by Bella J
“Wrong? What wrong has been done to them?” Good God, I was about to have a fucking aneurysm. “Their son was one twisted son of a bitch with issues, issues only a bullet in the chest could cure. How can they exact payment if I did the fucking world a favor?”
Dante got up and straightened in front of me. “They don’t see it that way.”
“Well then someone should help them open their fucking eyes.”
“Stone.” Dante pinned me with his stare. “The only way the Mancusos will let this go is if they have your head.”
I froze, no longer feeling the need to pace since everything inside me turned into ice. How did I not figure this out sooner? Of course the Mancusos would want revenge. No one went around killing Mancusos and then gets away with it. They would want to inflict the same kind of pain, the same kind of loss they were forced to experience on me.
Oh God…
“Fuck.” My legs weakened as a thought popped into my head, and I fell back onto the couch staring out in front of me but not seeing anything but the dread spreading through me.
“What is it?” Dante gave a step forward, and I look up at me.
“I think you’re wrong, man.” I pulled my palms down my face.
“Why do you think that?”
“Dante, they don’t want my head.”
“Stone, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“Jesus Christ.” My skin instantly went damp as fear wracked through my body. “Dante,” I glanced up at him. “They want her head. Karina. They’re going to go after her.”
Dante fell down on the couch beside me. “What are you saying?’
“I’m saying that they’re going to go after what I couldn’t bear to live without. They are going to exact revenge by inflicting pain that would be worse than death for me.”
The way Dante’s face turned from a natural to a deadly pale color, it was clear that he just realized what the fuck I was trying to say.
“Karina,” he whispered, and my heart skipped a beat when he said her name. Just the thought of losing her, of letting one of the Mancuso bastards lay a hand on her made the animal in me want to tear everyone the fuck apart. I would go on a rampage through Hell if it meant keeping her safe—which was exactly what I planned to do.
I stood up and stared at Dante. “We keep this between us, you hear?”
“But—”
“No. I’m serious, Dante. I don’t want this getting to Karina. She’s been through enough. You keep your goddamn mouth shut, and we handle this on our own. We’ll take care of this without her knowing.”
“Lorik—”
“She’s my woman, Dante,” I raise my voice, spitting out the words as desperation had taken hold of my anger. “She is my goddamn woman and I am telling you that she is not to know. Okay?”
Dante cursed, threw his head back and stared at the ceiling before he finally looked back at me. “Fine.”
“Good. Now until this shit gets real, we pretend this fucking conversation never took place. We wait for them to make the first move. Hopefully they’re not as stupid as we suspect they are and they won’t attempt to take us on.”
“Who is stupid, and who is going to take you on?”
I jerked around when I heard her voice and stared at Karina as she glanced between me and Dante.
Her face, her skin, everything about her always managed to make my heart beat at a thousand miles an hour. And now, even after what Dante and I had just discussed I was more determined than ever to hold on to what I had found in her. Love, passion, devotion—a fucking reason for living, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone take that away from me.
“Oh nothing.” I started toward her and plastered the biggest smile on my face. “I was just telling your brother here my plan, and that anyone who was stupid enough to take me on about what I’m about to do would get their ass handed to them on a silver platter.”
I grabbed her waist and pulled her hard against me, allowing her sweet scent that always managed to make my cock twitch, to surround me.
She yelped and smiled as she stared up at me with those beautiful irises that had me completely and utterly pussy-whipped.
“And what is this plan of yours?” She bit her lower lip, and all I could think about was how goddamn much I wanted to be the one biting that lip. I made a mental note to do a lot of biting later.
With my one arm around her waist I pull her up and press my lips against hers. Every fucking time I kissed this woman it was like we literally melted into each other. I swear to God, it was like something out of this fucking world.
In the far corner of my mind I heard Dante clearing his throat like an asshole, but I ignored him and forced my tongue deeper into her mouth loving the way she tasted. With a lot of goddamn effort I eventually tore my lips from hers and gazed down at her before pulling a box out of my pocket, flicking it open.
