The Hitman's Obsession: An Age Gap Mafia Romance

by Jagger Cole

  I nod. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “Yup,” he grunts.

  I step out and close the door. Carson races off out of my dad’s driveway. I turn and jog through the light rain, up the stairs and into the house. Instantly, I spot my problem. All six foot four of him, sitting in a chair in the living room. Waiting for me.

  “What were you doing, spying out the window?” I sneer.

  Vincent looks up from his phone. He looks amused. “Maybe.”

  He came on the first date I had with Carson. I mean of course he did. But then I complained to my dad. After that, dad sat down with Carson, and okayed him as a gentleman. With some of his own guards keeping distance, I could go out with Carson to agreed-upon places, without Vincent. Even I can see how much that thrills my bodyguard.

  “Have fun?” He smirks.

  “Oh, yep,” I shrug. “Lots of intravenous drug use and unprotected sex. I’m probably pregnant.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Wonderful.”

  “Yeah, Carson brought friends tonight too. I was with the entire football team. I was a very busy girl.”

  “That’s great, Bellamy,” Vincent says absently, looking back at his phone.

  I scowl. I hate that he doesn’t notice me the way I want him to. I mean I hate it. But Vincent’s twenty-six. And I’m… not. He never talks about his personal life. But I can’t imagine he doesn’t have a girlfriend, or several. Or girls that he calls friends. I hate thinking that though. So I do what I usual do: I take it out on him.

  “Well, I’ll need you to take me to the clinic tomorrow for a full STD check.”

  “Sounds great” he mutters absently.

  My lips curl. “Hey, Vincent?”

  “What is it Bellamy,” he sighs, barely looking at me.

  “Fuck you.”

  His eyes snap up. I glare at him, turn, and march upstairs. Wonderful. I’ve given up yet another opportunity for a first kiss, because I can’t get over the brick wall sitting downstairs.

  Present:

  I’m shaking when I slam the door back to my room. My room that connects to the other guest room in the house via the shared en suite bathroom. The one Vincent was just showering in.

  My face burns hot. Not just showering. Not at all just showering. My heart races. I walk quietly to my bed and sit on it. Slowly, I peel back the covers and get under them. My whole body feels like it’s on fire. And all I feel is an aching, gnawing desire; like a need, or a hunger.

  I know how it is with most rich kids in my position. The huge houses, money, and private schools. Girls my age in my financial and social standing usually have the experience of women twice their age. But not me.

  I’ve had chances. Lots of them, actually, and twice as many offers. But I’ve never gone through with anything. Not once. Not a single kiss, actually.

  I could make up an excuse. I could tell myself it’s about not being ready, or not liking the rich asshole guys my age. But there’s really just one single reason that’s kept me from experimenting. Or dating at all. Or getting kissed, much less losing my virginity. And I just saw that reason totally naked for the first time.

  I squeeze my legs together. I feel my core tighten, and desire sweeps over me. Vincent wasn’t just naked, either. Desire burns hot inside. Desperately, I wish I was bolder. I wish I had the guts to walk back in there and tell him what I want. Or show him. If I was brave, I’d go in there naked and tell him just what I want. But there’s no damn way I’m doing that, and I know it.

  The knock at my door startles me. My heart leaps into my throat and I sit up straight.

  “What?” I gasp.

  “Bellamy,” Vincent growls gently from the door to the bathroom.

  My pulse races. “I—what?” I ask again

  “Can I come in?”

  For a second, hope explodes in me. This is it. He wants me just as bad, and this is my moment. But I shake my head. That’s is not why Vincent is coming in here, and I know it.

  “Bellamy…”

  “It’s fine, Vincent!” I call back. “I didn’t see anything. I’m going to bed.” I close my eyes tight. Goddamnit, why am I such a pussy?

  “Bellamy, I’m sorry for what you saw.”

  “I didn’t see anything!” I blurt.

  He sighs. We both know I’m lying. And we also both know I’m a shitty one.

