Risqué: Mafia Romance (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 5)

by Elena M. Reyes

  Not that anyone in my family cares. I’m a pawn the governor moves at his will.

  “I know who your father is, sweetheart.”

  “Everyone does.” Just as Aurora’s father promised, a car pulls up to take me home then, and I’m thankful. “If you’ll excuse me...”

  He moves as if to open my door but pauses with his hand on the handle. His face is close to mine, breath on my cheek, and I cringe. “Does he know she’s taking over?”

  “Please move.”

  “How will it look to his constituents to have his daughter running around the city with a future mob boss?”

  My eyes narrow, I meet his cocky grin with an icy glare. “My life is none of your business, and trust me, Cancio would agree that neither is his daughter’s. Don’t threaten me again.”

  “Will he hurt you?” he asks instead, his stare focused on my mouth now. “I could protect—”

  Pig. But he isn’t the first, nor will he be the last, to flirt or be pushy. Not in our world.

  “And are you going to be there for me?” I’m watching him now from beneath long lashes, relaxing my previously stiff form. Men like him like that. To see a woman back down, but little does he know that they’re nothing more than puppets against a quick smile or the thought of an easy lay. Pathetic, really. “Will you defend me?”

  The guard licks his lips. “Yes.”

  “Should I bring that up while my father and your employer play a round of golf before Mr. Cancio heads back to Boston? Or what about at dinner tomorrow night over the first course?” This time, my sarcasm isn’t missed and his eyes narrow, hand shooting out to grip my arm. I step out of reach, though, just as Cancio’s right hand begins to walk our way. Another man that makes me feel uncomfortable. Something just isn’t right about him. “Please move.”

  “You’ll learn your—”

  “Is there a problem, Santis?”

  “No, Dominic. Just getting the door for Miss Rubens.” There’s no missing the hard grip he has on the handle nor the tightness in Santis’s jaw, but he follows through and opens it for me before stepping aside. I don’t wait and slip inside, closing the door before either tries to engage me again.

  And yet, I don’t miss the angry scowl on both their faces.

  One looking toward the Town Car. The other watching him.

  “Your parents’ house or your apartment, Miss Rubens?” a voice I know asks, and at once, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, my body semi-sinking back into the seat. Pierro has worked for the Cancio family for a long time—if Aurora’s father is in town, so is he—and is the only person that my best friend will hug without a second thought. He’s old, charming, and always respectful. He also engages the locks immediately. “Are you okay? Did they say something—”

  “I’m fine, and my house, please.” My smile is genuine, but I can’t entirely remove the stiffness in my body. There’s no hiding it, but thankfully he just nods while looking at me through the rearview mirror. “It’s late, and I have an early morning tomorrow.”

  “As you wish.” Pierro pulls off from the curb, but I can still feel Santis’s eyes on me. Something about him puts me on edge more than Mr. Cancio or his right-hand man. “There are some chocolates back there, by the way. Your and Miss Conte’s favorite.”

  “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite person, Pierro?”

  “A time or two, and each involves chocolates.”

  “Just speaking the truth,” I sing off-key, making the man chuckle while I find the offered treats near the opposite door. Come to Momma. They’re from a shop back in Boston that does the best sweets in my opinion, and this box, their signature collection, is to die for. Grabbing a piece of dark chocolate with hazelnuts and a hint of orange, I pop it in my mouth and groan. Everything—all the stress I tend to carry—evaporates. My eyes close and the city becomes quiet; nothing matters. “I needed this.”

  “There’s also a bottle of water in the pocket behind my seat.”

  Opening my eyes, I find the offered and reach for it. It’s a little cooler than room temperature and I twist the cap, taking a small sip before grabbing another treat from the box. “You are a lifesaver and the best man to ever live.”

  “If only the missus thought so...”

  I laugh at his reply, ignoring the vibrations coming from my wristlet. “Trust me, she does. It’s just smarter to keep you humble.”

