Smoke: The Carelli Family Saga, Book One Read online

  Smoke

  Eden Butler

  Contents

  Where to find Eden Butler

  1. Maggie

  2. Smoke

  3. Smoke

  4. Maggie

  5. Smoke

  6. Maggie

  7. Smoke

  8. Maggie

  9. Maggie

  10. Smoke

  11. Maggie

  12. Smoke

  13. Maggie

  14. Smoke

  15. Smoke

  16. Maggie

  17. Maggie

  18. Maggie

  19. Maggie

  20. Smoke

  21. Smoke

  Dario Sneak Peek

  About the Author

  Also By Eden Butler

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2020 by Eden Butler

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: Becky Barney

  Cover: Chelle Bliss

  Formatter: Chelle Bliss

  Where to find Eden Butler

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  J U M A N J I !

  There.

  That should do it.

  1

  Maggie

  Nothing about the ivy-covered building gave away the madness inside.

  The place was quaint with red brick and it took up most of one block of what passed for Cuoricino’s business district. Like most restaurants in the sleepy town, Carelli’s had been established decades before when Santino and Angelique Carelli turned their back on the family business—the dirty, illegal kind that had left Santino’s father old before he’d reached the age— and got serious about babies and safety and being legit. Unlike other eateries in town, Carelli’s was always packed, especially on early summer nights like this one, and had become a hub for good food, better conversation, and the place that most people ended up at no matter where their night began. There was something about the building and the people that lingered within it. Maybe it was the air that perfumed around it. Maybe it was the family that ran the place. Whatever it was, the restaurant was a spot of rest and welcome: a place to find comfort and warmth.

  I had, six months ago, on a frigid Christmas Eve night, freezing in my broken-down car with my infant son snoring in the back seat. It was that building and the comfort it promised that made me stop, but it was the people, the family I’d made in this place that had kept me here. The same loud, obnoxious people currently screaming at each other over a one-year-old’s birthday cake.

  “Let him have it, for shit’s sake,” Dante said. “It’s his birthday!”

  “He’ll get it everywhere,” Antonia Carelli answered her brother. “That’s blue damn icing. You want blue icing all over that beautiful outfit Maggie bought him and Ma’s tablecloth?”

  Toni had good intentions. Of the crowd surrounding my son, Mateo, she was the only one who had been with me when I picked out the bow tie and suspenders to match his toddler-sized slacks and checkered shirt. The outfit hadn’t been cheap, but I wasn’t worried about the cost. I’d chosen dark colors for a reason.

  “Toni…it’s fine,” I said.

  “Bullshit it is!” She waved a hand, ignoring me.

  I suspected her attitude over her brother wanting Mateo to smash his fingers into the cake had more to do with the beautiful man talking on the cell outside of the restaurant than with any outfit I’d picked out for my mijo. She had history with Luca DeRosa, I guessed, but wouldn’t talk about it. No one would.

  “What’s the problem?” Dante asked, staring down at his sister with a glare I’d never seen either of their parents give her. “It’s what babies do on their first birthday. Maggie, tell her before she pops a damn vein.”

  They did this a lot—putting me in the middle, expecting me to take sides when their family drama hid behind all the mierda that surfaced with their bickering.

  But I wouldn’t play. I hadn’t in the six months I’d been part of this loco family. I wasn’t going to start on my kid’s first birthday.

  Dante and Toni’s arguing slid toward the competitive, fun-natured side. It didn’t bother me. Dante and his older brother Dario, though, had deeper, meaner issues. And when Toni and Smoke, the oldest of the Carelli siblings argued, it got personal and messy. And I made myself scarce.

  “Toni, stop being ridiculous,” Dario said, looking away from his cell long enough to back his younger brother up.

  But Toni wouldn’t give up her fight and stepped to my side, brushing the hair off Mateo’s forehead, nodding toward the large cake her mother had her pastry chef make. It was fancy, a little decadent for a one-year-old, but the blue frilly roses and scrolls of white and blue icing did look delicious.

  “Ignore them. I’ll cut it up and you won’t have to worry about the outfit. He looks so bello,” Toni said, picking up her phone to snap what had to be the fiftieth picture of Mateo.

  “Madonna, Antonia, are you still bothering Maggie over the outfit?” Mrs. Carelli said, coming into the dining room followed by her husband, their arms weighted down with more gift bags and wrapped boxes to join the dozens already on the table at the back of the room.

  “Ma, it’s going to make a mess and…”

  “Toni,” I heard, and I had to repress a shiver at the deep shift of Smoke’s tone. Six months of hearing that deep voice—most of the time right next to my ear saying filthy, delicious things— and I still hadn’t gotten used to it.

  Smoke was the only Carelli to keep up the family business that his father had abandoned. He carried himself with a control that wasn’t easy to pull off—he did easier than breathing.

  Moving from the back of the room, Smoke stood behind his sister, his posture relaxed, but his expression steely as he watched her turn her head toward him. Toni glanced at me once, her attention moving to the cake, then back to me like a challenge.

  I wasn’t picking sides.

  “Mijo,” I said to my son, bending down to his level. My heart clenched when he gave me a toothy grin, his dimples deep. I held my breath waiting for him to say something, wishing there would be a “mama” or “no,” even the slightest mutter of a noise that sounded like a word, but Mateo only smiled, reaching for me, giving a side glance at the cake resting on top of the table.

  A year old now and he wasn’t speaking. Walking everywhere since he was nine months old, but he kept whatever he thought to himself.

  “Maggie, he looks so cute. Don’t…” Toni started, but went quiet when Smoke moved to stand at my side.

  “Jesus, Toni, let it go,” he told her.

  Antonia opened her mouth, readying t
o level something really nasty at her big brother, so I deflected, loosening Mateo’s tie and suspenders, wiggling him out of his shirt altogether before I pushed the cake closer to him.

  “Feliz cumpleaños, Mateo!” I lit the candle on his cake and began to sing.

  The others joined in, their voices getting louder as they crowded around my son. Toni helped me blow out the candle and everyone clapped, their voices mixing with laughter when Mateo reached for the cake, smashing his small fingers into the icing, squeezing a fistful into his palm before he stared at it, eyes wide, fascinated. Then, he leaned forward, nose planted first into the beautiful row of blue flowers.

  “That’s it! That’s how you do it,” Dante said, laughing.

  After a few minutes, even Antonia cracked a smile, returning to her picture taking, seeming to forget her attitude as the baby dug into his cake.

  An hour later, Mateo was snoring on Mr. Carelli’s chest, tuckered out completely from his cake and the ridiculous amount of presents he tore through.

  “He’s a good boy,” Mrs. Carelli said, patting the baby’s back as we collected the plates and glasses and returned them to the kitchen. The restaurant was quiet now, with Toni and Dante secluded at the other end of the bar together and Dario outside talking to Luca on the patio. Mrs. Carelli followed my gaze and her smile dropped. “Luca works with Dimitri. We’ve known him a long time.”

  “He was there the first night I met you all,” I said, remembering the Christmas Eve when Smoke found me in my idling car on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant. He’d bullied me into coming inside and the entire family hadn’t let us leave.

  Then, things got a little complicated.

  “He was,” Mrs. C. said, using the faucet nozzle to clear away cake from a platter before she placed it in the dishwasher. When I reached for it, meaning to take over, she gave my hand a soft tap. “He’s made mistakes. Did things he wasn’t supposed to, and Dimitri had a hard time forgiving him.”

  “Did…Toni?”

  The older woman schooled her expression, but I still caught the slip. There was something that reminded me of worry, maybe a little upset, that she hid as soon as it came across her face.

  “That’s not my story to tell, bella…”

  “What’s not?” Smoke said, walking into the kitchen.

  “Nothing.” Mrs. C. turned off the water and grabbed a dishtowel before she looked up at her son. “I’ll see about your father,” she told him, and I didn’t miss the smile tugging at her mouth before she hurried from the kitchen.

  “Does she know she’s not subtle?” I asked Smoke, picking up another dirty plate.

  He leaned against the counter, arms folded as I cleaned, but Smoke kept his attention on me, like always. Sometimes it was nice. Sometimes that attention was like a drug I couldn’t get enough of. But not when his family was around. Not when there were too many eyes shifting in our direction.

  “I think she knows what she wants and doesn’t care what anyone thinks about it.”

  “And what does she want?” My shoulders tensed when Smoke licked his lips, moving his hand to rest against my hip on the counter.

  “Probably things that are impossible.”

  Impossible.

  Smoke and I had perfected impossible.

  Mrs. Carelli seemed to have expectations about us. No matter how many times Smoke told her there was nothing happening.

  “You know she cornered me the other night after my shift,” I told him, reaching for a wine glass to rinse.

  “That right?”

  “Asked if I thought about the managerial program and if I’d consider taking some business courses. She wants to put me on day shifts and set me up to take over for Matthew when he starts his new job next month.”

  Smoke rubbed his neck, keeping his attention on my profile as I rinsed dishes and set them in the dishwasher. After several moments he stood, coming to my side to help.

  “She wants you to stick around. She’s trying to give you a future in this town, at this restaurant.”

