Dimitri (The Italian Cartel Book 1)

by Shandi Boyes

My eyes snap back to Rocco when I spot him shaking his head in the corner of my eye. “I’m not leaving.”

  “Why not?” I want to punch myself in the gut for how whiny my voice is. It can’t be helped, I like Rocco. Outside of this dark and demented world, I believe we could be friends, but I’m soon learning you can’t take notions from outside these walls and use them here. This is a different world. Nothing is as it once was. The fact I almost came twice from two highly demoralizing activities is proof of this. “If you don’t go, he will kill me, Rocco. Is that what you want?”

  He shoos away my worry as if it’s a fly. “He won’t kill you.”

  “You just said he threatened you with panties smeared with my blood!”

  I take a step back, horrified when he replies, “Your virginal blood. Not blood blood.”

  “What?” One word shouldn’t be so breathy, but when your lungs are void of air, you work with what you have. “Who said I’m a virgin?”

  The hits just won’t stop coming. “Your daddy. He used it as a bargaining chip when Dimitri had him brought in. Don’t worry. I worked him over so good, he won’t use it again any time soon.”

  “You beat my dad because he used my ‘supposed’ virginity to bargain for his freedom?” Surprise is the last thing I feel when Rocco nods for the second time. If he has the chance of making money from it, nothing is off-limits for my father. “And Dimitri heard him?”

  Rocco’s head bob shifts to shake. “Nah, he was getting ready to spank your ass around that time.”

  The fact he talks so nonchalantly about certain subject matters should shock me, but for some reason, it doesn’t. “So how does Dimitri know I’m a virgin?”

  He rubs his hands together like a kid in a candy shop. “So, you are a virgin?”

  “That isn’t what I said.”

  His wink makes me hot even when it shouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter what you say. We both know it’s true.” When I fail to deny his accusation, he adds, “And so does, Dimi. He paid your old man a visit last night. Discovered he held off on your sale with the hope he’d fetch top-dollar for your virginity first. There is a heap of dirty old men willing to pay in the six figures to break in a tight cunt for the first time.”

  He bombards me with so many facts at once, I don’t know which one to respond to first. I guess I should start at the most important point, although it doesn’t feel like he should have the top rung on my worries. “Is my father alive?”

  Rocco halfheartedly shrugs. “Kinda. Might not be if his theories don’t stack up.”

  “Theories?” Although I’m asking a question, I don’t wait for him to answer. “You can’t believe anything he says, he’s a pathological liar. He’ll say anything if it helps him.”

  “Like saying you’re a virgin?” I shoot him a wry look. It doubles the width of his toothy grin. “He had information about a baby-making ring near your hometown.” His smile is completely obliterated when he mutters, “He told Dimitri the names of the playmakers he met when he tried to sign you up for their service.” I haven’t gotten over my first shock when he hits me with another. “His confession hit Dimi hard. That was too close to home for him to ignore.” After dragging his eyes over my face, he says, “You remind him of his wife.”

  I groan before joining him on the bed. “That’s the last thing I want to hear.”

  Dimitri spared my life on the belief I could help locate his daughter, but what has his focus been on the past four days? My fucked-up past.

  The pain in my chest eases when Rocco barges me with his shoulder. “Not who she was, what she was missing. The spark. The feistiness. The desire so strong, even when you hate him, you’ll still take his dick between your lips.” He laughs when I scoff during the last half of his comment. “Deny it all your like, Princess P, you’ve been walking around the past four days with a doe-eyed look I haven’t seen since a rainy afternoon in an alleyway many months ago.”

  After falling backward onto the mattress, I throw an arm over my eyes. “You saw the footage from the alleyway?”

  Rocco drags my arm to my side while answering, “Nah. I saw Dimitri’s face when he re-entered the limo.” He boinks my nose. “He had the same doe-eyed look you have now. You fascinate him.” He laughs like I’m an idiot when I roll my eyes about his highly inaccurate statement. “Why do you think he reacted the way he did last night?”

