by Ashley Jade
I glared at him from under the hood. “Yup.”
Take that, fucker.
“I suppose I can admire that.”
I snorted. “I don't need or want your admiration, DeLuca. Now get the fuck out of my shop before I put a few bullets in your chest.”
“Well, I'll be damned. You are like me after all.”
I threw the wrench on the ground. “You really want to have this conversation with me again?”
He looked around the shop. “You know, you're almost 30 now, son. And this is all you have amounted to. A fucking mechanic.”
“I could have amounted to more had my asshole father not saw fit to make me drop out of school. Not that there's anything wrong with being a mechanic. Unlike what you do, it's an honest and noble profession.”
“But it's not where your heart is at, son.”
“Fuck my heart. I don't need it. Just like I don't need you. Now, leave before I make you.”
“I have a proposition for you.”
“Not interested.”
He didn't seem to care because he said, “I'm having a problem at the club.”
I hated how my ears perked up at the mention of the club.
He smiled, because he knew it. “Business is going down...I can't seem to keep any of my fighters for more than a few months at a time. They're all weak. People don't want to place bids anymore because they're not sure if they'll be back the next week.”
I glared at him. “Well, maybe if you didn't keep setting the fighters up to die in the cage...you wouldn't have that problem.” I sighed. “And from a business standpoint, people want to bet on a sure thing. Despite its underground nature, people like to have favorites, fighters they can root for. But in order to do that, you need to keep them around for more than a few months. That's the only way you'll ever increase revenue.”
“You have a point.”
I had to stop myself from looking at him in shock. I also had to stop myself from acknowledging the small pang I felt when he praised me.
He peered over my toolbox. “I've just taken on two new fighters. Two great fighters actually. Tyrone Davis and Jackson Reid.”
I shrugged. “Never heard of them.”
He chuckled. “No, you wouldn't have. Seeing as I just bailed them both out of jail. Tyrone was innocent so it was fairly easy...but this guy, Jackson... he actually committed the murder.”
“Sounds like he's right up your alley then.”
“He killed the man who murdered his sister. And the man who beat his sister to death happened to be a professional MMA fighter.”
I wiped my hands on the rag beside me. “Sounds like he never should have been in jail to begin with.”
He waved a hand. “Doesn't make a difference to me. But...they both have serious potential. Potential I haven't seen since―” He paused. “Well, you.”
I smirked before I repeated his words, “Doesn't make a difference to me.”
“It should.”
I leaned against my mustang and lit a cigarette. “Why's that?”
“I think if you trained them. You might―” He paused appearing to choose his next words carefully. “You might be the very thing to save their life.”
I stayed silent trying not to let his words affect me. He knew my kryptonite.
I hated watching people that didn't deserve to...die. I saw plenty of that over the last ten years. But even though I was surrounded by death in that club...l still loved fighting and motivating myself to make it to the next level. Hell, I loved that club...it was like home to me.
It was the only place I felt like I ever really belonged―the only place I had control over my life.
The place where I fought and earned my control and power...it wasn't just handed to me because I was DeLuca's son.
Shit, if he threw in a beautiful broad he'd have all three of my weaknesses at his disposal.
“Perhaps, I'll even change the way the fight club runs,” he gritted through his teeth. “Not right away, but in a few years. If you agree to train Jackson and Tyrone.”
I ignored him and took another drag off my cigarette before slamming the hood down on the mustang.
When I still didn't answer him, he said, “Maybe I'll turn it all over to you one day. I know you love that club, son.”
I could feel myself giving in but I didn't open my mouth just yet.
“You'll be the one in charge―for the most part, Ricardo. I won't ever step foot inside that club again. I'll just set up a video surveillance so I'll be able to watch every fight.”
He took a step forward. “ Of course, it is still my club right now, so you'll have to run most things through me, but I won't interfere with your training and I'll let you have a say in any and all final decisions regarding the club.”
“What's your game plan, DeLuca? What are you hoping to accomplish by all of this?”
“Honestly?”
“Yeah, that would be nice for a change.”
He looked me in the eyes. “I want my son back.” He sighed deeply. “I realize what I did to you was wrong and unforgivable.”
He looked like he was swallowing a box of nails before he uttered his next statement, “I guess what I'm saying is that I'm sorry and I want to make amends. You're the only son I have and I want to try and be the father I should have been.”
I shouldn't have let his words impact me the way they did. But the fact was, DeLuca never felt bad for a single thing in his entire life. It still wouldn't take back all that he'd done, but a small part of me wanted to believe that he wanted to change, that he could be a better person.
“One condition. Actually two.”
“Name it.”
“One―no one is to tell my two fighters that I'm your son. There's no way they would respect me or my training if they knew the spawn of Satan was the one guiding them through the pits of hell. I need them to trust me first and foremost. I need them to believe in me so I can get them through this.”
