by Nicole Fox
“What?” I ask, turning to him.
Adriano’s gaze is directed towards the dining room. “I don’t fucking like this.”
“Jesus, Adriano,” I hiss. “You pulled me out of there to tell me that?”
“That… among other things.”
“Well, fucking get on with it.”
“Why can’t I be in there with you?” Adriano asks.
“Because I’m not a fucking child.”
“You’re not invincible either,” he snaps at me. “No matter how many times you tell yourself you are.”
I scowl. “Was there something else, mio amico?”
“We’ve got eyes on the men outside the compound walls.”
“And?”
“Twelve,” Adriano replies. “Which is six more men than he told you he was bringing.”
“Did you expect him to tell the truth about that shit?” I ask. “Don’t be naïve.”
“You’re calling me the naïve one?” Adriano demands. “I’m not the one that invited the fucking Polish don onto the compound for a candlelit dinner. At least tell me the food’s poisoned.”
I chuckle darkly. “If only. I don’t think Charlotte would have been too happy about killing a man with her food.”
“Why on earth is she the one cooking?”
“Because she’s good at it,” I tell him. “And I wanted Bartek in a good mood tonight.”
“So you can fuck him in the ass?”
“Get back to your post,” I growl at him. “And make sure to check on Charlotte before you do. I think she’s still in the kitchen.”
“Still?”
“She’s a perfectionist,” I say with a shrug. “What can I tell you?”
“If a single one of those Polish fuckers make a move, I’m opening fire on the lot of them.”
Adriano looks like he’s about ready to pull his hair out by the roots. He’s always been a little overprotective.
“The whole point of this dinner is to avoid an all-out war. Can you try and get the fuck on board?”
“Fatherhood has made you soft,” he sighs.
“It’s made me wise,” I growl right back. “Now get out of here before I kick your ass.”
With that, I turn and walk back into the dining room.
Bartek has left his seat at the dining table and moved towards the massive French doors that overlook the garden.
“This is a beautiful piece of land,” he tells me without so much as a glance in my direction. “How big is it?”
“Just under an acre,” I reply.
I notice that his wine glass is empty. He’s had three already.
I’m under no allusions about his state of mind, though. The fucker could hook an IV drip of vodka right into his carotid and still be a threat.
“Beautiful,” he echoes. “How about a tour?”
I frown, barely able to contain my annoyance. “We have a few things we need to discuss.”
“My friend,” Bartek says, slapping his hand on my shoulder. “We can walk and talk, can’t we?”
Gritting my teeth, I nod and lead him out of the dining room.
I don’t actually plan on giving him a full-blown tour. He can see a few of the living room spaces on the ground floor, maybe the garden.
That’s it.
The fucker’s trying to see how far my hospitality will go.
“You can tell your men to stay put,” I say firmly.
Bartek’s smile widens. “Of course.”
He gestures to his men to stay back.
I must admit—I’m grudgingly impressed by how confident he is walking through the house with me alone.
“This is a new structure,” he observes, looking up at the double-height ceilings above us.
“Six years old,” I confirm. “I built it after I became don.”
“Whatever happened to the compound your father worked out of?”
“I have uses for it.”
“Of course you do,” Bartek says, giving me that snaky fucking smile of his.
“I have uses for the warehouse on the corner of Madison Avenue and 128th, too,” I say, grinding to a halt and effectively cutting off the small talk portion of the evening. “And apparently, so do you.”
Bartek’s smile never leaves his face. “That was merely a misunderstanding, my friend.”
“Enlighten me.”
“I was under the impression that the warehouse was on my turf.”
“Except you know it isn’t,” I snarl. I refuse to let him weasel his way out of this.
“Sharing is caring, no?”
“I’ve never been good with sharing,” I tell him, allowing the tiniest thread of menace to inch into my voice. “My father was bad. And I can’t say I’m any better.”
“Unfortunate. We could be great allies.”
“To be allies, there needs to be respect,” I point out. “If you don’t respect my fucking rules on my fucking territory, there can be no alliance.”
Bartek’s smile slips ever so slightly. “Then it comes down to strength, Lucio,” he says easily. “My strength against yours.”
I snort. “You want a war.”
“Isn’t that what you’re implying?” Bartek asks—as though it’s the least of his concerns.
“I believe you’re the one who just went there.”
Bartek shrugs. “There was once a time I thirsted for war,” he admits. “The bloodier the better. But not anymore.”
I shake my head. “I have no appetite for war either,” I tell him.
The statement is more or less true. Which ought to lead us into the real intent of the evening—negotiations.
But before I can offer him my terms, a noise from the next room interrupts.
Which is when I realize where I’ve walked him.
Right into the fucking kitchen.
“Ah,” Bartek says, his eyes lighting up with intent. “Perfect! I can give my compliments to the chef personally.”
He starts striding forward, and I have to bite my tongue to stop the command from escaping my lips.
I can’t let him rattle me. The quicker I lose my temper, the faster this shit falls apart in my hands.