  I make a ‘duh’ face. “Because he didn’t want your aftershave embedded in his pillow?”

  I slant my head, so I can peer at him beneath lowered lashes when he chuckles out, “Dimi isn’t worried about me. You’re not fucked-up enough for me. He’s just struggling to understand why he wants you when he shouldn’t.”

  “He isn’t the only one struggling,” I say before I can stop myself. “He killed my boyfriend, murdered men directly in front of me, and had my father brought in to be tortured—”

  “To be tried for crimes we both know he committed,” Rocco corrects.

  I continue talking as if he never interrupted me, “Yet, I forget everything happening when he’s standing across from me.” My horrified expression grows. “My brain must have seeped out of my head when it cracked open.”

  Rocco laughs like I’m joking. I wish I were. Something drastically changed for me in that alleyway all those months ago. Unfortunately, I don’t mean the night Eddie used his car as a weapon. My life hasn’t been the same since my eyes locked on a dark, shadowy figure in the pouring rain. I was so convinced he’d award me the adventure I was seeking, it made everything since seem mundane.

  After a prolonged stretch of silence, I roll onto my hip until I’m facing Rocco front-on. He’s stretched out lazily, at ease with our friendship as me. “Can I see my father?”

  Any humor left on his face evaporates before he shakes his head. When he sees the disappointment on my face, he says, “Dimitri won’t kill him until you give him the go-ahead, but seeing him like that won’t do you any favors.”

  He appears as shocked as me when I ask, “What if I don’t want him to die? What if I want him to live?”

  “Is that what you want?”

  I shrug, truly unsure. My father isn’t a kind man, but does the occasional whack of a belt across the back of my thighs warrant the loss of his life? I say no, but I also don’t know the full extent of my so-called ‘sale.’

  “Will keeping him alive help get Dimitri’s daughter back?”

  Rocco waits a beat before halfheartedly jerking up his chin. “Possibly.”

  “Then I guess we have to keep him alive.” I roll off the bed, straighten out my clothes, then walk to the door to open it for Rocco. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To help Dimitri find his daughter?” It sounds as if I’m asking questions, but I am more summarizing my position in Dimitri’s life than seeking answers from Rocco. “Forcing him to interact with me won’t do that. It will only make matters worse.”

  As the creak of my bedroom door being opened sounds though my ears, Rocco slips off my bed. “There’s no shame giving a man a reason to live, Roxie.”

  “That’s what his daughter is for.”

  While shaking his head, he tsks me. “Some things you can’t get from your blood.” He tucks a strand of blonde hair behind my ear before trekking his finger down the throb in my throat. “You should know that better than anyone.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Dimitri

  I clutch my phone in a death-tight grip when Rocco trails his index finger down the vein working overtime in Roxanne’s neck. She’s giving him no indication whatsoever she’s interested in anything he’s selling, but he still can’t help but touch her.

  I’d order for the valet to bring my car around immediately if I hadn’t noticed Roxanne’s panties in the middle of our bed. If Rocco truly wanted her, he wouldn’t give up her panties for anything. He would have kept them as a trophy, paraded them in a way I tried to act unaffected by when I handed them to him. You only ever give something away like that when you’re not
interested, or you want people to believe you have no interest in them.

  I’m in the latter field.

  Do you have any idea the immense amount of control it took for me to end things where I did last night? My cum was smeared from Roxanne’s collarbone to the rim of her teeny tiny panties, yet, it still wasn’t enough. I wanted every inch of her smelling like me—her tits, her ass, that delectable pussy that appears more ravishing the more times I see it. I just don’t want my insatiable appetite to negatively impact my daughter as it has in the past.

  Claiming Roxanne’s virginity would do that. Her purity gives me a way into the world I’m petrified is holding my daughter captive. It’s the key I’ve been seeking the past twenty months, and the very reason my gut is twisted up in knots.

  A virgin—fuck. I still can’t believe it. Roxanne has the spunk of five women, and the gall of a hundred, but she hasn’t even unleashed her full potential yet. Imagine the power she’ll yield when she realizes how some men can be controlled by their cocks? They move mountains for the right woman, break the rules.

