Risqué: Mafia Romance (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 5)

by Elena M. Reyes

  It clicks where I’ve been, and his hand comes up to scratch his jaw. The tosser hasn’t shaved in days, it seems. “My offer is to help her. She can take it or leave it, but I’d still move here for her.”

  “You don’t think she’ll relocate to the U.K.?”

  “Not when the Conte House is here. She’d never abandon her mother’s legacy.”

  “She’d still be leaving Chicago.” Aliana didn’t reject my desire to move across the ocean with me. My Venus smiled, more than likely unaware of the act, but she did, and that’s all that matters.

  “We’re talking from a few states away to across the ocean. It’d be easier to relocate the office here and just expand locations, something I know she wants to do.”

  “That’s very true.” My mobile buzzes in my trouser pocket, but I ignore it for now. “Think she’ll turn down his offer?”

  “No. She won’t.” Casper closes his eyes and leans his head back. A small frown on his face. “That woman has a huge, yet fragile heart, and it bites her in the arse at times. This is one of those instances, and her father is close to having her cave.”

  “You think he’ll go for it?”

  The smirk is back as he shrugs while looking at me through slits. “Fucker has no choice.”

  At that, I throw my head back and laugh. He means it. He’d kill him if he had to for Aurora. Sobering a bit, I hold a fist out for him, which he bumps with his. It’s a gesture we’ve always done over the years right before celebrating or eliminating an enemy. “When do you want to make the announcement? Our clientele needs to be informed of the change in management, Casper. I’m not you, and things will run a bit differently.”

  “They all know and have dealt with you in the past.”

  “You still had the final call. Not anymore.”

  He’s pensive for a moment, a flash of pain crossing his features. “As soon as I’ve burned Mum’s killer alive.”

  “Aye.” That’s more than fair. I would’ve insisted on it. “Now, as for our visit—”

  “Gaspar’s meeting with Rubens, isn’t he?”

  “He is.”

  “Personal or business, Callum?”

  “Personal.”

  “Then let’s go ruin their night, boss.”

  The leader of the Gaspar family is sitting in a booth inside of a seedy strip club across town. He’s unaware, body relaxed, while a dancer gyrates atop the table like a perverse buffet. Men sit and watch, point and make lewd gestures, while ignoring the three men walking inside and taking over a table near theirs.

  Then again, it’s dark in here with the harsh strobe light highlighting specific areas: the stage, and two high, circular platforms that have a pole at the center and are only big enough to hold two people at the most. Then, there’s the tobacco smoke and the lines of blow in plain sight.

  Most of the men here surround the stage, tipping the girls, while a few sit to the side with a dancer on their lap and with wandering hands.

  My eyes shift around the room, and I find a few more of his men spread throughout, not really paying attention. They’re busy celebrating something, the ends of their noses powdery white while their pupils are blown wide. Stumbling. Laughing. Fucking twats.

  All out in the open, no fucks given. However, their unprofessionalism works in my favor.

  “Spread them cheeks, sweetheart. Show me how loose you are for me?” Flavio says, his stubby finger running up the young woman’s leg while she dances with her eyes closed. The smile on her face is fake, forced, and highlighted by the mirror above where they sit, but none seem to care. They ignore. Sick fucks.

  I point to the emergency exit near the restrooms and Kray stands, quickly taking position and blocking with his weapon drawn. The bouncers here won’t be an issue. We’ve already taken care of them, knocked unconscious by the front door and then dragged off to the side of the building.

  “I can handle those by the stage,” Casper says. In his hands are two loaded Rugers like mine, but his are from a limited addition line. Mine are all black, the silencer matching the murdered-out powder coat finish. “You ready?”

  “Always.” We share a look and wait. Watch as those around us become more inebriated, uncoordinated, while laughing at the implication of their boss’s words. His hands are higher up the dancer’s thighs, almost to her core when the first shots are fired. Then, there is chaos.

