Machiavellian: Gangsters of New York, Book 1

by Di Corte, Bella

  The Faustis had a jeweler on demand. The jeweler’s family went way back with theirs, and they worked solely for them. Since I was connected to the name, considered family, he worked for me, too. I had a tab.

  Mariposa seemed to understand a favor for a favor better than anyone. It was the only rule she seemed to have. Kindness for kindness—nothing owed. Except for me. She owed me her life. And not long ago—I lifted my watch, checking the time—she had vowed it to me. But for her to approach a man she knew would expect something in return, usually at a high cost, rubbed me the wrong fucking way.

  “Have somewhere you need to be?”

  The car shimmied and I turned to look at her. Her eyes almost glowed in the darkness. The gold in her eyes, in her hair, and in her skin all seemed to complement each other. Her lips were soft and pink, and when she smiled, almost shyly, betraying the defiant streak in her, I met her eyes again.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh.” She drew the breath out. “You’ve been distracted ever since dinner. I tried asking you where we were going a minute ago, but you didn’t answer. Then you looked at your watch.” She leaned over, studying it. Her close proximity made air move between us, and the sweet smell of her made me lick my lips. I knew she was trouble the moment her scent drifted underneath my nose at The Club. Pheromone phenomenon and all its magical bullshit. It leaves little control to the one jonesing to inhale someone’s skin like a drug. “For all your millions, you need a new one. That one has rust spots on it.”

  I shrugged, the white button-down shirt tugging at my shoulders. “Some things are not worth trading in, no matter how old they are.” I pointed to the building we were slowing in front of. “We’re home, Mariposa.”

  “Home,” she repeated, turning to face the window. “You live next to a fire station! Sweet. That’ll come in handy when I cook you dinner.” She became quiet as Giovanni hit a button on the dash and the garage door lifted. “You own this entire building?”

  “Mmhm.”

  “It’s not what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “The bat cave?”

  “How do you know about the bat cave?”

  “Keely’s brothers. I was over once when they watched that movie.”

  I gave a low laugh, burying the thought of Harry Boy further down. “Not a place shiny enough to blind you?”

  Why did the fucker still affect my words?

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “No, I just thought…something in Manhattan. A penthouse.” Then she grinned, my words sinking in. “Still, this is far from a paper house.”

  “Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down.”

  “The big bad wolf dressed in a fine Italian suit.” She touched my hand, her fingers as soft as her lips, where the wolf tattoo seemed to snarl underneath the lights of the garage. “I should’ve known.”

  Her eyes drifted to my lips, then back up to my eyes, and when she couldn’t hold my stare any longer, she started to fiddle with my tie. Nervous hands, like flitting wings. I wanted to feel them against my skin, around my cock, caressing my balls.

  She cleared her throat. “Are you going to show me around?”

  I knocked on the window once with my knuckle and Giovanni appeared, opening my door. I told Mariposa to stay put in Italian, and just as she had done at City Hall, she seemed to understand without me having to translate. I walked around the car and opened her door. She took my hand and stepped out, still holding the dress up.

  “I know why you bought the entire building now.” She looked around. “You needed the room for all of your cars.”

  I squeezed her hand, feeling the tremble in her bones, leading her inside of the building. It didn’t seem to be a conscious reaction, but when we entered, she squeezed my hand harder.

  “Fucka me,” she breathed out, peeking in. “I’ve never been in a place so…big.”

  I showed her around, giving her the grand tour, but at the end, I could see that she had something on her mind. She hadn’t said much.

  “What is it?” I stopped in the closet of the master suite. “Don’t get bashful on me now.”

  She dropped the hem of the gown and shrugged, and then she tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s beautiful, Capo.”

  “You can change anything you’d like. Take it apart and put it back together again.”

  She nodded but said nothing else.

  “Let me show you something,” I said.

  “More?”

  I grinned. “Watch carefully.”

