Dirty Look: A Dark Mafia Romance (Dark Desires)

by Jane Henry

  Dirty Look

  A Dark Mafia Romance (Dirty Desires)

  Jane Henry

  Loki Renard

  Copyright © 2020 Jane Henry and Loki Renard

  Cover image by Wander Aguiar

  Cover design by Pop Kitty Designs

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Also by Jane and Loki: Criminal

  Also by Jane and Loki: Hard Time

  About Jane Henry

  About Loki Renard

  Chapter 1

  Enzo

  My heart hammers, my breath heavy and labored, as I pound the pavement and run harder. I’m trying to punish my limbs and school my thoughts. But every step I take, every smack of rubber on pavement, brings me closer to Mia.

  Fucking Mia.

  I try to refocus. There’s something about the thick, humid air and strains of music filtering through the night sky that reminds me of my home in Calabria.

  I grew up in Boston, but my heart is in Calabria, the warm, coastal peninsula that juts out into the Mediterranean at the southernmost part of Italy. My family’s still there. All of them.

  I push my body to run harder, run faster, rivulets of sweat blinding my vision and my lungs constricted, but it doesn’t work.

  I should be back in Calabria, feasting on swordfish and arancini, zeppole and cannoli, drinking wine with my brothers. Not stuck here, an ocean apart from my friends and family, grading papers and playing babysitter. But Mia’s in Boston, and I need to be near her to do my damn job.

  But I fucked up. I’ll take my punishment on the chin and finish this fucking job.

  Christ, what a job it is, though.

  I slow to my cool-down, jogging down the cramped, narrow street that leads me home, then taking the steps two at a time, and almost make it inside before she catches me.

  “Hello, professor.”

  I inwardly groan. This is not the woman I want to see right now.

  “Michele.”

  I don’t look at her but grit my teeth, grab the mail I didn’t bother to get earlier from the mailbox, shove it under my sweaty arm, and nod in the general direction of the porch to my right.

  Christ, I miss the relative privacy of my home in Calabria. In Boston, we’re crammed in like goddamn sardines in a tin. Privacy doesn’t work so well when you’re doing surveillance, though. I fucked up once, and once was enough. I never fuck up twice.

  I turn to face her and nearly choke when I see what she’s wearing. Or more accurately, what she isn’t wearing. She’s got a gauzy little dress on that looks like lingerie, her tits hanging out like ripe peaches.

  Honest to Christ, any other place and time, I wouldn’t ignore a woman like her. Tall and curvy, with tits and ass for days, I’d take her home and fuck her good and hard. She doesn’t want a commitment. She wants my dick. Hell, if I wasn’t here on probation, I’d give it to her. But not here, not now, not when every moment’s consumed with keeping up my position and not failing at my job.

  It’s an important job, too. I can’t fuck this one up.

  Michele props a hip against the building and shoots me a coy look with half-lidded eyes. “Hasn’t anyone told you? It’s the feast of Saint Anthony, professor. Must you stick to such a spartan regimen, even tonight?”

  “Even tonight,” I say through clenched teeth.

  My phone buzzes, and her pout’s quickly forgotten when I look at the notification on my screen.

  Mia’s home, and right now, that’s all that matters.

  I open the heavy wooden door, and trot up the stairs. Michele’s protests are drowned out when the door slams shut behind me.

  I may not have the privacy I need, and I may be here in a sort of purgatory to pay for my sins, but I have to hand it to Piero. The boss doesn’t do cheap rentals. My apartment’s large, airy, sunny, and sprawling, and on the top floor, about as private as it gets in the heart of Boston.

  I open the door, still panting from my run, to find Emilio sprawled out on my sofa, holding a cardboard takeout container and chopsticks.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Eating, douchebag,” he says before he slurps chow mein and smacks his lips.

  I roll my eyes, rifle through the mail, then toss it on the table.

  I hear Emilio strike a lighter to light up a smoke. I snap my head around to glare at him.

  “Out on the balcony. You light up in here and I’ll shove it up your ass.”

  He pauses, lighter to the tip of a cigarette. He can’t be bothered with all that modern-day vaping bullshit. His brows shoot heavenward. “My, my, my,” he says. “Aren’t we a little uptight?”

  “Fuck off, Emilio. Not tonight.”

  He holds his hands up in surrender, walks across my living room, and opens the door to the balcony. He sticks his head out, lights the smoke, and keeps his hand with the smoke on the balcony while his body stays inside.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “What?”

  “I told you not to fucking smoke in here.”

  “I’m not,” he says. “My smoke’s out there.”

  “And the rest of your ass better be out there by the count of five, or I’ll—”

  “Fine, fine,” he says, stepping out onto the balcony. He shoots me a glare, then quickly schools his features when I take a step toward him. “Better view of your neighbor here anyway.”

  “Give me one damn excuse to kick your ass,” I mutter. “Do it.”

