by Nicole Fox
I freeze for a moment.
Has he actually let slip sensitive Mazzeo business? This is something I can use.
But I control my expression. If he gets suspicious about me, this whole charade is done.
“I get it,” I snap. “You’re the big, bad mafia boss. But she’s a child. She’s your child and she’s confused and sad. She just wants her mother, for fuck’s sake.”
“Her mother isn’t fucking coming back,” he snarls. “And before you ask, no, I had nothing to with that. I know as much as you do.”
He lets me go and steps back, chest still rumbling.
I pirouette slowly in place to face him. I can’t quite decide whether he’s telling the truth.
And yet, when I stare at his haunting gray eyes…
I actually believe him.
“Evie told me she was left here by a man,” I say. “She asked him where her mother was and he told her it was complicated.”
“Yeah, that’s the version I got out of her, too,” Lucio grimaces.
“What kind of sick bastard leaves a child at a mafia compound alone?”
Lucio’s eyes darken. “I’m her father,” he spits.
“Well, then, fucking act like it!”
I’m pushing my face into his because that’s really all I can do.
In return, he closes the distance between us again and shoves his body into mine.
It’s meant to be threatening. So why is it such a big turn-on instead?
“You’re treading on thin fucking ice,” he rasps.
Another half an inch and our noses would be touching.
“Get away from me.”
“Say that to me again,” he says in that low threat of a voice. “And this time, make me believe it.”
I freeze.
Make him believe it?
Can he hear my frantic heart beat? Because I can.
Can he feel how hot, how wet, how needy I am? Because I can.
“Let me go,” I say again, trying to infuse my expression with the necessary venom.
He chuckles bitterly. “Try again.”
Bastard.
His groin is pressed up against mine. The iron rod of his erection is extremely distracting.
“Lucio—”
“Come on,” Lucio goads me. “Show me what you really want.”
I struggle against him, but it’s fucking useless. He’s a steel wall that refuses to be moved.
“That’s what I thought,” he laughs. “You don’t have the fucking balls.”
A switch flips.
First, I feel the rage.
Then, the frustration.
Lastly, desire.
And I take the fucking bait.
Because apparently, I’m a masochist, just like my mother.
I thrust my face forward and my lips slam into his. I’d meant for it to be painful, but somehow, my lips sink into his smoothly, perfectly.
There’s maybe a millisecond of hesitation on his part.
And then he’s returning fire, his lips hot and greedy against mine.
Our bodies are tangled up together. His hands feel like they’re everywhere.
On my hips.
On my chest.
In my hair.
My pussy constricts painfully, desperate for touch, begging for release.
Then my lips part, or maybe his tongue forces them open, and the next thing I know, I can feel him in my mouth, as savage and ruthless as the rest of him.
And I can’t stop the moan from escaping the back of my throat.
His hands are snaking up my skirt. Another inch or two and he’ll be at my panties. I have maybe a few seconds before that happens.
Tick. Tock. Tick…
But I already know I’m not going to stop this.
And then…
He does.
He rips his lips away from mine. I gasp at the unexpected rush of icy air.
He’s breathing deeply as he pulls me off his desk and pushes me towards the door.
“Out,” he orders gruffly. His eyes seem out of focus for a moment.
“Wait, what?”
He lunges forward at me. I leap back instinctively, and that motion carries me stumbling past the threshold.
Lucio stops short. His eyes are dark and expressionless, but I can see the heavy rise and fall of his chest.
The top three buttons of his shirt have come undone. Or maybe I unbuttoned them? I can’t remember.
There’s a moment when our eyes meet.
Frustration flickers like heat lightning.
And then the office door slams in my face.
“Fuck,” I breathe out slowly into the dark, musty silence of the hallway.
I touch my fingers to my lips. They feel cold and bruised.
Just how I feel on the inside.
23
Lucio
Two Nights Later—Lucio’s Home Office
Marco appears at the door to my office. His expression is stony.
“Boss?”
“Yes, Marco?”
“We uncovered a mole.”
I freeze. That explains why Marco is looking so solemn.
“Who?”
He swallows and continues, “It’s Rocco. He’s in the cellar. Adriano is with him now.”
Snarling, I march out from behind my desk and head straight down to the basement.
I see my men at the entrance when I arrive. They part so I can storm past them without breaking stride.
The door to the cellar jail is wide open. Inside, I see the body of a man, tied to a chair.
Before his face becomes visible, Adriano steps forward, blocking my view.
“Brother.”
“How did you find out?” I grit.
“We intercepted their trade deal,” Adriano explains. “They didn’t know they were being watched. Rocco was selling our automatic weapons to the Polish. Has been for some time.”
“That’s how the Polish managed to side-step our border security for so long,” I growl, putting the pieces together. “They had inside information about our movements.”
“That’s right,” Adriano confirms. “We watched them at the drop-off site. When Rocco pulled up…”
He trails off and looks over his shoulder. Rocco’s head is down and he’s bleeding from his bottom lip. His shirt looks like it’s been dusted up a little, but otherwise he doesn’t look too much worse for the wear.
