Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  Surprisingly, he pours two whiskeys as I sit beside him. It seems a generous act to serve me, but he catches me off guard again by opening his cigarette case of hand-rolled smokes. “Thank you.”

  “Help yourself,” he replies, flicking his lighter for me. “What are the odds of you going back to Cesario’s team?”

  I snicker. “Zero.”

  “I told you,” Dom contends from the other side of the table. “He is as good as gold.”

  “Gold can be melted down,” Cruz barks off. “Changed into other things. I need some guarantee.”

  I notice the scoff look Cristos gives Cruz from behind his back, and he goes on to wave him off like he’s a pest. “The guarantee will come with time.” Cristos grins. “He is remarkably bright. Grumpy old men,” he says, eying Cruz, “would be wise to see what he has to say. So, what are your plans, Salvatore?”

  Under the spotlight, I must perform and dance as they scrutinize over every move I make. This is my audition into their fold, and I need their trust and money if I'm to outwit my father. In essence, both Gennaro and Raniero, because if one of the great Italian legacies is in peril, the other will rush to their aid. They may war amongst themselves, but a direct attack at their financial stream, interrupting shipments, garnering support along their pipeline of clubs and gangs—that is cause for them banding together to form a united front.

  To wage war, I need serious investors. I need one, if not both of these Kings to believe in me enough to get me in the door. My capabilities haven't been tested, but the absolute fact is I've trained and studied and practiced for this moment since I exited the womb. This is my skill. This is my gift.

  “I want to eliminate some of the side shoot businesses both of our families have gotten into in recent years,” I casually reply, sipping my whiskey from my trembling hand. They cannot see, and I thank the Blessed Virgin for that. “And for those crimes, I want complete destruction.”

  On my last word, Cruz removes himself from the pool and wobbles towards me. His mess of silver hair frames deep set ocean blue eyes, but they impart with a sad, regretful gaze. “I will be the first to extend goodwill.”

  I’m at a loss for words as Cruz seemed so gruff and distant. “I will be in contact with you this week concerning a sum.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” I say, standing up and shaking his hand as his other braces against my arm.

  “You fuck me over, Kid,” he warns with a menacing grin. “It will be your asshole I’m drilling out.”

  “Yes,” I reply with a snicker. “I’m very aware, and I would expect no less.”

  He chuckles at my jovial reaction to his threat. “I like this Kid so much. I may just triple. Pleasure doing business with you,” he says, gripping my hand again. “Now, if you will excuse me I have a hot little thing waiting for her present.”

  That hot little thing won’t be my mistress, you fucking bastard. I moved her ass.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Dom offers as I’m left alone to face Cristos.

  I return to my seat, and he pats my arm, rubbing lightly. “I’m going to help you, but it’s going to cost you.”

  “I think that is fair,” I reply, emptying my glass. He hastily grabs the bottle and pours more into both glasses. “I’m sure Cruz will have stipulations as well.”

  “Cruz has a fascination with a woman—Trudy Diaz. My advice is you need to get close to her.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “If you have the manpower, you need to get eyes on her because she is a high-risk target. She goes down, and that bastard will spare no one,” he informs, propping his foot upon his knee. “My youngest daughter is my chief concern and the one non-negotiable request I have. I want her out of this war.”

  I want to ask about his other children, but I understand the specifics in his demand are for a reason. “I’m sure I can arrange for her safekeeping.”

  “No more incidents like what happened in New York.”

  I blink, but don’t stumble. “Absolutely not.”

  “If it comes down to Nick Veramonte or my girl, you will take out your own blood.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I pull one of my smokes from the pocket of my jacket, but before I can light it, he removes it from my fingers and snaps it in half.

  “I tell you I share,” he says with a smile. His teeth are slightly crooked, and his thick accent highlights the words he tends to drop from sentences. It is clear English is very much a second language. “Take off your jacket.”

  “You are very generous,” I interrupt at his request, but I shuck the jacket, and he takes it from my hands.

