Screwing the Mob (The Mob Lust Series Book 1)

by Kristen Luciani

  Two days had passed since Shaye had invaded my life, yet again. I knew she’d come to the funeral. And I knew I needed to get her alone, to make things right. But as usual, I fucked it all up. This time, beyond repair.

  For all of the luxuries this life affords me, it’s forced me to give up so much…too much, and for once, I just wanted to know what it felt like to have it all.

  I did, and it was fucking incredible. Somehow, though, I need to get back to my reality because the dream of having the perfect life with the one girl who my soul can’t seem to function without? It’ll turn into a nightmare faster than a bullet will hit me between the eyes if I don’t give her up once and for all.

  I didn’t give her a reason to come back. In fact, I’d given her every reason to stay away.

  But she couldn’t.

  And neither could I.

  I squeeze my eyes shut to block the image of her creeping into my bedroom the other night. I’d tried to keep my attention on that damned football, anything to keep myself from wandering over to her. The girl I’d loved for as long as I could remember. The girl I’d wanted more than anyone else. The girl I could never have.

  I’d lured her to my house with a bullshit excuse, and when she snuck into view, one glimpse was all I needed to jump her fucking bones and rocket her into oblivion. It’s what I’d been fantasizing about since that night before she’d left for school.

  It was too dangerous then, and even more so now.

  I could have nailed fifty other chicks, but I let Shaye wiggle her sexy ass under my skin. Then I pounded it with everything I had, emptying my entire soul into her.

  The tiny drops of blood streaking my bed sheet screamed major fuck up on my part, and I couldn’t get her out of my house fast enough. Christ, I’d thought she was just tense because it was our first time, not her first fucking time. She was a virgin, and I took that away from her. Yanked it away with my suppressed lust-induced rage for everything I’m dealing with right now. I ruined her, and then I kicked her out of my house, living up to my prick-ass reputation.

  The very reputation I’d warned her about a very long time ago to keep her safe.

  My iPhone blares from my nightstand. I slam open the bathroom door and lunge for it, tripping over a baseball bat laying on my floor. Regrettably, baseballs aren’t the only thing I’ve hit with it.

  “Hey, Dad.” I rake a hand through my damp hair and search a drawer for a clean t-shirt.

  “Nico, I need you to get over to my office. We need to talk. Now.”

  My brow furrows. “Okay, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Make it ten.” Click.

  Something’s up. Dad has been heads-down since the funeral, and I’ve given him space to deal with everything. But this life doesn’t give you too much time to grieve since there’s always a nemesis lurking in some dark corner, stalking, plotting, just waiting to swoop in and seize what’s up for grabs…namely, the Salesi empire.

  Nobody fucked with Grandpa. But with the Salesis and Orianis at odds and no referee keeping shit civil, people sense vulnerability. And opportunity. Dad has already stepped into his rightful place, but that doesn’t mean it will go unchallenged.

  I grab a Mets baseball cap from my desk and pull it on. Keys in hand, I tear out of the house and jog toward my blacked-out Range Rover. I slide onto the pebbled leather and the car roars to life. My dad’s office is about fifteen minutes away, so I’m already late, and Joe Salesi hates when anyone is late to a meeting. No exceptions for blood.

  I managed to hit every red light along my route. Motherfucker. I finally pull into the parking garage adjacent to the building. I throw the car into park and jump out of the front seat. The elevator bank is the only thing on my side since the doors open before I can even press the Up button. The elevator zooms up to the fifth floor, and I step out, looking up and down the corridor before opening the door to the office. Occupational hazard. You never know who’s ready to jump out and pummel you with a tire iron.

  Being the son of Joe Salesi affords me a lot of luxuries, but it also puts my head on a chopping block for people who don’t feel we have a right to said luxuries. Dad and I have always been more about the businesses than the blood. But Grandpa always knew if something happened to him, there would be people who’d try to muscle my dad out because they’d proven themselves to the family, proven that they would be feared, basically by way of murder. Just like Grandpa did. So the time came for my dad to send a clear message to the rest of the family, and he did what he needed to secure his place. It happened years ago and was a favor to Rocco’s dad, who’d run into some trouble with another family. That’s about all I ever heard. He never spoke about it, and I never asked, knowing full well that I’d eventually face the same situation.

