But then again, my best friend isn’t known for his even temper. He’s known for landing guys in the hospital for even looking at the female company he keeps. Once, he pummeled some moron with a tire iron because he asked Max’s date for a lighter. And I know for a fact that smoking wasn’t anything the guy thought about for months after they reconstructed his bashed-in face.
“They sent everything they were supposed to…” Max’s voice trails off and his expression hardens.
“But?” I can see there’s a but coming. There always is.
“But they wouldn’t give me any of the paperwork. Said they’d only deal with you.” He slams a fist on the desk and drains the rest of his beer. “It’s pissing me off, Nico.”
I let out a long breath and settle into my ergonomic yet luxe, leather swivel chair. “Max, you know it takes time.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have time. I’m tired of being on the outside of everything going on right now. My old man is up my ass to get into some legitimate shit, but nobody’s interested.”
I say nothing, but a million thoughts race through my mind. Bloody images, brutal confrontations, drunken, gun-wielding threats, too many shots fired, too many bruised egos. Is it any shock that nobody wants him on their turf? Even though the families in our organization band together, everyone has their own separate interests. The Orianis’ interests were the Saleseis’ interests until Max’s hotheaded father tried to double cross my dad. That dumb fuck had it made. All he needed to do was just keep his damn mouth shut and follow simple instructions. But no. He needed to make the rules. He needed to make his own mark with the drugs. He thought he’d become Cappodamo’s golden boy. His plans backfired. And now, Max and Tony are both scrounging. They were safe until Grandpa died. Now they’re trying to figure out how to maintain their cushy fucking existence. I did what I could for Max since I need to keep him close anyway. But Tony dug his own grave, and there’s no way I’m sticking my neck out for him.
“You need to give it some time. This is a good place for you to be, to meet people, to establish credibility, to learn the ropes. Trust me, when everything blows over, you’ll be in high demand.”
“Yeah, but I want my shot now. I don’t want to wait. You know how things go. You either get taken out or you stay in one place for too long and then everyone forgets about you.”
“Not if you’re involved with Culaccino. Nobody will ever forget about you. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s going to take you out. You’d already be dead if that were the case.” I say it, knowing full well that Max has pissed off more than enough dangerous people to be six feet under right now. His only saving grace was Grandpa, and now that Grandpa is gone, he’s trapped like a rat in a maze. He doesn’t know who’s rounding the corner, and even with me on his side, I know he’s silently panicking. Fuck, I would be, too.
He lets out a loud groan and collapses against the back of his chair. “I’m sorry, man. I know you have enough of your own shit going on. You don’t need to deal with mine, too. I’m not the one paying you.”
“Hey, you’ve just got to trust me. Hang tight for a little while. Tell your dad to get off your ass, that you’ve got a plan. You don’t want to end up on a plane to Sicily, do you?” I smirk and fire the football back to him after he nails me with it.
“Sometimes…” His head falls into his hand. “Sometimes, I think I’d actually like that. No pressure, the best bread and wine on the fucking planet, hot Italian pussy for days. The life, man.”
The life. Interesting choice of words. It’s the hand we were dealt, and now we need to figure out how to play the cards to win it all.
I watch him for a moment. It’s rare for Max to display humanistic tendencies. He’s usually swinging around a baseball bat, and not in a Babe Ruth kind of way. It’s more like a Goodfellas kind of way.
I stand, the bottom of the chair scraping against the wood floor. “I’m getting out of here for a few hours. I need to crash for a while. I’ll be back before the party starts.”
Max nods and follows me out of the office. I grab my coat from a chair by the door and turn toward him. “Don’t drink all the booze before the guests arrive.”
He salutes me. “I’ll be sure to save them some, don’t worry.”
I click the key remote to start my car, walk into the frigid afternoon air, and pull the collar of my wool coat up. The tiny hairs on the inside of my nose are frozen by the time I pull open the door to my car. I slide into the plush leather seat and pull out my iPhone.
