by Reana Malori
That conversation was still running through his head as he lay in bed, Camille nestled in his arms. As he turned the conversation over in his mind, he knew he’d have to keep his eyes open. Watch her a little closer. Pay attention to her words a bit more. Had he underestimated her?
It wasn’t that he was worried about her or her knowledge of what he did for the family. There was something about the recent conversation he had with Dwayne and the comment made by Shandra at lunch today that had a red flag going up. It was time he dug a bit deeper to understand just who this woman was.
Not that he’d let her go even if he found some skeletons in her closet. No, that was never going to happen. Everyone had some secrets they wanted to keep hidden away from the public eye. He couldn’t fault her for that. But if there was something in her past that could come back to bite her, or him, in the ass, he needed to know what it was.
A mumble sounded from his sleeping beauty as she snuggled closer to him. Kissing the top of her head, he wondered how the fuck he’d gotten so lucky. He’d never wanted the whole family dynamic. He loved his parents, and his uncle and aunt, for giving him life and creating an environment where he could grow and succeed. But he’d never seen marriage and kids as an option for his life.
There was too much to do. Not only with the family but his own legitimate business interests. A wife and children had never entered the equation. Until he met Camille.
Inhaling deeply, he took in the smell of coconut that lingered on her skin. Even after all these weeks, he still hadn’t figured out how she always smelled so fucking good. Adjusting her slightly, he smiled when he noticed her black satin hair scarf was tilted to the side. Lifting one hand, he adjusted the material slightly to get it back in position.
That was one of the biggest lessons for him, and she’d had to school him on the essentials of how a black woman prepared for sleep. He’d learned a lot from his lady in the past months. Before meeting her, he wouldn’t have cared about a woman’s nighttime routine, only that their legs were open for him when he wanted to fuck.
With Camille, everything changed.
The softness of her skin soothed him when his demons asked him to give them free rein. Her thighs cradled him when his soul needed to be soothed. She allowed him access to her body without question. Whenever he needed her, she was there. No matter what he asked of her, she gave it to him.
In many ways, she humbled him. Helped him understand just how much she valued him, and their time together.
That he had her in his home was a testament itself. None of the women before Camille had ever stepped across the threshold of his home. With her, he’d brought her to his home within two weeks of their first date. There’d been this driving need to take her, make her scream his name as he fucked her in his home. In his bed.
Even now, there were little signs of her presence all around. He’d cleared out space in his massive walk-in closet for her work clothes. For her, work clothes meant jeans, T-shirts, and boots. That still was an odd thing for him to understand.
Then again, that’s what made her so special to him. She broke the mold on what a woman was or was not. Made the world stand up and pay attention to her as she was. Camille made her own path in the world, and she dared motherfuckers to challenge her. That didn’t mean she wasn’t all woman, because she was, and then some.
She was loving and sensitive and gave him that good pussy every fucking night. On the other hand, she called him out on his shit, cursed him out when he went “all caveman and shit” (her words), and reminded him almost daily that she was with him because she wanted to be, not because she needed to be.
Everything about her said she was all wrong for him. That she’d never fit in the family. They’d never accept her brashness, her skin color, or her unladylike ways. But when she smiled at him in that mysterious way that told him he was the only man for her, he wanted to whisk her away to a private haven built just for her.
At the end of the day, when she cuddled up to his side and asked him about his day, or showed that fierce protectiveness for her family, friends, and even him, he wanted to build a protective shield around her. His every instinct told him she was the woman for him. That he couldn’t ask for a better woman to be his amata moglie.
Everything about her was strong, loyal, and fierce. Those traits would be needed in the future. Now that he’d tasted her, listened to her moan his name as her wet pussy pulsed around his dick, and given his soul something to hold on to, he was never letting her go.
His phone lit up, indicating a call was coming through. Picking it up, he saw that it was Franco. “What the fuck?” he muttered. They knew not to interrupt him unless it was something important. He adjusted his body, shifting Camille to the side as he swiped the screen.
“Ciao,” he grumbled into the phone.
“Ciao, Tristan. Mie scuse. We might have a situation with Junior.”
“Fuck,” he hissed.
Marco was up to his old tricks again. That Franco deemed it important enough to wake him up said it was more than just a prostitute with a black eye. The only thing that would cause Franco to call him in the middle of the night was a threat to Tristan himself, Raymond Sperry, or Uncle Roberto, Marco’s own father.
Damn. Marco was on borrowed time, and it just got a hell of a lot shorter.
“We felt it best for you to know right away. Orlando is waiting for me, and I’ve asked Leo to be on standby.”
Rubbing a hand across his head, he knew shit was about to hit the fan. Looking over his shoulder at the beautiful woman asleep in his bed, he grimaced. He had no doubt she was about to get a crash course in exactly what his life was all about.
“Come to the house. I’ll be downstairs in ten minutes.” Disconnecting without saying goodbye, he sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes. The last thing he wanted to do was take his cousin’s life. They’d grown up together, went through their first communion together, and survived this crazy world by each other’s side.
