This is the part where you begin wondering if I’m actually this naïve. I’m not. I’m far from naïve. I may be a midtown girl now, but I was born and raised in Bensonhurst.
Born and raised in Bensonhurst. Whenever someone hears this phrase, they automatically assume I must be related to a crime family. Some people are brazen enough to come right out and ask me – in a joking manner, as if that makes the question less inappropriate. I just chuckle and say something like, “Wouldn’t that be cool if I was?” That’s what people want to hear.
People don’t want to know the truth. They don’t want to know that I left my entire family behind at the age of eighteen, except for the occasional phone call to my mother. They don’t want to know that I chose a job in law enforcement with the hopes of sending my family a message. That message: I want nothing more to do with them. They especially don’t want to know the things I’ve seen. Because people who idolize the mafia actually think that being the daughter of a crime boss is glamorous.
They imagine me in my fur coat, diamond encrusted fingernails. Maybe I’m dangling a designer handbag from my arm, stuffed with an adorable teacup Chihuahua. They imagine men who aren’t afraid to get their hands bloody, coming home and using those same hands to rip off my lacy panties and claim me. They imagine a sexy, sinful cocktail of glamor spiked with a large dose of unyielding power.
For the most part, they’re right. But they still haven’t seen what I’ve seen. And what I saw in my living room, at the tender age of thirteen, was my father strangling a man I had come to know as Uncle Frank. A crime for which he was never punished, despite the many times my father has been in and out of jail for pettier crimes. The truth is that I barely know my father. I hope that never changes.
I look into Lita’s wide gray eyes and I lie. “I was at August’s apartment last week.” I clap her arm awkwardly. She shakes her head so I lean in to hug her goodbye. “Enjoy your trip to Poughkeepsie. I’m sure your mom will have plenty of potato salad and honey-glazed ham to fatten you up.”
“Don’t rub it in.”
She releases me and her fingers glance over my forearm as she walks away. As I watch her set off toward Grand Central Terminal, all I can think is that I am naive. I am so naive. I haven’t been to August’s apartment in four months.
I spin around to face the street and flag down the first cab. I’m going to August’s apartment. I’m going to demand to know what is wrong with us. I’m twenty-three years old with a gorgeous twenty-five-year-old boyfriend who never takes me to his apartment. I know what he’s going to say. He’s going to say it’s because I prefer midtown to the lower east side. Avoiding his apartment is just his way of trying to be agreeable. I’m not falling for that.
I throw my arm out angrily, determined to hail a cab and fly to August’s apartment on a wind of fury. But the first car that stops for me is not a taxi. It’s a shiny black SUV. And before I can step aside to try to hail a real cab, a man appears at my side, his fingers discreetly curling around my wrist.
“Your car is here.” His dark eyes are locked on mine, never blinking, not even as the SUV door is flung open. “Your father needs to speak to you.”
That’s all he has to say.
Click here to purchase Knox: Volume 1.
Click here to purchase Knox: Complete Series.
Also by Cassia Leo
EROTIC ROMANCE
KNOX Series
LUKE Series
CHASE Series
UNMASKED Series
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Forever Ours (Shattered Hearts #1)
Relentless (Shattered Hearts #2)
Pieces of You (Shattered Hearts #3)
Bring Me Home (Shattered Hearts #4)
Abandon (Shattered Hearts #5)
Chasing Abby (Shattered Hearts #6)
Black Box (stand-alone novel)
PARANORMAL ROMANCE
Parallel Spirits (Carrier Spirits #1)
About the Author
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cassia Leo loves her coffee, chocolate, and margaritas with salt. When she’s not writing, she spends way too much time watching old reruns of Friends and Sex and the City. When she’s not watching reruns, she’s usually enjoying the California sunshine or reading – sometimes both.
EDIBLE: THE SEX TAPE
by Cassia Leo
http://cassialeo.com
First Edition. Copyright © 2014 by Cassia Leo.
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Cassia Leo.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without expressed written permission from the author; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.
All characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cassia Leo, Edible: The Sex Tape
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