Becoming the Hitman (Zanetti Famiglia Book 5)

by Hayley Faiman

  “I want to see it all, every single square inch of the way you take me,” he murmurs, as if talking to himself. “Touch yourself for me, I want to watch. It’s so fucking pretty when you do it, cuoricino.”

  I can’t turn him down, not when he says that. Slipping my hand between us, I grip the edge of the table with one hand, my fingers start to work between my legs with the other. It doesn’t take me long to climb higher, to take myself to the edge.

  My entire body starts to tremble, starts to quake and I know that I’m even closer. Renzo doesn’t look up at me, his focus is between us and nowhere else. I don’t know why, but it’s so sexy.

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  His hips move faster, pounding into me over and over until finally he stills inside of me with one final forceful thrust. When he does, my fingers move faster and faster until I finally come right after him.

  I let out a cry, it’s not muffled, I don’t even pretend to hide it and I’m sure someone somewhere heard me, but I’m not sure that I even care. Let them hear, let them see, right now I could be on a stage in front of ten thousand people and it wouldn’t matter.

  All that matters is him and me, Renzo inside of me. That is all that matters.

  RENZO

  I shouldn’t, but I do. I take Siobahn one more time before I get ready to go to the meet with her sister and Gavino. Fuck me. She’s naked and panting in bed, her body facedown on the bedding after I’ve just taken her from behind after my shower.

  I don’t know what it is, but I can’t go into this meeting without smelling like her, without having her scent surround me, without having just felt her cunt squeeze my dick. Without having filled her with my cum.

  I’m dressed in my normal, for New York, suit of black pants, black button-down shirt open at the collar, and no tie.

  “You’re not wearing a white shirt?” she asks.

  I could tell her the truth. That when I’m out of town, all black actually stands out rather than black or navy pants and a white shirt, which most businessmen wear, so it’s easy to blend in with them, but I don’t.

  “Black today,” I say with a grunt.

  She pushes up slightly, reaching out, her finger touches the leather of my belt before her hand falls away. “It looks better, more you. The white shirt is blah and you’re not blah.”

  “Blah?” I ask on a chuckle. “I’m not?”

  She shakes her head, sitting up and exposing her tits to me, making my mouth water and my very sated cock twitch at the sight. She notices my lingering gaze and reaches for the sheet to cover up, shifting my eyes to hers, I give her a smirk.

  Her lips turn up into a smile of her own as she shakes her head a few times. “You stand out no matter what, Renzo. The black suits you better, that’s all.”

  With a snort, I walk over to her, sinking down on the edge of the bed. Reaching out, I touch her nose. “I texted my grocery delivery the other day and had them stock up on some fresh fruits, vegetables, lunch meats, eggs, and bread. Spend the day relaxing as much as you can and just searching out the house. I only ask you don’t go in my office. Some of my work is classified.”

  Her eyes light up and her lips twitch. “I won’t, Renzo, I promise.”

  The truth of it is that she could probably go into my office, but I need to do a sweep and make sure. That is on my agenda for my return, then there will be no part of this house that is off-limits to her.

  “I’ll be home as soon as I can, the wives are probably going to want to do dinner tonight or tomorrow. I’ll let you know.”

  Leaning forward, I touch my mouth to hers in a chaste kiss. “Be good and relax your body. I’m going to want you again.”

  Her breath hitches from my words and her pupils dilate. She wants me again already and I can’t help but smile at the thought of her wanting me again already.

  I am under no illusion that once she finds out about Emilyn, she won’t desire me anywhere near her body, so I’m going to take her as often as I can until then, no matter how fucking wrong it probably is. I never said I was a good or moral man, the fact is that I just simply am not that.

  Leaving her alone, I tell her to call me if she has a problem and then I lock the door behind me. She’ll be good today, the jetlag and her sore pussy, will keep her from being too bored. It doesn’t take me long to drive to the card room.

  Just like she is every time I walk into the building, Mia is standing behind the counter looking like a fucking boss and maneater all at once.

