Filthy: A Mafia Romance

by Zoey Parker

  Ignoring my quip, he continued, “I understand that the insurance company is giving you a hard time. So in the interest of both of our businesses being successful, I’m donating the money.”

  I blinked at him. “What?”

  “For clearing away the debris from the fire and putting up that damn wall,” he clarified. “It bugs the hell out of me that my drugs are being stored in a place that is missing a wall.”

  Feeling indignant on The Cut’s behalf, I straightened up a little and said, “Hey, the storage in the back has four walls and a locked door, okay? It’s secure.”

  “Not the point. I want the wall fixed. And I want new paint inside. Maybe some new chairs. Whatever.” He waved his hand as though dismissing the details for someone else—like me—to deal with.

  I found myself staring at him, not really sure what to say. Thank you? Technically it was his fault that there was damage to repair in the first place. But he didn’t have to send business my way, regardless of his given reasons, and he definitely didn’t have to give me money to spruce up The Cut. “I…I guess I don’t know what to say,” I told him finally.

  He smiled and for a heartbeat, I was sure it was a real, genuine smile. “Thank you, comes to mind. I hear it’s the traditional response anyway.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, but a smile tugged at my lips. “I’ll send a card.”

  We finished up our meal—I got mine packed up to go, because it was more food than I could eat—then stood.

  “There’s a spot in the back where we can take care of business.”

  My heart dropped as reality came crashing back down on me. I remembered that I was here because I was the equivalent of a call girl, and I was paying him for protection from the things that he might do to me.

  I nodded at him and followed him to a small room in the back. It had to be used for storage or something, though there were only a few crates and boxes along the walls. There was a table with a cloth laid down and some candles lit. Almost romantic. But not quite.

  I stripped for him quickly, then sat on the edge of the table waiting for him to come to me and take what he wanted. And he did. He touched me, clutched at me, and caressed me. He pushed me over the edge and I lost myself to his touch.

  And this time, I didn’t have to war with myself over whether or not it was right to enjoy this. Instead, I reminded myself he had done something nice for me today. That made it a little easier to accept him as he slid inside me and made me find my release.

  Chapter 11

  A couple of weeks later, I was closing up shop by myself. Jessie had asked for the night off, heading out with a few of her girlfriends to enjoy the nightlife while she was still young. Cody was at my neighbor’s apartment tonight, just in case Ethan called in an impromptu payment. That left just me for the moment.

  Today had been the same kind of busy it always was these days. Ethan had made good on his word to pay for the damages to the store and some much needed improvements, meaning the wall was up—though we were still talking about colors for paint; I hated the blue he’d picked out and he hated the moss green I wanted.

  The charred remains of the convenient store were also mostly gone, leaving a cleared out slab of concrete for a base. Ethan and I had been discussing what we might use it for.

  We, I thought, shaking my head a little at myself. Like we’re legitimate partners or something.

  Sighing, I took the tub of packed up scissors to the back where I stored them at night. My supplies were right beside the closet where Ethan stored his drugs. That door always remained locked. I didn’t even have a key for it—Ethan’s guys put the new lock on—and really didn’t want a key. Ethan could handle his own business; I didn’t want to worry about it, too.

  Putting up my tub, I heard the little bell above the door ring. “Damn, I could have sworn I locked it,” I muttered to myself. Raising my voice, I called to the front, “Sorry! We’re closed!”

  I listened for a minute and when I didn’t hear the bell ring again, I let out a sigh. Whoever it was was still in the shop. Heading out to the front, I froze when I saw a large, burly man sitting in one of my chairs, flipping through a magazine. He looked so out of place that it was laughable, with his leather pants and his tattooed arms, flipping through a fashion magazine.

  But I didn’t feel like laughing. There was something about the man that spoke of danger. Like a predator poised to strike.

  Swallowing back my fear, I put on my best “I’m in charge” face. “Excuse me, I said we’re closed. But you’re welcome to come back in the morning, of course.” Though I seriously hoped he wouldn’t take me up on that offer.

  Putting down the magazine, he smiled at me. It was a smile that reminded me of the first time Ethan was in my shop. And that wasn’t a good thing. Standing, he said, “Diana Leone? My, you’re pretty.”

  I stiffened. I was starting to think that being pretty wasn’t doing me very many favors. Neither was being a good girl, I’d noticed. “Yes, I’m Ms. Leone. If you need to talk about something, like I said, come back in the morning.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Before I could tell him off or threaten to call the police—which was a damn joke in the first place—he was across the room with his hands on my upper arms. He shoved me against the wall hard enough that the back of my head hit it and bounced back. I blinked past a sharp, shooting pain, working to stay focused.

  “I think we should talk now,” he told me, close enough that I could smell the mint on his breath.