  Blood splashes the front of a waitress at the center of the room, and the man she’d been serving while pushing his hands away is dead upon impact: neck wound with a head thrown back by the force. Her scream is the first to rend the air, but quickly a symphony of fear overtakes the room as panic and confusion—the flight or fight instinct—takes over and like roaches, bodies begin to scatter.

  Many fall, pushing against each other as they fight to get out while the second and third bullet rips through the wall near Flavio’s head. His men stand, eyes darting around the room while missing the two men standing a few feet away with their guns drawn.

  They’re too high. Too unprepared. Yelling at each other while their unfocused eyes dart around the room in search of the threat. Not once do they look at us; they glance over and then focus on the other side of the stage as if the perpetrator is using the elevated platform as coverage.

  Having men like these is a costly mistake for someone who is hell-bent on making enemies. Because in this world, you never let your guard down. You don’t stop questioning every single person that walks into the room you occupy, and you never get plastered while on the job. Losing the awareness of your surroundings is dangerous: a death sentence.

  A lesson this family needs to learn.

  From his place by the emergency exit, Kray fires three consecutive times, and more bodies fall. The women huddled against a wall all cry, shaking, but he raises the gun to his lips and taps it once. Silence.

  They quiet down, still whimpering a bit, but calm down enough to walk when he steps aside and lets them scramble out the door.

  “The fuck!” Flavio screams, shoving the poor scared woman and table out of the way, knocking her hard onto the ground while those around him crowd in a protective way. Casper shoots again, hits one of the enforcers in the knee, tripping him, and the man’s sheer size alone knocks the two beside him to the ground. “Fire back! Find who’s shooting!”

  Six left.

  “Bloody idiots,” my cousin sneers, lip curling in disgust while I aim at the arm of Gaspar’s right-hand man. I’d studied his profile earlier today, a young wannabe playboy related to the man I killed last time we had words. I killed the last right hand arsehole, and I’ll prove just how easily I can do so again. “It’s insulting to the human species.”

  “Agreed.” Another shot, this one to the opposite arm. He falls back on impact, yelling some form of a curse that makes no sense when I step forward. “Oi. Your men are too slow, mate. You’re bloody sitting ducks.”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Callum, what are you doing here?” Flavio, and some bloke who’s too green in the gills, speak in unison. One with fear. One with cockiness.

  The latter of the two slumps over with a bullet to his head before I respond, my silencer muting the sound. “Muzzle your pets, Gaspar. My patience is running thin tonight.”

  A flash of fear crosses his face, but he schools his features quickly. “Is Casper aware of the trouble you’re causing tonight? There are codes in place, Jameson. You’re starting a conflict between our—”

  “Silence.” Casper steps in beside me, his face impassive. “I’m not his boss. Callum makes his own calls.”

  You can see the confusion on his face and the utter look of loss on what’s left of his men. Their expression says it all.

  No one else is here. The music, a heavy-based beat, plays in the background while the lights continue to highlight how easily we ruined their night. How easy they are to kill.

  “Sit, Flavio.” I point my gun to the area he’d been enjoying himself in before. The dancer h
e’d been touching is on the ground, though. She’s not unconscious but is shaking in fear, and I look over at Kray. “Get her cleaned up and out.”

  “Yes, sir.” Without another word, he walks over and kneels next to the woman. He says something and she nods, quickly gripping his hand, and then stands on trembling legs.

  “Tip her.”

  “Callum, this is—”

  “Tip her, or I shoot you. Your choice.”

  Flavio nods, lips in a tight line while pulling out a wad of cash. He tosses a hundred-dollar bill at the floor by her feet. “Here.”

  “All of it, and if you toss it, I’ll make you pick it up with your teeth. She’s not a dog.”

  “It’s okay, sir,” the woman says, looking toward Gaspar with that forced grin back in place. “He doesn’t owe me anything.”