  “I have to be. I was born in Medellin, Colombia in the slums. After my father and brother were murdered when I was less than two months old, my mother and I were abducted by the shipping magnate who had my family killed. She eventually married him, and I became his pride and joy. I grew up with the violence and chaos, but enjoyed a charmed life between his lavish houses in Greece and Spain.”

  Unsure of even what to say about his confession, I nod. I didn’t have it that bad, but I understood the climate of money versus crime all too well.

  “When they captured my mother, she was brutally raped and tortured to the point she could no longer have children, so I was raised the only child of Demetrios Cristos. They changed my identity; Delarte was his mother’s maiden name. And eventually, I was the sole heir to his entire shipping business,” he mutters, tapping my arm rhythmically. He slides them down to my wrist, his fingers toying with the multitude of bands—some string bracelets, some leather. “When you see me doing things to benefit you, and you call it generous, I laugh inside because this isn’t generous; it is caring for you.”

  After years of waiting to see Delarte Cristos’ Master emerge, he finally does, most subtly and as intimately as possible.

  “You’re incredible…much like your daughter.”

  He smirks, offering more, “I have no memory of the time in Colombia, but my mother has shown me pictures.”

  “… Is she still?”

  “Oh yes, she lives in Greece,” he says, still smiling. “You should spend some time with me. I will take you on the yacht, and we will glide on the water.”

  His hand rests on mine as the invitation of his vacation is more than partners. His bright green eyes and slight, slim goatee serve up a portrait of his survival. He is an overly chipper fellow, particularly for a King and I understand why he is often referred to as weird. But I’m strangely attracted to his brand of uniqueness as I think he has some things under his belt – figuratively, well maybe even literally – that he is willing to teach me.

  I spot Dom inside with Fink. They are laughing and drinking wine. “Nothing else will happen to your daughter.”

  “I appreciate you are keeping an eye on her; her mother was what do you say—beautiful gold digger?”

  I laugh. “Yes.”

  “She resembles her mother, but that is about the extent of it. I had her extracted from the poor conditions at her home. She has only her mother’s name because anything attached with the Cristos’ name was a target.”

  “You gave it to your son.”

  “I raised my son to take over the business, but mine does not include the trafficking of the others. Even Cruz agrees that it isn’t right.”

  “You move weapons…”

  “I have associates from Moscow to Hong Kong, Salvatore. I move many things, but not humans. I was a victim once you see, and while I don’t remember it, my mother does.”

  I polish off the second glass of whiskey. “What else do you want?”

  “You know out of all the men, I’m by far the wealthiest, followed by Gennaro. You need my funding, and I would like your attention.”

  With a snarl rising on my lips, I’m glad we’re finally getting to the heart of the matter. The under the table deals which push the world forward. “Mine?”

  “I like having beautiful things. You are beautiful.”

  “I’m not for sale,” I say, fearing t
he rumors rehashing of my impending house sale to the highest bidder. “Nor am I an actual submissive.”

  “No, you are into the pain, and I would like to be considered if you need assistance. No requirements. No set times. Just a promise that if you need anything, I will be the first person you call. I want to be that for you.”

  “I expected your demands to be far greater,” I admit, tossing him a dark gaze. “Considering who your right-hand man is.”

  His laugh erupts as if he has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar or his dick in a dangerous hole. But he doesn’t seem to mind the firing squad he swaggers before, and that further provokes my cock twitching at his notions. He is a confident man, but he isn’t excessively boastful as humility takes front and center stage.

  The thing about Cruz and Cristos is they aren’t Gennaro or my father; they aren’t counting the notches on the belts from their kills. They are more discreet and humble than that, which makes a natural choice for my alignment with them. My success or failure is mainly contingent upon these investors.

  If I choose incorrectly, I’m out before I even step up to the plate. And if I choose the right ones, I’m liable to become so invested in them that I cannot stomach dismantling their operation.

  “Fink is a Master of the Paddle, but I keep him around because he, too, is beautiful.”

