Risqué: Mafia Romance (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 5)

by Elena M. Reyes

  One gets curious. Snaps his teeth.

  “Feel like telling me that story now? Come one, Mauricio. Let’s reminisce.”

  His silence feels like a slap in the face. He's ignoring the man whose mum he killed. Denying his past instead of accepting his reality like a man. Fucking pussy.

  “Maybe he just needs a little help getting there. Something to remember?” I walk over, my steps unhurried as I pick up a bottle of rum. It’s open, half gone, but has enough left for me to get my point across. “Right, friend?”

  Immediately his eyes widen, and he arches back, digging the rope into his wrists. “Don’t. Please don’t…I’ll talk.”

  “So you do remember?” And like the arsehole I am, I pour a wee bit of the alcohol onto his leg. Not on the cut, but close enough that he screams like the twat he is.

  “Don’t do this.”

  “Do what?” A little more, this time a few drops slip onto the wound, and he cries out. Full-on blubbering mess. “Repeat that?”

  “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just let me walk out of here alive—promise not to kill me.”

  “But first, let’s start with a slide show. A beautiful message from a friend?” Casper nods in approval, while Ivan turns on the computer. The guest of honor is quiet, though, and I add another few drops over the last. “What do you think, Hernandez?”

  “Yes.”

  The cart is moved closer, touching his body. Rust smears across his dirty flesh, a streak Casper follows with the tip of his blade. A shallow cut, but if you were to believe the sounds coming from Hernandez, you’d think we tore a limb off.

  “Where are they?” Casper grits out, his lip curling over his teeth. I know he’s hurting. All of this cuts deep.

  His mum will never get to meet Aurora.

  My aunt will never get to embarrass me in front of Aliana.

  I point at the app, and he stalks over, pressing play before standing back. We all do.

  Let him see how far our depravity goes. Let him see his friend, Felix Vega, take his last breath.

  Because I was right in sending in Alexander when I did.

  Mauricio should’ve never accepted the job. Neither should’ve.

  Felix received a punishment—was tortured by one of the best in the business. Burns. Strikes. Cuts. Alexander is brutal, and he took pleasure in cutting the man’s cock off an inch at a time. Then his balls. Slowly, bleeding him and then patching up enough to stave off his death before doing it again.

  He broke his mind. His will to live.

  And then when Felix takes the gun Casper gave him and pulls the trigger, blowing his brains out; it’s all documented. It plays once and then again. Every brutal moment. Every scream reverberates inside the large room.

  “I’m sorry.”

  That’s my cue and I’m quick to flip from video to Skype, my uncle coming onto the screen a few seconds later. He nods at us, but no one speaks.

  “So, you do know who I am?”

  “Yes. I studied your picture and file for two weeks before the hit took place.”

  “Who sent you?” No answer. Mauricio’s lips press tight.

  That shit pisses me off, and I grab the bottle, jamming the nozzle into his thigh. Tip it over. “Answer him!”

  Screams rend the air, the wail painful to the ear. It also riles up the animals. They bang against the cages, squeaking and grunting, while the two on the loose come closer.

  They shuffle at the floor by his feet. They snap at the air.

  Ivan pushes them back with a metal pole.

  “This will only work for so long, Hernandez.” Casper taps his cheek with a bloody hand. “Tell me their real names and not the bullshit Felix gave me.”

  “No one knows their real names, and I didn’t care enough to ask.”

  “Tell me what you know. All of it.”

  “Nico and Antonella are the children of Giada Savino. These three hate Matteo Cancio for something that happened between their father and the Boston mob boss a very long time ago. They never told me what, but from what Felix said, it all started a year after Aurora, Cancio’s daughter, was born.”

  We’re not surprised by this. Aurora's family is somehow involved; they’re the catalyst, while we’re the combustion.

  “Matteo wasn’t in charge then.”

  “The father, Matteo Cancio Sr., was.”