  “He’s waiting for you, or should I say, they are,” Mia says, as soon as I walk into the room, without even looking up.

  “Mia, when are you going to just be my woman, huh?” I ask.

  She smirks. “Never, Renzo, and you know that. Besides, I heard you brought a gorgeous little Irish girl home, hard to have two, no?”

  “You think she’d mind?”

  Mia arches a brow as she walks around her counter. “I don’t share, you know this,” she states.

  “And you know I’m fucking with you?”

  Her red-painted lips twitch and turn up into a grin. “Of course, Renzo. I’m not your type and you aren’t mine, even if we’d probably have fun in bed.”

  “What is your type?” I ask, more out of curiosity’s sake rather than actually flirting.

  I’m following behind her, walking toward the back of the hallway where I know the offices are. Looks like today we’ll be meeting in Arlo’s office. I can’t deny that I kind of hope that he’s there as well. Arlo is always a nice voice of reason, and these are his girls, this girl is his girl and it would be good to have him there as a sense of comfort and a possible buffer.

  Mia stops right in front of Arlo’s door, then looks back over her shoulder at me. “I need someone who is devoted to me, Renzo. Not because he owns me, but because I own him.”

  I hum, understanding her words. She’s like so many Made Men. Which isn’t typical for the women in our famiglia, but Mia is not a typical woman, so it fits her. Lifting my hand, I clasp her shoulder with a small jerk.

  “You will have him, Mia, there is no doubt about that. I’m certain.”

  Her lips turn up into a grin. “Until then, I’m having fun playing.” She winks, then opens the door and takes a step to the side. Without uttering another word, she turns from me and walks away.

  Taking one step into the room, then another, I close the door before I slowly lift my head. I don’t even look for Arlo or Gavino, instead, I see her. It hits me like a fucking ton of bricks. The woman lifts her head and looks over to me.

  There is no denying it now. The same shade of blonde, the exact same pigmented blue in her eyes. There is no doubt that this is Emilyn Doyle. There is also no doubt in my mind at all whatsoever now, that I have fucked her multiple times.

  Siobahn will never forgive me for this.

  Not ever.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  RENZO

  Gavino is sitting behind Arlo’s desk and he clears his throat. I haven’t moved from my spot, standing not too far from Emilyn, staring. Arlo hisses, then speaks first, before anyone else in the room.

  “Sit, Ren,” he offers. He’s standing behind Gavino, his eyes focused on mine, not that I’m looking. I’m too busy staring in horror at Emilyn, but I can feel his gaze against the side of my face.

  Nodding my head once, I tear my eyes from Emilyn and walk over to the chair next to her, sinking down in the seat, my elbows immediately resting on my knees as I bury my face in my hands.

  “So it’s true I take it?” Gavino asks.

  Emilyn doesn’t speak, she knows her place in the world by now. She’s been broken to a level that I will probably never understand. I may be a broken man, but I’m nowhere near the kind of broken that she is.

  Lifting my face, I blink as I watch Vino. “It’s true,” I rasp.

  He nods his head once, his chin dipping before he turns to Emilyn. “What did you say your name was?” he asks, knowing damn well what her name is.
<
br />   “Emily,” she lies.

  I shake my head. “Emilyn,” I whisper as I turn my head to look over at her.

  Her eyes widen and her lips part as she stares back at me in surprise. “How did you…”

  Holding up my hand, I continue to stare at her, watching as her eyes fill with unshed tears. They will spill over soon, when she finds out exactly what has happened.

  It all makes me wonder how many other women are in her position, and just where our girls have gone to, the untrained girls that we sent to Ireland, ones who thought they were going to live in a new world and travel.

  “Tell us how you ended up here, in our care,” Gavino interrupts before I can say anything about Siobahn.

  Dropping my hand to my lap, I watch and I wait. She licks her lips, her gaze flicking to her lap, then shifts over to Gavino. She knows who he is, her body visibly trembles as she attempts to come up with some bullshit story.

