Bene (The Guzzi Legacy Book 5)

by Bethany-Kris

  “Yes,” he praised, bending over her to taste her shoulder when he added, “now do it again for me.”

  She didn’t know if she could.

  He seemed determined to make her do it.

  Best way she spent a night in a while.

  Vanna slipped out of Bene’s bed when the sky gleamed black through the large floor-to-ceiling windows covering half of one wall. He didn’t stir as she climbed from the bed, plucking her crop top and thong from the floor to slip on quickly before she left the bedroom with her purse in hand.

  She shot his sleeping form—shadowed in the moonlight and looking all too inviting in the bed—a glance before leaving the room. Without an idea as to what she needed to look for, or where to even look, she padded through the moderately sized penthouse. She didn’t have time to admire the state-of-the-art kitchen, or the decor of the living room, although both seemed nice enough as she passed.

  Instead, she needed to find something to use. Something in this man’s home that was attached to the criminal side of his life—his Guzzi blood. He was a Guzzi son. One of many heirs to an entire criminal empire. His father was a Cosa Nostra Don. No one would tell Vanna that Bene wasn’t somehow involved or connected to the mob.

  It was in his blood.

  His purpose.

  Like she was Camorra.

  There was no out from this life.

  Surely, she would find something that she could use to fulfill the vendetta … or get a start on something even bigger. She wouldn’t know if she didn’t look, however. That was her purpose for being here, after all. Even if her body just wanted to be used by that man again.

  Soon, Vanna found herself in the small office that seemed far too tidy and put together for a man of Bene’s age to use often. It was stylishly decorated in dark colors, richly-stained hardwood floors, and furniture that looked both inviting and productive with all the leather and wood.

  She knew before she even stepped behind the desk, however, that it was highly unlikely she would find anything to use in this office. Simply because it seemed as though this space wasn’t very personalized to Bene Guzzi. Not like the rest of his place, or even his bedroom that had all sorts of little knickknacks and flavors of his personality and life.

  The one personal thing she did find in the office came in the form of a picture resting at the edge of the desk. At first, she overlooked it in her perusal of the office, but then she took a second look, and fury burned hot in her heart.

  Gian Guzzi.

  And his wife.

  His second wife, the mother of all the man’s boys. Not Vanna’s dead half-aunt who had apparently been so abused by this man that after the murder of her father, she killed herself. Gian at least had a bit of decency and gave it time before he remarried, although everyone knew he’d been fucking Cara—his current wife—when his first wife was still alive, not to mention, his first son was born in that time, too.

  In the photo, the man seemed happy. His gaze locked on his wife as though she was the only thing in the world he cared to look at for the rest of his life. His world, Vanna thought. He stared at Cara—that was his wife’s name, and Bene’s mother—like she was his entire world.

  Vanna couldn’t wait to ruin it.

  Forcing her attention away from the photograph, she dug through the drawers in the desk. She snapped pictures. Nothing screamed organized crime or made man.

  It didn’t matter.

  She sent the pictures off.

  The person who received what she did manage to find—some information on a few businesses scattered throughout the city, bank account numbers, and one off shore account paperwork—would do what he could for it, and let her know what else she should look for in relation to it.

  If it was even useable.

  Those were things to handle at another time.

  As it was, Vanna had risked a lot doing what she did tonight. Seeking Bene out, then willingly going home with him to hookup, and now this, too. She almost felt as though she was playing with fire in a way, and she wasn’t quite ready to be burned yet.

  She left the office in the same condition she found it. Returning to the bedroom to pick up her things, she had to wonder what the still-sleeping man might think to find her already gone from his place before he even woke up in the morning.

  He hadn’t asked her to stay.

  She couldn’t afford to, either.

  Still, her mind warred. The part that wanted to ruin this man and his family … and the part that wanted to see him another time to do this with him again.

  Thing was … to ruin him, she might just need to get closer. She might have to come back again.

  Vanna left her number scrawled on a piece of paper that she sat on his bedside table before she left. And her signature underneath.

  Or rather, her signature V.

  Let him make of that what he wanted.

  Bene woke up to the sound of his landline phone ringing. Because of course, he did. A part of his brain managed to remember that he shut his cell off the night before as he stumbled from bed, and that was likely the reason for someone calling directly to his penthouse phone. Another part of his brain was just pissed that he had been taken from a good slumber, forced to trip over the pants he discarded the night before, just to grab the phone on the other side of his penthouse before it went to voicemail.

  And shocker …

  Marcus answered Bene’s mumbled, sleepy greeting with a, “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

  It took Bene entirely too long to reply. He blinked for a while, staring out his living room windows that faced the corner of another skyrise, and a part of the streets down below. Sunshine filtered in, making streaks across the floor.

  Shit.

  At least, it wasn’t still dark.

  He gave Marcus that.

  Very little else.

  “Are you even awake and dressed?”

  “What?” Bene asked.

