Ruthless: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Read online

  Our pies arrived, and we kept up the chat. With each answer, I was more and more impressed. I could tell she hadn't had an easy life, but she still made something of herself, even with her being evasive about what her life had been like between high school and opening her studio.

  "This is the most delicious peanut butter pie I've ever had," Carmen said as she relished a bite, dragging her finger through a bit of the smear that was left behind and licking her finger clean in an unconsciously erotic display that left me glad the table was wood and not glass. "What about yours?"

  "It's good," I agreed, enjoying the cinnamon apple crumble pie. "To be honest, though, the company has been better than the pie."

  It was my turn to be surprised as Carmen actually blushed, then gave me a heart stopping smile. "Thanks. I'd say the sentiment is the same here too."

  We finished our pie and got back in my car, driving back toward the dance studio. "I could take you back to your place if you want," I offered as I drove, curious as to where Carmen lived. "I promise, I can be a gentleman if I have to be."

  "You've been a gentleman every time we get together," Carmen said, thrilling me when she laid a hand on mine. "But I have a secret to tell you."

  "What?" I asked, fear lancing into my heart. She had a boyfriend or something. It had to be.

  "I don't have an apartment," Carmen admitted, looking at me with a bit of fear in her voice. "I gave mine up to pay for the wood floor in the studio. I live in the back room. I've got a cot and a hot plate back there. I thought you knew when you offered to bring in breakfast for our lessons."

  "No," I said, shaking my head. "I offered because I figured I was getting you out of bed too early. I just wanted to do something nice, that's all."

  "I don't want pity for living at the studio," Carmen said, vulnerable and intense at the same time. "I won't take pity."

  "I don't pity you," I replied honestly. I pulled into the parking lot of the dance studio and shut off the engine. "In fact, I admire you for it."

  I got out of the car, going around and opening her door. "Well, as I promised, you're back safe and sound."

  I took Carmen's hand, helping her out of the car, and walked her to the door of the dance studio. She stopped, turning toward me, and smiled again. "Thank you, Dante. I had a lovely evening."

  "I did too," I said, surprised when she put her arms up around my neck. I knew what I wanted, and it almost seemed like she did too. Her lips were so inviting, and the look in her eyes told me she wanted to kiss me. I was still high on confidence from earlier, and I didn’t skip a beat. I pulled her closer, giving her a hug instead of the kiss that we both wanted. Maybe this could go somewhere, and the best things are worth waiting for. “I'll see you Sunday for practice."

  I was almost running by the time I crossed the short distance to the car, starting the engine and nearly laying rubber getting out of the parking lot. I kicked myself the whole way back to my apartment, and lying on my couch after changing out of my suit, I cursed myself for not taking the chance.

  The next day, when I brought the car back to the Bertoli mansion after having it detailed, I found Luisa in the gym. She gave me a stern look, and I’d fucked up. "Hi. I brought the car back."

  She nodded and turned away, back to the machine she was working with. "Go sit by the pool. I’ll be done in twenty minutes."

  The twenty minutes sitting in the chair near the pool were some of the longest in my life, and by the time she came out, a fresh t-shirt on but still in her workout shorts, I was a nervous wreck. All the confidence I'd felt the night before staring down Danny Huong evaporated like dew in the sun when confronted by the six-foot beauty that was Luisa Mendosa Bertoli.

  "You brought the car back quickly," Luisa started the conversation, sitting down, her voice level. "How'd you manage that?"

  "I was waiting outside the shop when they opened," I replied. "I didn't sleep well last night."

  "I heard," Luisa commented, "but we can talk about that later. Tell me about your visit to Tacoma."

  I recounted the story to Luisa, who nodded in places, her fingers tented under her chin. About halfway through, her daughter, Mariana, came out, and she stopped me to give the cute little girl a hug and a kiss before sending her back into the house. "We should hurry. I promised my daughter that she and I would make dolls and pizzas with her Play-Doh this afternoon. Continue."

  "There isn't much else. I got the payment from Huong and drove back here. You and Mr. Bertoli were here for the rest."

