Making the Break Page 2

“Anthony,” said Vits authoritatively. “You’ll make this right with Christina.”

  The icy gaze in his uncle’s eyes bore into Saks. Vits intended to make Saks pay if he didn’t do what he wanted.

  “Yeah, sure,” capitulated Saks. He still couldn’t believe his uncle tried to salvage this ridiculous state of affairs. “You think I can leave the table to wash Chrissy’s breakfast off my face?”

  “After you show respect to Mr. Serafini,” Vits said.

  Saks was ready to blow his gasket, but he held back. You didn’t insult the Serafinis or his uncle—and live to walk away from it. Up to now they’d tolerated his rudeness. But to go further would earn him payback by a thrashing administered by thugs in an alleyway. Whether they were his uncle’s men or Serafinis’ was the question.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Serafini. I didn’t mean to insult you or your granddaughter.”

  Serafini stared at Saks. There was death in those eyes. Saks could well imagine what end Serafini could offer if he so chose. But then he took a long breath. He waved his hand as if waving away the whole affair. “It’s as your uncle says: young people have difficulties. The hot blood of youth. Inconvenient at times, not so at others. But,” he said, shaking his finger at Saks, “I’ll not have you treating Christina like a common whore, you understand? The girl is exceptional.”

  Saks was hyper-aware of the frosty glance Vits gave him, and Marcus who moved one hand inside his jacket pocket to reach for his gun. Saks didn’t dare misstep now. “I agree, Mr. Serafini.”

  Serafini relaxed and smiled. “Good. Tell your uncle when things are on track, and he’ll get in touch with me. Have a good day. Both of you.

  Saks moved from the booth toward the restrooms, humiliatingly aware of how ridiculous he appeared. The egg was hardening on his face and little bits of napkin stuck there, too. Chrissy had some nerve dumping the breakfast on him.

  To his annoyance, Vits followed him.

  “What,” said Saks when his uncle entered behind him, “you stalking me, too?”

  “Stalk? What stalk?”

  Saks ignored his uncle as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. “Three-hundred-dollar shirt, ruined,” he muttered. He pulled off his jacket, and his shirt, leaving him in his undershirt.

  “You spent three hundred dollars on that? Mamma mia, Anthony.”

  Saks held back the cutting remark he had for Vits’ Walstore wardrobe. “Yes,” he hissed as he splashed water on his face.

  “What did you mean, she came onto you?”

  “Exactly what I said. She showed up at the Red Bull, before the official meet, and one thing led to another.”

  “You mean she—?”

  “Yes!” Saks wiped his face with paper towels from the dispenser.

  “Minga!” Vits spit. “He said the girl was a virgin.”

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake! Uncle Vits, it doesn’t matter if she is or not. And really, how would he know?”

  “He said she was a good girl.”

  “Oh, she was.” Saks regretted his words the instant they slipped out, especially when Vits’ eyes grew wide.

  “Not acceptable,” warned Vits.

  Saks turned from the mirror and faced his uncle. “Really? That Chrissy wasn’t a virgin? Or that the two of you concocted a scheme so crazy it went haywire? I said I’d meet her, and I did.”

  “You make it right with her. You gave your word.”

  “Sure, I’ll apologize. But what good will it do? She told me she’d prefer to die than marry a Rocco, and you know what? I don’t blame her one bit.” Saks picked up his ruined shirt and his jacket and walked past his uncle. Now that the worst of the confrontations was over, the righteous fire in his heart turned into heartburn. As gorgeous, as smart, and as awesome as Chrissy was, he’d never marry into that family.

  Except he still had to smooth things over with the Serafinis, and he had no freakin’ clue how he was going to accomplish that.

  CHAPTER TWO

  At her house, Chrissy dove onto her bed and wished she could disappear. How had one moment gone so horribly wrong? She closed her eyes tighter and screamed into her pillow when she realized she’d left Saks stranded at the diner with the two worst men in the world. She groaned at her thoughtlessness then became mad at herself for caring. He had the nerve to accuse her of stalking him? Of targeting him for seduction? What the hell?

