by LP Lovell
The man grunts some form of response before turning away and grabbing glasses.
“Ah, don’t mind him, darlin’,” one of the guys says in a thick Irish accent, flashing me a wink. He’s a guy in his thirties maybe, with dirty blond hair and blue eyes that dance with humour. “Wouldn’t know a good woman if she were to slap him upside the head. And you…” He flicks his eyes down my body, straightening the shirt of his collar with a cocky grin. “…are a mighty fine looking gal.”
Slipping on the mask of a nice normal girl into place is as easy as putting on a jacket. Smiling, I lean my elbow on the bar. “My father always said, never trust an Irish boy.”
“Ah, and why’s that?” he asks.
“Because you’d charm the birds out of the sky,” I reply, cocking a brow.
“Aye!” His friend laughs beside him, slapping him on the back. “This one would charm the panties off a gal in a heartbeat.”
The barman puts the drinks on the bar, and I hand him some money before turning away. “Nice talking to you.” There’s raucous laughter as I turn my back and it’s decidedly less tense than when we walked in. We sit at a table in the corner, and I position myself with my back to the wall.
“I don’t like this shit,” Tommy grumbles, taking a heavy gulp of the whisky.
I sigh. “Keep your panties on. We’ll sit. We’ll drink. I’ll go to the bathroom in a bit and scout an exit. Then we can go.” I want to hit O’Hara here, because it’s the last place he would expect to get hit and the only place I know he will come.
Tommy drums his fingers against his glass. Anyone looking at him would know, clear as day, he’s agitated. I decide to speed things up and down my drink, before standing. The door at the back of the bar leads to a short passageway with ladies and gents toilets. I pass the bathroom door and follow the corridor that hooks right. Sure enough, at the end there is a fire exit, but it’s locked, literally chained up and padlocked. Shit. Turning around, I freeze when I find the blond guy from the bar leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and a wry smile on his face. A cigarette hangs from his fingers and he slowly brings it to his lips, narrowing his eyes as the smoke drifts up around his face.
“Ya lost?” he asks.
Shit.
I paint a smile on my lips. “I’m looking for the bathroom.”
He jerks his head towards the corridor behind him. “Ya walked past it.”
“Oh, thanks.” I squeeze past him and he makes no effort to get out of my way. I can’t work out whether he’s onto me or if he’s just trying to get in my pants. The second I get in the bathroom, I walk into a stall and bolt the door, bracing my back against it. Shit. The last thing I need is them taking too much notice of me. I need to come back in here when O’Hara is here, but then if this is anything to go by, I’m not going to go unnoticed regardless of whether blondie has made me or not. This is a mafia bar. They know everyone, see everything. Unless…I open the stall and quickly wash my hands before stepping back outside. Sure enough, blondie is still in his spot, smoking his cigarette. I throw him a glance, making sure I lock eyes with him before I go back into the bar. I walk straight over to the bar.
“Do you have a pen?” I ask the barman. He hands me one, his surly scowl still firmly in place.
I grab one of the cardboard beer mats, the Guinness emblem all over it. I scrawl the number of one of my burner phones along with the name Isabelle onto the worn cardboard. I hand it to blondie’s friend who watches me the entire time. “What’s your friend’s name?” I ask.
“Darren,” he replies before taking a gulp of his beer.
I nod. “Give this to him, will you?
He chuckles, taking it from me. “I sure will, sweet thing.”
I turn and start walking out of the bar, signalling Tommy to follow. “What the fuck was that?” he hisses once we’re outside.
“My in,” I tell him as we walk down the street, away from the bar.
“Nero’s going to fucking kill me.”
I laugh. “Nero wants O’Hara dead. He can suck it up.”
I’m sitting in my office in Milan, one of three nightclubs I own in the city. It’s on Broadway and by far the most successful of the three. We use the clubs to clean the mob’s coke money, despite the fact that I own them personally. In theory, I could sack it all off and just have the clubs, but why? The benefit of being at the top is that you’re so far removed from the illegal activity that even if the police were to work out that it’s me trafficking the coke in and out of the city, they can’t pin it on me. I’m essentially untouchable, so with low risk and high reward, why not? Aside from the money, there’s the simple fact that he who owns the drugs in this city owns the city. It’s a good foothold to climb from.
