His: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Citrione Crime Family)

by Penelope Bloom

  I go with him to his car, trying and failing not to think about work I’m blowing off in the process. I settle into the seat of his car, and hiss out a long breath, looking at my phone to check the time.

  “The third quarter is starting now,” I say.

  He turns the key and then looks to me from beneath his long, dark lashes. “You’ll be glad to be done with that job, doll. Trust me.”

  I shake my head, not completely believing I’ve let him take me this far. It was one level of reckless to sleep with him, but letting the only steady paycheck in my life slip away for him? I’m really losing it. I put my face in my hands, barely holding back a scream.

  His hands rub the tension from my shoulders and he turns my face toward him, forcing me to look into his eyes. “You’re with me now. None of that shit can touch you anymore. Bills? Fuck them. Jobs? Fuck them. You’re going to spend your time doing what you want.”

  I don’t dare say what I’m thinking, that he’s moving too fast. He’s talking about us like we’re already married, like the possibility of him getting bored of me and tossing me aside doesn’t exist. I still need to find out how to keep a roof over my head. Vince can promise me all he wants, but even if I could stomach living off his charity, there’s no telling how long it would last. Until I pissed him off? Until he got bored of me? And why does the idea of him getting bored of me hurt so much? I want to lock myself in a closet and scream until my throat is hoarse. Why does this all have to be so fucking confusing?

  Then he touches my thigh and all my worry seems to melt away. I still can’t believe how much his touch affects me. Just his fingertips through the fabric of my skirt is making my chest heat and my cheeks flush. It doesn’t ever seem to matter how hard I want to keep away from him. As soon as his skin meets mine, it’s like a fever takes me over. I just want his body against mine and I want the way it makes me forget everything else while we’re together. It’s infuriating and addicting all at the same time.

  I close my eyes, not stopping him as his hand pulls my skirt higher. He looks at me with a smoldering heat in his eyes. “You’re safe now.”

  They’re only words, but they reach inside me and seem to actually slow my heart, which is still beating like crazy.

  “Safe from them?”

  “Safe from anyone.”

  “Am I safe from you?”

  There’s laughter in his eyes as he slides his hand up my leg to take my hand in his. “That depends on how you like it, doll.”

  An image of him undoing his belt as he looms over me flashes in my mind and I feel heat blossom between my legs. I have to pinch my thighs together when I start imagining his hands moving their way up towards my welcoming heat.

  I look around the car to distract myself. It’s nice. Really nice. Everything is polished and cleaned to perfection. Just looking at the car makes me feel like a slob. I think of all the crusty french fries still refusing to decay beneath my seat and of the cupholder that’s still sticky from when I left a paper cup full of soda in it too long. His car looks like he’s never even thought of eating in it. Of course he hasn’t. I glance at the way his muscled thighs press against the thin fabric of his slacks and bite my lip. With a body like his, I’d be surprised if he’s ever eaten a french fry in his life.

  He drives me to a modern looking skyscraper. We cut down a side-street and he pulls into a well-lit garage that is surprisingly clean. The floor gleams and a man in a suit gives Vince a two-finger salute as he pulls in.

  “Mr. Citrione. How are you?”

  “Good, good. How’s the knee?” asks Vince through the rolled down window of the car.

  The older man in the suit crouches into a surprisingly limber athletic pose and rattles off a few hooks and jabs, laughing. “Feeling great. That doc of yours really knows what he’s doing.”

  “I told ya? Didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” says the man. “Glad I finally listened. You’re good to go in, sir.”

  “Ciao,” says Vince, before driving us into a strange room that is a somewhat tight fit for the car. I turn my head, looking around in confusion. There are no doors in the room, just a single opening behind us. With a mechanical screech, a pane of glass rises behind us, and I realize we’re in a glass box. It begins a smooth upward motion, all while we’re still in the car.

  “You have an elevator for your car?” I ask, amazed. He dressed nice, but a place like this in downtown New York must be astronomically expensive. How much money does he make?