  “Look, Bellamy, we’re both adults…”

  I laugh coldly. “Are we? I thought I couldn’t have champagne, or swim in the pool alone?”

  “Swim all you want,” he grows. “You just can’t fake fucking dying. And do we really need to revisit why you can’t drink?”

  I scowl at the door.

  “Bellamy, what you saw was a private movement. I didn’t know the door was unlocked, or that it went to your room.”

  “It’s fine,” I mutter. My face feels hot, like I’ve got a fever.

  “Can you open this so we can talk like adults?”

  He keeps saying that, and it finally pisses me off enough to act. I storm over and swing it open. Immediately, I’m face-to-face with him.

  “Like adults, huh?” I spit.

  God he’s hot. Vincent’s dressed now. But what I saw before is forever seared into my subconscious. And I do mean all of what I saw before.

  “You’re nineteen.”

  “And?”

  He gives me a look. “Adults have private moments, Bellamy.”

  “No shit. So lock the door next time.”

  He nods. “I’m sorry that you…”

  “Whatever, it’s fine,” I mumble. I shrug casually.

  Vincent eyes me silently. “Great,” he finally growls back. “So, goodnight.” He turns, and I frown. I suddenly don’t want this conversation to end. And I know him walking away puts a chapter end to this incident. I also don’t want that.

  “Vincent,” I blurt.

  He stops and turns. “Yeah?”

  I swallow. Before I can chicken out, I let it rip. “What were you thinking about?”

  His face turns dark. His eyes narrow on me. “Goodnight, Bellamy.”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Private stuff,” he growls.

  “What sort of private stuff?”

  His jaw ticks. “I’m going to bed now,” he grunts. He turns again, but I keep at it.

  “Was it me?”

  I gasp, shocked at myself. Vincent is too. When he turns, he looks almost furious.

  “Watch it,” he growls.

  “Was it?”

  “Careful, Bellamy,” he hisses tightly. He looks furious. But maybe it’s something else. It almost looks like he’s fighting with something inside.

  “If it wasn’t, you’d just say—”

  “Enough!” He roars. He strides towards me, and I gasp. He bristles in the doorway to my room, filling it. It’s like he wants to cross the threshold, but that stepping into my room means something more.

  “Enough,” he growls. “Bellamy, you’re nineteen. You’re an adult. I don’t have to explain my private life to you, just like you don’t have to explain yours.”

  “My private life?” I snort. “I wasn’t the one jerking off in—”

  “Stop it,” he hisses. “I mean you don’t have to tell me about boyfriends, or whatever the fuck you had over there in school.”

  Suddenly, I know the look in his eyes: it’s jealousy. It shocks me, and my heart skips. But the brattiness he brings out in me is still there. I smile cruelly. “What’s the matter, Vincent?” I sneer. “Jealous of them?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Goodnight.” He turns away from me and starts to leave.

  “Fine!” I yell. “You want to know about my private life!?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well here it is! You know how many boyfriends I’ve had at school!?”

  He whirls. “No, and I want to fucking keep it that—”

  “None!” I blurt. I take a breath. “None, Vincent. Not a single fucking boyfriend, hookup, or anything. Not
before boarding school. Not during. Not now. Never.”

  He frowns.

  “I guess that’s the fun part about having a dick of a bodyguard following me around my whole life, scaring guys away! I’ve never once done fucking anything!”

  He frowns. “Bellamy—”

  “I’m a virgin, okay?!” I snap. “I’m nineteen, Vincent, and I’ve never once done a anything with any guy, ever! Happy now?!”

  His eyes blaze. His jaw clenches tight. And I swear I hear a growl in his throat. His look is pure hunger, and God does it make me tremble.

  “Bellamy…”

  “So, go ahead and think about that the next time you jerk off.” I step back, and I slam the door in his face.

  My ears are tingling. My heart is beating so fast that I’m almost concerned I’m going to have a freaking heart attack. But slowly through the buzz in my ears, I hear the sound of his footsteps retreating. The other bathroom door slams. Then it’s quiet.

