Feel the Reaper: Bad Boy Mafia Romance Novella (Book 1) (Bad Boy Mafia Romance Novella (A Crime Family Novella))

by Asher Scott

  My father and I lost the house and went to live in the Bronx. He did his best, but most of his time was spent tending to his small tobacco shop . He was an incredibly nice man, and always treated me with kindness and respect, but he was never there for me. I was a latchkey kid and spent most of my childhood alone. My expectations were forever low after my mom’s death, and I simply lost faith that anything good could come out of my life. What was the point? All the best people in my life, the woman who created me, the person who loved me unconditionally, was struck down and ripped from my life. My innocence was shattered into a million pieces on the ground and who had the energy to pick them up and patchwork them back together? I know I didn’t. I was all I had. There was no one else.

  As I grew, this led to a lot of bad relationships, with bad boys and then bad men. I had no self-worth. There was abuse, both mental and otherwise, and I finally hit rock bottom when I was eighteen. I received the news one day that my father was found brutally murdered in his shop. The police told me they’d find his killer, more to reassure me than anything else, but I knew the truth. It was a mob hit. One of many that plagued our neighborhood for as long as I could remember.

  You see, Arturo’s Tobacco Shop was a front for local mobsters, and I know bad stuff went on there. Don’t ask me how, I just knew. Strange men would come visit my father sometimes when I checked in there after school, and they had closed-door meetings with father in the back. He was changed somehow after those meetings, and it would usually take a day or so before he got back to being himself.

  I was a newly-minted woman then, and once I finished out high school, I came north, applied for a job at Gino’s, and I’d been here ever since. Being a waitress has its ups and downs, but I was making a living. Some months were tougher than others, but I’d learned how to scrape by. For the past five years, I’ve walked numbly through life, hardly feeling anything at all.

  That is until I met Luca.

  He’s a rough man and his physical strength and anger are downright terrifying. I saw what he did to those guys. A one-man wrecking machine, he devoured them whole and spat them out one by one until there was no one left to destroy. And the rage. That rage that flowed through him was free-flowing power, like the savage blood that courses through his veins. Luca could have killed them easily, and for one scary moment, I thought I’d witness the deaths of multiple people, but then he just stopped, like a wild animal devouring its prey until it stops struggling.

  This was Luca. Instinctually stopping for reasons known only to him, ending the madness, calmly finishing his drink, and then whisking me away from my old life, a now forgotten one, into something fresh and new.

  Between the sheets his power continues, the spell he holds over me, his power to make me feel things I never thought possible. His eyes moving slowly over my body, taking in every inch, undressing me with his eyes. His touch, rough fingertips, those of a real man, make me feel tinges of unfiltered pleasure, transcending the culmination of every pleasurable moment I have ever felt in my twenty-three years, all in a few moments on my bathroom floor. My heart springs to life when I see him, racing, and waiting for the next thing he will say or do. Pure excitement pervades my every thought, feeling the anticipation that one feels when the best that can be in their life continues revealing itself around every corner.

  For the first time since I can remember, I feel alive. Really alive. When we had sex, it was like I was the only woman in the world. There is no one else in his eyes, and I felt a spark in my soul that transcended anything I’d ever felt before. He makes me feel more like a woman than any man has ever made me feel. There is no man but Luca. There never will be.

  There was Richard from a few years back, but what a dud he turned out to be. He told me he loved me, then ran off with a co-worker, and I’ve never seen him again. He never made me feel the passion and desire like Luca does. I want him. God, I need him.

  When his tongue reached my pussy, I thought my heart would stop. He knew all the right places and ways to touch me, to get me off. It’s like he was given a manual to my erogenous zones where every other guy only had the Cliff Notes, but never bothered to read them. Then he filled me deep and pure, all of me, until I couldn’t take it anymore, and then we elevated, together, to new levels no one knew existed.

  He’s a real man. Flawed, and raw, but very real. There’s more to him than meets the eye. Not just a one-man devastation machine; I see good in him. Pure goodness.