  Luisa sat back and pursed her lips, considering me. "Well, let me tell you about two different phone calls I've gotten today. One was from Danny Huong, complaining that you were, and I quote, 'a cocky, aggressive asshole.' Don’t worry, I was glad to get that call, as it tells Tom and I that you did exactly what we asked you to do. Danny is the type that is, as you might say, all bark and no bite."

  I nodded, feeling at least a little better about the meeting. Maybe I'd walk out with my balls still attached, after all.

  "Then I got another call, this one from Adriana, who was more upset with you. It seems that your date with Carmen didn't quite end the way I was expecting it to."

  I gave her a quizzical look “Huh? I thought I was a gentleman.”

  Luisa nodded. “Maybe so. Carmen apparently thought you had second thoughts when she told you about her living at the studio."

  "No, not at all!" I said, more passionately than I had intended. Luisa raised an eyebrow, and I took a deep breath, composing myself. "We had a great time, and I enjoyed every moment it. It was just that when we were outside her studio and she put her arms around my neck . . . I don't know. I just remembered that she’s your friend, and I didn’t want to fuck it up."

  She looked at me for a second, as if she were trying to judge if I was telling the truth. "All right. You've worked hard, and you've been under a good amount of stress, so I'm going to do you a favor. I'm going to call Carmen and smooth things over for you. But you have to do the rest."

  I went from feeling like the sword of Damocles was over my head to feeling like I had wings, and I sat back, relief and confidence filling my body again. "Thank you, Luisa. I owe you one.”

  "I know," she said, smiling slightly. "And you can pay me back by getting inside, changing clothes, and giving me fifty full laps in the pool, alternating breaststroke and crawl stroke. Then find me in my daughter's play room, and we’ll figure out what else you need to do today."

  For the first time, I was smiling as I went inside to change into the swim clothes that I kept in a small-sized locker in the gym. Getting dressed, I had a moment to think. If I had another opportunity to get with Carmen, I was going to seize it . . . what I should’ve done the first time.

  Heading back out to the pool, I crossed paths with Luisa, who gave me a nod. Stopping, I turned. “Hey, Luisa?"

  "Yes?"

  "Tomasso said that he would talk to me today about the rest of the crew. Did something come up?”

  Luisa smiled. “No. After your fifty laps. Now get to work."

  "Yes, ma'am." I was smiling as I said it and was actually able to hit the water with a halfway decent dive. Even as the cold water hit me, there was only one thing on my mind. I wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

  Chapter 10

  Carmen

  After Luisa called and explained a little bit about the stress that Dante had been under, things did smooth over between us, although I found myself hesitant to open myself up to him the way I had that night after the Pie Bar. Still, we enjoyed our lessons together, and I found that I came to look forward to them even more than my other lessons.

  Part of the reason was that Dante was such a quick learner. He was more intelligent than I thought he was, especially in visual learning. He picked up steps almost by watching them, and I rarely found myself having to get my feet out of the way of errant feet. And I couldn’t help but notice his body getting more and more chiseled from the routine that Tomasso and Luisa were putti
ng him through.

  "So, are you ready to try something different?" I asked one morning when Dante came in, his dancing dress shoes dangling from his forearm. He'd gone out and bought his own pair, similar in outer appearance to his work shoes for the Bertolis, but different in the tightness and support the shoes gave. These were hard-soled dance shoes that slid and gripped the way ballroom dance shoes were supposed to, not the rubber-soled athletic shoes in disguise that Tomasso and his crew wore. "You know, bring the music out of the nineteenth century?"

  Dante grinned and sat down in the chair on the edge of the dance area, undoing his Nikes. "Sounds great. By the way, I've got breakfast for you. Don't be offended. I'm not making fun of your Mexican heritage, but I put together some carrillada breakfast burritos. Well, one's breakfast, but the other could be lunch too. It's got rice and beans in it instead of the eggs."

