I nod and make a face. I thought my words were pretty self-explanatory. I wasn’t about to say I was trying to get my brains banged right out of my head by an absolute stranger before I finally came to my senses.
She puts her hands on her hips, and I know she’s about to grill me. “With who? Where?”
“I went to the lobby for some fresh air.” I’m lying, but the words slide off my tongue so easily, I even believe my own bullshit for a hot second.
She cocks her head to the side and narrows her eyes. “Who’s the guy?” she asks without missing a beat, knowing me better than I know myself sometimes.
That’s how it is between us. We’ve been best friends since we still had training wheels on our Huffys. We were, and always have been, inseparable. In a family filled with men, she’s the closest thing I have to a sister and the person who knows all my secrets.
“There’s no guy.”
I’m sticking to my story. There’s no way I’m coming clean.
She ticks her chin in my direction, eyeing something behind me. “Then, who’s he?” She crosses her arms and tilts her head, letting me know I’m very much caught.
Shit.
I don’t want to turn around. That would be totally obvious. By the way Michelle’s looking at whoever is behind me, they know we’re talking about them already. No need to fan the flames of embarrassment.
“What do they look like?”
“Tall, dark, handsome, and wearing a suit.”
I roll my eyes. “Jesus, Michelle. You just described every man in this room. Be a little more specific.”
“Just look,” she tells me.
Like it’s that easy.
“What color eyes does he have?”
“Seriously?” She shakes her head, and I know she’s judging me. “Did you leave with more than one guy or something?”
“No, no. It’s not like that.”
“Well, prepare yourself. He’s walking toward us and…”
“Daphne.” The shivers from earlier skate across my skin, and I know Dreamboat’s behind me.
I turn my head and smile. “Hey,” I say casually because I don’t want him to know what he does to me or for Michelle to think something more happened than the tragic truth of my sad, lonely vagina missing out on what I’d assume would be numerous orgasms.
“Can we talk?” he asks, without even looking at Michelle.
“Give me a minute,” I tell Michelle and place my hand on her arm, hoping she doesn’t make a scene.
She stares at me for a second before glancing at Dreamboat over my shoulder. “He looks familiar.”
“He’s one of Lucio’s buddies,” I tell her.
In all honesty, I have no clue who he is, and a few minutes ago, I didn’t really care.
“Be careful.” She places her hand over mine. “With your father back, people are going to come out of the woodwork.”
“But it’s a wedding.”
“There’s no safe time or place when Santino’s around,” she reminds me.
That’s the cold, hard reality of my father’s line of work. There’s always a willing someone out there, thinking about putting a bullet in our heads as payback for some fucked-up thing our father did.
“I won’t leave with him. I promise.”
She stares at Dreamboat for a moment before walking toward the dance floor where Lucio currently has his head up Delilah’s dress, making a spectacle of retrieving the garter and taking his sweet-ass time too.
I turn to face the man I very well could’ve been naked with if it weren’t for my regaining my sanity. “Who are you?”
Dreamboat doesn’t seem frazzled by my question. He has one hand in his pants pocket and the other at his side, standing tall and just as confident as ever. “I’m Leo,” he answers, like his name should clue me the fuck in on something.
I don’t touch him, but I want to. I like being near him. I like the way my body reacts when he touches me, and I hate myself for it. “One of Lucio’s friends?”
Leo shakes his head.
“Delilah’s?”
He shakes his head again.
“Well,” I say, wasting time because I’m confused, and the whiskey doesn’t make anything easier.
If he’s not friends with Lucio or Delilah, then why the hell is he here? Then it hits me. Maybe he’s a relative.
Jesus, please don’t make him family.
“Cousin?” I grimace, hoping like hell he’ll shake his head again.
Leo shakes his head again, ending the possibility that I almost banged my own blood.
Thank fuck.
“I know your father,” he says casually, like it’s not a big freaking deal.
This can’t be happening.
