“What’s all this?” I ask, sidling up next to him.
“Proper Italian breakfast. It’s light, but it’s something.”
“You’re supposed to be taking it easy, aren’t you?” I chide him gently. He chuckles.
“It’s not like I’m an invalid, Serena. I can handle putting fruit and sfoglie on plates.”
“Still,” I interject, running my hands up his chest. I stand on tiptoe to kiss him. Even though he’s wounded, I can feel that powerful strength rippling through his body, and it thrills me to my core.
“Careful, mia passerotta,” he growls, pressing against me so that I’m pinned into the counter. “Touch me like that and I might change my mind about what I want for breakfast.”
A shiver runs down my legs. Suddenly, I can’t resist egging him on. “Oh? What are you hungry for this morning, Bruno?”
He leans down to kiss me, gently at first, and then more passionately. I can feel myself growing wet between the thighs. I become acutely aware of his cock pressing hard against my leg as his arms come down around me, pulling me tight to him. “We have to take it easy,” I murmur between kisses.
“I’ll do my best,” he says, and immediately hoists me up with his one uninjured arm, setting me on the counter. Within thirty seconds, he whips off my panties, pulling me forward so that my ass rests on the edge of the counter. He bends down and wrenches my thighs open, parting me to get easy access to my flower. Glancing up at me with a devilish glint in his gorgeous eyes, he begins to swirl his tongue around my clit, making me cry out.
“Oh my god,” I mumble, my head falling back as I close my eyes.
Bruno gently nips and sucks at my clit, his tongue exploring my wet folds as my body shudders around him. It’s like he knows me instinctively, knows exactly how to unlock and unravel me with the flick of his tongue and the softness of his lips. Before long, I’m writhing on the counter, trying not to move too much and risk knocking our breakfast to the floor.
“Bruno,” I gasp, feeling my pleasure mounting ever higher. “Feels so...fucking...good.”
Without warning, he slides a finger inside of me, hooking it to stroke my g-spot just right. Combined with the expert lashing of his tongue, I fall apart instantly, my orgasm exploding in his mouth.
“Fuck!” I whimper, bucking my hips. Bruno holds me still, never letting up even though it almost hurts—but it hurts so fucking good. A moment later, a second climax shakes my body and my hands wander down to tangle my fingers in Bruno’s dark hair, gently pushing his face into my pussy.
He fingers me harder and faster while his tongue rhythmically laps at my clit, sending me into ecstasy again and again. Finally, when I’m totally spent, he kisses his way up my body to gently kiss my breasts, my neck, my lips. He strokes the hair out of my face while I slowly return to my senses.
And when I do, I immediately slide off the counter, dropping to my knees without a word, to return the favor. I’m aching to feel his cock in my hands, in my mouth. I need to make him feel as good as I do. And he doesn’t stop me.
I pull down his flannel pants and boxers, letting his massive length spring free. I’m careful not to touch the wound on his thigh, kissing my way to his cock. His hand strokes the back of my head, gently guiding me to his shaft, and I have to smile. I love the way he can’t resist, the way he wants so badly for me to touch him, to suck him. The fact that I can have such an effect on a guy like Bruno is intoxicating.
But I want to take my time. I gently begin to stroke his cock with one hand at first, my thumb slowly sliding up and down along the underside of his shaft, making soft circles around the sensitive head. I adore the feeling of him in my hands—hard, hot, and smooth. My mouth is nearly watering for it. I add my other hand, applying a little more pressure as I work his shaft, letting his enormous length slide through my fingers as I lean forward and give the head a tantalizing kiss. Bruno groans, his hand pushing a little harder against the back of my head. I peer up at him, smiling sweetly. I know what he wants, and I want it, too.
I want it so bad.
I open my mouth and take the tip of his cock between my lips, letting my tongue gently swirl around the end while my hands continue to pump his shaft— faster now, a little tighter.
“Yes, sweetheart, that’s it,” Bruno growls, and I feel myself getting even wetter at the sound of his voice, the neediness in his tone. I can’t stand it anymore. I need him.
