by Nova Rain
Chapter Eighty-One
Joe
I spend the next day working out ways to sneak into that fundraiser undetected. I doubt most of the bystanders have ever seen me before, but Eric knows my face all too well. Posing as a waiter or a parking valet is not an option. At first, I consider going up to that roof early, one or two hours before the beginning of the event. Sadly though, that will be one, long wait. The fundraiser starts at nine, and I could be stuck up there until after midnight. Santone may be a pervert, but he’s not an idiot. He waits long enough for most people to leave similar events, and makes his move afterwards. The way I see it, I only have one choice. The bathrooms in that hotel are in the basement. I can disguise myself as a member of the cleanup crew. I just need to be careful, in case Eric shows up down there.
I buy myself a blue uniform and a matching cap to hide my features. As I look at myself in the mirror, a wave of disappointment washes over me. This isn’t the way I wanted to end this. My old boss should suffer, and by “suffer,” I mean in more than just physical pain. He should be left with nothing, not even the five-percent his father left him in his will. And, after living in the street has broken his spirit, I would break his body. It sounds sadistic, but that’s what he deserves for all the hardship he put Michelle and me through.
That night, I find myself with a mop in my grasp, staring down at the checkered floor in that basement. Whenever the elevator halts, I roll my bucket across the hall or into the bathroom, keeping my head down. The stench of chlorine is testing my patience. It’s everywhere I go. It reaches all the way up to the last flight of stairs before the ground floor. Just a few minutes into this charade, I wish I could get out of it. I’m not sure if I can’t stand this disgusting smell. Furthermore, I could pass out due to the fumes. But, no. I can’t flee. I can’t go anywhere until I’ve seen this through. My target is being guarded around the clock. The only time he sends his goons away is when he wants to be alone with hot chicks. This is a golden opportunity. Who knows when I’ll get another one?
A few minutes before midnight, I get the signal I’ve been waiting for. My cell phone buzzes once; the caller ID is “Peter Maltese,” I call the service elevator, unwilling to run into any hotel customers. Looking behind me, I tap my fingers on the gray panel, my pulse rising more and more by the second. I step into the empty car, knowing exactly what I’ll find up on the roof. That midget will be chasing around young girls, promising them all kinds of crap to get them into bed. It’s more likely for a tree to start walking than for him to change his ways.
A second ding rings in my ears as the elevator grinds to a halt. The door slides open sideways, revealing one more, aluminum door. The narrow glass in the middle doesn’t allow me to look outside. Pretentious screams soon rip through the air. I take a deep breath, and grab the doorknob. I open it just enough for me peek through the narrow gap, because I’m dealing with a mobster. He could have a nasty surprise waiting for me. In a moment though, I discover that he doesn’t. That asshole is lying on the ground, looking up at girls’ panties while they parade around him. What a loser… I swing the door open, the handle hitting the wall on my left.
“Clear out,” I grumble, staring down at him as I crack my knuckles. The ten or so dancers turn to me, and start jogging across the roof, Santone props himself up on his elbows.
“Mancini!” he whispers, his eyes broadening with shock and disbelief. “What the fuck are you doing up here?”
I keep my mouth shut. I didn’t dress myself up like a clown to exchange words with him. Striding off, I roll my fingers into fists, casting a fierce glare down at him.
“Wait! Please!” he begs, crab walking backwards, the fear in his eyes giving me a sense of satisfaction. Within moments, I catch up, and bend down. Reaching out my arm, I grab him by the throat. I feel the pulse in his neck, my eyes blazing down into his while I lift him up from the ground.
“Squeal, you motherfucker,” I growl, his head going over my level, the tip of his shoe brushing my shirt as he squirms and kicks. “No one’s going to hear you.”
“Joe, don’t,” he chokes out, thrusting both his hands up to mine. “We can work this out.”
