by Renee Rose
My knuckles bleed a little.
So she doesn’t want me to hurt the guy. That makes me a bad person, I guess.
Cazzo!
In my book, you don’t stand around and let a woman get molested by her boss and do nothing. And it’s happening to fucking Marissa, which makes me violent just thinking about it.
So what the fuck do I do?
What would a good guy do? A real hero?
A fucking hero would kill the stronzo.
Wouldn’t he?
I don’t know. Maybe my world view is just skewed so far toward violence I don’t know how to function in this world. Maybe that’s why I feel like a whale out of water since my shooting.
And then it occurs to me who does know how to function better within the lines of the law and societal norm.
I glance at the clock. It’s 3:00 a.m. Only 1:00 a.m. in Vegas. I pull out my phone and call my younger brother Nico. He owns a casino so he’s up late, even with—maybe especially with—a baby at home.
We’re not close. Not really. The five Tacone brothers fell into two groupings. The oldest three—me, Junior and Paolo, were one and the younger two—Nico and Stefano were another. We older brothers were expected to take over the family business. Our dad rode us hard and trained us to fit into his mold. Nico and Stefano had a little more leeway.
Which is maybe how they thought out of the box to expand business way beyond what the rest of us ever believed possible. And made it legal in the process.
Nico answers on the first ring. “Gio. What’s up?”
I don’t speak for a moment, because I don’t even know what I want. Whether or not it was a mistake to call.
“Gio?”
“I’m here, yeah. Wanted to run something by you.”
“Shoot.”
I pause again. “Say you found out a girl’s boss was getting handsy with her, but she’s a no-go on any violence. Like wouldn’t even tell you the guy’s name. What would you do?”
“You want revenge or you want to remove her from the situation?”
I inhale. Interesting separation. I had the two glommed together in my brain. “Cazzo. I guess I just want her comfortable. I could give up revenge if I knew he wasn’t anywhere near her.” Maybe.
“Easy then. Get him fired. Lean on the owner with cash or threats. If he’s the owner, you buy him out. Or get him shut down. Pay someone off to put him out of business. There’s a lot of options. Plus, it’s not full justice, but you can smile when you think of him unemployed.”
“Huh. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Who’s the girl?”
“Fuck off.”
“That’s the thanks I get?”
“Grazie, fratello. That’s it.”
“I got more ideas. For stealthier vengeance—the kind she wouldn’t tie to you. Accidents, that kind of thing. If you need that, too.”
I crack my swollen knuckles. Do I need that?
Marissa’s reaction keeps replaying in my mind. I don’t trust you, Gio.
I don’t fucking like that.
“Nah, I’ll try to do it legitimately. Works well for you.”
“It does. A little bit of ruthlessness in legit business brings you right to the top. Who’s the girl?”
“Sta ‘zitto.” Shut up.
“Do I know her?”
“Yeah. It’s not a thing. I don’t know. Just a girl I want to protect.”
“You’re a good man, Gio.”
Am I? I seriously doubt it. Not when I couldn’t even come up with one idea that didn’t involve violence.
“I’m not. Give Nico Junior a kiss from me.”
“Will do. Buona notte.”
I end the call, grateful for what Nico reminded me of. I have more than my fists or guns. I have money. And that’s just as powerful—maybe more—than my ability to intimidate.
Tomorrow I’ll figure out how to buy Michelangelo's, and I’ll fire every fucker Marissa wants me to. New life starts flickering in my cells. Something long dead in me—dead way before the shooting—awakens.
Gio Tacone, a restaurant owner. It’s damn close to the dreams I had for my adult life when I was a kid. Before my dad forever quashed them.
I used to picture myself owning a swanky 50s style lounge. The kind Sinatra would sing in, if he were still alive. I guess it would be a piano bar. Someplace I could reign, the Family man could convene, drink and do business, and my baby grand would gleam in the corner, ready for me to wander over, sit down and entertain. I guess I thought it would be the perfect melding of La Cosa Nostra and my love for piano. Like I could somehow put the two together in a positive way.
But of course, any career involving the piano—even a swanky Italian piano bar—was violently rejected by my father.
The more I picture it, the more it comes to life. Like what Nico’s built for himself only on a small, intimate scale. A swanky place of my own. Fine dining with a menu prepared by the new upstart talent Marissa Milano. A gleaming black baby grand back by the bar.
Hell, yeah.
This could definitely work.
Chapter 5
Marissa
We’ve barely started our shift—the restaurant’s not even open yet, when Michael, Michelangelo's owner/manager, sticks his head in the kitchen and says he needs us all out in the restaurant for a meeting. He seems nervous. A little sweaty, definitely on edge.
My stomach clenches. Is someone getting fired? But why would they need all of us for that? Crap. Is this where he tells us they’re going bankrupt? Or that someone’s been stealing? It isn’t good, whatever it is.
I follow the rest of the kitchen staff out, and that’s when my world flips onto its head.
Gio’s sitting there, looking devastatingly dapper in his sleek Italian suit and shiny shoes. He’s sitting there—not like a customer, but like he belongs. Like he owns the place.
My sense of dread ratchets up.
