Mercenary (Gangsters of New York Book 3)

by Bella Di Corte

  Another man stepped out of a waiting black Cadillac, leaving the door open. He was older, perhaps around Uncle Tito’s age, with the same pure silver hair, but this man had ice-blue eyes.

  He greeted Corrado by squeezing his shoulder. They both turned to look at me.

  “Uncle Carmine,” Corrado said, pulling me closer to his side. “This is my wife, Alcina Capitani. Alcina, this is Uncle Carmine.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you finally,” he said, taking my hand in a gentle way. “The family will be thrilled, since we didn’t attend the wedding.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” I said.

  He nodded and then released my hand. He gestured toward the waiting car. “We will talk on the way.”

  The conversation was general on the way to Corrado’s grandfather’s house. We would be attending the funeral the next day, even though it was reported to be the day after. The family did not want the press coverage.

  “Tito arranged the—” Uncle Carmine looked at me and then cleared his throat “—meeting with Silvio on the day the funeral is supposed to be held.”

  Corrado squeezed my hand at this. I had not realized that my palms had gone cold until he did.

  Uncle Carmine pulled something out of his suit pocket. A smallish box. He handed it to Corrado from across the car. Corrado opened it. It was a ring made for the little finger, with a “C” stamped into the gold.

  Corrado stared at it, not removing it from the box.

  “Your grandfather was going to give you that,” he said. “As you know, it was his. Something special to him.”

  Uncle Carmine watched as Corrado slipped it on. Something about it satisfied the old man. He did not say the words, maybe because I was in the car, but I could hear them as if he had spoken them out loud.

  “Welcome home, Don Capitani.”

  It was the only official act I’d probably ever see.

  Corrado took my hand, and none of us spoke again as we made our way deeper into the city that never sleeps.

  Black iron gates opened after the car pulled into the drive. A second after we were through, they closed automatically. I had a burning urge to turn around and look, to see if there was a way out once in. I held my face straight, though, my eyes rising to meet the towering mansion that grew bigger the closer we came to it.

  In this affluent area of Staten Island, it seemed a place by itself, with hardly any other “houses” around. The land was protected on all sides, leaving this mansion to stand on its own.

  The driver took the turn around a horseshoe driveway, Corrado’s side facing the front door, and parked.

  Corrado kept my hand tightly in his as we made our way inside.

  The furniture and the decorations were all something that reminded me of my nonna’s house, except the feeling in this…mansion…was completely different. I did not feel warm, but almost chilled to the bone. I used my free hand to rub my arm, thankful for the long sleeves.

  The lights were dim, candles burned in numerous areas, and I could hear whimpers, but I could not tell where they were coming from.

  Corrado led us to the kitchen, where his nonna sat, wearing all black, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. When her eyes met his, she whispered, “They killed him in cold blood.”

  I stood back when he went to her, and I was faced with an entire kitchen full of women who stared at me harder than the men who had come to welcome their new Don home. One in particular, a plain-looking woman who tried too hard not to be, stared at me with red-rimmed eyes that were more evil than sorrowful.

  As I did with the men, I looked at each one of them, letting them know that I was not intimidated.

  “Alcina.”

  Then and only then, when Corrado’s nonna called my name, did I look away.

  She wiped her eyes and then stood to embrace me. She and I had gotten along when I had met her for our wedding. She seemed like a decent woman with a good heart.

  “Alcina.” She patted my cheeks, her hands cold. “I’m so glad you came.” She glanced at Corrado, but her eyes quickly returned to mine.

  I took her hand in mine, trying to warm it up some. “I am so sorry about your husband,” I whispered.

  Her eyes filled with tears. She nodded at me. “Thank you,” she said. Then, with a few women following her, she left the kitchen. I could hear their footsteps moving up the stairs.

  Corrado took my hand again, his face hard, and we followed the women.

  A picture at the top of the stairs stopped me from going any further. It was a picture done in oil of three girls. I ran a finger along the elegant gold rim and then looked up. Corrado was staring down at me from the top of the stairs.

  “My aunts,” he said, his voice gruff. “My mother.”

  He did not point out who his mamma was, or who were the aunts. I wondered if it did not matter to him anymore. My heart hurt at the thought. He had been deceived his entire life, and then, after the woman he thought was his mamma had been killed, was left to deal with the truth of his birth.

  I ran my finger up higher to a girl who seemed like the youngest. Another girl had her hand on her shoulder. “This one,” I said. “She is your mamma.” There was something wild in her eyes, something that the others did not have. Corrado had it, too.

  “Mamma,” he said, copying my accent. “Or aunt. They are interchangeable for me now.”

  “This is Luna?” I knew that was his mamma’s name, but the woman who raised him as her own was Emilia. I suspected she was the one with her hand on Luna’s shoulder. There was a connection between them that I could feel through the painting, like the artist had captured it.

  It reminded me of the connection I had with Anna. She would have died to see me safe. There was no question of my love and loyalty to her—I would have done the same if our positions had been reversed.

  He nodded but said nothing else.