  Christ, I’m hungry to take out my aggression somewhere. I don’t give a shit if he stares at my neighbor or if he even picks her up. The only woman on my radar is Mia.

  Because it’s my job. I’m being paid to make her the epicenter of my universe.

  That’s all.

  Emilio shakes his head. “You should’ve run harder,” he mutters. “All good, Enzo. Now answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  “Why are you here, instead of there?”

  There being the North End, where everyone else is partying tonight. We’re so close, I can smell the food across the wharf, the scent of grilled meat making my mouth water. I can almost taste the ice cold beer. From my balcony, I get a beautiful but hazy view of the Boston harbor.

  I roll my eyes, pull out my phone, and smack my fingertip on the screen. The video feed next door pops up, and I flash him my phone.

  “You know why. That’s why.”

  When his eyes widen and he swallows hard, I look back at my phone.

  Christ.

  She’s sunbathing. On her roof.

  In a fucking string bikini.

  “Don’t look at her,” I snap.

  “You showed me the phone, you douchebag!”

  “You weren’t supposed to actually look!”

  “Okay, okay,” he says.

  When I took this job, I had no choice. I stood, disgraced, in Piero’s office
, my head hung low. I deserved to have my ass kicked, my honor stripped, my status as made man yanked away.

  But the boss gave me a chance.

  “I’ll give you one opportunity to make this right,” he said. “You know I love you like a brother.”

  I nodded, humbled and chastened. Even though I had no way of knowing what was going to happen, I should’ve been more careful. I put the lives of my brothers at risk with my carelessness. I’d do fucking anything to be reinstated in the good graces of the family.

  “My daughter’s going to America,” Piero said. “She’s been accepted into Boston College’s School of Arts.”

  Mia is his pride and joy, and he’s spoiled her rotten since birth. If she wanted to go to school in America, he’d allow it. If she wanted the goddamn moon, he’d wrap it in golden paper and hand it to her.

  “I want you to watch her. Track her. Keep your eye on her, make sure none of those Americans take advantage of her.”

  Jesus Christ.

  Piero’s eyes narrowed. “She’s my whole world, Enzo. Understand?”

  Oh, I understood, alright. It’s why my apartment overlooks hers. Why I’ve got video feeds set up in my office that go directly to my phone, and a tracker that shows me where she is at all times. I know every contact in her phone, every class that she’ll take, and she doesn’t have a clue who I am.

  Yet. She will soon.

  Emilio sits in a chair on the balcony and props his feet up on the little table. I grab the course syllabus I’m working on, shove his feet off the table, and sit beside him.

  “I still can’t believe they have you teaching criminal justice. Is that a joke?”

  I growl in response. The irony is not lost on me, either. I have to admit, I enjoy the job, though.

  “Piero thought I could pull it off.”

  Emilio takes a drag from his smoke.”You can pull it off alright.” He glances below to the balcony. “Tell you what I’d like to pull off…”

  I try to ignore him. Maybe he’ll shut up if I don’t respond.

  “You should come,” he presses. “It’s still August, for Christ’s sake.”

  “And school’s in session soon.”

  “What, a few days? Do that later. Job’s just a cover anyway.”

  I shake my head at him and don’t bother to reply.

  “Listen,” he continues. “I’m meeting up with a girl who’s got a twin. Gorgeous. Buy the girls a drink and you’ve got it made. One for each of us. See? I share.”

  “You were supposed to be here on official business. Yet you’re fuckin’ around, trying to get laid?”

  “Doesn’t mess with business,” he says. “Secured a shipment in Chelsea this afternoon, heading straight to Sicily by dawn. Signed over possession of four pieces of prime real estate this weekend, and saw to it a special delivery from the boss made it safely into the right hands.” He puffs out smoke. I watch the ring grow larger and thinner, dissipating into the cloudless sky. “Not my fault some of you tight-asses can’t mix business with pleasure.”

  Emilio’s the equivalent of the brainiac who rolls out of bed and aces his test without studying.

  The humidity’s making sweat pour off my body. I get to my feet. “I’m taking a shower. Let yourself out when you’re done.”

  I take my phone with me.

  I’m bound and determined not to think of her when I strip off my sweaty clothes and toss them in the hamper in the bathroom.

  I stare at the feed. Christ.

  She’s slathering tanning oil all over her skin. I swallow hard. Doesn’t she know the sun’s rays are too distant for a tan this time of day? We aren’t on the Mediterranean anymore. Maybe someone should explain it to her. Maybe she needs a little...education. Poor girl, so far from home, and she thinks she’s all alone. I saw her crying last night.

  When I came here, I was convinced she was nothing but a spoiled little daddy’s girl. But I’ve been watching her. Yeah, she’s all about her Instagram and selfies, the Snap-whatever thing she does. But even though she’s surrounded by friends, she’s alone at night.

  Is she lonely?

  Is she homesick?

  Or is something else bothering her?

  I try to see her as my charge, my ward...my student. She needs my protection.

