by Jessica Joy
“Okay, I flinch. The big scary mob boss can out stubborn the silly little girl over a cup of coffee. I bow down to your stoic mastery,” I say with a little more sass than is fully necessary, yet feels justified. I sit back in my stool, back rigidly straight and eyes fixed on a spot directly across from me, hoping if I stay still enough DiMarco might let this slide by unmarked.
“Feel better?” He asks with a soft chuckle in his voice. Looking over at him, I offer a small smile and a shy nod. I swear I’m not crazy, honestly.
“Good. Now that that’s out of your system, why don’t we have a little chat finally? You know, the reason I came here in the first place,” Sal says smoothly. Unable to find any sensible reason to argue... I know, a first for me... I simply nod my head and take another small sip of my drink.
“So tell me, how does someone like yourself get wrapped up with the likes of the Sons?” DiMarco asks, turning slightly toward me in his seat, offering me his full attention.
“I bet it’s nothing compared to some of the stories you have,” I laugh nervously. “I’ll tell you, but on one condition. You have to tell me how someone who doesn’t look a day over 35 comes to be the Overlord to the Underworld of Chicago,” I say, trying to sound like I’m teasing but honestly I am unbelievably curious how he pulled that off. And to be honest I’m curious how terrified of this man I should be.
Once again, DiMarco laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes this time. This laugh is a controlled, practiced response. He finishes off his espresso and looks over at me, his eyes cool and calculating. I’m not sure what he’s looking for but he seems to find it because his stare softens after a moment and his shoulders work in a slow breath before he starts his story.
“It’s not nearly as dramatic as you might think. My grandfather was head of the family for years. If there is one thing Hollywood has gotten right in all their ridicoli mafia storylines, it’s that la famiglia è tutto; family means everything. The business is always meant to stay within the family, must stay within the family. My father used to joke that he worked as my grandfather's right hand from the time he was old enough to shoot a gun. There was never a question that my father, as the only son, was the natural successor.”
“My father was a good man, a good father too. Family was everything to him. Not just the Family, but his family. He loved my mother and all of us kids with everything he had. He was also a very proud Italian and believed the only proper way to raise us brats was to have us spend our childhoods back home in Italy. So that’s where we grew up, in Italy with our mother and her family. He came and stayed with us as much as he could, usually spending a few months in the summer and the holidays each year, and to his credit he never missed a single birthday.
“My poor mother, she had to live with some of the most demanding requests. My father insisted we all have dual citizenship so around month seven of each of her pregnancies, he would pack all of us up and cart us all back to the states until the baby was born. Then, as soon as it was feasible, we’d all pack up again and go back home. It’s ridiculous in retrospect but it worked heavily in our favor as we got older and started working,” he chuckled.
“That does sound a bit over the top, but I guess I can understand it if it got you all citizenship. So when did you move back here? Do you miss Italy?” I ask, surprised he is opening up as much as he is, and finding myself genuinely curious.
“I came to the states when I was 16, finished my schooling, did the college thing as was expected of me, and then started working for my father and grandfather. See? I told you it wasn’t all that exciting,” he answered with a small chuckle. “And to answer your other question, yes. I’m a good Italian son and so of course I miss my home. I’m also not afraid to admit that I miss my mother as well.”
“Such a sweet boy,” I laugh. “So that explains how you got here, but I still don’t understand how you got to be Top Dog so quickly.”
“Ah. Well that tale will require another drink,” he replies, standing from his stool and going to make another round of coffees. A companionable silence settles between us as he brews us each another espresso which I gladly accept as I had already finished off my first latte. Seriously, what did he put in that thing to make it so damn good? With a wink he pulls a slim flask from inside his jacket and adds a splash into each cup before sliding one across to me. Picking it up gingerly, I bring the cup to my nose and inhale deeply. The sweet scent of warm almonds and rich coffee fill my senses as my eyes flutter closed and I let out a little sigh of contentment.
