The Sweetest Oblivion (Made Book 1)

by Danielle Lori

  The Sweet Abelli would have considered his feelings. I didn’t have to be her around him, though.

  I stepped out to smoke with Nicolas Russo.

  “The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched—they must be felt with the heart.”

  —Helen Keller

  THE PAST HELD A SIMPLISTIC charm in my heart, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t see the beauty in my complicated present. Urban development stretched to the sky, its pollution blocking the stars, but beneath it the magic of humanity lived on. There was good in the world, and I couldn’t understand how the blonde newscaster only focused on the unpleasant.

  The alleyway was still, the kitchen staff having already dispersed. Tire noise, honking, and sirens were steady in the background, but even louder than that was the soft, harmonic lilt of a saxophone.

  My heels clicked on the asphalt as I took a few steps toward the music. A certain reality settled on me: I didn’t have a spellbinding love story to bring to this world. The honest truth was, I only forced myself to enjoy tragic endings because I knew mine wouldn’t be far apart.

  Warmth brushed my bare back, the whisper of a thrill trailing behind. I turned around to find Nicolas standing so close I had to tilt my head to meet his gaze. He took the cigarette from my fingers, put it between my lips, and then, with the metallic clink of a Zippo lighter with an ace of spades on the side, the mesmerizing glow of a flame flickered between us.

  “This is the last cigarette you’re smoking, so enjoy it.”

  I smiled, and as he lit the cigarette, I puffed slowly so I didn’t cough and come off as a rookie once again.

  “Something funny?”

  A soft laugh escaped me. “Yeah. You.”

  With a pensive stare, he pulled the cigarette from my lips, brought it to his own, and inhaled.

  I tilted my head, regarding him. “So, can I call you my fratello now?” I didn’t know why I’d said it, but it had just slipped through my lips as easily as air. Nicotine ran through my veins and lightened my tongue.

  He looked at me, blowing out a breath of smoke above my head. We were standing so close his sleeve touched my arm. So close his presence obliterated mine. And there was nothing that felt familial about it.

  He handed me the cigarette. “No.” It was a hard no, not one you debated with.

  “Why not? You will be.”

  His jaw ticked. “I’ll be your cognato, not your brother.”

  “Same thing, really. You already have the controlling brotherly act down.”

  His expression told me he wasn’t amused and he wasn’t going to participate in this conversation.

  “You can call me your sorella. Maybe a sibling is what you need to realize the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

  He let out a breath of amusement, but it sounded like he wanted to choke me. “Smoke your cigarette and shut up.”

  I turned around to hide the ridiculous warmth that rushed to my cheeks and walked a few steps from him. The soft clicks of my heels in tune with the saxophone’s lilt was hypnotic. The nicotine must have been mixing with the alcohol in my system. Or maybe I was just drunk on his presence.

  Spinning around, I leveled my gaze on him. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know. I don’t usually get assaulted twice in one weekend.”

  He leaned against the back door, his gaze sparking with sarcasm. “Just once, then?”

  “Just once,” I repeated, a smile pulling on my lips.

  “I’m not your babysitter.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  His expression darkened around the edges. I didn’t know why I was practically poking him with a stick, but the filter that was usually in place had drifted away with the last saxophone note.

  His tone was rough and dry. “Keep opening your mouth, I’ll assault you.”

  I didn’t believe he meant the sexual variety, though that’s how I regrettably decided to take it. I brought the cigarette to my lips and inhaled. His gaze met mine through a breath of smoke.

  “I’ll be sure to tell my next attacker that only my cognato gets to assault me.” Somehow, a suggestive nature filled the alleyway so heavily a passerby couldn’t miss it. My expression was thoughtful, though my heartbeat played the conga in my chest. “I’m sure you’re running out of ways to ruin men’s lives, anyway.”

  “It’s called a repertoire, Elena. They can be used again.”

  “Hmm. And what’s next on the list?”

  “Who’s being assaulted?” His voice was bland, like we were talking about the weather for the third time.

