Bringing his hand to her face, Kyle gently caressed her tear-stained cheek. “Are you okay?”
She nodded her head. “I’m fine. You pushed him out of the door, Kyle.”
Taking one more step closer until her body was only an inch away from his, Kyle nodded. “He was blocking my path to you.”
Though he could tell she was slightly amused, she didn’t laugh, only shook her head. “Kyle …”
“I had no choice, colomba.”
Nodding, she gave up, giving his chest a gentle pat. “Well, thank you for not …”
“Killing him,” Kyle whispered, finishing her sentence.
Her eyes widened. “I was going to say beating him up, Kyle.”
He shrugged, too distracted by the proximity of their bodies and her sweet intoxicating scent to care that he’d just frightened her. “Same thing.”
She shook her head. “It’s not the same, honey.”
He shrugged a second time. In his world, it was. But that was neither here nor there. Right now, all he could think about was kissing her. She was still upset, and everything in him was urging him to do everything in his power to make her smile again, make her … happy. So without any further hesitation, he kissed her—soft, deep, and with every bit of love, lust, and passion he felt for her in his heart. He wasn’t trying to overwhelm her with such affection, he just couldn’t help it. She did this to him. It was like even though he was as close to her as possible, it still wasn’t enough; he wanted so much more he just didn’t exactly know what more meant to him yet …
Standing on her toes, Reanna wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, moaning as she kissed him deeper. Kyle lifted her in his arms, giving her an equal amount of control and he nearly lost his fucking mind. There was so much in her kiss, so much that he knew he never would have caught had he not abandoned his lust for control. She expressed her passion for him just as fiercely as he did for her. It was as if she got it, got him—as if she, too, didn’t know how to express her feelings in words. In that moment, Kyle felt more connected to her than he ever had.
But of course it couldn’t last forever.
Reanna was the one that reluctantly pulled away from him. “Wow,” she breathed, gripping and gently squeezing the hand he had cupping her face. “Wow …”
Kyle nodded his head in agreement. Wow indeed. Kyle didn’t think he’d ever get used to … feeling so much emotion. But he had to admit, though it still terrified him, it also excited him at the same time.
“We have to stop. This is so inappropriate.”
Frowning at her words, he shook his head in confusion. “Inappropriate?”
Maybe they weren’t on the same page about the kiss after all …
Shit.
Reanna nodded her head and motioned to the right of them. “They’re watching us, and they’re not going to stop because they’re nosey and disgusting.”
Sure enough, when Kyle looked to his right, both Ronaldo and Tamara were standing in the living room staring dead at them; Ronaldo smiling wide and fanning himself, and Tamara with an amusingly arrogant ‘I knew it’ face.
“I see.” That made sense.
He looked back to Reanna, gazing into her eyes as he tried to figure out the next best step to take. He knew he wanted to be alone with her, and by alone he didn’t mean just locked away in her bedroom. He meant actually alone, with just her and him occupying a single residence.
So what to do?
He didn’t want to go back to the City. That wasn’t an option. There was too much distraction there, work being the main one. And he didn’t want to stay here, either. He had nothing against Reanna’s sister and roommate personally, he was just highly uninterested in sharing a home with them any longer than he had to.
So that’s that, Kyle decided with a nod. They had to leave … and Kyle knew exactly where he wanted to take her.
Gripping on to her hand, Kyle brought it up to his mouth and gave it a soft kiss. “Pack a bag, colomba.” Her eyes widened with confusion, but Kyle paid it no mind. Where they were going was a surprise, one that would hopefully bring them closer together. “We’re going away for the weekend.”
Chapter 13: Suits
Calls, calls, calls, too many fucking calls …
Closing his eyes tightly, Mikilo rested his elbow on the arm of his chair as his nails dug deeply into his forehead.
This was very frustrating.
He didn’t understand how his brothers put up with this pencil pushing shit. Sitting in an office all day, talking on the goddamn phone. Mickey had only been confined in one for a few hours and he already felt the walls closing in on him. He wasn’t built for this shit; he wasn’t a fucking suit. He was an enforcer, a hit-man … whatever the fuck people called the family killer these days, that was what Mikilo Aagney Akhilesh Valente was.
