Téa Caruso had once been very, very bad. When she receives an invitation to her estranged grandfather’s eightieth birthday party, she wonders if today is the day she starts paying for it…

Excerpt From "An Offer He Can't Refuse "

An invitation to his birthday party, Tea thought once again, nerves fluttering in her belly as she drove to her lunch appointment. Why would Cosimo set a snare for her now?

Finally, she reached the Café Azul. Avoiding the eye of the hovering valet, she parked her Volvo wagon in what she preferred to term the “self-help” section of the lot and took the time to swipe a brush through her hair, a wet pinkie along each eyebrow arch, and clear gloss over her long-lasting lipcolor. Then, finger-ironing the seatbelt wrinkles from her dress, she hurried toward the café’s entrance.

Still mulling over the unexpected invitation, she was halfway across the parking lot when her heel caught in a crack and she found herself stumbling again. Without a car to catch her this time, she landed hard on the opposite leg. Maybe it was the jolt to her knee, maybe it was her quick gasp of air, but suddenly her common sense kicked in.

An invitation to his birthday party. So what? Big whoop. It wasn’t a royal decree or a legal summons. As a matter of fact, it was probably a mistake.

Hadn’t she successfully avoided her grandfather and all those who surrounded him for years?

There was no reason to think that would change now.

Even the shivery sixty-seven degrees of the restaurant's foyer couldn’t cool her more upbeat mood, nor did having to wait to speak to the harried hostess. "The rest of my party hasn't arrived," she said, when it was her turn. "But we have a reservation for Caruso."

“Caruso!" a voice echoed from behind her.
Startled, Téa glanced over her shoulder, but didn't recognize the forty-something brunette in a shantung silk suit the color of lemon sherbet.

"I'm sorry," the woman continued loudly. "But did you say your last name was Caruso?"

Téa tightened her grip on the strap of her purse. Usually, strangers never dared more than whisper about her family behind her back. She managed a stiff turn anyway. "Excuse me?"

The woman smiled. "My maiden name is Caputo. Caruso, so similar, leaped right out at me."

Téa's clenching hand relaxed.

"You're right," she replied. Noting again the woman's expensive outfit, she considered her current tower of bills and her ever-present need to drum up business. The smile she tacked on was full of warm good will. “The names are very much alike.”

"Not only that." Apparently encouraged, the woman stepped closer. “But ever since we moved to Palm Springs I've been hearing story after story about the infamous Carusos."

Téa's smile dropped away. Heat washed across her skin. "I'm not—I don't..." We're an ordinary family! All her life she'd wanted to say that.

Since she was twelve years old and her father had gone missing, presumed dead, she'd been unable to believe it.
The woman waved her hand. "Oh, no need explaining to me! I understand perfectly. People think if your last name ends in a vowel, then you're automatically in the Mafia. Ridiculous, right?"

Ridiculous, right. Women were supposed to be kept well clear of the illegal activities, and could never be members of La Cosa Nostra. The secret she kept hidden, the things she'd done, weren't the usual, even for a mob boss's daughter.

The stranger warmed to her subject. "The idea that an organization of brutish Italian thugs has power in this city, let alone the state, why that's television, not..." Her voice petered out as her attention strayed somewhere over Téa's shoulder.

The entire restaurant went quiet too, voices stilling, silverware and ice cubes ceasing to rattle. Through the glass entry doors in front of her, Téa saw a gleaming black limousine slither up to the front entrance.

Hadn’t she successfully avoided her grandfather and all those who surrounded him for years?

The question mocked her now as instinct commanded she sidle closer to the foyer wall. The action provided no real protection. As they approached from behind her—presumably from the restaurant's private room in the rear—their scent reached her on a rustle of the air. The faint yet distinct scent of expensive colognes. The citrus tang of shaving soap bladed away with a straight-edged razor.

When they drew nearer, she swore she could even smell the silk of their subtly patterned ties and the tropical-weight cashmere of their suits—never black, never gray, but putty or khaki or even celery, as if the lighter colors could disguise their dark reputation. The soles of their shoes—Italian leather, of course—murmured like rumors against the parquet floor.

Her father's memory came to her, unbidden, unwelcome. Unresolved.

Passing Téa, her grandfather and his cadre pretended not to see her, though she knew very well they did, realized they would have been told of her presence the instant her sling-back pump stepped through the restaurant's doors. But they followed her wishes, and she followed the six of them with her gaze as they exited.

"Who was that?" The other woman found her voice just as the limo creeped away.

The men of my family. My ordinary family. As if anyone, upon seeing them, would believe that.

Though they weren't your stereotypical organization of brutish Italian thugs, either. As head of a successful gourmet food company, the legitimate part of the world had crowned her grandfather the Sun-Dried Tomato King. To its underbelly he was known as the Cudgel. But to Téa’s mind, he and the others were much more like stilettos. Elegant, sharp, lethal.

They were the ones she’d been successfully avoiding for years. The ones who, until this moment, she’d believed she could continue successfully avoiding for years to come.

They were the Carusos...a.k.a. the California Mafia.

All About Eve...

A week after the big birthday bash, two of Salvatore Caruso’s three daughters sat on plush chairs in the elegant spa waiting room at the Kona Kai. Wrapped in luxurious robes, their new pedicures drying, they were lost in thought.