“I want to introduce you to the new owner of Michelangelo's.” Michael flits a nervous hand in Gio’s direction. “This is Mr. Tacone, your new boss. He’ll be calling the shots around here from now on. I will stay on as manager and consultant for a period of six months.”
The twisting in my stomach grows tighter.
Goddamn Gio.
What in the hell does he think he’s doing?
He bought the restaurant where I work? For what purpose? To more fully own me? To make sure I answer to him in all areas of my life?
I blink back hot furious tears.
The nerve.
Michelangelo's will become the new mafia hangout. Just like Milano’s has been for the last forty years. My grandfather finally got out from under the Tacones, and I did my best to preserve that freedom with the new bargain we struck, but Gio made sure I landed right back in the same position. Just like my grandfather, I’m now locked into running a business for the mafia. Probably for the rest of my life, if this works the same as my grandfather’s deal did. I won’t ever be able to leave. Won’t ever be able to move to a different restaurant or start my own.
I just got locked into the exact scenario I had hoped to avoid.
And damn Gio Tacone for looking so devastatingly debonair right now as he steals my future. His lips curve up and he acknowledges us all with a regal inclination of his head.
Asshole.
Seriously. What an asshole.
We head back into the kitchen, and Lilah whispers to me, “Do you think he’s related to the Tacone crime family?”
“I can guarantee it.”
She must hear the condemnation in my tone because she shoots a look over her shoulder at me as we work beside each other. “Wait… do you know him?”
I lift my shoulders in a sullen shrug. “I’m from Cicero. His family owned my neighborhood growing up.”
Lilah whistles. “Holy shit. Do you personally know him? I mean, he doesn’t know you, right?” There’s excitement in her tone, like this is the best gossip she’s heard all year.
“Marissa” —Lilah grabs my arm and stops me from emptying pasta into the pot of boiling water— “what aren’t you saying?”
I just shake my head. “Let’s just say it’s no coincidence he bought this particular restaurant.”
Lilah’s eyes widen and she cranes her neck to see my face. “Giiiiirl! Are you telling me Mr. Dark and Dangerous is after you? Like wants to be your boss in a big daddy kind of way?”
I just shake my head and turn back to what I’m doing. “I can’t even… I can’t.” I’m too upset to let her cajole me into laughter about it. It’s not funny.
Gio Tacone went way too far this time.
Gio
I enjoy the fuck out of sitting in the corner of Michelangelo's and watching the business run. The waitstaff scurries around, throwing me nervous glances, probably feeling the burn of my gaze. They’re good at their jobs, though. I won’t come in and make a lot of changes. Not without observing how things run for the six months I have Michael on contract.
He didn’t want to give up his restaurant, especially with a no-compete clause so he can’t open a new one, but I made him a good offer and applied a tiny bit of pressure for good measure. Like mentioning everything I knew about his family. How his mother could use more help in Florida. And his daughter’s college bills were probably high.
He got the picture. I wanted him out. I had the cash to buy him out. And I’d appreciate his cooperation. No actual threats were made, although I think my name and reputation are often threat enough in this town.
And buying this place feels like opening a door. Like it could be the thing that was missing from my life—a purpose to throw myself into. Something I will enjoy the fuck out of creating. A place to stave off the stabbing loneliness. To become a part of something.
To play the fucking piano for people whose last name isn’t Tacone.
And yes… as a gift to Marissa. To keep her somewhere I can protect her and let her do what she loves.
I swear to Cristo, the shooting changed the fuck out of me, because I don’t even want anything in return. She doesn’t have to fuck me. She doesn’t have to be my girl.
I have the capacity to make her happy, and it pleases the hell out of me to do it.
I stay the entire night, sampling various dishes, calling for a few drinks. Watching.
And when the restaurant closes up, I tell Michael, “I’ll lock up.”
He’s too befuddled by his new role to argue. He hands me the keys and writes down the security code so I can arm the system. I make a mental note to get the code and keys changed by tomorrow night.
Then I saunter back into the kitchen to watch the clean-up.
Marissa looks exhausted, a line between her brows as if she’s been worrying on something. She also ignores me, pretending we don’t know each other.
Okay, maybe she doesn’t want it to look like she’s sleeping with the boss. Which she’s not.
Yet.
“Nice work, everyone. All the food I sampled was delicious,” I say and most of the kitchen staff shoot me half-wary, half-resentful glances. Well, nobody likes change.
I stand and watch them finish, which has the effect of making everyone scurry around quickly, and start to leave.
Marissa gets the hint and hangs back until they’re gone, exchanging a silent glance full of hidden meaning with the other girl who works there when her friend leaves.
“Come on.” I tip my head toward the restaurant area. “I’ll pour you a drink.”
She follows me to the end of the bar. I pour a glass of the expensive chianti I sampled earlier, but she sets it on the bar and knees me in the balls.
“The fuck?” I double over. What. The Fuck? Pain shoots all the way up to my stomach, reverberating where I got shot.
“I guess you own me completely now, don’t you?” Marissa snaps.
I straighten from when I doubled over. What?
“You agreed not to take Milano’s only to buy this place? Really, Gio?” She tries to slap my face.
