The Man in Black_A Standalone Mafia Romance

by Soraya Naomi

  His ashy-grey stare locks on mine. “That feels good.” His voice is a low, sexy rumble. “You’re the only person who can pull me out of my thoughts,” he comments and freezes as if he wasn’t supposed to say that out loud.

  “What?” I halt, curious if I heard what I thought I did.

  Silence stretches on while he considers his answer, not breaking our stare as I note the silver flecks in his irises.

  He suddenly glances at my wrist and changes topics, “You don’t wear your bracelet anymore?”

  “It reminded me of you.” I lower my arms, but he catches my wrist.

  Then Michael’s palms rest on the back of my thighs and he tugs me closer until the tip of my nose touches his. “Did it really?”

  “Yeah...” I wonder what we’re doing, but reason apparently leaves my system when Michael’s near me.

  He lets out a sigh, his minty breath fanning my cheek. “So you replaced me for a gold bracelet?”

  “An upgrade,” I say, joking, as his hands glide up my bare skin, disappearing beneath my dress.

  He leaves a warm trail, his fingertips ending close to the seam of my panties before he gives my ass a possessive squeeze that sends a flare of passion to my lower belly. His expression seems earnest as he drops his forehead on my chest, and I caress his hair while we hug each other.

  How I’ve missed his embrace that makes me feel so sheltered.

  I’m not sure if he wants to finish what he started to say in the car a few days ago, but in this second, I forget everything while he weaves his spell around me.

  “Brielle...” Michael murmurs, his lips at my collarbone, and his arms wrap around my waist as he nips a path up my throat, making my head fall back.

  I clutch his nape while his powerful front heats mine, and when he reaches up to grip my ponytail, aligning our mouths, his eyes glaze over and I’m lost.

  I must stop this.

  But I don’t...yet.

  Michael slants his lips over mine and lifts me to sit astride him. Grasping his broad shoulders as he leans back against the counter to keep us steady, I practically climb him like a tree. We writhe together, and when he slips his hands beneath my panties, pulling me into him, I feel his bulge stiffening as he spears his tongue with mine. Desire like I haven’t felt in a long time fills me – a sentiment that no one except Michael brings out.

  His hands are everywhere – he awakens every cell by moving with me, creating delicious friction between my legs before his fingertips touch my wet core.

  “Oh, shit,” I moan, overwhelmed by undeniable passion.

  But I can’t do this with him – not again.

  Yet I keep kissing him.

  I can’t do this.

  I seem to forget I’m dating someone and it’s not Michael.

  Abruptly, I try to pull back, but Michael keeps my face close to his, our breathing ragged as his erection presses into my damp center.

  “We can’t.”

  “We can.” He jerks me closer again to capture my lips, but I can’t think when he plays with my body.

  “No!” I thrust him back and nearly jump off him. “You can’t just try to reel me in again.”

  Michael exhales roughly and rises to his full height, combing both hands through his hair. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “But I don’t trust what you say, which is your fault,” I insist.

  He pinches the bridge of his nose before he evaluates me, his gaze darkening, and I feel in my gut he’s hiding something, or he’s lying. I simply can’t read him.

  So I lash out, “You can’t kiss me anymore!” Because I’m not strong enough to say no to you.

  Rebellion clouds his expression as he prowls toward me, but I stand my ground, looking up at his imposing posture when he rumbles in an enticing tone, “Is that a challenge, Brielle?”

  “Maybe it is. Can you not resist a challenge?”

  A devilish grin wreathes his face. “Maybe not from you.” Cupping my chin with one hand, he presses a hard kiss to my mouth.

  Then the door swings open, and I step back from Michael as Gianni wanders through it, glimpsing up from his phone while Michael hurriedly straightens his black tie.

  “Morning,” Gianni greets and finishes typing – thank goodness, he’s distracted.

  I turn to my dessert station, swiping my hand over my hair to make sure I’m presentable, even though I must be flushed. But I feel the warmth of someone standing behind me, and Michael plants both hands on the counter, caging me in. His groin presses against my ass as he whispers against the shell of my ear, “This isn’t over, Brielle.” And he nips my earlobe.

