Barresi: Emily Trilogy: A New Orleans Mafia Romance

by Lux Miller

  I wince and turn my head, trying to escape his touch, but he doesn’t falter. “I know that Andre wasn’t wooing socialites for those diamonds he tried to pay me off with. I suspect you’re the one who stole them for him.”

  I close my eyes as tears prick at them. Feeling my jaw tense, I grind out the words that I know could cause him to pull the trigger and end my defiance, “We all steal something, Barresi. At least I leave my victims alive.”

  His face blanches as he turns his attention back to me. “What did you say?”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I stick my nose in the air, refusing to answer any more of his questions. “Get up,” he snarls at me.

  I blink at him, confusion written across my face. My gaze flicks back and forth between the two men, but their expressions are impossible to read. The one pinning me to the bar takes a step back. I suck in a deep breath that I was too afraid to take while his body was so close to mine. He lets go of my hands and grabs my shoulder roughly, dragging me to a sitting position on top of the bar.

  Luca attempts to brush errant strands of hair out of my face. I snap my jaws at him, narrowly missing his hand with my teeth. A short bark of laughter pours out of his mouth as his face lights up with glee. “She’s a feisty one. Get the car, Dante.”

  Dante stutters as he stares incredulously at Luca. “You want me to do what? What about the girl? The Boss said…”

  Luca holds up a hand, silencing Dante. “I am the boss right now. I make the call. You would do well to remember who I am. Get the car.”

  Dante nods his head at Luca and disappears outside. Luca tugs me down off the bar and grabs hold of my wrist firmly. He snatches my other arm and jerks it behind me. Before I realize what he’s doing, he’s bound my hands together behind my back. There's sharp plastic biting into the fleshy parts of my wrists. I struggle against the bindings and turn to meet his face full-on. “Are you going to kill me or not?”

  Luca watches me struggle against what I guess is a zip tie. He grabs hold of my wrists and pushes me forward. I stumble along the floor, chancing a glance back at Andre. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s dead. I can’t say he didn’t deserve it. In fact, death may have been too good for him. What’s done is done, though. The only person I can try to save now is me.

  As we reach the doorway leading outside, I twist my body and desperately grab for purchase on the doorframe of the shattered door. I manage to get two fingers wrapped about the splintered wood, but Luca’s strength far outweighs my own. He pulls my fingers loose with little effort. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against his body.

  I gasp as I feel the rigid edges of his muscles pressing into my back. Despite the hopelessness of the situation, I squirm and writhe in his arms. He groans softly in my ear, tightening his grip on me. “Don’t.”

  I stop for a moment and glance back at him. From this angle, the beauty of the man is apparent. His nose is straight and regal. His chin is strong and flanked by chiseled cheekbones. He's stubbled with dark facial hair that obscures at least one scar that I can see. Up close, his eyes are a bone-chilling shade of grey that is so light, they almost look like polished stones. His dark, wavy hair falls into his face from the struggle against my flailing body. And his hair isn’t the only thing affected by our tango. Though it isn't obvious to anyone else, I can feel his erection pressed against the small of my back. He twists my arms enough to lull me into submission.

  Groaning in pain, I murmur, “I’m not going anywhere with you. If you’re going to kill me, just do it already.”

  His hand slides around my face, covering my mouth. I open my mouth to bite down on his hand, but instead of flesh, I find myself biting into wet cotton. Immediately, I feel my eyes begin to droop, but my will to survive is strong. I twist against him, desperately trying to free myself from his grasp. With each passing moment, my eyelids grow heavier. I push myself back against him, trying to gain the upper hand, but even I realize that I’m fighting a losing battle.

  His lips brush against the outer shell of my ear and I feel a surge of electricity jolt straight to my core. He whispers in a velvety voice, “The more you struggle, the harder this will be for you. Relax and let the sleep take you.”

