Dirty Look: A Dark Mafia Romance (Dark Desires)

by Jane Henry

  It’s exactly what I want and exactly what will kill me. My body tightens as I hear the order.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you, Enzo. I owe you much, my friend, for doing this.”

  If he had any fucking idea.

  “Put Mia on the line, Enzo.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I mute the call. “He wants to talk to you.”

  She nods. “What did he say?” she asks in a little voice. “Do I have to go back?”

  I shake my head. “No, cara. He wants you here with me.”

  She blinks, then flushes pink. Swallowing hard, she takes the phone. “Papa.”

  My mind spins as she talks to him. I can do this. Christ, of course I can. I can keep her here and take care of her. Watch over her. I’ll make her report to me and give her the structure she needs, the discipline and attention.

  I just can’t fuck her. Period. End of story. Full stop.

  A few minutes later, she hangs up the phone and gives me a sheepish smile.

  “Papa’s orders.”

  I groan. “The Don has spoken.”

  For some reason, she’s amused by that. She starts with a nervous giggle, then covers her mouth and her shoulders shake. She bursts out laughing as if she’s held it in all day and only now gets the release she needs. The next thing I know, she’s lying on the couch, her arms above her head, laughing so hard tears stream down her cheeks.

  “Not that funny,” I mutter.

  “But it is,” she sputters. “‘The don has spoken,’ like he’s issued a death sentence when you fucking know we can have a lot of fun with this.”

  I growl. “There will be no fun. No fun at all.”

  She howls with laughter. “No laughing. No joy. And definitely no sex.”

  “Fuck, woman,” I growl, then the next thing I know, I’ve got her wrapped up in my arm. Mia’s safe. She’s safe, and she’s with me.

  Mia Russo is mine.

  “No fucking,” I say, this time with mock sternness. “And this is as close as we get.”

  “Right,” she says, “got it.”

  “You’ll be fully clothed, at all times.”

  “Even showering? Okay.”

  I give her a playful smack on the ass.

  She groans, “Okay, so, no smacking my ass.”

  “Yeah, no, that isn’t a rule. I’ll still put you right over my knee when you’re a naughty little girl in need of a spanking.”

  She frowns. “And how does that work? Platonic discipline?”

  “Um. Yes. Or something.”

  “So you can spank me, even though it turns me on, but we can’t go beyond that.”

  “No getting turned on if I spank you. Better yet, behave yourself and don’t earn the spanking.”

  “Are you serious?”

  For the first time all day, I grin at her. “No.”

  I can’t have it both ways, I know that now. We’re too into each other, too deeply attracted. I can keep her safe from whatever danger lurks out there. I’ll keep her by my side, under my watchful care.

  But I can’t keep her safe from me.

  Chapter 11

  Mia

  I’m giving Enzo another chance. Second chances don’t come along very often in my world. So far, three days in, it's paying off. I've been going to classes and doing my homework like a good girl and staying with Enzo in his apartment. Not in his bed though, that's too risky, he says. He's probably right.

  Tonight, I’m cuddled up, very chastely, with Enzo. We’re in his apartment, where it’s safer. We just finished a pizza between us and I’m glad I changed into sweatpants because I’m feeling hella bloated right now. We're watching a sappy movie. I can’t say I’m really paying attention to it. All my thoughts are focused on the man cuddling me close — but not too close, because we have to be careful and also not have sex.

  Sometimes, this feels like torture. Other times, it feels perfect. Right now, it's something different. Almost… normal? Like, the way most people live their lives?

  I guess this is as normal as any relationship I could have with a man twice my age. Enzo’s mature, but he's not just normal-older-guy mature. He's mafia mature, and that's on a whole other level. This life ages men hard. I think I might be starting to get to know him, but it’s mostly superficial stuff. Enzo is used to keeping to himself. I guess I am too, but he already knows all about me thanks to his relationship with my father.

  It's a little twisted to acknowledge this, even to myself, but Enzo has effectively known me since I was born. He’s worked for my father for over two decades. I could have met him when I was a baby, for all I know. Maybe that's why this attraction is wrong...and so powerful.