I open my mouth and take him in as deeply as I can in one movement, feeling Bruno tighten up as I envelop him. He begins to move his hips, and I can tell it’s taking all his willpower not to just let go and fuck my mouth mercilessly. He needs this as badly as I do, and that knowledge makes me all the more determined to make him feel amazing. I start to bob my head up and down along his shaft, my hands working his cock in tandem with my mouth. I suck him harder, moaning a little to send vibrations through his body.
“Fuck, baby, that’s so fucking good,” he groans, pushing me down on his cock so that I can feel the tip gently grazing the back of my throat. Before I start to choke, he relents. I can tell he’s trying so hard to maintain control, to be gentle. But I want him to fuck my mouth. I want him to use me. I want him to let go completely.
I move faster, reveling in the sensation of his hard, smooth cock in my mouth as I gently work his balls before wrapping my arms around his thighs, deep throating him again and again. He pushes me down on his cock, bucking his hips as I move faster and faster.
“Gonna make me come, baby,” he murmurs roughly. “Swallow for me, sweetheart.”
With a few rapid, deep thrusts, I feel him seize up and then shoot his sweet, hot honey down my throat. I swallow it back hungrily, not wanting to waste a single drop. “Fuck, Serena!” Bruno snarls through gritted teeth. I work his cock until he’s totally spent, pushing me off.
He pulls me to my feet and kisses me deeply, not giving a damn about the taste of his own come in my mouth. “I think I’m awake now,” he says, holding me close.
“Good,” I reply, wiping my mouth. “Because I’m starving.”
“Still?” he asks wryly.
I laugh. “Yes. For real food. Breakfast.”
We both clean up and sit down to finally eat, both of us glowing and happy. It’s as if the events of the past twenty-four hours have all been power-washed away. But no sooner has the peace arrived than it gets broken.
Bruno’s phone buzzes. I pick it up to hand to him, catching a glimpse of the text message on the screen. It says simply, Don’t go home.
We both look at each other, sharing a dark expression.
We’re already home. And only God knows why we shouldn’t be.
BRUNO
“Y ou made one hell of a splash last night, Bruno” says Antonio. I’m not sitting in the back of any liquor store today. I’m in a proper office, standing in the middle of a room that’s packed with shelves of thick books. The consigliere lives pretty well. I’ve heard he was a lawyer a while back, or maybe he still is.
We got the hell out of the house after I got that message, and I took Serena to Rafaela’s bar to lay low for the day. The guy who sent the message was one of ours. He must have assumed I’d go straight to one of our medics, because word of what happened at the junkyard spread fast.
It wasn’t long after I’d gotten Serena to safety that I’d been summoned here, to the consigliere’s own house.
This isn’t a grilling, though, not like last time. I’m not surrounded by other soldiers this time. There are only three people in this room, and all of them are way over my pay grade. Two of them are familiar faces: the consigliere and Diego, my capo. The third is a man even I’ve never met and only seen once.
Giacomo “Jackie” Pisano, the underboss. Where he goes, business is serious.
The consigliere is sitting in a leather armchair, but not behind the big desk in the room. Jackie is leaning on that, while Diego sulks by the window.
Jackie scrolls through his phone, his face hard to
read. He’s a massive, meaty guy with thick, heavy features, and he always looks vaguely pissed-off. “Haven’t seen a body count like this in a while.”
“Neither have the Cleaners,” I say, and Jackie’s small eyes look me up and down, appraising me. I don’t let it faze me. “Have we heard from Mike?”
“Mike’s fine,” Jackie says, putting his phone down. “Got himself patched up with one of our guys. We’ve already had a word with him.”
“So you know how things went down,” I say.
“We know,” says Jackie, crossing his arms and pacing around the room, “that things were going fine until Lorenzo Abruzzi pulled up with a truck full of fuckers packin’ military-grade weapons. We know our intel was bad, and the guy who gave you that tip is being dealt with right now. We know that you told Mike to get the fuck out of there, and we know he assumed you’d be hauling ass too, like any reasonable goddamn person would.” Jackie stops to turn and look at the bandages visible on me. “But judging by the way you look and the fact that the Cleaners are out for blood, I’m guessing that didn’t happen.”