  Vince just gives me a slight smirk. The elevator keeps going until I think we must be near the top of the building. What, does he have the penthouse suite of the apartment, too? I glance up and see stars approaching through the glass ceiling of the elevator. I’m confused for a moment until the elevator clicks into place in a huge room with a large window on the ceiling. It is the penthouse.

  I can’t take all the details in at once, but his apartment is modern art deco, framed by an incredible amount of windows that look out from such a high view that it’s like we’re surrounded by stars. Everything is perfectly in place, clean, and expensive looking. He steps out of the car and opens my door, giving me an exaggerated gesture to exit. I’m too shocked to say anything barely even noticing as he blatantly looks up my skirt as I get out.

  “How do you afford all of this?”

  He doesn’t answer, but puts his strong hand on the small of my back possessively, leading me through the glass door of the elevator where his car still sits on a circular slab of concrete that begins slowly rotating once we step off.

  “Have a drink,” he says, motioning for me to sit on his couch. It’s a smooth white material that looks like leather but feels like silk. I sink into it, feeling immediately tired, like I could fall asleep in its comfort. He slips his jacket off, stretching his blood-stained shirt against the strong muscles of his chest before moving into the kitchen. I hear glasses rattle and liquid pouring, but all I want to do now is close my eyes and decompress. He emerges a few minutes later, holding a martini glass for me that looks like it came from a professional bar—deep red frosted liquid with a cherry and a black straw. The edge of the glass is crusted with thick salt. He has a glass of a liquid the same amber color as a pill bottle.

  Vince sits beside me, close enough that his thigh touches mine, and even that small contact sends a rush through me. I sip the drink and raise my eyebrows. It’s fruity, sweet, and has just the right amount of kick behind it. “This is good,” I say.

  He tilts his head down in thanks, looking admiringly at me.

  “Stop it,” I say, blushing and looking away.

  “For a girl who works in front of a camera, you’re unusually shy.”

  I take another sip, already feeling myself relax, at least as much as it’s possible to relax after everything I’ve seen. Then I remember Aria. I feel like shit for not asking sooner, but everything happened so fast that it had slipped my mind until now. “Vince. Did you hurt Ronnie White?”

  “I don’t talk business with women.”

  I bristle at his tone, but put my indignation aside for Aria’s sake. “My friend was seeing him. It’s important to me.”

  He looks at me for a long moment and then shakes his head. “It’s bad practice to talk business with women. It puts you at risk.”

  “And I’m not already at risk? Three men just tried to…” I’m surprised when a hot tear slips down my cheek without warning. Vince sets his drink down and puts his arms around me before I have time to react. It feels good. I hold my drink to my chest, feeling so overwhelmed.

  His voice is soft. “I hurt him, but he’ll live. We dropped him off at his place just before I came to the stadium.”

  “Can I text her and let her know?”

  He pauses. “As long as I can read the text first.”

  His lack of trust stings a little, but right now I just want to make sure I can put Aria’s mind at ease, even if it’s just a little bit.

  Talked to him. Ronnie is hu
rt, but okay. Ronnie should be back at his place now. Sorry for everything.

  Vince eyes the text and then nods, tapping send. I set the phone back in my clutch and take another sip of my drink. He sips his as well, eyeing me over the rim. Then he sets his drink on the arm of the chair and stands. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to get out of these clothes. I’ll grab something for you, too.”

  I wait on the couch, drinking more of the drink than I planned to and feeling a pleasant buzz by the time I’ve finished. I have time to admire the apartment more. I spend a while watching the sparkling lights of traffic below, crawling through the city. I look at the sleek marble floors and the plush rugs beneath his furniture. It feels so clean and sexy. His BMW still rotates slowly in the elevator, catching light and bending it in a thousand ways, giving the whole apartment an almost over-the-top luxurious feel. It seems like I’ve been swept from my normal life and landed somewhere between a dream and a nightmare, like he’s an angel with a black dagger hidden behind his back.

