by Nicole Fox
“I couldn’t sleep.” I can’t help moving forward and reaching out for him, my eyes focused on his bloody bicep. “You should have that looked at.”
“I’ve got a first aid kit in my room,” he shrugs.
I raise my eyebrows. “You’re going to take care of it yourself?” I ask in disbelief.
“The bullet grazed me. It’s nothing major. I don’t need professional help.”
“Well, how about nonprofessional help then?” I ask before I can think twice about offering.
He stares at me for a moment, his expression stagnant.
“It’s up to you,” he acquiesces finally.
Then he starts walking, forcing me to follow behind him.
“Try not to exert yourself too much, brother!” Adriano calls after us. His tone is definitely suggestive, but I don’t pay it much attention.
Lucio gives Adriano a middle finger without even a glance behind.
I follow him to his room. When the door shuts on the two of us, I feel goosebumps prickle my arms.
What am I even doing here?
I don’t really know.
But what I do know is this: I don’t want to leave.
Lucio heads straight to the bathroom. I take a deep breath and follow him in there.
I watch from the threshold as he removes his shirt, revealing the hard wall of muscle that runs down his impressive torso. Tattoos ripple across his shoulders.
I have to try really hard not to stare.
“Where’s Evie?” Lucio asks.
“Sleeping. She woke up in the middle of the night and we were up for a few hours. She ended up falling back asleep around five-thirty.”
He nods. “Good. And you: are you okay?”
I cringe a little as I see the open wound on his naked arm.
The skin has peeled away and I can see blood, but it’s not as bad as I was expecting.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’ve had worse.”
“Is that just the macho thing to say?” I wonder out loud.
“Maybe, but it’s true either way.”
“Fair enough.”
Lucio gets out the first aid kit and hands it to me with an odd look. It’s actually pretty well-stocked and I rummage through its contents.
“Sit,” I tell him.
When he quirks an eyebrow up, I blush.
“I mean, sit if you want to. I can take care of this.”
Chuckling, he props himself up on the bathroom counter next to the first aid box.
I wash my hands well and then I check the wound.
“It’s not so bad,” I say objectively. “It’s already stopped bleeding. I’ve just got to clean it now. This might sting a little bit.”
He smirks as though the notion of me warning him is ridiculous. Come to think of it, it probably is.
I clean the wound slowly, wiping away the dried blood so that the broken skin comes into better focus. I don’t talk for several minutes, but I’m always aware of him.
He’s watching me.
But not in a way that makes me feel threatened or nervous.
“Do you have any antibiotics in here?” I ask, rooting around a little.
“There’s petroleum jelly,” he points out.
“That’ll work.”
I apply the wound with a generous coating, and then I take a step back to survey the injury site. That’s when I notice the tiny black burn mark near his shoulder.
Instinctively, my finger lands on it, grazing the skin gently.
His eyes follow my movement.
“It’s an old wound,” he explains before I can ask.
“Is it a burn mark?”
Lucio lifts his arm, revealing at least five more circular scars that look exactly the same as the first. “They all are. Cigarette burns, to be precise.”
“Fuck,” I breathe, in horror. “They look… deliberate.”
He smiles darkly. “Oh, there’s no doubt about that. Courtesy of my father.”
“Your father did that to you?” I gasp. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“It was his favorite method of teaching.”
I shudder. “Your mother should have left him.”
He doesn’t react. “She would never have been able to,” he says unemotionally. “She was a powerless woman surrounded by powerful men. He would never have let her take me with her, anyway.”
“She should have run with you.”
“She could have tried,” he replies. “But where would that have left us? We’d have been destitute and alone. We would have been on the run our entire lives. And he’d have caught us eventually.”
“Some might argue that freedom is worth it.”
“Those people have never been hunted.”
Hunted. The way he says the word makes my skin crawl.
It’s a window into a dark, savage world I never knew existed.
A window into Lucio’s world.
“I hate to admit it, but I put my faith in a man once,” I whisper.
“Xander?” Lucio asks.
I’m surprised that he even remembers the name.
“Yes. Xander. I thought he could keep me safe. I even thought I was happy at the time.”
“Then he fucked you over?” Lucio guesses.
“Royally,” I say with a tired sigh. “He left me high and dry with a bunch of debt.”
I don’t say the last part: …including a debt to a certain mob with a very long memory.
“I can have him taken care of,” Lucio says with a straight face.
I jolt backwards. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”
“Which answer would make you feel better?”
To my surprise, I smile. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Maybe we’ll circle back around then.”
“You’re funny,” I observe.
“I know.”
I chuckle under my breath, feeling some of the tension between us release.
Only a fraction, though.
There’s still tension. Just a different kind.
Our eyes meet and I feel that strange friction that’s existed between us from the beginning. It’s become something else in the last few weeks.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For what you did for me.”
“You’ve already thanked me.”
