Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1)

by Alice May Ball

  As he held her, rocked her, and had her ride him, her face flickered, furrowed, strained, and opened. Her little pussy swallowed and milked his pummeling shaft. When he reached all the way in, her mouth and her eyes opened and her eyebrows pleaded. The hot lips of her pussy sucked at the hilt of his cock.

  He stroked her face and her mouth lunged. She caught his finger with her sharp teeth and wouldn’t let go.

  “Come with me, Pierce.” Her voice rose and shook, and still she held his finger with her teeth. “Please. Come with me.”

  Her hips rolled harder, faster. She bounced on him. He held her breast as she moved, felt the bounce and heft behind her hard, brown nipple. He saw that she was cresting as her head tilted, and he gave in to the fabulous suckle of her pussy.

  Inside her, as far inside her as he could get—between her arms, between her legs, between the lips of her devouring need—he pumped and swelled. And as the charge came and he passed the point of no return, bolts of screaming orgasm blasted through his body, just as blasts of hot juice fountained and splashed into her.

  Princess rode her hips along his cock and he slammed up into her, and as she shouted and clasped her arms around his head, she pulled him into her breasts.

  Like the barely reachable last steps of a race, Pierce’s body spent and ready to give up, he thrust again, again and again, and they collapsed over the back of the couch and into a heap together.

  Darkness crept into the loggia. Neither of them stirred. Pierce brushed her hair away from her wet face with his fingers, marveling at her. She clung to him.

  They reached to hold each other in any way they could, panting so hard their breath growled. He stroked her, held her, pulled her close.

  “Princess,” he told her, “you are so damned wonderful.” She looked up into his eyes and he said, “I really love you.”

  She nuzzled closer, semi-conscious, and drifted toward oblivion with the lights of New York flashing to salute their heroic struggle.

  He had never said that to a woman before. Never even thought of saying it. Not once. Now it seemed so obviously true that it was only right to say it. Besides, he needed Princess to know. Needed her to know that he needed her.

  Utterly maddening though she was.

  Just being next to her, drowsy and intoxicated by love and lust, raised him. Roused him. His cock was stretched along her thigh. It stretched a little longer. She said, “Mmm?” and he saw her eyes flutter. Then his cock stretched a lot longer.

  She snuggled and said quietly, “What about your ‘one-time-only’ rule?”

  He slowly moistened his lips. “That’s been revised now that I’ve met you.”

  She buried her nose in his chest and drew a long breath in. “Oh? What’s the rule now?”

  “No times. Ever. End of story.”

  Lazily, she said, “What’s this I can feel snaking up to my pussy, then?”

  He stroked her, marveling at the fabulous contours of her hips and her ass. “The rule is for every other girl or woman on the planet. There’s a special rule for you.”

  “And what’s that?” She propped herself up on her elbow.

  She surrendered to his long, deep and sensual kiss. Then he lifted her up onto her hands and knees. The plump lips of her delicious pussy got hotter and the honey-tang scent of her intensified.

  “Everything,” he said. “All the time. Over and over.”

  His fingers slipped between the cheeks of her ass. Relished her cleavage, massaged her soft little star. His cock jumped.

  She said, “You’ll have to make me do that,” with a little growl that he found encouraging.

  He said, “You sure?”

  Her little grin inflamed him. “Mmhm.”

  The next morning, Princess sat up front in the Bentley as Pierce drove to the hospital to see Dino. Calhoun and Callaghan were there already. Princess sat next to him in the front passenger seat. She asked him, “So, are you going to keep your word and give me my club back?”

  “It was your father I took it from. If I give it back, I should give it to him.”

  “Yeah, yeah. We had a deal, Mr. Gangster. I kept my end. How about delivering on yours?”

  “I wish it were that simple. I really do.” She punched his arm. “Ow. You know your Daddy went out chasing the ace every moment he could. He stood the club as guarantee, and he lost. Big. Again.”

  She glowered.

  He said, “I can’t just hand Hotsteppa’s back to you. Fat Tony will be there straight away, and he’ll pick it so clean you won’t see anything but white bone.”

  “How much is Daddy into Fat Tony for?”

  “More than you can pay out of Hotsteppa’s accounts.”

  “What are you going to do about it, Mr. Gangster?”

  Her eyes hardened. He loved to see that passion in her. Even though it made it hard for him to concentrate on driving. Thoughts swirled around his head of the peachy soft curves of her ass. How it would bounce if he bent her over and yanked her silky panties down.

  “I’ve got an idea.”

  Her eyes flicked down to his rising cock and back up. “I just bet you have. Why don’t you concentrate for now on getting me my club back?”

  “Then I won’t have to hold you captive anymore.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  His cock ached, straining under his pants as he swung into the hospital parking lot.

  “I’ve thought of something that might work,” he added.

