Machiavellian: Gangsters of New York, Book 1

by Di Corte, Bella

  “You know what this means, right?” He twirled me out, and then I came back into his body with a soft whooo. He was a smooth operator when he danced. My left hand pressed against his chest, and the new band there sparkled like his eyes. It was simple, delicate, matching the engagement ring, but not as heavy. “Your head’s not going to be on straight for the rest of the night. All of your screws are going to be loose. Like mine.”

  His grin came slow. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be. Your head is supposed to be on straight for the ceremony, but for the reception—” He shrugged, his broad shoulders stretching the fine, custom-made suit. “You’re supposed to get a little wild. It’s a celebration.”

  It was.

  I’d never been to such a fun party before. Hundreds of people ate, laughed, and danced. I was starting to understand what Scarlett had meant by wishing a night would never end.

  I wished for a magical glass jar.

  I wished I could lasso the full moon over the groves.

  I wished to take the night and the moon and all of the laughter and the warm weather and bottle it up for as long as I lived. And then after I died, escape to it as my heaven.

  It was mine. It was his. Ours.

  The only disturbance was Harrison’s arrival and that Gigi character’s presence. I was told that Harrison wasn’t coming, and given the circumstances, I thought it was best. He hadn’t showed up at the church, but he decided to crash the reception, in a way.

  Harrison asked me to dance, and I did, but reluctantly. I didn’t want an issue. I had never had a perfect night before, much less day, and this was coming damn close to it.

  “You look beautiful, Strings,” he said, moving me, but in a way that was different from Capo. With Harrison our moves felt familiar, brotherly. With Capo, I couldn’t still my heart or the butterflies. “Are you happy?”

  I looked up at him. “I am, Harrison. I really am.”

  “For now,” he said.

  I went to remove myself from his hold, but he refused to let me go. “Don’t do this,” I pleaded, keeping my voice low.

  He watched me for a moment and then leaned down to kiss my cheek. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the hurt in his.

  “If you say you’re happy, I’m happy. But when he hurts you beyond repair, I’ll be waiting to take you home. Remember that, Mari.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t understand, Harrison. It’s not that simple. I’m in—” Whatever words were about to pour out of my mouth stopped right before they did. It was none of his business anyway. “I’m where I belong.”

  Capo cut in then, taking me from Harrison’s arms. I could tell Capo was irritated. When he said he didn’t share, he meant it. I knew he was trying to give me what I wanted, the people I considered my family at my side, but there was no patching what had happened at Harrison’s house. And I didn’t miss the intense looks Capo gave Keely’s Mam.

  When she had made a comment about how close he was to his family, he gave her the definition of family, and then tacked on at the end, “People who are there for you through thick and thin, not only blood. If they’re neither one of those, they mean nothing.” I got the feeling he was telling her that she meant nothing. Whatever his issue was with her, I hoped it wouldn’t come between Keely and me. There was already an issue with Harrison.

  After Uncle Tito cut in on Capo, I watched as Gigi took the opportunity to dance with him. She fit with him. Silky black hair. Razor sharp features. Feline-shaped eyes. She wasn’t tall, but she was built, curves in all of the right places. Her lips were usually siren red. When Capo caught me staring, I turned away and back to my dance with Uncle Tito.

  I decided not to give her room in my head. Capo had married me. We had an agreement, and no matter how much history existed between them, because I could tell there was, we had agreed to be exclusive.

  Why does it burn me up that she’s that close to him, though? That he might think she’s prettier than me?

  Scarlett saved me from the maddening thoughts. A fast song replaced the one we’d been dancing to, and she pulled me further onto the dance floor. Surrounded by all of the women from girl’s night, we kept time to the beat.

  My skin was slick with sweat, my cheeks burning from the strain of smiling so much, and for the first time in my entire life, I was thankful for hurt feet. I had danced so much that my arches were killing me.

