Glitter and Greed (Brooklyn Brothers #4)

by Melanie Munton

  But I must have been projecting my own fantasies into the situation.

  Coming out of the jade, I slowly slid down the pole into a low squat until I was supporting myself by my tip-toes. One arm slid up the pole above my head, but most of my weight was on my thighs, calves, and toes. The burn of my muscles felt so damn amazing, I couldn’t get enough. Sometimes, that burn was all that kept me in the present instead of drowning in the past. The burn was the only thing that reminded me I still had fire, still had purpose.

  Once again, I was facing Luka as I spread my legs suggestively. Invitingly. At that point, his control looked as threadbare as the seams on my tear-away clothes.

  “Brave girl,” he rasped. His voice sounded like he’d swallowed a thousand tiny razor blades. “To put yourself on display in front of such a starving man. You think you’re safe from me, Cat?”

  “How could I think that when you’ve already admitted to being a dangerous man?”

  His pupils dilated. “Yet you’re locked inside this room with me. You want me to run my mouth over everything you’re showing me?”

  I nearly moaned out loud. “I’d be really disappointed if you didn’t.”

  His eyes narrowed to slits at my variation of his own words. “You want me to lick your cunt, baby?”

  This time, I had no response. My pulse was pounding too loudly in my ears.

  He crooked his finger at me in a silent command. I followed his order but stopped once I got within a foot of his knees.

  His eyes shot up to mine. “Closer.”

  I tipped my head toward the corner of the room. “No touching rule, remember? They watch closer in here than they do on the floor. They’ll come in and haul you out if you use your hands.”

  Most of the decent strip clubs had no touching rules in the private rooms, along with cameras, to keep all the customers in line. Some men just thought the rules didn’t apply to them, and that’s when bad shit happened.

  “Turn the cameras off,” Luka growled.

  I wanted to give him free rein. Ay, I wanted that so bad.

  But I needed to keep this job. For now.

  “I don’t think I should do that.”

  A muscle popped in his jaw. “Then take that fucking bra off. If I can’t find out how they feel in my hands, I’m at least going to get my goddamn fill.”

  Because he hadn’t last time. Two months ago.

  I remembered how two men had suddenly rushed into the room during my dance, right as I’d been about to untie my top. Recalling Luka’s frustrated glare at them, it must have been an emergency because I wasn’t sure anything short of that would have pulled him away in that moment.

  Reaching behind me, I undid the clasp and let the bra straps fall free of my shoulders. Oddly, I wasn’t nervous when he stared avidly at my bare flesh. Luka had a way about him that made a woman want to beg for his eyes to drink up every inch of her. He made you feel wanton and…covetous…with nothing more than a glint of arousal in his eyes.

  He could seduce you with a look.

  He could pull you under with a groan.

  No doubt, he would ruin you with a touch.

  His shoulders went rigid as his gaze heated on my breasts. Veins bulged in his neck. His hands fisted. After several tense moments of silence, his eyes rolled shut, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. When his head fell forward, we were standing close enough that his hair tickled my stomach.

  I gasped.

  Just that one small point of contact and I was wired. Wet.

  I knew he could feel the moment that energy entered my body because he nodded against my belly, acknowledging the heady sensation. He could feel it too. And he wanted to do something about it.

  But he’d picked the absolute worst place.

  Part of me was grateful for it, though. Getting involved with a man in this city was not part of the plan. My life was tangled up enough. I didn’t need to pile on more complications.

  Pero, dios.

  When he nuzzled closer like that, inhaling the scent of my lotion… He was almost impossible to resist.

  “I’ll say this only once.” His voice was more of a rumble than a whisper. “I’m seconds away from stripping the rest of your clothes off and wrapping your legs around my neck. My face will stay buried between your thighs for at least ten minutes, but I won’t last longer than that. Once I’ve got you creaming for it, I’m going to throw you face down on this couch, ass in the air. You won’t be able to even breathe for those first few seconds after my cock rips into you.”

