by Soraya Naomi
For Logan
Chicago Syndicate, Volume 5
Soraya Naomi
Published by Soraya Naomi, 2016.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
FOR LOGAN
First edition. August 27, 2016.
Copyright © 2016 Soraya Naomi.
Written by Soraya Naomi.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE NOVEL
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“The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can never end.” ~ Benjamin Disraeli.
PROLOGUE
Rosalia
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I confess in the small booth and shut my eyes, causing two tears to roll down my cheeks in regret.
Sometimes we take risks and they don’t play out as we expected, but it’s better to regret something you did do than to regret something you didn’t do. Living with what could’ve been is far worse.
“You haven’t sinned,” a familiar, deep voice comments.
My gaze shoots up to the lattice screen in time to see Logan exiting the compartment. He yanks open my door, and I’m met with stormy, sapphire eyes – the color of a cloudless sky – that have haunted my dreams for many nights as he steps forward, but I push him out of the confessional with both of my palms on his hard chest.
“Where have you been?” I demand, wiping my tears away angrily.
As my vision clears, I’m astounded by how much he reminds me of the man I fell in love with. His navy dress shirt is tucked into his slacks, showing off his toned torso. Nonetheless, this is the man who is my Heaven and my Hell. My current Hell; but the time we lived in Heaven together isn’t easily forgotten.
He studies me for a long moment, as if I’m a figment of his imagination. Then he runs his fingers through his dirty blond hair and messes up the strands, making him much too appealing in his anguish.
“Rosa,” he says in a tormented tone. Reaching for me, he cups the back of my head and threads his fingers through my long black hair.
His sandalwood cologne invades my nostrils and brings back memories that are best left in some dusty corner of my mind. He lowers his forehead to mine, and I clutch his shirt as the passion he incites in me still pumps furiously through my veins. While we stare at each other, his thumb strokes the dimple on my cheek.
“I should hate you,” I mumble, confused.
“No. I’ve come to explain.”
“Explain what? You broke my heart and left. Everything’s ruined!”
“I had to leave to set things straight and make sure I didn’t get killed in the process, Rosa,” he snarls. Yet, in a softer tone, he adds, “But I had to see if you’re okay.”
We’re standing face-to-face, and as he tilts my head up, I recognize the flame of love in his dark irises. As usual, we lose control the second his mouth slants over mine. Logan’s lips urge mine apart, guiding me hungrily into his masterful kiss. He commands my emotions with the heat of his touch. One large hand covers my ass while he palms my head, and on their own accord, my arms wind around his neck. Our teeth clash and our tongues dance in a teasing foray – desperately recapturing a love that others tried to extinguish.
Growling, he lifts me up into his arms effortlessly. My jade knee-length dress rides up my hips when I hook my legs around him before he carries me to the church’s elevated altar, surrounded by devotional statues and lit candles. I’m shoved onto the two-step carpeted stairs in front of the altar while we grind into each other.
Logan nips a path up my throat as I gaze up at the painted angels on the dome ceiling, and he pulls my lips between his teeth, biting the corner of my mouth.
“I need to fuck you,” he groans huskily, pressing his rock-hard erection against me.
We’re both breathing heavily, forgetting where we are – in the Parish of the Blessed, in the middle of the day, with people inside the sacristy.
This is what he’s done to me. Even after everything, I’m unable to deny him. I’ve chosen to plummet into a world of sensual awakening with him once before, and I’m choosing it again.
We’ve always been reckless. We’ve broken a family apart. And now, we’re tempted to fuck in the church where the wedding will take place in less than twenty-four hours.
CHAPTER 1
Rosalia
The beat of the drum fades away in this crowded bar in the downtown Loop of Chicago as my older half-sister, Cam, and I follow her impeccably dressed – and furious – boyfriend, Adriano.
“Take Rosalia home,” Adriano instructs Wade, who’s seated in a booth with a stunning woman.
I don’t need an escort. I’m twenty-one years old and not a teenager anymore. Yet I wink at Cam as Adriano hauls her out of the bar. She’ll calm him down. He always overreacts when it comes to Cam, but I know it stems from a good place – it’s endearing.
Unfortunately, I’m left with the frustratingly handsome Richard Wade. His sapphire eyes are pinned on me – eyes that are rimmed with a darker line around his irises and dirty blond, almost brown, lashes that match his hair. It’s impossible to ignore his gaze when it’s settled on you. He has an undeniable appeal; a squared jaw and a wide, confident mouth. Clearly, he’s not happy to have to escort me home since he doesn’t react, doesn’t speak, doesn’t even nod. He just looks away and talks to his lady friend.
