The Spy And The Mafia Bosses

Aurora

"You’re supposed to sprinkle the flour, not eat it!"

Selene’s adorable six-year-old face scrunches up in disgust as she quickly pulls her flour-covered fist out of her mouth, a little string of saliva connecting her lip to her knuckle.

“Yuck,” she groans, her cute button nose wrinkling.

Laughing, I grab the cloth from my belt and clean her hand.

“No, sweetheart, it’s definitely not good. It might look like sugar, but it’s not the same.”

Selene shakes her head so vigorously that her thick brown hair nearly escapes the two big pigtails I put it in this morning. She reaches for the flour bag again, but I gently catch her wrist.

"Let me show you how it’s done."

She nods, watching intently as I take a handful of flour and sprinkle it on the counter. The dough we made earlier sits nearby. Once the counter is ready, I tear off a small piece and place it in front of her.

"Remember, the flour keeps the dough from sticking. Do you remember how to knead?"

Selene nods with a big smile, then eagerly plunges her fists into the dough. It’s so funny that I can’t help but laugh. I guide her hands, showing her the kneading motion, and soon she’s doing it on her own.

"It's so squishy!"

"Yep. And it’s going to taste amazing. It might not look perfect, but pasta’s all about the flavor." Keeping an eye on her, I start rolling out the rest of the dough. This isn’t our first time making pasta together, but it’s the first time I’ve let her take the lead.

As much as a six-year-old can.

"Did you do this when you were my age?" Selene’s little fists pound the dough, leaning so far forward that her hair is almost in it.

"I was a little older," I explain. "My mother taught me. We used to cook all sorts of things together, but my favorite was strawberry tarts."

"Oh, can we make those?" Selene’s head pops up, and I chuckle at the flour on her cheeks.

Leaving my dough for a moment, I bend down to her level—around elbow height since she’s on her stool—and wipe the flour off her cheeks.

"Of course." Warmth fills my chest, matching the oven-warmed air around us, and for a moment, I forget.

I forget why I’m here.

I momentarily forget that Selene isn't my child and that life isn’t as simple as baking treats and playing with flour.

Reality hits when the kitchen door creaks open, its bottom hinge groaning loudly despite numerous repairs.

In walks Orion Voss, one of the most striking men I’ve ever seen, and Selene’s bodyguard.

Selene waves at him with a dough-covered fist. Orion slowly lifts a hand and wiggles his fingers back at her before resuming his post by the large bay window overlooking the garden, returning to the statue-like stance he had before he left for the bathroom.

The late afternoon sun highlights his skin, making it look even more golden and dark. His slicked-back dark hair fades seamlessly into a side shave and his signature dark sunglasses hide his honey-brown eyes. I’ve only seen them a few times since he wears those sunglasses as consistently as clothes.

Who even wears sunglasses indoors?

Apparently, hot Russian bodyguards do.

His brow always seems furrowed above his sunglasses; either he’s perpetually annoyed or in need of prescription lenses. A slight mustache adds definition to his pouty lips, and two silver studs gleam in the sunlight from his left ear.

Unlike the other guards in their charcoal gray shirts and black suits, Orion prefers blue. He never wears a shirt, always a blue vest with golden buttons and a dark blue suit jacket with a silver pin on the left lapel. Dark tattoos peek out from his wrists and chest, hinting at the incredible body beneath his clothes.

A body I’ve only seen in my dreams.

I try not to look at him.

In the six months I’ve worked here, I’ve done my best not to stare, but it’s almost impossible. He’s so striking that my eyes keep drifting back to him, like there’s an invisible pull I can’t resist, or I find reasons to talk to him just to enjoy his presence.

I feel like a giddy teenager, so I shove my hands back into the pasta dough and focus on kneading with all my energy.

“Aurora!” Selene suddenly says, catching my attention. “Why are you all red?”

My cheeks flush even more, and I laugh nervously, then scoop up my dough and turn my back to Orion to focus on the pasta press. “It’s just from all this kneading. It really makes you sweat.”

I hear a soft snort from Orion, which I’m sure isn’t just in my head, and a hot flush runs down my spine.

Oh, the innocence of children.