  “How about you cover the debt? That might work. I’m sure you’re going to make enough out of your consortium.”

  “No,” he said. “That wouldn’t work.”

  He parked as she said, “Why not?”

  He pulled the parking brake and turned to face her. “Gamblers are like junkies and children, Princess. I bailed him out one time already. If I do it again, he’ll believe that I’ll just pick up after him every time.”

  She didn’t look convinced. He didn’t really want to lay the next part out for her, but she had to get it one way or the other. “If I do that, he’ll go straight out again, run up more debt.” Looking in her eyes, he thought she still hadn’t seen it.

  “That time, Princess, or the next time, he’ll wake up at the bottom of the Hudson and your club will turn into smoke.”

  Agostini hated hospitals. Calhoun and Callaghan were in Dino’s white hospital room already. The room was a jungle of plants and cut flowers. The tubes and hospital clothes didn’t suit Dino, but he looked bright and he had a good color.

  One shoulder was wrapped in a bandage and his face was bruised. His eyes twinkled as he slowly turned his head, but after some brief assurances that he was fine, he said, “It’s nice of you kids all to come see me.” He gave them a little nod and a smile with his lips closed. “Really, thanks.” And he squeezed Princess’ hand.

  “Are you trying to hurry us away?”

  “Mona’s on her way,” he told her, “and she said she was bringing Trixibelle with her.”

  ~~

  On the way down in the hospital elevator, Pierce told Princess, “Come with me to meet Fat Tony. That way, you’ll know I’m not doing a number on you.”

  “Now?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Why not?” She had balls, it was true.

  Agostini called ahead and let Fat Tony know they were coming. “Don’t ask him any questions, okay? In fact, don’t say anything unless you really have to. Let me do the talking.”

  Before they arrived, he told her, “Whatever you do, don’t call him ‘Fat Tony,’ all right? That’s very important. Don’t refer to it. He’s ‘Anthony.’ That’s all.”

  Princess was disappointed when they entered what appeared to her to be a very ordinary-looking take-away pizza joint with a few tables and chairs in back.

  A tall, lean man with black hair and a short beard came out to meet them. He was well-dressed in a blue cashmere sweater, a white shirt underneath, and black pants that looked expensive and Italian, like his blac
k loafers.

  He was not at all a bad-looking man. When he and Pierce exchanged an Italian, masculine embrace, she could see he was much larger than Pierce, but slim. Athletic, even. Princess struggled not to stare when he ushered them through a private door and he said, “You must be Princess. I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m Anthony.”

  The private rooms looked like they were part of a different establishment altogether. A plush, paneled corridor led to a comfortable office where they sat with Anthony behind a large desk. He offered them drinks, something to eat. “Some pastries,” he said, with his hands spread and open.

  Agostini allowed Anthony to press him to have a grappa and a cannoli. Princess got the idea that it would be bad manners to refuse too firmly, and so she accepted a cappuccino and a biscotti. Anthony lifted the heavy phone on his desk to give the order.

  After some preliminaries and niceties, Anthony said, “So, how can I help you?”

  Agostini said, “Mr. Grace has an outstanding matter with you. We both know that this has happened before. I squared it with you.” Princess noticed that the rhythm and weight in Pierce’s words was distinctly more Italian-American than she was used to. More like Anthony’s.

  Anthony nodded. “But Mr. Grace returned to the tables and, sadly, his luck did not.”

  “No,” Agostini said. “But, in your kindness, you continued to pay him out a line of credit.”

  “He continued to back it with the club as his asset.” Anthony smiled nicely.

  “Yes, but as I believe you’re aware, that isn’t presently an asset of his. It’s currently mine.”

  “Acquired, as I understand,” Anthony’s eyes sparkled, “through his gambling debts.”

  A plump, pretty girl brought a tray with their pastries and drinks.

  Agostini said, “I won’t go on covering his debts. If I did it a second time, I could appear weak.” His tone was clipped. “I want to give you something of value out of respect, Anthony, but I want you to write the debt off and not to take Mr. Grace’s markers anymore.”

  Anthony sipped his espresso and narrowed his eyes. “What will you give me?”

  “An opportunity.” Agostini very briefly outlined the cable consortium deal, told Anthony about the prospects, and offered him the chance to buy a parcel of options. He put a printed prospectus on the table.

  Anthony sat back.

  Princess told him, “Please understand this. I respect you and what you do, but you shouldn’t give gambling credit to my father on the expectation that he has the assets of the club to pay them off. He doesn’t now, and he won’t have in the future.”

  She felt Pierce draw a long, slow breath as she spoke.

  Anthony finished his coffee slowly. Then he began to rise.

  “I understand your situation, Pierce. You can’t have the old man thinking you’ll wipe up his mess, and that has to stop.” He blinked slowly, like a cat. “Your proposition is a gamble. But I like the way Princess speaks up for herself. I accept the offer, and I shall wipe Mr. Grace’s debts here.”

