Luca: A Steamy Alpha Bad Boy Cop Romance (Badge Bunnies Book 6) Read online

  LUCA

  A Badge Bunnies Novel Book 6

  Mazzy King

  MZK Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 by Mazzy King

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  LUCA: Badge Bunnies 6

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  Subscribe to Mazzy King’s Newsletter!

  About the Author

  Also by Mazzy King

  LUCA: Badge Bunnies 6

  A Steamy Alpha Bad Boy Cop Romance

  The good Bad Boys of Ridge City…and the women who love them.

  Put your hands where he can feel them…

  Luca

  As a homicide detective in Ridge City, I see a lot of ugliness. Seeing that ugliness in the neighborhood I grew up in is even worse, but duty calls. I never thought it would bring me back to the doorstep of Mykie Mancini, the woman I love…who hates me for doing my job and tearing her family apart in the process. I want to give her the space she demanded from me six months ago, but as the investigation takes a dangerous turn, I realize things might not be as they seem…and Mykie might be in danger.

  Mykie

  Our family restaurant is built on one simple tenet: love. I love my family, and up until six months ago when he put the cuffs on my uncle for a crime he didn’t commit, that love included Luca Romano, too. I haven’t been able to forgive him for what he did, but when he shows up at the restaurant needing to see our security camera footage, I can’t refuse him. Someone, though, doesn’t like me helping the cops…and Luca’s arms might be the only safe haven for me.

  Luca: Badge Bunnies 6 is an insta-love, happily-ever-after, STEAMY romance. No cliffhangers, no cheating. This is a standalone story part of the BADGE BUNNIES series.

  1

  Luca Romano

  I’ve lived in Ridge City’s Little Italy my whole life. I was born in the hospital in this neighborhood, I went to school here, and after I graduated from Ridge City University, I stayed here to work. It’s a family community, one that’s near and dear to my heart.

  So when people get murdered here, I take it very personally.

  Luckily, I get paid to take that tragedy personally, because I’m a homicide detective on the Ridge City police department.

  I walk into a small café this afternoon in the heart of the neighborhood. I ask the college-aged young woman behind the counter if I can speak to the manager. With wide eyes, she nods and disappears to a back room to get her.

  I hate making people feel uncomfortable, but it sort of goes with the job. I’m wearing a tailored suit, but it’s not hard to spot my gun and holster on my hip under my jacket, or the brass I display on my belt.

  The manager returns a moment later, looking confused at the sight of me. Now that the initial shock is over, the young barista eyes me openly. Not to sound like a cocky asshole, but because I’m a young, dark-haired Italian guy, I tend to draw women’s attention. Some are polite with their interest, others brash. None of it matters to me, because I only have eyes for one woman.

  It’s really too bad Mychaela Mancini—Mykie, as I’ve known her since we were kids—hates my guts.

  She’s always on my mind, but especially when I’m in the same neighborhood as her family’s restaurant, Mancini’s Cucina, which happens to be right across the street from the café. Every time I drive past, I think of the last time Mykie and I exchanged words. It mostly involved her shouting at the top of her lungs at me.

  “Can I help you…Detective?” the manager asks.

  I glance around and pitch my voice low, so only she can hear me. “I’m investigating a murder, ma’am,” I tell her, and her eyes get huge. “The owner of the jewelry store a few blocks away, A Gem It Is, was murdered late last night. We’ve been piecing his timeline together, and according to phone records and eye-witness testimony, he was spotted at a bar two doors down from here with a male companion about eleven o’clock last night. They would’ve passed right in front of your shop. You have security cameras, I’m guessing?”

  “Yes, of course,” she says, and together we pull up last night’s feed. Sure enough, at two minutes to eleven, parts of two men’s shapes come into view, but it’s impossible to see them in totality based on the positioning of the security camera and the placement of their bodies.

  I growl in frustration. “Dammit.”

  “Across the street,” the manager says, as if something has just occurred to her. “The Mancini restaurant. I know they have a great security camera. I talked to Angelo and Marie, the owners, about it just last month. I bet you could see everything from their camera.”

  Angelo and Marie Mancini, Mykie’s parents. They’re not real fond of me, either.

  But I guess that’s to be expected, since I helped set up Angelo’s brother, Mykie’s uncle, earlier this year to be arrested on racketeering charges. I worked with a couple of FBI agents because I’m from the area, and my sergeant put in a good word for me. Since I might have the tiniest little dream of going to the FBI one day, it was a dream come true…until I realized who they wanted my help with setting up.

  Hence that night Mykie screamed at me—and then slapped me when they took her uncle out in cuffs. It’s a wonder I walked away on my own two legs that night.

  “And I saw Mychaela go in about an hour ago,” the woman continues. “She’s there, even if they’re not open now.”

  She’s going to be thrilled to see me in a second. But…duty calls.

  I thank the café manager and politely refuse the cappuccino she offers me, but promise to come back when I’m not working.

