“Who said she’s off the hook?”
Siena rolls her eyes. “Jesus, I called you by your first name, and you put me in a chokehold.”
My jaw ticks, irritation bubbling in my stomach. Her voice is beginning to grate on my nerves like nails dragging down a blackboard. “Siena.” She glances over at me as I lift my head. “Shut the fuck up.”
She does, mouth clamping together, but I can hear the hurt in her breathing. It’s soft, stuttered, like she’s actively trying not to annoy me—which, naturally, pisses me off further. Where’s the fight? The fire?
This is why we’d never work beyond sex; she’s already broken, malleable, and there’s no thrill in sculpting her.
Not like there is with my wife, whose fire burns so bright she fucking blinds me just by existing.
The door to my office swings open, my father’s bulky form filling the frame. He stalks inside, slamming the door with his heel so hard the glass windows behind me rattle. Stopping just short of where Siena sits perched on the edge of my desk, he tosses a folded newspaper down, his face turning a deep shade of red.
“Christ, Pops, are you having a heart attack?”
“I fucking must be, because what I see on the goddamn front page of the Stonemore Times is an abomination. I’m so disgusted with you; I could spit.”
Sitting up, I reach and grab the phone he shoves toward me. I’m immediately met by a picture of Caroline’s knee lodged in my groin, followed by a shot of her running off and leaving me in the fetal position on the sidewalk.
I know exactly what he sees: vulnerability in a capo, a man the people in town are supposed to fear—someone to keep our rivals at bay, even if just based on reputation.
Rage boils in my veins, a violence I’ve never felt before surging ugly and angry, nearly blinding in its presence. My face heats, heart thrashes wildly in my chest. I’m going to slit the throats of every fucking journalist in a fifty-mile-radius.
Pointing to the door, I nod for Siena to leave; she obeys, pulling it closed behind her, and I work on calming the mounting agitation curdling in my gut.
Still, I try to play it off, shrugging as I hand the phone back. “So, they caught a lovers’ quarrel on camera. Certainly, this isn’t the first of its kind.”
“You call that a quarrel? Son, she laid you out to dry like wet fucking laundry.” He runs a hand through his graying hair, pulling at the roots. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Between the time I had my hands on her and when she maimed me? Honestly, I didn’t have time to think much of anything.”
“Exactly. You’re becoming too soft, and she’s only been in your life a couple of weeks. Have you made any progress on the thief we have in our midst?”
“Gia’s working on the investigation—”
“And what are you doing besides playing house and getting your ass handed to you?”
Inhaling deeply, I clench my jaw against the tightness gripping my chest. I’m beginning to regret coming to the office at all; if I’d nutted up and gone home, I’d be relaxing in my pool with a crossword puzzle in hand. Maybe Caroline would even be there.
“So, where is she?”
“Who?”
My father’s nostrils flare. “Elia.”
“Pops. My wife has a name, you know.”
“Your wife.” Shaking his head, he drops into the seat across from me. “I told you not to marry that girl. Said she’d be trouble. First that dinner, now this. You know how many emails I’ve gotten from Ivers this week, asking when I’m returning his stolen property?”
“He’s emailing you?”
“Yes. I don’t respond, naturally, since email is a hotbed for government tracking.” He scoffs, loosening the tie around his neck and scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’d think Kieran would know better.”
“He’s probably purposely leaving a trail, trying to get Dominic in trouble. Or trying to set us up.”
“Perhaps.” Leaning back in his chair, he steeples his index fingers and studies me a few minutes in silence. “In any case, I want you to pay him a visit. Try to put this feud behind you.”
“Fat chance of that happening, Pops.”
“Son, honestly—”
A knock on the door cuts him off, and Benny sticks his head in, requesting my father’s presence. “Kal Anderson is here to see you, sir.”
“He doesn’t want to deal with Elia?”
Benny shrugs. “Elia said he’s not to be bothered, except for emergencies.”
I grin at the crimson flush spreading across the tips of my father’s ears, letting my head drop back again. But I don’t feel the curve of my mouth in my heart.