It would break his uncle’s heart if his son was taken from this world by his own cousin.
Standing from the bed, he grabbed up a pair of jeans, a polo shirt, some socks, and his new Timberland™ boots Camille gifted him with a few weeks ago. They’d turned out to be extremely comfortable. He would never have guessed. A smile on his face, he headed to the bathroom to get dressed.
Twenty minutes later, he sat on the edge of his desk in his private office. Pissed was too tame of a word for how he felt right now. Looking around at the men in the room, he gave each of them a hard look. Taking a large swallow of whiskey, he took a few minutes to let the information Franco shared with him sink in.
“How much do you trust the intel?” he asked Franco but included Orlando and Leo in his hard gaze. He needed them to be right. What they’d just told him couldn’t be ignored. It demanded a response. He could do it himself, but he knew he’d need to tell his Uncle. This wasn’t something he was willing to keep to himself. Not this.
“No matter how much I trust, I also verify. It’s true. Marco has been running off at the mouth about you, your uncle, Camille, and her father. He wants you all gone. The plan is to get to your uncle first, and while you’re grieving for him, he’d go after Camille and her father. You would be last.” Orlando paced as he shared this bit of information.
“Does he really thinks he can pull something like that off? What does he think will happen when he executes this coup upon not only his father but Camille and her family? He knows who her father is. We all do. Does he have a plan beyond that?” Although his tone was normal, Tristan was seething inside. This motherfucker planned to kill Camille. The only woman Tristan had ever loved.
“Boss, I know he’s your family, but we need to handle him,” Franco added.
Shaking his head, he tried to calm his nerves by counting to ten, then twenty. It wasn’t working. “I’m not worried about him. My worry is mio zio, mia zia. La mia Camille.” His body wante
d to go back upstairs to her. Grab her in his arms and promise everything would be okay. Protecting her from all this was his main worry. Things were going to get worse before they got better. And Camille would be caught in the middle. Fuck!
Marco had just signed his own death warrant.
This time Leo responded, “He means to take over the family, Fratello. He wants anyone who can get in his way removed. There is no coming back from this. It cannot be allowed.”
Tristan nodded at his friend. Leo calling him brother was intentional. The four of them were family, even if Franco and Orlando worked for him. Their bond was stronger than steel, and Leo chose that moment to remind him of that.
Leo was the quietest of the bunch. Then again, he’d spent some time away from them when he joined the military. When Leo came home six years later, he’d been a different man, no less loyal. In fact, he was even more loyal to the group of men sitting in this room. But there’d been a change in his eyes. At the smallest hint of betrayal, his friend became someone else. He’d borne witness to some of the things Leo had done in the name of cleaning house for Tristan. It was the kind of shit that induced nightmares, but it also sent clear messages to those who needed it.
No, Leo didn’t need to be part of the family. His loyalty had been earned day-in and day-out through the blood of Tristan’s enemies.
Looking at the other two men in the room, he nodded to them as well. Yes, they would take care of this together. “I agree. We handle this as one.”
Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was just after one in the morning. What he wanted most was to be lying in bed next to Camille, maybe even rolling over so he could slide his cock inside her hot sex one more time. Going to the minibar, he fixed another drink and turned to his boys.
“All right, let’s come up with Plan A, B, and C. First thing tomorrow, I’m going to visit Uncle Roberto. Let’s figure this shit out so I can get back to my lady.”
Two hours later, just after three a.m., Tristan slid into bed next to Camille. He was positive their plan was solid, but he’d held something back from the discussions. He had a secret weapon he might have to call on to help set things into motion.
Once Marco knew they were onto him, he’d run. And if he knew his cousin, he knew exactly where he’d go. Calling Conall O’Shea was a risky move. That motherfucker was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He was a suave businessman first. If that’s the only side of him you came to know, you should count yourself lucky. If you got to know the other side of him, the one hiding behind the veneer of respectability, it was more than likely when his gun was against your head as he pulled the trigger.
Pulling Camille’s body closer to his, he spooned her from behind. Her soft moan and the wiggle of her hips as she pressed against his hardening member, brought his attention back to her.
“Baby, where’d you go?” she mumbled.
“Just downstairs for a bit. I’m back now, and that pussy is calling out to me,” he murmured, lifting her top leg and cradling it in his hand.
“She probably missed you.” Pressing her ass back against him, he saw one of her hands roam down her body toward the juncture of her thighs.
“No, don’t you dare touch yourself.” Using his free hand, he grabbed her neck tightly, though not tight enough to harm her. “Just accept what I give you.”
“Mmmmm,” she moaned as he began sliding his dick inside her tight sheath.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “Every fucking time I slide inside you, your body welcomes me home.” He knew he was being selfish, but he didn’t care.
After the conversation he’d just had, this is what he needed. The softness of her body accepting him as if this was where he belonged. Her soft moans pleading with him as he thrust inside her slick channel. Even the feeling of her nails scratching his skin increased the intensity.
