Fuck, the sounds.
I take my seat at the bar, and Genevieve, the curly-haired bartender, slides me my drink almost immediately, knowing that I’m in one of my moods. She doesn’t even meet my gaze. I slam back the drink, that awful burn reminding me of gasoline, but I swallow it down. It’s like adding mulch over fire. Drinking drowns it out for a little while, but it’s still burning underneath. The flames lick through, and my head starts to pound, and I keep drinking. I don’t remember if I’m drinking to numbness, or whether I’m drinking to feel something, or whether I’m drinking just to drink.
It doesn’t matter, anyway. It always ends up the same.
I take a look around, trying to get my mind off of it—trying to find something sweet to alleviate the bitterness in my mouth—and then I see her.
It’s her again.
I freeze as she whisks by me, a citrus breeze wafting across my nose. I turn around to watch a slim waist, her shirt riding over her hips, giving me a nice view of her perfectly round ass, which bounces in her black leggings. She slides right over the stool next to me without realizing that I’m looking at her, a slight frown creasing her forehead.
Try to keep your dick in your pants.
If Johnny really cared about that, he would have been more clear.
She’s involved with a made guy. You could get killed if you touch her.
Dying for fucking a girl seems like a good way to go. Actually, I’d prefer to die while fucking a girl, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Johnny could kill you.
I don’t give a fuck.
She’s the daughter of a boss. You don’t fuck daughters of bosses. You don’t look at them. You don’t talk to them except to say, “Hello, how are you?” and, “Good-bye.” She’s the forbidden fruit. A conquest.
I have to bang this broad.
My first instinct is to touch her shoulder, her waist, to overwhelm her with my presence. I’m a master at getting girls to come home with me. Before long, I’ll have her begging to suck my cock.
I lean in slightly, and I let my hand grasp the head of her chair. “Hey, beautiful. What’s got you down?”
She doesn’t even look at me. “Fuck off.”
So the Mafia princess has a mouth, doesn’t she? Intriguing. Genevieve hears the exchange and grins at me behind that bar counter.
The energy burning from her body is completely different from last time. Last time, she was scared. Defeated. Today, she’s pissed. Did Johnny turn her down again?
I give Genevieve a nod, and she pours a drink for the girl.
“What’s this?”
“I’m buying you a drink.”
She pushes it away. “I don’t want your fucking drink.”
Then why did you sit right next to me?
“What’s with the tone?”
“You’re just trying to get into my pants.”
“Is it a crime that I think you’re gorgeous?”
She turns her head, her long hair snagging on her creamy shoulders. Brown eyes look at me under her long lashes, and they widen as she takes in my appearance. Gently parted lips beckon to me, and I smile at her. My cock makes an impatient twitch as her lips lift slightly.
Her slim body slides off the stool and she walks close to me. Close enough so that blood pounds in my ears and I’m face-to-face with an amazing view of her cleavage. Her lips, slightly wet with pink lipstick, tremble. The citrus scent floats over my like a cloud, not overpowering, but pleasant.
“I’ll do whatever you want if you get rid of my ex for me.”
Goddamn. The desperation in her voice makes my stomach sink, but I’m tempted to say yes. Fuck him—fuck the mob, I’ll kill him for you because I want to suck on your lips and feel the warmth of your tits in my palms.
Instead, I shake my head, hating the disappointment in her eyes. Her hand slides away from mine.
Don’t let her go!
“I’m sorry, hon. You’re not going to get anyone to agree to do that for you.”
She shakes her head, her eyes watering, and she gives a hopeless, sharp intake of breath that makes my insides clench.
I take her shoulder, half expecting her to throw my hand off, but she lets me touch her skin. My fingers just graze over her and her eyelids flutter.
“Come home with me and you’ll forget all about that asshole. I’ll make you feel really good, Elena. I promise.”
