by Daphne Dawn
Even though it’s technically a question, I wasn’t really asking for permission. I’m asking him to cover my moves should I decide to act alone. He’s always backed me in my private enterprises.
No matter what he says though, I make up my own mind. I use a firm voice. I want to take this ring down, and I’d prefer to do it with his support and financial backing.
He organizes a few papers before looking up at me.
“I appreciate your hard work on this case. I know how you’re driven to complete your missions and any…ah…loose ends that may arise as a result. However, I have a family of brothers I need you to investigate next.”
The senator pulls out three headshots and places them on the desk.
“They’ve taken over their father’s business some time ago. Marco is the new head, running the loans and other things that go with this. Franco’s in charge of the prostitution rings. Antonio’s responsible for the casinos the Monatello family owns, as well as the gambling outfits.”
He points at each brother as he gives me their names and, at the mention of Franco’s business, I feel my hands clenching so tight, my nails bite into my palms.
Scum. They’re all fucking scum.
I file the henchmen on the previous job as a lower priority. They can taste my metal in the shadows another night. I have fresh prey now.
The senator laughs.
“I see your face, Sofia. I know you want to just sneak up on these fellows and cut their throats. But this is not a simple job. I need to know how the operation works. We know about these guys, but we don’t know all their employees and runners. They’re drug dealers, murderers, rapists, and people smugglers. I don’t just want to stop the three big guys at the top— that won’t halt the entire machine.”
“The big fellas also have significant legal cover. I could bring them in and they could walk away a few hours later. No. We need deep intel here. Not just on these men, but on all the people working under them. They have lots of people doing their dirty work for them, and I want to get them all. Ideally, we get some of them dead to rights and then we can get them to squeal on the big cats at the top. Do you understand, agent?”
The whole time I’m standing there, I get more furious by the second. The amount of innocent lives being destroyed by these pricks makes my blood boil.
Outwardly however, I’m calm. I’m very well-trained, and I’m not happy about my earlier momentary lapse. The mention of smuggling and forced prostitution raises a grief I cannot ignore.
Still, I will need to work harder on my discipline. It’s a core aspect of my job to hide my true feelings, and I should be able to do it better. If I do it in the wrong room, I’m dead.
“I understand, boss. I will comply.”
I lean on the desk with both hands again as I look over the photos. The senator reaches over and covers one of my hands with his. His eyes linger over my exposed cleavage, part of the reason I was leaning over the desk.
Using my sexuality to keep men on their toes—or under my control—has never been a problem for me.
“You understand the job? You’re sure? You may be in deep cover for a while. You can’t just kill them.”
I look into his eyes steadily.
“This is what I do best. I don’t fall in love. I’ve seen enough of it to know what a bad joke it is. Besides,” I say, giving him a slight hair toss and treating him to a grin and a wink, “who could handle me if I did?”
He chuckles and squeezes my hand a little urgently. “As an agent, Sofia, you’re impeccable. As a woman, you’re awfully hard work.”
I can see his eyes raking over my curves, nicely displayed in the fitted maid’s uniform. I can practically feel the heat rising from him as he drinks me in.
I make my grin just a bit wider, a bit more welcoming and sexy. He falls for it.
The fool actually smiles back and squeezes my hand again. He begins to run his hand up my arm, stroking me lightly. I lean forward and use my deep throaty voice to whisper close to his ear.
“You know I’m completely worth it though. Where’s the fun without just a bit of hard work?”
6
Sofia
Every mission is special. Every mission is important.
More so with this one because I can take three for the price of one. And since I don’t want to fuck up, I’ve taken an extra few days to get ready.
Preparation is everything.
My cover needs to be perfect.
It’s not a ‘Go in, seduce, and fuck off’ kind of job. No, Sir.
I must be able to get in, win over the confidence of at least one of them, and then start getting the dirt.
Every time I think of them, bile rises in the back of my throat.
People like the Monatello brothers are the worst. They rape, pillage, and plunder from the poor. They don’t care how many lives the ruin.
All they care about is their own bank balance.
It’ll give me enormous pleasure to bring them down, one by one. I’ve spent two days and some of those nights doing my research. I know more about those brothers than their aunties.
This one is definitely for you, Mom, I think to myself.
I examine my reflection. Not bad.
I’ve gone heavy on the make up. Those girls who work as escort agents usually use more make up than necessary. No doubt they need to cover up the rough handling by some of the men.
Why else would they go for excessive war paint? I mean I rarely use make up at all. I can’t understand the way some girls paint it on so thickly.
The black skirt just covers my ass. I try moving in various positions to make sure it will ride up enough when the time comes. And yep, it does.
I’ve worn a thong underneath.
If all goes according to plan, the brothers should get to see plenty.
Of course, I’m a total professional—I’m more than aware plan A may not come off well.
I need a plan B.
