Chasing Fire (The Fire Duet Book 1)

by Billie Lustig

  Hence the trouble I’m in.

  “Had you ever killed anyone before?”

  “Do you always take the girls you fuck as hostages?”

  “Not always.” He keeps a straight face, his energy gets more threatening by the second, though. It’s nerve wracking, but I refuse to back down. I keep his gaze while his eyes narrow and his nostrils flare.

  Maybe I should back down.

  Maybe I should take a hint.

  Maybe I should shut up.

  Maybe I shouldn’t provoke the ruthless crime lord.

  But for every ‘maybe’ the angel on my left shoulder mentions, there is a set of devil twins yelling ‘fuck that’ in my right ear.

  “Whatever, I’m here. I said I would play nice, so you can go now,” I offer, dismissing him with a hand wave while I turn my body away from him and take another sip.

  Before I lower my glass, a hunting knife flies past me and plunges into the wall only an inch from my face. The sudden movement causes me to drop my glass to the floor where it splinters into dozens of pieces. My eyes widen in terror, looking at the black handle in front of me, realizing that could have been in my brain. My lips part as my breathing increases. I slowly turn my body towards the knife throwing man who is walking towards me. I do my best to keep my back straight and show no fear, but the dryness in my mouth proves I’m doing a shitty job. He pushes me against the wall with one hand while he places the other on the knife still stuck in the wood paneling. His eyes change to a shade as blue as the deep of the ocean, and involuntarily, it reminds me of that moment in the elevator, making me think back to how he felt on top of me.

  I softly inhale when I feel his breath fanning my face. It smells minty with a hint of whiskey.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asks, bringing his hand up to cup my face before running it through my hair and fisting it.

  I nod because I’m not sure I can voice anything right now.

  “Then don’t push me, Callie. The only reason you’re not on that concrete floor downstairs is because I still have an interest in you. For now. Piss me off a few more times and you will be nothing more than a nuisance who doesn’t deserve a room this nice. It’s your choice.” He leans in, and his mouth brushes mine, leaving me gasping for air before he moves his lips to my ear.

  “I hope you choose right,” he whispers before he pulls out his knife and turns around. “If you want to eat, one of the men outside your door will escort you up. You may eat at nine, noon, and dinner is served at seven. Behave, baby girl.” He winks with the same devilish grin before he walks out and closes the door behind him.

  I am in way, way, way over my head.

  Callie

  Four Days Ago

  I fumble with my plastic bag of groceries from 7-Eleven while pulling my keys out of my black Chanel bag. It’s one of the few things I kept from my Mother’s closet after she died, but sometimes I wonder why because the damn thing is just way too small. Everything gets so tangled up inside, it takes me forever to actually get out what I need. But it was her favorite, so my heart won’t allow it to collect dust in the back of my closet. When I finally put the key in the door, I hear footsteps behind me. A large, bald man is walking towards me wearing an elegant, charcoal black, three-piece suit. I only need one glance to know what he is.

  Italian.

  In a lot of people’s worlds, Italian means a lot of things. Pasta, Rome, Limoncello.

  In my world? Italian means trouble.

  I turn the key as quickly as I can, somehow knowing he isn’t a new neighbor, then burst through the door, slamming it shut with force. Pressing my forehead against the brown wood, I try to listen for any threatening movement on the other side while my heart feels like it’s high on crack. I take a deep breath, smiling at my exaggerated response.

  You’re getting paranoid, Callie girl.

  “Guilty conscience, amoré?” The sound of his gruff voice with the thick New York accent gives me instant heart palpitations. Dropping my bag on the floor in shock, I screech when I notice him on my dark green velvet sofa with his feet on one of the pillows. His black hair is slicked back and as shiny as the expensive Italian leather shoes he is wearing. His ripped chest is covered by a gray dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up, and a few loose buttons make his filthy chest hairs peek out. The muscles in his arm are on full display, draped over the back of my velvet green sofa while the rest of his body is taking up every inch of the piece of furniture, clearly making himself at home. I can understand why women drool over him. He’s just never done anything for me other than creep me out.

