He broke the kiss again, almost violently, his head moving down, the water from his hair cool against my overheated skin. I hissed out a breath when his mouth replaced one of his thumbs. He sucked me hard, making my lower stomach clench. The pulse between my legs burned, begging for relief. My underwear were soaked.
“Please,” I said, not even aware I had even said the word until after I did. I didn’t care. “More.”
“Say my name, Mariposa. The name you gave me.”
“Il mio capo.”
His hands made quick work of the button on my jean shorts. They slipped down my legs and I stepped out of them. I kicked them across the room. I did the same with my underwear.
Capo lifted me like a rag doll onto the counter, my ass against the cold marble. “Steady yourself.” He nodded to my arms.
Hardly breathing, I set my arms behind me, palms down on the counter. His mouth came at mine again, and it was a beautiful war between our tongues. A throaty moan came from my throat, and he seemed to swallow it down. Then his mouth moved down—making me lick my lips to taste him again while my head tilted back—and my eyes closed. He licked me from my neck to my belly button, then back up, and down again.
My entire body felt like it was about to explode. Shatter into a million pieces. The ache between my legs had no name. Not even starved seemed to be enough. My thighs trembled from expectation. The stubble on his face scratched my skin, his tongue the exact opposite, and the dampness from his hair still made a cool trail. He pushed my thighs further apart, and when his mouth closed over me down there, I had to press harder against the counter to keep steady.
Fucka me.
Fucka me.
Fucka me.
Nothing had ever felt so good.
The feeling was contained to one area, the area where his mouth and tongue worked its magic, but it sent shockwaves throughout my entire body.
I bucked against his mouth, not an ounce of shame, his name on my tongue. “Capo. That feels so…” I hissed out a breath when his hand came up and started twisting my nipple. “That feels sooo, sooo good, il mio Capo.”
He constantly made a liar out of me. I was traumatized by what Zamboni had done to me, but whenever Capo touched me, I responded to his touch without fear.
My breaths were coming fast, too fast. I was panting and making noises I’d never heard myself make before. If he stopped, violence would come from my hand and land on his body.
He did something to me, something with that magical mouth that sent me over the edge, spiraling out of control. He bit me, hard, down there. My arms gave out, but before I could go flying backwards, Capo caught me.
I kept my eyes shut tight. “I’m so dizzy,” I said. “Is that normal?”
He laughed softly, kissing the top of my head. “Yeah. When it’s good.”
“So good,” I whispered. “So, so good.”
We stayed that way for a while, neither of us moving. That was the furthest we’d ever gone. And even though I hadn’t made it to red yet, I was getting closer and closer to the fire. I wanted him more than anything, but there was something in me that stopped just short of going all the way.
Zamboni was the main reason, but there was another reason, too. I didn’t realize it until after I had moved in, and I found myself flirting with desire, so close to giving myself over to it. I wanted the connection to grow between us before I gave him my body. Love was not an option, he made that clear, but that didn’t mean everything else we agreed to couldn’t deepen.
A deeper relationship. A deeper sense of intimacy. A deeper loyalty.
Maybe even a deeper friendship.
Maybe I was a fool, but I needed to feel more from him, a little more warmth, so that after it was over and done, my soul didn’t feel so lonely. It would sound like total bullshit if I’d said it out loud, but deep down, I knew it was true. His cold nature could be so hard sometimes. Nothing could break it down, not even fire.
Before Jocelyn died, she tried to cram years into months. One night, when her mind seemed to be sharper than usual, she told me, “There is nothing lonelier than waking up to someone you’ve given your all to, only to realize they only gave half in the night. It’ll happen, and it’ll hurt, but you’ll survive.”
Could I survive this arrangement if that were to happen between us?
I could live without love, the kind that people sacrifice their lives and souls for in romance novels and movies, and I guessed in real life sometimes, too, but could I live with not feeling…something mutual from him?
The answer didn’t matter, only my response to it. My loyalty to him ran high, as high as heaven. He had secured that long ago, when I was five.