  For the five thousandth time this evening, he checks the feed on his cellphone. He's been doing it every five minutes. He can’t just relax and enjoy the movie. He's constantly vigilant, always on high alert.

  “I do not fucking believe it,” he growls under his breath. “Stay here.”

  I sit up on the couch, half-worried, half-thinking it's going to be no big deal. Maybe it’s Emilio. Maybe it's my father. Shit, I hope it isn't my father.

  There's some banging around outside. I hear a squeak, like a mouse, but louder and then the door flies open and Enzo drags Davo into the apartment.

  “I thought I told you to never come back here,” he growls, cuffing Davo over the head.

  “Dude!” Davo squeals, grunting when Enzo hits him again. This time, his fist is closed.

  My dealer is no match for Enzo. Davo’s maybe a hundred and twenty pounds on a good day, and he doesn’t have a violent bone in his body. Right now, Enzo is laying into Davo like Davo owes him money. Davo tries to curl up to avoid the worst of the body blows, but Enzo’s holding him and beating the shit out of him and there's only so much the fetal position can do to save a man from severe internal injuries.

  “Stop!” I launch off the couch and run toward them, catching Enzo’s powerful arm before he can punch Davo again. “Fucking stop! Enzo!”

  “I warned him,” Enzo growls. “Twice. You don’t get a third fucking warning.”

  “Listen, mate, you’re going to want to hear what I’ve gotta say,” Davo says. One of his eyes is half closed and there's a trickle of blood running from his nose. I feel a horrible sick churning in my stomach. I knew Enzo was dangerous and violent, but there’s always a gap between knowing and seeing.

  “Go into the other room, Mia,” Enzo growls.

  Oh my god. He’s going to fucking kill Davo.

  “No! Enzo, please!”

  “Mia. Go. Now.”

  Even though he expects me to obey him and I don’t like going against what he tells me—hell, I’ve spent days doing just that, learning to let the bossy guy have his way—I make myself stand my ground. I know Enzo hates Davo, but the kid’s done nothing to get himself killed. I don't know why he’s here, but I know he doesn't need to die tonight.

  “Make him listen to me, Mia!” Davo begs.

  “Enzo!” I push my way in between them and face Enzo, catching his gaze, which is black with protective fury. I place my fingers gently on his jaw to redirect that gaze toward me, where it softens slightly.

  “He’s dangerous, Mia,” Enzo says, as if that makes cold-blooded intent to kill acceptable.

  “He's not. He's a dumbass," I say, keeping my voice level and our gazes connected. And for once, I don’t feel younger than him. We’re peers. We’re both survivors in the game called mafia life, and maybe surviving means not selling your soul. “He sells to all the dorms. He’s not the enemy, Enzo. He’s not on your level. He’s got nothing to do with this.”

  “I came to tell you something,” Davo sniffs.

  “Fucking hell, he's like half your size, Enzo," I say. “Let him go."

  Enzo’s eyes narrow, and right then and there I want to kiss him, bloody hands and furious gaze and all, because this is what I love about him. “I don't care if he’s two inches tall, he's lurking around you, Mia. I d
on’t tolerate men sniffing around my woman.”

  I stare at Enzo. He actually hasn't worked it out. His world is full of men who want one thing. He can't even imagine that there’s one who doesn't.

  "Oh my god, Enzo! He's gay! He's not sniffing around me. He’s been with more guys than I have!”

  Enzo looks at Davo, and without a word, drops him like a sack of potatoes. Davo collapses to the floor, where it looks like he's doing his best not to burst into tears.

  I breathe a sigh of relief, thinking the worst is over, but a second later, Enzo’s gun is in his hand, and it’s pointing directly at Davo’s head.

  "Why are you here?” He grinds the question out aggressively.

  “Enzo…” I whisper the word, wondering how many times I can gasp his name in horror and be ignored. I’m seeing the monster inside the man, standing before me in all his brutal glory. His face has been transformed with cold rage, his handsome features twisted with killer instinct.

  “If he doesn't want to fuck you, Mia, then he wants something else,” Enzo says, his voice cold as he cocks the gun with an ominous click.

