Savage Beast: A Dark Mafia Enemies to Lovers Romance (Sinfully Savage)

by Kristen Luciani

  “Roman,” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering open.

  My lips curl upward as I wrap my arms around her, holding her close enough to feel her heartbeat hammering against me. My cock jumps as she slides my shorts to my ankles, freeing me from the fabric. With trembling fingers, I do the same to her, pulling off the shorts I’d given her before breakfast. I slide my hands down the sides of her slim torso, her skin pebbled with goosebumps as I run the pads of my fingers over her curves. The head of my dick is swollen, aching, and ready to explode into her. I dip my head lower, capturing her lips with my tongue and teeth as I press into her slick opening. Her wet heat blankets me, her body drawing me farther inside of her. I thrust into her with long, slow strokes, the kind that made her body quiver and quake last night and earlier this morning.

  I know what she likes.

  I know what she needs.

  I slide in and out, dragging the top of my shaft against her clit with every push and pull. Her legs tighten around me as I drive deeper. She meets every one of my thrusts, rotating her hips against mine and making my balls ache for release.

  Her nails dig into my back, lancing the flesh as I fuck her sweet pussy. She screams out, clawing and pinching and wailing as I hit her spot, over and over and over until her body tenses up, her quivering lips clamping around my dick as tremors rocket through her.

  And only a few thrusts later, I finally let the explosion erupt. I clench my teeth, roaring as the orgasm tears through me, practically splitting me in two with its force.

  I have nothing left.

  And yet, I have it all.

  I collapse on top of Chella, letting my head fall onto her shoulder. She runs her hands through my hair and I shiver at her touch. “Your fingers feel a lot nicer now than they did a few minutes ago. You were like fucking Freddy Krueger with those nails slicing and dicing my back.”

  “Sorry not sorry,” she whispers. “Besides, I thought you liked it rough?”

  “Did I ever tell you that?”

  “Well, after last night and this morning, I just kind of assumed…”

  I chuckle. “I think you like it the same way.”

  Her eyes glimmer in the overhead light. “Only with you,” she says softly.

  I trace the outline of her lips with my forefinger before covering them with my own. It’s like a magnet to steel — the pull is too strong and I have no desire to escape.

  I open her lips with my tongue, my pulse throbbing against my neck as my cock jerks.

  Jesus, just kissing her has me hard again.

  This hunger, this ache…only she can satisfy it.

  And that’s when the nagging reminder about my terse call with Matteo flashes across my mind.

  Bad fucking timing.

  My brother’s angry face is enough to make my dick go limp in a hot second, and there go my plans for round four. I pull slightly away, expelling a sharp breath.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks. “I just lost you.”

  “No, it’s nothing, I just…ahh!” I jump as something cold and wet assaults the bottom of my foot.

  Chella giggles because she can see that it’s Bella attacking my foot like it’s a piece of filet mignon. “Aww, she loves you. Dogs kiss you like that to show affection.”

  I wiggle my toes, not that it stops her. It’s cute, albeit a little gross. I give up when it only seems to egg her on. It’s hard not to smile at her bouncing on the opposite end of the couch like a happy puppy who’s finally found her place. A quick look at Chella confirms that she’s thinking the same thing. The sadness in her expression makes my throat tight. “Hey,” I murmur, tilting her chin toward me. “I was thinking. Why don’t we just keep her for a little longer? A few more days? We can still bring her back, but I, ah, I think you need this right now. And…I don’t know. Maybe I do, too.”

  Chella’s brow furrows. “But think of her real family and what she’s missing.”

  “You don’t know the circumstances,” I say. “Look at her. She’s happy.” Something deep inside of me is connected to this dog. I can’t explain it since I’ve never even had one before, but when she came and tried to comfort me when I had that fucking meltdown, I just knew she was supposed to be here for that.

  She has to stay.