I keep my focus on the pasta press, trying to ignore him as I feed the dough in one end and catch the smooth sheets coming out the other. If Orion were my only issue, it might be less embarrassing to let my thoughts wander, but with him and my boss, Lucian Hawthorne, both being attractive, this house feels like a magnet for handsome, brooding men.

Clearly, professional fixers are drawn to the muscular type.

Nothing makes me happier yet simultaneously makes me feel like a plain, out-of-place mess.

It’s probably not a good idea to date your boss anyway. I’ll just have to settle for daydreaming about both of them in the privacy of my room.

By the time the sun sets and the sky darkens, the pasta is rolled out, and it's time to cut it. Selene enjoys choosing the bow-tie cutter. Together, we quickly cut out more pasta pieces than we can count, all under Orion’s watchful gaze, who hasn’t moved an inch since he returned.

Each cut and twist of the dough highlights the ache in my shoulders and upper arms. No matter how often I do this, the pasta-making pains never go away. Selene seems to be feeling the same as her excitement for twisting the pasta shapes fades. I just need to keep her focused until the pasta is ready to cook.

“So,” I say, gently nudging her. “Do you know what kind of sauce you want for this pasta?”

Selene shakes her head and pouts. “Can I have both sauces?”

“White and red? I’m not sure that would taste very good.”

“My arms hurt,” she whines, letting her hands drop to her sides. Seeing the signs of a tantrum brewing from hunger and tiredness, I switch tactics.

“You know, Orion,” I say, and as always, my heart skips a beat just saying his name. “You’ve got all the muscles. Maybe you should come over here and help twist the pasta instead of Selene.”

Orion doesn’t move. He doesn’t even make a noise, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect he’d fallen asleep and was hiding it behind those dark sunglasses.

Thankfully, Selene catches on and she steps down from her stool. Orion’s stoic aura lasts until Selene reaches him and presses her flour-stained hands all over his pristine vest. Only then do those flat, pressed lips pull into a small smile. My heart skips a beat.

No one can resist Selene. She’s too precious.

“Come and help us,” she demands, tugging at the hem of his vest. Orion finally moves, dropping one large hand down onto her head and he lightly ruffles her hair.

“I’m no cook,” Orion says.

A shudder of delight moves through my body at the raspy tones of his voice. I’m unsure if it’s the raspiness or the undertones of his Russian accent that I enjoy, but he speaks so rarely that I just can’t get over how good his voice sounds. Despite that enjoyment, I keep my head down and work my way through the last few pasta twirls.

“Please,” Selene whines, batting his hand away. “My arms are tired and Aurora is right. You have all the muscles.”

“Oh, Aurora is right, is she?”

The way his voice slows when he says my name, like it’s some delicacy he wants to savor the taste of, is enough to make me dizzy. Blinking hard, I finish the last few pieces of pasta with less-than-perfect twists, then quickly dust off my hands on the towel.

“Orion is too busy holding up the wall to help us,” I say, flashing my strongest smile when I finally lift my head. It’s impossible to tell where Orion is looking through those glasses. I can pretend his eyes are roaming over my curvy body with the same appreciation that licks around his words, but that toes a dangerous line between fantasy and reality. Reaching the two of them, my lungs fill with the spicy-sweet scent of his aftershave as I scoop Selene up into my arms.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up so we can eat.”

Selene snuggles into me, and as I hurry away, I feel like Orion’s hidden gaze is burning a hole in my back.

“You can’t be tired already,” I joke, splashing some warm water at Selene as she yawns, showing off her crooked teeth. “You haven’t even eaten yet!”

“I’m sleepy,” she whines, tossing her head back and forth. Her hair, freshly washed and free of flour, hangs down her back, with only one pigtail still intact.

“Maybe a dip in cold water will wake you up,” I tease, gently poking her sides and ribs with damp fingers. She bursts into laughter and wriggles in my grip, making such a racket that I almost miss the faint jingle from my jeans. The vibration a moment later confirms it's my phone.

Few people ever call me, and I don’t expect any friends to reach out. My heart lifts with the hope it might be someone new—perhaps an old schoolmate reconnecting or someone dialed the wrong number.

