THEO: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Scott, Raven

  “What the fuck?” Carlyle chuffed softly at my slur, and I tore my eyes off the incredible display to frown deeply. “What the fuck is all this? I don’t need this.”

  “Yes, you do. I had someone come in and knock down a wall for this, combining two guest rooms into one. This . . . ” Gesturing with a sweep of his arm, Carlyle drew my attention back to the room, and I stepped through the doorway with goosebumps blanketing my arms. “Is your job, Illya. I told you when we met, I know all about you. You’re a master of disguise. From now on, you’re going to do what you’re best at, and that, my dear, is not shaking ass for dollar bills . . . unless the situation calls for it.”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ.” Whirling around, irritation bogged my chest, and my ruined skin tightened painfully as I practically stabbed Carlyle in the sternum. Without heels, he was a good five inches taller than me but still shorter than Theo, and I glared venomously as my blood simmered in my veins. “I know my mom was an undercover cop and going to the FBI for it, but I’m . . . not . . . like . . . that.”

  Carlyle grabbed the base of my skull, and I sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled my face into his chest. Even as I struggled and pushed, his grip didn’t slack, and his hard muscles threatened to bruise my forehead and nose. My heart rate jacked up, and tension zinged through me when he tangled his hand in my hair to yank my head back.

  “Don’t do that ever again.” My heart nearly stopped at the low, threatening growl that reverberated to my core, and my breath caught when Carlyle leaned in close to my face. The bridge of my nose prickled wildly, and the fine hairs on my face stood up when he brushed my cheek with his lips. “This has nothing to do with your dead parents. I’ve had my eye on you for a while, Illya. I just got lucky you decided that you liked Theo’s dick more than the others and that my bitch brother got your roommate pregnant.”

  Pushing me against the wall, Carlyle grabbed my leg and hoisted my knee under his elbow, and panic bled into my mind. I was wearing jeans, and he was still careful of my chest in his cold, calculated fury, but the threat of him was enough. His hazel eyes flashed as a strangled whimper escaped me, and he untangled his fingers in my hair to grab my chin.

  “I don’t want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable or scared, Illya, but if you don’t do your job, I have no use for you. Two months. I’ll give you two months to get yourself in order, and then you start. Since I know you won’t stay here for nothing, and you don’t trust me, you can sit behind a desk and translate for me starting Wednesday. Enjoy your weekend.” Releasing my leg, Carlyle caressed my face even as his gaze sharpened into a knife’s edge, thin enough to split a hair. “I’ll let you know if I can’t wait that long.”

  Ever so gently, he kissed me on the mouth, and shock blew my pupils as Carlyle reached between us to touch me. Goosebumps washed every inch of my body, but the fire that engulfed me as his fingers slid up my crotch outside my jeans burned too hot. His lips were dry on mine, and he nibbled my bottom lip before pulling back with a slight, knowing smirk.

  “See ya later.” Rubbing my lip with his thumb, Carlyle left me with that smirk as he retreated toward the kitchen. Once he was out of my line of sight, I couldn’t look for him, and I stared blankly at the place he’d just been. Deep in the apartment, I only faintly heard the front door closing, and my lungs emptied a sputtering sigh.

  26

  Illya

  “Aunt Carol, I’m going out. Can I have my card?” My aunt looked up from that mail she was sorting and frowned, taking off her glasses to squint at me. “I told you, remember? I have plans with my friends tonight.”

  “You know, spending it little by little may not seem like much at the time, Illya, but you’ll run out faster than you think.” Frowning myself at that, my brows furrowed as my aunt patted the table, and I shuffled over to sit stiffly. Suspicion clung to my ribs like a sticky tar— as it did every time she tried to dissuade me from using my own money— and I leaned back to watch her closely. My dad’s sister didn’t appear anything like him, but it still hurt to look at her because . . . she was slimy. “How’s your job search going?”

  “I have to leave soon, so give me my card.” This time, I wasn’t so polite, and I held out my palm as a brief, miffed panic flashed in my aunt’s eyes. “It’s my money. I don’t need you to approve what I do with it. I’m seventeen now, and I let you hold the card to make you feel better, Aunt Carol, but you’re not going to dictate when and what I can do with it.”