  Capo took me to the side, set me down on a bench under a grape arbor, and sat next to me. He took my heels off, placed them on the ground, and then started to massage my feet. I closed my eyes, making noises that were indecent, but it felt so good, I didn’t even care. At his touch, the ache seemed to melt.

  “It’s nice to have a friend,” I said with a smile, “who has good hands.”

  “Good hands, ah?” I couldn’t see him, but I could tell he was grinning. “It’s nice to have a friend,” he said and pressed even harder, making me moan softly, “who reacts the way you do when I touch you.”

  “Friends are not supposed to make friends make embarrassing noises.” Then I exploded with laughter at my lame attempt at a joke.

  A second later it faded when Capo leaned forward, took me by the back of the head, and pressed his lips to mine. My hands ran up his chest slowly, to his shoulders, and I tried to pull him even closer.

  I was starved for something that ruled me.

  His tongue twirled with mine, slow and soft at first, but when I opened up to him, he became rough, demanding, our mouths at war. My attraction to him was out to destroy me. When he kissed me, I lost all sense of myself and somehow faded into him. Nothing, not a damn thing, mattered.

  Scarlett had once told us at girl’s night that people in ancient times believed that when you kissed, you lost your soul. There was more to it than that, but that was the gist of it.

  The more Capo kissed me, the more I lost a vital part of myself to him.

  I was once willing to trade a kidney for a piece of steak. I was willing to trade something that helped my body run properly for something that would feed my need for life.

  Wasn’t it normal, then, to lose a vital part of myself to the man I called husband?

  I fisted his dress shirt in my hands, not willing to bend or break this. I wanted his hands on my body, his mouth on mine, like he was giving me air to breathe.

  I give him something I can’t live without. He gives me something he can’t live without.

  I wanted. I wanted. I wanted. I wanted more of…him…of…this.

  Wasn’t it normal, then, to trade something that helped my body run properly, like my heart, for something that would feed my need for intimacy?

  He broke the kiss, and it took me a minute to realize we’d separated, that I was entering reality again.

  There he was. There I was. Separate.

  I kept my eyes closed, my hands on my lips, demanding to keep the feelings close.

  Loss.

  One simple word sent my heart in a different kind of spiral, and fear clung to me. I couldn’t open my eyes to look the feeling in the face, to open my mouth and tell it to fuck off, because I was at war with not wanting to lose what I’d just experienced. I wanted to savor it.

  An explosion went off in the distance and I almost jumped out of my skin—I visibly flinched.

  “Open your eyes, Mariposa,” Capo said.

  I did. Fireworks exploded over our heads, lighting up the sky in the prettiest colors. Hundreds of people crowded together, eyes to heaven, enjoying the nighttime show.

  Capo took my chin in his hand and made me look at him. “Your dress. All of your hard-earned lines are on display, Mariposa. Your veins made of silk.”

  “You noticed,” I said.

  He had told me that I was stunning in Italian on our way to the reception, but he hadn’t commented on the lines, or what they meant to us.

  “I’m careful with my words now, even though I use all the words.” He grinned. “Time and place.”

  I smiled. “You brough
t me here to tell me.”

  “In private,” he said.

  I smiled even wider. “You got the private joke.”

  “I’d never call this dress a joke.” His finger traced a line up my arm. The material was sheer there, but the lines were as deep as they were on the train. “But it’s something only the two of us know about. Ours.” His path continued over my shoulder, down my chest, ending at my heart.

  My hand came over his, trying to hold the feeling again. I met his eyes for—I wasn’t sure for how long—but then turned to look up at the sky, not able to match the intensity.

  “Don’t do that with me,” he said.

  “Do what?” I continued to watch the fireworks.

  He turned my face and I met his eyes. “Look away.” He searched my eyes, but I wasn’t sure what he was searching for. But I felt it when he found it. The lock turned, and the sound of something inside of me opening echoed through every part of me.

  “Amadeo.”

