Crowned In Blood

Chapter 9

9

Catalina

I grabbed my purse and stood to leave my office, just as my phone buzzed with a new text.

Marco

What are you doing for dinner tonight?

I sighed.

Why?

Marco: I have a table secured for us at Le Jardin de Nuit whenever you're ready. We'll have the entire restaurant for the night so we can talk freely.

I glared at the screen. The audacity of this man, assuming I would drop everything for some lavish dinner. But…

Am I actually considering this?

Le Jardin de Nuit was a small restaurant that I'd heard was absolutely divine. They used only the finest, freshest ingredients and were renowned for their unique spin on French cuisine. I'd wanted to go for a long time, but I'd been too busy.

My phone rang, and I rolled my eyes as Marco's name flashed across the screen.

"I take it you're about to tell me off?" There was a hint of a smile in his voice, and I huffed.

Damn it. He was right.

"Our alliance is to share information about the trafficking and mafia leaders, not have dinner dates," I said sharply.

"I agree completely," Marco replied in a nonchalant tone. "But we should get to know each other first, don't you think? You said you wanted to keep an eye on me when you thought I was your enemy. Now that we’re working together, I'd assume you'd want to learn even more. How else will you know what to expect from me?"

I ground my teeth. He had a point.

"Plus, if I'm supposed to provide you with information, we'll need to discuss what you already know so I can fill in the gaps. That would be so much easier over a nice meal, no?"

I hated how often this man was right. "Fine."

"Would you like me to send you a car?"

"Would you like me to blow it up?"

Marco laughed, and the sound rolled through me, soothing a bit of my irritation, which only made me despise him more.

"I do always enjoy a good explosion."

"Goodbye, Marco." I hung up.

I opened the file I'd started on him. There was barely any information. Marco "The Devil" Torrino was thirty-two, eleven years older than me, born to an Italian father and Hispanic mother. Both died in an unsolved car crash when he was eighteen.

From what I could find he'd been running their branches in the States and Italy flawlessly ever since. He was charming, had the logic to twist and use my own words against me, and was determined, observant, and ruthless.

I didn't want to go to dinner with him. I'd done so with mafia heads before only for them to try to get in my pants, or offer a 'deal' which would cost me my familia.

Unfortunately, Marco, thus far, was unlike anyone else I'd ever met. He never reacted the way I expected him to, and could guess my next move before I'd made it.

Our alliance might put us on common ground for now, but he was still, and would always be, my enemy. Which meant his ability to read me was incredibly dangerous.

But that wasn't the only reason I was afraid. While I wasn't under my father's thumb anymore, I was still scared of being seen, of my mask falling away and revealing just how weak I truly was.

The brick walls I'd built around myself kept me safe, and Marco's ability to view me through them was intrusive. Like he was breaking me down little by little, making his way inside, through vulnerabilities I didn't even know I had. And that made our little 'partnership' incredibly one sided.

I had to go to this dinner to learn about him, to understand the man underneath, and peer into him in the same way he did into me. Which meant I had to check my prejudices about men, about him at the door. That's the only way I'd learn who I was in bed with.

It would not be because I was curious about him, or because—as much as he annoyed me—I enjoyed our banter and how he kept me on my toes. It would not be because a part of me loved the attention, or that no matter how much I pushed him away, he always came back for more.

No, it wouldn't be for any of that at all.

The restaurant glowed softly under the streetlights. The evening air was crisp, and I was grateful for the chill. It helped calm my nerves.

Marco stood at the entrance, waiting for me. His black suit fit him perfectly, with the collar and first button undone.

My eyes fell to the little expanse of his chest, drawn in by the tattoos I could only see the tips of when his shirt was fully buttoned. A single strand of hair blew against his cheek and I had the strangest impulse to brush it away.

It's just the atmosphere. Nothing else.

Marco's smile softened his face. He looked pleased, as though he thought I might have stood him up. It made him seem younger, boyish almost, even with his neatly trimmed beard. It was an odd contrast to the infuriatingly confident man he'd showed me thus far, and it made me more amenable to him.

His hand came to my back as he reached beside me to open the door, and I tried to ignore how large it was, how his warmth seeped through my silk blouse.

The restaurant was just as beautiful as I imagined it would be with large arches, curved windows, and a glass ceiling that made the interior blend seamlessly into the outside world. Yet it was also intimate, decorated with tall white pillar candles, fresh flowers, and dim lighting coming from the chandeliers.

The hostess led us to a table and the entire time, Marco never moved his hand from my back, nor did he once fall out of step at my side.