Her body shivers and she steps back from me. Temptation brews in her eyes like a storm gathering. I see it shifting and receding. She wants to, but she doesn’t want to.
Then she opens her mouth, her eyes hardening into marbles.
“I want nothing to do with you.”
Frustration gathers in my chest when she shoots me down. I want this woman—she’s a goddamn prize, and I would gladly shoot her ex-boyfriend in the face if it wouldn’t get me killed.
Elena turns to leave, taking her coat, but I grab her tiny wrist. I pull her into my chest and she utters a gasp. My arm wraps around her waist and she swallows hard.
“At least have a drink with me.”
“No.”
“Come on. One drink.”
She wets her lips, and for a moment I imagine them crushed against mine. My fingers tease around the hem of her shirt and then her eyes glint with pain and she reaches behind herself, grabbing my hands to rip them away from her body.
“You don’t know how to take no for an answer, do you?”
I grin at her, loving how ferocious she is, and the way her brown eyes seem to sparkle with electricity. Girl’s got fire.
“You kissed me back the other night and left me with a raging hard-on. I can’t leave you alone.”
Her mouth parts almost as though she’s about to give in, but then her eyes harden. “I don’t want you. End of story.”
Yet she doesn’t pull away when I grasp her chin and lean down close enough to feel her breath over my cheeks, and to see her neck pulsing with her racing heartbeat. My fingers run along her jaw, moving to the back of her head, into her silky hair. My lips fall against hers, and her mouth opens in a gasp. It’s intoxicating. This girl makes my body hot, and my other arm snakes around her tiny waist. I pull her smoking-hot body into mine, and her tits crush against my chest. I smile against her mouth as she sighs into mine. Her palm flattens against my body.
And she shoves me.
I have a brief view of her red, furious face before a sharp sting hits my cheek, her hand a beige blur. The slap echoes in the bar, despite the noise and the people everywhere. They turn to look at us, but they hardly give me a second glance. I’ve been slapped before. So what? They always go home with me.
I didn’t even fucking see it coming.
My chest shakes with laughter as she stands frozen with a semi-paralyzed look on her face, and then she turns around and bolts from the bar.
This isn’t over, honey.
ELENA
TWO WEEKS AGO
The world undulates in my head, continuously roaring as I stumble past New York City traffic. I feel as though I’m walking inside a bubble that distorts everything I see. Everything’s too loud, too fast. My head pounds, still echoing with the blows. It all sounds hollow.
I trip on something hard and fall on my knee. My jeans tear open and I feel a sharp sting. There are bits of gravel digging into the red gash. I brush them away carelessly and turn toward my sister’s apartment. How the hell did I ever make it here?
My balled-up fist hammers on the frozen door. It’s freezing outside, but for once I’m grateful for that. It soothes the aches on my face and my swollen eye. For a moment I think about pressing my whole body against the wood, but then the heavy door flies open.
My sister stands in the doorway of her brownstone, baby in arm, looking leggy and fabulous. Her gasp of horror suddenly chokes into laughter.
A cold feeling stabs my gut.
“Jesus, what happened to your face?”
Now that I’m so close to the entrance, the la
st bit of adrenaline fades and I clutch the iron rail to steady myself.
What the fuck do you think happened?
“Rafael hit me,” I say, swallowing hard when a triumphant smile stretches over her face. “I really need a place to stay.”
“I told you a thousand times, didn’t I? I warned you about him, but no, you had to have the bad boy.”
Yeah, she warned me about dating Dad’s associates. I didn’t care. He was intoxicating and full of life—Dad gave him his blessing. If Dad liked him, so would I.
I was so naive back then. He’s a monster—they’re all monsters, and the only thing that kept him from eating me alive was my father. It all changed so quickly.
“I know you warned me, but I really need your help now. I need a place to stay.”
Hating the tremble in my voice, I stand up straighter to make me feel less weak.