  Her eyes were glued to me as I pressed buttons on my watch. The back wall started to move silently, slipping in front of another wall, and the space behind it opened up. It looked like an elevator. Cold. Sterile. A metal wall stood on the other side. I put my arm out, gesturing for her to step inside. She hesitated, but only for a second. After we stepped into the space, I closed the door in the master closet. A second later, I opened the other side and gestured for her to step out first.

  “Okay,” she said, her eyes wide. “You do have a bat cave. A secret door.”

  The laugh that broke free from my chest sounded shredded. “Not exactly. This is the fire station.”

  “Yeah, but it’s been redone. Totally redone. It looks abandoned from the outside.”

  She stepped up to the glass railing, looking out over the lower level of the house. I’d had it redone for her. No one knew it was mine. As far as anyone knew, it was an inactive, abandoned firehouse.

  The other side was cold, with sharp lines. This side was for her: warm colors and soft furnishings. Numerous butterfly pictures hung on the walls. It didn’t fit the exterior, but rarely did what we see on the outside fit the inside. I had one of my aunts speak to a decorator. She gave them an idea of who Mariposa was, from what I had told her, and the woman ordered everything. I took it from there.

  “This is your home, Mariposa. The other side, that’s for show. If we have guests over, dinner parties, that sort of thing, we entertain on that side. This side is for personal use only. Seven people, including us, know that this is where we live.”

  “It’s more than I could’ve ever imagined,” she breathed out.

  “I’m glad that it pleases you.”

  “Who are the other five people that know about the secret house?”

  The secret house. I almost grinned. “Rocco, my aunt and uncle, Rocco’s brother Dario—he’s an architect—and Donato. He’s head of Rocco’s security. You’ll meet them soon enough, at the wedding in Italy.”

  “If no one else knows, how did you do all of this?”

  “Dario helped me with certain aspects. He put some hours into it. The rest—” I lifted my hands “—I’ve been working on this place for five years. All supplies came in through the other building. I’ve never lived here until now.”

  “Reclusive,” she whispered.

  “You have a watch like mine, but it’s newer in style and more feminine. You can change the bands out to match your clothes, if you want. You’ll find it on the table next to the bed. But only the seven of us know, Mariposa. No one else.”

  “Understood,” she said. She was playing with her hair. Agitarsi. Fidgeting. She was nervous.

  “Vieni,” I said, guiding her away from the banister. “Let me show you around.”

  This time as we toured the house, she was more animated, her eyes bright, absorbing instead of trying to figure out where she’d fit in. Her body relaxed, just as it had done the night at The Club when I had moved her in a slow rhythm. That night, her heart beat so frantically that I could feel every one of her pulses racing to keep up.

  When I showed her the second master, she nodded and said, “Really nice. Is this where I’ll stay?”

  “That’s up to you. Part of our agreement was that I’d give you time to get used to me.” I’d purposely made the second master bland compared to the master suite for my own selfish reasons.

  She started playing with the bea
ding on her dress the closer we came to the room. When we got there, she peeked her head inside, almost wary about entering.

  “The big bad wolf is out here.” I grinned. “You’re safe.”

  “For now,” she mumbled, finally stepping in.

  She ran a hand along the huge bed, all of the furniture, even the walls. She moved to the bathroom, her eyes shooting straight up to the mother of pearl ceiling, her birthstone, the massive shower and clawfoot tub, and then at the floor made of the finest Italian marble.

  She stopped when she came to the entrance of the closet. It was a room inside of a room. It had a hallway, and on each side, glass doors that housed clothes and shoes and places to store jewelry. She had one side. I had the other.

  “Not to sound rude,” she said, about to rip a pearl off of the dress. Her eyes were glued to a shelf stacked with tennis shoes in all different colors, most of them Italian-made. “But whose clothes are these? I know one side is yours, all of the suits, but what about the other side?”

