You Don't Know Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Georgia Le Carre

  I look up at him, fifty thousand pounds richer.

  He grabs my hand—the bricks fall down on the bed in a heap—and pulls my naked body to his. ‘Do you know what I am thinking?’ he mutters.

  My heart somersaults. I take his lower lip between my teeth and pull it experimentally as far away from his face as I can while my hands start undoing the top button of his shirt. He drags his lips in a trail of fire along my throat and my chin and catches my mouth with his. His tongue delves in, seeking mine, like a grounded child whose friend has come to knock on the door to ask if he can come out to play.

  ‘Someone should bottle you,’ he says softly, much, much later.

  NINE

  Jake

  The sound of a bird chirping wakes me up. Shit. That’s no fucking bird in my bedroom. Immediately I tense. It can only be bad news. I feel Lily moving in the pitch dark. Her bedside lamp comes on. She blinks and squints blearily against the glare of the light. I lay a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Go back to sleep,’ I say softly, and quickly go out of the room holding my phone. The light clock flashes 3.50 a.m.!

  ‘What is it, Dom?’ My voice is not sleepy. It is a bark, at once urgent, worried and irritated. I run down the stairs.

  ‘They’ve only gone and torched Eden, haven’t they?’ He sounds like he has been drinking.

  My stomach lurches. My first thought: ‘Where’s Shane?’

  ‘He’s all right,’ my brother says instantly.

  I feel almost sick with relief.

  Without drawing breath Dom carries on ranting, ‘It was the Pilkingtons that did it. I fucking know it was that big bastard. No one else would dare.’

  I get into the living room and start walking toward the window. ‘Calm down, Dom.’

  ‘Calm down? Calm down?’ he bellows. ‘I’m gonna kill him. I’ll fucking kill the ugly vermin. These motherfuckers need to know who they’re messin’ with. I say I get some of our boys to Red Ice and turn it into a nice bonfire tomorrow night.’

  This is not good. Dom is in one of his volcanic rages. I can picture him, his lean, wiry body crashing about whatever room he is in, his neck popping with purple veins, his mind an unthinking red mist. I need to calm him down. The situation is bad enough without another bonfire. Outside it is beautifully still.

  ‘Take it easy, Dom.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? That lowlife scum is trying to muscle in on our patch and you’re asking me to take it easy? He’ll be dead meat before I call this feud between the Edens and the Pilkingtons over,’ he screams into my ear.

  ‘Shut up. Your head is fucked,’ I snarl furiously.

  That gets through to him. He goes silent.

  I take a deep breath. ‘Let me think. We need to remain calm and focused,’ I say seriously.

  ‘And then what?’ he spits, still boiling, but disaster has been averted for now.

  My temples begin to throb. This silly generational feud. Will I never be free of it? Still, I’m in no mood to argue.

  ‘And then I decide. I’m the head of this family and don’t you forget it.’

  Dom subsides like a soufflé that has seen daylight too early. ‘OK, I hear you. I’m sorry. What do you want me to do, Jake?’

  ‘Take your boys and go down there and see what the gossip is and report back to me in the morning.’

  ‘All right, I’m gonna do what you ask, but this needs to be sorted quickly. I’m not gonna let that cocky cunt walk all over us—’

  I terminate the call and fling my mobile across to the couch. Shit, fucking shit. The last thing I need is for Dominic to go crashing into this delicate truce between the Pilkingtons and the Edens. Nobody can even remember anymore why our two families are feuding, but we are. We stay out of each other’s way. Why on earth would the Pilkingtons decide to reignite the feud now? There is no sense to it. Neither of us wants an all-out war. I call Shane.

  He answers on the first ring. ‘Dom called you?’ He sounds stressed.

  ‘Yeah. Where are you now?’

  ‘At the club.’

  ‘Is the fire out?’

  ‘Yeah, looks like it.’

  ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘They firebombed the front and the back. There was hardly anything to burn in the front and the sprinklers contained the fire but the kitchen looks bad.’

  ‘Do you need me to come there?’

