Cocky Prick: A Bad Boy Romance

by Tessa Thorne

  Cocky Prick

  A Bad Boy Romance

  Tessa Thorne

  Tessa Thorne

  Contents

  Contact Me

  Cocky Prick

  1. Rocco

  2. Caitlyn

  3. Rocco

  4. Caitlyn

  5. Rocco

  6. Caitlyn

  7. Rocco

  8. Caitlyn

  9. Rocco

  10. Caitlyn

  11. Rocco

  12. Caitlyn

  13. Rocco

  14. Caitlyn

  15. Rocco

  16. Caitlyn

  17. Rocco

  18. Caitlyn

  19. Rocco

  20. Caitlyn

  21. Rocco

  22. Caitlyn

  23. Rocco

  24. Caitlyn

  Epilogue

  Arrogant Prick

  1. Giovanni

  2. Alessandra

  3. Giovanni

  4. Alessandra

  5. Alessandra

  6. Giovanni

  7. Alessandra

  8. Giovanni

  9. Alessandra

  10. Giovanni

  11. Alessandra

  12. Alessandra

  13. Giovanni

  14. Alessandra

  15. Giovanni

  16. Alessandra

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Contact Me

  Author’s Note

  Copyright © 2016 by Tessa Thorne

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Cocky Prick

  A Bad Boy Romance

  Chapter One

  Rocco

  The streets of Williamsburg are packed with a throng of goombahs and tourists on the day of the Festa del Giglio. I push my way through the crowd that's sweating under the afternoon sun, ignoring the occasional complaint or demand for an apology.

  That’s the thing tourists don’t understand about New Yorkers. It’s not that we’re rude. It’s just that we have places to be, and they’re always in the fucking way. If this were any other day, I’d slow down and appreciate all the sweet honeys out on display in their summer clothes. But today I don’t have ass on my mind. I got a target, and his name is Joey Episcopo.

  The horns from the marching band blare out the first beats of O' Giglio e Paradiso as I dodge a chocolate ice cream cone melting over the unsteady hand of a little tyke. I ruffle his hair as I pass him. Chocolate’s my favorite flavor. My brother’s, too. I’d always buy us a pair of cones after a good day of picking pockets with a razorblade back in the day.

  Joey steps onto the street through the barricades and heads toward the float carrying the statue of San Paolino di Nola. It stands six stories high on scaffolding covered with the façade of a church steeple. The base of the float is ringed by a troupe of musicians playing horns, led by the Grand Marshal of the parade. The weight of all that is born on the shoulders of nearly a hundred men, slowly walking along the parade route.

  The float comes to a stop at the signal of the Grand Marshal. He shakes hands with Joey, who hands him an envelope thick with a stack of bills. I’d guess ten grand. Joey has a reputation as a religious man. Well, as religious as men in the life can be.

  That’s why I knew I’d find him at the parade. Fucker should’ve known to stay out of Brooklyn after the Santinis fucked with the boss. That fat stack may buy him penance from the Church, but it won't save him from Don Pavoni.

  I glance behind me, looking for Mikey’s bright red Boston ball cap. He stands out easily in this Yankees crowd. Our eyes meet, and he nods as he pushes his way ahead of me. I grin as a rush of adrenaline starts coursing through my veins. Everything is going as planned.

  I pass a cop ahead of me, his fists planted on his hips right above his gun on one side and a bright yellow Taser on the other. My heart pounds rapidly in my chest as I get within a dozen strides of Joey. It’s moments like this that I live for. Even fucking the hottest broads don’t measure up to the thrill of a hit.

  The crowd cheers as the song picks up, and the men on the float start tossing candy at kids watching the parade. I keep my eyes on Joey through the thick crowd and pick up my pace. I’ve never whacked a made man before, and I sure as fuck won’t miss my chance. A hit like this is what makes a legend.

