Brutal & Raw: Mafia Romance & Psychological Thriller (Beneventi Family Book 1)

by Sonya Jesus

  Her warm breaths hit the concave of my neck as she tries to calm herself down, but the closer I get to her, the more sporadic they become.

  And fuck, I can’t resist the lure of her body. My body searches for a sign—anything—that tells me the truth traveling through her veins. The innate response of missing someone in your bones, without thoughts or hearts, is physical memory. I’m hyperaware of every small action, because it’s either evidence she’s scared of me or evidence she wants me.

  Both warranted and excessively apparent.

  It’s in the goosebumps on her skin, the slight tremble of her breath, and the heavy eyelids that struggle to blink. It’s in the way her head leans forward and the slight tilt of her chin, exposing her neck to me. It’s in the way she finally looks into my eyes, emotions roaring behind them, like all those times before. Eyes that have cried because of me don’t search for sorrow because they know they won’t find it. They demand my hands to touch her, to feel how her body vibrates in my presence, and to soak up the energy fluttering over her skin.

  It’s always been like this. One electrifying touch leads to hours of bliss. When we connect, like a plug to electricity, we surge together until our minds black out all the why-nots, and in that darkness only bodies exist.

  But a different part of me only exists with her, and I need the blackout to bare that part to her. If anything, she’s the only mistake I’ll allow myself to make. Since it’s already been made, I can make it over and over again. Or at least one more time. Then no more.

  She turns her eyes from me, and I slide my rough fingers under her soft chin, forcing her gaze back on mine with a tug. I’m not going to let her shut me out. Not on her terms. There is history between us, and even if a future is impossible, we owe it to each other to learn from it—or at least, I’ll learn from it.

  My lips are on her, forcing her to remember the first day we met.

  She fights me but reluctantly gives in, both of us knowing I’ll never be what she needs, and both of us clinging to the hope that I could, as if any disconnection would put an end to the story between us.

  Unwilling to abandon the twisted fairy tale, my lips glide over hers with urgency, rushing to make up for all the missed time between us. I relinquish control to the need inside me, and after all these months, her kisses still feel the same.

  I still feel the same with her.

  19

  Unspoken Story

  327

  He touches me and steals all my breaths.

  His fingers wipe the air from my lungs, and his tenderness destroys my will to breathe again. In those moments, where I’m suffocating on his love and gasping for breath, he wields his lips like a weapon, depleting all my resistance as he trails kisses over my trembling skin.

  Drifting toward nonexistence, I clutch the material of his shirt in my hands. He takes my plea, and just before I expire, gently presses his mouth to mine, breathing life back into me and expelling all his ‘sorry’ into my body.

  I’m sorry, he says as he pulls me closer.

  Forgive me, he pleads, as he laces his fingers through my damp hair and places a soft peck on my temple.

  His lips linger as if whispering to my mind, begging for this moment.

  Please, resonates through the silence, hooking my stomach and yanking all the butterflies to the surface. They flutter in my throat on broken wings, urging me to speak up, but instead, I cup his cheek in one hand, and with the other, I design my approval on his skin, tracing the letters of my real name over the thin material.

  The lack of words should be evidence—proof of his ability to annihilate every wrong he has ever committed. He is a mob boss who kidnapped me, and I am his victim. I should scream for help and pound against the surfaces, but I’m locked in place by the past we share.

  His lips on mine are not pillows or heaven, not soft or kind, but consuming. Breath, will, resignation—all easily convert to passion at his wordless command.

  No words.

  Just strangled breaths between kisses. My lips quake from the force, and my knees bend as he relentlessly draws my nothings from the depths of my soul and makes me something—his.

  But I want more. Being stuck in that bathroom, waiting for him to come to me again, made me realize I want words, not actions, and spoken truths instead of lies. Every time we had been together, we were never he and I. We hid ourselves behind seven layers of skin, allowing surfaces to touch but never hearts.