  When he returns, he’s naked except for a black towel. “I got more blood on me than I realized. I’m going to hop in the shower. You should, too.”

  I raise my eyebrow. “Just because you kidnapped me, it doesn’t mean I’m going to become your sex slave.” The words come out of my mouth more flirtatiously than I intend, and he smirks at me.

  “I meant you could shower after me, but you’re welcome to join me if that was what you were thinking.”

  I blush, standing to swat at his bare chest. His body is so smooth and well-muscled that I’m having trouble thinking of anything but ripping that towel off. I can see the vague outline of his length against the towel, and it’s taking everything in me not to reach out and grab it. The drink is still buzzing in my head and the idea of getting in the shower with him to help forget everything that has happened is getting more and more appealing.

  He makes my decision easier by turning to walk through a door, but dropping his towel so I can see the full view of his chiseled back and firm ass before he walks out of sight.

  “Dammit,” I murmur as I reach for the zipper on my skirt and move to follow him. I step into his room and see a luxurious bed with black and gray sheets. His bathroom is the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen. It’s all white, gleaming tile with mirrors everywhere. The sinks are veined marble and the shower is huge, with four different faucets all converging in the center of the space. Vince is already inside, his hard body bathed in steam and water, leaving only the outline of his shape visible. I bite my lip as I strip out of my clothes and my underwear, leaving them on the floor.

  I pull open the shower door and step inside, sighing with pleasure as the steam washes over me. Vince turns toward me, his hair wet and slicked back. He looks perfect, like something out of a magazine. I smile shyly. He reaches for my wrist and pulls me toward him, until his cock rests against my stomach. His wet lips find my neck and he kisses me. I tilt my head, giving him better access as he makes me squirm.

  His cock hardens against my stomach, and I find it with my free hand. I stroke him as we kiss. His touch is tender, and the tenderness is amplified by how much strength I know lies in his hands. He moves them across me, softly and with great care, as if he’s afraid I might break. It’s so different this time. He’s not using me or treating me like something he could toss aside, he’s taking his time, kissing me slowly and deeply and with more passion than any man has ever shown me.

  He begins to moan into my mouth as we kiss and I stroke him harder. My other hand roams his broad back, sliding down to the firm muscle of his ass and as much of his thighs as I can reach. I don’t want to stop kissing him, so I keep stroking him even when I know he’s probably aching to plunge inside me. I feel his body tense and even with the warmth of the water against my back and my side, I feel the heat of his cum spray across my belly.

  He kisses me a few more tender times, pulling back and smiling softly. “I’ve never enjoyed a handjob that much. Fuck. I could go the rest of my life with just your hands.”

  “That’s too bad, because I don’t think I can go the rest of mine without feeling you inside me again.”

  His smile turns predatory as he looks down at me. “You’re so fuckin’ dirty. I love it.”

  I blush again. He makes me feel so uninhibited.

  “What is this?” I ask suddenly.

  He looks down where I still grip his cock. “It might be bigger than what you’re used to, but I thought you still knew what it was,” he says with a grin.

  I roll my eyes, letting him go and pulling myself against him until my cheek is on his shoulder. I slide my arms around his back and press myself to him, closing my eyes. “No. What is this.” I make a vague, all-encompassing gesture with my hands. “What do you really want out of it?” It’s not exactly the time for asking questions, but I’m overcome by a sudden vulnerability, a need to know this is more than just sex to him.

  “You,” he says. His fingers run through my hair, massaging my scalp.

  “Why?”

  He thinks for a moment. “Because you’re different. Other girls would have run from me about fifteen times by now.” For the first time since I’ve known him, I sense some trepidation in his voice. “You’ve seen the darkness in me and you haven’t run.”