She glanced at the open box, and her eyes widened when she saw what was inside.
“Lorik, what is this?”
I smiled one of my trademark smug, happy, bordering on arrogant smiles. “This is my plan, princess.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Which is?”
I leaned down, brushing my cheek against hers and whispered into her ear, “To make you my wife.”
—The End—
OTHER NOVELS BY BELLA J
RESPLENDENT RUIN (Resplendence #1)
RESPLENDENT RUSH (Resplendence #2)
RESPLENDENT RAGE (Resplendence #3)
STILETTO SECRETS ~ Read on for a little sneak peek
UPCOMING RELEASES
REGRET (Shattered Secrets Vol. 1) ~ 04/25/16
TORMENT (Shattered Secrets Vol. 2) ~ 05/30/16
STILETTO SECRETS
BY
BELLA J
Chapter 1
NICHOLAS stared out of his floor to ceiling office window. The Chicago skyline always looked best just before sunset. The brilliance of the gold and orange colors reminded him so much of his life—rich, magnificent and just fucking perfect.
At the age of just twenty-six, Nicholas was one of Chicago’s richest, most eligible bachelors. His life was just one big Fourth of July with an endless supply of bourbon, Cuban cigars and runway models who were eager to play their part in making his life even more perfect. And then there was his own personal underground garage filled with every car he had ever dreamt of. Aston Martin, Lamborghini, Bentley, you name it and Nicholas had it parked in his garage. His life couldn’t have been more awesome if he had ordered it out of a damn catalogue.
How did he come about all this wealth and live this life of privilege? Well, it was all thanks to Daddy dearest’s successful architectural company. Sure his father had been responsible for most of the company’s past successes, but ever since Nicholas stepped up two years ago, the business had skyrocketed, and so did his bank account. After Nicholas got his degree, he just brought a certain je ne sais quoi to company projects. Nicholas was talented in every aspect of his life—in his work, his business endeavors, manipulating everything and anything into getting what he wanted, and of course in bed. Yup, the cream of the crop could kiss his ass.
“No use in hiding away up here.”
Nicholas turned around and saw his best friend, Adam, walk into his office looking as smooth and professional as ever in one of his Armani suits.
“Now why would I be hiding?” Nicholas turned his attention back out the window.
Adam slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re the birthday boy and you know what that means.”
“Of course I do.”
Whenever one of the guys celebrated a birthday, it was tradition for the rest of the
gang to arrange a night out and pay for the entertainment in the form of something that involved a stripper, or multiple strippers.
Nicholas glanced at Adam. “Now you and I both know there is no way in hell I’m hiding.”
Adam laughed and then stood next to him, hands in his pants pockets and looking out at the skyline
too. A lot of people thought them to be brothers. They had the same ink-black hair, height and build, but Nicholas’ blue eyes were just a shade darker than Adam’s. They both loved their lives of luxury, especially all the booty that got handed to them on multiple silver platters. But between the two of them, Adam was most definitely what Nicholas would call a man whore. Nicholas just slightly bordered on that same title. But nonetheless, Adam had been Nicholas’ best friend since they were kids, and it just so happened that they both had a talent for architecture, hence why Adam, along with Nicholas, was one of the head architects in the company.
“So what did Pops get you for your birthday?”
Nicholas shrugged. “Haven’t seen the old bastard since yesterday morning at breakfast when he kept on bitching about the coffee not being strong enough.”
“Not even a call? A text?” Adam turned to him.
“Nope. And I don’t expect anything of the sort either. Hell, I wouldn’t even be surprised if he didn’t remember.”
Nicholas and his father didn’t exactly have a close relationship. Ever since his mother died when he was thirteen years old, his father had buried himself along with his grief into Blake Architects. As a teenager Nicholas had acted out, trying to get attention in all the wrong ways. But eventually he decided to focus more on the pros than the cons of having a rich, ambitious, successful old man. Pros being having a big fat bank account and the world at his feet.