  I ponder his thoughts as I come to a place of understanding just how kinky he is. But I'm not sure what he wants. As much as he has revealed, he likes beautiful things, but what that means, I'm not sure. And right now, I don't know if he wants to stare at me or fuck me.

  But it becomes more evident, the moment Dom wanders out to join us. “How are we doing?”

  “How much for a night with your boy here?”

  “He isn’t for sale,” Dom curtly replies.

  “Then I’m afraid I’m no longer needed here,” Cristos says, standing up and smoothing out his slacks. “Do take care of yourself, Salvatore.”

  Wait, God, please no.

  I had him. And his money.

  “So be it,” Dom says, extending his hand and accepting the fate. It isn’t that easy for me though because Dom isn’t the appointed leader of our merry bandwagon of offspring—I am. “Thank you for coming to the party. I’m sorry we couldn’t come to terms.”

  “As am I.” Looking over his shoulder, Cristos shifts his gaze to me and pivots slightly before running a finger underneath my chin. His radiant green eyes are dripping with lust, but all I see is money. Vanishing. “Good luck.”

  Say something. Say something. Say something.

  Even though Kaci wanted you to do this on your own, say something.

  Sunder the bonds of your tethers and open your goddamned mouth.

  “He cannot sell me for a night because he doesn’t own me,” I reply with low and seductive charm. “I said I wouldn’t consider house offers because I have zero desire to play maid, cook, and butler, but that doesn’t mean I won’t entertain you for an evening.”

  “My mistake,” Cristos says with a slight bow. “Apologies.”

  I dart my eyes to Dom as he shrewdly snarls with a devious glint in his eyes. His gives a fleeting toss of his head, and I know he is proud of me for breaking the rules. What I never realized until that moment was his own expectancy of me. While I assumed I needed only to fit into Kaci’s chiseled regime, it never dawned on me that Dom wanted to watch me grow beyond that paradigm. He wanted my wings to stretch as I pushed past the boundaries and embodied something more than Kaci Hope’s puppet.

  “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have a date.” I glance at the corner of the terrace and see Ashley and her sister, Allison. Their differences are amazing. Ashley is all curves to Allison’s demure body.

  “Introduce us,” Cristos encourages. Dom waves them over as Allison and I lock eyes in some stripping war. She is checking me out like I’m her next meal, and I can’t say I’m not doing the same to her.

  “Ashley and Allison,” Dom says, beaming at Ashley. “This is Delarte Cristos and Sal Raniero.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, but please call me Allie,” she says as her British accent jolts my system.

  I give a curious look to Ashley as her eyes cannot stay off my bare chest. “My mother is from London. Allison is technically my cousin, but her parents died in a car accident when she was a baby, and my parents adopted her. We are sisters and cousins.”

  Holy fuck.

  Allie’s lip curls up as her smile proves contagious and her smoky blue eyes entice my own.

  “Excuse us just a moment,” Cristos politely says, tucking his fingers under my elbow. “I want you to know I’m serious about the offer if you are willing. I will give you twenty-four hours to think about it, but please make it your decision and ignore the influence of others.”

  “Of course.” I smile, and his hands grip my shoulders as he kisses either cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Think about it,” he repeats, giving me a tight, quick squeeze. “Fink! Let’s go dancing!”

  I watch Cristos prance away to his beautiful thing when I catch sight of Allie, standing alone. She blushes as I walk over. “They um,” she cutely stutters, “went inside.”

  “I figured. Can I get you a drink?”

  “I’d love one.”

  “England, huh?”

  She gracefully sways to the chair I was in, and hesitantly, she sits on the edge. I hand her the glass of whiskey, but her fingers brush over mine as she says, “You have incredible hands.”

  “Thanks,” I awkwardly reply. “I get complimented on many things,” I snicker with a flirtatious smirk. “But not typically my hands.”

  “I’m a therapist—for hands.”

  “Oh!”

  Okay, I’m just a dumbass.

  “But the rest of you certainly doesn’t look bad,” she says, breaking her gaze on the pool to suggestively blink at me. “So, where are you from?”

