention. I struggled to look away, but my eyes kept returning to him. This alpha among men. I was fascinated how he managed conversation around him with ease, even as his dark gaze roamed the room until it landed on me, settled on me. I was pinned to the spot, my heart and lungs competed for space in my chest, waiting for his attention to move on. But it didn’t.

His stare pierced right between my eyes and maybe a few inches out behind my head. It certainly scrambled my motor skills, rattling the tray in my arms.

Did he want me to come over?

And was that a smile playing on his lips?

Unable to stand our locked gazes a second longer, I spun around so quickly that I crashed into someone.

“Watch it, idiota!”

Only my balancing act saved me from making a bigger fool of myself in the middle of a high-society party.

My cheeks flamed under the condemning gaze of Paulie’s wife, Carlotta.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. She was the one who let us in through the service entrance in the back of the mansion. A reminder that I was the hired help. Not an associate like my dad who used to drive up to the impressive pillared entrance of this multi-million-dollar residence.

Despite the warm chandeliers illuminating the opulence of gold-gilded ceilings, despite the Italian string quartet playing a lively tune, and despite the laughter and chatter rising from the movement of guests crowding and then dissolving into smaller huddles, a cloud of somberness and coldness permeated the four walls of this mansion.

There was no joy here, only sadness. Maybe because the last time I saw Paulie’s family together was at his mother’s funeral.

It took all my effort not to hide my disdain for his wife. But I could admit Carlotta exuded the cultured elegance of a De Lucci hostess.

Her voice lowered, but was no less venomous. “Paulie thinks you walk on water, but that doesn’t excuse you from being lazy on the job.” She jerked her head over to her girl posse of wannabe mafioso wives. “They want more of that smoked salmon and the lobster salad on a cracker.”

I wanted to correct her that our gravlax was not smoked, but I held my tongue and hurried back to the kitchen where Tommy was preparing the main dishes of the evening.

“Setting this Shepherd’s Pie out on the warmers. Can you follow with the stew?”

“Carlotta’s bitc—friends need a refill.” I deposited more appetizers on my tray. “They’ll probably think up other bullshit for me to do, so don’t count on it.”

Paulie also took pains to avoid me tonight. After an awkward greeting earlier with Carlotta at his side, we hadn’t talked. That was fine by me. I’d rather not be the target of his wife’s displeasure, especially with a job to do.

“She’s jealous is what she is,” my friend said. “Don’t let her get to you. Just ask Paulie for a big tip.”

Trust Tommy to make me laugh.

“You’re okay, right, kiddo?” he asked. “‘Coz if these folks are making your evening hell, we’ll call a halt to this shit right now and let them fend for themselves.”

“I’m fine.” I tipped my chin to where the party was ongoing. “Go!” He hesitated briefly before leaving me alone in the kitchen.

I was glad Charles advised us to wear the black polo version of our pub’s uniform. Paired with dark trousers and loafers, six of us blended in as polished waitstaff to a room full of Armani suits, Versace cocktail dresses, and Jimmy Choo stilettos. Still, my feet weren’t used to the unyielding leather of never-broken in shoes, and I longed for either my Keds or Dr. Martens.

“I didn’t mean to get you into trouble.” A low baritone spoke from behind me, and even without turning, I knew it was him. Cesar witnessed my humiliation, but I’d be damned before I let on that he was the cause of it.

I squared my shoulders and faced him.

He was leaning against the arch of the pass-through, a glass of wine in one hand while the other was shoved into the pocket of his trousers. If his suit wasn’t an Armani, then it would be one of those ridiculously expensive bespoke creations from an elite European tailor. It hugged his shoulders as if it was custom-made. Cesar was taller than Paulie. I’d say he was definitely over six-three, but where my friend was leaner, his older brother packed serious muscle.

Lifting my chin, I said, “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. De Lucci.”