  I smiled, taking the bag from him and sniffing. I don't know where he learned to cook, but he'd have made my abuela kiss him, he was that good. It was actually a shame of mine that I could barely cook tolerable food. "These smell amazing," I said as I took the bag toward the back. "I'll try to resist, but I may just end up stuffing myself with both of them before lunch. How'd you do it?"

  "Organic herbs, some good beef cheeks that I marinated in a decent Chilean red wine, and a rice cooker," Dante said, smiling. "It's my new toy. I got one as a gift from some Chinese businesses that Tomasso has me working with. They went on a trip back home, and they stopped in Tokyo, of all places, on the way back, picking up a half-dozen for back here. I got one of them. It's cool, like a crock pot all grown up with a master's degree. I have three more of my own wrapped up in the car."

  "Three?" I asked, surprised. The two in the bag that Dante had given me had to weigh close to a pound apiece. "How in the hell are you eating that much and not gaining weight?"

  “If you saw the things Luisa and Tomasso have me doing, you’d understand,” he said, smiling. “I'm supposed to be going out to dinner with them and the rest of the crew later.”

  "How's that coming along?" I asked, not expecting details. Dante always had great operational security, but we were both comfortable with that. I knew he did things that I wouldn't want to be a part of, but it didn't matter to me.

  "Pretty good overall. Gene's not quite getting the hang of things. I think Tomasso's going to rotate him out if he doesn't get his act together soon," he said as he put on his dance shoes, "but Nick's a good enough guy. At least, we get along together, even if our work puts us out and about at different times and places. So what's the new dance you want to work on?"

  "Well, we've covered most of the classic dances, what you'd call the ballroom dances, but there's a few of the more modern variations, what some people call the rhythm dances, that we can still go over. They're different in that they tend to be faster, and there's more separation moves in them. They've become popular as more modern music is incorporated into ballroom music. So they're challenging, but that also makes them more fun, because we can start to do more of the dance lifts, twirls, and just make stuff up as we go. What do you say?"

  "Sounds like fun. I assume with all this it means I'm still going to sweat my shirt through?" Dante said with a smirk. "Unless you plan on turning on the air conditioner and cranking it again."

  "Hey, I only did that once, and that was because I fell asleep after spending the whole day out by the pool," I said, recalling an incident two weeks prior. I'd woken up after a nap with a bad sunburn and had gone to sleep that night with the air conditioner, a rare luxury that was not often needed in Seattle, going full blast on my skin. Of course, I'd woken up the next day with the entire studio feeling like a refrigerator, even after I shut off the AC, and had the sniffles for three days to boot. "Besides, we still got a sweat worked up, if I remember right."

  "Yeah, a painful one because of the way you insist I work on my flexibility," Dante joked, finishing his shoes before going over to the barre, starting his warmup movements. "I think you like trying to shove my knee into my nose."

  "Considering you did just that by yourself last week, I'd say I've done pretty well," I teased, watching as he went through his warmup stretches and movements.

  "Okay," Dante said after a few minutes. My pulse was a bit quicker than when he stepped in the door, and I shook my head. This wasn't the time. "So what's the dance called?"

  "I was thinking of starting with the swing dances," I said, going over and starting up some music. It was jazzy, with an early rock n' roll vibe to it, a good piece to introduce swing with. "There's a lot of variations, but I figured we'd start with a basic jive, which is the type used in competitions. Most of the others are based on it, so I like it."

  We had a great practice, and by the end, I wasn't so much teaching as just dancing with a partner that I enjoyed dancing with. We seemed to fall into a place where we knew exactly where to go and what to do next, so that as the last song ended, we were both dripping with sweat, grinning like fools, and at least in my case, more than aware of the strength and attractiveness of my partner. "Wow, great work," I said, wiping at my forehead. "We keep this up, and I may need you to bring in three burritos next time."

  "No problem," Dante said, lowering himself to the floor and pulling his left shoe off. “Might need a raincheck if you’re trying to do it anytime soon though.”

  "What is it?" I asked, concerned. "A blister?"

  "No," he said, groaning. "Cramp in the arch of my foot. I didn't mention it, but I was doing heavy leg work yesterday. I guess I tweaked a muscle or something. It wasn't bad right up until that last twirl lift we did, then it just seized up."

