The overwhelming thought in my mind is that I wish Vince was here. As much as I’ve tried to wall myself off to him, I just want him here now. I want to watch as he beats the living hell out of this thug. I try to get a good look at the guy so I can describe him later, to who, I don’t know. He has a tattoo of a purple rose on the back of his hand and a mole with one thick black hair on his upper lip. His features are large and brutal. I think I won’t be able to forget his face, even if I try, not after this. Can I really go to the cops at this point? I’m obviously being watched, and I’d have to go into witness protection if I talk to the cops about this. I just want to bury my head in my hands and cry, but I’ve never had the luxury of being able to run away from my problems.
He snaps his finger. “Are we clear?”
I hate myself for it, but I nod my head, sniffing and wiping a tear from my cheek. I walk away from the smirking mobster, fists clenched and feeling like I’ve failed some sort of test. Like this was my fault somehow. He seems content to let me go and get in front of the camera, smug in the knowledge that I can’t do shit to him. Not yet.
13
Vincent
I slam a fist into Ronnie’s stomach. To his credit, he’s taking it well. He has only thrown up once and he hasn’t even begged for us to stop. Probably knows he got himself into this, and he’s taking it like a man. I can appreciate that, I even admire it. I’m going to spare him the broken fingers because he has been such a good sport about everything. He gets some fresh bruises, maybe some minor internal bleeding, and he goes on his way. Then again, if he steps out of line again, I’ll break every fuckin’ bone in his hands. I’m no saint.
I look at him, taking in the thick blood dripping from his split lip and the swelling purple around his eye, then I turn to Frankie. “I don’t know, Frankie. Think he’s had enough?” I normally enjoy this shit. There’s a thrill in making people pay in blood when they cross me. I get a rush watching them break, but I can’t get my mind of her. I keep thinking of her fuckin’ doll face and the way her tits overflow in my hands. Goddamn. I want to get her back to my place and show her how many times I could make her cum if I didn’t have to rush.
I don’t really want to admit it to myself, but I wonder if the reason I’m not enjoying this as much as I normally do is because I know how Aubriella would look at me if she could see me now. I can’t help thinking she would think I’m a monster for this. I can’t change who I am, but I’d have to keep her away from this part of what I do. I don’t think a girl like her could live with it.
Frankie prowls around Ronnie like a burly cat, eyes never leaving him. Without warning, he backhands Ronnie. Hard. Blood and spit splatter from Ronnie’s mouth all over my Brioni suit.
“Hey!” I shout. “This fuckin’ thing cost me seven large. You probably just ruined it.”
Frankie shrugs apologetically. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at me.”
I shake some of the blood from my sleeves, frowning in disgust. “He was looking at the fuckin’ ground. Asshole.”
Frankie grins like a predator. “He was thinkin’ about lookin’ at me.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll send you my dry cleaning bill.” I move toward Ronnie and punch him in the face, pulling my punch at the last second a little. “That’s for getting your fuckin’ blood on my suit.”
Ronnie just takes the punch with a grunt, spitting blood. He’s smart enough to spit the blood as far away from me as he can. I purse my lips and snap my fingers. “Get him out of here.”
Donnie and Russo move forward to cut his ropes. They are my Uncle Antony’s cousins. He wants to bring them in on the family business, and I was the unlucky son of a bitch that got saddled with them. But you have to stand by family. At least that’s how we handle business in the Citrione family. Still, I’d normally find something pointless for them to be doing. Maybe shaking down local businesses for money they owe or some shit, but Pops said the Sanatore and Anastasio families are moving some of their business to our turf. They offered to pay tributes, but we couldn’t agree on a cut. We knew there would be trouble and when they whacked Marco Truss, one of our associates in the fencing business, it meant war. Now I’m looking over my shoulder everywhere I go, worried there’s a gun out for me. Having two extra bodies around can’t hurt, so I brought the kids along.
