The Claim Read online

  www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

  Copyright © 2011 by Billy London

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including but not limited to: printing, photocopying, faxing, recording, electronic transmission, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior written permission from the authors or holders of the copyright.

  This book is a work of fiction. References may be made to locations and historical events; however, names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), businesses, events or locales is either used fictitiously or coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  Published by

  Beautiful Trouble Publishing, LLC

  PO Box 61

  Colfax, NC 27235

  www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

  Cover Art: Les Byerley, http://www.les3photo8.com/

  Editor: Stephanie Parent

  Proofreader: Novellette Whyte

  http://authorgurunovellette.blogspot.com/

  Formatting: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/

  E-book conversions: Jim & Zetta http://www.jimandzetta.com/

  ISBN: (e-book) 978-1-61788-241-8; (print) 978-1-61788-242-5

  For Jayha and The Jeanie for getting behind this Knight and kicking the others down the list.

  For my friends who have wiped out my disappointments with their shoulders, their laughter

  and a martini.

  For my godfather, who taught me that there are true gentlemen in the world. I will miss you forever and a day.

  NOTE ABOUT EBOOKS

  eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving away eBooks is a copyright infringement. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author or Beautiful Trouble Publishing.

  CAVEAT

  This work of erotica contains adult language and sexually explicit scenes, which are smoking hot. This book is intended only for adults, as it is defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made. Keep this book out of the hands of under-aged readers.

  Glossary

  A Tweet Moment: (phrase) homage to author Dréa Riley, singer Tweet and her song “Oops (Oh My)” and having alone time to pleasure oneself.

  Bedda: (noun) Sicilian dialect for beautiful.

  Blind arse mick: (phrase) (colloquialism) to take liberties

  Blouse and skirt: (phrase) a Jamaican phrase commonly used as a mild expletive such as ‘oh shit’

  Fetuso: (noun) Sicilian dialect for motherfucker.

  Gurn: (verb) to make a face associated with one who is typically under the influence of alcohol or drugs.

  Michia: (noun) Sicilian dialect for cock.

  Off licence: (noun) a shop permitted to sell alcoholic drinks for consumption elsewhere.

  Picciottu: (noun) Sicilian dialect for boy.

  PACE: (legislation) Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984.

  Tempesta: (noun) Sicilian dialect for storm.

  Prologue

  Once upon a time, long, long ago, Rocco Mamione thought he was going to marry the most beautiful princess in the land. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know or that his family had no idea just how serious he was. All he could see was a bright and beautiful future with his princess. And he could not wait for it to start.

  Rocco envisioned that he and the princess would storm the legal world and together become an invincible force of justice. Sadly for Rocco, this was not to be. The princess was to suffer a spell of deceit, and his father was to be plagued by a spell of betrayal. A keep of dragons prevented Rocco from lifting the spell from either his princess or his father, and he lost them both.

  Time passed for Rocco in a mire of sadness, stoned in behind an ice-cool facade. He studied. He learned. He gathered knowledge of such power that his name was whispered before he arrived anywhere of import. As he aged, he watched as those closest to him found their happiness. Friends who had waited for their true love. Friends who had played the jester and found the one person who appreciated their precarious balance of festivity and downright rudeness. One development that particularly stung was that Massimo Da Canaveze was on his second marriage, and Rocco was yet to enter into a single relationship of importance. By “importance,” Rocco meant one that truly matched the love he’d had for his princess. The love he still had for her.

  It came to be that Rocco was compelled to challenge the keep of dragons and rescue his princess, because goddammit, Rocco was fucking tired of being by himself.

  Chapter One

  Just let me get to the office without anyone interrupting T.I. in the middle of his flow. Anna increased the volume on her iPod even as she caught sight of a colleague out of the corner of her eye. She had no desire to talk to anyone, not this early in the morning. This was her quiet time, before the madness and chaos and the “why wasn’t this done already?” began.

  “Good morning, Ms. Taylor.”

  Anna heard him during a dip in the music. With a resigned sigh, she turned off the iPod. “Morning.”

  “’Citing, isn’t it?”

  Anna glanced over. “What is?”

  “Charles finally landed that lawyer he’s been after for ages. He’s announcing it today. His secretary sent me a text about a half hour ago.”

  Rolling her eyes, Anna pushed through the heavy glass doors of the office. “Great.” Charles Piper, senior partner extraordinaire, was always after whatever new bit of legal flesh would bring money, notoriety and again more money.

  She flashed her ID badge at security and jumped into the first available elevator before Dingbat could join her. Really. Announcing a new solicitor. Who did that? When she received her partnership, it was announced via e-mail. Yes, she’d received flowers and whatnot for climbing to the top faster than a rat in high water—not her words—but what could be so special about this new solicitor that it warranted interrupting a hazelnut latte and deleting unnecessary e-mails?