  And Saks was the Rocco they wanted her to marry? Well, clearly, that was never happen.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the outrageous situation. For Saks to think she was a femme fatale who aimed to lure him into marriage was utterly ridiculous. And the way he talked about her family. You damned Serafinis will do anything to get what you want. Infuriating.

  And true, too.

  Chrissy groaned, unable to get a grasp on a decent thread of emotion on the situation. One minute she hooked up with handsome, sexy, and oh-so-good-in-bed Saks, and the next she’d dumped a plate of Eggs Benedict on his head. That after kneeing him in the crotch the night before and slapping him in the face.

  Chrissy had to admit it. She’d erupted into a one-woman demolition derby of love.

  She groaned again and hot tears welled in her eyes.

  Damn. She was not going to cry. No way.

  Yet here she was. Crying. And once she admitted that fact, the tears poured out so fast she gasped for breath.

  How did she get herself into this? All she wanted was to work a good job, make her own money, and put it away in a nice, tidy 401K to buy her own house. She wanted to find a nice, respectable man who made three figures to have 2.4 children with in a very nice suburb with superb schools.

  But noooooooo. She had to fall into bed with a biker, a motorcycle mechanic, for goodness’ sake, who turned out to be—ta-da—the nephew of her grandfather’s fiercest rival.

  “Oh, for shit’s sake,” Chrissy muttered. She lifted her head and saw her mascara smudged against the sheets. She’d managed to make her life more of mess than mascara on her sheets because she’d jumped into bed with a perfect stranger.

  A stranger perfect for her in all the wrong ways, and none of the right ones. She had no business being with Saks, not if she wanted the life she’d carefully worked for.

  Chrissy sat up, sniffled, and because she had nothing else to lose wiped her face with her pillow case. She pushed her hair out of her eyes. The sharp tone of her phone ringing captured her attention. Still snuffling her nose, Chrissy slung her purse onto the bed and fished for it. “Hello!”

  “Christina.” Mom.

  She cringed. Why hadn’t she checked the call waiting? Hoping it was Saks wasn’t going to make him call. “Yes, Mom.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  The defense department should contract her mother’s emotional radar. “Nothing.” Chrissy tried not to sniff.

  “Christina Maria Serafini, don’t you lie to your mother.”

  It was better to get it out in the open, or at least enough of the truth so her mother would back off. Otherwise, the woman would keep investigating until she got the whole truth. “I met the Rocco man.”

  “Oh,” her mother said noncommittally. “And what was he like?”

  “He belongs to a motorcycle club, Mama,” she burst out. Okay, apparently she wasn’t above drama to horrify her mother. Her mother despised the idiots who rode with wheels between their legs.

  “And your grandfather knew this?”

  “I’m going to go with yes,” replied Chrissy. “He saw us at the diner this morning.”

  “The diner?” asked her mother with suspicion. Uh-oh. Now she had her mother thinking in the wrong directions. Now she’d roused her mother’s suspicion as to why she’d eat at a diner with a man first thing in the morning.

  “He took me to church.” Chrissy tried to repair the damage of her earlier statement, but saw immediately she’d made things worse in another way.

  “Well, that can’t be bad. What church did you go to?”

  “
A church in Westfield. I forget which one.”

  “Oh, and did the priest recognize him?”

  Chrissy held back a groan. This next statement would be worse than the last. “Yes, he did. I guess Saks’ boss’ wife goes there regularly.”

  “Oh,” said her mother brightly. “Then they’re part of the community there.”

  Now, inadvertently, she’d built up Saks’ reputation.

  “What?” her mother said. But she was speaking to someone else, and Chrissy heard her father’s voice. She couldn’t catch his words, but they came across in an ominous rumble. “She didn’t,” her mother said in a horrified voice.

  “Christina Maria Serafini!” snapped her mother. “You dumped your breakfast on the Rocco man’s head?”

  “You don’t know what he said. He was horrible.”

  “And what could he say, huh, that would make you act like a punta?”

