by Bethany-Kris
His thrusts came harder.
“Y-yes.”
Caesar grabbed the back of her neck, and squeezed hard, but she didn’t flinch or even tense from the touch. “Yes, what?”
She was perfection, really.
She knew, now.
“Yes, please.”
“And once I finish with you, what are you to do?” he demanded.
“Ask.”
One brutal thrust answered another before he uttered, “Ask, what?”
“Ask nicely to finish you.”
“With …?”
“My mouth.”
“There’s my good girl. I bet you’ll taste sweeter on my dick. And then I’ll see how good you taste after I’ve been fucking you, too. Remember that.”
A sore Caesar first thing in the morning was a happy Caesar. It always meant good things—either he fought his way into pain, or he fucked his way into it. Either way, he was good with both.
Groaning, he stretched his back against the softness of his bed, and stared up at the ceiling of his penthouse’s master bedroom. Living right in the heart of Philly provided him with an automatic alarm—he called it the fucking city. The sounds woke him up almost every day, but he couldn’t imagine it any other way.
Today, though?
This morning it was a fucking knock echoing through his goddamn place that made him open his eyes. Frustrated, he kicked the comforter off, and only briefly thought to hide his nakedness with a pair of boxer-briefs that he shuffled on as he headed out of his room.
He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and cracked it open as he went for the door, and the persistent fucker knocking behind it.
“Calm the hell down,” Caesar barked.
He flung open the front door of his penthouse to see a familiar pair of people waiting. Cain, and his wife, Gina. The only fucker Caesar considered a friend, the one wife of a made man he hadn’t fucked—or even tried to, for that matter—and two people he didn’t mind waking him up after a night like the one before.
Cain looked him over. “Don’t you have fucking clothes?”
Caesar looked to Gina. “Why’s he fucking talking? Doesn’t he know it just sounds like whining in my ear?”
Gina smiled a little. “He does have a point.”
“My place, and it’s morning.”
“Eleven, actually,” Cain said.
Really?
Well, shit.
Cain gave him a second look. “Fuck, you look rough. Late night?”
“It was good, actually. I’m feeling it this morning.”
Neither of the two people waiting in his doorway needed anymore explanation than he just gave them. They knew his habits, and the shit he did. They were quite aware that he spent his evenings looking for a new pussy to bury himself in, and sometimes more than one if he was in that kind of mood.
“Are you going to let us in, or should I take your food somewhere else?” Gina asked, holding up the takeout bag.
Caesar’s stomach betrayed him by grumbling. “I guess you can come in.”
Gina beamed as she moved past him. “Like there was any other answer.”
“Get dressed,” Cain told him as he came inside, too.
“Nah, I need a shower first, and I don’t think I want to wash her off yet.”
Cain arched a brow over his shoulder, asking, “That good, huh?”
“Don’t be asking about his sex life,” Gina shouted from the kitchen. “He’ll start, and he’ll never shut up.”
“She knows me well.”
Cain scowled. “Everybody knows you well, asshole.”
Caesar tipped his head to the side. “Accurate. That’s fair.”
Once the three of them were settled into the kitchen, and Gina had plated the spread of brunch foods for them to each have a bit of everything, the husband and wife sat on one side of the island while Caesar sat on the other. He was more comfortable with Cain and Gina than he was with his own family—it helped that he’d known Cain his whole life, and the man had never snubbed Caesar for anything.
Hell, he’d watched these two fall in love in high school.
And maybe that was why … he never tried to ruin them.
Not that Gina ever gave him a second look.
“I got news for you,” Cain said just as Caesar filled his mouth with a bite of ham sandwich. The man knew to talk while Caesar couldn’t—smart fucker. “About the De Rose Camorra, since you’ve been so patient, and all.”
Yes, because Cain understood Camorra far better than Caesar. Or … he knew more about them, and the clan as a whole. Any kind of inside information was good for him.
“Speak,” Caesar mumbled around his food.
“Gross,” Gina grumbled.
He ignored her.
“Strange thing—the boss of the clan, Jac De Rose, has been in lock up for a year and a half. He’s got another six months on his sentence before he’s out. I’ve been told that getting in to see him is damn near impossible. Visits are almost always refused.”
Caesar finished his bite, and said, “Like someone wants to keep him away while he’s … well, away.”
“Yeah.”
“Who is acting as the boss, then?”
Cain shrugged. “Could be any number of people, Caesar. That’s the thing about Camorra—there’s no real structure like with Cosa Nostra, or practically any other fucking organization. They just are. There’s a boss, and the people he speaks to. Everyone answers to him. There’s no boss of my boss kind of thing.”
“Wait, anyone could be acting boss?”
His friend nodded.
“Even a woman?”
Cain just stared at him. “I said anyone.”
“Huh. I didn’t know that.”
He found that fascinating.
Cosa Nostra did not allow women into their ranks, and some syndicates even took issue with working with a female associate of the family. The idea that there were female bosses—of course there were, he wasn’t stupid; he simply hadn’t met one yet—perked his interest in several ways.
