This Thing of Ours (The Gamblers Spin-off Novel)

by Sarah Curtis

  Putting his beer back down on the table, Marco remembered Frankie had asked him a question, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it had been. Leaning slightly forward, he shouted over the pulsing beat, “What?”

  “I asked, what’s got your boxers in a twist? You know, you’re even more surly than usual, and that’s saying something.”

  Marco glared his direction, not bothering to answer as he leaned back in his seat, bringing his beer with him and taking another sip.

  “Leave him alone,” Johnny said in his defense.

  Johnny was the pretty boy of the group with his light hair and blue eyes. Frankie, not so much, but the girls still flocked to him. The girls flocked to him, too. Marco wasn’t sure why, as he never gave them any encouragement.

  “He probably just needs to get laid,” Johnny added to his last statement.

  Marco swallowed his beer wrong and coughed, Johnny’s comment hitting way to close to the truth.

  Frankie flashed a cocky grin. “Think you hit the nail on the head, Johnny Boy.”

  With uncannily perfect timing, three women walked up to their table. They fit in perfectly with the club scene—short almost non-existent dresses, too much makeup, and hair out to there—but he couldn’t say they weren’t pretty. The petite brunette on the end was especially cute, and he willed his dick to take notice. Sadly, it didn’t. It was only interested in the one woman it couldn’t have.

  “Good evening, gentlemen. Care to buy us drinks?”

  Frankie stood and with a bow said, “Our pleasure.”

  A blonde slid into the u-shaped booth scooting close to Johnny. Frankie sat back down, and the other blonde slid in next to him. The brunette settled in next to Marco.

  Johnny signaled for the waitress who hustled over on her high heels not wanting to leave any of Nico’s boys waiting.

  “What would you ladies like?” Frankie asked, wrapping his arm around the back of the blonde and pulling her closer to his side.

  She gave him a wide smile, revealing a set of blindingly white teeth. “I’ll take a Long Island iced tea.”

  Johnny looked down at the girl next to him. “And what about you, cara?”

  “Oh, my name’s not Cara, it’s Tammy.”

  Marco almost snorted out the sip of beer he’d just taken.

  Frankie didn’t bother holding back his laugh, explaining, “Cara is an Italian endearment.”

  Tammy’s cheeks turned a bright red, and Marco felt uncomfortable in her embarrassment. Trying to make her feel better, he said, “It’s a completely understandable mistake.”

  Tammy gave him a small smile.

  “He speaks.”

  Marco gave Frankie another glare for opening his big mouth.

  “I’ll have a Cosmo,” Tammy said into the silence.

  Marco figured it was his turn to ask the girl sitting next to him what she wanted. He turned his head to look down at her. She was already looking up at him, her lashes fluttering, and her lips parted.

  “I’ll have a Cosmo, too,” she whispered to him, so he had to repeat her request for the waitress.

  Once the waitress had gone, the blonde next to Frankie asked, “So, what do you boys do, all dressed up in suits and shit?”

  Frankie chuckled, leaning back and taking the blonde with him. “We’re in business.”

  “Oh, yeah. What kind of business?” Tammy peeped from next to Johnny.

  Johnny shrugged and answered with a vague, “Finance.”

  The brunette laid her hand on Marco’s thigh and leaned in closer, purring, “Sounds fascinating.”

  Marco’s jaw hardened. “You like money?”

  The woman’s eyes widened, and she floundered for a moment before admitting, “Well, sure. Who doesn’t?”

  “Right.” He’d had enough. With a pointed look to the end of the booth, he said, “Excuse me.”

  She looked startled for a second before making one last-ditch effort to keep him in the booth. Her hand slid farther up his leg, her nails grazing the inside of his thigh before finding his dick and latching on.

  His hand shot down, grasping her wrist. Probably with too much pressure because she winced. “We’re done here.”

  She nervously licked her lips and whispered, “Right.”

  She scrambled out of the booth as soon as he set her wrist free. Marco’s phone pinged, and he pulled it from his pocket, reading it at the table and keeping the chick standing, waiting for him to exit the booth.

  A frown marred his brow as he read the text, but he gave nothing away as he looked first at Frankie then Johnny. “I’ve gotta go.”

  They both gave a nod, knowing business could intrude at any time. What they didn’t know was that text had nothing to do with business.

  Marco made his way out to the car, got behind the wheel, and stared down at his phone. Then after fifteen long, agonizing minutes of debate, he finally replied to Gabriella’s text.

  Yes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sitting on the couch, Gabby stared at her phone. It had been exactly one week since she’d last seen Marco. One week since The Kiss. That’s how she thought of it—capitalized. Such a monumental occasion deserved its own title. But Marco obviously didn’t feel the same. His absence had proved that. Had it been so awful he never wanted to see her again?

  She excused away the weekend. Assumed he’d been busy working. That he and Nico were out searching for the men who had taken her. But then Monday, too, had ended with no word from Marco.

  Gabby had gone back to school on Monday. With only a little more than a week left before winter break, she couldn’t afford to miss any more classes. After a full week of healing, her injuries were mostly disguisable with makeup, but when anyone asked, she’d told them she’d been in a car accident. Derek hadn’t been there to call her out on her lie. Not that she’d expected him to be.

  Tuesday had turned into Wednesday which had bled into Thursday until finally, Friday had rolled around again, and she still hadn’t heard from him. And as she sat on her couch, staring at her phone, her thumb hovering over the keyboard as she worked up the courage to press a letter—any letter—she wondered whether it would seem desperate and pathetic if she texted him.

  Already she wasn’t proud of how she’d gained access to Marco’s cell phone number—sneaking into her father’s office and retrieving it off his computer—and had promised herself she’d use it only in an emergency. She didn’t think missing him qualified as one.

  Could she think of another pretext? Something that would be sure to bring him running. For the life of her she couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t cause worry, so in the end, she settled on the simple truth.

  I miss you. Do you think you can stop by tonight?

  It took every ounce of her courage to hit the send button. Then she was forced to wait twenty long, stomach-churning minutes for his response. She expelled a shaky breath when his single-word reply dinged through.

  Yes.

  She jumped from the couch and cursed when she almost tripped over Fred who’d been sleeping by her feet. He yipped in excitement and followed her as she rushed to her bedroom. She was a mess. Why hadn’t she put the twenty-minute wait to better use? She had no idea how long she had until he arrived, but the thought of greeting Marco in a pair of yoga pants and yet another baggy shirt didn’t sit well. She wanted to look pretty.

  Stripping as she made her way to the closet, she stood inside pondering what to wear. Nothing fancy or sexy, that would be too obvious. She settled on a tight, vee neck t-shirt that showed a hint of cleavage and a pair of worn, comfortable jeans that she knew made her ass look great.

  Hightailing it to the bathroom, she looked in the mirror. The bruises on her cheek had faded but were now a sickly green color with splotches of yellow. She grabbed her concealer and went to work, hiding most of it. She tackled her hair next, ripping through the knots with her brush until her—thankfully back to its original color after a hasty drug-store hom
e dye job—locks shined.

  She looked good. Not her best, but then, that wasn’t the look she’d been going for. She reached for her perfume then hesitated. Again, too obvious, but she did put on an extra layer of deodorant.

  Back in the living room, she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She paced a few minutes, turned on some music then, just as quickly, switched it off. She strolled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, opened it, and drank thirstily. She was nervous, her heart pounding so loudly, she could hear it echoing in her ears.

  Fred had been following her in her escapades around the house, thinking it was a new game. She set her water down on the counter and picked him up, snuggling him close, feeling her heart rate return to normal as she rubbed behind his ears.

  The knock on the door made her jump even though she’d been expecting it. Like when waiting for toast to pop, it’s going to happen, but it still startles anyway.

  Fred yapped in her ear, and she set him down before making her way to the front door. Her hand hesitated over the knob, fingers trembling. The nerves were back. What kind of reception was she about to get? The cool and indifferent mobster or the newly discovered sweet and caring Marco?

  Only one way to find out.

  She pulled the door open, swinging it wide, then stood to the side to allow him to enter.

  His eyes raked her from head to toe as he stepped over the threshold. He didn’t show much emotion, but she did notice his eyes found their way back to her hair where they lingered.

  She gave a lock of it a nervous tug. “I, um, fixed it.”

  His lips quirked, one side tipping up. “Better.”

  She found herself smiling in return until she remembered he hadn’t contacted her in a week. Her smile faded. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  She lost his eyes. They drifted over her shoulder, landing on something behind her back. “I’ve been busy.”

  She didn’t have to be a master at reading people to know that was a lie. She turned her back on him, walking into the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?” She picked up her water and took a swig.

  He looked at her over the expanse of the breakfast bar. “I should probably go. This was a bad idea.”

  Gabby slammed her water down. “What? Two friends can’t hang out and talk?”

  “Is that what we are… friends?” He didn’t raise his voice, but it did have an edge, which only fueled her anger.

  “Why can’t we be?” she asked, flinging her arms out in exasperation, her voice rising enough for them both.

  He took a step forward then stopped as if he didn’t trust himself to get any closer. “Because when I look at you, I don’t see a friend.”

  His words hurt. She dropped her eyes to the counter and stared at the bottle of water, tracking a condensation droplet as it fell over the label. “Oh.”

  “I see so much more.”

  Her head popped up. “What?”

  He was silent a moment then shook his head. “Forget I said that.”

  “No. You can’t take it back.”

  “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “You’ve said that but haven’t told me why.”

  He gave her a look as if it should be obvious. “You’re Nico’s sister.”

  “And you think he won’t approve?”

  He cupped the back of his neck, bowing his head. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s right, we don’t know. Not that it matters. We’re both adults.”

  She got his eyes back. “I owe my life to Nico.”

  “And you don’t think he’d want you to be happy?” Her frustration was clear in her tone.

  Marco raised his for the first time. “Not at the expense of his sister.”

  Both of them angry was a bad idea. Gabby took a deep breath and slowly made her way around the counter.

  He watched her, sticking his hands in the front pockets of his slacks.

  Not letting his guarded stance deter her, she molded herself to his front, wrapping her arms around his waist and settling her cheek against his chest.