“Oh, I see why Gage is so fond of you, Cardillo,” DiMarco chuckles, eyeing me over the rim of his cup. I let out a wholly unladylike snort into my cup at his comment, surprise clogging my throat and making me choke. DiMarco lets out another one of his deep laughs and passes me a handkerchief as I attempt to keep from dying either from asphyxiation, mortification, or some combination of the two.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about...” I choke out through the last of my coughing fit. DiMarco gives me a look like he can’t believe I’m that stupid, but graciously lets it slide and continues his story.
“I worked for my grandfather, and my father, for several years. By the time my grandfather was ready to retire and hand the reins to my father, my father was very sick. He ended up going home to Italy to spend what time he could with my mother. With his only son in no shape to take over, my grandfather handed the family to me,” DiMarco explains. He takes a long drink, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the taste.
“So, my dear, your turn. How did you get tied up with the Sons?”
Dammit. I was seriously hoping he would get distracted and forget that little follow up. This man is arguably the most powerful man in the city, if not the state, and here I am a little girl with no direction and nowhere else to go. On top of all that, the last thing I want is more fucking pity from someone I was just starting to like. I’m so tired of my loneliness and weakness being the only thing people see when they look at me. Only Gage has ever looked past all of that and seen more, cared to try and see more.
“Oh you can’t hold out on me now Cardillo,” DiMarco prods.
I run my finger around the rim of my cup and give a resigned sigh. “Don’t really have anywhere else to be, so why not here?”
“Now that can’t possibly be true,” he tuts.
“I’m alone,” I say with a rueful laugh and a shrug. “I have no family, no real friends, no job, so yeah. It’s true. I don’t really belong anywhere.”
“Hmmm,” DiMarco studies me for an uncomfortable moment before he gives a decisive nod, settling both hands against the counter and pushing to a stand. “While I’m not sure I believe all that, I’m certain that you feeling that way just won’t do. You intrigue me, Cardillo. I would very much like to see you comfortable here, see you settled.”
“Wait, why do you care?” I ask, not believing for one second that Salvatore DiMarco, Mob Boss extraordinaire gives two shits about me.
He must see my skepticism because he chuckles and shakes his head on a little laugh. “You remind me of mi Sorellina. Both of you, too wild and free to see what’s right in front of your nose.” I go to respond but he raises an eyebrow at me, effectively silencing me with a look. Goddammit, no one has been able to do that since my mother caught me sneaking out to meet my boyfriend in high school. For some reason I feel that same nervous hum, and odd sense of shame, now as I did then.
DiMarco stands and button his suit jacket with the practiced grace only men who wear six thousand dollar suits seem to possess. “Thank you for the coffee and conversation. Unfortunately, I have business to attend to, but I hope you will indulge me again before you head home. ‘Til next time, la passerotta mia.” Without another word Salvatore DiMarco strides back to the elevator and disappears.
What the hell was that?
Did I seriously just have coffee with the head of the largest criminal organization in the Midwest? And actually enjoy myself while doing
it? Maybe he isn’t as big a slimeball as I first thought.
Chapter 15
Gage
If someone were to ask me why I’ve spent the last four nights in Lexi’s room, I would have to make up some wild ass story about sex with a sling, boot, and athletic tape because the honest to God truth of, ‘for the snuggles,’ would probably earn me a visit from the man card police. Her presence brings me such a level of calm and serenity that I can leave my angst at being crippled in the gym, that I can feel some warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with the fury at what is happening back at the compound. And all that peace at the end of the day is what I think is helping me have a positive outlook on everything, strange as that may seem. I can rely on 90 to 180 minutes of serenity each night with someone who seems to truly care about me and not about what I can do for them.
