Cassie Mint

  Silent Knight

  First published by Black Cherry Publishing 2022

  Copyright © 2022 by Cassie Mint

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

  ISBN: 978-1-915735-06-5

  Cover art by Cormar Covers

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  Contents

  1. Allegra

  2. Raul

  3. Allegra

  4. Raul

  5. Allegra

  6. Raul

  7. Allegra

  8. Raul

  9. Allegra

  Teaser: Holly & The Henchman

  About the Author

  One

  Allegra

  One week ago

  I’m hunched over on my sofa, bare foot propped on the coffee table, frowning at my half-done pedicure when Santo prowls into my suite. Glancing up from the nail polish brush, I raise an eyebrow at my older brother.

  Dark hair like mine, and the sharp De Rossi cheekbones. Hollowed eyes and the signature family exhaustion.

  “You never knock. It’s my bedroom, Santo.”

  He shrugs, surveying the furniture. “It’s my mansion.”

  There’s something off about him tonight. Something cagey. My normally pristine brother looks ruffled, the shadows under his eyes darker than ever, and there’s a crease in his gray embroidered waistcoat.

  A crease.

  Guess the sky is falling.

  The grounds are dark through the balcony doors, and my suite glows with lamplight. These rooms are more familiar to me than any place in the world, and I know every inch. Every piece of antique furniture, restored by master craftsmen and gifted by Santo; every famous painting on the walls. Everyone thinks that Santo displays his most impressive finds in the visitor areas in order to intimidate visitors.

  I know better. He saves the best for me.

  Swallowing hard, I sit back. Whatever has shaken the mob boss is not good news. Santo is a block of ice, hard and impenetrable, and yet tonight he looks lost in the center of my suite. He keeps gazing around, blinking hard as he drags his focus back to the present. That fearsome brain of his is working overtime, and I’m surprised there isn’t steam coming out of his ears.

  “What is it?” I cap the nail polish with only three toes painted red. “Maybe I can help.”

  Santo stares up at the ceiling. “Yes, you can.”

  Oh, I don’t like that. “On my terms,” I clarify. “I’ll help on my terms.”

  Because I’m not one of Santo’s pawns to be pushed around his mental chessboard. I understand this business better than anyone, present company excluded, and I don’t do grunt work. Life’s too damn short—especially in our world.

  “You need me to get info?”

  Santo shakes his head, slow and thoughtful. He’s still staring at the ceiling over my shoulder.

  You know, when I was growing up with no one in the world except this man, he protected me. Kept me safe from the wolves at our door. And he taught me everything he knew, even when I was a sulky, frightened teenage girl and he was a newly minted mob boss who surely had better things to do.

  I owe Santo, no two ways about it. Doesn’t mean I’ll agree to his requests blind. Because I know my brother, know him inside out and back to front, know him in a way that not even his inner circle do. And just because he cares about me, in his own stilted way… that doesn’t mean I’m immune to his machinations.

  “Stop scheming and spit it out.”

  Santo nods once, then looks me in the eye. “I’m sending you away for a few weeks.”

  Um. What? Over the holidays?

  “There’s a hit out on you.”

  Ah. My shoulders drop an inch, because at least my big brother is not simply sick of me. I hate that’s where my mind goes, but I can’t help it. I may bluster for the outside world, but there’s a scared little girl deep inside me, and she is shrill as hell.

  “Come on, there are always threats.” I smooth over my flash of panic with a confident tone. “If you overreact every time some asshole tries to kill me, your men will think you’ve gone soft.”

  Besides, I can handle it. There are no less than six knives hidden around my suite, and always at least two on my person. No need to freak out.

  “They stabbed Nico two weeks ago.”

  I scoff, blowing my dark hair out of my face. “Well, it’s not like that’s hard. And he was barely hurt! It was a flesh wound.”

  I already checked on Falasca. Such a baby.

  “Raul said an inch to the left and Nico would be dead.” My ears go hot at the doctor’s name, but my features don’t flicker as Santo goes on: “There was a second incident tonight, and the attacker had your photo. Don’t brush this off, Allegra. I need you to be smart.”

  Smart. Fine.

  I can do that.

  “First, these grounds are completely secure,” I begin, counting off my fingers, my foot bobbing with agitation against the coffee table. “If you’re really worried, I can stay home for a few days. Second, Nico clearly dealt with the attacker, and third, I’m always on someone’s hit list, as you well know. That’s the De Rossi guarantee.”

  Santo understands that better than anyone, so why is he so freaking rattled?

  A maid bustles past the open suite door and we both pause. My brother strolls over and closes the door with a snick.

  That reminds me.

  “You know, one day you’re going to burst in here without knocking and regret your life choices.” It’s easier to grumble, shuffling over to make room on the sofa, rather than face the dread pooling in my stomach. Something’s wrong.

  The cushions sink as Santo sits beside me. Not touching—we are not a cuddly family—but close enough that I can feel his warmth. Draw some comfort.

  “If that happens, I’ll burn the mansion down,” Santo says pleasantly.

  Ha. Liar.

