Hitman's Bride (Bad Boy Empire)

by Vanessa Waltz

  “You will not do that again.”

  The voice he uses sends a stab of pain to my heart.

  “I won’t.”

  “Good,” he says, his harsh voice blowing over my face. “This is not an equal relationship, hon. You do what I say for your own fucking good.”

  A blaze of anger rears up inside me at those words. What the fuck is he talking about? “Fuck you. I do whatever the hell I want.”

  “That’s all in the past, babe. You’re not a princess anymore, you’re mine. Mine to play with, mine to fuck, mine to protect. Say it.”

  Heat burns my face, but then he crushes his lips against mine, devouring me as his tongue plays inside my mouth. His hand grabs my neck with a slightly firm grip, almost as if he meant to hold me down and claim me as he said he would. His fingers spread over my skin and drag down my chest, over the swell of my breast as he finally grabs the entire thing and squeezes. A small groan vibrates from his mouth as I arch into his touch. Everything about him drives me mad. Half of the time I want to slap him as much as I want to fuck him. He pulls back, a confident smirk playing on his lips as he watches me struggle.

  Who am I fucking kidding?

  “I’m yours.”

  “Say it all.”

  I purse my lips. He will not make me say it all. Then he reaches somewhere and touches a button on the vibrator, and it suddenly triples in speed. Oh fuck. Fuck. Something thick and hard—I need it now. My muscles clench over the device as it teases, never quite delivering what I exactly need.

  “I’m yours—Tony, please!”

  Soft laughter rains down on me as he turns the device off and slides it out of me. My legs tremble as I hear the sound of his clothes hitting the floor in muffled thumps.

  He climbs over the bed, the mattress squeaking as he crawls over me. His entire body is bared to me, but I can’t touch him. Instead, he touches me. It’s all a lesson. He’s in control, not me.

  A single finger rides up my stomach, between my breasts, and up my throat. Then his hand curls around my neck and I’m bursting with frustration.

  Fuck me, already.

  “You still can’t fucking let go, can you? What do I have to do to you, huh?”

  I open my mouth to speak, but he silences me with a finger.

  “No—not a fucking word until you submit to me.”

  His weight bears down on me, and his cock flattens against my stomach. Long, thick, impossibly rigid. A low whine leaves my throat as I imagine what it’d feel like. Fucking hell.

  Restrained, but not immobile, I shiver as he wetly kisses my throat, his stubble scratching my skin. Then another kiss bites the base of my neck and I gasp as he makes a sucking sound. His lips smile as he pulls back and looks at it.

  Another hickey. Goddamn it.

  “I will not fuck you until you tell me what I want to hear.”

  His knees nudge my legs, making them open wide as he begins to rock his body, sliding his cock up and down my aching pussy.

  This is ridiculous. I’m Elena Vittorio, not some—not some mob wife for him to order around.

  Then his tongue darts out, teasing the very tip of my hard nipple, which contracts at his touch. It’s a searing sensation—a direct line to my arousal. He watches my reaction, smiles, and then he takes my breast in his mouth, biting down hard. I let out a gasp of pain, and his teeth withdraw. The wet, strong muscle teases my nipple, playing as he closes his mouth over it and sucks.

  Oh God.

  “Tony, please.”

  He bites the nipple hard and it’s like another searing shock, and his cock is right there, rubbing against me. I’m ready for him.

  He grabs my face, his words almost hostile. “Say the fucking words.”

  “Tony, I—I’m in love with you. I’ll do anything.”

  Shock ripples through his face for a moment and he pauses, looking horribly frozen. Then he grunts and moves his hips, burying his face in my neck as he slides right in. It feels like home, and my heart still pounds so hard that it hurts, because I told him that I loved him.

  He didn’t say it back.

  He didn’t.

  I lift my legs as he fucks me mercilessly, pounding my aching pussy as he breathes harshly in my neck. Feeling him throb inside me is like paradise. I can’t remember the last time I felt so connected to someone. He’s the father of my child. I love him just for that.