  They even feel sick at the thought of selling her purity to the highest bidder.

  I don’t want to do this, however I don’t have a choice. If I want any chance of raising my daughter, I have to sell my soul to the devil, or at the very least, Roxanne’s.

  Fighting the urge not to demand Smith to send someone to Roxanne’s room to forcefully remove Rocco, I shut down the live stream of her room, slip my phone into my pocket, then slide into the booth one of my father’s most respected comrades just vacated.

  My father’s eyes reveal his shock at my arrival, but he plays it cool like he always does. “Son, what brings you to New York? I didn’t think this was your scene.”

  While silently mocking me about my dislike of the wife-swapping caucuses that net the Petretti entity a tidy profit every year, he strays his eyes over the two-hundred plus attendees at the annual event. I understand most of the men’s objectives in this room, fucking the same woman for the rest of your life could get tedious, but why shell out thousands of dollars to have another man’s leftovers for the night? And don’t get me started on the fact they’re happy to loan their wives out. That isn’t something I could ever do. If you touch what is mine, expect to pay dearly for it.

  Rocco is about to learn that the hard way.

  “I have a business proposal I’d like your opinion on before moving forward with plans. I heard whispering that you’re in favor of this type of industry. Although I could have waited until you returned home, this is a time-sensitive matter.”

  After signaling for the topless waitress responsible for keeping my father’s glass well-stocked to bring me a double shot of whiskey, I dig out the photo I had Smith print earlier today before sliding it to my father’s side of the table. It’s a still image of Roxanne after I left her in the sex chamber. Her eyes are wide and terrified, her cheeks are flushed, and the undeniable gleam of lust makes her pasty white skin look almost translucent. She puts forth the image of a woman in desperate need of a hard and rough fuck, but her innocence is undeniable.

  I’m not surprised when my father tosses Roxanne’s photo down without the slightest smidge of recognition forming in his eyes. When you’ve been in this industry as long as him, you don’t recognize one blonde over another. It’s why I had a member of my staff peroxide Roxanne’s hair before booking an emergency dermatologist appointment to lighten her scar. Two simple changes immediately removed her from my father’s radar.

  I was hoping it would be the same for me. Alas, even knowing how much grief she’s brought into my life hasn’t altered my opinion of her. I’m as captivated by her as I was when she tried to hide her beauty with chunky boots and punk meal attire. I just can’t react to my impulses this time around. Until Fien is safe, business must come first.

  My dreary thoughts snap back to the present when my father says, “She’ll fetch a few thousand a night. Call Mario, he’ll put her straight to work.”

  He arches a bushy brow when I reply, “I want more than a few thousand for her. She’s untouched. Pure. The wholly fucking grail of womanhood.” My father tries to act disinterested, but I can smell the excitement slicking his skin. “She can cook. She had above-average grades in school and is obedient to a fault. I doubt it would take much to train her to her master’s specifications, but I’m also curious to discover if there’s a way I could profit off her more than once.” My words aren’t mine. I stole them from Roxanne’s father.

  My father stares at me for several heart-thrashing seconds before he lowers his hooded gaze to Roxanne’s photo. “Has her purity been verified?”

  “Yes,” I lie. “I attended her appointment in person. Moses could barely slip his index finger inside of her.”

  When the waitress sets down my glass of whiskey, I raise it to my mouth, needing something to hide the clench of my jaw when the recognition I was seeking earlier darts through my father’s eyes. I’ve never met Moses. I merely used a name Roxanne’s father blurted out when I crucified his insolence one nail at a time.

  He isn’t bound to a chair with rope anymore.

  He’s nailed there.

  My smirk slips when my father asks, “What were the results of her scan?”

  I almost stumble, but the quickest memory of Ian blubbering about him not being able to afford a scan of Roxanne’s ovaries and uterus for the delay in her sale keeps my ruse authentic. “They were clear. She’s ready to breed.”