  Then I muster up all the courage I have, cross myself, and head across the street to the restaurant.

  I pause in front of the building. I used to have great memories here. The food at Mancini’s used to all be cooked by Mykie’s grandmother, born and raised in Sicily. She passed away about four years ago, but her recipes remain. While new recipes get added to the menus occasionally, the original ones stay the way her grandmother made them, with strict rules to follow each one down to the teaspoon.

  The last time I was here, though, was six months ago, when I helped the FBI put Nino Mancini in cuffs as his horrified family watched on. He was accused of stealing jewels—from none other than A Gem It Is, where he worked—and then reselling them at a much higher mark-up. His trial was swift, and he started his twenty-year sentence in federal prison two months ago.

  The look on Mykie’s face that day, when she turned her tear-filled brown eyes to me… It still haunts my sleep. The whole thing does. Nino was like an uncle to me, too.

  I peer through the window. It’s a Monday, and they’re only open Tuesday through Saturday. Still, I know Mykie’s here most days of the week, tending to different things, helping bake pastries and bread for the pastry cases.

  I only see a woman sitting at the bar, a plate of lunch before her as she looks over sheets of paper.

  She’s beautiful—easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. But then again, I’ve never seen anyone who could ever measure up to Mychaela Mancini.

  She’s wearing a snug-fitting burgundy dress that reaches below her knees and follows every one of her luscious curves. Her dark, gloss
y hair is arranged in waves down her back and pinned up on one side—my favorite. I used to love running my hands through her thick locks. I used to love tugging them as I took her from behind—her favorite.

  That ship sailed a long time ago. It’s my fault I still yearn for her.

  Seeing her sitting cross-legged at the bar, one high heel on the rung of the stool, the other dangling from her toes, writing away on the papers with one hand and twirling a lock of hair with the other, makes that yearning resonate deep inside me with an aching pang.

  I’ll never get over her, but all I want is her forgiveness.

  And today, I need her help.

  I just hope she’s not packing heat under that tight dress, or I’ll be in trouble.

  The sign says closed. But I know from the past she has a bad habit about leaving the door unlocked during non-business hours when she’s here. I used to give her hell about that, especially when I became a cop, but she would only laugh at me and ask rhetorically, “Who would ever have the balls to break in here?”

  I give the door knob a gentle twist, just to see. Old habits never die.

  With a deep breath, I push open the door and walk into the lioness’s den.

  2

  Mykie Mancini

  I enjoy serving my customers, but I’ve always enjoyed the quiet times here too, when I can focus on administrative tasks in peace, go over the accounts or check emails or anything else that comes with managing a family-owned restaurant.

  Today, I had a quick meeting with my head chef—my cousin Bruno—to go over some new additions to the menu, and I talked him into making me lunch before he left. Since the sign says “closed,” I’m usually pretty lax about locking the door while I’m in the building. Sometimes a person will come in anyway, seeing me inside, wanting to buy a loaf of our excellent Italian bread or grab a quick pastry to go. I almost always accommodate them, which is one of the things that makes Mancini’s Cucina the staple in this neighborhood it’s been since before I was ever born, and we have the honor of being not only a favorite restaurant among mobsters who want to protect this place, but also the city as a whole. We serve the best, freshest, most authentic Italian food in Ridge City based on my nonna’s recipes, and everything is cooked with love. If you come here to eat, we’ll make you a part of the famiglia, and you’ll never leave hungry or unsatisfied. It goes against our house rules.

  The bell hanging over the door clangs as someone walks in. I turn to look and freeze, a bite of steamed, buttery salmon halfway to my mouth and Bruno’s proposed new menus spread on the bar before me.

  A tall man with dark hair, a dark, closely trimmed beard, and a wary gaze strolls inside my family restaurant.

  Not to get all Casablanca-y, but seriously. Of all the restaurants in all the towns…Luca Romano has to walk into mine.

  He knows he’s not welcome here.

  This is the first day I’ve regretted not locking the door.

  Slowly, I lower my salmon-covered fork back to the plate that also holds roasted, diced potatoes and sautéed broccoli. What a huge bummer—I didn’t get breakfast and was starving, and no one makes salmon like Bruno. Suddenly I’ve lost my ravenous appetite.

  I can’t let Luca know that, though.

  I swing my crossed legs toward him, rotating on the bar stool, and eye him in what I hope is an approximation of bitchy coolness. “Look what the cat dragged in. You’ve got some balls showing your face around here, Luca Romano.”

  What the cat’s dragged in is the man who is the very definition of “tall, dark, and handsome.” Devastatingly so—heavy emphasis on the devastation.

  We’ve known each other since we were kids. We grew up in the same neighborhood. We went to the same school. We had our First Communion together. We went to prom together. We had joint graduation parties.

  We were each other’s first kiss. We were each other’s first sexual experience—and continued in that way until college separated us.

