Chapter 1

Shanna

 

Cinderella never doubted her social skills. A new dress and glass shoes gave her all the self-confidence she needed to walk in and dance with the prince. Too bad I didn’t have a fairy godmother or a pumpkin carriage to get me through my best friend’s engagement party.

Who am I kidding? It’s going to take a lot more than pixie dust to survive tonight.

I’d rather have a root canal than spend a night hobnobbing with New Orleans’ rich and infamous. Then again, high society events and dentistry had a lot in common. Both were agony made barely tolerable by copious amounts of numbing agents.

Don’t get me wrong, I was happy for the newly engaged couple. They’d managed to do the impossible, find love.

Me? I’d long since stopped believing in knights in shining armor riding in on white horses to save the day. Heck, if my prince ever did arrive, he’d be a misogynist pig, and his noble steed would shit on my lawn.

Nope. I didn’t believe in love and romance any more than I believed in fairy-tales. I’d learned to doubt men when my father left. My doubt had solidified into a cynical distrust when I started working for a private investigator.

I loved my job…most of the time. Tonight? Not so much.

Two hours hiding behind a planter in a hallway of the Bourbon Orleans Hotel could do that to a girl. If I didn’t shoot some video of the mayor and his flavor of the week soon, I’d never make it to Maggie and Gabe’s party on time.

Over the previous few days, I’d photographed the elected official with a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead—variety was the spice of life after all. Tonight’s spice was an Amazonian woman with dark hair and legs that belonged in the WNBA.

Most of the good citizens of New Orleans knew their mayor was a cheating piece of crap, but I needed proof. So far, I’d filmed them exchanging documents and what I assumed were envelopes of cash. However, Mrs. Carter wasn’t interested in her husband’s dirty politics.

Pictures might be worth a thousand words, but for me, an incriminating video was a month’s rent, and the difference between pasta at Antoine’s and ramen noodles.

The mayor and the brunette exited their room without as much as a boob graze, but I took a couple of photos to document the time.

I hiked my bag higher and strolled down the hall. My boss had taught me the key to maintaining one’s cover was to blend in, act like you belonged, and deny, deny, deny. Alex was a top-notch private investigator, but he knew squat about being a female in a male profession.

As such, I took a slightly different approach. I stood out and acted like I didn’t give a flying fig.

The couple stepped into the elevator. I picked up my pace and jammed a size eight Doc Marten in the closing doors. Once inside, I ignored their frowns and swiped right to activate my smartwatch spy camera. Aiming the lens at the couple, I pretended to scroll through my phone and prayed for him to break his freaking vows.

Jefferson Carter, father of three, and husband of twenty-six years, did not disappoint. He kissed the Amazon like he was trying to eat her face off. Seriously, I’d seen cows chewing cud with more finesse.

The recording rolled the entire time. Gotcha, asshole.

The elevator stopped, and we stepped out. The mayor and the woman turned right while I faked a left and ducked back once they were out of sight. Peeking around the corner, I eased my watch into position and continued to record them. Afterall, when proving infidelity, quantity often trumped quality.

The brunette’s eyes went wide. “Hey! Stop!”

Busted.

Carter didn’t scare me, but his playmate looked like she could pick me up and toss me out the window without chipping her nail polish. I made a break for the exit and didn’t stop until I reached Royal Street. Heart pumping, thigh muscles screaming, I bent at the waist to catch my breath.

The bells of St. Louis Cathedral chimed seven times, reminding me I was late for Maggie and Gabe’s party. The Marchionni-Guthrie nuptials would take place in Sicily, but the couple’s mothers had strong-armed them into holding a pre-wedding event—a black-tie event. My jeans and T-shirt weren’t going to cut it.

Lucky for me, I’d been a boy scout in a former life. Always be prepared.

I headed down Royal and ducked into Landry & Sons Antiques.

The owner, and one of my oldest friends, glanced up from his paperwork. “Shanna, what a surprise.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Jack.” I pointed to the backroom without slowing my pace. He might or might not have groaned, not that I cared. I had places and people and all that jazz.