  I need to hang on to this feeling of being whole for as long as I can because my next moves are definitely going to blow my world to bits, leaving me empty and shattered beyond repair.

  Sure, I’ll still have my work, but over the past couple of days, I’ve come to realize that it’s not enough. Respect and loyalty is what I want…but I want it from the one person who is currently under me.

  Literally.

  I desperately want what I can’t have.

  So I’m trying to hang onto it for as long as I can.

  “I’d be so sad if she was my dog—”

  “Chell,” I say. “In a couple of days, we’ll take her to the police station. I promise. I just…I think she needs to stay with us right now.”

  “That doesn’t sound like something a badass mafia thug would say.”

  I shrug. “You keep telling me I’m not that guy.”

  “You aren’t,” she says. “Are you finally accepting it?”

  I flash a small smile. It doesn’t really matter whether or not I accept it.

  What matters is that I can never embrace it.

  Chella bites down on her lower lip. “Okay, a few more days.” Her expression darkens. “It might be over by then, anyway…”

  Yeah. If Matteo has anything to say, it definitely will.

  Fuck!

  “I’m going to take care of everything,” I croak. “I promise I’ll figure this out and make sure Frankie stays out of danger.”

  “Is that what you were talking to your brother about?”

  “Yes,” I lie. “I told him I have Frankie getting our drugs back and he was good with that.”

  A hopeful smile lifts her lips and she hugs me tighter, making me feel like a bigger piece of shit than I already know I am for lying to her.

  There’s that goddamn conflict again, tugging so hard around my neck I can barely breathe.

  “Thank you,” she says, her lips nuzzling my ear. “I know he’ll take care of it for you. He’d never do anything to hurt me.”

  My gut twists at that.

  If only she knew the truth.

  “Hey, did Dante say where he was going?” If I’m going to fix this my way instead of Matteo’s way, I’m going to need help.

  “He said something about going for a run.” Chella grins. “We should probably take this behind closed doors, just in case he comes back early.”

  I force a smile, rolling off the couch and pulling on my shorts. “Oh hey, we need to find you a dress for that event tonight.”

  Her eyes immediately brighten and she sits up. “I’d love that. But… do you think I can call Frankie? Please, just let me make sure he’s okay.”

  I grind my teeth together but give a swift nod. Let her talk to him now. Who the fuck knows how much longer he has to speak before someone yanks that tongue out of his double-crossing, lying fucking mouth? I reach onto the coffee table and hand her my phone, walking into the kitchen while she dials.

  A minute passes and she lets out an impatient huff before speaking into the phone.

  “Frankie, it’s me. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’m fine, so don’t worry about me.” She pauses for a second before speaking again. “Just please do what he needs, Frankie. Help him fix things and get him his stuff back so that nobody else gets hurt. Please. I…I love you.”

  I can hear the sigh of frustration as she stabs the End button.

  She joins me in the kitchen and hands me my phone. Panic settles into her features as she raises her gaze toward me. “No answer,” she mumbles, nibbling on her thumbnail.

  “It’s, ah, kinda early,” I offer. “Maybe he’s still passed out?”

  “Maybe,” she says, bending down to ruffle Bella’s fur.


  I sink down next to her and place my hands on her shoulders. “Hey, don’t worry. I told you I’d handle it, didn’t I?”

  She nods. “Yes.”

  “So, you have to trust me.”

  Those words don’t taste fabulous on my lips, I’ll tell ya that.

  “Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “I do.”

  The ache in my chest is tearing me apart right now, but this is the only way I can fix things.

  And Frankie is the problem, not the solution.

  “So go get dressed. I left a sweatshirt and pair of sweatpants on the bed in your room. Once we’re out, I’ll get you something that actually fits.”

  Chella snickers and runs into her room to change. She turns to peek over her shoulder before disappearing down the hallway, flashing a teasing grin at me. “Wait, so you’re letting me go to a place where you know I’m about to strip down and you’re not going to follow me?”