  Ignoring her, I tilt my head to the side with the barrel of my gun pointing at the same man I’ve already shot twice. His second-in-command is bleeding, gritting his teeth as the pain begins to settle and his body shakes. “All. Of. It.” Flavio heeds my warning as Casper grabs two chairs from a nearby table and brings them over. One for me. One for him. The large stack of bills is exchanged under my watch and then Kray takes her away, walking her to the back to collect her things and then out the front door. “Now sit.”

  Cautiously, one of the men with him rights the table and then steps back.

  “Callum, what’s the meaning of this?” Flavio asks, his anger and embarrassment is palpable. He feels disrespected in front of his men, something that no boss can ever allow. Once you show weakness, no one will follow you. “You’re in my territory and I can—”

  “Can what, mate? What the fuck can you do?” I take my seat casually, and Casper does the same. He’s quiet, while I enjoy watching the maggot not worth a shit try and keep his composure.

  It won’t work. Gaspar will make a mistake.

  His men will pay the price.

  He takes in a deep breath and sits across from us, hands atop the old table. “Why are you here?”

  “Because you seem to need a reminder on how this business works. On how to stay in your lane.” Someone scoffs as Kray reenters the room and walks toward me, the woman now gone. My guard hears it, head snapping to the side with a gun against the man’s temple before the already injured git could react. “What’s your deal with Rubens?”

  Flavio swallows hard, throat bobbing harshly, but recovers quickly, expression neutral, while those around him are anything but. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Are you sure you want to take that route, lad? My patience is bloody thin as it is.”

  “I haven’t done anything to warrant this level of disrespect, Jameson. You’re in my home, my country, and…son of a bitch!” he yells out, hand gripping his ear where my bullet took out a small chunk. Blood seeps through his fingers, the left side of his clothing now ruined.

  “Watch it, Flavio. I’d hate to think you truly meant that insult.” One of his men twitches, his hand moving toward his belt, but before he can take his next intake of air, Casper’s gun remedies his idiocy. He’s not dead, but a bullet to the abdomen can do a lot of damage and if not treated immediately, it’d become irreparable. “And you wouldn’t be stupid enough to do so. Would you?”

  “No.” Voice low, he looks at the men beside him. Not one of them is fit for the job, in my opinion, but I’m almost embarrassed for him. I’d feel bad had he not been stupid enough to be intertwined with Rubens’s and Aliana’s safety.

  People like him have no word. No code.

  He’s an animal that needs to come to heel or be put down for his insubordination.

  “Last time we met, Flavio, do you remember what I said to you before walking out the door?”

  “That you’d kill my—”

  “Louder,” I hiss out, my own weapon on the table. My finger is on the trigger as it lays on its side, its muzzle pointing at his heart. “What did I tell you before walking out?”

  “That you’d kill my men and then force me to eat them before ending my pathetic life.”

  “And yet you try to gain territory when we’ve been generous.” My eyes scan the room, finding product on nearly every table. A waste. The color is also off; it’s cheap and cut wrong. Shaking my head, I level him with a hard look. “You try to befriend a politician to what end? What is he offering?”

  “Nothing. It’s a monetary—”

  “The truth, arsehole.”

  “A truce.”

  “A truce?” I ask while Casper scoffs beside me. “Fuck do you have to gain from that?”

  “Immunity.” Flavio’s explanation sounds plausible, and any other day I’d give him the benefit of the doubt, but Giannis wouldn’t be so afraid if it were that simple. The way his hands shake is also telling. Wanker is scared. “We’d be left to do business without harassment or possible jail time in the future if caught mid-transaction. Just that. Nothing else.”

  “Bullshit.” There’s only one man left in his circle that hasn’t spilled blood, and I bring the count down to zero before his next blink. All of the men sitting or surrounding their boss have now paid for his greed. They groan, some trembling where they stand at the ready to die for Flavio. Admirable, but he’s not deserving of their loyalty. “But I’m going to let it slide…” Flavio exhales roughly while the man now on the floor cries out in pain “…for now.”

  “I swear it’s the truth.”

