Page 9 of Hot Momosa
Leo
“Let me get this straight.Marco, the Marchionni capo, is visiting the States without enough security to get rid of a dozen reporters?” I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from throttling Gabe.
“It’s a kid’s birthday party, for Christ’s sake. He only brought two men. The rest of his team has the night off.” My brother rubbed the back of his neck. “We got the ones who were trespassing off the property, but can’t force them or the others to leave the sidewalk.”
I’d spent the first thirty years of my life in the mafia. I’d heard and seen more than my fair share of bullshit, but the nonsense Gabe was spouting topped it all. I knew Marco had traveled with an entourage because I’d met his jet at the airport.
Marco had other reasons for refusing to get involved with the situation in the driveway. Reasons like keeping me and my brothers as far from the Cosa Nostra as possible.
Dahlia eased away from my side. “Leo, it’s okay. It’ll make things worse if I walk out there with armed guards.”
She was right, but I had zero intentions of allowing her to leave without some sort of escort. “Then I’ll drive you home and have someone bring your car after the party.”
“That’s not a good idea. The photos are going to be all over the internet as it is.” My mother planted her hands on her hips.
Dahlia rubbed her temples. “This is a disaster.”
“Migraine?” Stupid question. I might not have seen her in months, but I knew everything about her. She took her coffee with almond milk and a ton of sugar. Her favorite color was dark purple. She wore a size nine shoe, and hated it. Her worst fear was turning out cold and bitter like her mother, but she loved her father fiercely. And she’d suffered from migraines since she’d fallen off a horse on her twelfth birthday.
Dahlia rooted around in her purse and pulled out an amber-colored prescription bottle. “Not yet, but it’s definitely coming. May I have a glass of water?”
“Of course, dear.” My mother shot me a quick glare before walking to the fridge and retrieving a bottle of water. “I’d offer to allow Stuart to drive you home, but I no longer have a say in what happens in this family.”
Evelyn Marchionni hadn’t climbed down from her cross since the day my brothers and I had put her under the mob version of house arrest. She’d gone behind our backs and worked with the head of another mafia family to stop us from leaving the Cosa Nostra. In the process, she’d spent an ungodly amount of money, nearly started a war, and last but not least, betrayed our trust. Limiting her access to the outside world was a necessary evil, but she’d never let us forget it.
Gabe pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ma’s bodyguard—”
“You mean my keeper.” She raised her chin as if daring him to contradict her.
He rolled his eyes. “Stuart will make sure you get home safely. We’ll have someone bring your car by later tonight.”
“That’d be great. Thanks.” Dahlia popped the pills into her mouth and chased them with several gulps of water.
“Yes, thank you.” I frowned at Gabe for no reason. My irritation had precious little to do with him. He was doing the best he could under the circumstances, but said circumstances sucked.
While I hated the BS that came with being in the mob, I missed having security teams, endless cash, and powerful business associates at my fingertips. Once upon a time, I would have made a phone call and the reporters outside the gates would have disappeared as if by magic.
“I don’t usually leave the house alone these days. I should have known better than to risk it.” Dahlia sighed.
Gabe glanced between us. “I’m surprised you don’t have a Secret Service detail since your father is running for president.”
She hitched a shoulder. “Candidates and their spouses aren’t authorized to have government protection until just before the convention. After the general election, other family members are eligible… That is, if he wins.”
The mere thought of The Honorable Gov’nah of the Great State of Louisiana, Waylon Calhoun, running the entire country sent a chill down my spine. The man hated me with a passion, and the feeling was mutual.
“I’ll speak to Stuart.” Gabe turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Evelyn’s gaze drifted from Dahlia’s face to my hand on her shoulder.
Stepping away from me, Dahlia asked my mom, “How is Papa Joe doing?”
“He has good days and bad.” She wrung her hands. “I hated to leave him in Sicily, but I couldn’t miss my grandson’s first birthday.”
Dahlia nodded and glanced at me. I had no idea what was going on behind her icy blue eyes, but if I had to guess, I’d say the subject of my terminally ill father made her regret keeping Gunnar’s paternity a secret.
“Perhaps it’s best if the two of you keep your distance from each other until after the election,” Evelyn said.
Leave it to Ma to pour acid into a fresh wound.