  “Fine. Fine. I just wanted to know so you can replace what you’re spending, Illya. Good financial habits are important.” She dug around in her purse, handing me my card in its paper sheath, but she didn’t let it go immediately. Her french nails clung to the encased plastic, and I met her gaze as it sharpened sternly. “Make sure you’re back by midnight. You have Saturday school tomorrow at one p.m.”

  “I know.” My aunt released my card with a slight nod, and I stood up only to wince at the pull of my scars. Licking my lips heavily, I stuffed the object in my front pocket, and she turned back to her mail to pick up a bill. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Alright, and don’t forget to put gas in the car.” I hummed at that, and I shuffled out of the kitchen to pull my phone out of my back pocket on my way through the living room. My aunt had a PIN on my card that she thought I didn’t know, but . . .

  Oh, boy, did I know.

  “Little by little, yeah, right. You’re stealing it all.” Grumbling to myself once I’d shut the front door behind me, I dialed the number to check my balance. Twirling my keys around my finger, I sat in the little two-door I’d bought and left my leg hanging out the open door. Navigating my way through the automated menu, I tapped in the PIN with my thumb and braced myself.

  My aunt had used almost all of the eighty thousand dollars that she’d gotten from suing over my parents' deaths, money that was supposed to be mine, to be saved until I was eighteen. At least eighty thousand was the number she gave me, but even that was a lie.

  Now, I had less than a thousand dollars in the account, and I’d had over four thousand dollars when I’d checked two weeks ago.

  “It’s not even like she’s struggling. They both have great jobs.” My aunt and uncle, collectively, made upwards of six figures a year, and bitterness soured my tongue. Checking the time as I ended the call, I set my phone in the cupholder and stuck the key in the ignition. “She’s going to be really pissed when I sue her.”

  I’d already had a lawyer. I had already gone to the bank and gotten statements. I’d gone to the contractor my aunt hired to remodel the house and gotten paperwork that she’d used my money to pay for it. I just needed to put the paperwork in.

  Why was this happening to me? Carol was my dad’s sister, my aunt, and she still couldn’t get over her greedy, selfish ways. Scowling at the windshield, I glanced at the rearview and started to back out of the driveway. Her brother was dead, but all she cared about was the money from the wrongful death suit.

  “She doesn’t know about my inheritance, at least.” That, at the time, I’d gotten mostly in cash and stashed it because I suspected Aunt Carol would do something like this. No one else in the family would take me after my parents died, so I got stuck with her. Even now, three years after their deaths, I could hear my parents with crystal clarity complaining about my aunt being a leech. I didn’t spend a lot of time with my cousins because my parents were always the ones paying, and they didn’t make nearly the same amount of money, let alone more.

  “Illya?” Blinking at the touch on my arm, I tore my eyes off the check that Carlyle had given me a week ago and frowned under furrowed brows. Theo stared and stared with that heavy gaze of his, and I sighed as I folded the rectangular paper. “You haven’t cashed it yet. What’s up?”

  “It’s the same amount of money my aunt won in the suit against the management agency that handled my parents' house.” Understanding flickered in his darkening eyes, and I licked my lips heavily as discomfort dried my mouth. “My
aunt, she used to tell me that spending it little by little, it’d run out quicker than I thought. I barely ever used it, and I knew from basically the beginning that she lied about the amount. The only money she didn’t spend— because she didn’t know about it— was my inheritance. My mom’s ring, some cash, and some priceless family heirlooms.”

  “She sounds like a cunt.” The tactless-yet-true statement earned a nod from me, and I leaned over across the sofa to rest on Theo’s side. His body was warm, so much nicer than Carlyle’s, but like Hell, I was going to bring that up. “Do you wanna, I dunno, talk about it?”

  “There’s not much to say. I sued her for it all when I turned eighteen, and then she had the audacity to fucking kill herself because of ‘the stress and grief and regret.’ Well, a letter saying you’re sorry doesn’t fucking fix the fact that you spent all my money and kicked me out when you got served and then killed yourself rather than pay.” A little, condescending laugh escaped me at my own tirade, and I huffed a hot breath. “The case is supposed to be sealed, but Carlyle knows the exact amount. It seems like he knows everything about me— more than I know about me.”