  At first, I couldn’t find my breath.

  It was wandering around, lost in a vacuum somewhere.

  Then I was breathing too fast.

  “Yeah, it might hurt at first,” he acknowledged. “I’m not a gentle fuck. That’s why my tongue has to make sure your little clit is sopping wet before I go in. But you’ll never have it so good, baby. That I guarantee.”

  The impulse to lean forward and guide his mouth down to where I ached was so hot, it was like a hole was being burned through my chest. But I was afraid of what encouraging him might mean, so I refrained. Even though it felt akin to being burned alive in the fiery pits of Hell.

  “I’m about to do all of that if you don’t stop me, cameras or no fucking cameras,” he grated. “Security will be taking their lives into their own hands if you say yes and they try to stop me. You’ve already seen me take down those two motherfuckers. You know I’ll do it.”

  Fear spiked through my heart.

  Luka wasn’t a man to make empty threats. He only issued warnings. If he did what he promised, then the police would get involved, and that was the one thing I definitely didn’t need.

  “Pulling your tits out for me was a bold move,” he went on, “but a stupid one. Because if you think I was being presumptuous before, you have no fucking clue what I’ll do if someone messes with you now. You danced for me. You spread your legs for me. That’s a gift you can’t take back.”

  I was actually relieved he saw it that way. Because what just happened here would never have happened with anyone else. I would never have done the things I just did, in the manner that I did them, for any other man.

  “So…” His breath shuddered out of him. “I either need you to spread your legs again and feed me. Let me pummel you into this couch…or I need you to leave. You have to decide. Fast.”

  A million thoughts swirled around in my head so fast I swayed in my heels.

  Too much was at stake for me to cause a scene and blow this gig. I had made contacts at Rumors—some who were deeply entrenched in the underground criminal world—and I needed to keep their trust. One small piece of information could be the key to finding Luciana. This club was my best shot, my only avenue to her.

  The adrenaline crash was already coming.

  Knowing it would hurt, but reminding myself it was the right thing, I stepped back until all contact between our bodies was removed. I bent down to retrieve the rest of my clothes.

  And without a word, I walked out the door.

  I couldn’t avoid Cat forever.

  Although I’d been doing a hell of a job of it for the past three days.

  Ever since that pole dance. Ever since she shoved her tits in my face and had the nerve to possess the most flawless, caramel-smooth skin I’d ever seen. She’d begged me with those hazel eyes to suck on those fat, dusky nipples, though conflict had overridden her desire. That almost haunted look in her eyes was the only thing that could have prevented me from taking those perky little peaks into my mouth.

  “Luka?”

  My gaze flew over to my father, Enzo Rossetti, where he sat behind his treasured antique desk inside his den. “You with us?”

  I looked at my four brothers—Nico, Cris, Ace, and Rome—sitting around the den in our parents’ Prospect Park brownstone in the heart of Brooklyn. They were all looking at me the same way our father was, with a mixture of confusion and concern. I guess standing motionlessly and staring into th
e fireplace instead of furiously pacing across the floor like I typically did would have been considered unusual behavior for me. The last few minutes had probably been the most still I’d ever remained inside this room.

  Because my thoughts had been completely consumed by Cat.

  “Yeah.” I winced when my voice came out suspiciously rough. “I’m here.”

  Dad watched me for another few seconds before nodding. “Okay. Why don’t you catch everyone up on where you’re at with your contacts?”

  Turning to fully face the room, my back to the fireplace, I cleared my throat. “We all know about the rumors of Raphael Esposito breaking into the human trafficking trade. Word is he’s selling women off in highly secretive private auctions around the city. These sales are bringing in the biggest whales from all around the world.”

  Cris nodded, rolling his unlit Cohiba Behike cigar between his fingers. His disgusted scowl was shared by everyone else in the room. “Right. Another notch on his bedpost in Hell.”

