City Of Sin: A Mafia & MC Romance Collection

by K. J. Dahlen

  There’s a scrape of chair legs against the kitchen tile and my heart picks up. He’s getting up. This is it. This could be it.

  I’m afraid, somewhere deep down at the core of me. Even Sia’s kiss can’t stop that primal fear. But her love covers it, overwhelms it, and if I’m going to die, then there’s nowhere else I’d rather die. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing. If this is the last moment of my life, I’ll spend it tasting the sweetness of her tongue, pressing my lips into the softness of hers, relishing the way she opens up for me.

  If only I could fuck her on the floor. That would be the way to go out.

  “Gio.” My father says the word like a reprimand but it hardly breaks the surface of my thoughts. Fuck that guy. Fuck him, and fuck his complicated backstories, fuck the way he never gave me all the information to make a decision by myself.

  He sighs, the only sign of impatience, but at the same moment Sia presses herself against me with a little noise in the back of her throat and I am lost. Lost.

  I might actually lay her down on the kitchen floor.

  That’s how lost I am.

  Who the hell cares?

  The front door slams open with a hard crack and a splinter of wood. Sia sucks in a breath, her arms tightening around my neck.

  Footsteps, coming through the living room, too quickly for anyone to stop. But they’re light. It’s not one of my brothers. I know it instinctively, the way you know someone’s walk from a distance.

  A summer breeze coils in from the open door. It smells like cut grass and darkness and a second chance. A new hope.

  I’m still underwater in Sia’s kiss and it’s a struggle to surface. It was heavy, the acceptance that our lives were going to end that way, tasting each other’s lips, pressed so close together that anybody on earth would have been embarrrased to see it. Even now, her hips are flattened against mine, and I’m pushing her back against the wall.

  There’s movement in the corner of my eye, and I tear myself away from Sia. It’s like tearing myself away from the oxygen I need to breathe, but I have to look.

  A woman stands in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. She’s gorgeous. Auburn hair. Black outfit that makes her look like fire. And a gun, trained on my father. It’s sheer adrenaline, sheer relief, that makes me bend to kiss her again.

  The woman interrupts.

  “Holy Christ, Romeo. Let her breathe so I can save you.”

  50

  Sia

  I shove Gio backward, probably harder than necessary, my heart hammering against my rib cage, thud thud thud.

  David and Marco are frozen in a tableau of surprise. David has his hand at his back and Marco is halfway up from his seat.

  And me?

  I’m grinning crazily, backed up against the wall, Gio’s hands still on my hips.

  “Sia, girl, what the hell are you doing in this backwater town?”

  Portia.

  Portia is here.

  Against all odds, against all hopes, Portia is here, brandishing a gun so shiny and dark that it’s like looking into a black hole. Her hands are absolutely steady, not the slightest shake, and oh my fuck, she looks like a beautiful ninja. Black tank top. A leather strap over her shoulder and across her chest. Is that a fucking knife? Black pants that hug her supermodel hips. Everything about her is perfect, from her hair slung into a ballerina bun at the back of her head to the sleek black shoes on her toes.

  Somehow, they match her outfit completely.

  I grab Gio’s hand and run for it.

  On the way across the kitchen, he grabs his backpack and slings it onto his shoulder.

  “Go, go, go,” Portia says, lowering one hand to slap my ass as I go behind her, into the living room.

  “What the hell, man? It took me forever to catch up with you. This place—”

  She shakes her head, then turns her attention back to Marco and David. “Hands in the air, asshole,” she says to my uncle, but there’s no bitterness. It’s almost friendly, how she says it. “Slowly. I’ll have you on the ground before you can blink if there’s a gun in your hands. And you, old man—” She grins at Marco. “You’ve got a cute old man look going on, really. But sit your ass down in the seat. My guess is that you don’t have a gun yourself. You hire other people to do your dirty work. Don’t you? Yes?” Marco sits down, a little half smile on his face that reminds me so much of Gio my heart squeezes.