“Anyway,” Nicholas buttoned up his gray suit jacket, “you guys better not disappoint tonight. Your birthday event last month was epic, because, naturally, I arranged it. It’s gonna be hard to top that.”
Adam grinned. “Yeah, those C-cup babies will forever be engraved on my thighs.”
“I’m not sure I want to know what that even means.” Nicholas cocked a brow.
Adam continued to stare into open space with a dreamy, horny-looking expression.
Nicholas frowned. “Adam Masters, you dirty scumbag. You screwed the stripper, didn’t you?”
“Hey, don’t judge me. I’m not the one with the shoe fetish.”
Ah, yes. Nicholas did love women wearing all those stylish, sexy shoes, especially stilettos. In fact, every time he hooked up with a woman, she would wear those high heels, and she would wear nothing but those high heels.
“You’re still unbelievable. She was a stripper, Adam. Not a prostitute.” Nicholas grabbed his keys from his desk.
“Hey, it’s not my fault I have the gift of bringing out the sexually easy side of women.”
Nicholas just shook his head. “You know, Adam, one day you are going to find a woman who is going to bring you to your knees by grabbing you by the balls.”
Adam snorted. “Not likely, my friend.”
“Just know,” Nicholas straightened his suit jacket and shot his cuffs, “that when that day comes, I will be laughing my ass off.”
“Whatever. And it’s not like you’re Mr. prim-and-proper either. You have a new girl in your bed every weekend.”
“Or girls.”
“Man whore.” Adam smirked.
Nicholas just laughed and walked out of his office. “Come on, let’s get the humiliation of your epic failure in planning a birthday party out of the way.”
“Oh, we’ll just see about that.”
“I take it Hunter is meeting us wherever the hell it is we’re going?” Nicholas stood to the side waiting for Adam to pass so that he could close his office door.
“Yep, and if I know Hunter he’s already seduced three strippers into giving him free lap dances.”
Both of them laughed and then stepped into the elevator. Nicholas glanced at his wristwatch. It was just past eight p.m. For a fleeting moment he wondered where his dad was, and whether the old bastard really did forget his only son’s birthday. But Nicholas quickly shrugged off the disappointing thought and steeled himself against emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for many, many years now. To him the past was gone and not worth dwelling over, and the future just did not seem like something Nicholas needed to worry about at his age. The only thing that mattered was the here and now—the present—and nothing else.
* * *
“Lizzy, I need to use the bathroom. You’ve been in there like forever.”
Emma Tremaine stood outside the bathroom door, trying to get her sister to hurry the hell up. “Lizzy, I need to get ready for my show…er…meeting.” Damn, she almost slipped up there.
“I’m almost done.”
Emma stood to the side with her hands on her hips. “Who is this guy anyway? How come I’ve never met him?” She didn’t like that her little sister was going on a date with a guy she had never met. Besides, Lizzy was only nineteen, and according to Emma that was just way too young to start dating.
Just then the bathroom door got flung open. Lizzy stood in the doorway with her hair tied in a sleek ponytail, her face showcasing way too much makeup, and the dress she was wearing hardly covering what it needed to.
Emma gave her little sister a very disapproving glare. “What is that?”
“It’s a dress.” Lizzy shouldered past Emma.
“That piece of fabric hardly qualifies as being a dress.” Emma had completely forgotten the fact that she had been bashing against the bathroom door a few seconds ago, trying to get her turn. Now she was too distracted with what the hell her sister was wearing.
“And his name is Tray.” Lizzy spoke over her shoulder while walking to her room.
“Tray? What kind of a name is Tray?”
Lizzy stopped and turned around. “It’s a cool name.”
“Cool?” Emma’s arched brows almost touched her hairline. “And what is it that this Tray does for a living?”