  “I’m a grown woman, asshole.”

  “You’re my baby sister.” Santo’s smile is sharp. “That comes with privileges.”

  “Like no dating life?”

  “Like my concern.”

  Bullshit. Such bullshit. Not that he cares about me, I mean, but that Santo would ever burn down his precious mansion. This volley is comforting, though.

  “It’s the holidays, Santo.” My plea goes unsaid. Don’t send me away. This is the only time of year we’re a half-normal family.

  Santo clears his throat, and as he turns away, there’s a flash of guilt in his pale eyes. “You’ll be fine, Allegra. Raul will be with you.”

  …Raul?

  My whole body flushes hot, misery clamping around my throat. My heart slams against my rib cage, more bruised with each thump, and I can’t do this. I can’t.

  “I’ll go with Nico,” I rasp, fighting a whole new battle now. Sure, I’ll hide out in a safe house for a few weeks if Santo insists, but not with the doctor. Anyone but him.

  “Nico is distracted; his focus would be split. He brought a woman here tonight.”

  A woman? Since when? I blink hard, yanking my brain back on task, because we can gossip about Falasca’s love life once we’ve safely ruled out Raul.

  “Diego, then.”

  Santo sighs. He props his elbows on his knees; knits his fingers together. When he stares straight ahead with his face in profile, he looks like one of the carved stone statues in the hallway alcoves. “I know that Raul bores you, Allegra—”

  That has never been the problem.

  “—But he is reliable. If something happens, he can give you medical treatment, and I trust that he won’t hit on you.”

  No, he won’t. I hide my flinch at those words, because if Raul Ossani would hit on me, if he would allow himself even a moment of weakness, this wouldn’t be a conversation. I’d leap at the chance to go away with him alone.

  But the doctor made it clear a long time ago: he will never touch me that way. Never. And I can’t stomach weeks of being close to him, pining after a man I can’t have, my body literally aching with how badly I crave him.

  Seriously. Who wants that?

  “I’ll go alone.”

  “Allegra.” Santo exhales and pushes to his feet. “Pack your things. You and Raul will leave in thirty minutes.”

  “But—”

  “Do it.” When Santo frowns down at me, my big brother is gone and the mob boss is back. Laying down the law. “This conversation is over. I need you gone while I deal with this threat, and I need to be sure you are safe. Your presence is distracting.”

  Ouch.

  My eyes blur as I stare at my half-painted toes. The floorboards creak as Santo leaves the room, and I waste precious minutes relearning how to breathe.

  Raul. Weeks alone with Raul.

  My brother may be a famous criminal, but—surprise, surprise—he is also a huge asshole.

/>   * * *

  It’s weird seeing Raul drive. Two hours into the journey, I huddle in the front passenger seat in silence, watching the doctor’s hands flex on the steering wheel. Our headlights are alone on this stretch of highway, swooping in two ghostly beams along the tarmac.

  We’ve been following the coast road all night, the ocean glimmering in the moonlight. This car smells like leather and the pine air freshener dangling from the mirror, and for a fancy vehicle, the heaters work like crap.

  Usually, Santo’s inner circle have drivers to take us everywhere—all the better to scheme together in the back. But the safe houses are top secret, so dear Dr Ossani is having a very long night. The dashboard clock says it’s 02:58am.

  “You need another coffee?” I should nap or listen to a podcast, but I can’t resist needling this man. Now that we’re thrown together with no escape in sight, Raul is an itch I can’t scratch. “We could find an all night diner; get you good and caffeinated. Or would you prefer a sugar high?”

  The doctor stares at the road as he says, “I’m fine.”

  Ugh.

  The car engine is quiet as we zoom along the coast road, the mountains on one side and the ocean on the other. The moon is full tonight, waxy and cratered.

  “I bet you hate this.”

  Shit.

  Shut up, Allegra. Shut the hell up.

  “Hm?” Raul glances over at me, his handsome face pinched with fatigue. With his wavy dark blond hair, black-framed glasses and square chin, Dr Ossani looks like he belongs on a movie set, not driving a mafia princess to locations unknown. “What do you mean?”

  See, this is why I need to learn to chase myself into bed well before midnight every night. I need my full eight hours or I get weak and slip up. Say stupid shit.

  “Nothing.” My nails are glossy as I examine them, smoothed over with a fresh coat of nude paint. At least I finished all ten fingers before Santo dropped a bomb on my head. My feet didn’t get so lucky.

  The car is quiet. Raul grips the steering wheel hard, his knuckles bloodless.

  “You think I hate this? Following your brother’s orders?”

  Nope. “Forget I said anything.” Fiddling with the dials, I settle back in my seat, warm air wheezing from the car heaters. My head aches like a bitch as I close my eyes, body swaying as we round a bend.

  This night sucks so badly, and I really don’t want to think about spending the holidays avoiding this man, hundreds of miles from the only family I have. Sent away for being a distraction.

  “Allegra.”

  It’s tricky to roll my eyes while they’re closed, but I manage it. “Yes, doc?”

