Mad Max (Chicago Crew)

by Sapphire Knight

  The bloke from the counter returns and I glower. “Oh sod off, man. Can’t you see this is bloody private?” I’m ready to rearrange his face, or toss him to Andre to dispose of. I want to be alone with Ismerlda in our own bubble filled to the brim with sexual tension and unspoken promises.

  “Pezzo di merda!” the feisty Italian beauty hisses across from me. I need her to speak like that when I’ve buried myself in her to the hilt.

  “What was that, darling? I’m familiar with a bit of your gibberish, but not everything.”

  “Porca miseria!” she reprimands and follows it up with another scalding slap, sending my brain spinning.

  To say I’m shocked is an understatement. We went from flirting to fighting and my cock’s never been harder. It appears her tantrums have a way of turning me on. I’m a glutton for punishment, I suppose. With a roar, my hand reaches to our left, and then I’m clearing the table in one angry swoop. Dishes and food goes flying all over the floor to our side, and the bird in the corner screeches at her bloke from my outburst.

  In my peripheral, I catch the coffee boy ducking behind the counter as I reach for Ismerlda. I grab for the front of her blouse, fisting the delicate material. With a flick of my wrist, I yank her across the table to my space. She has me going crazy inside for her.

  Her face comes to mine then my lips are owning hers in one blistering, enraged kiss. She struggles, attempting to fight it at first, but she’s no match for me. My free hand grips the back of her neck, holding her to me. I nip at her bottom lip, hard. It does the trick as her mouth pops open on a groan, and my tongue plunges inside to tangle with hers. The woman is completely infuriating, yet a bloody vixen where my cock’s concerned.

  She moans into my mouth, her hands going to my cheeks. She kisses me as if she’s never been properly kissed before. Everything else in the world fades away except for her scent, her warmth, her flavor…her. I can’t possibly get my fill with only a small taste. I want all of her.

  She smells of cashmere. It’s an expensive scent, depending on who’s bottling it, and fits the way she confidently carries herself. As for her flavor, she’s tasting of our tea, so I can’t complain of the delicious reminder. Ismerlda’s full of everything that tastes too good, so you know it has to be bad.

  Her warmth, however, does something to me inside. Cracks a bit of the barrier in my chest, I suppose, but that can’t be it. I don’t feel deeply for women. I never have, aside from bursts of lust or perhaps annoyance. They’re a means to an end, and yet I find myself wanting to own this one, make my name the only one ever falling from her lips. What glorious lips they are too.

  She tears herself away from me, a smirk resting on my lips in her absence. Her irises blaze with vehemence, glaring down at me as she stumbles back a step, finding her footing. “No need to stop, darling. I’ve got more where that came from.” I’m merely getting started with her. In fact, we should take this back to the flat where we can explore it properly.

  “Fuck you, Brit boy. Don’t touch me unless I tell you to. You’re completely unbelievable.”

  “Or what?” I challenge, my lips blooming into a wide shark-like smile. She’s become my prey, one I plan to thoroughly lick and eat my fill of.

  “You’ve ruined lunch. I’m out of here.”

  “I’m done here anyhow,” I reason to myself, and stand, tossing the napkin from my lap onto the mess littering the floor. The foods ruined, and my appetite has blossomed for something else they don’t serve on their menu. “I’ll see you at home.” I send her a wink and she storms out.

  Meeting Andre’s gaze outside through the large window, I nod toward Ismerlda, and he orders her guards to stick with her. I turn to the employee as he wearily stares at me. Swaggering over to the counter, I lean in until our noses nearly touch. I’ve discovered Americans nearly piss their pants if you get in their personal space, also it’s the prime position if you need to headbutt someone.

  Lowly I threaten, “You ever, and I mean ever, interrupt us again when we’re in here, and I’ll make sure you never return from that retched alley out back. The rats will dine on you courtesy of the Chicago Crew. You get me, tosser?”

  His head bobs. “Y-yes. S-sorry.”

  I snort. Another weak arsehole who wouldn’t last a fortnight on the streets of London. Freeing a bill, I toss it onto the counter. I only carry hundreds, so it’s plenty to compensate for the mess and cheap broken dishware. “For my temper. Next time I won’t reimburse you for what I ruin, so stay out of the bloody way.”

