The Perfect Con (A Bad Boy Romance Novel) (Bad Boy Confessions Book 1)

by Raleigh Blake

  “That was nothing,” Sofi replied with a small smile. I was sure that was a lie. I could see it flashing in her eyes. She wasn’t secure with me. She just wanted to be. “If there was something going on here, something else, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

  I smiled, though my blood ran cold. “Is this about my imaginary wife again?”

  Sofi shook her head and turned away.

  For the next few minutes, I was a good little boy, waiting just like I’d been told. Hell, I was even thinking about a way out of this entire scenario. Maybe I could come clean and it’d be a funny story for us to tell our grandchildren—fuck, a Battista-Castillo lineage? Those kids would be celebrities, practically magical, fast as bullets, sly as dogs. Not that I was imagining us having kids, and our kids having kids. I’ve never even wanted children. They’re just like women: a major distraction, if you let them into your life. Or maybe I could tell her about Cyrus and say that we needed to lay off on the plot for a while. She’d buy that, and hell, it wasn’t a lie. Cyrus was watching my every move, which meant he was watching her every move, which meant that he knew we were interested in the museum. But we could still have the Heart someday—we would just need to wait a year. Totally doable.

  And I could forgive Ronaldo. I was sure that I could, if it meant having his niece.

  I listened to the sounds of the water drumming on the shower tiles and thought about Sofi, perfect and supple, vulnerable and tender, sweet and free, naked beneath the spray. My arms tangling around her from behind. Cocking her thigh to one side. Our mouths finding one another like magnets…my fingers going to her button and playing, bringing her to a swift crescendo, then diving in myself, in and out, so perfect…

  I shifted in the seat, trying to loosen the fabric of my pants, and the shower shut off.

  Maybe she’d be down for a quickie before we left, because suddenly, I didn’t feel like holding back anymore. I felt like letting go—really being with her. Raw. Pure. Bare. Orgasmic. I felt like proving Madeline wrong. Maybe Madeline didn’t know me; maybe Gabe didn’t know me; maybe I didn’t even know myself until now. Maybe only Sofi knew me. Those feline and discerning eyes made me feel—like she’d described the Heart of Icarus at sunset. Like they were shining through my core, illuminating every secret. Turning black to gold. Risk. Sacrifice.

  “Hey, lion,” Sofi said, sweeping into the room, a swell of vanilla and coconut soap following her on a tide of moist air. Mm. She wore a silk bath robe, a rose pattern on white, and her hair was pinned on the very top of her head. “Is that for me?” she asked, indicating my erection. “But it’s too much,” she cooed, grinning, as she slid into the chair at her vanity mirror. “You shouldn’t have.”

  She opened a drawer and pulled out a compact, one of those fat brushes, and a handful of lipstick tubes. Within seconds, she had dusted the creams and peaches and roses over her face like a porcelain doll. Incredible. And a pity. As much as I loved perfect and polished things, I wanted nothing more than to smear that lipstick across her chin.

  Then she leaned down and scooped something else from the vanity.

  Two lengths of black velvet, one large and one small. She unfolded the small one: a pair of earrings. I didn’t see them too closely, except they were shaped like teardrops, in a dark, smoky emerald which perfectly complemented every color on her body. She slid them into her earlobes and they dangled down, gorgeous. I wanted to say that I’d never seen more classic and intoxicating accents to a wardrobe, but I was pretty sure it was just the woman wearing them.

  Then she unfolded the larger swath of black velvet and twisted to smile at me. “Hook me?” she asked sweetly.

  I stood and took the necklace from her, smiling. I could really get used to this. God, I was seeing myself zipping up her gown at our twentieth wedding anniversary party. I swallowed. Maybe there was some trace amounts of LSD left near that bonfire last night.

  I held the necklace in front of me, opening it to descend and fasten it behind her dainty neck.

  Then I paused.

  The delicate, undeniably attractive sheen to this yellow metal.

  It was gold.

  Real gold.

  And the matching teardrop emerald…

  Now that I was seeing it up close—it was inescapable. I had seen this necklace before.

  It had been part of Gertrude van Buiten’s two million dollar collection of antique jewelry.