  This wise guy’s not just going to disappear, never to be heard from again. I won’t be burying his body in the Jersey swamps, or chopping him up in a pork shop. He’s going to be killed in the middle of a crowd on a bright Sunday afternoon. His body will be left out in the open as a message to the Santinis and the rest of the Five Families.

  Don’t fuck with the Pavonis.

  The sounds of the band playing in front of the float drown out the rush of blood in my ears. A little munchkin laughs from her perch on her father’s shoulders as she tries to catch candy being tossed from the parade. I snatch one piece flying past me and toss it up to her. Her giggles put a smile on my face.

  I’m only a few steps behind Joey now, and I see Mikey’s hat bobbing ahead of him. This has to go down perfectly. A single fuckup, and we’ll be doing life at Sing Sing. I smile at another cop as I slip through the barricades onto the street. It’s a lot faster walking through the parade than the crowd.

  Joey’s a half block away from one of the alleys along the parade route we scouted last night. It’s an ideal spot. It has a narrow entrance with a dumpster up front, out of sight of any surveillance cameras. Mikey will be able to hide everything happening in the alley behind him as he stands guard. He’s a big fucking kid.

  I step through a group of firemen marching through the parade to get ahead of Joey and Mikey, and step through the barriers back onto the sidewalk. I take a deep breath as I watch Joey getting closer to the alley. This is going to be a good fucking hit. Killing a made man under the noses of a crowd thousands thick, watched over by dozens of New York’s finest? I think this is the biggest rush I've ever had in my entire life.

  I squeeze between the members of a German family, duck into the alley and crouch behind the dumpster. Mikey sets himself up like he’s watching the parade, his back to the alley, a forty-ounce beer in his hand. I reach into my back pocket and pull out a length of piano wire with a rubber loop on either end. I’ve got a compact pistol strapped to my ankle, but that’s my last resort. Don Pavoni wants this death to be up close and personal, and I'm more than happy to give him what he wants.

  The hair on my arms stands on end as I see Joey step into view. Right on cue, Mikey stumbles backward into him, knocking him to the grimy alley ground in front of the dumpster.

  “You got a fucking death wish, you pucchiacha?” Joey picks himself up, wiping at the trash that stuck to his clothes when he fell. “This is a thousand-dollar suit!”

  “Oh shit, man!” Mikey does a pretty good Boston accent. He turns around, and his beer sloshes out on Joey’s shirt and lapel. “I’m so sorry, bro.”

  “Are you fucking crazy?” Joey grabs Mikey by the collar and pulls him down into his face. “You want me to slice your face open?”

  “Chill, bro!” Mikey puts his hands up and wide open in surrender, dropping his beer bottle to the alley floor. It smashes open, spraying Joey’s leg with foam and shattered glass.

  �
�You’re a fucking dead man!” Joey snarls, and reaches behind his jacket for his gun.

  I come up behind him and slip the piano wire over his head and pull it tight against his neck, dragging him back. His words catch in his throat as Mikey grabs his arms, keeping him away from his weapon and blocking the view of what’s happening in the alley from the street.

  “Get his gun,” I bark out as I pull the wire tighter and haul him behind the dumpster.

  Mikey slides his hands down Joey’s arms onto his hands, grabs his thumbs and yanks them back hard. I can hear the joints snap over the sound of the parade. Joey opens his mouth to scream, but all he can manage is a strangled grunt. Mikey calmly reaches behind Joey, and takes his gun. Tucking it into the back of his pants, he steps in front of the alley entrance to block the view.

  Joey’s eyes bug out as he turns his neck, slicing his skin open against the piano wire, trying to get a look at me. I pull him back against my chest, tightening my grip on the garrote. Blood blooms around the wire as it digs into his flesh. I slide down the rough brick wall, dragging him to the ground with me as Mikey stands watch.