  “Yes, sir,” he swallows, waiting until I turn away to grab for the money. He heads for a broom and dustpan, not making eye contact again.

  Strolling outside, I meet Andre’s concerned stare. He asks, “Need me to take care of anything?”

  “Get the car. We’re done here. For today anyhow.”

  She can’t escape me forever. We sleep in the same bed.

  Lately, I feel like my life is a book written

  in a language I don’t know how to read.

  – Brandon Sanderson

  “I hate him,” I admit to my longtime friend and second cousin. We work together, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I especially need her now that my future is tied to none other than Maximillian Macintosh. The man is a grade-A snob and he’s to be my future husband. “I really, really hate him. I’m not even exaggerating, I’m serious. You should’ve seen how he treated the kid at lunch…and even before then, the warped things he’s said to me in private.”

  Giovanna rolls her eyes with an amused snicker and sits in the seat across from my desk. She has the greatest hair I’ve ever seen, and after my lunch, I’m a little jealous that I look like riffraff. “How anyone can detest a man that scrumptious looking is simply ridiculous. He can’t be as bad as you make him out to be. Just listening to his accent should be getting you wet down there.” She nods downward, like I need her pointing it out. I’m well aware what that accent does, and today, it enrages me.

  I whisper-yell, my Italian roots blessing me with my theatrics. “I told you already, he killed my guards on the night of our engagement party! Didn’t you see his men drag me out of here too? He’s insane!” We’re passionate people, anyone with eyes can see it in the way we use our hands for everything. I want her to grasp the point I’m attempting to make. She needs to be on my side, not the psycho’s.

  She waves my words away like this is Harry Potter and she can decide which house he belongs in. “Hmm…and yet you still moved into his place, and you literally just returned from lunch with him. I watched you walk over there, by the way, and you guys looked pretty cozy all tucked together. Two peas in a pod and not even married yet. Maybe your brand of crazy works with his.” She shrugs, causing me to roll my eyes. “Most great love stories have train wrecks in them.”

  “Ha,” I complain sarcastically, not buying it for a minute. “Yeah right. I’m starving, by the way. The psychopath threw our food onto the floor to kiss me. I ate nothing, didn’t even have a full cup of tea. Poor Jermaine, he didn’t know how to act with Maximillian’s aristocratic attitude. You know how he’s basically the friendliest person in the world, who’s able to chat up pretty much everyone who walks in, but even he was speechless. I owe that kid an apology, because Lord knows the stubborn Brit boy won’t man up and do it. I’m going to be buying coffee gift cards for the foreseeable future to make it up to him.”

  She sighs, her dark, sparkling gaze turning dreamy with a far-off look. I don’t need to hear her say it. I already know what she’s thinking. “He sounds so romantic. Jesus, why can’t a guy do that with me? And I’m sure Jermaine is perfectly fine. He has to deal with asshole Chicagoans in a rush, first thing in the morning. I don’t know how he does it without stabbing someone in the neck.”

  I agree. I’d have forked someone by now, but I don’t say as much. “Did you hear anything I said?” I wave my hands dramatically. Not that being a tad melodramatic is abnormal for me. I’m Italian. We speak loudly and g
esture frequently, but we also tend to love harder than the average Joe. There’s rarely a dull meal in my house. Someone’s always being a loudmouth, but I’d never change any of it. I love who we are.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. You admitted your sexy British fiancé laid a scorching kiss on you, right in the middle of the Java Cafe. I’m telling you, I wouldn’t be half as hot-tempered as you are if a man like that ruined my lunch to kiss me. Christ, I need to get laid.” She plucks a piece of lint from her skirt, not bothered in the slightest that I was terrorized by my date. She says this because Danny was a total mosh for her, picking her flowers and whatnot when we were kids. In her mind, every guy is the same as him leading up to a proposal. However, I ended up with Mad Max, Joker’s freaking henchman.

  “You’re married.”

  “I wasn’t implying someone else. Danny’s plumbing equipment knows exactly how to make me scream with satisfaction.” She finishes her statement off with a saucy wink, the minx.