  “Women,” he mutters, but his shoulders shake with amusement. “There’s not much traffic tonight so we should reach your home soon. Do you need to stop somewhere before we do?”

  “No. All I want right now is my bed.” Pierro doesn’t say anything else, taking the left turn at the light and then driving straight toward the area I live in. Just like Aurora, my home is in the Lincoln Park area and just a few blocks away from hers in a townhome community that my parents approve of solely because a few stuck-up acquaintances have children that live in the area.

  My phone vibrates but I don’t bother to look. There’s only one person who’d contact me right now, and I’m sure he’ll do so again once I’m safely inside. I’m going to leave Chicago one day soon. A throat clears then and I snap into focus, not having realized I’d zoned out. We’re parked outside my place, the dark green door lit up while a large box from my favorite chip company sits atop the mat.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Aliana?”

  “I’m sure.” My eyes meet his through the rearview, and while I can see he doesn’t believe me, Pierro doesn’t pry. Instead, he gets out and opens my door while offering a hand to help me out, which I take, gripping it while grabbing his gift with my empty one. Once outside, I give him a smile and place a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be in town until Mr. Cancio leaves. If you need anything, please let me know.”

  “Tell your wife that if I were older, I’d steal you away.”

  At my words, his grin widens and a small touch of pink stretches across his cheeks. “I’m the lucky one, Miss Rubens.”

  “And we’ll agree to disagree.” With one last smile, I leave him at the curb and take the small set of stairs that lead to my front door, pausing only long enough to grab the box and input my code before ducking inside. I’m smiling as I drop my wristlet, snack package, and my thin sweater before reaching for another small morsel of delight while my home phone begins to ring.

  The generic landline’s ringtone blares through my quiet home four times before the red light of the recorder signals my doom. Only two people have this number, and both reside in the same house while carrying the same last name: one as a control mechanism and the other because she follows his orders. Even if it means hurting her child.

  They’re both selfish; how they communicate with me when it’s not a social call.

  I know what it means. I dread what they’ll ask of me.

  Dropping the box of chocolates on the entry table, I toe off my shoes and then put my hair up in a high ponytail. Not yet. My kitchen is just to the left of the townhome’s entrance past an arched entryway, and I walk to my fridge, grabbing the opened bottle of wine in there. It’s still three-quarters full, and after popping the topper, I begin to pour myself what’s left inside a huge glass Aurora gave me as a gag gift last year.

  Am I taking my time in answering? Yes.

  Will I get crap for it? Another yes.

  “Screw it,” I whisper before chugging the contents of the glass, not stopping to breathe until the last sweet drops sit on my tongue. The crisp note of fruit is refreshing, and so is the added warmth that sweeps my short frame as it mixes with my earlier drinks create a quick buzz that makes me smile. “Liquid courage for the win.”

  And no sooner had the last words passed my lips than there’s a sudden pounding on my door. It’s a firm knock, harder than needed, and I walk over, opening it without looking through the peephole.

  “Why the fuck aren’t you answering your phone, Aliana?”

  “I just got
home. Literally.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “Hello to you too, Father,” I say, not that he acknowledges or even gives me a smile. Instead, he walks past me and looks at the empty glass with disdain. He also doesn’t comment on the hint of annoyance in my tone. “Please, take a seat. Would you like anything?”

  He does sit, crossing one leg at the knee while watching me, expression blank. “You know why I’m here.”

  “Couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow’s dinner?”

  “No.” It’s hard—so hard—but I nod and take the chair opposite. I mimic him. “The buyer is waiting, and I need this resolved before the campaign for re-election kicks off at the end of the month. You’ll be leaving soon.”

  “I have a job and my schooling. Getting up and disappearing on a whim isn’t responsible.”

  “Neither is a political figure’s daughter being best friends with a mafia princess and soon-to-be mafia boss.”

