The swish of her pants drew my attention as it stretched over her ass and the subtle smell of coconuts drifted to me. I'd been dreading this appointment but knew I needed to be here for Immy. I owed her that much. More actually. She was mine to protect now, and I vowed to her and myself that I would do better, be better than the man who'd raised us.
Imogen was my half-sister, the product of my father's second marriage. She hadn't been around a lot when I was a teenager, or perhaps as a seventeen-year-old, I just didn't care to be around. But when she was about four or five, I'd returned from college one summer, and she captured my heart. Immy had this light about her that always pulled me in. She was so different from the world we lived in, and I think a part of me had always wanted the escape she offered before I'd even admitted it to myself.
Our father was none other than, Dayton "the Grim Reaper" Mascro, head of the Mascro family, boss of the criminal underground, and an overall jackass. There was a time when I'd respected my father, idolized him even, but that changed over time as I saw the corruption and deceit he weaved.
It sounded ironic to be upset with a mafia boss for corruption, but there was truth to the saying, honor among thieves. The family might lie to the world, steal what they wanted, and use any means necessary to get things done, but there was a line. You didn't cheat your own family. If there was no honor amongst the family, how could any trust be sowed amongst murder and mayhem? Simple. You couldn't.
I was so lost in my thoughts and fixated on the scrumptious ass in front of me that I hadn't realized she'd stopped and asked me a question. The realization that I'd let my guard down in this place was sobering. I couldn't afford to be complacent now.
"Mr. Masters?" Mrs. Carter asked again, a hint of irritation in her tone clueing me in that it wasn't the first time she said my name. The name took me off guard for a moment until I remembered she didn't know our real last name. Shit! I couldn't afford to be distracted by a nice ass.
This wouldn't do. I didn't care if she thought I was staring at her ass, but my guard couldn't be this relaxed around her. Something about her disarmed me, made me feel safe, and while that might be a good thing for her job, it was a death sentence for mine. Irritation bubbled up in me toward her for making me forget who I was for a moment.
I'd wanted to be here for Immy, but to protect her the best, I needed to be the boss—cold, calculated, and in control. My moniker in the family was "The Suit," not only for my well-known attire, but because I would take you to the cleaners before you even knew what was happening. So, I stared at her blankly, waiting for her to become uncomfortable and explain herself. I didn't want her to be comfortable around me. This wasn't about me; It was for Immy, and Immy alone.
"Attie, don't be rude. She's not—" Immy stopped herself abruptly, remembering the rule, you don't mention the family to outsiders.
"Um, well, I was just asking if you wanted my card or needed anything else?"
It was oddly amusing seeing her flustered now. Mrs. Carter had seemed so put together in her space, self-assured even, but out here, I could see some of the cracks in her facade. I was an expert at reading people, after all. She was meek and would crumble under any pressure I'd put on her. I ignored how excited that made my cock feel.
Nodding, I turned and looked out the window dismissively. At least, that was what I told myself, not that I didn't want to stare at her any longer.
"Mr. Masters?"
At the sound of her voice, I scolded myself for the mistake I'd made. Every time she said Mr. Masters, a sensation snaked down my spine. Turning, I held out my hand, needing to get out of this waiting room. I'd faced mobsters and gangs numerous times, but this woman was the one bringing me to my knees. I couldn't come here again. It was a weakness I couldn't allow.
Mrs. Carter handed me the business card, grazing my hand with her fingertips as she did. I was surprised at her touch. Most people didn't dare touch me unless it was on my terms. This simple act surprised me and made me realize how little human contact I have if her simple hand graze created an inferno within me. It ignited me, reinforcing my decision to stay away.
I shoved my hand, along with her card, in my pocket and headed out the lobby door without even a backward glance. Immy snickered at me, clearly amused by my reaction, being able to read me better than anyone. Her expression didn't bother me, though, because it was the most expression I'd seen from her in months. Guess this therapy thing might be helping already. I wanted to feel pleased, but any emotion outside the cold numbness was too risky at the moment.
As we walked out the door, I caught sight of my bodyguard, Sax, and a few other men who'd been spread throughout the building. Sax gave me a discreet nod as I passed, his tall and domineering frame often being enough to scare most people away. His nod communicated everything was clear, and we could proceed to the vehicle without any trouble. It might seem like overkill, but it was better than being killed.
Sax had been my guard for several years and my best friend long before that. We grew up in the family together. Our shared history was an asset, allowing us to communicate simply through looks, most of the time, due to knowing one another so well. It also meant I undoubtedly trusted him with everything. He was the one person who knew the absolute truth about my father and what had happened that night with Immy.
The door of our waiting SUV opened as we approached, and I waited for Immy to slide in before following her. I scanned the area in my brief wait but didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. This was what I was meant to do. Constant surveillance.
The divider in the back was up, so I took the opportunity to talk openly with Immy and get her evaluation of the session. She'd been hesitant to attend at all, but after six months of waking up from nightmares, Immy had finally agreed and asked for help. She saw my look but rolled her eyes at me. Only she could get away with that. Sighing, I dropped my boss mask and genuinely looked at her, allowing concern to show this time.
"Do you want to keep going? Was it helpful?"
Immy took a few moments, hopefully, to only ponder her response and not to be stubborn. There was only so much defiance I would allow, even from my sister. Shrugging before she spoke, I was relieved when she finally answered.
"I think so. She seemed okay, I guess. Nice and didn't seem like she was trying too hard. She even passed your stupid test." Immy rolled her eyes, but I caught her smile.
That was practically five stars from a teenager, in my experience. I liked Mrs. Carter too, not that I could voice that, but I was glad Immy was willing to see it through. Settling back in my seat now that Immy had reassured me, I started to scroll through the messages I'd missed while in her office. The underground network never slept.
There were a few troubling messages from one of my guys I would need to deal with, but first, I needed to check out a restaurant to see if it would be a prosperous place to set up a business.
"Do you want to stop for lunch at a place I need to check out? Or do you want to be dropped at the house?"
"What kind of food?"
It might seem odd to take my baby sister to a mafia business meeting, but it was our way of life. From birth, we were taught to respect the mafia and its organization. The minute you forgot what it was, was the minute it killed you. Immy's mother was an unfortunate example of that. She'd trusted the wrong person.
"Would you believe me if I said sushi?" Immy turned, looking at me with speculation and trying to determine whether I was joking or not.
"Sushi," Immy said as a statement, disbelief dripped from her words.