  I lifted a shoulder. “Me.”

  His gaze went cold, but his tone stayed impassive. “The entertainment for tonight would be watching him bleed out.”

  Nothing about his expression told me he was exaggerating. “Well, it wouldn’t be a normal evening with you around if there wasn’t some blood involved.” I paused. “Though, I guess you did all right at our last supper.”

  The smallest yet darkest smile pulled on his lips. “Guess I did.”

  Butterflies erupted in my stomach. That mischievous, wicked smile was the exact reason women liked bad boys.

  Cazzo.

  I needed some air.

  Bending down, I put the cigarette out against the concrete before tossing it in the restaurant’s dumpster. Butts and trash already littered the alleyway; I didn’t want to contribute.

  Nicolas still leaned against the door, and so I stopped in front of him and waited. He held out his phone to me. “My list. Write it now.”

  I frowned at the cell phone and then looked at him.

  His expression was serious, and truthfully, with this attraction spiraling out of control, zinging under my skin like electricity, I didn’t have it in me to argue with him. I grasped the phone and took a few steps back. There wasn’t any way I could think with him standing so close.

  I opened his notes and typed in Adriana’s dress size, shoe size, and even bra size. He didn’t look like a man to skirt around details. When it came to her hobbies and likes, I couldn’t help myself.

  Acting

  Cult horror films

  Gardening

  Not you

  I smiled, but then his phone pinged and it fell from my lips.

  I stared.

  Who was he? Benito?

  The image was of a woman, naked. Blond hair, coy smile, big breasts.

  Jenny.

  I glanced at him to see he was only waiting for me to finish. I turned the phone around. His gaze stayed on mine for a second before giving it a glance. Not a blink.

  “This is Tony’s girlfriend,” I accused.

  “Is it?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed. Couldn’t tell if he didn’t know who this was, or if he was playing stupid. Did he get so many random pictures of naked women he couldn’t tell them apart? Anger sparked in my chest.

  “Stop sleeping with her,” I said coldly.

  Now his darkness was the amused variety.

  My grip tightened on the phone. “It’s wrong.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Tit for tat.”

  I paused. “You don’t have a girlfriend.” You have a fiancée . . . though that usually didn’t mean much to a man in this life.

  “Did.”

  Oh.

  A strange discomfort curled in my chest.

  I blinked, trying to sort this out. “You guys are sleeping with each other’s girlfriends to, what? Get back at each other?”

  Not a word from him, and his gaze told me there wouldn’t be one.

  “He loves her, Nicolas, whether he knows it or not.”

  His expression turned to ice. “You’re a champion for love, are you? Personal experience, maybe?”

  What?

  My eyes narrowed. I didn’t know what he meant, but I was too angry to care. “You’re marrying his sister, so it’s not fair anymore.” I had no idea what I was saying, but I wasn’t taking his side.

 

His laugh was dark.

  He didn’t like me taking sides. Did he think I’d pick his?

  A sudden thought, a need to know, came to me, and it escaped my lips before I could stop it. “Are you going to be faithful to Adriana?” My heart thumped to an awkward beat. That was the most invasive thing I’d ever asked anyone, and it left a foreign and regretful aftertaste on my tongue.

  His gaze leveled on mine, not liking my question either, but he kept his words deep and smooth. “Does she expect me to be?”

  Of course she didn’t.

  Not one woman expected that in this world—not when work for a man was considered going to a strip club. Not when money and power corrupted. And not when women like Jenny threw themselves at rich and attractive men. It was why I didn’t want a husband as handsome as him. He didn’t even have to work to be unfaithful—it would sit right in his lap.

  I shook my head, this conversation chafing me with frustration. “You’re evading. Answer the question.” Maybe if he said the words, showed me how disloyal, dishonest, he was, then I could put this fascination for him aside. I was more interested in his reply than even my sister would be.

  He pushed off the door. “You answer mine.”

  My response was calm and suicidal. “You can have your phone back after you answer my question.”

