But I know, deep down, that it’s because I don’t hate her.
She’s just too real with me, too eager to confront my darkest demons. She always has been. And fuck, it rouses every emotion in me—the good and bad. It wakes up the monster in me. It rises the beast. And it dawns on me that she wants me like this. She wants me to be mad at her so that I can forget about what we’re arguing about and focus on the fury.
She knows to do this, because we’re both the same.
We’re both animals, always succumbing to our rage. Our inability to forgive.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I won’t let her push me away.
And when she storms out of the warehouse, practically scorching the place in her wake, I follow after her. I can feel the waves of anger radiating off of her, yet I choose to follow her. I choose to pursue this woman that I want more than I’ve ever wanted anything else. More than I want my next breath.
When she sees that it’s raining and she’s only wearing her tiny fucking sleeping shorts and a t-shirt—Christ, my t-shirt—she doesn’t even stop. She continues down the alley, opening her mouth, pivoting to face me, and yelling, “Just stop, Niccolaio. Not tonight. You won’t win this fight.”
But she’s standing there, opening that too-smart-for-her-own-good mouth of hers, rain dripping down her hair, her face, her body, and I hate her. I hate what she does to me. I hate that this is a fight that either both of us will win or both of us will lose. And of course, I want both of us to win…
I want to fucking kiss her.
She sees the look in my eyes—feral, animalistic, and deranged. And she doesn’t move away from me.
She. Doesn’t. Move. Away. From. Me.
I don’t know who moves first, but within seconds, her lips are against mine.
Angry. Clashing. Warring.
And so fucking delicious.
Holy fuck.
I’m kissing her.
I’m kissing Minka.
I press her against the wall of the warehouse, both thankful and furious that we’re so far away from civilization. The animal in me wants to fuck her against the hard metal for everyone to see. To see me claim this beautiful woman as mine. But there’s no audience here. Just her, me and this amazing magnetism between us.
Her tongue dives past my lips, brushing against mine once. Twice. Three times, and I’m gone. I’m lost in the magic that is her. Her lips. Her hair. Her skin. It all consumes me until my hand grips the round globes of her ass and lifts her into the air, her legs wrapping around my waist.
She grinds herself against my erection, moaning sexy little noises into my mouth. My lips drift from hers bottom lip to her neck, where I nibble on the sensitive skin, trying to be gentle but not doing a very good job. Especially when she rubs herself on my cock again, trying to fuck me through my pants.
“I’m on the pill,” she whispers into my mouth, the best invitation I’ve ever heard.
I respect this woman. A lot. I think she’s a strong woman, stronger than any other woman I met, but tonight, I’m not going to treat her like it. I’m going to dominate her, fuck her like I’ve been wanting to since I met her.
I pull back a little and force her lust-filled eyes to focus on my face when I warn, “I’m going to fuck you now. It’ll be hard, it’ll be rough, and it’ll hurt. But I promise you’ll feel good. That your pussy will come so hard around my cock that I won’t be able to move it as the walls of your tight, little pussy clamp down on me. Okay?”
Her lips part, her eyes glazing over in arousal, but I need her to nod her head. To give me her permission.
“How do you want me?” I ask, hoping she’ll let me dominate her, because fuck, I need this.
“Hard. Rough.” Her voice lowers, and she rubs her pussy against my cock, our bodies separated by our damn clothes. “And bare.”
I growl at the filthiness of her words and the trust in me they reveal. My fingers dip into her tiny shorts, ones that I’m starting to love, and it’s a shame that I have to rip them off of her. And I do, tearing the shorts and her sexy lace panties at once, until she’s bare for me, her pretty pussy glistening in the moonlight.
I don’t even bother taking anything else off, leaving my shirt on her torso because I want her to remember that she’s mine.
My hand dips into my pants, wrapping my fingers around my cock. I stroke it once, groaning as she takes my bottom lip into her mouth and sucks on it, grazing it with her teeth before she releases it. I fist my cock and run it along her slit, soaking it with her wetness, which has left a trail down her inner thighs.
She moans into my mouth, and I ram my cock into her waiting pussy without a warning. She screams at the contact, her mouth moving to my shoulder and her teeth biting down hard on the muscle there. Her nails draw blood from my back, but I don’t fucking care.
Dominant and in control, I command her body, using her pussy like it’s a vehicle for my pleasure. I pound into her, unrelenting as she chants my name like it’s a prayer. Each thrust of my hips pushes her harder into the wall, but she doesn’t complain as she takes everything I give her and gives it back as she meets each of my thrusts. My lips drift down to her nipples, and I suck on one of them roughly through my shirt that she’s wearing, biting down on the hardened bud and enjoying the tantalizing smell of both of our scents mixed together.
I feel like I’m marking her. Claiming her. Making her mine. But I need more of her, more of this. I knead her ass roughly with my hands before moving them to her narrow waist and gripping the skin there. I grab her waist and slam her down onto my cock to meet each of my hard thrusts, the need to come overwhelming now, but I refuse to let go until she falls apart on my cock.