  There’s a long pause, and I’ve nearly drifted off when he finally speaks. Raul’s voice is deep and rich, and a single word from him always makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. Beneath my sweatshirt and tartan blanket, my traitorous nipples harden.

  “I don’t hate this.”

  I grunt. Hopefully he’ll take the hint: Raul Ossani is the last man in the world I want to talk about feelings with. Should never have started this conversation.

  Some words from him are like music to my ears, though. Like: “I changed my mind. Let’s stop for coffee.”

  Two

  Raul

  Ever since the car door slammed behind Allegra on the De Rossi driveway, I’ve been stewing in a mixture of relief and dread. Relief that against all odds, my plea for Santo to send her away actually worked, and dread that I’m the one he sent to guard her.

  Diego wouldn’t have touched the boss’s sister, and he makes a brutal bodyguard. He can’t stitch up stab wounds, either, which is clearly a useful skill around the mansion these days. Why not send him?

  “Take this exit.” Allegra squints at her phone in the gloom, the blue light washing over her delicate features. She has the De Rossi pout, and the same shadowed eyes as her brother. “There’s an all night diner five minutes away.”

  Though they look similar, Allegra isn’t as hardened by life as the boss. She might pretend she is, but I see it.

  The softness in her. The fear and the longing.

  The next few weeks will last an eternity.

  We pull up in a gravel parking lot, a neon sign flickering above the diner entrance. “Classy,” Allegra murmurs, but she’s grinning as she throws the car door open wide, tossing her tartan blanket onto the dash. For a mafia princess, she’s fonder of sweatshirts and sneakers than dresses and heels. Designer sweatshirts, but still.

  “Stay close. Don’t speak to anyone.”

  “No shit.”

  Allegra gathers her wild black curls into a high ponytail, the salty breeze tugging on her tresses. Securing a hair tie with a snap, she glances at me. “I didn’t think you could enter places with such a high fat content on the menu. You gonna burst into flames if you step in there, doc?”

  Hilarious.

  I lead the way across the gravel lot.

  We weren’t followed on the drive. It’s been forty minutes since we saw another pair of headlights, and they went in the opposite direction. No one knows we’re here, but adrenaline still makes my heart race. Danger is an everyday part of our world, but when it’s Allegra on the line…

  I catch her wrist by the front door. Her pulse thrums under her soft skin, and I try not to fixate on how good she feels in my grasp. “I’ll scope out the exits. You find a booth with good eyelines.”

  A loud huff. “This is not my first rodeo.”

  No, it’s not.

  “Are you armed?”

  Allegra’s smile is toothy. “Of course.”

  Good. Fine. Squaring my shoulders, I push inside the diner. A radio plays softly, crackling over the speakers, and there’s an older man curled around a coffee mug near the window. The cook and the waitress lean together by the hatch, chit-chatting. The windows are steamed.

  At the sight of us, the cook shuffles back into the kitchens. Allegra tugs her wrist free and sashays toward a booth in the far corner.

  “Hey, folks! A late one tonight, huh?”

  The waitress plucks two menus from the counter and heads after Allegra, beaming at me on her way past, but I don’t follow. The kitchen is warm and smells like frying oil when I slip inside.

  I check the kitchen and both sets of bathrooms. Each booth and the cleaning closet. I finish up with a final lap around the outside of the building, then stride across the sticky checkerboard tiles and slide into the booth opposite Allegra.

  “Well, there you go, honey,” the waitress says to Allegra, one ample hip cocked. “Told you some fresh air would see your husband right.”

  The mafia princess smiles at me, deadly and slow. “Hi, baby. You feeling better?”

  She’s playing a role, but hearing her call me baby makes my stomach drop. So pathetic. “Much better. Thank you.”

  We order coffees and two waters, my leg jiggling under the table. Remembering Allegra’s earlier dig about my diet, I order a basket of fries to share, too.

  “How decadent,” she says once the waitress is gone, tracing a scratch in the table with a polished nail. “It truly is a Christmas miracle.”

  With the diner secured and the De Rossi mansion hours behind us, I look at Allegra properly for the first time tonight. She looks tired, and thinner than last month. Swamped by her midnight blue sweatshirt, her shoulders sag with defeat.

  Fuck, I hate this. I hate seeing Allegra’s light dimmed by even a few watts, and I hate knowing that she’d be happier if Diego were here and not me. They’d be chatting and ordering burgers, telling each other awful jokes and savage stories. Is her low mood because Santo sent her away? Or because I have this effect on her?

  For the record: I didn’t always make her droop. Once upon a time, Allegra lit up when I walked into a room.

  That was a long time ago. Now, the young woman across from me looks ready to take a hundred year nap.

  “You can stretch out in the back seat after this,” I tell her, shrugging out of my coat and folding it on the red vinyl booth seat beside me. “If you sleep the rest of the way, you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  “You have no idea how I’ll feel,” she says, tone bored.

  “I am a doctor.”

  “But not a mind reader.” Her smile is cool. “Anyway, you’ll be the one trying to digest fat for the first time in a decade. Worry about yourself, Dr Ossani.”

 

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