Seeking Vengeance: Possessive Mafia Romance (Hunting - Mafia Romance Book 1)

by Eden Summers

  “Fucking hell.” His eyes harden as they focus on my injured cheek. “They hit you?”

  “No. I was shoved into the wall. I should’ve put my hands up to stop the impact but…” I shake my head within his gentle hold. “I guess I didn’t have time. I don’t know… I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “It’s okay.” His attention softens. “You’re going to be fine.”

  I’m not so sure. Not with my sinister intentions now out in the world in the form of a tiny cyanide vial. But it’s nice to hear the assurance, to have such a confident and compelling man almost demand my recovery.

  “What did they take?” His thumb strokes my uninjured cheek as Bishop climbs from the driver’s seat. “Did you call the police?”

  “It was just my purse and a few things I purchased. The cops don’t need to be involved.” They can’t be. I wouldn’t even know how to start explaining my reasons for carrying poison if my bag was found. Although not illegal, cyanide is a controlled chemical and I have no reason to have it, especially not on my person and concealed in a drug vial. “It’s only a few credit cards and some cash.”

  “You sure?” His gaze narrows. “This is serious.”

  He has no idea.

  I can’t explain how I obtained the murderous powder. The name of my contact would only raise more red flags. Could I go to prison? Or worse, if the Costas find out I’m here, and why, will they then target my family again in retaliation?

  The blood drains from my face in a rapid vacuum.

  “Layla, it’s going to be okay. Just talk to me. You look like you’re about to faint.”

  What if someone were to think the vial of white powder was cocaine? What if they snorted it?

  “I…” I fight against the overwhelming need to blurt my fears. “I had something in my bag.”

  Matthew’s shoulders straighten, but his confident attention doesn’t waver. “Something illegal?”

  I nod.

  “A weapon?” The question lacks condemnation. He holds no surprise. Not even disappointment.

  “Of sorts… If it got into the wrong hands—” My stomach lurches.

  “It’s okay.” He leans closer, demanding I believe him with his close proximity. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “How? What could you possibly do?”

  “I’ve got contacts. If the bag is found, nothing is going to be tied back to you.” He releases my face and glances over his shoulder, sharing a silent communication with Bishop who stands a few feet away before returning his attention to me. “You’re a single woman alone in a foreign city. You’re entitled to have protection, whether it’s illegal or not. And if someone is harmed…” He pauses, his tone gaining conviction before he finally says, “I’ll take care of it, Layla. I promise you.”

  I believe him. Even though he assumes I had a gun. Even though the aftermath of mistakenly snorting cyanide could be far worse than a gunshot, my traitorous insides relax a little at his assurance.

  “Let’s get you out of here.” He helps me to my feet, then sweeps me into his arms.

  “I can walk.” My protest is faint at best.

  “I know you can. But this is the first opportunity I’ve had to prove myself to you, so let me take it.”

  I look away, not wanting him to witness the effect of his words.

  If this had happened at home, and my friends or family had rescued me, I’d be dealing with chastisements and judgment. The fear from my loved ones wouldn’t come through in kindness. Only criticism.

  This is such a sweet balm to my nauseating idiocy.

  Bishop opens the back door to the Lincoln and I’m bundled inside, gently slid into the middle seat before Matthew takes his place at my side.

  I don’t get a chance to pull on my seatbelt before he’s lifting me again, dragging me onto his lap.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  “Holding you.” He wraps his arms around my waist, bundling me against his pristine suit. “You’re shaking.”

  I am. I can’t help it. Even my heart trembles.

  This shouldn’t be such a big deal. I’ve been through worse. But the shaking doesn’t stop. Not when Bishop climbs back into the car with my bags. And not once we start moving, with me still on Matthew’s lap, his tight hold acting as my seatbelt.

  “Tell me you’re okay,” he murmurs.

  My throat burns with adoration. With appreciation. I lean into him, my head against his shoulder, my heart yearning for more. “I am. It’s only shock.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod. “Positive.”