  I take the seat beside her, but angle the chair a little to face her. She likes to avoid my stares, and I don’t play that game. “Originally, Boston.”

  “Wow, long way from home,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and peeking at me with a bite of her lip.

  “Sit back. I won’t bite.”

  “Yet!” Her sweet laughter fills the air like warm honeysuckle on a spring morning as she slides back into the chair. “I’ve heard things.”

  “All good I hope.” A heady silence wafts between us as the physical attraction presents itself with a declaration of lust. “Tell me, what have you heard?”

  “You’re a mobster’s son and a…um…” Her precious, shy smile gives way for a nervous giggle. “Kinky?”

  “What? Who the hell said that?” I tease, scanning over her turquoise dress barely concealing the goods. I graze the back of my incredible hand over her knee, and she gasps as I run my fingers over her calf and lift her foot to my lap. Feeling rather ballsy, I chunk the overpriced black stiletto.

  “You have a foot fetish, Sal?”

  “Sorta,” I say, winking and rubbing her feet.

  A few rounds of kneading and I’ve got the tension in her entire body loosening up as she moans, “Oh, god, that feels good.”

  “Give me the other one.” With both her feet in my lap, I take my time toying with the girl. I don’t know if we are fucking or not, but I’ll make damn sure she has some good fap mats for later. “May I ask how old you are or will that offend you?”

  “Twenty-six. Allison Ruth Randall. Born in Cornwall. Love fast cars, fishing, hunting, and eating as many crawfish as I can.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t lose more of your accent.”

  “Mom—my aunt,” she clarifies, “and I are very close. Ashley is a Daddy’s girl. We are the same age and a lot of people thought we were twins when we were younger. Like her Dad, she’s tall. But that voluptuous figure is enviable.”

  “There is nothing wrong with your figure,” I soothe, working on her arches. “Crawfish, huh?”

&n
bsp; “Love them.”

  “You suck the heads?”

  “Fuck yeah…” Her giggle escapes and is met with my own. Her toes stretch out to touch my abs. “Impressive.”

  “So are you. I love me some fish.”

  “I heard you knew a thing or two,” she says, nodding with an admittance that she has done her homework or Ashley gave her the cheat sheet one. “Is this gorgeous pool heated?”

  “… Ya, you wanna?”

  “I wanna,” she mimics, meeting my intense, heated stare. Once we connect, there is no stopping our crazy dynamic. “I mean if you’re interested.”

  “You need a swimsuit?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked you to go swimming if I needed a swimsuit.” She seductively smirks, placing her feet on the ground and standing up between my knees. She downs the whiskey, and I take the glass from her slender fingers. Pulling the dress over her head, she tosses it at my crotch as I cannot help but fall prey to her innocence.

  I rise fast as I compare our height. She’s only a few inches shorter than me. Mind you, I'm only five ten, but the girl is small—lean and fragile—with a rack the size of two lemons and a mere puff of ass. However, she does have a distinctive hourglass shape. I note as she skips off to the water. She doesn't pause at all, diving into the deep end, and swimming along the bottom.

  I strip off my pants and stroll along the edge to the steps by the water as she comes to the surface. Her hot gaze is on my naked body as her head tilts up to a smile. She's beautiful but in an untraditional manner. Her creamy skin is a thing of dreams, but her face is dynamic with individual features set within dazzling lines and a flat, broad nose. Her blue eyes cast a compelling lure, reeling me in with a soft smile by her thin, merlot pout.

  “You’re surprised…”

  “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t,” I mutter from the top step as I glide easily into the water only to swoop up to her body and take her in my arms. “The question is how much you want to taunt my kinky?”

  Her greedy legs wrap around me and her hot core presses against my now erect cock. “I’ve spent the last year studying shibari and kinbaku under Master Tse.” My brow furrows as I readily recognize the name and try to recall why. “He works out of Houston, practicing his art and crafting exquisite pictures. I’m his star pupil as of late.”