It should have been awkward, but it felt strangely natural.

When we arrived at our table, Marco pulled out my chair.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He pushed in my seat as I sat, then took his own across from me.

"Would you like some wine?" Marco motioned to the list.

One glass technically couldn't hurt, and it would be out of my system by the time we left.

"All right."

His lip tipped at the corner, showing a hint of his dimples. "Do you prefer red or white?"

"Red."

He made a gesture with his hand, summoning the server, then ordered the most expensive bottle off the menu.

The man dashed off to retrieve it, while I blinked several times to see if I'd read the price correctly. "Marco, are you trying to go bankrupt on this dinner? That was a fifty-thousand-dollar bottle of wine."

"Don't wound my pride like that, Catalina. I have enough money to buy this restaurant and the entirety of Manhattan twice over." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And if it would please you, I'd spend that and so much more. You're worth it."

It was a line. A simple, stupid, insignificant line, but it got to me. My heart began to race. I need to deflect .

"Are you like this on all of your dinner dates?"

"Honest, you mean?" Marco stroked the stem of his wineglass, his eyes twinkling in mischief.

"No, terribly flirtatious." I sipped my wine, letting the hints of vanilla and cocoa and the silky finish soothe my frayed nerves.

He grinned. "No. I don't go on dates with mafia heads, and I haven't been on a date with a woman in a very long time."

I twirled my glass slowly. "Ah, yes. I can see how that might be the case with the whole women-falling-at-your-feet thing."

He chuckled.

I took that moment to make my final decision on what I'd order, and when I set the menu to the side, he called over the server once more.

Once the eager man left, I leveled with Marco. "You invited me here today for us to get to know one another, correct?"

He folded his hands in his lap. "Yes."

"Is there anything I'm not allowed to ask you?"

"That would defeat the purpose of you getting to know me, and I want you to know me very well. I'll be happy to answer anything you ask. Are you willing to do the same?"

No. I wasn't sure what he might ask me and if I wasn't careful, I might reveal something I shouldn't.

His shoulders were at ease, his body mostly relaxed apart from his straight position. He was careful, watchful, pensive almost.

Remember why you came here.

Marco had this air of mystery about him, like he could reveal all his secrets and somehow it still wouldn't be enough. And that's what I wanted. Not his charm, or half-truths. I wanted the man behind it all. To look beyond his mask the same way he did mine.

I rolled my shoulders back and nodded.

He hummed low in his throat. "Good, now what do you want to know?"

"Why are you always like that? Flirtatious, at ease when you're around me? Is it because you don't see me as a threat?"

He chuckled. "Absolutely not. I am fully aware of your capabilities and violence." He took a sip of his wine. "It's one of the things I like about you. Your strength is impressive, and I find it admirable."

I was suddenly grateful that my skin was more golden and tanned than white, or else he would have been able to see me blush in the dim lighting.

"Then why are you always at ease around me?"

"Because I want you to feel comfortable with me, and I hope to eventually earn your trust."

I tilted my head to the side. "And have I earned yours?"

"Yes."

"But you barely know me."

"It's my job to gather intelligence about the people I'm working with. And what I've learned about you, I like very much."

The server arrived with our main dishes, providing a much-needed distraction. I swirled a bit of the creamy pasta around with a small slice of chicken and shrugged off his words. "Tell me about the other side of you, then."

He cut a piece of his filet mignon. "The other side?"

I bit into my meal and was immediately ejected into the stratosphere. It was sensational, the perfect amount of chew and softness, with hints of garlic, parsley, and thyme.

My relationship with food was still damaged, and I often had a difficult time trying something new. But this was damn good. I could barely keep myself from happy dancing in my chair.

Marco noticed. He didn’t even try to hide his smile and the warmth in his eyes.

I averted my gaze and circled back to my question. "Yes. You're clearly a flirt." I cut into the chicken with a little too much force. "But you have an edge to you as well, one that you rarely show, at least to me, but it's there. How else could you successfully run both your branch here and in Italy?"

His grin grew wider. "It makes me happy you believe I'm capable."

"Of course I do. I would be a fool not to. But what I want to know is if it's difficult for you."

His eyes hardened for a fraction of a second. "I've gotten used to it, but it has its challenges."

I wanted to ask him more. But I also didn't want to make him too uncomfortable.

He took another sip of wine. "When I went to Italy, it was because a rival famiglia shot my cousin and almost killed him. He was hospitalized for several months."

My eyes widened. "I'm so sorry to hear that."