  I swallowed thickly and my fingers involuntarily flexed, the necklace slipping from my fingertips—for the second time this week. Damn. My hands were shaking, and I could feel the heat creeping uncontrollably to my cheeks. This must have been how the Hulk felt. My score, right there, in my hand, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  “Leo?” Sofi’s voice called me back to myself, and my eyes focused on her reflection in the vanity, smiling at me with sweetly concerned expectation. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Fine,” I answered hoarsely. I knew it. I’d been right all along; Spider had double-crossed me for the Castillo house.

  “If you’re sure,” Sofi replied, still watching me closely in the mirror. “And the…necklace?”

  “Right, right, sorry,” I said, stooping. “Normally it’s not like me to be clumsy with something so beautiful.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to tell me that.” Sofi winked when I rose back to my feet, and I forced myself to carefully clasp the necklace around her neck, even while my fingers continued to shake. As much as I wanted to snap at her that this score had been MINE, as much as I wanted to jam it into my pocket and storm out, I couldn’t.

  Not without ruining my fucking revenge.

  Sofi got up and went to put on her dress. Her spirits had risen now that I’d arrived, I could tell, and she was cheerfully calling from the interior of her walk-in closet, telling me about the bands that played at the restaurant, or the booths with the low lighting, or the girls she knew who used to work there—damn, I have no idea, the ocean was roaring in my ears, except it was blood rushing, and I couldn’t think about anything but the words screaming in my head. My necklace. My score. My two million, my weeks of preparation, dangling from her ears. What. The. Fuck. Why did SHE have the jewels?

  “Sooo,” Sofi said, sweeping out of the closet. She wore a long, sheer black dress, which appeared to be made of scarves. She swept in a circle, and her emerald jewelry twinkled at me under the lights. “What do you think?”

  I clenched my jaw. “Beautiful,” I confessed. It was excruciating to look at her, and I felt sick. “As always.”

  “You’re too sweet,” Sofi cooed, striding forward to lay a hand across my chest. She patted it and crinkled her nose at me. “You’re trouble, boy. I can tell.”

  “You have no idea,” I promised.

  11

  Sofi

  Hm. Something was seriously wrong with Leo.

  I hadn’t noticed it when he’d first arrived at Uncle Ronaldo’s estate; his presence had even filled me with relief, and I’d been positive that Madeline had just been playing with my mind, attempting to amuse herself by ruining my earnest romance. But ever since I’d taken that shower—something had shifted in his countenance. He was suddenly cold, and quiet, and tense. Did he really hate Belly of the Whale that much?

  I ordered a dozen raw oysters on the half shell and a lime margarita. He ordered two gin and tonics. I’m not even kidding.

  “What are you thinking about?” I broached tentatively. His eyes flashed up to mine, dangerous. I lowered my voice. I couldn’t think why else he might be mad at me, but there was no mistaking that look. He was seething. If his eyes were dark storm clouds, they were within seconds of splitting with lightning. “The Heart of Icarus?” I went on in a hush.

  “And you,” Leo agreed darkly, knocking back his second gin and tonic easily.

  I scoffed, but his glare was so hot, I cleared my throat and adjusted my expression to a non-threatening smile. He was really in a mood. “Are you nervous about my experience leve
l?” I whispered, leaning closer. “You know—this isn’t my first.”

  Leo peered at me over the table and wordlessly raised his hand. Our waitress blazed a trail back to our table in record time, her eyes wide and dewy with infatuation. Argh. I guess I’d better get used to women throwing themselves at Leo if we were going to be together. Maybe together, anyway. I had been so sure while I’d been lathering up in the shower, but I didn’t really have a reason to be as sure right now. He’d hardly looked at me since we left, and when he did, it was with such wrath. Why?

  “What can I do for you, sir?” the waitress asked, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I scowled up at her.

  “Two more gin and tonics,” he ordered, never peeling his eyes from me to even glance at her.

  I pressed my lips together. I wanted to say that maybe he shouldn’t be drinking if he was upset, but I was somehow certain that comment wouldn’t endear him to me any more than he already was. The waitress flounced away with no questions asked.