  He stretched out a large hand, and Pierce shook it.

  “So, why do they call you ‘Fat Tony’?”

  There was a long silence. Fat Tony sat back down at the big desk. Princess and Pierce sat, too. Slowly, he looked up into Princess’s eyes. “Nobody calls me that,” he said, rising from his chair. Agostini drew a breath in.

  “When I was at school,” Fat Tony said, “my Daddy ran the ice cream shop on the corner. You’d think it was a good life, but it was hard. He had to pay off gangsters every day of his life. Everyone in our neighborhood did—all the other shops and restaurants, it was the same.” He looked slowly from Princess to Pierce and back.

  “But the hoods, they loved my Daddy’s ice cream so much, whenever they came for a payment, all of them would want a cone or a tub, and a box to take home. He could never find a way to make them understand, it killed his business. ‘Hey, what’s a little ice cream?’ was all that they’d say. Many days, many weeks even, however hard my Daddy worked, he had nothing left at the end of it to feed us with. Nothing but ice cream.

  “So, as a boy, growing up to be a teenager, I was a little on the fat side.” He winced at the thought. “All the kids at school called me ‘Fat Tony.’ It stood to reason. Ice cream was half my diet. So I was fat.

  “But none of them called me that to my face. Out of respect.

  “Then one day, this kid, thought he was the nuts, you know? Thought he was the big-shot in school because his Daddy was Claudio Champino, and he was an underboss around that area. His Daddy was the man that made my Daddy poor.

  “And I’m walking home from school on my own, along by the canal. From behind me, I hear, ‘Hey, Fat Tony!’ and I turn and it’s this kid, Bruno Champino. Showing off in front of his buddy, I guess. And as he comes close with the big leer on his mouth and he’s walking with his wide, rolling swagger—this kid’s fatter than me by a long way, I’m telling you. And he calls me it again.

  “So, I punched him. I wanted to land it square in the middle of his fat face, just to see his eyes when I did it. But I figured, he’s too blubbery, my hand was just going to get swallowed up in rolls of fat.

  “Instead, I hit him in the throat. I didn’t think it was going to look as good as whacking him on the nose. Boy, was I wrong.” Fat Tony laughed. It was not a nice sound. “Kid grasped at his throat, his face went red, he staggered about with his arms flailing. It was some sight. So then, he wobbled around and he fell into the canal. Me and his buddy, we watched, but there was no sign of him coming up. After a long time, there was one long stream of bubbles, but that’s all.

  “I figured he was dead before he hit the water, anyways. So this kid shakes his head, and he looks at me before he turns to go. Well, he’s going to tell Claudio Champino, this kid’s dad, what happened. The underboss who made my Daddy’s life a misery.

  “Long story short, the cops found the kid by the canal, dredged Bruno out. I went to Claudio Champino and told him the other kid had been in a fight with Bruno and Bruno wound up in the canal. The kid saw me and I knocked him down. Must have used a little too much force, because he didn’t get up again. Claudio sat me down and he asked me how the fight started. I told him I didn’t know. He asked me again and again and I wouldn’t say.

  “Bruno was a bully and he was always starting fights, I knew that his Daddy would think that was what happened, and if I gave him a hard time not telling him that, he could think about whether I was being respectful in not wanting to blemish the memory of his son, or if I was afraid to say, or if I was just a good soldier. That counted for a lot around there. Still, whatever he thought, it kept his mind off whether the other part of the story was true or not.

  “Man, I grew up fast that day. Eleven years old, can you believe it? That underboss, Champino? After that, he went easier on my Daddy. But he was still a pig. I bided my time for two years before I whacked that motherfucker.

  “So, everybody who calls me ‘Fat Tony’ behind my back—and I know that includes your Daddy, Princess—it started when people had to remember who I was. And I guess they still do.”

  He pushed the chair back slowly and it scraped. Uneasily, Princess stood, too. As did Pierce. Anthony met Pierce’s gaze.

  “She’s got balls, this woman.” His eyes were on her, but he was still speaking to Pierce. “You think you can cope with her?”

  There was silence. Anthony said, “Well, take good care of her. And take care of yourself, too. Both of you are welcome here at any time.”

  On the drive back to Park Place Pinnacle, he said, “You took both our lives in your hands there, you know that?”

  The Sicilian edge was still coming off his voice.

  “You weren’t scared were you, Mr. Gangster?” She squirmed in her seat when she saw the strain in his pants.

  The look in his eye was all the answer she needed. She wondered if anything at all would scare him. “So, now you can give me back the deeds.”

>   “Then I guess I’ll have to set you free.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “you set me free and I’ll be gone so fast the dust will be burning.”

  “It’ll be hard getting used to you not driving me mad.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Gangster.”

  “Perhaps I’d better not.”

  “Better not what?”