It’s not all bad though. War with the Anastasio family means I have Pops’ blessing to do whatever the fuck I want to Lucky when I find him. Just thinking about him gunning down Jackie makes my blood run hot. It feels like a betrayal, but I can’t even keep focused on revenge like I used to. Aubriella keeps invading my thoughts with her soft curves and sweet smell. Before I met her, I would’ve been like a bloodhound after Lucky pointed me on the right trail. I make a silent pledge to get my mind right, to find a way to go after Jackie’s killer. But hell, if he saw Aubriella, he’d understand.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I wipe the blood from my hands and gesture from Donnie and Russo to help Ronnie into the car. They’ve already been told to drop him back at his place. I take the call. It’s Jimmy.
“Boss, you’re not going to like this.”
I scowl. “Enough with the theatrics, Fingers. Spit it out.”
“It’s your girl’s article. Some crumb slapped his name on it and published it. I mean, unless they worked out some kind of deal—”
“Watch it,” I say slowly. “You be real fuckin’ careful, Jimmy. You’re practically family, but don’t talk about her like that. Don’t even think about implying she was in on it.”
“Hey, hey. All I’m sayin’ is that I thought you should check it out.”
“Yeah,” I say, hanging up the phone. I squeeze it until my knuckles turn white. “Frankie, I need you to find Jerry Washington and bring him the fuck here,” I say, jabbing my finger at the ground that’s still splattered with Ronnie’s blood. “If I’m not back, milk him for everything he knows. I don’t care if you kill him.”
“The Jerry Washington?”
“Yeah, dipshit. Did I fuckin’ stutter?”
Frankie glares at me a little too long before turning to leave. I watch him go, feeling uneasy. Shit was never the same between Frankie and I after Jackie died. He blamed me, I blamed him. We never said as much, but it was clear. Frankie thought I was too soft on the kid, that if he had a stronger chin he could’ve fought his way out of the hit. I thought Frankie pushed him too hard and too fast to get involved. Then again, I blamed myself as much as Frankie. If I hadn’t lost my temper in Jersey, the Anastasios wouldn’t have come after Jackie to draw me out. Fuckin’ cowards.
I get a sudden urge to go check on Aubriella. I’d been planning on showing up at the game later, but all this new shit with the Anastasios and Sanatores is making me antsy. I want to have her nearby so I know she’s safe. I also need to hear what she knows about the article. She looked me right in the eye and said she trashed it. There’s no way she would betray my trust like that. Still, I need to ask. I need to see her.
14
Aubriella
After I do my pre-halftime spot, I find a quiet corridor under the stadium and sink down, letting the tears come freely now. The concrete of the tunnel is cold against my ass and back. I can still feel the rumble of fans above me, but it’s about as quiet as I can hope for in the middle of an NFL game. I can’t stop thinking about the way that guy talked to me. It wasn’t just how degrading it was, it was that I just stood there and took it. I didn’t tell him to go fuck himself or do anything. I just stood there like a deer in the headlights. I’m stronger than that. At least I like to think I am. Strong or not, I just wish Vince was here right now. He wouldn’t let someone talk to me like that. For once, it would be nice to sit back while someone fought my battles for me.
I don’t need him. I know I don’t. I just want him. If I didn’t, I would go to witness protection and get this sorted out real fast. Or I would publish the rest of that article and find a place to lay low while the cops rounded them all up.
I wipe the tears from my eyes and sniff, finally gaining some composure. That’s all it is. I’m not weak, I just don’t want to do anything that’s going to put him in danger. I’ve tried to convince myself that I’ll be happy if I never see him again, but that’s a crock of shit. He may not be perfect, but he’s good to me. That should be enough.
A shadow falls over the corridor and I look up. It’s the man from before, but this time he’s flanked by two smaller men. In a split second, my heart is hammering at a thousand beats per minute. I want to stand, run, scream, but I’m frozen. They all wear suits but none of them wear them as well as Vince. They look like monkeys in fancy clothes. The slow determination in the way they walk toward me robs the sight of any humor. There’s murder in their eyes. I glance backward to where the corridor eventually leads to management offices for the Jets. It’s empty during halftime, because all the coaching staff is in the locker room. I could run that way, but I’d be trapped in a labyrinth of hallways and rooms. And I sure as hell can’t run passed them toward the field. They’d grab me.