And when my fingers brush against her clit, it’s all it takes for her to start spasming around me, and only then do I empty myself into her, the tight clenching of her walls milking every single drop out of me. When we’re done, I don’t pull out of her. I don’t think I can.
“That was…” she trails off, struggling to find the right words.
But there aren’t any, so I just say, “Yeah,” agreeing with her.
I keep her in my arms as I carry her inside of the warehouse, taking her into my room. I reluctantly pull out of her pussy and place her on top of my bed. I get in behind her, curving my body around hers and pulling the sheets over us.
I should probably clean her, but I don’t want to. I want part of me in her even as I pull myself out of her, and that should scare me, but it doesn’t.
Good God, I think I’m finally ready for this.
For our relationship.
There are a million things I need to do the next morning, but I can’t help but wake Minka up with my mouth on that sweet pussy of hers, my teeth grazing her clit. And my God, when she rides my tongue, coming hard around it, I nearly spill my load on the sheets like a fucking teenage boy.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” she says, a post-coital glow on her beautiful features.
I smirk but don’t respond, because I plan on waking her up like that as often as I can. We still haven’t resolved the argument from last night, but I know she’ll accept Mina’s words when she’s ready to. And I’ll be there for her when that happens.
Until then, I plan on showing her that there’s a silver lining to this. While she’s showering and getting ready for the morning, I make breakfast and pack it in a picnic basket along with a blanket. When she’s done, we go outside, and I set up the picnic in front of the river, ignoring her smirk as she watches the domestication of the panther that used to be me.
When we’re done eating, I stare at her and say, “Curse.”
Her eyes widen, taken off guard by the unusual demand. “What?”
“That’s something you gave up years ago for this quest of yours. But you no longer have to.”
She glances uneasily at me. “Not filing for custody of Mina doesn’t mean I should stop trying to
be a good role model for her.”
“True, but the way you choose to be a good role model will be on your terms. Not because you think Social Services will hear you cursing and snatch her away from you.”
She opens her pretty mouth, no doubt to argue my statement, but she closes it immediately when she realizes that I’m right. I can see it in her eyes that she has had that fear before. In fact, she’s probably spent the past four years fearing that anything she did at any second may have resulted in the fury of Social Services.
And now that she no longer has those worries, I hope that she feels free, untethered to the responsibilities that were weighing her beautiful soul down.
She throws her head back and yells to the water, “Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!”
My eyes widen for a moment. For a second there, I didn’t think she’d actually do it. My mouth spreads into a grin, and even though it sounds ridiculous, I shout with her, “Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!”
“Damn it!”
“Jackass!”
“Shit!”
And because I want to make her laugh, I yell, “Asshat!”
I’m reward by her laughter, and Minka and I curse all morning long at the Hudson, until our throats are sore, our faces hurt from smiling, and she whispers, “I’m falling in fucking love with you.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Forgiveness has nothing to do
with absolving a criminal of his crime.
It has everything to do with relieving
oneself of the burden of being a
victim—letting go of the pain
and transforming oneself
from victim to survivor.
C. R. Strahan
It dawns on me that I can leave at any time I want. I no longer need to gold dig, I don’t need to find a Social Services approved place to live, I don’t have to study for my LSATs, and I’m not in danger if Niccolaio takes care of the only threatening person who knows about my involvement with him.
But as we head towards John’s brownstone to deal with him, I’m certain that, more than anything, I want to be by Niccolaio’s side. And earlier, when I told him that I’m falling for him, I meant it.
This thing we have is realer than I ever thought possible, and I can’t picture my life without Niccolaio. I don’t care if danger follows him wherever he goes. I don’t care if I’m put in danger by the hit his brother called on him.
I want to be with him in any way I can.
And that thought has me pulling him in for a kiss after he parks the car in front of his brownstone.
“What was that for?” There’s a cocky glint to his eyes, and I realize that I quite like it there.
“Felt like it.”
He smirks, “Because you’re falling in fucking love with me?”
I scowl, shoving his shoulder with my hand as hard as I can. His massive body doesn’t even budge an inch.
His smirk dies down, and he says, his voice genuine, “You know I feel the same way, right?”
I preen at his words, and I’m smiling even as John opens the door with Ashley—or Red Senior, as Niccolaio calls her—at his side after Niccolaio’s incessant knocking.
John scowls. “What do you want? You could have called.”
“Hey, asshole,” Niccolaio says, before greeting John with his fist.
John’s face snaps back, and I leap forward, covering Ashley’s mouth with my hand to mask her scream. Only after she stops screaming do I release my hand, and by that time, Niccolaio already has John’s hands and legs zip tied.
I zip tie Ashley, my face apologetic as I sit her on the couch beside John. At least the couch is comfy.
I hold up the ball and gag that Niccolaio picked up from Dex before we walked to John’s. Apparently, Dex is into some kinky stuff, and honestly, the thought reminds me that I’m down to try anything with Niccolaio at least once.
Except maybe the ball in gag.
