The girl continues her approach. Without fear. Without hesitation. The faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of her lips. Blood pools beneath me on the floor. Black spots. Fuzzy. White noise.
"Hey, Tony," she calls out.
Tony straightens, snaps his head towards her voice. "Oh, who do we have here? Boys. Boys. Check it out. Our favorite girl is here. You got something for me, baby?" He rolls his cigar across his bottom lip.
"Yeah, Tony, I got something for you. A little surprise Tone."
And what she has shocks the hell out of everybody.
Especially me.
Chapter 15
Felony
The gun is heavy in my arms—but I love the weight of it—the shock in everyone’s eyes when they see me holding it. The absolute power I have aiming it right between Anthony Fretolli’s shit-brown eyes.
My Scorpion EV03 machine gun. It’s slim, easy to hold, complete with three-round burst. They do a lot of damage when you want them to. It feels like I have the biggest dick in the room and all of a sudden the Fretolli crime family is too scared to be in the sword fight with me.
I got the gun from my Russian friends.
A quick moment of silence for Lev Jacov.
I heard he had a slight accident today while he sat in his car in the parking lot of some seedy diner right off Interstate 95. Poor guy. Overdosing on the drugs your own father sells to the neighborhood kids, that’s just poor judgment. Or maybe it was just poor judgment trusting the topless girl in the back seat telling you the special antacid she had would cure your cheesecake-induced heartburn so your dick could get hard enough she’d finally let you have her.
Okay, moment of silence is over.
“Run, Soph—” Corrado’s voice cracks over my name; long streaks of blood dripping from his lips make him choke on the last syllable. Even with his last few breaths he’s trying to save me, trying to get me away from the Big Bad Wolf.
They’re still looking at me in shock. All of them, even Corrado.
It had to be because of the ginormous machine gun in my trigger-happy freshly manicured fingers.
I flick my eyes over all of them. Tony. Enzo. Salvatore and Carlo. I can’t bear to look at Corrado. His mouth is set too grim—his eyes so swollen they can hardly open. Tony or one of his minions has hammered some metal stakes into the beams that run along the ceiling—rope dropping taut below them, tied in knots around Corey’s wrist. His body stretched out and dangling, clothes torn.
A soft amber light bleeds in from the dirty warehouse window, dusk settling in around us.
“What are you doing, beautiful?” Tony asks, smiling at my gun. “That’s a pretty impressive piece of machinery you got there.”
“Do you like it, Tony? I got it from the Jacovs. Bunch of fun guys, they are.” I’m still holding the gun on him, but Enzo—he’s pretty much the one with the least brain function in the crew, he goes to reach for whatever he keeps in the waistband of his pants. “Oh, Enzo, I wouldn’t if I were you. Just a bit of pressure from my finger and, well, you’re all standing so close, and this puppy sprays its bullets—I could take you out all at once.” I cock my head to the side and giggle. “Unless that’s what you want?”
“Enzo, don’t move,” Tony growls, his hands moving out to his side showing me he’s unarmed. “Felony, what are you doing? Don’t be stupid.”
“Maybe I should just start with a quick blast at dick-level?” I lower the gun to his groin and pretend to think about the possibilities.
“Okay, sweetheart. Why don’t you just tell me what it is you’re after?” Tony’s nose flares, and I’m just as giddy as a kid in a candy store without parents and an unlimited get-whatever-the-hell-you-want coupon. I like angry Tony.
But I like scared Tony even more.
“I want you to tell me a story,” I say with a smile.
“What kind of story? What do you mean?” Tony’s squinting at the gun and I’m tempted to blast the wall behind him so he doesn’t talk himself into believing I’m just holding some trumped-up water pistol.
“A story you never told anyone,” I say.
“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m getting tired of this—”
“So, you just want to die? Now?” I cut him off.
This stills everyone. Well, except for Corrado whose slumped, hanging body is something I’m starting to worry about.
“Sal, take Corrado down from there first of all. And Tony? I want you to tell me the infamous story about the Carnival Massacre.”
Sal looks over at Tony, but Tony is still squinting in my direction. Except now he’s not so much as looking at the gun, it’s starting to dawn on him he might be looking at something a little more terrifying.
Like a ghost.
“It was the San Gennaro Feast…” he murmurs, then shifts back on the heels of his feet like he’s been hit with something.
“I’m looking for the truth now, Tony.”
“They…they used to have the big one in the city, but our neighborhood…” he trails off, still trying to figure stuff out. I can see the wheels turning in his head.
“Get to the good part Tony, the part you like the best.” I step forward, barrel of the gun directly in front of him.
“There is no good part, kid. The entire Fretolli family was slaughtered that day,” he growls.
I take another step closer. “Everyone but you. You and Corrado.” I flash my eyes at Corrado who’s now propped up against one of the cement columns. His eyes are open a little more, and he’s listening intently to what’s happening in front of him.
I look back up to Tony, “Go ahead, keep on talking.” I’m gesturing with the gun, and Tony’s eyes widen every time I jostle it wildly. “Let me help. Okay. San Gennaro Feast. Your neighborhood. The whole family getting together, they’re never in the same place all together anymore, right? That day, though, that one day they were. That was your idea, that day, wasn’t it?”
