The Devil I Don't Know

by LK Shaw

  “More,” she begs.

  I slam my mouth down on hers, pushing my tongue inside. There’s no finesse in the kiss. It’s pure blinding need. I time the thrusts of my tongue with each thrust of my cock inside her. It’s a synchronized dance that Brenna has already become attuned to in such a short time. Like we’ve been practicing a thousand nights like this. She matches me perfectly. Neither of us hold back.

  Our movements grow frenetic, needy, both of us wanting to reach the peak together. I clamp her wrists together above her head, and her back arches, pushing her hard, pebbled nipples into my chest. I palm one and increase the force of my thrusts. Our groans and grunts—moans and whimpers—fill the air around us.

  As promised, the musky scent of sex wafts through my nose. We’re both slick with sweat and wetness dripping from both of us. It’s messy and filthy and dirty. With my free hand, I reach between us and find Brenna’s clit.

  “Scream my name,” I growl against her mouth. Every base instinct I have wants to show the world that this woman is mine. I want her screams, her pleasure, her pain. I want everything from her as well.

  I ram my cock hard into her.

  “Jacob,” she whimpers.

  Not good enough. I slam into her again and again, my fingers rubbing her clit the way that gave her the most pleasure. “Louder,” I command.

  “Jacob,” she bellows, the name almost unrecognizable.

  Her pussy clamps down hard, her whole body freezes, and her heels dig into me. I’m sure my ass will feel it in the morning. My balls tighten, and I only have to thrust a few more times until I join Brenna in bliss. I roar my release into her neck.

  I half collapse on top of her, careful of my weight. My hold on her wrists loosens, and her hands go to my waist. Her fingers clutch my sides. I shift just a bit to get more comfortable, and her legs tighten around me.

  “Don’t go yet,” she says, her voice scratchy.

  Raising up on my elbows, I stare down at her. Our eyes meet and hold. A satisfied smile lights up her face. I lean down, and I only intend to brush my lips across hers. Instead, she opens for me, and I slide my tongue in. We kiss until we’re both breathless, my hips flexing a few times with shallow thrusts. Tiny tremors flutter through her pussy.

  I pull out and roll off her. “I’ll be right back.”

  In the bathroom, I wet a cloth with warm water. I stare down at my cock, covered in a mixture of come and blood. After quickly washing myself, I go in and attend Brenna, who’s still lying in bed, but has managed to pull the sheet over herself, covering her nakedness. Her body is flushed pink and she reaches for the cloth, but I shake my head.

  “Let me.” Gently, I tug the covers off and clean her up. I head back to the bathroom to dispose of the washcloth and then return to my wife. I slide into bed and pull her to my side, needing to feel her soft, lush body next to mine. With a contented sigh, she cuddles against me, throwing her leg across mine and draping her arm over my chest.

  “I love waking up every morning like this. With you clinging to me,” I admit.

  “Just your luck that I’m a cuddler, then,” she jokes against my side, her breath tickling my skin.

  “I’m lucky in a lot of ways.”

  Brenna tilts her head up to meet my gaze. “Me too.”

  “I like this. It’s almost pretty. Does it have any special significance?” she asks quietly in the darkened room. Her finger traces the crown inked into my chest.

  “My family’s lineage can be traced to Casa Savoia. They were the monarchy that ruled Italy until the mid-‘40s when they were deposed. My grandfather decided to flee Italy and make a new home in America. He settled here in New York and began what is now the Brooklyn syndicate. Because we’re descendants of kings, he thought it was fitting that we wear a crown in some form.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. You carry yourself like a king. I’ve thought that from our wedding day. How imperious you seemed, standing there next to the priest. I asked my mother about you, and she mentioned the rumors that people call your family the Brooklyn Kings,” she nearly whispers as though keeping a secret just between the two of us.

  I nod, having heard the same rumor. We eventually adopted the nickname for ourselves, because the name brings fear.

  “Every member initiated into the family swears their loyalty. They’re given this tattoo, which is their blood oath. Anyone found betraying us has their tattoo removed before we bury them.”