  It took almost a full minute, but finally, she felt his hands leave his pockets and land on her back, hugging her in return. She heard the gust of air that had his chest deflating as he expelled a deep breath before his cheek landed on the top of her head. “This is a really bad idea,” he gruffly whispered.

  Gabby didn’t agree. Being in Marco’s embrace could never be a bad thing.

  Gabriella’s fingers softly skimming his spine. Her full, lush tits pressing into him. Her breath warming his chest through the thin cotton of his shirt. It didn’t take long for Marco to snap.

  Dipping to get a grip under her ass, he lifted her off her feet and walked them until her back hit the wall. And didn’t stop until he was pressed flush against her. His mouth found hers a second after that.

  The kiss was not gentle. Nor was it sweet. It was more than four years of pent-up desire finally finding an outlet.

  He pushed his tongue forward, invading her wet heat. The slickness of her mouth blanketing him in a sexual haze so all he saw was blinding white light behind his closed lids. His dick was so hard it strained against the tight cotton of his underwear and the soft fabric of his slacks. He pressed it into her soft belly and got a moment’s satisfaction. Until even that wasn’t enough.

  Groaning down her throat, he pressed a thigh between her legs, wanting to give her a taste of the desire he felt. But even with that, she would never know the extent of what he was feeling.

  A moan filled his ears, a soft sexy sound that had his balls tightening. Fuck, it had been too long since he’d been between a woman’s legs.

  He wasn’t a saint, but his body knew what it wanted, and that was Gabriella. With her lush curves that enticed in whatever the fuck she wore. Her full, ruby lips he’d envisioned wrapped around his cock more times than he could count. And her big, brown eyes that sucked him in and put him under a spell.

  His streghetta, his little witch, had weaved her magic, capturing his heart, and no one else would do.

  He ate at her mouth with absolutely no finesse, too overcome by the taste of her, the scent of her, and the feel of her for any semblance of refinement. Their noses bumped, their teeth clacked, and their harsh gasps for breaths intermingled, so he was breathing her in, and she, him.

  Pressing into her harder to keep her aloft, he was free to move his hands. They went straight for her tits. More than a handful, the bountiful mounds had been the star of a numerous amount of his dreams—both asleep and awake. That they filled his hands then, was a literal dream come to life.

  He squeezed, shaping them with his fingers, and she moaned again, the sound spurring him on. His thumbs found her nipples through the fabric of her t-shirt and bra and they swept across them over and over until they formed impossibly hard peaks.

  Her pussy worked his thigh, grinding down on the hard muscle, creating sexy-as-fuck little tremors to ripple through her body. He was so close to coming, he could feel it like an ache. Like a fucking bomb about to explode, the force of which would send him reeling.

  Her hands were fisted at his sides, her fingers clutching at the fine Italian fabric of his jacket. Only the best would do. Custom tailored, he needed to represent. The Family was his life. They took him in when life had all but beat him down, and he took an oath and swore his fidelity.

  What the fuck was he doing?

  He broke contact with her mouth, ripping his away, and she whimpered, her lips chasing his as he raised his head. It took every ounce of his control to take a step back, remove his hands from her body. She slid down the wall and landed unsteadily on her feet, her hands still clutching his jacket for support.

  Her chocolate orbs drilled into him, accusing before she even realized the extent of his withdrawal. And he was gone. So gone, he felt it like a crushing weight against his chest. Gone back into the recesses of his brain where he could admire Gabriella from afar. From a safe distanc
e. From a respectable distance.

  As if sensing the full impact of his retreat, she tugged at his jacket and said, “No. I won’t let you do this.”

  He steeled himself against the plea in her eyes. The beauty of her. “It’s done.”

  Tears filled her eyes, rimming the edges but not falling, and he almost broke. Almost fell to his knees and begged for forgiveness. Almost took the words back. She was the strongest person he knew, and he’d never seen her cry. That he’d nearly reduced her to do so was more than he could bear.

  Then she spoke, and it wasn’t just the word “Please” that was his undoing but also the crack in her voice as she’d said it.

  And fuck him if he could deny her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Gabby stood in front of Marco, waiting for him to speak. As time ticked away, the urge to take back her plea grew. But she wouldn’t. She wanted Marco, and no amount of urgency would change how she felt. She just wished he would say something—anything.

  And then he finally spoke. But he didn’t use words, he traced a finger down the side of her face. Starting at her temple, he slowly and softly—almost reverently—caressed a path over her cheek, only stopping when he reached her chin. Then his whole hand was cradling her jaw as his thumb came up to sweep along her lips. The heat in his eyes grew as she watched him catalog her features until it seemed she would combust from their intensity.

  “You’re so beautiful, it almost hurts to look at you.” His words, when they finally came, were whisper soft and a warm caress across her face.

  Her heart stuttered before picking up speed. His eyes shifted focus to her mouth, and she licked her lips, her tongue inadvertently connecting with the pad of his thumb. She held perfectly still in anticipation to what he would say next, not wanting to miss a single word.

  “There’s no going back from this.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to go back.”

  “Be sure, cara mia, because once you’re mine, I’m never letting you go.”