I want to slap myself in the face…repeatedly. Out of all the men at the wedding, I had to almost hook up with someone who associates with my father. A mobster and an ex-con.
Yippee.
I should seriously get the gold star for this one.
By the looks of Leo, he totally fits the mold of the smooth, handsome, and irresistible bad-boy gangster Hollywood has always portrayed.
“My father invited you?”
I didn’t even know my father was out of prison until he showed his face tonight. But clearly, other people knew, including Leo.
“Not exactly,” Leo replies, being cagey.
I cross my arms over my chest, unable to stop myself from staring at this hot-as-fuck guy. And when I say hot-as-fuck, I mean off-the-charts, panty-melting, ride-him-until-I-die kind of sexiness.
“You’re friends with my father, and you tried to sleep with me. That’s fucked up.”
Leo smirks. “I never said I was his friend.”
At this point, I’m confused and too drunk to form any type of rational thoughts. I don’t have time to ask any more questions because Johnny, my father’s friend and business associate, is heading straight for us.
He doesn’t look happy, but then again, Johnny’s rarely sporting a smile.
“Look out,” I say, because if Leo isn’t my father’s friend, Johnny isn’t coming to say hello.
Leo turns around, and his cocky smirk vanishes as soon as he lays eyes on Johnny. “I better go.”
But before he can move, Johnny is so close to Leo, they’re practically standing nose-to-nose. “I’m going to be nice about this because we’re at a wedding,” Johnny says, staring Leo straight in the eye and almost foaming at the mouth.
Oh shit. This isn’t good.
Leo doesn’t seem fazed by the way Johnny’s gritting his teeth like a dog ready to attack. “I was just leaving,” Leo tells him.
“You have some balls showing up here, kid.” Johnny pushes his fingers through his gray hair, smoothing back the sides.
Leo squares his shoulders, not backing down. “I wanted to see with my own eyes.” He’s not afraid of Johnny. That much is clear.
“Don’t come near Tino’s family.” Johnny’s eyes slice to me, and I know he doesn’t like me talking to Leo.
I’m eventually going to get an earful, but it has always been hard to keep up with who’s who in the Chicago mob world.
“Especially his daughter. She’s off-limits.”
His words don’t sit well with me. My father’s business has nothing to do with me or my life. He stopped calling the shots somewhere around the time he went to the joint for my entire middle school years. But that doesn’t stop Johnny from trying to run my life.
“Johnny, I’m grown. I can make that choice,” I tell him with one hand on my hip, throwing him tons of shade.
Johnny’s eyes darken immediately. I can see he doesn’t agree. “Do you have a death wish, Daphne?”
“Who’s going to off me?” My eyes slice to Leo the dreamboat. “Leo?” I laugh nervously.
Leo has been a complete gentleman. Well, if you don’t count trying to get me up to his room to fuck my brains out not that long ago.
“You know who Mario Conti is, right?”
> It’s hard not to know Mario. He and my father were friends back in the day until Mario decided to split from the family and form his own. Since that day, my father and Mario have been mortal enemies.
“Uh, yeah, Johnny. I know the name well.”
Johnny pitches his head toward Leo. “This is his kid.”
I gawk at Leo, wondering if he was, in fact, going to off me as soon as we were alone. The thought doesn’t seem as wild and stupid as it did a few seconds ago. Was there a hit on me? Jesus, the thought sends chills down my spine.
“Were you going to…” My voice drifts off. I can’t seem to bring myself to say the words. They’re horrifying.
Leo shakes his head. “I only had one thing on my mind.”
“Get the fuck out,” Johnny says and points toward the door. “You have thirty seconds to get your feet moving, or I’ll toss you out on your ass. Wedding or no wedding, I will make an example of you.”
“Johnny.” I draw his attention back to me as I touch his arm. I want to talk to Leo alone without my father’s henchman nearby. “Give us a minute, and then he’ll leave. Don’t make a scene at my brother’s wedding. Please.”
