Risqué: Mafia Romance (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 5)

by Elena M. Reyes

  “Because your boy toy said to do so. We’re getting a mani-pedi!”

  Sweet man. I bet this has to do with me hating the green on my toes to match my dress last night.

  “What do you think of purple for my toes?” Giannis asks two hours later, sipping on a coffee while the nail tech files his nails. “It’s my favorite color.”

  “Depends on the shade, but I much prefer white on feet. I haven’t seen a single person it doesn’t look good on.”

  “True, but Dwayne likes bright colors.”

  “What about teal?”

  “Teal could work.” He’s pensive for a moment, then takes out his phone and sends out a text. It chimes back within seconds, and Giannis’s smile is sweet. The way his eyes brighten is adorable. “He approves, just asks that it’s on the darker spectrum than pastel.”

  The lady doing his nails stops and looks at him. “I have the perfect shade. Just came in a few days ago.”

  “Perfect. I’d…”

  The cell in my wristlet alerts me to a text message and I take it out, opening the app. It’s from Callum, and I frown.

  I’m sorry. Still with Casper. Impromptu business meeting with his father on a video call. ~Callum J.

  I don’t like it, but I’m not mad. He needs to talk to them and in the meantime, I’ll spend a little time getting pretty for him.

  Before I can tell him that, though, I get another text.

  I miss you. I’d rather be taking that bath with you now than listening to these two talk. ~Callum J.

  My fingers fly across the keyboard on the screen.

  Raincheck for later, Mr. Jameson? And by the way, thank you for the lovely surprise. Although, if you ever send him to wake me up again, I will shoot you. ;) ~Venus

  Three dots appear. Then pause. Appear again. And pause.

  So violent, my Venus? I’m hurt. ~Callum J.

  You will be if he ever pounds on my door like a maniac again. Idiot scared me half to death. ~Venus

  Do you need me to scare him? I can make him pee his trouser’s in penance. ~Callum J.

  Laughter bubbles out, loud at that, and Giannis looks over at me with a cautious expression. More so when the more I look at him, the harder I laugh. There’s no doubt in my mind that Callum would do it, scare the hell out of him, but I’m not that mean.

  Not this time, but if he ever does it again… ~Venus

  Noted. ~Callum J.

  “Why do I get the feeling that my life’s been threatened?” Giannis asks, leaning over to try and read the message thread. My response is to flick his nose. “Ouch! That stung.”

  “Then don’t be nosy.” The nail tech finishes massaging my feet and cleans the nail bed in prep for polish. She holds up two bottles: one that is just stark white, while the other has a bit of gold glitter to it. “Always go with the sparkly.”

  “Good choice.”

  Turning my face toward Giannis, I raise a brow. “What’s next on the agenda? Nails will be done in the next ten minutes, and I’m getting hungry.”

  “Lunch? There’s that new gastro pub on South Port.”

  “Works for me. I’d kill for a burger and beer.”

  “Let’s do it, then.”

  Heading to lunch with Giannis next. Want me to send something over? ~Venus

  I watch the screen for a few minutes, but no reply comes through.

  Unusual, but I don’t pay much attention to it. He’s with his family and they need to talk.

  He’ll get back to me the second he can.

  Is everything okay? ~Venus

  That’s the last message I sent Callum around four in the morning, fifteen minutes before sleep pulled me under. We didn’t talk again after our exchange while I was getting my nails done. Not so much as a smoke signal from him, and the more time passed, the worry grew.

  And grew.

  It grew to the point that I called Aurora under the pretense of returning her calls from the day before. Not that she gave me much to go on; Aurora’s attention was on her guest, not us, and after a few minutes of stilted conversation, she promised to call in an hour or two.

  She didn’t. Hasn’t.

  So, I sent him another text. No answer.

  Another one around ten at night. Nothing.

  Watching my phone’s screen became a necessity, and I did so, until I couldn’t stave off my sleep. That’s why I’m uncoordinated when my doorbell rings and the app chimes through the kitchen’s hub and then my phone. The time right now is irrelevant to me, and as if in déjà vu, I once again scramble and rush to the door, not worrying about how I look.