  We fall silent, the low hum of the radio filtering through the speakers, the luxury of his hold cocooning me. I should be strengthening my emotional walls against him, against all the weakness, but for just this once, I decide to let someone else take the lead. To quit pretending I’m a force to be reckoned with and simply succumb to Matthew’s rescue.

  We reach the hotel without another word, then the underground parking lot. Once the car stops near the elevator, my savior opens the door, then slides out from beneath me to haul me from the vehicle and back into his arms.

  “This isn’t necessary.” I press a hand to his chest in another feeble objection.

  “I know.” He nuzzles his nose near my ear, his breath tickling my neck. “I’m still taking advantage until the shock wears off. God knows once you’re strong enough you’ll return to being the independent woman who doesn’t want a piece of me.”

  I huff a faint laugh despite his false assumption.

  I do want a piece. I want all the pieces.

  “What about her room key?” Bishop asks through his lowered car window. “Should I get a new one from reception?”

  “Mine should still be in my pocket.” I double-check to make sure, finding the plastic card in my stained jeans.

  “Regardless, she’ll be staying in my room,” Matthew adds. “Park the car and we’ll meet you upstairs.”

  I don’t argue. I’m smart enough to acknowledge I need company right now. I don’t want to be out of these strong arms. I’d love to stay here forever, constantly protected by someone who doesn’t despise me.

  I keep those thoughts to myself as I’m carried to the elevator, the confined space taking us to one of the top floors, then escorted to a freshly made suite far bigger than mine. We bypass a compact kitchen. A spotless living room. Then continue down a hall.

  “Where are you taking me?” My question becomes redundant as we enter a bedroom, Matthew’s stride not faltering until I’m gently placed on a king-size bed.

  “You can rest here.” He presses a kiss to my forehead and backs toward the door, a dedicated knight in shining armor. “I’m going to get you a stiff drink to settle the adrenaline. I’ll arrange an ice pack, too, and run you a bath. Want anything else?”

  I’m lost for words. Speechless.

  “Food? Water? A fresh change of clothes?” His gaze falls to one of the large dirt stains on the side of my jeans. “I could go to your room—”

  “No. I don’t need anything else.” Only company. I don’t want him to leave. I swing my legs off the bed, preparing to follow him, needing his proximity. “Apart from a dose of the shakes, honestly, I’m fine.”

  “Stay.” His voice drops in a gentle warning as he pauses at the threshold. “You need to rest. Let me look after you. I’ll be back soon.”

  I fight another protest, the isolation hitting hard as soon as he’s gone. The minutes spent alone only give me time to relive what happened. The demand for my purse. The harsh shove. The painful collision with the wall. Then the panicked aftermath.

  I kick off my shoes and wither into the pillows, trying to think what Cole would do in my situation.

  The cyanide is a big deal.

  I could easily say it was planted in my bag, but that’s not what I’m worried about. My panic revolves around the potential of an innocent victim. Then again, in my brother’s case, I’m sure he wouldn’t spare a stranger’s death a seco
nd thought.

  He wouldn’t care.

  If only I were that heartless.

  I roll to my side, pull out my cell, and do a mental catalogue of the personal items I lost. My identification was definitely in there—photo ID for the airport who sometimes need more than the digital license stored on my phone. Then maybe one bank card. An AMEX. The rest were loaded to my cell months ago.

  Realistically, I could get away with putting a hold on one account. But Cole would still find out.

  I groan and navigate to my bank’s website, connecting a call to the correct department before I can talk myself out of it.

  After providing every speck of personal detail known to man, I cancel the card and disconnect. The reordering of my license will have to wait for a time when I don’t feel as though I’ve run a marathon.

  Even the allure of nearby running bathwater doesn’t ease my pulse. I’m still shaking, my limbs heavy.

  I stare at the ceiling, fighting against the inner voices telling me how much trouble I’m going to face once I get home.

  “You doing okay?” Matthew appears in the doorway, a scotch glass in his hand.

