Risqué: Mafia Romance (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 5)

by Elena M. Reyes

  Age: 21

  Height: 5ft 3in

  Weight: 125 lbs.

  Blood Type: O Negative

  Lives: Lincoln Park

  Mobile Number: XXX-7174

  Nationality: Spaniard and American

  * * *

  There are other details that I also take note of.

  Aliana works with Aurora at the women’s shelter—teaches too—and even with a heavy work week, she still attends the uni there, keeping a 90% overall. Beauty and brains. That’s a heady cocktail that most men can’t handle, but I’m above the rest. A woman should be both and never forced into one box to satisfy the needs of anyone around her. My aunt taught us this, God rest her soul, and it’s also a lesson my mother failed at.

  My mother’s purpose in life is to travel and shop while pretending the money she spends isn’t dripping in blood.

  A note toward the bottom of the page makes me pause, and it’s a unified concern by her professors over unaccounted absences without a note to excuse each—something the uni she attends is sweeping under the rug.

  “Where are you going, Aliana?” Or why? The dates seem to all surround the latter part of the last two years, between July and October with one short trip over the New Year holiday. They are abrupt with no pattern, and it doesn’t sit well in my gut. “What are you hiding?”

  My informant attached a class schedule, and her days off coincide with my arrival in the states. Perfect.

  There are a few other things about her family, but when we reach her father, his clean file makes me laugh. I know him. I’ve dealt with him once in the past while exchanging a beneficial favor, and the politicians in that family are sexist arses with no loyalty shared.

  “How can she come from that rubbish?” This leaves me with more questions than answers, but I have to push it back until we land in America. It’s the only way I’ll concentrate, but it doesn’t stop me from sending a message to the bloke that gathered the information.

  Eyes on her at all times. ~Callum J.

  A quick line, he responds to without pause no matter the time difference.

  While the information on her was good, there’s a gnawing feeling—demanding I dig deeper, see past what others want me to see. Knowing who her father is, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

  A man willing to prostitute women in exchange for donations isn’t someone I trust.

  A family led by misogynistic men, wankers with no real backbone, is one I’m repulsed by.

  She doesn’t belong there, and no matter how much this makes no sense and I don’t understand this sudden obsession, I’m not fighting it. The only thing I do understand right now—what’s been brewing since Casper spoke her name—is that I don’t want him to taint her.

  “You okay?” Casper asks, coming to stand beside me while our men and Malcolm’s load a truck full of cocaine and stolen merchandise a few days later. Two days earlier than the original meet up, but it was opportune when the moment arose, and we were already in the US. My cousin has already tasted the product and accepted the generous donation. We’re even now, could leave, but have been asked to remain and bear witness to the owner of Asher Holdings disciplining those involved. “You’ve been too quiet.”

  Casper’s eyes and mine are on the men and one woman kneeling a few feet away. Some are crying, writhing, while some remain as still as statues, trying to keep themselves out of anyone’s line of sight. Motherfucking pussies.

  Malcolm is a mean son of a bitch when necessary, and I respect him for that. His beliefs align with mine: loyalty above everything.

  You don’t see.

  You don’t hear.

  And you sure as fuck don’t speak.

  A lesson learned by his cousin who is now missing a tongue.

  “Yes.” We both know I’m taking some time off; I just haven’t told him where I’m going. Not yet. To him, I’m either heading back home or slipping away while no one notices and it’s best he leaves it at that. “Just enjoying the show.”

  There’s a different kind of energy flowing through me, licking at my spine as the time draws near. I’m here as a witness and then gone, my evening to be occupied by a pretty little brunette that has no idea the devil exists. That I’ve laid a claim on her.

  Because I’m back in Chicago.

  Because I want a taste of every sensual inch of Aliana Rubens’s small frame.

  And I’m also not blind to Casper’s own distractions. He hasn’t asked me to take over yet—is still holding back, but the time will come. The wanker also knows I’ll accept without hesitation. With honor.

  “Still taking a small holiday?”

  Momentarily, my eyes shift to him, and I arch a brow in question. “I am.”

