by Avery Hawkes
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Blank Page
Chapter One - Lance
Chapter Two - Rosabella
Six years earlier
The bastard broke my heart and I wasn’t one to forgive
Chapter Three - Lance
Chapter Four - Rosabella
Chapter Five - Lance
Chapter Six - Rosabella
Chapter Seven - Lance
Chapter Eight - Lance
Chapter Nine - Rosabella
Chapter Ten - Lance
Chapter Eleven - Rosabella
Chapter Twelve - Lance
Chapter Thirteen - Rosabella
Rosabella
Chapter Fourteen - Lance
Chapter Fifteen - Lance
Chapter Sixteen - Rosabella
Chapter Seventeen - Rosabella
Backmatter
Copyright © 2016 Avery Hawkes
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1532848346
CHAPTER ONE
Lance
Funerals were not the most appropriate places to have an erection.
Now was not the time to be checking out Rosabella Rossi, but I couldn’t help myself. Her huge rack rose up and down in her fitted black dress. The fabric didn’t leave much up to the imagination. Rosa had the tight body of a yoga instructor; I had to stop myself from thinking about all the positions she could twist into.
I cleared my throat and shifted my weight. I could feel my hard dick against the rough fabric of my black trousers. Luckily, a few family friends sat in front of me, blocking the view of my crotch from her father and brothers.
The Catholic priest droned on, talking about the life of Federica Rossi, Rosabella’s great aunt. She had recently died of cancer at the age of 93. The old broad lived a long and fulfilling life and based on the amount of people who surrounded her coffin, she had been well-liked.
My eyes glanced back at Rosabella once I had my dick under control. She was much more gorgeous than the rebellious teenager I remembered. She had replaced her large, clunky glasses with contacts, making her light blue eyes piercing. Those beautiful eyes were watering now, hot tears falling down her cheeks. I wanted nothing more than to walk over and take her in my arms, but it had been years since we had last talked. She probably didn’t recognize me either. The boy she had known years ago was now a man and an ex-Marine at that. After years of training and two deployments to Afghanistan, I had become extremely muscular. My mother hadn’t even recognized me when I stepped off the plane. Even if Rosabella didn’t know who I was, I didn’t care. All I knew was that I wanted her and I was used to getting what I wanted.
I kept studying her new look. Her blonde hair was worn in loose curls, which framed her round face and fair chest. My eyes stopped to eye her cleavage again. I about whistled. They had to be DD’s at LEAST. Before I could get myself riled up once more, something caught my eye. Four men stood next to Rosabella. One of them stared me down, catching my glance once my eyes left her lovely breasts. The man glared at me, but I couldn’t blame him. The oldest of the Rossi brothers just caught me ogling his sister at their aunt’s funeral. I acted like I didn’t notice his warning look, feigning interest in the priest’s long sermon.
Everyone knew not to get in the way of the Rossi brothers. Their father, Marco, had a reputation around Jersey for being involved with the Italian Mafia. Not just involved, he was rumored to be one of the highest ranking Italian mobsters in the United States. He had six children―two girls and four boys. While the girls were protected and doted on, the boys helped their father manage the crime rings out of New Jersey. All the Rossi’s were dangerous, especially to those affiliated with the government―like myself.
I wasn’t one to turn down a challenge. If I had to be discreet in my business with their sister, so be it. A few low-life criminals wouldn’t stop me from my prize.
I decided to look them over, it had been a while since I’d seen the family. The Rossi brothers had been widely popular in high school, since they had a lot of money and connections to drug rings. While I’d kept my head down in high school to steer clear of their attention, many others hadn’t been so lucky. There were at least 4 teenagers who ended up in the hospital because of … disagreements with the brothers.
The oldest one who had stared me down, Matteo, stood with his back straight. He was the shortest of the brothers. What he lacked in height, he made up for in temper. It wasn’t quite known what his job was, but from the way he held himself, I could tell he had been trained in combat since I had last seen him. The guy had hands that could kill a man in a second and were comparable to the size of dinner plates.
Next to him were the twins, Luca and Simone. Both had tied for first in our class in high school. Unlike the other siblings, I had spent the most time in class with the twins. They were quiet and mostly kept to themselves. Their smarts had gotten them into some prestigious program in business development bullshit. They were as intelligent as they were cocky, which I could appreciate. Smart asses.
The youngest brother, who just happened to be the tallest and most accomplished, was Davide. He stood with an arm around his younger sister, Regina, weeping like a child. Though his tears made him look like a softy, I’d heard he’d proven himself to the criminals above his father. What my eyes saw beneath the emotional show was a trained killer.
Their family stood in a perfect line that lead down to the head of the family, holding his wife’s hand. Marco was like a statue as he looked out on his aunt’s casket. There was no sadness in his eyes, nor did any emotion pass over his face. He was the king pin and reason for any crime in the area. No one dared to cross Marco or any of his kin, unless they wanted to find themselves at the bottom of the Hudson river.
