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

by Eden Summers

  It’s not a rejection. If anything, it’s an open door of opportunity.

  I pull my wallet from the inside pocket of my suit jacket and place some bills on the table. “Come on.” I push from my seat and hold out a hand. “I’ll find us somewhere more appropriate to eat.”

  9

  Layla

  Matthew leads me from the restaurant and into the chilled fall air, the sound of Denver’s nighttime traffic bustling around us.

  I shouldn’t be doing this again. It’s stupid.

  Problem is, this sizzling chemistry is potent enough to deafen the thoughts of caution.

  “Your friend isn’t joining us tonight?” I shoot him a sideways glance as I take off my glasses and place them in my purse, my heart thudding harder when he looks my way.

  “Bishop?” He returns his attention to the path ahead. “He’s always around.”

  “He’s here?” I spin, scanning the sidewalk behind us as we continue walking.

  The ogre isn’t visible. Not hiding in the entries to closed shopfronts. Not lingering in alleys.

  “He has eyes on us from somewhere.”

  Apprehension tickles my neck as I pivot back around, Matthew slowing until I catch up to his side.

  “Want me to tell him to take the night off, amore mio?”

  Yes, is my instinctual response. But I don’t want him too aware of my concern. He’s playing me for information and I need to do the same, even though my usually hibernating libido is under the impression I’m here for different reasons.

  I’d been shocked at the first sight of him tonight. Panicked. Yet there’d been something more adamant that soon took over my emotions. Something that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way his sinful gaze devoured me.

  “I’ll call him.” He stops and pulls out his cell.

  “No, wait.” I reach for him, only to have him lock devilish eyes with me.

  “It’s okay. He doesn’t need to hang around.” He tilts his head away, connects a call, and raises the cell to his ear. “Take the night off. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I don’t hear Bishop’s reply.

  “Yes. Don’t let me find you tailing us.” He lowers the cell and disconnects. Simple as that. No farewell. No apology for the dismissal.

  He’s smooth, his excessive level of charisma continuing to slip under my skin.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” As long as we stay in public, I don’t have anything to worry about. I can hold my own, maybe not in strength, but definitely with the defensive goodies in my bag. And tonight isn’t going anywhere private. Racing pulse or not.

  “Of course I did.” He pockets the device and grabs my hand. “If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll always be obliged to do something about it.”

  My breathing hitches as he drags me into his side and continues our trek along the path. But it’s not just his vow of obligation that leaves me shook. It’s the possessive, comforting grip of his fingers. Both tag team to leave me speechless.

  I’ve been deprived of male touch since Benji’s death. And before that, hand holding wasn’t a part of my life. Displays of affection didn’t exist. In public or private.

  Now, I can barely think through the warmth of a stranger’s hold.

  “It’s through here.” Matthew leads me to the mouth of an alley, the path subtly lit by a dubious string of twinkling lights attached between the towering buildings above.

  I stop, my heels planted.

  He continues forward, not noticing my hesitation until his arm is outstretched and I pull my hand away.

  “What’s wrong?” He turns to ask. “You don’t trust me?”

  I raise a brow, glancing from him to the darkened alley and back again. “Not in the slightest.”

  “Beautiful and smart. How the hell did I get so lucky?” He steps forward, once, twice, his casual approach not stopping until we’re toe-to-toe, those deep dark eyes staring down at me as his palms take liberties by sliding over my hips. “What if I promise to remain respectful at all times? I’ll only bite if you want me to.”

  “What if I tell you I have a gun in my purse,” I lie, “and I’m willing to use it?”

  He grins. “That works, too. But let’s settle on going somewhere else. You decide the location.”

  He keeps saying all the right things. Making all the smooth moves to bring me one step closer to his honeytrap. But it’s those eyes. The shades of rich earth and chocolate that make me contemplate stupid things… like following anywhere he leads.

  “What’s down there?” I jerk my chin at the alley that’s far cleaner than any I’ve seen before. No garbage litters the asphalt. No graffiti. It’s all looming bricks with no windows in sight.