Right now though, I’m totally focused on my original plan. I grab a white shirt, one that is a little tight around my bust. Black and white is totally my color.
To finish off, I pin up my long black hair. The plan is for it to come undone at just the right time and fall loosely over my back and shoulder.
When my hair is untied, the men just drool over me.
It’s not as if I’ve got a big head or a giant ego or anything. Quite the opposite. I just go by the reaction of the men on assignment.
A quick glance at my slim silver wristwatch confirms I’ve got just enough time to practice my slutty walk one last time. My hips sway excessively from side to side. I glance at the mirror.
Perfect.
According to my research, the brothers meet at the Café Grind Up most Friday mornings. Today is Friday. I’m hoping it’s one of those days they meet there.
The tidbit of intel came from one of my colleagues in the agency. I didn’t outright ask about the habits of the Monatello brothers. If I’d been so stupid, I would’ve aroused suspicion.
Since no one in the agency knows about this job, I had to be careful about digging up information. But I have my ways of getting stuff I need to know.
On the way to the Ground Up, I rehearse what I’m going to say when I finally get to meet them.
As the café comes into sight, I slow my step right down. I’ve seen plenty of their pictures, so it’s not hard to spot them a mile off. Typically Italian, they’re sitting in the outside area of the café, talking animatedly.
I know they’re fucking good-looking, but they look even better in the flesh.
They’re voices travel, although I can’t quite make out what they’re saying. Hands and arms are waving in the air.
I’ve never seen an Italian talk without using their hands. In fact, I have a theory that they can’t talk without exaggerated gestures. If I ever need to torture one, I’d tie their hands behind their backs and make them talk.
Slowly, I walk toward the café.
My eyes look for the landmarks. I timed this yesterday.
Fifteen more steps, and I can start my plan.
Two, one, I count and trip.
My heel catches on something on the pavement, and with flailing arms, I go flying through the air. With a loud thud, I land right in front of the table of the Monatello brothers.
To make sure I get noticed, I squeal.
I can feel a cool breeze assault my bare ass, and I know I’ve succeeded in making sure my skirt rides up enough to leave nothing to the imagination.
“Oh, Caro,” one of them cries, and I count to three.
One, two, and three. Slowly, looking as dazed as I can, I get to my hands and knees, just as two of them come around me from behind.
Yes.
I love it when everything goes absolutely fucking perfect to plan.
From the gasp of one of them, I know he’s just seen my ass and pussy.
Perfect.
“Bella Donna, are you alright?”
Antonio Monatello kneels in front of me. His right hand extends, and he lifts my chin.
Our eyes meet.
Holy shit. Gorgeous chocolate eyes stare right into my soul.
I try and fight back the tears. I bite my bottom lip. I play the victim perfectly.
Tears spill, and my shoulders heave a little.
“I—” I start and stop. “I’m not sure.”
Finally, I get into a semi upright position.
Several hands extend toward me. “Here.”
“Let me help you,” all three echo in unison.
A big grin spreads inwardly.
Phase one of meeting the Monatello brothers is successful.
All that’s left to do now is to get a job with one of them. Once I’m inside their organization, spying on them will be a piece of cake.
From what I know, one of them runs the casinos, the other the loan side of the business, and the third the escort agency.
Based on this info, and my own assets, I think my best chance is to try for the escort agency work.
Sure, I could’ve phoned to try and get an interview, but I don’t want to be palmed off to one of their many minders.
No, if you want to speak with one of these hot shots, you’ve got to have a good plan.
7
Marco
“Thanks for blocking the sidewalk, assholes.”
Did that cheap, suit-wearing, shaggy haircut-sporting motherfucker really just fucking say that as he stepped over this poor young woman?
“Hey, how’d you feel if you just landed face-first on the fucking footpath, huh?”
The goddamn bastard ignores me as he walks away. There’s little I would love more than to go after him so I can find out just who the hell he thinks he is, but I’ve got other priorities at the moment.
Like this poor lady who just took an awful-looking spill onto the walk. Watching it happen was bad enough, but that pained noise she let out afterwards just crushed me.
It’s unbelievable to me that my brother and I are the only people doing anything to help this poor lady on a crowded sidewalk. It’s sad and angering to see everyone else just walking around us. Now that we’re here, we’re going to do everything we can.
Antonio is already helping her up off the pavement as I rush over. She seems to be standing up okay, but it’s hard to tell how hurt she might be at this point.
As she’s already on her feet, there’s not much use in me going over to help as well. Sometimes there can be too many generals and not enough foot soldiers.
Antonio is there, his arm around her shoulders.
Now is the time to think fast, and within three seconds, I’m racing through the middle of the coffee shop in search of a first aid kit. Being quick enough now could prevent an infection or worse.
“May I help you?”