  I clench my thighs together as his voice slides down my spine. It lights something deep within me that I haven’t felt in years, if ever. He ignites a desire that clouds my mind as I become dizzy, slumping against his strong body. The last thing I remember is him wrapping his arms around my body and hoisting me into the air as the darkness envelops me and pulls me under.

  THREE

  Emily shuddered as the man’s hard body pressed against hers. She bit down on her bottom lip to quell the arousal that coiled in her core. This was no time to be swooning over tall, dark, and handsome. Above all else, he was dangerous. She clenched her thighs together underneath his weight and shifted on the cold, hard surface.

  He growled in response, tightening his hand around her delicate wrists. He had them pinned over her head with ease with one hand. His other held the muzzle of a gun against her temple. Though the erection pressing against her hip suggested otherwise, this man was in no mood for seduction.

  His eyes blazed with fury as he leaned his face down so close to hers that she could smell his aftershave. A sharp note of sandalwood mixed soap infiltrated her senses and made her swoon. His breath on her face was hot as he muttered in rapid Italian, the words nonsense to Emily’s shocked brain.

  She squirmed underneath him, turning her face so her cheek rested on the cold surface underneath her. If she was going to die, this was a hell of a way to go. Pinned underneath a brute of a man that was startlingly handsome, even if he was a demon.

  Minutes ticked by as she squeezed her eyes shut and prepared for the end, but the end never came. Instead of pulling the trigger, he yanked her off the bar. He bound her hands, then dragged her out of the place she had called home for the last ten years.

  She’d fought against him and they had tussled in the parking lot. At least until he’d clamped his hand over her mouth and her world had gone black. She was now at the mercy of the mob… and they weren’t known to be forgiving…

  I shoot up from a dead sleep, my chest heaving with dread. Yanking my hands in front of me, a wave of relief washes over me once I realize that my hands are no longer bound behind me. The evidence of my bindings is there though. Angry red lines cut across both of my wrists. The welts where the bastard zip-tied me like a hog are raised and sore to the touch.

  I wince as I dig my fingernails into the redness and bite down on my bottom lip to silence the yelp. Sighing, I check myself over for any other signs of injury or trauma. All the clothes I was wearing when that jerk abducted me are still in place. I breathe a sigh of relief. It appears as though he was a gentleman in that regard at least. Even my worn sneakers are still laced with the signature double-eared knot I always use to tie my shoes.

  Apparently, he just kidnapped me and dropped me off in a random room for safekeeping. I’ve heard that the mafia isn’t keen on leaving behind witnesses and I saw three murders last night. Andre was definitely dead when we left. Skeeter and Gizmo, the club’s bouncers, were in a bad way in pools of blood when Barresi dragged me out of the club. I can only assume that the pair of gunshots I heard as I was dragged under by some kind of drug, was their end.

  I glance around the room, realizing that I am not hidden in a basement dungeon. That’s a plus at least. It’s dark in the room, but not pitch black. The double window across the room lets in a bit of moonlight. If I squint, I can make out the outlines of what appears to be furniture. I look around myself and I realize that I am on the floor, a twisted blanket dangling in front of me.

  I follow my gaze up along the blanket and find that it is hanging off the edge of a bed. I can’t tell what color the bed may be from where I’m sprawled on the floor, but it appears to be big. My heart thunders in my chest as apprehension crawls up my throat. Did he take me to bed with him? />
  I crawl to my feet and glance over at the bed, solace blooming from inside my chest as I realize that it is empty… and purple. Not likely to be the bedroom of a mafia heir. Something else tugs at my insides and I shake my head with shame. Disappointment takes up residence the moment that my relief subsides.

  Am I truly so damaged from my circumstances that I’m saddened at the fact that I didn’t wake up next to him? Have I truly fallen so far from Grace that the thought of sleeping with a monster gets my motor running? The twinge I feel in my lower belly answers my question. My panties are damp just thinking about him and the way he exuded confidence and reckless danger.