  “I said don’t kiss me,” I grumble, trying to push him backward without luck.

  “That wasn’t a kiss; it was a nip.” He releases the counter and swivels around to disappear through the door, unruffled, without giving me a final glance.

  I watch him go, breathing steadily to cool off. Perplexed, disconcerted, and turned on by his flirtatious behavior, I suddenly realize that I haven’t seen the person I should be thinking of in three days. Guilt swirls inside me because it’s not fair of me to do this with Michael.

  Before I have time to dwell on it any more, thank god, some of the servers barge into the kitchen, followed by Fallon, who walks right up to me.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” she asks.

  “Going to make meringue.”

  “I heard Michael’s been here often. Everything okay?”

  “Nope. I failed to stay away. He’s...being nice again and I don’t know how to deal with it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t trust him; he’s a master liar and he can’t just use me as a plaything whenever he wants.”

  She frowns. “So be the confident, self-assured Brielle you’ve become these past few weeks and stand up to him like I told you. And make calm and rational decisions that aren’t in the heat of the moment. We often regret those...”

  My brain acknowledges that she’s right, but my body and the piece of my heart Michael has conquered won’t cooperate. “I’m trying, but he’s so domineering yet charming at the same time.”

  She arcs a brow, admonishing, “Oh, Brielle, are you two continuing where you left off six weeks ago?”

  It seems that we are. “No,” I lie when Gianni, who’s standing by the stove at the island, yells, “Brielle, I’m waiting on the meringue!”

  “One minute!” I shout just as loudly, making him smirk when I refuse to let him faze me.

  At that point, Fallon must notice how busy the kitchen has gotten, because she tells me, “We’ll talk later.”

  And after I give her a nod, she leaves.

  AT THE END OF THE DAY, I’m exhausted and once I’m home, I keep my phone with me constantly, hoping for a message or call from Michael, but of course, he doesn’t contact me. Although I’m not sure whether I should be happy or disappointed.

  In spite of that, I watch for him all day at Palermo on Wednesday, repeatedly delivering desserts to the tables just to go into the dining room to see if he’s arrived.

  Finally, at nine ‘o clock, after I shoulder through the door into the noisy restaurant with a plate of rum cake in one hand and a tiramisu in the other, I stop when I recognize Michael sitting with his back to me at a table in the middle of the room.

  Why isn’t he eating upstairs?

  Then I realize he’s seated at table twenty-eight, which is where my order goes, and I grin privately because he ordered my cake. However, as I stroll up to him, I falter in my steps when I notice someone else is sitting with him, although he’s blocking them. But when he leans his elbow on the armrest of his chair, it’s like a boulder has rolled aside from a cave opening, revealing his companion: a woman. Not just any woman, but Marliya, Palermo’s waitress and my friend. She’s wearing a stunning lilac dress, and he’s dressed to impress in a black suit and white shirt. Moreover, the way they’re intimately talking implies it’s a date.

  My pulse pounds
in my ears and if steam could come out of them, it would. I search for a server, but at that moment, Marliya spots me and smiles kindly, seeing that I have their order. Then Michael turns his head, and the world slows when he looks at me, but I calmly reach their table and set down Marliya’s plate first.

  “Thanks, Brielle. I’ve been looking forward to this tiramisu all day,” she says, and I force a smile since she’s done nothing wrong.

  What the hell is Michael doing with her?

  I place Michael’s plate in front of him as he studies me intently. I react with a scowl, and he glimpses uncomfortably between Marliya and me. As I shoot daggers at him, a brick forms in my throat. It appears as if he wants to say something, but he purses his lips before I walk away. However, I can’t refrain from looking back, and when I do, I catch Michael glancing up, so I follow his gaze to Adriano, who’s standing at the railing and seems to shake his head. They’re communicating covertly – the interaction between Adriano and Michael is weird. Weirder than the rest of management. There seems to be some power hierarchy with Adriano and Michael at the top; everyone listens to them and they’re both equally authoritative.