Five minutes later, I emerged from the stockroom in a vintage dress that would make Jackie Kennedy drool and a pair of second-hand Jimmy Choo knock-offs. “How do I look?”

He quirked a single brow and motioned for me to turn. “Wrinkled.”

I smoothed the fabric over my hips. “It was in my bag all day.”

Jack, bless his heart, walked to a jewelry case and pulled out a necklace. “Here. Put this on, and no one will notice the dress.”

The thing looked like it cost more than my car. “I can’t. What if I lose it?”

“It’s insured.” He motioned me closer. “A girl has to look the part, even if the girl lives on a dental floss budget.”

I turned my back to him. “The term is shoe-string.”

“Honey, in your case, it’s more like thread.” Jack fastened the necklace and spun me around. “Gorgeous, but you’re late.”

“I know. I know. I was working.” I zipped my backpack and hoisted it to my shoulder.

“Leave the bag.” He pointed at my wrist. “And the watch.”

“I can’t. I don’t have a purse and this dress doesn’t have pockets.” I batted my lashes. “And without my watch, how will I know how many steps I’ve taken?”

This time, Jack did groan. “One of these days, I’ll make a girl out of you.”

Laughing, I handed over my backpack and spy watch. “It’s woman, and no thanks.”

“Well, you’re all woman tonight.” His voice came out somewhere between strangled and breathy.

I turned and caught him checking out my ass. That’s new. “Thanks, Jack.”

“I have a gold brocade bag in back that will match the embroidery on your dress…”

I’d wasted another ten minutes, but Jack had hooked me up with an antique clutch and earrings.

“Thanks. You’re the best.” I planted a kiss on his cheek.

“So you keep saying.” He looked me over as if I were one of his antiques. “Remember, be polite, smile a lot, and for God’s sake, don’t talk about religion or politics.”

“Not a problem. I don’t plan on talking to anyone except Maggie and Dahlia, and all we gab about is sex.” I checked my reflection one last time. Thanks to the ballcap I’d worn on the stakeout, my hair stuck out at odd angles. I smoothed the short pieces in hopes of achieving an Audrey Hepburn vibe.

“Live a little. Branch out. Cozy up to one of the Marchionni brothers before they’re all married off.” He sounded like he’d swallowed something foul.

No-freaking-thank-you. “If you’re so interested in the Marchionnis, you should come to the party as my plus one.”

Jack lowered his brows. “Unless you’re proposing a threesome, I’ll have to pass.”

“Now there’s a mental picture I’ll never be able to un-see.”

In all honesty, Jackson Landry had it going on in the looks department, but he was like a brother to me. The thought of him getting busy with anyone, male or female or anything in between, gave me the heebie-jeebies. As for the Marchionnis, they could bump uglies with whoever they wanted as long as it wasn’t me.

He wrapped his hands around my upper arms and waited until I met his gaze. “Seriously, Shoshanna, isn’t it time you let someone in besides your cat?”

“Hey, don’t you dare besmirch Mr. Boogerre. He’s soft, round, and is happy as long as I feed him. He’s the perfect man.”

“Stop deflecting.” Jack folded his arms. “There are men in this world who would never hurt you if you’d only give them a chance.”

“I know, but if I set the bar any lower, I’ll have to bury it.” Best-guy-friend or not, I didn’t have time for this conversation. “I have dated, and I’ve learned battery-operated-boyfriends are a better bet. Less disappointment.”

“You’re deflecting again.”

“Bye, Jack.” I shook my head and exited the shop.

I didn’t hate men or anything. I just didn’t have much luck playing the dating lottery. I’d shared few magical hours with Enzo Marchionni, a card-carrying member of the Bourbon Street Bad Boys Club. After which, I’d spent my nights on the phone and my days texting with him. For a brief shining moment, I’d thought we had a connection.

Enzo asked me to dinner, but he’d canceled and ghosted me like a bad Tinder hook-up. A few days later, I’d caught him with an Italian super-model type.