I’d live with this arrangement, but I’d merely survive the sex.
He looked me in the eye, and then he leaned in and kissed my lips. “Get dressed.”
He took a step back and the towel made a teepee in front of him. His size didn’t seem… normal. The towel and how hard he was left little to the imagination. And I imagined a snake. A humongous python. It was one thing to suspect, but another to see the outline of it so close. It was in striking distance.
How was that going to fit in my oonie?
“It’ll fit,” he said, reading my thoughts. “Your body was made for mine.”
I nodded, looking up at his eyes. My nails tapped against the counter. What he called agitarsi in Italian. Fidgeting. I stopped because he didn’t like it when I did it. He said there was no reason for me to be nervous. Ever. But if he’d seen what I just did for the first time? He’d be nervous, too.
“Where are we going?” My voice sounded raw, as if I’d been screaming. Every part of me felt drained, but in the best damn way. In some primal way, I liked that he had left a mark on me, something deeper than skin. He had touched muscle and bone.
“To Macchiavello’s for dinner.” He looked me over, naked except for my lace bra, sitting on the marble counter. “Nothing I put in my mouth tonight will compare to what I just had, though.” He raked his teeth over his bottom lip. “Vieni.” He held out his hand. “Time to get dressed.”
* * *
When we walked into the master suite, Capo sighed and said, “Tell me what you’re so nervous about.”
Besides the fact that I just saw a mighty python? I was going to say, but I didn’t. The ice that followed him around sometimes was thick. I chose to be honest about something else.
“The, uh, guy that…well, I don’t know what he does. He runs out to meet you when you arrive at the restaurant. He was, kinda, mean to me.” This would be our first time eating at his restaurant. The big-mouthed guy, Bruno, who told me that he’d squish me like a bug, was hard to forget. He reminded me of Zamboni. And the same feelings of shame went straight to my soul like acid.
Capo stopped short, and I almost ran into his back. He let my hand go and turned to me. I almost took a step back but didn’t. His intensity could be threatening sometimes, but one good thing about girl’s night—I learned it wasn’t just Capo. All of the men in that circle seemed to be similar in that way.
Stand your ground, Scarlett had told me. You’re just as powerful as he is.
Her advice ran through my head, but I kept seeing a deer running from a wolf. I glanced down at his tattoo and then back to his face, thankful that he called me Butterfly, not something that was prey.
“What do you mean?” His voice was stern. “Kind of mean. It’s either, yes, he was mean to me, Capo, or, no, he wasn’t mean to me, Capo. There is no in between, Mariposa. Use all of your words with me.”
Great. He was throwing my words back at me from the night at Harrison’s.
I held my hands in front of me, holding them out, popping my knuckles. “It’s not that simple. Maybe I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to. I’m not sure what you hired him for. If it was to run strays away from your window so they don’t scare customers, then, no, he wasn’t mean. He was just doing his job, showing sharp teeth and big claws. If he’s not supp
osed to make poor people feel ashamed for not being able to afford a steak at your high-priced restaurant, then, yeah, he was most definitely mean to me. Past mean. An asshole.”
He studied my face for a moment. “Why did you come to Macchiavello’s? Our restaurant. Did you remember something?”
He made sure to say “our” in a powerful way so that I’d accept his business as mine. It was hard when, half of the time, this all still felt like a dream.
I shook my head. “No. I used to pass by sometimes when I was going to Home Run. You can see people eating from outside. It smelled really good. I was hungry.” I shrugged. “ No one ever came out with leftovers, so I figured the steak must be worth a kidney.”
He chin-flicked, copying what I’d done outside of his restaurant when Bruno had given me a hard time. “It makes sense now. Why you said what you did.”
“After I was done being ashamed, I got angry. Your guy pissed me off.”
“You kept coming back.”
“I’m not sure why. You made me…curious.” I bit my lip but stopped when he narrowed his eyes. “Did you remember me then?”
“You looked familiar, but no, not fully. You’ve grown up.”