I stand up and check my phone.

No luck. It’s my mother.

“Hello?” I answer, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear while I work on her braid.

“It’s about time,” my mother snaps. “Do you think I have all day to wait for you to pick up?”

I force a relaxed expression in the mirror for Selene. “Sorry, I was busy.”

“You’re always busy,” she retorts sharply. “We need to meet.”

My heart drops. “What?”

“You missed last week’s lunch. We agreed, remember? Every three weeks, no exceptions.”

Last week? Oh, right.

“I explained why I couldn’t make it.” I smile as I work on Selene’s braid, trying to keep the mood light.

“That excuse is old news. We need to meet. Now.”

“Now? You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly serious.”

I panic a bit. It’s already dark, and Lucian is very strict about who can leave the property and when. “I can’t. It’s too late. Tomorrow?”

“No.” A sharp sigh cuts through the phone. “Don’t make me come over there.”

The thought of my mother showing up here is so terrifyingly chaotic that it seems like no one would come out unscathed.

“My living situation makes it hard to meet your demands,” I say sweetly, forcing a bigger smile as Selene’s curious eyes catch mine in the reflection.

“Come up with a story. I don’t care. You have two hours.”

Damn it.

Sticking my head out of the bathroom, I yell for Orion, who appears so fast that it’s hard to believe he was waiting in the kitchen this whole time. Asking him to watch Selene, I hurry away through the corridors toward the back of the house, where Lucian’s office is located. Keeping my mother away from here is a must, but there’s no way I can leave without permission first and the only one who can grant that is my boss.

“Mr. Hawthorne?” I knock sharply on the large, smooth oak door to Lucian’s office.

No response.

“Lucian? Sir?”

Nothing.

My chest constricts. In a flash of boldness, I test the cold, ornate handle and to my surprise, the door swings open easily.

Inside, the scent of old leather mixed with the tart of alcohol greets me. In my next breath, the smell of old books tickles my nose, and underneath all of it is the familiar woody scent I’m so used to detecting whenever Lucian stands close to me.

His office is empty. No Lucian in sight.

Fuck.

How is it empty? Never in all the months I’ve worked here has it been empty. Whenever I’ve needed him, he’s been right here, working away as diligently as anyone.

Should I call him? That might be the only way for me to get permission to leave before my mother turns up here and ruins six months of my hard work. Hard work I’ve been doing for her.

My weight shifts back and forth, then tension snaps across my shoulders when I glimpse his computer.

I could do it.

Right now, I could sneak up and access that computer, ending my stint here and giving my mother what she desires.

I could do that right now?—

Just as I take a half step forward, a strong, warm hand weathered with callouses grasps my wrist and spins me around so fast that my breath catches in my throat. My chest seizes, and air remains trapped behind my tongue as I face Lucian.

My boss.

His warm, woody scent with a hint of vanilla teases at my nose. If I could breathe, I’d breathe him in like an addict. Hazel eyes glint at me, reflecting the warm light from the desk lamp enough that the golden flecks around the outside of his iris sparkle. Dark curly hair frames his face, curling just below his ear. His golden skin, a few shades darker than Orion’s, carries the wrinkles of age around his eyes and the corner of his full mouth. A soft five o’clock shadow hugs his sharp, angled jaw, and even now, I yearn to know what it would feel like to have that brushing against my skin.

Shadows dance lightly across his face, melting into the floral tattoos that cover his neck like a collar. They bleed down across his shoulders and vanish under the straps of his tank top, the only fabric preventing the leather of his suspenders from imprinting into his skin. Lucian stands a full head above me and his muscles are so thick that he dwarfs me with just a look—that’s always made my mouth water. Carrying the extra curves that I do, I’ve never doubted that Lucian could throw me over his shoulder like I was weightless.

“Aurora.”

His voice is so deep that it vibrates through me.

“Care to explain what you think you are doing in here?”

Oh. Right.

In just a few seconds, he distracted me enough that I forgot about my mother and my ability to breathe.

“Um,” I gasp, suddenly conscious of how my breath might brush against his skin with how close we are. “I need to nip out for a bit.”

