Page 10 of Convenient Mafia Vows

“My daughter has expressed a desire to be married. I’m not getting any younger, and I want to be around to play Santa at Christmastime for my grandkids.”

Olivia’s lips are moist and parted like she’s about to seduce a chocolate-coated strawberry.

“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear,” the don continues. “My daughter has expressed a desire to marryyou, and I’m keen to make it happen as soon as possible.” He raises his glass in a mock salute to the soon-to-be-betrothed couple and swallows his drink in one mouthful.

Olivia is practically buzzing with childlike anticipation, perched on the edge of the sofa and waiting for me to say, “I do.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” I say, standing up. “But I’m afraid I can’t marry your daughter, Don Dragonetti.”

I cross the room and open the door, praying that Lauren has been successful with the little task I sent her earlier before I headed up to the penthouse apartment. She studies me with pursed lips from behind her desk, her spectacles doing little to hide the disapproval in her eyes.

But it’s the new Executive Concierge who causes my heart to do something that it hasn’t done in a long while, fluttering out of synch and then chasing itself back into its regular rhythm.

Lauren wanted to fire her for the thank-you-note misdemeanor, but I had a better idea. I’d assumed that the woman was thanking me for giving her a job—even though Denise handles that side of the operation—and guessed that she’d jump at the chance to keep me happy if it meant hanging onto a monthly paycheck. But now I realize that I was wrong after overhearing her pleading her case outside my office door. It’s the woman whose brother I saved from certain death on the sidewalk last night.

Only now, true to her word, Lauren has clothed her in a shimmering black dress that clings to her in all the right places. The woman in the server’s apron has been replaced by someone glamorous, chestnut-brown hair tumbling over her shoulders in soft waves, her mouth curved into a tentative smile.

She has no idea why she’s here. But she’s about to find out.

I gesture for her to join me. Taking her hand in mine, I murmur, “Keep smiling,” in her ear, and lead her into my office.

“Caleb?” Olivia stands up, her cheeks drained of color. “What’s going on?”

Ignoring her, I address her father. “The reason I can’t marry your daughter, Don Dragonetti, is because I’m already married. To Victoria.”

3

VICTORIA

A thank you note.

What kind of asshole fires a member of his staff over something so petty? It was supposed to be a nice gesture, a way of thanking Mr. Murray for rescuing Mason, but then the arrogant asshole goes and ruins it by firing me on my first day on the job.

“Can I at least speak to him?” I ask his hard-faced assistant.

Denise wasn’t wrong when she said the woman is a control freak. She stands between me and Mr. Murray’s office door like she’s half-expecting me to barge inside and call him a prick to his face. Because that would never do. She’s obviously given herself the job title of Head of Security as well as Personal-fucking-Assistant.

“No. Mr. Murray is a busy man.”

“I only wanted to thank him for last night.” Realizing how that sounds, I quickly add, “He helped my brother. Outside the diner where I work.Worked.” Jeez, how to screw myself over in less than a minute.

She stops trying to turn herself into a human barricade and peers at the tablet glued to her hand. Frown lines appear on her forehead. That must be some email she’s reading because her knuckles go white around the edges of the tablet.

Finally, she looks at me as if wishing she’d dismissed me sooner. “Mr. Murray wishes to offer you another role.” She might as well have said, “If I had my way, you’d already be out the door with a signed promise never to return.”

“Another role?”

“Yes.”

Jeez, the woman doesn’t make it easy. “What kind of role?”

“Mr. Murray will explain when he’s ready, I’m sure. Follow me, and I’ll see that you’re suitably attired.”

“Suitably attired?”

I follow her into a room and through another door into what can only be described as a walk-in closet. This room is lined with clothes, male and female, arranged in color order, with enough pairs of coordinating shoes to fill a shoe store; there are even purses and belts and wallets.

Miss Ingram gestures to a rack filled with little black dresses. “One of these should do. Come and find me when you’re ready.”

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