She murmurs something into his ear, and he gives her a devilish grin. There’s always a naughty edge to how he engages the women around him, as if he’s entertained by the ones who think they’ll change him. It’s that sinfully playful behavior of his that makes him an unattainable bachelor, and it seems like every woman he meets wants to screw him. Frankly, it’s tiresome.
After he gives me the brush-off, I simply ignore him too. He’ll come get me when he’s ready to leave. I don’t even know who this Wade guy is. He’s just been hanging around with the family a lot lately. The handful of times I’ve seen him, we’ve never really talked. This is the second time he’s had to help me, and I think he truly sees me as a nuisanc
e.
“Assface,” I mutter under my breath before turning on my heel.
“I heard that,” he remarks.
I spin around, caught off guard. Wade hasn’t moved his attention away from his date, and I stare at the back of his head.
“I meant for you to,” I retort and strut away, refusing to give him the last word.
Still, I look back over my shoulder once, grinning when his head whips around and he glowers at me.
Now I’m going to enjoy my night. I’m able to peer over the swarm of people since I’m quite tall – I never have to wear heels, thank goodness – and make my way through the crowd.
Again, I run into Mykhail, who has a guy slammed against the door of the men’s room. He’s the reason why Adriano was so mad; he saw Cam and me trying to talk to him. Almost four months ago, Mykhail – who was my college friend – spiked my drink with ecstasy after we’d visited his father’s sex club in secret.
“Why so protective?” the guy asks Mykhail, and I close the distance between us.
“Because Rosalia was my friend and you don’t drug her, asshole!” Mykhail shouts, causing me to frown. He releases him harshly and then discovers me.
“So you didn’t drug me?” I ask him as the other guy scrambles off.
“No, I didn’t. But Adriano threatened me to stay away, so I never got the chance to explain.”
“Then tell me now.”
“I didn’t drug you. Why would I agree to take my friend to my father’s sex club and drug her there?”
“But you left with some blonde. And when I finished my drink, it had obviously been spiked.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t leave with the blonde. She was one of the hostesses and wanted to give me a message from my father, who wasn’t happy I brought you with me when he found out who you were. I went looking for you, but you were gone and didn’t answer my texts. The next day, some of Adriano’s soldiers threatened me.”
“I thought you’d left me alone at the sex club. I had to call Cam to help me. It made me feel this small.” I hold my thumb and pointer finger close together.
That night has always bothered me, and it hurts to think that someone close to me would do such a thing.
“I get that,” he admits, sending me a seemingly honest, remorseful look. “I also sometimes feel young and insignificant with my father.”
I lean back against the wall next to him to let people pass. Although tempted to believe Mykhail, my family will never allow a friendship between us again. “You know how it is with our families. They’re overprotective, traditional, and barely tolerate outside friends.”
I do miss him, and he’s my only friend who knows the entire truth about my family. We’re both part of Chicago’s mafia elite. Mykhail’s father is the boss of the Ukrainian mafia. Adriano, my sister’s boyfriend, is the boss of the Italian mafia, the Chicago Syndicate as they call it. In addition, my father, James, used to be boss but is now one of Adriano’s counselors. And my sister, Cam, is a captain, so-called Capo, in the Syndicate.
All of a sudden, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Slipping it out of my jeans, I see that I’ve received several messages from my parents.
Mom: Where are you, Rosalia?
Dad: Your mother is trying to reach you. Pick up your phone, Rosalia.
I type on my way home back to my dad to avoid never-ending discussions and stash the device in my pocket. My father has always been way overprotective, but I didn’t know about his mafia connections until I was sixteen and couldn’t even go out until I was eighteen. I wanted to move to campus but wasn’t allowed to leave, so my parents gave me the pool house as a compromise. I have to be good Rosalia in their eyes; the girl who goes to college and church and will marry a nice Italian man.
“Our relatives do like to complicate matters,” Mykhail says as a despondent smile creeps across his face, and he starts apologizing again until I tell him to stop.
At that moment, Wade comes toward us, navigating his way smoothly, dressed to entice women in his pressed, navy dress shirt and slacks, complemented with a pair of brown shoes and matching suede belt. His sleeves are casually folded up to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms. He’s the kind of man who exudes a compelling mixture of wicked charisma and lethal sensuality. Even his blond hair is tempting; always a bit messy on top, yet still neat. He projects quite the commanding presence.
Dryly, he says to Mykhail, “Do you want to have your cock shot off by Adriano?”
Aggravated that he’s not minding his own business, I reply, “I’m handling this. Thank you.”
