Dead Man's Hand: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Renee Rose

  I shrug. “So what? It can be silent during dinner and then after the kitchen closes at ten, it could turn into a lounge for the last few hours. I bet you’d pack the place.”

  “You think?”

  “It’s perfect, Gio. Really.” I don’t know why I’m so enthusiastic about changing Michelangelo's into the very Tacone hang-out I was so pissed imagining earlier. I guess I recognize what it is to have a dream. A vision of where you think you’d fit in life. And he has the finances and ability to make his dream come true, unlike most of us. In fact, he has the ability to make my dreams come true, too, not that I’m going to let him.

  I already owe the man too much. He’s already saying he owns me.

  I can’t let him own my dreams, too.

  Then there’d be nothing of me left to keep.

  Chapter 7

  Gio

  I step into Caffè Milano. I’m looking for Ivan, the bratva asshole I’m supposed to meet. I find him sitting at a table across from Marissa. At least I think it’s Marissa. Her back is to me. Ivan watches me as I approach, a smug smile on his face. I walk over and Marissa looks up. Duct tape is over her mouth, and I see her wrists and ankles are bound together. She tries to scream from behind the tape. Her wide and frightened eyes are glued to mine.

  Glued to mine as Ivan laughs and shoots her right in the heart.

  “No!” I shout and reach for my gun, but it’s not there. It’s not there and someone’s pulling my arm.

  I try to jerk it off.

  “Gio.”

  I blink. Marissa’s wide blue gaze is still fixed on my face. “Gio.” She tugs on my arm.

  “Marissa.” Thank fuck. There’s no tape over her mouth. She’s not bleeding. She’s in my bed.

  Just a dream. Just a fucking dream.

  She traces her fingertips over the muscles of my arm. “Another nightmare?”

  “Cazzo.” I rub the stubble on my face. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

  “Was I in it?”

  I give a humorless laugh. “Every fucking time.”

  “What happened? Never mind.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know why I asked. I’m sure I don’t want to know.”

  “You definitely don’t. Fucking Russians.” I throw the covers off and pad to the bathroom. When I come back, Marissa’s still in my bed.

  I stop to take in the sight.

  She’s so fucking pretty. Her caramel-colored hair fans out on the pillow, the blue of her eyes bright against the backdrop of my charcoal gray sheet she has pulled up to her armpits. She’s so young and fresh and full of life. So much to live for. And it could all be taken away in the blink of an eye.

  I climb back onto the bed and yank the sheet down to her waist to see those perky little breasts in the light of the day.

  She gasps and tries to reach for it, but I shake my head and she instantly stills, her pretty eyes attentive and alert.

  Huh. She’s submissive with me now.

  Not a submissive by nature, though.

  I straddle her waist over the sheet and palm one of her breasts.

  All her attention’s still trained on my face. I see the flutter of her pulse in her neck. “They’re small,” she murmurs, like an apology.

  I release her tit and slap the side of it.

  She yelps and covers both of them with her hands.

  “They’re fucking perfect.” I grab her wrists and pin them down beside her head. “You criticize this body again, I’m gonna paint your ass red.”

  She lets out a surprised laugh. “It’s my body.”

  I arch a brow. “Is it baby? I don’t think so. I believe I own you now.” I cup both her breasts and squeeze, then brush my thumbs over the stiffened peaks.

  My cock lengthens between us.

  She licks her lips.

  I slide the sheet down between us and run my finger over her slit to check for wetness.

  Dripping.

  Babygirl likes being owned.

  And I sure as hell love owning her.

  I move to the side to get rid of the topsheet and slip my hands behind her knees to push them up toward her shoulders.

  “That’s right baby. Spread that pussy for me and show me how wet you get when I talk dirty.”

  She whimpers. I can’t get enough of those eyes trained on my face! It makes me feel as tall as the fucking Willis Tower.

  “That’s the pussy I own, isn’t it, baby?”

  She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, her breath coming more quickly.

  “What should I do to that pussy first? Lick it?”