  Brenna swallows against my chest, and her finger stops moving. “How do you remove it?”

  I tip my head down to glance at her. She raises her head to meet my eyes. “We burn it off them.”

  Her eyes widen a fraction before she composes herself. She lowers herself to rest on my chest, and the quiet stretches between us. I’m sure it sounds brutal to her, but to break the bond of loyalty is the worst offense any member of the organization can make. Trust and honor are everything.

  “Have you ever burned it off anyone before?” Her voice is soft, almost hesitant as though she doesn’t want to know the answer, but can’t quell her curiosity. On our wedding night she asked for honesty, and never once have I lied to her. I won’t start with this.

  “Yes.”

  “They must have deserved it, then,” she says, surprising me. Violence and brutality is our way of life. I can understand Brenna’s mother wanting to shield her from it. But she didn’t give her daughter—either of her daughters—enough credit. My wife is a lot stronger than people think. Even me.

  “May I ask you another question?”

  “You can always ask, and I’ll do my best to answer,” I tell her.

  She takes a deep breath as though trying to draw in courage. It’s that she thinks she needs it that worries me. “Who does the perfume belong to?”

  A dull, aching pain hits my chest. The image of blood-stained sheets flashes behind my eyes. The dull, lifeless stare. I almost resent Brenna for bringing the memories forward instead of keeping them buried where they belong. I’m trying to move on with my life. With my marriage. Remembering what once was hurts us both.

  “Jacob?”

  I blink back to the present. Brenna is sitting up, the sheet covering her breasts and tucked securely beneath her arms. Her expression is full of worry with a hint of fear. My gaze drifts to the ceiling and away from the hurt that will soon join them.

  “Her name was Elizabeth, but I called her Ellie. She was”—I swallow back the grief—“my wife.”

  A guttural “Oh, god” salts the air.

  “No one knew,” I continue. “Not yet. We’d only been married a few days when Francesca was taken. Pierce and I spent the next five days desperate to discover where she was being held. We finally found her and butchered every single Russian at the compound. Then we burned it all to the ground.”

  I can still see the red and orange flames dancing against the inky black sky; every spark being spit from the fire. The crackling of the timber, before the roof came crashing down, still echoes in my ear. The scent of gasoline lingers in my nose.

  “We’d planned on telling my father about the marriage the following week. Begin formally introducing her to the families. We were waiting, out of respect for Francesca. Pierce had been busy taking care of her, since her worthless mother couldn’t be bothered with all the dramatics—her words. One night, Ellie had a craving for ice cream. There was a small grocery store two blocks from our penthouse.” I pause, trying not to remember, but failing. “I was only gone for thirty minutes. A half hour for our enemies to take away everything I cared about.”

  Soft, warm hands latch tightly onto mine. My head jerks to the side. Tears run down Brenna’s face.

  “Oh, Jacob, I’m so, so sorry,” she chokes out.

  The grief remains, but some of the crushing weight of it seems to have lifted. Like I can breathe just a little easier. I don’t feel so smothered. Is it because of this woman at my side? I tug her down to me. Her tears wash across my chest as though cleansing the pa
in from my heart. My arm tightens around her.

  “Is that when you left Brooklyn?” she asks when her eyes finally dry.

  “Yes. Pierce refused to let me go alone. He and I have been inseparable, since we were kids. Once he made sure there was someone to help Francesca, we were gone.”

  “She said you went to North Carolina. Why there?”

  “It’s where Ellie was from. She’d always spoken fondly of the small town she’d grown up in.”

  “You must resent me, and our marriage, then.”

  “I did at first, but more because I was pushed into it as a way to prove my loyalty to the organization after my long absence. I’ve always known I would need to marry again. To have children. I just assumed I’d pick someone from within the family.” My fingers caress her hip. “I’m not disappointed in the choice that was made for me.”

  Brenna tilts her chin and gazes up at me. She brushes a fingertip across my bottom lip. “I’m not disappointed either.”