  I am now. The mere sight of him brings overwhelming relief.

  It has to be his commanding presence. The strong way he holds his shoulders. The chiseled angle of his jaw. And those eyes. My God. The intense way he looks at me makes me shiver.

  “Layla?” He raises a brow.

  He has to know the effect he has on me. It’s obvious. He walks into a room and the chemical shift is unsettling.

  He’s always lured me in with the tease of escapism. And for once, I want to grasp the offering in both hands and leave the darkness of my world behind. If only for a few hours.

  “I’m good.” I drop my cell to the mattress and push from the bed. “Thanks for taking care of me.” I walk toward him, my heartbeat excited although I’m still filled with hesitance.

  He watches my approach with hungry eyes, the drink hanging limp in his hand, his arms strong and sure at his sides. “The bath is ready. It’ll help calm the nerves.”

  “My nerves are calm.” I don’t stop until my toes brush the leather of his shoes.

  I need to get lost in him. To lose sight not only of my failures but of myself. I don’t want to be this person anymore. I want to be free.

  “If anything, this morning’s events have made me emboldened.” I lean up on the pads of my feet, place my palms on his hard chest, and inch toward his mouth.

  My tongue tingles as I get within a mere breath of his lips only to have him turn his cheek, rejecting my advance.

  “Layla,” he warns. “This is the adrenaline.”

  I stiffen in horror, mortified.

  All the air leaves my lungs on a rapid vacuum of humiliation, the scent of his exquisitely perfect aftershave only increasing my suffering when I have to draw in my next breath.

  I drop back to the soles of my feet and retreat with heated cheeks.

  “Wait.” He wraps an arm around my waist, holding me captive. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I—”

  “You brought me into your room.” I push at his arm, attempting to break free. “You placed me on your bed.”

  “Because I want you to be comfortable. I need you to feel safe.” He frowns and leans closer until we’re almost nose to nose. “But don’t get me wrong and think I’m not interested in you. I’ve made my feelings crystal clear. I want to fuck you within an inch of your life, amore mio. What I won’t do, though, is cross the line when you’re making decisions based on shock.”

  I blink rapidly at his explicit detail. At the completely sordid image that inspires wildfire in my belly.

  His arm tightens around me. “You’ve barely returned any of my interest. You only came to me now because you’re scared and need comfort. And I can give that to you. I just won’t do it in a way that will fill you with regret later.”

  All his aggressive compassion only endeavors to increase my attraction.

  “Are you listening, Layla?” He stares into my eyes, waiting. “My need for you defies sanity. But I won’t have you unless your appetite for me will hang around after the adrenaline wears off.”

  “It will,” I whisper. “It will hang around.”

  He keeps staring at me. Reading me. Then, with the flare of his nostrils and a barely audible growl, his mouth is on mine, setting me aflame.

  I close my eyes, descending into a different type of darkness, this one born of passion and possession.

  He devours me with harsh lips and a controlling hold. I can’t get close enough. Not even when my nails are digging into his shirt and my tongue is tangled with his.

  It’s bliss and euphoria.

  Compulsion and addiction.

  I struggle to catch my breath, not wanting to pull away, not wanting this to end. I need everything from him. More than lips and hands.

  Matthew leans back abruptly, as if it takes all the power in the world to separate us. He pants, his chest rising and falling, while I do the same.

  “Drink.” He raises the glass in front of me, his eyes glazed with lust, and retreats a step, shoving his free hand through his hair. “It will dull the insanity.”

  I hesitate, my engrained caution toward the alcohol holding me immobile for a split-second. Just long enough for him to frown.

  He gives a breath of a scoff and lowers the offering back to his side. “So you want to share your body, but still don’t trust I’ll give you a drink that isn’t spiked?” He sighs. “Take a bath. You’ll feel better afterward.”

  “That’s not it.” Well, it is, but…

  He retreats again and again, understanding and disappointment staring back at me. “It’s okay. I get it. You barely know me.”

