Lies We Hide in the Mirror

By Lavendar Ocean

In the Big Apple, Secrets Hurt--but Truth Kills

Four years ago, Alessandra Lucchese became Alex LaSalle.

Four years ago, a tragic accident caused her to changed her name and

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lavendar Ocean - Author, LLC
• Release date: May 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781087947181

Book preview

The Lucchese Family Crest

Lucchese Insignia

Chain of Command

As with any family of organized crime, there has to be a chain of command. What you are about to see is privileged information: information that not many have seen and lived to tell the tale.

Chain of Command

I

Ubiquity Part One

She gets out of the car and her bodyguard’s heart clenches in his chest. If only she knew. 

He pulls away from the curb, and heads to the back of the building to park the car in the underground garage. He’s worked as her head of security for ten years now. Her father is the mobster of mobsters, and Damian’s goal for as long as he can remember has been to pull her out of Big Joe’s sticky web. 

Big Joe owns everything that breathes whether they know it or not, from New Jersey to City Island. He takes no shit, and though he’s technically tied to the other four families, he’s the boss of bosses. It wasn’t completely by choice that Damian began to work for him, but once he was on the books, he was entrusted with the security of Big Joe’s daughter. He was relieved, though he never admitted that verbally. He assumed that meant he wouldn’t be getting his hands too dirty—he’d just drive her around town and keep her safe. No hits. No blood. No surprises. 

He was wrong. 

He beeps his watch against the pad next to the door as he climbs the steps from the garage up to the lobby. The building has four secret staircases, purposely built as escape routes for Big Joe’s greatest treasure: Alessandra. Big Joe would move heaven and earth to keep his daughter safe, and Damian is simply a fly in his massive web. 

Alessandra turns thirty-five this year, and she’s a lioness in her own right. She inherited Big Joe’s skill of dominating any room she walks into, and she’s sharp as a tack. She can dissect you in less time than it takes for you to introduce yourself. 

She received her doctorate in clinical psychology from Syracuse University about seven years ago, and has taken the world by storm since. After writing several books, she was shocked and somewhat bashful to receive not only awards for said books, but to hit several best seller lists. Now her days are busy top to bottom, booking therapy sessions six months in advance, helping couples and individuals in their psychological journeys through their sex lives. 

To anyone else, it would be uncomfortable, but Alessandra takes it in stride.

She’s a complete professional, and she’s helped countless back into healthy relationships with themselves and others. You’d never know that she has had such success by simply looking at the surface of her life. Though she lives comfortably with her own money, she’s never refused anything from Big Joe’s endless wallet. Despite this, however, she lives relatively simply for a person living in the Big Apple making six figures.

In her day-to-day life she is busy, a hardworking person, developing her strong work ethic from her father. Big Joe would be content giving her the world, but she prefers being independent and paving her own way. 

Alessandra has but one flaw which she struggles with on a daily basis. She is lonely. 

She handles it like any adult would, quietly. Moping around a lot of the time, thinking she hides it well enough that her family won’t notice the lingering storm cloud parked on her forehead. Family oftentimes is not that which we are born into, but composed of the people who truly care about us and want to see us happy.

Clara has been the head housekeeper since Alessandra was little, and Jules was hired about three years ago as her personal assistant. He coordinates all of her appointments and fields a lot of messages and mail so she doesn’t get too overwhelmed. Clara comes over at random intervals, and leaves food in the refrigerator and cleans anything that isn’t sparkling. 

Along with Damian, they comprise her family. Her mother passed several years ago, and she’s not close to her father. No one can blame her, really—how could one be close to a father that kills for a living? She has one brother, and he’s into some really shady shit, and would be mortified if Alessandra knew what he was up to. The secrets continue to pile up, no end in sight. She clings to her family more than she realizes, and they all love her in equal measure. Each of them would do anything for her, no questions asked. 

Alessandra carries a deep sadness in her heart, and it takes its toll on her every minute of every day. A few years ago, the love of her life unexpectedly passed away. She hasn’t been the same since. 

As Damian approaches the apartment door, he takes a deep breath and closes the door behind him as he steps inside. When his eyes land on her, she’s in a satin robe, and his jaw clenches almost painfully. A small smile graces his lips as his eyes land on her fuzzy socks. She looks incredible, and he thinks that deep down, she knows it—it’s just easier for her to ignore how attractive she is. 

Her skin is the perfect warm olive tone, and she has legs for days. She doesn’t exercise, but she has the natural combination of muscle and softness around her thighs and her middle. Her hips sway naturally whenever she walks, and she doesn’t force her aura to scream sensuality—it’s just who she is. 