  “The truth, bella,” he urges.

  As if she’s waging a war inside of her, and I have no doubt that she is, it takes her a few breaths to finally lift her head and look up at Gavino. She inhales a deep breath, then lets it out on a loud exhale.

  “I am not Emilyn Doyle any longer. I once was. Ten years ago, I was taken from right outside of my school. But, you already know this, don’t you?” she asks.

  “We do,” Arlo agrees with a small nod. “What do you mean, you aren’t her?” he asks.

  She licks her lips, then pinches her eyes closed for just a moment. “I was once, but not any longer. I’m not her and I’m at peace with the woman that I am now.”

  Gavino’s eyes flick to me, then back to her before he leans back in his chair. He clears his throat, then I’m surprised by what he says next.

  “The women that are here against their will, can you name them?”

  She nods. “I can, well some of them. The ones that I know.”

  Gavino dips his chin. “Do you want to continue to work for me? For us?” he asks.

  Emilyn doesn’t say anything right away. She clears her throat, then her eyes shift between the three of us. It must be intimidating to have us all watching her, waiting for her answer, but true to her style, she doesn’t show it, if she is.

  “I have a choice?” she asks.

  Gavino nods his head, but it’s Arlo who speaks. “Yes, all of you have a choice. We were under the impression that you were all here of your own free will. Had we known earlier that it wasn’t the case, we would have never allowed the trade,” he explains.

  Emilyn doesn’t speak right away, she nods her head a couple of times, then the tears begin to fall. “I know nothing else,” she whispers as she stares across the room at Gavino.

  “Do you want something else? To go back to your family, perhaps?” I ask, testing the waters.

  She shifts her body, turning to face me slightly, her eyes searching mine. She recognizes me, but she doesn’t say anything or act extra friendly in any way. I’m surprised. I remember being with her clearly. Though, maybe she has everything compartmentalized.

  “No,” she says firmly. “I don’t. That girl isn’t who I am any longer. I’ve lived a completely different life and I’m no longer the same innocent ten-year-old child I once was. I would like to continue my position here, with you. This is by far the best I’ve been treated in the past ten years. I’ve no desire to go elsewhere.”

  “What about your sister?” Gavino asks.

  Emilyn’s spine straightens and she whips her head around to look at Gavino. “What do you know of her?” she snaps.

  I don’t want to tell her, not ever, but I also know that I don’t have a choice. Clearing my throat, I reach across and touch her shoulder.

  “I came back from my business trip to Ireland yesterday. Orin Murphy, Jr. and Sr. are no longer an issue. They never will be again. While I was there, I happened to meet Siobahn,” I explain, keeping my voice soft.

  Her entire body starts to quake from my words. “Siobahn,” she whispers.

  “She is safe now. Healthy, and here in Brooklyn.”

  Emilyn’s entire body jerks and she moves forward, almost off of the chair and onto the ground. She doesn’t. She reaches out and grips the arms of the chair as she continues to shake and tremble.

  “She’s here? I can’t see her,” she immediately blurts. “She can’t see me.”

  Reaching toward her, I wrap my hand around hers as she continues to grip the arm of the chair. “You don’t have to see her today. I haven’t told her that you’re here, but she’s been looking for you, Emilyn. She never stopped.”

  Emilyn looks down at my hand, then lifts her watery gaze toward me. “She never stopped?”

  I shake my head slowly. “She worked and saved to pay for a private detective. She never stopped.”

  “Why is she here?”

  My lips curve up into a small smile. “She’s mine.”

  The two simple words come out as a statement, but it’s a huge statement and I mean them both. Siobahn is mine. There is nobody else for me. Just her. I don’t know what it is, I’m not sure why, but I’m also not going to dig too deeply into any of it, either.

  “No,” Emilyn gasps. “No.”

  She pulls her arm from beneath mine and stands to her feet. I watch as she backs away from me, toward the window in the office. Arlo reaches for her, wrapping his hands around her waist to keep her from running away.