  Then he comes hard, his cock ramming me so completely that I gasp in pain, loving that deep groan that growls in my ear. His hot breath steams my neck as he pulses inside me, the wetness flooding my pussy. He pulls back and kisses me hard as he thrusts deep, our sweat mingling together as he breaks our kiss to pant against my lips. There’s something different shining in his eyes as he smiles at me. I’ve never seen it before.

  “Thank you, Elena.”

  The voice is so weak that I’m surprised it’s coming from his chest.

  “For what?”

  “For making me care about something.”

  * * *

  It’s different between us.

  I can’t place it, can’t put a finger on it.

  It’s enough just to sit in his lap and hear his voice rumbling through my back. I’ve never felt so at peace with his arm around my waist, his chin over my shoulder. Maybe it’s because he’s so big, but I always feel safe in his arms. He plants an occasional kiss on my neck, and I glow inside. I flip through a catalog of baby-related shit we’ll have to buy, and Tony tenses underneath me.

  It’s still not real for him.

  “I just don’t know,” he admits in a low voice. “I don’t know if I’ll be ready.”

  I turn around in his lap, confronting his slightly worried gaze. It’s not like him to be insecure, but how can anyone be secure about this?

  “I don’t even know if I’ll be ready.”

  He lets out a short laugh. “If you’re not, we’re definitely fucked.”

  “It’s normal to be scared.”

  He winces at the word. “I just don’t want to fuck it up.”

  Gentle fingers brush over my belly and a light flickers in his eyes. Tony stands up with me in his arms and I slip down his waist, clutching his chest as he pulls a wad of cash from his jeans. He counts a small handful of bills and hands them to me. There has to be at least a thousand dollars in there.

  “I’ve got to go. Use it to buy some of this shit. Go with one of your girlfriends.”

  He hurriedly plants a kiss on my cheek and my heart squeezes as he gives me a wink and walks down the hall.

  “Where are you going?”

  He only smiles at me. Ah. Fine.

  “I’ll be back late.”

  TONY

  “I’ll be back late,” I tell her.

  If I come back at all.

  My finger rests over the trigger of my Glock as I close the door and descend the steps of my apartment. Purpose floods my veins as I walk toward my car. I unlock the door and slide in, starting the car. The car roars as I pull out of the parallel parking and drive toward Montmartre, away from my home in Plateau so that I can meet that stupid fuck, who still texts Elena.

  It wasn’t all right when she was my girl, but now that she’s my wife—my actually pregnant wife—I need to end that douchebag once and for all.

  He needs to die.

  My mind was made up the moment I saw that fucking look of entitlement on his face at the sit-down. He insulted me, and my blood boils just thinking about how he made me look like an asshole in front of my superiors.

  I’ll kill the piece of shit, and I won’t be quick about it, either. I’ll take my goddamn time and listen to him whine and bitch and beg me for his life.

  And that means going against Johnny’s orders.

  Hell, it’s not as if we haven’t killed wise guys before without permission. Guys get killed all the time. You get a bunch of hotheads in a room with guns, and some of them have arguments, and before you know it, one of them is dead. Once, a made guy from the Algiere family calle
d Pierre an asshole while we were playing cards, and the crazy fuck shot him in the chest. Just like that—BAM—and he was gone. He was a made guy. We had to bury him where no one could ever find him. No body? No proof he was murdered.

  It’s that simple.

  I stop the car and park, looking for a male form on the street as I get out of the car and duck behind the pork store.

  I recovered the SIM card from Elena’s phone after I smashed it, and I use it to keep tabs on that motherfucker. The violent shit he sends her makes me sick to my stomach to read, but mostly it’s just like dumping a gallon of gasoline on fire. I’ve been dying to beat the piss out of this asshole for weeks. My fists are aching for action.

  My fingers fly over my cell phone as I slide in the SIM card, ignoring the fresh wave of violent text messages. Shit, I should be allowed to whack him based on what he says here:

  Your fucking boyfriend is dead, you dumb bitch

  I will be in my son’s life. You can’t stop me.

  I grin to myself. My son’s life. Dumb fuck.