  “What we haven’t been able to figure out is where the women are coming from and who he’s working with.” I met Rome’s eyes where he sat at one end of the leather couch. “But we might have a theory on that.”

  Rome then explained what we suspected in terms of the Garcia cartel’s involvement. Their cocaine shipments into the city, the rumors surrounding their rivalry with Diego Suarez, and their possible human trafficking dealings with the Colombians.

  “So, the cartel is carving out new territory in the city,” Ace summed up, “and Raphael wants his piece of the pie?”

  “Raphael has more international contacts than the cartel,” I answered. “They want his network, he wants their business. We all know how much money gets thrown around at those auctions. Human trafficking is one of the most lucrative trades out there.”

  It made me want to exterminate every last asshole who would actually buy and sell a human being, like the cockroaches they were.

  “And what about the cocaine?” Nico spoke up from one of the two wingback chairs.

  With his low-slung man bun and short beard, he looked like he’d be more comfortable on a surfboard on the California coast than in a bespoke suit in Brooklyn.

  “Is the cartel working with the Niners to run their drug game, or against them?”

  “According to our sources,” Rome cut in, “the Niners want no part of the cartel. After their failed partnership with Stefano and the mafia, they’re not interested in making deals with anyone from here on out.”

  “Which means the shit’s going to hit the fan when the cartel’s cocaine starts rolling in, and it takes business away from the Niners,” Cris chimed in, frustration marring his features.

  “We don’t want them joining forces either.” This from Nico. “Both the Niners and the Garcias have huge numbers. If they teamed up in the drug business, it would be the makings of an empire.”

  Ace held up a hand. “What I don’t get is why Raphael is suddenly playing nice with the Garcias. The mafia has never been on friendly terms with the cartel. Remember the last time the Garcias tried encroaching on the families’ territory back in the 90s? Bodies were washing up in the river every week. Cops tagged them as both cartel and mafia hits.”

  “Raphael was the Underboss then,” Dad said. “And there were rumors that he and his uncle, who was Boss at the time, rarely ever came down on the same side of any issue.

  “You’re saying Raphael may have never wanted to be enemies with the cartel,” Cris speculated.

  Nico white knuckled the wingback’s arm rest as he glared at the floor. His hatred for Raphael had certainly become a lot more personal, considering the man had nearly killed his wife Lexi and their unborn baby in that fire at Nico’s distillery, Brooklyn Armor House.

  “Where’s the information coming from?” Dad asked me pointedly.

  “One of my underground contacts.” My defeat of the Slovakian the other night had been fruitful, information-wise. “He used to work for Suarez, running narcotic shipments up from Miami. Said he’s recently been contacted by the cartel to do the same thing for them.”

  “So, we definitely know they’re hauling up cocaine,” Ace said, “but we don’t have confirmation on the women yet?”

  “A lot of the information we’ve gotten down in The Slaughterhouse about the cocaine has been from low to mid-level dealers,” Rome responded. “These guys aren’t privy to information on the human trafficking rings. That’s shit only a handful of players down there know about. And they’re not going to run their mouths to just anyone.”

  “How do you know any of them are even affiliated with the operation?” Nico asked.

  “We got Connelly to run some of their names through the system,” I explained. “At least two of the high rollers that bet on the fights have been investigated for trafficking-related crimes in the past. One was even briefly detained by Interpol last year, but he got off on a technicality.”

  Bryce Connelly was an NYPD detective and friend. A solid cop who came from our neighborhood and was the only person in all of law enforcement we trusted. He had an unofficial arrangement with our family. He passed along information we needed on the five families, and we’d help him remove the toxic mafia scum from our streets. He might as well have been the adopted sixth Rossetti brother.

  “All right,” Dad said on a sigh, leaning forward in his chair. “These high rollers could definitely be some of the buyers at the auctions, but they won’t talk to anyone outside their inner circle. How do you plan on getting close to them?”

