Becoming the Hitman (Zanetti Famiglia Book 5)

by Hayley Faiman

  “Sounds pathetic,” I mutter, trying not to think of my own parents.

  The way my father banged his women while my mother was at home. The way my mother accepted one girlfriend of his, but two steady women was just one too many. This woman is probably the same. One is okay, one is acceptable, but two is over the line.

  Whatever.

  Fuck that shit.

  My woman even looks at another man, I’ll kill them both.

  I don’t share shit. Which is probably why I’ll die single. I don’t think that I could stay as loyal to one person as I demand they be to me. And since I’m not into being a hypocritical fucking asshole, I stay single.

  Plus, I like variety.

  “Guess I’ll be meeting up with him in a couple days, then,” I mutter, taking the napkin and shoving it in my pocket as the waiter arrives with my receipt to sign.

  Sullivan grunts and together we stand. I’ve taken a nap, a hot shower, and now I’ve eaten, but I’m not tired. I want to go out and see exactly what this place is about, explore a little.

  “Any nightlife?” I ask.

  He looks to me, his lips twitching and he shakes his head. “There’s The Pub just down the road,” he explains.

  “You’re smiling, why?” I demand.

  He chuckles. “Friday is ladies’ night. Plus, it’s called The Pub, but it’s more of a low-key night club.”

  “Low-key?”

  He nods his head a couple of times. “I’d take you, but my wife’d murder me in my sleep.” He laughs. “It’s low music, none of that loud bass and techno, but it’s definitely a night club atmosphere where people are looking to let loose on a Friday night,” he explains.

  “Sounds like my kind of thing. Where’s it at?” I ask.

  He lifts his hand, points down the road and gives directions how to get there before he jogs off toward his car. Night clubs in general aren’t really my scene, I’ve officially reached that age where the music is just too fucking loud, so what he describes sounds like a perfect place to find a lay for the night.

  The club is exactly as he described. The music is low, but there’s a nice beat to it for dancing. There are people on the dance floor and at the bar, there are also groups at tables. This is exactly what I needed after the long flight that I had.

  This and a woman to lose myself inside of for the evening. I don’t know what tomorrow is going to bring, what I’m going to find out, but tonight I’m going to drink and fuck my worries away, just like I do more often than I probably should.

  Making my way toward the bar, I rap my knuckle against the scratched top. A man appears. He’s clean-shaven and dressed in a T-shirt, a bar towel slung over his shoulder.

  “Whiskey, neat,” I order.

  “Sure thing.”

  I watch as he pours my glass, digging some money out of my pocket I slide it across the bar toward him. He dips his chin and turns away from me. Taking a sip, I turn around to take in the crowd.

  There are plenty of pretty women around the pub, they’re dancing, talking, and hanging out around tables. Women that go in packs aren’t usually my thing. But my gaze catches a shot of blue and I freeze.

  She’s standing at a table with two other women and a man. They are all laughing and drinking, but she’s not. In fact, she looks extremely uncomfortable. I watch as she dips her chin down, hiding her stunning features from me.

  I want to tell her to look up, to point those bright blue eyes in my direction. Between the dress and her eyes, it’s impossible not to notice her, even from across a smoky bar. A man walks up behind her and I take a sip of my drink.

  She turns to look up at him and within just a moment, he jerks his head, taking a step back and walks away. Her friends start talking animatedly, waving their hands around, but she just shrugs.

  Another song plays, then another. I watch her friends peel off with men who ask them to dance and then she is left alone at the table. I’m on my second glass of whiskey. It’s stronger than I usually drink, probably top shelf and expensive since I didn’t specify, but that’s okay, I’m not here to get drunk.

  SIOBAHN

  He’s been watching me. I have sensed his eyes on me more than once. At first, I shook it off. No way would a man that handsome be looking anywhere near me. I decided that it must have been Kathleen or Andrea, but they’re gone on the dance floor and he’s walking in my direction.