  “Fucking hell, Ronnie. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” I mutter as I pick up my bag and move to the kitchen island. His right-hand man, Kenzo, is casually checking his phone while leaning against my refrigerator.

  Another asshole I can’t stand.

  “I’m guessing the big guy outside is yours too?” I ask while I start putting away my groceries, not even bothering to ask why breaking and entering was necessary.

  They’re Italian, only god knows what goes on in their pasta eating heads.

  I know that a Distucci in my living room means trouble, but I do my best to pretend I have nothing to hide. I’m not a saint, but I always do everything to avoid getting involved with the mob. They are not just criminals; they are a sadistic bunch of fuckers without any remorse. If you want a happy life on the gray side of the law, you make your best effort to go unnoticed by them.

  He doesn’t respond but just stares at me from across the room. It makes me uneasy, but I give him a glare anyway, grateful there is space between us. Finally, a grin appears on his face, and he tilts his head, examining my expression.

  “I have to give it to you. I always knew you were bold, but I didn’t think you were stupid.” He rises and saunters into the kitchen, placing himself right next to me.

  So much for the distance part.

  I keep my eyes focused on the living room, doing my best to avoid eye contact with him.

  “You must be speaking in Italian, because I don’t understand a word you’re saying.” My hands are firmly pressed against the marble countertop, keeping my knees from wobbling. I haven’t taken anything from the Italians in my life, ever, but having him up in my personal space still makes me nervous.

  “Yeah, I think you kind of do.” He leans onto the countertop, resting his head in his palm, making sure he can see my face. His rough fingers start tracing my jawline in a domineering way, and I clench my jaw, trying to keep my hand from slapping his away. “You see, there is only one person in this city who can pull off robbing a necklace from someone’s neck without the person in question even noticing it’s gone for days.”

  With my attitude taking over, I finally slap his hand away and meet his dark brown eyes. He has a five o’clock scruff that makes him look handsome, but his eyes show the evilness of his soul. So much evil shit, even though he just turned twenty-six.

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Distucci? I don’t touch anything mob related, and you know it.” I scowl, crossing my arms in front of my body.

  He straightens up and places his hand on my hip, forcing me to face him while his other hand nudges up my chin. I can smell his heavily applied, disgusting, signature Italian fragrances since his face is only an inch away. His touch is gentle, but I know Distuccis are infamous for their quick mood swings. They can snap within a split second. He’s always had a crush on me, so I don’t think he’ll hurt me, but I can’t take the risk, poking an angry mob prince.

  “You slipped up, amoré. Should have done your research a little better,” he whispers against my cheek. I am repulsed by his touch, but my need to know what the fuck he is talking about keeps me still and quiet. “You see, the lovely Summer Kent is going to be the fifth wife of Gino DiMaro. Haven’t you heard the big news? They are planning a June wedding. At The Plaza Hotel. Everyone is invited.”

  Wires in my head are starting to connect, and I do not like where this is
going.

  “The broker?”

  “Broker, our accountant, and first cousin of Luciano.”

  I suck in a shocked breath.

  “Fuck me.” First cousin of the right hand of Papa Distucci is not as close as being his son like Ronnie over here, but close enough to be in some serious shit.

  Fuck, I knew that arm candy she arrived with looked familiar.

  A big knot of uncertainty the size of a bowling ball develops in my stomach, and I close my eyes for a second.

  I try to order my thoughts, but not much is happening in my head other than a screaming redhead, freaking out like a banshee.

  I screwed up.

  “That, amoré, is exactly what I will do to you if you don’t give back what you owe us. With interest.”

  I take a step back to look him in the eye. I’m furious and fucked. Not to mention the bucket full of fear that just emptied on my head. I still remember Imogen asking me if I knew enough about the target. ‘I don’t know, Callie girl, it feels like you’re rushing into this,’ she’d said.