  I felt Rome’s gaze burning into the side of my face, but I didn’t look at him. “I’ve challenged The Slaughterhouse’s champion to a fight. These high rollers keep him in their pockets because he brings in some serious bank for them. We’re thinking that if I beat him, I might become their new pet.”

  Cris nodded, eyes narrowed. “Which means they’d bring you into their inner circle.”

  I inclined my head in agreement. “If I gain their trust, I might be able to find out where these auctions are being held.”

  “It’s a little thin,” Ace pointed out.

  I shrugged. “It’s the best lead we’ve got right now.”

  “It’s also risky.” Dad tapped his finger against his desk. “If they suspect you’re not who you say you are, they won’t just be slapping your wrist in retaliation.”

  None of them knew how extensive my history with The Slaughterhouse actually was. How deep my ties ran. No one but Rome.

  “Trust me, I’ve given them enough reasons to believe I belong down there.”

  Nico’s expression was skeptical. “Your entire plan hinges on you actually beating their champion. You sure you can?” He threw his hands up when my expression turned lethal. “Don’t get me wrong, bro. You were a kickass boxer, one of the best around. But this is on a whole different level. I mean, these guys aren’t fucking around.”

  I wanted to laugh in his face.

  I couldn’t even really be offended at his lack of faith in my skills because he had no idea.

  None of them did. Again, except for Rome. He was the only one who’d seen me at my absolute worst, who knew all of my secrets. And I knew all of his. The rest of them didn’t know about my addiction three years ago. Didn’t know how it had eaten away at me and almost consumed me from the inside out. Dad didn’t even know what I’d been dealing with back then. Not only had I not wanted to burden any of them with it, there was only one person in this room who could have fully understood the fucked up mess in my head.

  Rome had seen the same kind of death I had.

  He’d caused death, just like me.

  He knew the kind of afflictions that taking multiple lives causes in a man.

  So, when I’d first discussed my “former contacts” with Dad and my brothers weeks ago, I’d been extremely vague in how I was connected to this underground fighting world. We’d all done plenty of illegal shit in our time, but it was usually in the defense of our family and those closest t
o us. Fighting in The Slaughterhouse had been purely voluntary—and selfish—on my part, and Dad would never have approved.

  None of them knew who The Undertaker was. Didn’t know about my secret life. How lethal I could truly be. My boxing career looked like a fucking cakewalk compared to my experiences down in The Slaughterhouse.

  “Thanks for the support, big bro,” I muttered dryly to Nico. “You gonna be my cornerman?”

  The man bun-sporting smartass just smirked. Though his eyes still held questions.

  “He has a point, Luka,” Dad interjected, fingering his gold Montblanc pen. “There are different rules down there. The losers don’t always come out alive.”

  I knew that better than anyone.

  One of my opponents three years ago had never gotten back up.

  “I know what the hell I’m doing,” I snapped to the entire room in a harsh voice, leaving no room for doubt. “Everyone clear on that?”

  This was my fucking arena, after all. I wasn’t a tech genius like Ace. I couldn’t hack in to any computer network or database when we needed information. I wasn’t a finance guru like Cris. I couldn’t manage hedge funds for the family like he could. And I didn’t have the business savvy that Nico had. He knew how to navigate his way around investments and real estate deals like no one else.

  This was all I had to offer.

  All I’d ever known, all I’d ever been good at, was fighting.

  And right then, I was the best chance we had at learning where these women were being sold off and who all was involved. So, I would see it through until the goddamn end. Even if it killed me. We’d all risked our lives for this family in one way or another countless times. It was my turn to lead the charge.

  I was a Rossetti.

  Just like my time in the service, I would do my fucking duty.

  Rome’s gaze darted to mine, as if he could read my thoughts. Although in this case, I didn’t want him to. He already knew too much of my shame. I didn’t want him to think I’d relapsed into an addiction that I’d already conquered. It was moments like this that our twin connection could be a royal pain in the ass.