  A cold feeling pricks over my bare skin and my head snaps up. A nauseated, vulnerable feeling slowly grips my insides, and I don’t even bother hiding my gun. I shove the cell phone down my pocket and hold the gun with both hands, glancing down deserted white streets.

  The gun slips in my cold, clammy fingers and I tighten the grip as I search behind the line of cars on the street. I don’t know why the fuck I feel like this.

  Like I’m about to be jumped.

  Maybe there was a flash of something—chrome. There it is. Just out of sight, peeking from the end of the block. The throttle of several motorcycle engines guns through my chest and I dive behind my car without thinking as explosions crash around me. The bikes scream down the street, and I know I’m going to die. Outnumbered.

  I’m going to fucking die just like my dad.

  No.

  I hurl myself over the hood of my car and aim at fleeing chrome. Pop. Pop. Something slams into my right shoulder, numbing my arm as the bike goes down in a shower of sparks, rolling over the man.

  I’m hit.

  The sounds of screeching tires barely register in my head as I wheel toward the next one, determined to take as many down with me as I can. If I die, they all fucking die. A bearded old fuck with a 20-gauge shotgun in his hands aims at me, and I fire at his face before he can touch the trigger. The back of his head explodes with pink mist, showering the pristine white snow. It’s almost beautiful.

  Another punch, this time to my leg, and I crumple to the ground. This time I don’t get angry. I get really fucked scared. My mind fills with images of Elena—Elena’s belly growing bigger, Elena with the baby, rocking it to sleep as her long, beautiful hair hangs over the crib. And then a single cry screams inside my head: My wife—my baby!

  Is this what Dad thought before he went?

  The blows rain on my head. They flatten me down until I can’t think—I can’t think of a single word except this phrase running in my head, and panic that I’ve never known floods my lungs, or maybe it’s blood. I can’t breathe.

  I can’t—

  ELENA

  Shopping bags weigh down my shoulders as I descend the stairs to the metro. Melanie, also bogged with wildly swinging bags, follows me.

  “Thanks for coming with me.” I sigh as the white strings of shopping bags slacken around my shoulders as I slide into a plastic seat. Melanie gives me a similar look of relief as she sits down, the shopping bags crowded around our legs.

  “No problem. It’s probably the closest I’ll ever get to having the same experience.” She gives me a kind of a sad smile as I look at her. “Tommy’s not really the fatherly type.”

  Thinking of Tony, I smile. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

  I shoot off a quick text to him, telling him that I’m heading home just as the subway lurches forward. My phone buzzes and I read his response:

  Dinner better be fucking ready when I get back home.

  I snort to myself when I read that. He’s joking, right?

  It’ll be ready when it’s ready. We just got done shopping.

  The message comes back frighteningly quickly, as if he’s watching the screen, just waiting for me to reply.

  You’ll have it ready when I get home or you’ll get my hand across your face. Or a belt.

  The hostility in the message runs right through me like a sword. What the hell is with him? Cold horror ripples through my stomach and I don’t hear the roar of the subway, or Melanie’s chatter in my ear.

  Then another text pops up on the screen:

  It’s your choice.

  They’re the same words Rafael used to hiss in my ear.

  Oh God. No, please don’t let that mean what I think it does.

  The phone clatters to the floor.

  Dimly I hear Melanie’s reproving yell. “Elena!” When I make no move, Melanie picks it up for me. “What’s wrong?”

  He fucking got him. He has Tony. Why else would Rafael’s voice come out of Tony’s phone?

  “Oh my God.”

  “Jesus, what’s wrong?” Melanie’s whitened face turns toward me.

  Panic spikes my heart as a horrible image of Tony’s bloodied body flashes in front of my eyes. No, I can’t lose him. I cannot fucking lose him!

  “We have to hurry—I have to go home, now!”

  “We’re on our way,” she says in a bewildered tone. “Will you tell me what the hell’s going on?”

  I look at the subway map, the French names blurring as tears spill from my eyes. Three stops. Three fucking stops.

  “Something happened to Tony.”

