The Woman in the Back Room by Jessica Gadziala

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

Alessa

 

 

 

"It's an honor to be asked," my father insisted, pounding a meaty fist on the table.

I'd taken after my mother in the looks department.

Tall and the athletic sort of lean—a nice ass and barely-there rack—with long dark brown hair and golden brown eyes. I got her freckles, too. Over the nose. Across the cheeks. Faint, but there. I'd always resented them for making me look younger than I was. My mother claimed that was what the guys liked most about her, that she looked like a high school girl.

As if I needed any more proof that guys were disgusting.

I mean, to be fair, my father must have had decent genes because my half-brothers practically tripped over the women who threw themselves at them. He'd just gone a little crazy on my step-mom's indulgent cooking and still believed he could squeeze into his clothes from a decade ago.

"In what way was this him asking?" I shot back. "It's a thinly veiled order."

"So what if it is? He's the boss."

"He's your boss," I corrected. "You've made it infinitely clear that I am not part of the Family in any official capacity, so, technically, he's not my boss in any way shape or form."

"Alessa, if you want in, do you really think being obstinate is helping?" Ciro, one of my half-brothers—and actual members of the Family because of his blood and his gender—asked as he walked out onto the patio of the restaurant.

Ciro, much like all our brothers, was tall, dark-haired, and brown-eyed. He had a swimmer's build and a penchant for fancy suits. That day, black. He had a single dimple on the rare occasion that he smiled.

"It isn't obstinacy if I am simply stating facts," I shot back, reaching for a garlic knot, peeling it apart to eat it.

I always stuck out at family dinners.

My father looked every bit the capo in his slacks, loafers, and bowling shirts. My brothers looked like stereotypical mafia soldiers in their suits.

Then there was me.

In my black utility pants and black sweatshirt.

Combat boots.

I kept my hair back in a simple ponytail.

No fuss.

I couldn't exactly put on a pencil skirt and kick ass if I needed to. And despite the rampant sexism in the mob, I have proven time and time again that I was more than capable of handling myself and business.

"It's a job," Ciro reminded me. "A paying job. And, I might add, a well-paying one. Lorenzo pays more than anyone else would for the same thing."

"Lorenzo isn't paying me at all," I reminded him. "That brother is."

"That brother's name is Santiago," Ciro said, lifting a brow at me. It was his typical disappointed look. I got it a lot from him when I was being deliberately difficult or not following his strict code of ethics. Like calling the Capo dei Capi's brother by his name.

"Yes, and up until, what, two weeks ago, he wasn't even part of the Family," I said, brow lifted. "No one finds that strange?"

"His wife was murdered right in front of him," our father said, voice low. "That's enough to bring any man out of retirement."

"That's the thing, though. You don't get to retire in this life. Why does this brother get to flit in and out of the Family like this? And then make demands of us?"

"Everything is changing now, with Arturo gone," our father reminded us.

"And for the better," Ciro said. "About time," he added, looking over my shoulder.

"What? You don't wait for me?" Gio, another of our brothers, our father's namesake, asked, giving my shoulder a shove as he sat down, nodding toward my food.

"Haven't you learned by now? I don't wait for anyone," I reminded him, reaching for my fork.

I liked Gio. He'd been the first to truly consider me part of the family. Even before the DNA tests came back. I believe his exact words were: With those dimples, there's no need for a DNA test.

He was also the first to start giving me a hard time like any normal brother gave any normal sister. As if we'd been raised together instead of only just meeting.

I'd never reached that level of closeness with Ciro. Or our other two brothers.

"Well, ain't that the fucking truth," Gio said, then turned his attention to the waitress as she moved back to the table. Drawn, no doubt, by the Morelli Magnetism. That was the only way I could describe the impact these men had on women. Without trying. Just by existing.

Though, when Gio shot that big smile with those boyish dimples at her, I swear the woman flushed like a schoolgirl.

"Alright," Gio said after they all had ordered. I didn't bother to ask where the other two were, why they weren't a part of the family meeting. I figured our father wanted Gio around to play my buddy, and Ciro to play the hardass. He didn't want to have the others around to make me feel like I was being ganged up on. Which, make no mistake, I absolutely was. "Where were we?"