Maria adjusts the baby on her hip and narrows her eyebrows, the high arches fixed in an expression of contempt. “You got yourself into this mess, and you can get yourself out of it. Too bad Daddy isn’t here anymore to fix it for you.”
A gust of icy wind blows across my face, almost as if summoned by magic by her cruel words. Her perfect indifference stuns me. It hurts so much that my legs tremble and freezing wetness gathers at the corners of my eyes. For God’s sake, she needs to push aside her sibling rivalry or whatever fucking grudge she has against me. This is serious.
“I need your help. I’m desperate.”
“Go to Mom’s house.”
I shiver violently in the cold, wishing that my goddamn sister would let me in the damn house to continue the conversation.
“The feds seized it. They’re giving her a couple weeks to move out. They’re taking everything. We don’t have any money. They froze the bank accounts.”
“I know. I’ve been giving Ma cash for a while, but you’re on your own.” Her face twists in malevolence. “You always were a spoiled little brat.”
Fine, I could live without money, but I couldn’t keep living with Rafael.
“At least give me a place to stay! I really need to get away from him.”
A sad smile flickers on her sour face.
“You know as well as I do that he’ll just drag you back.”
My eyes burn as the truth of that statement sinks in. The air swallows my choked sobs, and Maria reaches outside for a moment to pat my shoulder.
“He’ll get bored of you eventually and move on to someone else. They always do,” she adds bitterly. “Now, go. If he finds out you’ve been here, you’ll be in worse trouble.”
She closes the door and the Christmas wreath bangs loudly in my face.
Where the hell am I supposed to go?
* * *
They called me the Mafia princess.
I was the boss’s daughter.
When I was old enough to realize Daddy wasn’t exactly living a normal man’s life, I started reading the papers. All the violence splashed over the pages and my dad’s name interwoven with the stories horrified me, at first. Why did so many people hate him? Why were the cops always harassing him? Then I remember watching him shake hands with the mayor, and I was in awe. He was a tough guy. He was a villain, yes, but he was my villain. Nobody could touch him, or me by extension. His men were always respectful toward me, afraid of saying anything that could get their heads chopped off.
I’m not an idiot. I know who my dad was, even though he sheltered me from the life—from the violence. The boys I grew up with, who later became his associates, were like family to me. They were always around the house, picking up Dad to drive him places, even to have dinner with the family.
And then he was murdered and they completely disappeared.
Shame weighs on my heart as I trudge up the icy subway steps.
There was only really one rule in our family, growing up.
Don’t ever talk.
Don’t talk to the press, don’t talk to outsiders, and definitely, never, ever talk to the police. It was like a mantra in our house. Every time there was an indictment, Mom would drill the rules in our skulls.
But he talked.
He talked to the feds. I found out from the agents who visited our home just before they raided it and began taking everything that wasn’t bolted to the floor. They told us that my dad’s body was found in an abandoned farm in east Jersey, riddled with bullet holes.
None of his friends came to the funeral.
I know he was a rat, but he was still my dad. He adored me, and yes, spoiled me a little more than my brother and sister. Now he’s gone, along with his protection. I’m not the boss’s daughter anymore. I’m just the daughter of a traitor.
My hand trembles over the handle of the pork-deli store where my father used to hang out. We used to get our meat here all the time. Vinny, the new boss, should be there. A wave of self-disgust rises like caustic acid in my throat.
Worst of all is that I know who’s responsible for my father’s murder, and I’m about to go to him for help. The idea sickens me, but I am literally out of options. Last resort.
This could be a huge fucking mistake.
I try to glance inside, to check the moving shadows and see if one of them resembles Vinny. A large, warped form suddenly appears at the frosted glass and the door swings open, revealing a young man who I vaguely recognize.
“Hello—holy shit!” His eyes widen as he takes in my appearance.
I grit my teeth to stop the chatter against the cold. “Can I please see Vinny—Vincent?”