My eyes stare up at the ceiling, unseeing. All I can think about is where the fuck my wife is and what I might do when I get my hands on her.
My father points a finger at me as he stands, adjusting his coat. “I meant what I said about Ivers. Put this to bed, and get that girl of yours under control. I don’t want to have to call Rafe up in Boston and tell him you’re unfit to lead this outfit any longer.”
I roll my eyes as he leaves, pressing a fingertip to the cut on my lip. Siena re-enters the room, crossing her arms. She blows a strand of red hair out of her face like she’s trying to distract herself from speaking.
“Something to say?” I ask, careful to keep my expression tame and my voice bored, disinterested, so as not to give her any ideas. Siena’s always been rather forthcoming when it comes to her feelings about me, but I thought with getting married, she’d take the fucking hint that I don’t reciprocate.
This black heart lies elsewhere, with a girl that wants nothing to do with me.
Caroline’s made it perfectly clear where we stand—married for convenience and nothing more.
That doesn’t stop me from wanting her. My brain knows how my heart feels. Knows how early it is, how sudden and inappropriate.
I’m just not ready to accept it. Not willing to give myself over entirely.
But that doesn’t mean the feelings disappear.
“Nope.” Siena cleans up the bandages and gauze, packing them into the first aid kit Phoebe keeps under the bar. After several beats of silence, she shrugs and leaves, a cloud of perfume standing in the room in her wake. It’s nauseating.
The office door swings open again, revealing both Gia and Marco, flanking each other with matching expressions of stoicism.
“Boss, we’ve got a problem.” Marco hesitates, glancing at Gia before sliding his gaze back to mine. “Make that two problems, actually.”
I stare at a bullet hole in the floor, caused by an altercation with a former employee years ago, trying to calm my racing pulse. Sweat beads along my skin as I rip myself from my thoughts. “I told you I didn’t want to be bothered tonight.”
“We have a concrete lead on the stolen product.”
Sitting up straight, I wait for them to continue.
Gia sighs, walking over and dropping a photocopy of the list Dominic Harrison gave me onto my desk. “We cross-referenced every name on that list; most of those guys have connections to flesh auctions all around Maine, the majority of which specialize in stolen minors.”
“Okay…”
“Well, you know how Dom owes just about everyone money, right?” I nod, and Gia continues. “We think he’s using his network to source young girls and has an inside guy in our warehouse crew skimming blow in an attempt to pay off his debt, now that Caroline isn’t a viable option.”
Anxiety spikes in my stomach, my chest tightening like an overblown balloon. I’m going to kill that fucker. “How is this going on right under our noses?”
“The blow goes missing at some point after leaving the warehouse. It passes through so many hands after that, it’s difficult to determine who’s taking a cut.”
“So, what are we doing about it?”
Gia swallows. “Angelo’s already admitted to helping, and he’s agreed to help with the
investigation in exchange for a simple exile.”
I nod, folding my hands together. “And we’re sure Kieran Ivers isn’t involved?”
“There’s not been a report of activity from his home in weeks, but obviously, we can’t be absolute. My gut says no, though.”
“Well, I’m not paying you to fucking guess. Figure it the fuck out, and don’t let my father catch wind of this.” Leaning back, I rub my temples. “What was the other thing?”
Marco and Gia share an uneasy look, and Gia leans back on his heels, discomfort radiating from his posture. His shoulders slump inward, mouth flattening, and a second wave of bile rises in my throat, making me gag.
“Jesus Christ, what is it?” My fingers cut into the leather on my chair, nails splintering at the pressure.
Marco reaches behind his neck, scratching. “Well, you said to come get you if anyone with Caroline’s I.D. showed up tonight.”
Fucking Juliet. “Where is she?”
“In the VIP lounge, causing a scene with a male patron. People are starting to get uncomfortable.” Gia frowns. “But, Elia, you should know... it’s not the sister.”