  Joey kicks his legs against the ground, scraping his snakeskin shoes against the rough pavement, struggling to get air into his lungs. I lean in so I can stare into his bulging eyes as blood vessels burst and his face begins to turn purple. Blood gushes down his neck, staining his crisp, white collar. He opens his mouth, desperate to speak, but all he can get out is his swelling tongue.

  I turn my head so my lips are nearly pressed against his ear. I want to make sure he hears me over the parade. “Don Pavoni sends his regards.”

  A wild-eyed look of recognition passes over his eyes before they roll up into his head. They're nothing more than two bloody white orbs now. He slumps against my body and stops struggling against the cord. I yank the wire back hard, cutting through his larynx with a loud crunch. His body spasms against mine, and I wait until he goes completely still before pushing him off me against the dumpster.

  I stand up, take a ziplock bag out of my pocket, and slip the bloodied piano wire into it as I walk out the other end of the alley. One glance behind me and I see Mikey heading off in the other direction without looking back or drawing unnecessary attention to himself. He’s a pro, just like me. Kid’s as reliable as my Glock.

  I take a tissue out of my pocket, wipe down the bag and toss it into a trash can a few blocks north of the parade. The only evidence left on me are the two rapidly darkening rings around my index fingers from the loops on the piano wire. I flex my fingers, feeling the ache in my joints. It’s a good ache, though. The kind you get from a job well done.

  I step around a yellow cab stuck in traffic, rapping my knuckles on its heated hood. That went fucking well. Can’t wait to read about it in the papers.

  I stop at an ice cream stand and order myself a chocolate cone before heading back to the bar, whistling the tune to O' Giglio e Paradiso.

  Pinky’s grin resembles the ones on the pair of jacks he slaps down on the table. They come with a pair of fives and an ace.

  Mikey’s face is blank as he tosses his cards down. “With luck like yours, you should buy your way into the Executive Game.”

  “Poker’s not about luck.” Pinky’s grin threatens to split his face in two. “Luck’s just an excuse for people who don’t know how to play the odds. Isn’t that right, Vini?”

  Vini glares at him over his cards. “You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t ya, kid?”

  Pinky shrugs, but the glint in his eyes hints at how much he’s enjoying rubbing his hand into Vini’s face. “You just have to be smarter than the table.”

  “Why, I oughta--!” The menace in his voice is crystal clear as Vini stands up suddenly, threatening to upend the table as he grabs Pinky and yanks him up from his seat. “How about I widen that grin till you're always smiling, ya little shit?”

  “Sit the fuck down, Vini.” There’s no anger in my voice. But one glance at my eyes, and Vini obeys. I nod and look over at Pinky. He's settling into his seat, rubbing at his collar where Vini grabbed him.

  “You gotta watch your mouth, Pinky.” I smirk as I lay my cards on the table, spreading them out slowly. Three kings. “It’s gonna get you in hot water one of these days.”

  Pinky throws his hands up in exasperation as Vini and Mikey start laughing. “You've got to be kidding me,” he groans.

  “Better luck next time, kiddo.” I grab the heap of loose bills on the table and rake it into my pile. “Besides, it’s your turn to deal.”

  He shakes his head, grumbling under his breath as he gathers the cards and deals them back out. I whistle at Tony to get his attention from behind the bar. “Another round.”

  He nods, and I turn back to take a look at my cards. Fucking jack shit. I put my cards down as Tony shambles over on his gimpy foot and sets a tray of oversized shot glasses filled to the rim on the scuffed-up table.

  I take one and put it in front of Pinky. He looks down at it and grimaces. “Come on bro, I told you I need a lime with that shit.”

  “First off, I told you to cut it out with that 'bro' shit.” Vini snorts, emphasizing my point. “This ain't a frat.”

  I pick up my glass and wait for everyone else to take their shot glasses in hand. “Second, there’s no training wheels in this crew.”

  “Fucking right,” Vini says.

  Mikey just nods.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Pinky’s got a sour expression on his mug like he’s practicing the face he’ll make after he knocks his shot back.