  His condescending stare burned me, and then, with the tiniest shake of his head, he came in my direction.

  My heart leapt and I backed up, but then my bare back hit the alley wall and the cool concrete sent a shiver down my spine. I was trapped, cornered, and frazzled enough I couldn’t think clearly. Didn’t think at all.

  I dropped his phone down the front of my dress.

  He froze two paces away. Stared at where his phone had gone. And then ran his tongue across his teeth in a type of roguish disbelief.

  “You honestly think that’s going to stop me from taking it back?”

  I had no idea why I’d done it. For once in my life, I wished for the Sweet Abelli to save me. Her calm, collected ways wouldn’t have gotten her into this mess in the first place. I swallowed down my breathlessness.

  “That would be inappropriate.”

  Both of our gazes dropped when the phone fell from my breasts to my stomach, before catching on the tight fabric near my hips. His phone was stuck below my navel.

  His eyes came back to mine. “From what I’ve learned, kissing is platonic these days. Reaching up your dress can’t be much worse.”

  My stomach fluttered. “You’re not reaching up my dress.”

  “Three seconds, Elena.” His words were short, pissed. I knew he meant I had that long to give it back to him.

  I didn’t know what I was doing or when I’d suddenly acquired a death wish, but my gaze met his for a consecutive three seconds. Quietly and maturely, I said, “You haven’t answered my question.”

  His stare flicked to the concrete, and when it came back to me burning hot, I knew I was in trouble. A surge of expectation leaked into my bloodstream but was doused with unease when he took the remaining steps toward me.

  His shoulders blocked the alleyway, his heavy presence slowing my breaths. He wasn’t gentle. With his amber gaze on mine, he gripped a fistful of my dress near my thigh and tugged it up, jerking me in the process.

  He fisted the fabric, skimming it up my legs. Every inch of my skin sizzled, and an empty ache formed low in my stomach. When he made contact with my bare thigh, I had to bite my lip to hold in a whimper. His palm was rough and hot enough to burn. And God, a man had never smelled so good. I wanted to nuzzle my face in his neck so I could get more of it, all of it.

  It wasn’t lost on me that I was criticizing him for being unfaithful to Adriana while fantasizing about him doing the same thing with me. The thought was only fleeting because his presence, his warmth, brushed it aside.

  I didn’t know if he had slowed, or if this moment was so significant I was experiencing it in slow motion, but it quieted, the sound of my ragged breaths filling the alley. A slight breeze made its way through the sliver of space between us, making me aware of how hot I was. I’d never felt warmer in my life.

  He pressed closer against me, his jacket brushing my arms, his watch cold on the smooth skin of my inner thigh. One hand was braced on the wall beside my head, trapping me, but what he didn’t know was that I didn’t want out.

  Once he’d touched bare skin, his gaze hardened, before flicking down as if in reluctance. The empty ache between my legs pulsed. I couldn’t help but to part my thighs, to imagine him slipping a hand between them. Cupping me over my thong. Pulling it to the side and pushing a finger inside of me. My palms lay flat on the cold, concrete wall on each side of me, and a buzz sounded in my ears.

  His jaw tightened, and his fingers gripped the inside of my thigh. Sparks ran from the heat of his hand straight to my clit, all my blood drumming in that area. He’d only have to run a palm across the fabric to realize how disturbed I was, how wet this was making me. How much I wanted him.

  But he didn’t do any of that.

  He only grabbed his phone.

  His thumb brushed over the thin string of my thong on my hip, pulling it down a bit before his hands left me. As my dress fell to brush the asphalt, his voice was rough against my ear.

  “You already know the answer.”

  He stepped back and tilted his head toward the door, in a way of telling me to get there, now.

  Too breathless to do anything else, I headed in its direction, a whisper of an ache trailing behind.

  “No one will ever kill me, they wouldn’t dare.”

  —Carmine Galante

  THERE WAS NO BETTER PLACE for me than at the heart of the Cosa Nostra. Like the last piece of a puzzle, my existence was a perfect fit.