  I try not to think about that little silver ring in her bellybutton, or the tantalizing lower back tat she’s got just above the curve of her ass.

  I put the shower on as cold as it will go and step inside.

  I force myself not to think of Mia. God, I can’t do that. I can’t go there.

  But she’s seeped into my mind. The sound of her beautiful, melodic voice. Those full, cherry-colored lips and seductive, long lashes. The thick, honey-colored hair that hangs down her back like satin. Her vivacious, virginal curves. The way she looked when she cried, like she needed someone to hold her. To comfort her.

  I cannot be that man for her.

  A sound from my phone catches my attention. I shove the shower curtain aside and look.

  Mia isn’t alone anymore.

  I feel my body grow tight as I glare at the screen in front of me.

  Who is that asshole?

  I’ve never seen him set foot in her place before, and I can tell just by looking at him he’s a class-A douchebag. Tall and skinny, with watery eyes. What she sees in a guy like him’s beyond my fucking imagination.

  Why is he there?

  He’s standing too close to her.

  Way too fucking close.

  No one gets that close to Mia. She shifts uncomfortably, and my alarm bells go off.

  By the time she gets to her feet, I’m out of the shower. I don’t trust the motherfucker. If I go over, I’ll blow my cover, but that isn’t what’s most important right now.

  I rinse off, towel dry, and quickly pull on a pair of jeans. I shove a Glock into a harness, yank a t-shirt over my head, then sling a hoodie on to hide what I’m packing.

  I’ll come up with some reason to be over at her place between my door and hers. That guy isn’t getting anywhere closer.

  Chapter 2

  Mia

  I have a very pretty pack of colorful pills and tabs in my hand. There’s little yellow stars, and some curvy silver moons, a little tab of paper with a pink monkey on it, some nondescript white pills. I’m so excited. Tonight is going to be amazing. My girlfriends and I are going to meet up, get wasted, hit every bar in the city. First, I’m putting together some party favors, because I am nothing if not a good hostess.

  “I’m giving you first choice," Davo says. “Nothing but the best for my princess.”

  “Hells yeah,” I agree. I’ve never had anything but the best, but it’s still nice to hear it. My father has made sure I've never wanted for anything. While other students rough it in the dorms, sharing rooms with each other and putting up with snoring, I have an apartment to myself overlooking the harbor. It's no French Riviera, but what is?

  Davo’s not used to places like this. I can tell from the way his eyes went wide when I invited him in. His striped hemp sweater stinks faintly of body odor, and much more strongly of weed. He's got shaggy blond hair that's a couple weeks of neglect away from being dreads. He's Australian, here on a scholarship, and selling drugs to college kids in Boston.

  I’ve thought about fucking him, but I’m not bored enough to do that yet. He’s not really my type. Sleeping with the help is kind of what my family does though, so one of these days I’ll probably see what the skinny stoner boy’s like in bed. Not right now though. Right now I’m shopping.

  “Okay, so what’s that?” I point at a tab with a stick of dynamite printed on it.

  “We call that a Cracker Jack. It’s got like, a slower come on, but then boom! once you're there, you're there, baby, all night long.” Davo rolls his hand through the air like a snake and gives me a broad, easy grin.

  “Hm,” I sit back and take a sip of Prosecco. What am I in the mood for tonight? Do I want to get super hyped? O
r is it more of a chill mood? I haven’t decided yet. I cross my legs and extend my manicured foot, encased in an elegant silver Manolo Blahnik pump. I’m still trying to decide if these shoes are timelessly elegant, or just out of style. Maybe if I crimp my hair, I can pull off something with a retro vibe.

  “Maybe I can put a little pick and mix together for you and the girls," Davo says. “An easy G for a good night.”

  There’s hope in his eyes, like he’s getting away with something. Davo thinks a thousand dollars is a lot of money. I guess to him it is. To my family, it’s a rounding error. My friends here are all poor. They think they’re rich girls, but they don't know what rich really is. Some of their fathers are senators, some of them have houses in the Hamptons. They’re all playing little league compared to my family. My mother was a literal princess. My father stole her in the eighties. Literally. It was pretty fucking dark, I guess, come to think of it, but they fell in love and I came along and mama has always seemed happy to me.

  “You wanna taste? Just a little sample to get started with?”

  He opens the bag and tears the corner off a tab with a laughing monkey printed on it, then holds the corner out toward me, stuck on the top of his finger. He wants me to lick it off the tip. It will be the most action he gets from me tonight, that’s for sure, but what the hell. I like to cocktease, even if I've never actually had sex. There’s power in seeing men want me, driving them to the very edge of desire and then letting them know they’ll never have me.

  I smirk, open my mouth and extend my tongue, waiting for that slightly sour taste which means the good times are about to roll.

  “Holy fuck,” Davo breathes to himself.

  Boom!

  I let out an involuntary shriek as the door to my apartment bursts right off the hinges and a man comes striding in as if he owns the place. He's huge. Dangerous. Angry.