My stomach flips, and I push to my feet despite the pain in my groin. Buttoning my suit jacket and ripping the bandage from my chin, I tip my neck from side to side, reveling in the way my bones crack. I move between my soldiers and head out into the hall.
Gia catches up first, stalling me with his hand on my shoulder. “Elia. She’s drunk.”
“Yeah?” I swipe my thumb across my lip, the sting a now-welcome reminder of this afternoon. A balm to my mounting feelings, fuel for the punishment I’m about to serve downstairs. “She’s about to be fucking dead.”
I FEEL ELIA’S presence before I even see him; his soul radiates toward mine like a heatwave in July, hazy and thick and suffocating. I know he’s down here, hunting, looking for me.
But I’ve had too many drinks to care—to consider the repercussions of my earlier actions.
Liv’s celebratory flaming tequila shots turned into Vegas Bombs, and then some weird moonshine drink served in a small barrel. My legs have felt like jelly for the past twenty minutes since I “tripped” and landed myself in the lap of Todd Davis.
Lucky me.
Todd’s arms tighten around my waist, as though he can sense something terrible is about to happen, and I lean back, fitting my ass more firmly into his groin, preparing for the show. The oversized Hawaiian button-down he has on brushes against my bare arms, itchy and reeking of cigar smoke.
We’re seated in a sticky booth at the back of the VIP lounge, entertaining ourselves while the strippers change shifts. Liv’s been off to the side chatting up the female bartender, a tiny girl with a brown ponytail, who looks so out of place here I had to do a double-take when she dropped off our drinks.
A grossly moist pair of lips graze the shell of my ear, and a shiver skates over my body, prickling my skin in the worst way. I cringe, trying to pull away from the middle-aged man’s fried pickle breath—who actually orders food at a club known for luxury cocaine and hookers?
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Todd’s fingers squeeze my side, dancing along the exposed skin, making me regret borrowing this dress from Juliet, who was nursing another hangover and couldn’t come out tonight.
The dress is short and seductive red, with crisscrossed ties holding the tight bodice together on the sides. Seemed like a good idea an hour and a half ago.
Somehow, despite the amount of flesh on display, my face feels hot and sweaty—disconnected, like my soul is floating outside of my body and having a hard time making its way back.
“I need to go to the bathroom.” Wriggling around on his lap, I try to ignore the hardness beneath my buttcheeks, focusing on disentangling myself from him. Luca was right—a little flirting goes a long way with these men, and here I am upping the ante. Like Todd wasn’t absolute putty in my hands the second he saw me here.
“I’ll go with you.”
“To the ladies’ room?”
“Sure, sweetheart. You and I have loads of unfinished business; why not take care of it really quick?”
“I’d prefer we not do that here.” I bat my eyelashes, trying to appear innocent. The way his puffy eyes darken makes me think I’m doing it right. “We should get a cab or something.”
“I think we should just stay right here. Makes it more exciting that way, don’t you think?” His hand splays across my belly, pinky finger caressing my pubic bone. I swallow down the knot rising in my throat, unease settling deep in my bones, a lead balloon dropping to the floor. “Besides, you owe me. Your daddy owes me.”
“I didn’t agree to anything like that.”
“Doesn’t matter. This between us is a long time coming, and you know it, babe.”
I grit my teeth against the nickname, wishing I could bleach it from my memory. “I’m married.”
“Never stopped me before.”
I’m starting to get pissed; this isn’t how this interaction is supposed to go, and here I’ve fucked everything up because I let Liv convince me to indulge a little. Starting to get to my feet, I push against Todd and aim for my footing, heels slipping along the slick hardwood.
Todd moves with me, keeping my ass pressed fully against him, preventing my departure.
Dread floods my stomach, panic sluicing through my blood. “Let go of me.”
“Why should I? You’re the one that’s been dancing up on me and flirting with me all night. Don’t act like you don’t want this.”
My heartbeat kicks up, a thunderous pounding in my ears I can’t shake. Not that it keeps me from trying; moving my head side to side, my hand slips off Todd’s lap with the movement, and I fall out of his grasp, crashing to the floor.