Yet.
“You went easy on him.”
“I thought you could do the honors.”
I have always taken pride in the fact that my men are loyal to me. They trust that good work gets rewarded. That talented workers rise in the ranks.
So to be confronted by betrayal… it’s a fucking bucket of ice-cold water.
It’s also an offense that cannot be tolerated.
I glide past Adriano into the darkened cell.
The last time I was in here, it was Charlotte cowering in the corner.
This visit will not be nearly as pleasant.
Adriano slips into the room behind me, but the rest of my men stay outside.
Rocco’s head is still hanging down, deliberately trying to avoid the inevitable.
“Burying your head in the sand isn’t going to help now, Rocco,” I intone.
He lifts his gaze slowly.
He’s trying really hard to remain detached. Uncaring. But I can see the fear behind his carefully orchestrated expression.
I run through what I know about him off the top of my head.
He’s thirty-one years old. Sixteen years with us. Started as a numbers runner for one of the bookies in Long Island when he was just a snot-nosed teen.
We taught him everything. Toughened him up. Gave him responsibility when he earned it. Paid him when he deserved it.
And this is how he repays us?
For fuck’s sake, I went to his wedding. I still remember his wife—a petite little thing named Marina, I think.
“Why?” I ask him. I do
n’t have to elaborate beyond that.
“I saw an opportunity,” he says, his tone solemn. “I took it.”
“They recruited you?”
“Yes.”
“And why did they feel like you could be recruited?” I ask.
Rocco’s fear lights up his eyes for a moment. “My mother’s sick,” he starts. “Really fucking sick. She needed expensive treatment and—”
“Bullshit.”
Rocco’s eyes go wide.
“You must be desperate to make up that shit,” I snarl.
“It’s true,” he insists.
“It’s fucking lies,” I hiss right back. “Your mother lives in Texas with her second husband. You haven’t spoken to her in years.”
He splutters helplessly, “I…”
I pull up a chair, scraping it along the floor merely for dramatic effect. Then I twist it around and straddle it, crossing my arms casually over the backrest.
“I know my men, Rocco,” I tell him. “I keep tabs on every single one of you. I know each of you motherfuckers by name. I know your tics. Your vices. Your families. How’s Marina?”
Rocco pales. “I’m sorry,” he whispers in a small voice.
I sigh. “It’s too late for apologies, Rocco,” I tell him. “All you have now is time. A few extra minutes to prepare yourself.”
“You… you’re going to kill me?”
“That depends. If you were in my position, what would you do?” I ask.
Rocco’s eyes flit between Adriano and me. He doesn’t have to answer.
He knows there’s only one way this can end.
“There’s one thing I expect of all my men,” I continue. “Loyalty. That’s it. If you had a problem, you could have come to me. I take care of my soldiers.”
I pause and watch him. Blood drips from his busted lip.
“But this was never about a problem that needed solving, was it?” I ask. “You don’t have a sick family member. What you have is ambition. And you overplayed your hand. You got greedy. You got sloppy.”
“Boss…”
I hold up my hand. Rocco falls silent immediately.
Even on death’s doorstep, he still obeys his don.
“Ambition is a good thing,” I concede. “But you weren’t willing to work your way up the ranks. You decided to betray the Family. You decided to put your faith in the Polish. So tell me, Rocco: how’s that working out for you?”
The practiced mask of composure is quickly fading. He’s starting to tremble.
“Give me another chance, Don Lucio,” he begs desperately. “One more chance.”
I sigh regretfully and get back to my feet.
“You know I can’t do that, Rocco,” I say. “But you can make this easier on yourself.”
His eyes go wide as I kick away my chair.
“Tell us what you know about the Polish.”
“And you’ll let me live?”
“Live?” I repeat with feigned amusement. “Rocco, you’re smarter than that.”
His face drops. It strikes me how young he looks. Perhaps in the face of death, that’s what we’re reduced to. Scared children.
Some of us, at least.
I already know this is not how I will meet my death.
I will stand up and fight back.
And even if death wins, I will smile and ride into the afterlife on his fucking back.
“Please…”
I turn to Adriano. “Get him to his feet.”
Adriano moves forward and unties Rocco’s restraints. Then he pulls the shaking man up to his feet.
I get in his bloody face. “Who recruited you?”
I can see the resignation in his eyes as he shakes his head. He knows he’s going to die soon. He’s trying to be brave in the face of it. He’s trying to go down with some dignity.
That won’t last long.
I’m about to beat the fucking dignity right out of him.
I slam my fist into his stomach as hard as I can.
He bellows in pain as he crumples forward.
“Get him up,” I instruct Adriano.
The moment Adriano pulls him upright once more, I get right back in his face.
“I told you: only you have the power to make this easier on yourself,” I remind the poor bastard. “Just tell me what I need to know.”
He glances at me. Blood is gushing from his mouth now. My first punch has done some serious damage somewhere internal.