Stupid ass choices. I’ve got a mile-long list myself, so who am I to throw stones?
You have responsibilities, Nico, a lot of responsibilities. Don’t fuck it all up.
I rake a hand through my hair and stab the keyboard, ready to fuck it all up with a few screen clicks.
Hell, why not just add to my ever-growing list?
Shaye
A shiver runs through me despite the blast of heat from the hallway floor vent that toasts my quivering legs. I reach out, my fist about half an inch from the bedroom door, poised to knock. Wait, why? He knows I’m coming. He left the front door unlocked for me. Jesus, I can’t even think straight anymore. Memories pop between my ears like bullets. Me sitting on Nico’s bed, watching a video on his iPad, Nico’s hand skimming my bare arm, Nico’s lips on mine, Nico’s tongue…
Stop!
What the hell is wrong with me? His grandfather just died, and all I can do is think about that night…the one that never should have happened, the one I continue to dream about, the one I relive every time I close my eyes.
Forget the fact that I hadn’t heard from him since.
And that he’s my brother’s best friend.
And that he has 1-800-Hoebags on speed dial.
Nico Salesi will never be mine, and I’ve come to terms with that. Kind of.
I’d hoped to accept it once I got to college, but that didn’t happen. None of the guys I’d met could hold a candle to Nico. I couldn’t find the same pools of the darkest chocolate brown that begged me to drown in them, the ones that sparkled with excitement over the release of a new Marvel superhero movie, ones that deepened with lust when they gazed at me. And I definitely couldn’t find a pair of lips as bitable, ones that tasted like a wide variety of Jolly Rancher flavors, ones I wanted plastered against my own…and then on other areas of my body—
But I did try to get over him. I’d dated plenty of guys. I went to fraternity parties. I pledged a sorority. I drank away the anger and the despair. I’d done just about everything I could think of to erase Nico’s memory from my mind. The problem is, my mind wasn’t the only thing he’d claimed. He had complete control over my heart and soul and exorcising him from my entire being proved to be more of a challenge than I’d anticipated.
Hence, the reason why I’m standing outside of his bedroom door. He texted me, and here I am.
I grasp the cool brass doorknob in my shaking hand and twist it. The door creaks open, and I squint in the dimly lit room. His bed is in the back corner of the expansive space, and he’s sprawled out on his back, tossing a football up and down. He doesn’t look up, and that should be my first clue that he doesn’t give a flying fuck about me. I clench my fists, trying to control my disappointment.
He never called, never texted, never emailed. Not until today, and of course, I come running the second he asks. I never fail to make the wrong choices. I’m nothing if not consistent.
He doesn’t care about anything except his business dealings. He’d never let anything compromise his place in life, least of all me.
It was a kiss. I have to forget about it. It’s not why I’m here. I’m here for Grandpa Vito, not for Nico.
Maybe if I keep repeating those bullshit lies, I’ll finally convince my heart that they’re true.
I inch toward the bed, my heart thudding against my ribcage. I can feel beads of perspiration pop up along the back of my neck, a typical reaction to his presence. My stomach is twisted like a Bavarian pret
zel. Good God, will I ever be able to get over this guy?
And why doesn’t he stop throwing the fucking football? He’s the one who called me.
Just like that, he makes one final catch and sits up. His eyes aren’t sparkling. They’re dark, lost, empty. Soulless. The vacant stare makes my chest tighten and I stop, uncertain about my next steps.
He slides off the bed and creeps toward me. His dark hair is tousled, like he’s just woken up from a fitful sleep. There are bags under his eyes, and his normally rosy cheeks are all but drained of color.
Tears sting my eyes when his hands grasp my shoulders. “Shaye,” he murmurs in his deep, gravelly voice.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “He was such a good man, and I feel terrible for you all.”
His hands move to my hair, twisting a hot pink tendril of hair around his index finger. “You dyed your hair.”
