Betraying the Mob (The Mob Lust Series Book 3)

by Kristen Luciani

  “Uh, no, actually, you didn’t.” I cock an eyebrow and lean back against the elevator door. “I’m ready now, if you can say the words without choking on them. I mean, you’ve had enough time to practice them over the past month and a half.”

  Nico grins. “I’m sorry for attacking you like that. It was wrong.”

  “It was also fucking stupid. I could have pounded your ass into dog meat in seconds, Mr. CEO.”

  “Well, in my defense, I was dealing with a fucking lunatic who was trying to kill me. It might have stressed me out a little bit.”

  “You’re just lucky I showed you some mercy.”

  “I’m just glad that whole thing is behind us. I’ll never forget everything you, Rocco, and Kat did for us that day. If things had gone differently, if you guys didn’t show up when we went after Luca…” He shakes his head. “Shit, I don’t even want to think about what could have happened to Shaye and Lily when that sicko showed up.”

  “That’s what you do for family.”

  Nico claps a hand on my shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to take your old job? I’d like to have you back as my number two. I still have your private fuck room available, even though Rocco is trying to take it over.”

  I let out a grunt. “Fuck him. He’s never getting it, even if I never use it again. And thanks for the offer, but I’m done being a number two. I wanna be a number one.”

  I want to be someone’s number one is the thought that passes through my mind right then…and it has nothing whatsoever to do with the mob.

  “I know. You’re doing good work at the site. And your dad hasn’t fucked things up there yet, so it must be pretty easy for you right now.”

  “Can’t complain. The team is pretty good. They show up, get shit done, leave. They don’t give me headaches, and I haven’t had to kick anyone’s ass yet.”

  Nico cocks an eyebrow.

  “Relax, I’m not being literal. The anger management classes are really working.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Hey, isn’t that Layla over there?” Nico nods over to a staircase by a far wall, past an orgy waiting to happen.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Layla deVincenzo standing alone, her dark hair falling over one eye. Her full red lips curl upward, and she nods at the guy groping her tits, still staring me down.

  “Oh, Christ. What’s she doing here? She’s supposed to be upstairs in the dance club, working tables.”

  Nico shakes the hand of a guy walking past. “Something tells me she’s looking for you. She’s been hanging around down here a lot more lately. Beware, brother.”

  “I have enough shit to deal with right now, namely Mikey. I don’t need any more headaches.”

  “Good, because Layla is fucking mental, and she doesn’t like to take no for an answer.”

  My iPhone buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket. “Yeah?”

  Patty, one of the guys on my construction job, barks into the phone. “Max, I need you to come by my house.”

  I look at my watch. “It’s fucking eleven o’clock, Patty. What the hell is the problem?”

  “A pipe broke, and I gotta stick it somewhere. I need some help.”

  Fuck. I look at Nico. “Something’s up at the construction site. Patty’s down there.”

  “Did he say what?”

  “Yes, he spelled everything out in complete detail so anyone tapping our phones will know exactly what’s about to go down.”

  “You’re a sarcastic fuck, you know that?”

  I nudge him with my elbow. “I keep shit interesting.”

  Nico grabs my arm before I head toward the staircase opposite where Layla is getting finger fucked, still watching me.

  Bat. Shit. Crazy.

  “Max, why don’t you take Rocco with you? Let him handle it. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m gonna let Patty take the reins. But I need to be there to make sure he gets the job done.” My fingers are already starting to twitch. This construction foreman job is my way out…the closest to legitimate work I’ve ever had. I’ve done enough to screw with my livelihood over the past few years. Thanks to Nico and his dad, I have my own thing and the family finally takes me seriously again.

  I’m building shit that’s gonna make us all a lot of fucking money.

  I’m more than just an enforcer.

  Lucky Luciano said the only way out is in a box.

  And I need this job so I can stay out of said box.

  But that rage…it’s always bubbling, always ready to spew like fucking lava from a volcano.