Marco shrugged. "It's fine. It's an unfortunate part of the job, but I dealt with it."

"How?"

He stared at me and I could almost see the wheels in his mind turning. I set my fork down and met his gaze.

I wanted his ruthlessness, to know if it matched or exceeded mine. There was truth in that, an honor in cruelty that could never be matched, and that was the only version of Marco who could help me.

"Do you truly want to know?"

I was thrilled by the edge in his voice. "Yes. It won't ruin my meal, if that's what you're asking."

He hummed. "First, I made sure that we weren't in the wrong. You've been cleaning up Fernando's messes, so I'm sure you know what I mean."

I nodded. "And were you?"

"Not in the slightest. They were upset that we owned a particular piece of land and wanted to encroach. They came to my cousin with a deal. We both told them no, but they figured since I was in the States I didn't truly hold any power in Italy. Obviously, they were wrong."

I leaned back in my chair, giving him my full attention.

"I found the man who shot my cousin, tortured him for information, chopped him into little pieces, then served him to their leader in a restaurant not as nice as this one." He motioned around us. "The face he made when he saw the eyeball was priceless."

I laughed. It came out as a bark so sudden it startled me, but I couldn't stop. I kept laughing until I wheezed and my eyes blurred with tears. When I finally sobered and wiped my eyes, Marco looked like a blind man who had just seen sunshine for the first time.

I'd never seen anyone look so delighted.

"I was wondering what it would take to make you laugh. I didn't expect torture to be the answer."

I was still chuckling as I dabbed my eyes with the napkin. "I'm sorry. I pictured his face in my mind and?—"

"Don't be. I'm honored I got to see this side of you. I don't think you let it out very often."

He wasn't wrong. I shifted in my chair.

He cut another piece of steak. "How is mafia life treating you?"

It was tough. But I loved it. "It's good. It's very different from the life I had before."

"I didn't get the feeling you liked that life."

"You're worthless. Ungrateful. Nothing but trash. I should have killed you when I had the chance ? —"

Taking a deep breath, I locked the memories of my past back where they belonged.

"No, I did not. Every day was torture, but now I have my freedom."

"I'm sorry for what you went through, and I'm sorry that you went through it alone."

Marco's eyes filled with longing and sorrow, sparking a connection between us I couldn't deny.

For a while, when I would get lost in the silence at night, my misery would suffocate me. Sometimes, no matter how hard I tried, I could still feel its fingers around my throat.

But I wouldn't allow that here, not now, in front of him. Those were the demons I hid, my broken pieces I refused to let anyone see.

"Thank you," I whispered softly.

"Of course." He nodded. "Do you find this life difficult?"

"It has its challenges."

"Do you experience those challenges with your own men? I never see you with anyone, any guards, or your own team."

I glared at him. "Well, I don't see you with yours, either."

"Yes, but I imagine it's harder for you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why? Because I'm a woman?"

"Exactly. I'm not saying that you can't defend yourself. I'm fully aware that you can, but there are plenty of people in this business who see women as less than." His grip tightened as he cut his steak. "I can't imagine how often you have to deal with that. And I would hope you wouldn't have to deal with it within your own familia."

I swirled my wine because I didn't want to admit that I had and that I couldn't trust my own men. But if he was willing to be honest with me, then I needed to hold up my end of the bargain as well, at least somewhat.

"My men were loyal to Fernando. Now they're learning to be loyal to me."

He frowned, and it grated on my nerves. Was that answer dissatisfactory to him? Did he now see me as someone less than? A failure who hadn't won over her empire in its entirety?

He put down his utensils, then gently dabbed the corner of his lips with his napkin. "I come from two separate families. One is the Italian side, the Torrino Famiglia from my father, and the other is my mother's Hispanic side, the De La Rosa Familia." He took a deep breath. "When my mother married into the family, she had her own way of doing things. She was a bruja and people within the Torrino Famiglia believed she couldn't be trusted. Not only was she not Italian, her family was dying out and their power was dwindling here in the States. Some people believed she put a hex on my father or bewitched him in some way, because there was no other reason for him to marry her."

Without meaning to, I folded one hand under my chin and leaned in closer, enraptured by his story.

"My father protected her. He loved her more than anything in the world, but she never cared about following other people's conventions."

"What do you mean?"

"She didn't care to win over his family. She didn't care if they never trusted, respected, or honored her, and she made my father promise to never force their hand." His lips curled into a small, soft smile. "All she wanted was for him to be happy and safe, and she knew if he tried to force his men to accept her, it would only breed resentment and eventually lead to his downfall."