Once again, adrenaline is taking over me, sending all kinds of thoughts into my head. One of them wants me to give him the beating of a lifetime. It would definitely add to my satisfaction. Still, it will cause me all sorts of problems. I’d love to beat up on him, but it will be messy. By the time I’m done with him, his blood will be all over the roof. It will also add a personal note to this. Most of all, it won’t look like an accident like Maltese advised. I trot closer to the ledge, maintaining a tight grip around his throat. Flexing my arm muscles, I push his body forward and then release. The fear in his eyes turns into pure terror, the moment he finds himself in the air. They pop up, staring up at me as he starts his plunge towards the ground. A long, hair--raising scream draws the attention of a few bystanders outside the building. Looking over the ledge, I watch his fall, savoring the moment. His body slams down onto the roof of a black Mercedes, smashing the front and rear windshields. Shards of glass are tossed across the road and the pavement, when an even more high-pitched scream tears through the night. A woman is standing just a few feet behind the mangled car, with her palms pressed against her cheeks.
I turn away from the ledge; the satisfaction I feel within is replaced by a sense of relief. At last, Eric Santone is lying dead, some two hundred feet below. The disgrace of a Don is no longer a threat to Michelle, my friends, or me. We don’t have to look over our shoulders anymore. She can say whatever she wants to about me. She can call me a cold-blooded killer or an inhuman bastard, but she can’t deny that I’ve saved her life once and for all. And the best part of all this is that I didn’t have to use a gun. Gravity did all the work for me.
Chapter Eighty-Two
Joe
By the time I reach the ground floor, it’s almost completely empty. No one seems to be interested in chatting or mingling with one another. On the contrary, they’re very curious to learn why someone ended up face down on a high-end car. Dozens of people have gathered around the Benz, taking pictures or talking on the phone. The so-called philanthropists just love concerning themselves with something as tragic as a man’s death. People never cease to amaze me. But it’s this curiosity that helps me slip amongst them with ease. I can’t linger anymore. The cops will be here any minute. And even though Santone’s death does look like an accident, they won’t appreciate finding me in that hotel; especially if they know about the hit he had put out on me. They’ll start asking questions, questions that I’m not willing to answer.
I always thought that if I ever succeeded in taking him out, I would follow this exact routine after a hit: pick up my Camaro, drive around a bit, and head home. A cold shower later, I’d relax in my living room with a beer. Still, I don’t. For some reason, I stay away from my car, and prefer to walk around in the busy streets of Manhattan. Maybe I’m trying to enjoy my newfound freedom. I wouldn’t dare do this a week ago. Being in public wouldn’t deter any wannabe assassins. A drive-by or a speeding car would be enough to take me out. Maybe I just want to catch a glimpse of a world without Santone. It’s still full of criminals and all kinds of scum, but now, one of their very worst is gone. Perhaps it’s both; I can’t tell. Whatever it is, after a two-hour stroll, I’m too tired to decide. I walk over to my car and drive back to my apartment building, a place I haven’t seen for a while.
The headlights light the road up ahead in my narrow neighborhood, revealing the old, flaking entrance and some parked cars up front. Still, that’s not all they reveal. A feminine figure is standing on the curb, looking in my direction. Her curly, waist-long hair leaves me no doubt. It’s Michelle. My initial thought is to run like hell. I know why she’s here. She’s probably heard of Santone’s fate, and wants to lecture me on values and principles. I can still remember the last time she lectured me. I’m still carrying those scars. I don’t need new ones. But
should I avoid her tonight, she will only come back, demanding a chance to say whatever’s on her mind. That’s how stubborn she is. So, I pull over and step out of my car, hoping that this visit doesn’t last more than a couple of minutes.
Chapter Eighty-Three
Michelle
I get shivers down my spine just by looking at Joe draw near. His swagger and his imposing physique intimidate me, spreading the seed of doubt within me. Okay, he’s never been physical towards me, but every man’s got his limits. It’s been less than a week since I broke his heart, and seeing me on his doorstep will test them. However, getting here took every ounce of my courage. I just don’t know if I can ever muster that kind of courage again. I want him to hear what I have to say. I want to talk to him, one last time. I owe it to what the two of us had, not so long ago.
