Luka: Perfectly Damaged – a Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Alice May Ball

  She’d fixed her makeup differently—that was it. Now she was something else again, somewhere in between the gorgeous young girl I’d seen when her face bare in the cab, and the tough, glammed-up Mafia donna who stood with her feet apart and owned the Russian gangsters in the club.

  Now she bounced toward me like a peppy college student, just into her twenties and fresh with optimism, ready to set the world right. One thing was for sure: a woman like her, you couldn’t ever get bored with looking at her. Seeing Alexa was a happy surprise, always.

  She sat across the table from me. I raised a hand for the waitress and Alexa got a glass of wine and a Caesar salad. I ordered a rare filet steak with fries. They call them ‘frittes,’ for some stupid reason. I said, “Are you sure a salad’s going to be enough after the day you’ve had?”

  She gave me a look and I decided this woman had proved she could look after herself, at least enough to choose her own food. She said, “Shall we get some dips while the food comes?” and without waiting for me to answer, she told the waitress to bring hummus and pita bread and some olives.

  She folded her hands on the white linen tablecloth and looked at me. “So, look at you, being my big brother. Telling me what I need to eat.” She was teasing. There was a sparkle in her eyes.

  I just said, “You got to keep your strength up.”

  “I’m saving my strength for what comes after.”

  The fresh scent of her was almost completely natural. Clean skin and hair, like a baby in newly cut hay. I breathed deeply. “What comes after?”

  She lowered her chin and flashed me a mischievous grin. “The chocolate cake here is sinful.” The way her head shook as she stressed the word lit a picture in my head. How was it that I couldn’t spend five consecutive seconds with this woman without imagining her underneath me or stretched out in front of me or thrashing on top of me?

  Her voice was low. I liked it when she sounded like that. “Or are you going to keep up the big brother act and tell me what’s good for me?” She pulled her lips between her teeth. Tony was gone; she should be climbing all over me by now.

  “Hell,” I was talking before thinking, “I know what will be good for you.” She touched my hand again. I had the urge to turn my hand over, grab a hold of hers. Pull her across the table.

  I said, “You’re a free woman now.”

  “Am I, though? Seems like Bruto has another idea.”

  “Tony was your fiancé.”

  “I’m still getting used to the ‘was’ part of that.”

  “But he did have a claim. Maybe not the most legitimate of claims, but it was a claim. Bruto, I don’t know what’s in his mind. Maybe his head got turned by the hill tribes in Afghanistan, I don’t know, but you don’t inherit wives and fianceés in this country. There’s no way.”

  “Are you going to explain that to him?”

  “If he needs me to, I will.”

  “You two have a history, don’t you?”

  “We were in the SEALs in the same theater of operations.” I wanted to tell her about what happened. To share the truth, for once. But not now. Now, telling that story would be a dark shadow on the day, and the day had been bumpy enough for her already.

  More than anything, I wanted it to be her day. Let her bathe in the triumph that she pulled out of a hat in that club. She had the Russian Mafia eating out of her hand. The stunt she pulled with the knife, that was a masterstroke, and I wanted her to savor it.

  Okay, truly, I wanted her to realize what a perfect moment this would be for the longest, hardest, and filthiest fuck of her life. In celebration.

  “The way you talked to those Russians,” I told her, “the thing with the knife? Any red-blooded man would run over hot coals to get to you.”

  She said, “I don’t know if any man ever put up a fight for me. Walk on hot coals? Not happened yet.”

  “Show me the coals. I’d do it.”

  “Yeah, but that’s just because you’re nice.” She reached over and patted my hand. “And, thank you, Luka. It means a lot.”

  My breath caught. I’d been freindzoned. First and only time ever. I’d heard about it, talked to a ton of guys it happened to, and I was always like, “Get a grip. Show ‘em you’re a man, okay? They start to pant and shake uncontrollably. What else is there to it?”

  Freindzoned. And not by just any woman, either. The one woman who happened, in some odd way, to be different from all of the others. I didn’t see how she could make such an error. Almost lost my appetite for my steak.

  I knew that there was more to Luka’s story, something he kept deep and dark. Something sad that he hid, maybe from himself as well as the rest of the world.

  The thought of ghosts that haunted Luka made a chill run down my spine, but it set off the idea of his strength and mine combining, merging. That thought lit a fire way down inside me. Maybe Tony really was out of the way, really gone. That would change things. It would change things a lot.