  “How, exactly, did your parents die? Is that when you hurt your chest?” Nodding, a strange gap hollowed out my chest like every time I had to talk about it. Therapists made me feel the worst, by far, but I hadn’t felt this way in a long, long time, at least a decade once my aunt stopped forcing me to go to therapy. “What happened?”

  “The ceiling fan in my room had faulty wiring because the management hired someone unqualified to spruce the place up so it’d rent higher. It caught fire and fell on me. My dad got to me first and threw me out the window, but when they went back in, they both died of smoke inhalation. The fire spread through the wires really fast because nothing was grounded. My aunt got custody of me because no one else wanted to take me on after I got out of the hospital.” The bulky arm around my shoulders rippled in comforting anger, and I closed my eyes to draw my knees up. “One time, I took off my shirt after my boyfriend told me he could handle it, and he puked all over me. I started wrapping up after I moved because the heat made my shirts stick to my scars, and I always made sure the guys were blackout drunk.”

  “I guess it wouldn’t matter if I told you I could handle it, huh?” I shook my head, and Theo sighed heavily, shuffling to cup my cheek against his cheek. “What about now? How do you like the place? You slept in a real bed last night.”

  “Yesterday was really . . . overwhelming. I could go back to sleep right now, I think.” Theo had woken me up when he knocked on my front door, and he squeezed me gingerly as memories of the day before flashed behind my shuttered lids. After Carlyle left, I passed out dead and blocked out the fact that he touched me because I knew it was just an intimidation tactic. Admittedly, a little belatedly, I realized Carlyle might be pushing me closer to Theo.

  It was his smirk, not his brush against me, that haunted me, to be perfectly honest.

  “Let’s go, then.” Hooking his arm under my knees, Theo hoisted me into his lap before standing up, and I wound my arms around his shoulders. His muscles played against my side, and he flashed me an almost charming smirk. “I promise not to watch you sleep like a creep.”

  “I don’t think you’re a creep anymore, Theo. I am kinda pissed you ignored me for the past week, though.” Reaching up to touch the scar on his face, I dragged my fingertips down the smooth, jagged surface as warmth skittered up my arm just under my skin. “What about this one?”

  “I got into a bar fight. It looked worse than it was.” Kicking open my bedroom door— that’s so strange to think— Theo sat me on my bed— even more strange. Rubbing my palms against the soft comforter, I scooted back into the rumpled sheets as he pulled his shirt off. Blinking hard, the hairs on the back of my neck bristled at the huge, gnarly gashes that indented his entire right side. It struck me hard that he’d never taken off his shirt in front of me. At the crackhouse, he had a wife beater on underneath, so I’d never seen these scars. The pink line that ripped up his bicep stopped just under his armpit, and actual dents marred his otherwise wonderfully sculpted muscles.

  Crawling onto the bed to loom over me, Theo grabbed my hand to put my palm on his right side, and his skin twitched noticeably. My breath caught at how smooth it was— how the coarse, thick hairs on his chest just stopped and gave way to pink and grey scars.

  “The tire.” Dragging my palm up over the side of his pectoral muscle, Theo’s mumble drew my gaze to his, and I bit down on my bottom lip hard. His face was so close, his heat seeping through my pajamas— so weird— and he held my hand to his right shoulder to cover with his own. “Bullet.”

  “Kiss me.” Blurting out the demand, heat engulfed my face when Theo’s lip twitched up, and his gaze tenderized. Wrapping my hands around his neck, I rubbed my thumbs against the stubble of his jaw, but he only shook his head. My heart hammered against my ribs, the ruined skin on my chest tightening painfully, and my mouth dried as it opened. “Why not? You said you would.”

  “Take your bandages off.” My breath caught, and I tensed as my heart sputtered briefly, but it was enough for Theo to grumble lowly in his chest in acknowledgment. Pressing his forehead against mine, he held my gaze despite being so close, and I licked my dry lips as shame sloshed in my chest. “That’s why.”