  “No, you don’t get it. And how could you when you barely know me in return?” I accuse. “I’ve had excessive caution drummed into me all my life. I couldn’t even accept drinks at my friends’ birthday parties when I was a child.” I follow after him. “Caution isn’t just a tale my parents told me to encourage good behavior. Vigilance has always been something that kept me alive against the harshest threats.”

  He stills in the middle of the hall, his eyes narrowing. “What threats? Who are you, Layla?”

  “I’m someone with a target on my back.” I raise my chin with confidence. “And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

  His gaze remains narrowed, digging under my skin from the few feet of distance between us until finally he nods. “I’ve got enemies of my own. Enough to know you’re worth the risk of more.”

  My traitorous heart squeezes.

  He raises the glass to his lips, takes a gulp, swallows, then steps forward to hand it over again. “It’s safe, okay?” He raises a brow, wordlessly asking if his display is enough to gain my trust.

  “Thank you.” I take the offering and bring it to my lips. The smooth scotch awakens a slight burn all the way down my throat. I don’t stop drinking until I’ve consumed every last drop.

  “You’re welcome. Now, how about that bath?” He takes my hand, gently placing it in his. “You’re still trembling.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe I tremble because of you?” I entwine our fingers and squeeze to mask my vulnerability. “You unsettle me.”

  The pad of his thumb sweeps across my wrist, back and forth, gently exquisite. “You unsettle me, too. Beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. Why do you think that is?”

  I wish I knew.

  It’s clear this pull has something to do with the thrill of the unknown, only the more I learn, the more my attraction grows.

  “Maybe there doesn’t need to be a reason.” I inch forward, reaching for him, tangling my fingers in his shirt, feeling the hard muscle beneath. “Maybe this is just a phase that hit us both at the same place at the same time.”

  “You’re no phase, amore mio. I can guarantee that.”

  When he says those things—the endearing luscious words—I fall for them every time. My ski
n becomes awash with goose bumps. My breathing falters. Now is no different.

  “What if that’s all I can offer?” I tug him into me. “What if right now is all there is?”

  “You said you don’t do one-night stands.”

  “It’s still daylight outside.” I grin, undoing the buttons on my blouse, exposing the lace bra beneath.

  “I already told you, once will never be enough. I meant it, Lay.” He presses his forehead to mine, ignoring the skin I’ve put on display. “You need to go take that bath.”

  “Why?”

  “So I’m forced to leave you alone.”

  I close my eyes, drowning in the closeness. In the pure affection that’s entirely new to me. “And if I don’t want to be left alone?”

  A gentle groan rumbles in his throat. “Take the bath, Layla.”

  I nuzzle my nose against his. “I don’t want to.”

  The groan builds, the sound increasing my thrill.

  I slide my mouth over his, the connection featherlight. In an instant, he’s all over me, stalking into me until I’m backed into the wall, the glass taken from my hand to be dropped to the carpeted floor with a heavy thud.

  He steals my mouth. My decency.

  I claw at him, yanking at his shirt, forcing him closer. He responds with a harsh grip of my ass, his fingers digging into my flesh, his groan changing to a growl.

  “I need you,” I murmur against his lips. “Now.”

  He ignores me, kissing, clutching, parting my knees with his own. I’m so ready for this. Too ready. It’s almost embarrassing.

  “Take the bath.” He snakes his tongue over mine. “Walk away because I’m too weak to make the decision for you.”

  I can’t. I wish I could. This isn’t in the best interest of either of us. I know this. I know it with every fiber of my being. And still I can’t move.

  “Take it, Layla,” he begs. “You’re not ready to sleep with me yet.”

  “I’m not?”

  His chuckle is faint. “No, amore mio. You’re not.”

  My blood runs hot, my pulse pounding at the apex of my thighs. But I believe him. The warning slips through the lust haze to give me a good shake.

  “Okay.” I plaster a hand to his chest and force myself to retreat. “I’ll take the bath.”