  In the club, facing down the Russians, I had felt free, freer to trust my instincts and act on them without thinking than I had in a long, long time. Maybe ever. Part of it was, whatever happened, I thought a spray of machine-gun fire was the likely outcome. That, or me getting killed by Tony afterwards. After I realized that, a strange kind of a calm came and wrapped me like a warm comforter.

  When the Russians laughed at me, I knew that turning my back was the strong move without really knowing why. The only thought I had about it was whether to turn smartly, like a reflex, or to make it slow and theatrical.

  And I’d decided in that split second to give it a little of both. When I started to turn, I kept Vassily’s eyes fixed with mine. I lifted my coat out to give them all a show of my figure and it was then, as they knew what was happening, that I spun on my heel.

  It felt like the big move in a dance video, where the girl is majestic and triumphant with her feet apart on top of a pile of golden Cadillacs.

  But the strength that I felt, standing by the table, looking around at the men—hardened Russian gangsters—and telling them how it was going to be... something soared in my stomach as I remembered their eyes on mine.

  Hearing Luka say that he was impressed, though. That meant more than all of it.

  For certain, I had needed an escape from Tony. Any way out would have done. I had been desperate, and there was no point in dressing it up. When I saw Luka in the bar, when I first got the idea of how tough he was and how ruthless, my first thought had been, Could I get him to kill Tony for me?

  Since then, all the time I spent with him, he was dumb, infuriating, and ridiculously full of himself, but I wanted to get into his jeans so bad it made me sore. Allowing romantic feelings at a time like this, though, that seemed crazy. Dangerous, too.

  If it came to it, I thought that Luka could have taken Tony. Not easily, but I thought that he could. It wouldn’t be a sure thing. Now would I need him to protect me from Bruto?

  Tony and all of his mob buddies talked about “soldiers” and “captains” and had all the talk of war, but Luka had been a Navy SEAL in time of conflict. Would he go to battle for me, maybe? And Bruto had been his senior in the SEALs. Did that mean he was more capable than Luka?

  Really, I didn’t want to be thinking that way. What I was considering was persuading a man to risk his life. Not ‘risk his life,’ like he’d have to go through a dangerous storm or climb out on a scary ledge. Risk his life by putting himself in a position where another man would try to kill him.

  Before now, Tony would have been the other man. Now maybe it was Bruto.

  We had dinner, couple of drinks. She said she was tired and wanted to go up to bed. When I gave her the, “yeah, baby” look, she gave me back a sisterly smile. How was that supposed to work?

  In the elevator, she stood in the far corner. I thought maybe she wanted a bit of a chase, so I moved toward her, predatory but playful. She stayed still and gave me the sisterly smile again. I was getting hopelessly confused.


  Then, when we got to my door, my door, she gave me the sweetest little peck on the cheek. She pressed her palm on my chest and she said, “Goodnight. And thank you.”

  I sat on the side of my bed with the little bourbons from the minibar. I didn’t really think about it. I didn’t think at all, or I probably wouldn’t have done it. I went to the connecting door. When I found it was locked, I thought, Good.

  I took two steps back and rammed it open with my shoulder.

  As I burst into her room, she staggered back. She had on stockings and high heels and she held a thick, fluffy towel in front of her. It didn’t look like she was wearing much else. She had a key in her hand.

  “I heard you.” Her voice quivered. Shock from me busting in, I guess. “I was coming to unlock the door. But you, you broke in. You broke through the door.”

  “Yes.”

  “When it was locked?”

  “It would have been rude not to.”

  In a panic, she slapped my face. “You arrogant idiot, you think it would be rude not to force yourself on me?”

  I said, “It would be rude not to let you know that I would break down the door, the wall, or the whole damn building to get to you.”

  She held the towel tighter. “To force yourself on me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never force myself on you.”

  Her eyebrows arched and she lifted a foot behind her. “Never?”

  “Never. Not unless you made it absolutely clear that you wanted me to.”

  “If you did, if you forced yourself on me, if I fought you off,” she was hoarse and breathing hard, “fought you all the way, as hard as I could, but you took me anyway...”

  I stepped closer. Her head tilted up. I said, “Yes?”

  Her eyes implored me. “Then it wouldn’t be my fault at all.”

  “That’s true.”

  She bit her lip. “They still might kill you.”

  “They might try. You would have to let me know it really was what you wanted, though.”

  “For you to force me?”

  “Yes.”

  “How would I do that?”

  “You might drop one of your shoes.”

  She looked in my eyes as she lifted her foot higher. The shoe dropped to the floor.