I clench my teeth for a moment before I force myself to relax and speak. “Lorenzo knew I was going to be there. He was after me. It was business between the two of us. He killed Paul and Tony, I wasn’t about to let him get away with that. So I hunted his men down, and I almost killed him, too. But he fled. He’s a coward.”
“Mike told me what he saw,” Jackie says. “He saw the guns those maniacs got a hold of. How the fuck are you alive?”
There’s a pause between us as we hold each other’s gaze. “My uncle,” I say after a moment, “he taught me, when I was young. Taught me how to defend myself. He was in the army.” That’s a lie. Uncle Carlo was part of a Special Forces unit. I don’t want to tell them too much detail, though, or they’ll have me doing hits for them with Diego. I gesture to my body with a nonchalant expression. “The rest? Good genes, I guess. Luck?”
Jackie’s ugly mug twists into a smile, and he chuckles. “You’re a stupid son of a bitch, you know that?”
“I’m alive, aren’t I?”
Jackie stops chuckling, but he holds his smile for a moment before it fades. “You weren’t the only target last night.”
My brow knits. “What?”
Jackie scrolls through his phone to pull up a few messages. “That dive bar we run, Pete’s? They got hit hard right before last call.”
“Fuck,” I breathe, running my hand over my face and clenching my fist. Bad enough that I couldn’t keep a hold on the situation with Lorenzo, but another place too? “What happened?”
“Driveby,” Jackie explains, and he holds out his phone to me. It’s a picture of the bar in question, an old place I’ve gone to before. The front is riddled with bullets, all the windows are shot out, and I recognize bloodstains on the walls. “Pete made it out with a bullet in his side, but he’ll pull through. The bar’s done for, though.”
“So, two places in one night and more bodies than the city’s seen in a long time. Do we know who they’ve got on the take?” I ask. We have our own cops on our payroll, but if they’re turning a blind eye to this much…
“Our boys in blue suddenly don’t know a thing,” Diego speaks up ruefully. “I don’t know who they’ve got to, but it’s someone who can pull some major strings.”
“This has become a war,” the consigliere says calmly. “They’re making moves fast and hard, and if we don’t act now, they’ll have their heels dug into our territory even deeper. That’s why I’m promoting you, Bruno.”
That hits me like a bolt of lightning. I stare at him, and I realize both Jackie and Diego are eyeing me expectantly. So this is why I got dragged out here.
“A promotion?”
“That’s right,” says Jackie, making no show of pomp or circumstance. “What happened last night would have gotten all four of you killed under most circumstances. Nobody could have been ready for that. But you and Mike got out of there because you can think on your feet, and god knows how many bullets it takes to put your ass down.”
“That’s the kind of initiative we need calling shots on the frontlines,” the consigliere says, finally turning to look up at me. “Bruno, I’m putting you in charge of the block the de Laurentis girl’s shop is on.”
Serena’s block.
“So what, you’re using her as a front line now?” I say, and the look Diego shoots me tells me I’m out of line, but I don’t care. I’m sick of her getting endangered, dragged back into this life.
And I admit that the guilt in my gut is wearing me down. If I’d just avoided her…
I shake the thought away. No, I didn’t bring this heat down on her. Lorenzo was shaking down her shop before I ever got there, and there’s no way Bathing Beauty could’ve paid the protection fees. Besides, her father was the one that put the target on her back. I was just the one that made Lorenzo take it more personally.
But Serena would’ve been in danger, with or without me. At least now, I’ll have the power and authority to keep her safe. And once I kill Lorenzo…
“No,” the consigliere says, putting out a hand, shaking me from my thoughts. He must have anticipated my reaction. “This is a sign of trust, Bruno. I’m giving you more control over something that’s very close to the heart all this violence.”