  Unless I’m with Sloane. That’s the only time I’m not battling against demons in my head or my heart. I can just be me, a person nobody else on this Earth knows.

  Because you can’t ever show hints of weakness.

  Weakness gets you killed.

  I dart around a corner, leaving Nico, and head toward a side staircase, avoiding the sweaty, grinding bodies sprawled in my path. A hand grazes my ass, and I grit my teeth, not even bothering to turn around because I know what comes next. It’s been her MO ever since that Thanksgiving night.

  “Max,” Layla hisses, her hand winding around the front and rubbing the side of my leg. “I hoped I’d run into you.”

  “I came by to see Nico. I’m leaving now.”

  “I’d really like you to stay. Maybe come again,” she purrs, the double entendre not lost on me.

  I peel her hand off my leg. “I can’t. Besides, it looks like you have company tonight.”

  “Jealous?” She presses her chest against my back, sliding herself around so she’s facing me.

  I let out a sigh. “Listen, Layla. I did what I had to do on Thanksgiving. It doesn’t mean I wanna fuck you, now or ever.”

  She trails a finger down the front of my shirt. “You saved my life, Max. You came for me because you were in love with me. I know you were always afraid of what my father would do if he found out, but you don’t have to worry about that now that he’s gone. I see the way you look at me every time we’re together. I know you want me. Take me to your private room and fuck me. Let me taste that perfect cock of yours. Oh, God, I want to feel it everywhere. Please just—”

  I place my hands on her shoulders because I need to stress this to her. “It’s never gonna happen, Layla. I don’t care what your father thinks, that’s not why I haven’t fucked you. I’m not interested, okay? Do you get that?”

  She smirks and cups my dick in her hand. “Sure, you’re playing hard to get. I love the games. But my pussy is screaming for you, Max. Don’t make me wait too long.”

  I roll my eyes and push her hand away. “I told you, I have to go.”

  She grabs my hand and presses it to her tits. “You’re the only one who can protect me, Max. You’re the only one I want. And you know I never let anything stand in the way when I want something.”

  Thank God I never fucked this woman. No orgasm would be worth this stalker-level master shit she’s parading in front of me.

  Imagine what she’d do if I had screwed her…

  I yank back my hand. “Go back to your freaky shit. I’m out.” I sidestep her and take the stairs two at a time, not able to get away fast enough.

  Why the fuck did she have to call me that night?

  It’s a question I’ve asked myself more times than I can count. I sacrificed so much saving her, and for what? I lost Gabe, Sloane, and almost got my own ass terminated.

  All for pussy I’ve never even touched.

  I walk outside the club and peer around me. No sign of Layla. Thank fuck. I pull my keys out of my pocket and jog over to my car. At this hour, traffic heading back to northern Jersey will be light.

  Forty minutes later, I pull up to the construction site. It’s zoned for a strip mall, one that Nico’s dad Joe is going to use as fronts for money laundering. His lawyers create shell companies for each storefront in the strip mall and then he works with his finance guys to run money through them. He runs a huge ope
ration to clean any dirty money coming into the organization. Insurance companies, accountants, lawyers, plumbers, electricians, general contractors…you name it, and he knows someone with a business he can funnel money through. Nico has the same business sense as his father. It’s why everything he touches turns into piles of cash.

  My dad, on the other hand, needs ninety-nine cents to make a dollar and is always on the hunt for new ways to line his own pockets with cash. For as much as he makes, he can’t keep a fucking red cent of it. It flies out just as quickly as it comes in.

  And he tries to tell me I’m a fucking failure, go figure.

  Makes me wonder what kind of plans he’s got in the works. He makes big money moves, most of them bad for the family. It’s what caused the rift between him and Nico’s dad years ago. And it’s also what caused the bloody fallout with the Cappodamo family.

  Sometimes I wonder how the hell my dad has gotten away with not getting his ass shot up and dumped into the Hudson River.

  Sometimes I think life might be easier if he did…

  “Tell me who the fuck you’re working for!” Patty grabs a fistful of the scumbag’s hair. Guy doesn’t even blink, the stupid fuck.

