by Ivy Fox
“Little early for hard liquor, don’t you think? It’s barely noon,” she reprimands, turning to face me as I pour myself another. Her scrutinizing gaze burns as hot as the lit fire behind her.
“I’m sure it’s happy hour somewhere,” I reply stoically, raising my glass in morbid celebration.
“You’re upset. You only drink when you’re upset,” she adds calmly, and it infuriates me that she is still so familiar with the inner workings of my psyche.
“I’m the head of the Chicago syndicate. If I drank every time someone upset me, then I’d be an alcoholic by now,” I rebuke, unfazed with her fabricated concern.
“Syndicate life never upsets you. Only family has that effect on you; having to grieve the lack of it, I mean.”
“And what do you know about grief?” I sneer, walking over to her, revolted she would go there.
“Don’t look at me like that, Vincent. You’re acting like you don’t even know me. Like you don’t see me,” she wails, her well-placed guard tumbling down.
“All I see is a spoiled little girl who didn’t even have the decency to be at her mother’s bedside when she took her last breath,” I relent in disgust. Before I can stop her, the sting of her slap burns my cheek and rings in my ears like thunder.
“Fuck you, Vincent,” Selene bellows, with the same stifling, boiling anger I’m trying to contain. My cruel sneer comes to the forefront, as I relish the physical, dull ache she has caused, instead of the internal wound I’m desperate to avoid acknowledging.
“You mafia men and your bloated egos. Always thinking you’re all the smartest people in every room. Thinking you know everything when you haven’t got the vaguest clue. And when someone outsmarts you all, you scratch your heads, puzzled how such a thing could ever happen. Especially if the said feat was done by a woman. It’s pathetic,” she snarls, seething in venom. “Did you really think I would keep my mother in the dark about my whereabouts? My mother has known where I was all along. I’d never be capable of living with myself otherwise,” she spits, with true venom lacing those perfect, jeweled eyes.
How I wish I could burn the gorgeous image away from my heart, and replace it with the poison she insists on feeding me.
“That’s a lie,” I growl, infuriated she would try to deceive me by slandering her mother.
I bared witness to Anna Maria’s anguish. She suffered just like the rest of us with Selene’s disappearance. She was too honorable and too good of a woman to mislead us in such a way.
“You were never this foolish before, Vincent. Don’t disappoint me now. As soon as it was safe, I went down to Florida where she did her volunteer work with the nuns and told Mammà exactly where I was hiding. From then on out, my mother visited me at every chance she got.”
“That’s not possible.” I shake my head in denial.
“You’ve become just like them—cold, ruthless, and blind,” she quips back bitterly. I grab her shoulders and shake her lightly, wanting the whole distorted truth.
“If that were the truth, then why didn’t she just stay with you? Why not be free from The Butcher for good, and live with you, happy on the run, instead of suffering one more day with that monster?” I growl resentfully.
“Because a mother’s love is boundless, Vincent. There is nothing a mother won’t do to protect her child. Even sacrifice herself for their happiness and safety,” Selene struggles to reply, her eyes cast low to the floor, not wanting to face my anger head-on any longer.
I feel my brows press together with the realization that, if there were anyone Anna Maria would die for, it was her daughter. It was Selene.
“If she left, then your father would have just cause to go after you both. The Outfit wouldn’t quit until they found your mother. She was too much of a public figure to disappear successfully without anyone taking notice. Someone would recognize her, and word would come back to us; to him. You both would be found, and an ‘accident’ would have to happen to deal with your betrayal. If she left, she would have been signing both your death warrants,” I reason, finally putting the mismatched pieces of the puzzle together.
“And by staying, she could warn me if anyone was getting close to finding me,” she adds, offering another piece of evidence as to why Anna Maria would never leave Chicago or her nightmarish life.
“You didn’t deserve her,” I spit out, my throat burning at the lie.
“I know. I didn’t deserve a lot of things,” she admits, taking a step back, and away from my grip. The minute my hands are off her, they resent it. Be it in pleasure or pain, they need to hold her.
Just a little while longer.
Please.
“You have to go now,” I order huskily, walking away from her sphere before I do something reckless, like touch her again.
“Okay,” she whispers, and my insides become afflicted with the sound of defeat in her voice.
I take shallow breaths, trying to make sense of it all, when I hear her call out my name, sounding so painfully tender coming from her luscious, plump lips.
“I’ll leave for now. But, Vincent, I won’t go away. Not until I have what I came for. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t falter. A man like you should understand the honor in keeping a promise,” she states before vanishing from my life once more.
I almost convinced myself I was whole again. That I overcame all obstacles against such traitorous betrayals and became who people envisioned me to be—a strong merciless leader, who wouldn’t waver at any pesky lament or fraudulent tear.
Then she had to come back and laugh away at my pitiful excuse of an existence.
I’m not whole at all. I’m barely a man.
And I’ll never amount to one while she still holds my beating heart in her hands.