His brows furrowed, and though he wasn’t smiling, amusement glinted in his eyes. “You’re going to be formal with me? What’s wrong with calling me Cesar?”

It took all of my willpower not to look away from those piercing dark eyes, ones that seemed to scrutinize every freckle on my face. My throat bobbed. “Did you want more gravlax?” I held the newly refilled tray out to him.

He pushed away from the entrance and advanced on me. My instinct was to back away, except I was up against the counter.

Very casually, he took a square of the gravlax and caviar and popped the entire thing in his mouth, chewing deliberately, before taking a sip of wine. He did all this without taking his eyes off me.

Dammit, where the hell was Tommy? “You weren’t supposed to eat it in one bite,” I chided.

He licked the crumbs from his lower lip and raised a brow. “How about you show me?”

“I’m not supposed—”

“To sample the merchandise?” he scoffed. “I’m paying for it. You don’t have to worry about me filing a complaint.”

“Very well.” I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me even though he seemed to elicit a tingling voodoo over my body. Lowering the tray on the counter, I picked up a gravlax appetizer and said, “Take one bite.” Then I pointed to my mouth and chewed, savoring the salty brine of the caviar exploding in my mouth and mingling with the silky texture of crème fraîche. “And then … another.” His eyes dropped to my mouth and then lifted back to mine. My throat muscles tightened, and before I could decipher the intense expression I saw there, I started choking.

My hand flew to my throat and without hesitating, grabbed the wine Cesar offered to me. I finished it in three gulps while vaguely noting the heat of his hand rubbing my back.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

A pained expression crossed his face. “You need to know, cara, the wine you just gulped down came from a three-thousand-dollar bottle.”

My mouth gaped, feeling sick to my stomach. “Oh shit.” If anyone understood the reverence bestowed upon fine wine, it would be someone whose family owned a pub.

His mouth twitched. “Since you seemed intent on teaching me a lesson on how to eat caviar and gravlax, it seems I owe you a lesson in how to savor Italian wine.”

“What do you mean?”

Before he could answer, Carlotta strutted into the kitchen and looked suspiciously between me and Cesar. Her full lips trembled in an effort not to snarl so that they ended up twisting hideously.

“We’re about to serve dinner and my friends still haven’t gotten the appetizer,” she told me. She glanced at her brother-in-law. “Papa and Paulie are looking for you to make a toast.” Then directing her attention back to me, she said, “Well, don’t just stand there.” She spun on her heel and started back for the gathering.

Cesar swore under his breath. “Carlotta.” He didn’t yell. The sound level of his voice was only slightly higher than his speaking one, but his displeasure at his sister-in-law reverberated around the kitchen. He grabbed the tray from the counter and stalked toward her. “Serve your friends. Miss McGrath and her crew are overworked as it is.”

“That’s what we pay them for,” she shot back.

“I. Carlotta.” Cesar leaned into her face. “I.” He shoved the tray into her hands. His expression must have left no doubt what he thought about her behavior.

She sniffed indignantly, snatched the tray, turned on a heel, and left the kitchen.

Much to my relief, Tommy walked in and like Paulie’s wife, looked suspiciously between me and Cesar.

“What’s going on here? Is this man harassing you, Ava?”

I couldn’t see Cesar’s face, but I could hear the laughter in his voice when he said, “On the contrary, it was Miss McGrath who was harassing me regarding eating gravlax properly.”

Tommy turned his befuddled face to me.

I shrugged. I wasn’t about to admit that I committed the ultimate sin of gulping down this man’s expensive wine.

Cesar faced me. “I’m needed for speeches and toasts and I’ve taken up enough of your time.” He made for the exit but paused and cast a look my way. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty, Tuesday evening.”

Without waiting for my reply, he disappeared into the party.

“But I have exams,” I said weakly.

Tommy appeared in my line of vision as I was busy spiraling into a panic. What the hell did he mean pick me up?

“What did he mean about Tuesday?”

My shoulders hitched in bewilderment. “I have no idea.”