  I step backwards until my legs hit the bed. I sit and slide under the covers. My hands move slowly, but with a purpose. They slide over my stomach, pushing my t-shirt up over my tits. My hand squeezes one, pinching a nipple. I gasp and turn to muffle it into a pillow. My other hand pushes lower and slips under the waist of my cotton shorts. Then, under my panties.

  I whimper when my fingers slide over my clit. I rub it slowly, feeling the pleasure sink into me. I close my eyes and press harder. I retreat into a fantasy land in my head. In this fantasy, I didn’t slam the door in his face. I left it open for him to watch. In my daydream, Vincent approaches the bed and yanks the covers away.

  I moan when he crawls over me. His tongue replaces my fingers. Even if I’ve never felt that, I know it’d be heaven with him. My roommate Celeste at school has snuck lots guys over to the room at night. I’ve never seen anything, but I’ve heard what happens when one of them goes under the covers. And that’s what I want to feel, with him.

  Fantasy Vincent licks my clit with his tongue. His big hands force my legs apart, taking what he wants and what I’m willing to give. I push a finger inside, and I moan into the pillow. Fantasy Vincent is pushing his cock into me, taking my virginity. I blush, knowing now for a fact that Vincent is enormously more equipped than my middle finger. But I keep going anyways.

  He pounds into me, savagely taking me and making me feel pleasure I’ve never felt before. My body quivers and trembles. My pulse swells with the pleasure I’m giving myself. Fantasy Vincent is about to make me explode. The real Vincent is in his room. I wonder if he’s thinking of me. That single thought is more than I can withstand. I turn, and I scream into the pillow when I come for the fantasy version of him.

  8

  Vincent

  Two years ago:

  The man sputters blood. He gurgles on it, choking to death on his own blood before he can bleed out of the hole my bullet just put in his chest. I watch the light go out of his eyes. I feel nothing though. No remorse, no pity.

  I’ve bunted feelings like those out of my system years ago. Years of killing for Micheal Genovisi and the rest of the Scaliami family has made sure of that. And besides, this man was a wife-beating piece of shit who was threatening to turn rat for the FBI. He had stolen information from Micheal that could have hurt everyone.

  When the man finally stops his death rattles. I bend down. I pat his coat down and find what I’m looking for—the USB drive around his neck. It’s made to look like an effigy of Catherine of Siena, patron saint of Italy. It also belongs to Micheal and contains very incriminating evidence.

  The man I’ve just shot is a rat. He was turned by the Feds a few months ago after being busted for some stupid drug charge. Now he’s trying to sell out Micheal. Or, was. I yank the chain free of his neck. “Rest in peace you dumb bastard,” I grunt. I pocket the necklace USB. It’s something Micheal is fond of doing—disguising important data on USBs as something else. Maybe it’s his paranoia about the FBI. But I also know he can’t be too careful.

  My phone rings suddenly. I frown and pull it out. When I see who it is, I smile.

  “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

  Bellamy giggles. “I’m not supposed to be on the phone this late!” she hisses quietly.

  I chuckle. “No, you’re not.” I smile though. It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to her. “To what do I owe this call? At the risk of you getting in trouble.” She doesn’t answer right away. “Bellamy?”

  “I—to wish you a happy birthday?”

  I frown. Fuck. “Huh,” I grunt.

  Bellamy sighs. “Please tell me you didn’t forget your own birthday.”

  “Of course not,” I mutter.

  She laughs. “Holy shit! Vincent how do you—”

  “Language, young lady.”

  She sighs. “You seriously forgot your birthday? Who does that?”

  “It’s just another birthday,” I mutter. “And I’ve been busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  I glance at the body at my feet. “Stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Work stuff, for your dad.”

  “How come you can’t tell me what you’re doing?”

  “Because you don’t need to know.”

  She sighs. “Fine, whatever. What are you doing for your birthday?”

  I look down at the rat again. Apparently, chopping up a body and dumping it in an outward flowing ocean current. “Nothing much,” I shrug.

  “Okay, well try not to have too much fun.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” I smile.