  I make the sign of the cross, not wanting to touch that comment.

  “We have this new game where I pretend my pipes are clogged and he shows up with a dildo to unclog me.” She goes to continue, but I interrupt.

  A snort escapes me as I shake my head. “TMI. Maybe you should’ve gone home for your lunch break.” I’ve known Danny since I was six. We went to St. Mary’s Academy together, same as Giovanna. Her and I have always been somewhat close, so I’ve grown to look at Danny in the brotherly, or rather, cousinly fashion. He’s a plumber, and the references she makes about his job and their sexcapades has me not being able to call him in the future if I need a plumber.

  “Stop deflecting, Isa. How was the kiss? I need details on the tongue action.”

  “Truthfully?”

  “Always.” She fluffs her curly mahogany locks, her dark, shapely brows raised as she waits.

  “Ugh, I’m so disgusted with myself to admit this aloud. It was on the earth-shattering side of the line, as far as kisses go.” I end it with my hand to my forehead. I’m going to regret fessing up; she won’t let it go.

  “Hot damn, I knew it! You two have chemistry and it’s throwing you off your usual ways. No more boy toys. You’re wifey-ed up.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I scowl and sit forward, pulling up the search bar on my laptop. I type in his name and hit enter. I’ve googled him before, but I was in a hurry and didn’t investigate much. I’m from one of the most prominent Mafia famiglias in Chicago, our line has a seat at the infamous ‘table,’ so excuse me if I wasn’t too concerned with who this guy is exactly. I’ve heard of him in passing; anyone with mob ties in this city has.

  The same goes for Joker and the rest of his crew. They’re not exactly saints, and not too long ago, the papers were splashed with their names and accusations. Supposedly, there was a shootout downtown and one of Joker’s uncles was killed in the midst of the violence. There’s so much crime in the city, though, I’d have never paid it any mind, but my father pointed it out to me since the building’s not far from my job. He was concerned about me being caught up in the gunfire on my daily commute, but I was fine, thankfully.

  “Come on, you’re going to make me say it? You’re not exactly warm and welcoming when it comes to men. I can’t recall the last time you had an actual boyfriend either.”

  I shrug, not offended in the slightest by what she’s shared. I already know as much. “I’m aware of what I like and what most men around here want. I don’t need a boyfriend for any of that. They’re a headache.”

  “And what exactly do they want?”

  “To fuck, of course, which I’m perfectly fine with. I welcome it, in fact, but the disappointing reality is they don’t know how to please me. I’d rather find a guy and have him lick my pussy so I get off and then not have to do the messy relationship stuff and worry about him being satisfied. Sometimes, less is more in this case.” Max is definitely more. Probably why he throws me off-kilter in his presence.

  She sighs, shooting me a soft look. “You’re jaded, but it’s okay. I still love you, and now you get to bypass all of that stuff anyway. Maybe marrying Maximillian is exactly the blessing you needed to come along. Don’t shut him out too soon. He may surprise you. Lord knows he has sex god written all over that lush body tucked away in his three-piece suit.”

  “He’s more like the plague, causing dead bodies to drop in his wake. I don’t need that pompous man for anything—not even his tongue.”

  She stands, pushing her skirt back into place. “Just throwing it out there…but if he can kiss ‘earth shatteringly’ good,” she mocks me, changing her voice to sound like mine, “can you imagine how amazing he fucks?” She trots her confident ass out of my office, leaving me stuck on her question.

  Brat.

  Now I can’t stop thinking about it. With Max’s tall frame and wide chest, his confidence and strength…Christ on a cracker, I bet the man does fuck like a god.

  I’m not fucking him. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

  “The dress is perfecto, cara,” my mother praises, her irises lit up as she stares at me twirling the wedding gown in front of her. She’s always been my biggest fan, urging me to do better and be better. She’s lived the Mafia wife life since she was a young woman, and for her to be strongly supportive towards my choices being different, I couldn’t be more thankful. There are so many out there who don’t get the opportunities and encouragement I’ve had. Hell, before the famiglias were being threatened and hunted down, marrying a made man wasn’t a consideration for me.