“Some days.” I smiled, but it was weak. “It was hell getting to the days when I am.”
“Mariposa.” He touched my chin and then kissed my lips softly. Then he took my hand again and led me to the humongous closet.
It took only a few minutes for him to find what he was looking for on his side. Even though everything was organized for me, dress clothes from casual, winter, spring, summer, and fall, it took time for me to find things.
I was still rummaging around, trying to find the right outfit, when he told me to meet him in his office when I was done. He wore a black suit with a white shirt underneath and a black tie. He reminded me of a gangster from the ’20s. All of his suits were dark, either black or navy blue. For some reason, the view of him reminded me of the tattoo on his arm—all darkness except for those electric blue eyes.
Some men had it so easy. Ten minutes and…done.
I sighed, pushing around the many hangers until I came to an embellished black chiffon dress. The fringe on it reminded me of cascading water at night, the edges tipped with silver, like moonlight was touching them. It had an ombre effect. Holding the dress up to my body, I saw that it landed right above my knees. It was classy and sexy at the same time.
It took me a while to do my makeup and hair. Sawyer’s team had taught me how to do both. I kept my eyes simple but used blood red on my lips. I curled my hair, but I didn’t do full curls. Wavy. After, I slathered myself in the cream Capo loved so much and sprayed the perfume. Then I got dressed.
Three white-gold bangle bracelets, encrusted with diamonds and sapphires, and a pair of matching earrings came close to completing the outfit.
“Fucka me,” I breathed. I hoped the jewels in the bracelet weren’t real. I had enough to worry about with the ring on my left finger. Maybe they’d just chop my wrist off and be done with it. They might even go after my ears if they noticed the earrings.
Shaking off the shock, this was my life, I found a pair of heels that were high and black and made pretty patterns against my feet.
All done.
“Mariposa—” Capo stopped when we met in the “hallway” of the closet. It was the first time I’d truly dressed up since we were married. I liked how he looked at me, like he had when I opened my robe and showed him my goods the night of our City Hall wedding.
“What do you think?” I turned a little for him. “Good enough?”
I wanted to make him proud while I was on his arm. I wanted to look good, no, stunning for him. I’d never thought I’d use I and stunning in the same sentence, but things had changed. This man was so good looking that it made it hard to catch my breath sometimes. And he chose me. The girl with the strange-shaped schnozzola.
“Sbalorditiva.” He raked his teeth over his bottom lip. “You make me proud, Mariposa.”
Sbalorditiva. I knew what the word meant without Capo having to translate. Stunning. There were times when I had no clue what he was saying, but others, I did. It was strange understanding words I’d never heard before in a different language, but somehow knowing their meaning.
Then the last part of his compliment made it to my mind. You make me proud.
Before I could say something stupid, he lifted my hand to his mouth, placing a soft kiss on my fingers. “I don’t deserve your time or company, but regardless, it’s mine. For the rest of my life.” And with that, he took my hand and we left.
* * *
Capo’s car pulled smoothly into his reserved spot in front of Macchiavello’s. He had driven his Mercedes AMG Vision Gran Turismo. It was all silver and sleek and looked just like the bat car. Which was what I felt he was aiming for, since we lived in what seemed like a bat cave.
At our arrival, a few people stopped to stare. Anytime he pulled up in one of his cars, it seemed to cause a stir. Or maybe it was Capo. He caused the stir. But his impressive collection of vehicles seemed to be the only thing he did that was loud enough to draw attention. It didn’t exactly fit with his reclusive lifestyle, but I was finding I couldn’t assume anything with him.
Capo coolly stepped out, ignoring the men pointing at his car, striding to my side to open the door. He fixed the button on his suit before he did.
I hesitated, waiting for Bruno to come barreling out. I didn’t expect him to be mean to me like he had the last time—after all, I was his capo’s wife—but I hoped he didn’t spit on my steak while it was coming out of the kitchen.
“Out,” Capo said, holding out his hand.
