Angelo (The Marchesi Family 2)

“You could have warned me,” I said taking out my anger on a box I was breaking down.

“I didn’t know the details of his arrangement, just that there were things he told me not to question. I looked the other way, did the baking, talked to customers, and did my best to keep the place running. He never let me near the books, and I was happy to keep it that way. I stayed out of his business, and he stayed out of mine.”

“They were laundering money through here, weren’t they?”

She crossed herself. “Mother in heaven. If I were you, I’d keep quiet about such things. All I really know is that once a week, some men gathered in the back to gamble or something.”

I didn’t want to think about the “or something.” Illegal gambling rings, probably very high stakes ones were bad enough. “This wasn’t just some friends betting over cards, was it?”

Maria shrugged. “The men are from some notorious families. I didn’t bother them, and they didn’t bother me. You’d best do the same.”

“I’m not allowing that to continue. This is my business. I’m not letting any illegal activities—”

“Some of them are cops, you know. It’s just the way things are. If you want to run this bakery, you might have to make some compromises.”

How was she able to compartmentalize things so well? “It really doesn’t bother you?”

“Like I said, I bake and sell things. That makes me happy. I take home a paycheck, that makes me and my husband happy. I didn’t need to know anything else about what went on here, and I still don’t.”

“None of it makes me happy. This isn’t what my grandparents would’ve wanted.”

Maria pulled open a box filled with one-pound bags of yeast and began shelving it. “You’re right about that. Your grandfather kept everything aboveboard, even if he did ignore your father’s shenanigans. He would’ve hated to see what your father did with the place.”

But he’d still left the bakery to my dad. “I need to figure out what to do. Apparently, this place won’t truly be mine until I take care of this debt.”

“Be careful. Those people don’t play around. You’re better off doing whatever your father was doing for them. You can’t keep the place open if you’re dead.”

“Dead?”

She gave me a hard stare. “Like I said, they don’t play around.”

I knew if I put off the confrontation with Angelo, I wasn’t going to be able to think about anything else. My denial phase was over. It was time to jump in and fucking deal with it.

When Maria left that afternoon, I pulled out my phone and quickly called the number Angelo had texted me from the day before.

“Hello, Cameron.” Why did his voice have to be so fucking sexy?

“I’m ready to talk about how to handle our situation.”

“You mean you’re ready to give me what I want?”

Blowing up at him won’t help. He’s not going to make this easy. “I’m ready to talk about settling the debt.”

There was silence on the line for a moment, then Angelo said, “Give me an hour. I’ll meet you at the bakery.”

This time when Angelo knocked on the door, I was prepared. I’d poured myself a glass of bourbon that I’d found in one of the cabinets, and I drained it before answering the door.

Angelo didn’t shove past me like before. He just stood there, staring. I hadn’t just fortified myself with bourbon. I’d changed into black jeans that were so tight it was a struggle to get into them and a blue sweater that was also form-fitting. It heightened the color of my eyes, making them appear bright blue instead of their usual bluish-green. I’d dressed nicely because it made me feel confident, not because I wanted to look good for him. And I wasn’t the only one who’d dressed up. Angelo had on a dark gray suit. I thought he’d looked good in a tank top and jeans. In a suit, he was fucking devastating.

He looked me up and down slowly. “Nice.”

Heat rushed over me, and I felt myself flush. My body liked the appreciation in his eyes even if my mind told me it didn’t matter.

“But you do know that as soon as we agree on a deal, I’ll have you out of those clothes and spread out for me.”

I squeezed my hands into fists as I resisted the urge to slap him.

What would he do if I did? It was foolish to believe he wouldn’t hurt me, and yet, somehow I did. He’d make me pay, whether that meant adding time to our payment arrangement, adding money to the debt, or something else. But I didn’t think he’d physically hurt me.

I stepped back from the door. “Come in and stop staring.”

He placed his hands on my chest and pushed. I stumbled backwards and he moved in, kicking the door closed behind him. “Let’s get one thing straight right now. You don’t make demands. I do.”