  We were each other’s first love.

  “Hello, Mykie,” he says in that low, smooth voice that always gave me chills. “It’s…really good to see you.”

  It’s been five years since he touched me. After I graduated with my masters in Hospitality and Management from Houston and returned home, we got a little drunk one night and revisited old times. I haven’t been with anyone since. That night… I’ve never felt such ecstasy.

  I ended up running.

  I didn’t know if I was going to stay in Ridge City, and he was full-force into his career. Moreover, my family has always been a little wary of having a cop around, due to the mob ties we may or may not have. My mother always told me Luca would break my heart, anyway. Things would be easier if I beat him to the punch.

  And still…he managed it anyway.

  “It’s Mychaela,” I say icily. He doesn’t get to use my childhood nickname only my loved ones call me. “What do you want, Luca?”

  His jaw tightens ever so slightly. “Can’t we have a civil conversation?”

  I fold my arms. “Did you really just ask me that? After what you did to my family?”

  He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It’s buzzed around the sides and back, but the top is longish. I know firsthand how thick and silky his hair is. I push that memory out of my mind.

  “You had my uncle arrested,” I say through gritted teeth. “In case you forgot. Arrested and dragged out of here like a goddamn criminal.”

  “Technically, it was the FBI who arrested him,” Luca says.

  “You helped them find him!”

  He approaches me, his hands out. “I didn’t know who they wanted me to help find until it was too late. And, Mykie—the man committed a felony. He bought stolen jewels and resold them on the black market. The FBI has records of the transactions.”

  “Don’t call me that!” I shoot to my feet, hating myself for the tears in my eyes. “You’ve known Nino since you were a baby. You should know better. How could you think he’d be involved in something like that?”

  “I’m a cop.” He gives his head a little shake, one of his thick, dark brows arching. “I have to go by what the evidence says.”

  “What about what your heart says?” I take a step closer and jab a finger into his chest. It’s as firm as ever, and I can feel the warmth even through his shirt.

  He catches my hand before I can pull it back. “I would do things differently if I could.”

  His hand is so warm and strong around mine. I remember what it felt like on other parts of my body, and suppress a shudder. His brown eyes are intense and fixed to mine. I can’t help but get lost in his gaze. Then I remember—he came here. That means he wants something.

  With difficulty, I draw my hand away from his. “Why,” I say flatly, “are you here?”

  He tucks his hand into his pocket, where I can see it’s clenched into a fist. “I need your help.”

  I scoff. “You are really a piece of work, Luca Romano. You could have said that when you walked in. When are you ever not working me?”

  “I’m not working you,” he snaps. “I’m doing my job. A man was murdered last night. I think he and the suspect might be caught on your security camera footage.”

  I’m pulled in several different emotional directions at this, but I start with the basics. “Murdered? Who?”

  He sighs through his nose. “Mr. Esposito.”

  I recoil.

  Gio Esposito is—was—the owner of A Gem It Is, the jewelry store a few blocks away. The jewelry store my Uncle Nino worked at and where he was supposedly caught on surveillance stealing jewels from the case. Except no one was ever able to definitively identify Uncle Nino in the tape. It was a guy who just kind of looked like him. The prosecutors got a jury that was easily swayed by the evidence, by the fact that Uncle Nino has mob ties, and that he had a criminal record in his youth for larceny, among other things.

  Is Uncle Nino perfect? Not by a long shot. Is he a good man? Hell yes. Did he commit the crime he’s now in pr
ison for? Hell no.

  And now, his longtime friend and boss is dead.

  “Let me guess,” I say vehemently. “You don’t think this has anything to do with my uncle. Even though it clearly does.”

  “We don’t have evidence to support that,” Luca says quietly, but there’s a gleam in his eye. “Can I please see your security camera footage?”

  This time, I do lock the front door. Then I lead Luca back to my office. We sit down at my desk and I pull up the footage from the previous night.

  “An eyewitness places him in this area around eleven last night,” Luca says, bracing his elbows on his knees and balling his fists together under his chin, dark eyes glued to the monitor.

  I try not to be distracted by the way his leg brushes mine and scroll the footage to a few minutes before eleven. The camera picks up a few passersby, and then at 11:01, two men walk into view. They’re walking very close together. They appear to be about the same height, but I can clearly see Mr. Esposito’s face, and the other man is bundled up, including wearing a hat and a scarf around his lower face.

  “Got him,” Luca murmurs. “I’ll need to get a copy of this.”

  “Oh.” I glance at the computer, puzzled. I only know how to access the footage if necessary, but I didn’t pay close attention when the security company came out to install the equipment. “I’m not sure how to give you that.”

  Luca shakes his head. “Our department is partnered with a bunch of security camera companies—including yours. I’ll request it myself.” Then he gives me a one-sided smile that turns my insides to lava. “I appreciate your willingness to cooperate, though.”