Screwing the Mob (The Mob Lust Series Book 1)

by Kristen Luciani

  I don’t have to look for long. It’s sitting right next to my watch on the nightstand.

  When did I put it there? I’d never leave it exposed like that…

  I swallow hard and creep over to the door.

  Footsteps. I hear them coming closer. Heavier. Louder.

  I flip off the safety and twist the door handle.

  How did he get in here? How did he find me?

  I pull open the door and there are even more footsteps. Now those footsteps are coupled with loud voices, and the scent of lilies assaults my nostrils.

  Lilies. Pollen. Allergies.

  My eyes tear up, my throat tight. I step into the hallway, gun pointed toward the kitchen.

  But it’s not the kitchen I’m looking into anymore.

  I take a few steps, entering a large, taupe-colored room filled with chairs and noisy people. And pollen. Lots of fucking pollen. My nose immediately suffers the effects. I creep forward, shirtless, barefoot, and in sweatpants. Nobody seems to notice. They all nod and smile at me before going back to their loud conversations.

  Where the fuck am I?

  “Nico, thank you so much for coming.”

  Who is this person? And why is she thanking me?

  “I’m Carlo’s sister. He always had such wonderful things to say about you.” She smiles, her expression friendly.

  I force my lips to curl into a smile. “He was a good man.”

  More footsteps. These are angry and coming from behind me. I spin around, but not in enough time to prevent the attack.

  “He was. Until you got him killed! You’re a murderer!”

  Carlo’s wife lunges for me, her long red nails lancing my neck. Nobody tries to stop her though. They just let her attack me like a wolverine.

  I deserve it. I know I do. This is my fault.

  “You let him die! My husband was killed because of you!” Her voice pierces my brain, the screams and threats pummeling me as hard as her fists.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. So sorry,” I mumble, gripping the bedsheet in my fist. I gasp and jump out of the bed, pulse throbbing, sweat pouring down the front of my chest.

  Fuck me.

  Lilies. Death. Grandpa. Carlo.

  I’ll never buy another one of those fucking flowers again.

  Shaye

  One of my eyes floats closed, and I steady my hand. It’s stretched straight out, my arm stiff as a corpse. My heart thrums, as it always does whenever I line up for a shot. The target taunts me from twenty feet away, waiting to see if I have what it takes.

  I do. I haven’t missed in weeks.

  I pull the trigger, my body jolts from the force of the bullet exploding from the gun barrel. My lips curl upward as the bullet tears through the cardboard head, leaving the target dangling listlessly on its cord.

  Katarina says I’m a natural.

  I say I’m just pissed off.

  The satisfying scent of burnt gunpowder fills my lungs. Under other circumstances, it’d probably make me hurl, but on days like this, when I know I’m coming closer to the time when these shots will be directed to actual live humans instead of cardboard cutouts, it empowers me.

  I never thought I’d be standing in a shooting range, speckled with gunpower from my own gun, as the protégé of a Russian mob boss’s daughter.

  Nico was serious about me learning how to protect myself. But I’m sure that when he introduced me to Katarina Ivanov, Viktor’s daughter, he had other ideas. Like kung fu. Or jujitsu. Maybe knife play.

  But screw that. Martial arts are all fine and good, but while they may get me out of a chokehold, they won’t do much by the way of stopping a predator. Permanently.

  And Katarina…she’s as alpha as they come. And since she looks like a Victoria’s Secret model, they’ll never see her coming. And that’s just the way she likes it. That’s what she’s taught me.

  With each passing day and each mutilated target, I can see my training hard at work. Katarina critiques every single move, every stance, every position until it’s perfect.

  “They’ll never expect it from you, Pinky.” Katarina smirks. “When you get your shot, it’s going to be beautiful. You’ll blow their minds and then blow off their heads.”

  “No pun intended?” I snicker. She’s called me Pinky since that first night. It’s because the ends of my blonde hair are dyed a vibrant fuchsia color. Whatever. The nickname reminds me that there’s a sense of humor buried deep inside of this assassin in training.