“Well, I’m doing it again. If you hadn’t intervened when you did, I… I don’t know what would have happened.”
“He would have raped you,” Lucio finishes bluntly.
He doesn’t sound emotional about it in the slightest.
But when I look at his expression, I can see the rage in his eyes.
I turn away from the heat coming off him and start bandaging up his arm. He waits patiently, but his anger isn’t subsiding.
“I’m sorry,” I say, forcing the words out.
He frowns. “For what?”
“I know what his death has triggered,” I tell him. “The mob war it’s put into motion.”
He’s silent for a moment. Whether he knows I was eavesdropping on him or not, he doesn’t mention. He just acknowledges the truth of what I said.
It’s almost a kind gesture, in a way. Like he trusts me with knowing his affairs.
“I did want to avoid a war,” he tells me honestly. “But I don’t have regrets. My sole regret is that I only got to kill Bartek once. But then, I could have killed him a hundred times over and it wouldn’t have been enough.”
There it is again—a glimpse into that cold and brutal world.
Does it matter that he’s killing in my honor?
And then another thought crosses my mind: What will he do to me when he finds out what I’ve done?
“I’m sorry…”
“Stop it,” he interrupts, almost violently. “Stop saying it. The motherfucker tried to rape you. You think I was just gonna stand by and let it happen?”
I shrug, trying to hide the emotion welling up inside me. “I’m no one to
you.” My voice is a strained whisper, barely audible.
His eyes seize mine. Then his hand does, too—reaching out and forcing my chin up so I meet his gaze.
“Is that what you think?” he rasps.
I swallow hard. “What am I then?”
He stares at me silently for a moment. “I don’t know,” he replies at last. “But something. Not no one. You haven’t been ‘no one’ since the day you came into my office.”
His gray eyes are more beautiful than any man’s has a right to be. And instinctively, my hand moves up to cup the side of his face.
Tension.
Hot and thick. Electric.
Fingers on skin. Eyes on eyes.
Breath mingling between our faces.
I hear myself ask him, “Are you in any pain?”
His answer is immediate: “Not anymore.”
And then the time for words is over.
His body leans in towards mine.
But I’m the one who pushes myself up towards him. I’m the one who presses my lips against his.
His arm wraps around my waist as the other hand lands on my breast. Our bodies come together slowly, almost at the exact same moment our tongues meet.
His erection is pushing into my stomach, and I can’t resist the urge to massage him.
I’m about to unbuckle him when he gets off the counter and grabs my hips. He thrusts his erection against me, and I moan with longing.
Then his hands slide down to my ass. He grips hard before pulling me up so that I’m straddling his hips. My hands fall naturally against his shoulders before I realize that he’s still wounded.
“Fuck…! I’m sorry…”
“Will you stop fucking apologizing?” he growls, as he walks me into his bedroom.
He sets me down on the edge of the bed. Then he takes a step back.
He unbuckles his pants and pushes them down over his hips. All I see is the massive cock that jumps out at me.
I feel myself get wet immediately at the sight of him.
He walks forward, his cock only inches from my face. Then he pulls his borrowed t-shirt off me and flings it to the ground.
Desire ignites on his face when he sees my naked breasts spill forward.
He pushes me back, as his hands glide over my body.
Then his hands fall on my shorts, and I lift my hips so that he can pull them off me. He takes my panties with them and with one fluid move, I’m naked and ready for him.
When his body comes down over mine, a shuddering sigh escapes me.
We’re glued together, skin on skin. I’m certain he can feel my heart hammering against my chest.
His lips land on my neck and his hands roam over my body before settling on my left breast.
He teases me, massaging my nipple, rolling it between his fingers, making me writhe beneath him. I want to take his cock already, but our bodies are pressed together so tightly that I can’t get my hand down there.
When his lips return to mine, my mouth is parted and eager for him.
He grinds his cock against me as we kiss, and I can feel the desire pool between my legs.
Then he breaks away, pushing himself down my body. His tongue wraps around my nipples and he sucks hard, forcing breathless little gasps from me.
Is it possible to come this way? With just the lone flick of his tongue on my nipple?
I’m starting to feel like it is.
Then he moves further down my body, until he’s right between my legs. He pushes them even further apart and then I feel his tongue run up and down the entrance of my pussy.
“Lucio!” I gasp, new sensations rippling through my body.
He teases me at first, using his tongue to lick me everywhere he can reach. Then he slips it inside me and I can’t help but cry out.
My hand flies to his head as he bears down on me, lapping at my clit and sending wave after wave of pleasure surging all the way up and down my body.
I groan, clinging to the sides of the bed as though it’s the only thing that’s keeping me from floating away.
If his arm is giving him any pain, he doesn’t show it.
Instead, he eats me out furiously and within minutes, I can feel my orgasm on the precipice, ready to break.
When it does, I scream.
I’ve never been a screamer. But this is the fastest, most brutal orgasm I’ve ever had. It rocks me mercilessly. Leaves me gasping and sputtering for air.
