Patrick: A Mafia Love Story by Kit Tunstall, R.E. Saxton Page B

with lust for her, bending her on the bed and taking her in a quick show of passion that had left them both breathless but sated before they made it down for the evening meal a few minutes late. Mrs. Quimby had given her a knowing look and a small wink, and she had fought back a blush .
    “Lauren?”
    She looked up, taking a moment to recognize the dark-haired man standing before her. Her stomach twisted with dread, but she forced a polite smile. “Hello, Mr. Peretti.” She knew he had a name like a car, but she couldn’t remember which one.
    He extended his hand, which she had to shake or appear rude. “Just call me Gio, please.”
    She nodded. “You must call me Lauren.” She almost rolled her eyes at herself as she realized he already had. “How have you been, Gio?” She didn’t really care, but she knew appearances had to be maintained, and she didn’t want to inadvertently insult the other man and spark some sort of mafia war.
    “It’s been interesting.” It was a cryptic remark, but he didn’t seem inclined to explain further.
    If she had cared at all about the other man or his life, she might have probed. Since they were practically strangers, it was easiest to just let it go. “Would you like to join us?” She was mentally crossing her fingers that he would say no, and she had to bite back a groan when he nodded and sat on the ottoman which had supported her feet until a second ago.
    “Back from your honeymoon?”
    “We have been for about eight weeks.”
    “Time flies when you’re having fun.” He smirked at her in a knowing fashion, one that had a creepy sexual overtone to it.
    Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who noticed, because Jake and Isaac shifted in their chairs, and she was aware of them trading a look from the corner of her eye. That they were on edge too concerned her, because she trusted the men implicitly with her life. They had good instincts, and if they felt something off, it was clearly an issue. She felt it too, though she couldn’t identify or define what felt wrong about the situation.
    “What are you up to these days, Mrs. Murphy?”
    She shrugged. “I’ve been volunteering at the community center.”
    He barely hid a sneer behind his cup of coffee, and his tone was condescending when he said, “It’s generous of you to give your time to the people who are victimized by what your husband does.”
    Her lips tightened, and she glared at him. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
    He shrugged. “There’s a lot of violent crime in that area, and a lot of the people who come there have lost family members to guns.”
    “To the people who use guns,” she corrected stiffly. “I suspect a great many have lost family members to drugs too.” She knew enough about the Italians to assume drugs were a chunk of their business.
    He shrugged again, looking unconcerned by that, despite his professed worry for the people harmed by Irish guns. “And how do you like being married to the mob?”
    Her eyes widened at the bald admission from him, and she had the crazy thought that perhaps Gio was wearing a wire. Had he struck some sort of deal with the feds to get information on her husband, deciding she would be the weakest link? If so, he had decided wrong. With a small slurp, she finished off the last of her drink, passing the cup to Jake when he took it from her so he could throw it in the trashcan.
    “If you’ll excuse me, Gio, my husband is waiting for me.”
    “Yes, of course. We wouldn’t want to keep Murphy waiting.”
    She shivered under the intensity of his expression, relieved when Jake stepped between her and him to provide a physical shield. The hairs on the nape of her neck stood up, and she half-expected a blaze of guns to light up the place as they all started shooting wildly. After a second, whatever silent confrontation happening between Jake and Gio ended, and Peretti stepped away from her, inclining his head once and striding from the coffee shop.
    She