I don’t answer; instead, I grab Ed’s arm. “I want to be in the front row,” I yell to him.
He nods and follows me like a shadow. I’m used to it.
My dad is the head of one of the most prestigious mafias in New York. There are about a hundred men who want to kidnap me and hold me for ransom as leverage against my dad. It’s why I’ve been in bubble wrap for so long.
I push my way to the front row. Soon, two muscular guys in boxing gloves enter the ring. The crowd roars and my eardrums buzz. I join in with the screaming.
The referee rings the bell and the fight begins.
Blood splatters all over the greying mat within seconds. I realize some of it could feasibly get on me, but I don’t care. I’m not the least bit squeamish. One guy is down in seconds.
Ed pulls me back slightly but I protest. “Come on!” I object.
He gives me a shake of his head.
I sigh. There’s no arguing with him about this. The fighters go two more rounds but it’s a TKO.
The crowd half groans and half cheers. The next fighter takes the ring.
And then his opponent shows up.
I gasp.
It’s Cain.
Shirtless Cain.
Ripped abdomen Cain.
Tight-ass Cain.
He’s even more gorgeous with his shirt off. He has tattoos over nearly every inch of his torso and tattoo sleeves on his arms.
And now he’s sweaty from warming up.
I wonder how sweaty he’d be after fucking.
No. I can’t go there.
Because of this: he came to my father’s restaurant because he’s fighting for him.
And if Cain is fighting on my father’s behalf?
Cain is just one of his minions. A hitman. A killer.
That’s how it always is.
I could never be with someone like that.
Maybe for one night…
No. Not even for one night.
As this sinks in, Cain instantly becomes eighty percent less attractive. Okay, maybe not eighty percent. Like, fifty percent.
I’m stubborn. I hate all the guys in my dad’s world.
I’m pulled out of my reverie by the feeling of eyes on my body. I look up and realize that Cain is looking at me and smiling.
And now I’m blushing. I cross my arms over my chest and give him a cold, dead-eyed stare. He just laughs at me.
Most guys say that I can be intimidating. But I guess Cain isn’t most guys. He sees right through me.
The bell rings and the fight begins. It’s over as soon as it began, his opponent absolutely crumbling under Cain’s movements. He’s so fluid, so graceful. I know it’s weird to say that about a boxer, but that’s the only way I can describe it. It’s like he floats around the ring, his hands in perfect time with his body, always one step ahead of his opponent. It’s a TKO.
The ref holds up Cain’s boxing-gloved hand in victory. Cain winks at me as the crowd cheers his name.
The ref picks up a megaphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, please, let’s have some quiet.” The crowd mostly stops talking and yelling, nothing left but the shuffling sounds of money exchanging hands. Then, to my absolute surprise, my father steps into the ring. He’s more nimble than he looks; Cain holds the ropes apart for him and my dad writhes smoothly between them and onto the mat.
My father holds up his hands and even the sound of money stops. I’m used to this. Everything stops for my dad. Everything.
“Hey,” my dad says, his New Jersey accent apparent more than ever. “This was a very special fight, in case you all didn’t know that.”
A few people start to whisper.
“It’s been a long time coming, and we need something to reunite the families that have been warring in this room for decades.”
More whispering.
What the hell is going on?
“It’s time for the Maggianos and the Romanos to stop fighting. I’m an old man. I can’t take much more of this.”
I rub my ears, not sure if I’m hearing properly. Surely this is some kind of joke?
“So I’m proud to introduce to you all Cain Maggiano, who led a stunning display tonight.”
I look at Cain. He looks just as confused as I probably do. My father seems to be the only one who knows what’s going on.
“I only met Cain earlier today, but he’s been helping me out the last few weeks.” My dad pauses. So I was right. Cain does work for my father. He clears his throat. “The winner of the overall fights tonight gets to marry my daughter, Elizabeth.”