But tonight is my turn to choose our movie and that has become the best and worst part of our little arrangement. Finding a movie that keeps her engaged, but is also something entertaining to me, is a small needle to thread. No seriously, I spent all morning trying to decide which one to watch tonight. Tiny was less than thrilled with how distracted I’d been, and was all too happy to make me pay for it during my workout. But all that was worth it as I came up with the perfect movie and I can drag my ass into Lexi’s bed and demand extra snuggles to make the pain go away. Yeah, there it is again, snuggles. If you had a smokin’ hot redhead with a body that won’t quit and the biggest heart of anyone on this damn planet, you’d demand snuggles too.
“Honey, I’m home!” I bellow as I hobble into Lexi’s room after dinner. Throwing the door open dramatically as I enter, Lexi is standing on the other side of the room, clearly in the middle of getting ready for the night. How do I know this? Because her fuckin’ tits are out. Yep, Lexi is standing on the other side of the bed in nothing but the tiny little scrap of pink fabric she calls sleep shorts, and nothing else. She’s backlit from the light in the bathroom and it makes her already perfect alabaster skin glow, catching the edges of her hair on fire.
Fuck me. The only saving grace… or horrible shame and cruel joke of the gods… is that she’s facing away from me so all I can see is the expanse of her back and her perfect ass peeking out from the bottom of those barely there shorts. I’m pretty confident I would never make it through the night if I saw her tits. I may be attempting to have patience to rival the biblical Job, but I ain’t no fuckin’ saint.
“Gage!” She shrieks when she hears me come in, diving to the floor for cover. Her head pops up like a damn groundhog on the other side of the bed, and she stares wide eyed at me. “What the fuck?! Is knocking not a thing anymore?”
I can’t help but laugh, she looks too damn cute with her hair mussed from her mad dive for cover and the shocked look she is trying to play off as anger in her eyes. “Come now Al, It’s our eighth date! Take pity on this poor, chaste, Irish soul. Ye can’t blame me for wantin’ a bit of a show,” I say with a wink. Could I have pretended I didn’t see anything and let us both move on like nothing happened? Sure, of course I could have. Would it have been nearly as fun? Absolutely not.
“Turn around you dirty fuckin’ Leprechaun!” she growls, waving one bare arm wildly in my direction.
“Ach, yer no fun lass,” I say with a mock pout, but I do the gentlemanly thing and turn around. No use pressing the advantage more than necessary.
“Hardy-har-har. If I’m such a downer, why do you insist on coming around and bugging me every night?” she asks. “You can turn around now, by the way.”
“I come around because ye find my company delightful,” I respond with a confident smirk as I pirouette delicately on my boot, “And the view of yer nipples through that sorry excuse of a shirt yer sporting doesn’t hurt either,” I tease with a wink, making my way toward the bed. Lexi gasps and looks down, noticing the clearly defined peaks of her nipples standing at attention through the damn near sheer fabric.
“Don’t you stare at them! They’re shy!” she says in mock indignation, gently covering herself in the least demure way possible. Annnnd there it is, her little teasing already revving me up to take her for a ride. “Gage, dear, did you put your cane in your sweats? You seem a little pokey yourself…” she says as she gestures to the growing bulge in my crotch. At least the little guy still works fine after all this. I need to get back in control of the scene here, time to distract her with science!
“Never mind that. Now lass, we have more important business to attend,” I lie, willing myself to settle down since this clearly is not how either of us want to start upping the physical level of our relationship, awkward and sudden. She snorts at my clearly lame joke but comes over to help me sit on the bed and take off the boot for some air. This is one of our other rituals which took the longest for me to accept. She helps me do the mundane things that are just a little too tough to do on my own. Do I need the help? Probably. But admitting that I’m still banged up enough that a little 5’ 2” pixie needs to help me took a while. Man card police and all that. As she eases the boot off and helps me get settled, I finally reveal our movie plan for the evening. “We’re going to watch one of the most important movies to me homeland. We’ve got pirates, explosions, disobeying orders, farming, and monologues!” Her face screws up in confusion as the list goes on, clearly not getting what we’re about to watch.