  “Okay.” Casper tosses his knife onto the cart while I hand over what’s left the liquor bottle. He brings it to the injured man’s lips. “Drink. It’ll help.”

  “Just kill me.”

  “I will, but I need something first.”

  Mauricio takes the offered drink, swallowing a heavy shot. “You want to talk about your mother?”

  “She wasn’t your intended target.” Not a question, and Hernandez nods. “Then why shoot an innocent woman?”

  “They doubled the offer.” Another shot, this time a wee bit falls into his wound, and he hisses. “Those are a bitch. Hurt like hell.”

  “That’s the point.” I take the bottle back from my cousin, pouring the rest onto the floor. “Now, about the money?”

  “I was supposed to receive the other half a mil next week to an account I have in Guatemala City. The national bank doesn’t ask questions and after slipping the manager a couple of bucks, he speeds the process up personally.”

  “What day next week?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation.” With that, Casper pulls out his gun and shoots him four times in the upper torso. Mauricio groans, eyes rolling back, and I use Casper’s knife to cut him down.

  He lands on the cold, hard floor with a thud. The sound and his blood draw the roaming swine closer, and closer, while we walk away.

  Once at the exit, Ivan lets them all out.

  Hungry, feral animals.

  It doesn’t take them long to attack, and his horror-filled screams are beautiful. A soothing balm to my soul.

  His ending is justified.

  A man without honor deserves to be pig food.

  24

  I’m fresh out of the shower, towel drying my hair, when my mobile goes off. It rings twice and goes to voicemail, but within seconds someone’s calling again. Walking to the dresser where I left it, I notice the screen is lit up with ten missed calls, eight texts, and three voicemails.

  “What the fuck?” Unlocking the device, I scroll through the list and they’re all from Giannis.

  That puts me on alert, and I quickly log into the cameras in Aliana’s home, finding her walking through the living room toward her room holding a laundry basket. She’s talking to someone, laughing, but before I can turn the speakers on, Giannis’s name flashes across my screen.

  I press answer, and all I hear is a muttered, finally. “Callum? You there?”

  “Yes.” Tone annoyed, I snap at the interruption. My need to know who she’s giggling with claws at me. “What’s with the calls and messages?”

  “I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he starts, voice a bit shaky, and I pause. He’s not one to reach out outside of his reporting, and even then, I can tell he wants to get off the phone quickly. I intimidate him. “She’s left me with no choice, though. Stubborn woman.”

  “Get to the point.” Tossing the towel still in my hand and the one around my waist onto the bed, I grab the plain grey pajama bottoms and slip them on sans underwear. It’s a warm night out, the windows are open, and a soft breeze comes in off the coast that isn’t far from here. Between that and the ceiling fan above my head, I find it rather comfortable. “You’re rambling is rather off-putting.”

  “Callum, before I begin, please know that I told her to tell you. I’ve been arguing with her over this for the last few days and—”

  “What the bloody fuck is going on with Aliana?” My breathing is harsh, my grip on my mobile causing the plastic to strain. “Straight to the point. No more bullshit.”

  “Her father is sending her to Brazil on an errand by herself.”r />
  “Come again?” I must’ve heard wrong. Because that’s not what my sweet Venus told me.

  Two days ago…

  Hey, you got a minute? ~Venus

  Her text comes through while I’m sitting in on a meeting with our gun supplier, giving him the courtesy of knowing there’s been a change in power. Not because we have to, but because he’s worked with our family for a long time, and we consider him a friend. Or at least, his father was. This bloke I find to be an obnoxious twit with the personality of a potato.

  In a meeting. What’s up? ~Callum J.

  Three dots appear on the screen and then disappear. Start up again and then nothing.

  Are you okay? ~Callum J.

  A throat clears and I look up, meeting Alfie’s eyes. “Are you listening to me?”

  His tone doesn’t sit well with me, and I lean back, drumming my fingers on the table. “No. I’m not.”