  “Enjoy the time off.”

  “You do the same.”

  “I will.” Casper squeezes my shoulder, a smirk on his face. “See you in a few days.” He leaves after that, walking over to where Malcolm stands with a neutral expression on his face. No pity. No emotions. It’s why the Jamesons and the bloke have become more than a business transaction over the years: he understands and lives by the same cold code.

  They exchange words, not that I pay attention as I meet the eyes of the woman whimpering. She’s afraid. Pale. What did she touch to end up here?

  Two bullets dislodge from a gun, and I look toward the man holding this meeting. He’s enraged but keeps the devil within on a tight leash, and yet I see the bloodlust. The desire to slowly kill each one of those he considers traitors.

  The men—his guards who had been wearing hoods a minute ago—slumped over, a bullet to the neck and chest respectively. They tip toward the hysterical woman, and she subtly attempts to move closer to me until I remove the light sweatshirt I’m wearing so she can see the two Ruger’s I have underneath in a leather holster around each shoulder.

  I smile as the little glimmer of hope in her eyes dies. She wouldn’t be here unless she’s directly involved with our sabotaged wire transfer.

  Blood pours from the dead guards’ wounds, the cold concrete soaking up their life’s essence while my cousin and Malcolm face the others on the floor.

  The latter tosses something on the ground, and the younger of the two men kneeling gets paler. Shakes harder while Malcolm’s cold eyes stare him down, unwavering, as he crouches to his level.

  “If you ever lay a finger on her again…” Casper holds up his hand and motions for us to move. Jeffrey doesn’t hesitate to follow orders while I watch just long enough for the butt of Malcolm’s gun to break the bloke’s hand before winking at the crying woman and exiting myself.

  Just beside the loading area, I find the trucks with our men already behind the wheel. Jeffrey takes the one in the middle while I take the front, exiting the warehouse in relative silence while heading toward the port to secure storage before we move the electronics to a cargo ship heading to South America.

  It takes a few hours, but we get it done. The hot equipment has already been sold and paid for, and I’m negotiating another shipment through emails with the buyer.

  The mobile in my pocket vibrates again, the third message from the man watching Aliana. It’s her location, a picture I requested, and status—I’ll only check once I’m inside my rental while these men head home to London.

  “That’s all of it,” Jeffrey says, bringing a small towel to his face to wipe his forehead. “Christ, all this moving around has me feeling like a roast.”

  “It’s a pretty warm evening.” Another of the men hands me a bottle of water. I grab it with a nod of thanks and take a sip. “Sweep for anything left undone and head to the airstrip. The plane will be ready when you are.”

  “What about you?” Jeffrey’s expression holds confusion. And he’s not being nosy; I’ve known him long enough to see the wheels turning—calculating how he could be of assistance. “Do you need me to stay? You know I’m here for whatever has to be done.”

  A smirk spreads across my face, my hand gripping his shoulder and giving
it a squeeze. “Not necessary. This is a solo mission, but there is one thing I’ll need.”

  “Personal?”

  “Extremely.”

  “Done, and please enjoy your time off, Mr. Jameson.”

  5

  The moment I step outside the elevator and onto the rooftop lounge a few hours later, I’m met with a familiar scene from around the world. No matter the country, it’s all the same. Bodies grinding, pulsing beats, the heated stares of strangers as you walk by, and then come the subtle whispers: Who is that?

  Men and women.

  They all look at me, not realizing that my hands will forever be stained with blood—a badge I wear proudly. I’m a killer. A criminal. And I’ve hurt many for the personal gain of myself and those who share my last name.

  And yet, it’s the over six-foot frame with dirty blond hair up in a small bun and light greenish eyes they focus on. It’s the tattoos and the black designer trousers and long-sleeved vest I changed into along with the accent that lures them in. Because no one believes me to be anything but a businessman upon first impression, they don’t see the devil within until close enough for me to execute without empathy.

  A commoner walking down the street or inside a pub having a drink wouldn’t think I’d easily burn them all alive if they crossed me. A costly mistake. If more people were aware of their surroundings, fewer innocents would die.

