As he brooded, he found the source of consistent vibration; ten, fifteen messages from a former hookup he’d given up on months before.
Her name was Rene, and she was beyond bombshell status. With fiery red hair and a flawless hourglass figure, Rene was an older woman with a wildly sexy mind. She was newly divorced from her vanilla husband and was always good for an energized romp. Ace had some of the best sex of his life with her, but he knew, like all of his hookups, the spark would be short-lived.
She’d been messaging him for a few weeks, wondering why he wasn’t getting back to her. A part of Ace felt like he was her mid-life crisis, the opportunity to regain the sexual self she had lost through a boring marriage. But she came with baggage, and that wasn’t something Ace was interested in.
His friends and family were aware of his sexual prowess. He once held great pride in the fact he could have any and every woman he ever desired, hook up for a few good fucks, and then kick her to the curb. He wasn’t getting tied down in a relationship. He was a fucking cheetah, after all.
And cheetahs were meant for chaos and a fast-tracked lifestyle.
At least, it was what he used to believe about himself, but the spark of that vigor had begun to fade. It happened around the same time he stopped messaging Rene, who would only call him up when she, too, wanted some no-strings-attached sex.
Where are you, big boy?the latest text read.Momma is lonely tonight and needs a good boy between her legs.
Ace let out a heaving sigh. Normally, reading something as sexually explicit as that would get him riled up. He would text back or call, set up a meeting, and look forward to it the entire day.
But all he wanted to do was wash the booze out of his pores and lie around, waiting for the next source of entertainment.
Ace couldn’t do that until darkness fell, and anonymity caped all matters of his sins. He was a mob boy, of course, and that meant he had shit that needed to get done.
He forced himself out of the bed after leaving his phone where it was, with the messages unanswered. He stripped and turned on the shower to scorching hot then stifling cold. The hot would rinse off the booze leaking out, and the cold would wake him up.
Ace grunted as the cold water shot over his body like a thousand knives. It most certainly woke him from his dozy state, as well as derailed his ruminating thoughts about Rene and his lack of interest. That was another problem to be dealt with later.
He returned to the heated floors of his bedroom and opened the walk-in closet. Stored within was an elegant series of suits, every shade and fabric known to humanity sorted by occasion and tone. He was meeting with his Capo today, so Ace chose a tailored suit with a fitted trench coat. He had to always look like he was serious and ready to do whatever needed to be done.
Ace hopped into his Lamborghini, which was a sleek shade of plum, resting in the private garage of his penthouse. The day was blinding, and although most of his headache had been washed down the drain, the energy of his sorrow remained.
But Ace couldn’t let anyone see or know about that. Ever. He had to be the hot playboy of the Moretti family.
He jetted into the city to meet up with his cousin and Capo. Ray had some information about the Fontana family that Ace needed to become aware of. Ace was now the chief enforcer for the family since Ray was moved up to Capo. Ace’s main job was to investigate any inconsistencies that cropped up in each family’s dealings, and he was ready to get started. He liked it, and he was good at it.
His shoulders were tense while he walked toward Ray with his head down and his hands jammed in his pockets. His fitted trench coat flapped around his legs as the cool breeze whipped up to tug on the coat’s long tails.
Ray waved as Ace neared, and Ace straightened and ran a hand through his dark blonde hair. Immediately he settled himself, showing off his true height and moving casually, so his jacket fell neatly from his shoulders to his knees.
“Hey, Ace,” he said, welcoming his cousin. Ace nodded, his face locked down and sober.
“Ray. What have you got for me?”
Ray frowned. “You’ve heard everything that went down, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. It was a few months ago now. I’ve been working on the other end of town. What do you need?”
“Well, even though most of it is sorted, we still don’t know who rubbed out that bookie. Things between the Fontanas and the Morettis are still up in the air, very tense. The De Lucas should be keeping their heads down, and the Lombardis may well be trying to turn this to their advantage. Everyone wants to avoid a clan war.”
War wouldn’t be that bad. It would at least occupy his time.
“We found something interesting last night,” Ray said. “We discovered the Fontana’s have a stash house at the edge of town, between both the turfs, with the info you dug up regarding the bookie.”
“How are we going to handle it?” Ace asked.
“We aren’t sure yet,” Ray said. “But that’s where you come in.”
“What do you need me to do?” Ace asked.
With a big heaving breath, Ray pulled a picture from his back pocket and handed it to Ace. The photo was of someone walking outside a grocery store. When Ace leaned in closer, he saw that it was a woman, and his heart skipped a beat.
The photo wasn’t the greatest quality, but something about her made his face warm, and his hands shook a little. Her brown hair was up in a ponytail, and she wore simple jeans and a T-shirt. She appeared to be out and about in a casual setting.