Accardi (Genevieve and Matteo) by Allison Franklin novel Chapter 135

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Five

Gen should not be there. Anxiety wracked up every nerve ending under her skin. Her spine stood ramrod straight as she stared out the window at the passing streets of New York. She had no weapon. She couldn’t call Matteo. She was alone in a car with an Irish moh boss who was the illegitimate son of the man she needed to kill. She crossed her legs and then remembered… fuck! She was naked under this trench coat. She inwardly groaned. What had she been thinking? She could have shown up to the prison in a sack and Matteo would have still done that purring growl of approval he liked to unleash on her before he kissed her and took her hard and fast. Was that really the time and place to go all seductress? Of course not! Worth it… She recalled the ripple of pleasure that shivered up her spine when the handcuff locks clicked open.

“Did you have a good visit with your husband?” O’Brien asked, cutting through the tense silence inside the SUV.

“It was fine, thanks,” Gen answered shortly.

“I bet he had a lot of fun taking that trench coat off,” O’Brien guessed.

Gen glanced over to find him wiggling his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, Gen, are you going to sit there and tell me you’re not naked under that thing?” O’Brien asked. Gen could feel her face heat under his

inspection. Apparently the blush on her cheeks was enough of an answer because O’Brien burst out laughing. He slapped his thigh and shook his head. He

glanced out his own window as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “Damn, I don’t get it. The man somehow gets the best women to work for him or get under

him. What is it? What is it about him that makes you girls fawn?”

Gen looked out her window and took a deep breath. She didn’t appreciate him mentioning other women when discussing her new husband. She felt lucky to

have never met a single ex or woman he’d been linked to. Gen looked back at O’Brien. She studied his profile: a sharp, short nose, sky blue eyes that looked

green in certain light, golden locks that glinted red at the roots. She thought of her husband who was darkness compared to O’Brien’s light with his deep

brown hair, golden-brown hazel eyes, and nose with its crooked notch on the bridge.

“You have very smooth knuckles, Emmett,” Gen observed.

O’Brien’s gaze went from the window down to the knuckles sitting on his thigh. “Huh?”

“It’s the first thing I notice about a man,” she continued. “Matteo has very rough knuckles. I noticed them when we met. When he flexed them against the steering wheel as he drove us home they were cracked and bleeding.” Gen smirked to herself. “They’re always bleeding… swollen, bruised. Even if they

aren’t, you can see the scars. Two of his fingers aren’t quite aligned. Three of his knuckles on his right hand are uneven as if he’d broken them and picked a

fight before the bones had set. He uses his hands to drive home a point, to release his stress, to fight for his family. It’s practically a walking neon sign to

those who think they can cross him that he’ll protect what’s his with his own fucking hands if he needs to. People look at him and see this rich Italian

playboy… then they see his knuckles.”

“Knuckles, huh?” Emmett asked, his face dubious.

Gen met his eyes with a confident, penetrating stare. “But yours are smooth, just like Michele’s hands, there is not a blemish in sight. Your nails are

perfectly manicured…”

“Hey now, there’s nothing wrong with man getting a regular mani/pedi.”

“No, you’re absolutely right, there’s nothing wrong with that. But, it makes a woman wonder… Who gets their hands dirty in your organization, because it certainly isn’t you.”

“So you’re saying I should get in more fights?” Emmett asked, holding his hands out to look at his knuckles.

Gen laughed through her nose. “I’m just saying… To a woman, there’s something about a man with broken knuckles who only ever shows her the soft side of his palm.”

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Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Five

“I never knew you were so poetic,” he said with a laugh.

She shrugged one shoulder. “You asked. That’s my answer.”

Emmett’s phone pinged and he jimmied it out of his pocket. He chuckled and responded to whatever text he’d received.

“Is it Galante?” Gen asked, trying to see the words on his phone without shifting closer.

“Nah, it’s my second,” O’Brien answered.

“He still pissed he couldn’t come along?” Gen asked, glancing out the window as the car entered the same neighborhood where Matteo’s safehouse was

located.

“Yes, she is.”

“She?”

Gen gulped as they passed Matteo’s safehouse, hoping Emmett wasn’t good at reading minds.

“Yeah, Maisy.”

This earned Gen’s attention. “Maisy is your second?”

O’Brien laughed down at his phone. “Surprised? There’s a reason she’s always with me, Gen. She lets me keep my knuckles nice and pretty,” he said, blowing

on them for effect.

“Wow, I had no idea. Why aren’t you using her as an infiltrator?”

O’Brien’s eyes shifted to her but his fingers continued to type. “Who says I’m not? She sure did a good job keeping me up to date on you and Matteo.”

“Don’t,” Gen warned, knowing if Matteo were here he’d probably knock O’Brien out cold for using his first name.

“Why?” Emmett asked. “Heard he announced it to everyone in the cell block the other day. Cats out of the bag.”

“Huh?”

“Ohh, sounds like my contacts are better than yours after all.”

The car slowed down and the driver announced they’d arrived at their destination. Gen looked up at the brick townhouse where several of Galante’s men were waiting at the door. She took a deep breath, sending out a prayer that this meeting would go better than the last one. She went for the door when Emmett’s hand stopped her. Gen looked back at him to find all humor from his face had vanished. In its place she saw only determination and the ferocity of a man who commanded a highly violent, illegal drug operation.

“I understand your desire to prove yourself, Mrs. Accardi, Your name carries a lot of weight now but let me be clear…” His hand tightened around her wrist, his fingernails digging into her flesh. “I will not be the man who got Accardi’s wife killed and started a war. My knuckles may be smooth but you don’t stay in the position I am without getting your hands dirty. I. Know. More. Than. You. If I tell you to jump, you jump. If I tell you to duck, you duck. If I tell you to shut your fucking mouth, you…”

“Shut my fucking mouth, I get it.”

Emmett smiled and released her wrist. “Is your burly body guard tracking you?” he asked.

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Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Five

“No,” she answered immediately.

He eyed her with suspicion and his gaze narrowed slightly at whatever he saw on her face. “I’m on your side, Gen.”

“Are you?”

“More so than anyone else in that room will be,” he said, pushing open his door to step out.

O’Brien waited for her on the curb, adjusting the tie on his black suit while she walked up to him. He went ahead of her and she watched as the guards took turns checking him for weapons. Odd. Why would they check him for weapons if they were working together? The guards ushered her forward and performed a much more appropriate pat down than the pig-face man had done at the jail.

The pair walked inside and found a maid sent to guide them through the house. She walked them down the hallway featuring five-foot tall oil paintings of various couples. It took only two paintings to realize they were of the Galante family. The last painting on the wall featured Michele, his wife, and a young

Conor. O’Brien stopped and looked up at the painting.

“Seems like it’s missing something, doesn’t it?” Gen prodded, hoping to see a crack in his calm, arrogant exterior.

“Does it?” he asked, cocking his head. “I mean the brush work is shit and they really didn’t do the broad justice but, overall, I think it’s pretty good as far as

flamboyant, snobbish art pieces owned by silver-spoon richies goes.”

O’Brien shrugged and continued down the hall while Gen tried to gather her nerves. The maid opened a heavy wooden door and stepped to the side so they

could enter.

“Galante! Thanks for calling me in. I’m looking forward to getting down to…”

“What the hell is she doing here?”

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