  Everyone was gathered in the large foyer, half the firm seated. Tall enough to see over people’s heads, Anna took an involuntary step backwards at who was standing next to Charles and trod on Dingbat’s foot.

  “So sorry, Ms. Taylor.”

  “Quiet,” Anna snapped, rage bubbling in her chest. What. The. Fuck. Was. This? If Anna managed to swallow her own saliva right now, it would be hailed as a medical marvel.

  “Good morning, everyone!” Charles clapped his age-spotted hands for attention. Anna would admit the man was savvy, even that she liked him on occasion, but he was still a money-hungry old goat and this, this decision of utter madness, just proved it. “Sorry for the brief notice, but it’s news too good not to share on a wonderful morning such as this. Finally, after much courting—the likes of which I haven’t done since Mrs. Piper agreed to be my wife—Rocco Mamione is officially a partner of Piper & Co. today.”

  Anna flicked her music back on, drowning out the surprised cheers, and turned away to her office. She didn’t need to hear applause or any more arse kissing—she was done. Options started flicking through her head. Harrow Juniors wanted her to build an employment law department. She’d been speaking to the dean of her old university about perhaps taking up a position as a lecturer. Then she stopped herself. Fuck that, she had worked hard to get to where she was now, why walk out? I’ll give you one guess, her brain mutinied.

  It was bound to happen. Regardless of how many lawyers could fill the bottom of the Atlantic, the legal world was a small one. Too small. She switched on her co
ffee machine and took out the milk, methodically discarding her coat, putting her bag on the nearest chair and turning on her computer.

  Calm down, she told herself, pulling the buds from her ears. It’s not that bad.

  Her secretary burst into her office, a huge grin on her face. “We’ve got Satan’s lawyer! Isn’t that amazing?”

  “You tell that to God on Judgement Day,” Anna drawled.

  “He’s gorgeous! I can imagine him working out with dumbbells, in a wife beater and sweat pouring down that chest every morning before he suits up.”

  “Fascinating. Can you grab the Martins Ltd. file for me? The director’s coming here in about twenty minutes, and I want to remind myself that there’s a point to this work.”

  Her secretary frowned. “You never look a gift eye-candy horse in the mouth. What’s your deal with him?”

  “No deal. I just don’t like anyone who pays their way into a job.”

  “Because you didn’t?”

  Anna smirked. “Ask Kate. She sees more of Charles’ money than Charles does himself. She’d know if I’d paid a penny to that man for this job.”

  “Sorry, Anna—”

  “File, please. Time is of the essence and all.”

  Her secretary turned out sharpish. Anna sat down and ran the tips of her fingers over her desk, trying to move the trembling out of her system. Calm down.

  Saying that is not working.

  Try it and it might, you stubborn cow.

  Anna breathed out slowly once, opened her eyes and looked at her screen. The first e-mail that flashed up was Meeting with New Partner.

  Anna,

  Rocco wants to work with you on a particular project. Very high profile. Lots of mullah. Can we three meet about it later today? Bernie told me you have a free slot at lunchtime.

  Best wishes

  Charles

  She fired one straight back.

  No lunch today, Charles. And I’m to capacity at the moment.

  “Doesn’t look like it,” Charles said lightly, coming to sit opposite her, tapping at his phone. Goddamn smartphones. They entirely ruined the premise of a decent lie.

  “I’ve got too much work on. I’m sure Mr. Mamione has more than enough contacts to get a file turned over. He doesn’t need my help.”

  “It’s sensitive.”

  “And I should feel a welling in my eyes because?”

  Charles visibly struggled with a smile. “When did you get so steely?”

  She flicked an eyebrow. “I’m a black woman in the legal profession. Do you think I’d have survived if I was as soft as bread?”

  “Oh please don’t start on the virtues of the Equality Act. You did a two-day seminar for all of us, and as much as that was appreciated, my old heart can’t take anymore. Now, you and Rocco.”

  Another jolt in the throat at those three words. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “He’s brought a wealth of clients with him.”

  “All legitimate?”

  “Yes. We need a white-collar criminal department and it will run like silk. Those same white-collar criminals will need employment advice. It goes hand-in-hand.”

  “Not really. Why are you pushing him on me?”

  “Because the only reason he agreed to the partnership was to work with you.”

  You know what, Mamione? Game fucking on. “You really should have spoken to me first then, Charles,” Anna replied, getting to her feet and making her hazelnut latte. “Do you want one?”

  “No, thank you. Those things rattle my fillings. Anna, whatever your history with him, I know you are extremely professional. Far too professional to let that get in the way of a fantastic, career-defining case.”

  Anna slammed the coffeepot down. “Stop it now. I said no. That’s the end of it.”

  “I’m still senior partner.”

  “Good for you.” Anna beamed. “You carry on pressing me and I won’t see any other reason not to set up my own firm.”

  Charles’ bushy grey brows came together. “You wouldn’t. You hate administration.”

  “Try me,” she challenged.