  “And this is who you chose to take Casper’s place?” he questions my uncle and father, that haughty arrogance coming through again, and I exhale roughly. It’s been a busy few weeks between my stepping up while Casper searched and killed the man who shot his mum. I’m constantly traveling to where he is if I’m needed, and also dividing the men between who I will keep, and who will be moving abroad.

  Most know what’s going on, but the announcement’s been pushed back for a reason.

  I want to go through each person on our roster, from vendor to buyer to the fucking arse that delivers the morning paper.

  My uncle vetted his people.

  Casper vetted his crew.

  I will decide mine.

  Of the four people in the room, two move one hand beneath the table at his blatant disrespect while I look at the last message that came in.

  I’m fine, just need to talk when you get a chance. ~Venus.

  Give me ten. ~Callum J.

  Placing my mobile face down atop the table, I meet my father’s eyes and then look at the door. He gets it and stands, walking to it and then locks it while my uncle glares at the git. This makes Alfie nervous, and he shifts in his seat while the man beside him pales.

  I feel for the bloke. He truly seems like he abhors his job.

  “You’re fired.” At those two words, his head snaps in my direction, eyes wide. He tries to say something, to protest, but I hold a hand up. The same one that now holds my gun. “Our contract is now void, Mr. Buford.”

  “You can’t do that,” he gasps, looking toward the older men inside the room for support. There’s none there, and Alfie swallows hard at the other weapons placed upon the table. “We’ve been in business for so long. Your cousin wouldn’t agree—”

  “It’s my word you should concern yourself with.” Relaxing back in my chair, I tsk. “Please hand me the folder to your right.” Casper’s father slides it across the table to me, his stare never wavering on the man who has no business being the head of a respected trafficking ring. When his father was alive, Sr. made sure to anticipate needs, adjust pricing to market demand, and compete with a quality rivalling that of the American and the British army.

  This man is a joke.

  Useless.

  “Please think this through. No one can supply what I can.”

  “Wrong.” I open the file and grab the top sheet, skimming down, and then passing it along.

  “What’s this?” Instead of answering, I point to it and wait. Alfie’s eyes lower and read, face pinching tight while the paper in his hand crumbles. “How could you do this? We have an agreement—”

  He doesn’t get to finish. My finger’s quicker than his reactions, and I shoot once, the bullet going through his arm and embedding itself into the wall behind him. “This has been a long time coming, in my opinion. You’ve relied too much on your father’s legacy to keep up with the demands of loyal clients. The last three deliveries have been rubbish, your attitude obnoxious, and quite frankly, I can’t see myself continuing this working relationship without slitting your throat.”

  “Callum, I—”

  “It’s Mr. Jameson to you.” Pushing my chair back, I stand and lean over the table. “We’re done, and as you can see,” I hiss, hand slamming atop the new contract I signed yesterday with a Spaniard bloke who brings more to the table than guns. “I already made my decision. Leave with pride, or inside of a body bag. The choice is yours.”

  With that, I pick up my mobile and walk out of what is now my office. My father and uncle will see them out, while I have a more pressing matter to attend to. I press the number one on my mobile and her name flashes across the screen, ringing twice before her light breathing comes across the line.

  The pub is not busy at the moment as I exit the establishment and pull out a joint. I light it up and take a deep drag, warming my lungs with the earthy smoke. It’s soothing. My body calms.

  “Talk to me, Venus. Everything okay?”

  Whatever she hears in my voice makes her giggle, and fuck, I’m hard at once. Throb. “I’m fine, silly. Just have some news.”

  “Oh yeah? You coming to visit me?”

  “I wish,” she mutters low, but I hear. I also don’t question it. “This is actually about our family vacation, Mr. Jameson. We have a date.”

  “When you call me Mr. Jameson…” reaching down, I adjust myself, squeezing a bit “…the only thing I want to do is bend you over my knee, love. I want to make that gorgeous arse a pretty shade of pink.”

  “Promise?”

  “Naughty little thing.”