I turn into the kitchen—just as Bartek lays eyes on Charlotte.
His smile gets even wider and his eyes light up like it’s the fucking Fourth of July.
I’ve never wanted to end the motherfucker more.
Charlotte’s eyes go wide for a moment as she looks between the two of us. Her body is tense, clearly picking up on the tension we have brought into the kitchen with us.
“Well, well, well,” Bartek says, moving to the kitchen island. “What have we got here?”
I see the fire in Charlotte’s eyes as he looks her up and down.
“I’m not an object,” she snaps. “Kindly refrain from addressing me like I am.”
One corner of my mouth pulls up. And then it pulls right back down when Bartek alights on one of the barstools and chuckles softly.
“I’ve always had a thing for feisty brunettes.”
“Good to know,” Charlotte says dismissively, before turning to me. “I was just about to tell Flores that dessert is ready. Or I can bring it in for—”
“Nonsense,” Bartek interrupts. “We can eat dessert right here. Save you the trouble.”
Charlotte keeps her gaze on me, waiting for my go-ahead.
I incline my head reluctantly. She shrugs and turns to the fridge.
Bartek glances at me. “I assumed your chef was a man.”
“I’ll forgive your sexism. But I doubt she will.”
“He’s right,” Charlotte says, popping two dessert plates in front of us. “Salted caramel parfait, burnt chocolate dacquoise, and coconut nut crumble with Chantilly cream. Eat up.”
“I’m impressed,” Bartek says with an appreciative little twirl of his hand. “Where’d you find her, Lucio?”
Charlotte turns to the sink, but Bartek’s eyes follow her like a shark’s.
�
��I have my ways,” I tell him. “Which brings me back to what we were discussing—”
“What’s your name?” Bartek asks, completely cutting me off.
“Uh, Charlotte,” she says. She’s stiffened noticeably.
“Beautiful name,” he murmurs. “And Charlotte, how did you come by this job?”
She stammers, “I… I’m resourceful.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you are.” His eyes land on her breasts for several seconds before finally pulling up to her face. “Women like you usually are.”
I’m brimming with anger. This fucking asshole.
But I have to bury it. As furious as I am, it’s not worth a war.
Not yet.
“If that’s all, I should be getting back to my room,” she says awkwardly.
“Careful now,” Bartek chimes with a sinister little chuckle. “Beautiful girls should never sleep too easy at night. There are always monsters lurking in the shadows.”
I don’t know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, but it makes my hands clench into fists all the same.
“Thank you, Charlotte,” I say firmly. “You’re dismissed.”
She practically flies out of the kitchen the first chance she gets.
“You lucky motherfucker,” Bartek tells me when she’s gone. “I’ll bet she has a sweet little pussy.”
I grip the edge of the counter to keep from throwing the first punch. I want to avoid a war between our respective organizations.
That’s the only fucking reason I keep my hand steady.
“Let’s return to the dining room.”
“And leave the dessert?” Bartek asks in horror, pulling his plate towards him. “Never.”
He picks up his spoon and takes a huge mouth of the food.
“Fuck,” he moans, with his eyes closed. “That is goddamn delicious. I’ll bet this is exactly what her pussy tastes like.”
I almost get out of my fucking seat—but Bartek beats me to it.
“Bathroom?” he asks innocently as he rises.
“Opposite the dining room,” I tell him. “Second door on your right.”
He inclines his head, with that slimy fucking smile in place. “I’ll be right back, and then we’ll talk politics.”
I don’t trust my voice not to quake with fury, so I just nod.
You can count on it, motherfucker.
31
Charlotte
I’m dead.
That’s the only coherent thought in my head.
I’m so completely fucking dead.
Or I will be. Any minute now.
Because Bartek Kowalczyk—don of the Polish fucking mafia—is in the house tonight.
I’ve been slaving over a hot stove, making dinner and dessert for fucking Bartek Kowalczyk.
I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry.
I’ve never met the man in person. But Xander made damn sure I knew who he was.
I’m thankful for that now. Even though seeing the sinister bastard in the flesh was… a lot.
His eyes are the roving kind. Always darting around, never settling in one place for long.
His fingers linger like pale, fleshy spiders everywhere.
And his smile. That repulsive goddamn smile.
I cringe just thinking about it.
Breathe, Charlotte.
Once I’ve managed to get hold of myself, I peer around the corner of the small gym room I’ve taken refuge in.
I can see Lucio and Bartek. Their backs are to me, and they’re both still sitting at the kitchen island.
My instinct is to run up to my room, lock the door, and bury my head under a pillow until the morning.
But I know that burying my head in the sand isn’t going to save me.
Because that asshole knows who I am.
His little threat from before replays in my head: Beautiful girls should never sleep too easy at night. There are always monsters lurking in the shadows.
Really fucking subtle, pal.
And yet, as scared as I am about being cornered and exposed by Bartek, I’m ten times more terrified of Lucio finding out about my deal with him.