  Chrissy gasped. Her mother never swore, and it shocked her that her mother called her a whore in Italian. “You take that back,” shot Chrissy angrily. “You weren’t there and didn’t hear the things he said. When he found out I was Pandolfo Serafini’s granddaughter—”

  “Wait. He took you to church, and he didn’t know who you were? Just when did you meet this man, Christina?”

  “I, uh, I—”

  “Don’t you dare lie to your mother!”

  “I wasn’t lying. He took me church, but he said awful things. He said...”

  Her mother’s voice rose in distress. “You slapped the man and then struck him in the groin? Oh, my goodness, what have I done to deserve such an ungrateful child?”

  Chrissy jerked the phone away from her ear. “Now, to be fair, that didn’t happen all at one time.”

  “How many times, Christina? How many times did you abuse this man? Mamma Mia, Matrona—”

  “Rose, calm down,” said her father in the background.

  “Calm down? Calm down? My daughter beats up a man and you tell me to calm down?”

  Oh, man. Now they’d done it. Her mother was a sweet woman most times, but when she went off, Rosa Serafini was a force of nature. Here comes Hurricane Rose.

  And then she remembered what her sister said about her father’s heart. Her father didn’t need stress, and this was her fault. “Mama, please. I’m sorry. Please, please, stop yelling.”

  “Christina, how can you embarrass the family like this?”

  At that moment, Gloria walked into the apartment and toward Christina’s room. Great. The last thing she needed was her sister’s commentary. “Mama, please. Think of Papa’s heart.”

  Rose Serafini stopped her tirade immediately. “Who told you that? Never mind. Just be here for dinner tonight so we can get this straightened out.”

  Fabulous. A family dinner. With her at the center of attention. “Of course, Mama. I’ll be there.”

  Without saying goodbye, her mother clicked off the phone. Chrissy was in for it now. Her mother was rarely so angry that she would forget to say goodbye, and ‘I love you’.

  She’d probably just earned the worst daughter in the world medal.

  And none of it was her fault.

  Okay, losing her temper was her fault. But how much could she take?

  “What’s going on?” Gloria asked.

  “Nothing. Hey, what’re you doing here?”

  “Getting clothes. I’m staying at Marcus’ tonight. He’s waiting for me in the car. So, give. What’s going on?”

  “As if you didn’t know. I’m sure Marcus told you all about it.”

  “No. He didn’t. Why did Mama yell at you over the phone?”

  “Because Saks and I had a fight at the diner.”

  “Fight?”

  “The kind where I dumped my breakfast on his head.”

  Gloria said with her eyes opened wide. “You did?”

  “Why does everyone keep bringing that up!??” Chrissy exploded at her sister, worked up from her mother yelling at her, and the ridiculous day she had.

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  “Excuse me?! Now I’m a whore?”

  “Whoa, wait a minute, sis. You aren’t like that. Until Saks, you had the longest dry spell of anyone.”

  “Gee, thanks. I’m not sure whether to be complimented or insulted.”

  Before Gloria could reply, the whine of a car trying to start hit the air. Normally Chrissy wouldn’t think twice about it, but then she remembered the beater car Saks had driven here earlier. The thing looked as if it would fall apart any second. She looked out the window and found her suspicions confirmed.

  “Oh no,” said Chrissy.

  “What?”

  “He’s here.”

  “Who?”

  “Saks.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Saks had hoped to get his car and leave as quietly as possible. Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen. No. Instead the stupid beast refused to turn over. Okay, it sounded like the starter, but that couldn’t be it. He changed the starter when? Saks tapped his head with his fingers. No. It was the one part he didn’t switch out. Slapping his hands on the steering wheel, he got out and opened the trunk to fish for a hammer. A few taps to the starter might get it to move past whatever dead spot it had. He’d pull into the shop when he got back to Westfield and change out the starter before Monday morning.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Saks sighed and resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. Chrissy.

  “Getting my car,” he said. “I’ll be out of here in a moment.” Avoid dumping anything else on my head if you can, please.

  “I’m sorry,” said Chrissy.

  Saks whipped around to face her. “What was that?” He’d expected her to go nuts on him. Had she just apologized?