  She swallows and nods quickly.

  I give her what must be a feral smile. I’m definitely feeling predatory. I lower my head and take one long lick with my tongue flat. Then I trace around her inner lips.

  “You make all that honey for me, angel?”

  Whimper.

  “Does that mean you want my big cock inside you again, sweet girl?”

  “Yes,” she says quickly. More quickly than I expected. It’s so fucking cute.

  So fucking hot.

  My balls start aching. I nip her labia and she gasps. Moving her legs to rest on my shoulders, I reach up and take hold of each of her nipples, applying a steadily increasing pressure as I tickle her clit with my tongue.

  “Oh my gawd!” she cries.

  “You like that, baby?”

  “More,” she whimpers.

  “Oh, I’ll give you more. I’ll give you so fucking much you’ll be begging for mercy.”

  She mewls because I’m pinching her nipples pretty hard. I speed up the action on her clit, then suction my mouth over it and suck. I release her from both sensations all at once, and she cries out with alarm.

  “I need a condom,” I tell her. “You put yourself in the position you want to get fucked in. And make it a good one.”

  As if there’s any that wouldn’t be good with this girl—ha.

  I walk to the nightstand, pretending not to watch as she rustles around on the bed, arranging and rearranging herself. I waste a little time until she goes quiet then let myself take her in.

  Fuuuuuuck.

  The little minx is on her knees and forearms, ass in the air.

  “Oh, babygirl, that was such a good choice. I’m gonna have to reward you for that one.”

  I walk around behind her and give her dripping cunt another generous massage with my tongue.

  “I have to say… this ass is begging to be spanked.” I slide my hands around the globes of her ass in total and complete appreciation. “Only one mark from last night. That was from the belt, I think.” I trace it with my thumb. “Does it hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I’m not gonna hurt you this morning. I’m just going to give you a little sting. You like it as rough as I like to give, don’t you, angel?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  I slap her ass. “Answer me, Marissa.”

  “I don’t know… I guess so.”

  “Did you learn something new with me?” I rub the place I slapped.

  “Yeah. Definitely.”

  I chuckle, loving her admission. “Beautiful girl.” I slap the same place, rub again. I keep going, delivering slaps, then massaging until her skin turns pink and she’s moaning and wagging her hips for more.

  Only then do I roll on my condom. “Ready for more, angel?”

  “Yes, please,” she moans.

  So sweet she’s become. I’m not fool enough to think this will last, but I sure as hell am enjoying it for the moment.

  I prod her entrance gently, then ease in. Her moan is sultry. Welcoming. “Such a beautiful ass, baby. I love fucking you from behind.”

  “Mmm.”

  I grip her waist and pull her hips back to meet me on my thrusts. The angle lets me get deep inside her and she feels so good. Still tight as a glove. So hot and wet. I close my eyes and indulge in the decadence of sensations.

  Finally, a reason to live.

  When her cries change in pi
tch—getting louder and more desperate, I reach around the front of her and rub her clit.

  She shrieks. “Gio! Oh my God! Please!”

  Who can deny her? I fuck harder, rocking the bed against the wall with the force of my thrusts.

  When I’m about to come, I reach around again for another rub. I shout. She screams. We both fly over the edge together, her pussy squeezing my cock in the most glorious way. I fall on top of her and drag her to her side, still buried deep.

  I breathe into her neck. Bite it. Hold her breast as I thrust a few more times.

  “Oh my God,” she pants again.

  I trail kisses along her shoulder, down her arm. “All this time I’ve been wondering why my life was saved,” I rumble, not even censoring myself. It’s kinda crazy how much I let loose around this girl. “And I think I just figured it out.” I nip her arm.

  Her laugh is low and throaty. “Oh yeah? For sex?”

  “Sex with you, sugar.”

  I pull out before the condom comes off and I dispose of it.

  I pick up my phone and text Michael, who is now essentially my bitch. Fire the sous chef Arnie, effective immediately. He’s been nasty with the girls who work in the kitchen. And give both the girls a three dollar an hour raise, starting from their last paycheck to make it up to them.

  I turn my phone around and show Marissa when I’m done.

  She’s sitting up in bed, hair tousled, face flushed. She’s the sweetest thing I’ve had in my bed, ever.

  I’m trying to figure out how to keep her here. Or if that’s even the right thing to do.

  Fuck me with this right and wrong shit all the time now. Why’d I have to grow a fucking conscience after my near-death experience?

  Marissa

  I grab Gio’s phone to make sure I’m reading the text correctly. A smile forms on my lips as I re-read. “You gave me a raise, too?” I know I’m letting him hear my excitement. It’s stupid. Three dollars an hour is nothing to Gio Tacone, and I didn’t want to give him any more leverage on me. But what the hell—he’s already decided he owns me. Might as well let him pay for it, right?

  It occurs to me I should ask for more.

  Especially considering how affectionate he’s being with me.

  But maybe he’s like this with every woman he brings home.

  A shard of jealousy pierces through me with unexpected viciousness.

  “What?”

  Damn, he’s observant.

  I pull the sheet up to cover my breasts. I need to get myself out of here. I am so out of my depth with this man and this only ends one way—with me crushed beneath his boot.

  “Are you finished with me now?”

  His brows slam down. “What the fuck just happened?”

  I get up and start to crawl off the bed, but he catches me by the waist and tugs me back. “Hang on just a minute. What the fuck did I do, Marissa? You mad about the money?”

  I can’t meet his eyes. I just want to get out of here. I turn my face away. “No, I just—”

  He catches my jaw and holds it firmly, turning my face to his. “What’d I do?”

  I want to throw something mean in his face about him owning me and treating me like a whore, but I know in my heart it’s a lie, so I let the real problem slip.

  “You’re a playboy, Gio. I can’t do this.” I choke on the emotion that pops up. What the hell is this? Just yesterday I was giving him hell and kneeing him in the balls. Now I’m choking up over not being his one-and-only? It’s freaking crazy.

  “What?” He’s as shocked as I am. “No, no, no, no, no. You’re nuts, Marissa. You’re the first woman I’ve slept with since I got shot. And that was months ago.” He releases my jaw, his touch becoming gentle as he tips my chin up. “You’re the girl in my dreams, angel. Just wish they were nice dreams.”

  He lowers his forehead to mine, his lips hovering over my mouth.

  I take the initiative and kiss him. The moment I do, he launches into action, pushing me to my back on the bed, covering my body with his. His kiss is deep, relentless. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, he sucks my lower lip. He consumes me.

  It’s the best kiss of my life.

  A real kiss.

  Better than any movie.

  Better than sex, even.

  Well, maybe not better than sex with Gio. That’s pretty untoppable.

  When he breaks it, he stares down at me. “What do you want from me, angel? I’ll give it to you. It’s just fucking hard when you won’t ever take it.”

  And then I’m crying.

  Hot tears that drip from the corners of my eyes down my temples. “I’m sorry.” I loop my arms around him and pull him close, into a full body horizontal hug. He’s heavy, but the weight soothes me. “This is all scary and new to me.”

  “What is?” He sounds demanding and I think he realizes it, because he repeats the words, more softly, “What is, angel?”

  “Everything. You. Who you are. What you represent. The power, the money. The sex.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You lost me, baby.” He tries to push away to see my face, but I keep a stranglehold on his neck. I really can’t take the eye contact right now. “What are you talking about?”

  I don’t want to say, “you’re mafia” because I think it’s something you don’t say to these guys, so I say, “You’re a Tacone.”

  His weight slumps against me, like I just shot him down. “Baby, I don’t even know who I am anymore.” His voice is heavy. He sounds ancient. “Ever since I got shot, I don’t know what the point of this life is. I meant it when I said you gave me new meaning. So if you have some idea about who the fuck I am, could you please just… forget it? Can we just start from today? This minute. Just two people who like the way their bodies fit together? Who like the way they feel when they’re with the other?”

  I catch my breath. Whoa. Is that how he feels about me?

  He pushes back and this time I reluctantly let him see me. “Do I make you feel good, angel?”

  Tingles rush over my skin. He phrased it like it’s about sex, but I can tell by his gaze that he’s asking about so much more. Does he?

  He scares me. I’ve been afraid of getting involved with him. But yeah. He definitely makes me feel good. Not just my body.

  Me.

  I remember how strong I felt going into the hospital with him. How sexy and confident I felt cooking for him.

  How freaking special I feel every time he shares something like this about his real struggles. About who he really is.

  “Yes, Gio,” I whisper. “I like the way you make me feel.”

  The corners of his mouth lift. “Good. Now, what can I do for you this morning? Take you to breakfast? What time do you have to be at work?”

  “Not until two. And I’m making you breakfast.” I’m suddenly full of energy, excited to be the version of me he finds so attractive. “Ever have a woman cook for you in the nude?” I ask, traipsing toward the door. “Scratch that, I don’t want to know the answer,” I call as I sashay toward the kitchen.

  “No,” he calls after me. “Never, baby. You’re the only woman I ever let in my kitchen!”

  I’m absurdly pleased with that answer. When you grow up Italian—or at least in my family—you learn that cooking is love. My nonna still spends an entire day preparing a meal for the family dinner. At Christmas, she spends two days making cookies with Mia.

  You can taste the love in the food. It’s the reason Milano’s always has customers.

  It’s the reason I wanted to become a chef—I wanted to take it to a new level.

  I head into the kitchen and tie the apron I left in his drawer around my waist and look through the refrigerator to see what he’s eaten of the food I left him.

  Gio comes to sit at the breakfast bar in a t-shirt that stretches to accommodate his barrel chest and a pair of running shorts. He rubs his jaw and growls when he takes in my outfit. “Baby, you cook for me like that, you’re the only thing that’s gonna be eaten.”r />
  I smile smugly and ignore him, going about my work.

  I’m pleased to find he’s devoured almost everything I left. I cut up a little of the steak that should be for tonight’s meal and chop some tomatoes, onions, garlic and basil. Then I pull out eggs, butter and milk and make two big fat omelets.

  “I can’t find it in me to feel guilty you’re in my kitchen before you have to go in and cook all night,” Gio says when I slide a plate in front of him. He picks it up. “Bring yours over to the table. And you’re sitting on my lap. You think I can touch this food before I touch you?”

  I think I’m blushing. I want to keep my resistance up to his charm, but he keeps chipping away at my defenses. I carry my plate to the table and gasp at the view. I saw it at night, but in the daytime, it’s even more spectacular. Sun streams in through the wall-to-wall windows, sparkles on the waves of Lake Michigan below us.

  “This is incredible.”

  He pulls me down on his lap, as promised. His lips immediately find my breast and he sucks my nipple until I squirm on his lap, the corresponding tug between my legs growing stronger.

  “Beautiful girl. I’m starving but you’re the only thing I want to eat.”

  “Don’t offend me—I made this food for you. Mangia, mangia, as my nonna would say.”

  “Mmm, all right,” he says reluctantly and helps me stand. “Food first.” He slaps my bare ass as I turn to take a seat opposite him.

  We’re silent as we eat. I split my gaze between the view and his handsome face as he shovels the food into his mouth, bobbing his head and making appreciative sounds.

  “You were always my favorite Tacone brother,” I admit, wiping my lips with a cloth napkin.

  He studies me, amused. “Didn’t know you thought about any of us enough to even have a favorite.”

  “Oh I thought about you plenty,” I admit. “You were always kind. You and Stefano. The rest of your brothers scared me.”

  “Yeah. We’re the faces,” he says. When he can see I don’t understand, he elaborates, “The ones who do the schmoozing, when it has to be done.”

  It brings back home what he is. Who he is. A crime lord. A killer. A member of one of the most dangerous and powerful mafia families in the country. My stomach tightens.