  My response makes her laugh again. The sound so sweet. “Behave. You’re far away and my hand needs a break.”

  Fuck. That image is dangerous. For me. For her. I’d break her.

  It’s been too long since I’ve had her. Touched her.

  “Tempting me—”

  “We’re heading to Bora Bora for a week,” Aliana interrupts, her tone a bit nervous. The change in her lilt is minor, but almost as if she’s embarrassed. Cute. “The entire Rubens family is going.”

  “You excited?” Another deep pull of my spliff, deeper inhale this time, and I hold it in for a few seconds before exhaling slowly. “Packed yet?”

  “Sure.”

  Not the answer I’m expecting and my brows furrow. “Do you not want to go?”

  “I do, but I’ll miss you.”

  Present…

  “Are you sure about this?” I ask Giannis.

  “Yes.” He lets out a grumbled groan. “I told her to tell you. To ask for help.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” When it comes to my Venus, I have no patience. I’m trying hard to remember that he came to me, that he’s worried, but rationality isn’t my strongest suit with those I consider mine. “Where is she now?”

  “Please don’t kill me, but I can’t tell you. I’ve broken her trust enough with this call.”

  “Then why tell me?”

  “Because no one else can protect her.”

  Exhaling, I run a tired hand across my face. “Get me her itinerary and include yourself on this trip. Do whatever the fuck you must, but where she goes, you go. Understood?”

  “Already done. I convinced her father she needs help.”

  “Good.” My tone is cold. Angry.

  “Please don’t be mad at her. This really is out of her hands...it’s her story to tell.”

  “Too late.” An email comes in and I pull the mobile away, checking. It’s from Giannis with confirmed days, airfare, and the place booked for their stay. Ezra will change this. She’ll go to my home there. “I’ll take care of everything. Your job is to get on the plane with her and find alternative lodging for the days following your arrival; I’ll cover the cost. She’s mine to deal with.”

  25

  I hate lying to him.

  It eats at me. Makes me feel like utter crap, but I have no choice. Yet, as I land in Brazil with Giannis in the seat to my right, I wish it were Callum beside me. That I’d been strong enough to tell him what’s going on, the threats and illegal deals I�
�m forced to be a part of.

  “You can always call him,” Giannis leans over and whispers before undoing his seatbelt. Those around us pay no mind, though, too busy opening the overhead compartments and grabbing their carry-on luggage. “He can help you, Ali. Hell, if you don’t want to explain, I will. This is fucked up.”

  This is fucked up. I know. I’ve been repeating those same words for the last few years while trying to find an explanation for the way my father treats me. Uses me.

  “He has enough on his plate. What they did to his aunt…” my voice trails off, the memory of his face—expression—while he asked me to accept the protection of the man he called Kray, broke my heart. So much pain. His eyes, those beautiful, gem-like eyes, showed me in that moment the kind of man he truly is.

  Caring. Passionate. Loyal.

  Categories I’d never thought he’d be a part of. Because in my ignorance, I wrote him off the moment he introduced himself, and yet, walking away has been impossible. I can’t.

  Callum is everything the men in my family wish they could be, and so much more. His power doesn’t dominate him. His money doesn’t define him.

  I’m falling for him. My truth. Undeniably.

  “I’m screwed.” Those two words, my tone, they say everything I can’t. And weirdly enough, Giannis understands. He nods, making no move to stand as those around us disembark. And we don’t, not until every person exits and the flight attendants congregate at the front.

  He’s first to stand and grab our bags. The two carry-on’s we brought have just the basics while what we’ll need for the job was shipped to the house the governor rented days ago. My father’s been planning this for a while, longer than I suspect, and he’d given me enough freedom to mess with my head.

  It doesn’t take long to get off the plane or out of the airport. Giannis handled this part of the arrangements, renting us a fun convertible for our time in the country. Not that we’d get to enjoy any of it; we can’t be seen or draw attention to ourselves, but the drive out to the private property in Rio will be amazing.