Ed actually has to hold me back, my legs kicking pointlessly. I am ready to climb on that stage and punch my own father in the mouth.
No way is this happening.
No way.
CHAPTER FOUR
CAIN
As if I didn’t have a big enough incentive to win this fight already.
I mean, I’m not a marrying type of guy.
But a few rousing fucks in the sack, two months of arguing after we finally get to know each other, and then I can be off the hook. Catholics get divorced all the time nowadays, right?
I take immense pleasure in watching Elizabeth’s reaction to this news; I know her anger shouldn’t be adorable but it kind of is. That buffoon of a bodyguard has to physically restrain her. I am a little surprised that Tony waited to tell her. But I guess that’s just the name of the game. He probably thought she’d be less inclined to make a scene if he made the announcement in a public place. Obviously, he was wrong about that.
I step out of the ring and prepare for my next bout.
My other two opponents crumple as easily as the first. Then I see that fucking asshole Vinny and a guy about my age standing next to him who looks how Vinny must have looked thirty years ago. He must be Vinny’s son.
And the kid came to play. He has that look in his eyes.
But I’m fighting for Elizabeth, and there’s nobody that’s gonna stop me.
Vinny’s kid doesn’t go down without a fight. He actually has me on the ropes at one point but I manage to duck and swing and he’s down.
One more round of this, and I’ve won Elizabeth.
Yeah, it’s a little archaic that a woman is held up as a prize trophy, but what the hell do I care? I get to taste her sweet fucking curves and that’s the best incentive I can think of.
No pressure, though.
The final bout is the most difficult, but I’m here to win.
One down.
Two down.
Three down.
TKO.
I catch Elizabeth’s brown eyes in the crowd. She looks pissed.
I like my women fiery. I can handle her. No problem.
CHAPTER FIVE
ELIZABETH
The ride home is excruciating. Not for me so much, but for everyone in a three-mile radius of this black Cadillac with the illegal window tints. I’m screeching. “How could you do this to me?”
My father waves my anger away. “You said you were fine with it. Don’t be so damn dramatic, Lizzy.”
I pull at my thick, black hair. “When? When did I agree for you to marry me off?”
He’s still texting. I snatch his phone out of his gnarled, wrinkled hands with a violence I didn’t know I was capable of producing. “Hey!” he says as I shut it off.
“Look at me. When on earth did I say I was okay with being sold off to the most muscular bidder?”
My dad sighs as I put his phone beneath my ass. He’s not getting it back until I have some answers. “Back at the restaurant, Lizzy. Earlier tonight. Come on. You were all for this!”
I go back in my head to what was said exactly. “I thought you were finally going to let me go to college, Dad.”
“College? I said you were getting older and the restaurant was no place for you to blossom. How did you misunderstand that?”
I scoff at him, yelling up at Ed. “Back me up here, Ed.”
“This is between you and your dad,” Ed intones.
Great. So much for loyalty from the guy who’s protected my life for the last several years. “I won’t do it. There’s no way.”
“Of course you will, Lizzy,” my dad says sternly.
“No. I won’t. I can’t do-“
“They’ll kill me. They’ll kill me if you don’t.”
I stop my hyperventilating to process this. “What are you talking about?”
“The Maggianos and I made a deal. No more fighting. But you were part of the package. It was the only way, Elizabeth.”
“How on earth – “
“Listen to me,” he says, taking my hands in his own. “The fight tonight was symbolic. The joining of our two families.”
“You are telling me that Cain is a Maggiano?” I ask, my jaw dropped. “But you didn’t even recognize him earlier. At the restaurant.”
My dad shrugs like this is no big deal. “It’s been a few years since I’ve seen their youngest, alright? So sue me.”
We pull up to our house. My heart has finally stopped racing, thank God. “You’re serious. They’ll kill you if I don’t go through with this. Look me in the eyes and tell me that.”
“I’m dead serious, Elizabeth. I swear on your mother’s grave,” he says.