Her hair is that of the typical Italian woman, thick and dark. When she moves, her hair is a shimmering black curtain that emits hues of black and purple in the depths. She only wears makeup when people outside of her inner circle are going to see her; otherwise, she has a glowing fresh face.

In Damian’s opinion, she doesn’t need makeup, but he recognizes that it’s her body and therefore her choice. Her skin is clear and she has full lips that she purses almost constantly. Thick brows fame the most stunning part of her face, her eyes. They are the color of honey when she’s happy, and a green that rivals Central Park in the summertime when she’s upset. 

Hey, D, she says softly when she sees him. He clears his throat and tries to get rid of the thought of her naked underneath him as he approaches the kitchen counter. It really doesn’t help that her go-to attire when she’s home is a satin robe with little to nothing underneath. He tries and fails to look anywhere but her soft skin. She’s oblivious to his glances, as she’s in her own little bubble of reality.

Hey, he rumbles in reply. The difference between their voices is a few octaves—her voice is light and soft, and his, for years now, has sounded like scraping two stones together. 

He is her senior by four years, which means he’s approaching forty, fast. She doesn’t really think anything of age, but he’s started to feel it. She’s reaching the prime of her life, and he’s having to increase his exercises to avoid getting too soft around the middle. 

Did you call him? he says, his voice low. She nods, and then turns to undoubtedly find a dessert in the refrigerator. Eating desserts is one of her favorite things to do, and one of her biggest comforts. Having found the one she wants, she grabs it, along with a bottle of water, and walks over to the couch. 

He didn’t answer, she mumbles as she tucks her feet underneath her and draws a blanket around her lap. It’s become a project of hers, figuring out what her twin brother is up to. She knows he’s Big Joe’s underboss, but she doesn’t know all of the other sketchy shit Giovanni is doing behind their father’s back. 

I’m sure he’s fine, just busy, he says automatically. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that her dear old brother is moving drugs and ammo from several countries. The less she knows, the better, because the more she knows, the more danger she’s in. 

She eats the cannoli slowly, savoring it. Her eyes close automatically and her face relaxes, and for a split second, she doesn’t look as burdened as she usually does. Damian clears his throat once again and takes a seat across from her. You want me to turn this on? he says, gesturing at the fireplace. She opens her eyes quickly and nods, and he turns it on. 

The early part of the year in New York is freezing, with temperatures dropping lower than you’d think is possible, and the humidity causes the cold to seep into your bones. He can’t help but roll his eyes at her outfit choice, because he knows it doesn’t keep her warm whatsoever, but has long since learned that Alessandra does what she wants, when she wants. There is no person on earth that can stop this woman from doing anything once she’s decided she’s going to do it. 

Could you— she starts, clutching at her stomach. Could you please grab me some painkillers? she chokes out. He stands quickly and goes into the kitchen, and he grabs her some ibuprofen from the drawer where she always keeps it. He hands it to her slowly and she takes it and gulps it down with water. Thank you. He frowns at her, the wheels in his mind turning as he thinks of how often she has to take the painkillers. She grimaces as she tries to conceal how strong the pain in her abdomen is. She’s suffered with endometriosis for many years now, and has grown accustomed to the pain. 

"You need to go to the doctor, mia farfallina," he says. He curses himself immediately, because it slipped—he didn’t mean to call her by that name. When they’re alone, it’s hard to resist. She thinks nothing of it and shrugs. 

I don’t want to, she sighs, settling back, and then stares at him out of the corner of her eye. She wonders what he feels for her, but doesn’t have the mental capacity to unpack that now. I appreciate you worrying about me, D.

She struggles with her condition and his heart aches for her. He wants to fix it and feels useless knowing that it’s not within his power to do so. It’s a treatable condition, but there’s no permanent solution for it. Any treatment is temporary, and after years of surgeries and painkillers, she seems undecided in regards to what to do about it now. 

The silence stretches between them as she finishes eating, and when he looks up at her, he finds her staring right back. Their eyes connect, and they’re frozen in time, having a moment they’ve never had before. She opens her mouth like she wants to say something, her lips soft and open, and he can’t stop the thought of those exact lips on his own, and every muscle in his body coils, like a spring ready to snap. 

He wants to do nothing but take her into his arms and tell her that everything is going to be okay, that he’ll take care of her, and that she’s safe as long as he’s around. Alternatively, she feels uncomfortable, knowing there’s something behind his gaze he’s not sharing. 

Instead, he says nothing, and looks away. If only she knew. If only she knew that he’ll love her until the day he dies.