  He glanced down at himself, deciding it was probably better not to answer Marcus’s question with the truth. He didn’t think his brother would appreciate the information that no, he was neither entirely awake considering his vision blurred, nor dressed in any kind of way that was respectable to leave his place.

  In fact, anyone looking into his windows was getting a great view of his morning wood that was now starting to go down. Shit, he hadn’t even bothered to pull clothes on before he jumped into bed, which wasn’t his typical style. Usually, he’d beat the hard-on out in the shower, grab a coffee, and get on with his day.

  Not today, apparently.

  Perfect.

  “What did I tell you last night when I called?”

  Bene searched his brain to come up with an appropriate answer. He blamed that on the fact clearly, he had been woken up before it was the right time. What else could he do?

  “Uh …”

  “The Capo … Johnny,” Marcus snapped. “That’s where you’re supposed to be today working. This morning. In a half an hour, actually.”

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “I’m on my way,” Bene lied.

  “I called the penthouse. You haven’t even left yet. I told you not to fuck this up, right? That you were going to be busy for the next little while? Lucky for your ass, I actually set up your meeting with the Capo for noon, so you really have an hour and a half, now. Just thought I’d screw you a bit before I told you to get your ass in gear and get to work. Time to get yourself straight, Bene.”

  Bene squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his jaw. Memories of the night before flooded his mind—a beautiful woman with an angel’s face that fucked and tasted like sin. He barely had time to enjoy those thoughts, or the semi-erection it caused, promising he might get to enjoy his time in the shower after all, before Marcus spoke again, and he lost that small joy.

  No surprise there.

  “You’re on my time now, little brother,” Marcus said, “and you answer to my rules. Don’t take offense, I’m
just keeping you out of trouble.”

  “Marcus—”

  “That wasn’t the opportunity for a conversation, Bene.”

  Jesus.

  His brother wasn’t fucking around.

  “I’m on my way,” Bene said.

  Even though Marcus hadn’t told him what work he would need to do for one of their father’s favorite Capos. In fact, he had no clue what he would be doing at all while Marcus controlled his work for their family. It could be anything. Normally, he handled payments from dealers, rackets, and other business. A go-between for his father, and older brothers who were made men. Whatever they needed, he was there to do.

  Now, he was under Marcus’s thumb.

  Or so his brother said.

  Thing was, he wanted his button.

  His in to the family.

  Bene needed to be a made man.

  He’d do what he had to.

  “Better be,” Marcus replied, “and don’t show up smelling like a fucking brewery, either, because Johnny will let me know. You hear me?”

  Bene cleared his throat. “I didn’t drink last night.”

  “Good.”

  “What will I do for the—”

  “Whatever the Capo wants, and whatever I can dream up.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “It means,” Marcus said, “don’t fuck this up, Bene.”

  That’s all Marcus said.

  Then, he hung up the call.

  Bene was left staring at the dead cordless phone in his hand, wondering just how much trouble he would get in to if he beat the hell out of his older brother. Not that he could … sure, Bene could handle himself in a fight fine, but he also grew up with Marcus, and they had gone on a few rounds together more than once.

  Might be worth it.

  Right.

  He ignored his taunting brain, knowing he had to get a move on, or he’d surely be hearing it from his brother once again. Heading back to his bedroom, he didn’t even have time to put the shower to use considering he was already running late, and with traffic, it would take him a good hour to get to where he needed to go.

  He yanked clothes from the floor, tossing them aside to find his car keys, and whatever else he left in his pockets from the day before. In the walk-in closet, he grabbed a clean pair of slacks, and a pressed shirt along with clean underwear, and a pair of shoes. It didn’t matter that he was a criminal, or that his family was full of them, he didn’t have to dress like it, too. Or, that’s what he had always been told.

  He eyed the empty bed when he came back out. Messy sheets, indented pillows, and the room still smelled like whatever sugary sweet perfume Vanna had worn the night before. He didn’t have time to be pissed that she up and left his place before he could even wake up. In fact, he wasn’t mad about it at all considering it was usually him slipping out of a woman’s bed before the sun rose in the morning.

  He did, however, notice the handwritten note on his bedside table when he plucked his watch from the glass bowl resting on the far corner. Her number. That’s all she had written.

  That, and a simple, swirled V.

  Well, then …

  Bene wasn’t a second-round type. He wasn’t the kind of guy who led women on, either, just to get them into bed, but a one-night stand suited his needs fine considering he wasn’t looking for much more. And yet, he found that he was willing to see Vanna again as long as she was up for it, and he had time.

  He stuffed the note in his pocket.

  Another day.

  Two fucking weeks.

  Marcus had Bene running non-stop for two entire weeks. From one job, to the next. The first Capo he had to see was just the beginning, and by the end of that first day, Bene was already exhausted, and over whatever trick his brother was trying to pull.

  Some of it wasn’t even work.

  Gian wanted take-out from his favorite hole-in-the-wall diner in the middle of Quebec City? In a whole different province? Bene was called to go and get it. And the thing was, he knew that he couldn’t complain about it. Not one negative word could leave his lips every time he was sent on yet another wild goose chase for his father, one of his brothers, or any other made man who suddenly now had his phone number.