  The rest of my crew is standing around, waiting, watching, wondering how far this is actually going to go. I try to calm my pulse, but shit like this charges me. It makes me feel alive. Adrenaline courses through me, and tiny hairs prickle up along the back of my neck.

  Some might say I’m a fucking head case, and they’d be right.

  But they don’t understand why I’m this way, why this sick need to assert power and control consumes me twenty-four-seven.

  Nico doesn’t get it, either. He just knows it can do a lot of fucking damage to the family, which is why he’s trying to keep me away from it.

  Except sometimes, I just can’t help myself.

  The thug tied to this chair isn’t just some random drug dealer or sex trafficker. He isn’t just squatting here to make a quick sale on the occasional nickel or dime bag. He didn’t just happen to find this place and think it was a good meeting spot for him and his clients.

  And those drugged out, half-naked girls lying sprawled all over the foundation, moaning and writhing around because they don’t even know what fucking planet they’re on right now? They didn’t just stumble over here looking for a quick lay after getting hammered at a nearby bar.

  This is a full-fledged business…operating in my goddamn backyard.

  Everyone knows this is my site. And everyone knows this is the Salesi family’s territory. We own northern Jersey. So who the fuck is stupid enough to spit in our faces by running a trafficking ring on our job site after hours?

  The voices tell me to call Nico, not to try to handle this myself, to forget my way of doing things.

  I grip the switchblade in my pocket and pull it out. I creep toward the dark-haired man. His body language may fool everyone into believing that he’s calm, but I see the panic in his eyes. He knows what I’m about to ask, and what I’ll do if he doesn’t answer me the way I want.

  Shut the fuck up, voices. I’m in charge now.

  I flip the blade open and hold it to his throat. Only the slightest bob of his Adam’s apple indicates the fear knotting his insides.

  Those damn voices taunt me again.

  You can kill him, but it won’t free you. It won’t be enough.

  It’s never enough.

  “Do you know who I am?” I hiss in his ear, still holding the tip of the blade to his carotid artery. One slip of the hand, and he bleeds out on the concrete.

  A brief pause followed by a quick nod.

  “And do you know what I’m going to ask you next?”

  Another nod.

  “And you’re gonna tell me exactly what I want to hear, right?”

  This time, there’s no nod.

  “I don’t think you heard me,” I growl, sweat drizzling down my spine. The challenge. God, I thrive on this shit. “Should I ask again?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Good.” I rise to my full height and pull away the blade. “Tell me who set this up. Don’t bullshit me. I want a name, or I’ll slice your throat open like I’m gutting a fucking fish.”

  Silence. I look up at my guys. They avoid my hard stare, exchanging looks with each other.

  I know what they’re all thinking. I used to be the muscle of this family. If someone needed to have their kneecaps busted, Max Oriani was the guy who’d laugh as the assholes who were being brutalized would cry and beg for mercy.

  But that guy sits behind a desk now. He wears a hard hat. He’s gone soft.

  Rage bubbles in my veins. I can feel their eyes boring into me, waiting to see what I’ll do next…if I’m gonna own this or if I’m gonna delegate like every other fucking thing Nico has made me farm out in the past year. My guys sense weakness. They smell defeat. They think I’ve lost my edge. They think I need to call in backup to handle a problem when I used to be that backup.

  Just do what you’re good at, Max. It’s what everyone expects, anyway. Show them you haven’t lost yourself. Show them you’re still strong and demand respect.

  I swallow hard as the guy narrows his eyes at me. His lips curl into a smirk as if he’s calling me out on my bullshit threats. He knows what I’m capable of, and he knows I won’t do shit to him until I get what I want.

  My hand grips the blade tighter, my arm twitching.

  He doesn’t know dick.

  With the flick of my wrist, the blade slashes his skin, digging into the flesh, and fuck, it electrifies me. With that one swift movement, I reclaim the control and respect hanging in the balance only seconds ago.