  ‘Easy peasy’ were my exact words in response.

  You stupid little girl.

  “I don’t have it anymore, Ronnie. You know that.” I pleadingly throw my hands up in the air, hoping to reason with him.

  “I do, but you decided to play against the big boys. In this game, you pay when you lose. You could have been in bed with the big boys. It would have made things a lot easier.”

  “You mean in bed with you.” I cock my eyebrow.

  “Would that be such a bad thing?”

  “Like getting eaten by a snake, spit out, and eaten again. Every day. For the rest of your life. Like—it doesn’t get any worse,” I deadpan with a straight face.

  Kenzo bursts out a full belly laugh, and we both shoot him a scowl.

  “What?” he asks, mostly to Ronnie. “The girl is funny. She always has been.”

  “I kinda am.” I shrug.

  “Humor isn’t going to save you this time, Callie. You’d better get used to the idea of being eaten by a snake wearing Italian shoes. Every day. Because you will be mine if you can’t deliver the money within fourteen days. Do you have any preferences for your new home? We can make it a bit cozier before you arrive. Right now it’s a bit of a man cave,” he smirks, walking around the island while grabbing an apple from my fruit bowl. Kenzo automatically follows him while chuckling as they both head to the front door.

  “Don’t you mean your dad, the head of the mob?”

  “Nope. Mine,” he answers with an arrogant grin. The bastard has been trying to get in my pants since high school, so I’m sure he’s hoping I’ll come up short. I bet he was more than willing to pay my debt to DiMaro if it meant I would owe him.

  “Ten million, amoré. Two weeks from today.”

  “Ten million?” I shout incredulously. “That necklace wasn’t worth more than five!”

  “I told you. Interest.”

  “Fifty percent? Are you crazy? Where the fuck am I going to get ten mill within two weeks?”

  “You’re a star at pick pocketing. You’ll figure something out,” he replies before they disappear through the door.

  “I’m not as cheap as a pickpocket!” I yell out in frustration to the closed door, shoving the fruit bowl off the island.

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuuuuuuck! I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself down, but I sound more like a fucking choo-choo train instead of a calm person.

  More like a mental case. Choo-choo.

  I yank my Chanel bag towards me, wondering how much it’s worth before I quickly pull out my phone. With shaking hands, I unlock it and call the one number that might be able to help me find a solution.

  “Hey, Callie girl, what’s uuup?” she sings after three rings. It sounds like she is outside walking on the street.

  “Gen, I’m in trouble.”

  “Okay,” she replies seriously, knowing I wouldn’t abuse the word trouble. “Meet me at Daisy’s in an hour?”

  “No, this is not a cupcake and tea kind of problem.”

  She stays quiet for a few beats.

  “Okay, what kind of problem are we talking about? Beer at the pub?”

  I sigh.

  “More like Belvedere and a dancefloor.”

  “Jesus, girl, who the fuck are you in trouble with?”

  “Distucci.”

  “Will you shut up?” she whispers loudly through her teeth. “You don’t say that name through the phone, you know that! In fact, don’t say that name at all. Now stop messing around. Who are we talking about?”

  “Distucci,” I answer dryly.

  She doesn’t say a word, but her silence says it all.

  After about half a minute, I hear her take a deep breath before she finally says, “Flying fuck.”

  “Yeah …”

  “Meet me at Magenta at nine.”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, and Callie? You better dress up and bring some serious cash, because if this is our last night, you’re buying,” she says before she hangs up.

  Fuck me.

  Kane

  Present Day

  I walk into the control room and blurt out, “Told ya.”

  There is a smoke curtain clogging the room from the cigar between Liam’s fingers. His 220-pound body hangs over the leather armchair like the lazy fuck that he is.

  Okay, he’s not, but I still like to call him one, just because I can.