  Chapter 24

  Brenna

  * * *

  “Are you okay?” I ask Gio. He’s been on edge ever since I told him we were coming over here.

  He darts a glance in my direction. “I’m fine.”

  I study him, but he ignores my stare and returns his focus to the door in front of us. The tension in his frame is obvious. Before I can question him, it opens.

  “Hi, there. Come on in.” Francesca greets me, her eyes darting to Gio and then back to me. The smile on her face falters for a second, but then returns. My gaze bounces between the two of them. She steps back and I enter the apartment. My bodyguard follows me in.

  I glance around the place. It’s far different from Jacob’s and my townhouse. I wouldn’t call it somber, but there’s an…ascetic quality to it. As though taking his cues from Pierce, Giovanni takes a position against a far wall. Present, but trying to remain unobtrusive. Saving the strange vibe I’m getting between him and Francesca to examine later, I turn to my hostess.

  “It’s not a charcuterie board, but I think we’ll still enjoy it,” I say, handing her the bottle of wine I’d brought as a gift.

  Her friendly smile is genuine and no longer strained. “Absolutely. Why don’t we step into the kitchen and I’ll open this thing up.”

  I follow her into the next room, and while she plucks a couple wine glasses from a cupboard, I take a seat in one of the bar stools.

  “I’m so glad you invited me over. Jacob said he’d be late tonight, and I didn’t want to sit at home alone, worried about him. Especially not after the last time,” I say. “At least here, I’ll be able to keep myself occupied.”

  Francesca pours a glass and brings it over to me. “What happened the last time?”

  It occurs to me that maybe this isn’t a topic I’m supposed to discuss. Like the faux pas I made by hugging Carmella.

  No, I’m not following some unwritten rule. I’m Brenna Ricci. I’ll make my own rules.

  “He came home with a bullet wound I had to doctor for him,” I answer. “I’m embarrassed to admit I almost passed out.”

  That makes her chuckle. She has her own full glass, and I take a sip of mine. It’s delicious. Fruity, but not too sweet.

  “Pierce has come home with blood on his clothes before, but he’s always been patched up before he gets here. I’ve never had to render first aid. If I did, I’d probably be like you. I’m not a fan of blood.” She shudders.

  “For as many times as my brothers and father have come home that way, it seems to be just a part of the life we live. Which means, it’s something I’ll have to get used to, even if I don’t want to.”

  “Yes, violence is our way of life.” Francesca’s eyes take on a faraway look for a moment, but she seems to shake it off. “Why don’t we get comfortable in the living room, and you can tell me more about yourself. We didn’t get a chance to really talk on your wedding day. I’m sorry I missed it, by the way.”

  We settle on the couch. “Honestly, you didn’t miss much. It wasn’t the happiest of days.”

  She surveys me. “I take it that’s changed?”

  My cheeks heat a bit, but I smile. “My marriage is doing well.”

  “I’m glad. You seem much happier than the first time I met you.”

  “I am.”

  Francesca’s expression shifts slightly. She darts a quick glance in Gio’s direction and scoots a little closer. “I have a confession to make.” Her voice is soft. “It’s not something I’m proud of, especially seeing how happy you are, and from what I’ve heard, how happy Jacob is.”

  My feelings are mixed by her words. It does something to my insides knowing that Jacob is happy. But this alleged confession makes me nervous.

  “It’s okay. Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll understand,” I reassure her. Hopefully I’m not promising too much.

  Her smile is a little sad. “Nothing made me happier than hearing Jacob was going to marry you. Not because I thought he needed a wife, but because his marriage meant we had more forces to destroy the Russians,” Francesca sneers the last word. Sudden anger pulses off her like a strobe light.

  Fast.

  Blinding.

  Frantic.

  I try not to take her words personally. But a flicker of hurt must have crossed my face, because she rushes to soothe my pricked pride. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out exactly right.”