  Groaning, I shove my hands over my face. It’s embarrassing to think I’m attracted to a man like that, but it’s been seven years since I’ve felt the intimacy of a man. The nightly visits from Andre were never something I wanted, but it became something my body craved. Something it began to need. I may have hated the act and hated the man, but I did not hate the physical pleasure that racked my body. Even at fifteen, I understood the powerful emotions that sex created. Whether good or bad, love or hate, it stirred up passion.

  “God, I’m so messed up,” I mumble aloud to the room. Groaning I walk over to the bed and sit down. Just as I bend over to remove my shoes, I hear a voice from the doorway.

  “Good to see you’re awake, miss. Thought the boss might’ve knocked you out for good."

  I freeze in place, my fingers tangled in my shoelaces. The voice isn’t familiar, but it’s deep and strangely comforting. When the man doesn’t say anything else, I look up and see a shadowy figure standing in the doorway. He’s holding something in his hands, but I can’t tell what it is from here.

  Swallowing, I mumble, “I...uh...yeah, I’m awake.” I blink as he flicks on the overhead light. Once my eyes adjust to the sudden onslaught of light, I resume my task, kicking both of my shoes off. They tumble to the floor in a worn out heap. I sigh as I look down at the socks with holes where my toes poke out. Blushing, I try to hide my feet as the man steps into the room and slowly approaches the bed.

  Something in my gut tells me to run, try to sneak past the man and out of the room. I cast my eyes to the door, then back to the man and he lumbers over to me. He’s older, probably late forties or early fifties. His hair is sandy brown and has hints of grey at the temples. There is an air of authority about him that sets my nerves on edge.

  Giving in to the wild notions smattering about in my head, I jump off the bed and make a mad dash for the open doorway. I make it about five steps before thick arms corded with muscle halt me in my tracks. I gasp, coughing as the wind whooshes out of my lungs. He may be older, but the man is incredibly agile in his movements. He’s also built like a tree, supporting my weight with a single arm as I slump over him.

  He walks over to the bed and deposits me back into its inviting softness with a chuckle. “You won’t be getting out that way, miss. Even if you get past me, which isn’t likely, there’s ten more guys just like me. They are heavily armed and under strict instructions that nobody leaves without the Boss’s permission. They’re more likely to shoot first and ask questions later. I’d recommend staying put if I were you.”

  There isn’t an ounce of malice in his matter-of-fact tone. He’s just stating it like it is. Of course, someone of Barresi’s influence would surround himself with men that could snap me in half without even trying. Glaring at the man, I grunt and cross my arms over my chest.

  He’s trying to hide a smile as I act like a petulant child. But he’s unable to keep the corners of his mouth from tugging up in response to my insolence. He shakes his head quickly and motions to the stack of what appears to be clothes that he set on the edge of the bed. He glances at a door across the room and smiles. “There’s an ensuite bathroom through there if you’d like to get yourself cleaned up and feeling human again.”

  Scowling, I turn my nose up. “And if I refuse? Maybe I enjoy smelling like a sewer rat that’s been drowned in a bottle of beer.”

  The man snorts, then regains his composure and squats down in front of me. He grabs my chin between his thumb and index finger and tugs my face down to meet his. He shakes his head as a smile spreads over his lips. With his other hand, he picks mine up and drops it onto the pile of garments.

  His voice is calm and collected, but there’s a warning in his tone as he responds, “Boss expects you to be presentable. I’d recommend the shower, or a bath if you desire. You’ll find all the necessary toiletries in there. The clothes belong to his sister and are a few years old, but if you find them unacceptable, I can ask Dante to loan you some.”

  I swallow nervously and nod at the man. His presence in the room gnaws at me and confirms that I am a prisoner. The least he can do is let me shower in peace. I stand up off the bed and snag my hoodie in my hands, lifting it up and over my head. As I drop it to the floor, he blinks awkwardly at me.