  “Lunch. One thirty on the dot. The car will pick you and Rocco up. You can air out your differences on the way to the Ivy.”

  Jesus. “Charles, can you hear what I’m saying, or are you hearing what you want to hear?”

  “Hearing what I want to, as always.” With the sprightliness of a man half his age, he leapt to his feet. “See you at one thirty.”

  “But—”

  “Still your boss,” he reminded her gently, closing the office door behind him.

  The churning in her gut intensified. Why were people ultimately so fucking rude and self-satisfied? Anna took one sip of the coffee and the churning became a full washing-machine spin of bile. Fine. The next person to step foot in her office was going to get reamed, no two ways about it.

  The meeting with the director of Martins Ltd. was brutal. For the director. Anna had a feeling she’d be getting an e-mail from Human Resources about her client care, but fuck it, if they didn’t act as if their brains had been fermenting in acid for the last decade, she’d be a bit nicer to them. Once he left, the humming started.

  “What are you singing?” she demanded of her secretary.

  “Hard Knock Life.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” she mused. “I went past Mr Mamione’s office and there’s a veritable Starbucks going on outside it. I think that’s when I started—”

  “I got it.” Anna closed her office door and made her way to Rocco’s office. It was like some boy band had camped in an all-girls’ boarding school. Ridiculous. People, whom she knew had work to do, were all milling around.

  “Hey, Annie.” One of the twenty-odd partners smiled at her over a foam-topped mug. “Come to get some muffins? I think there are only a few left.”

  “You like working here, don’t you?” Anna said gently.

  “Erm...”

  “And you know that I personally drew up your partnership agreement, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I don’t—”

  “So what makes you think I don’t know every single last loophole that will get you out of here with barely the silver-framed photo of your family in a cardboard box, if you ever call me Annie again?”

  “Sorry. Anna. It’s just—”

  “What?”

  “I called you Annie,” a deep voice interrupted, which sent a ripple of awareness over her. It had been six years since she’d heard his voice, and he didn’t look a single wrinkle different from when she’d met him at law school. Sucked that he hadn’t shrunk at all and that he still towered over her, four-inch heels be damned.

  “You are determined to die at my hands, aren’t you?” she said with the smallest of smiles.

  Rocco dipped his immaculate head and waved a hand into his office. She opened her mouth to refuse and saw the partner, still trembling from her earlier threat, watching them carefully. Anna knew office politics well enough to not give any more fuel to that fire and walked in.

  Rocco closed the door gently and placed his hands in his well-cut trouser pockets. “Weren’t you going to say hello to me?”

  “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. What are you doing here?”

  That beautifully moulded mouth of his tilted upwards. “I do hope you don’t talk to your clients like that.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I have a situation which calls for the best employment solicitor in London. That would be you.”

  She snorted. “I could have saved you the trouble.”

  “I like trouble,” he said quietly, dark eyes sliding over her frame, from her head to the very tip of her toes. “You look good, Annie.”

  “You look like Bugsy Malone. What is this? You were fine in your grotty corner dealing with grotty, bonus-fattened bankers in the city.”

  “And as much fun as legal and financial liposuction was, I have a situation. Family.”

  O
h, the cursed word. What wasn’t more important than family in his world? “So I have to deal with my valid dislike for your general being for your family.”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “I fucking mind.”

  Rocco gave a soft sigh. “I know you do. Which is what makes you perfect. You’ll do the best job to prove that it’s all business and no pleasure.”

  “I don’t trust you,” she seethed. “If I can’t trust you outside of the office, what the hell makes you think I’ll do it on the back of my practising certificate?”

  “Because you’re the best,” he said simply. To have that accolade from someone like him, on the face of things, would have been whisky-warming pleasure. But still. It was coming from the snake from the Garden of Eden. All flattery and guaranteed hell on earth.

  With a tug on the frayed edges of her temper, Anna said, “You can go for anyone, a silk if you wanted.”

  “I want you.”

  All right, gloves off. “You’re doing this because having a female not fawning over you to take her over every available surface grates on your personage.”

  He blinked and the pause, Anna knew, was to enjoy the shock value of whatever retort he was cooking up. “Annie, I’ve had you over every available surface. Snow is still my favourite. Honestly, though, I do need your help.”

  “Spin on it,” she flashed, turning on her heel and throwing open the door. One of them was leaving this firm, and it was not going to be her.

  Chapter Two

  Rocco released a pent-up breath. Well, that could have been worse. He was still intact and not in a body bag at the very least. Christ, that woman was pure fire, and to be fair, it wasn’t entirely unexpected. He absolutely detested being at a disadvantage personally, but it had to be done all above board. He’d promised.

  Elisabetta “Nonna” Mamione was properly pissed off, and with good reason. You did not spend thirty-odd years building a business off the back of your family recipes only to be unceremoniously tossed aside by a new owner. “I want to sue the fucker,” Nonna had said.