Seeking Vengeance: Possessive Mafia Romance (Hunting - Mafia Romance Book 1)

by Eden Summers

  “I’m a businessman.” He takes a sip of scotch, his gaze never leaving mine. “With a vested interest in what the Costas are up to.”

  He’s a force to be reckoned with as well. An enigma. He’s got me intrigued. Cautious yet captivated. I want to learn everything there is to know about this man. And I have a sense he feels the same about me.

  “You’re in the fashion industry?” I could buy that. He’s certainly dressed well enough. “You’re obviously not local if you’re staying in a hotel.”

  “I live in D.C. But no, I’m not on the fashion scene. I’m more on the hospitality side of things.”

  It’s my turn to grin. “You’re being very vague, Matthew.”

  “Me?” He snickers, smooth and deep. “I’ve told you where I live, the industry I work in, and what hotel I’m staying at. Yet all I’ve learned in return is your ability to bewitch me with that stunning dress.”

  My heart kicks, thumping and throbbing. His player game is on point, and I’m loath to admit it’s chipping away at my defenses. It’s been too long since I had a man’s attention.

  Since I had any attention.

  I reach for the wine, throwing caution to the wind as the liquid coats my tongue, the taste far more exquisite than what I’d been served at the fancy restaurant.

  “Don’t worry, I’m a patient man.” His gaze dips to my mouth and I can’t stop my tongue from swiping out to moisten my lower lip. “I don’t give up easily.”

  The thumping and throbbing increases, pounding in my ears.

  “I’m going to settle on my first assumption.” His smirk returns. “You’re a scorned lover out for revenge. Or, better yet, you’re an opportunist, trying to secure a wealthy future by winning over one of the Costa heirs.”

  He’s goading me and that’s okay. He’s not the only one who can play games.

  “Maybe.” I cross my legs and the split in my dress parts, exposing skin all the way to the bottom of my hip. “Do you think I’d have much success?”

  His attention lowers to my thigh, his nostrils flaring. “Amore mio, you could take down an entire empire with your beauty.”

  I press my lips together, unsure how to respond.

  I’m thrumming. Buzzing. Brought to life.

  Benji never looked at me this way. At least, not once we found out I was pregnant after what was meant to be a one-night stand. He’d been sentenced to a future of parenthood and criminal activity due to an unplanned conception, but not once did I blame him for the resentment he spent years trying to hide.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Matthew asks.

  I glance away to regain my composure.

  My late husband deserves more from me than this. Even though our marriage was forced, we still grew to love each other. We might have even grown into one of those all-consuming romances if we weren’t so much alike—both ignorant and stubborn in all the wrong places.

  “No.” I keep my gaze averted as I take another sip of wine. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

  “I’ve upset you, which only brings me back to the belief you’re a scorned lover.”

  I sigh. “What makes you think that?”

  “Your eyes. I can see the emotional toll of whatever they put you through. The pain runs deep.”

  I don’t correct him. It’s better if he thinks I’m brokenhearted over one of Emmanuel’s sons than to dive into the sticky depths of the truth.

  “How did they not recognize you?” There’s genuine curiosity in his voice. “You do realize they had their own security duo watching from both sides of the room, right?”

  No, I hadn’t known.

  Goddamnit.

  “That’s why I had Bishop intervene when you stood to leave,” he adds. “Although the family were on their way out the door, one of their guards still watched the room.”

  My failure continues to compile, the pressure growing heavier.

  “How did they not recognize you?” he repeats. “Surely no man could forget a body like yours.”

  I smile despite knowing he’s buttering me up for information. “I had a slight disguise.” I remove the glasses, placing them on the table between us, then the colored contacts, and finally start to unfasten my wig, letting my dark hair tumble free.

  I ruffle the long strands between my fingers and spy my reflection in the window, making sure I’m somewhat respectable.

  When Matthew doesn’t comment, I return my attention to his, curious at what brought on his silence.

  He stares, his attention intense. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but I find this version even more stunning.”

  The rampant flutters in my belly rise to my chest. My throat. I swallow, hard, struggling to fight his seduction as I dump the wig on the table.

  “You’re gorgeous.” He studies me.

  My hair.

  My eyes.

  My mouth.

  Wherever his attention strays, heat follows, scorching me from the inside out.

  He scoots his chair to the side so the table no longer stands between us and leans forward, his elbows falling to his knees, his dark focus unwavering. “Spend the night with me.”

  He asks with such surprising simplicity.

  No, it’s a subtle demand, the underlying conviction holding a curious hint of what sounds like awe.

  Declining is the only option. Yet, I still find myself pausing to daydream about what a different future could hold. The two of us forging a bond through a common goal of destruction. Him protecting me from my enemies. His hands on my body. His words even more evocative behind closed doors.

  I shiver from the possibilities, the thrill touching every nerve.

  “Say yes,” he whispers. “And I promise to make those men a fading memory.”

  6

  Matthew

  She grins, the curve of lips the prelude to a rejection. “You don’t even know my name.”

  “I don’t need to.”

  I’ll find out everything soon enough. Her name. Her intent.

  “I could be anyone,” she continues. “That doesn’t concern you?”

  That’s exactly why I want to crawl on top of her, where I’m at my best. I’ll learn her secrets through her body, and we’ll both enjoy every second of it.

  “I already know enough.”

  She’s cunning. Determined. She may not be the best undercover agent, but she has potential. She’s also holding out on me. I’m hungry to know what information is hidden behind those mesmerizing eyes.

  “And would your friend join us?” she asks.

  She’s messing with me now. Playing.

  I grin, appreciating her sass. “I’m sure he wouldn’t decline the proposition.”

  She laughs, the sadness I glimpsed moments earlier disappearing with the flash of a perfect smile. “You’re too much.”

  “Just wait until I start seducing you.”

  “You mean that’s not what you’ve been trying to do since we met?”

  “This has merely been conversation. If I were intent on seduction, you’d know about it.”

  Her laughter fades, but that smile settles in place, almost blinding in its humble simplicity. “I’m not so sure about that. I’ve never met a man who oozes seduction more than you do. I can’t imagine how you could increase the severity.”

  Challenge accepted, amore mio.

  I shove the table to the side and lunge forward, grabbing her chair legs around the outside of her calves. She squeals as I drag the furniture toward me, not stopping the progression until our knees bump.

  “Holy hell.” She clasps a hand to her throat while the other clings to the armrest, her eyes wide as she glances to the couple seated nearby who watch our exchange with interest. “You’re making a scene.”

  I nudge my knee between hers, the material of her dress slipping farther apart to expose more of her legs, bare inches away from what I assume is tempting designer underwear.

  I want to taste what’s hidden beneath. To devour and s
ate us both. Even if what she’s hiding is poison.

  “Okay. I get it.” She keeps frantically glancing at the nearby couple. “You can stop the performance now.”

  “Look at me.” I splay my hands on her thighs, trailing my calloused palms higher and higher. “Don’t worry about who’s watching.”

  She squares her shoulders, gaining composure, but I can tell she’s a skittish lamb. Hungry wolves can sense that type of thing and I’m goddamn starving.

  “Look at me,” I repeat, squeezing my fingers.

  Slowly, she complies, her wild eyes meeting mine as she hisses, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Showing you the difference between conversation and seduction.” I want to know which brother broke her—Salvatore or Remy. Then I want to crush every memory she holds of the son of a bitch. “Aren’t you having fun?”

  Her lips part, and I swear she’s about to give an adamant denial until she snaps her mouth shut.

  She wants me.

  Wants this.

  I could almost laugh at the absurdity. The serendipity. Who would’ve thought I’d find someone else at the same restaurant, spying on the same motherfuckers, on the very same night I was? Twice.

  “You can’t deny you’re attracted to me.” I lean closer, inhaling her sweet perfume. Jasmine and vanilla. “And there’s no way I can do the same.”

  I slide my hand beneath her covered thigh.

  She sucks in a breath. “We’re in the middle of a bar filled with people. Do you have no shame?”

  “Do you have no sense of adventure?” I counter with a grin. “Surely a woman of your beauty has done far more scandalous things than be admired in public.”

  The way she stiffens is a clear indicator she hasn’t. Fuck. She isn’t used to being wanted. Craved.

  “This isn’t admiration.” She clears her throat, her shoulders remaining stiff. “This is a man attempting to get information.”

  “Can’t it be both?”

  For a second, she holds my gaze, tense and unyielding. I don’t breathe. Don’t move. It isn’t until she huffs a derisive laugh, her mouth yet again forming that fucking tempting smile, that my pulse kicks back in again.

  “Matthew, I apologize for misleading you, but I have no information to give. I wish I did, but I don’t.”

  I don’t believe her, and right now, I don’t care. She’s pretty when she lies. Pretty, tempting, and an increasingly more enjoyable challenge.

  “Follow me to my room and let me show you a glimpse of your worth.” I rub my thumbs in circles, trailing my touch higher along her inner thighs. “Let me treat you the way you deserve.”

  Her tongue snakes out to moisten her lower lip, her dazed eyes fixated on mine.

  She’s going to succumb.

  Any second now, she’ll announce her submission and let me claim victory.

  “No, thank you.” She blinks away the bewildered look and violently snaps her knees shut. “We’re done here.” She shoves back in her seat and stands, forcing my hands to fall into thin air. “Follow me and I call the cops.”

  With a snatch of her belongings from the table and a flick of her dark hair, she storms for the entry, passing Bishop at the bar who slides from his stool to stalk toward me.

  “We’re letting her go?” He glowers over his shoulder, watching her stride through the reception area, his focus predatory.

  I should leave her alone. No matter what her connection is to the Costa family, she’s nothing but a pawn in a vicious game. But I’m too fascinated to end this here. Too fucking intrigued. I have to learn her secrets.

  “Follow her.” I casually clap him on the back, downplaying the adrenaline-filled interest coursing through my veins. “I want her name and any other information you can dig up before sunrise. Don’t let me down.”

  7

  Matthew

  The fucker let me down.

  Bishop allowed the woman to slip through his fingers.

  He didn’t get her name. Or her number. He didn’t even catch the direction she went in because apparently she disappeared into thin air. Now all I have are lingering memories of ocean-blue eyes and hair dark as night to go with the semi hard-on I’ve had since our chance encounter.

  I return to D.C. the following morning, unable to get her out of my head. I keep replaying our conversation on a loop, telling myself I need to search for hidden clues to her agenda only I get caught up on other things. Like the way her sass increased my pulse, or the ingenuity that made me determined to get to know her, or those damn inviting rebuffs to my advances that made this more about winning her over than gaining information.

  I want to know what she’s up to. And I want to know why. But most of all, I want to know how long it will take to get her beneath me. On top of me.

  When evening comes, I make my way to my latest club acquisition to check on the staff who don’t seem to appreciate the way their new boss runs things.

  They’re scared of me, too, which doesn’t help.

  The dark crevices of my reputation aren’t well-known around here, but someone must’ve broken the silence.

  “I’ve stocked all the bars.” A short-skirted, slim-waisted, cleavage-bearing waitress stops beside me, her hopeful smile doused in deep red lipstick as she eyes the dancing crowd before us. “And noted all the liquor levels like you asked.”

  She’s a brown-noser. There’s always one. Even in a crowd of staff filled with animosity over my overbearing ways. They’re the reason this club had been run into the ground. Them and the previous owner, who was too busy living the highlife in the Caribbean. But their failings are my gain.

  I’ll flip this club within a year and make a mint, all because they’d plummeted its value to begin with, allowing me to buy it for pennies.

  “Your hard work is appreciated.” I raise my voice above the loud music. “Are any of the staff continuing to have problems with the way I do things?”

  Her wide blue eyes glance away and she shrugs. “Not really.”

  “Tell me who?”

  She nibbles her lower lip. “Maybe Reece. I think because he managed this place for so long before you took over the transition is harder for him.”

  Then I guess Bishop and I need to have a chat with Reece.

  “Thanks for the information.” I walk away, skirting the dancing crowd three steps below, the thoughts of my Denver woman assailing me as soon as I’m left alone.

  I haven’t been able to concentrate since our chance encounter. Can’t think straight, either.

  If she’s an ex-lover looking for payback for Remy or Salvatore, she may not know what her actions will instigate. The Costas aren’t the type of people anyone should taunt. Not only are they vicious, but they’re fucking stupid. It’s a lethal combination.

  I stop at the railing separating me from the bopping, booze-infested club-goers and grip the cold metal in both hands. It’s not them I see, though. It’s still her. The dark hair. The unfathomably deep blue eyes.

  I need to find her. To touch more of her velvet-soft skin.

  The brush of her thighs was enough to haunt my dreams. The jasmine and vanilla scent of her hair will live with me forever. All of her will. Never has a woman been so intriguing. Strong yet scared. Confident yet unsure.

  A commotion starts on the dance floor before me. One man shoves another before my bouncers push from nearby walls to silently threaten their involvement. But it’s not the shoving or the hired thugs that attract my attention.

  It’s the woman swaying her hips to the beat a few feet in front of me, her arms raised high, her dark hair cascading down her back.

  For a second, I think it’s her—Denver.

  The figure matches. The lush hips, the slender waist.

  It isn’t until she turns that my fantasies take a nose-dive. Everything else about her is wrong. The lips uneven, the lower far bigger than the top, not precisely symmetrical. The face is round, too, not oval with high cheekbones and mysterious eyes.

&n
bsp; My body doesn’t care though. My blood pumps faster at the diluted comparison. My cock hardens, wanting relief from the obsession.

  I watch her, pretending the swaying woman is mine, not taking my gaze off her as the flashing lights blink over her body.

  Need pulses in my throat by the time our eyes meet. It’s a simple travelling glance at first. A brief scan of her surroundings. Until she notices me staring. Then her intent snaps back to mine, her smile quick to form.

  That’s wrong, too.

  The curve of lips doesn’t dazzle or intrigue.

  It’s fucking disappointing. Almost deflating. But my cock doesn’t get the memo because it’s still in full-blown Denver mode.

  My libido thinks she’s here. She’s the one dancing before me, her wild eyes intoxicating, her delicious body coaxing.

  The woman continues to hold my gaze, her hips rolling, her arms moving above her head. I cling tighter to the banister, my knuckles aching, my throat drying.

  I’m going to succumb.

  After twenty-four hours obsessing about a mystery woman—living and breathing the questions that continuously slam my mind—I need relief.

  I fucking deserve it.

  I crook a finger at the dancer. Her mouth flattens for a shock-filled moment before she lowers her arms to her sides and saunters toward me.

  The closer she gets, the paler the comparison, but I’m too far gone to divert this train wreck.

  She stops on the lower level before me and calls out, “Did you want me?”

  No, I want Denver.

  “Yes.” I rake my gaze over her, my pulse lessening with the new misgivings now apparent up close. The irises that are brown not blue. The bump on the bridge of her nose. “Care to join me in the VIP room?”

  Her eyes widen, then she swings around, glancing toward her friends in the crowd. She waves them farewell without a thought to her safety and returns her focus to me with a grin. “Let’s go.” She hustles along the outside of the dance floor, up the three steps, then straight to my side.

  Self-loathing is a constant companion as I lead her to the upper level filled with more dancing drinkers, then through the guarded doors to the quieter, exclusive part of the club.