Almost none of them innocent.
“What about the other bit I asked for?” he asked.
Cain sighed. “Well, Jac has a daughter—Aria De Rose, she’s twenty-six, and married. Exactly your kind of forte, fucker.”
“And it could be her, right? Acting as the boss.”
“Or her husband,” Cain replied. “Or any number of men, but no one is really open to talking that much detail about the clan’s inner workings.”
“But …”
Cain grumbled under his breath. “There’s always a but with you.”
“Yeah, but I could probably get to whoever is the acting boss by going through Jac’s daughter, right?”
Because that was what he did best.
Manipulate to his gain.
Fuck until he won.
Make pain to ruin.
It all worked for Caesar.
It got him what he wanted.
“I would bet she would be a door to someone,” Cain agreed.
“She’s also married,” Gina put in, finally joining their conversation. “In case you didn’t hear him say that, Caesar.”
Caesar nodded, and picked up his sandwich again. “I know—I heard him. That’s what I like best about her, and I don’t even know her.”
He really was a sick fucker.
His sins were never going to come clean.
“Let’s get a bead on her,” Caesar said, “watch her for a week, and then move in on her.”
Cain passed his frowning wife a look. “Yeah, all right.”
FOUR
“MRS. DE ROSE?”
Aria knew what her guard was going to say before she even lifted her head from the book she was flipping through, but she decided to indulge the man, anyway. “Yes, Mario?”
“We need to move—we’re being followed.”
Again.
Aria did her
best not to smile; it would do her no good to have her guard think this was what she wanted and needed to happen. The guard was appointed to her by Raffe, and her husband got all his information from Mario a good portion of the time.
“Fine,” Aria said with a sigh.
She handed the vendor back the book, but paid for the magazine she had already put in her purse. The book could wait for another day.
“Now, Mrs. De Rose.”
Mario was testy today, but really, he’d been like this for a week or so. Ever since he realized someone was actually following Aria. And then his irritation ticked up a notch or two when he also figured out said stalker was Caesar Accardo.
It wasn’t like the man was making any real effort to hide it was him, either. In fact, that was probably what pissed off her guard the most. The man would be waiting in the most obvious location just to show he knew where they were at any given time.
But Aria …
Well, she had been careful.
Careful to keep her face hidden, and to stay out of sight. She never looked at Caesar directly when she knew he was there, and he had only ever seen her from behind. She was not yet ready to show him just who she was, and who he was actually following.
“To the car,” the guard demanded.
His hand came to rest on Aria’s lower back as if to move her away from the vendor, and push her further down the street. She had all of two rules when it came to her people—do not raise your voice, and never touch her.
Spinning fast, Aria moved a step away from Mario’s touch, and then hit his arm away when he reached for her again. This stupid man didn’t know any better, she swore it. He didn’t like to follow her rules because he was too busy doing what her goddamn husband wanted him to do when it came to her.
Fuck that noise.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed at him. “I can walk on my own, thank you.”
Mario’s jaw clenched, but his eyes told her that he wasn’t in the mood to argue with her about it right then. “To the car, then.”
“Fine.”
Aria’s large black summer hat tipped just low enough in the front to keep her face hidden from view as she headed back down the street. Today was the day—the last move she was to make on the board before the final show could really begin.
Careful plans had been made.
So very careful.
“Merda,” Mario cursed.
Aria caught sight of the man glancing over his shoulder, and she peered back in the same direction. Sure enough, Caesar tailed them close enough that she could see the blues of his eyes although he wasn’t looking directly at them right in those moments. He was too busy saying something to the tall, dark-haired man walking with him.
Oh, he brought a friend today.
Fun.
Her gaze drifted back to Caesar, though, and she couldn’t even help herself but to the appreciative perusal of his dark blue, three-piece suit. He’d gotten a haircut since their encounter a week ago, as the blond strands were significantly shorter than they had been, not that it looked bad.
Far from it.
Nothing about that man looked bad. And hell, she had thought he looked particularly good on his knees as he ate the juices straight from her pussy while the taste of his come still lingered on her mouth.
Jesus.
Wow.
She went to that place fast.
Aria quickly turned her head, and stared straight at the sidewalk ahead of her. She had a plan to follow—things to see through. She did not have the time or wherewithal to be getting stuck inside her own head about a man like Caesar. What she had done with him at Lucifer’s Den was more than enough to get her killed, and she was going to do her very best to keep from indulging in him again.
Because it would be exactly that, and only that when it came right down to it. An indulgent moment for her body, and little else.
She had gotten what she needed and wanted from Caesar—she found her way in, and how to blackmail him to get closer to her goal, but that was all it could be. She certainly didn’t have a need for anything else.
Except another fuck, maybe.
Aria ignored her inner voice, and Mario helped when he spoke up suddenly.