  “Please, don’t kill me," Davo begs. “I came because I saw a guy around here, a guy I know. I’m trying to help you guys. Fucking please don't kill me, I have a cat…"

  “Who?”

  “His name’s Alejandro Ramirez. He’s the head honcho of the Los Brutos cartel. Real shit. Cut your head off and put it on a turtle, shit. String you up from a bridge with your insides hanging out like streamers shit…”

  “We're familiar with their work,” Enzo says, with a curl of his lip which indicates disdain. My father’s men are brutal, but they don’t have the brutal artistry and vicious flair associated with the cartels.

  “Right. So he’s here. And he’s looking for her. Mia. He was at the bar tonight. He had her picture and was asking people if they'd seen her. Was saying she's his niece. I came to tell you. Thought you’d want to know.”

  Davo’s eye is blackening up, his nose is running red with blood and snot. I don't think I’ve ever seen anything so pathetic before. He's just cowering on the floor, shaking like he expects to be dead any second. I look back at Enzo. He's moved his finger from the trigger, but that doesn't mean Davo’s safe.

  It’s when he uncocks the gun that I sigh with relief.

  “Get up,” Enzo says. “Mia, get him some coffee and an ice-pack.”

  “Now we're serving coffee with our ass beatings?”

  Enzo looks over at me and I shut up. He's always been stern, but right now, sassing him feels like a very, very bad idea.

  I start the coffee. Enzo makes some calls. Davo gets up off the floor. We’re all doing our part.

  Ten minutes later, Emilio arrives. Enzo tells him to put his cigarette out before he comes in and then Emilio takes another two minutes to finish it because Emilio is a bit of a dick.

  “Here,” I say, giving Davo his coffee. He’s looked pretty banged up, one hand holding an ice pack to his face, the other reaching for his coffee. With my back toward Enzo, I put a big dash of brandy in it, guessing he’s going to need it.

  “I’m not gay, by the way,” Davo says as Enzo comes to talk to him. “I’m pansexual."

  “I have no idea what the fuck that means,” Enzo growls. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck, either. Tell me more about this Alejandro guy."

  “Last summer, he rolled into town with a fuckload of weed,” Davo says. "I mean, so much it was practically free for a while. Lot of dealers got out of the game then, wasn’t worth it.”

  “But you stayed in."

  “That's when I got my start."

  “Not exactly an economic genius, are you?”

  Davo shrugs. "I'm in drugs for the sake of drugs. Alejandro was handing out goodie bags like candy. It was awesome.” His mouth attempts to spread in a grin, but he’s got a swollen split lip and it doesn't really work. "So anyway. It was great, for maybe three weeks. Then it got nasty. There was a turf war between him and some of the locals, there was a body count, and Alejandro disappeared. Thought he was dead until I saw him at the bar.”

  So someone's coming for me? I’m confused, but I'm not scared. At least, I don't think I am. I know that if there's any real danger, Enzo and my father will protect me.

  "Cartels know better than to fuck with us," Emilio says.

  “I guess not,” I say. “Because they already came for me. Remember, my apartment got broken into?”

  Emilio starts to look guilty. "Okay, so that wasn’t an outside job.”

  “What do you mean?” Enzo asks the question in a soft, but dangerous voice. Emilio takes way too long to answer. Uh oh.

  “I thought, I figured… well, hah, you’re going to find this fuckin’ funny,” Emilio says, forcing a laugh that sounds more like a stifled sob. Poor bastard.

  "I doubt that," Enzo growls.

  Emilio puts on a broad smile and extends his arms in a gesture of pride. “I did that. Broke in. Messed some stuff up. I figured it’d get you to stop fucking around and finally get with each other.”

  “You what?” I exclaim in shock. Enzo doesn’t say a damn thing. I saved Davo from getting killed, but Emilio doesn’t stand a fucking chance. Plus, I’m not super motivated to prevent his death.

  There’s a sudden scraping of chairs as Enzo dives at Emilio and Emilio only just manages to get around the table away from him.

  “You're a fucking idiot,” Enzo seethes. “Do you know how much you frightened Mia?”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that."