  I almost laughed at how subtle she tried to be. “No other woman has ever been here before.” I moved to stand behind her. When I breathed out, my breath fanned against her back and goosebumps appeared on her skin. “Everything is new here. That’s why it still smells of fresh paint. All of these things are yours.”

  “I didn’t buy these things.”

  “You didn’t. I did. We’ll see how well I know you soon enough, ah?”

  It took her a moment, but she nodded. It was overwhelming for her. Even though this was a deal, it was hard for her to go from nothing to everything without feeling like it was too much. I’d pushed her into the deep end without her knowing how to swim.

  “I see how you’ve been spending money, Mariposa, and we need to work on your skills.” I didn’t keep tabs on her to see how much she was spending. I kept tabs on her because nothing she craved would go unanswered. If I had to order every fucking item on the menu so she could figure out what she liked best, I’d make it happen. And it would take that. She had a lot of catching up to do.

  “This is too—”

  “We had a deal,” I said. “You’re holding yours. I’m holding mine. I’m not doing this to be kind and you’re not accepting because I did. We have an agreement.”

  I took a step closer to her, running a finger along her neck, tracing a “C” along the perfect skin there. She trembled, and my dick twitched and hardened. “Soak in your tub, Mariposa.” My voice was low, rough, almost shredded. “Wear your clothes. Grab a bite to eat. Watch some TV or listen to some music. Bocelli to get your mind straight. Read a book.”

  Rosaria had invited her to join her and the other wives—Rocco had three brothers—to enjoy their girl nights. They discussed books, knitted and crocheted, and did whatever else it was that women do. So I bought her a reading device, along with hundreds of paper and hardbacks. When she had walked into that room, she had said, “What, no coloring books or journals?”

  I refused to take away from what she had given herself over the years, so no, she wouldn’t be getting those things from me. She had been surprised that I thought of it that way. There were things that were still special to me, even though the world fell at my feet, and unlike a coloring book or journal, no one could replace them.

  “Get a good night’s sleep. The first of many. Make yourself at home, Mariposa. Because this is your home. Per sempre.”

  “Wait.” She turned to me. “Where are you going?”

  “To work.”

  * * *

  It had been close to two hours since I left my wife to roam around her house and get comfortable. I sat at the desk in my office, looking over all of the monitors and trying to place the different smells slipping in. A cake baking. Lasagna. Popcorn.

  An hour later a knock came at the door, and before I could answer it, she opened it and came in. She had showered. Her hair was damp. The scents of pistachio, almond, caramel, and sandalwood invaded the room. Instead of wearing one of the many items I had bought for her to sleep in, she wore my robe. It was three times too big. Her hands were lost in the sleeves, and it practically hung on her body.

  She held a plate in her hand. As she set it before me, her wedding ring peeked out from underneath the fabric. “There must be over a hundred cookbooks in the kitchen. I found a recipe for wedding cake. We have all of the ingredients, and a million other ones, so I tried to bake.”

  “Tried.” I looked at the cake. I picked up the fork and stabbed it. It was as stiff as a board and darker than a white wedding cake should be. Maybe it was supposed to be chocolate. “Seems like you did.”

  She scrunched up her face. “That’s debatable.”

  I cut a piece of it with the fork and stuck it in my mouth. I paused before I really started to taste it. I looked up at her and she looked down at me, making the weirdest fucking face, like a puffer fish.

  “What do you think?” She tucked her lips in. She was trying not to laugh.

  I forced myself to swallow. If I knew what a cardboard cake tasted like, I was sure it tasted better than that one. “That the first time you baked a cake?”

  She nodded. “Very first.”

  “Good.” My voice was strained.

  She pointed at me, full-out laughing. “You are a terrible, terrible liar, Capo!” She laughed even louder.

  “You must’ve forgotten a few things. Like milk, eggs, and butter. What did you do, just add flour? You got any water in the pockets of that robe?” My voice had turned rough from the tightening in my throat and the dry thing she called cake.