  “Your father,” I said, letting my hand fall. “Who is he?”

  “I have no father,” he said. “There’s only the man who created me. Corrado Palermo.”

  I narrowed my eyes at the name. Why would she name her son after the man who left them?

  “Come, Alcina,” he said, holding out his hand. “You need to get used to this house.”

  I took his hand and he led me down a long hallway. There must have been over twenty rooms, at least. “Will we be staying here long?”

  “For a while. Until I get things settled.”

  “Settled?”

  “My place doesn’t have the security this one does.” He stopped at a door in a section of the house that seemed more secluded than the others, opened it, and then waited for me to enter first.

  The furniture matched the rest of the house in style. Old world. All of our bags were placed around a vintage armoire that was big enough to hold a few bodies. A matching vanity held my cosmetic bags. An en suite bathroom was bigger than the casa I had occupied in Bronte.

  “This is our space,” he said, his breath fanning over my neck. I felt chilled as he moved away from me, draping his jacket over a chair. “No one will bother us back here.”

  “No one to hear me scream,” I said, smiling a little, but my heart raced.

  His fingers trailed down my arm until he took my hand again, leading me toward a fireplace. It was brick and so wide that I could step inside of it. A gold mirror with a filigree design hung over the mantelpiece.

  Corrado reached into the mouth of the fireplace, up behind the opening, and pulled out a skeleton key. He lifted it up so I could see. Then he told me to come forward and look at what he was doing. He inserted the key in a hole that was in the wall of the fireplace itself.

  It looked like a decorative addition—there were eight of them.

  He put the key into the fourth one. After the key clicked, he took it out and moved back. The wall rotated and opened up halfway.

  He gestured for me to step inside. I was mindful of my head, but once through, it opened up to a room that looked almost identic
al to the one on the other side, except it did not have as much furniture.

  A bed, a chair, and along the walls, weapons of all different kinds hung behind glass doors. It also had first-aid kits and a cabinet full of food and drink.

  “Alcina.”

  “Hm?” I turned to look at Corrado.

  “Watch carefully.” He inserted the key back into the door, and it closed the entire way, leaving the key entry on our side. “Always put the key back here.” He placed the key in the same spot he had taken it from on the other side.

  I stepped next to him, looking through a two-way mirror. I could see into the other room. I could not see into this room from the other side.

  “This room is soundproof and bulletproof. If you ever find yourself in trouble, you hide in here, understood? There are keys in rooms that have gold doorknobs. The ones with crystal doorknobs don’t have them. Remember—you can’t see through gold. Crystal you can. The keys are always in the same place.

  “You have to put your hand underneath the lip of the fireplace to find them. Slip the key toward you, or it will just feel like a metal lining. The key always goes into the fourth lock, on either side. Once the door closes on the safe side, the key stays with you and there is no opening on the other side.”

  “Sì,” I said, and our eyes connected from across the room.

  “My grandfather had these put in when he first built this house, years ago. It’s an extra level of security that no one knows about, except for a few.”

  “But the builders,” I said.

  “Not anymore,” he said, taking a seat on the bed, loosening his tie and kicking off his shoes.

  “They have all died by now?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

  Ah. After they built the house, his grandfather had them killed so no one could tell.

  “What if they told their families?” I said, thinking it through.

  “Couldn’t. My grandfather gave specific orders that whoever was working on the house—the ones in charge of building these rooms—had to live on the property. There’s a pool house out back, and that’s where they stayed while they worked here, along with the architect who designed them. They couldn’t leave. My grandfather sequestered the men until it was done. He offered them enough money that none of them refused his offer.”

  “I doubt they would have anyway,” I said, thinking about how he was like his grandfather in that way. He had a way about him that made it impossible to say no to him.

  He shrugged. “The day they were finished, the van driving them home blew up—something to do with a mechanical issue.”

  Sometimes it was hard to accept how their minds worked, how cruel they could be.

  “My grandfather took care of their families,” he said, as if he could read my mind.

  He said it so simply, like his grandfather had put a sticky bandage on a gaping wound, and that was enough.

  “It is still cruel,” I said. What was worse than murder? Not much, and they were immune to it. In fact, it was a way of life for them, and business was business, no matter how it was dealt with. If it became personal? I refused to think about it. Death was the end game, but getting there was hell on earth.

  “So are you,” he said. “Standing that far away when you look like that.” He grinned. “You’re blinking at me, angel eyes.”

  I stopped after he pointed it out. I stepped closer to him, and when I was close enough, he grabbed me around the waist, pulling me between his legs. My breath caught, and it shuddered out when his hands started to caress my legs. He unzipped one boot and then the other. I stepped out of both.

  His hands roamed up my back, and at the top, slowly unzipped the dress. I removed my arms from the sleeves and let it fall, moving it to the side.

  His eyes took in my body greedily, the black lace I had worn, and his hands fisted under the chignon, pulling my head back. His tongue licked from between my breasts, up my throat, until he came to my mouth. Then, removing the pins I had in place, he released my hair. It fanned down my back, and he groaned deep in his throat as it did.

