Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Newsletter and Social Media Links
About the Author
Other books by Carole Mortimer
Copyright © 2020 Carole Mortimer
Cover Design Copyright © Glass Slipper WebDesign
Editor: Linda Ingmanson
Formatting: Glass Slipper WebDesign
ISBN: 978-1-910597-87-3
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved.
My husband, Peter
Chapter One
“Dance with me.”
Those three words were a command rather than a request. Nor did Carla need to glance away from the person she was conversing with to know who had made it. She would recognize that husky after-good-sex and smoky voice anywhere. She had never seen the man smoke so much as a single cigar, but she didn’t doubt for a moment that at forty-three, he’d had plenty of sex, with dozens of women.
Leonardo Brunelli.
Powerful and ruthless head of the New York Mafia.
Capo dei capi.
Boss of all bosses.
Because that’s what he was. Not just the don of the New York Mafia but the worldwide capo of all the Mafia organizations around the world.
Except he wasn’t in New York today, but in London, attending and celebrating the same wedding and reception as Carla, that of his niece, Grace, to Matteo Zalotti, head of the London Mafia. The wedding ceremony had been earlier this afternoon, followed by this evening reception at one of London’s leading hotels.
Carla had watched earlier as at least a dozen men had bent the proverbial knee to Leon when they arrived at the wedding reception at this prestigious hotel, in confirmation of his place as head of the Italian Mafia. Some of those men were older than Leon, some younger, but all, without exception, showed deference to their capo.
“I asked you to dance.”
Carla drew in a deep and steadying breath and then murmured a polite “Excuse me” to whichever one of the six Steele brothers she’d been talking to—they were all so handsome, but unfortunately also married or engaged; she couldn’t tell them apart—before turning to take in all the power that was Leon Brunelli.
At six feet tall, he was far from the tallest man in the room, nor, despite having defined muscles in his fitted morning suit, were his shoulders and chest the widest. He had been a widower for twenty years, and his hair had gone prematurely iron-gray, as had the trimmed beard covering his strong jaw. But both those things only added to his attraction rather than detracted from it.
But it was the innate aura of power surrounding this man that made him stand head and shoulders above everyone else in the room. Including the two burly bodyguards out in the hallway who were normally not far from his side but had been ordered to take a step back today. No doubt so as not to impinge on the bride and groom’s happiness. The bodyguards of the other dons present had also been banished from the room to roam the hallways of the hotel.
Carla had noted that neither of Leon’s bodyguards looked to be of Italian descent. When she had asked Grace about them, her friend had explained they were Irish, because Leon preferred to employ bodyguards outside the Mafia organization and hoped there was less chance that way of betrayal or divided loyalties.
Whatever their nationality, Grace had assured Carla that none of those bodyguards would be carrying guns today. Partly because they weren’t licensed to do so in the UK, but also out of deference to a request from the groom. Most of the bodyguards didn’t look as if they needed a gun in order to kill someone anyway.
But older than Leon or younger than him, a don or otherwise, Carla doubted there was anyone in this room who didn’t know Leon could wield his power with literally the snap of his fingers to any one of those unarmed bodyguards.
In fact, she was surprised he hadn’t brought one of those men into the room and sent him over to ask her to dance, rather than putting himself to the trouble of doing it and risking being told no.
Except, that air of personal danger Leon exuded was a warning to all that only the stupid or reckless would ever say no to him.
Carla was neither of those things, but she wasn’t about to be intimidated by him or any other man either. Been there, done that, got the mug and the T-shirt and a diamond engagement ring. The latter she had removed and thrown at her fiancé after finding him in their bed with another woman.
As it turned out, Carla had later learned this wasn’t the first time for him, either. Carla worked late on Thursdays at the bookshop, and it also happened to be the day Benny worked the lunchtime shift at the sports bar and had the evening off. Carla’s humiliation had been complete when she learned from neighbors and friends that on those evenings, Benny invited random women he’d met at the bar earlier in the day to join him in their bed for a couple of hours. Just his luck that particular Thursday Carla hadn’t been feeling well and came home early.
Benny had left their engagement ring on the bedroom floor after Carla had thrown him and the woman out of their apartment. Carla had picked it up and pushed it to the back of a drawer until she could bear to look at it again. In the end, selling it to a secondhand jeweler had covered losing the deposit on their apartment when she moved into a new one without giving notice. It had also covered a new bed and bed linens, because Carla had dumped the old one during her move.
None of which changed the fact that Leon Brunelli was now standing only feet away, one brow arched