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I went a little overboard.”

  Saks continued his search in the trunk of his car. “A little? You think?”

  “Is there something I can help you with?”

  Fuck it. “Do you have a hammer?”

  “No.”

  “Then I don’t think so.”

  “What do you need a hammer for?”

  “Car repair,” he said.

  “That’s an odd tool for car repair.”

  Saks turned toward her again. He tried to ignore how beautiful she looked, or how tightly her clothes fit her curves, or how blue her eyes were. But he failed and did so miserably. And as he looked at her, it was as if a knife went through his heart. He could never get involved with a crime boss’ daughter. It was the sort of thing that he’d avoided all his life. But there she stood, beautiful and too damn sexy for her own good. Her makeup was off, but her eyes were slightly red. Had she been crying? Shit. He redoubled his efforts to steel his heart against her. “Is there a problem?” he said frostily.

  She bit her lip, and it drove Saks crazy. He wanted to bite that lip, and every other place on her, from her luscious neck, to her creamy breasts with their pretty pink nipples, to—

  He had to stop thinking about her like that. This was getting him nowhere, and his traitorous dick hardening in his pants wasn’t helping the situation.

  Chrissy’s eyes flashed and Saks saw the storm coming.

  “Yeah,” she said angrily. “You’re the problem.”

  “Me? Listen, lady—”

  “You leave my sister alone!”

  Saks turned to stare at the dark-haired woman stomping down the stairs in stilettos. Shocked, he realized she was the woman from the Red Bull last night.

  “Gloria, stay out of this,” Chrissy snapped without even looking at her sister.

  Gloria came to stand by her side. There was fire in her eyes, too. “Come on, sis. You don’t need to bother with this carogna.”

  Saks’ Italian was good but even he had to flip though the different and diverse meanings of carogna from carrion to stinkpot and decided Gloria was going for bastard.

  “Believe me,” said Saks. “She won’t have to.”

&nb
sp; “Why? My sister not good enough for you?”

  Gloria’s belligerent words, Chrissy’s obvious pissed-off attitude, and the events of the past twenty-four hours coalesced to spark anger in Saks’ heart. It was bad enough to have one angry woman confront him, but two was one too many. Saks had to disengage, and he turned to the trunk of the car again. That’s when he spotted the handle of his hammer under a bunch of rags and pulled it out.

  Gloria gasped. “Marcus!” she screamed.

  What the fuck? But before he could move, six-feet-two-inches of hard Italian muscle flew at him. Saks and Marcus toppled to the unforgiving blacktop. If Saks hadn’t worn his Hades’ Spawn leather, his blood would’ve stained the ground.

  His attacker was on top of him, landing one blow after another into his face. Saks’ ears rang from the repeated strikes.

  “Stop, Marcus!” yelled Chrissy.

  Marcus paused a quarter second—enough for Saks to wind his legs around the beefy Italian and flip him to his back. Saks leaned forward and put his arm across Marcus’ windpipe as the man struggled to unseat the biker. But Saks was stronger than he looked. His muscles wrought from the hard work hefting and riding bikes and long days on his feet forced the beefy Italian to the ground. His flexibility gave him an edge over the gym-sculpted muscles of the Italian.

  “Get off him!” Gloria was behind Saks and sank her sharp nails into his neck.

  “What the fuck?!”

  “Gloria!” Over his shoulder he spotted Chrissy tugging on Gloria from around her waist, and the two women fell on the ground with grunts of pain.

  “You bitch!” screamed Gloria.

  Marcus took advantage of the distraction by wriggling out of Saks’ grip; he clamped onto Saks’ arms and threw him to the blacktop again. Chrissy and Gloria were going at each other with the fierceness of cats, and Marcus stood brushing off his black pants.

  “One sec,” he said incredibly to Saks. He hauled Gloria to her feet.

  “Get in the car, Gloria,” he growled.

  “But—”

  “Get. In. The. Car. What’s your grandfather going to think if you’re bruised up? Will he blame you or me?”

  That seemed to stop her. Gloria stuck her lip out in a pout. “Sorry, Marcus.”