I set mine in his, and the lights from Macchiavello’s caught all of my jewelry, making the diamonds and sapphires glisten against my skin. My heels tapped against the pavement in a pretty melody. This time, instead of the dumpster assaulting my nose, his cologne and my perfume seemed to float in the air, caressing it. The smell of steak came on stronger the closer we got to the door. My stomach growled, ready to maul something.
“Are you sure I don’t have to sell a kidney for this?” I joked.
He lifted my arm and placed a firm kiss on my wrist. “I believe you’ve sold enough. You’re off the market, Mariposa. You belong to me. No one will be touching you, least of all something as valuable as a kidney.”
At the door, a man waited, decked out in the finest suit, holding it open. “Mr. Mac.” He nodded. “It is a pleasure to see you tonight.”
“Sylvester.” Capo nodded, then pulled me forward, trading my hand for my lower back. His touch was warm, soothing, and as firm as his kiss. “My wife,” he said. “Mariposa Macchiavello.”
The man took my hand and shook it lightly. He congratulated me, called me Mrs. Macchiavello, and then led us away from the door.
“Sylvester is the night manager,” Capo said.
As we walked, Capo and Sylvester spoke in Italian, and I was able to pick up on a few things. Their conversation was about the restaurant. Business matters. But I couldn’t help but notice how all of the staff were looking at me—with nervous glances. The patrons were different. They looked at me with open curiosity.
Who was this normal chick walking next to the force of a man?
Instead of concentrating on the shit going on around me, I decide to savor the experience. I remembered how much I wanted this, the steak, and decided to make my first visit the best.
The restaurant was as classy as I figured it would be, but it was also romantic. Some walls exposed what I guessed was the original brick, while others were painted a deep red. The chairs and tables were black, and the bronze chandeliers held real flickering candles. Each table held a single white rose in a crystal vase.
The bar was on the other side, an entirely different section of the building. From what I could see, the shelves were packed with hundreds of uniquely shaped, shiny bottles. The area reminded me of the old speakeasies Pops used to tell me stories about. Tha
t entire side had brick walls, mirroring the ones in the restaurant. The floor was black and white striped marble. A few tables were set up around a small dance floor.
Men and women in expensive clothing sat along the bar in vintage leather chairs. Some of them were turned to each other, conversation flowing, laughter rising over soft music. A man dressed in black tie sat at a grand piano in the corner, playing the instrument and crooning.
The smells…my mouth watered. It wasn’t just steak either. Rich sauces and wines lingered in the air. Below the surface, something sweet circulated. I sniffed harder. Chocolate, and it reminded me of the scent at The Club.
Sylvester stopped at a door that didn’t really look like a door at all. It was brick, matching the wall, and only a golden ring stuck out. He pulled it open, revealing a humongous room. A table that probably could seat forty sat in the middle of it.
The room smelled really sweet, like chocolate again, but even stronger, and the candles made the room feel warmer. Richer. Sexier. The diamonds on my hands and wrists softened when we walked in. So did the dress. The chiffon seemed to shimmer, the light catching the silver and sparking.
This room reflected the restaurant, but on a smaller scale. It was intimate. The music tinkled in here, carried through a speaker somewhere in the room. What caught my eye next made me walk further in to look out. It wasn’t a window, but more like a square piece of glass. I could see the entire restaurant.
“We can see out, but they can’t see in,” Capo said, walking up behind me, looking out at his world.
“The mirror?” I guessed. I had noticed it when we first walked in, but I really didn’t think anything of it. It was fancy, bronze detailing around it, but it was just a mirror. Apparently not. It was a way for him to watch without anyone knowing.
“You’re perceptive,” he said.
“Not really. If I hadn’t seen this room, I would’ve probably made sure my lipstick still looked fresh when I passed it.”
He laughed, real soft, and his breath fanned over my skin, making goosebumps rise on my arms. His chest pressed against my back, and I had the urge to lean back and rest my head against him.
Machiavellian: Gangsters of New York, Book 1 Page 18