He roamed free, both day and night, craving his next kill—his next chance to have his fun wherever Nathan sent him for his daily rounds. That was his life, that … freedom was everything he fucking lived for.
That was why his rational side, though fairly weak, could understand why Nathan chose to take that exact freedom as punishment for his silence on Kyle’s whereabouts.
Clenching his fists tight, Mikilo resisted the urge to throw every object on Kyle’s desk into the wall next to him. He felt like he was going to fucking explode, being stuck in here against his will, but he didn’t break, he wouldn’t break. Not this time. This wasn’t the first time his brothers had backed him into a corner, demanding to know shit that Kyle had only entrusted him with. They were just jealous, the fucking bastards. Jealous that Kyle trusted him. Jealous that he told him where he was going and who he was going with, and jealous that it was Mickey that he’d called for advice before and after he nabbed the woman of his dreams.
No, Mickey wouldn’t break. Kyle gave him his trust, again. He valued Mickey’s opinion, and even after the many times he’d fucked up and spilled his secrets in the past, he still trusted him with this one. That meant something to Mickey. So his brothers could do whatever the fuck they wanted to him … he wasn’t telling this time.
The phone rang again.
Mickey narrowed his eyes on the object, willing it to shut the fuck up before he jammed his knife into it repeatedly. But, as it had been doing since he’d gotten shut in his brother’s office, it continued to ring. It was such fucking bullshit. Nathan’s big punishment was to curse Mickey with the job of consigliere until either he came forward with Kyle’s location, or Kyle came back, whichever happened first.
Grunting, Mickey reached forward, picking up the blasted object and putting it to his ear.
“This is Mikilo—”
He wasn’t even able to say his full fucking name before the line went dead.
He slammed the phone down before falling back in his seat.
It’d been happening all day. Every time the fucking phone rang, Mickey would pick it up, and state his name as he was supposed to. Yet every time, without fail, the person on the other line would hang up the fucking phone.
When the hell did he become the one everyone was afraid to talk to? Even on a fucking phone?
Rolling his eyes, he ran his hands down his face, releasing a long sigh as he did. He didn’t know what to do next. He’d been answering phones and going through Kyle’s shit for the last couple of hours, and now, he was pretty much clueless as to what he should do. It really made him wonder what the hell Kyle did on a daily basis when he was here. He always seemed so busy, but here Mickey was, doing his job, and he was bored as fuck. Perhaps Kyle’s days were more productive. It only made sense since Mickey had no idea what he’d do if one of the many callers actually said anything back to him after he stated his name …
“Mikilo,” Nathan’s deep voice sung in an over emphasized Italian accent, as the door opened slowly, “posso entrare, fratellino? Are you still angry with me?”
“Fuck off,” Mickey shot just as the man opened the door, laughing his giant Salern
o ass off. Mickey glared at the door the moment he saw his brother wasn’t alone. Shit. “What the fuck are you guys doing here?”
This was not how he’d planned to spend his day.
“Aww, don’t act like you’re not happy to see us, Mikilo,” Dante chuckled, entering the office right behind a seemingly busy Lucca.
“Leave the man be,” Lucca muttered, never looking up from whatever paperwork was in his hand. “Can’t you see he’s upset?”
“Aww, he’s fine,” Dante insisted with a smirk. “Aren’t you, brother?”
Mickey’s face twitched in disgust as he watched them all enter Kyle’s office, Nathan still chuckling, even as he looked down at what Mickey assumed was his latest contract, and Lucca was doing the same as he walked forward and sat his fat ass on the edge of the desk. Dante, on the other hand, was carrying nothing, as he made his way to the front of the desk, his eyes shining with idiotic amusement.
Rolling his eyes at their appearance in his office, Mickey gave the lot of them a dismissive wave of his hand. “You all may as well leave. I refuse to surrender to your games, you fucking bastards.”