  “That’s what I thought.” David’s hands are in the air.

  “Portia, how the hell—”

  “Shh,” she says out of the corner of her mouth. “We can talk on the drive.”

  “Portia, I—” My uncle tries his best.

  Portia isn’t having it. “You know, I never suspected you.” Portia purses her lips. “You made pizza for our fucking study sessions. What’s wrong with you? You think this is the way to live? You’re going to have to be better at it than that if you’re going to make a career of it, buddy.”

  David puffs up his chest. “I have a perfectly fine career, and—”

  Portia rolls her eyes as only a nineteen-year-old beauty queen can. “Please. Any man who would fuck around with the Morettos needs to reevaluate his life choices. That would be you,” she finishes with a wink that makes me want to burst out laughing. “Okay. We’re going to be going. You two are going to sit here for the next thirty minutes. Got it?”

  They say nothing.

  “I’ll say it one more time,” she says, her voice light and free, like she’s flirting for tips at a restaurant.

  “You’re going to sit here for the next thirty minutes, and then—”

  “Spare us,” says Marco, smiling more broadly.

  Portia stomps forward, the tip of the gun swinging closer to Marco’s face by the step. “Hey, fucker, do you understand what I said or do you need me to make it clearer?”

  Marco spreads his fingers out on the surface of the table and with a jerk and quiver of my heart I realize Portia was right. He doesn’t have a gun. If he did, he’d have shot her when she walked through the door. And David wasn’t quick enough on the draw.

  That, or…

  Marco gives her one sharp nod. “I understand.”

  My heart swells with pride. I squeeze Gio’s hand.

  “Sia, take your boyfriend out to the car. My car. Do not get into any other car. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I don’t hesitate. I don’t have to. In this moment, I trust Portia more than anyone in my life, including Gio.

  “Sia—” There’s only the hint of indecision in Gio’s voice.

  “Later,” I tell him, and turn him around. He follows me like he’s made of putty. I kiss his knuckles. Six steps and we’re at the wide-open door, which is hanging from its hinges like Portia kicked it in with her foot. That’s what it sounded like, anyway, and I’m more than a little in awe.

  A little black SUV waits outside, and I climb into the backseat. There, right in the middle, is the little purse I was carrying that night at the club with Portia. Gio pulls the door shut and I raise that stupid sequined purse to my lips and kiss it. “She’s an angel.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My purse.”

  I unzip it. Everything’s there—my cards, my ID, the emergency cash I tucked in the secret pocket.

  It’s all here. Even my old phone. It’s in the glitter case that I bought with Portia a million years ago at the campus bookstore.

  I don’t trust it.

  I give it an appreciative pat, roll down the window, and tip the phone to the ground. My uncle pays the bill for that. I can’t go anywhere, least of all away in this SUV, with something like that on my person.

  A gunshot startles me out of my fascination with the purse, and Gio lurches to the door, his hand on the handle. Portia is backing away from the house, gun still pointed at the cottage. She walks backward all the way to the car and hops in the driver’s seat. She flips the gun in her hand and gives it to Gio. “Cover the house.�
��

  “What the hell was that?” He sounds incredulous but takes the gun.

  “A warning shot,” Portia says with a grin. “Just to make sure they stay in the kitchen.”

  “Damn.”

  Gio rolls down the window and points the gun at the cottage while Portia starts the car.

  There’s no movement inside the house.

  “Where’d you aim?” I ask her, jittery from waiting, jittery from this incredible relief, this incredible anticipation.

  “Way up top, my friend.” She puts the car in drive and steps on the accelerator. “Don’t worry. They’re going to be fine.”

  51

  Gio

  Two towns, then three. We’re leaving Torch Lake behind, maybe forever, and I am filled with a strange mix of nostalgia and hope. I don’t understand the nostalgia. Not really. Torch Lake was a little slice of heaven, but it was also its own special brand of hell. Fucking tonsillitis.