  Because I’ve never plugged anyone, either. And that makes my father very nervous.

  I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding when I confirm the hallway is empty. I pull open the door and walk into the reception area. The office is bustling with activity. Salesi and Associates is a real estate investment firm. If there’s a business to be constructed, he supplies the property. He buys it up and flips it so fast the ink barely has time to dry on the mortgage contracts. His firm takes in major cash from the families here in the New York/New Jersey area, as well as counterparts in other states.

  Janelle, one of the junior brokers, spots me from across the lobby. She has an armful of papers that she lowers, no doubt to make sure I can enjoy the view. And it’s fucking fabulous. She’s got porn star tits and an ass to match, one I can ride for days. And I’ve spent many hours doing just that. But my head’s all fucked up right now. These older chicks think fucking me means they’re gonna get in good with the boss, that if they land me, they’ll be rescued from the hellish land of appraisals and real estate comps and showered with freshly laundered hundred-dollar bills.

  Not a fucking chance. Mainly because I’m already taken. It happened a long time ago, and it’s nothing I can change. Maybe because I don’t really want to change it.

  I inhale sharply, recalling the way Shaye’s body looked in all that frilly lace the other night. I don’t usually pay much attention to lingerie, since naked is always my goal, but on her, it was sexy as fuck. All grown up and innocent at the same time. Made me harder than an iron pole. My cock twitches at the memory.

  “Nico,” Janelle purrs. Yes, she sounds just like a fucking kitten. I don’t know why chicks think that’s sexy. I’m deathly allergic to those evil creatures, so this is an instant dick deflator. Good timing, Janelle.

  “Hey, Janelle. My father around?”

  Her bright red lips curl upward and she puffs out her chest. “He’s in his office.” She grazes my forearm, her long, matching red nails trailing a somewhat innocent path toward my bicep. “I’ll walk you back.”

  I smile at everyone in the office who greets me as I walk next to Janelle. They treat me like I’m a celebrity. I like it. I love the action and being in the middle of it all is an adrenaline surge like nothing I’ve ever felt before. At least, not before the other night.

  Janelle’s plump ass is wrapped in a skirt so tight, I’m not sure how she can even move. But she finds a way to swing those hips, and yes, on another day, I might be tempted to shove her into one of these empty conference rooms, spread those cheeks, and fuck her senseless.

  But not today. I’m all business, and sex with anyone but Shaye is the furthest thing from my mind.

  Janelle stands aside as I walk into my dad’s office. “See you later, sexy,” she murmurs before retreating down the hall.

  My father looks up with a raised eyebrow and nods toward the door, my signal to close it. He’s not stupid. He knows I’ve worked my way through nearly all of the women in his office. But there are rules, and he likes to make sure I remember them. Never share any details about the family business. Never bring them home. And most importantly, never drill without a mask.

  I shrug and sink into
a chair in front of his large mahogany desk. “What’s up?”

  Dad pulls off his glasses and rubs his eyes. Grandpa’s death has really taken a toll on all of us. A pang attacks my chest. We were so close. Grandpa probably knew more about my conquests than Dad, and he always egged me on. I think sometimes he liked living vicariously through me, especially since Grandma Lou died so many years ago. He never remarried. I think he liked being on his own. Or maybe the lifestyle just didn’t call for it.

  “We have a problem.”

  Fuck me. Don’t we always? With the shit my dad sees on a daily basis, I can’t imagine there’s a day he doesn’t think that at least once. But for him to actually acknowledge it out loud? Must be big. “Tell me.”

  He lets out a deep sigh and runs a hand through his thinning hair. I’m surprised he’s not completely bald from stress alone. “Nico, there are a lot of things I’ve shielded you from over the past several years. But now Grandpa is gone, and as my only son, you need to be aware of how things work.”

  “Pop, I get it. I’m not an idiot.”

  He faces me, a sad smile on his face. “No, you’re not. I also don’t like the idea of thrusting you into this. But you need to be aware in case something…happens.”

  “Dad, just tell me what you need me to do.”

  “Tony Oriani is at it again. He’s quietly meeting with some of the other men, and they’re looking at new opportunities to branch out. He never learned his lesson after all that shit with Cappodamo went down.” He pauses and stands up, turning toward the large picture window behind him.

  “And nobody has his back right now.” Tony is a fucking idiot to be flexing his dick right now. Frank Cappodamo is the most dangerous drug dealer in the Northeast, and if you engage with him, you’d better be willing to sign the deal in blood. If you don’t like the terms and try to walk away, he’ll draw the blood out of you first and then leave you for dead.

  But somehow Tony is still alive after being dragged away from the negotiation table by Dad and Grandpa. What a dumb fuck. Cappodamo doesn’t take rejection lightly. If you make the mistake of initiating a deal, you’re either with him or you’re with him.

  Luckily Dad and I made our own play in anticipation of the fallout with Cappodamo that we both know is coming. We call it the Vodka Connection. Nobody knows any of the details. Can’t risk a rat fucking up our plans. We needed a supplier, and Grandpa made an introduction to a Russian organization awhile back. Dad and I handled the logistics directly with the head, Viktor Ivanov, Cappodamo’s biggest competitor in the narcotics circuit.

  “That’s why we contracted with Viktor Ivanov. His crew and his connections will help us resolve the Cappodamo situation when it comes to a head, but they’re still not family. They have limited loyalty to us. Money talks, but when push comes to shove, we can only count on our own.” Dad’s shoulders sag. “Look, I know Rocco fucked up, and I stood by Grandpa’s decision to get him out of New Jersey. But now, I need him back here. He wants another chance to prove his loyalty to the family. And Grandpa would say I need to do whatever I can to keep the organization strong and tight. That means working with the Luccheses. They have the right allies and access to a lot of the suppliers we need for our other businesses.”

  “Max’ll go ape shit when he hears about this plan.”

  “He’ll swallow it easier once you name him capo. You know that’s what he’s after. Being a captain with his own crew will give him the credibility he needs with the rest of the family.”

  Little hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. “If he finds out I’m bringing Rocco into my business, you know exactly how he’ll react.”

  “He may be pissed, but he’ll have to swallow it if he wants a shot at running things in the future. Bringing in Rocco and his family shows a united front and shuts down any potential for an uprising. Having the Luccheses on our side gives us the muscle we need to carry out our plans and maintain control. The other men will follow suit if they see they can advance in the organization when they support our new direction. And then we can focus on taking down Cappodamo. That’s the goal.” Dad gets up from his chair and walks toward the large window. He stares out at the tops of the trees lining the office park. “There is a lot of risk involved here. But I think it’s the only way to show the families that our organization isn’t going to crumble because Grandpa is gone. We need to be strong and swift in our actions.”

  I let out a loud groan. “Christ, Dad. Isn’t there any other way? Rocco is a scumbag, and he can’t be trusted. You know it as well as I do. He’s not looking to take orders from anyone. He wants to give them. How the hell am I supposed to work with that?”

  “I have faith in you, son. This is important, to all of us. Cappodamo will be back, and we need to be ready for him.”

  I rub the back of my neck to relieve the ache. I’d rather shovel a jar of peanut butter into my mouth than work with that guy. A deep sigh deflates my body. Much as I hate to admit it, I know there isn’t another way. “I get it. And I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

  “Meet with Rocco and make him an offer. He won’t grovel because he’d never want to be seen as desperate. He’s always been a cocky bastard. Handle it however you want, just make sure he’s with us. Don’t let him walk, Nico.” Dad scrubs a hand down his face and turns away from the window. “Keep this quiet, and don’t let on to anyone that we had this conversation. This feud with the Orianis…” He sighs and shakes his head. “I always knew it would come to this. I wish like hell that we could have resolved things like normal people, but Tony is Tony. And since you’re the next in line, I just thought it was time to let you in on what’s happening and what we need to do to keep things running smoothly. Always be ready to make your move. I think you know very well what can happen if you miss your cue.”

  Next in line. Ominous words laced with meaning that knots my stomach, but shit happens fast in this type of life. And you need to be prepared for whatever comes next.

  Shaye

  “You haven’t touched your no foam, triple shot, nonfat caramel macchiato with extra drizzle.” My best friend Sloane giggles and then slurps her mocha Frappuccino. “Can you be any more of a pain in the ass when you order?”

  “What can I say? I know what I want.” I tap my fingernails against my cup. Truer words have never been spoken.

  Shaye wants what Shaye wants even if it’s no good for her. Shaye never learns her lesson. Shaye likes to get kicked in the teeth. Shaye really needs to have her head examined.

  Yep, it all equates to Shaye being a glutton for punishment.

  “I guess that’s the difference between us. I’m willing to be flexible.” Sloane winks at me and slaps the cover of a biology textbook. “Ugh! I don’t know why I decided to torture myself by taking a winter session class! At least you get to study this boring shit while sunning yourself on South Beach instead of in a Starbucks during the dead of winter. In Jersey, no less.”

  I twirl a strand of hot pink hair around my pinkie and page through a notebook, my relationship psychology journal. I flip through the handwritten pages, realizing that I’ve become my own biggest case study. Should make for a pretty damn interesting thesis. Good thing I’ve got plenty of material for it. “It’s too hot to study on the beach. You know I sweat like a beast. The last thing I want to think about is social cognition in psychology while I’m baking in the sun. Besides, there’s a lot of wind. Sand blows all over the place. Trust me, it’s not as glamorous as you think.”

  “It sure beats my dorm room at NYU. And any of the cafés down there. I’ll take the sand over the crackerjacks in the Village any day, thank you very much.”

  I sip my coffee and pull out a pen. I have my laptop bag, but I find writing to be more cathartic. It connects me more to my feelings since they’re flowing from my fingers directly onto the paper, and I like to watch my handwriting change as the emotions take hold. I can feel my words take on their own meaning, my scribble depicting the fleeting happi
ness, the ever-present regret, the loss, the pain…God, I must be some kind of masochist.

  Forcing myself to dig deep and find what lies within hasn’t really helped me get over Nico. It’s only made me realize that when it comes to him, I am tangled in a jumbled mess of emotions that only constrict me when I try to escape.

  The words flow slowly at first, and my hand grips the coffee cup tighter as they pour onto the page. Why can’t I break free of this sick fantasy? What keeps me coming back to Nico? Why do I constantly push other guys away? Talk about mixed signals. I gave myself to him entirely, and he took it all then told me to leave. And even now, two days later, I’m replaying every second of that experience, trying to figure out how things went so far beyond my control.

  He called me, and I felt empowered. He ditched me, and I fell apart.

  I haven’t pieced myself back together just yet, either. A tiny part of me hopes he’ll be the one to do it.

  See? Sick and twisted. I really am a head case. I hope that by majoring in psychology, I’ll be able to fix my head and my heart simultaneously. I slam a hand on the table and close the notebook before stuffing it into my laptop bag. This paper I’m preparing for my upcoming online winter session class will shred my insides by the time it’s completed. At the very least, I’d better get a fucking A on it.

  Sloane narrows her eyes at me. “Are you going to tell me what’s up with you? Your shitty mood is hanging over this table, and it’s smothering my good one. If you need to talk, and I suspect you do, let’s get to it so I can finish this freaking assignment.” She folds her hands and rests them on top of her textbook. “It’s Nico, right? You saw him the other night at the funeral. What happened?”

  I let out a deep sigh. “Do you have to be so brutally perceptive?”

  “I’m your bestie, babe. That’s my job.”

  “Sloane, why can’t I just forget about him? He’s so wrong for me, and he’s made it abundantly clear that I am not what he wants. Why am I torturing myself? Why can’t I walk away?”