TEN
Selene
I walk through the dark, urine-infested corridor and try to remind myself, once again, why I have to hide in this sketchy motel. If I want my presence in Chicago to go unnoticed, I have to stay in places where no made men would suspect a syndicate principessa to frequent. Of course, I stayed in worse places than this when I was on the run, but that seems like a lifetime ago. Being reacquainted with such a destitute environment brings back all sorts of depressing memories. Memories of how I had suffered being separated from my home and all the people who mattered most to me. Although, once I was in a more homely accommodation, able to hide in plain sight, it still didn’t lessen the heartache. But it did help to force the misery to the back of my mind, as I trudged on through with my days, pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
As I approach my room and start to look for my keys, I freeze when a suspicious sound grabs my attention. I lean my ear to the door to confirm if someone is inside, but it’s a difficult feat to accomplish when the moans of my next-door neighbor are as fucking loud as the cursing being done by an indebted junkie and his dealer across the hall. I try to concentrate, blocking all the noise out, and verify that a light sound was coming from inside my room, which could only be made by an intruder going through every inch of the gloom-filled place.
Instinct makes me reach into my purse and grab my gun, but then I change my mind and place it back, thinking better of it. Using Vincent’s gun will be too much of a red flag, raising alarms where I don’t want them. The blast of a gunshot would be impossible for the motel receptionist to ignore, and they would feel obligated in calling the cops. Even if this is the last neighborhood the men in blue want to visit, they would have to scope things out regardless—a scenario that neither they nor I am interested in.
No, a gun is definitely not the ideal weapon of choice considering all its repercussions. So, I’ll have to go with the next best thing. I bend down to my boots and retrieve a hunting knife I brought from home. If whoever is inside wants to harm me, then I’ll just have to gut them navel to chin, grab my stuff, and walk away.
My fight-or-flight response kicks in from both sides of the spectrum. Logic tells me I should
run away now before I make my presence known. But the picture carefully hidden inside those four walls is what fuels my drive to kill whoever might discover it. If they do a good enough job at ransacking my room, they’ll be sure to find it and go back to their employer with information too precious for them to hold. I shouldn’t have brought it with me in the first place, but logic had no say when the heart was taking the lead.
I made a conscious effort at having as little information on me as possible that could link me to Nashville and my life there. With only a burner phone on me, I was careful not to have any personal pictures there, in case someone jumped me unexpectedly. But love prevented me from coming to Chicago without his beautiful face cheering me on in my endeavor. It’s hard enough having to leave him behind as it is.
There is another faint clatter, and this time I can distinctly tell it’s the drawers in the wardrobe being opened one by one.
Good. That means the intruder’s back is to the door.
Thinking this to be the best way of meeting my opponent, I open and close the door behind me as quietly and as silently as I can muster. Frozen against it, my suspicions are proven correct. On bended knee, one of the Outfit’s men is thoroughly examining each drawer. The expensive Italian suit, unable to conceal the two Glocks underneath, is a dead giveaway of his intentions and origins. I’m unable to see much else but his broad back and rich olive skin on his neck. The rest is too hidden for me to say if we ever crossed paths before.
With my blade in hand, I walk surely to the stranger, taking advantage of his kneeled position. Knife to the neck, I surprise him, making sure I keep the razor-sharp edge on his Adam’s apple as my greeting card.
“Don’t move,” I warn, as I look to the bed to see if it has been messed with yet.
I wasn’t foolish enough to put his picture under the mattress. Instead, I carved a small slit on one of its corners and placed it inside. Most people wouldn’t think of moving the bed in its entirety but settle with going straight to the mattress, overturning it completely without giving it much inspection. Once they saw nothing was underneath, they would move to a new spot to investigate. At least that’s what I was hoping for.
I feel my burglar stiffen, and I’m glad my voice had enough of a menacing quality for him to get the message that he messed with the wrong woman.
“Who sent you?’” I ask, wanting to know who is aware of my presence in Chicago, aside from the visits I have made.
I’ve been nothing but careful in staying under the radar of my father and especially the Outfit’s new underboss. If either one knows I’m here, then all my efforts have been for not, since I’m as good as dead. A little chuckle comes out of my assailant, his body relaxing against mine, and my patience starts to wear thin with his smugness.
“You think this is a joke? Trust me, I have no qualms in slicing you up right now. Tell me who sent you and I might just spare your life,” I murmur sinisterly in his ear, invoking the memory of the voice my father loved to use when shelling out threats.
Let him think if he cooperates with me and gives me a name, I’ll be swayed to leave him be. I won’t, of course, but I see no need in getting the beast of a man agitated with the realization he’s about to take his last breath in this world.
“I see you’ve picked up some new tricks, bella. I wonder what else you’ve learned these past few years,” he chuckles.
The familiar voice that comes out of the would-be stranger makes my heart jump in relief and joy. Yet, I keep my knife exactly where it is—on the sly prankster’s throat.
“These aren’t new tricks, Giovanni. Dom taught me how to use a knife the minute he was able to get away with it,” I hush in his ear, and see the hairs on the nape of his neck prickle to life.
“I see. So you’re full of surprises,” Gio sing-songs, tilting his head to the side. Seeing his cocky, sexy grin instantly does something to me.