  Chapter 9

  Luca

  “Who’s money is it?” I hit him with a right cross as the brass knuckles shatter his cheekbone, the squishy flesh of his chubby cheek contorting under the power of my fist.

  About an hour ago, I had knocked Jimmy Cerone out with a lead pipe after he exited Target, a new club that had opened near the south Bronx waterfront in a revitalized area. The area was also filled with warehouses, and I’d found a nice cozy spot for Jimmy and me to talk.

  “I don’t fucking know.” Yelling now, he spits out a mouthful of blood mixed with bile and spit, his cheek already discolored and swelling. I’m not worried about the noise, though. No one will hear his screams in this chamber of horrors. This was a scene out of a man’s worst nightmare, with chains hanging from exposed wood rafters, sharp metal spiky things hanging off rusty hooks on walls, rats scurried about in darkened corners looking for scraps of food to satisfy their hunger. I know about hunger. Hunger for answers. Hunger for the truth.

  I know Jimmy. We had worked together on a few jobs, and I can say with one hundred percent honesty that I hate this motherfucker with a burning passion that goes beyond just a regular disgust for a heinous monster. He is the most ruthless bastard and had gone over the top so many times. Jimmy’s darkened soul had revealed its demented self to me on more than one occasion. I’m not talking about connected guys who suffered by his hand; I’m talking about civilians. These were working class people who were paying Tavollaci for protection, or at least that’s what he called it. It was questionable who these people needed protection from.

  So long story short, this feels fucking good. I will end him before this interrogation is through. And humanity will be better for it.

  “C’mon Jimmy. You know better than to lie to me. You’re forcing my hand here.” He eyes me nervously as I pull out my kit from my zipped-up leather jacket. I unroll the canvas on the long factory table in plain sight of him. “Let’s see, pliers, hand saw, awl, hammer…”

  For effect, I place my hand on each piece as I call out the names. He’s attached to a sturdy old wooden chair, his hands tied behind his back with a coarse rope that is no doubt ripping into his flesh, as he shifts his massive shoulders trying to get free.

  “You know I’ve always been indecisive with my tools. Why don’t you pick?”

  His eyes shift back and forth nervously, trying not to focus on anything in particular. I pace back and forth, leaving the tools out for him to see so his mind can formulate all the horrible things I could potentially do with them. “Let’s play a game. It’s called Name That Tool. It’s six letters, and I like to use this tool to pull out teeth one by one.”

  “Fuck you.” He’s still defiant, but I know the deep fear is setting in. I can see it in his eyes. Fear and disappointment are the two things that no human being can hide. The eyes reveal all anyone needs to see, and his eyes say he’s close to breaking.

  I pick up the pliers and dramatically open and close them a few times, letting the lone lamp shining in his eyes reflect off the metal. “You know I wanted to be a fucking dentist when I was younger. The problem was, I only liked pulling teeth. I started on dogs and cats, then worked my way up to neighborhood kids.” This was all bullshit, but I was having fun with it and the visuals would be terrifying to his tormented mind.

  Interrogations were all about fear. You prey on a man’s worst fears, and he’ll sing like a songbird. Problem is, sometimes men will say anything to make the pain stop.

  “Do
you want to be my first patient today? I have nowhere I need to be. We have a scream as loud as you fucking want policy, and no, we don’t use anesthesia.”

  Six inches from his face now, and with the pliers next to his mouth, I snarl, “Who’s money is it?”

  “I don’t fucking know… that’s the truth.” I study his eyes and body language, and something tells me he’s still holding out.

  “You know me, Jimmy. I’ll get the truth out of you if it kills you…”

  “What the fuck do you want?” He’s breaking.

  I hit him with the brass knuckles again for speaking before I am done, this time in the throat, taking off a little pressure so I don’t crush his windpipe.