Johnny stares at me but doesn’t move or speak for a moment. I think he’s going to fight me on this, but he doesn’t. “Thirty seconds,” he says before he steps backward, keeping his eyes on Leo until he’s a few feet away.
“I can’t believe you.”
Anger, rage, and hurt well up inside me.
How could I have been so stupid?
“Daphne, listen.” Leo’s dark eyes bore into me, and that sexy, sinful look from earlier seems more sinister with the knowledge of who he is. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
“Mm-hmm.” I’m not convinced.
Leo reaches between us and takes my hand in his. The warmth of his palm sends tiny bolts of lightning throughout my system, and I instantly wish everything could be different. The way he looks at me is unlike how any man has ever looked at me before. Maybe it’s not sexual like I’d imagined, but filled with rage and hatred instead.
He sweeps his thumb across the top of my hand in slow, steady strokes. “I like you. I like you a lot, and that’s dangerous for both of us.”
Well, that’s the understatement of the year.
“Right now, you’re the only one in danger.” I pull my hand away even though I like the way he touches me. Then there’s his face. Damn, Leo’s all kinds of sexy, and it kills me to say my next words. “Just go, Leo. Go before you ruin my brother’s wedding.”
“See me again,” he begs.
Everything in me wants to say yes, but then I see Johnny giving me the stink eye, looking like he’s about to go all Tony Montana on Leo. “It’s better if you keep your distance. I don’t date mobsters anyway.”
“I’m a businessman.”
“Sure, you are. And I’m Mother Teresa.”
“We’re not done. I’ll find you,” he promises.
I don’t know if I should be excited about that statement or scared to death.
3
Daphne
My head throbs as I pull the sheet over my face, trying to block out the sunlight streaming through the annoying little slit in the curtains. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I try to swallow, getting the first taste, which I’m not sure any amount of brushing will ever wipe away.
Last night, I had way too much to drink. I totally blame Morgan for continuing to ply me with alcohol long after Leo left. Aunt Fran was partially to blame because she got the ball rolling with the bottles of whiskey, sabotaging my plans to stay sober.
“You’re awake,” a deep, gravelly voice says beside me.
I freeze as my eyes widen.
Who the fuck is next to me?
I knew I was trashed, but I didn’t think I’d had so many shots I wouldn’t remember inviting someone back to my hotel room, but clearly, I did.
Lying here, thinking about last night, I remember being at the reception, laughing with my cousins. But for the life of me, I don’t remember walking through the lobby, the ride up in the elevator, or the last few steps to my room.
Shit.
This could be bad.
Like, really bad.
I squeeze my eyes shut and say a silent prayer, hoping like hell I didn’t sleep with one of my brother’s friends. Either way…this has to be my dumbest moment of my entire life.
Well, at least the second dumbest because that time under the football stadium bleachers with Tommy Pasquale probably takes the cake. But I’ve blocked that memory out for so long, I refuse to breathe a whisper of it to another human being for the rest of my life.
Maybe the guy and I passed out, and neither of us will remember a thing about last night. That would be the best scenario at this point. I can at least hope that will be the case. Maybe he was so drunk he couldn’t even get it up, or I’ll find him completely dressed and on top of the sheets because he was a complete gentleman.
A hand slides across my bare thigh and puts all doubt and hope I have to rest. “Please, God,” I whisper.
Rarely has the Almighty come to my aid, but there’s never been a time I needed him more than right now.
The bed dips as the stranger rolls closer. When his bare skin touches mine, I know my prayers have most certainly not been answered. By the way his morning wood is digging into my thigh, I can probably assume we fucked too.
“Morning, bella,” he says.
Oh shit. For real? I close my eyes again, and flashes of leaving the hotel come flooding back like giant slaps in the face in that perfect spot that makes you feel like your skull’s going to explode.
My entire body goes rigid. Leo’s naked. I’m naked. His cock is touching me, and I can’t remember a damn thing.
Just great.