Apparently he’d said something hilarious because the motherfuckers laughed. Fuck them, Mickey thought with a shrug of his shoulders. They could kiss his exceptionally sculpted ass. He wouldn’t entertain such foolishness. He wasn’t a fucking kid anymore. He was a man now, had been for quite a while …
“This is no game, Mickey,” Nathan chuckled. “You know the deal. Tell me where my consigliere is, and I’ll release you from his duties …”
“Just let it go, Nate.”
“I can’t do that, Mickey, and you know that. I’m in need of his help. This is a critical time for this organization—”
“He’ll be back on Monday.”
“But he told me he’d have this peace deal wrapped up by Monday, Mikilo. How can he do that if he is not here?”
“He just …” Mickey sighed, clenching his jaw tight. “He needs more time.”
“After he convinced Nathan to move forward with this ludicrous deal, he decides it is acceptable to request more time?” Lucca interjected. “We should have gone with my plan.”
“Your plan, though effective in dealing with the Bonaducci clan, was not going to keep us out of war with the other families, Lucca,” Mickey argued. “You should have more faith in our brother, as should Nathan …”
Turning from his contract, Lucca looked at Mickey through narrowed, disbelieving eyes. “So you agree with this peace?”
“No, we agree with his strategy, Lucca.” Lucca wasn’t fooling Mickey, not in the slightest. If he was really against Kyle’s idea in the conference room weeks back, he would have put up way more of a fight then that little chair throwing outburst. That was child’s play compared to the man’s actual episodes. “Don’t act as if your little bitch tantrum was anything more than a façade to get your dose of Davina Delavigne.” The giant stalker lived to hear that woman—who normally wasn’t the most talkative woman in Carter’s organization—speak. He lashed out because he knew she had the balls to tell him to shut the fuck up. He was obsessed with the poor woman, in the most serial-killer like of ways, had every man in the Salerno Organization scared shitless to even look in the woman’s direction. Chuckling at his brother’s obsessive behavior, Mickey smirked. “Her few words to you were enough to keep this little crush you have burning hot, were they not?”
“I am a thirty-one-year-old man, I do not … crush.” He said the word with much distaste, before returning his attention to his contract, seemingly unfazed by Mickey’s taunting. “I will have that woman as my wife. The manner in which I go about getting her attention is of no concern to you.”
Mickey snorted. “And they say I’m the psychotic one.”
Lucca flashed him a wicked smile.
Fucker.
“Would the two of you please stop your bickering and focus?” Dante, the self-proclaimed peace maker, jumped in. “We need to move forward with the deal, Mikilo. This is the only reason why we wish to know where Kyle is …”
“Lies.” Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, and Mickey knew it. “Sit your gay ass down, Dante.”
Dante laughed.
“I’m not telling you shit. That goes for Lucca, too, and double for Nathan.”
“Wait,” Nathan said, feigning confusion. “Double for me to sit my gay ass down, or double that I won’t be told shit?”
Lucca and Dante burst into laughter.
Mickey’s fists clenched. “Kiss my ass, Nate. I’m still not talking.”
“Oh come on.” He gave Mickey’s shoulder a good natured slap. “You’re hurting my feelings, Mick. I’m your Don. Now come,” he rested against the edge of the desk, “tell me where I can find my consigliere. Did he go to Hope Beach? To Disney with the children?”
“No,” Mickey answered simply. “Neither of the places. Now will you just let it go, Nathan?”
“Sure,” he said, surprising Mickey.
Mickey frowned. “Yes?”
Nathan nodded. “Of course.” He stood from the edge of the desk. “You’ve kept your silence much longer than I thought you would, Mikilo. Whatever it is keeping him away, it must be important.”
“It is.”
“Then he is excused. As are you. There is much to do today, so we go now. Come …”
“Wait, so just like that,” Mickey stopped him, still in disbelief, “I’m excused?” This made no sense. Nate didn’t give up like this, ever. What was he pulling?
“Yes, brother,” he chuckled.
“Such a disappointment,” Lucca sighed, standing up from the desk. “I actually wanted to know where he was. Since when do we keep secrets from one another?”
Dante chuckled. “Let the man have his privacy. I still say he’s with the woman … Reanna. Gabriel and I have a bet going.”
“I get in on that,” Lucca said. “I say he’s with the woman, too. Finally stopped being a bitch and went after what he wanted.”
“You think so, huh?” Dante asked through a chuckle. “Okay, then. On three we look at the kid and see if we’re right …”
The fuckers didn’t even wait till three. They didn’t even give him a fucking chance to process what they were saying so that he could school his features, put on his best fucking poker face. They just looked at him, fucking looked at him, and Mickey’s expression resembled that off a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.
Shit!
“I fucking knew!” Dante exclaimed, victoriously clapping his hands.
Lucca’s laughter was as uproarious as it was obnoxious. Mickey had to fight to stay in his seat; he’d never wanted to break his own brother’s nose until this moment.
“Fucking bastards,” he spat. “Go to hell.”
“All right, all right, enough of that you two.” Nathan gave Mickey’s shoulder a pat. “Don’t listen to them, Mikilo. We know nothing.” He looked down for a moment before lifting his eyes back to Mickey’s. “Though if that were the case, if he were gone for that reason, all of us,” he said the words loud enough to silence Lucca and Dante, “would be very happy for our brother.” He looked back at Mickey. “And we’d understand why he’d want time, away from this ... world, for himself and the woman he loves to nurture their new relationship, before facing all they will have to face upon their return home. I understand that more than anyone.” He gripped his shoulder, giving him a light shake. “Are we okay?”
Nodding and relieved that Nathan stepped in, Mickey gave his brother’s hand a pat and stood from his seat. “Yes,” he sighed happily. “Thank you, Nathan,” he emphasized shooting a glare at the other two bastards.
And just as he was about to curse them out for their bullshit ass bet game they pulled, the fucking phone rang again …
Groaning Mickey slammed his fist on the desk, surely startling his brother. “Fuck!” He was sick of that sound.
“Answer it,” Nathan prompted, motioning toward the phone. “It will
be your last act as consigliere today.”
“What’s the point in answering it?” he grumbled, waving a dismissive hand toward the thing. “The second I say my name they hang up the phone.”
“Then don’t say your name.” Dante shrugged, even as he walked toward the door. “Just say the name you and your brother share.”
Rolling his eyes at the bastard’s logic, Mickey reached forward and snatched up the phone.
“This is …” He sighed, deciding he better take a bit of the edge out of his voice. “This is Valente.”
He got no response to that … at first. And had he not heard the heavy breathing still sounding in his ear he’d have hung up, thinking that the caller had done the same. But instead of hanging up, he stated his name again.
“This is Valente,” he repeated. “Who am I speaking to?”
This time there was a response, one he definitely hadn’t been expecting.
“Val-ente, Ka-Kyle Valente?”
Mickey frowned, as the shuddering sniffles of an obviously shaken woman sounded over the phone.
“Is it really you?”
It was if the room around him went black and every ounce of Mickey’s focus zeroed in on her voice. He’d never heard it before, so it wasn’t that he recognized it or anything, it was more like a feeling. An intense, disconcerting feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that made his entire body tense.
“Who is this?” Mickey asked, even as the feeling in his gut intensified.
“Is this Kyle?” the heavily accented woman cried. “Kyle, I must sp-speak to Kyle Valente. Per favore …”
“This is him.”
He hadn’t thought it through, he’d just lied. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time—to lie and say that he was Kyle. The pure, agonizing desperation in the woman’s voice had made him do it, made him … curious, even though that ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach continuously intensified.
“Y-yes?” the woman wept through a stuttered whisper. “This is you. Kyle? My Kyle?” She laughed joyfully, even as she continued to cry. “Mi bambino. Oh Dio, il mio bellissimo bambino. You sound like a man, like an … American now. Dio mio.”
Dangerous Beauty: Part Four: Beautifully Broken Page 21