  No, not those, because we were afraid. What we didn’t know is that in those moments of passion where our bodies spoke for us, they said too much. At some point, touches turned to words and kisses to sentences. He spoke paragraphs between breaths, and before I knew it, he had written chapters on my skin.

  Invisible tattoos, with permanent ink, seep into muscles and create stories with movement. Beautiful, unforgettable stories which only serve to bind me to the past and will me to forget his words and my wrong choices.

  Here, choices have no place between us, and in the darkness that is Breaker, I’m clouted in this strange form of love. Uncertainty wiggles its way to the surface, manifesting in brief seconds of hesitation and the pause of my hands.

  His eyes bore into mine, plowing deep into my irises, and digging their way deeper. In the intensity, I memorize the shape of those almond eyes, the slight flare of his nostrils, and the hardened symmetry of his perfect jaw.

  We’re standing in the room with plenty of space, but he traps me in his orbit, forbidding me to blink. I gravitate toward him, lulled by a false sense of security. A stoic Breaker is dangerous, but he stands before me, anger rippling off his shoulders and lashing out at me without touch. He diminishes the space with his aura, making it feel like we are trapped within a small elevator—or a small room like the one at The Farm.

  At this exact moment, he’s devastating—utter peril to my resolve—yet I’m afraid to blink Breaker away.

  This Breaker, vulnerable and insecure with no façade or filter, rummages my face for an answer to why I stopped. Stopped the something, as if it could ever be more than this…this prison.

  My eyes strain as the weight of my eyelids grows heavier. I have no choice but to shut my eyes and open them to reality. Different place but the same captor.

  Too bad it’s a different identity, but the same heart.

  There is no more patience in his eyes, and when he reaches for my lips again, I turn away. He crushes my upper arms in his hands and gives one sharp shake before pressing his hard, tight body against mine. Again, he leans in, but I resist.

  He squeezes my face between his fingers with the same strong grip and forces my face to his. The insides of my cheeks graze against my molars, his thumbs bruising the delicate hollows of my cheek. Between puckered lips, I can barely breathe, but I don’t protest.

  Paralyzed and dependent on his mercy, he purposely renders me speechless for a reason, but the reason is stored somewhere in the fibers of his flesh and in the marrow of his bones. His body refuses to divulge the truth, as does mine.

  I guess the best-kept secrets are the ones you keep from yourself.

  Words. I need words. My mouth moves, an action which seems to repulse him, and he abruptly shoves me back. I stumble as he adds distance and steps over the bloody carpet without dirtying his soles.

  Clean soles, dirty soul. The irony is not lost on me, and I flinch at the ease, at how he can simply step over the stream of blood—untainted—but more so, I’m repulsed at the longing within me.

  What I want and what I need are two very distinct things, not even I have a grip on. One minute, I’m in his arms longing for words to be spoken, and the next, I’m far from him, wishing those words could remain unspoken.

  There’s blood on the cream carpet. My stomach churns as the heat floods through my system. Revolted, my stomach twists and turns, threatening to send up any remaining contents. My cheeks flush with a burning sensation, and a cold shiver runs down my back. The alternating temperatures weaken my vis
ion. Through the blurred images, I can make out Breaker reaching for his cell phone and sending a message.

  Or maybe it’s a call. I don’t know. My ears feel like they’ve been packed with cotton, and I’m innately aware of the sound of my heart. It’s loud and sporadic, just like my breaths. In an attempt to work through my attack, I cease breathing and count.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  Deep breath in.

  And repeat it with the exhales. When I repeat enough times, I’m aware again. The soft concaves below my cheekbones ache, so I rub the soreness from my face and find the confidence to stand tall. The back and forth motion, the battle between need and want, finally comes to an end. The blood on the floor a testament to the brutal will of a monster.

  A monster I still romanticize.

  Imagining his flesh on my flesh, and his lips on my lips, only adds to our unspoken story, and I deserve more than that, from him and from myself.

