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

by Eden Summers

  Goddamnit, he’s charming.

  Big and broad and conniving. Yet sweet enough to cause cavities.

  “Thank you.” I stare up at him as I take his offering.

  Maybe he’s right. Maybe the fixation gnawing at my insides is only due to the scare I received. But even if it is, what does it matter? There’s no future between us. There’s only now, and I want to take advantage of our limited time.

  “In answer to your question, no, the issues keeping me from being able to see you again haven’t changed.” I take a sip from the glass, not realizing how much I needed water until my throat throbs with the cool relief. “This is all we have. And I’m willing to take advantage of every minute if you are.”

  He moves to the armchair opposite me—the farthest seat in the living room—and sinks into the cream leather. “Minutes aren’t what I’m after. A seized night every other Wednesday whenever I’m lucky to catch you at Perfezione won’t be enough. I want more from you. Everything else is merely a provocation that won’t satisfy.”

  I school my expression, not having anticipated the rejection. “Does that mean you want me to go back to my own room?”

  “No.” He scowls. “What I’m saying is that touching you—tasting you—only works as a taunt when I know I can’t have everything. And I’m too old to torment myself that way.”

  Everything he says is a compliment.

  I’m not sure if he’s even aware of what he’s doing. But his words act as a confidence booster. He tells me all the things I’ve dreamed of hearing. One after another, each perfectly constructed sentence making me crave him all the more.

  “How old are you?” I ask, fighting the need to bite the inside of my mouth.

  “Thirty-three. Old enough to no longer be satisfied with casual sex.” He kicks his ankle back over his knee. Suave. Sophisticated. “What I want is a wife, amore mio. And children. Both of which I can easily picture with you.”

  “Excuse me?” I sputter, needing another sip of water to stop myself from choking.

  “You heard me.” He grins. “But my point is that fucking you isn’t my only aim. Getting to know you is.”

  I swallow. Clear my throat. Swallow again.

  Even if this didn’t have to be temporary, I can’t give him what he wants.

  Dragging him into my world isn’t an option. I already forced one man into the darkness that consumes my family. I refuse to do it again.

  “Come back to D.C. with me tonight.” He remains composed through the gentle demand. “Let us get to know one another. You’ll have access to my jet to return home whenever you like. You’ll be safe at all times.”

  My pulse increases as a lifetime of emotions batter down on me.

  I can’t withstand the yearning. The hope. There’s happiness, and excitement, too. But they’re all washed away with the tidal wave of guilt, heartache, and longing.

  I’m not meant for happy things.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.” I place my water on the table, using the movement as an excuse to drag my gaze from his.

  “Why?”

  It’s a simple question. If only the answer wasn’t entirely complex and multi-layered.

  There’s my family. My lifestyle. The dangers and threats. Not to mention why I’m in Denver in the first place. But I can’t tell him any of that. He can’t know who I am.

  “Why, Layla? Can’t you give me that much? Is it your job? Do you have responsibilities to get back to?”

  I wince, not wanting to lie to him. “It’s a lot of things I can’t explain.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” He sits forward, returning to his elbows-on-knees position, his attention bearing down on me. “I already know you’re spying on the Costas. What else do you need to hide?”

  If the question is a provocation to get me to look at him, it works. I meet his gaze, my pulse hammering in my throat, my heart squeezing with each rampant beat.

  I want him to know me. Truly know me. But the knowledge wouldn’t work in my favor.

  “Talk to me,” he demands. “You don’t get to share your body then simply walk away.”

  If I don’t simply walk away, you wind up dead.

  I don’t tell him that, though. I don’t give him the truth that would stop this inquisition in its tracks.

  Instead, I resign myself to giving him a different glimpse into my life. A slightly less confronting admission to get him to back off. “I have a daughter.”

  For a second, I don’t think the news bothers him.

  His confidence and sophistication remain in place. Then, gradually, as if being siphoned by the smallest filter, his forthright stare turns weak. Those dark eyes lose their intensity. His lips part.

  The change is incremental. Entirely punishing in its lethargy. But it’s there, the disappointment blinking back at me under midnight lashes.

  “See? This is why I didn’t want to say anything. This—” I indicate the disturbance and turmoil now surrounding us with a wave of my hand, “—is exactly why I wanted to remain anonymous.”

  And to think the existence of Stella is merely the tip of my complicated iceberg. He has no idea who he’s trying to get involved with.

  “I guess it’s best if we part ways now.” I push to my feet. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I’ll see myself out.”

  “No, you won’t.” He follows suit, bridging the distance around the coffee table in three determined steps to grab my robe-covered wrist. “You can’t blame me for being caught off guard. I didn’t expect you to be a mother. Not when there are no scars on your body. No stretch marks. Not even the barest hint of imperfection to indicate you carried and mothered a child. But that’s all this is, Layla. Shock.” He leans his face into mine, demanding I meet his pleading gaze. “Having a kid isn’t a deal breaker for me.”

  Christ.

  Who is this man? And what is he doing with my previously cemented conceptions of the opposite sex?