  All I want is to see him. To know he’s okay before I punch him for scaring me like this.

  However, the person on the other side is not someone I expected to see today.

  I don’t want to see him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Is that how you say hello to your father?” He’s looking at me with disdain, something that makes him grimace as his face has been at the end of someone’s fury. Black eye. Busted lip. His clothes are disheveled and he smells a bit, as if he forgot to put on deodorant and spent a few hours under the hot sun. “Well?”

  “Why are you here?” My ponytail sometime during the night became undone, and I take the tie out and twist my shorter locks into a low bun. “We have nothing to say to each other.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Pushing past me, he enters my home and heads straight for the fridge. Inside he finds a frozen bag of peas and after removing his jacket and rolling up his dirty sleeves, he puts the cold vegetables against his face. “Fuck, this shit hurts.”

  “Again, why are you here?” My phone is on the counter, and I press number one this time, Callum’s digits. Lindsey and Kray are out of town for a few days, taking advantage of Callum being here, to spend some time alone. Lowering the volume, I wait for the connect sign to come on, but nothing.

  It never connects. As if he’s out of service range.

  What the hell is going on?

  I try Giannis next. The same. No call goes through.

  “If you’re calling Mr. Jameson, he’s busy at the moment.”

  “Busy?”

  “Are you deaf now as well? What part are you not—”

  “Get out.”

  Ignoring my request, Dad walks to my sofa and sits back, looking at me with humor in his eyes. “Tell me, hija. Why aren’t you at work today?”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “Are you ill?”

  “Leave.”

  “Is that why you weren’t there for Aurora? Your best friend?” The blood in my veins freezes at his words. Literally turns to ice. It’s almost as if my body shuts down and time slows; I sit down in the nearest chair, hands shaking as panic seizes my body. “You don’t know, do you? This is priceless.”

  “What do you—”

  “Aurora’s gone missing, Aliana. Taken right outside of the Conte House, and she’s God knows where now. Not that I care.” He shrugs before stretching his jaw, wincing a bit. Whoever did this to him got him good—I’d thank them if I could function. Is this why Callum has gone missing? But why not tell me himself? “Better for me if the little bitch and her new family are far from you. The Jamesons have cost me enough trouble with the Gaspar’s boss.”

  “How can you be so cold?” Tears fall from my eyes and my chest aches, the pain intensifying. “You disgust me.”

  “I’d watch that mouth if I were you. The Gaspar men don’t tolerate that in their women. Then again, maybe that’s what you need. Someone to smack the rebellion out of you.”

  “Leave,” I say, voice low and shaky. “Leave, and don’t come back.”

  “Fine. Have it your way.” My father stands and after tossing the soiled pack of peas on the floor by my feet, he grabs his jacket and slips it on. He fixes his lapel, buttons the front, and walks over with the calmness of a monk. For a moment or two, he stands there silently; I feel his angry gaze on me, but then two fingers appea
r in my line of sight and my face is tipped upward.

  The asshole smiles down at me, happy in my misery.

  “I wish you weren’t my father.”

  “And yet, you’re stuck.” Those same two fingers tap my cheek hard. “You will marry Flavio Gaspar and save your family, Aliana Camila Rubens. You will not fight me on this. You will spread your legs when he wishes. And you will continue to steal what we decide.”

  “So that he doesn’t kill you? What does he know that you don’t want getting out?” I strain my head back in time and he misses, the slap meant for my face catching nothing but air. He tries again, but my front door slams open and Giannis rushes in with Dwayne in tow.

  “I was just leaving.”

  “You do that, Mr. Rubens,” Giannis steps between us, and I catch sight of a small line of stitches over his right eyebrow. There’s also a wrap around his wrist. Did someone come after him, too? “Your driver is waiting outside.”