“So are you. Most people call before coming over. Not ransack their motel room,” I counter, gaining a nonchalant shrug from the boy I gave my heart to when I was barely old enough to know what love was.
“I’m not most people, principessa. You, of all people, should know that.”
My smile grows wide at his snarky comment. Elation overwhelms me by having him so close once again. But this feeling is fleeting as he reverses our positions, and in one fast turn, he gets free from under me, taking the knife away from my grasp, and pinning it to my own neck.
“I guess Dominic didn’t teach you everything, huh? Still need some schooling, bella,” he murmurs in my ear, mimicking me, and my spine stiffens at his taunt.
“Give me my knife back, and I’ll show you just how much of an education I have,” I reply, overly sweet.
The cold blade starts to wander down from my throat, moving its way to my chest, only stopping when it touches one of my keen nipples, which are hard as diamonds just from Gio’s proximity alone.
“Now, why should I do that? When I’d much prefer to educate you myself with all the lessons you are lacking.”
My breathing peaks and I start to hyperventilate when the jagged edge toys with my nipple to the point of pain. I feel my core soak with his breath in my ear and his manly scent all around me. I lick my lips, desperately wanting to turn around and see the man I have been dreaming about since as far back as I can remember. I lean back against him and feel his hard shaft caress my ass, making my eyes turn to slits with erotic images dancing in my mind. My pulse quickens further when he starts to move against me.
“You smell just as incredible as the day you left me—freshly crushed roses with a hint of vanilla,” he whispers, and my senses heighten when I feel his tongue reach out to the small place behind my ear and trail down toward my long neck.
“Taste just as sweet, too,” he groans, and my heartbeat gallops when I give in to the madness and find myself grinding back to the same tempo as his engorged cock.
“Gio,” I pant, trying to slow things down and accelerate them all at once.
“What is it, principessa?” he hushes in my ear, before biting my tender lobe and sending shockwaves of rapture all over my body.
God, I missed him so much.
The knife in his hand continues its sweet, torturous caress alongside my aching breasts. With a swift twist of the wrist, Gio cuts my blouse buttons one by one, in rapid speed. With my shirt hanging open, my black, lace bra is fully exposed, showing my heaving chest and the effect he still has on me.
In one quick swoop, he moves me to lean against the cheap piece of furniture next to us, and that’s when my eyes finally appreciate the man behind me. My Gio stares back at me through the boudoir mirror, with blazing heat in his eyes.
“Hi, bella.”
He winks to the mirror as he slides my shirt off my shoulders and zips down my black skirt, pushing it to the ground. I continue to look in the mirror, seeing myself in nothing but black lingerie, and the astute man behind me, immaculately dressed in his suit with my knife never once leaving his hand. His body keeps me in place; even if I wanted to move, he isn’t giving me much of a chance.
“I must say, this is a sight I wasn’t expecting to behold so soon. But one thing you taught me was to never leave for tomorrow what you can do today,” he announces with pure erotic tones.
“Hmm,” I sigh when I feel my bra fall to the ground with three precise slices of a knife, followed with the same expert cuts being done to my panties.
And just like that, in twenty seconds flat, he has me bare naked and under his total control.
“Gio,” I begin to say, trying to think of any rational thought to stop this, but my body craves him as much as my heart does.
“Shh, bella. The time for words and lies will come. Right now, all I’m interested in is getting what’s been promised to me,” he whispers, placing a tender kiss on the hollow of my throat.
“Promised?” I rasp, and before I can utter another word, I feel his adept fingers caress my p
ussy, making me lean my head on his broad shoulder to relish the intimate touch.
“Yes, principessa. Last time I was alone with you, I had promised to myself that I wouldn’t falter, should I ever have another opportunity. And you know me, I always keep my promises,” he replies steadfast, locking his gaze with mine.
“So do I,” I retort, gaining another mischievous smile from my curly-haired mafioso.
He moves his fingers just an inch higher to strum my clit to a delicious tempo, making my skin hum in delight.
“Still, I am nothing if not a gentleman. One word from you and I’ll break my oath,” he adds seriously.
My moan and my damp lips betray any word of denial I might be willing to spew. I rock against his hand, already so close to oblivion that I’m grateful when it disappears—only to be replaced by a sharp pain slicing me in two with his first thrust inside me. The pain is surreal, and my brows pinch together, wishing to pull it back, wanting his hands back on me.
“Fuck! How the fuck can you still be so tight?” he grunts into my neck.
A whimper leaves my lips, and that’s all it takes to bring his eyes back to me. Through the mirror’s reflection, he watches our entwined bodies and my pained expression.
“It’s okay, bella. I know how to make this better,” he coos, finally dropping the knife to the ground and holding my hip with one hand, while the other peruses the creamy skin in my center.
“You’re so wet, principessa. Your body is begging me to give you every last inch of me,” he groans into my neck, always so careful to keep our eyes locked together.
“What? You mean you’re not in already?” I ask, a bit frightened. But Gio, being Gio, just laughs.
“Barely the tip, sweetheart.”
“Fuck me,” I whisper.
“That’s what I’m aiming for. Just keep still for a minute and grab on tight. Don’t move a muscle,” he orders and then falls to his knees.