  I feel guilty. Have I stopped thinking about running since I met him? Can I really pretend I’ve accepted him? Even now, am I only here with him out of fear? Out of a need for protection? I pull back so I can look into his eyes. The water makes his long eyelashes look even thicker. He’s beautiful, and the way he looks back at me tells me how much the way I feel about him matters to him. My heart pounds in my chest. Maybe he really does see me as more than just a fuck toy.

  15

  Vincent

  I look down at her and feel the emotion welling up in my chest. Get a fuckin’ look at this. Vincent Citrione is pouring his heart out to a girl. What has the world come to? Still, I’m not sorry I said it. It’s true. I’ve never let women get close because I know there’s something black inside me, a darkness and a fire that I can’t ever put out, that I don’t want to put out. But Aubriella is still here. She came in the shower on her own. I didn’t make her. Maybe I didn’t give her much choice in coming here, but this has to mean something.

  It scares me though. I’m scared of what lengths I will go to make sure she stays safe, to make sure she’s still mine. What wouldn’t I do to protect her? Nothing comes to mind. I’d burn the fuckin’ world down if it meant keeping her safe.

  She doesn’t say anything else, but she hugs me back, and that’s enough for now.

  We dry off after the shower and she wears one of my shirts. I catch her smelling it before she puts it on and closing her eyes like she loves it. I smirk. I throw on jeans and a t-shirt and move behind her, sliding my arms around her stomach and resting my head beside hers. “Want to watch a movie?” I ask.

  She turns to look at me, eyebrows drawn down. “A movie?”

  “Yeah. What, did you think I don’t watch movies?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then follow me and prepare to be amazed. I have a whole collection of Blu Rays over here.”

  I hear the soft pad of her bare feet on the tile behind me as I walk to the living room. I kneel and open a cabinet full of neatly displayed movies. She kneels beside me, barely hiding a smile as she looks through them.

  “Really?” she asks. “The Godfather. Goodfellas. Casino...you’re like a walking stereotype.”

  I feel blood rush to my cheeks. “Hey come on. Look at the rest. I’ve got fuckin’ Shutter Island here. A psychological thriller, thank you very much.”

  She laughs, and the careless smile on her face makes me forget my embarrassment. It’s good to see her relax around me, really good. It makes me start thinking some really stupid thoughts, thoughts of what this thing between us could be if it had time. Then she covers her mouth and laughs so hard she snorts.

  My eyes follow hers and I groa
n. “That’s not what it looks like. I got a little cousin…”

  She pulls out the box set of Harry Potter movies and holds them up as if I didn’t know what she was laughing at. “You’re a Harry Potter fan?”

  I scratch the back of my neck. “I’ve seen ‘em.”

  “I didn’t know you could blush, either.” She runs a playful finger down my neck and to my chest. “You’re full of surprises. For the record, I absolutely love Harry Potter. Can we watch one? Maybe the fourth? That’s my favorite.”

  Before I can stop myself, I nod my head. “Hell yeah. The Triwizard Cup is...my cousin’s favorite.”

  She covers her mouth again, eyes lighting up with her laughter. I can’t help it. I laugh, too. Fuck, it feels good. We spend the rest of the night spooned on the couch, watching the movie while my nose is full of the delicious scent of her hair and my hands wander her body. It’s the most normal thing I’ve done in as long as I can remember. We’re not dressed to impress and sitting in some fancy restaurant or watching an expensive show. It’s just me, her, a movie that I will never admit I love, and the city lights surrounding us. She falls asleep right before Harry steps in the ring with the dragon. I pause the movie and gently lay her head down, slipping away to grab some blankets for her.

  Once I’m sure she’s asleep, I check my phone. Eight texts, two voicemails, and a ton of missed calls. Shit. I glance at her again. I can call deliveries in for her if I’m gone too long, and there’s plenty in the fridge…I hate walking away from her right now because I was really looking forward to a good morning fuck. But with the shit going on between the families, I can’t ignore business right now. Not even for her. I scribble a quick note and slap it on the door to the elevator: