Dirty, Bruised Martini: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Nikki Belaire

  You shook your head, waving me off when I tried to argue the reality of the facts. If that wasn’t enough to deter you, I told you that I was offended because I can take care of myself. My own irritation rising as I explained that I don’t need or want you controlling me. Your face may have been impassive but the severity of your tone left no doubt of your reaction to my complaints, when you told me I was now yours to protect.

  I should have been beyond furious at you. Who are you to try and take over my business and make decisions on my behalf? And I was. Kind of. But you made it so darn difficult with your sincerity. How could I be mad at someone who worries about my safety enough to go to all this trouble? To spend his time and money to ensure my well-being?

  Even more curious that you cared. So quickly and so deeply. After just one photography session, following a single date. That you felt this intense urge to take care of me. To buy me a building instead of a latte like a normal man.

  That made you laugh. All of your indignation evaporated. “I’ll buy you a latte too if that’s what you want. Caramel or vanilla?” you asked with a mischievous tone.

  So then I was the one who was mad. You were being obtuse on purpose. Teasing me instead of discussing the issue with me. Acting calm and untroubled. As if I’m the crazy one. Winking at me before you walked off to inspect the storage room. Leaving me to chase after you. Boy did I. I hustled as fast as my stilettoes would let me and yanked the back of your jacket. The cashmere suit luxurious under my fingers. Rich and opulent. Like you. Like this place. Like your life.

  Not me or mine.

  All of your cocky nonchalance faded when I told you I didn’t want this. I didn’t want you like this. I didn’t want you trying to buy me.

  I learned quickly why people fear you. No one defies you and lives long enough to regret their challenge of you. But I made that mistake. I could tell you were summoning all your patience to rationalize why me working there made perfect sense.

  You have money, I don’t. You want me to be safe despite how unconcerned I am with my own security. You want me to have this because a man takes care of his woman. You explained to me why I’m the crazy one between us not to accept your gift.

  Well, that messed with my entire rationale. Making me question my logic. Causing me to doubt my judgment. My arguments seemed trifling. You could do what you want with your money. It wasn’t like you were going to go broke or anything. One loft in a huge building could be spared for me.

  I knew deep down inside it was all levels of wrong and crazy and irrational. But that’s what you make me. What you do to me. I told you I had to think about it. You ignored me. I told you I would let you know. You said nothing. I told you if, and only if, I agreed, I would pay you something toward the rent. You went back to checking out the cabinet interiors. When I told you I was leaving, that finally got a reaction.

  This time you chased after me. I wanted to hate you as well as my body’s reaction when your hands slid around my waist and you whispered in my ear. But you are some kind of sorcerer, and I stupidly let you hold me and reassure me that you would never hurt me. Promising me that you’d make sure I’d never regret giving myself to you. Vowing that all you wanted was to spoil me and if that included buying me a damn building then that’s what you’d do. Swearing that you never wanted anyone the way you want me and you couldn’t let me walk away.

  And my stupid head and heart and lady bits liked all of that. Way more than I should have. I knew better. You were a dangerous mobster who could kill me as easily as look at me. Stuff my body in the cupboard you just rifled through. But I couldn’t help myself. Death be damned. I wanted everything you offered.

  Earlier I was berating myself for wearing a slinky dress and carefully applied make up to look good for you. Which is bad enough to be one of those kind of girls, and now I’m considering accepting this extravagant present from you. I know I didn’t have much experience—well hardly any if I’m honest—and there I was acting like a fool over you. At that point, I almost certainly deserved to be strangled and stuffed in that closet.

  But luckily you weren’t a psycho or a serial killer or a rapist. Just an impulsive, passionate, generous man who wanted to pamper me for no other reason than you could. My naïve heart swirled in my chest as I nodded. Accepting you for who you are and agreeing to let you in my life. Because I knew you’d never leave me.

  Well, at least not in the way you did.

  I think about you while Jane makes me do this stupid exercise.

  I’m not good at talking. Or sharing my feelings. Or examining my emotions.

  I’m a simple man when it comes to you, rosy girl.

  I love you.

  I fuck you.

  I protect you.

  Well, I did. Somehow I fucked that up. But I never will again, I fucking guarantee you that.

  According to Jane I can’t focus on that right now. Even though my guys are still running down how that motherfucker took you, she doesn’t have to know about that. You don’t have to know about that either.

  Instead I’m going to tell her—you—about when I fell for you. So fucking hard like a fist to the temple you almost knocked me out. The feeling was so damn powerful. Nothing like I’d ever experienced before.

  You have this fire, this determination I fucking love. You had fucking pride in your Dad, yourself, your skills. I get that. I get loyalty. I get making things happen. I get independence.

  You’re like the soft, sweet, beautiful version of me. Yeah, I know that’s fucked up. But that’s why we’re perfect together. You and me. Mentally and physically. Fuck, physically, rosy girl, you make my dick rock hard to the point of pain.

  Remember the first time I fucked you? I had that gorgeous body laid out across my bed with my hand wrapped up in your hair and my tongue sucking on your dainty throat.

  You seemed shocked when I pulled back. Hell I was shocked myself. But I was out of control with you moaning and frantic underneath me. I didn’t want a quick fuck. You deserved better and for the first time ever I wanted to give a woman everything I never had before.

  The frowned deepened when I climbed off the mattress and tugged your trembling hand, standing you up on your feet. I smiled, trying to reassure you while I ignored my furious cock.

  I loved your curiosity as you watched me in the mirror. I’d already claimed you as mine, and now I was ready to own you completely.

  You’re smaller than any other woman I’d been with. The top of your head fit just under my chin. My frame wider than yours as we stood back to chest. I knew I would have to remember to be careful when I fucked you. Not be too rough.

  Although even back then I knew you’re tougher than you look. I could tell you worked out, probably played sports for fun, always energetic so you were naturally slim. But your tits were still nice size. Real too. Which I liked. I know you probably thought I was an ass for telling you that, but it’s the truth. Why lie?

  I palmed your hips. Delicate bones disappearing under my fingers. Narrow—maybe too narrow to bear my children. You giggled at my comment. Questioning if I wasn’t rushing things just a tiny bit. Your laughter died away when I told you I was serious. That our daughters would probably be small like you. But I worried about our sons if they were built like me. That scared me. A whole fucking lot. I’d have to find a really good doctor who knew what the fuck they were doing to make sure everything would be okay. That you and my children would be all right.

  I loved the blush. All the way down to the little vee between your breasts. God, you’re fucking gorgeous when your creamy skin flushes like that. So I told you all the plans I had for you—for us—to make the fire blaze brighter. How I was going to fuck you slow and sweet at first. How I would get you off over and over with my tongue and my fingers so your pussy was as ready for me as I could get it. Because when I took you I was going to hurt you, rosy girl and it was going to kill me to see you in pain that I caused. Not bragging when it’s the truth. But I’m too big for you
, and I know it. I hate it. But not enough to keep me from fucking the woman I love and putting my babies in your little belly. Swore to you I would be gentle and it would get easier each time. You nodded. Your huge blue eyes earnest and eager and accepting of my assurance.

  Incapable of holding myself back any longer, I moved from your hips to your waist and trailed lower. Loving your shocked gasp as my thumbs breached the lacy edge of the cotton fabric and yanked them down your thighs. Neither of us breathing as the bikini slid over your slender legs to the floor. The pink silk so chaste against the chocolate hardwood. Adorable the way your elegant fingers wrapped around mine. Not to help me ravish you. No you’re much too pure for that. You thought you needed to cover yourself. To hide from me. To keep me from seeing what belongs to me.

  All my will power was used not to slap your hand away. You didn’t know any better. Yet. Instead, I grasped your small hand, taking the tip of your finger to swirl in the faint covering of soft hair. Trimmed and neat but definitely there. Which was the perfect reflection of your innocence, and I fucking loved it. Then we glided down to your clit, and I felt your petite body tense between my arms. Pushing back against me, which only served to shove your cute ass into my thighs and your slender back against my throbbing cock. With just my jeans between us. Your head drooped forward when I asked you why you were frightened. Why you wouldn’t want me to pleasure you.

  When you refused to answer, my other hand slid to your delicate neck and lifted your chin so I could see your gorgeous face. You finally smiled when I told you never be afraid to give into what I want. That I would always make you happy in return. When you shook your head and told me I was conceited, I knew you loved me as much as I loved you. When your slender torso arched upward from me sliding between your silky skin, I knew you would never deny me again.

  My hand moved from your jaw to your eyes. I loved you watching me fuck you. But we had plenty of time for that. Right now I need you to feel me. To experience what I was capable of when your pussy was under my control. This time you didn’t tense. You trusted me already, and I fucking loved that too.

  Feather light touches explored your folds, your clit, your walls until my fingers were drenched. It was beautiful. You’re beautiful. I gave you the first taste, your mouth opening automatically when I brushed your lips, and I whispered in your ear how fucking magnificent you look when you’re dripping wet for me. Then I sucked those tiny fingers into my mouth and couldn’t control the growl that bubbled in the back of my throat. For you. For your essence. For your submission to me.

  Fuck, I can’t let Jane read this. But I’m more than eager to tell you, rosy girl. I’d love to fucking show you all over again. I know it’s too soon for that. I’m an impatient man. Yet when it comes to you, I’ll fucking wait forever.

  I think about him when I call my mom.

  Tapping the key pad with trembling fingers, I was terrified I’d blurt out the truth of what he put me through. I’d mess up the story I was supposed to be telling her and instead admit what he did to me. I’d never lied to her before. Always burdened with a naturally guilty disposition as a child and teenager, I’d confess everything with just one disappointed shake of her head.

  So I really, really wanted to tell her everything. Not just because I was ashamed of lying. But because I want her to know.

  As much as it hurts me to admit this—since I know my confession would hurt you too—I wish I had someone else to share this with besides just us. I love you so much but you’re angry. Angry like I am. Both of us furious and vengeful and broken. She would be too, but in a different way. She’d want to defend me as a woman and my mother and the person who has known me the longest in the whole world. I sound babyish and sentimental, I know. Sometimes a girl just needs her mom. I need her to cry for me and with me. Hate him and comfort me. Comfort you too. That’s what mothers do.