  “No one can you hear you scream in here,” he said.

  I moaned at the look in his eyes. His mouth came over mine, hard and rough, as his hand fisted harder into my hair. Our tongues moved in the same rhythm, but then became a melody of hard and then soft. He kissed me this way until I felt the desire go from pooling to a mad rush between my legs.

  I unbuttoned his shirt, moving my hands against his skin, as his mouth moved lower and he started to suck his way down my neck. He was marking me. I wanted him to. I wanted him to mark me forever. He bit the lace bra, bringing it down, and I cried out when his mouth closed over my nipple. He sucked even harder and then bit me.

  “So loud,” he murmured against my sensitive skin. “You’re not made of glass, but let’s see if we can fucking make you break it.” His hand lingered over my culo and then came between my legs, moving the underwear to the side.

  He sucked my nipple even harder, and when he put his finger inside of me, pumping in and out, I screamed even louder. It was the first time I had ever had the freedom to.

  “You want more, Alcina?”

  “Sì.” I moaned so long and so loud that he growled in his throat at the sound. “Harder.”

  “Fuck,” he said, slamming into me. “You’re so wet.”

  I came around his hand, not able to control the feeling, my entire body convulsing from the pleasure. At my scream, he pulled me into him, kissing me as hard as his finger had been rocking me. We tangoed on the bed, rolling around, and after he was as naked as I was, I took him in my mouth.

  He hissed out a breath, fisting my hair in his hands, pushing me to take him even deeper.

  “You taste so good,” I said, as I slid my tongue up and down, looking at him from underneath my lashes.

  “On top,” he said, and it was an order.

  I situated myself around him, close to coming again just by the look in his eyes. I was still so tender, so sensitive, and when I placed myself over him and came down, my nails dug into his sides. I could barely catch my breath.

  “Move, Alcina,” he said.

  He felt so good that I did not even realize I had stopped. He was so big that he filled me completely, and it took my body a moment to stretch, to accommodate him.

  He directed my hips, and after I came up, about to come down, his hips came forward and slammed into me.

  “Ah!” I screamed out. “Fuck!”

  “That’s it, angel eyes,” he said. “Get fucking loud. Show me how much you want me.”

  Our bodies started to move in sync. The noises we made were loud, ugly, and raw. He growled and I shouted. I clawed his skin, and he bruised my hips and culo with his almost violent touch. His hands came up, twisting my nipples, and I started to move faster, harder.

  He took my face and turned it to the left some. My eyes connected with Adriano’s. He was looking through the mirror on the other side, fixing his hair with the one good arm he had. The other was in a sling.

  Panic that he could hear us started to cool my fire, but Corrado shook his head. He impaled me so hard again that I could not stop the scream that exploded from my mouth.

  Adriano kept looking in the mirror, still trying to fix his hair.

  “No one sees you like this but me,” he said. “I’m the only man with the right to touch this body—e`mio. The right to be the only one to hear you—e`mio.” His hands slid up my arms and he sat up some, reaching my mouth, our tongues touching before he rammed his into my mouth. Then he licked my cheek up to the corner of my eye where a tear had started to fall.

  “If you weren’t already pregnant,” he said, “I’d fuck you until you were.”

  He slammed into me again and I lost my breath, starting to move like I had been before. He flipped me a second later, his body over mine, and fucked me until I could not hold back any longer. I screamed out his name, giving myself over to him. A second later, he spil
led himself inside of me, his head back, his throat exposed.

  I closed my eyes, trying to catch my breath. His lips moved against my body again, this time not as hard. He stopped at my stomach, his hands cradling my hips.

  “I needed this,” he said, his breath warm against my skin. “I needed you.”

  “Keep me with you forever,” I whispered.

  He said three words that I was willing to bet my life he would die to see through.

  “Consider it done.”

  22

  Corrado

  Rain hit the windows of Macchiavello’s and ran down the panes in fast-moving lines. My grandfather had risked his life to have the steak, so I decided to check it out after his funeral.

  The man who owned it, Mac Macchiavello, had my attention.

  It could have been something as simple as my grandfather had ties to the restaurant. Maybe one of his men made a lot of money through it, and he wanted to try the famed steak.

  It wasn’t that simple. I was aware of all of our dealings.

  My grandfather was no recluse, but the older he got, the more he enjoyed being at home when he wasn’t at the Primo Club. Outings were rare for him. It took some pull to get him there.

  Tito had told me he had arranged the meeting, which meant Mac Macchiavello had enough pull with one of the biggest crime families in history to get my grandfather to dinner. Even Emilio Capitani had a boss.

  It wasn’t a usual steak and potato place, but then again, it was. The smell of meat and starch meandered through the air, but so did high-quality booze from the opposite side of the restaurant, where people could get a pricey drink and listen to live music. The bar was old time, prohibition-influenced. It was already starting to get crowded.

  I recognized a few men right away. They usually traveled in packs, and this place accommodated them.

  Alcina squeezed my hand. “It smells good in here,” she said. “Familiar.”