The door of the office clicks open and Olivia, one of the bar staff, comes in holding a glass and a bottle of scotch, wearing the smallest fucking dress possible. She’s a brunette with legs for days and curves that I’ve run my hands over more times than I care to remember. I used to fuck her regularly, right here on this desk, sometimes even at my apartment if I didn’t have the time to stop in. But since I’ve become capo I don’t have time for her. I don’t have time for anything that isn’t the mafia, the job, the plan. She smiles, that perfect pageant smile of hers, and places the bottle and glass on my desk.
I spare her a brief glance. “Thanks.” I focus on the papers in front of me, but she lingers, forcing me to look at her. “That will be all.”
Her face falls a little before a seductive smile pulls at her lips. She rounds the desk and I’d be lying if I said I don’t pay attention to the way her hips sway with every step. She flicks long, dark hair over her shoulder and lowers herself onto my lap.
“Nero,” she purrs, brushing her lips over my jaw. “I’ve missed you. It’s been months.”
Was her voice that annoying before? I grab her hair and yank her head back until she’s forced to bow her back. My free hand wraps around her jaw, gripping it firmly.
“You’re hurting me.” She gasps, a hint of fear creeping over her features. Una would glare at me, egg me on, fucking punch me probably. This simpering seductive shit isn’t even getting my dick hard.
I snort and shove her away from me. She lands on the floor in front of me on her knees. “Get out.”
Her eyes gloss with unshed tears. “But…” My phone rings, and I glance at the screen, Gio’s name is flashing across it.
“Get out!” I repeat, picking up the phone.
She scrambles back to her feet and rushes from the room. Fuck me.
I answer the call. “Yeah?”
“We have a big fucking problem.”
I meet Gio at the docks and stand on the wharf, watching as police swarm around a shipment on dock twelve. The sun is starting to set and they’re rigging up flood lighting to work by. It’s a massive shipping container and admittedly, they could be looking for anything, but I don’t believe in coincidences. They’re settling in for a long night, and I have two hundred grand in cocaine coming in on that boat. It’s just a matter of time before they find it. I’m out of pocket, there’s no coke to go onto the streets, no revenue for me to send to the cartel. I want to know who the fuck ratted me out.
“Call Tommy, tell him to speak to his contacts at the precinct,” I snap. “I want to know where they got a tip-off.”
Gio walks away from me, already dialling out on his phone. Meanwhile, I call Jackson because I’m pretty sure I know exactly who it is. “Boss.”
“I have a job for you…”
I ride the elevator up to my apartment, cracking my neck from side to side as I wait impatiently for the numbers to climb.
As soon as the doors slide open, I see George sitting down right outside of the gym. When I open the door, I’m greeted with Tommy’s cry of pain followed by Una’s laugh. She’s on the floor and he’s on top of her, his hands braced on either side of her small body. He’s topless and she’s wearing workout pants and a top that exposes her
stomach. It would look intimate if she didn’t have one leg looped around the back of his neck and her hand wrapped around her ankle, choking him out. Although, he doesn’t look entirely upset with her crotch in his face.
“Tap out!” she shouts. His face has turned red and any minute now he’s going to pass out. “Aw, Tommy.” She smiles and ruffles his hair with her free hand as he loses consciousness. I’ve been trying to call him all fucking day and he hasn’t answered, and now I find him here, all over Una. She collapses back on the floor, her chest heaving as Tommy’s limp body rests between her thighs. My fuse is already burnt out today and the way her thighs are wrapped around his body, his bare skin against hers… It has something hot and fast tearing through me. An irrational rage grips me, and I’m ready to shoot the fucker.
“I thought you didn’t like being touched?” Even I can hear the accusing note in my voice. I don’t give a fuck.
Her eyes snap open and she lifts her head. “I don’t,” she says, breathing heavily.