“Did we…?” I suddenly feel ill.
I don’t give him time to answer. I don’t even care I’m naked as I roll off the bed and run toward the bathroom, knowing I’m about to hurl every single thing that could possibly be left in my stomach into the toilet.
Leaning over the porcelain goddess, I gag, waiting to vomit, but nothing comes. My chest heaves, and tears sting my eyes with the realization I’ve fucked up by sleeping with him.
Not just a little, but so damn big.
After growing up surrounded by men who easily could’ve walked straight out of The Sopranos, I told myself I’d never get involved with anyone in the family business.
My father ruined the sexiness Hollywood had portrayed. I knew the lifestyle wasn’t as glamorous as many people believed. Besides that, mobsters were dangerous as fuck. But out of all the guys in Chicago, why the hell did I have to sleep with one who’s the son of my father’s enemy?
The tears fall fast and hard as the stupidity of the entire situation hits me.
“You okay in there?” Leo asks from the other side of the door.
I can’t help myself. I start to laugh as the tears plop onto the seat of the toilet, popping like my shame.
The doorknob jiggles. “I’m coming in.”
“No!” I yell and bite down on my lip, trying to stop the giggles that have suddenly taken over. “I’m fine. Go away.”
“No, bella. Not until I know you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. Just fucking great.” I start to laugh louder than before and slip, falling backward and hitting my back against the bathtub. I howl like an injured wild animal as the edge digs into my skin.
Leo doesn’t bother asking if I’m okay again before he barges through the bathroom door in all his naked glory.
Well, damn.
My laughter dies. I gawk at his body. My face is covered with tears, both from pain and embarrassment, and I’m as naked as the day I was born.
I’m a mess and in pain, but damn it…the man is fine.
Thick, muscular thighs. Abs that resemble an old-fashioned washboard, complete with the most perfect happy trail, which leads to a long and perfectly thick cock. His pecs are even off-the-charts
hot. The man is built. Then there’s his face. His dark eyes, full lips, stubble, and somehow, he pulls off bed head.
Goddammit, why does he have to be nothing short of perfection?
“Jesus.” Leo scoops me into his arms, not waiting for me to ask for help.
I’m about to slap his hands away, but my back aches and then there’s the fact that I’m so hungover, I’m not sure I could make it back to the bed while staying upright.
“Are you hurt?”
I don’t answer.
His hot skin against mine is doing crazy shit to my insides and totally scrambling my brain. I’ve never been that girl. The one rendered speechless by a guy. Somehow, I’ve turned into her, and Leo Conti’s to blame.
He places my bottom on the bed and then starts to inspect my body for any damage. Leo’s hand skates across my skin while I’m face-to-face with his cock. I don’t mean it’s nearby. I mean, if I stick my tongue out, I’ll get a taste.
I can’t make myself look away either.
He may be my father’s enemy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the man and his off-the-charts hotness along with the sheer perfection of his dick. This is by far the biggest clusterfuck of my life.
“I’m fine, Leo,” I lie and cover my face with my hands, totally embarrassed and wishing I could get a do-over. “You should go,” I tell him and try to keep my eyes on his face instead of his beautiful cock.
If anyone in my family catches Leo in my room, it’ll be game over for both of us.
He backs up, his cock waving around like it’s taunting me, and places his hands on his hips. “This is my place. Where do you want me to go?”
Fuck my life.
“Why me?” I groan and drag my fingers down my face.
Leo kneels in front of me and pushes my hands away. “You don’t remember, do you?”
“I remember,” I say quickly, completely defensive.
I don’t want to be that girl.
You know…the type I clearly am.
The corner of his mouth turns upward. “Tell me what position we did it in?”
I laugh and wince all at once because the tiny monster inside my head is jackhammering away like a boss, probably etching the word “Whiskey” onto my skull as a reminder. “Come on. That’s so easy,” I scoff.
Flow: Men of Inked: Southside 2 Page 3