I know he means business when he says that.
So that’s it.
I’m getting married to a trained killer. A thug. A goon. A minion.
This is not how I was expecting my day to go.
CHAPTER SIX
CAIN
I stand outside Tony’s brownstone, my best suit on, shivering my ass off.
I hate New York in the wintertime.
In my hand is a hastily-purchased bouquet of flowers. I stopped by a bodega on the way. It finally hit me when I walked into the store: I’m marrying a woman I know so little about, I don’t even know what kind of flowers she likes.
I knock on the door.
It opens a few minutes later and Elizabeth is standing there in sweatpants and a sweater. She says nothing as she walks away, leaving the door open.
“Good evening to you, too,” I say sarcastically, walking inside the warm house. I brush my dress shoes on the mat. “Should I take my shoes off?”
“Do whatever the hell you want,” Elizabeth calls back to me.
I leave them on. Never know when you might need to make a quick escape. “Nice place,” I say.
“Do you want coffee or what?”
“Uh, yeah. Coffee. No cream or sugar.” I walk down the hallway, peeking into the living room. I recognize the guy who had to restrain Elizabeth sitting in the front living room. He looks absurd perched on a floral fabric settee with a newspaper open in his hands.
I walk into the kitchen. It looks like a chef’s dream setup. Eight-burner gas stove, double oven, copper range hood, a dozen perfectly shining copper-bottomed pots hanging from a ceiling rack, dark marble countertops and mahogany cabinets – this place is incredible.
But it’s not as incredible as the woman I’m staring at wearing a ratty sweater and skin tight yoga pants.
“Nice of you to get dressed up on my account,” I say bemusedly.
Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “Sugar, I am dressed up. And I look fabulous.” She points to her body, her mussed hair in a messy topknot on her head. “It’s all for you, honeypie.” She turns around and fills up a coffee mug from the expensive coffee maker.
“Like I’m going to complain about you wearing yoga pants,” I say.
She whips around like lightning. “Stop staring at my ass.”
“I could stop staring at it if you’d let me touch it instead.” I grin at her.
She rolls her eyes, shoving the mug of coffee towards me so violently a third of it splashes out of the mug and lands on the countertop.
I pick it up gingerly, not wanting dripping coffee all over my fingertips.
“You drink coffee like a little girl playing tea party with her stuffed animals,” Elizabeth says. “Not so tough when you’re outside the ring, are you?”
“Nice of you to notice,” I spar back at her.
Elizabeth walks over to the oven and sets a timer for thirty minutes. “My father wants you and I to get to know each other before our wedding in three weeks.” The word wedding sounds like poison in her mouth. “You have exactly half an hour before I either kick you out or Ed drags you out of this house by your ears.”
“What, am I keeping you from a Murder She Wrote marathon on Netflix?”
She glares at me. “Fuck you.”
I shrug casually. “I’m just saying, looks like daddy has you all locked up in your tower here. Must be a pretty boring existence to never be able to leave the house without a bodyguard.”
“Fuck. You,” she retorts. “If you’re planning on using my hair to climb up and rescue me, I’ve got news for you: it’s not nearly long enough.”
“Sweetheart, when I take the chance to pull on your hair, you’ll be screaming but it won’t be for rescue.” My eyes flash at her and her cheeks even turn a little pink.
“You mean when you get the chance to pull on my hair.”
“I mean when I take the chance that you’re going to give me. You’ll be asking for it. Then it’ll be my decision, and you’ll fucking love it. You’ll be begging for me to finish you off so loudly half of New York will here you screaming.” I lean closer to her.
She’s really blushing now. She finally glances over at the clock. “You’ve wasted three minutes of your allotted time.”
“Nah, it wasn’t wasted. You said you wanted to get to know me. And I just told you a lot about myself, I think. A lot about my abilities,” I add with a significant look.
