The Enforcer (The Gafanelli Mob series Book 4)

by Natalie Wrye

  Marco nods at me. And turns his coal-colored eyes on Langley who shuffles on his feet in the middle of the floor, his own pistol now pointed at Delilah. My chest constricts at the sight, my heart slamming against my chest, threatening to beat its way out.

  I clench a fist, wishing it were Langley’s fucking neck. I reach for my own weapon tucked in the back of my dark jeans. I wait.

  Langley doesn’t even look at me.

  “Marco,” he directs at the man at my side. “Didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you were a smarter man than this.”

  “And I thought the Associate Director would wear a better suit than that shit. Guess we can’t be right all the time now, can we?”

  “You’re risking everything,” Langley barks across the room. “Your freedom. Your life. You just got both back and you’re willing to throw them all away? For who? Mondello? A brother? A bastard your father made just a few years before? A loyal, Fed following puppy dog who’s barely blood? You have to know better than that.”

  Marco’s eyes close and open. “I guess I don’t.”

  “You have to know that with my connections to Fletcher, the Feds… that I can get you the immunity you need. A getaway far from the prison bars other authorities believe you belong behind.” His voice softens. “I can help you, Morelli. Truly I can. But that means that you’ll have to help me first. And for a man cultivated by the mafia, I’m sure you know what that means.” Langley juts the gun in Delilah’s direction, and she whines, a small whimper leaves her duct-taped lips, making my body jerk towards her.

  I’m dying to run to her. But I can’t. I’d kill us both.

  I wait.

  “Think about it, Morelli,” Langley presses further into my brother’s brain. “I can make life really sweet for you. Money. Riches. Position. Say the word and it’s yours. Or…” His deep voice hardens, morphing into stone. “I can make life really fucking hard for you. A life as a fugitive? On the run?” He sucks his teeth, shaking his head. “That’s no life to live at all.” He tilts his head, sizing up Marco from shoe to hair. “Now you’ve got a choice to make.”

  And it seems Marco does. He regards Langley with a silent stare, his focus unwavering. A mix between a mobster and a male model, the younger Morelli stands as still as a calcified Greek statue. The set of his shoulders seems resolute but there’s a hint of curiosity in his eyes, the small glint of intrigue residing there that makes me pause, that makes my blood turn to ice as he says nothing.

  Not answering Langley. Not looking at me. Not moving a muscle.

  I take a deep breath, filling my nostrils with the heavy air. I glare at Marco. I wait.

  “I know what the right choice is…” he says, at last. He looks over at me. “And I’ve made it.” His gaze diverts back to Langley. “I’ve decided to save a life instead of taking one. And since you don’t really count as human, Associate Director, I’m going to count this hit as more of a ‘taking out the trash.’ Thanks for the memories…” He cocks his gun. “You crooked fucker.”

  And then he unloads. His silver revolver sounds out, cracking into the air a total of five furious times and every one of them lands in Langley’s body, the first dotting the space right on the older Fed’s forehead, sending him sailing backwards, his body riddled with Marco’s hollow-tipped bullets.

  The squeeze inside me releases. A few tense seconds later, I turn to Marco, the smell of gunpowder infusing the air with a finality. Of matters done. Of death.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I say to him.

  “Yes,” he arches one even dark eyebrow. “I did. Consider it a favor for now. You got to get rid of the new Enforcer like you planned and you stopped all your boss’s bitching in one fell swoop. Win-win.” He tilts his chin, humor dancing in his dark eyes. And I can’t help but let out a shaky laugh. My nerves are still fried.

  I clasp a hand on my brother’s shoulder, feeling the warmth beneath his suit, finally feeling like family after all those abandoned years. My half-sibling rotates on his heel, closing his own hand to fist bump my chest.

  A zing of understanding bounces between us, and even in the face of mayhem, murder and the mob, I sense a connection between me and my little brother I hadn’t experienced before. A Yin to his darker Yang.

  The light and the dark. The dirty angel and even dirtier demon.

  The counterpart to my wicked soul.

  Family.

  One of the pieces of my life I’m allowing myself to need. Along with Delilah, who sits not even fifty feet from me. She squirms the rest of the way out of her restraints, releasing her wrists from the rope. She rips the duck tape off her lips, rubbing as soon as it’s off, her fingers smoothing themselves over the skin just above that ruddy mouth. She looks at me.

  “About time you guys showed up. I had to pretend to be tied up all that time.”

  I grin in my growing family’s face, uttering words I haven’t articulated in many years. I reach out to shake Marco’s hand, smiling as he moves to hold it, and my smirk spreads ear to ear, the empty parts of my spirit being filled by this thankful feeling, this overwhelming gratitude that I promise not to let go. I clutch his fingers, my shaking lips barely forming the words.

  “My hero.”

  Epilogue

  TWO YEARS LATER

  JAVI

  How the fuck do you get this thing on?

  I watch a pair of miniature-sized fists squirm. Soft chubby arms swing in front of my face, and as they fight, wriggle and writhe into the sleeves of a “My Pretty Pink Princess” dress, I wipe a line of sweat from my brow, wondering how it is that I have more trouble subduing a five year old on her birthday than I do a suspect.

  Not that I’ve done much of that lately.

  With the success of The Sweet Spot, most of my time is spent sanding the tabletops for the new shop that we bought across the street, another restaurant-bar just like the one my father owned. The one I owned. A beer joint that I’ve taken to jokingly calling “The Sore Spot.”

  Right now, the only sore spot is the one in my neck from where Melanie has placed her five year-old fingers by accident, her tiny tantrum wild and uncontained as she screams for a pony that ain’t coming.

  I pull her arms the rest of the way through those puffy pink sleeves, and mingled in with sound of her Melanie’s whines, I hear the creak of an opening door. I look up to find Del in the doorway, leaning against the thick wooden frame. Her chestnut hair straightened and flowing over her shoulders, she drums the fingers of her left hand against the opposite arm, her wedding ring winking in the sunlight. She gazes at me with one arched brow.

  “Having fun?” she quips.

  “The most. Me and Melanie are having the time of our lives… after someone promised a Princess pony.” I stand from where I’m crouched as the darling pink princess in front of me rubs her eyes. “And failed to deliver.”

  Del shrugs. “I promised I would throw her a ‘Pretty Pink Princess’ party. I didn’t know that the little doll rode a pony.”

  “Oh really?” I lean in, kissing her softly. “She’s not the only one good at riding things… Don’t think you’re going to slip out of my hands the way you did last night, Mrs. Mondello. This isn’t over.” I give her a pointed look. “Not by a long shot.”

  My beautiful wife smirks. Just as Carrie bounces in, her own little rug-rat hugged to her proud, bountiful bosom. She glances down at Melanie, who’s still a teary-eyed mess.

  “My,” the red lip-painted vixen coos. “Aren’t you the prettiest pink princess there ever was?” She puts her own daughter down, looking at Melanie, who whimpers a low reply. She sniffles, long and loud.

  “But I don’t have a pony.”

  “Well, darling, that won’t do.” I shoot her a look over Del’s shoulder, and Carrie continues, the grin on her face growing with each passing moment that we all stand there, looking like idiots. “‘My Pretty Pink Princess’ isn’t a princess without her pony.”

  Del stares at her best friend
, her teeth clenching. “Carrie…”

  “That’s why…” Carrie won’t stop talking. “Your Mommy and Daddy got one for you. She’s in the yard right now.” She reaches a hand out for Melanie, who grabs it, her little face lighting up. “Now you’re missing out on your own birthday party with all the rest of the guests.” She hurdles her own daughter close to her, too. “Let’s all ride the pony and then stuff our faces with cupcake frosting. What do you say?”

  “Yeah!” both girls scream, hopping up and down like bunnies.

  Delilah mouths the words “life saver” to Carrie as she practically carries the two excited kids on her hip out the doorway. And with a blown kiss in our direction, the three Stooges scurry away, the sounds of bass-pumping pop music floating out of the backyard and into the hallway right behind them.

  I shut the door, tempted to lean against it. I glare at Delilah.

  “Good God. Talk about a save. I thought things were going to escalate to DEFCON One in here.”

  “Any longer, and they would have. That’s what Carrie does. Save lives.” She nods, smiling with a snort. “She’s saved mine more than a few times.”

  “Oh yeah?” My eyebrows rise to the sky. “And what exactly have I done for you, Mrs. Mondello?”

  “You?” She smirks and the expression is different on her face this time. It’s warmer. Full of sensuality. And with those cobalt blue eyes gleaming my way, I can feel the tired expression on my own face melt, giving way to a need that surmounts everything else but the svelte-figured woman in front of me. Even in a tight gray tank and jeans, she is everything I could have asked for. And so much more.

  I pull her into my body, pressing against her.

  “Yes,” I say. “You what?”

  “You?” She breathes into my face, wrapping her arms around my neck. “You don’t just save my life. You give me life.” She pats her growing belly, lowering one hand. “You’ve given me life. That’s more than enough.”

  “Not for me.” I shake my head slowly. “There’s something else I want to give you. And I hope you’re in the receiving mood.”

  Delilah’s gaze bounces around the room. “Here?” she asks.

  I smile. “No time like the present for a present.”

  I pull her into my arms, picking her up, and watch her face as she wraps her denim-covered legs around me, her arms squeezing tighter as desire floods into her face. I walk slowly to Melanie’s princess bed, placing her down.

  “My pretty princess,” I whisper. “You’re more than I ever could have dreamed of. And now you’re mine.”

  “Yes, Javi.” Del writhes on the bed, her eyes half-hooded. “Yours. For now and always.”

  I reach for the waistline of her jeans. Unhooking the button slowly, I reach for the zipper on her jeans, lowering it with a sigh. Gripping onto the stiffened fabric, I peel the tight light blue jeans off Delilah’s legs, kissing my way down as I do. Her whimpers are breathy, her small moan pitchy and high. I slide the pants off her feet, my gaze going to the black lacy thong between her thighs. I touch the fabric and its wet already, her pink slit glistening as I move the lace aside. I lick my lips.

  “God, you’re beautiful.”

  My name is an exhale out of Del’s mewling mouth. I lower myself to my knees, gripping the back of my wife’s thighs, and as soon as I place my mouth on the barely threaded thong, her hips jerk away, her body sensitive to the touch as I kiss gently at her clit, rubbing her silky slit slightly with my nose. I breathe in her scent.

  “Don’t get antsy on me now, Del. Take your torture like a soldier.” I grin.

  She glances down at me, her eyes barely open. “Am I being punished now?”

  “Yes. For failing to provide the pony.” I lick between her legs and she shudders. “And for making your husband too hard to form words. I can barely move around at this birthday party without pitching a tent as you wiggle your little ass in those tight jeans.”

  She laughs softly, her voice thick and throaty, longing making it heavy. “Those jeans weren’t for you.”

  I return her laugh. “Everything about you is for me. Those jeans. That ass.” I look down, nuzzling my nose even farther. “And especially this. My little ‘Pretty Pink Pussy.’” Del giggles as I say the words slowly. “Lucky for you… your husband isn’t just hung like a ‘pony’.”

  She whispers “Thank God,” and with that, I cut the conversation, French kissing the apex of her thighs. I move my mouth, lapping at her lower lips, and as my kisses trail over the flimsy lace, Delilah winds and snakes across the sheets, her lower half twisting between my hands.

  I hold her tight.

  With one ready finger, I move the fabric aside, sliding my tongue along her hot slit, circling her clit with its tip until Delilah’s body starts to tremble, her hands sweeping into my hair as she holds on for dear life, her teeth biting that cherry bottom lip until I fear it will bleed.

  I punish her more.

  I lick her like a melting ice cream cone, sucking on her wetness. I plunge my tongue inside her soaking depths until her hips start bucking and even then, I don’t stop, penetrating her over and over with my eager taste buds, savoring every sweet, silky flavor—sucking until I can’t suck anymore. Her fingers tighten on my head, begging me to stop, but I won’t. I love Delilah with my mouth—every pretty pink inch, thinking of how the woman in my arms has given me life, afforded me so much more than a bastard of a Morelli/Mondello could ever expect.

  I dip a finger into her body, and she cries out loud. The cries become a scream when I pump two fingers inside her, letting my lips trail to her plump, moistened clit which I suckle between my teeth, flicking with my tongue all the way. She wets my lips with her orgasm, and I’m almost too happy to lick it away.

  I place the fabric back, patting between Del’s still-shaking legs. She looks up at me as if she could kill.

  “That was more than torture. That was World War II water-boarding.” She heaves a softened sigh. “And the next time you want to take me to task, do you mind doing it in a more appropriate place? We could’ve broken Melanie’s bed.”

  I look down at the princess-covered sheets, grimacing slightly. “Right. I’ll make sure we wash these damn sheets.”

  And then I grab Del’s crumpled jeans from the floor.

  She slips back into them in record time, and before cake-cutting time comes, we both stroll into the kitchen, clothes strewn, our hair messed. I still smell Delilah’s scent around my lips, and it kills me when I grab a napkin, wiping it away, a small smirk on my face the entire time.

  Until our guests file back into the house from the backyard, bringing the noise with them. Melanie bounces inside the confines of the kitchen, her gap-ridden smile wide. She grabs the remote from the kitchen counter, pointing it at the huge TV screen just inside the den.

  “Melly,” she warns, her voice dipping low. “Not until later.”

  Melanie flicks through the channels fast, the TV screen blinking furiously in front of our faces. She points up at the screen.

  “But mommy, look!” Her eyes go as wide as china bowls. “There goes Javi on the screen!”

  Everybody in the kitchen turns to look. And I see Marco on the screen. I pick up a glass of water, sauntering towards the big, black square against the wall. A news reporter appears shortly after, commentating into an oversized microphone. He taps his ear.

  “It appears that former Mafia hitman and Enforcer Marco Morelli has been spotted once again, this time in the south of France. Federal authorities assert that after the prison break that rendered Morelli free that he is still considered armed and very dangerous. Officials have also inquired as to the identity of this woman…”

  He trails off, and the television report cuts a different scene. In this one, Marco is no longer alone. He walks hunched beside a woman in a hood. There’s a closeness to their bodies, a shifty demeanor. And the slight form, the captured gait of the anonymous partner beside him rings some familiar bell inside my head. The ring bec
omes an alarm the second Del steps up behind me. She gapes at the screen.

  “Is that…?” Her voice threatens to squeak. “Is that Angie?!” She almost shouts. I drop the glass.

  What’s Next?

  Kisses and Crimes FIVE, of course.

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  Also by Natalie Wrye

  THE KISSES & CRIMES SERIES

  The Bodyguard

  The Investigator

  The Imposter

  The Enforcer

  THE REVENGE SERIES

  Riske and Revenge

  Perfect Revenge

  Sweet Revenge

  THE MANHATTAN NIGHTS SERIES

  The Vow

  The Bet (Coming January 2019)

  The Deal (Coming Spring 2019)

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