  “What?” My voice comes out shaky, my palms becoming sweaty. “Why would you say something like—”

  “Do you really think of me as an idiot?” That’s rhetorical, and I keep my lips shut because truthfully, I want to call him so much worse. My father is the kind of criminal that considers himself above others—untouchable. It’s what all the men in my family believe, from the youngest adult to the oldest—it’s a man’s world, while it’s the woman’s place to dirty her hands for them. A life where public image is more important than the love or well-being of your child. “Cancio is in town and came to see me earlier today. He’s donating a hefty sum to my re-election fund, so I turn a blind eye to his daughter’s future endeavors...” Dad scratches his jaw, a dark gleam in his eyes “...and I agreed, with a catch.”

  A sinking feeling hits me, my earlier dinner threatening to make a reappearance. “A catch?”

  “There are two things I need from him.”

  “Money?”

  “Very astute of you.” He uncrosses his leg and switches to the other. “I will get a monthly cut of all his illegal activity taking place in the state of Illinois.”

  “And?”

  “I’m interested in doing business with someone he knows but has a dislike for me.”

  “Interested how?” Something isn’t right. God help me.

  “As a suitable husband for you.”

  “Husband.” The word is thick on my tongue. Makes my skin crawl. “No. I’ll refuse.”

  “Mateo hasn’t agreed to that stipulation yet, but he will,” my father says as if I hadn’t spoken. “It’ll be beneficial for us all. Someone to keep you in place.”

  “You can’t do this. I’ll never accept whoever this ass—” My face snaps to the side, the hard sting burning my cheek while he simply sits back. I taste blood in my mouth while heat scorches, throbs in time with my heart, and I swallow back my cry of pain. That would only make it worse. Te odio. Hate you with every fiber of my being.

  “Watch your mouth, mi hija. You know the consequences of going against me.”

  Cradling my cheek, I bite back my retort because it’s always the same. He threatens me with hurting my mother and younger siblings, and even though she deserves no pity from me, Diego Jr. and Sebastian will always have my protection. “Understood.”

  “Good,” he says, softer this time, and I don’t trust the tone. “You will do as you’re told and go where I send you. No more arguing.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell Aurora you’re needed for a family emergency and plan to be gone for a few days.”

  “Anything else?” I want him gone. Loathe him.

  “The information on the artifact will be sent to you via courier in a few days. Study it and prepare, Aliana; I won’t allow a fuck-up on your behalf. That small statue is worth half a billion on the black market, and my buyer is desperate.”

  “So much so that you’d put my freedom in jeopardy?”

  “So much so that I’d sell you if the offer had enough zeroes attached.” With that, he stands and takes the few steps separating us, and before I can escape, his fingers grip my chin hard and tilt my face up. “You will not fail me, Daughter. Don’t force me to hurt you.”

  Without waiting for a reply, my father walks out, and I finally let the tears fall. This is the shame I carry—the burden that no one knows about. And my biggest fear of all is that someday I’ll be caught and live the rest of my life behind bars because no one will believe me.

  4

  Aliana Camila Rubens...

  Her name is the first thing I see after waking up.

  It’s on the screen of my mobile forty-eight hours after my eyes landed on her, causing my cock to swell and my stomach to clench. There’s something about the little beauty that piques my interest, makes my body thrum with a heated excitement I’ve never encountered before…

  Hunter versus prey.

  Swiping a finger across the screen, I open the folder with a grin. I feel no shame while reading each line slowly, memorizing every detail about a slip of a woman I’ve yet to meet face to face. And yet, that doesn’t diminish my interest in the little goddess.

  Instead, it makes the yearning to see her again burn just a little brighter. Hotter.

  Then again, it’s her face that’s accompanied me the last two days without pause. No matter where I’ve been and how much blood is on my hands, it’s her I think about and what I’ll do once she’s in my grasp.

  I want to hear her moans.

  Watch her fall apart.

