Kidnapped By The Italian Mafia

There was something about walking through a hotel lobby in heels that made me feel like a powerful figure in the world. Almost like I was a celebrity. Truly, the hotel Dominico had booked was grand, but people still turned to stare at me as I walked by.

It might have been because of Henri, but I didn't want to ruin my own moment, and therefore ignored him.

A consistent hum of conversation greeted me upon entering the dining area, and my eyes scanned the premises in search of a large man with a deep tan and thick onyx curls. It wasn't that hard to find him, since almost every woman in the room was looking in his direction already.

He was on the phone, speaking in fast Italian with a hand taking notes on the table. Broad shoulders and a clenched jaw decorated by a neatly trimmed beard made for an imposing picture to anyone who took a look at him.

I made a beeline for his table, shrugging off my coat and thanking Henri when he took it from me, along with completing the gesture by pulling out my chair. Marco didn't even look up to acknowledge my presence.

"I'll be nearby in case you need me."

Now, technically left alone with Marco, I crossed my legs and took a look at the table behind him where four goons were sitting in what I'm sure they thought was an inconspicuous manner. One of them was reading the same page of the menu over and over again while another was on his phone, and the other two were looking around the restaurant suspiciously.

Real smooth, boys. This entire scene spelled 'mafia' out in big, bold neon letters. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and picked up a dessert menu, skimming through the healthiest options I could see.

Avocado mousse. Gross.

"—and if you don't have my shit at the warehouse by Tuesday, you're f.u.c.k.i.n.g dead." Marco clicked off the phone call and threw the device on the table, sighing deeply and running a hand over his face. There were signs of exhaustion on him. "My apologies, Miss VanBurren. You shouldn't have had to hear that."

"Rough day?" I offered him a sympathetic smile, which I could afford now that the botox was wearing off.

"Unfortunately not everyone is as resourceful as you, bella." Marco took my hand and kissed the back of it. "I'm sorry for not greeting you."

This man was a completely different version of the criminal Katarina Montenegro knew. I wondered why he hated me so much? Sure our family had a blood feud, but some of the things he did or how he treated me during our seemed together seemed personal. What had I done?

"You're a busy man, I understand." I pulled my hand back from his and took up the menu again. I wasn't really going to order anything, but the distraction that the menu provided was very welcome. "Seeing as you probably have business to attend to, I will make this meeting as quick as I can."

"Please, no rush. I cleared the rest of my schedule." Marco smiled at me in a way that could only be deemed as coquettish, and I secretly wondered if he'd be smiling at me that way if he knew who I was. "Things have been going well for the club here, then?"

"Oui, very well." In that moment I thanked the gods that he had never bothered to ask to be an investor. I could have sold my soul to him but I don't know what I would have done if he had become part owner of my project. "I have our income reports typed on paper, monsieur DiBiancci."

"Call me Marco." His accent came thick with the pronunciation of his name. "Where are the reports?"

With haste, I pulled a big yellow envelope with my initials on it from my purse and handed it to him. "Here, all sale transactions in the past six months, including shipments and local sales. Most of the product has been resold to central Europe."

Marco opened the file and skimmed through the list of clients I'd sold to, raising his eyebrows and snapping his eyes up at me. "You sold thirty million euros worth of product to Turkey?"

"They're growing with the party scene." I shrugged a shoulder and examined my nails, trying to decide whether or not I should deviate from the classic French tip I'd stuck to since my disguise. "I saw a good opportunity."

"No," he leaned forward and bore his eyes into me. "You expanded my market deeper into Montenegro territory, and I have a feeling you knew that."

Unable to think of something to say, I kept quiet, staring back at him without so much as blinking. During my visit with my fathers main man in Turkey, I made some headway with my original plan, and got him to side with The Spanish Princess who was in hiding to make a comeback. These people knew Katarina already and they trusted her. What better way to double cross business than to play the role of my own ambassador?

"Who did you sell to?"

"The name is on the list." I nodded toward the thin stack of papers. "He's an up and coming dealer with a growing network in the celebrity scene. At the moment he's untouchable."

"At the moment?"

"Nothing is guaranteed forever, mon amour." I smirked at him. "Keep reading."

Marco kept skimming the names until he paused, faced darkened, and he glared at me coldly. Even though I couldn't read his expression, something in his eyes said that he wanted to kill something. Or someone. "Alfonso Quidiaro?"

Bingo.

"Mm, oui. I received an offer from him that I could not resist." Having been held hostage by Marco, I remembered him mentioning an Alfonso Quidiaro fellow. Naturally I dug him up, questioned him as to the nature of his relationship with Marco, and offered a partnership. On one condition. "What's wrong? Aren't you pleased?"

Marco was brooding like crazy, jaw clenching, hands fisting, eyes glaring. He looked like a younger version of his father, except much more attractive. Marco didn't have the piercing eyes Vincente had, but he did have eyes that felt like vacuums. If he stared at me long enough with those hazel peepers, I'd end up spewing some nonsense just to get him to stop.

"Monsieur DiBiancci, are you well?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat and flicked through the papers quickly. Just like that, his angry expression was nowhere to be found. "Alfonso isn't exactly who I imagined as a client."

"Oh, did I make a mistake?" I placed a dainty hand over my mouth. "Monsieur DiBiancci, je suis très désolée! I will make sure to fix this as soon as possible. Oh, if only I had known that Alfonso was not meant to be a client, I would have neve—"

"Miss VanBurren, you haven't done anything wrong. You've done everything right, actually. We're rolling in money, just like you promised."

"Please, you flatter me" I replied shyly, fluttering my eyelashes at him. "And call me Isabella."

"I'd rather call you other names, but my professionalism won't allow it." Marco cleared his throat, and I internally rolled my eyes at his audacity. As if he had any ounce of shame to think about professionalism. I wouldn't bring up the kiss in my office, though. Bringing up something from more than a week prior was tacky and desperate.

Unless it was something bad and relevant.

"You're the boss. Professionalism bows to you." Why exactly was I feeling an uncontrollable urge to flirt with him? And why was I succ.u.mbing to it??? Suddenly my throat felt dry. "There is another matter I would like to speak to you about."

"What is it?"