The voice sounds weak and ineffectual as I run behind the counter. I can’t even tell where it’s coming from, but I do spot a small, plastic first aid kid on a shelf under the register.
“You should keep this someplace more accessible,” I growl while running back towards the exit.
By the time I get back outside, Antonio is walking the young lady over to our table.
Oh, good, she’s walking. As I stride to our table, Franco walks out from behind me, carrying a glass full of ice.
Oh, well, I guess he needs to feel useful as well. Now’s not the time to be all competitive anyway.
The young woman is clearly very upset, just barely holding back tears.
This tugs at my insides. I don’t like it when women cry. She seems to be trying to explain something to Antonio who’s helping her into a seat.
“I—I…on my way to...it was…important job interview, and I...foot…caught on the sidewalk or something.”
Franco and I both approach the table as she speaks, then stand there listening with concern.
“Do you need some ice, Bella?”
Franco looks somewhat forlornly at the glass that he’s placed on the table.
The woman nods her head.
“Are you bleeding? Scraped? Bruised?”
I hold the first aid kit up in the air. “Do you need some painkillers?”
“No,” she shakes her head, putting her forehead in her hand, “no, that’s okay. I’m just going to be late for my interview.”
With those last few words, her voice begins cracking with worry and disappointment.
“We’ll take care of it,” I offer. “Do you need any of us to make call? We’ll tell them you’ll be late or whatever you need.”
On top of whatever physical pain she must still be feeling, the least I could do is try to take away her anguish about a missed appointment, of all things.
“No. Thank you, but I...I’m just not going to be able to go at all today. I missed my chance.”
“Excuse me!” Franco waves over a waitress. “An Americano for the young lady, please!”
The faintest ghost of a smile crosses her lips. As relieved as I feel to see this at first, that feeling is soon replaced by…
With a sigh, I try to fight it, it’s a feeling I hate—the feeling of jealousy.
It’s always some hideous and useless shit. It can tear people apart—from each other and from themselves—transforming them into monsters.
No, I won’t let myself feel that. But I can’t help feeling a little envious that Franco inspired that beautiful little smile...
Oh, my goodness.
She really is something else. As she chooses this moment to look at me, and we make eye contact just for a second, the rich, decadent depth of her cocoa-colored eyes transport me.
They bring me somewhere not quite of this world—similar to when I’m accelerating down a straightaway in one of Bocci’s F1s or making a hairy landing in a Cessna during a strong crosswind.
Only much fucking better than that—if that’s possible.
“What’s your name, Bella?” Antonio’s question snaps me out of it.
“Sofia.”
Her eyes are looking shyly down at the table as she utters the most beautiful, musical sound I’ve ever heard.
Sofia.
“Sofia,” I begin, and her eyes journey back up to mine.
There are no more doubts. Those eyes are so much better than any stupid fucking race car or airplane that it’s pointless to even compare.
And I’m sitting here silently while she waits for me to talk.
“What can we do for you, Sofia? How can we make your day better?”
Sofia’s eyes drop to the table. She can’t think of an answer, and that hurts almost as much as seeing her fall on the footpath.
When the waiter places her Americano on the table, Sofia looks up and smiles. That’s enough to take some of the pain away.
“I don’t know if that’s possible, I’m sorry to say,” Sofia remarks as the waiter leaves. “I can’t make it to my job interview, not like this...”
“Then come home with us.”
Franco and
Antonio turn their heads towards me. I don’t think they hate that idea, but they may not have loved the way I blurted it out. They both turn back to Sofia instantly—and I can tell they’re now waiting for her response with baited breath.
“I don’t know about that.”
“We can make sure you’re okay, and we can help you reschedule your interview or help you in any way...”
“What kind of job was it, Sofia?”
It’s just like Franco to ask something like that. Although, to be fair, I’m the one inviting her to our place already.
Sofia scans the outdoor part of the café, and the footpath with her eyes.
“Uh...oh, whatever, I’ll just say it: It was for an escort agency.”
Before those words can even register in my mind, Franco already says, “Well, my lovely Sofia, this may just be your lucky day.”
8
Franco
“What?”
Sofia’s question, although addressed directly to me, goes unanswered.
Now, I would not usually miss the opportunity to say one word to a woman like this, but there’s just something about Sofia that keeps sending me off my game.
Not that I’m complaining. It’s a wonderful fucking feeling.
And Marco over there seems to be going through the same thing. Except he’s already possibly scaring her off by offering to take her home after just having learned her name.
But, fuck, I need to answer Sofia, despite the hypnotic effect she has on me.
“It may just be your lucky day, Sofia.”
“Why is that?”
Antonio and Marco both give me a look that seems to say that we’re all on the same page, but I’m not paying much attention to them right now.
But, shit. If I’m going to go down this road with her, I better make damn sure that I heard her correctly.
“Where did you say you’d be working again?”