  ‘Nah. I got it under control. The police are here now.’

  ‘Right. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  I flick on a light switch, go to the bar, and reach for a bottle of Scotch. I pick it up to down it and see Lily is standing at the door. I take a swallow, my fingers gripping the cold glass.

  ‘You want a drink, Lil?’

  Before she can answer I pour a second shot into another tumbler. I walk up to her, pass her the drink and raise my glass against hers. I swallow in one but she doesn’t even pretend to drink.

  ‘What’s going on, Jake?’

  ‘Someone set fire to Eden.’

  ‘What?’ Her eyes widen with shock. ‘Why?’

  I shrug. ‘Could be just kids.’

  ‘Do you have to go there now?’

  ‘No, Shane is there.’

  ‘Do you need me to do anything?’

  I shake my head and kiss her on the top of her head. ‘Go back to bed. I’ve got some calls to make. I’ll be in shortly.’

  ‘OK.’ She turns around and starts walking toward the bedroom.

  ‘Oh, Lil, would you like to go on a trip tomorrow?’

  She turns around slowly. ‘By myself?’

  ‘Of course not. With me, obviously.’

  She beams at me. ‘Of course I would.’

  I feel that dizzy rush to my head. It is unbelievable how crazy I am about her. She is waiting for me to explain. Tell her where or why. But I don’t and she walks away from me. Smiling, but confused.

  Lily

  I don’t close the door to the living room and go back to bed. Instead I stand at the top of the stairs and listen, but there are no more sounds to be heard other than Jake going into the dining room and shutting the door behind him. I go back to the bedroom and lie on the bed.

  So the Pilkingtons have firebombed Eden. I frown. The information in the file Mills gave me clearly stated that both crime families maintain distant but cordial relations, and have their areas clearly drawn up. If it was the Pilkingtons, there is no doubt that this is a declaration of war. But why? There is no benefit to either family to engage in all-out turf war.

  Hours later, when a small sliver of light seeps under the curtain, Jake comes back to bed. I pretend to be asleep. He stands over me watching me sleep. I keep my breathing even and deep. Eventually, he goes over to his side of the bed. I can hear him peeling off his clothes before the mattress gives way to his weight.

  I make a small sound, as if I have just woken up, and turning around mumble incoherently. He is sitting with his back to me, but his head is turned down to look at me. I blink up at him. In the blue light of dawn his back is an intriguing play of shadows and gleaming muscles, but his eyes are densely black.

  All I want to do is grab his silky hair and drag his mouth onto mine. This is exactly the moment of vulnerability that I have been waiting for. It must be exploited. I reach out a hand, and a frisson of electricity goes through me when our skins touch.

  ‘It’s not just random kids, is it?’

  ‘Probably not,’ he admits very softly.

  ‘You know who it is, don’t you?’

  His voice is guarded. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Why did they do it?’

  He sighs. ‘I don’t know yet, but I intend to find out.’

  ‘Why are we going away tomorrow?’

  ‘Because I need to think.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Ibiza.’

  I could have pushed more, but suddenly I am filled with an odd and surprising sensation. Not to take or break. But the acute regret that I am unable to savor hi
m, as I would a fine wine. If only I was his real girlfriend. If only he could really trust me. If only I could help him instead of finding a way to trap him.

  The thoughts are burdensome. Willfully breaking what I have believed in for so long. But mostly because they betray the promises I have made to Luke. And I am faithful if nothing else. My loyalty must be to Luke at all times.

  He lies down beside me. For a while there is only the sound of our breathing.

  ‘I’m here for you,’ I whisper. And the odd thing is I mean it.

  He turns his head to look at me. Our gazes meet and hold. The look in his eyes is so intoxicating I can’t look away.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says, and his voice is strangely breathless.

  TEN

  Lily

  Jake’s house in Ibiza is a triumph of cubist modernist architecture. Set into the clifftop it is held up by an impressive framework of poured concrete, steel columns and beams. A concealed garage opens remotely.

  ‘Wow,’ I exclaim.

  ‘That’s what I said when I saw the artist impression of the design.’