She always knew what he needed. Never denied him what he wanted. As he continued making love to Camille, he knew this was a turning point for the two of them. He’d have to come clean tomorrow. Okay, maybe not tomorrow, but soon.
He knew there was the possibility she’d want to leave him. That she’d decide that this life was not what she wanted.
Not that he’d just let her walk away from him. No, that was something he could never allow.
Rocking in and out of her, he grabbed her leg tighter, even as his hold on her neck never changed. He knew how to give her maximum pleasure while also exerting his control. His baby enjoyed when he took control in the bedroom, bending her to his will, to his wants, and desires.
Her breathing became erratic, and he could feel the flutters around his cock. “Yes, baby. Come for me.” Increasing the speed of his thrusts, he adjusted his angle as well, for maximum pleasure.
“Oh, fuck! Tristan. Yes! Yes,” she exclaimed just before she made that sound he loved so much. “Ooooohhhhh!!!”
As her juices flowed around his dick, his pace quickened even more. Tristan sought that unmistakable feeling of flying among the clouds. His balls tightened as the zing of electricity coursed through his veins, finally releasing inside Camille. “Yes, baby. So fucking good. You got the best fucking pussy. You’re mine. I’ll kill any motherfucker who tries to take you from me.”
CHAPTER 9
Walking out of his uncles home the next day, Tristan felt a headache coming on. It had not been his intention to break his uncle’s heart, but there’d been no other choice. Marco had done this to himself.
If it came to be that, Tristan was the one who had to take him out of this world, so be it.
Orlando was waiting for him by the car. “How’d it go?”
“As well as can be expected. I need to get across town. Time for me to pay a visit to my future father-in-law.”
Climbing in the back of the car, Tristan lay his head on the back headrest. Just thinking about the defeat in his uncle’s eyes as he and Franco relayed the information about Marco’s plot.
Not only was Marco willing to sacrifice his father for power, but the plan was also to take out anyone else who got in the way. While no one was sure about the timing of the planned coup, they knew it was coming soon. His uncle asked about sending his Zia Sophia and Cugina Martina away on a trip overseas. Tristan thought it was a good idea but knew he’d never send them away. Plus, his uncle would need his wife and daughter if his oldest son were to leave this world.
No matter how evil someone was, he knew parents always wanted to see the best in their children. Although his uncle suspected his son was twisted inside, it had never been aimed at the family until now. Tristan had watched his uncle, a man he’d always considered larger than life, age ten years in front of his eyes.
Rubbing his hand over his face, he sighed deeply. The lives being impacted by Marco’s stupid quest for power would never be the same. He regretted not doing something about his cousin before now. Tristan didn’t give a fuck about many people in this world, but his uncle and aunt weren’t part of that group. He’d loved them as much as he possibly could and respected both of them for what they’d done for him. Dealing with Marco before now wasn’t something Tristan was ready to do. Bringing that level of heartache to his family without reason wasn’t how he did things.
But now, well, the reins were off. It was time to do what he did best. First, he needed to make a few calls.
Dialing the first number, he allowed it to ring a few times before someone picked up.
“Yes?”
“Hello, old friend. Can you talk?” Calling Conall O’Shea friend was a bit of a stretch. Then again, for men like them, they were about as friendly as you could get without being related.
“That depends. Business or pleasure.” Conall’s South Boston accent came through in every word.
“A little of both.”
The man on the other end went silent. “Family problems?”
Tristan reared back in shock, glad they weren’t face-to-face. How the fuck did Conall know what was happening? Knowing he
couldn’t allow him to smell blood, he took a hard tone. “I don’t have problems I can’t fix.”
“Not without my help.” The insinuation was clear, but Tristan knew how things worked. A favor such as this was granted freely.
“And here I thought you were the diplomatic brother.”
Conall laughed loudly before responding, “No. That’s my older brother. I usually say what the fuck I mean, just with a smile on my face. Anyway, word on the street is someone in the inner circle has come up with a plan.”
“That’s the word on the street,” Tristan acknowledged. “When animals are cornered, they often run to a place they believe is safe. In this case, Boston is that place. I need to know our partnership still stands.” After everything went down a few years ago, he and the O’Shea brothers had come to an understanding.
“It still stands. If needed, we will help capture your cornered animal. Hold in a cage, if necessary. Terminate, if required.”
“The gesture will be remembered.”
“I know it will.”
Both men hung up the phone without saying goodbye. It wasn’t necessary. Their business was concluded, and their continued agreement in place. No family business happened in either person’s backyard without informing the other. So far, it was working out.
If Marco decided to run to Boston, he wouldn’t last long without Conall O’Shea and his brothers stepping in. No. Marco wouldn’t get very far at all.
Pulling out the SIM card from the phone, he bent the small piece of metal until it broke apart. Rolling down his window, he chucked the smaller pieces out the window.
Now for the conversation he didn’t want to have at all. Pulling up to the metal gate guarding the large home, he thought about what he’d say to Camille’s father.