  But then, in the midst of it all, there was Sia. Sia putting a cool hand on my forehead. Sia bringing tea and lukewarm water that would cause the least pain as I swallowed.

  Fine. It was mostly heaven.

  After the third town, I flip the safety on the gun and put it carefully on the floor of the car. Then I gather Sia into my arms. And kiss her. And kiss her again. She mewls and comes to life in my hands. Never in my life have I wished for a privacy divider more.

  “Hey,” says Portia from the front seat. “It’s a long drive. Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m Portia Thomas, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I offer her my hand from the backseat and blink into the headlights on the road. “Where the hell did you come from?”

  “She came from college,” Sia says wonderingly.

  Portia laughs. It’s a delightful sound and full of energy. It does not sound like she’s driving a getaway car in the middle of the night. “I came from the city, same as you.” I can only see the side of her face in the dim glow from the dashboard, not her eyes. “There’s more than one family in the city of Chicago.”

  “Oh, my god, stop,” says Sia, dropping her head against my shoulder. “I can’t take it. Is everyone in my life involved? Everyone?”

  “Don’t worry about it, girlfriend,” Portia says easily. “You won’t have to pay attention to this stuff again if I have my way about it.”

  Sia yawns. “What’s your plan, then? We all move into an apartment together and you guard the door?”

  “Live with a married woman? No way.” A laugh rises in my chest at Portia’s words. “No, you guys need to get out of dodge.”

  Sia groans. “Not again.”

  “Yes again.” Portia’s tone brooks no argument. “Let those guys cool down. Live your lives. And in a little while, you might even be able to go home.”

  It seems like this last bit is directed at me. “I doubt that.”

  “I don’t.”

  Her certainty strikes me as hilarious. The adrenaline is still rushing through my veins, even though we’ve been driving for forty-five minutes, and I stifle a laugh. “How would you know?”

  “I’ve heard of your family.” Portia accelerates on our way out of town number four. “Marco Moretto’s not going to lose a son over this. If he’s smart, he’ll realize he’s gained a daughter.”

  Portia’s being very sweet, but Sia doesn’t say anything.

  She’s fallen asleep.

  It hurts, how much I love holding her. It literally makes my muscles ache with joy. I didn’t know that was possible, but I never want to let her go. So I don’t. Even when my arm falls asleep, I hold on. Even when my leg falls asleep from her head on my lap, I hold on.

  I might not ever let her out of arm’s reach again. It seems like a reasonable thought, here in the dark with small towns rushing by every fifteen minutes, then twenty.

  There’s only one question I have for Portia.

  Sia doesn’t stir when I ask it.

  “How’d you find her?”

  She sighs. “You ever have a bad feeling about something?”

  “All the time.”

  “I was drunk that night, not stupid. I had the Uber driver turn around. Your car didn’t fit in with her neighborhood.” Portia shrugs one shoulder, as if this is commonplace. “I put a tracker on the wheel well.”

  “I sold that car.”

  “I know.”

  She doesn’t elaborate, and I stare out at the road in silence. There’s more to her than meets the eye.

  She doesn’t wake up for another three hours, when Portia pulls the SUV into the smallest airport I’ve ever seen. It’s in the middle of some forest in Michigan’s upper peninsula. The size of the planes parked outside the tiny building doesn’t inspire much confidence.

  “Where are we?” Sia yawns, her hair a complete mess. She looks gorgeous.

  “Airport.” Portia opens the glove box and pulls out two slim envelope. “Boarding passes. Your plane leaves in...” She consults the clock on the dash. “Twenty minutes.”

  “Oh, my god, what about security?” Sia runs a hand frantically over her hair. “Our bags…”

  “You don’t have a bag,” Portia says. “Just your purse. And look at this place. Security is going to be a breeze.”

  She hugs us both for a long time in the parking lot.

  “But where—” Sia has too many questions.