“What the fuck are you getting at, kiddo?”
I sigh loudly. “They were all planning to meet for lunch at DeVito’s concession—best sausage and peppers in the world—isn’t that what you said.”
“Darling, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on…” His face pales, not quickly, it’s more like minute by minute it blanches whiter and whiter.
“The entire family was there. Fretolli, Acerbi, DeVito. All in one place. Except for Corey who was hell bent on playing that stupid ball-toss game because he wanted to win that huge stuffed unicorn for the girl he just kissed on the top of the Ferris wheel.” I smile at him, loving the look of the blood draining away from his face. “But you wouldn’t be paying attention to the kid not being there. Not when your goal was to use the bathroom when the hit was made.”
“Like I said, sweetheart, I don’t—”
“Beautiful. Sweetheart. Kiddo. Darling. Why don’t you use my real name, Tony?”
He stumbles back, just a foot or so, but enough. Enough to left me know he’s surprised and it’s not the best possible situation for him to be in.
“Should I introduce myself? It shouldn’t be hard to see it now, though, right? I look like my mother. You remember my mother, don’t you?”
A whimper rips out of Corey’s throat from where he sits on the floor. My heart breaks for him, for what he’s seeing right now, a dead girl living and breathing right in front of him.
“Say it, Tony.”
Tony shakes his head. He doesn’t want to believe me, but I see it in his eyes.
“Witness protection,” I smile. “You know, growing up in that sort of custody, wow. It gave me the drive, Tony. The drive to one day come back and see you.” I take another step closer, and the three men all step back at the same time. “I had a good time watching you all walking around the last few weeks, looking behind your shoulders, thinking about who was going to be knocked off next.”
“It can’t be,” he whispers.
“Oh, Tony, I
wish it wasn’t. I wish I didn’t want to douche my mind clear of you and your greedy little fingers trying to claw your way into control of the family.”
“No, no, no.” Tony chants the words like a prayer.
“Well, let me formally introduce myself. Hello,” I wave the gun at him, “I’m Giana. Giana Acerbi. And I’m here, Tony, to take back control of my family business. And to repay you…”
“Repay me?”
“For ordering the hit on my family, Tony. On Corrado’s family.” I swallow back a wave of emotion. I can still see my mother sitting on the bench, teasing my father about shoving the sausage and pepper hero in his mouth like a gavone. I can still hear Corrado’s twin sisters asking for ice cream. And I can still feel the anticipation of waiting for Corrado to win me that beautiful, magical stuffed unicorn that literally saved his life.
Being all alone in that ambulance, because there were no adults left alive in my family to comfort me. Just Tony, who I heard, hours after the massacre and being questioned by the police, ate his own weight at Peter Luger’s Steak House in Brooklyn with a few of his friends.
The same friends that are standing next to him right now.
“Giana, no, no, sweetheart, that’s not what happened,” he whispers.
“But it is, because I was there and I remember.”
Tony stands straighter, shoulders back, puffing out his chest. “And what do you think, little girl? You think that Jacov and guys are going to help you? Why, just because you gave them a few lap dances? Sucked a few of their dicks?”
“I’m not worried about the Jacov family, Tony. They’re just as dead as you’re going to be.”
In a flash, he lunges at me. Just when my eyes are full of tears, like he planned it out, his grandiose last stand. But I don’t need to see him to feel the pure hate I have pouring out of my body toward him—all I need to feel is the release of this weight—the pure beautiful serving of vengeance.
Revenge is a very tricky thing to get right. It’s often a hot-blooded reaction to a hurt, a furious lashing out as a response to the person or thing that caused you pain. When I was thirteen, Tony Fretolli, my father’s best friend and right-hand man, murdered my family and everyone I ever loved. All at once, right in front of me.
The rage that filled me that day boiled in my veins for so long. I would never forgive and I sure as hell could never forget.
As the years passed, my thoughts on Tony’s retribution changed. I really, truly wanted to punish Anthony Fretolli, and the best thing was for me to pause and think on it, and then in a cold, calculating manner, determine how to return and recompense myself for the hurt he’s caused me.
Cold-blooded revenge is much more satisfying that hot-blooded. In this way I got to watch Tony as his businesses closed from unseen strange events. I observed him struggle with why all his associates left him. And I loved to see the way he looked over his shoulder in fear for weeks as someone killed off his guys one by one.
Until now.
Right this very minute, as he lunges at me and all I can do is laugh through my tears as all the vengeful thoughts assemble at the tip of my index finger and pull back, redecorating the drab gray walls of the warehouse with Tony’s blood and brains.
And I don’t take my finger off the trigger until Corrado and I are the only ones in the family left standing.
Epilogue
Corrado
I pull her closer, sliding my hands behind her, one against the small of her back, the other between the blades of her shoulders, until I can feel every curve of her body pressing into mine. Her head tilts back and she smiles up at me. “What are you doing?” she laughs, wrapping her hands around my neck. “You are not supposed to be in here right now, mister.”