  Feel her walls clench and milk my cock.

  “What is it about you, Miss Rubens?” I ask myself before turning the page, but then pause and close my eyes while gripping my hard dick lazily with my unoccupied hand. I don’t wank, just close my fist tight as I replay the way she danced while the people with her egged her on. Coquettish with the right hint of mischief that I find utterly sexy.

  The mobile vibrates in my hand and my eyes snap open, Casper’s name flashing across the top. We’re meeting in a few hours, and I think I know what he’ll ask of me. I know the chess-like moves he’s starting to make within the organization. I can almost understand him, too, but is it enough?

  Refocusing on the picture at the top, I’m starting to think his reasoning is indeed enough. It’s one of Aliana with two other women at a beach, dressed in nothing but a pair of extremely distressed cutoffs and a bikini top, smiling at the camera. Her skin is sun-kissed, no makeup on her sweet face, and hair wavy from the salt water.

  “Motherfuck,” I hiss out from clenched teeth, stroking down once and then twisting my wrist—tightening my hold further on the upward motion, and pausing. One. Two. Three. Then again, each piece of her I take in is a pump of my hand—my balls tighten, and I throb. Hurt.

  Then stop.

  I let myself twitch, a bead of pre-come rolling from the tip and onto my fingers as I bite my bottom lip.

  There’s an innocence to her that I find attractive, but it’s the heat hidden underneath that draws me in. Even here, in a picture showing a relaxing outing with her mates, I see that more.

  It’s there. It calls to my own darkness.

  My eyes take in the supple hips, how the button at her waistband is undone and exposing a hint of light green that matches the color of her swim top. The two minuscule triangles hold in enough to be decent, but not enough to calm the sudden lick of jealousy that snaps through me.

  Each swell spills out at the sides and center; she’s a lot more than a handful. Another harsh jerk forces my hips to pump. I fuck my hand as I make out the two beaded tips through the thin fabric, vowing to find out who was with her that day and kill any man who was present.

  Kray was astute enough to send his female cousin out on this outing; they sent me separate emails pertaining to what they found. She took these photos—sent one where she’s faking a selfie and Aliana can be seen in the background—while he pulled the background information.

  Because for her I find myself being a possessive arsehole. It’s sexist,
and I have no shame.

  No excuse. Not embarrassed over the fact either.

  I want to be the only one that sees her like this. To enjoy her beauty.

  My eyes roam lower, and I groan as a tiny jewel catches the sun’s rays right at her belly button. It’s small, highlighting her flat, toned stomach and the skin I want to mark. My teeth ache with an overwhelming desire to bite her.

  She’s bloody perfect. My cock swells in my hold and I jerk my wrist, taking myself to the edge before slowing down. There’s something at her hip, showing just above the waist of those blasted shorts that causes every muscle in my body to tense. There’s more to it, but the angle she stands at blocks my view and this both angers and excites.

  “Christ.” I know she’s marked—the dark contrast highlighting the edge of a tattoo—and the lightest touch to my engorged head, feather-light across the slit, is enough to pull the come from my balls. Two long ropes shoot from the tip, coating my abdomen while the rest dribbles down my fingers and palm.

  If this is how I react to a picture, I’m fucked.

  Truly. Utterly. Fucked.

  “This is how obsession starts,” I mutter to myself, releasing myself and then tracing a come-soaked finger across the picture where her lips are. “We’ll be meeting soon, Miss Rubens. Really soon.”

  Another twitch, and I close my eyes with a grin.

  What she brings out of me makes no sense. My reactions aren’t me, and yet I need more. To be closer. To feel those curious eyes on mine.

  Maybe then the desire will wane, and I’ll fuck her out of my system. One and done.

  Lies.

  Letting out a slow breath, I wipe my hand on the blanket near me and focus on the electronic file next, turning to the page with her personal information. Line by line, I memorize each stat for later use as any good stalker would.

  * * *