  “An Indonesian food truck. It’s somewhat of a hidden treasure.” His fingers begin to move, kneading the flesh of my hips. “They’ve got an online presence. You can search them on the map. I promise I don’t plan to drag you into the shadows to have my wicked way with you.” His grin increases, a tiny dimple peeking out beneath the rich stubble. “That comes later, once I’ve gained permission.”

  I shouldn’t be endeared. I shouldn’t be goddamn turned on either. And I definitely shouldn’t want to press my lips to his to assuage my curiosity over his taste.

  But I do want.

  I want and need and crave more than I can ever remember feeling with Benji. The thought is enough to leave me cold with guilt.

  I step back, dragging my attention from penetrating eyes to the alley. Four people walk toward us. Smiling, laughing, the noise echoing off the walls. There’s nothing nefarious about them or their mood.

  “Let’s keep moving.” Matthew reclaims my hand and continues along the sidewalk.

  “No.” I tug him, making demands of my own. I want to see this hidden treasure. “Take me to the Indonesian food.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Nope. Not one little bit. But the hazardous impulse flowing through my veins makes me nod. “Yep.”

  “Whatever you wish, amore mio.”

  God, he kills me each time he uses the endearment. Even though it’s glib, it still affects me—how easily he can confess love when I’ve been denied those words my entire life.

  My father rarely professed the sentiment. My brother never will. And although I assumed it from my husband, I rarely heard the admission from him. It came maybe three times in the nine years of marriage.

  Matthew is similar to the men I’m used to in a lot of ways—his confidence, his authority. It’s the aspects that are shockingly unfamiliar that leave me hungered and achy.

  He has soft undertones. A gentlemanly nature that lives in parallel with the sharp edge of wicked intent.

  If only I wasn’t questioning whether every single part of him was some well-constructed act.

  “You’re quiet.” He strolls beside me under the twinkling lights, taking me further into isolation. “Everything okay?”

  “You’re guiding me down a darkened alley, without your bodyguard, while dressed in a designer suit. I think it’s normal to fall quiet from contemplating how many times we’re going to be mugged.”

  “It’s safe. I’d never knowingly put you in danger. I promise. And while we’re back on the topic of Bishop, he isn’t a bodyguard. He’s more of a business partner. At times, he’s my driver. My confidant. My eyes and ears. He watches my back. But I also watch his.”

  His words trigger subdued alarm bells. They should be louder. Deafening. But the fact that he sounds like my brother washes off my back without leaving residue.

  “Your job sounds hazardous for someone who works in hospitality.” I shoot him a sideward glance.

  “You’ve obviously never been on the receiving end of an influencer’s tirade when their dirty martini isn’t quite as dirty as they would’ve liked. Some of my staff expect danger money when certain people walk through the club doors.”

  I smile and return my attention to the foursome who continue to laugh and chat as th
ey pass. “So you own a club?”

  He shrugs. “A couple.”

  Yep. He’s sounding more and more like Cole. The only difference is restaurants to clubs.

  The reasons to turn on my heels and escape are compounding, yet these shoes won’t pivot. My body refuses to walk anywhere apart from straight ahead.

  “We’re almost there.” His thumb rubs gently over mine. “It’s just around this corner.”

  I keep my hand in his, my palm tingling as we reach the end of the building.

  “Here.” He tugs me around the corner into the open space where I’m sure a building once stood. Now the area is claimed by a food truck draped in white twinkling lights with park benches scattered on top of bright green fake grass.

  Office skyscrapers loom around the oasis, with more strings of lights crisscrossing overhead. It’s humble. A hidden haven, just like he promised. With at least twenty people eating and drinking.

  “What do you think?” Matthew stops to look at me, those confident eyes scrutinizing. “I found this place years ago. I swear nobody cooks quite like Reza.”