A flash of motion catches my eye.
Bartek stands. He exchanges a few words with Lucio and leaves the kitchen.
I glance around, but there’s no one else that I can see. Which means… he’s walking straight towards me.
I can hide. I can run.
I should hide. I should run.
But I don’t do anything.
Because, despite the panicked hammering of my heart, I’m not a coward.
Either that, or I’m a fucking idiot.
Could be both. Can’t decide.
I stand off to the side so that Lucio won’t be able to see me. But the door is open wide enough for Bartek to see me as he passes.
I stiffen when I see him approach, but his transition is seamless.
He gives me a polite smile as he slips into the gym with me and shuts the door.
“Well, fancy running into you here,” he croons in that oddly high-pitched, velvety voice.
I back up a little, wanting to keep at least four feet between us at all times. Four miles would be preferable, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte,” he tuts like a disappointed parent as he strides forward slowly. His eyes are small, beady, black as night. “You haven’t stuck to your end of our bargain.”
“I’ve tried,” I splutter. “But my movements are monitored. I’m watched all the time. I have a full-time watchdog.”
“Really?” he says with mocking surprise. “Tell me then: where is he now?”
Fuck. “I…”
“A word of advice,” he interrupts. The smile is slipping from his face as he nears me. “Do not lie to me.”
I swallow hard. “I’m not lying to you,” I say, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “I’ve tried. Lucio’s office is locked and I don’t know where he keeps the key.”
Bartek steps forward. Four feet has dwindled down to four inches between us.
I’m suddenly aware of the rack of dumbbells on my right. If I can get my hands on one of them, maybe I can fight back should he decide to attack me.
“Then you haven’t been trying hard enough,” he snarls. “I gave you a job to do. I shouldn’t have to tell how to fucking do it.”
He leans forward and breathes in my face.
“But since you seem so incompetent, I will do exactly that.”
“Do what—?”
“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses.
His voice is suddenly lower, raspier. And his face is all I can see.
Those beady eyes. So dark and inhuman. Like a spider’s.
“Here is what you will do: Seduce the bastard. Suck his cock and find out where he keeps the keys. Because, if I don’t get some real information by the end of this week, you’ll be gagging on every single man who works for me instead. Understood?”
I don’t realize I’m trying to scramble backwards until the backs of my calves hit some gym contraption.
There’s nowhere left to run.
“I spared that fucking scumbag boyfriend of yours because you gave me a deal I couldn’t refuse,” he says. “Did you think that making the deal was enough? Are you that fucking stupid?”
“I’ll try,” I say softly. Fear nips at my throat.
“I don’t want you to try,” he spits. “I want you to do. Now, I’ll ask again: what do you have for me?”
“Nothing. But I will—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence before his hands flies out and grabs me by the throat.
I try clawing at his wrist, but it does nothing. For such a soft-looking man, he’s insanely strong.
I can feel the air being choked out of my lungs.
Is this what death feels like?
It feels like… fire.
As quickly as he grabbed me, he releases.
I gasp as my hands rush to stroke my throat. My eyes are watering.
The relief of air is almost as painful.
“Who’s the kid?”
I blink a couple of times. I can barely register what he’s telling me.
“The… what?” My words come out all gnarled and raspy.
“The kid,” he says, snapping in my face. “The fucking kid that Xander found you all cuddled up with. Who the fuck is she?”
“I don’t know who she is,” I say. He starts to raise his claw again, and I cry, “No! Please! I don’t, I really don’t. I’m not allowed to ask questions…”
“You don’t need to ask questions to know the answers to certain things,” he says. “It doesn’t matter, because I know who she is.”
I freeze.
“There’s only one reason a man like Lucio Mazzeo would take in some runt and hire a whore like you to look after her.”
He smiles. It’s as sickening as ever. Maybe more. It’s the smile of a man who knows a nasty secret.
“She’s his,” he finishes. “The little brat is his.”
I just stare at him. My fingers are trembling.
I don’t want the last thing I see before I die to be that smile.
“I’ll expect a report from you by the end of this week,” he tells me. “Is that clear?”
I just nod.
After all, what else can I do? I just need to get out of here. Facing down Bartek alone wasn’t brave—it was stupid. I see that now.
“Can I trust you?” he asks.
It’s not much of a question.
There’s only one answer I can give and still walk out of here.
“Yes.”
“Can I count on you?”
“Yes.”
His smiles gets wider. “Prove it.”
My heart thuds painfully against my rib cage. “How?”
“Get on your knees. Suck my cock.”
He lets the words sit between us for five whole seconds. My stomach roils with disgust.
“It’ll be a good reminder of what you can expect if you don’t deliver on your side of the bargain.”
His eyes meet mine, and my stomach turns violently. I bite my tongue and push back the nausea. It works—barely.
“On your knees,” he hisses. “Now.”
I shake my head. “Please… no.”
“Fucking now.”
I’ve seen that look in men’s eyes before. That crazed, sadistic look that betrays their depravity.