Page 1 of Royally Embraced: RBMC

Chapter One

Vittoria hated the smell of cigars. The pungent scent of tobacco and leather reminded her of when she’d been a child. Times when the hiss of a lighter could spell a punishment.

She shook her head, dispelling memories long forgotten. Watching a couple of men return from out back, she held her breath until they walked past, trying her best not to gag.

“When you see the Boss return, come to the table.”

Tori blinked at the deep voice as he knocked on the bar with his knuckles. He wore a nice black suit that looked as though it was custom-made for his large frame. No doubt he’d had his nose broken a few times, and that looked like a bullet wound in his left hand.

Instead of answering with words, she nodded. To her relief, that appeased the large man as he jerked his chin, walked back to the room, and took up a post against the wall.

“God, I have been a really good girl. Honestly, I’ve gone to Mass like three times this year, but I pray every day, and I’m still a fucking virgin,” she muttered to herself and the man upstairs, although she was pretty sure he wasn’t listening to her anymore.

She decided to call one of her bosses’, knowing the large group could spell trouble for Hoolihan’s. With discreet movements, she placed the earbud in her ear, ensuring the device connected to the Bluetooth before pressing the number one. Since she’d put Cian as the number one on her phone, she chose him instead of one of the others programmed into it.

“Hey, Tori, what’s going on?” Cian Hoolihan asked.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, watching the intimidating man with his two guards lead the others through the doorway. They’d gone out to the recently renovated patio area with large heaters for those who wanted to enjoy a little outdoors and those who liked to smoke. The rest of the party of well-dressed men followed, looking like the killers, drug dealers, gun traffickers, and businessmen that they were, at least to her. And she hated them. Oh, she wasn’t supposed to know the men were actually the Mafia, but then again, she had grown up around men just like those in front of her.

Her hand went to her stomach, wondering for the umpteenth time how the fuck she drew the short straw tonight.

“We got a party that came in,” she answered, wondering if she should tell him she needed help. It was a Thursday in the middle of November. They usually were slow as shit, and it was only her working. She didn’t mind being there alone since Collin, Cian’s nephew, technically lived above the bar and could be down in seconds. Yet, the men who’d come in were not the average working men.

“Is there a problem?” Cian asked. The earbud connected to the Bluetooth service allowed her to hear and speak over the bar's noise. She couldn’t miss the fatherly concern ringing through his tone and usually gave him shit for it.

In the four years she’d been in Chicago, Hoolihan’s had become more like her family than the one she’d been born into. She’d learned what a chosen family over a blood family felt like. It resonated with her more than ever once she’d left New York and saw firsthand what unconditional love looked like.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she let it out before answering, “I don’t think so. I hope not. You got the cameras running, right?” She knew he did since they’d done a major remodel a year ago. A quick glance showed the small domes similar to what you’d see in malls. The high-tech devices gaveCian or whoever monitored them total panoramic surveillance with complete area coverage, fine details, and high speeds. She knew he was aware of everything within their vicinity and that there were several throughout the bar for him to monitor.

Cian grunted, but she could hear him clicking as if he were on his computer. “Fuck,” he swore.

“What’s wrong?” Tori worked to fill the orders once the entire group returned. Although she pretended to be unaware of what and who frequented the bar, she more than most knew what Family truly meant. A tiny shiver went down her spine, but she kept her cool, knowing these men wouldn’t recognize her. Nobody in Chicago did.

“I’m Tori Hardigan,” she muttered.

“What?” Cian asked.

Shit, she needed to keep her thoughts straight, or her entire life could implode over a stupid mistake. “I was thinking about introducing myself. It’s how I psyche myself up,” she lied.

“Ah, sorry. I didn’t realize you had to do that. You always seem so calm and cool. Listen, I’ve texted Collin. He’s on his way back from a date. It’ll take him about fifteen minutes to get there. Just take their order, be your normal business-like self, and everything will be fine,” Cian instructed her.

Tori wanted to protest and tell him she could handle it, yet her heart beat like she’d been running a ten-mile marathon and hadn’t prepared. So yeah, she welcomed their help. “Shit. He’s not upstairs?”

“Tori, you got this, and I’m watching. If you need anything, you know there’s an alarm.”

They did have a panic button, but it was on the other side of the bar. Shit. “I gotta go,” she muttered.

A cold breeze wafted in as the door to the patio opened. Goosebumps formed along her arms even as sweat pooled onher brow. Shit, at the rate she was going, she’d probably end up stroking out.

The unmistakable scent of tobacco heralded the return of those who’d gone outside. Once Tori noticed the Boss, she poured the shots of vodka they’d requested along with the glasses of Bulleit Bourbon. The instructions stated Grigori Rizzo got his first. Gah, the name alone was enough to send panic hurtling down her spine. The possibility that these Rizzos had connections to the ones who’d been friends with the Masseria’s should be slim. But then again, Italian Mafia families were tight and widespread, and she hadn’t been privy to Family business in New York. Her job as a woman had been to shut up, grow up, and be an asset in whatever way her stepfather had decided, which was why she’d run like a thief in the night.

Lifting the tray filled with the vodka and bourbon in her hand, she eased out from behind the bar. Tori made her way toward the group of men, keeping her posture straight and steady. She might have been quaking inside, but outwardly, she was calm and collected.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she greeted the table.

The table behind Grigori made the perfect place for her to sit the tray. She placed the bourbon tumbler in front of theBoss.It was an unwritten rule that you always serve the top man his drink, then his shot of vodka. Not wanting to give away the fact that she knew Mafia protocol, she delivered the others' drinks until her tray was empty.

Her eyes went back to the head of the table, snagging on the older man and the way his hand wrapped around the glass tumbler while he stared at her, looking her over from head to toe. Vittoria pretended not to notice while her mouth went bone dry, unable to swallow the lump as panic threatened to consume her. She was not a pussy, and she was not in danger, dammit.

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