  “So, Sofi. This isn’t your first—what?” he asked, forcing a tight, miserable smile onto his lips.

  “Big score,” I hissed back to him, my eyes darting around the room to assess the danger of speaking here. But I didn’t see anyone I could imagine as a threat.

  “Oh?” he said, leaning forward. His eyes narrowed as he peered at me. “Why don’t you tell me about your most recent big score.”

  But I leaned back and blinked at him in surprise. “What is wrong with you?” I spat out. I couldn’t take it anymore. His tension levels were through the roof, and I was done with him taking it out on me. Whatever his problem was, how could it possibly have been my fault? I was just his damn date! If that! “Ever since we left the house, you’ve been snapping at every word from my mouth, and you can hardly look at me,” I sneered. “It’s like we’re conversing in two different languages, and I don’t speak Asshole.” I stood up, leaned across the table, and gestured to the Gucci dress which graced my skin tonight. I had been saving this for a special occasion—and it looked like I’d misjudged tonight. “Did you know that this dress is four thousand dollars? Why did I bother wearing it if you won’t even acknowledge my presence?”

  But Leo was unmoved. He just stared up at me, his jaw clenched, a vein in his temple bulging—and several people at the bar were staring at us now. Oh, weird. That creeper from Rainbow Disco was here, too.

  My eyes shifted back to Leo just as the waitress reappeared with his gin and tonics. She smiled apologetically and offered up her tray in recompense. “Two gin and tonics,” she nearly whispered, placing them onto the napkin in front of Leo and scurrying off.

  “You think I’m not paying attention to you?” Leo scoffed, scooping up the first gin and tonic and downing it in one monstrous gulp. “Sofi, all the attention I’ve paid you is going to ruin me,” he assured me acidly. “You’re like a fucking magician. While I’m watching what one hand is doing, you’ve got your other one doing all kinds of shit it’s not supposed to. Here I am, paying attention to your mouth and your hair and your eyes…” He snatched up the second—or fourth—gin and tonic. “Meanwhile, your other hand is in my fucking wallet.”

  “Misdirection,” I told him, gathering my purse. I had no idea what he was talking about, and I didn’t care to find out. His issues were not my fault, whatever they were.

  He sucked down the second glass, slammed it onto the napkin, and glared up at me. “What?”

  I used to love when his bangs would have one hair out of place, but just now, it was really pissing me off. How dare he do this to me? Bring me here just to bring me down? If this was how he felt, why did he come to my house at all? The soft, deep kisses on the beach? Why? It couldn’t have just been my perky ass. A guy like him can get whatever kind of ass he wants, whenever he wants it.

  “It’s called misdirection,” I informed him shakily, stringing the purse strap over my shoulder. “Now watch me disa-fucking-ppear.” With that, I whirled and strode from the restaurant, abandoning half of a margarita and my drunken asshole of a date at the table.

  12

  Leo

  I took a breath, and the next stupid words to come spilling out of my mouth were, “Sofi, wait!” I tossed a fifty down on the table and bolted after her, yes, drawing the eye of everyone in the restaurant, as if we were in a fucking soap opera. It had happened. I’d become one of those losers in public, too busy airing my big mouth and my broken heart to have any leftover pride. “Sofi! I’m your—shit—I’m your ride!” I called.

  Not that I could drive anywhere right now. Those gin and tonics hadn’t had much tonic. I hadn’t meant to get loose like this, but my stomach was empty and I’d been mad at Sofi. Now I felt immature—and desperate. I wanted to push her away and pull her closer at the same time.

  “In a dress like this,” Sofi insisted, trundling down the steps of Belly of the Whale, striding fast down the sidewalk, “it won’t be long before someone offers me a ride.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I agreed, lunging forward and catching her by the elbow. “Look—Sofi, stop—”

  “You want to know what your problem is?” Sofi snapped, whirling and jabbing her finger hard into my chest, her lips drawing tight over her teeth. God, she was sexy right now, and it’d been a long time since anyone had told me what my problem was. I had to respect that she was going to be the one to do it. “You can’t communicate your problems without pounding them into a pulp with your caveman fists.” With every beat of her sentence, she jabbed her finger into the middle of my pectorals again. “You don’t let people in, you don’t share, you don’t let go, you can’t trust.” She pursed her lips and shook her head.