With it still in my hands, I say to Ashley, “Scream, and this will go into your mouth.” I grimace. “We got it from Dex, so who knows where it’s been?”
Even now, I’m holding it by the end of the leather strap, unwilling to touch more of it than I need to.
Can I get an STD like this?
To her credit, Ashley’s face remains neutral, and when she nods, John seethes, “You fucking bitch. If you touch a hair on Ashley’s head, I swear to God, I will slap a lawsuit on you so fast, your grandchildren’s grandchildren will still be paying it off.”
I smile brightly. “I think we’re beyond lawsuits.”
And Niccolaio, I kid you not, slaps John. Like an actual slap. Flat palm and everything. John opens his mouth, and Niccolaio slaps him again.
“You… You slapped me,” John splutters, as if he can’t believe it.
To be honest, neither can I.
Niccolaio shrugs. “You don’t deserve my fists.”
John lunges for Niccolaio, but it’s a pathetic attempt, especially with his limbs all tied up. He ends up falling on Ashley, who groans under the weight. I wince sympathetically and move to push John off of her.
In the back of my mind, I register happiness at the fact that I no longer have to touch John, and other men like him, out of my warped sense of need. I no longer have to gold dig, and that makes my good mood even better.
Niccolaio says, “I met your friend David.”
John replies, “I have no idea who you’re referring to.”
I lean back and watch the exchange, curious as to how Niccolaio will get John to talk but confident that he will.
“I found your number on his phone.”
John’s eyes flash. “Impossible! I blocke—” his voice falters as he realizes his mistake.
“You blocked it. Is that what you were going to say?” At John’s silence, Niccolaio continues, “You know, at first I thought you used our cameras. But then I saw the picture of me on David’s phone again and realized the quality was shit. You had someone hack into the city’s CCTV cameras, didn’t you?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “Now the question is why.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Your fiancé here is beautiful.” Niccolaio winks at me before turning to Ashley. “Ashley, is it? This all started when she showed up that first time.” He inches closer. “If it isn’t you, John, was it your girl?”
I know Niccolaio won’t hurt Ashley, but John doesn’t, and Niccolaio is a pretty damn good actor.
John’s nostrils flare, and he struggles against his binds, the rigor of the movement causing me to forget his age for a moment. “You fucker. Leave her alone. I did it. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
“Why?”
“Because Ashley came back into town, and we picked up where we left off. Because I was determined to make sure our relationship had no problems this time around, and you were a problem. Or you were going to be. I’m going straight, and I was just tying up loose ends. Nothing personal, okay? I didn’t need you coming after me now or in the future, so I came after you first. Helps that there’s a hit on your head. I saw an opportunity and I seized it. You can’t fault me for that. You would have done the same.”
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
“Excuse me?”
“I wouldn’t have come after you. You’re not important enough. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
John flinches, his face red from embarrassment. “I—you would have.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“B-because we have past dealings.”
“I have past dealings with a lot of people, and most of them are they’re still alive.”
“You live next door to me.”
“And how often do you ever see me leave the brownstone?’
He sighs. Resigned. “Rarely.”
“Exactly. You fucked up. I wouldn’t have come after you. I don’t give a shit about you. Now, on the other hand, I have to do something about you.”
“Are you familiar with the Syndicate?” Niccolaio asks, his tone ruthless.
John nods his head, dread filling his face. Before we came here, Niccolaio explained to me what the Syndicate is. No matter how often the five syndicates—De Luca, Andretti, Romano, Camerino, and Rossi—fight, they’re still part of one larger Italian syndicate, run by one godfather and counseled by the the five capo famiglias (bosses) of each individual family.
Like a normal company, the Syndicate has receptionists, and part of what they do is process hit orders. Like the one out on Niccolaio, which was approved thanks to the blood debt. And like the one Niccolaio put out on John, which was approved because John came after him first.
“I put a hit out on you,” Niccolaio says, causing John to pale. “Contingent on my death. If I die, you die.”
“B-but what if you die before me, and it’s not because of me?”
“You better pray to God that I don’t die.”
“Please. Call it off.” John is begging now. “I won’t do it again. It was a mistake. I just wanted to make everything safe for Ashley.”
“And that would have worked if you had killed me, but you didn’t. Now, look where we are. You stepped wrong, John. This is the consequence.”
And then, Niccolaio and I exit John’s brownstone, leaving him and Ashley tied up. As we walk past the door, Niccolaio gets a phone call from Asher, and the blood drains from his face, causing me to tense.
John is dealt with. That’s one problem less. We should be feeling better, even though there’s still a $5 million hit on Niccolaio’s head. But his expression right now? It doesn’t look like everything is going to be okay.
“What happened?” I ask, breathlessly waiting for a response.
“Vincent Romano is missing.”
Fourteen days.
That’s how long we tear apart the town, fruitlessly scouring the entire city for one man.
That’s how long it’s been since Vincent Romano’s been missing.
Niccolaio Andretti: A Mafia Romance Novel (The Five Syndicates Book 2) Page 23