1

Alessandra

So, I say, shuffling the applications around, everything seems to be in order here. I just need a few days to review the information and I’ll get back to you individually. I will remind you that my terms are nonnegotiable, and any issues we have will be taken care of by my head of security, Damian, I say, gesturing over my left shoulder. Any questions? I put all of the paperwork into a folder and look at them evenly. 

They sit across the table from me, and I can see the perspiration on their foreheads. They’re all handsome, which is why they’ve made it this far in the application process. I don’t commit their names to memory—that just makes it more complicated. As far as I’m concerned, they’re practically strangers, or… toys. The man right in front of me seems the most timid of all, yet clears his throat. I arch one perfectly plucked brow at him.

Is there anything else you need from us, Doctor? he asks. I’m so surprised he even had the gall to say anything, that I give him a full smile. He returns the smile tentatively, and suddenly, my decision becomes clear. This one has potential. This one I might be able to tolerate for longer than a couple of weeks.

You, I say, nodding at him while handing off the folder to Damian behind me, may join me for dinner. Damian dismisses the other two candidates quickly, and I feel their gazes burn into the back of my head, but I brush it off with ease. 

After a meal at one of my favorite restaurants, exchanging lies and pleasantries, I’m desperate to get home and get out of my stilettos. I exit the restaurant quickly, and Damian opens the door to the black SUV. I hop in and immediately take my shoes off and rub my feet. A sigh escapes my lips as my head falls back on the headrest. Damian gets in the driver’s seat and throws me a quick smile over his shoulder. 

You all right back there? I grin at his New York accent. I give him a relaxed smile and nod. Damian, full name Damiano, is nearing forty, and not bad-looking whatsoever. He’s got that salt-and-pepper sexy-man sort of look to him. I bite my bottom lip to keep a lid on my thoughts before they run amok. 

He’s been in this role for a better part of a decade, watching over me and assigning extra security detail when I need it. I think my father has always wanted us to end up together, but my heart and my eyes were full of Andy and that was that. As far as I’ve always known, Damian is single. I tease him about it frequently, because he’s easy on the eyes. Not to mention he has the most gentle and patient nature I’ve ever seen. He protects me endlessly, and I’ve grown so used to his comforting masculine energy orbiting around me. 

You ever get tired of the wild shit I get you into, D? His warm chuckle raises goose bumps on my arms. 

Of course not, he rumbles, his deep voice almost vibrating. It’s better than sitting in a room with Big Joe and his goons, choking on the fumes of their fucking cologne, he chuckles. I laugh with him as he maneuvers through the crowded streets I call my home. I pull the spare sweater I keep in the car off of the seat next to me, and pull it on.

Do you think I should call that guy? I fiddle with my fingers in my lap. Damian shrugs. 

You seemed to enjoy his company. You can have a drink and relax some. You don’t have to decide right now. I nod as my arms wrap around myself. I shiver involuntarily, the unsettled feeling in my stomach causing me to pause. 

It never feels completely right. It’s not him. It’s not Andy. I begin to chew at my bottom lip as I consider taking on a new partner. It’s not like I really need someone new, but it occupies my mind enough that I don’t have too much time to wallow in my sorrows. 

We pull up to my building, and removing my sweater, I slip on my shoes once more. I stiffen my posture as I get out of the car and walk through the lobby to the elevator, nodding at the security guard at the front desk. I push the button for the penthouse and grin as I think of my dad’s phrasing when I got this apartment. 

"Only the best for my Principessa!" His voice booms regardless of the locale. I smile and roll my eyes as I wander into the hallway and beep my watch against the pad so the door will open. As soon as I’m inside, I remove my earrings and necklace and drop them into a bowl in the foyer. I’m afraid I’ve become spoiled—Clara picks up after me constantly. I’m unsure what I’d do without her at this point. 

Honey, I’m home! I shout down the hallway. A moment later, my fantastically flamboyant assistant pokes his head out of the living room. 

You’re home earrrrly… he drawls. I roll my eyes.

Very well spotted, Skipper. I need a gimlet, ASAP! I pad barefoot through the apartment until I reach the door that leads to my private wing. My watch is the only thing that allows anyone into this area of the apartment under any circumstances. Call me paranoid, but considering my father has complete monopoly of the entire Mafia in New York City, I’m allowed to be. 

I shut the door behind me and begin to strip. I sigh yet again as I look at the matching lingerie set I put on for nothing. I decide to leave it on, and put on my favorite silk robe. It’s so soft and comfortable—wearing it feels like wearing a warm soft hug.