  "Yet you kept going for another thirty seconds," I admonished, sitting down. "Why?"

  "The music was still playing. The dance wasn't over." Dante smirked, stopping when I grabbed his ankle. "What are you doing?"

  “What’s it look like I’m doing? Let me see what I can do,” I said, pulling his sock off.

  I started stretching out his arch, rubbing the sole of his foot with my thumbs, hard enough not to tickle but gently enough so as not to cause pain to the already sensitive area. I could both feel and see the tension drain out as I worked, and in about three or four minutes, he leaned back, sighing, this time not in pain but in pleasure. "You're a witch, you know that?"

  "Just a normal lapsed Catholic girl here, not a bruja at all. What about you?"

  "Lapsed I have no clue," Dante said, sitting up. "I think my mother took me to about a half-dozen different churches when I was younger, but I can't recall the last one I went to or what it called itself."

  "That's fine. Listen, you should give that foot a rest for the rest of today. You may have done more than just tweak a muscle in there the other day, and you should take at least two days to rest it."

  "I'll see what I can do," he said, pulling his sock back on. "Thanks, Carmen. I really mean it."

  "I know," I said with a smile. Dante got up, dusting off his hands on his pants. "And really, I want you to give me a call tonight about it. If it's still giving you problems, come in tomorrow after six thirty in the evening. Let me get you my cell number."

  "You have a cell still?" Dante asked, surprised. "I figured you would have given that up as soon as you could have."

  "And I would have too, except that I still have seven months on my contract for the thing, and the cancellation fees are a bitch." I laughed, going to the counter and writing down my cell number and my email just in case. "Here. Enjoy your dinner tonight."

  "I will. Thanks again, Carmen."

  Dante left, getting into the black Bertoli-owned coupe that he'd been driving instead of his car for the past month, a company car, as he called it, and I retreated to the back of the studio, starting a pot of water on my hotplate to take a quick sponge bath. They weren't perfect, but they helped, and I’d made arrangements to use the staff bathroom at the senior center where I taught twice a month, as well as whenever I went over to anybody's house. Now that the Bertolis knew ab
out my situation and we were open about it, it wasn't so bad, although I still tried to limit my crashing in for a shower as much as I could.

  I was just finishing wiping out my underarms when I heard the mail slot on the door open and flap closed, and I pulled a shirt on, heading out to the reception area to read my mail and to indulge in one of the burritos Dante had brought me. It was hard to put the other one away, but I made a promise to myself to resist the urge, even as delicious as it smelled.

  I'd gotten four pieces of mail—the electric bill, which I set aside later when I could be assured I could look at the amount without cursing too badly, two pieces of junk mail, and an envelope from something called the American Association of Professional Dancers. "Great," I muttered as I opened the envelope, figuring it for another piece of junk mail. "Pay a hundred bucks a year, get four issues of a crappy magazine. Oh, and a listing on a website that nobody except dance professionals go to."

  I pulled out the packet of papers inside and started to read.

  Dear Studio Owner, it began, not the best opening I'd read, and sighed. You'd think if they were going to make a sales pitch, they'd at least take the time to look up the name of the owner. With modern computers, it wasn't like that level of personalization was difficult. Please take a moment to allow us to introduce ourselves. My name is Vincent Morricone, and I am the director and CEO of . . .

  The letter continued, certain parts sticking out to me. The AAPD wasn't your normal professional organization. They wanted no annual fees, no joining, or anything like that. Instead, they were being fronted by a combination of donations from various artistic charities, a television program, and dancewear manufacturers. The big hook, for them, was that they were hosting an open call for dance couples from all over the United States, with the regional winners going on to a national competition in New York, the finals of which would be recorded for television broadcast on a new cable network. The AAPD thought that with the popularity of shows like Dancing with The Stars, SYTYCD and other programs such as the world championships shown on PBS, that a whole series could be built around dance and that it could be partnered with other arts programs to make the core of a new Internet network.