  “Sorry about that!” Enzo thunders the words as he comes around the table once more, massive with rage. Emilio has the sense to get out of his way again. Watching two mafioso rush around after one another would be funny if there wasn’t…. ah hell, it is funny. Emilio is actually pretty nimble for a stocky guy and Enzo’s not fucking around. Davo keeps his head down, probably just glad to be out of the firing line for now.

  “We've got an actual enemy to deal with,” I point out as the two circle the room. “Maybe we should worry about the cartel guy, and not how much fucking money Emilio owes me for breaking my stuff.”

  “Language, Mia,” Enzo warns. “But you’re right. Emilio, you are the worst fucking matchmaker in the history of romance. I don’t have time to kick your ass now, but you’re going to pay for this later.”

  “Or you could just be happy it all worked out, bada bing, bada boom,” Emilio winks at me.

  "There's no ‘boom’ going on,” Enzo sighs. “So we do have a hostile actor, it's just not the idiot I work with.”

  “Or the dealer you keep calling a junkie,” I point out. “You owe Davo an apology.”

  Enzo’s jaw tightens. I know the notion of apologizing to Davo is a blow to his ego, but he really fucking hurt him.

  “It’s cool,” Davo says. “I figured something like that would happen.”

  “But you decided to put yourself on the line, did you?" Enzo puts his massive hands on the table and looms over Davo. The knuckles on his right hand are bloodied from the beating he just dished out. “And why would you do that? If you want me to believe you're not in this for Mia, what are you in it for?”

  Davo swallows. “Well, uh, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know what you are, professor. You're part of the mob, right?”

  Enzo doesn’t dignify the question with a response. He just keeps staring at Davo with that harsh glare, silence drawing out until Davo speaks again.

  “Well, uh, I want to be, too,” Davo says, straightening up a bit. "I think it's badass. I want in.”

  Enzo and Emilio exchange looks.

  “Fuggedaboutit, kid," Emilio chimes in. “It’s not all pasta and hot broads.”

  "You don't know what you’re asking for, boy," Enzo agrees. “Even if it were an option for pansexual Australian drug dealers to join the mafia, which it isn’t, you wouldn’t last two seconds.”

  “Yeah?" Davo says. “I lasted this long, didn’t I? I brought you information. I’m useful. I'm
the only one who knows Alejandro. Why can’t you give me a chance? My grandmother was Italian.”

  “Fucking Christ,” Emilio curses. “Everybody with an Italian cookbook thinks they can join these days. It's not the fuckin’ Boy Scouts. You don’t get a merit badge for participation.”

  “We could use him,” Enzo says thoughtfully, surprising me with his response. He stands up, deep in thought, looking at each and every one of us in turn. He could call my father right now, flood Boston with enough manpower to turn the streets red, but I get the feeling Enzo might try to handle this himself. I know he’s got something to prove, and I know he has leadership aspirations. I just don’t think he ever figured this group of unlikely souls would end up being his crew.

  “He's a fuckin’ mess,” Emilio says.

  “Yeah. Take him to the ER,” Enzo says. “Get him checked out. Then get him cleaned up. And get rid of the drugs. All of them."

  “Uhm, if I’m going to work Alejandro, I need drugs,” Davo points out. “I’m a dealer. Can't be a dealer without drugs. People get suspicious. And really pissed off. I’ve got clients who need their stuff.”

  “Since when did I sign up to be a junkie babysitter?” Emilio complains.

  “You can stay here if you want, and we can have a talk about what you did to Mia's apartment," Enzo says coolly. I shiver. God, I love this guy.

  “C’mon kid, we're gettin’ outta here," Emilio says, grabbing Davo by the back of the shirt and pulling him up out of the chair.

  They leave, and then it's just me, Enzo, and the splatters of Davo's blood on the floor. I’m shaken by what I saw, though I’m trying to maintain my composure and not freak out at Enzo. I’ve spent all this time telling him I'm not a little girl and I know what mafia life is like. If I break down now, it’s just another reason for him to shut me out.

  “You never said sorry to Davo.”

  "I didn't have anything to apologize for,” Enzo says remorselessly.

  “If he hadn’t come here, we wouldn’t know about this Alejandro guy."

  "We still don't know about this Alejandro guy,” Enzo says. “I don't take the word of a junkie."