  I shot a glance at him, holding a plate in my wet hands. “That’s not…” He had the fattest bottom lip. The roundest, dark eyes. “My future isn’t…” Smoke leaned forward, inhaling before he slipped his tongue out to wet his lips and something deep inside me clenched. “I…can’t…”

  “You can’t what, bella?”

  “Pfffttt…” I said, pretending like the look he gave me didn’t affect me.

  But I wasn’t that good of an actor.

  Another step closer and he’d take my mouth. There was still bourbon on his breath. I could almost taste it. Ay Dios, this was bad. Us together. This close. Right here. Anyone could see. If they saw us…

  “I need to go…” I said, drying my hands, stepping away from the sink, but Smoke stopped me, holding my waist with his large fingers, not deterred when I tried to hold him back by pushing on his massive chest. “You want your family to see you pawing me?”

  “Stay with me tonight…” he said, ignoring my mock irritation. Smoke knew I was full of it. The smirk he wore told me that. “You wanna stay. Tell me I’m lying.”

  “That’s not a good idea…”

  “Maybe not, but it’ll be fun.” His grip got tighter and the clenching amplified into an ache. “My folks will take the kid. They’ve already mentioned as much to me.”

  “Dimitri?” I heard and stepped away from Smoke when Mrs. Carelli called him by his given name as she came into the kitchen.

  “Yeah, Ma?” he said, looking over his shoulder at his mother.

  “Luca said you wanted to speak to him. Should I tell him to wait?” The smirk was back on her face and my cheeks flushed at the look she gave me.

  “I’ll be right there,” he told her, grinning back at her as she left.

  He didn’t move. Smoke didn’t have to. Nothing fazed him. I tried to keep any fear I felt to myself; I tried to never let anyone intimidate me, but Smoke was in another league.

  Slipping past him, I managed five full steps before he caught me, looping an arm around my waist.

  “Midnight. I’ll be waiting for you.” He brushed the hair from my shoulder, pressing a long, hot kiss right where my neck and shoulder met. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

  The scent curling in my nose did something to my insides.

  Something that made me stupid and reckless.

  Something I knew that would lead nowhere good.

  Smoke snaked a heavy arm around my waist, moving me closer to him. His sweet scent, his thick, muscular chest, and flat stomach pressed right against my naked body.

  No, I told myself. I wasn’t here…not again.

  “Smoke…” I ignored the way he moved his fingers down my back, cupping my ass like it was normal and something he did without thinking.

  “Bella…hush…”

  He was nearly asleep and languid; how he always got after he took me, especially when it was late. That hand lowered and he gave me a half pat, squeezing my ass like some sort of silent motion to quiet me.

  Here, in this bed, with the smell of us perfuming the sheets, Smoke wasn’t the gangster this town knew him to be. He was soft, gentle, and he touched me like he wanted me. Like he couldn’t get enough. Like there was more between us than the stretch of our naked skin and the heat of our bodies moving together.

  Eyes closed tight, I let myself have a second. I wanted to keep the moment, the stillness between us. I wanted to pretend that this was real. Me and Smoke, touching, him holding me, because it felt nice. Nicer to pretend like he wanted only me.

  Then Smoke brushed his face against my shoulder, his lips wet, sigh lazy and kissed me there. Soft. Intimate.

  He’d never done that before and I felt cherished almost…loved.

  Mierda.

  No. This couldn’t be happening.

  My head always got a little fuzzy when I was around him. I couldn’t help it.

  The light from the bathroom slipped out through the darkness and moved over h
is features, hitting the sharp, fine angle of his cheekbones and the full, thick curve of his mouth.

  He was beautiful.

  Strong, even laying against his pillow, turned toward me and his fierce, masculine features relaxed as he seemed to move between exhaustion and sleep.

  There was something about him I could never keep away from. No matter how hard I tried.

  And it wasn’t just him.

  It was them.

  Smoke, his parents, his brothers and sister. They’d all taken me and my boy in when they didn’t have to. Brought us in from the snowy Christmas night like it was their pleasure to know us. They’d given us a family. A home. They’d given me a job and a place to belong.

  And Smoke? Even though when this all started six months ago, we agreed there could never be anything real between us, somehow I always ended up back here. In his bed, pressed against him, being owned and loving every second that I was.

  But then I’d leave and go back to the apartment I shared with my son and my friend Vivian, the older woman Smoke had rescued from her abusive husband, and pretend like I hadn’t been in his bed again.

  “There’s more there than either of you will admit,” Vi had told me the last time she’d caught me sneaking in from a night with Smoke. If she could see me now. God, she’d laugh at me.

  I rubbed my face, thankful she was out of town for a few days, but even if she wasn’t, I wouldn’t confess a thing to her. Or myself.