“I knew you couldn’t wait to taste my fat cock. You even went and found us a private place. Boss told me to lay low for now, but damn. You’re practically begging me for it. I figure me and the boys can each take a turn on you. Don’t worry though, we’ll leave your face pretty.”
“Leave me alone!” I shout in desperation.
He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Tell you what. If you cooperate, I’ll even eat that tight pussy of—”
Something dark moves across the opening of the tunnel and the man’s words cut off with a mumble. I hear a loud thud and then several more meaty thumps.
Vince!
He ran in and hit the man who was speaking and now he’s grappling with the other two. The man he hit is on the ground and slowly rising to his feet. Everything happens so fast that I can barely tell what’s going on. There’s shouting, grunting, muffled yells. Vince has a man pinned against the wall, pushing the man’s wrist into the concrete and trying to wrestle the gun free from his hand. With deadly efficiency, he jerks his elbow back into another man’s face and I hear brittle bones give. The man slumps to the floor like a ragdoll, leaking blood. The first man Vince knocked down gets to his feet and pulls something shiny from his sock.
“Vince! Knife!” I shout.
Vince turns just in time to sidestep the blade while still holding the other man’s gun to the wall. He pulls the man with the gun forward and spins him, using him like a human shield to absorb the knife. There’s a wet sound that makes my stomach churn and the man grunts. The one holding the knife curses. Vince throws the stabbed man down and rushes the guy with the knife. He pushes him down and kicks him hard in the head three times. Then he kneels, punching the guy’s face again and again.
“Vince! Stop!” I cry.
He looks up at me, face peppered with blood and brows drawn down in dark fury. One man lies motionless in a pool of blood. Another scoots away, clutching his bloody stab wound. The last—the one who threatened me—lays in a gory heap, face a ruin and chest completely motionless. Vince killed him. My heart hammers and I feel like I can’t catch my breath. I start to teeter backwards, but Vince catches me in his strong arms. I hear him mutter into a cell phone.
“...need cleanup. Yeah. The fix was in with some of the security, but get here quick. It’s messy. Yeah. Going to put the leftovers in the back.”
The next few minutes are a blur. I keep looking out into the tunnel where I can see the backs of people standing on the sidelines watching the halftime show. With all the music, no one heard a thing. I can’t believe a man was just murdered only a dozen yards from a crowd of people and no one knows it. I follow Vince numbly as he drags the body deeper into the offices, leaving a long trail of blood in his wake. The two injured mobsters shuffle out of the tunnel, but I suspect they will stand to lose as much as Vince if they draw attention to themselves. They probably just want to get clear of here.
My head feels like it might just spin off my neck and I start to feel nauseous. I just watched people die. “I might be,” I say thickly before bending over and vomiting everywhere. Vince takes me from behind with a surprisingly tender grasp, moving my hair out of the way and wiping my mouth with a silk handkerchief when I’m done. “Ruining it,” I mumble, still feeling like I’m about to pass out.
“Nothing’s too good for you”, he whispers in my ear. I feel the wetness of the blood on his face as he leans close to me and a deep revulsion takes me. I shudder, but he pulls me closer and I’m too overwhelmed to resist. “We’re going to get out of here. I’ve got some questions for you and you sure as fuck better have the right answers. You’re coming to my place.”
“I still have to be on camera after the game,” I say. Everything is a numb wash of confusion, but the threat of losing my job still sends jolts of panic to the surface of my thoughts, even past the slowly forming reality of what my dad did to me.
“Doll, you’re covered in blood. Besides, I’m not risking it. I don’t want you out there exposed again. Not now. I need to make sure it’s safe for you first.”
“Safe? And I’ll be safe with you?”