Fool me once and I’ll never give you the chance to do it again.

Heels clicking on the uneven sidewalk, I hurried toward Enzo’s, as in Lorenzo Marchionni, AKA the Ghoster. It made sense he’d host his older brother’s engagement extravaganza, but I’d rather have eaten out of trash cans than set foot in his restaurant.

The things we do for our friends.

I’d agreed to be Maggie’s maid of honor the second she’d asked. A few moments later, I’d realized my duties would entail seeing a lot of Enzo and rubbing elbows with NOLA society. Not that my friends and I belonged to the upper crust, or lower for that matter. We lived in the middle of the pie between the chunks of chicken and peas.

I rounded the corner and groaned. It looked like a luxury car dealership had exploded in front of the restaurant. As I’d predicted, the engagement party was the social event of the season.

Squaring my shoulders, I weaved my way through the cars and guests.

Maggie, the bride-to-be, climbed out of a limo. “Shanna! Perfect timing.”

I gave her a quick hug and found myself one breath away from a wardrobe malfunction. “Strapless dresses weren’t invented for women with B-minus cup sizes.”

“You look gorgeous.” She looped her arm with mine.

I took in her flowy pale blue dress and matching heels. “Thanks. So do you. Where’s Gabe?”

“Something came up at work. He’s meeting me here.” Maggie squared her shoulders and raised her chin. She might have tried for calm, cool, and collected, but I knew better. The woman was as nervous as a cat in a dog yard.

I squeezed her hand. “You got this.”

“I’ll feel better once I’m inside.”

“Morning sickness?”

“More like morning, noon, and night sickness.”

“Are you going to survive a transatlantic flight tomorrow?” I hated to think of her spending the trip from New Orleans to Sicily in an airplane bathroom, even if said bathroom was on a private jet.

“We’re flying at night. I plan to sleep unless this little one has other ideas.” She rubbed her slightly bulging belly.

After two months of listening to Maggie describe the early stages of her pregnancy, I had absolutely no desire to experience motherhood. “You had to know this baby would be a pain in your butt. Look at its father.”

“Be nice.” Laughing, Maggie slapped my arm. “And relax. You might actually enjoy yourself tonight.”

“I doubt it. I’m not comfortable around these people. All of this wealth makes me break out in hives.”

She lowered her voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “They aren’t all bad.”

“So you keep telling me.”

Maggie was right. They weren’t all bad. I’d changed my mind about her fiancé, Gabe, after he’d proven himself to be a stand-up kinda guy. Though he’d broken her heart years before, he’d proved that some bad boys can morph into good men. I mean seriously, it took a spine of steel to raise five kids, three of whom were not his.

Too bad his younger brother hasn’t emerged from his cocoon as a hot, successful, butterfly with a heart of gold.

The moment we walked inside, people swarmed the bride-to-be. I took the opportunity to slink away and find the bar. No way could I get through the night without alcohol.

“Shanna.” The man’s voice made my toes curl and my hands ball into fists.

I turned ready to give Enzo Marchionni the brush off of his lifetime but stopped short. Enzo hadn’t said my name, Gabe had. Great, not only did the brothers all look alike—evidently they sounded alike, too.

The groom-to-be took a step back and raised his hands. “Easy tiger.”

“Sorry, thought you were someone else. Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I’ve been dealing with a situation.”

I turned my attention to the bartender. “I’ll have a Sazerac.”

“Make it two.”

“Should you be drinking Absinthe?” I noted the tension in his jaw and his rigid posture. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”

“About the wedding no.” Gabe dragged his hand over his mouth and chin. “I need a favor. A big one, but you can’t say anything to Maggie until after the party.”

“Unless it has something to do with a gift or the super-secret honeymoon plans—”

“It’s far more serious than that.” He lowered his voice. “Possibly life and death.”

I gave him a yeah-right look. Did he really expect me to keep secrets from my best friend since high school? “Go on.”