  I brush off her words. “I understand, I think. Before my marriage, my mother told me of the rumors that Jacob and Pierce killed the Russians that had taken his younger cousin. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  I nearly wish I hadn’t said anything. Francesca’s body goes rigid. Her eyes grow unfocused and she stares off into nothing.

  “I was eighteen,” she begins. “So young, and yet, I thought I knew everything. I was suffocating, living with my mother. You don’t know her, but she’s bitter and hateful.”

  It’s hard for me to imagine my mother being anything but the kind and loving woman she is.

  “We got into a particularly nasty argument one night. God,” she expels on a gust of breath. “I don’t even remember what it was about now. Whatever it was, I was so angry. I stormed out of the house. Cesare, my poor bodyguard, followed me, of course. I made him take me to some club in the city. Two of my friends met me there. We drank and danced for hours. I went to the bathroom, and that was the last thing I remember until I woke up, tied up and naked, in some room.”

  Francesca’s eyes fall shut and there’s a look of such anguish on her face that I can feel the pain radiating off her. Giovanni emits a low growl from his place on the far wall.

  “The first man came shortly after I woke. I stopped counting after that. Pierce tells me I’d been gone for five days before he and Jacob found me.”

  Wetness hits my arm. I glance down and a drop slides off it. It’s not wine. I brush the tears off my cheeks. Horror unlike no other fills me at Francesca’s story. It’s no wonder she hates the Russians so much. It also explains her reaction to Gio when he delivered my things to our townhouse and at our arrival here. My heart aches for what my friend went through.

  “I’m so sorry.” Such useless words. They’re something people say to fill that awkward space. It doesn’t take back what happened to her. Doesn’t lessen her pain.

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sure you never expected me to dump that on you,” she says sheepishly. “You’ll probably never want to hang out with me again, afraid I’ll drop some more uncomfortably painful story on you.”

  I reach out for her hand. “Not at all. I’m glad you told me. It means that in the future if I ever have anything truly heavy I need someone to share with, I won’t be afraid to talk to you about it. I’ve never had any girlfriends before. Just my fifteen-year old sister. And, well, I certainly can’t share adult things with her. Especially about the syndicate.”

  Francesca sags in relief. “Still, it must be nice to have a sister. Not that I don’t love Pierce. He’s done so much for me,
and he is probably the best brother anyone could ever have. But he’s not really someone I can share my most intimate thoughts with, you know?”

  “I have three brothers myself, and I love them all dearly, but I will admit that the majority of the time I want to murder them. Except for Jack. He’s the eldest, and the best one out of the lot of them.”

  “Wow, I can’t imagine having four siblings. Are you all close in age?” she asks.

  “Jack is twenty-six and next is Padraig—Paddy, my twin,—at twenty-four. Nathan is eighteen followed by fifteen-going-on-thirty-year old, Caitlín.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. “You have no idea.”

  For the next couple hours, I regale Francesca with stories of Caitlín’s escapades and how she torments our brothers, while she shares some of the mischief she got into when she was young. We finish off the bottle of wine just as my phone rings.

  “I better get that.” I reach for my purse and nearly fall off the couch. I’m laughing hysterically as I answer. “Hullo?”

  “Are you drunk?” Jacob’s voice is full of amusement.

  “Nope,” I answer with a loud pop, followed by a hiccup. “Okay, maybe a little drunk. Or maybe a lot tipsy.”

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Just a couple glasses of wine.”

  He chuckles. “I’ll be sure to have some aspirin and a glass of water when you get home. I assume that will be soon? Or are you planning on having a slumber party?”

  “I’ve never been to one of those before.” I light up at the idea, but then my expression falls. “But that means I won’t be able to cuddle with you.”

  “Is Francesca near you?”

  I wrinkle my nose in confusion. “Yes, why?”

  “Go into the next room.” His demand is husky.

  With far less grace than usual, I stumble a little getting off the couch, but I make it to my feet. I turn to Francesca. “I’ll be right back.”

  I walk slowly into the kitchen and lean over the counter. “Okay, I’m here.”