“How a man behaves in private is how he’ll behave in public,” I replied in regard to my clean, organized apartment. “If you have low standards for yourself, you’ll have low standards for others.”
Marla cocked an eyebrow at me, and I could have sworn I saw a smirk twitch her lips. “If that were possible, nobody would have any secrets.”
“Oh, I never said that.” I let my gaze drift down her body, a slow and deliberate perusal she couldn’t miss, as I walked past her. “What can I get you to drink, Miss Preston?”
She was stunningly gorgeous. If I was trying to think of a woman to marry for her looks alone, I’d pick Marla, hands down. Just staring at the curve of her breasts, that perfect ass I’d like to spank with my bare hand, and the rest of her body that was created for sex and sin, made my mouth water and my dick sit up and take notice.
“It’s Marla,” she said, clearly wanting to dispense with formalities, which was more than okay with me. “And water is fine, thank you.”
I gestured to one of the stools at my island counter as I went to the refrigerator to retrieve her drink. “Please, sit.”
She did so, sliding into the seat and folding her hands on top of the granite surface. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
“No. Not really,” I said, deadpan.
My impassive reply was worth it, just to watch the way Marla glared at me, her bright blue eyes flickering with annoyance. She sat up a bit straighter, which only served to make her breasts push out more prominently. God, that spark of fire, along with her bold and brazen attitude considering my authority over her and her family, made me want to haul her off to the bed and show her who was really in charge here.
“If you’re not going to take this seriously then I’ll go and find someone else to help me.” She lifted her chin a bit haughtily. “But I was under the impression you were the best of your brothers.”
“Best is a relative term,” I replied, passing her the water. “But if this is mafia business then Dante won’t touch it with a ten foot pole.”
She hesitated for a moment. “Oh?”
“He’s making a go of legitimate work as a lawyer.”
Marla snorted. “Good luck to him, then.” Her tone was bitter.
I leaned back against the kitchen counter and watched Marla as she sipped the water. Her earrings were Cartier and so was her watch. The dress, a deep blue, was designer, as were her red soled heels. Her nails were professionally and recently manicured.
This was a woman who was used to the good life—pampered but definitely not spoiled—and would expect any man who dated her to keep providing that affluent life for her. I could respect that. What was the point of being involved in financial crimes if you couldn’t enjoy the finer things in life?
“So what brings you to my door, Marla Preston?” I murmured.
She looked up at me and her cheeks went pink. I couldn’t quite keep the smirk off my face. So she liked it when a man talked to her in that tone of voice. Good to know.
I imagined murmuring to her in the same way, low and husky, but in her ear as I pressed her down into my bed while sliding my dick deep inside her body. I imagined she’d probably feel exquisite around my cock.
Marla’s gaze was even as she met mine. More than even—it was daring, a challenge. “My brother was murdered this afternoon, Mr. Russo.”
Well, well, well. Looked like the storm Dad had foretold was finally starting to break.
Chapter Four
Marla
* * *
Vincent Russo was both exactly like, and nothing like, how I’d imagined him.
Everyone knew Vincent Russo. He was the oldest of the Russo boys, and oh man, if you wanted the classic mafia bad boy, look no further than the Russo family. They were all tall, broad, handsome as sin, and trouble with a capital ‘T’. They were the kind of men that a mother warned their daughter to stay far, far away from.
I’d heard a hundred stories about the exploits of the middle brother Marco, especially in the bedroom. The youngest, Dante, had kind of dropped off the grid the last few years but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a problem—just meant he was a slippery one.
And Vincent. Vincent was a capo. The heir apparent. I’d heard he was brilliant, that he was a hard worker, that he was ambitious. And heartless when it came to making people pay for the crimes they committed against his family.
All of that was going to work in my favor right now. It had to. I was determined to get revenge for what had been done to my family. To my brother, Dmitri.
But walking into Vincent’s apartment was nothing like I’d pictured. For one thing he had…good taste. Everything was expensive but well-made, not showy. There was no gold plating, no flashy art displays on the walls, no in-your-face state-of-the-art security system. He wasn’t showing off his family’s wealth and power through money. He just had good taste.
I could certainly appreciate that.
And then there was his enigmatic attitude. I’d grown up with mafia men and half the time it felt like they had a cock in their hand waving it around so you wouldn’t forget how tough and powerful they were. Vincent wore tailored dark jeans and a soft, dark green sweater, and spoke with a soft, firm authority. He’d politely offered me a drink and a seat. And he didn’t crack any jokes about me being a female in a man’s world.
I wasn’t sure what to make of all that.
And I certainly wasn’t sure what to make of the way he looked at me. It made me shiver with heat, made me feel exposed even though I wasn’t really showing that much skin. I felt like he could read every single layer of me, like he knew exactly what kind of person I was.
When I told him why I was here, Vincent’s eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. He had that classic Italian look, with olive skin and dark, piercing eyes, the strong jaw, the thick dark hair. He was worryingly my type—If my type were in the mafia, and I’d long ago sworn to marry outside of the family. I knew how violent this life was, and once I extracted my revenge for Dmitri, I didn’t want to be a part of it anymore.
No matter how handsome the men were.
“Murdered.” Vincent repeated the word softly and pushed off the counter. His body, only moments ago relaxed, now tensed in a barely perceptible manner. “Any idea who did it?”
I shook my head. “Nobody’s talking.”
Vincent hummed in consideration, and the erotic sound made my throat dry. “What does this have to do with me?”
“I need your help.” I hated how those words came out, how pathetic and weak I sounded. I was never the type to ask for any kind of assistance. My family wasn’t the most powerful, but we were competent and knew how to stand on our own two feet. And now here I was begging like a damsel in distress.
“We owe you our allegiance,” I said, swallowing my pride to appeal to his benevolent side, if he even had one. “You’re supposed to give us protection in return. I need to find who did this.”
Vincent gave me an assessing look—one that made me want to squirm on my seat. “Our resources aren’t infinite. We can’t afford to waste them looking after the troubles of a smaller, weaker family. An easily replaceable family.”