  My heartbeat starts to speed up, faster and faster as he comes closer and closer. Then, I see his expensive shoes right in front of me and I swear my breath leaves my body. There is nothing in my lungs and I can’t force them to work.

  “Hey there, beautiful,” he rasps.

  Oh God.

  An accent.

  He’s American.

  His voice is deep and luscious, it’s husky and raspy. It’s better than I could have imagined. Slowly, I lift my head and tilt it back slightly to look up into his golden eyes. They are gold too, like the color of the whiskey in his glass.

  “Hello,” I exhale like a fool.

  He grins wide enough that I am awarded the viewing pleasure of his straight white teeth. His cheeks and chin are covered in a thick dark beard, his hair is also thick and dark, a bit longer and probably needs a trim. The top is longer than the rest, but the back brushes the collar of his crisp white suit shirt.

  “I’m Renzo,” he introduces, holding his hand out for a shake.

  Hesitantly, I slip my hand in his. His fingers are firm as they grip mine. He doesn’t shake my hand, just squeezes me in his warm palm. I try not to imagine those strong fingers, that warm hand, on my entire body, but I fail.

  “Siobahn,” I rasp.

  His eyes widen just a fraction as he releases my hand. “Drink?” he asks, dipping his chin.

  Shaking my head, I clear my throat. “I don’t really drink much.”

  At those words, his lips turn up into another bright smile. This time, I think I see his eyes actually sparkle.

  Renzo has skin a few shades darker than mine and an olive complexion, which makes me wonder if he’s maybe part Italian. He’s tall and muscular beneath his dark navy slacks and his white dress shirt that’s been rolled up to his forearms.

  His hair is a bit of a mess, it’s wild, but I don’t think he’s styled it that way. I can’t seem to detect any product and I can usually guess the type of product someone uses, if not the brand as well.

  No, I think Renzo doesn’t quite care about styling his hair. He washes, maybe combs, and goes. He’s just that sexy.

  “Would you like to go over to one of the tables and talk?” he asks.

  My gaze flicks over to the side and I see Kathleen standing just a few feet behind him, her mouth dropped open and her eyes about to bug out of her head. Pressing my lips together, I try not to smile at her expression.

  “Siobahn?”

  My body jerks slightly. The way he says my name, the way it rolls off of his tongue with that deep husky voice, my entire body breaks out in a shiver. It rolls through me and straight to my core, then my center, and I have to press my thighs together.

  It has been far too long since I’ve been with a man if the mere way he utters my name brings me physical pleasure.

  Clearing my throat, I look up at him. “Sure,” I squeak.

  He shakes his head once, a smile firmly planted on his face, then he does that thing that only sexy as shit men can get away with. He places his palm at the small of my back, the heat from his hand searing my skin, and he guides us over to a cozy table in the corner of the pub, with a bench.

  I slide in first and assume that he’s going to take the chair across from me, but he doesn’t. The bold man slides right in next to me. He shifts his body to the side so that he can face me, making his dominance clear and again, causing a physical reaction of pleasure to roll throughout my entire body.

  “Are you here for business or pleasure?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant and non-desperate which is the exact opposite of what I truly am inside. />
  He reaches out, his index finger slides up mine, stopping at the back of my hand, then glides back down. I try really, really, hard to ignore the physical reaction, but once again, I can’t. I have never felt this way around a man before, then again, I have never been around a man quite like this before, either.

  “Both,” he rasps. “What do you do for a living?”

  He changes the subject back to me and I tell him that I work in a salon nearby and I’m a hairdresser. He asks me a little more about myself, if I’m single, if I enjoy my work. All the while he continues to touch me lightly with the tip of his finger.

  I am on edge by the time we’ve both finished our glasses and gone over the small bit of background either of us is willing to share with a stranger. Which, to be honest, is not much. I don’t tell him about Emilyn, about my mother, or my drunkard father. He doesn’t tell me about whatever pain hides behind his gaze, either.

  Then it happens. His hand dances up my arm until he cups my jaw. His eyes search mine as if asking silent permission. I purse my lips together and give a short, small nod of approval and that’s when he goes in for the kill.