  “Well, aren’t you handsome.” A woman in her mid-twenties with too much lip-gloss and mascara steps into my path. She’s overly done from head to toe, the light pink in her bleached hair a bit nauseating, but it’s the hand on my arm I’m repulsed by. “Where have you been hiding—”

  Before she can finish, I’ve gripped her wrist, turned it just a bit, and removed it from my body. “Not interested.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t make me repeat myself, Miss.” There’s an air of arrogance to her, a slick remark sitting on her tongue, but she’s smart enough to read the warning in my eyes. Without another word, she turns and walks away, her posture stiff while I search for my Venus.

  The mobile in my pocket vibrates then and I pull it out, reading the text from Aliana’s guard.

  She’s at the bar with a few more people now. One male in particular seems interested. ~Kray

  There are two bars in this place; I studied the layout he sent me earlier and I turn my head toward the smaller one. It’s full. All men. A stag party judging by the stupid matching outfits and the one guy’s tie with the word groom down the center.

  The next one is on the other side of the roof, and the closer I get, the same sensation rushes through my veins. It’s almost like I’m back inside Casper’s office at the pub back home, watching—unable to fight this pull. It’s tangible, this buzzing heat that forces me closer.

  With each step, it’s hotter.

  A shiver rushes down my spine.

  And it’s when I spot a familiar head of dark hair that my cock swells to near the point of pain. Because there she is, the object of my lust, and the pictures I’ve received of her out and about until I came to Chicago didn’t do her justice.

  “Motherfuck,” I hiss out through clenched teeth, unable to understand my reaction. How I’m unable to look away…

  This delicate little morsel is a heady temptation. I memorize every delicate inch of her short frame, pausing to enjoy the swell of her breasts in a black sweater vest and then gaze lower, to the lithe thighs in a minuscule plaid skirt. Simply put, this woman is stunning and the more she ignores my heated stare, the more I’m intrigued.

  A sudden presence beside me forces my hand to the gun at my waistband without taking my eyes off her, but his chuckle makes me pause. “It’s me.”

  The cool metal is soothing in my grip, eases a bit of the heat snapping at my flesh, but I let go and readjust my jacket. “Never sneak up on me, mate.”

  “Understood.”

  “Good,” I say, busy taking in how small she is—a delicate little goddess that I yearn to touch. Taste. Corrupt. “Who are the men?”

  I could give a fuck about the women. Those two are insignificant to me.

  “Those two…” from the corner of my eye I see him pointing in the general direction of two men beside the laughing girls “… are boyfriends of her classmates. This one, though, is not part of their group. He’s crashing their outing, and Miss Rubens wasn’t too pleased to see him. At least, the icy glare she sent him gave that impression.”

  “Hmmm.” An amber-colored drink is offered by him and I take it, bringing it to my lips while I take account of the bodies around us. There are two guards on this floor, and they’re not employed by the lounge. Big men with subtle earpieces and overly crisp suits, are out of the norm for a place filled with a college-age crowd. “They need to leave.”

  “By their own free will?”

  “Doesn’t matter to me.” Taking another sip, I let this one settle on my tongue as the heady wooden notes calm me. I could empty my magazine in the arsehole’s body, a tempting idea, but Aliana’s first impression of me won’t be tarnished by his dead body at her feet.

  She can meet the demon within another night.

  “There’s a woman he likes to see—”

  “Bring her,” I answer without pause and beside me, he’s nodding.

  “She’s already here. Has been for the last fifteen minutes.”

  “Is she under your employ?”

  “No, but we’re familiar with each other. This is all her doing.”

  “And those two?” I point toward the two blokes that don’t belong here.

  “The bodyguards are with her.” Why the protection to come see this arse?

  The woman in question—a tall, leggy blonde—walks by us, winking at Kray before strutting toward the bar. Her smile is wide, completely fake, as she wraps herself around the git while saying hello to everyone else.

  He’s pissed, while the smile on Aliana’s face holds relief.

