The Mafia Boss Grinned When She Cursed Him in Sicilian and Then Told Her to Say It Again to His Face

"You're out of your mind," Frankie said, backing up until her spine hit the edge of his mahogany desk.

Gabriel didn't follow her; he simply leaned against the window frame, crossing his arms over his chest, looking entirely at ease. "Am I? You have a degree in mechanical engineering from Maryland, five years of experience running a fleet repair yard, and you clearly know how to manage inventory without letting leeching relatives drain you dry."

"I run an auto shop, Costa. I don't haul whatever illegal cargo you're moving through the docks."

"Costa Vanguard Logistics is a licensed maritime freight contractor," Gabriel replied with a smooth, practiced tone. "We manage eight hundred chassis trailers, sixty yard mules, and three dozen heavy cranes across three piers. My chief fleet manager resigned yesterday afternoon under... unsatisfactory circumstances."

"Did you throw him off a pier?"

"He was stealing catalytic converters from our short-haul rigs," Gabriel said dryly. "I fired him and gave him three hours to leave the state. I need someone who understands diesel engines, doesn't panic when a crane hydraulics line snaps, and—most importantly—doesn't lie to me."

Frankie stared at him, her mind racing. "You want me to run your fleet operations?"

"For six months," Gabriel specified. "Your salary will be one hundred thousand dollars, credited directly toward Leo's debt. I will drop the interest entirely. At the end of six months, if the fleet efficiency is up by ten percent, I will forgive the remaining two hundred thousand dollars and wipe your brother's slate completely clean."

"And my garage?"

"You can work your bay shifts in the evenings if you have the stamina," Gabriel said, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Or you can hire a mechanic to cover your day shifts. The property stays in your name. Touch-free."

Frankie gripped the edge of the desk behind her. The deal was extraordinarily generous—suspiciously so. Men like Gabriel Costa didn't give away two hundred thousand dollar debt write-offs out of the goodness of their hearts.

"Why me?" she asked bluntly. "You could hire fifty qualified fleet managers with corporate resumes by tomorrow morning."

"Corporate managers lie when things go wrong," Gabriel said, his smile disappearing, replaced by a dark, absolute sincerity. "They give me slide decks and excuses while my ships lose fifty thousand dollars an hour sitting at anchor. You came in here ready to bleed for a piece of cracked concrete because your father built it. I want someone who treats my machinery with the same fierce, stubborn loyalty."

He stepped over to his desk, pulled a clean sheet of heavy cream paper from a drawer, and wrote three lines in sharp, elegant handwriting using his gold pen. He slid the paper toward her.

"Six months, Francesca," Gabriel said quietly. "You fix my fleet, you clear the debt, and your brother keeps his skin. Refuse, and my attorneys file the lien on the garage at nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

Frankie looked down at the paper. It was a simple, brutal choice.

She looked up into Gabriel's gray eyes. There was a dangerous magnetism to him, an unyielding power that both infuriated and unnerved her. But beneath the threat, she recognized something else—a man who valued competence above all else.

"I need one more condition," Frankie said.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "You're adding conditions?"

"If I catch any of your men near my garage, or if Leo so much as sees a Costa soldier on our street, the deal is void, and I walk."

Gabriel looked at her for a long second, then reached out his hand. "Agreed."

Frankie hesitated, then placed her hand in his. His grip was warm, strong, and rougher than she expected for a man in a tailored suit. A sharp spark of electricity shot up her arm at the physical contact, making her breath catch in her throat.