  Some more blood and bile comes up as he gasps for breath. I thought he might hack up a fucking lung, but then he starts to recover.

  “Don’t interrupt me again, asshole. I’ll ask again, you piece of shit fuck. Who’s money is it?”

  “I don’t know.” He answers weakly and I’m done fucking around.

  With my left hand, I grab his chubby throat in a death grip and squeeze with all my strength, choking him and forcing his mouth open. I grab an upper tooth with the pliers and clamp down hard – on a canine, I think – and start yanking down like nobody’s business. His eyes start tearing and he lets out a muffled yell. Finally, the tooth comes free with a spurt of blood, and as I release his throat, his cries echo throughout the cavernous room, and for a second I’m afraid that all the south Bronx heard him.

  Still pressed between the pliers, I hold the mangled tooth, root and all, up for him to see, as he screams out in pain and horror. “Wow, would you look at that? There wasn’t a problem with this tooth at all. I must have pulled the wrong one.”

  “You fucker… just kill me.”

  “I don’t think so, Jimmy. We’ve only just started. How many teeth do adults have? Is it thirty-two? Maybe we can pull one out at a time and count them together?”

  His eyes go from the extracted tooth to me, then down to the floor.

  “I’ll ask you again. Who’s money is it?

  “Fuck you.”

  “You know, I’m getting tired of the pliers. Let’s try the hammer and awl.”

  I pull them out, hold them up in front of him, and without hesitation, I place the awl on the back of his hand, rain down the hammer into it, pegging his hand to the wooden arm of the chair as he screams out with a guttural noise that’s half scream, half cry, and some would say inhuman. It sounds like one of those fucking wildebeests I saw on the Nature Channel after getting taken down by a pack of lions.

  “You motherfuck… fuck… oo… fuck.” He’s shifting wildly in the chair now trying to get out, and damn near tips it over. Blood is pouring out of his hand, dripping off his fingertips and onto the floor.

  Whispering in his ear now, I hiss, “Who’s. Money. Is. It?”

  “Ta… Tavollaci.”

  “Good. You’re a dead man now no matter what happens, so why don’t I just put you out of your misery?”

  I take my nine-millimeter out of my waistband, and with two quick shots to the head, the room is still.

  ____

  After dumping the body in the East River, I head back through the backstreets of the Bronx, hop on the highway past Yankee Stadium, and head back to Abby.

  Tonio Tavollaci. I knew it was that fucker. I still had to take out Cerone even if my main target was the big cheese. His soldiers would have come after me if I got to Tavollaci first. It’s the messy part of the business that is just that, fucking business. No loose ends. We all know the dangers we face when we give ourselves over to this dark world of greed and death.

  Difference with me is, I never chose this for myself. A guy’s got to eat, and I have certain talents that didn’t go unnoticed. Tavollaci had heard about my run-in with Mustafa when I was just a kid, and told me there was only one way to deal with that and still save face. I had to kill him. He was a bad fuck, that Mustafa, rotten to the core, otherwise I would have let him live. I was just a stupid kid, though. What did I know?

  Since Father Francis was no longer an influence in my life, I needed someone to look up to. Tonio was the only guy who stepped up, and I thought he was the absolute shit back then. That’s when he took me under his crooked wing and groomed me into the monster I am today. I still have my code, though. However fucked up that sounds, I don’t kill anyone unless they’re a bad fuck and deserve it. Maybe it’s a God complex or some shit. Maybe I like having the power to decide who lives and who dies. Fuck if I know. I just do what I need to do to survive.

  Tavollaci’s a made man so I need to be careful. You don’t just whack a guy like that because you feel like it. If you are that fucking stupid, or have some sort of death wish, then you go for it and see what happens. I’m neither of those things. I do know one thing, though. Tonio Tavollaci is a dead man.

  Chapter 10

  Abby

  The rumbling of a motor in the driveway wakes me with a start. Luca. Peeling my eyes open to look at the clock, it’s 2:17. What on earth was he up to until now?