  “What I think is that you’re doing a great job of keeping me on my toes. I never would’ve expected you to escort me from a Michelin-starred restaurant to a food truck. I’m not sure if I should be impressed or confused.”

  He smirks, dropping my hand to slide his palms around my waist. “If you want to be impressed, you should’ve taken the invitation to my hotel room. It’s not too late to head there now.”

  I burn. White hot. His touch sears me.

  I’m almost tempted to sell my soul for a few minutes of suit-clad privacy. But I can’t. I won’t.

  I don’t know this man, and even if I did—even if this was a regular date between people who didn’t have deceitful similarities—my baggage is full.

  I have a daughter, a dead husband, and a family who don’t welcome outsiders. Ever.

  “You’re dreaming if you think I’ll follow you to your room.” I chuckle to dissuade the lust.

  “Let’s call it forecasting.”

  “I won’t go back to your hotel, Matthew.” I attempt to hold his gaze, yet the draw of his mouth steals my attention. “Not tonight.”

  “How could I change your mind?” He leans closer, the intoxicating scent of his smooth aftershave consuming my fractured breaths.

  “You can’t,” I lie. “I barely know you.”

  His stubbled jaw grazes my cheek as he inches closer to my ear. “That’s what I’m trying to resolve.” His attention lowers. His lips brush my neck with a torturous glide of connection. “I want to know everything about you, Layla.”

  I shudder, my eyes closing of their own volition, my entire body enraptured by the rough resonance of his tone. “I don’t enjoy one-night stands.”

  “One night would never be enough.”

  Oh, God. I want to succumb.

  With everything I am, I itch to grasp these stomach-tingling feelings and ride them for as long as possible. Just one taste of happiness even if it isn’t deserved.

  “You live in D.C.,” I whisper.

  “Yes.” He nuzzles the sensitive skin below my ear. “And you live where?”

  “Somewhere farther away from you than Denver.” Much, much farther. So unbelievably far that this questionable attraction isn’t worth humoring. I pull back, stricken with unwanted reality, and retreat a step. “I don’t have casual sex. You’re wasting your time if that’s what you’re after.”

  “Stop thinking so little of me.” He counters my withdrawal with a forward stride, his hand sliding behind my neck, the other tightening around my waist to haul me closer. “This might be about fucking, but that’s not all it’s about.”

  I want to believe him. The rapidly building wildfire rushing through my veins makes it impossible not to.

  His mouth descends on mine, the softness contrasting with the possessive grip around my neck.

  For a second I’m dumbstruck, my purse strap precariously hanging on the edge of my shoulder as he consumes me.

  I haven’t kissed in… forever. I also haven’t been held with such possession. And I’ve never, ever been so alive with choking jitters.

  His lips move, coaxing mine to do the same. I can’t deny him. I’m enslaved to give him what he wants, conceding with the softest whimper. Our mouths dance as I claim his chest with my hands, my fingers tangling in the material of his silk shirt.

  He parts my lips with a firm glide of his tongue and a low growl of appreciation, and I’m done for. My nerves awaken in response. Every pound of my pulse is deafening.

  Then, all too soon, he breaks the connection, gradually leaning back to stare at me with hungry eyes.

  “Waiting until you’re ready will kill me,” he murmurs. “But the torment will be worthwhile.”

  He turns, reclaiming my hand to lead my mindless ass toward the food truck, acting as if he didn’t just sweep me off my feet with a decimating kiss. He seats me at an empty park bench and says something about ordering food. Then he’s gone, leaving me to stare at his fine form from a few yards away.

  I honestly don’t know how I got here. How I could possibly have traveled halfway across the country with intentions of destruction that guided me to romance?

  Minutes later, he slides a heaped plate of marinated chicken sticks into the middle of the bench and takes a seat opposite me. “I hope you like satay chicken. They may not be the least messy option, but they’re the best thing on the menu.”

  “It looks delicious.” My gaze remains riveted on him as I suck my lower lip.

  The subtle tweak to his mouth makes it obvious he knows I’m talking about him. God. I have to look away to curb the lust. I’m out of my element here. Entirely ensnared.