  Regardless, this feels like déjà vu as I realize that I’m traveling down a path I intended to avoid. Michael orders me around. Then he’s nice and protective before he pushes me away. Lost in my despair, I bump into Ivo and we stop at the bar.

  “Hey, sorry I didn’t call you or anything,” he says nicely, although I didn’t contact him either, so I’m not mad at him at all.

  I note the yellow discoloration around his thin nose, a sign of healing bruised skin, and I gesture toward it. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just a slight mishap during my work out,” he answers, and I stare at him, dumbfounded, when he gives almost the exact reason Michael gave me for his injury.

  I peek sideways at Michael and Marliya while they simply continue their dinner. He lazes backward and listens to Marliya, who’s fixated on him, and I wonder how he can be showing interest in her after he kissed me just yesterday?!

  When I turn back, Ivo’s undoubtedly seen my glare directed at Michael, though he distracts me by saying, “Look, I like you. I know we just went to dinner a couple of times, but clearly, something happened between you and Michael, and I don’t want to be a rebound guy.”

  Astounded, I process the information. Here’s a guy who’s straightforward and actually apologizes while I let a broody man like Michael play me for a second time. I’m so stupid. I knew Michael was a manipulator who merely takes what he wants, and the fleeting moments of unparalleled passion with him aren’t worth it if they make me feel like shit afterward. I want more. I need more. I want a relationship and he’s made it clear he doesn’t. He also said he didn’t date, but apparently, that was also a lie. Maybe he’s just a player and, like a fool, I refuse to accept it.

  When I meet Ivo’s genuine smile, I adhere to Fallon’s advice. I try to calmly make a decision, even though I don’t realize I’m boiling with rage.

  “We did date,” I tell Ivo honestly. “Or at least I thought we were dating, but I found out otherwise and then he left. There’s nothing between Michael and me now.”

  “Okay. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t coming between something. In that case, I’d like to take you home tonight,” he offers.

  “I’d like that.” If Michael can date, so can I. “I’m done in half an hour. Have a drink at the bar, on the house, and I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.”

  “Okay, thanks,” he replies before I escape to the kitchen, leaning forward with both my hands on the dessert counter, trying to keep it together.

  My mind whirls and moisture pools in my eyes, yet I blink my sadness away. So much is happening and my brain can’t seem to process it, but I’m spurred into action by Gianni, and I finish my shift, my anger still simmering.

  As the kitchen empties out, I’m the last one to wipe my counter. Then the door swings open and Michael approaches me with quick, measured steps. I toss the cloth aside and adopt the most confident expression I can muster while his face flames with annoyance.

  He stops right in front of me, his large frame coiled tight in his black suit as he says in a low tone, “What was that?! Why are you talking to Ivo?”

  “Excuse me?” I throw my hands in the air in frustration. “I’m supposed to ask that question!”

  “I don’t want you talking to him,” Michael commands, as if it’s a logical request.

  “You have no say in whom I talk to.”

  He clenches his jaw. “You can’t trust him! He’s a liar.”

  “No, he’s been dependable and doesn’t allow me to get close and then push me away.” I move past him, and when he spins around and seizes my arm, I violently wrench free. “You’re the one who lied – about so much. I thought you didn’t date? That’s what you told me. But you’re on a date when you kissed me just yesterday! What do you want from me?!”

  His mood savage, he barks, “I want you to stay away from him!”

  I stand there, arms akimbo. “So you don’t want me, but no one else can have me? No! That isn’t how this works.”

  “That’s not what’s going on,” he defends and steels his jaw, inhaling deeply. “I’m trying to protect you.”

  I let out a mocking laugh and remove my chef’s jacket before I hang it on the rack and grab my purse, speaking with my back to him, “You’re the one who lied to me and then left for me to pick up the pieces all by myself. I need protection from you.”

  Suddenly, he’s at my back and places his hands on the wall to trap me with his impressive frame, his fresh yet spicy scent attacking me as I squirm to try to get free.