  “Hmm…” He slouches low into his chair before twisting his lips. He hates the idea of trusting me, but since I’ve never given him any reason not to, he does. Thank fuck. “She’d make a decent profit by selling her virginity then putting her in the trade, but I think you’re right, the margin will be larger in another market.” Not willing to give away his trade secrets in front of people he considers lesser than him, he props his elbows onto the table wedged between us before leaning over to my half. “There are several ways you could do this. Where do your interests lie?”

  “On whatever makes the most money.”

  He huffs out a proud chuckle. That’s all my father cares about—money. “It does make the world go around.” After another laugh that’s more creepy than exciting, he asks, “Is she your only asset?”

  “For now,” I lie again. “I have others in the works, but I figured I’d tip my toes into the water with her first, get a sense of the market. I’ve grown bored of the prostitution conglomerate. I need something fresh and exciting.” Don’t ask why my mind strayed to Roxanne during my last sentence. It just did. “But I’m out of my league here, Pops. I need a big gun to show me the way.” That fucking hurt to say. Every word was the equivalent of dragging a razor blade up my throat. It stung like a thousand bees, but it was extremely effective. I’ve never seen my father look as pompous as he does now.

  “Let’s talk somewhere private. We can’t be sure our competition isn’t listening in.”

  I down my whiskey in one hit before following his slide out of the booth. Its burn gives me an excuse for the heat on my cheeks when a ghost of my past flies back into my life on her witch’s broom.

  Theresa Veneto was once in charge of the narcotics division at Ravenshoe PD. She’s also one of the female officers I mentioned who are willing to disregard drug distribution tips when she’s flat on her back being fed my dick. We played nice when we needed to. When we didn’t, things turned ugly.

  I lost thirty thousand dollars in un-cut coke when she walked in on her deputy giving me head. That’s a street value of over two hundred thousand dollars. I didn’t take the hit in revenue well. If it weren’t for Audrey calling to tell me she was pregnant with Fien, Theresa wouldn’t have left Ravenshoe PD breathing.

  Strands of long blonde hair fall onto Theresa’s shoulder when she leans in to place a kiss on the edge of my father’s mouth. “I thought we were dining alone tonight?”

  A well brought up person would acknowledge her quiet tone as a wish to keep he
r conversation between my father and herself. I’m not close to normal. “Plans changed. You can see yourself out.”

  When I click my fingers two times, demanding for one of my father’s goons to show Theresa the door, she locks her eyes with my father’s. “Col?” Shock filters across her attractive face when he doesn’t immediately jump to her defense. “We have business to discuss.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m aware of why you’re here and what your nagging will entail.” My father’s snapped tone reveals he’s less than impressed with her whine. “But this can’t wait. Megan can.”

  After dismissing Theresa with a wave of his hand, he commences walking toward the exit. I shadow his stalk, albeit a little slower. I’ve heard the name Megan before. It’s a common name, so that isn’t surprising, but it isn’t every day it’s mentioned in front of a cop who put a man away for life for the murder of a woman with the same name.

  My father agreed to spare Justine’s life on the agreement Maddox would take the wrap for the murder of a local woman. Her name was Megan Shroud.

  “Smith—”

  “Cross-referencing all Megans who’ve had contact with your father and Theresa Veneto now. I’ll come back to you as soon as I have anything significant,” he says down the bead-size listening device in my ear.

  Even though he can’t see me, I jerk up my chin before increasing the length of my strides. I reach my father just as he breaks through a group of people milling on the sidewalk. Worry that he overheard my brief conversation with Smith smacks into me when he grumbles under his breath, “I should have known he’d be around. He’s always meddling in business that has nothing to do with him.”

  I’m about to defend Smith but lose the chance when my father tears away from my side. I curse into the cold night air when I spot who he’s making a beeline for. Isaac Holt is making his way out of a nightclub a few spots down from the venue my father’s function was held at. He’s clutching the hand of a pretty brunette with flushed cheeks and a wobbly stride.