  I realize that’s also unfair. To you and to her. You’ve given me everything without expecting anything in return and I should be more grateful. I am grateful. It just isn’t easy to console you with your heartache when I’m so damaged myself.

  Besides, she’s safe. You continue to protect her, and I can’t jeopardize her security or her innocence over who you are and what you do. Or by telling her the truth. So I need to keep up the guise. I promise I would and I will. I did.

  Somehow I made it through our conversation. Pretended the massages were the best I’d ever experienced. Raved how adorable my glittery purple fingers and toes look. Laughing I never drank so much minty / cucumber / lemon infused water. All I can hope is she believed me when I assured her I was fine and happy and healthy. That I won’t go so long again without calling her. That we’ll absolutely get together for the holidays. That the cracking in my voice was simply emotion from hearing hers again and nothing else. I definitely wasn’t crying.

  At least my agreement wasn’t a lie when she doted on you. Few men are as generous as you are. Unwilling to spoil a woman as much as you do me. I could tell from your expression you didn’t feel the same from her compliments. I don’t know how to convince you otherwise.

  I think about my own mom when you call yours.

  After twenty years, most of the memories have faded. I can’t recall her laugh or voice or scent any more. The few that remain are the ones of her when she was the happiest. When she’d play piano for my grandfather who loved the traditional songs from the old country as he called them. When she’d make her signature Bloody Mary’s for my father. Rubbing his shoulders for a few minutes before he’d pull her onto his lap and nuzzle her neck. She’d slap his big hand away, attempting to stop him from wandering up her thigh, but she didn’t mean it. I’d act like I was disgusted by their display of affection, but I didn’t mean it either. I liked that my parents were still in love after all the years they’d been together.

  Probably sick, but I’m glad they died together. I don’t think either of them would be happy without the other. I was fifteen and able to take care of myself. Then a few years later take over the business from Uncle Stavros after his stroke. He never stopped blaming himself for the car bomb that stole both of them from us too soon.

  I guess that’s where I got my penchant for bombing my enemies. Nothing provides more satisfaction that the destruction fire ensures. Feels good to return the favor to those assholes. Even if they aren’t the ones to murder my parents. They killed someone else who’s loved and missed. Payback is a great fucking check to cash.

  Especially when it’s on your behalf, rosy girl.

  But I don’t want to think about that right now. All I want to do is hold you when you hang up your phone. As much as I want to blame that bastard for making you cry, I know it was really me. Damn it!

  I think about him as you reveal your secret.

  Your horrible, horrible secret that you’ve been keeping for sixteen days. You break my heart Kane. All the anger and guilt and fury you’re carrying around. For me. I knew you were hurting. That you were upset. But I had no idea. No real understanding the damage this has done to you too. As much as I hate him too, I can’t let you do this to him anymore. To yourself anymore. You’re hurting yourself more than you could ever hurt him.

  I think about him when you plead with me to stop torturing him.

  It fucking destroys me when you ask for mercy for him after what he’s done to you. Even worse that you look at me like I’m a monster when I describe to you the daily torture he endures at my hands. That he absolutely fucking deserves. Jamming a long steel rod into his asshole. Slicing off each finger piece by piece—nail then knuckle then joint. Shredding his skin with a sharpened grater. Glorious fucking revenge for each day that he held you. For each day he kept you from me. For each fucking day he made you think I wasn’t coming. That I was giving up. That I didn’t care anymore.

  I am a monster, rosy girl. I’m a monster fucking delirious with the relentless desire for vengeance on that bastard. I’m so desperate to punish him for the torment he’s caused you. I
love my floor coated in his blood, thick and glistening like a ruby red ocean when I flick on the light. Not that he can see without his eyes or hear without his ears. Yet somehow he senses I’m there to mutilate him some more. Crying and begging until I ripped out his tongue. Kicking in futility with the stumps of his legs. Arching back against the cold, hard concrete only to have what’s left of his skin be sliced from the bladed surface.

  Surprising, all in all, because I didn’t think he would last as long as he has. But for you, I will slice out his heart today. I will end this only because you asked me to. I will do fucking anything for you.

  You say it’s for me. To keep me from falling deeper into this pit of suffocating retaliation. The need for retribution stronger than quicksand pulling me farther away from you and us and what we need to focus on. We can’t heal with him strung up in the dungeon I created for him. Far enough away from you that he’ll never see your angelic face. Smell your strawberry shampoo. Feel your silky skin. God damn it I’m furious again writing about what he fucking stole from me. The hell he put you through that I can’t take back no matter what punishments I dole out to him.

  I think about him while I wait for you.

  To return to our bed. A place where we should feel comfortable and relaxed. Although we haven’t felt that contentment in a long time. Especially tonight. I can’t find any respite without you. Well aware of what you’re doing, I can’t settle down. Unable to sleep. Incapable of stopping the images of your vengeance from floating through my mind.

  I wanted to comfort you and protect you because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop you. But I also couldn’t be anywhere near him. You’d never let me anyway.

  But I hope I can offer you some solace when you return. I pray that you come back and let me be the one to help you.