  “Listen to him. Leave.” Dwayne takes a step closer to me as well. “It’s the smart move, and you know it.”

  “Of course. I’ll be on my way.” Dad eyes Dwayne and rethinks his attempt to lean down and kiss my cheek. Any other time, it’d be funny to watch him bend and stand like a scared puppet, but I’m shaking hard in my seat, gripping each armrest tightly. “We’ll be in touch, Aliana. Just remember what I said: you are a Rubens, and the weight of making amends lies on your shoulders alone.”

  The door closes after him a few seconds later. We remain quiet.

  That is, until I get up and run to the bathroom, emptying the liquid in my stomach. I’m dry heaving so bad, crying, and the bitter taste of bile only makes it worse.

  “Tell me it’s a lie,” I whimper, begging Giannis. “Tell me he’s just a lying piece of garbage.”

  “I’m sorry, Ali.” Giannis holds my hair back from my face with his uninjured hand. “We heard, and once the doctor gave me the okay, I came right over.”

  It took a while for the nausea to abate and my stomach to stop clenching as if still heaving, but it did, and I stand on shaky legs. He helps me a bit, and I walk over to the sink after flushing the toilet to brush my teeth.

  “What happened to you?” I’m watching him through the mirror, my body leaning heavily on the cabinet. The tears won’t stop. The tightness in my chest won’t lessen any time soon.

  Giannis chuckles a bit, rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand. “Small fender-bender. I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” I’m still a bit queasy but manage to get a grip on myself and walk out of the room. The living room is empty, Dwayne nowhere to be seen. “Where’s—”

  “Making sure your dad left.”

  “Thanks.”

  “She’s going to be okay. They’ll find her.”

  “They?” Please tell me Casper and Callum know where she is.

  “The Jameson family,” he whispers, pulling me into a tight hug. Tears fill my eyes, relief settling into my bones. “They know where she is, Ali. They’ll bring her home.”

  32

  Seventy-two hours ago…

  “Are you sure, Ezra?” I ask, reading the urgent email he sent me fifteen minutes ago. I’m still in the underground parking lot of the hotel where Casper and Aurora are staying; she knows where he stands, what he’s offering, and Miss Cancio accepted with grace and a few terms of her own.

  Did I give them shit? Yes.

  But the woman has a quick wit, sassiness that reminds me of Aliana, and put me—and all the Jameson men—in our place. She’ll do bloody well. Keep Casper on his toes.

  “Boss, I’m sure.” The clicking of a keyboard is heard in the background, several alerts pinging in different tones and ranges in volume. “The man’s real name is Santis Gaspar and he’s the youngest son of Cornelio Gaspar who’s currently in ADX Florence serving a two-hundred-year sentence.”

  “Someone threw the book at the cunt.” I’m going through each document with everything from passports, real and fake ID’s, and then family photos dating as far back as the arseholes first birthday to as recent as a month ago.

  “They did. Wanker’s arrest was over tax evasion, but while inside, they pinned everything the city of Chicago could within the statute of limitations, from money laundering to the killing of two CPD officers, and then the added charge of distribution of heroin. This came on the heels of Governor Ruben’s election. His prosecution of a known drug trafficker made him a man of the people and a champion for the city.”

  “And now they’re getting paybacks from Rubens.”

  “Yes.” Another email comes in and I open it, my ire growing the more I stare at the photo of Rubens celebrating with Gaspar and Martin. The date is from a few days after Aliana delivered the fucking statue and walked out shaking.

  I’ve let this go on long enough.

  I’m going to break each skull with that blasted fucking artifact.

  An artifact I bought and will be getting a full refund for very soon.

  “Does Casper know about Santis? Does Cancio know he has a rat in his organization?”

  “No. I’m preparing the docs for Casper now.”

  “Send them to me and I’ll forward it in the morning. He’s busy at the moment.”

  “Will do.” He doesn’t say anything else, and I almost disconnect when he clears his throat. “There’s one more thing, Callum. I was going to explain this to Casper, but you need to know as well. Santis has gone missing, two days now, and from my investigation into every soldier in that organization, he’s close to Dominic.”

