Page 2 of Empire of Temptation

“Not exactly.”

“Meaning?”

“I heard he has a daughter living in New York.”

Rossi slapped the car door with his palm. “Porca puttana! This whole time you knew where to find his daughter? Why haven’t we used her to find him?”

“Because the two are not close. There have been no reports of contact between them since I learned of her three years ago.”

“So bringing her to the GDF is a waste of time.”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “If we bring her to Palmieri, Segreto will learn of it and do anything to get her back.” As a father, I knew this to be true. I had two sons and I would go to hell and back for either of them.

“I like this.” Rossi straightened his cuffs and grabbed the door handle. “See that it’s done.”

“I will. I’ll send a man to New York to find her?—”

“No! You handle this personally. There is no room for error.”

I adjusted my watch and struggled for calm. “It’s both foolish and dangerous for me to perform this errand. I will turn over her location once I have it and one of Palmieri’s men can bring her to Roma.”

“No. He doesn’t want the GDF to know. This is personal, not official. We have to keep it quiet or the deal for your cousin is off.”

I sighed heavily. Unhappily.

Rossi pressed. “Do you want to risk it, with Niccolò behind bars? Be smart, Luca. Take as many men as you need to stay safe and go to New York, then get this girl on a plane as quickly as possible.”

Fuck me. It seemed I was flying to America tonight.

Chapter Two

Valentina

Paesano, New York

Trattoria Rustico

Business was slow.

But then business was always slow on Tuesday nights. It would pick up on Thursday and through the weekend—at least I hoped so.

Trattoria Rustico was my family’s fifty-year-old restaurant, and it was up to me to ensure its survival. As manager and owner, I filled in where necessary, and these days that meant being in the kitchen.

It was impossible to keep kitchen staff for longer than a month. I suspected my head chef, Tony, was to blame, but that was a problem for another day. Tonight we had to get through dinner service.

Anne Marie, my best server, walked in, a concerned frown on her face. “Tony, I gotta have that chicken parm. What the fuck is goingon back there?”

“Keep your fuckin’ shirt on,” Tony called from behind me. “It’s coming.”

I checked the time on the ticket. “They’ve been waiting almost forty minutes. Why is it taking so long?”

“I had to get a chicken breast from the freezer, Val. There weren’t any prepared.”

The fuck? How could we not have any chicken breasts ready for dinner service?

Now was not the time to get into it, though.

“Douchebag,” Anne Marie muttered under her breath and went back into the dining room.

---