"Alessa is upset that Santiago wasn't a part of the Family until recently," Ciro supplied.

"Santi wanted out to give his kid a normal life," Gio said, shrugging.

"So, what, now he doesn't want it to have a normal life?" I asked.

"He," Ciro corrected. "The child is a he, not an it."

"I think shit changes when you've got your wife's blood splattered all over your face," Gio said, shrugging. "He wants revenge. He knows he can't get it unless he's on the inside. So he got back on the inside. What's the big deal?"

"How does anyone know he can be trusted?"

"He's blood, Alessa," our father insisted.

Blood didn't get me in, didn't give me trust.

Only a penis did that, apparently.

Ugh, I was getting sick of that bitter taste on my tongue. But nothing could seem to wash it away.

"Look, I know Enzo," Gio said, shrugging. "He's a good boss. He's not all hopped up on ego like his old man. He uses his head. If he says Santi can be trusted, then Santi can be trusted. We have no reason to doubt that."

"Fine," I said, sighing as I swirled some spaghetti. "But I really don't see why anyone is coming to me with the idea of having me be a nanny. Have you met me? What is there about me that screams warm and soft and fuzzy? Don't worry. I'll wait," I said, waving at myself.

"I think a cactus is softer," Gio said, giving me a smirk when I reached out to slap him behind the neck. "Hey, you asked."

"They aren't looking for a nanny per se," Ciro said, shaking his head. "They need someone there, yes. To supervise. But he isn't a small child. What they want is someone who is there but is also aware. And would know how to handle a situation if it went south."

"Doesn't Lorenzo have a million bodyguards to choose from?"

"They wanted a woman," our father said, shrugging. "Makes sense. He lost his mom."

"And, what? They think a bodyguard with a pair of tits is going to replace her?"

"Language," my father scolded under his breath.

"Gio talked about banging a stripper in the ass through a car window at dinner last week, and you're going to pull the language card on me?" I asked, brow arching up. "Do I need to tell Denise on you?" I added.

My father's wife, my half-brothers' mother, and my step-mom, had taken a lot of shit. From all the men in her life.

Ironically, me showing up as the ultimate slap in the face to her, the evidence of her husband's infidelity, had finally given her the stones to start putting her foot down around her own damn house.

Alright, fine. I coaxed that shit out of her little by little, day by day, but it needed to be brought out. She needed to find her backbone. And knock these men on their asses when they stepped out of line.

She'd been rough on her husband ever since.

From what I could tell, the man never touched any woman but his wife again.

And let's just say, I kept an eye.

"I think they just figure a woman might be a more comforting sight right now," Gio said, only giving me half of his focus because he was eye-banging a long pair of legs that were walking past. "You know, since the kid is grieving."

"It's an honor," our father insisted again.

"It would only be an honor if there were a hundred other candidates, and I was the chosen one. I'm the only option. It isn't an honor. It's an obligation."

"Call it what you want, Less, but you are going to do it," Ciro said, voice growing firm.

"I'd be curious, if I said no, how you'd propose to force me into it?" I asked, sitting back in my seat.

"You'd be on your own," our father said.

"I've been on my own before." Hell, I'd been on my own for practically seventeen years before I made the trip to New York to find my biological father. It was a miracle I didn't die in my crib as a newborn.

"Hey," Gio said, reaching out, putting his hand on mine. "Don't do that. We know you're tough, Less. But you're family. Don't act like you don't want to be."

"I'm not the one threatening to expel someone from said family," I reminded him.

"No one is going to expel you from the family," Gio insisted, holding a hand up to our father. Gio was maybe the only person on the planet who could get away with such blatant disrespect. Because he was the heir. Because everyone knew he did quite a bit of running shit behind the scenes, even if no one was brave enough to say that out loud, to insult our father. "We just need you to understand that we don't have much of a choice here, Less. We're trying to stay in Lorenzo's favor."

"What? We're bootlickers now?" I shot back.