  At the entrance, a suspended steel framed cube hovers in mid-air while the frameless pivot door welcomes us into a stunningly minimalist entrance hall. It opens out to a space into which natural light pours through floating roofs. Sliding doors and the extensive use of glass make the threshold between the open plan interior and exterior convincingly invisible.

  Jake slides open the glass doors and we are standing outside facing a swimming pool. Beyond it is the blue-green sea. It is so beautiful my breath catches. Now I know why he wanted to come here to think. This place is so modern and yet so wild and natural. It’s taken me some time but I am slowly starting to understand him a little better. He is a sensuous man who needs wildness, nature. They are almost a part of him. That is why he rides horses bareback.

  For a while we are both silent, drinking in the salty sea breeze. Then he looks down at me, tousled, but somehow refreshed already.

  ‘Come, I’ll show you the rest of the house.’

  Natural light floods even the deepest parts of the house and there is always that sense of space that comes from vast expanses of glass. There are two receptions, three bedrooms all facing the sea, a kitchen, a dining room, and a cellar. We don’t go down into it.

  He opens the freezer and takes out a bag. ‘I’m going for a swim in the sea,’ he says. ‘Wanna come?’

  ‘How will you get to the sea? We are so high up.’

  ‘I’ll show you,’ he says, and takes me to the bottom of the garden where there are steep steps that go down to a small private beach inaccessible by any other means.

  ‘What’s in the bag?’ I ask, as I carefully follow his lead.

  ‘Breadcrumbs for the fish.’

  ‘We’re going to feed the fish?’

  ‘Yup.’

  He leads the way and at the end of our descent we are standing on a strip of yellow sand that is totally enclosed by rocky cliffs and sea.

  He pulls me toward his body and puts a finger under my chin. ‘I’m going for a long swim. Can you amuse yourself until I come back?’

  ‘Why can’t I come?’

  He frowns, instantly worried. ‘It will be too far out for you.’

  ‘OK, I’ll swim for a bit, and then I’ll lie on the beach and wait for you.’

  He bends his head and lightly brushes his lips against mine. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

  I shake my head. ‘And leave this paradise?’

  He puts the bag into my hand.

  ‘What do I do with the crumbs?’

  ‘Go into the water until you are waist deep and throw a handful.’

  ‘OK.’

  He smiles and starts shedding his clothes. He is so fast it is as if he can’t wait to get into the water. He takes everything off, and, naked, strides into the waves as I stare at him, bronzed, strong and so perfectly beautiful. When he gets to hip level he raises his hand in a wave and plunges in.

  I step in myself. It is so clear it practically compels you to dive into it. When I get waist deep I start throwing handfuls of frozen breadcrumbs. It is a shock to me to see the sudden burst of activity. In seconds all the crumbs are gone. Fascinated I throw another handful and this time I submerge my head to look at them. They are small and silver with black patterns, and utterly beautiful. When all the crumbs are gone I swim for a bit and then I go to lie in the sand. I can see Jake is still swimming out.

  I close my eyes and let the sun dry my skin. But after a while I find I am unable to relax. I sit up and I can no longer see him. In a panic I rush to the water’s edge. I can just about make him out. My eyes become riveted to his powerful arms as he goes farther and farther out to sea. When he is just a dot on the horizon my throat constricts with fear. What if a really strong current sweeps him away?

  Jake

  With every stroke my mind becomes clearer and clearer until it sparkles like crystal. All kinds of scenarios play in my mind. I am sitting at the back of a white transit van, wiping blood from a baseball bat. I am sitting in the dark in someone’s apartment and when he comes in and puts on the light he nearly has a heart attack to see me there. And me smiling at him as if he is a long lost friend. That’s the thing you learn as a debt collector. People are fuckers—they will cry poverty, until they are threatened with physical violence. Yeah, he paid.

  Images of Billy Joe Pilkington come into my mind. His cold, empty eyes. Billy’s a legend on his turf. His reputation is one of fearlessness and ruthlessness. His name usually only comes up as a whisper when there is talk of violence and mayhem on the streets, in certain parts of London.