Elizabeth turns around without a word and grabs a rag, wiping off the spilled coffee from the countertop.
“I’m boring. Let’s talk about you,” I say, sipping my drink. Damn, this coffee is delicious.
“No,” she replies shortly. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on. At least tell me what your favorite flower is.” I point at the bouquet on the countertop. “I had to grab a mixed bouquet.” It looks pathetic and wilted in the confines of this expensive kitchen. “I was hoping I’d get lucky that your favorite was somewhere in there.”
Elizabeth gazes at the flowers. “No. It’s not in there.”
“Then what is it?”
She raises her eyebrows challengingly. “I suggest you just keep trying to figure it out.”
I laugh. “You sure are a stubborn one, aren’t you?”
“Don’t fetishize my righteous anger,” she spits back at me.
“What if I like sparring with you? There’s no harm in that, is there? It’s like foreplay. I think you like this.”
“I like what?”
I point at the air between us. “All this built up, unresolved sexual tension. I’m guessing your dad doesn’t allow conjugal visits.”
She throws the rag at me. “That’s it, I’m cutting your time short.”
“You’re not even going to put the flowers I bought you in a vase?”
“They can wither up and die and you’re welcome to join them as far as I’m concerned.”
I laugh. “You’re quick. I like that.”
“Get out,” Elizabeth says, pointing at the door.
“See you later. Wifey.”
She roars like a lion and I’m out the door.
I knew she was a firecracker before, but now I really can’t wait to bend her over and fuck her on our wedding night.
I step out into the streets of New York, my conscience pinging at the back of my skull. I brush it away.
This is all part of the job. Mr. Romano hired me to work for him, sight unseen. I was the first step in reconciling my family with his. And then he set up this ridiculous game.
Why shouldn’t I enjoy the perks of that?
I push my guilt aside and step into the crowds of people pushing through to get their holiday shopping finished.
Elizabeth will come around.
No woman can re
sist this.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ELIZABETH
“Ouch, don’t poke me with those,” I whine at the seamstress sitting at the hem of my dress.
“If you’d stop moving, I wouldn’t be poking you,” she shoots back. She has grey hair pulled up into a harsh bun. My mind needs anything at all to distract me from what’s happening. So I start asking questions in my head to pass the time.
I wonder how old she is. She looks about ninety years old. I wonder if she likes having this job.
I can’t imagine fitting dresses for spoiled brats like me is how she would choose to spend her days if she didn’t have to. She has two hearing aids and I wonder if she ever turns down the volume to ignore people. I would if I were her. Taking people’s shit for ninety years? No thanks. If I make it to that age, I’ll have earned some peace and quiet.
I’m ripped out of my thoughts by the appearance of my older sister. She has her arms crossed and she’s smirking at me. “I’m not wearing the bridesmaid dress you picked out.”
“Thanks for your never-ending support, Maria,” I reply, putting my hands on my hips. I look at the tulle and lace monstrosity wrapping up my body and feel a surge of nausea.
“You look like a slice of Italian wedding cake,” Maria says.
“No cake before the wedding, you’re fat enough,” the seamstress intones.
“She said I looked like a cake, not that I am eating a cake!” I yell at her.
“Stand still,” she replies.
I roll my eyes at Maria. “I don’t understand why you aren’t the one being married off.”
“Because I already have a lug of a husband.”
“Oh yeah, him.” I hate Maria’s husband. He works for my father too and he’s not good enough for my sister. “At least you got to choose yours.”
Maria slides down the wall and pulls out her phone. “Right, okay.”
“I could use a little support.”
“I suggest an underwire bra, then,” she says, taking out a piece of gum and smacking on it loudly.
I stomp my foot and the seamstress stands up. “I’ll be back when you’re done acting like one of my toddler great-grandchildren,” she says.
I pick up the enormously poofy bottom of my dress and sit down in one of the worn chairs in the corner. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Hit and Run: A Mafia Hitman Romance Page 2