  “What? I didn’t see—” she looks at my phone and reads the texts, biting her lip. “I—don’t see anything suspicious—”

  “It’s the sort of thing my ex would say. He has Tony’s phone, which means that—” I can’t bear to finish the sentence, but my voice chokes off in a sob.

  He’s probably dead.

  “Whoa, don’t you think you might be overreacting?”

  I stare at her as impatient rage fumes in my chest. “No, I’m not! I know my ex and I know Tony—this isn’t the way he talks to me.”

  I stand up as the door hisses open to my stop, but Melanie grabs my arm and forces me down.

  She flinches when I glare at her. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “We’re not going to your apartment!”

  People filter out of the car as I struggle with her. “Let go of me!” I snatch my arm from her grip.

  “Listen to me. If you’re right—”

  My voice rises in a snarl. “I know I’m right.”

  Her hand reaches out and closes over my wrist, her fingers biting me. “Then he could be waiting for you there. It’s too dangerous.”

  She’s right. I don’t stand a chance against my ex. He’s probably just hoping I’ll take the bait and run back home.

  The door hisses shut and for some reason the image of a coffin lid closing for the last time burns in my head. A wave of crushing despair slams into my shoulders from above, like a heavy weight. My knees strike the ground. The car echoes with my sobs as passengers give me concerned looks.

  Melanie’s gentle hand falls on my head. “Hey, you don’t know what happened. It could be a prank or—or something.”

  My eyes burn as I stare at the phone screen, the words bleeding as my eyes well up. I know exactly what happened. That bastard found Tony and probably took him by surprise, and by now he’s probably—he’s gone. Thrown in a ditch somewhere or buried. Jesus—the pain in my heart feels as if it’s going to kill me.

  No, I can’t accept that. I sit and gulp down air as my lungs contract. Melanie grips my shoulder hard and whispers in my ear all the bullshit that she thinks will help me feel better.

  “We’ll find Tony. Tommy might know something.”

  Melanie gets on the phone with her boyfriend as I shake in the seat, staring ahead but not really seeing anything. The phone is ho
t in my hand, and a wave of nausea overcomes me when I look at it. It’s contaminated. It’s an extension of the man who did nothing but abuse me for months, and now he’s extinguished the only light in my life.

  Fucking hell, get a grip on yourself.

  Trembling a bit on my feet, I walk out of the car with Melanie fast on my heels. Shopping bags bounce against my legs as I hurtle up the stairs. A silver Mercedes rolls against the curb and Tommy’s anxious head leans toward the window.

  “Get in.”

  Melanie opens the trunk while I shove the bags inside and then I climb in the backseat as Melanie joins him in the front.

  “Tommy—have you heard from Tony?”

  He gazes at me from the rear-view mirror. “No, sorry.”

  “We need to find him. I think Rafael might have—” the breath hitches in my throat and I swallow hard, clearing it, “might have done something to him.”

  Tommy’s eyes widen as he pulls from the curb and drives us away. “What makes you say that?”

  Melanie gives me an anxious look as I pull up the text messages. “The texts he sent me are not from Tony, they’re from Rafael.”

  It boils my blood to see him raise his eyebrows as though I’m being overdramatic. We stop at a light and he seizes the phone, scrolling through them. Then he shrugs.

  My heart sinks.

  “I don’t see what’s the big deal—”

  “Tony would not talk to me like that!” I snarl at him.

  “Actually, Elena, I’ve known him for longer than you have. This doesn’t really surprise me.”

  My nails dig into my palms as he hands me back my phone. A powerless feeling throbs in my chest. Tony’s out there, somewhere. Injured. In pain. He needs me to fight for him.

  “Tommy, I’m telling you, Rafael kidnapped him. I need your fucking help!”

  Suspicious eyes from the mirror narrow at me. “Elena, you’re overreacting. If anything, he’s drunk. Men are jerks when they’re drunk.”

  “No, I’m telling you, that’s not it.”

  “Tommy, just bring her to the fucking bar,” Melanie finally yells.

  He gives her a dark look. “Fine, but you might not like what you see there.”