Men were on both their minds, Eve Caruso guessed. Her older sister Téa might be mooning over her Johnny, who was on business in Las Vegas for a few days. As for Eve…it was a relief, she thought, to finally know, once and for all, what had happened to their dad.

“You’re brooding,” Téa suddenly said. “That’s not like you.”

“Brooding?” Eve tried to scoff. “I don’t brood. I’m the party girl, remember?” Palm Springs favorite society columnist didn’t have time for gloom, not when the social season was just beginning to swing. Not when her old way of life was slipping like sand through her fingers.

“Where’s your Mercedes?” Téa asked. “In for repairs? That old Hyundai you’re driving looks like it won’t make it to the dry cleaners and back.”

It had made it to the designer consignment shop and then to the spa, just fine. “I sold the Merced,” Eve said, leaning over to pick up a glossy magazine instead of looking into her too-smart sister’s face. She didn’t want the family who had taken her in to know that her pride was one of the few things of value she had left. “I’m going to be getting a new model.” If she ever had the money again.

She flipped a page, staring at the spread of fancy jewels. Too bad she didn’t have any more of those to cash in as well. Damn the CEO she’d been dating and her own stupidity. His lousy insider stock tip had sucked away every last dollar she had. “Just so you know, I have my condo on the market too.”

“Looking for another upgrade?”

Eve shrugged.

Téa sipped from her glass of icewater and lemon slices. “Maybe Johnny and I should take a look at it. We need to find a bigger place—another house, but until then…”

“The two of you aren’t comfortable at the El Deseo property?”

“There’s bad memories…and good, but we need to find something that’s just our own.”

Her dour mood lifting, Eve smiled. Something, some secret, had held her sister back for years, but she seemed free of it now. “You know I’m glad for you. I’m so glad you’ve finally let a man into your life.”

“I recommend it.” Téa slid a glance at her. “Anyone capable of stealing your heart, Eve?”

“You know I won’t let that happen.”

“I know you like to tell us that.”

“It’s true.” Eve hoped to God it was true. Since she’d lost everything else, she had to hang onto her heart. “But in my case that doesn’t mean I turn my back on men. They have their uses.” Just don’t count on them for financial advice.

Téa gave a sly smile. “I’m beginning to figure that out.”

“Sex, the new anti-depressant.”

Her sister shook her head. “You mean love.”

“I do not—”

“You do not what?” Their younger sister Joey walked into the room on her heels, keeping her still-wet toes in the air. Her arms were filled with a stack of magazines.

“Téa’s going gooey on us.” Joey would understand where Eve was coming from. Their little sister had more men friends than any other woman she’d met, but she didn’t romanticize her relationships with them either. They were golf partners or tennis partners or sex partners, but the younger woman didn’t look for anything more than that. “I’m afraid Téa’s going to start dotting her i’s with little hearts.”

Joey made a face. “I thought it was you that did that. Remember? Seventh and eighth grade.”

Eve felt her cheeks grow hot. “You’re thinking of someone else.”

“It was you,” Téa confirmed. “In seventh and eighth grade and then again when you had that crazy infatuation for Nino Farelle.”

She didn’t want to talk about Nino Farelle. She didn’t want to think about him, because that made her remember that she’d caught sight of him far too often lately. After that one beating she’d realized he was the first of her stupid mistakes about men, but she swore now that the CEO whose stock tip had siphoned away her money would be her last. “Well I’ve learned my lesson now,” she said. “We’ll leave the hearts and flowers to Téa, eh, Joe?”

A funny expression crossed her little sister’s face. “Yeah. None of that mushy stuff for you and for me.”

“So what are those magazines?” Téa asked.

A blush was crawling up Joey’s neck now. “Oh, just, uh, part of my collection.”

“Collection of what?”

Their little sister hesitated. Then, with a scowl, she stomped forward and dumped the stack onto the table in front of Téa and Eve. The magazines fanned out. Issue after issue of Bride, Bridal, California Wedding, Down the Aisle, Of Veils and Vows.

Stunned, Eve and Téa shared a glance. Eve found her voice first. “You, our sister, you, Joey Caruso, collect bridal magazines?”

“What of it?” Joey crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought they might come in handy for someone and now they are. We need to plan a wedding—Téa’s wedding.” Her gaze moved to their older sister. “Thank me, Téa.”

“Thank you, Joe.” The words sounded faint.

Eve snickered. She couldn’t help herself. Joey, straightforward, no-nonsense, unsentimental Joey, was a closet nuptials geek.

Téa started laughing too.

Joey slumped into a third chair, then hid her face behind one of her precious magazines. Her shoulders shook.

It was good to hear them laugh, Eve thought. Despite their father, despite their individual secrets, despite the trouble brewing thanks to their grandfather’s impending retirement, they could still laugh.

She picked up one of the magazines and ran her fingers over the cover model’s frothy veil. Her life was in shambles, but she could put off thinking about it for a while. She glanced over at Téa, and saw that her big sister was already turning pages, her eyes dreamy, her face glowing with happiness. Definitely mooning over her Johnny now.

“We do have a wedding to plan,” Eve said. “Let’s get started.”