He actually looks offended, but the hurt is quickly replaced by rage. “Look. I don’t give two shits if you like it or not. You’re coming with me. And you’re staying until I say otherwise. Clear?”
I spit in his face.
He looks like he might hurt me, and for a second I start to feel very foolish. Somewhere in my head, I know Vince is trying to do the right thing in his own, twisted way. Though, he feels like a wild, out of control fire. Anything he touches is going to go up into a blaze of ruin and he can’t help it. And now he’s saying I have to go with him and stay with him? The part I hate most is how my body is reacting to the idea. Heat is spreading from my toes and fingertips, pooling in my core until it feels hot and ready for him. What would it be like to be locked in with him, with nowhere to escape? I really must be going crazy, because the question makes me just as excited as it makes me afraid.
He wipes his face clean and jabs a finger toward me. “You be real careful. Real fuckin’ careful. I’m good to you. I’ve been good to you. Don’t make me regret it.”
I swallow hard. “You can’t just kidnap me. I have a life. I have bills. I have a job. If I’m not there for the start of the 3rd quarter, I’m done. They won’t even hesitate to fire me.”
He cups my face in his hands, looking hard into my eyes. “Bills? Fuck bills. Fuck jobs. I’ll buy you the fuckin’ world when you’re mine. You won’t ever have to work another day in your life if you don’t want to.”
When I’m his? His words are a fantasy I know can’t be true, a deal from the devil. Even if he could solve all of my problems, what would be the cost? What would I be getting into? And would I even want to sign over my responsibilities like that? No. I can’t just let someone step in and fix all my problems. They are my problems, and I want to be the one to fix them. I don’t need some dark prince to do it for me.
A tear streaks down my cheek. “I can’t,” is all I manage. I hate that I’m crying so much since I’ve met him. I’ve never been a crier.
He pulls me tight to his chest and as much as I want to push him away, I can’t. Something feels so right about being in his arms, like I’m made to fit against the hard muscles of his chest. The way his warmth radiates through the silky dress shirt he wears is doing all the wrong things to me. It’s making it hard to think straight. I’ve always prided myself on being strong, on having the will to stand for what I believe in, but lately it feels like I’m just a blade of grass caught in a strong wind. I don’t think of her often because it hurts too much, but I wonder what Mom would have done if she was in position, if she was still here.
The thought makes me hug him back tightly. I’ll let him take me to his place, for now. But if he thinks I’m his prisoner or his to do with as he pleases? He has another thing coming. Mobster or not, I’m going on my own terms.
I sp
end an embarrassingly long amount of time just letting him hold me. He surprises me by not being in a rush to get away from the dead body or from the scene of a murder. He just waits, holding me like there’s nothing else in the world that matters, like he’ll just shrug his broad shoulders if someone comes in asking questions, not giving half a shit. It’s almost twenty minutes before two men in “Kubrick’s Kleaners” jumpsuits come through the tunnel. One unrolls a crinkly white bag with a zipper while the other sprinkles yellow powder over all the blood spots. I watch them with distant fascination. They roll the body over, zip it up, and then set it aside like it’s a sack of potatoes while they use a broom and small dustpan to brush up the yellow powder. After dumping all the powder in another bag, they throw it inside with the man before making a final pass over the ground with a wet rag. No emotion.
In five minutes, they’ve cleared the scene of a murder. A third man comes around the corner with a large case on wheels. It has an image of a large electric carpet cleaner on the side, but there’s nothing inside. The three of them wrestle the body into the box, snap it shut, and then Vince tosses a wad of hundred dollar bills toward them. They nod to him and roll the box away as quickly as they came.
Just like that, we’re alone again. No body, no blood, just us. Most girls would run right now. And if they didn’t run, they would want to. Me? I’m trying to figure out why I’m so turned on by him and the way the rules just don’t seem to apply to him. I don’t condone the violence, but after living within the lines and at the mercy of the world’s unfairness for so long, it’s empowering to see someone give “the rules” a big, fat, middle finger.
His: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Citrione Crime Family) Page 9