  It’s time we stop pretending to be who we aren’t. I’m not Mercy, or Lyla, or 327, and he’s not some fucking misunderstood hero. I bend down and press my palm into the blood-soaked parts of the carpet, coating my hand with the evidence of life before holding it up in the air between us.

  I hate myself.

  He makes me hate myself. Just moments ago, they carried out the body of a woman I admired, and here I am, watching her killer add inch after inch of space, and what do I do? My muscles quiver and shake with desperation, causing a tornado of words to stir inside me. They urge me forward, but I halt all movement. True to my earlier convictions, I speak only truths, “I have blood on my hands, and you put it there.”

  He jolts his upper body toward me and hardens his expression. If he’s trying to intimidate me, it won’t work. I already know my fate. I’ve known since the moment he came into my life. I’d either die by him or because of him, but this time, I’m not going to die without him. If he wants to kill me, he’s going to have to witness it and watch me give my last breath.

  Those penetrating eyes descend from my face to my hands, and he keeps his tone void of emotion. “You put it there.” The slight elevation in his pitch insinuates the metaphorical context, or maybe that’s my guilt talking. “You’re missing blood, though.” He smirks as he leans against the pristine wall, giving me a moment to think about his meaning.

  As if I need time.

  I’m fully aware I’m unintentionally at fault, but that doesn’t seem to matter here. “I’m not the one who killed them, Breaker.”

  “No, but you’re the reason why they were killed. You had me chasing you all over the country.”

  “I’m sorry I survived.” I walk toward the wall beside him and place a bloody handprint near his head. Then another.

  “You liked the chase.”

  “You had me hunted.” I go back and dig my hands into Addie’s blood. “You weren’t chasing me, you were hunting me.”

  The tick of his jaw gives away his irritation. “And now I caught you. Twice.”

  Due to the insane urge to mess up his world, I drag my hands across the opposite wall, leaving streaks of red, and making Addie’s presence known, even if it is in vain.

  He bolts after me, snatching me up in his arms. It wasn’t an excuse to hold me, just his way of containing me.

  “I hate you.” The words don’t come out with enough impact, so I repeat them again, over and over.

  His fingers travel to my throat, placing them in prime position. My pulse throbs against the pads of his fingers, and when I swallow, I know he feels the lump traveling down my neck. I’m petrified, but I’m alone and grasping and trying to hold on to memories I made up before they dissipate in front of me. I created this person who could love me by picking fragmented memories and piecing them together.

  It’s my fault. The thought rips me apart, and I slam my dirty palm against his cheek, smacking the perfectly calm expression off his face. “Did you hear me, Breaker?” Tears roll down my cheeks and moisten my dry lips. The saltiness stings the cracks as I fight yet another onset of emotions. Breathing out in hiccups, I stammer out. “I—Ha—”

  He squeezes, his eyes blazing with fury and threatening me to stop.

  If these are to be my last breaths, even though I know they aren’t true, I say the words between gasps. “I. Hate. You!”

  “I. Don’t. Care!” he growls back through gritted teeth. Each word striking fear into my limbs, just like he wants.

  “I know.” That’s what hurts.

  He releases my throat and lowers his arms. Words swirl around on his tongue because as I claw at my throat, I notice the words forming on his lips, but they never make it out. His face is full of blood. That’s the last thing I notice before he strides past me and aims directly for the door.

  I scramble to my feet and block his path. “You’re a coward.”

  He sighs deeply and ticks his head to the side, hiding his eyes. “Why is that?”

  “Because you killed an innocent woman. Addie had nothing to do with this world; she was helping people. She helped me—was that why you killed her? To teach me a lesson? You had her kidnapped to hurt me because she hid me from you?”

  “Yes. Does that make you hate me more?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. And she wasn’t who you think she was.” He turns his back to me and swiftly exits the room.

  “Who here is?” I scoff and sit on the floor, cradling my head on my knees.