He steps aside and I sigh as warmth washes over my frozen limbs. Hours of walking on New York City’s streets made them numb with cold. The young man gazes at me in concern and takes my arm, as if he’s afraid I’ll keel over. We move past the few customers dallying in the cafe, who shoot me alarming looks, and head toward the back of the store. It’s a place I’ve never really been.
Please, let Rafael not be there. Please, God, he’ll kill me.
Fear boils in my stomach, making it turn as the coffee I had for breakfast burns holes inside me. I stop at another set of doors and try to see whether Rafael is in there. The young man opens the door before I can decide whether to go in or not and pulls me in a large room with a pool table, chairs, desk, and a dining room table. I spot Vinny hanging near his pool table, stick in his hand, as he laughs at something Nicky said beside him. Vinny is a tall, good-looking man about ten years older than I am. His laughter used to fill me with a warm glow, but now it grates against my ears. He has no fucking right to laugh when my father is dead. Everyone knows that he killed him. I know it was him—or at least one of these bastards.
Dad talked to the cops, so they killed him.
“Vince.”
The young man’s voice rings out, and I do a quick scan of the room. Sitting there on the edge of the pool table is the man I’m trying to avoid. He wears a black leather jacket over a red button-up shirt that I ironed for him this morning. Despite his little coke habit and alcohol problem, he always looks clean-shaven—just like you expect the devil to look. Handsome, attractive, and deadly. He stands up immediately, hands wrapping around his pool cue as if it’s my throat.
Oh no. Oh no.
Rafael takes a furious step forward, his handsome face twisted in a cruel grin. It says: I’m going to kill you later.
A loud, obnoxious voice rings across the room.
“Jesus Christ!”
Vinny finally notices me, the laughter evaporating from his face as he scans me.
The boy next to me faces him. “She said she wanted to see you.”
I would give everything in the world to make him take back those words. All the heart leaves me in an instant. Oh God, it was stupid to come here. I must have been delirious. Rafael stands right there, right there, and he knows exactly why I came.
“That’s not what I said! I just wanted deli meats—and to say hi. My mother and I, you know, we really don’t, we haven’t seen you in a while, and—”
Vinny
raises a hand, cutting off my babbling nonsense as he walks closer to me. A mixture of fear and revulsion makes me want to vomit. Concern knits his face and he lifts a hand to my jaw. I flinch as his fingers touch the swollen area.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, hon. Who did this to you?”
Tears slowly well in my eyes because the first person to show concern for me is the man who probably killed my father. I glance at Rafael, whose features are taut with rage.
“N—nobody. It was an accident. I fell on some icy steps on the subway.”
Oh what a lame lie. You can’t think of something better?
It doesn’t fool Vinny. His hand drops from my face and he turns around to look at Rafael’s smooth, unconcerned one.
“You did this?”
“He didn’t!” Oh God.
“Of course not.”
But his tone is way off. I’m his girlfriend. If he didn’t do it, he should be apoplectic with rage. He should be throwing chairs across the room and screaming that how dare someone touch his girl. Instead, he just stands there. It’s as though he doesn’t care if Vince puts two and two together.
Vinny turns around, his fists clenched. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, lying to a boss.”
Rafael crosses his arms and makes a brave attempt at a smile. “It’s my fault she’s a klutz?”
The boss takes several strides toward him and Rafael’s fist tightens around the pool cue, and then suddenly Vinny’s fist smashes against the side of Rafael’s skull. My screams echo in the room as he topples to the ground with a cry of outrage.
No, no, no! He’s going to make it worse for me.
“I didn’t do shit to her!”
Enraged, Vinny brings back his foot and kicks out hard. Rafael’s face contorts with pain as his mouth makes a horrible, gasping sound.
“You want to fucking lie to me again? Huh?”
Rafael turns to his side and snarls at the boss. “What the fuck do you care about Jack’s daughter? I’m a fucking made guy, you have no right!”
Married to the Bad Boy Page 3