He raises his brows in amusement. Though I also sense his displeasure with me. “Thank you? Are you dismissing me?” he says, blanketing me in his fresh sandalwood cologne as he takes one step forward, invading my personal space, which I hate.
Furthermore, he’s one of the few men who makes me feel small since he’s well over six feet tall.
“You’re not handling this at all, and again, I have to come to your rescue.” While holding my gaze captive, he speaks to Mykhail, “Get lost.”
Mykhail catches my eyes for a split-second and I nod, so he obeys orders. I duck and skirt around Wade, who rotates and grabs my arm from behind, stopping and turning me.
“You don’t need to rescue me.” I try to shake off his grip, but he doesn’t budge. “And by the way, you aren’t handling this situation either; you simply told him to leave. I could’ve done that too. I’d have thought you’d make better use of your mouth, considering your constant parade of conquests.”
A smirk flashes across his face, one that holds a lethal dose of masculinity, and he pulls me slightly closer. “When I’m with a woman, my mouth is usually occupied with something other than words.”
Annoyed at his entertained and patronizing attitude, I say with a fake smile, “Just go back to your date.” Moving away, I utter, “Eat a dick!”
“No, thank you. I just had dinner,” he responds sarcastically.
I really need to learn to control the volume of my voice.
“Where are you going, baby?” he adds, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Don’t call me baby,” I grind out without facing him and return to the bar, grunting in irritation. Where am I going? He’s my ride. If I take a cab, my parents will flip out. While mulling over my options, I toy with the gold-plated cross pendant that hangs around my neck. Since all my friends have left by now, I reluctantly retrace my steps back to Wade.
“Let’s go, brat,” Wade orders smugly.
I follow him as he leads the way toward the entrance. His metallic white convertible is parked right outside. The retractable hardtop is closed since the mild temperatures of October are coming to an end.
“So what happened to your date? Wasn’t she good enough to go home with the magnificent Wade?” I tease.
After clicking the key device to unlock his car, he holds the door open for me. “Her name was Olivia-Jen. I hate double names.”
With one foot suspended in the air, I freeze. “That’s such a randomly strange thing to hate. You’re so weird.”
“And you’re so blunt,” he counters, his impatience with me launching back to the surface.
I smirk. Usually, he seems completely unfazed.
“Do you say everything that comes to mind?” he chides.
“Well, yeah, kind of. What’s the point in not saying what you think?” I sink into the passenger seat and look up at him, joking, “Regarding Olivia-Jen, you can just call her baby and work around not knowing her name.”
For a second, it appears as if I’ve stunned him. He observes me with an unreadable look on his face before shutting the door.
When he moves inside, I smile. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? You actually call your dates baby so that you don’t have to remember their names.”
His silence is an affirmative answer as he shifts the car into drive with force.
During the fifteen-minute ride to Lincoln Park, Wade’s back to critici
zing me. “Stay away from Mykhail Medlov, Rosa. You need to find new friends.”
With a groan, I rest my head back against the seat. “It’s Rosalia. No one calls me Rosa,” I say, forgetting that he’s ten years my senior until he starts to reprimand me.
He ignores my statement. “How can you put yourself at risk like that? Cam won’t always be there to help you out.”
“Enough with the lecture. You don’t know me or my family.”
When his phone screen lights up from the compartment right above the gearshift, he glances down. I peek at it too and frown before he hurriedly grabs it and slides it into his shirt pocket. Nevertheless, I’ve already seen the message from Nana reading, Logan, when will you be here?
“Your name is Logan?” I blurt out. “Why do I know you as Wade? Or as Richard. Isn’t your name Richard Wade?”
His lips thin into a hard line, and he pretends, rather idiotically, not to have heard me.
“Where do I drop you off? Front or back?” he demands to know as he pulls onto the street where I live.
“Around back. I stay in the pool house.”
“Oh, decadent,” he mocks, trying to move away from the subject.
“So, Logan,” I retort.
His gaze whips to me and then back onto the road. “Rosa, don’t get into trouble again,” he says simply.
Smiling, I disregard his comment and continue, “You don’t want people to know that you’re actually named Logan?” His evasive behavior makes me more intrigued.
“Jesus Christ, do you ever shut up?” he grumbles, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as though he’s losing patience with me.
Somehow, I’m glad to have finally gotten a real reaction from him, instead of his cockiness.
“Rarely, Logan. I could do this all night,” I answer proudly.
“No, you can’t.” He hits the brake and I’m jerked forward in my seat. “You’re home. Get out.”
“Well, then I guess we’ll finish this riveting conversation another time.”
“No, we won’t,” he declares as my hand touches the door handle.
“Do you just have a habit of saying no?” I taunt.