Rocco shakes his head again.
My jaw clenches with anger. Another blow, then.
This time, I aim for his face.
I hear the crunch of breaking cartilage as his nose snaps under my knuckles.
He hits the wall behind him and falls slowly to the ground.
“Jesus,” Adriano mutters. “If you expect him to stay conscious for this, you might need to take it down a notch, Lucio.”
“I barely touched him,” I scoff.
He sighs. “Again?”
“Again.”
Adriano grabs Rocco by the scruff of his neck, but this time, he really has to put some effort into lifting him back to his feet. The man is a limp sack of shit at this point.
My best friend is right—this traitor won’t last much longer.
“Please, Don,” Rocco tries again.
“I’ll give you a quick, clean death,” I promise him. “You just have to answer my questions.”
The hope in his eyes dampens. He sags in utter defeat.
“Sit his ass back in the chair,” I tell Adriano. “And get me a knife.”
Once the knife lands in my hand, I turn to Rocco. He’s seated, but his entire body is trembling uncontrollably.
“Tie his hands to the armrests,” I command.
Two of my men come forward from the outer room and bind him to the chair with thick rope. He tries to struggle, but his attempts are weak and his strength is failing him.
But pain… pain, he can still feel.
I crouch down in front of the poor bastard.
“Which is your least favorite finger?” I ask conversationally. “Personally, I’m partial to the thumbs. But you strike me as a middle finger sort of guy. You certainly flipped me the bird when you sold my guns to our enemies, didn’t you?” I chuckle at my own joke.
He doesn’t look at me. “Please, don, I’m telling you: I don’t have any information… The Polish, they…”
“Yes?”
“They bought from me,” Rocco chokes out. “But they didn’t give me any intel.”
“Fine,” I say impatiently. “I’ll choose.”
I grab his pinky finger and bring the blade to the center, just under the knuckle. Then I bear down.
Rocco’s screams bounce off the walls and echo through the cellar.
When I stand back up, I take his severed finger with me.
His screaming doesn’t stop.
I fling the bloody stump to the side of the room and wipe my hands on the side of my pants.
“Now,” I say calmly. “Do you want to choose the next finger to lose? Or shall I?”
“Boss!”
I turn as Stefano appears at the door. There’s a catch in his voice I don’t like. Something’s not right.
He says something, but I can barely hear him over Rocco’s lingering screams.
“Shut him up,” I bark over my shoulder.
One of my men hurries in and wraps a gag around Rocco’s mouth. The screams dampen.
“Now, what is it?” I ask Stefano.
But before he can answer, I hear it: the distinct sound of crying.
The crying of a little girl.
“Fuck!” I roar. “Is that Evie?”
Stefano looks at me sheepishly. “We found her behind the wine barrels, boss,” he says. “No one noticed her until she started crying.”
“Fuck!” I snarl again, pushing past Stefano into the wine cellar. “Close the fucking door.”
I charge into the middle of the damp space and look around. I don�
�t see anything.
“Where is she?”
Then my men part and I catch sight of my daughter. She’s still crouched behind a large wine barrel, refusing to come out even as a pair of my soldiers try to pull her hiding place apart to get to her.
Her eyes are wide with fear and her face is stained with tears.
I realize that, with the door open, she would have had a direct view into part of the cell room.
Which means she saw what I just did to Rocco.
“Evie,” I croon gently, taking a step forward.
She lets out a strangled little cry and flinches back. Her eyes dip to my fingers and I realize they’re still bloody.
Hurriedly, I wipe them off on my pants and try again.
“Evie, tesoro—what are you doing here?”
Her eyes well up with fresh tears. She’s looking at me like I’m a monster.
“Where’s Charlotte?” I ask sweetly, though there’s a frantic note of anger in my voice.
Now that the shock of finding Evie is gone, the fury is starting to bubble up.
But Evie just shakes her head as new tears slip free.
“Let me take you up to your room,” I coax her.
I take a step towards her slowly, but she flinches again. “No!”
“Evie…”
She gasps in fear and then bolts. She’s too fast and too low, and she slips beneath Stefano’s grasp before he can get her.
She doesn’t stop when she hits the stairs. Keeps sprinting as fast as she can until she is as far away from me as she can get.
I hear her cries for a long time after she’s gone.
“Fuck.”
I don’t have the faintest clue what to do now.
“Go after her,” Adriano urges me quietly. “Don’t worry; I’ll finish up down here.”
I nod gratefully and head upstairs after Evie. I’ve just reached the landing, when I almost run into Charlotte.
“Hey—”
“Where the fuck have you been?” I snarl with every ounce of venom I have.
She doubles back, clearly taken back by my fury. Obviously, she has no idea what just happened. But her eyes are cold as they regard me.
Neither one of us has forgotten what happened in my office two nights ago.
“Jesus, who burnt your toast this morning?” she flings back at me.
“I hired you to look after Evie,” I snap. “Not to wonder around looking clueless.”