  “Grazie. I’m not sure I should wear white. I’m older than other brides, Mama, not exactly virginal.”

  “Nonsense. It’s not bright white. The color is perfect.”

  “Do you have this in a light-blush color?” I ask the eager young bridal sales stylist. Her job title is a mouthful, but she seems to fill the role well. Everything I’ve asked for she’s practically jumped to bring it to me. I wouldn’t know where to start if I had to look through everything myself. I’d probably end up giving up and ordering something online. My ma would freak.

  “Not on hand, but with enough time, we can set up a custom order. You can pick the shade of blush you want and any other special alterations you’d like added or removed. It could be everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

  My mother cuts in, “We don’t have time. Her wedding is next week. We need a dress today.”

  The lady’s mouth pops open, her hand moving to cover it in shock, and a laugh escapes me. It all feels surreal. I don’t think it’s truly sunk in that I’m the one getting married. “A-a week and you’re just now picking out a dress? Oh my. I don’t know if our seamstress will be able to alter any of these dresses in time, to be honest. I’m so sorry. We should have something in your size somewhere.”

  My mother waves her off. “No worries. We have one on call. As long as the dress is close to my daughter’s size or larger, it won’t be an issue. We must find something Ismerlda is happy with though. She’s a busy woman. I want this day to be special for her, and there will be many influential guests in attendance as well.”

  “Yes, of course. We’ve got all day. We’ll find something gorgeous. You’ll shine on your wedding day,” she reassures, but that’s her paycheck talking right now. Color me not persuaded. I won’t be until I leave here with a full garment bag.

  I sulk a bit as I stare blankly into the grand mirror. The shop is lovely, and I enjoy spending time with my mother, but I’m just off. I like the blush-color idea, but the lady’s right: I’ve waited too long to find something. I should’ve come the day the agreement was made so it could’ve been more unique. I remember my mother’s gown; it was lavish and she looked thrilled to be there with my father in their pictures. I won’t have the same, and even though I wasn’t wanting to marry soon, the reality depresses me. At least my job is willing to give me a bit of time off or it’d really end up being a hot mess ceremony.

  “Are you all right, car
a?”

  With a sigh, my shoulders bounce with a shrug. “I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing. It feels too fast. I should be excited, but this is only stressful.”

  “Well, of course, you are. Otherwise, your father would never be on board with it. Breathe the stress away and take it one step at a time. This doesn’t all fall on your shoulders. We have famiglia to help with most of it. You can allow yourself to be excited. No one will hold that against you. You’re too hard on yourself, even in this.”

  “I don’t love Maximillian, and while it’s not an issue for me…I hate him most days, and that is a problem. I agreed to this marriage proposal Thaddaeus Morelli came up with because I thought it would be good for my famiglia, maybe help you and Dad out. I had no idea it wouldn’t be a decent fit for me in return. I wasn’t thinking it through, call me foolish.”

  “No, cara. You don’t have to go through with this. There’s still time to call it off. Papa and I don’t want to put any pressure on you. We both want you to be happy in life. It’s why we encouraged you to follow your heart in business, to be independent. Only the best for our daughter, always, amore mia.”

  “I know.” I shake my head and smooth down the gown I’m still stuffed into like a tan sausage. “But it is too late in a sense. I couldn’t put you through the scandal that would surely follow along.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “If I call off this wedding, the safety of our famiglia is in jeopardy. Not to mention the famiglias will talk. I’ll embarrass Maximillian, along with Joker, his crew, and Papa. I’m sure I’ll be the talk of the famiglia, and I won’t put you through any nonsense.”

  “Your famiglia isn’t your responsibility, especially the safety of it. That is your father’s and Saint Michael’s burden to bear. This penance shouldn’t have been placed upon your shoulders. You don’t deserve it, nor will I allow it to occur.”

  “If something were to happen to any of you, with your safety, and there was a chance… even the slimmest of possibilities that I could’ve prevented it, I’d never forgive myself. You know what Papa is saying about the murders lately. They’re getting closer to us, more frequent, and gruesome. I’ve seen the news reports on what’s happening. I won’t put the chance out there that it could be my famiglia one day. You mean too much to me.”