That makes them powerful—along the East coast—but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be leery as fuck. A concentration of power like this, almost all the bosses gathered in such a small vicinity, has the potential for serious consequences if we aren’t vigilant, so until I’ve made my own personal assessment, everyone is suspect.
Thirty minutes later, we’re settled into a three-bedroom high-rise condo in Boston, and the meeting is scheduled to happen twenty floors below in a little over an hour. I prepare my men by making sure everyone has their marching orders, and then I double check my briefcase to ensure all the files are in order.
The doorbell buzzes, and Carlos cautiously approaches with his gun at the ready before looking through the peephole and standing down. He opens the door, and Johnathon stands on the other side. “I’m here to see Mr. Simone.”
I push Piper behind me and take a couple steps toward the door. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here on behalf of Killa,” he says, looking me in the eye. “He’s requested a private meeting to discuss Ms. Tate’s security.” He pauses and peers around me to Piper. “Both of you.”
Agreeing to this craziness nearly fucking kills me, but I eventually give in to Lorenzo’s prompting, as he insists we won’t be in any fucking danger. We follow Johnathon into the hallway, and as he speaks, I realize Aiden Doyle’s home is only two doors away. Now I feel fucking stupid for being so suspicious—no Boss would kill another in his home.
Johnathon motions to the door and steps back, tilting his head down the hall. “I’ll join the guards at the elevator.”
He walks toward two armed men already stationed at the end of the hall, and I shift my eyes to my beautiful Piper. “You sure you’re okay with this? I promise nothing is going to happen to you.”
“I’ll always trust you to keep me safe,” she replies, fingering the Glock at my waistband. “I also trust Lori’s judgement.” I roll my fucking eyes, albeit playfully, and she lets out a small giggle. “You know you do too, or we wouldn’t be stan—”
The door swings open, interrupting her. “What took so fucking long?”
FIVE
MEET THE DOYLES
I take a half-step over to cover Piper with my body as my eyes narrow at the motherfucker who thinks it’s okay to speak to us that way, but then they soften—just fucking slightly—when I realize it’s not only him. There’s a woman at his side, presumably his wife, and even more notably, she has her hand propped atop a round bump that protrudes from her midsection.
She’s a small woman, akin to Piper in size, but that’s where the similarities end, other than both having dark brown eyes. Where my Piper has the lithe body of a dancer, with long, graceful limbs, this woman is physically fit in a different way, even with the bump. The cuts in her muscles speak of martial arts or kickboxing training, and the fucking deadly glint in her eyes backs up that notion. Piper’s hair is long, wavy, and auburn, almost reaching her ass, where this woman’s is just past shoulder-length and cut in layers with thick streaks of red scattered throughout. Her skin has been kissed by the summer sun, and her face is slightly more rounded—though that could be due to the bun in the oven.
My once-over takes only seconds, and I’m quick to focus my gaze back on the man. The Boss of the East Coast Irish/Italian Mafia: Aiden “Killa” Doyle. My first thought is about his age: younger than I expected, several fucking years younger than me. We’re similar in height and both have green eyes, though his are a lot lighter than mine. The same goes for his hair. It’s a little fucking messier than I prefer, and the Irish red gleams. My perfectly proportioned face is in sharp contrast to his glaring imperfection—a bump on his nose where someone has broken it before. He’s wearing a custom-fitted suit, not from a designer I recognize—shocking, I know—with the emblem of a bee on the jacket sleeve.
Only a handful of seconds later, and satisfied Piper isn’t in any immediate danger, I shift and put my arm around her back to bring her to my side. “Aiden Doyle, I presume?” I say, my tone all fucking business.
“Don’t forget my sexy as fuck wife, Bianca,” he says, waving a hand to the woman at his side. “I’d like for the four of us to speak before this meeting gets underway.”
Piper nudges my side and I glance at her, receiving the “be nice” look along with an encouraging smile. My jaw tightens, but I offer the fucker a nod anyway. “That’s what we’re here for.”
The stiffness between us must become too much because Bianca Doyle takes it upon herself to move things forward more rapidly. She rolls her eyes and steps forward, reaching for Piper’s arm. “Why don’t you come inside with me while these two cocksuckers get their shit together?” Piper holds back a giggle as she gives me an unapologetic shrug and follows the woman like a fucking lap dog. Bianca pauses as she goes to pass her husband. “We'll be in the kitchen like good little mob wives when you two get the sticks out of your asses.”
My wide eyes follow their retreating backs until they’re out of fucking sight, and then they jump to Aiden, who’s doing the same but looking like a goddamn lovesick puppy. “What the fuck was that?”
He turns my way with a proud smirk. “That was the real Bianca Bedacholli Doyle, and she’s wicked pissa.”
I’m not sure I’d ever use the term pissa to describe Piper in any way, but the adoration he has for his wife is fucking clear, and that means something to me these days. I shrug and reluctantly