  “Yeah.” Gulping down the dense lump in my throat, I held my breath as Theo shuffled back to kick off his jeans. He bent over the foot of the bed to grab my pajama pants by the ankles, and my core clenched at the bulge in his loose, plain, black boxers. The scar on my chest stretched down almost to my knees at its longest point— an outline of the fan blade— and he caressed up my inner thighs with questions in his eyes.

  “Lay down.” Despite saying ‘no,’ Theo’s voice came out a rough growl, and goosebumps blanketed my legs as he crawled up my body. He was a tiger ready to pounce but waiting for the perfect moment, and he dropped against my side to pull my knees over his thighs. So close, he was all I could smell, and he caressed my cheek as he worked his arm under the pillow.

  27

  Theo

  “Illya, what are you doing?” Mumbling as Illya wiggled her way out of bed, I had to physically stop myself from throwing my arm over her to keep her still. Cracking open my eyes, I followed her silhouette through the gloom before she very carefully turned the overhead light onto its lowest setting. “Come back here.”

  “I’m hungry.” Inhaling deeply, I held my breath for a second before sitting up and exhaling a blustering sigh. Ruffling my hair roughly, I shook my head and rolled my shoulders, and she was still by the door when I threw my legs over the side of the bed. My feet didn’t leave the pristine, barely used carpet, and I scrunched up my face as I blinked hard.

  “What time is it?” I patted for my pockets before remembering I’d taken my pants off, and a frown twisted my lips. When was the last time I’d taken my clothes off before going to bed? It just seemed like the right thing to do when I knew better than to get caught without. Bending to snatch my jeans, I pulled my phone out and winced at the bright, blue light that pierced my eyeballs.

  “I thought you’d tell me a dick joke.” Snorting roughly at that, I dropped my phone onto my pants on the floor to throw my arm around Illya’s shoulders. Scratching my jaw hard with my left hand, my right buried in her hair to knead her scalp as my brain puttered along until it found a reply.

  “I could’ve, but I’m not gonna. Food isn’t a joke when I know you had no problem eating wet cat food.” Truth be told, it hadn’t even occurred to me to say something like that. I was fucking dead. Heading out of the bedroom and into the hall, I held Illya’s head to my shoulder to bury my nose in her hair. “I haven’t slept so well in a long time.”

  “Me either.” Edging the living room, my legs tightened when the carpet was replaced with cold tile, and Illya tensed against my side. “This is so uncomfortable. I know it’s mine, but . . . ”

  “Want me to make you something?�
� Eyes widened with surprise flew to bore holes in my chin, and I couldn’t help but smirk as Illya nodded hastily. “Come on.”

  Illya’s apartment was exactly the same layout as mine, and I wasn’t surprised to find all the shit in the kitchen was in the same spots, too. She watched curiously, almost bewildered, as I pulled a cutting board out from behind the toaster oven, and a bubble of satisfaction popped in my chest. Reaching under the counter for a pan, I set it on the stove before gesturing to the refrigerator.

  “What do you want?” I wasn’t a chef by any means, but I knew more than how to boil water and add mac’n’cheese. Slowly shuffling to the fridge, Illya grabbed the door but didn’t tug, and my heart throbbed slightly. She just stared for a long moment, her knuckles whitening as she squeezed and released the handlebar, and my brows furrowed deeply.

  “I . . . I can’t . . . I can’t do it.” Sauntering the short distance to her, I covered Illya’s hand with mine, and her fingers flexed stiffly. Her nerves thrummed through me, and I gingerly popped the seal to release a blast of cool air. She sucked in a sharp breath and shivered against my chest, and I couldn’t help but scowl at how anxious just the idea of a full fridge made her.

  And, man, it was packed with everything she might need to cook whatever she wanted. Grabbing her shoulder when her knees quaked against mine, I ground my teeth at how impactful something so seemingly normal could be. In California, she had nothing, but here she had anything and everything.

  My scowl darkened when Illya sniffled, and she reached a trembling hand into the refrigerator tentatively. When her fingers brushed a gallon of milk, she choked out a little laugh, as if she expected it to be a really good hologram or something.

  “Do you need a minute?” She shook her head, giving me a glance at her mystified expression, and I pursed my lips thinly against the barrage of emotions swirling in my chest. “Let’s make eggs. Easy, right?”