  20

  Stone’s Two-Cents

  Breaker

  For fuck’s sake! I slam my fist into the wall in the hallway. Why do I loathe that she hates me? It’s not like I thought she’d be madly in love with me, but hearing those words come out of her mouth was torture. I barely contained myself, and her defiance was beyond annoying, but also the hottest thing I’ve heard in months.

  I like that she hates me, because at the moment I hate myself. I don’t make it a habit to go around killing the elderly, but exceptions have to be made in dire consequences. And Addie wasn’t only the sweet old lady running a women’s shelter, but the mafia blogger and the woman who exposed mafia secrets for fun. Granted, it’s been years since she was active in the circuit, but she was affiliated with our world. How do I tell 327 I killed her because she not only saw my face, but she also knew my secrets?

  The old bitch bargained with me, using her connections and threatening to blast my secret on social media. I doubted she had someone who would post information on her website if she went missing, but I needed one of my men to check it out.

  Stone rounds the landing of the stairs and spots me against the wall, nursing my guilt.

  Power slips through my fingers like grains of sand with every vulnerable moment.

  “What are you doing out here?” Stone cautiously stops a few feet away from me. “Did you kill her too?”

  “Where’s the body?”

  “Romolo is taking care of it. Franco isn’t picking up, and Rom doesn’t know how to transport without disassembly.”

  Running my hand through my hair, I smooth the wild strands and glance in the mirror in the hallway. The blood print on my cheek is disgusting. “We’ll deal with it in the morning. Franco is busy.”

  “Busy?” Stone chuckles and shakes his head. “Did you kill someone else since the last time we were together? Or now that you’ve found her, are we done going on a killing spree? Which wasn’t the brightest decision on your part, fearless one. For a smart guy, you sure are fucking stupid.”

  “Excuse me?” I glare at my brother’s reflection.

  Stone smirks and points at my face. “Blood isn’t the right color of blush for you, Bro.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You just killed someone who is going to be missed. This isn’t something we can intimidate our way through. She was protected.”

  “By who?” I ask, assessing my decision to end her life. Unless she was protected by one of the main families or Magdalena, it wouldn’t have made an ounce of difference.

 
“She has connections and launders money for La Expansion.”

  The cartel and Magdalena’s new suppliers. “Are you shitting me?”

  “They’re going to be looking for her soon, unless you find a way to keep up their front without involving yourself.”

  “Any bright ideas?”

  “I have a few, but you got yourself into this fucking mess, so get yourself out of it. You should have let the lady go.”

  “She threatened me.” Justification isn’t needed, but I’m using it anyway. “And this isn’t a democracy. You don’t get a vote in my decisions.”

  “Even if they’re stupid? Isn’t this what you and Dad wanted from me? To be your right-hand, to help you see reason and guide you?”

  “Stone, can we do this another time? I’m exhausted, and I’m so fucking tired of having to defend myself to my subordinates. Here,” I use my hands to gesture to the walls, “my decisions are law, and out there, they are held above anything else. So, no matter where you are, you’re there because I let you be.”

  “But I’m only here because you forced me to be. So, tell me, if you don’t need me, what the fuck am I doing here? You don’t need protection, or help, or anything, right? You’ve got all of this shit figured out? Then by all means…” He pulls the gun from his back pocket. “Go in there and shoot the one person who you actually want to be around, because God knows that’s not me or Kelsie.”

  “You’re right there. I like my property more than I like you.”

  “You and Magdalena are perfect for each other, and when she stabs you in the dick in the middle of the night and decides to use your nuts as stress balls, don’t call me. You’re going to end up dying alone because you push the people who could love you away.”

  “Aww,” I feign concern. “Little Brother, are you saying you don’t love me?”

  “I’m saying you’re my brother, and that’s about where the connection ends. I’m obligated to be here to protect the guy who truly feels like a brother, who I love enough to give my life for, and the same guy who Kelsie is going to abandon, for the second time. As undetached as Kelsie is, she loves you in her own messed up way. We’re family, and in this world, that means something. So why don’t you remove the stick that’s been shoved up your ass, and be worthy of being respected.”