  Capo stared at me for a second longer before he turned to face one of the guards. I refused to look at the guard. I refused to give him a second of our time. Guards only meant unrest, and whatever war existed outside of the gates, it wouldn’t touch our night—not then, not a hundred years from then.

  My eyes scanned the party while Capo and the guard spoke in Sicilian. People were still dancing while the fireworks continued on. Harrison danced with Gigi. Every so often, his eyes would search the crowd. It seemed like he was looking for someone.

  “He’s trying to make you jealous.”

  I blinked, realizing it was Capo’s voice, and only then did I look away from the night and at him. “He—what?”

  “Harry Boy. He’s dancing with Gigi to make you jealous.”

  What about you? Are you jealous that she’s dancing with him? I was going to say, but again, she wasn’t getting any space in my property. It didn’t matter if Capo was jealous or not. We’d made a deal. He was going home with me.

  “He’s wasting his time.” I hesitated but had to ask. “Everything okay?”

  He sighed and stood, picking up my shoes, holding the straps in his fingers. Then he held out his free hand for me to take. After I gave it to him, we started walking back to the reception. Even if Capo denied it, I knew something had changed.

  More guards were headed toward the front of the property. The ones who stuck closer seemed to be on higher alert. A few of them had taken positions around Nonno, who was so drunk that he laughed at nothing and everything.

  Capo made a dismissive motion with his hand. My shoes hung from his fingers and they clanked. “A guest that wasn’t invited.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “No.” He stopped for a moment in the midst of the crowd. “How has your night been, Mariposa?”

  “This has been the best night of my life,” I answered honestly. “If I had the power to stop time, I would’ve stopped it at the grape arbor.”

  “The end?”

  I nodded once, but I was trying to figure out what that meant, exactly.

  “I need to use all of the words.” He spun me around to the tempo of some fast song that played. “Are you ready to call it a night?”

  “Ooh.” I laughed. “Yeah, if you are.” It was his party, too.

  He looked at his grandfather, smiling from ear to ear, enjoying a cigar with Uncle Tito and a bunch of the Faustis, and then at the men going for the gate.

  “One more song,” he said, and it seemed like he was determined to do what he wanted. It almost seemed like he was daring the uninvited guest to cross the gates and try to stop him.

  After four more dances, my feet still bare, my dress smudged with stains on the hem, we held hands while a line of sparklers sent us off to a private villa somewhere on the property.

  * * *

  The villa hidden deep on the property was old school and small, but whoever had come in and prepared it made it as romantic as possible. The air felt warm against my skin, like the night air had clung to my dress and filled the glowing space. Hundreds of candles clustered in an arched brick fireplace brightened the darkness. I had only seen pictures of setups like that in magazines. The smell of orange blossom almost overwhelmed.

  I knew then that Capo’s aunts had come in and made the place extra special. They had four signature candles that they sold in their stores. Orange Blossom. Lemon. Pistachio. Chocolate. I had connected the dots to the chocolate smell at The Club. Capo must’ve bought the candles in bulk.

  A huge wooden bed with a carved headboard sat in the center of the bedroom. The gold sheets were crisp, but the cover was thick and soft and had been turned down. Between two equally large pillows, a single, perfect red rose had been placed. Above the bed was a simple wooden cross.

  “You or me?”

  “You or me…?” I turned around to find Capo staring at me. His tie had been draped over a chair in the corner, and his dress shirt was unbuttoned. His sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows since earlier.

  In front of the fire, I had to admit, he made me nervous. No matter how I looked at him, he was intimidating, and not only in physical appearance.

  All of the fear from the grape arbor hit me hard and knocked the wind from my lungs.

  “Shower.” He nodded behind him, toward an open door.

  I looked down at my feet. They were still bare and dirty, but luckily, I hadn’t stuck anything in them on our walk to the villa. This was because Capo had insisted on carrying me. He went to step right over the threshold with me, but I’d stopped him.