  “And I don’t give a flying fuck either way.”

  “Callum, Casper…this hostility between us isn’t necessary. I can talk to Rubens; we can all prosper from my alliance. Think about it.”

  “There’s nothing for me to think about, Gaspar.” Sitting forward, I level him with a hard stare. He’s sweating; the fear pours out of him. “You will stop whatever it is that you have with Rubens and Martin. No more meetings. No more threats.”

  “Listen, Callum. I don’t know what the problem is, but you can’t—”

  “I can and will.” Lifting my right hand, I empty every bullet left in the wall just two inches from Flavio’s head. The gun in my left hand still has ammo, and he sees the intent. The next time my Ruger discharges, the target is his skull. “The next time I visit over this, I’m going to burn you each alive and then feed your cooked meat to my pet; I’ll ship him over from his cushy home in one of my London properties just for this meal. This is your only warning, Flavio. Stay away from the Rubens and Martin family. All of them. Understood?”

  He nods. “Yes.”

  “Any Gaspar found to be trespassing my order will be put down. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t speak to their families, employees, or the person who makes their coffee at the local deli. Not so much as a bloody nod in their direction.” My eyes shift to all the men one by one, not moving onto the next until they nod. “Heed my warning. I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

  17

  “We deserve a gold medal after the last few days,” I say, sighing as the warm water of the pedicure bowl pulses with massaging jets. We’re in pamper mode today—activated and unreachable while taking a much-needed break. It’s been a week now since both men left, since my father canceled my trip again—no notice or explanation, just a text telling me to hold off until further notice. It’s also been seven days since all hell broke loose and we got an influx of women that left us scrambling to accommodate and protect, leaving me no time to wonder why the sudden change in plans.

  Two of the new residents had a drug addiction, while the other three were running from abusive men that had no qualms about threatening us, but one took it the extra mile. That one didn’t care, charging in with a weapon drawn while trying to intimidate by looking to hurt us or the building his ex was seeking sanctuary inside of.

  The visit lasted a few minutes at the most, tense seconds where Aurora pulled out her gun while I doused his face with pepper spray before he could shoot, or worse.

  “Bring her out,” t
he man screams; a tall jerk with twitchy movements and the nauseating scent of garbage all around him. He’s unkempt. His expression is of pure rage while holding an old pistol in his grip. Arm down and shaking, he stormed inside, scaring the two assistants helping with the dietary changes needed for a seven-year-old with a peanut allergy. “Where is my wife?”

  “Sir, you need to put your weapon away, or we will be obligated to call the police.” Aurora moves in front of the two shaking women while I gently push them toward the office. We’ve gone over drills with the staff and those who live here, practice these at least once a month, but when fear kicks in, you can’t predict how a person will react. “Put it away, and we’ll go to my office and speak calmly—”

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch. Bring me my wife, or I’ll shoot every single one of you.”

  “Last warning,” Aurora says, tone neutral while her hand opens the drawer of the desk right beside her. The man looks down at it, but before he can see her reach for her weapon, I push a high stack of papers onto the ground; it flutters in the space between us and him. It’s just enough of a distraction for Aurora to grab her gun and aim at his chest, while the other women lock the door to her office. “You didn’t listen. This is private property, and I want you out.”

  “I’m not leaving without her. I’d rather burn this entire place to the ground.”

  “Get out,” I hiss, while Aurora clicks the safety off. The man’s eyes flash with fear, but soon that’s gone. That miniscule second reasserts his careless way of thinking, and it also gives me a chance to pull out the pepper spray I keep on myself, finger ready to dress down.

  “No.” He takes a step forward in my direction, but I’m already spraying. I empty the bottle, focusing on his left eye that is partially uncovered through spread fingers, and then step back.

  “You whore!” the man screams, stumbling back and falling as the papers cause him to slide. His body crashes hard, the gun slipping out of his hand and ending against the opposite wall. “The fuck is this shit? It burns!”