My eyes drop to the long smooth expanse of her throat and I bend down, pressing my lips to it. “I just needed a little break from the chaos outside,” I breathe against her skin. Her body shivers.
“What kind of a break?” she asks.
“The kind where I’m deep inside you and you’re clawing your nails down my back.”
“I do really like those kinds of breaks,” she whispers, nuzzling into me and dropping her hands to the buckle of my belt.
I groan into her as she unbuttons my pants and immediately grasps my cock with her hands. My God, the smell of her hair and the silky touch of her hands on me, I’ll never get enough of.
I tilt my head up, just to take a moment to stare down at her.
My Giana.
Alive.
She pulls her hands up and pushes me back, smiling. “You, Corrado, are staring at me again.”
“Can’t help myself.”
“But it’s been months,” she says, blinking up at me.
“But you’ve been dead for ten years.”
She shakes her head, smiling. We joke about it now, all these months later. We have to, we’re both all out of tears.
“So you just want to look at me, huh?”
I nod, darting my eyes all over her gorgeous face.
Her expression transforms as she picks up her cell from off her desk. Her features turn coy and she’s pretending to ignore me.
Okay, I’ll play her game. I fold me arms across my chest and wait.
That’s when I hear it. The music box intro of the song she just pressed play on. The song she used to dance to.
She slides her phone across the top of the desk and her body starts swaying to the cadence of the song.
She doesn’t dance in the club anymore. There’s not even a club to dance in, but she does still dance for me. Only for me.
Her arms reach behind her back and she unzips her dress. It’s strapless and silky, full of lace and whatever that stuff is that makes it puff up. She spins slowly, her hips moving like liquid, and the dress gradually, inch by inch, slips down over her skin until it falls to her feet. She’s completely naked underneath save for the blood-red heels.
All I can do is stare. Just watch her move.
“Song is on a loop,” she whispers, “so you can take your time and fuck me to the rhythm.”
Still can’t stop staring. My gaze trails over every inch of her skin. From her teardrop breasts, down her flat stomach, to the naked V of her pussy, and the curve of her ass.
I can’t take my suit off fast enough.
There’s a knock at the door, a pounding. “Hey, Boss, you in there?”
She giggles and lifts her ass onto the edge of her desk. “I’ll be out in a minute!” she calls out, spreading her legs wide.
“Just a minute?” I smirk, shaking my head. “If we get a minute now, I need about two hours right after the ceremony.”
“We both totally make out in this deal,” she smiles.
She keeps her eyes pinned to mine, looking up at me through her impossibly long lashes, when I slide my cock inside her.
There’s more pounding at the door. “Just so you know, the guests are taking their seats.” The voice is coming from Michael, who used to be the bouncer at the club. Now he’s our food and beverage director. But right now, his voice is going to make me lose wood. Let the guests take their seats and fucking wait. Just for a minute. Or two.
“Michael! Shut up for one minute,” I call out, laughing.
She covers a hand over her mouth to stop her own laughing.
“Lay back on the desk,” I say, as I lift her ass up to angle deeper inside her.
“Oh God, Corey,” she breathes.
I still can’t stop staring at her.
“You’re really…you’re so beautiful,” I whisper, running my finger over her neck and down her chest, pulling my cock in and out of her in long, slow pumps. She’s got her hair all up in curls, small white pearls and roses decorating it, and fuck me hard, she’s got a strand of white pearls around her neck. She’s the most gorgeous bride I’ve ever seen.
“Come here,” she says, pulling me down on top of her and wrapping her legs around my waist. “Fuck me,” she says against my lips.
&nb
sp; I thrust my cock inside her hard and she moans out my name. I pin her arms down and ride into her over and over, faster and faster, burying myself inside her until her heels fall off her feet and the desk is thudding up against the back of her office.
Other voices are in the hallway now, Candy—now Candace—needing to know if we’ll be much longer and where all the bridesmaids’ bouquets are.
They’re on the other side of the desk I’m fucking Giana on.
And I wish Candace and Michael would both shut the fuck up and stay in the restaurant to meet all the guests and let me continue to fuck my soon-to-be wife in peace.
We’re having the wedding in the restaurant—our family restaurant—the restaurant our fathers used to have. We might even be late for our own wedding. I don’t care at the moment. We only have a minute—less than a minute left and I’m driving into her so hard and fast, that I can feel my balls harden and my orgasm building and building.
I need to hold it off. But knowing Giana Acerbi is going to be my wife in a few minutes gets me hotter than fuck. Being with Giana gets me hotter than fuck.
She’s alive.
She’s perfection, and I’m inside her, always trying to me inside her. I don’t give a fuck about anything else in this life but her. Being with her. Fuck the guests. They can wait.
“Harder,” she moans. “God, I love the way you touch me.” She’s trembling underneath me, saying words I can barely understand, panting and gasping and moaning my name.
“Giana, God, I just love you.” And we’re kissing so hard it’s close to being violent, savage. We’re bruising each other’s skin and the desk is slamming and slamming into the fucking wall.
She tightens around me, shattering beneath me, crying out against my mouth.
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