  “Aren’t we supposed to kiss or something for good luck?” I’d said.

  His laughter had been low and raspy, but he had kissed me. It was over much too soon, but then, being inside the villa gave me insane butterflies.

  “You first,” I said. “I’d like to stay in my dress for as long as possible. I only get to wear it once. It seems like such a waste to—”

  He stepped forward and kissed me. His hands fisted into my hair and he kept me solid against him. When he pulled away, my eyes were still closed. “Your mouth is fidgeting,” he said.

  I smiled, but my bottom lip trembled. “And you refuse to allow that, Capo.”

  Before I could open my eyes, he was leading me away from the bedroom and toward the bathroom. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s safer if you stay close to me. The bathroom doesn’t have any windows.”

  “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “People keep showing up without an invite.”

  People? More than one? “Do you know who they are?”

  He released my hand and went to the simple shower, turning it on. Once the flow started to trickle, he threw his shirt over the chair in front of the mirror. He undid his pants, throwing them over the shirt. His socks came off next. And then his boxer briefs.

  I felt like one of those cartoon characters when their eyes bug out. He was lean and had muscles in all of the right places. And I was right about him being a python. His size only added to my anxiety. I was so out of my league. He was beyond fine.

  I didn’t realize I’d been gawking until I met his eyes. “I didn’t mean to stare—”

  He grinned. “You didn’t mean to? Or you wanted to and did, and now feel guilty for getting caught?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve heard that it’s impolite to stare.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “It’s only impolite if it doesn’t belong to you.” Then he sighed, but in a good way—like he had enjoyed the release. “I like when you stare at me, Mariposa.”

  “I like when you stare at me, too,” I whispered as he stepped into the shower and shut the door. He was almost too big for the small space. He was tall and his shoulders were wide. At least the tub next to it was big enough for two.

  His back was full of muscles, and when he moved to wash, they rippled. The water and candlelight made his skin shimmer. I took a seat on the chair, not willing to look away from him, but not able to stand any longer. Just watching hi
m wash made the pulse between my legs throb. My lower stomach was as clenched as a tight fist. My breasts felt like they were straining against the dress all of a sudden, so tender that they ached.

  I licked my lips.

  I swallowed hard.

  I craved friction.

  His back still faced me, and when he turned, his erection touched the glass. He started to wash himself while he watched me watching him. His penis bobbed each time he stroked it. He raked his teeth over his bottom lip, and when I made a noise deep in my throat, his eyes became more serious, more hooded.

  I felt faint. The little bit of steam in the room was getting to me. He was getting to me. Then I opened my mouth. “Are we in danger?” Am I in danger? Not from them but from you.

  He blinked at me, like he had to remember who he was with—the girl in the white dress. Not the one in red. Then he started to rinse the soap off, our moment over. “We’re all in danger, Mariposa. Some people more than others.”

  “We’re the ‘some people,’ I’m guessing.”

  He nodded and then shut the water off. I turned and grabbed a towel from the counter and handed it to him. He took it and then turned to dig in his bag. After he gave me a great view of his fine ass, he secured the towel around his waist.

  I stood and turned toward the mirror. I watched him walk closer from behind. He stopped when he was at my back. I could feel the heat from his body through the dress.

  He moved my hair to the side, and then he helped me lower the top of the gown. My fancy white adhesive bra glowed against my skin. He kissed the nape of my neck, watching me as he did, and then his fingers barely caressed my arms.

  “Butterflies have least favorite colors when it comes to flowers. Do you know what they are?” His voice was low, almost hoarse.

  “No,” I whispered. A shiver waved over me from his constant touch, his gravelly voice, and it made me tremble.

  “Ti piace la mia bocca sulla tua pelle. Tremi per me.” He said the words almost to himself, something about me liking his mouth on my skin, me trembling for him. Then, smoothly, he brought us back to his comment about the butterfly. “Blue to green.”