Page 18 of Gin & Trouble

“Don’t be ridiculous. So what if Julia Carpenter got caught with her hand in the boss’s cookie jar?” She tapped her fingers to her lips. “Yes. Good. This is perfect. Text Dante and explain that you can’t continue this thing between the two of you because you work for his family.”

Nothing about the scenario wasgoodorperfect, but her idea didn’t suck. The Marchionni Corporation had a policy prohibiting employees from dating their supervisors. While Dante wasn’t technically in my direct chain of command, he had developed the company’s cyber security programs. Plus, owned one sixth of the company. No matter how I looked at it, I was Dante’s underling.

“Why? I told you. He thinks I ended things with him because he lied.”

She gave me her best Cruella de Vil grin. “Because we may need his help one day. He can get around a company policy easier than a lie. It’s best to let him believe there’s hope…just in case.”

My stomach rebelled at the thought. It was one thing to spend time with Dante while I thought he was someone else, but going out of my way to manipulate him? I couldn’t do it. The problem was, once Sophia had an idea, she’d stop at nothing to see it through. Rather than arguing, I remained noncommittal.

“I need to go home.”And have a good cry.I kept the last part to myself. Sophia loved me and our sisters fiercely, but she’d never condone me weeping over a man. Especially not a man I’d spent the sum total of ourrelationshipwith on the computer.

“Sorry, toots, but you need to pull up your metallic panties and get back to work. We need the money.”

I knew she was right, but I didn’t have it in me. Not today. “I’ll work overtime this week or sell a kidney.”

Her expression softened. “Frankie, I know you’re hurting, but think about Mia, Valentina, and Ari. They’re counting on us.”

Our sisters were more than counting on us—they were in hiding and dependent on our financial support, which was why we both worked multiple jobs, lived in a tiny apartment, and still never had an extra cent to our names.

“You’re right.” I’d do what all mob princesses were trained to do—ignore the carnage, hold my head high, and put one foot in front of the other.

Thankfully, the remainder of the day went by in a blur of grabby hands, flashbulbs, and uncharacteristically encouraging words from Sophia. By the time we made it home, I needed a shower, a glass of wine, and a bed—in that order.

“Text Dante.” Sophia called over her shoulder before hurrying into our only bathroom.

I’d been too busy at the con, or in a state of shock induced denial, to think about what I wanted to say to him. Nor had I checked my messages.

Dante:That didn’t go as planned. Call me.

Dante:Please.

Dante:I’m sorry I lied about my name. Give me a chance to explain.

I cringed. If he knew even a small fraction of the truth about me, he’d never want to speak to me again.

Dante:Talk to me, Julia.

Dante:It was the bikini wasn’t it? Probably not the best wardrobe choice.

Dante:I’m still me. The guy who’s crazy about you.

Oh God. Why does he have to be so sweet?

I typed, and retyped, the text. Refusing to cry over a stinking Marchionni, I wiped my eyes and forced myself to reply.

Me:It’s over. Please respect my wishes.

Dante:Let me call you.

I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I needed to stop all communications with him.Unfortunately, Dante disagreed. The more he texted, the more I hurt. Sophia’s idea popped into my head. While I refused to entertain the idea of stringing him along, Icoulduse the employer-employee relationship as another excuse to get him to back off.

Me:This can’t happen between us. I work for your family’s company.

Dante:You do?

Me:Yes.

Dante:Wait a sec. You’re developing the AI software for the Marchionni Corp?

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