Underboss (With Me in Seattle Mafia 1)

“By?”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

I catch her face in my hand. “Who cut your hair, Nadia?”

She licks her lips. “I honestly don’t know. I was ambushed. They cut it, broke a rib, and then disappeared. That’s why I was in Miami. I needed to get away.”

“Why hasn’t your family tracked down who did that to you?”

As much as I hate the Tarenkovs, my blood boils at the thought of anyone laying a hand on this woman.

We don’t hurt women. Ever.

“Because they don’t know. I didn’t tell them.”

“Nadia—”

“Don’t lecture me.”

“Your father and brother need to know so they can protect you.”

“I can protect myself.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment. But someone was able to get to you. Why your hair?”

“I’m known for it. It’s just hair, Carmine. It’ll grow back. It was the broken rib that really pissed me off. Couldn’t breathe right for a month. Now, let’s drop it.”

“For now. But we’ll circle back to it. Now, would you like the grand tour of your new abode?”

“Hell, yes.”

Chapter 2

~Carmine~

Three Months Later…

“I love you.” The lie rolls off my tongue easier than the first time I said it, just a few weeks ago. Nadia and I have become inseparable since she moved in with me. We fuck. We laugh. We eat.

And then we fuck some more.

I know her body better than I know mine. Every curve, every erotic inch that makes her writhe in ecstasy.

But it’s a shot to my ego and my pride that I still don’t know her mind. Nadia is good at keeping her thoughts close to her chest and only sharing bits and pieces of information. But she’s loosened up considerably, and our time together has been fun.

So much so that I enjoy having her in my house.

No, not mine. I won’t have the daughter of the man I hate most in the world living in my home. But she doesn’t know that.

I press a kiss to her nape as she fusses with an earring, and then she smiles at me in the mirror.

“I love you, too, darling,” she says. Her eyes go wide as I slip the diamond necklace around her neck from behind and fasten it with nimble fingers. “Oh my God, Carmine.”

Her hand moves to touch the ice that glitters in the mirror.

“Later, when I make love to you, you’ll wear this and nothing else.”

Her gaze flies to mine, and she smiles quickly before turning to launch herself into my arms.

“You know I love gifts,” she says against my mouth.

“And I love giving them to you.” Nadia is spoiled. Selfish. Indulgent—all of the things I expected of her.

It’s a pity that she didn’t prove me wrong. Part of me wanted to respect her. To discover that she’s nothing like the rest of her family.

But that didn’t happen. Don’t get me wrong, Nadia’s been fun, but she’s the typical, overindulged daughter of a powerful man; a woman used to getting her way.

She playfully tugs on my lower lip with her teeth, then walks across the room to open her Hermes bag, moving a few small things over to her tiny clutch.

“I hope nothing horrible happens today,” she says with a sigh. “It’s Annika’s wedding day. She deserves to have a happy day without any mafia shenanigans thrown in for good measure.”

“Weddings, like funerals, are truce days. You know that.” I fasten my cufflinks, the ones with the rubies that Nadia got me for my birthday last month. “Everyone will be on their best behavior.”

We’ve been in Denver for three days, preparing for Nadia’s cousin’s wedding. Annika’s groom, Richard Donaldson, has no ties to any mafia family, and that’s the way Annika wanted it. Rumor has it that her family isn’t thrilled, but they’re permitting the union.

Reluctantly.

My family flew in yesterday. Nadia and I had dinner with my parents, Shane, Rocco, and my cousin, Elena, and her husband, Archer. Elena was raised like my sister. When someone murdered her parents, I took it upon myself to see to avenging their deaths.

Nadia’s family will pay.

But not today.

Three other family organizations will also attend Annika and Rich’s wedding. But there’s an unwritten rule for weddings and funerals of mafia families. No violence. No retribution is to be dispensed on those days. They’re days of celebration. Community. If beefs or scores need to be settled, it’s for another time and place.

We may be brutal, but we can be respectful.

“My brother flies in this morning.” Nadia checks her lipstick in a handheld mirror, and I school my features.

Alexander Tarenkov will die at my hand. Not today, but one day soon. For his many transgressions.

“I was surprised he didn’t come sooner.”

“He was in Europe,” she says with a shrug. “Doing what, I have no idea. You know he doesn’t say much to me.”

I smile as she takes one last look in the mirror. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”