“Nico’s said he moved over a block—traffic was getting thick, and he couldn’t get down here to us quickly enough.”
“All right.”
Mario jerked his head right, adding, “This alley. It’ll give us a shortcut.”
Aria silently thanked Nico because he really was just as good at this game as any of them. Oh, sure, Nico moved the vehicle waiting for her, but not because Mario told him to, but because she had told him to.
They were halfway down the shadowed alley with the exit on the other side—and Nico’s car waiting at the mouth of the far end with only the passenger door open—in view when a familiar voice echoed from behind them.
“Care to have a chat?”
Oh, God.
In her four-inch rockstud heels, she shuddered.
It was almost as though all over again, she could feel Caesar next to her on that couch, and despite it being daylight, and in full public view, his tone didn’t change. It still sounded the exact same—whether he was approaching the enemy, or stuffing his fingers into her cunt where anyone could see. His voice didn’t change.
“Keep walking,” Mario ordered.
“Aw, no time for us today, Aria De Rose?”
Good.
He had done his research, and he knew her name. Of course, he couldn’t possibly know she was also the Carina that had approached him at the club, but still, he had sought her out because he likely thought she was a direct link to the top.
He was right.
She kept moving as Mario had told her to, but chanced a quick peek over her shoulder to see Mario turning to face the oncoming men. That was his job, after all, and it would be far better for him to face whatever might come at him from these men than what her husband would do to him should Raffe find out he left Aria unprotected in some way.
“Crawl back into the hole you came from, Accardo,” Mario said.
“Sorry, man, no can do.”
“You heard—”
“We want a chat with your boss,” Caesar said, and then whistled low. “But damn, I would replace that option for a bite out of that woman’s ass any fucking day.”
Aria tensed as heat shot through her body. She could practically feel his eyes burning into her ass with the intensity of his stare.
Good God.
The man was lewd.
Crass.
Unashamed.
Terrible, really.
And he turned her on like nothing else.
Aria knew what would happen next—any slight against her, or a suggestion of something improper, and Mario needed to correct the man who did it. Not only was that the Camorra way, but it was also Raffe’s way.
She didn’t even flinch when she heard the clack of a handgun being racked back.
“Say that again,” Mario urged.
Gangsters were predictable.
One had a gun, the other had a gun.
One pulled a gun, the other pulled a gun.
One threatened, and the other answered.
“Bad move, man,” Caesar said.
She had heard enough guns being fired in her lifetime that it wasn’t even a blip on her radar. Her footsteps didn’t stumble even as she reached the car at the same time she heard Mario’s dead body hit the ground with a sickening thump.
One fool gone.
Another part of her plan down.
Closer to the goal.
Aria slid into the passenger seat, and peered beyond the rim of her hat still keeping her face hidden. Mario lay dead about twenty feet away—she would have to call someone to come in quickly and grab the body, or just let the officials handle it. She certainly wouldn’t be tied to his death in anyway.
Mario didn’t really i
nterest her.
It was the man standing with his arms crossed as he loomed above Mario’s body that drew in her attention. He didn’t looked bothered in the least, and in fact, wore the sexiest smirk she had ever seen on a man.
Arrogant asshole.
Caesar wore the look well.
She made sure to lighten her voice with a bit of air as she spoke, although she still saw how Caesar’s gaze narrowed like she sounded familiar to him, and made a careful effort to keep her hat in place as to not show her face.
“You’re going to have to answer for that, Accardo.”
“Oh? Good—I look forward to it, Aria.”
He took a step forward, and so did his friend right behind him. Aria closed the passenger door before he could come any closer, and Nico’s foot hit the gas to take them further away from the dangerously sinful man, and the problem he had just gotten rid of for them.
“At least Mario won’t be reporting back on you, now,” Nico murmured from behind the wheel.
Aria nodded, pulled off her hat, and tossed it into the backseat. “Yes, another problem gone.”
“Aren’t you concerned you’re playing with fire there?”
“How so?”
“Too many people start dying and Raffe might cut his business in Italy short to come home.”
She hid how that suggested affected her in the worst kind of way. Fear, and dread, and heaviness in her blood.
“He thinks we have this whole issue here under control—and we do.”
“Except he’s going to learn his wife’s guard was killed today with his wife nearby.”
Aria shrugged. “So we lie and say Mario was out on an errand. Crappy circumstances, and nothing more. He won’t know the difference.”
“He’ll replace your guard.”
“Offer to be the one to do it.”
Raffe liked Nico for a lot of reasons, but most prominently because he believed Nico to be gay on one hand but also because he didn’t know that Aria’s father had first asked Nico to be her husband before Raffe. Nico wasn’t gay, not that it would matter if he was, but all of those things meant he wasn’t a threat to Raffe, or his wife.
“Will that do it, do you think?” she asked.
Nico passed her a look. “What?”
“He shot Mario—could that get us the meeting with the boss. He’s my guard; I’m the acting boss. That should do it, shouldn’t it? It should get me in.”