I grab my phone out of my clutch and decide I should give my dad a call. Even though we have our monthly family gathering tomorrow, I still want to hear his voice. Big Joe may be many things, but I am his daughter, and I know how much he cares about me, though sometimes he has an odd way of showing it. The phone rings three times before he answers.

"Pronto, Principessa. I didn’t think I’d hear from you before tomorrow. Come stai, bella?" I bite my lip and take a deep breath.

"Ciao, Daddy. I’m fine. How are you today? Staying out of trouble?" He chuckles at my questions. A small smile plays on my lips as I leave my room and shut the door behind me. Of course he’s not staying out of trouble. They don’t call him Big Joe for nothing.

"Of course, bella. And you? Not making Damian work too hard, are you?" I roll my eyes.

No, Daddy. I just gave him a raise! We continue chatting as I take my seat on the couch, and Jules hands me the drink he’s prepared for me. I mouth a thank-you as he hands me the folder of paperwork of candidates I’d interviewed tonight. I finish chatting with my father, promising I’ll be there for family dinner tomorrow. When I hang up, Jules is sitting next to me with his hands folded, looking at me expectantly. I roll my eyes. There was only one, Jules. He gives a little hop and scoots closer.

I already know that! Damian told me. Duh. What I’m wondering is why you aren’t naked with him right now! He pats me on the knee suggestively. I glare at him and open the folder.

I haven’t reviewed his file yet!

Well, get to it, sister! He’s already preapproved, so why not take him for a test run? He wiggles his eyebrows at me suggestively and I can’t help but laugh. He’s talking about this potential new partner like he’s a fancy new car. 

Oh just let it be, Skip. I’m tired. Hey, do you know if Clara left dessert for tomorrow? He nods as he stands. 

Sure did, doll. It’s in the fridge. You need anything from me before I go? I glance at my watch and see it’s only 8:30. 

No, you go ahead. Have a good night, and be safe, please! He leans down and we kiss each other on the cheek, and he heads for the door. I take a long sip of my drink and put it down on the table near me. 

I made extra, left it in the fridge! he shouts over his shoulder. I smile and shake my head. 

Thank you! I shout back. A moment later, I hear the door click shut and I’m alone. I sift through the paperwork quickly, and keep coming back to the fella I’d enjoyed dinner with. His name is Markus, twenty-eight years old, and his file is squeaky clean. He has no venereal diseases, no criminal record… Is he mature enough, though? 

Chewing my lip, I stand and take the folder into my office and set it to the side. Jules has left a blank contract printed up for me, and I touch it lightly with my fingertips. 

What has my life come to? Having men sign contracts before getting into bed with me? I sag into the chair as the memories flood so vividly I can’t see a damn thing in front of me. 

His touch. That fire burning under my skin, coming to life whenever he’s near. The shiver runs through my body before I can stop it, and the memories refuse to slow down. I lean forward and hold my head in my hands, digging my fingers into my scalp. Andy, whispering my names, the names only he called me, into my skin as a caress. The tears are flowing and I only realize it when one falls on the contract with a soft plunk. 

Oh, the irony. I’d never needed a contract with him. How could I? The love of my life, the only thing I wanted to sign with him was our marriage certificate. I shake my head and send this potential new arrangement a message, along with Damian. It’s standard procedure for Damian to be present for the first little while with a new arrangement present. 

I walk to my bedroom slowly, and upon opening the door, I can’t help but see Andy everywhere. I see our ghosts and our passion flash before my eyes. His memory is everywhere, regardless of where I am or what I’m doing. The memories never leave—they’re just louder some days than others. 

The ghost of him clings to my soul and won’t let go. Or maybe I’m the one that is incapable of letting him go. I sigh and walk into my bathroom, and patting my face dry, I touch up my makeup quickly. 

I push the memories away for the time being. I’m not the same person I once was, and there’s only one place to find him: six feet underground. It’s important for me to go see him every so often, but each time I do, I feel my wounds are ripped clean open once more.

The pain will not dull and will not fade. Fate was a cruel mistress when she took him away from me. I don’t know what to do with my grief, so I smother it, and I’ve let it harden me into someone I don’t recognize. I feel like I’m drowning in my own web of lies.

* * *

I receive a message on my watch that Damian has arrived, so I step out of my room, and when the door clicks behind me, I walk over and retrieve my glass. Walking to the refrigerator, I fill my glass and take a slow sip to steel myself. 

Are you sure about this? Damian walks toward me slowly, my stilettos in hand. I take them from him and shrug.

I have to find some way to spend my time, D, I mutter. I take another sip of my drink and wince at the oncoming headache. I need to stop drinking before I end up shit-faced just when the new applicant arrives.