  Fearing coursing through my veins like blood, I did my best to stay calm. I didn’t want him to know how badly he was freaking me out right now. “What do you want?”

  “I want to know what your secret is.”

  “What secret?” I asked, genuinely at a loss as to what he was talking about.

  He released my arms so he could gesture to the store surrounding us. “I couldn’t help but notice your flourishing business. You see, I’m a small business owner, too. I’ve been watching your little shop and even a blind man can see that you’re doing marvelously well given that you just lost half your store in a terrible fire.” He gestured to the wall that had just been replaced. “Did insurance cover that?”

  I pursed my lips together. I quickly shuffled through my options. Now that he’d let me go, I could try to shove at him and make a break for it, but how far would I get? And what would he do then? My recent experience was telling me two things: don’t try to run, because I won’t make it, and don’t show fear, because he’ll use it against me.

  So I did the only thing I could. I pulled myself up straighter, lifted my chin, and stared him directly in the face. “Get the hell out of my shop.” My voice was firm and strong, despite the way my hands were shaking and just how scared I really was.

  He laughed at me. “Or what?” he asked.

  Running on instinct, my hand went to the apron I hadn’t taken off yet. I slipped it into the little pouch at the front and felt around inside. There. Cold, hard metal. I gripped the pair of scissors in my hand tightly and pulled them out. “Or this,” I told him, jerking the tip of the scissors between his legs and pressing them into his thigh right beside his crotch.

  He stiffened and I saw a flash of anger in his expression, but then he smiled at me and held up his hands. Still smiling, he took a step back. “Easy, honey, we’re just talking,” he told me and I was reminded of the cop who had called me hysterical.

  I gritted my teeth, holding the scissors tightly and not taking my eyes off the stranger.

  He headed towards the door, but I could tell in the way he moved that he wasn’t really afraid of me. And the only reason he was leaving was because this had been about scaring me. Check that little box off. He reached for the door, then paused. “Oh, and tell Ethan I was asking for him.”

  He left, the little bell tinkling after him, and I released the breath I’d been holding. I slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor. There I sat, shaking and sho
cked, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do now.

  # # #

  It turned out that the thing to do was exactly what the man had said: go to Ethan and inform him he’d gotten a visitor at my shop.

  Which was why I was now at Ethan’s Diner, waiting in the back hallway with Louis while Ethan finished up some business. I’d called my neighbor to ask her to watch Cody for a little longer as I was held up at work, and she’d been gracious enough to accommodate me.

  “Of course, honey. Cody’s an angel.”

  I’d smiled at that and agreed with Mrs. Rogers wholeheartedly. “Can I talk to him for a minute?”

  The lady went to fetch him and then I heard the shuffling of the phone, followed by, “Momma?”

  “Cody, baby,” I said, smiling broadly. “How are you?”

  “Okay. I got a cookie after dinner. Are you coming home soon?”

  I took a quick breath, forcing myself to remain calm. All I wanted to do was go home to my son. But what I said was, “I’ll be a little late, but I’ll be home soon, okay?”

  I could hear the pouting in his voice as he answered, “Fine.”

  Mrs. Rogers came back on the phone and I reiterated that I’d be home soon. Then we’d hung up. That was maybe ten or fifteen minutes ago. Now I was just waiting for Ethan to be done with whatever he was doing to tell him what had happened. It was weird to be here by my own volition instead of being summoned.

  I leaned against one wall, trying to keep my shit together, while Louis stood in front of the one opposite me. He had his arms crossed and was wearing the same suit he always wore. He must have a closet full of identical suits. His expression was as neutral as it ever was, but his eyes were expressive tonight. I noticed them as they slid over me, assessing.

  After a moment, he asked, “Bad day?”

  My brow raised at his question and I nearly laughed, more hysterical than amused. “Feeling chatty tonight?” I asked him, then silently cursed myself when my voice came out shaky.

  He frowned slightly. “Trouble with business?”

  I swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah. I…I need to tell Ethan something.” I’d already texted Louis to let him know I needed a word with his boss because I wasn’t supposed to talk to Ethan directly. Well, not unless I was making a payment. Yet all that careful secrecy hadn’t done much to keep some scary leather-wearing man from coming to my shop and threatening me over Ethan.

  Louis nodded and fell silent again.

  We only had to wait a few more minutes, then Ethan’s office door opened. A man—I was strangely relieved to see it wasn’t some woman like the waitress from the Mexican restaurant—walked out. He glanced between Louis and myself, but didn’t say anything. Then he walked down the hall and disappeared around a corner.

  I glanced at Louis, but he only shrugged, then gestured towards the door. I headed inside.

  Ethan looked up from his desk, genuinely surprised to see me. “Well, well. Are you making advanced payments now?” he joked. It was crude, but not as offensive as it might have been a couple of months ago.