  “You know what I’m going to ask for. I want everything on them.” For a moment, I glance at Kray and find him watching the scene with anger. Jealousy burns in his dark eyes. “Are you okay?”

  At six foot five and two hundred and forty pounds, he’s a wall, Kray Timmons is an ex-MMA fighter turned private investigator due to his connections with me. I saved his little brother’s life; the sixteen-year-old was caught at the wrong place, wrong time, and at the center of a dispute he had no business in.

  So instead of taking his stepfather’s words and pinning the kid with stealing and selling for his personal gain, I strangled his mother’s handler until he confessed. I also let the brothers decide his fate and then made the body disappear.

  Kray’s loyalty has been infallible since then, and after breaking his leg in his last match a year ago, he became my eyes and ears here. My employee.

  Because while Casper is the head of the beast, I’m the body.

  A body that strikes to protect.

  “Yes.” It’s a bit terse, but the look I give him is enough for his expression to quickly turn apologetic. He’s angry with the woman hugging the arsehole that came to see Aliana. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen him around, and I know one of the rat holes he crawls out from. You’ll have it by tomorrow.”

  However, the scowl is back when he turns to watch them leave. The men in suits move in closer to the pair, and his clenched hands are proof of a history I give no fucks about as long as it doesn’t interfere.

  “Thank you,” I say with a nod before walking toward the bar, my eyes set on her. I’m taking in her smooth tan skin, how the LED lighting bounces off her flesh while highlighting the sinful body she’s swaying. There’s a drink in her hand while she dances, nearly giggling as the unwanted arse is led away by the woman Timmons knows with the guards a few steps behind.

  Who is she to Kray? But more importantly, who is this wanker to Aliana?

  A question for another time as those gorgeous eyes meet mine from across the room, and pause. There’s surpr
ise in those sweet orbs and a small grin on her lips, but what I find bloody mouthwatering is the hint of pink that quickly blooms across her cheeks.

  Her eyes roam my face and then lower, and I like the way they feel. Like a fucking delicious sweep of a finger down my skin, but I break the stare as I pause just beside her on an empty stool. Aliana watches me while the bartender comes over, a man who winks and smiles a little too wide. He’s also older than everyone in this place.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Whiskey on the rocks.” At my accent, there’s a low gasp from my right. Do you like accents, love?

  “Any preference?”

  “Macallan. Twenty-five if you have it.”

  “Right away.” He turns to grab a glass when the scent of peaches and vanilla infiltrates my senses. It’s soft, fresh, and my cock throbs behind the zipper of my trousers. As the man pours my drink, I feel her eyes on me. And it’s so motherfucking hard, but I bite back a smirk and instead keep watch through the mirror behind the bar. She’s oblivious, and her curiosity in me is honest. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks, mate.” Sliding a fifty across the bar, I turn to leave when I hear her.

  “Is it any good?” Motherfuck, that sweet little voice is delicious.

  I turn toward her. “Yes.”

  “Seems harsh to me.” She shrugs, a small smile curling at the corner of her lips, and I want to lick the gloss off. “Plus, it smells awful.”

  “Let me guess...” I tilt my head toward the half-empty glass in her hand “...you like your drinks sweet?”

  “Don’t be judgy.” Her glare is playful, and I enjoy the way she leans a little closer. How perky her tits look in the cashmere sweater. “I’m more of a citrus-with-a-hint-of-sweetness kind of girl.”

  “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

  “You do that.”

  “Saucy little thing, aren’t you?”

  She rolls her eyes at that and holds a dainty hand out toward me. “I’m Aliana, by the way.”

  “Aliana.” It leaves me on a low rumble as I taste her name on my tongue. Softly, I grab her hand, moving a little closer before lifting it to my lips. I kiss her knuckles, her middle finger, and then turn it slightly to place my lips at her pulse point. My eyes never leave hers, cataloging every reaction, and I’m pleased by Aliana’s soft gasp as her stare becomes slightly hooded. Good girl. “A pleasure to meet you, beautiful.”