  I hold up my phone. “I’ve got fires to fight. And I don’t mind tearing off your clothes. Makes the prize even more worth the effort.”

  Her giggles travel down the hallway with her, and once I hear the door close, I dial Bobby’s number, hissing into the phone as soon as he answers.

  “Listen, I need you to find Frankie Amante for me as soon as possible.”

  “Sure, boss. What do you want me to do with him once I find him?”

  “Bring him to the place where we took care of Salvatore. I wanna talk to him.”

  “Okay. I’ll take care of it.”

  “And whatever you do, leave Ray out of it. He knows nothing, you got that? Don’t tell anyone where you’re going or why.”

  “Yeah. No problem, boss.”

  I end the call and quickly get myself together. Then I pop a few Advil because the throbbing between my temples makes me want to collapse on the couch and smother my face with a pillow.

  I need a fucking plan!

  I am exposed, like an open wound, and if I don’t figure out a way to plug it, I’m gonna bleed out.

  Literally and figuratively.

  I sink onto the couch, fisting my hair.

  Frankie won’t stop unless someone cuts him off at the knees. He’s brought a cash cow to the Volkovs in Brooklyn, and now that they know they have an in to keep milking it, they will drain us of everything, just like Matteo said they would.

  I don’t have a lot of time to fix this. The Volkovs aren’t the type to sit back on their asses and wait for a windfall. They’re the types to make the windfall happen in the first place.

  They’ll use Frankie to get inside again since he knows too fucking much about our operations.

  And then they’ll kill the whole Amante family because that’s just the kind of vengeful fuckers they are.

  Returning what he stole isn’t enough to keep Frankie alive.

  Matteo thinks that killing Frankie will solve our problem and show strength.

  I hate to admit it…but he’s right.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marchella

  I feel amazing as I do a half-twirl in front of the full-length mirror in the exclusive boutique that Roman picked out on Fifth Avenue. The soft folds of the fabric cling to my body like the dress was made especially for me. I haven’t worn something this luxurious in a long time, and for a minute, I just want to enjoy it. I want to feel wanted and beautiful and…happy.

  I can feel Roman’s eyes rake over me as I catch his heated stare in the mirror. He shifts on the leather couch as Bella yips and yaps, snuggled in his lap. He’s been distracted ever since we left his building, and I only asked once what was wrong. He dismissed his behavior, saying he was preoccupied with the event, but I’m not stupid.

  I know there’s more at play than what he’s letting on. I know something happened when he was on the phone with his brother, Matteo. The ‘what’ is what’s evading me right now. A shiver zips through me, almost immediately followed by an impending sense of dread that I can no longer squelch with memories of his body plastered on top of mine, driving me into a euphoric bliss over and over and over…

  I take a deep breath, letting it take hold after ignoring the gnawing feeling in my gut.

  Frankie is still MIA.

  I have no business traipsing around in this dress, planning for an evening where I will be playing the part of princess while my brother could very well be lying in a ditch somewhere.

  It’s insane to be putting so much trust in someone I barely know.

  I’m relying on his power to save my brother.

  But what if he can’t deliver?

  What if—?

  Roman’s phone rings, his forehead pinched as he grunts into the phone. I can see his body tense as he mumbles to whomever is on the line. I pretend not to pay attention while desperately straining my ears to hear something…anything…that can explain his sudden change in mood.

  I didn’t expect his meltdown earlier, and something tells me it won’t be the last one I witness.

  When he finally hangs up the phone, his jaw tightens and he stares out the window behind him. The sales associate walks over with a tray of champagne flutes, offering one to each of us. I take one and he waves the other one away. I take a few tentative steps toward him before dropping to one knee.

  “Hey,” I say softly. “Want to come into the fitting room? I can use some help unzipping this dress…”

  He barely acknowledges me, though. He’s obviously far away and his indifference is like a slap in the face. I grit my teeth and slowly rise to a standing position. “Okay, then, I’ll just take care of it myself.”