  She said, “Oops.”

  I had the key in my hand when he burst the door open. I was literally on my way to unlock the connecting door, shivering.

  The shock made me spring back, and all I could think was, I was going to unlock the door without any clothes on. Heels, stockings, and a thin pair of white panties were hardly clothes. Even with the fluffy towel clutched in front of me, I felt very naked.

  I held it tighter now, unsure if it completely covered my breasts. They rose and fell hard, my breath was heavy, and I couldn’t think straight. And there he was, with his arm still braced the way it had been as he’d slammed the door open.

  His thousand-watt smile made me feel naked, just like it always did. In a good way. And in a very bad way, too.

  His eyes blazed and his nostrils flared as he told me that he had to bust in, to show me that he would. But he wouldn’t force me. Not unless I wanted him to.

  Which I did. I’d never wanted to be forced before. And I had been, often enough. But I knew that I wanted Luka to do it. That if he did it would be wonderful. It would dissolve all the horror and stress. I could really abandon myself to the act.

  It could even make me forget about all the awful things that Tony had done to me. Forget to wonder what had happened to him. And forget about what would happen to me now, now that Bruto thought he was entitled to own me.

  This way, the force was my choice. It would break the curse of how everything had been with Tony. Free me from it.

  When I first saw Luka, I’d had the idea of persuading him to kill Tony for me. I’ve never thought of a thing like that before, never. The first moment I saw Luka, I had thoughts of things that he could do, things that I wanted. He could do those things for me. And maybe he would.

  But now, seeing Luka in front of me, feeling the heat of his breath, now I wanted him to stop me from thinking. I wanted him to take me and possess me. To make me lose myself in the wild and reckless dance of desperation. To have him split me wide and beat my wet, aching need on his hard rail.

  When he said the thing about the shoe, my insides melted. I knew it was wrong, that it would be dangerous for him as well as for me. Love, lust, sex, is a powder-keg. When you set it off, you can never be sure what the damage will be.

  Lighting the fuse in such heat and pressure as I felt now—as I was sure Luka felt, too, judging from the tremble in his eyebrow and the twitch in his chin—would be asking for disaster. His pants strained in a hard, tight tent. The scent of him ignited me. My thighs quivered, and my wetness perfumed the room.

  He sprang at me. For such a huge man, he was amazingly fast. I was startled and couldn’t help taking a step back. One shoe on and one off; I was unsteady.

  My mouth sagged as he approached me. I pressed my lips together. Bit the bottom one. My eyelids fluttered. He grabbed the back of my hair. Yanked my head back.

  My eyes widened as I sucked air. I didn’t know whether to keep a hold of the towel or let it go. Through it, I felt his heat. I searched his eyes, losing myself, pleading for him. He licked his lips. I wanted his mouth, his tongue, the force of his hands.

  The shake in my knees and the quiver of soft flesh between my thighs called to him. His hand bunched my hair tighter. Pulled my head back harder. My lips parted.

  Luka’s voice rumbled deep and low. I felt it in my stomach. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  I strained to reach him with my lips, but his grip was too strong. He bent his head toward me. I tasted his breath. It made me strain harder toward him. My lips felt his, softly at first. Then he possessed me.

  His mouth locked on mine and I abandoned myself to a long, deep, hard kiss. I felt him, all of him, through our mouths. Felt as though we knew each other forever and had been parted so long, like twins pulled apart at birth, like a part of me had been reaching in the darkness for him all of my life.

  My hips pressed out, reaching for him, but Luka held me so firm by my hair all I could do was allow him to pull me to him and press his chest against me, to crush my breasts behind the thick towel, to spur my heart to beat faster and harder than I believed it could.

  Even through the towel, the ridge in his pants was hard, hot, and huge. It felt so big I was frightened. It must have been all the fabric making it seem so very big. Surely it must.

  He let go my hair and I squealed as he seized my ass. In the palm of his hand he lifted me to him, pulled my quivering mound against the swelling throb bulging from his hips. With me on him, he made one stride to the bed and flung me into the thick, soft covers and pillows.

  He grabbed the towel. I still had a hold of it. His eyes flashed and he made a devilish grin as he pulled just hard enough to let me know that he was going to take it. That he would yank it away and there was nothing that I could do about it.

  Then I remembered that I was supposed to be resisting him. The idea was exciting, but what could I do? Splayed in the billowing white softness of the bed, I couldn’t move all that much. I gripped the towel harder.