  They call him the bat, the bat that came straight out of hell. Nobody has ever dared to cross him. Nobody has dared defy him and lived to tell their story. Nobody except for me. But that was a long time ago when I had nothing to lose.

  I know I am never going back to that life. It is clear what I need to do. No turf war. Not while I am alive. Carefully, I weigh all the options open to me, all the situations that could arise. Each one of them calls for a true truce. We’ve had an uneasy truce for too long.

  In the distance I can see a yacht. People are sunning themselves on the deck. A woman is standing in a bikini, a hand shading her eyes against the afternoon sun.

  She starts waving to me. I stop and turn to look at the beach. I could have gone farther, but I can see Lily standing at the water’s edge. I cannot see her face, but I can tell by the tense and fixed way she is standing that she is worried about me. I turn around and start to swim back toward her. As soon as I am standing on the sand she runs to me. She does not say anything, just hugs me tightly.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I’ll never put my phone on silent mode again,’ she almost sobs.

  I lift her out of the water and lay her on the sand. The sea has rejuvenated me but has made her tense and frightened. Her eyes are wide and bright. I place my wet palms on the insides of her thighs—they are warm and gritty with sand—and part them. The sun shines down on us, warming my back. Droplets of sea fall on her face; it is already a lovely shade of gold. Her nipples taste salty when I bite them. She pulls at my hips and screams for more. I force more of me into her. Our coupling is frantic, urgent and wild. There are no sea breezes, but watched by the sea, the sun and the rocks it is the perfect fuck.

  Afterwards, we dress and go up the steps hand in hand. I have never felt closer to another human being. Then Dominic calls and I know that once again I will be wiping blood from my body.

  Lily

  Evening descends and from every corner night fragrances rise. Every living thing, the grass, the trees, the flowers, the people all bring into the leisure of night their own scent.

  And that crowd of odors surrounds us as we sit in the open-air restaurant that Jake has brought me to. I raise my glass of wine and take a sip. It is perfectly chilled. I lick the beads of condensation off the glass. They have their own taste. I look up and he is staring at me. I blush.

&nbs
p; ‘Tell me about your childhood,’ I say to cover my sudden gaucheness.

  ‘Until my father…died, I was happy. We never had much money because he was an incurable gambler. I remember that my mother kept debts with everyone, even with the butcher who provided her with the cheapest cuts of meat, but even so we were truly a happy family.’

  I look at him with surprise. How accepting he is that his father was a gambler. There is no condemnation, no anger, no feeling that he has been deprived. Only a strange and impressive loyalty to family.

  ‘What about you? What was your childhood like?’ he asks.

  I had it all down pat—an alcoholic father, a downtrodden mother, everything, the whole shebang, at the tips of my fingers—but I found I couldn’t say the words. I didn’t want to lie to him! I blinked in surprise. What the hell? I was going to fuck up my first assignment. Make him suspicious.

  ‘I’ll tell you about my family another time,’ I say, and wanting to distract him I reach out and touch his fingers. Immediately, they move to clasp mine.

  I look at our entwined fingers and an old, tired ache of once when I was insane breaks into me and eats at my bones. Its return makes me angry. How pathetic. Sentimental fool. There is no one here I can call my own. This man will never be mine. He will never share my pain. I am here to do a job. I am here to crush him, not to long for him as one does a beloved. I am here to save other people’s sons and brothers from dying unnecessarily because of men like him. I look up at him.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asks.

  This time I won’t allow myself to dissolve in my own grief. This time I will recognize myself. It is simple. It is beautiful. I am not lost. I am strong. I can do this. I smile. Harden my heart and speak.

  ‘I’m fine. You want to know about my family? Let me tell you about them. My father was an alcoholic. I’m not sure if he is still alive. And my mother was a downtrodden, weak woman. She let him beat her and me. When I was fifteen I ran away.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says softly, and begins to stroke the inside of my wrist. The movement is gentle and tender, and suddenly I feel like bursting into tears.