“What the hell did I get myself into?” she asks, mostly to herself.
“The Martian, lass! Matt Damon on Mars! New age classic that is a must see with one of my favorite characters.” I shout with one of my winning smiles. Who wouldn’t want to watch a movie about mother fuckin’ space pirates?
“Ohhhkay there Gagey-poo. Did you take your pain meds again before you came in here?” she says, patting my chest.
“No! Well, yes, I did, but that has got nothin’ to do with this. This is one of my favorite movies and I’m expecting ye to stay up for this one,” I admonish, hoping that she really will stay awake the entire time. She seems to be interested where there is a little bit of suspense in what is going to happen so I scienced the shit out of the problem and landed here. “Here, just settle in for a wild ride. Besides, ye get to see man-butt, so that’ll keep ye goin’.”
“Oh joy…” she says smiling up at me as she settles into her usual place.
The movie plays and I can tell she is caught up pretty quickly from the opening. I have to shush her a few times as she starts to ask questions about what is going to happen with a, “Just wait! Ye’ll see,” which she humors well and successfully draws her more into the movie. She looks up at me when the potato farming starts with an expectant look. “Your favorite character, I’m assuming?” she says, gesturing at the screen.
“Potatoes are important to the Irish, lass,” I say, trying to be cagey but undeniably happy that she found the joke. She simply snorts and goes back to watching with full attention. By the time the end of the movie rolls around she’s tense with anticipation and sighing with relief at the finale, a few tears streaking her face with the emotional ending.
“That was… surprisingly good,” she says shifting to lay her head in my lap and look up at me so we can talk easily.
“I’m glad ye liked it,” I reply while stroking her soft red curls with my hand. Her hair always feels like silk and looks like a damn photoshoot. I have zero clue how she does it and she insists that she ‘doesn’t do anything special’ which I’ve come to learn means ‘thank you’ in lady speak since I know for a fact she has 15 different products in the bathroom just for her hair.
“You know I’m not calling you Captain Blondebeard, right?” she teases, her eyes crinkling with humor. “You may have the hair but I’m just not seeing enough rogue disregard to be considered a pirate.”
“Oh really, not rough and tumble enough for ye?” I play back, giving her hair a gentle tug with my right hand. What I think is going to be another round of playful banter takes a bit of a turn and she lets out a soft “Mmmm” and her nipples pop right
through that flimsy shirt again. Shit. I rest my good left hand on her stomach and feel the smooth silkiness of her stomach laid out before me. She stretches into my touch, arching her back and pressing her breasts further into the shirt showing me every little curve and line. Her taut abs flexing under my hand I slowly slide my fingers up to the bottom of her ribs, feeling every bit smooth flesh ripple and move under my hand. I reach the point of no return, do I go under her shirt? Is this the time? Should I…
“Don’t stop Gage…” she moans. That settles that.
My fingers find their way under the filmy fabric and slide over her peaked nipple to cup her breast. She lets out a soft gasp as I gently squeeze her between two fingertips. The soft but firm flesh making me want to take her fully into my arms and caress every inch of her. I gently press the back of her head, wanting to bring her to my mouth but my arm not having the strength to pull her to me in the way I want. But she understands, we’re connected, and she rises and turns, leaving my hand on her chest as she locks eyes with those deep emerald gems of hers.
“Gage, I want this,” she says, placing her hand over mine and squeezing it to herself.
“I want you” is all I can get out before her mouth envelopes mine in a fiery kiss. Her arms fly around my neck, one hand tangling in my hair and the other sliding underneath my shirt. Her passion sets me on fire with want, wanting her kiss, wanting her body, wanting release. I shift her to straddling me and she becomes instantly aware of my raging hard-on as she begins to rock against it, driving me further and further insane at my inability to just throw her down and have my way. She slides her hand from behind my back and down my waistband between us, stroking me in ways that I could never achieve on my own, and it almost sends me over the edge.