  I turn toward the back room and he grasps my wrist, pulling me back to him. “Chella,” he says in a gruff voice. “You look gorgeous.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  I stand there, staring at him and then at his hand. “Roman, listen, I know—”

  He shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

  “Then tell me so I do.”

  “I can’t. You just have to tru—”

  “Right, trust you. I get it.” I roll my eyes. “But here’s the thing. I’m putting a lot of blind faith in you and you’re not giving me anything in return.”

  “I don’t owe you anything, Chella,” he says, rising up from the couch. He draws himself up to his full height, staring down at me with those stormy irises.

  “And everything you said before? It was all bullshit? Were you working me?”

  “Just because I have feelings for you doesn’t mean I can choose you over my work. I have responsibilities, Marchella, responsibilities I take very seriously.”

  “You’re trying so hard to battle this, Roman—”

  “Stop trying to psychoanalyze me,” he hisses. “You’re not my fucking therapist.”

  I gasp, recoiling. “You asshole,” I seethe. I yank my wrist out of his grip and storm toward the fitting room.

  But I don’t get very far.

  He closes the distance between us, fisting my hair and backing me against the mirror, pushing his tongue between my lips. I dig my fingers into the back of his head like the twisted addict I am for his affection. I drink him in, all of his angst, rage, and lust flooding my body with unresolved emotion.

  I hold on tight to the one lifeline I still have left.

  I’ve been floundering for so long, trying to keep my eye on the future, desperate to stay positive and hopeful that things will change for the better, that I’ll be able to fix the damage done to my life.

  So I cling to Roman, the most unlikely bright spot in my otherwise murky existence.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs against my lips when we’re both breathless and sated…at least, temporarily. “I’m sorry for everything.”

  The voice in my head begs me to ask why he’s sorry, but the heaviness in my gut already suspects the answer.

  He pays for the dress, shoes, and earrings I’d been admiring, as well as some other clothes I picked out for every day, and we head back to his car, driving home with the same ominous cloud of sil
ence hanging over us. It’s thick enough to choke me, and I want to scream to shatter it. Once we pull into the garage, I get out of the car with Bella in my arms as Roman grabs the dress bag from the backseat. He holds open the door to the basement for me and I cringe as I pass the elevator and head for the stairs.

  “You gonna tell me what that’s all about?” he asks.

  I square my shoulders. He had an emotional breakdown before. I guess it’s only fair to share my abhorrence of elevators.

  “The last time I was in an elevator, it was at Memorial Sloane Kettering, on the day my mother died,” I say, tears stinging my eyes at the memory. It stings like I just pulled the scab off of a deep and painful wound.

  His hand grazes my arm, tugging me closer even though I just want to get away from the elevator door. I don’t want to hear the door open, the creaking sound still haunts me to this day.

  I turn to look at him. “We were going up to her room to see her,” I whisper. “She’d had a good couple of days and I’d left the night before feeling that we might actually have more time. She’d been awake and alert and aware. They were all good signs. And I just felt hopeful, you know? It was like she wasn’t ready to go yet.” My gaze drops to the floor. “But something happened overnight. I’d left because the doctors said I should get some rest, that she would be fine. But I guess they had it all wrong.”

  Roman stares at me, silently waiting for me to finish.

  My God, every time I think about it, it feels like my heart is literally being impaled with a hot poker and shredded.

  I blink fast to hold back the tears, taking one last shuddering breath before I continue. “Frankie and I went back in the morning. I remember getting onto the elevator with him, talking and laughing and feeling positive for the first time in a while. Then the elevator doors creaked open on her floor and my dad was waiting for us. He’d stayed…he was there with her when she…when she…”

  And then the hot tears spill over, streaming down my face.

  I just can’t say the words.

  It’s probably the closest I’d ever felt to my father. In those horrific moments, we were bonded, sharing in the grief and the loss. We were connected, all three of us.