  “You can’t be with my Siobahn. She deserves a good man, not anyone like you.”

  If I didn’t agree with her, the words may have hurt, but they don’t. I know that I don’t deserve Siobahn. But I’m still keeping her. And no matter how angry that makes Emilyn, it won’t change my mind.

  Siobahn is just simply mine.

  SIOBAHN

  After sleeping a bit longer, I woke up, and took a self-guided tour of Renzo’s condo. Nice doesn’t even describe the home. It’s lush and modern, contemporary, clean and just plain perfect. It’s everything I have ever admired on Pinterest and in magazines at the salon.

  Looking around at the expensive gym equipment, sofa, appliances, and other odds and ends, it really has me questioning what Renzo actually does for a living. He can’t work for the government, not unless the American government pays a lot more than the Irish one?

  Walking past his study, I stop and look at the closed door. Reaching out, I touch the handle, then quickly pull my hand away as if I’m going to be burned by simply touching the hardware. Biting my bottom lip, I reach for it again, and yet again, I quickly pull it away.

  I can’t do it. It’s the one thing that he asked me not to do. I need to respect his privacy, respect his home. He says it’s mine too, but right now it is still very much his house. Moving back into the kitchen, I open the fridge to see what food he has had delivered.

  My knees practically give out at the sight in front of me. The cool air blasts my body, but it’s the fresh fruits, all lush and plump that stare back at me. The bright colors and the bountiful amounts that has me in awe.

  Reaching for the crisper bin, my mouth waters at the brightly colored bell peppers, the green beans, the full leafy lettuce. I want to eat it all at once. I want to devour it. There is so much that it is hard to choose which one to try first.

  Deciding that the only way to choose is to close my eyes and just reach for one of each item, I do just that. Then I grab some oven-roasted turkey and bread, making myself a small sandwich.

  Placing my turkey sandwich on a plate, I cut up the orange that I blindly chose, and the red bell pepper, then carry my full, colorful plate outside, my cell phone in my other hand.

  Setting my plate down on the small pub table, I feel my cheeks heat as I remember what I did on that table just hours ago. It was great too. Sinking down onto the chair, I hiss as I feel the effects of that early morning table top expedition.

  I allow the midday sun to warm me as I eat and look out at the water in front of me. Renzo lives across the bridge from Manhattan as he explained. T
he buildings are all huge and sparkly from the glass windows. It’s gorgeous and I’m still in awe that I’m here.

  Searching for a name in my phone, my lips twitch into a small smile as I touch the call button on the screen. It only rings a couple of times before the person on the other line picks up.

  “You slag, are you okay?” Kathleen demands.

  I laugh softly, taking a bite of the crunchy bell pepper and try to chew it without crunching it too loudly in her ear.

  “I’m just sitting out on the twelfth story of a balcony that overlooks a huge river and Manhattan,” I say as if it’s no big deal.

  She cries out with a squeal. “I hate you and I love it for you all at the same time.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I admit.

  “And Renzo?” she asks.

  I can hear the worry in her voice, I know that it’s there and can’t assure her that everything is okay, because I don’t even know that myself, but I give her what I can.

  “He’s good. He’s at work right now for a meeting, then he said he would be back here. I just can’t believe that all of this is real.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, then she clears her throat. “It’s real, Siobahn. It’s so real and as long as it’s good, I want you to soak it all up, every single second of it, because you’ve been through hell and you deserve more.”

  I tell her about meeting his boss, about the other wives of their friends, how they all run businesses and that he said he’d get the salon for me. She hums, obviously thinking it’s as odd as I do.

  We spend a few more minutes talking about nothing in particular, then I hear the door open and close behind me. I leave Kathleen with a promise to call her in a few days and end the call, setting the phone down on the table.

  “You ate,” a deep voice announces.

  Glancing down, I’m surprised to see that during my conversation with Kathleen, I indeed ate everything on my plate. I feel his fingertips brush my shoulder as he walks over to the chair across from me.