  I raise the glass in the air and wait for the others to do the same before I make my toast. “To loyalty, respect and all the cash you could ever spend.”

  “Salute.” Vini throws back his drink and the rest of us return his cheer and follow suit, slamming our glasses on the table one after the other.

  My smile breaks into a laugh as I watch Pinky’s lips twisting, trying to hold down his shot. I smack him on his shoulder. “You doing good, kiddo.”

  I turn to order another round when I hear the door chime ring. The door opens slowly, and a beautiful pale face framed with strawberry blonde hair pokes in through the gap. My brain grinds to a halt, and my cock stirs as she pushes the heavy oak door open the whole way and steps into the bar.

  I don’t think a woman this beautiful's walked into this bar in its fifty years of history. She's wearing a knee-length dress with a cardigan buttoned all the way up, but it does nothing to hide how luscious and big her tits are. Her thick ass sways as she hesitantly steps into the bar, stealing furtive glances at the shady characters that make up the regulars here.

  What the hell is a woman like her doing in a dive like this? Pinky must have seen the look on my face, because he leans out of the booth and his jaw drops as he sees her.

  “Oh shit, bro.” He burps, his face still looking sour from the tequila. “That’s your ten o’clock.”

  “My ten o’clock?” I can’t tear my eyes away from her to see if he’s serious. The glowing beauty straightens her back, summoning her courage as she hugs her purse to her chest. I watch as she walks the long, narrow length of the bar through the gauntlet of leers and catcalls. She couldn’t be more out of place at Franky’s.

  “I told you about her last night.” He eyes me cautiously. He has that worried look he gets when he thinks he’s going to get blamed for something. “You told me not to bother you with the details. Remember?” It does sound familiar, now that I think about it.

  “I remember. Don’t worry, kiddo. But you should’ve told me it was a her.” I pat him on the back of his head. “Go get yourself some water before you throw up.”

  “You fucking calling it quits, Rocco?” Vini asks.

  Shit. The tits on my ten o’clock knocked all thoughts of the game out of my head.

  “Business calls, Vini.” I grin at him and shrug.

  He turns to look at the broad and whistles appreciatively. “That’s some fucking business you got there.”

 
Mikey stands up to get a look and whistles as well. “Primo business.”

  “Right you are,” I say with a laugh and turn to Pinky. “What’s her name, kiddo?”

  “Caitlyn O’Connor.”

  “I’ll catch up with you boys after I’m done with her.”

  I step out of the booth and strut over to her, ignoring the inevitable jokes from the gallery I hear whenever I approach a woman. It’s the price of having a reputation for being able to fuck any woman I lay eyes on. It’s worth it if you ask me. Women know they should know better when it comes to a man like me, but they just can't help themselves. It might be cocky, but it's the truth.

  She clutches her purse even more tightly against her body when she sees me walking over to her. I stop a step away from her and she backs up, pressing her luscious ass against a barstool.

  “Caitlyn?” I make sure she sees my eyes sweeping over every inch of her body. From her purple-painted toenails, to her bright pink lips.

  She looks into my eyes, measuring me up. The faint blush in her cheeks and the slight part in her lips tell me she likes what she sees. Fuck me if I don’t want to see that same look the first time she sees my cock. She hesitates before speaking in a low voice. “Yes.”

  “Name’s Rocco. Come with me.” I don’t wait before I turn and walk to the booth at the back of the bar. “Tony. Bottle of tequila and two glasses.”

  I’m a few steps ahead of her before she works up the nerve to follow me. I don’t look back of course, but I can hear those heels clicking on the worn marble floor. They look expensive, too. If she’s a cop, they dressed her up perfect for me. She's showing just enough to get me interested. But hiding the good stuff, which makes me want to unwrap her like a Christmas present.

  I adjust my stiffening cock before turning around, and grin when I catch her staring at the growing bulge in my pants.

  “Put your purse down on the table and unbutton your sweater.”