  She laughs. “Grump.”

  “Brat.”

  “Crap, I have to go,” she hisses.

  “Alright, don’t get in trouble, and we’ll talk soon.”

  “Okay! Oh, and Vincent?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Happy birthday.”

  Present:

  I don’t sleep a wink. I can’t. I lie awake the entire night, with one forbidden thought in my head. Or, many forbidden thoughts about one particular girl.

  In the morning, I rise early. I walk downstairs bleary-eyed and make coffee. I sip it slowly when it’s done. My phone buzzes, and I glance at it. It’s a text from Jason Carbone, Micheal’s attorney. Apparently Micheal’s been questioned along with a bunch of the guys from the party. He’s out and back home. But he wants me to keep Bellamy off the radar for another day or so.

  One more day or so of being cooped up alone with Bellamy. Bellamy of the tiny bikini and very adult body. And after what she saw last night? Well, shit.

  I hear shuffled footsteps. I turn, and we lock eyes. “Morning,” I mutter.

  She just grunts, and I smile. Bellamy has never been a morning person, at all. I like that nothing’s changed in that regard. She shuffles to the coffee machine and pours a cup in silence Then she trudges over and plops into a chair at the breakfast table by the window. I stay at the counter, drinking coffee.

  “Thought you were a cream and sugar girl.”

  She’s been avoiding my eyes. But she smiles when I say that and looks at me. “They all drink it black in France.”

  “Well aren’t we cosmopolitan.”

  She grins. Her smile falters for a brief second and she looks down at the coffee. “Vincent—”

  “Bellamy, it’s fine. We don’t have to talk about anything.”

  “Sorry I walked in on you.”

  I nod. “Me too.”

  After that, it’s silent while we drink our coffee.

  “We don’t have much for food,” I eventually mutter. “I’m going to go to the store and grab some stuff, and I need you to stay here.”

  “Can I throw a party?”

  “Hilarious. Are you going to be okay here alone?”

  “Can you show me how to work a TV? I’m not sure I’ll be able to use the bathroom by myself.”

  I roll my eyes and grab my car keys. “See you in a bit.”

  “Byyyee,” she calls back.

  At the store
, I load the cart up quickly. I grab essentials, and some bathroom supplies. I noticed there wasn’t much in the way of toiletries at the house. I frown at the monstrous wall of women-oriented shampoo. I half remember that Bellamy used to use this orange scented stuff from Italy or something. The local grocery store isn’t exactly stocked with European toiletries. But I find one that looks close. The name is Italian, at least, and it’s got orange in it.

  I drive home and drag the groceries inside. The house is dead silent.

  “Bellamy?”

  I finally spot the note on the fridge and storm over to it. I scowl at her handwriting: “Went for a run.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I snarl. But then I see the rest of note at the bottom of the page: “On the treadmill in the basement. Sucker.”

  I roll my eyes. “Brat,” I mutter to myself. I put the groceries away. I go to the top of the stairs to the finished basement with the full gym. I can hear the sound of a treadmill, so I leave it be. Instead, I grab a guy’s bathing suit from the closet of my guest room. I head out to the pool and start doing laps. Honestly, I need something to make the time pass. Or else I’m going to go crazy being cooped up in a house with this girl for the next few days.

  I come inside, just as she passes me out to the patio. I frown, but she answers before I can ask.

  “Going for a swim.”

  “Oh, I was just out there.”

  “I know.”

  I frown. Yeah, we’re not past last night yet. She’s avoiding me and giving me one-word conversations. I watch her walk out to the edge of the pool. She drops the towel she had wrapped around her, and I groan. It’s my old friend, the skimpy blue bikini. In the daylight, it’s even more scandalous and barely covering her. I have a sneaking suspicion she’s not wearing it by accident.

  And that’s how it plays the rest of the day. We’re like ships passing in the night. It’s a big house, I’ll grant that. But it’s not that big. Finally, I settle on a strategy, and I camp out in the kitchen. Bellamy keeps poking her head in, and then making up an excuse to do something else. I grin.