“Out?” Lucian’s grip around my wrist tightens, firm but not painful. “Has Selene eaten?”

Of course, his first thought is his daughter. If I’ve learned anything about Lucian Hawthorne it’s that his daughter is the most important thing to him.

“No, but Orion is dealing with that.”

Lucian’s grip tightens further, then he releases me and steps away. The rubber band around my chest suddenly releases as if Lucian’s lack of presence has finally given me permission to breathe. I turn on the spot, following him with my eyes as he returns to his desk.

“You can leave once Selene has eaten and gone to bed.”

Knowing Selene, there’s no way I can get her to eat her dinner, shower, get in bed, and then go out to meet my mother. Not in two hours.

“I’m sorry but I can’t. I really have to go.”

His leather chair creaks as it takes on his muscular bulk. Lucian rests his elbows on the desk, clasps his hands, and stares at me over the top of his knuckles.

“It’s snowing.”

It sounds like concern, but it’s really just another way to say no.

I take a deep breath, and my tongue trembles from how hard my heart thumps against my ribs. “I really must insist. I’ve taken care of Selene, and I—well, I’ve never asked you for anything, have I? But I have something I really need to take care of—a family thing.”

Lucian’s dark brows twitch ever so slightly.

“And I can take one of your cars, which will be safe in the snow. So… really, I’m here telling you that I’m going out. I’m not asking for permission.”

An amused glint sparks in his eyes and I swear the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Fine. Orion will escort you.”

Fuck.

Argument rises on reflex but I catch myself. Permission is what I needed, and I have it.

“Thank you, sir.”

I rush out of the office immediately, pushing all lingering thoughts of yearning desire from my mind. I have to get to my mother and I can’t have Orion by my side, no matter how important Lucian’s requests are.

“Orion, I need you to watch Selene until I’m back, okay?” Waving at Selene who is now free of both pigtails, I hurry away before Orion can respond. Not that I need him to. Selene is his charge and he will stay with her regardless.

With the keys to one of Lucian’s jeeps in hand, I throw a coat around my shoulders and hurry out into the snow without much thought. Never before has my mother threatened to come here. She’s always been so adamant about making sure we meet up outside of the property that her change in heart must mean something is wrong.

Or she’s just growing impatient. Something I find quite ironic, considering she’s been waiting over twenty-five years for her plan to come to fruition.

The snowstorm is a second thought as I race out of the estate, waving as casually as I can to the guards at the gate and taking the left road through the forest. It’s the quickest route back into the city and I’m already cutting it close. Windshield wipers squeak and scrape as they fly rapidly over the windshield, and snow falls in thick clumps around me. I can barely see five feet in front of me, but at this time of night, it hardly matters.

There’s never anyone on the Hawthorne Estate other than Lucian and his people. He’ll likely be pissed that I left without Orion but I can deal with that later. My mother takes priority.

My phone blares into life and the shrillness cuts through the dull silence in the car, drawing me out of my thoughts. Slowing down a little, I glance away from the road and reach for my phone in my pocket. I really should put it in the hands-free slot on the dashboard.

Suddenly, the entire jeep shudders backward and I lurch forward, caught by momentum.

Before my face can slam into the steering wheel, the airbag deploys and bursts in my face. It softens the impact, but a searing pain still shoots through my nose. I slam on the brake, causing the jeep to lurch left, and my head whips against the door window. Sharp heat stings my scalp as I cling to the steering wheel, and the jeep finally comes to a halt.

My heart races, my head spins, and my stomach churns.

What just happened? Did I hit something?

Please don’t tell me I ran over a deer.

Shock sets in, numbing the pain, and even the cold air around me fades. I fumble for the door handle, my nails scratching against the wood until I find it. Pulling the lever free, I struggle around the airbag to get out of the jeep, but misjudge the height and end up falling.

A soft cry escapes me as I hit the ground hard on my hands and knees. My head spins wildly, and my vision blurs as a dull silence surrounds me. Snowflakes drift around, unaffected by the crash, and confusion washes over me when I see some of the snow between my hands turning red.

I've never seen red snow before.

I lift my head and freeze.

A few feet away, surrounded by snow and lit by the jeep’s headlights, lies a body.