He glanced over the crowd as if he’d changed his mind, sucked in a breath, and whispered, “Someone poisoned the minestrone.”

Before I could make sense of what he’d said, I spotted the Amazonian I’d photographed with Mayor Carter.

The woman met my gaze. “You!”

I grabbed Gabe’s arm and pulled him toward the kitchen. “Let’s go investigate your poisoned soup.”

 

 

 

Chapter 2

Enzo

 

This is madness. I stood in the center of the kitchen surrounded by absolute chaos, and I loved every second of it. While I could do without the contaminated soup, there was no place I’d rather be than in my restaurant in complete control. I was the Sorcerer’s Apprentice waving a baton to command flood waters of his own making.

Head bowed, I listened to my assistant manager run through the revised menu for the evening. Not only had someone sabotaged the soup, the incident had sent the kitchen staff into panic mode.

I stopped her before she launched into alternative soup options. “Substitutions will take too long. We go with what we have.”

Her eyes widened and the color drained from her face. “But sir…”

“What am I missing?” I’d hired Hazel before the restaurant opened its doors. I trusted her implicitly. If she was worried, I had a problem.

“We planned for soup or salad. We don’t have enough greens and fruit prepped to serve all two-hundred and fifty guests.”

Son of a bitch. I had too much riding on this party to let something as inconsequential as pears and gorgonzola screw it up. I drew a deep breath and forced myself to speak at a normal volume. “Tell the prep crew I’ll pay bonuses if they get it done in the next fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” Hazel spun around and ran directly into an enormous rack of pre-plated salads.

I witnessed the catastrophe in slow motion. Pears, field greens, and heavy stoneware dishes crashed onto the tile—along with Hazel.

She clutched her arm to her chest and went as white as my chef’s coat.

“Are you all right?” I knelt before her and picked chunks of cheese from her hair.

“My wrist.” She looked down and swayed to the side.

I caught her before she managed to do any additional harm to herself. A quick glance at the unnatural angle of her hand told me she’d broken something. My vision went blurry, but I refused to pass out in front of my staff. Instead, I averted my gaze, pulled her closer, and shouted, “Someone call 9-1-1.”

“I don’t need an ambulance.” Her voice shook.

I disagreed. No way in hell would I allow her to suffer. What’s one more screw up in my family’s eyes? “I’ll drive you. Can you make it to my car?”

“What about the party?” Hazel shook her head.

It killed me to imagine my father’s disapproval if the dinner went sideways, but Hazel’s health had to take priority. “Your wellbeing is more important.”

“I appreciate the offer, but someone else should drive me.”

“I’ll take her.” Tara, one of my long-time servers, stepped forward.

Helping Hazel to her feet, I said, “Thank you. Please stay with her and keep me informed. She has my personal cell number. I’ll pay you double-time for the entire night, but please stay with her.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Tara dipped her chin and stared at me through her lashes. “Should I expect you at the hospital later?”

My brain short-circuited. She’d worked for me for years without a hint of flirting. I made a mental note to keep an eye on the situation. If it continued, I’d have to fire her. What the hell else can go wrong tonight? “I’ll be tied up here for hours. Just call me when she’s out.”

“I’ll be fine, Enzo. Stop worrying and focus on the food.” Hazel shambled toward the service exit. Her slow, unsteady gait concerned me. Normally, my assistant manager had two speeds—fast and Mach 5.

I waited until the back door closed and frowned at the ruined salads. “Everyone, listen up. We’re skipping the antipasti and going straight to the first course.”

The sous chef called out, “You heard the boss. Serve the pasta with pesto and Pecorino-Romano.”

I walked into the cooler to check the desserts. The cold, sugar-tinged air felt good against my face, and reminded me of Shanna. I should never have canceled our date. Better yet, I should have manned-up and told her the truth.

Right, because every woman dreams of a man telling her he’s enamored with her, but the relationship can go nowhere.

Grinning like a kid at a candy buffet, a busboy poked his head inside the cooler. “Enzo, someone’s asking for you at the service door.”