  Because yeah, that was another thing.

  Made men kept calling.

  All the made men of their family.

  Or rather, the ones with enough position and status that they could order Bene around and get away with it. He couldn’t complain or refuse an order or a job because that wasn’t how the life worked. Mafiosi ran the show, and as Bene wasn’t yet a made man, but wanted to be, well, that meant he had to do whatever they wanted him to do, whenever the fuck they wanted him to do it, no questions asked.

  Oh, someone needed a pack of smokes at two in the morning? Bene dragged his ass out of bed, drove to the closest convenience store, and then delivered the cigarettes to the Capo—or whoever—with a fucking smile on his face while at the same time, asking if the man needed something else from him.

  Someone needed an extra pair of hands on a crew for the day to do some manual labor in a stuffy warehouse that was better suited to be torn down and cemented for a parking lot than for working? Bene wasn’t the type to roughen his hands up with shit like that or blacken his lungs, but he didn’t get a say, and so he did what he was told without a word.

  It didn’t stop.

  At all.

  One thing after another.

  Yet another person with a new task or job for Bene to do. In two weeks, he maybe slept in his own bed a total of eight hours, if that. Sometimes, he just slept in his car while he waited for his fucking phone to ring again.

  Was he eating three times a day?

  Fuck no.

  Unless one considered fast food eating.

  Bene sure as fuck wasn’t drinking.

  He didn’t understand what in the hell was going on, but he was quickly growing tired of it. Not that he could say that, or even stop. He couldn’t because he’d done this—he asked for this life, and sometimes, shit just wasn’t easy. Not being made meant Bene had to answer to every single man in the organization that was a made man. And they could use him for whatever they wanted, as long as the boss agreed.

  Apparently, his father did.

  Up until this point in his life and working toward getting his button for the Guzzi Cosa Nostra, Bene had been spoiled. Privileged, really, because of his last name and the fact he was one of the youngest sons of the Guzzi Don. Unlike others, who worked their way into the family from the ground up, Bene had only answered to his father and older brothers, most of the time, with a couple of Capos thrown into the mix as a mentor to him.

  His right, he was told once.

  At the same time, he’d been warned this would happen, too. That at some point, he would be all or nothing in this family and business. That his status as a Guzzi son would afford him little to nothing compared to others trying to get their in, and he would have to earn it the same way every other man did, too.

  Bene hadn’t been ready.

  He blamed himself for that.

  A part of him wondered if that was Marcus’s point. To keep him so busy that he didn’t even have time to worry about his problems or trying to find the solution to them at the bottom of a goddamn bottle.

  But who knew?

  Not Bene.

  He didn’t get to ask questions.

  Not anymore.

  Bene drummed his fingers against the leather-wrapped steering wheel of his Lambo—a car he’d painted bright red so that everybody and anybody would see him coming, and know it was him just by the distinct color and car alone. His father had been quick to point out the car was a little ostentatious, and drew too much attention, but he never said to get rid of it, and Bene considered that a win.

  It was also serving him well when Marcus called to demand Bene drive all the way across the city to meet him at the back of a barber shop—one he’d never heard of before—in a time frame that
would have been impossible in any other vehicle except his Lambo. He was thanking that goddamn upgrade he had done to the engine shortly after he bought it for that extra fifty horsepower under the hood.

  Still don’t know why I’m coming to this place tonight, though.

  Yeah, his thoughts were still hell.

  That couldn’t be helped.

  Bene pulled his vehicle into the rear parking lot of the barber shop that … well, didn’t look like it had been open in years, if the plywood covering the windows was any indication. Even the red and white pole—no longer spinning in its cracked glass case—seemed as though it was on its last legs.

  What is this place?

  And why was he here?

  Bene noticed the cars parked in the lot first, and his brother standing at the doors second. Marcus, that was. He recognized the vehicles, too, as belonging to Capos of the family, an enforcer or two that were lucky enough to get their in to the family, and his brothers’, Marcus and Christopher, as well.

  Not to mention, his father’s coveted, custom Rolls-Royce.

  The second Bene stepped out of the car, Marcus arched a brow, and smiled faintly from his position on the sidewalk. He’d be a liar if he said a part of him didn’t want to wipe that fucking smirk from his older brother’s face.

  If only because …

  “Do you enjoy making me run all over the city like a cafone?” he asked.

  Marcus shrugged one suit-covered shoulder. “My right, no?”

  “Well—”

  “And their right. The boss thought you needed a reminder about what this life was really like, and just how lucky you had it, Bene.”

  He understood a lot of things then.

  First, his brother called Gian the boss. Not dad, or papa, like he usually would when they had a conversation about their father, and words mattered. Right now, words mattered more, and calling him the boss meant only one thing.

  This wasn’t family time.

  This was business.

  “What’s going on?” Bene asked.

  “We needed to make sure you could clean up your act, and get back to business before someone vouched for you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”