“He’s in a band.” Lizzy spun back around and sauntered down the hall.
“Of course he’s in a band,” Emma muttered under her breath.
“I heard that!” Lizzy slammed her bedroom door shut.
Emma huffed and then blew a stray dark curl out of her face. Her little sister—okay, maybe not so little anymore—was becoming more exasperating by the day. Emma wondered if this was how mothers of teenaged daughters felt.
Immediately her thoughts drifted off to her own mother. Emma was only five years old when her mother had died of complications during giving birth to Lizzy. It was the worst day of Emma’s life, yet also supposed to be a happy day since she had gotten a little sister.
Lizzy reminded Emma so much of her mother. Even though she couldn’t remember much, she knew that Lizzy had the same dark brown eyes, and straight, light brown hair. And she had the exact same dimples as her mother. Emma had her father’s dark chocolate curls and blue-green eyes. But her father had always said that she had her mother’s cute little button nose which she would scrunch up whenever she was deep in thought.
Emma had a few memories that she clung to as well as a box filled with pictures of her mother and father during happier times. It took Emma’s father three years to move on, and when he finally did, it meant hell for Emma and her sister.
Emma glanced at her wristwatch. “Shit!”
She dashed to the bathroom and somehow managed to do in twenty minutes what she would normally need an hour for. Dressed in a black pencil skirt, white blouse and one of only two pairs of stilettos she owned, she knocked on Lizzy’s door. “I’m off to my meeting.”
“’Kay,” was the only response Emma got.
“Is it necessary for me to say that you should please be careful while on your date with Tray tonight?”
The bedroom door opened and Lizzy glared at her. “I’m not twelve.”
“Well, dressed like that you certainly don’t look twelve, no.” Some situations just required a healthy dose of sarcasm.
Lizzy narrowed her eyes before scanning over Emma’s outfit. “What kind of meetings do you go to, exactly, that can only take place on Saturday nights?”
Slightly unnerved by the question, Emma straightened her skirt. “I’m a freelance journalist, L
izzy. We don’t have the luxury of working a nine-to-five job.” Hopefully that answer was evasive enough.
Lizzy crossed her arms and looked at Emma with suspicion. “Ah-huh.” And then Lizzy closed the door again.
Emma felt like she wanted to scream, or throw something.
Taking a deep breath, Emma counted to ten and then made her way to the kitchen to grab her purse. She lived in a tiny apartment in Chicago, Illinois, and luckily Lizzy only came over on some weekends when she needed to escape campus life. Although Emma would miss her sister when she wasn’t there, it was just much more convenient since Emma had a few secrets of her own which she did not want to share with Lizzy.
Emma perused her living room which only consisted of the bare essentials. Two couches, an ottoman, a few scatter cushions just to jazz it up a bit, and a magazine rack in the corner. And then of course the only thing of value in the entire apartment, the flat-screen television set hanging proudly on her living room wall. Other than that, the apartment was quite dull and dreary, screaming “I need a makeover.” Unfortunately for Emma’s living room, she had much more important things to spend her money on—like her little sister’s tuition.
She heard the horn of the taxicab she had arranged, and then darted out of the apartment, down the stairs and out the door. It was early spring, yet the nights were still a little nippy. But Emma was just glad winter was over. She hated the cold, wet, snowy season.
“Two hundred and ten Madison Street,” Emma told the cabby when she closed the door. She noticed the cabby stare at her in his rearview mirror. “Yeah, you heard right,” she sneered, knowing that the cabby knew that address all too well.
Emma leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes wondering what her night would hold in store for her. Plus now she had “Tray” to worry about too. Her sister had a good head on her shoulders, but her taste in guys had just been a tad questionable. But hey, who was Emma to judge? It’s not like she took the moral high ground in her life. And admittedly, she felt slightly ashamed at what she did, yet a part of her liked the excitement, the thrill of it all. Every Saturday night she had the chance to embrace that part of her. And tonight would be no different.