  That’s exactly the kind of instructor I need. Nico would never have been able to detach himself from the situation to give me this kind of training. Hell, he has no idea I’ve spent so many hours at this gun club over the past months, especially since I haven’t worn my watch here. I don’t wear any jewelry at all.

  And he’d flip if he knew I carried a handgun in my purse.

  A roundhouse kick to the head will only buy me a sliver of time. These motherfuckers carry weapons, badass guns, and I refuse to be the victim again. I can still feel the duct tape tearing at my skin, the dank smell of the abandoned warehouse where, if things had gone differently, I would have been killed at the hand of Frank Cappodamo. Brutalized first, raped most definitely…he was a sick bastard who hunted me in an attempt to bait Nico. And while we left that warehouse pretty much unscathed, there was plenty of emotional damage done.

  A shiver runs through me. Never again. I refuse to be in that position ever again. I know I’m a target. I’ve worn that bullseye since birth, for Christ’s sake. And I’m tired of waiting for someone else to save me.

  This time, I’ll be prepared. This time, I’ll do the saving.

  I place the gun down and stretch my arms overhead. “Another satisfying session.”

  Katarina smirks. “Stress begone.”

  “Completely.” I pull out the hair band and let the blonde waves fall loose around my shoulders. “But damn, I’m starving. Plugging a cardboard cutout really makes me hungry. Lunch?”

  Kat nods. “After we shower. I don’t think you want to stink of gunpowder when Nico ravages you later.”

  “Yeah.” I stuff my things into a duffel bag. “That hasn’t really been a problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I haven’t really seen him too much lately.” I avert my eyes, zip it, and hoist it over my shoulder. “He’s been working late at the club, so I’ve been staying at my parents’ house.”

  “Except for last night.”

  “Yes.” A shiver runs through me. The delicious memories from the most passionate night we’ve had in…shit, I don’t even want to think about how long it’s been since we’ve made love like that. All I know is we need to get back to the place where it was a nightly occurrence, not just something that happens when I surprise him at the club incognito or when someone gets killed.

  Kat narrows her eyes and sticks her hands on her hips. “You mean to tell me he chooses not to fuck you? To work late instead?”

  “It’s not that simple.” I squirm under her piercing, blue-eyed stare. “He’s been really busy…and preoccupied…”

  “With some other pussy?”

  My mouth falls open. I love Kat, but she’s cruder than most guys I know. “No! Just with…things.”

  “Well, if he’s not fucking you and he’s not fucking someone else, then what is keeping him away?”

  I shrug. “He doesn’t really talk about it. I know he’s going through a hard time, trying to keep his guys in line, watching over his shoulder for that lunatic…I guess he’s stressed, too.”

  “Shaye, he’s next in line to take over the family business. He has to be prepared to become the boss at any time. That means he needs to have his shit together. He can’t be some fucking pansy ass burying himself in work when he needs to be swinging his dick around.” She walks closer to me, her eyes narrowed. “There’s no room for stress in this life. It’ll fucking cripple you. And then it’ll kill you.”

  Stress clouds your judgement. It’s a distr
action, a potentially lethal one. Nico is wound like a top these days, and last night was the first time I’ve seen him somewhat back to normal. He was always so calm and controlled. But he lost his shit at the club, went after that guy for trying to talk to him...it’s like his emotions are blasting out of control.

  Not that Kat needs to know any more than what I’ve already told her. I’ve probably said too much, and since her father is one of Nico’s business partners, I really don’t need to give her any more personal insight.

  We walk into the ladies’ locker room at the gun club and strip out of our clothes. I stuff mine into a plastic bag so I can bring them straight to the dry cleaner.

  What my family doesn’t know won’t hurt them.

  It might kill me, but that’s another story.

  Half an hour later, we’re showered and on our way to Villa Laura, my favorite pizzeria. I’m dying for a pepperoni calzone.

  Kat drives us in her car since she picked me up for our weekly gun date. I can’t let my car be seen at the club. It’s also why I go under a fake name. Nobody needs to know my plan.

  Until I want them to know.

  She pulls her Range Rover Volar into the parking lot and we go inside. I inhale deeply…the scent of pizza infiltrating my senses. My mouth waters as I stare at the fresh pies being slid out of the giant pizza ovens and onto their own display trays.

  Okay, maybe a calzone plus a couple of slices…

  Kat wrinkles her nose. “Can I get a salad here?”

  My eyes pop wide open and I twist to face her. “A salad? Are you insane? This is the best pizza on the planet!”

  “I don’t really care for Italian food. Or any food, really. You know my diet mainly consists of vodka anyway.”

  I snicker. “Whatever you’re doing works.”

  She flips her long, dark hair over her shoulder, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the guy behind the counter literally drool a little bit. I swallow a giggle, but this is the kind of reaction she generates pretty much anywhere we go. She’s about five inches taller than me, with lean, toned legs that go on for days. Her arms are sculpted, her waist tiny. But her presence? It’s huge. And menacing when she wants it to be. You’ll never see her coming…not until she wants you to.

  And that’s an advantage she’s taught me. While they’re busy eyeing you and trying to figure out how best to fuck you, that’s when you lash out and slit their throats.

  We order our food and walk into the dining area to pick out a table. She always opts for one close to an exit because you just never know.

  “That last place you want to be stuck in is a corner. Like a rat.” She winks at me and flops in the chair closest to the back exit.

  I tap my fingernails on the ceramic table top. Katarina has never been particularly open with me about her life, her past, or her family. But with my whole existence in upheaval, I feel like I need to find a kindred spirit…someone who’s gone through this before, someone I can relate to on some level. Our relationship to date has been very superficial. We train, and then we say goodbye. She’s not my friend, even though I sense she might need one. I tap faster. She may shut down, or maybe my instincts will be right and she’ll want to open up to someone. I raise my gaze to meet her curious one. “So, tell me, how did you learn to shoot like a sniper?”

  A faraway smile lifts Katarina’s glossy pink lips. “My mother taught me. I was young, younger than she wanted me to be when she started training me, but things were very dangerous for us back then. My father was working hard to rise up in the organization, and people above him didn’t like that.” Her shoulders sag and she toys with a straw wrapper. “She decided it was time for me to learn how to defend myself. So I did. I was her best student.”

  “Wow.” My eyes widen. “I can’t imagine my mother even holding a gun, much less teaching me how to fire one.”

  Kat runs her fingers through her hair. “You learn what you live. When death stares you in the face enough, you have to take matters into your own hands.”

  “She must be really proud of the badass you’ve become, huh?” I take a sip of my Diet Coke.

  Kat looks away. “Yeah, well, she’s dead so it doesn’t really matter.”

  “I’m so sorry, Kat.” I reach out to pat her arm and she stares at my hand for a long second before pushing back her chair and standing. “I’ll be right back.”

  Dammit, I had no idea…I feel like a complete ass right now. Me and my stupid psychoanalysis. I should just learn to keep my big mouth shut. Although…maybe my instinct was right after all. She did tell me something personal about herself, something that was probably painful to share. But she did it anyway.

  Maybe the Ice Queen is prone to thawing if she so chooses.

  I’ll take that as a positive sign. I need her on my side.

  My stomach growls, and I let out a groan. I’m so hungry, my arm is looking pretty damn good right about now. I’m very close to gnawing it off. How much longer is it going to take for—?

  “Hey! Where the hell were you this morning? I came by at ten, and Max said you’d already taken off. What the fuck, Shaye?”

  I gasp and twist around in my chair. “Rocco! You scared the hell out of me!”

  He lowers himself down to my seated level and points to me, his eyes menacing. “Do you know what Nico will do to me if anything happens to you on my watch? What happened to Carlo will be me times a thousand!”

  “Keep your voice down!” I whisper-shout. “I’m not a baby. I told Nico that last night. And again this morning. I appreciate your concern, but trust me. I’m good.”

  Rocco’s finger comes closer to my face. “Take it up again with your boyfriend. In the meantime, don’t fuck around with—ahh!”

  Katarina rushes toward Rocco, stealth like a fucking ninja if I ever saw one. Within a split second, she’s looped an arm through his and has her other arm tight under his neck in a chokehold. His eyes pop wide open and he struggles to get a glimpse of his assailant. But she’s good…damn good. He struggles for breath, and I jump up from my chair. “Kat, it’s okay. You can let him go. He’s a friend of mine.”

  She tightens her grip. “He doesn’t sound so friendly.”

  Rocco sputters, his face turning an alarming shade of purple. “I c-can’t b-b-breathe,” he rasps.

  “Seriously, Kat. I don’t think he’ll ever do that again.” I smirk at Rocco. “Right? Buddy?”

  He nods, pulling at Kat’s arms. “Y-y-yes!”

  Kat releases him and he drops to his knees, clutching his neck and gasping for air. “Fucking sick bastard. Who the hell do you think—?” His eyes are pure venom at this point and he leaps to his feet, spinning around to face his attacker…the attacker who looks more like a runway model than a trained assassin. To say the look on Rocco’s face is priceless really is the understatement of the century.

  Katarina lifts a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I don’t wait for danger to become a reality. I believe in exterminating it before that happens. And even though you don’t look like you pose too much of a threat…” A tiny smile curls her lips upward. “I don’t like to take unnecessary chances.”

  Rocco’s mouth falls open. I’ve never actually seen him struck speechless. It’s quite comical. I’m enjoying my vantage point, happy to know there’s somebody who has my back and can do pretty severe damage as she so clearly demonstrated.

  This is just too good all around.

  He rises to his full height, puffing out his chest though he’s still struggling for air. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but I’d appreciate it if next time you mind your own fucking business when I’m talking to my friend.”

  I put a hand to his chest. “Okay, relax, Rocco. She was just looking out for me. Exactly what you’re trying to do. We’re all on the same team here.”

  He rubs his neck, glowering at Katarina. But I can tell he would much prefer to rake his eyes over her body. The wheels start to turn. Maybe that time will come…

  Kat flashe
s a toothy grin and sidles back to her chair. “That’s right. We’re all on the same team, buddy.”

  He clears his throat. “It’s Rocco, not that I give a fuck whether or not you know my name.”

  Yep, that’s a bunch of bullshit.

  “Rocco,” she repeats, her grin widening. “Rocco Lucchese, yes?”

  “Yeah,” he grunts, narrowing his eyes in my direction. I shrug. I may have mentioned him once or twice. Or a dozen times.

  He needs a girl, and Kat is his perfect match.

  Not that he looks convinced of that.

  “Rocco, this is Katarina Ivanov.” I let the name sink in and wait for his reaction. It doesn’t disappoint.

  “Viktor’s daughter?”

  She nods. “The one and only.”

  His lips stretch into a straight line. “He’s a good guy, your dad. Saved my ass once.” He adjusts his jacket and looks at me. “Next time, just text me if you’re not gonna be home.”

  I nod. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “Nah, I’ve got to get back to the club right now. But, um, maybe another time.” His tone, normally so gruff and grim, sounds hopeful. His eyes flicker back toward Kat, whose appraising stare tells me she’s as curious as he is. Perfect. How gifted am I at this matchmaking crap?

  If I could only figure out the little kinks between Max and Sloane, my best friend, I would consider myself the setup whisperer. But their dynamic is a little more challenging, especially since neither one of them will let me in on what the hell happened between them all those months ago that keeps them drooling over each other from a distance.

  Kat says nothing, but continues to stare him down. For a second, I almost feel like walking away since I am so clearly intruding on their silent and lustful exchange.

  Rocco finally tears his eyes away from Katarina. “I’ll give you a call later, okay?”

  “Yes.” I smile. “Now get to work.”

  “Bye, Rocco,” Kat sing-songs, straining her chest against the tight shirt stretched against her skin. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, either. Rocco grins at Kat and winks at her before turning and sauntering toward the exit.