Beautiful Beast (Perfectly Imperfect: Mafia Legacy #1)

Still, I can’t handle this shit. I’m acutely aware of every single man looking at Vasilisa, and my fingers itch to pull out my gun and start shooting the motherfuckers. Every. Each. One. Right between the eyes.

“A lot of people here,” Vasilisa comments beside me. “You’re not concerned that someone may recognize me and send word to Bratva?”

“Not particularly. People around here know not to stick their noses in my business, unless, of course, they’re willing to face the consequences.”

“I have a distinctive feeling that the said consequences wouldn’t include working on your firewalls.”

“It would be hard to do such a task without their hands”—I look down at my little hacker—“or heads.”

“Rafael!” a male voice booms over the people’s chatter.

I tighten my hold on Vasilisa’s waist and glance at the source. Nazario Biaggi, the son of Calogero’s underboss, is squeezing himself through a wall of guests, heading in our direction. We went to school together, and before I left Sicily, we were best friends. Nazario was never initiated into the Family, picking a construction career over Mafia life. It’s the only reason he’s allowed to set foot in my territory.

“I’m glad to see you tonight,” he says with a smarmy smile as he approaches. “Especially in such lovely company.”

Nazario’s gaze rivets on Vasilisa, his eyes eating her up. Rage and jealousy, like molten fucking rock boiling just under the surface, explode inside my chest while I watch him extend his hand toward her.

“Touch her, and I’ll snap your neck,” I say in Italian, then pull Vasilisa closer to me and switch to English. “This is Nazario Biaggi. One of my business associates.”

Nazario’s eyes flare in surprise, but he quickly hides it and pulls out one of his flirtatious grins. “Always a pleasure meeting one of Rafael’s . . . candied delights. Does the lady have a name?”

Blood colors my vision as I try to control an overwhelming impulse to punch him in the face for daring to smile at my woman. Nazario has always been a flirt, but I’ve never given a fuck when he ogled my hookups before or when he flashed his grin at them. He might be loaded, a construction industry mogul, but his wealth doesn’t even come close to mine. I could buy everything he owns in the blink of an eye. No woman would ever leave me for him. Except her. Because, apparently, my money doesn’t interest her in the least.

“I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Biaggi,” Vasilisa chirps, her sugarcoated tone slashing me right through the heart.

She likes him. Of course she does. Women always fall head over heels for Nazario, and they would even if he didn’t have a dime to his name. The pencil-dick is that good-looking, I suppose. Envy grips me in its claws, shredding my insides into pieces.

“The lady’s name is Gummy Bear, but I’m the sour kind,” Vasilisa continues with a smile. “And I’d very much appreciate it if you’d stop staring at my boobs.”

My head snaps up. “You were ogling my woman’s cleavage?” I growl, switching back to Italian.

“No, not at all.” Nazario takes a step back and clears his throat. “My father wanted me to pass along a message. About a week ago, several Cosa Nostra men were found dead in Palermo, their tongues were missing. Dad was concerned that you may have had something to do with that.”

“Oh? Did he share his concerns with the don?”

“Yes. Calogero assured him that a gang from Trapani killed them.” He cocks his head, eyeing me with suspicion. “So, it wasn’t your handiwork after all?”

“I would only ever kill my godfather’s men if he broke the terms of our agreement. But the don would never go against his word, would he?”

“Of course not.” He nods and his voice drops lower. “But should anything of that nature ever happen, my father would like to be the first to know.”

“Well, let the underboss know I’ll keep it in mind.” I tighten my hold on Vasilisa’s waist and motion toward the bar. “Let’s go get a drink.”

“Gummy Bear?” Rafael asks as we walk up to the bar.

“Seemed like a suitable name for an eye candy.” I shrug. “What was that discussion about? It sounded pretty serious.”

“Nazario subtly informed me that my godfather seems to be losing the support of some Cosa Nostra members.”

“Are they going to oust him from power?”

“If he fucks up, yes.” He passes me the beverage handed to him by the bartender.

“Never a shortage of drama in the Cosa Nostra world.” I take a sip of my drink. “Grape juice? Really?”

“I’ve noticed that alcohol doesn’t agree with you.” He places his hand on the small of my back and ushers us back toward the mingling crowd.

This cocktail party is being hosted in the lobby of an antique building. The grand foyer features a domed ceiling, decorated with intricate hand-painted scenes depicting lush gardens of paradise. The elaborate details are everywhere—walls, columns, inlaid colored marble.