Owned by the Mob (Bianchi Crime Family 3)

I don’t foresee ever finding a woman that would take my focus away from work. Women try, of course. Being the second son and having a brother who shunned women until Aria, they came flocking to me, but I might be even more stubborn than him. Aria proved that my brother has a soft spot for women. I’m not that kind of man.

Nothing takes my attention from work, and I’ve been that way since I was a boy. Still, I enjoy getting out of the office to work. Occasionally, I’ll go to a bookstore and work there while picking up the latest crime thriller to save for when I get home.

I open the door to the café, and the line is so damn long that I nearly slam into another man’s back, pissing me off. Moving around him and the crowd, I walk to an available table and take a seat with my back to the wall, as per habit for men in our world. I watch the line move quickly until my attention is pulled from the masses to a woman coming from the back room.

Her eyes are the first thing to capture my interest. They’re a blue that’s like a beautiful sky or a clear ocean. From my position, I drink her in, forgetting all reason and my purpose for being here which I can’t allow myself to do.

A small menu sits in the center of the table, so I examine it to help avoid my gaze going back on the woman. It’s a food menu with the options and prices. Not too expensive, and the menu isn’t large enough to create a heavy food expense. I’ll have to see the actual supply invoices for more information on that factor.

My eyes rise above the menu and then slide over to her figure, taking in her svelte shape with just enough curves to fit under my hands as I maul her. Lust beyond my comprehension floods my loins, leaving me brainless as she makes her way to my table. Her long black hair is in a cute braid tossed over her shoulder.

She approaches, hips swaying as she reaches my table, a foot away from me and easily within my grasp. The urge to grab her by her braid and pull her onto my lap becomes painfully tempting. Refusing to let my brain act like a caveman, I take a deep breath, but then I breathe in her sweet sugary vanilla scent and I’m not sure I’m human anymore.

“Hello, I’m Ivy. Can I get you something to drink, eat?” Her voice is soft and friendly with that hint of Chicago flavor, and my brain malfunctions.

I stare at her plump, glossy pink lips, wondering if they taste like sugar. “Coffee with sugar.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” She smiles, turning on her heel and walking away from me. It’s then that it hits me—I just ordered sugar in my coffee because I’d been thinking about those lips. My focus goes to her incredible backside and the way her tight pants hug her ass as she heads back behind the counter.

A loud noise distracts me, nearly causing me to pull out my gun, but it was just a dropped coffee cup a couple of tables away. I relax, or at least make an effort to because I don’t know if I’ll ever be relaxed again. Every nerve ending vibrates like I’m on a caffeine high.

She brings my coffee directly to my table with that killer smile, and I hand her a twenty… I think. I don’t even remember my own damn name at the present moment. She walks away from me, and it should be a crime to steal her presence from my sight.

Heart racing, hands shaking, I nearly drop my cup also. Does she have that effect on everyone else too? I scan the room for the nearest male and I watch him, but I’m caught by surprise because my beauty comes back with my change.

“Keep it,” I insist.

“I can’t. This is a hundred.” Oops. When I refuse to put my hand out, she sets the money on the table anyway, ignoring my request. That’s the first time in my life that someone defied me. I might not be the Don or even the underboss, but I still carry that level of respect with my position. Instead of being pissed, I’m aroused. Giorgio’s words come to mind, and I laugh internally because they’re spot on.

“I’m Ivy, should you need anything else.” It takes a minute to put two and two together because all blood has dropped south, filling my other brain.

Ivy…

Ivy?

As in Ivy’s Café? Shit. This complicates things. I can’t deal with her and the fucking witchcraft she’s brewing with those insanely hypnotizing eyes.

I focus on my task at hand. Judging by the space and the way the line has just ebbed, I’d say they served a minimum of two hundred cups of coffee in a thirty-minute slot. It doesn’t factor in other purchases, but their morning rush is a busy one.