  “There’s an itinerary on the boarding passes. Now get out of here.”

  I take Sia’s hand and steer her toward the front entrance of the airport. The morning air is fresh and summery, and we’re headed off into a new life. This time, it’s really starting over. “I love you, Portia,” she calls over her shoulder. “What about college?”

  “I love you too,” says Portia. I turn my head to see her. She’s got one foot in the SUV already. That woman has places to go.

  “Thank you,” I tell her. It’s fucking inadequate, but it’ll have to do. For now, at least.

  “Any time, Romeo,” Portia says, and I turn back toward the airport. Toward the future. Behind us, the SUV door closes with a click snap.

  Sia takes a deep breath. We’re only a few steps away from the doors. In a moment, they’ll open automatically, and we’ll step into the carpeted security area of the world’s most backwater airport.

  Before the hour is up, we’ll be in the air, flying to...destination unknown. “Do you think we can do it?”

  “Do what?” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. “Start over?”

  “Yeah. We’ve had to do it so much, and—”

  I stop outside those doors and kiss her.

  I keep it on the safe side. I don’t want to be so filthy that airport security gets involved, but filthy enough to distract her from her fears. “Wife, don’t worry.” Sia smiles, her cheeks flushing. “My love for you is boundless. The more I give that love to you, the more it grows.” I laugh, reflecting the joy on her face, and Sia laughs, too.

  She takes my hand.

  She turns toward the doors.

  “Let’s go.”

  Epilogue

  Sia

  Six months later

  The ocean crashes against the shores of Baker Beach and Gio flops into the sand.

  “You want to bring it all back with you?” I nudge him with the tip of my shoe.

  “I don’t care,” he says, a big grin on his face. “That hike was killer.”

  “That was the downhill portion.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  I take a big breath in and look out over the waves.

  California. Sunny, dreamy California, where the weather is usually nice and the only thing we have to worry about are earthquakes. And mudslides. Those things are a small price to pay.

  We live in California now, and everything before this seems like more of a dream than this beach.

  At least, it did until this morning, when we found a package in the post office box we use. It’s hidden in the suburbs, nowhere near our actual addres
s.

  The package was from Gio’s father.

  Inside was a silver necklace for me and a watch for Gio, with a note that said Congratulations on your marriage. May we celebrate together one day.

  I laughed so hard I cried. It almost got embarrassing, right there in the post office, with a bunch of old ladies checking their mail and giving us the most serious side-eye you’ve ever seen in your life.

  Gio didn’t laugh.

  “We should go back,” he’d said, and put the watch on.

  “Gio. He tried to have me killed.” I let the necklace dangle from my fingers. It was a pretty thing, light and delicate, and honestly I’d have chosen it for myself. It irritated me, a little, that Gio’s father could choose something so....effectively. Then again, Gio is his son. Maybe it’s a family skill.

  “He clearly regrets the error of his ways.”

  “You think he can make it up to me with a necklace?”

  He’d shrugged one shoulder, and I saw the pain slip through the mask of his expression. Gio misses his family. He misses them like you’d miss a limb. Every Wednesday is an exercise in distraction, because even after all this time, he still thinks he should be going to the family dinner.

  Oh, for the love of god, I probably could forgive the man. I’d need to spend a little more time putting myself in his shoes, but it could happen. Part of me, stupidly, wants to go to one of those family dinners. And even though he tried to have his own son come after me, I can admire the tenacity. He really wanted to wipe us from the earth.

  He failed.

  Which is the only reason in the end that I can even think about what forgiveness would look like.

  It doesn’t matter for now. It’s the kind of pipe dream we can’t entertain for the moment.

  Still, I can’t rule it out.

  Maybe that makes me a sucker.

  “I’m going to lay here.” Gio throws an arm over his face. He’s going to be covered in sand, and I tense at the thought of having to sweep all of it up. Relax, I remind myself. We’re both going to be covered in sand, and none of it is going to matter at all, next to being alive.