I figured his goofy expression meant the person asking for me was female, likely a hot female. It wasn’t unusual for patrons to ask to see the chef. Maybe Shanna had decided to leave the party and check in? The mere thought made my pulse race. I hadn’t been so ass over teakettle for a woman since high school—another reason I should put her out of my mind.

If it was only that simple.

“It’s the second woman I’ve let in tonight.” The kid shook his head. “Must be good to be the king.”

I ignored his comment. The last thing I needed were my employees thinking I had a revolving bedroom door. “In the future, don’t let anyone in the kitchen unaccompanied. In case you missed it, someone poisoned the soup.”

His eyes widened. “I didn’t think about that. She was tall, with long dark hair, Italian accent. I figured you knew her.”

“Regardless, we don’t allow guests in the kitchen.” I nodded to the service door. “Tell whoever is waiting I will be right up.”

The kid hung his head and turned to leave. Before he reached the exit, the door swung open and the last person I expected, or wanted, to see strode in.

“Enzo!” Nicolina air-kissed both cheeks and wrinkled her nose. “You are so sweaty.”

What the hell is she doing here? The last time I’d laid eyes on her, she’d given me the finger and a nice view of her ass before slamming the door. “I work in a kitchen, Nico. What do you expect?”

“I expect you to smile when you see me.” She flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder.

I would smile, but I was certain it’d come across as a snarl. “Why are you here? I’m in the middle of work.”

“I came to surprise you. I’ve missed you.” She ran her hand over my cheek.

Missed me? I’d all but packed her bags and put her on a plane back to Paris when she’d shown up unannounced after the gala. “Nothing’s changed.”

Nico pushed her lower lip out. “None of that matters. It’s your brother’s engagement party. You shouldn’t be working. Come, join me.”

“I can’t. We’re short-staffed. I need tonight to be perfect.” Or as perfect as it could be after the rocky start.

She folded her arms. “Still trying to please your father?”

I ignored the jab. “I have to get back to work.”

“I came all the way from Paris and you can’t find time for me?”

“You should have called.”

“So you’ve said, but I’m here now.” Her tone grated my ears.

“I’ll join you for a drink after dessert is served.” I ducked into the prep area before she could argue.

Why here? Why tonight? We’d known each other since we were kids. At my mother’s urging, we’d gone out on a few dates years before. The time we’d spent together had sucked to the point I’d told her I didn’t want to see her anymore. Nico, being Nico, disagreed.

She followed me. “Don’t be ridiculous. We should be seen together.”

“I don’t see why.” I had to get rid of her so I could focus. Stinking of onions and garlic and sweat, I threw my arm around her designer clad shoulder. “We’re friends, nothing more. Which of us is being ridiculous?”

She pushed me away. “You’re filthy. Get cleaned up before we see your parents.”

“There is no we, and I’ve already seen my folks tonight. In case you missed it, Gabe just got engaged. I’m not getting sucked into that conversation with my mother. Again.”

Nicolina grabbed my chef’s coat and yanked me closer. “You’re not getting any younger. Maybe it’s time you started thinking about settling down.”

Here we go again. I hated to hurt her, but I’d already made myself clear on the matter. “We’ve had this conversation. I am settled down. I’m happily married to my restaurant.”

Nico lowered her voice to a purr. “You need someone to take care of you. To remind you what it is to laugh and enjoy life.”

“I laugh.”

Her words puzzled me. She’d never shown any desire to take care of anyone except herself.

“Honestly, Enzo. Why do you work so hard? It’s not like it’s your restaurant. It belongs to your father. Why doesn’t he hire someone to run it?”

“My name is on the sign.” I jerked free of her. “It’s mine in every way that matters.”

“When will you learn? Nothing you do will make your father proud.” She had the audacity to bat her lashes after she’d verbally kicked me in the balls.

Nico might have known me well enough to play me like a keyboard, but she’d forgotten familiarity went both ways.

“When will you learn to stop causing drama to get your father’s attention?”