“Hey, look who it is, it’s Ms. Righteousness.” Irony is dripping from his tongue, his heavy footsteps bringing him closer to me. “Go home, Michelle. I’m not in the mood.”
“Joe…” I speak out his name as he passes me by. “Can we talk? Please?”
“I said go home,” he groans, keeping his attention on the entrance of his apartment building. “You were crystal-clear back in Dallas.”
“I’m accepting that will,” I announce, my voice a touch louder. My statement stops him in his tracks. I didn’t mean to tell him this fast, but his indifference forced my hand. “I still haven’t found Santone’s contract dealer, but I’m accepting it as soon as I do. I just thought you should know.”
“Why?” He asks, turning around to face me. “It’s drug money: Blood money. You said you never wanted anything to do with that.”
“Yes, but I can use it to do good things,” I counter, taking two, slow steps towards him. “A while ago, you said it’d be stupid of me to decline it. You never explained ‘why,’ but I see it now.”
“Good for you,” he mutters. “Anything else?” he continues, thrusting his arms out to the side.
“Yes,” I respond with a sigh. “I read online about Santone’s death. The media say it was an accident. Did you have anything to do with it?”
“Yeah, I threw him off the roof of that hotel,” Joe admits, his tone deepening. “That son of a bitch had to go. He’d done enough damage. Now, get out of here. I’m tired.”
“Joe, wait,” I request, my voice breaking as I gaze up into his shadowy eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come down so hard on you. You were just looking out for us, and you got me preaching about the value of human life.”
“What do you want from me, Michelle?” he asks, the skin on his face tightening. “Forgiveness? Something else, maybe? Don’t say ‘love,’ because I tried to give you that, and I’m still hurting.”
“I want you,” I whisper, my lips beginning to shake, my heart thumping against my chest. “I want my savior. My guardian angel. Devil…” I pause, tears blurring my vision. “Devil or angel, I don’t care. You were always by my side. I’ve missed you. God, I’ve…”
Joe doesn’t allow me to finish my sentence. In an instant, I sense the familiar softness of his lips on my mouth, taking me in a long, passionate kiss. He throws his long arms around my waist, pulling me towards him, the warmth in his embrace tearing the fear of rejection to shreds. I have no idea where the kindness in his heart stems from, but it doesn’t matter. It’s there, he’s forgiven me. He’s not mad at me, although he’s got every right to be. I raise my hands up and cup his cheeks, desperate to feel that firm skin twitching in my palms once more. My heart is fluttering in my chest, swimming in a sea of bliss, the sea that his kiss sends right into me. My body is shivering from head to toe, the tip of my nose brushing his chin. Exhaling hard, I collapse onto his chest, tears rushing out of my eyes. A quick kiss on my temple later, he holds me tight, the sound of his beating heart music to my ears.
“I’m so sorry…” I sob, the moisture from my eyes seeping through his shirt. “I shouldn’t….”
“Shhh…” he hisses, feathering his hand through my hair. “Forget it ever happened.”
“I’ll try,” I breathe, running my hands down his neck.
“So…” Joe heaves a sigh, leaning back. “You’re going to be my boss now?”
“No,” I shake my head sideways, a small smile forming on my lips. “I’ve actually been thinking about that. Oh, God…” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m shutting down any illegal enterprises Santone has been involved in: nothing illegal from now on. I was worried sick when you went on that mission to Albany. I’m not going through that again. Are you okay with that?”
“Are you crazy?” he chuckles, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. “Do you think I like risking my life? I’ve been dying to get out of this crap. That’s why I pulled off that heist, remember?”
“I love you, Joe Mancini,” I confess, my tone soft as our eyes meet once more. “I’ll never let you down again. I promise.”
“I love you, too, Michelle,” he whispers, his breath tickling my forehead, the brightness in his eyes engulfing my soul. “You’re the most precious thing I’ve got in this world.”