"It took years for people to finally accept her, but it happened organically. They grew to love her for her ideals and the way she loved us, and them." His voice grew quieter, tinged with deep, immense grief. "They loved her so much that they mourned as much as I did when both she and my father were killed."

My heart ached for him. "I am so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you,” he whispered, then straightened in his chair. “I told you all of this not to upset you, but because I believe you too have your own way of winning over people. And you will do so at any point in time you need to." His gaze met my own, the intensity almost robbing me of my breath. "When I look at you, I see a woman capable of claiming the entire world. A world where everyone would bow down at your feet if you wished them to."

"And would you bow to me as well?"

Gently, he took my hand and brushed a single kiss on my knuckles. "I will gladly get down on my knees for you. Anytime, anywhere."

"I had a wonderful evening, Catalina," Marco said in that low, sultry tone of his.

I tried to ignore the way my heartbeat sped up from it. I was still getting used to how frequently he flirted with me.

I gave him a small smile when he held open the restaurant door for me. "Thank you for dinner, Marco. It was very enlightening."

He fell into step beside me. "Whenever you'd like to learn more about me, feel free to let me know. I'm an open book to you."

"Mhmm, I'm sure you are." I hummed.

He chuckled and held his hand to his chest in mock injury. "I'm hurt by how much you don't believe me."

I patted his shoulder. "Aw, I'm so sorry. Did I bruise your incredibly massive ego?"

His eyes darkened as he leaned toward me. "That's not the only thing massive about me."

A shiver ran down my spine, and I had to bite back a curse.

This is ridiculous!

I'd been around men before, I'd been with a man before, but I had never had such a hard time getting my body to listen to me.

I forced a smile. "You're right," I started counting on my fingers. "There's your massive amount of self-inflated confidence, levels of delusion, and belief that you're a gift to women everywhere. Should I continue?"

He laughed. It transformed his face, and I lost myself in it for just a moment. The sound was infectious, and it had me chuckling softly as we walked to my car.

I pulled out my remote and unlocked my door, but before I could open it, he grabbed it for me.

"Absolutely not."

I slid into my car. "I am actually capable of opening doors, you know."

"I know," he said as he rested his chin on the top of the door with a serious expression. "But just because you're capable of something doesn't mean you have to be the only one to do it." Then he stepped to the side. "Drive safely, Catalina."

"You too," I murmured before he closed the door.

Marco waited for me to back out, standing with one hand in his pocket and the other in a wave goodbye, which I returned. But even when I could no longer see him, I couldn't get him out of my mind.

I kept thinking about the way he laughed, how he'd dealt with things in Italy, his parents, the things he'd told me. His words about not needing to do everything. They were all moments that felt real.

He had gone through a lot. He knew what it was like to carry not only the weight of the world on your shoulders, but the added responsibility and protection of those around you.

In that way, he was remarkable, and as much as I hated to admit it, there was a part of me that felt inspired by him.

How would it feel to be at ease in my own skin? At ease with my own familia? To have their absolute trust?

"Just because you're capable of something doesn't mean you have to be the only one to do it."

I'd driven home purely on muscle memory, and I simply couldn't do that again. I couldn't let myself get lost in him, or my fantasies, hopes, or dreams, because I had no one who would try to find me if I did.

You're just tired. Yes, that's all. You just have a lot going on. It's okay. You're okay.

The excuse was hollow, but it didn't matter. Maybe I'd fallen slightly under the delusion of dinner, but it would fade by tomorrow. I may have had a good time with Marco, but that was where it ended.

I still didn't know what he wanted from me or what his favor entailed, but regardless of our contract, I assumed it had to have something to do with my familia.

He had money and power. My familia was the only thing I could offer him, the only thing of worth and value to my name.

I'll use him for what I can right now, but that's it. I can never trust him.

That reality kept me grounded—even as it crushed a piece of me. I was so tired, so, so tired of it all.

I had no one and nowhere to turn. I barely slept. I was always cautious, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, looking for danger around every corner. My entire being, my soul, was exhausted.

But even if I could rewind time, I'd still choose this life.

I kept my conviction, even as I thought of Marco, of his ease, and how nice it must have been to have a family who loved you, no matter what you did, no matter how deep and vicious your darkness might be. I kept that conviction as I took a shower, dressed, and slid into bed. But as I turned, my phone lit up.

Marco

Goodnight, Catalina.

I bit my lip to stop the smile from forming.

Goodnight, Marco.