  I plod to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and get a beer ready for Luca. The door opens softly; he’s trying not to wake me. “In here, Luca.” I call him into the kitchen, then spin around to meet him, my soft white robe open a bit to greet him.

  My lips part as he pulls me in, one arm tugging at the small of my back, drawing me into his erection. “Abby, I missed you, baby.” He says between kisses, an invisible force field keeping us together until I break free.

  “Where have you been, Luca?” My hands and head are planted on his chest, and my voice is soft. I don’t want to make him angry.

  “Out.” His eyes pierce into me and I can tell he’s not ready to reveal where he was.

  “One question, were you seeing another woman?”

  “Fuck no, Abby. I only have eyes for you.”

  I study him, the lines in the corners of his eyes, unblinking and determined. There’s sincerity there.

  “I believe you.”

  “You oughta’ believe me. I’m a lot of things, but a liar is not one of them.”

  “What other things are you, Luca?”

  “Bad things.”

  “What kind of bad things? I want to know.” I trace my finger across his chest, trying to work my feminine wiles.

  “Trust me, darling, you don’t want to know.” His heavy Bronx accent becomes thicker when he’s talking serious stuff, and he separates himself from me now, taking a slug of the open beer. “You’ll hate my guts and never speak to me again. I’m into you, Abby. Big time. I couldn’t deal with you hating me.”

  “Whatever it is, Luca, whatever you’ve done, I promise I won’t hate you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this, Abby. I feel like I’m testifying on the fucking witness stand to save my ass from the electric chair. They’d throw the book at me.” He rubs his hand vigorously through his hair, and I can tell he’s getting really agitated and on the brink of angry.

  “I’m sorry. I won’t ask any more questions tonight.”

  Chapter 11

  Abby

  I wake up to Luca’s tongue flitting in and out of my pussy. It’s a nice way to rise, and I moan my approval as my hands stretch out over my head. He senses I’m awake, his eyes lift to meet mine, and a wicked grin crosses his face. The late-summer sun shines through my window, warming my naked breasts, the air through the slightly open window smells of dewy grass and the crispness of the season.

  Luca is licking just my clit now. My toes curl up, my hands finding the back of his head, my fingers running through his thick chestnut hair. The rub of his stubble tickles my inner thigh, my body responding to his desires.

  My moaning picks up speed and volume, almost like a slight song, continuous and in concert to his movements. Licking his fingers in full sight of me, he wants me to know what he’s going to do next. I feel a quick pang of desire increasing my wet
ness, my pussy preparing for what’s about to come. First one fingertip, then the second, finds my upper wall, past my ridge, and settles into my sweet spot.

  You know that, Luca. This spot is no myth.

  You know it will drive me wild, as your two fingers alternate, walking across my insides, waves of pleasure filling me deep, very different from the pleasure found just by stimulating my clit.

  I grasp at the sheets now, my body moving and shifting to the growing pressure, not believing it possible that any lover can make me feel this much. Luca’s a master of his game, he knows me, all of me, more completely than any man ever has. I am under his spell, and give myself to him completely.

  My Luca.

  I am building, his thumb finding my clit while still rubbing deep inside, adding a tongue flick here and there to alter sensations. It’s maddening to want a release so bad, but to also want it to never stop. I can’t have both, and he will decide. Luca’s in charge, and I like it that way. I trust him to take me to places I’ve never been.

  He pulls his fingers out, and then licks them for me to see. He pulls my body to the edge of the bed, separating my legs wide before plunging into me while standing, knees bent, his hands planted on the mattress, his shoulders strong and muscular, attached to biceps that flex and move while supporting his weight and his movements.

  Luca’s chest tenses and heaves, the sweat filling his brow, and sliding down his angled jaw, dripping onto my stomach. Breathing through his mouth mostly, he pumps and slides into me, hitting me deep and filling me to the brim. I’m overflowing, rising to meet him, the pressure, getting ready to burst, then.