We stay like this for several seconds, just looking into each other’s eyes, not making a sound. I think of ranting on about what I’ve been up to lately; yet, I choose to keep it to myself. I’ve missed those tiny seas too much to ruin the moment by talking. And I can’t believe I’ll sail in them from now on. A small amount of pressure on my lower back signals another hug. I close my eyes, relishing in the closeness. I purr, thanking my fate for bringing a man like him into my life. His decision to give me another chance shouldn’t surprise me. Yes, I hurt him, I destroyed what we had because I put my principles above our love, but Joe will be Joe. I should have realized what kind of man he is when he told me that I was too good for him. Even then, he was looking out for me, although we were total strangers. Now however, we are anything but strangers. We are two people, embarking on a long, tedious journey together, filled with all kinds of danger. I’m sailing off into the unknown, counting on the fact that he will be my rock, my safe haven. I should be terrified, and yet, he makes me feel completely safe. The invisible blanket that I threw away a few days ago is shielding me again. And Joe will keep it around me, because that’s what he does: He’s My guardian; He’s My savior; and always The angel on my shoulder.
THE END
**Want More? Read Fight or Flight: An Enemies To Lovers Romance
No Cliffhangers, No Cheating, Only HEA on special! Pre-Order Your Copy Today (Click Here)**
Mob Lust A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Guardians From Hell Book 2
Chapter One
Donny
Legit…
Joe Mancini, one of the toughest henchmen I’d ever known, a guy who loved to steal, had gone legit. No more roughing people up for bets or any money owed to his boss. No more shooting anybody. Blowing stuff up? None of that, either.
Why had he decided to leave all that?
Because of a woman.
Michelle Garner — once a barmaid, now an heiress to Thomas Santone’s fortune, she had Joe wrapped around her finger. He would do just about anything to be with her, including changing his ways. We could forget about the gutsy man that didn’t care about getting shot, the man that enjoyed smashing heads in. Now, he dressed in designer clothes and considered violence as something below him.
Right.
It was like taking a heavyweight champ and turning him into a monk. Pulling him out of the ring and throwing him in a convent.
Would he survive? Yeah.
Would he like it? No.
Despite Joe’s confidence about his new circumstances, I wasn’t so sure about it. On some level, we all wanted to get out of the life. Joe, Bryan and I had been cleaning up after mob bosses for years and years. We were all tired of this and that, but deep down, we enjoyed doing certain things. Bryan could build bombs. From firecrackers to intricate devices, he would do it and love every second of the process. Joe’s favorite was stealing from fat cats, especially fr
om ones with fancy fronts. A pizza franchise owner selling guns on the side was just perfect. I on the other hand, had a thing for gunfights. That insane rush, the struggle of getting someone before they got you, was my absolute favorite.
Joe spent months calculating the money Michelle had inherited. Afterwards, he let others take over the illegal businesses that had earned Eric Santone ridiculous amounts of money, like the distribution of meth. In my eyes, he was a glorified accountant. Of course, he did have some fun in the process. Eighteen supercars in the garage made sure of that. Every now and then, he would invite Bryan and me over for some fun in those amazing cars. We headed to racetracks across the state and burned through a few sets of tires. This was perhaps the only thing that had come out of this situation. Neither me, nor Bryan had ever pictured either of us at the wheel of a Lamborghini or a Porsche. As for Joe? He was glued to his beloved Ferrari 458 and wouldn’t let anyone touch it. If anyone made such mistake, he would remember his old self and start trading punches with them.
On a cold, February night, Joe showed me once more that he had become something he hated: a fat cat. At the launch of his new sporting goods mall, he turned up in a navy-blue suit and a beige overcoat, looking like a million bucks. He and Michelle just waltzed in, all smiles as they greeted their guests. And who were those guests? The same people who used to make him sick: bigshot lawyers, construction company CEO’s, food franchise owners and even a few politicians, like councilman Stanley Griffin. I glanced over at Bryan, sipping some of that sour liquid they called “champagne.”