Except, I never quite hit it.
A pair of strong arms wrap around me, keeping me from face-planting into the ground. They right me, yanking the hem of my dress down further along my thighs, pulling my back into his front.
Right on fucking time.
At the same time he catches me, Elia’s fist whips out and across Todd’s cheek, causing him to stumble backward and flatten against the booth. He cradles his face, a crowd forming quietly around us. I see two Montalto men off to the side, dressed in all black with their arms crossed, poised to join in at the drop of a hat.
Elia’s clean, whiskey and chlorine scent assaults my senses, making me feel fuzzy. I straighten my spine, pulling away gently while his hands grip my biceps, keeping me close. “Are you okay?”
Liv rushes to the edge of the crowd, trying to elbow her way in, but no one moves for her. She watches, eyes narrowed, and I try to look confident. Like I’m okay. Inside, my stomach battles a million different emotions, unable to settle and focus on just one.
“Never better, Captain.” I try to salute him, but it’s damn near impossible with his iron-clad hold surrounding me. His gray eyes flash, something unfamiliar and terrifying in their depths, and this time when I shiver, it’s in a good way. I feel the tingle all the way to my toes, vibrating between my legs.
Blinking down at me like he’s trying to erase a spell, he moves one hand to smooth it over my hair. “What the hell is going on here?” He asks the question without moving his gaze from my face, but I can tell by the volume and edge cutting his voice that he doesn’t mean for me to respond.
For some reason, probably Everclear-related, the fact that he isn’t immediately blaming me makes my heart swell painfully like it’s trying to launch itself from my chest and into his throat.
“Just trying to show the little lady a good time.” Todd shrugs one shoulder, still holding his face, as if unaware who he’s speaking too. He must’ve had more to drink than I realized. Or maybe patrons just aren’t used to Crimson’s owner coming down for visits.
“Oh, good, you do speak English.” Elia’s arm slips around my waist, tugging me into his side. Christ, he’s warm. I can’t stop myself from leanin
g into him, using him as support. “So, when the little lady says she wants you to let go of her and you use her clearly drunken state as an excuse to manhandle her, you’re just being an asshole.”
Todd bristles, eyes flickering to me. Mine slide to the floor, zeroing in on Elia’s expensive Italian shoes. Why’s he always so polished? What’s he hiding beneath that suit?
The memory of scars decorating his forearms flashes in my mind, a reminder that he may claim he doesn’t like secrets, but it’s clear he has many. He has to; all made men carry things to their graves.
Some end up there because of them.
“Look, man, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Todd holds his hands up, palms-out, gesturing toward me. “She came onto me.”
“Why would she do that when I’m upstairs? You calling my wife a whore?”
“Wife?” Todd’s eyes bug out, jaw dropping. He scrambles to his feet, adjusting the way his ugly shirt lays against his chest. “She didn’t say anything about being married to a Montalto. I never would’ve—”
“You’re Dom Harrison’s friend, right?”
Todd nods, and Elia’s fingers stroke my side, a strange surge of comfort blasting through me at the movement. I shouldn’t feel this way, especially as this situation escalates toward my goal, but I can’t seem to help it. “Are you really trying to tell me you’re unaware that his elder, highly-publicized daughter got married to the owner of a club you frequent? Cristo, Todd, if I’d known you were this big of a fucking dumbass, I’d never have given you access to my VIP lounge in the first place.”
“Elia, I—”
“You put your hands on my wife. I think we’re done talking.”
“Can’t I even defend myself at this point? Jesus, your father was way easier to fucking deal with. It’s not my fault you married a slut; why don’t you ask her about the services she provides for the rest of her daddy’s friends.”
Elia’s eyes slide to me, his chin dipping down. I stare up at him, pleading silently with him not to take that bait. I don’t want to explain that I never serviced anyone; don’t want to travel down the rabbit hole I’ve spent the last few years crawling out of.
Sweet Surrender: A Dark Mafia Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (King's Trace Antiheroes Book 1) Page 15