  “Well, it is for me.” I square my shoulders, steeling myself against his charm. “Nothing is more important to me than my daughter. Nothing ever will be.” I twist my arm from his grip. “I still think it’s best if I leave.”

  I hate the hesitance in my voice. I want him to stop me and I need him not to in the same breath. Before I can fall victim to my own weakness, I trek to the hall and into the bathroom to reclaim my clothes, wishing things didn’t have to be this way.

  My shoulder doesn’t ache nearly as much when I pull on my stained blouse and jeans. It’s my chest that takes the brunt of my pain.

  The emotional toll of this romantic rendezvous gets to me, sinking deeper and deeper until I raise my gaze and find him standing in the bathroom doorway.

  “Is she—” His question falls short, his brows pinched as he drags a rough hand over his mouth. “Is one of those assholes her father? Is that why you’ve got eyes on Remy and Salvatore? Did they turn you away once they found out?”

  “No.” I glare, despising the thought of those men fathering any child, let alone mine. “My husband is Stella’s father. She’s almost eleven.”

  Matthew’s features relax.

  That’s what he was worried about?

  That’s what caused the change in his demeanor?

  I guess I can’t blame him for thinking my enemy was my baby daddy when I’ve played along with his scorned lover assumption.

  “My daughter has nothing to do with me being in Denver.” I ignore the regret that accompanies the lie. I can’t allow her to become more involved in this. “But she’s one of the reasons we can’t go beyond today. I’m a mother who lives on the opposite side of the country to you.”

  “Portland isn’t more than a plane flight.”

  Panic descends in a blinding rush, stealing the breath from my lungs before I can rein it in. I stare at him, aghast, partially livid, entirely caught off guard. “I never told you where I was from.”

  I should’ve held my cards closer to my chest. Should’ve played along, pretending
I hadn’t noticed the insight I never gave. But out of all the time we’ve spent together, right here, right now is the only instance where I hadn’t expected him to surprise me with deception.

  Everything he’s done for me today lulled me into lowering my guard.

  “I overheard the tail end of your conversation with the bank.” He raises his hands, offering surrender. “I was checking on you, and when I heard private information being shared I didn’t hang around.”

  I want to believe him. The added squeeze of discomfort in my chest makes it obvious this isn’t just personal, it’s emotional. I’ve already been swept off my feet.

  “What else did you hear?”

  “Nothing.” His hands fall to his sides. “You still have your anonymity for now.”

  I hold his gaze, trying to see any hidden deceit.

  All that blinks back at me is sincerity. A cloying, agonizing seriousness that makes me want to blurt everything to him—my secrets, my failures. I need him to know the ins and outs of my life so he can find me lacking, because having him stare at me with adoration is a gift I don’t deserve.

  He moves forward, approaching with slow caution.

  “Don’t.” I backtrack, needing more time to catalogue the seriousness of his newfound knowledge. “Give me space.”

  His jaw hitches as if I’ve struck him. “Why? Am I the enemy now?”

  No, he’s the exact opposite. He’s the blessing I’m not entitled to. The warmth and happiness I haven’t earned. At least, not yet.

  “Why, Layla? Tell me.”

  I shake my head, attempting to fight how he’s already come to mean something to me even though we remain strangers.

  “Tell me.” He continues up to me, his palms gently gliding over my biceps. “If you want me gone, I’m gone. I’m only staying in town for you.” He leans his hips against mine, suffusing me with warmth. “Tell me what you want from me.”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper, backtracking farther, only endeavoring to drag him along with me.

  “Then tell me what you don’t want.” He follows until I’m caged against the vanity.

  “I don’t want to do something I’ll regret.” I’ve already endured too much of that. I can’t take any more.

  “Like getting caught up with me?”

  I close my eyes. Even behind clamped lids I see him. His intent. His hunger. “Like missing an opportunity to be with someone like you,” I admit.

  His grip tightens on my arms. “Then don’t.” He leans closer, the brush of his breath skating over my lips. “We’ll find a way to make this work.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Make it simple.” His voice becomes a growl. “Forget the complications.”

  “I have a daughter,” I repeat into the darkened void.

  “And where is she now?”

  My heart squeezes. “At boarding school.” Far from where I want her to be—under my roof, in my arms. I’d had no choice in her leaving at the start of the first semester a month ago.

  Cole had made plans to send Tobias to the illustrious school in Chicago a year prior. What I didn’t anticipate was my crippling eruption of grief when Stella begged to go with him.

  “She doesn’t live with me,” I whisper.

  I’d tried to talk her out of leaving for months. I’d pleaded, bribed, and coerced to the best of my abilities. But nothing I did persuaded her to change her mind, and I couldn’t bring myself to make the decision for her. I’d already stripped enough from her life.

  I also refused to take my concerns to Cole.

  He granted my wish the day my husband was buried. He went against his usually unbreakable beliefs on retaliation and let those who pulled the trigger on Benji walk away scot-free.

  I had no right to ask for more favors.

  “That’s why you can travel to Denver whenever you like?” Matthew asks.

  I nod. My daughter’s absence is why I’m here. For more reasons than one.