"Listen, shit is shaky right now," Gio said. "If there is going to be a war, we'd much rather be on the side of the Costas and D'onofrios, not the Lombardis and the Espositos. They're all snakes. We'd constantly be looking over our shoulders, never knowing who was out to get us. If all we need to do is have one of us act as a bodyguard and babysitter for a couple months while they figure shit out to avoid all that, don't you think it'd be worth it?"

He made a fair point.

Personal grievances aside, I didn't want to have to align myself with the other two Families. At least not under their current leaderships.

And it was only a couple months.

It was a paying gig.

I was just being a pain in the ass at this point.

It was my speciality, after all.

"You really think I belong around children?" I asked, raising my brow at Gio, daring him to claim that I did. "I'm impulsive and impatient with an anger problem and the vocabulary of a truck driver."

"Sounds like a certain Capo dei Capi I know," Gio said, shrugging. "I'm sure the kid is used to it."

"Fine," I grumbled, pushing my plate back, losing my taste for it. Which wasn't like me. But I hated being coerced into things. I hated it more that the only reason they figured I was qualified was because I had the right parts. If Santiago Costa waved the wanting a woman thing, I'd be the last person on any of their lists to take the job.

"Good. All settled," my father said, rising, moving to walk away. He clamped a hand on Ciro's shoulder, then Gio's. But not mine. "Oh, and don't forget to tell her it's a live-in position," he said on his way out.

"You coward!" I called as he rushed away.

"That was pretty chickenshit," Gio agreed, giving the waitress a wink as she dropped off his food. "But, yeah, he's telling the truth."

"You expect me to give up my entire life to be a live-in babysitter?"

"What life?" Ciro asked, snorting. "Netflix and Chinese take-out?"

"Hey, I have shit going on." And by "shit," I meant a new cult documentary sitting in my queue. And a new place to order in from. Pho, actually. Not Chinese.

But what I did with my life wasn't the point. The point was it was my life. And they would never give up theirs in this way, not even for their beloved Costa Family.

"Do I get a Mary Poppins uniform to wear too?" I griped, reaching for my drink, wishing there was something stronger than soda in the glass.

"I might be able to make the suggestion," Gio said, then choked on his food when I slapped the back of his neck.

"Less, it's a cake job," Ciro said, shrugging. "And the live-in part is not full-time. There will be a room provided for you to keep some personal items in, so in the off-chance that you need to stay over, you can do so comfortably."

"Yeah, the kid probably goes to sleep at like eight or something," Gio said. "You'll still get to eat your take-out and watch your documentaries, but get paid for it."

Alright.

They were starting to make it sound more like a vacation than an actual job.

"Fine," I agreed again, not wanting to sound eager about it or anything, because I didn't want them to think they could agree to shit behind my back like this in the future. "But there's a clock on this. I'm not doing it indefinitely. I will stay on until New Years. By then, they can figure out something else."

That was, what, ten weeks or so?

I could deal with that.

Even if it wasn't the "cake job" that Ciro claimed it might be.

Ten weeks wasn't that long at all.

"That seems... fair," Ciro agreed, nodding. "We will let Lorenzo know."

"Good. I have to go get some shit handled," I said, getting up, and grabbing my bag.

I didn't pay.

They wouldn't let me.

"If you could find a halfway pleasant personality trait to pack, that would be great," Gio teased, giving me a smile that showed off those dimples of his.

"Now, you know that is asking for far too much," I told him, walking off to the sound of my brothers' chuckles.

Really, I had nothing to handle.

I just wanted to go take a walk, get my head straight, try to wrap it around this new—yet temporary—reality of mine.

Maybe I could use it as an opportunity to get in on the good side of Santiago and possibly even Lorenzo if he was around. If Lorenzo would approve of me being a part of the Family, my father and brothers would have no reason to doubt it any longer either.

That was my plan as I went back to my shoebox apartment, bare-boned and pathetic as it was, grabbed a duffle bag, and shoved some changes of clothes and basic essentials into it.

I had nothing else to handle.

No pets to make arrangements for.

No plants to have a neighbor come over and water.

No friends to bid goodbye to for the time being.

So I just hung back, bag ready, until it was time to start my new job.

For the elusive Santiago Costa.

And his kid.

Whatever his name was.

Cake.

It would be cake.

Or so I thought at the time.