  With a loud yelp, the shithead looks down at the deep red stain coloring his shirt. He clutches his chest, crying like a bitch. “It fucking burns, asshole!”

  I dip my head, lowering it to his. “Are you wishing I’d have just slit your throat instead? So it’d be over and done with? How could you take this message back to your boss if I did that?” I hold the tip of the blade to his lips. “Besides,” I snarl. “I want you to remember how I put the fear of God—fuck that, the fear of Max Oriani—in you tonight. Because you can bet the next time we come face to face, there won’t be a second message for you to deliver to your boss. You’ll be the fucking message.”

  If Bonnaro is behind this, I’m gonna show him the same courtesy. He popped a cap right into the wall behind me in that shithole restaurant. He had a message to send to the Salesis, and I delivered it.

  Just like this asshole is gonna do for me.

  Hey, Mikey, we’re waiting for you and your fucknut brother. And make no mistake, we’re ready.

  I launch my fist at the guy’s jaw, sending him and the chair flying backward into a cement mixer. The cheap wooden chair crashes to the floor and he lands face-first onto the concrete. A rush of blood flows from his mouth, his face already bruised from the beating he took from Patty before I showed up.

  “Oh yeah, that’s part of the message, too. I just want to be as thorough as possible. There may be a few final thoughts we put into it, but I’ll let my guys handle the rest.”

  I pull Patty aside, away from the high-pitched screams that echo through the open space as the crew goes to work on him before sending him crawling back to his boss.

  “Any ideas about who set this whole thing up?” Patty asks me in a hushed whisper.

  I’ve got plenty of ideas that need to stay under wraps, at least for now. I don’t trust anyone anymore. People value money more than loyalty these days, and these guys will align themselves with anyone who’ll offer cash for information. “Nah, could be anyone. I’ll make some calls, put some guys on it. We’ll find the fuckers who did this.”

  This has Mikey written all over it. He’s spiraling, waiting for a chance to sink his teeth into our business. He wants to crush us.

  But he’ll start with me because I’m the one who fucked him over hard.

  That was his message on Thanksgiv
ing.

  And I got it loud and clear.

  I hope he appreciates my response. I’ve been waiting for a long time to deliver it.

  I nod over to the spot where the douchebag who shall remain nameless is being beaten to a pulp. “Make sure they don’t kill him. I want him to be able to speak when he crawls back to his boss. Also, make sure they don’t smash in his head too much. I don’t want our message to be lost in translation, yeah?”

  Patty nods and claps me on the back.

  “Call me when you handle all of this. And call the Doc. He’ll take care of the girls and sober them up. Find out where they live and get them back home.” I pull out my keys and head toward my car.

  I slide into the front seat and clutch my temples, but the pounding is too intense. A few deep breaths don’t do much to calm my breathing or my heart rate, for that matter. I fought it. I didn’t let the anger win. I saved face in front of my guys. My pulse throbs against my neck. I can do this. I can beat this thing.

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a second of relief, and an image of her smiling face flashes across my brain.

  My sanity.

  Sloane.

  The one thing I just can’t seem to win against.

  I pull out my phone and stare at the keyboard for a second. My finger hovers over the screen, itching to type. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s bad.

  But I know I won’t regret it.

  I let out a deep sigh and stab the letters.

  Are you up?

  Sloane

  I tiptoe across the hardwood floor, silently cursing every squeak and creak of the boards under my feet. My dad isn’t the heaviest sleeper, and the walls are practically made of paper. I think it’s just one more way for him to keep tabs on me even while he’s hibernating next door.

  Having my own apartment off the main house makes living at home more tolerable, but I always feel a twinge of guilt that he’s all alone in that big space. Mom has been gone for a long time, but he still hasn’t moved on.

  I guess I haven’t either.

  Letting go is something I haven’t quite mastered yet.

  And it hurts my heart to think that one day I’ll be leaving my dad, too, but I don’t have time or desire to unpack that right now.