“Fine, consider it done. As long as you agree to meet with me on a monthly basis for dinner at my house. This way we can discuss both the club and the fighters.”
“I guess I could manage that. As long as you adhere to my other request.”
“Which is?”
“Never set my fighters up for a fall. I'm okay with testing their limits and pushing their boundaries so they become better fighters, but I will never be okay with purposely setting them up to get killed or seriously injured. It's a deal breaker.”
I stomped on my cigarette. “I hate the way you run the club but I know I can't control it until the club officially becomes mine. But you damn well better not kill my guys. Understood?”
“Understood. The club will be all yours in 10 years.”
“10 years!”
He shrugged. “You know the length of my deals. Now let's get the hell out of this shithole. We have a plane to catch and a business to run.”
And that conversation is how I currently find myself pulling up to his home. Almost 3 years since I agreed to coach Jackson and Tyrone.
Two men who have become more like brothers to me rather than my client's.
Two men I'd do anything to protect.
Two men I consider my family and DeLuca knows it.
But even so, there's nothing he can do about it.
Because if he did, he knows he'll lose me and ruin what little relationship we have with one another.
I ring the doorbell again and curse the beginning of July heat; despite DeLuca's house being near the water, it's hot as a motherfucker outside.
Finally deciding I had enough, I open the door and walk right in―only to find him on the staircase, buttoning his shirt and fixing his fly.
It's obvious I interrupted him in the middle of something.
I’d heard through the grapevine that he had a girlfriend but I still had yet to meet her.
I also heard that she was beautiful, younger than he was and they were serious enough to be living together.
> “I rang the doorbell, but you didn't answer,” I say.
He nods his head in the direction of the dining room. “I was busy. Come on, let's eat.”
I follow behind him and take a seat at the table. “Tyrone needs a day off from training in a few weeks because his mother's coming into town and he wants to spend the day with her. I told him it was okay,” I say, getting right down to business.
Besides, even if it wasn't okay, I couldn't care less. Tyrone's mother is the sweetest woman in the world. I would never refuse her anything.
He sits up in his chair and looks around the dining room. “That's fine.” He snaps his fingers. “Marlene, are you serving dinner or not?” he barks at his housekeeper.
“Coming right up, Mr. DeLuca.”
I try not to roll my eyes and tell him off. I hated the way he spoke to people.
Less than a minute later, Marlene walks into the dining room and proceeds to serve us. “Thank you, Marlene. It looks great,” I say, before giving her my signature panty-melting smile that makes her blush.
She looks at DeLuca and frowns. “Will she be joining you for dinner this evening?”
I don't miss the hint of snarkiness in her tone when she says that.
Apparently, his girlfriend doesn't make friends easily.
He looks up from his plate. “Yeah, she's supposed to be down here already. Go fetch her for me and make sure she's suitable.”
This was unusual. I've been here once a month for almost 3 years and not once have I ever met his girlfriend.
Marlene finishes filling our glasses with wine and nods.
I ignore my own wine but DeLuca takes a hearty sip before he focuses his attention on something behind me. “There you are, Bambina. Get in here.”
I turn my head and all I can think is―Bambina, indeed.
She certainly looks like a baby, and it has nothing to do with her small stature either.
This girl can't be more than in her late teens, maybe early 20's at the most.
I point my thumb in her direction. “I take it this is your girlfriend's daughter?”
I hear a giggle erupt behind me and DeLuca narrows his eyes. “No this is not my girlfriend's daughter,” he spits. “This is my Lucianna. I figured it was about time you two finally meet.”
I sit back in my chair and watch as some broad with long dark hair wearing a tight black tube top dress makes her way to the table.
Then I watch in both amusement and concern as she proceeds to guzzle the full glass of red wine that Marlene poured for her.
Marlene fills up her glass again and she guzzles that one down just as quick as the first one.
Either she's a sorority girl in the making, or this girl has some serious issues.
Marlene finally just gives up on walking away and stands by her side, filling the glass up one more time.
I've never seen anything like it before, and DeLuca doesn't even bat an eye. He just tears right into his ravioli.
After she finishes her third glass in less than 10 minutes, she motions for Marlene to fill it up again. “It's empty,” she informs her curtly before walking away.
The girl pouts, folds her arms across her chest and makes a face at DeLuca.
DeLuca raises a finger. “No. I won't tell you again. Have all the wine you'd like, but you're off the other stuff for good, Bambina. Deal with it.”
Other stuff? What the hell is going on?
Then it dawns on me. It's obvious his girlfriend is some stray that he brought home.
But then again, she is pretty hot. You know, if you like that glazed over, drunk, party girl look.
She groans and pushes her plate away like a 5-year-old. “Then I'm not hungry.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine, starve for all I care. You're still not getting your way, Lucianna.”
She mumbles something under her breath that I don't catch but DeLuca must because he stiffens. “Care to repeat that?”