  I smirk at him as my flimsy crop top clings to my body. “Do I at least get some, uh… privacy? So I can, you know… get naked? Or are you required to watch that too?”

  The man shakes his head and stands, looking uncomfortable. He turns his back on me, his foot tapping nervously on the carpet. “As much privacy as I can give you, miss. And before you try it, the window’s locked and alarmed. If you somehow figure out a way around both, we’re on the second story. The jump would likely cause grave injuries and you’ll be shot before you make it to the gates, anyway.”

  The noise that escapes my lips is about as unrefined as it gets. I whip the crop top over my head and lay it over my index finger. I pull the rest back and let go of it, smirking as it flops onto his shoulder. He murmurs something inaudible as he brushes it off his shoulder and makes his way to the doorway.

  Without turning around to look at me, he responds to my immaturity in a way that sends blood rushing to my cheeks. “Miss, if you think you’re going to get special treatment here by flinging yourself at every man who looks at you, you’ll find yourself sorely mistaken. Boss didn’t bring you here to occupy his bed. He has no trouble finding women willing to do anything and everything. It’d serve you well to act like a lady while you’re under his roof. He may be more forgiving than his father, but don’t mistake his clemency for humanity. I assure you, he is every bit the demon they say he is. ”

  The door bangs closed behind him, rattling the pictures hung on the walls. Several clicks echo through the room and I realize that I am locked into the small, but well-appointed bedroom. The bed was comfortable enough. It's dressed with exquisitely soft fabrics that coordinate in tones of purple and pink. The furniture is sparse, but it appears to be antique. A dresser flanks one wall while a small vanity with attached mirror adorns the other.

  I want to hate it. I want to scream and rip the pictures from the wall. I want to topple over the furniture and gouge it with my fingernails. Butt the truth is, this is the nicest room I’ve even been in. While trashing it would be fulfilling, I’d rather have the comfort that the room emanates instead.

  Stripping out of the rest of my clothes, I snatch up the stack he left for me and wander into the bathroom. As promised, it is a standard issue bathroom. Digging under the sink, I find clean towels and half-filled bottles of shampoo and body wash. It’s not what I’m used to, but it will do. Anything is better than smelling like Bourbon Street. It’s not that Andre kept us in filth. But when your job is to mingle with people who smell like cheap liquor and cigarettes, it’s best not to go in smelling like exotic fruits and florals.

  I stare at myself in the mirror and groan. I look horrible. In addition to the grime that clings to my skin, my eyes have dark circles underneath them, and my hair hangs limply over my shoulders. Even the blue of my eyes is dull and lifeless. It's something closer to an overcast day than the sapphire blue that normally greets me in the mirror.

  Leaning over the sink, I poke at my face and swipe my hand over my cheeks. I shudder when a layer of dirt smudges away, revealing several freckles that dot my n
ose. My tawny skin is muddied with the grime of New Orleans, but it’s nothing a quick shower won’t fix.

  I turn the water on as hot as I can tolerate it and step under the spray, groaning as it sears my skin and turns it hot pink. Squirting some of the goopy gel onto my hands, I take care to soap up every inch of my body before I stand underneath the stream of water to rinse.

  I’m unable to stop the moan that falls from my lips as my hands brush over my puckered nipples. Barresi has never once in our brief knowledge of each other made a pass at me. Sure, me squirming against him made him get a hard-on, but that would have happened to any man. It’s rare that a man can withstand a female’s ass pressed against him and not have a reaction. But every time my hands brush over the sensitive nubs, my eyes snap closed and I imagine his hands there instead of mine.

  I don’t even care that my primal sounds of pleasure are ricocheting off the walls. If he’s going to keep me here as his prisoner, he’s going to have to get used to hearing me express pleasure. He may not be the one between my legs, but a girl’s always got her hands. I prefer not to go more than a day or two without an orgasm. With the lack of male attention for the last seven years, I’ve gotten to know my own body very well. It won’t take long for me to bring myself over the edge.