Bloodied Hands (Bellandi Crime Syndicate 1)

Ivory

It wasn't often that I got to see my uncle.

So, when he came to visit, I held that time as sacred. As his favorite, okay only, niece, it was my responsibility to him.

And so, it was tradition that riding in the car with him on the way to the restaurant, I claimed the front seat. I didn't even care that it stuck my parents in the back; they were used to it. Uncle Adam always drove, a consequence of whatever Rambo stuff he got up to when he took off to places unknown to do things most of the government didn't even have the clearance for.

My Uncle was a badass.

"Where were you this time?" He'd been a Marine, some special task force or something. I'd been only a teenager when he'd retired and opened up his own private security firm.

"Florida," he said, casting an amused look my way.

I chuckled. "Well, that's horribly ordinary."

"Oh, it was torture. Having plumbing, modern amenities, and a roof over my head to protect me from the elements. I tell you; I'll never take a job like that again." He shook his head, pursing his lips.

Sticking my tongue out at him, I muttered a quick, "Smart ass."

"Ivory! Don't call your uncle names. That's my job," Mom inserted from the back. Adam pulled up to the valet, and we all hopped out of the car. Mom and dad had never used a valet, like me, but Adam did things in style, and we'd learned long ago to just roll with it. Because when he was around, he paid.

That simple.

When the valet took his Mercedes away, we stepped up and into Angel's, the little Italian place Mom and Adam loved so much. It wasn't within Mom's price range normally, so she only got to have it when Adam came to visit.

We always came when he was in town. The name had been a bittersweet reminder in the first few years after it opened, but I'd eventually moved on over the term. The restaurant boasted some of the most authentic Italian food in the city, and that was saying something for Chicago.

Stepping in the front doors always felt like being transported to Naples, not that I'd ever been, but I could imagine.

What was different about that night from all the other nights, was the man who came striding in when my mom gave our name to the hostess.

"Angel," Matteo whispered, bending down and pressing a quick kiss to my l

ips as his hand cupped my elbow. I floundered, staring up at him in shock.

Because, please sweet lord tell me he hadn't just kissed me in front of my family.

Please.

A quick glance at my father's reddened face confirmed that he, in fact, had.

Well then.

Poop scoops.

"Uh, what are you doing here?" I asked, stepping back from him and hoping he'd release his grip on my elbow.

No such luck.

"I saw the reservation and thought I should reintroduce myself. It's been a long time since I saw your parents," he said with a polite, gentlemanly smile on his face.

"How did you know we had a reservation here?" I whispered. His stalking really knew no boundaries.

"It's one of my restaurants." He shrugged, because owning a restaurant was just a throwaway business detail in the great lineup of things the Bellandi family owned.

"Of course, it is," my dad snorted, echoing my sentiments.

"I don't believe we've met," Adam stepped up, holding out a hand for Matteo to shake. His face was hard, set in stone. Even though Uncle Adam had never met Matteo, I knew that he knew exactly who he was. My uncle made me his business, and there was no way he wouldn't have kept tabs on the guy who fucked me over.