“In other words, it’s you that Lorenzo’s got a beef with,” says Jackie. “And you’re one of us. If he wants a war, it’s you he’ll come after first. We’re giving you the means to defend yourself.”
“So we let them come to me,” I say, and the men nod in agreement.
“I’ll send you a list of the men who’ll be under your command,” says Jackie. “They’ll be headed your way ASAP, because the Cleaners aren’t gonna wait around long before they try to strike again.”
“Good,” I say. Not because I’m proud of the responsibility—I don’t forget for a second that these mobsters are only interested in covering their own asses through me. “There are two alleys that run through that block that’ll be to our advantage, and there’s an office building on the opposite corner that will be useful for keeping an eye on the area. I’ll give the men the rundown personally.”
“You’ve got promise, Bruno,” says Jackie, nodding at me. “That’s good. Show your men you’re in control, and don’t let ‘em see weakness.”
I crack a smile. “How could they see something that isn’t there?’
Hours later, I’m back out to the only place I care to be—with Serena.
We’re in Belmont, another little Italian corner of the Bronx. It’s a nice little place, perfect for a peaceful moment away from everything else that’s been going on.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Serena says as we walk down the sidewalk, glancing up and down at my body. I’ve got a slight limp, but with each step I get better at hiding it.
“Don’t worry about me,” I say, “you’ll know when I’m feeling it. This is nothing.”
“I can’t not worry about you,” she says with a smile, and I squeeze her hand.
She’s wearing a sundress and a wide-brimmed hat today, and compared to me in my rough leather jacket and t-shirt, I feel like the bodyguard to some celebrity. I might as well be. Every time I glance over at Serena, it’s like looking at someone out of a movie or a fairy tale.
Colorful streamers are strung up between buildings over the street, and the red brick buildings look warm in the afternoon sun as we stroll down the sidewalk. Serena keeps smiling, and I have a hard time tearing my eyes off her. She catches me once or twice and blushes, and the third time, she bumps her hip into mine and says “Quit it!” as we laugh.
After a moment, she looks over at me with those warm eyes glittering in the sun. “It feels weird to have a breather with everything that’s going on.”
“Weird?”
“Nice-weird,” she says, and I take a hold of her hand as we turn into a fresh produce store.
It’s a quiet little place with a few fans lazily run
ning overhead, and there’s that familiar scent all produce stores seem to have. A few flies are buzzing around the place, and the floors are just plain brown concrete. It’s nothing fancy, but we’re not looking for anything fancy today. Just a little time together.
“This is probably the most Italian place in the neighborhood,” I say, looking around the place with raised eyebrows.
“Oh yeah?”
“All it’s missing is a few people smoking outside,” I say with a smile, and she giggles as we start to look around at some of the assorted stuff.
“You know, you don’t talk about it very much, come to think of it.”
“Italy?”
She nods her head as we pick out a couple of apples to eat on the way out. I pay for the food and look pensively up at the little Italian flag hanging from the window of one of the shops. “No, I guess I don’t. It’s a complicated place, where I’m from.”
“Where is it?”
“Taranto,” I say, a faint smile crossing my face. Taranto brings up a lot of mixed feelings. It’s a far cry from the picture of Italy most Americans think about.
“That sounds familiar,” she says thoughtfully.
“Probably because it sounds like Toronto,” I say playfully, and she slaps me on the shoulder. “Don’t laugh, that’s where most people thought I was from when I first got here.”
“Seriously, though.”
“Seriously, okay,” I say, looking up at the sky, trying to think of the best way to describe my hometown as I can. We’re soon strolling through a park in the Bronx, but my memories take me back nearly ten years.
“It’s in the far south. If you think of Italy like a boot, it’s on the heel, facing the gulf. The land is very sunny. It’s like the whole place is bathed in gold sometimes, and we don’t get winters as harsh as the rest of the country up north. Taranto itself is very old. It was a Greek settlement, a long time ago.”
“Woah,” Serena says, raising her eyebrows. “The house I grew up in was built in the forties, and I thought that was old.”
Bound for Life (Bound to the Bad Boy Book 1) Page 14