Moving forward, I kick Tommy’s unconscious body to the side. She lies on the floor while I stand over her, staring at her exposed stomach, the swell of her breasts in that skimpy top. I clench and release my fists, wanting to fuck her and fight her, preferably at the same time.
“Looks like it,” I growl. She glares back at me, her lips pressing together in a tight line.
Tommy groans and slowly sits up, clutching his neck. “Fuck, Una, that hurts.” She hops to her feet and shrugs, flashing him a wink and a genuine smile. Again, I don’t like it.
I grab him by the scruff of his neck and drag him to his feet, getting in his face. “Where the fuck have you been all day, Tommy, huh?” I snarl.
His eyes go wide and his face drains of all colour. “I…uh, here, boss.”
“I called you ten fucking times.” I shove him away from me before I pound my fists into his face. I want to destroy everything in my damn path right now because I lost. Someone got one up on me. I fucking hate losing. “Call the cops. I want to know who the fuck tipped them off about my shipment.” He nods quickly. This is the one fucking job I entrust to him, handle the cops, know what they know. He can be their best fucking friend for all I care as long as he gets me what I want, when I damn well want it. “Now get the fuck out,” I snap. He rubs his hand over his neck, staggering towards the door. “And, Tommy…” He turns back to me. “Don’t touch her again.” I point to Una and he nods, dropping his eyes to the floor.
“What the fuck?” Una asks, glaring at me. When I don’t answer, she rolls her eyes and walks out of the room. I take a deep breath and roll my shoulders, following. Tommy is standing just outside the door pulling his shirt on. Una is heading towards the living area.
“Sorry, boss. I didn’t realize…” He trails off. “I mean, it’s not…I just let her kick my ass, that’s all.”
“Stop talking. Do what I pay you for.” He nods and presses the button for the elevator, getting in. He keeps his head tilted down and gaze fixed on the floor as the doors glide shut.
I strip out of my workout pants, throwing them in the corner angrily. He’s jealous. When the hell did we get into any kind of territory where jealousy was a factor? What is this, the middle ages? And Tommy, really? Shit. I go into the bathroom and start the shower. Gripping the edge of the sink I lean over it, trying to calm my erratic pulse as I wait for the water to become red hot. When I look up, I make out a dark figure in the foggy reflection of the mirror. Turning around, I find Nero leaning against the doorframe, his thick arms folded over his chest and a scowl on his face.
“Get out,” I snap.
He completely ignores me and steps into the bathroom, moving closer. “No.” His body presses against mine, backing me into the counter behind me. He towers over me, his broad shoulders blocking out everything that isn’t him. The soft material of his shirt brushes against my bare stomach, and his fingers wrap around my jaw, tilting my head back while bringing his face close to mine. His eyes are dark and turbulent, the threat lurking just beneath the surface. Tension radiates off him in waves that has my heart skittering in my chest like a startled animal. His mood is pitch-black tonight and it honestly scares me.
“You don’t let Tommy fucking touch you,” he growls, the rumble of his chest vibrating against me.
I shove at his chest but he doesn’t budge. “You’re seriously jealous? You realise that’s totally irrational?” He says nothing, and I shake my head. “Fuck you, Nero.”
He cocks a brow. “Gladly, but I don’t share, Morte.”
“I’m not yours to share.” I taunt.
He laughs. “You don’t think so? Too bad.”