  Within days of her leaving, I’d realized the innumerable sporting and craft distractions I’d scheduled to fill her time since her father’s death were actually a benefit I’d also grown reliant upon.

  I’d needed those long drives to baseball and the homework sessions to keep me occupied. To divert my thoughts. Because with her gone, my idle mind became a vicious mistress who demanded action.

  “I’m here for a reason.” I open my eyes, my inhale hitching at the deep brown that stares back at me. “I can’t afford to be distracted.”

  It’s clear in the tight set of his lips that he understands what I’m referencing.

  I’ve spent every spare minute stalking my enemies since Stella moved away. Learning exactly how wonderful the Costas’ world became since they murdered Benji.

  I don’t regret begging Cole not to retaliate. The years of peace were necessary to get my daughter and I back on our feet. But my spying made it clear it was now time to set things straight.

  I need redemption, and they deserve to suffer.

  “I don’t want to be a distraction.” Matthew lowers his hands to my waist, gripping me tight to raise me onto the counter. “The Costas aren’t a family to be messed with, Layla. Snooping around isn’t safe. I can fuck with them enough for us both. Just tell me which one of them to target and what you want done.”

  And with those admissions, I’d be handing over insight I’m not willing to give. He’d know I wasn’t a scorned lover focused on a single family member. He’d be fully aware my thirst for revenge runs far deeper, my intentions more vicious than spying due to lover’s heartbreak.

  “Let me think on it,” I lie.

  I can’t.

  I won’t.

  I have to do this without him.

  I spread my thighs, welcoming him between my legs, succumbing to the allure of his strength just for a moment. He has no clue my family are far more insidious than the Costas.

  Dark folktales have been created about my brother. Worse were made with my father in mind.

  It’s a given in the criminal world. Ghost stories are brought to life from a slither of reality. Like the Butcher Boys of Baltimore.

  The Dark Death in Dallas.

  Freddy Fingers from Arizona.

  My brother’s enforcer—Hunter—has his own moniker, too, one I’m sure was built on fact.

  But Emmanuel Costa is different. He isn’t a blip on the underworld radar. And he sure as hell doesn’t scare me.

  “Think as long as you like.” Matthew leans closer, brushing the tips of our noses, the intimate contact making me yearn for things I can’t have. “There’s no rush as long as I know you’re mine.”

  His possessive words coil around me, strong and delicious. I eat them up despite knowing they’re not meant for me. Not made for the type of person I am.

  He wouldn’t even think them if he knew who I was.

  “You don’t under—”

  He cuts me off with a kiss, punishing and hard, before retreating. “I can make this work, Layla. Just tell me it’s what you want.”

  It is.

  God, how it is.

  I want him and us and this.

  I want fun and happiness and lust.

  I crave all the things he’s shown me and all those that wait in the wings. But—

  “Stop thinking yourself out of this and tell me what I want to hear,” he whispers against my lips. “I want you, amore mio. And I know you want me, too. Chemistry doesn’t lie.”

  No, it doesn’t. I’d never even known the power of attraction until we met. The strength of it. The delicate suffocation of sense and control.

  I stare into those demanding eyes, hating how easy it would be to lead him on just for a few more moments of bliss.

  He teases his mouth over mine, his tongue grazing my lips. “Tell me.”

  I whimper, too weak to withstand temptation. “I’m yours,” I whisper.

  For now.

  Until the moment he leaves for D.C.

  15
/>   Layla

  After unending kisses upon the vanity counter that send my blood racing, Matthew swoops me into his arms and returns me to the sofa.

  He ignores my panted breaths, and the lust I know glistens in my eyes with every docile blink, and places distance between us like a devout gentleman, making sure I hold a cooling pack to my cheek for hours.

  We talk. Laugh. And even though I don’t want to, I fall, not just hard, but wholeheartedly, for a man I barely know.

  He orders room service. We eat oysters and drink more champagne. He asks question after conversational question and listens to the answers with a level of interest most don’t pay me. And he isn’t intrusive.

  He asks about my happiness.

  He wants to know all the intricate details of my soul. From my favorite sounds, to the places in the world I love most, and every trivial piece of information in between.

  He takes in the tidbits I share with unwavering focus, devouring the insight like I’m an anticipated book he’s finally able to read. Not merely listening, but learning. Studying. He seems to take note of the cadence in my voice, and holds my gaze longer when I attempt to guard myself, waiting for me to expose the truth.

  And I do. For the most part.

  Everything I tell him is real. It just isn’t deep.

  I skate on the shallowest depths of my being, never truly letting him in even though I want to.

  And although we don’t kiss or claw at each other’s clothes again, he has me in a constant state of thrumming tingles with his attention, his gaze raking over me with slow deliberation.

  By late afternoon, I have a full belly and a body that has succumbed to adrenaline detox. Yawns come every other minute until Matthew demands I rest my head on a cushion he places on his lap.

  We continue learning surface-level details about each other, neither of us asking the finer questions because we both know everything else is off-limits.

  And our time together is still perfect.

  I don’t need to know his surname and he isn’t getting mine. I don’t ask about the darkness from his past, but I learn of his love for Switzerland and his hatred of hot weather.