I study Damian for a moment, and I know by the set of his jaw that he’s not thrilled I’m taking this on. Adding more to my plate, as he would say. More than the head of security, Damian is a close confidant, one of the closest, because he sees all sides of me. 

My eyes water as I look down into the glass. Damian walks around the counter and hesitates for one second before taking me in his arms. I sag into them, and he holds me tightly. The tears are threatening to spill over, but I blink rapidly and wish them away. 

These days are always the hardest, I mumble into his chest. He’s a solid eight inches taller than me, and towers over me even with my stilettos on. He rubs my back soothingly.

You don’t have to do this… Never think you have to, his voice rumbles against my ear. I sniffle and lean back, wiping my eyes.

I feel like I do. What the fuck else am I supposed to do, D? He reaches up and pushes a stray hair away from my face. The tenderness in his touch and in his eyes makes my knees shake. I can’t get the memories of Andy out of my head… and… I… I trail off, my insides suddenly mush, feeling his muscled body against me. I shake my head slightly to clear it. All of this grief makes me feel weak. I’ve tried everything. I shouldn’t have to suffer like this, and I need something to make me feel alive, something to distract me. You know that, D. My soul burns at the blatant lie, because nothing has ever or will ever make me feel as alive as Andy did. 

His arms release me, and when he does, I miss the warmth immediately. I look down at the silk robe and draw it tighter around me. 

Should I change? I begin to chew at my bottom lip. He lifts my chin with one finger, and when I look at him, I can’t breathe, because I see the emotion burning in his bright-green eyes. 

"You look absolutely ravishing, mia farfallina." Hearing him call me by that name causes goose bumps to rise on my arms. He only ever calls me that when we’re alone. He thinks I don’t notice his habits, but I do. The only thing I never anticipated was him kissing me. 

In one quick movement, he closes the gap and his lips are on mine. Having never kissed him before, I’m blown away by the sense of familiarity. My hands come up slowly to reach for his shoulders, and his arms go around my waist as he pulls me flush against him. 

He’s warm, and his masculine scent is washing over me and momentarily knocks me out of my reverie. His body feels so strong and hard against my soft frame that I barely even realize when the doorbell rings. 

He pulls away and kisses me on the cheek. He steps away and pulls me with him, and heads toward the door. He gives me a gentle nudge toward my office, and I go sit in my chair, still in a daze. What in the ever living fuck just happened? 

The new guy waltzes in, and he’s a bit shocked at my outfit, but sits down and gives me a shy smile. Damian stands near the door, watching me with his bright eyes. My lips still feel slightly swollen from the kiss. I slide the contract across the table.

Here’s the contract. I try to smile at him warmly and not think about what Damian looks like naked. He’s probably all muscle and manly hair, and… I suddenly come to my senses and continue speaking on autopilot. All of my terms are nonnegotiable. Take your time reading it—I’ll be right back. Can I get you anything to drink? I see his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows nervously.

Scotch? On the rocks? His voice quivers. I nod and stand slowly, and leave the room. Ignoring Damian, I head back to the kitchen and take another sip of my drink. 

I retrieve a rocks glass, and after putting a few ice cubes in it, I search in the cabinet for some scotch. Pulling out the heavy bottle, I turn back to the counter and see Damian watching me. I ignore him once more and pour the scotch slowly. 

He walks up behind me and pulls my hair to the side, and begins to kiss down the side of my neck. One hand in my hair, and the other on my hip, I feel the low buzz start between my legs. There’s only one thing that bothers me about all of this.

Why now? I whisper. He steps back and I turn around with the glass in hand. He smiles at me sadly and strokes one finger slowly down my cheek.

I don’t like seeing you in pain, he murmurs. Something in his tone sours my sadness, and it turns to anger. I glare at him. I don’t need his fucking pity. I don’t need anybody. I shrug him off and walk back to my office, my stilettos clicking on the marble floors. The new recruit is still reading the contract when I return. I set his glass on the table gently.

Any questions so far? I take a seat in my chair and cross my legs, showing a fair bit of skin. I want to make him squirm, to see him under pressure. He clears his throat awkwardly and takes a sip of scotch.

I’ll be honest, I haven’t done a lot of these things you mention here, and… he trails off as he scans the words once more. This word here, ‘cunnilingus’? I take a sip of my drink slowly and try not to laugh. This guy has to be fucking kidding.

Ah, yes. In other words, oral, I say matter-of-factly. A slight blush creeps over his cheeks. 

Oh. Got it. He finishes scanning the terms as I watch him carefully. Damian appears in the doorway, but I ignore him.