  I’m a bit bulkier than Liam, though his body is more athletic. As far as our faces, anyone could easily confuse us even though we are three years apart. He is still wearing his black leather jacket even though it’s freaking hot in here, and his salt and pepper hair is messy from the ocean breeze on deck.

  He ignores my comment, not wanting to admit that I warned him she would try to fight her way to freedom and rolls his eyes before he turns his gaze back to the two dozen screens in front of him. Plus, he’s still pissed at me for sleeping with Callie, since that was not part of the original plan, but he needs to stop acting like a little baby. I had a good fuck. That’s all.

  Okay, a fucking world rocking fuck.

  With the daughter of our enemy.

  Who we now took as leverage.

  I still don’t really see the issue, though?

  I cock an eyebrow at his silence.

  “Really? You’re going to be a little bitch about it?”

  “You’re the little bitch desperate to make a point.”

  I shrug before I take a seat in the identical armchair to his left.

  “I’m still right.”

  The air is stuffy, and it makes the room feel smaller than the ten by ten chamber that it really is. Jeremy O’Malley, ex-special forces, is watching the feeds, making sure nothing goes unnoticed on this yacht. I know what you’re thinking: why would an American patriot switch sides? Simple. We pay more. In the end, everyone wants one thing: more money. Our men are no exception, and they are loyal to the core because we pay them extremely well. Although Jeremy is the exception to that rule. He has been my friend and right-hand man since we both left the military.

  I glance at one of the screens facing the hallway where I see two men guarding the door of the little dragon’s bedroom. We’ve now placed them more strategically around the yacht in case she makes a run for it.

  Again.

  “Yeah, that girl is not someone to take for granted,” he admits after he follows my gaze to the screen. “It runs in the family,” he mutters before his eyes move back to me. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea to give her a room like she is one of our guests or something. Considering she just killed three of our men, sedating her would be the smart thing to do.”

  “Be smart about this, Liam. If you don’t want the dragon to burn you to ashes, make sure she doesn’t spit fire.”

  He gives me a dull look for a few heartbeats before he opens his mouth again.

  “I’ve never really seen a drugged-out dragon before, but I have experienced th
e blood that is running through her veins. It’s devious.”

  “She’s not her, Liam.”

  “I’m sorry, you think what she did wasn’t devious?” He raises his voice and points his hand towards the door. “She killed three of our men. Without even blinking. Every Reyes is the same. They are all a bunch of scam artists with no moral code whatsoever.” The look on his face is aggravated and pissed.

  It’s been a year, but just thinking of Cristina makes him react like he’s being surrounded by a swarm of wasps within seconds. I know nothing I say will change his opinion about her, but I need him to see the bigger picture.

  “Right, like we wouldn’t have done exactly the same.” I roll my eyes. We’ve killed hundreds of men, yet here he is, pretending she is a fucking criminal super assassin just because of her last name. He flips me the bird without looking at me.

  “She is a Reyes, but trust me, she is nothing like her family,” I grumble, ignoring him. “She’s more like us. Calculated. Determined. Smart. Why do you think she tried to negotiate? She knows she’s got nowhere to go and keeping her comfortable, yet on a leash, will make her accept that fact more easily. Besides, I made it clear she’d better keep in line.”

  “The fuck did you do?” He abruptly shifts his gaze back to me.

  “Threw a knife at her head,” I answer with an evil grin.

  The corner of his mouth moves up in a proud smile, before he opens his mouth again.

  “And you’re the one holding the leash, I’m sure.”

  As sick as it sounds, the thought is sexy.

  “That will only work if I put a muzzle on her too,” I mumble.

  Liam chuckles before he grabs his glass and takes a sip, looking a bit less tense.

  “I fucking dare you. She’d probably try to claw your eyes out,” Liam chuckles.

  “I’ll pass, I need them to keep looking at that sexy ass.”

  “Yeah, she is easy on the eyes. You do realize you’re being a total sexist about this, right?”

  My eyebrows quirk up at his remark.