I catch her wrists before the slap lands and slam her back against the wall.
She gasps.
“Careful, angel,” I growl through gritted teeth. I still can’t even see straight from the agony in my balls and the pain makes me aggressive.
Very aggressive.
I lean my face down into the crook of her neck. “I like to play rough. Keep it up, you’re gonna get fucked hard against this wall.”
She twists and bites my jaw.
Cristo, was that her answer? She wants me to fuck her? Or is she just fighting back?
And why the fuck do I question my every move with this girl? Clearly it’s always gonna be wrong.
I shove the aching bulge of my cock between her legs.
“Here’s how it’s gonna go,” I snarl. My forehead comes down to hers and we glare right into each other’s eyes. “Either you apologize real nice for the ball-bust or I’m gonna punish you with this cock until you can’t walk straight. Capiche?”
I wait.
She pants, glaring back at me.
No apology.
I give it one more beat. Then I switch her wrists to one hand and palm her mound with the other. I’m rough.
No feather-stroking. No light clit-rub.
It’s more like a possessive grab.
She’s pissed because she believes I want to own her?
I’ll fucking own her.
I pull up with my grip, lifting her to her toes.
She bites again—this time my neck. I chuckle darkly. “Bad girl.” I rub between her legs, then shove my hand down her pants to get her at her pussy.
She’s wet.
The last of my conscience slips away with that discovery.
“Baby, you’re about to find out what it means to be owned.” I screw a finger inside her and her wild eyes widen. I get a second finger in and thrust up.
She bites down on her lip so hard it bleeds. The little grunt she makes gets my dick rock hard. I fingerfuck her, trying to find her G-spot on the front wall. Eventually I find it—the place where the tissues stiffen up under my touch.
Marissa makes an unintelligible noise.
I’m trying to figure out how to get my dick out while still fingering her and pinning her to the wall. Not gonna work. Too bad it’s impossible. I pull my fingers out of her and suck her juices off.
“You want to know what it’s like to be owned by Gio Tacone?” I pull her off the wall and twist her wrists behind her back, then push her over one of the dining tables.
I yank my belt out of the loops and she gets scared, looking over her shoulder at me as she tries to straighten.
I push her back down and smack her ass once with the belt. “I wasn’t going to whip you, angel, but I will if you need that.”
She goes still, listening, breathing hard.
I wind my belt around her wrists and cinch it tight. Then I yank off her pants and panties. She helps me by kicking off her shoes.
Another small sign of consent.
Marissa wants a good hate fuck right now. Craves it as badly as I do.
There’s a red mark from the belt blooming on her ass. I like the way it looks, so I spank her some more with my hand.
It feels fucking amazing.
Her little mewls make my aching balls throb more. My palm stings with the impact. I watch her skin turn a pretty blush. Now that I’m going, I don’t really want to stop. I could spank her all night.
“You think I bought this place to own you, Marissa? That’s what you really think?”
Her ass dances under my slaps and she shifts from foot to foot. “Why else would you?” she shouts back at me.
I spank her even harder, going for the backs of the thighs. She squeals with genuine alarm, and I lighten up and go back to her ass. “I’ll tell you why I bought it, angel. Because you didn’t want me to rough up your boss, and I needed you to be safe. I bought it so I could fire his ass and
give you some more creative freedom.”
Marissa makes a strangled sound. She goes perfectly still for a moment, panting hard. Then she tugs harder at her wrists. “Gio,” she cries.
“Hush.” It’s a sharp command. I don’t want to hear whatever it is she’s going to say. I stop the spanking and pull out my cock. “You know, it’s much easier this way, really.” I fish a condom out of my wallet and roll it on. “Both of us just agreeing I own you. I was trying too hard to be the good guy.” I grip her hips with one hand and my cock with the other and push in. She’s so fucking tight. “But Tacones aren’t good guys. Right, Marissa?”
She whimpers and shifts her hips back to take me deeper.
I brace her shoulder with one hand and hold her hips with the other and drill into her. “You made a role for me. Why not just fucking play it?” It feels so good to be inside her. Her tight wet heat squeezes my cock like a glove, and every time my balls hit her clit, the residual ache from her assault makes me want to fuck her even harder.
“I have a role you can play, too, angel. It’s real easy.”
Marissa
Oh God. I fucked things up again. Badly.
Maybe even worse than when I tried to blackmail him, because back then he was still trying to show me he wasn’t what I thought.
But he’s right.
I didn’t believe he could be anything but what his father was.
And now he’s out of patience with me.
I have a pissed off, aggressive mobster, or maybe ex-mobster, fucking my brains out.
I’m not scared, though. He hasn’t hurt me. Even after I hurt him.
It’s funny how my body instinctively goes into submission under his command. I surrender and open to him. Receive his anger with each violent thrust.
“Gio.” I don’t know what to say to fix this. Whether it’s even fixable, or if he really has gone to the dark side now.
“Keep quiet or I’ll stuff my cock in your mouth instead,” Gio growls.
He doesn’t want my apology. He knows that’s what I was about to offer.
Fine. He wants to be pissed off and take it out through rough sex, I’m down.