  She laughed herself out of the room, coming back with a bottle of cold water for me. I chugged it while her wild laughter turned into a satisfied grin.

  She walked around the room, studying all of my equipment. “What’s all of this?” she finally asked.

  “I do private security on the side.”

  “You creep on people.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Do people pay you to creep?”

  “Some of them.”

  “Ooh. I see.” She gazed at one of the monitors. “Is that your building?”

  “Our building,” I said. “Look.” I pointed to a spot on the screen and then zoomed in. Giovanni walked around the place, making his rounds. He had no idea we were on this side. He assumed we were in our suite on that side. He would always assume that.

  “You’re not going to do that to me, right?” Her eyes narrowed on him as he pulled his pants from his ass crack. Giovanni was the ugliest son of a bitch I could find with enough experience to take care of my wife when she wasn’t beside me. “Be a peeping creeper?”

  “Depends.” I sat back in my seat, studying her features in the glow of the monitors. She was refreshing. Something different.

  “On?” She opened her eyes wide, something she did when she wanted me to continue or expand.

  “How well you behave.”

  “I’m a good girl.” She came to stand in front of me, crossing her arms over her chest, which had disappeared under the massive robe. “But you know what they say about good girls? They never make history.”

  She closed the gap between us and reached out to touch my tie. I had untied it but didn’t take it off. She moved slowly, watching as the black material slithered out from around my collar, and then she set it on the desk. I’d rolled my sleeves up to my elbows earlier, and using her finger, she traced one of my veins, concentrating as she did.

  We both became quiet, and when her eyes rose, we stared at each other.

  “Do you need something, Mariposa?”

  She shook her head. “I was getting lonely. This is a big place. I’m not used to it yet. I was wondering when you were coming to bed.”

  I lifted my eyebrows and she looked away for a second, at one of the many monitors. “To sleep,” she added softly. Then she started to fiddle with the ties of the robe. I could feel her anxiety. She was preparing to either say something or make a move.

  “Don’t do that wit
h me,” I said.

  “What? This?” She twirled a tie, making it go around and around, smiling a little as she did.

  My hand came out to stop her. “Yes. Agitarsi. Fidget. Don’t do that with me.”

  She nodded, and I saw the bob of her throat when she swallowed. “You got it, Capo.”

  “You mean, il mio capo.”

  “You noticed that?”

  “I notice everything.”

  “Why do you seem…upset?”

  “Going forward, no more making deals with men who are not me.”

  “You mean Rocco. The ring.”

  “Yeah. Rocco. The ring. Never again.”

  “As you wish, Capo.”

  When she first called me that, I had a hard time not fucking her at The Club. And the more she said it, the more it made me feel like a feral animal in a cage. Not being able to touch her until she was ready was like thinking important words but not being able to speak them.

  After a few minutes, she took a deep breath in, untied the robe and opened it, releasing the breath she had been holding after. She was naked underneath.

  My eyes feasted on her naked body like they were starved. Somehow our roles had reversed. I was the one who couldn’t seem to get enough. She was fucking perfect. The light from the monitors highlighted every one of her bones. Her tits were enough to overflow in my hands. Her waist was small, and her hips had some slope. Her nipples were hard, and a thin sheen of her desire coated the inside of her firm thighs. I could smell her arousal—so fucking sweet I could taste it on my tongue. My tongue darted out, wetting my bottom lip, craving the hit.

  “I thought you should see what you committed yourself to exclusively, il mio capo. Me. Hopefully I was worth the high price.” When I could tear my eyes from her body, I met her eyes, but she looked the other way. “I’m nothing but skin and bone, but—”

  When my hands took firm grips of her hips and lifted her onto the desk, she gasped. When I yanked her closer to me, her mouth parted, and a cool stream of her breath came over my burning skin. I pressed her closer to my dick, pushing against her until a breathless noise came from her soft mouth. Her hands reached out, almost clawing through my shirt, trying to get to skin.