“I have learned. I’ve grown up since we dated. I’m living my own life. Isn’t it about time you did the same?”

I’d heard enough. Time to cut to the chase. “Why are you here?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I missed you?”

“Yeah, it is.”

She threw her hands up. “Your mother called and told me about Gabe’s engagement. It got me thinking about you. About us.”

I nodded. This I could understand. Women tended to freak out when someone got married, pregnant, engaged—it started their clocks ticking or some shit.  What I didn’t understand was why my mother had called her of all people. “Nico…”

She slid her arms around me and pressed her face to my chest. “I’ve loved you since I was ten years old.”

“Listen.” I kept my hands at my sides. “We’ve tried.”

“I was little more than a child.”

And you’re still acting like one. “I don’t mean to hurt you, but I’m not interested.”

“I don’t believe you.” She narrowed her eyes. “Unless there’s someone else?”

Shanna danced across my mind. I should have called her. Had I reached out, I suspected I’d have a different answer to Nicolina’s question. “There’s no one else.”

“I’ll stay for a week. Spend time with you. See how things go?”

I scanned the ceiling. God, if you’re listening. I could use some divine intervention. “You think we can stand each other for a week straight?”

Likely sensing she’d won the argument, Nicolina grabbed my face. “We can if we spend most of it in bed.”

A sharp intake of breath caught my attention. I turned to find Shanna and Gabe staring—neither seemed amused.

Certain I looked as guilty as I felt, I took a step back. I couldn’t stop staring. Shanna’s unassuming beauty stole my breath. With very little make-up, a pixie-cut, and an embroidered dress, she reminded me of a heroine from one of the old black and white movies my mother loved so much.

“Nico, good to see you. When did you get into town?” My brother stepped forward and kissed her cheeks.

If she responded, I didn’t hear her over the whoosh of blood rushing behind my ears.

Shanna swallowed hard and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

I searched for something to say to her. Something that wouldn’t set Nico off.

“Gabe said someone poisoned the soup?” She scanned the busy kitchen. “Have you called the police?”

Nico whipped her head toward Shanna like a shark scenting blood in the water.

“I’d rather not involve the cops tonight and ruin the party.” I motioned for her to follow me.

Thank Christ, Gabe used his common sense and distracted Nico with wedding talk.

“Was anyone injured?” Shanna glanced from me to the bowl of minestrone I’d set aside.

“No. It smells horrendous. I doubt anyone would have put it in their mouths.” I couldn’t stop staring.

Why the fuck didn’t I call her? Because she scared the ever-loving-shit out of me. I’d never connected with a woman so deeply in such a short amount of time. I didn’t need a crystal ball to tell me it’d end with both of us in pain. She didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who’d settle for a fling, and I couldn’t give her more.

She smirked. “If no one was injured, there’s not really a problem.”

I panicked and babbled like an idiot to keep her with me a few more minutes. “The assistant manager slipped and fell. I sent her to the emergency room to get checked out. She’s fine. Probably a broken wrist, but fine. Unrelated to the soup, of course. She tripped over the salads.”

“Did someone poison the vinaigrette, too?” Shanna smiled and my world tilted.

“No.” I pressed my lips together to force myself into silence.

She sniffed the container of soup and jerked back. “It smells like nail polish remover, which makes zero sense.”

“How so?”

“If the culprit wanted to make people sick, they would have used something odorless. This seems more like sabotage. You have no idea who did this?”

“No. One of my bussers mentioned a woman stopped in to see me earlier. He let her in the kitchen, but she didn’t stick around to speak to me.”

“I see.” She glanced back to Gabe and Nico. “There’s nothing else I can do. You should file a police report.”

The last thing I needed was cops poking around. Scratch that. The last thing I needed was cops alerting the health department about my acetone soup. I shook my head and focused on the bigger problem—Shanna, and what she’d overheard. “Can we talk? Alone?”

“Did you lose my number?”

I tilted my head. “No.”

She patted my cheek. “You should.”