  His lips are firm and soft, my breath hitches when they touch mine, then again when his tongue slides along the seam. When my lips part, that’s when he slips his tongue inside of my mouth. He tastes so damn good, like warm whiskey.

  I can’t help myself, I can’t control my actions. I let out a moan as I lean into him, closer to him. His hand leaves my jaw, sliding around to the back of my neck and his fingers grip me there. His tongue doesn’t just taste me, it consumes me, and I allow it.

  I allow all of it.

  I am completely lost in him and I want so much more.

  Now.

  Right. Now.

  Chapter Five

  RENZO

  This woman is spectacular. Her taste, better than I’ve had in a while. Makes me wonder what her cunt tastes like. Not that I’ll have to wonder for long, she’s primed and ready. All I have to do is get her out of this bar and down the street to the hotel.

  Slowly, I break the kiss, my lips still touching hers before I speak again. “Want to go back to my hotel?” I ask against her mouth.

  I can hear her gasp, but I don’t move. She made up her mind about me the moment she laid eyes on me from across the bar. Anything other than a yes, is just her attempting to preserve some type of false sense of morality.

  Because as anyone knows, morality is dead in modern society, if it was ever truly alive. I believe that it has just been smoke and mirrors. The commandments are just guidelines and not to be taken as complete truth.

  I know that I’m the worst catholic on earth for even thinking what I have just thought, but I have seen people who preach morals and values do some pretty fucking disgusting things. And at the same time, I have seen people who are considered sinners and immoral, live by a code that is more virtuous than not.

  She pulls away from me, but only slightly because I have a firm grip on the back of her neck. Her blue eyes lift to mine and the innocence in them makes my cock stand at attention. There is something else behind that innocence and it’s pain. She has pain lurking there. I should not see it, should not give a shit, but for whatever reason, I do, on both accounts.

  “I shouldn’t,” she breathes.

  Smirking, I lean forward and nip her bottom lip with my teeth. “Of course, you should, cuoricino.”

  Her lips part when I call her a version of my heart. I don’t know why I even said it, I’ve never given a term of endearment to a woman before. It must be the cheap whiskey, maybe her sexy lilt when she speaks, or the way her blue eyes widen and her lips part in awe.

  “I didn’t say that I wasn’t going to, I just said that I shouldn’t,” she quips.

  My fingers squeeze the back of her neck and I’m unable to keep from bursting out laughing. That is when her group arrives. They have been dancing and watching from the corner of their eyes for at least an hour, maybe longer.

  I was wondering when they would approach. The two women are in front, the man has his arms wrapped around another man’s waist as they both smile and sway slightly. But the women are watching me, their eyes narrowed as they take me in.

  They tilt their heads to the side, one licks her lips, the other presses hers together as they just stare. Releasing Siobahn’s neck, I lift my other arm and slide it around the back of her shoulders as I turn to face them.

  “Have a seat, ladies?” I ask.

  Their eyes widen, then as if I’ve forced them to sit, their knees buckle and they slam down in the seat across from me. The men giggle, and one of them brings two chairs over and they sit as well.

  “Can I help you?” I ask.

  The shrewdest one watches me for a moment, then leans forward. “So, you are American,” she says, pointing out a fact that I already know.

  “I am,” I agree with a nod of my head.

  She leans back, the other girl taking in her scrutinizing gaze. She licks her lips again, tilting her head farther to the side, then grins.

  “I knew you weren’t from here, I called it. Pay up,” she shouts as she lifts her hand in the air.

  “You made bets?” Siobahn asks, breaking her silence.

  The man that was with their group earlier giggles as he reaches forward. “We clocked him staring at you hours ago. We knew he’d approach, the bet was on if you would talk to him, then we started betting on where he was from, because he does not look Irish.”

  “Italian-American,” I murmur.

  The two women shift their gazes from me and turn to stare at Siobahn. “Are you going home with him?” they ask simultaneously.

  I shake my head, trying to hide my smile as I shift from my seat and stand up next to the table. Their heads whip over to me and tilt backward to look up at me.