  “You want to hear about my problems?” I asked roughly.

  Sofi turned, striding down the sidewalk. “Let me guess,” she called over her shoulder. “Your blood pressure is high enough to propel rockets, meditation makes you frustrated, and your doctor told you to take anxiety pills, but you flushed them, because they make you feel like less of a man.”

  I stopped following her just long enough to tilt my head to one side. “That’s eerily accurate,” I said, impressed. I started off again. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

  “Down the same path as my mom, looks like,” Sofi said. “You and my dad are so alike.” She glared over her shoulder at me. “And I don’t want to end up like my mom. There’s a bus stop two blocks from here. That’s where I’M headed.”

  I exhaled. I didn’t know if I wanted to go through with my plan or not—hell, I didn’t know if she had actually been part of Spider’s treachery, or if, maybe, her uncle had just given her those jewels as a gift when she arrived—but I did know that something in me called out to her, and as furious as I was, I didn’t want her to just walk away. Fuck, she was right. I could be a pissy Neanderthal with the one-nighters I had entertained in my past, but if I was going to dare to care, then I was going to need to start learning to talk about my anger, not just break glass décor and pound gin.

  “Sofi,” I said, stretching my arms forward. But she didn’t turn around. I kept walking. “I’m sure it is hard to deal with an angry person, especially if Arturo was the same when—”

  Sofi froze, and I stopped short of slamming into her and sending us both toppling. She slowly twisted to glare at me thoughtfully. “Arturo,” she repeated slowly. “Arturo. Yes, he was an angry man. Boy, you really listened to me, huh?”

  I forced a light-hearted smile onto my lips, though I couldn’t see it, and I was probably doing it wrong. “It’s important to talk about family, isn’t it?”

  “Mm.” She pressed her lips together. “But we never talked about yours.”

  “Mine? Er, well, other than Gabe, we’ve got some cousins in Colombia, and—”

  “Your crime family,” she specified. “The one that apparently doesn’t have a single person in it capable of getting past moving lasers.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but the words—I knew I had to have some brilliant words there�
��weren’t in my throat. I had no idea what I could possibly tell her. “I told you why I wanted you,” I said, grasping at straws. “You’re graceful and you can take direction and your family history—”

  Sofi shook her head at me and whirled, flouncing toward the bus stop again. “My parents never let me in on their campaigns, and I think you know that,” she told me hotly. “Maddy told me that the Battista family fancies itself the antithesis of the Castillo family. So why would you want to start shit with Ronaldo by offering me a job, at the very best? You had to have known that he wouldn’t have it, for one reason or another. At the very best, you’re poaching. And at the worst…it’s a set-up. He’d kill you for messing with me. Oh my god, is that why you keep ducking out of my house?”

  I swallowed and spat out the only words I could find in my brain. “I’m trying to poach you for myself,” I lied. “I know about the—” I had a wild card; I decided to play it and see where my hand landed. “I know about the van Buiten score you pulled off.”

  And there it was. Her tell. One hand fluttered to her necklace and she blinked up at me like a confused doll. “How did you know about that?” she whispered.

  I cracked a wry smile. If only I could tell her. I placed my hand gently over hers, even though it was burning to grab that necklace and tear it off. “I recognize the jewels,” I told her, staring deeply into her fawn-like eyes.

  Sofi hesitated, then nodded, her hand leaving her necklace. “This is a secret from Uncle Ronaldo,” she told me. “He never wanted me to go into the family business. If I asked him, plain-faced, what he does for a living, he’d stick to the same old story: the hospitalities industry.” Her eyebrows twisted as she peered up at me. “Did you know van Buiten or something?”

  I grinned. That was kind of funny. Then I cleared my throat and wiped the smile off my face. Sofi couldn’t make me laugh. I was still mad at her. She was wearing a part of my two million, my weeks of preparation, on her ears—and she’d just confessed that it wasn’t even some accident, wasn’t even a gift from Ronaldo or Spider. It had been HER score. HERS.