My eyes darted around the cemetery. It would take more than a week for me to get used to civilian life. Even at an old lady’s funeral I was sizing up threats and pinpointing enemy combatants.
It looked like the entire town had come out to celebrate the life of Federica. The Italian community in Newark was large, but I hadn’t realized how prolific she had been in the town at large. When I was a kid, I would always see her in the local newspaper. Bullshit charity events, speaking at town hall meetings on the “wayward youth”; you know, the ones that smoked pot behind the YMCA. Like me. That sort of old broad. She was loved by all the women in the Catholic community. She would provide the flower arrangements for church, holidays, and weddings. When my Mom would drag me to mass, the odor of flowers would about put my nose out of service.
At breakfast that morning, Mom had said, “What a pity, this town will be less of a bright place without her.”
I could only roll my eyes.
I had read about her death in the paper the Sunday after I returned home. My mother couldn’t go because she was working her shift at the local diner, but she forced my hand. IF it was anyone else I would have punched them in the mouth, but there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for my ma. She had been fond of the old bag.
The casket descended. I watched as the family lined up to place tokens and flowers on the woman’s casket as it was lowered into the earth. When it was Rosabella’s turn, she stopped for a moment to lean in toward the wooden box before it was in the ground. She whispered something I couldn’t hear before placing a flower on it. A kind gesture.
When she turned around to follow her brothers, she looked up at me. While my first thought was to flash my usual cocky grin, I didn’t think the event was fit for it. Instead, I met her gaze, my steady eyes meeting her watery ones.
Then, I nodded and turned away, walking toward the parking lot to the cemetery.
Fuck. Her face was burnt into my brain. She had looked right through me without the slightest hint of recognition. Had she forgotten about me? It was difficult to tell. After what had happened in high school, I wouldn’t blame her for ignoring me out of spite. Everything in me wanted to turn back and talk to her, but I wasn’t going to risk being scrutinized by her family.
No, I’d have to find a way to talk to her alone.
My ride was where I left it in the parking lot. The metal gleamed in the mid-afternoon sun. The first thing I had done when my boots hit the dirt in the states was to buy myself a Harley. There was something about how the bike purred underneath me that made me feel freer than I had ever been as a Marine.
I gave the old-girl a pat and startled her before sliding my helmet on.
Taking a second to let my ride warm up, I watched as the group of people started to disperse. They’d be filing off to the wake to eat funeral potatoes and pretend to care. If I played my cards right, the wake would be the best place to get Rosabella alone.
But to do that, I’d have to infiltrate enemy territory.
CHAPTER TWO
Rosabella
There he was.
My high school sweetheart, the ex I still had trouble getting over.
That. Piece. Of. Crap.
He had appeared out of thin air at my great-aunt’s funeral and now he was in my living room.
It was hard to recognize him at first. My thoughts and emotions had been clouded by my great aunt’s funeral. I had been close to her, especially when she had fallen ill. It was my duty to help a family member in need. To a Rossi, family was everything. The entire community was invited to the wake my mother had so meticulously planned. My brothers had helped move furniture to clear a large space for guests.
Even so, I was starting to feel claustrophobic.
How could he have the gall to show up at such a personal occasion?
My eyes lingered on him, trying my hardest to find any clue to how he was doing. He seemed taller than I remembered, towering over most in the room. His suit looked old, like it barely fit his bulging muscles. The military had changed his physique entirely. Lance had changed from the scrawny, white-bread boy into a man. My eyes traced the outline of his pectoral muscles, lying beneath the white of his shirt.
Something awoke inside me and I adjusted my dress in discomfort. My sister Regina thought that the dress was too “risqué”, but I had shrugged off her opinion. Now I was regretting my decision. His eyes were searing into the smooth skin of my thighs and soaking in my curves. My face was a deep shade of red.
What was worse, I could feel the heat rise between my thighs. Just his presence was enough to turn me on. No man had that effect on me. But Lance was different.
Embarrassment filled me. What if I had grown plain since my high school years? I had played the bad girl with him in high school, while secretly keeping the high standards my parents had set for me at home. Smoking pot near the school dumpsters and swearing like a sailor hadn’t been my style. Since I never put out for the popular boys on account of my brother’s overbearing nature, the act didn’t last long.
My hair had been flaming red back then, to my father’s disproval. Would my blonde be too plain? My hands fingered my blond curls with insecurity. When my eyes darted back to him, I finally snapped out of my lustful daze.
No matter how wet he made my panties, Lance was the same person who abandoned me. He had left me broken hearted, reeling from my first kiss, and I hadn’t heard from him since.
The bastard.
Six years earlier
I hated dates. It was my junior year of high school and the shitty dates I had endured outnumbered my fingers. Guys would be enchanted by my fuck-it-all attitude and act like total dicks once they figured out I was a prude. I kicked at the grass below. It was cold out, and my date was late. I stared at the clock tower that loomed over the school, counting the seconds. He was 15 minutes and 45 seconds late to be exact. Every minute made my cheeks warmer, despite the cold. My breath rose in clouds, disappearing into the air above me.