  “Siobahn,” I rasp, holding my palm out to her.

  Wordlessly, she slips her hand in mine and scoots out of the bench seat. Still silent, she stands up straight next to me.

  “‘Night,” I say with a grin.

  Then, before they can utter anything else, I tug Siobahn behind me and we leave The Pub, together. She doesn’t try to stop me or stop us as I guide her out of the pub. But her feet slow down as we walk about a block down the street.

  “Siobahn?” I ask.

  She tips her head back, then clears her throat as her eyes find mine. “I know girls say they’ve never, but Renzo, I really have never done anything like this before.”

  My lips twitch into a grin. I had her measured the moment I saw her. There is a reason I picked her over her friends. She turned down men’s advances, she wasn’t downing shots and overdrinking, she looked shy.

  Normally shy isn’t my thing, I mean, I pay for sex the way I want and prefer it, but tonight I had the taste for something sweet. So sweet, and I found that in Siobahn.

  “I believe you, cuoricino.” Lifting my hand, I cup her cheek, my thumb sliding across the apple of her cheek.

  Her lips curve up into a smile and the sad sparkle in her eyes quickly returns. “I’m nervous. Maybe I should just go home,” she rasps.

  Dipping my chin, I touch my mouth to hers. My tongue slides across the seam of her lips, silently begging for entrance. She complies, her mouth parting as I glide my tongue inside of her, tasting her sweetness, jonesin’ for the taste of another part of her.

  “Yes,” she breathes as I break the kiss. “Take me, Renzo.”

  Hearing my name on her breath forces a growl to escape my lips. Sliding my hands down to her waist, skimming her hips, I grip the backs of her thighs and pick her up. She lets out a squeal as she wraps her legs around my waist.

  Cupping her ass, I squeeze her cheeks and pull her tighter against my hard cock. Her lips brush against my ear. “Take me to your room, Renzo,” she breathes.

  “If you insist,” I grunt with a smile.

  SIOBAHN

  Every step that he takes toward his hotel, I wonder what the fuck I’m doing and w
hy I’m doing it, then I decide that it doesn’t matter, I need this. Even though it’s wrong, it’s nothing like me, and I’ll probably never do anything like this again—I need it. I need him.

  My arse is practically hanging out, his hands gripping me the only thing keeping the world from seeing my naked flesh. I touch my lips to his earlobe, sucking it into my mouth as I grind myself against him like some horny teenager.

  “Siobahn.” He chuckles. “We’re almost there.”

  The cool air biting my skin disappears as he walks into a building. I don’t look around, my lips affixed to his neck. I kiss everywhere that I can where he doesn’t have hair. His beard is so damn sexy, I can’t wait to run my fingers through it as I ride him.

  I also can’t believe I’m thinking any of these things as he climbs the stairs up to his floor. “My cock is so hard. I ache to be inside of you,” he rasps. “You’re going to be sweet for me, aren’t you, cuoricino?”

  “Yes,” I exhale as he takes a step, then another, fumbling with some keys before I hear a door shut behind me.

  My back slams against the door and my head flies back with a thud. I let out a whimper as his mouth touches the center of my throat. He grinds his hard length against me and my eyes pop open. He feels… big, hard, and I’m not sure if I can take him.

  “You’re panting, but your body is tense and it’s not in a sexy way. What’s happened?” he asks against my neck.

  Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I don’t say anything immediately. He lifts his head, his eyes finding mine. Amber. The color of his whiskey, almost like an animal’s. I am panting, my entire body tight and I’m starting to sweat.

  “I can’t,” I breathe.

  “You can’t?” he asks, his lips pressing together in a thin line.

  Shaking my head, I lift my hand to his bearded cheek. “I don’t think that I can, physically. You seem, bigger than I expected.”

  “Bigger?” he asks, then his eyes find mine. Then his gaze widens and he shakes his head once. “You mean, big,” he grunts as his lips turn up into a wide smile, showing off his straight white teeth.