Lucio gives me no time to recover. He licks his lips and pushes himself up so that we’re face to face again.
And then he’s inside me.
“God… Lucio!”
He’s so deep inside me that he’s all I can feel. All I’m capable of feeling.
Shivers run up and down my legs as he pushes in as deep as he can. He stays inside me, his lips grazing up and down my neck as my nails dig into his back.
He fucks me slowly. But I can feel the intensity building. With every thrust, his body shudders on top of mine. He glances down at me, and his expression is stark. Feverish. Hungry.
He looks the way I feel.
My eyelids threaten to flutter closed, but I resist the urge.
I don’t want to miss a moment of this.
If this is all I’m getting…
If this is all I will ever get….
I want to make sure my eyes are wide open for the whole damn thing.
36
Lucio
Afternoon, The Next Day—Lucio’s Office
Adriano is staring at me.
“What?” I ask irritably.
He squints. Says nothing. Just keeps scrutinizing me with a knowing glint in his eye.
“Jesus, spit it the fuck out already.”
He strokes his chin thoughtfully. “There’s something different about you.”
“There’s nothing different about me.”
“Yes, there is.”
I roll my eyes and let loose a deep sigh. “All right, Sherlock fucking Holmes, what’s so different?”
His brows furrow deeper. “Not sure yet. But I’ll figure it out.”
As if that wasn’t annoying enough, there’s a little smile playing at the corner of his lips that suggests he already has.
“Will you fucking concentrate?” I snap. “Not sure if you’re aware, but there’s a war going on outside.”
He shrugs and relaxes back in his seat. “I’m more concentrated than orange juice, boss. The floor is yours.”
I shudder. “That’s the worst pun I’ve heard in my fucking life. You should be ashamed.”
He isn’t, of course.
He never is.
Scowling, I glance towards the capos in the room: Giovanni, Massimiliano, and Raffaele.
“Any new intel?”
Giovanni runs his hand over his wispy beard. “We managed to hit them hard enough to make an impact. But there’s still a notable faction remaining. And they’re coalescing under—”
“Kazimierz,” I conclude.
“My sources say he’s furious,” Massimiliano adds, jumping into the conversation. “He wants revenge for his brother.”
“He doesn’t give a damn about his brother,” I push back. “He wants power. He wants to make a name for himself, stabilize his mob, and restore their reputation.”
“Perhaps,” Adriano offers. “But whatever his reasons, he’s coming for us.”
“Let him,” I reply. “The bastards chose to fuck with the wrong don. What exactly do we know about him?”
“He wants nothing to do with a peace treaty,” Massimiliano says. “My source tells me that he was against Bartek meeting with you in the first place.”
“Maybe he’s not a complete fucking idiot then.”
“Bartek’s meeting was never about making peace,” Raffaele rebuffs, adjusting his glasses. He looks like shy and nerdy, but there’s something manic in his eyes. “They were probing for weakness.”
“That’s why he agreed to meet here,” I surmise.
Raf
faele nods. “Bartek may well have agreed to a treaty,” he continues. “But that wasn’t the sole purpose of his visit. And if we did come to terms, he intended to exploit the treaty for his own benefit later on.”
“To lull me into a false sense of security after the treaty was signed.”
“Exactly,” Raffaele confirms, his eyes radiating with a strange excitement.
“We’ll need to move carefully from now on,” I tell my men. “The Polish are probably preparing for retaliation as we speak. And we might have more spies in our midst.”
“The men are loyal,” Adriano says immediately.
“Yeah?” I counter. “All of them? Because Rocco wasn’t.”
The atmosphere turns uncomfortable. I know none of the men like discussing Rocco or what happened to him.
The bastard is buried in four different unmarked graves across upstate New York.
Not a pleasant ending.
“We have to be alert,” I continue, ignoring the tension in the air. “We have to weed out the spies. The reason you men are here is because I trust all of you. If you see any suspicious behavior… well, you know what to do.”
I’m about to dismiss the men when the landline on my desk starts ringing.
I frown. “When was the last time that number rang?” I ask, turning to Raffaele.
“I can’t remember.”
I glance at the caller ID on display, but the number’s a protected one.
That can mean only one thing.
“Looks like the Polish have come to play,” I grimace.
I accept the call and switch it to speaker.
“Hello?”
“Am I speaking to Lucio Mazzeo?” The voice is deep and gravelly.
“You are.”
I notice my men glance between themselves, their bodies tense and expectant.
“I am Kazimierz Kowalczyk.”
I glance at Adriano.
“Kazimierz,” I say, addressing him informally. “Have you called to thank me for expediting your promotion?”
His laughter is dark, promising all sorts of violence in the future.
“I’ll admit, thanking you is not the first thing on my mind,” he says.
“No? Then what is?” I ask. “I’m all ears.”
“We have matters we need to discuss.”
“What do you suggest?”