Page 10 of The Players

When she walked down into the sitting room, she noticed Morelli had already helped himself to Franco’s brandy. He was studying the art on the wall, looking relaxed, as if he owned the place.

Raul was at his usual spot near the fireplace, keeping an eye on their “guest.” Judging by his scowl, he didn’t like his presence here any more than she did. Sadly, Raul had lost his previous status, just as she had. The only difference between them was that her “loss” was her way to freedom, while Raul’s was a downgrade. As Franco’s enforcer, he had ruled over a small army that followed his every lead. Most of those men left after Franco’s demise, refusing to follow a woman. One they expected to be swallowed whole by the other West Coast families any day now.

Carmen plastered a tranquil smile on her face as she went to greet her guest.

Lorenzo Morelli was classically tall, dark, and handsome. According to Franco, he was also the coldest son of a bitch he’d ever met. And that said a lot, coming from him.

“Mr. Morelli.”

He gave a curt nod as she sat on the couch across him. She put her hands in her lap, not sure where to go from here.

“Mrs. Caruso,” he said. “You look well.” His tone of voice almost sounded accusatory.

“You are too kind. Please, call me Carmen, or Ms. Rossi. I no longer carry the Caruso name.”

Something icy entered his eyes. “And yet here I am, because you own something of the late FrancoCaruso.” It sounded as if he took it personally that she no longer used Franco’s name.

“You are here for the casinos.” It was no use beating around the bush. The sooner their talk was finished, the faster he could leave.

“You haven’t gotten back to me about my offer, Mrs. Caruso.” His shark-like eyes dared her to deny her last name again.

To him, she would always be the wife of Franco “The Bull” Caruso, a man so vile and evil they just assumed it had rubbed off on her. No one ever questioned her reason for staying with Franco for a decade. They all assumed it had been for the cushy lifestyle. A golden cage was too good a term for her life with him.

“I apologize.”Not really.“I’m still mourning Franco’s death.”If by mourning, you mean celebrating.“I haven’t been able to make the time yet to—”

“You should.” His words were like a whip. “He has taken care of you your whole life. It’s a woman’s job to enhance her husband’s legacy, even after his death. A woman not taking care of her husband’s needs, is no woman. She’s just a piece of furniture. Replaceable.”

Every fiber of her being wanted to jump at his throat and choke the life out of him. She’d be doing his wife a favor, if he had one.

Instead, she plastered a smile on her face. “Oddly, I always thought of myself as more than just a table lamp or coffee table.”

His lips thinned. “I don’t appreciate your sarcasm. It’s unbecoming of a woman. Dangerous, even. Surely you don’t want to end up like your husband.”

This time, there was no denying the threat. Her eyes shot to Raul, pleading for him to stand down. Judging by his red face, he was about to send Morelli after Franco.

Franco’s body had been found at the edge of a dirt road. According to official police records, it was qualified as a mafia hit. If Morelli knew she had been the one to put a knife in his back, and a Detta the one to finish the job, he might take her more seriously instead of viewing her as a weak woman. Then again, he might also kill her.

The rebellious part of her wanted to tell him where to stick it. But she knew she didn’t have the means to pull through. Ever since Franco’s death, she was balancing on the edge of a sword, terrified she might fall and cut herself irreparably.

“I am still considering your offer,” she said, which was true. Shewasthinking about handing over the casinos to either him or the Irish. She had just hoped that in a year’s time, only one of them would still be standing, making her choice an easy one.

“My patience is running thin.” As were his pressed lips. “Take the offer and get out of the business before you get hurt.”

“An offer that could get me killed,” she reminded him.

Morelli put down his empty glass. “You don’t need to worry about the Irish. Keegan is being taking care of.”

Except, that was exactly what Keegan had said about Morelli.

“I need more time.” Even to her own ears, this sounded weak. But what other choice did she have? Selling the casinos to either party would put a target on her back. These men didn’t care that she was a widow. The only thing they cared about was money and the power that came with it. The second she chose one over the other, she’d get killed. Not only her, but it would put others in jeopardy as well. It was the way the mafia worked. They never went after a man or woman alone; they targeted their whole family. She couldn’t bring Jazzy into this. She’d suggested to give one casino to Morelli and the other to Keegan, but they wouldn’t go for it.

Morelli jumped up. “You have twenty-four hours,” he said, before leaving the room. The same timeframe Keegan had given her on the phone this morning.

The message was clear. Either she accepted his offer, or he would come andtakethe casinos from her. It was tempting to just wait it out, but the moment she stuck her head in the sand, Keegan would show on her doorstep.

She wasn’t aware she’d put her head into her hands, until Raul took a hold of them. A blush spread on his cheeks when she pulled them away.

“Sorry.” She wasn’t sure why she apologized, but she didn’t like to be touched. Not even by Raul, the man who—in a way—knew her body more intimately than Franco ever had. After all, he knew every cut, bruise, and broken bone.

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