Had Reggie forgotten about me?
I checked the messages on my phone for the umpteenth time. I asked him during lunch what time he expected to pick me up and he replied with "4pm by the flagpole.”
Well it was 4:16 and he was AWOL. My hands found their way toward my red hair, fingering it nervously. In my head, thoughts were flying 100 miles per hour.
Had Tim Burns told the other guys on the swim team that I was frigid? The last date with him had ended in disaster, with me pushing his face away from mine. He had been furious. I remembered the bright flowers strewn across my family’s lawn after he had tossed them to the ground. His shame had been palpable.
The clock was ticking away as I worried on. My head bobbed up and down to my iPod’s music, trying to distract myself as the time went by. It was getting colder and my jacket wasn’t all that warm.
“Want a smoke?”
The voice appeared just near my right ear and I about jumped out of my skin. I let out a squeak of surprise and my head whipped around to see who was standing next to me. It had BETTER be Reggie Miller.
When I turned my heart dropped. No, it wasn’t Reggie. It was Lance.
Lance, the senior kid in ROTC. I had only crossed paths with him once or twice. He was smart to stay away from me, with my over-protective brothers and all.
His brown hair was tousled and a faint 5 o’clock shadow was visible on his jawline. While he was athletic, his stature wasn’t imposing.
He was holding a pack of Marlboro Reds with a shit-eating grin on his face. I took my sweet time thinking over his question before sighing and offering him my hand, palm up. Lance deposited the cigarette in my hand and then gave me a light.
I wasn’t one to smoke often; only when I felt rebellious. During my junior year of high school, that seemed to be more and more often. Juggling dates, AP classes and college prep, I needed some sort of release from the stress.
“Thanks for the cancer stick,” I said, exhaling a plume of tobacco smoke into the chill air.
“My pleasure. Would you like a side of asthma with that?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
He was the first person to make me crack a smile in weeks and it was a relief. I watched him as he took a long drag and nodded toward the clock.
“You’ve been eyeing that for a while. You late for something?”
“Have you been spying on me? Are you some sort of creep?”
He shrugged. “Meh, bored. My mom doesn’t pick me up until 5, so I spend my time people-watching.”
“So, you are a creep.”
“We’re getting off topic.”
I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do was explain that I’d been stood-up by some lame captain of the swim team.
“I was going to meet a friend to study for mid-terms, but she bailed on me.”
“Which class.”
“Uh, P.E.?” As soon as it left my lips I was swearing internally. I was a horrible liar.
“They have P.E. finals?”
“Yeah, um … you know …,” I tried to save face. “Running and … sports?”
“Running, hm?” I could about see the wheels turning in his mind. “So let’s study together.”
“W-What?”
“You said your friend bailed. I assume you have some gym clothes in the locker room. I’ll meet you on the field in ten and I’ll help you train.”
I stood there stunned, caught in a trap that I’d unintentionally set for myself. Damn it. “That’s very nice of you, but I―"
“I insist.” With that, Lance grabbed my arm and started walking with me toward the gym entrance. He was forceful, but not enough that I couldn’t get away. His style was playful, but firm. We both threw our Marlboros on the ground before the doors of the gym closed behind us.
From that day on, Lance and I would
meet after school to “study” for the “P.E. finals”. Even if I had fibbed, it was a good chance for me to work out. Having a secret male friend who I liked hanging out with was rare. I allowed myself to enjoy running with him. We didn’t talk much, but that was alright. The sounds of our labored breaths and our feet against the ground was enough.
Every now and again, I’d steal a glance at him when he would get ahead of me. The sweat glistened off his skin and sometimes rolled down his temple. I could see his lean arms and wondered what they’d be like wrapped around me.
Whenever I had those thoughts, I would brush them off. But dammit, they kept popping up even after our workouts. Sometimes when we were stretching and other times when we passed each other during lunch. Our friend circles were different, so it was difficult to say more than a “hey” in passing. It was high school. Any mixing of the tribes and our friends would get touchy. I looked forward to the end of the school day. It made my junior year feel all that much better.
That, and as the weeks passed, I noticed my body becoming harder, leaner, and stronger. That little bit of flesh that I carried around in my early teens became muscle and with that came more boys.
Goody.
It was late January when I had turned down another lust-filled teenager. It was starting to get tiresome for me. As the crowds of testosterone-filled madness focused on me, so did the watchful eyes of my brothers.
“I don’t like him.” Matteo told me once after school. I was stretching, waiting for Lance outside the gym to go on our run.
“You don’t like who?”
“That dude you run with.”
My eyes about rolled out of their sockets. “You don’t like any of my male friends, dude. You need to chill out.”
“Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. This guy is bad news, both for YOU and for our family.”
“Hey!” Another voice called from across the lawn.
My brother and I looked up from our heated argument as Lance jogged over to us. All Matteo did was glare at him, not even giving the guy the favor of a hello. Lance cleared his throat uncomfortably.