  “Hey.” He slides his hand across the table and claims mine. “I feel the same way, okay?”

  No, he doesn’t. He couldn’t. I’m caught up in feelings I’ve never felt. For a man I barely know. In a situation that is rife with danger and subterfuge.

  “I don’t chase women,” he adds. “And I definitely don’t beg for their attention. I assure you, I’m equally caught off guard.”

  I don’t look at him. His reciprocated emotions only make this seem all the more surreal. I’m in Denver for revenge. For destruction. Not indulgence.

  “How about we change the subject?” His touch retreats. “Tell me why you’re watching Costa.”

  I chill at the whiplash in conversation. Here I’d been stuck in visions of heated flesh and sweaty skin while he’s had Emmanuel at the forefront of his mind the entire time. “Why are you?”

  He grins. “I’m sensing trust issues.”

  What he’s sensing is annoyance. I shouldn’t have been stupid enough to let down my guard. Instead of exposing my emotions, I grab a chicken stick and force myself to eat.

  “I still think one of them broke your heart,” he continues. “What I can’t figure out is if it was recent. Maybe this is a childhood grievance. That would explain why you were so close to them without fear of being recognized.”

  “You’re partially correct,” I concede, hoping the slight forward momentum will be enough to tide him over. It isn’t a lie, either. I didn’t need to be in soul-deep love with Benji to have my heart shattered when the Costas stole him from me. He wasn’t merely a husband. He was a father to our gorgeous daughter. And a good father at that.

  “Which one?” He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “Which brother is to blame?”

  “Does it matter?”

  He eyes me for a long moment. Staring. Scrutinizing. “I guess not.”

  “It’s your turn now.” I finish the chicken stick and reach for another. “Why do you spy on them?”

  “They’ve screwed me over more than once, and I don’t plan to let it happen again.”

  The hair on the back of my neck rises. “Business or personal?”

  “Does it matter?” He mimics my previous reply.

  Yes, it does.

 
He said he works in hospitality. He owns clubs. In the eyes of the naive world, Emmanuel Costa is nowhere near that line of work. But I know better. I’m well aware the ties likely to bind them are drugs.

  “I’ve said something to scare you.” He discards his bamboo skewer on the side of the plate and frowns. “What is it?”

  “I’m not scared.” I take another bite of chicken, acting casual even though the risks are rising. “Why do you keep asking that? Are people usually frightened of you? Is that why you assume I’m the same?”

  He eyes me, his gaze never wavering.

  I’m right.

  He’s feared.

  Why?

  The thought should be enough for me to join the tally of those who are fearful. It should. However, the tingle running down my spine is far from fear-based.

  “You’re not going to answer me?” I taunt. “Why is that, Matthew?”

  His jaw ticks as he breathes deep, letting the air out slowly. “You’re right. I guess it is a default.”

  “Are you going to tell me why?”

  His stare narrows. It isn’t in anger. The intensity is something else. Shame, maybe. “Designer suits and fancy restaurants haven’t always been a baseline, amore mio. I’ve had hardships, and those dark times had me doing anything to claw my way to the light. But that’s where I am now—in better days.”

  His honesty is unnerving. Invigorating. I’m not used to people being open with me. Not when the men who usually surround me hoard their secrets as if their lives depend on the truth remaining buried.

  This conversation is a gift. An offering.

  “Were those hardships caused by the Costas?” I ask.

  He continues to stare, long heartbeats ticking by as his chocolate gaze builds bridges between us. “Some. Yes.”

  Another thrill skitters down my back, the tingles hitting every nerve, spreading through every muscle. He’s giving me so much. Information. Insight. Maybe my trip here wasn’t a waste after all.

  “Now it’s your turn.” He rests his elbows on the bench, unshakable. “Tell me what knowledge you’re seeking about them. Tell me what you already know. Better yet, tell me about you, and put those assholes to the back of your mind.”