His hand slips from my face, wrapping around the back of my neck before he slams his lips over mine. I rake my nails down the side of his neck and attempt to bring my knee up between his legs, but it does nothing. A low laugh rumbles against my lips before his teeth skim my bottom lip and his tongue demands entrance. Gripping my hair at the back of my neck, he uses it to leverage my head back. My lips part: his tongue lashing against mine is nothing short of an assault. This isn’t a kiss, it’s a statement. I don’t know how he can make me want to fuck him and slit his throat all in the same breath. That fog descends until all I can think of, feel, smell is him. He’s toxic in the most addictive way. Releasing my hair, he trails his fingers down my shoulder blades, reaching for the clasp of my bra. With the briefest flick of his wrist, it comes loose and he drags it down my arms. He tears his lips from mine, dropping his face to my chest. I gasp when his teeth clamp around my nipple, my fingers flying to his hair, needing more of his warm mouth on me. He huffs a laugh, blowing a stream of warm breath over my sensitive nipple and making my body flush in goose bumps. His fingers leave a burning trail down my sides until he’s grabbing the material of my panties, sliding them over my thighs and removing them. A small voice in my head screams at me to stop this, but he renders me so weak. Gripping my waist, he lifts me, placing me on the edge of the counter. Teeth sink into my neck as he grasps the inside of my thighs, wrenching them further apart. My breath seizes in my lungs and my skin feels like it’s on fire. Tremors rip over my skin as I watch him watching me, those dark eyes igniting as he drags them over my naked body. He’s still fully clothed, and I reach for the buttons of his shirt but he grips my wrist, pushing it away.
“I want to watch you fucking shatter, Morte.” He groans. I can see his dick tenting his pants from here, and yet he still makes no move to get undressed. His lips brush over my cheek before he pinches my jaw between his teeth. “I want to taste your tight little pussy,” he growls. And then he drops to his knees in front of me, spreading my legs wide until my pussy is completely on display for him. A pained groan escapes his throat and he buries his face between my legs. My mouth falls open on a silent scream, and I find myself gripping his hair, pulling him closer. His hot tongue lashes across my clit; every nerve feeling like it’s being electrocuted. His fingers dig into my thighs, holding me open to him, exposed. I can’t feel anything but that exact pinpoint of pressure where his tongue meets me, and the hard scratch of his stubble against the soft skin of my inner thighs. Within seconds he has me moaning and writhing, rolling my hips against his face and begging him for something, anything. And then he stops.
“Look at me,” he rumbles.
I drop my eyes to his, panting heavily as I watch him drag his tongue slowly up the length of my pussy. Oh god.
“Now tell me you’re mine.” A twisted grin lights his expression before he pushes his tongue inside me. It’s too much and yet, not enough. His teeth clamp down on my clit, and I whimper, my body trembling, right on the edge. “Say it,” he growls, blowing warm breath over my sensitive flesh. I clench my jaw, refusing to say the words he wants to hear. I haven’t fallen so far from grace that I’ll give him that. He huffs a laugh and pushes to his feet, gripping my face in both hands. His lips are covered in my pussy and he slams them over mine so hard that his teeth click against mine. The salty ta
ste of myself dances along my tongue as it presses against his. And then he breaks away, taking a clear step away from me. “Like I said, too bad.” He narrows his eyes and feigns a smile, but I can see the tension around his eyes. It mimics my own. I refuse to fucking renege, even if my pussy is throbbing and my entire body feels like it might explode. He turns and walks out of the bathroom. Asshole.
I make a clear attempt to avoid Nero for the rest of the evening. Not that it’s hard; he’s been in his office ever since I got out of the shower. This situation has flipped in what feels like the blink of an eye. I went from the girl he was blackmailing to the girl he fucked and now, apparently, he thinks he has some kind of claim on me. Perhaps he does. I know I could never feel this unhinged for anyone but him. Nero Verdi is a rule unto himself, a complete anomaly to everything. He doesn’t need to know that though. I’ve already exposed too many weaknesses to him; I won’t give him any more.
I steal one of his shirts because I’ve run out of clean clothes and apparently he has no washing machine. Figures. Not like he’s going to wash his own clothes. I hope it pisses him off, and then I hope he does something about it. Oh, how I’d love to make him bleed right now. Grabbing my laptop, I go to the living room, taking a seat on the uncomfortable couch. I throw myself into work, devising my plan to take out the three Italians on his list in the space of just one week. This situation with Nero is hurtling into dangerous territory very quickly. I’m losing control and I need to get this done and get out before I completely lose all semblance of sanity. I’m staring at my laptop screen when my phone rings. Not my normal phone, my burner.
I answer it. “Hello.”
“Isabelle.” That Irish lilt practically sings my false name.
“Darren. I thought you’d never call.”
“Ah, but ya know, good things come to those who wait.” I force a girly giggle.