  “As in Cancio’s right hand?”

  “Correct.” There’s no bond with any of the other men, no drinking a pint after work or socializing. He talks to Dominic and no one else, the latter of which hired and promoted him to his current rank as head bodyguard for Aurora’s father.”

  “Does he know them?”

  “He’s shown interest in one.”

  “Which one?” I grit my teeth, knowing the answer already. Dominic wants Aurora, and that leaves my Venus. “Who’s your informant?”

  “Pierro, sir. He’s Cancio’s driver, and both women like him.”

  “And?”

  “And he’s confirmed that Santis makes Aliana uncomfortable.”

  “Thank you.” Tossing my mobile on the seat next to me, I back out of the parking spot and then garage, taking a sharp turn and driving straight until I reach the interstate. “I fucking warned them.”

  The strip club is empty tonight, no cars outside of three that occupy the spaces closest to the front door, and I park in front of it.

  I have no backup with me. It won’t be needed, and after grabbing my Ruger and extra magazine from the glove compartment, I put the latter inside of my trouser pocket.

  I’m calm as I exit my vehicle and walk up to the door; a solid kick and it slams open, the wood damaging the plaster. Two men rush forward then, hands on their weapons, and they’re dead before either can fully react.

  A bullet to one head, the other to the neck.

  “What the fuck is…Callum?” Flavio Gaspar’s imbecilic second-in-command pales, his body moving backward. Probably remembering the damage inflicted the last time we met. “We didn’t know you were in town. Flavio would’ve… son of a bitch!” His gun now lays on the dirty ground while blood drips from the wound on his wrist. “Why the hostility,” he grits out, eyes darting behind him. There’s movement back there, more than one person. “Let’s talk this out. Whatever you’re here for—”

  “Open the curtain.”

  “This isn’t a good time.”

  “You sure?” At his nod, I shoot him two more times. Thigh and shoulder; he’ll bleed but won’t die yet. “Is that still your answer?”

  “No.”

  “Good boy.” I point at the curtain. “Open it.”

  Whimpering, he does as I ask. The sound is pathetic, almost comical, but what I find as he pushes the fabric aside infuriat
es me. There are five women, no older than twenty and naked, some with a few bruises on their faces.

  These are not their dancers from the other night.

  With how they’re being treated, I’d say forced prostitution, and I can’t allow that.

  “You sick fuck,” I snarl, biting back my action for a moment when some of the girls scream in fear. Exhaling roughly, I lower my gun and then face them. “Grab your clothes, get dressed, and head outside. Please wait for me. My family will help you with whatever you may need.”

  “Why are you doing this?” One of them, a short blonde, asks. She’s shaking. Her left eye is almost swollen shut. “We were tricked like this once before.”

  Before? The bloody fuck?

  “How long have you been held against your will?”

  “A month,” she says, tears falling down her cheeks.

  “Shut the fuck up, Jenna, or I’ll—” The twat doesn’t get to finish, not when the next bullet enters and exits through his hip. I’m sure the bone shattering has something to do with his scream of pain and the way he crumbles to the ground like a broken puppet.

  “Threaten them again, and the next one will be on the tiny prick you try to pass for a cock.”

  “Callum, we can talk this out,” he gasps, pain radiating across his features.

  “No.” Pulling out my mobile, I text Lindsey and Kray. They’re off, but together, and I need them here fast.

  Situation with women held against their will. Going to need help with clean up and delivery to the Conte House. 3 dead and 5 innocents. ~ Callum J.

  Kray is the first to respond.

  Where? Medical attention? ~Kray

  Gaspar strip club, and basic. They seem roughed up and are untrusting; I need Lindsey here to gain their trust. ~Callum J.

  Flavio’s right-hand man drags himself toward the blonde, more than likely seeking to use her as cover, but I walk over and place my boot on his chest. Press down hard enough that it hurts, and his wounds bleed profusely.