  “She’s had a rough day, boss,” Louis said before I had a chance to utter a word. I glanced at him in surprise. His expression hadn’t changed and neither had his tone, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just admonished Ethan for my sake.

  Or gotten as close to admonishing as Louis ever got.

  It seemed to work. Ethan’s cocky expression shifted slightly to one that was more businesslike. “What happened?”

  I swallowed and took a deep breath, then recounted the events of the night. By the end of my story, I felt exhausted all over again and sat heavily in the vinyl covered seat in front of his desk. “He knew I was working with you.” It seemed weird to call our arrangement a working partnership, but it was the best I could do.

  Ethan had been silent the entire time as I told my story. Now he sat back in his chair, leaning as he considered all I’d said. He looked at me, appraising as though he’d never taken the time to do so before. Which was an outright lie. He’d stared at my body until I thought he’d burn holes right into it. But this look was different. It was almost…impressed?

  “What?” I finally asked, when he hadn’t said anything for a while.

  “I think maybe I’ve underestimated you, Diana,” he said, his tone softer than usual. “I want you to know I appreciate that you held your ground. A lesser woman wouldn’t have.”

  Something akin to pride welled in my chest, chasing out some of the fear that lingered there. “It’s my shop. I won’t be bullied in my own shop.” I raised a brow at him, hinting at our first encounter.

  He laughed. “No, I guess not.” Sitting forward in his chair again, he said, “Still. I appreciate toughness, regardless of where it comes from.”

  I shifted in my seat, a little uncomfortable at the compliment, but also a little pleased. “Thank you.”

  He acknowledged my gratitude, then moved on. “Did he give you a name?”

  I shook my head. “No. He just said to tell you he was asking for you.”

  Ethan’s jaw clenched. It was obvious by the tension in his shoulders and the hard line of his jaw that he was pissed. “You think it’s Tommy?” This was directed at Louis.

  I glanced back at the burly guard. He shrugged. “Probably. Tommy’s been getting brave lately.”

  Ethan slammed his fist down on the table hard, making me jump as I jerked around to face him again. But his anger wasn’t directed at me, for which I was eternally grateful. “Fucking Tommy.”

  I swallowed. Keep your mouth shut and your nose clean, I told myself silently. But even as my thoughts warned me off, my mouth didn’t seem to get the memo. “Who’s Tommy?”

  Ethan sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “A rival. He’s been trying to muscle in on my territory for a while now and it’s been a real thorn in my side. Last year, he was little more than a small time peddler. Now he’s got balls because he’s got followers.”

  I frowned. The whole drug circuit thing, the territory and rivalries and all of that wasn’t something I was well versed in, but I could guess at a few things. It was business, regardless of what the product was. Ethan sold to a certain area. This guy was obviously trying to do the same business in that same area, thus cutting into Ethan’s profit.

  At least, that was my best guess at the situation.

  Ethan stood and began to pace behind his desk. He was clearly irritated, his feet carrying him in four strides across the length of the room before he swiveled and came right back. He did this several times, seeming to get angrier with each pass. I wasn’t thrilled with being in the same room as him when he was pissed like this, but I was grateful it was, at least, directed at someone other than me. That went miles towards making my day better.

  The room was silent while he paced until finally I couldn’t take it.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked hesitantly. I was still in that hazy gray area where we weren’t technically partners, but we sort of were, too. He was paying for repairs. I was watching over his shipments. The sex aside, we were in a sort of working arrangement, and maybe that entitled me to asking a few questions.

  He stopped midstride, then turned to face me. “I don’t know how the hell he figured it out,” he told me, shaking his head. “I’ve been so careful with The Cut. Everything goes through someone else. My guys handle the deliveries. An out of town vendor forges the paperwork. There’s no connection to me.”

  I decided to not point out that Louis was a pretty noticeable guy and anyone who knew Ethan probably at least knew of Louis. Instead, I remained silent and waited for Ethan to work things out in his head.

  “We need to flush the guy out,” Ethan finally said, though he was directing this at Louis, not me. “He thinks he can come around and start threatening my people—” I raised an eyebrow at being called Ethan’s people, but didn’t say anything. “—like I’m not going to retaliate. Like he’s got a fucking leg to stand on.”

 
; “What do you want to do, boss?” Louis asked, hands folded in front of him.

  Ethan ran his hand through his thick hair, thinking for just a second. After a long pause, he said, “We lure him into a trap. Set him up.”

  I frowned. A trap? I really didn’t know how this whole thing worked on anything more than a basic level, but a trap sounded dangerous. And kind of ineffective, though I didn’t know Ethan’s plan yet. A trap implied someone was caught, usually in the act, but what act could Ethan hope to catch him in? It wasn’t like anyone could go to the police situation.