  “Stop that or I’ll kiss you again,” he orders and I hold still, feeling his breath hitting my hair. His voice drops to a whisper, “Don’t go with him or let him in your apartment, Brielle.” His mouth presses into my hair and I close my eyes while his muscular chest pushes into me. “Be careful with Ivo.”

  Don’t trust Michael. He never explains himself. He hasn’t denied it’s a date; he’s only barked about Ivo.

  With all my power, I force him backward and swivel around to see him knocked off balance. Then his temper flares and he moves to the side to block my path to the door.

  “It’s none of your business what I do or with whom.” I smile despondently at him. “Go to your date, Michael.”

  “I’m warning you not to go with him,” he responds, still trying to block me.

  “Is that a threat? What? Are you going to kill him?” I say sarcastically, riled.

  “Don’t underestimate me.” His tone is deadly serious.

  “Green isn’t a good color on you.”

  “It is on you,” he retorts.

  When I shoulder past him, he tries to snare my wrist, but I dash forward and hurry through the door, hearing a bang and then his voice booming, “Jesus, fuck!”

  Ivo’s standing at the other side of the bar, and Marliya is apparently waiting for Michael because she’s still seated at their table. I beckon Ivo over, slinging my purse over my shoulder and foregoing my jacket, even though the evening temperatures can drop into the low fifties in May. I need to get out of here because I’m scared of what Michael might do. Besides, he’s Marliya’s problem now.

  Thankfully, Ivo immediately comes up to me. “All ready?”

  “Yeah, let’s go.” I lead the way, passing the kitchen door just as Michael opens it and watches us moving past the banquette to the entrance.

  As I glance between Ivo and Michael, I catch them exchanging glares and Michael cocking his head as if he’s signaling Ivo. This makes me wonder what’s going on behind my back. I hesitate and Michael’s nostrils flare as he observes me, yet I now begin to question Ivo’s intentions too.

  Indecision rears up inside me and I’m not sure if I should defy Michael.

  CHAPTER 33

  Michael

  I’M IN A FOUL MOOD while I have to watch Brielle marching toward the entrance with her ch
in jutted out.

  Will she leave with Ivo?

  Impatience seeps through my blood, but it turns to rage when he places his hand at the small of her back and ushers her out, sending me a smug glare as they go. Fucking Ivo hasn’t heeded my warning. I hadn’t expected that. I thought he was staying away from her like I ordered him to since my guard, Corrado, informed me they haven’t been together, but it seems like he merely waited for his bruise to heal. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Without thinking, I find myself striding out the entrance and getting into my BMW, firing up the engine, and driving toward the Blackhall.

  A flash of remorse for the way I deceived Brielle when we first met fills me. So I understand her reluctance to believe me and I loathe that Ivo has her loyalty, that she thinks he’s a good guy. I’m beginning to realize that she’s a burst of brilliance in my jaded world, and that’s one of the reasons I’m incapable of staying away, of keeping my hands off her – case in point our kiss, which she ended. And I’m not a man who’s accustomed to rejection. I’m also in awe of the way she can get my mind off the stressful things in my life – I was honest when I accidentally revealed that fact. Nevertheless, I don’t like lying to her, but I have the Syndicate to keep a secret, so I’m walking a fine line.

  Meanwhile, I’m also on the hunt for Reymario’s spy. Ivo’s still my number one suspect – he’s clearly up to something with Brielle while provoking me at the same time. And I didn’t handle the Marliya situation very well. I forgot that I agreed to have a drink with Marliya days ago when I was focused on Brielle, and since she was acting like a friend and simply wanted some work advice, I showed up. But there’s absolutely nothing between Marliya and me.

  While I was sitting there with Marliya, I didn’t see Brielle until she suddenly appeared at my table. The resentment she sent me was painfully palpable, so I did my best to eat my dessert and then I told Marliya I had to go.

  It bothers me that Brielle thinks she’s just a conquest to me or that I just want her to stay away from Ivo because I’m a jealous jerk.