  No matter if I were a lawyer’s son, a doctor’s, or a janitor’s, I would have found my way on the wrong side of the law doing the one thing I loved to do: hustling.

  I was Antonio Russo’s son, no one else’s, and for that reason I was damn good at what I did. My papà used to have a saying: Non ha il dolce a caro, chi provato non ha l’amaro. It was a way of telling me there was no room for regrets in this world, that a man had to taste the bitter before he could taste the sweet.

  I’d heard it when I was seven, as I looked at the first dead man I’d ever seen: eyes open, blood pooling on the warehouse floor.

  In my profession, regrets were easy to come by. They piled up, each one weakening a man’s resolve. I didn’t regret much, and up until recently I had only one that followed me around. I regretted fucking Gianna while she was still married to my father. Most recently, and more so than even that, I regretted signing the contract for Adriana.

  I wanted her sister.

  In my bed.

  Against the wall.

  On her knees.

  I’d involuntarily gone over what it would take to get out of the contract, knew exactly what I would do. My family was known for breaking agreements—it was what got my papà killed, in fact. Not the best incentive, but I didn’t fear the Abellis. Didn’t fear anything at all, honestly, which would probably be the cause of my eventual demise.

  I wanted Elena Abelli, and starting a feud just so I could have her was beginning to sound less and less like a bad idea every time she was near. But I wasn’t going to go through with the twisted plan my mind had created.

  I wanted to fuck her.

  I didn’t want to marry her.

  My wife was only supposed to be a woman I could respect and who’d have my children. Not one I was so fascinated with I couldn’t think straight. In this life, I couldn’t afford the distraction. Didn’t want the attachment. And she’d fucked with my head already.

  Though, as regrettable as it was, I couldn’t help but to be interested in everything that came out of the girl’s mouth. It was getting to the point she couldn’t make a move without my notice, no matter how much I tried to stop myself.

  I didn’t know why she spoke so freely and obstinately with me, though it was probably because she now considered me to be a fucking brother. If only she knew that when she talked back to me, I wanted to cover her mouth with my palm, back her up against a wall, and then watch the shock in her soft brown eyes as I slid my hand beneath that tiny pink thong she was wearing. Fucking pink. For some reason when I saw that, my control shook hard.

  If I’d started, I wouldn’t have stopped.

  I would have fucked her up against an alley wall, and I had a tenacious feeling it wouldn’t have been enough. It was the Russo blood in me. It wanted what it wanted, and fuck everything else.

  The alley door shut with a click behind me, pulling me from my thoughts. I buttoned my suit jacket and followed Elena down the hall, that silky black ponytail within arms’ reach. When she’d spun around in the alley, it hit me in the chest. I had to tell myself it wasn’t a fucking leash because after I grabbed it earlier, I now wanted to pull her around by it, straight to my bed whether she liked it or not.

  The cut of her dress was low, baring smooth olive skin, while only thin strings crisscrossed her back. The black fabric hugged the curve of her ass, leaving nothing to the imagination but what it would look like bare.

  Jesus, what I could do to that ass.

  Not fucking helpful, Russo.

  I forced my gaze away, and ignored the heat running straight to my dick.

  Without another word to me, she entered the main room and headed toward her sister and nonna who appeared to be playing a game with crayons on a kid’s menu.

  The atmosphere was light, the chatter friendly, which I should have been relieved to see—but frankly I would’ve welcomed a little animosity right now. I was worked up, my shoulders tense with pent-up sexual frustration.

  Tony sat with his back toward me, laughing with his cousins. We’d yet to engage each other tonight. I knew we would have to get on eventually, and so I’d invited the idiot to come along. Right now, with this frustration chafing beneath my skin, I was glad I had.

  I headed to the bar and sat next to Luca. I needed a drink. Just one, to take the edge off. The last time I’d gotten drunk was six years ago and I’d fucked my stepmother. Lesson learned.

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