The man before me crossed his arms and regarded me. “Should we pack up and leave?”

Shaking out of my Cesar-induced haze, I said, “Don’t be ridiculous. Come on. Let’s feed them so we can get out of here.”

I got my reprieve when Cesar left me to do my job, staying away from me for the rest of the evening. Carlotta also left me alone, but the collective glare coming from her girl posse wore me down and even with the high ceilings of the mansion, the party halls became suffocating. I longed for fresh air.

I ducked my head into the kitchen. Sheila was helping Tommy pack things up. “Hey, stepping outside for fresh air. That okay?”

“I would join you,” Tommy quipped. “But I’d be smoking and polluting your space.”

Laughing, I said, “Give me five minutes.”

I exited the kitchen into the rear gardens, nodding to a guard standing there. I remembered a secluded patio with a cherubim fountain in the middle. Rumor has it that this spot was where some of the secret conversations took place when the mafia found out that the FBI had planted wiretaps inside their houses.

My body was overheated, and I welcomed the chill of late October weather. It prickled my skin and cooled my cheeks, but exhilaration expanded my lungs with this evening’s success.

A presence made itself known behind me, but unlike the exciting awareness Cesar invoked in me, this one threw out a malicious vibe.

I whipped around just as a stocky figure emerged from the shadows. I couldn’t make out his face as the moon had hidden behind the clouds. I looked toward the kitchen. Where was Tommy? The guard?

“No one’s going to help you,” the voice said. “I made sure of that.”

“What do you want?” I edged around him to make my way back inside, but he pounced and shoved me against the moss-covered walls. Pressing his barrel-chested body against mine, he immobilized me. His hand covered my mouth. The speed at which he had me at his mercy spoke of his experience.

“Listen to me, you cunt,” he rasped. “Keep your claws away from the De Lucci brothers, you get me? And stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

I tried to shake my head but I couldn’t. It almost felt like he was crushing my cheekbones.

His face came closer, and the pungent smell of onions on his breath almost made me gag. “What do you have? A golden cunt? You tired of spreading your legs for Paulie, now you want his brother too?”

He released my mouth, and I thought his oppressive weight would disappear, but the gleam of a knife appeared by my face.

“You can scream,” Onion Breath said. “They can’t hear you with the music playing so loudly inside. Yes, I planned that too.” The warm blade traced my cheek, and my breaths came in quick bursts.

“Or is it your face? Those wide innocent eyes.” The tip of the knife touched my temple and then trailed under my chin. Pinprick pain broke through skin.

“Or … should I just slit your throat? You did cost my crew money—”

My heart pounded. I had to think fast. The kitchen door was only ten feet away.

Onion Breath wasn’t a tall man and with adrenalin flooding my veins, everything my brothers taught me about self-defense focused my mind on how to get out of this situation. If only—

The stench of onion disappeared, leaving me with crisp glorious oxygen.

Steel cluttering on pavement was followed by muffled grunts.

Confusion set in as my eyes tried to make sense of the tangle of shadows. The man who attacked me was being held in an arm lock by an unknown savior. A tall man with a broad back stood in front of the grappling pair, and with controlled power, slugged my attacker twice with his fist.

“Take him to the basement,” he ordered in a tone that vibrated rage.

Cesar turned and faced me. The moon slipped out from the clouds and cast sinister angles of shadows and light on his face, giving him a preternatural aura. He gripped my shoulders painfully.

At my yelp, there was a muttered apology and then a gruff, “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Shit,” he hissed. A finger gently lifted my chin to the moonlight. “You’re bleeding.”

I backed a step.

His eyes that were dark as the night reminded me of a demon. “It’s just a nick. I’m fine.”

His hands fell to his sides, clenching in fists. He cocked his head in the direction where Onion Breath disappeared with my other rescuer. “I need to take care of this.”

“What will you do?” I asked.

“Whatever is needed to keep you safe.”