My hand flies to the chunky streaks I’d just had added to the ends of my blonde hair. “Yeah…” I breathe him in, immediately tipsy on the scent of watermelon Jolly Ranchers.
“I like it.”
“Thanks,” I whisper.
He nods over to his desk. “He bought that for you for Christmas. It’s the collector’s edition.”
A sob rises in my throat when my eyes fall to the gift, memories of our marathon Scrabble sessions wallpapering my mind. It felt like a lifetime ago, when things were so simple and the biggest dilemma I had was to decide which word would yield me the most points during our cutthroat games. “That man was a gem among men. I love it. I’ll always treasure it.”
“He missed you at Christmas. Made me promise to get it to you before you went back to school.”
“I should have gone to see him. I’ll never forgive myself for not having the chance to say goodbye.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it. He wouldn’t want that. And you’re here now.”
“Yeah…” My heart is pounding like a jackhammer, drowning out all sound, and I almost miss his reply. A lump the size of a golf ball has taken up residence in my throat and squeezing out a response is near impossible.
But, as it happens, talk is overrated.
He pulls me close, bending down to press his swollen lips to mine — hot, intense, and hungry for any crumb I’m willing to drop. His strong hands fist my long hair, his kiss deepening with need. I wrap my arms around his tall, muscular frame, melting into his warmth.
My mind is screaming at me to pull away, to stop this craziness. This behavior is so unlike Nico. He never loses control or shows his hand. It’s why he’s such a valuable asset to the family.
He doesn’t really want me.
Or does he?
His fingertips move to my back, pressing into my spine as they travel under my sweater.
My knees buckle and I collapse against him. This is bad…wrong on so many levels. Am I willing to be used? To be his comfort fuck?
His lips scorch a path down my neck and then to my ear, igniting my desire with each nip and tickle of the scruff peppering his face. My panties are already clinging to my body, soaked with a need that only he can satisfy.
Yes, yes, hell, yes!
Holy crap, Max would kill me if he knew where I was right now. Ugh! Stop! He’ll never know. Dad will never know. This can work, this can happen. Oh God, I want this to happen…
A heavy, musky scent swirls around my head, intoxicating me and drowning out any shred of sensibility remaining in my very aroused body.
He grips the hem of my sweater and pulls it over my head. It falls to the carpet in a heap, joined by the black miniskirt and tights he peels from my legs. He takes a few steps back, staring at me like a starving lion eyes his prey. Thank God, my bra and panties match. Thank God, I waxed. Thank God—
Reality smacks me like a rubber glove across the face. I’d never be standing here if Grandpa Vito wasn’t dead.
That thought has little time to linger before Nico’s lips crush against mine. My fingers fumble with his belt buckle as his hot tongue coils around mine, plunging deep, staking its claim. I push his jeans and boxers to the floor and he kicks them off with his feet before lifting me into his strong arms, then tossing me onto the bed. He yanks off his black t-shirt, exposing pecs and abs I’ve only dreamed about licking. Heat creeps up my neck and into my cheeks, and the same warmth pools between my thighs.
He inches toward me, looping his fingers into the sides of my lace thong and pulls it away from my throbbing pussy. Without breaking his gaze, he reaches around me and unclasps my bra. It falls to the floor, and I kick it aside, every nerve ending in my body crying out for attention.
The intensity of his stare sends a shudder through me. The swollen head of his cock rubs against my slit, and I let out a tiny gasp. I have no idea what to do next.
I’ve never even seen a naked guy before, much less been naked with one. I’ve kissed guys, even let them cop a feel, but that’s about it. It’s too hard to squeeze my eyes shut and pretend that any of those faceless guys are Nico. It works for a little while, until the truth stops me from going farther.
But I don’t say a word. I’ve been in love with Nico for as long as I can remember, and if I tell him I’ve never done this before, he might stop. And he needs this. I need this.
Nobody will ever know - not my family, not his family.