She tosses her napkin in her dish and runs a hand down her body suggestively. “I said then you're not getting any of this.”
That's when I start laughing, I can't help myself. I've never heard a female speak to him like this before.
Hell, DeLuca may have just met his match after all.
It's times like these that I wish I could tell Tyrone and Jackson about DeLuca being my father. They would get a kick out of watching this.
My laughter quickly dies though when my father stares at her.
His gaze is so intense and threatening she immediately slinks back down in her chair, appearing to come out of her haze momentarily. “I'm so sorry, mio amore. I'll never embarrass you in front of your son or anyone else again.”
He reaches over and kisses her hand. “You better not, or else. I'll have Marlene bring you more wine.”
Since I'm not drinking any of mine, I hand her my glass.
“Thank you,” she whispers before she closes her eyes and downs it.
That's when I notice a few faded track marks on her arm. They would hardly be noticeable to the untrained eye, but growing up with a mother who was an addict for the first eleven years of my life made me aware of the signs.
Good grief, this girl is a damn heroin addict.
It's obvious he doesn't want her to use anymore. Just like it's obvious why she keeps downing wine like it's water. I wish I never handed her my glass now.
DeLuca claps his hands. “Okay, let's talk business.”
Chapter 2 (Lou-Lou)
My head is spinning and I'm desperately in need of more wine.
I haven't touched the hard stuff for two months now, but the cravings haven't diminished.
The only times DeLuca gives in...is right before he fucks me. Which of course, is the only time I actually ever crave it.
He was right, he didn't turn me into a full-blown addict, but he does use it to control me.
He knows he can't have sex with me, well enjoyable sex anyway, when I'm sober because I'll just tremble and scream.
He says it displeases him that I feel that way about him now. I tell him that it displeases me that he uses and controls me like this.
That's when he usually threatens not to give me anything to help get me through him screwing me.
Then I beg and plead for him to show me some mercy before I suck him off—because I can still do that sober.
He eventually gives in, and although he doesn't give me heroin anymore, he gives me a few pills to take the edge off. He even waits for them to kick in before he starts.
Luckily, since it's such a process to have sex with me now, we only do it about once a week or so. Sometimes even less.
He says it's exhausting and barely even worth the effort anymore.
I pray for the day he finally decides it's not.
I pray for the day my fucked up heart becomes strong enough to finally stop loving him.
I stare down at my plate of uneaten food. I can't believe I spoke to him like that in front of his own son.
Marlene comes back into the dining room with another bottle of wine and I practically jump on her and pry it from her hands.
I know Bruno's going to expect some alone time with me again tonight and he already warned me just before dinner that he's not giving me anything this time.
He also told me that he has a special surprise job for me...but I had to be a good girl in order to get the opportunity.
Then he asked me if I still loved him. Which was odd because he hasn't asked me that in a long time.
I told him the truth—”Yes, but I also hate you for all you've done to me.”
He promised that he would make it all up to me as long as I promised to love him forever.
He was so serious, I knew that whatever he wanted from me was important.
It also explains why he randomly stopped giving me the hard drugs two months ago.
He needs me to be clear-headed for whatever assignment I was about to embark on.
“Only one more glass,” Brun
o tells Marlene, interrupting my thoughts.
“You should have said that two glasses ago,” she says under her breath before looking at me in disgust.
I know Marlene hates me.
I know she thinks I'm just some chick looking to strike it rich with her mob boss sugar daddy.
Just like I know that she's only been his housekeeper for the past few months, so she couldn't possibly know all that's gone on between us.
But unlike her, I know all that's gone on between her and Bruno.
One night, around two months ago, I caught her on her knees in front of him when I walked into his conference room.
Instead of helping me through the worst of my withdrawals like a decent man, Bruno wanted to get his dick sucked by the maid since I wasn't in the state to do it for him.
I've never felt more jealous or hurt in my entire life.
Even though Bruno and I have the most toxic relationship in the history of ever, I still love him. I will always love him.
And I thought that meant something to him. I mean, it used to.
I became so mad, I launched a trophy at the bitch's head.
He immediately pulled out of her mouth and came rushing over to me.
I told him to fire her, but he promised me he would never let it happen again.
And so far, he's stayed true to his word because I have yet to catch him in the act since that night.
I still have my eye on her, though. Because if there's one thing I've learned...it's that you can't trust anyone.
Especially another woman who wants what's yours.
I take another sip of my wine, I can already tell it's weaker than the other one.
Either that or I'm starting to build up a tolerance to this shit too.
I give Bruno another pout and he finally relents and gives me his glass of wine.
I eagerly take it because the thought of having sex with him while being even mildly coherent makes my skin crawl.
Ricardo snaps his head in my direction and that's when I see it.
I didn't think they looked anything alike, but damn.
Those eyes are totally Bruno DeLuca's.