He guides me onto the mattress and slides his body against mine, his ripped, hard muscles flexing as he adjusts his weight. His fingers tangle in my hair, his eyes heavy with lust and an even greater sense of loss. For whom, I’m not sure. For losing his grandfather…or for losing me. But there’s something deeper; I just can’t read it. Maybe I don’t want to.
I pull him down to me, aching to take him in, to feel him move inside of me, to finally know what it means to be alive.
This moment won’t mean anything to him, but it means everything to me.
He grabs a condom from the bedside table and slides it on, positioning himself at my opening. I swallow hard, my pulse rocketing with each passing second, bracing myself for…Jesus, I have no idea. His hands run up and down the sides of my torso, my skin tingling under the pads of his determined fingertips. They grip my hips and tilt them upward, giving him leverage. He dips his head down to my abdomen, his lips searing my skin as they move up toward my mouth. Only when his lips connect with mine, does he push into my body, tearing through my innocence, and making me feel whole at the same time.
In that second, he ruined me.
I press my fingers into his back, biting back the scream that threatens to escape my lips. Each initial thrust burns like a motherfucker, until the blissful point where it feels so damned amazing takes over. His strokes are long and deep, and I clench my muscles to pull him in farther. His hand reaches around the small of my back, tilting me upward, giving him full access to everything I have to offer. A tingling sensation rumbles in my core and explodes as his hard cock rockets me into an orbit I’ve never known existed. I let out a tiny shriek and he silences it with his mouth.
Our bodies are locked together, moving in perfect rhythm, physically connected. But I can still feel the void that consumes him. Even those delicious aftershocks still zipping through my body can’t hide the fact that he’s not really here with me, not with his heart.
He grips my ass and plunges deeper, faster, and harder — like he just came to the same realization.
His movements almost become mechanical, impaling me with a determination that is going to hurt like hell later, that is, if I can even walk. He finally roars out his own orgasm and collapses on the bed next to me, facing the window. No words are spoken. I lie next to him, confused, exposed, and pretty much devastated. I’ve given him everything, and he doesn’t even have the decency to look me in the eye?
I did this to myself. I let him fuck me. I knew it wouldn’t go anywhere.
Can I really blame him?
I roll over, facing his back. I place my hand on his arm, too uncertain to speak. I gnaw my lower lip, waiting. Minute
s pass, and I take that as a cue to slide even closer, resting my body against his. I close my eyes and take a deep, unsteady breath.
“I want you to go.”
My eyes fly open. “You what?”
He shakes off my hand without even turning around. “Go back to your daddy, go back to school, go back to your little bubble of a life. Just go.”
“But we just…I thought you were…”
“I’m not. I can’t ever be. Just…leave.” He flips over, his eyes so dark they almost look black. With a glare that can freeze ice, he pushes past me, goes into the bathroom, and slams the door.
Short, sharp gasps make my chest quiver. I dress as quickly as I can, consumed by the overwhelming need to get the hell away from him, from this house, and from the fantasies I’d clung to for years that had just shattered around me like a pane of glass.
Thankfully, he lives alone, and I can escape without explaining why my sweater is on backward and why my tights are wrapped around my neck instead of on my legs. I choke back the sobs building in my chest until I collapse into the front seat of my car, the absurdity strikes me that I’d left without my gift. I can’t take it. It would be too much of a painful reminder of…everything. I sit there in the dark with the heat blasting. Metallica blares from the speakers, a perfect match for my dark mood.
He never cared about me. He never would. He was always on the take, but this time he took too much.
I betrayed my family tonight. I lost my virginity tonight. I was ready to give it all up tonight. Give it all away for just a chance that we could repair what was broken between us.
I loved him, and he treated me like shit.
He fucked up.
One thought makes me smile through the hot tears streaming down my face.
I could have him killed.
Nico
Goddamit! I pound my fist on the Corian countertop in my bathroom. Hard. Hard enough to make me think I might have fractured something in my hand from the impact.
Screwing the Mob Page 3
