THE COUNT
MONICA CORWIN
CONTENTS
Author’s Note
1. Mercy
2. Eddy
3. Mercy
4. Eddy
5. Mercy
6. Eddy
7. Mercy
8. Eddy
9. Mercy
10. Eddy
11. Mercy
12. Mercy
13. Eddy
14. Mercy
15. Eddy
16. Mercy
17. Eddy
18. Mercy
19. Mercy
20. Mercy
About the Author
Also by Monica Corwin
To my Granny. One of the strongest women I know.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
If you’ve been following along on my journey through my twisted classics this won’t be the first bad boy you’ve gotten to know via my books. This book takes you into my love of The Count of Monte Cristo…not just the book but the movie too. You’ll see my love and homage to both in these pages. Please note that any mistakes are my own. And any er…leeway with the story is of my own making. I took some liberties, please don’t hate me for it.
Enjoy!
XOXO
MC
ONE
MERCY
I surveyed the array of bullets lined neatly in the safe, trying to remember which size fit the gun perched on the edge of my desk. A testament to how often I felt the need to take the small handgun from its compartment behind my bedside table.
But the current usurpation of my territory and business warranted a new level of violence—or protection. As did the looming meeting with the man—The Count they called him—who meant to throw me out “with the other women where they belong.” Remembering one of my guys telling me that almost made me wish I owned a bigger caliber gun. A knock on my office door rushed me into closing the safe before choosing and tucking the weapon into my desk drawer.
“Come in,” I called. The door opened only a few inches, and Ashley, my second in command, the face to the legal size of my business, poked his head in and then every inch of his 6’5 frame. He closed the door softly, took the seat opposite my desk, and waited. The leather arm chair enveloped his long lean frame. Fretfulness poured off him in waves. I rarely brought him here as the media often followed close behind. I let the seconds stretch for the fun of it. I had a certain reputation for being a heartless bitch. Any chance to reinforce that image, I snatched. How else could a 5’0 even forty-year-old woman keep charge of an empire? I certainly wasn’t going to let a man do it. As many of them had learned over the past twenty years.
“Have you heard why I brought you here?”
He shook his head. I got up and poured him a drink. I may be heartless, but I wasn’t a monster, well, mostly.
I handed it to him and sat on the edge of my desk, which required a little hop. His eyes strayed to the flash of thigh revealed by the cut of my pencil skirt. Then he darted his eyes to mine in panic.
“Drink and calm the hell down. You’re giving me anxiety.”
“It’s 10 a.m.,” he managed after clearing his throat heavily.
“And you probably haven’t been to bed yet by the smell of vodka wafting off you.”
He shrugged and then threw back the three fingers of whiskey like it was cold, leftover coffee. I’d have been impressed if his hand didn’t shake as he did it.
Never one for sparing someone’s sensibilities, I launched straight into the problem. “Someone is making a move on my territory, and he might actually take it.”
His hands shook harder, and I removed the glass from his clutch before he dropped it. I poured more whiskey in the glass and tucked it back in his fingers. My skirt was too expensive to be cleaning up after him.
“Does that mean…”
“Nothing for you at the moment. Only a select few even know we have a connection. I need it to stay that way.”
He nodded hard, and a pang actually squeezed my chest. I’d been working with the man for ten years. Since his predecessor disappointed me so thoroughly.
“Ashley, I’m going to protect you. Continue business as usual unless you hear from me directly.” I considered this. “Or Taylor…” My right hand, and the only man I’d ever instilled my absolute trust.
He nodded again, heavily, and I wondered how he got away with all the charm and smiles…barely speaking…ever. His skin looked a little green, so I made him another drink.
“I’ll call your car. Don’t let me down, Ash. You are one of the few men I don’t absolutely hate. If you do…” I leaned in so I could look directly into his honey brown eyes which melted women’s hearts across the globe. “You’ll regret it, deeply.”
He nodded again, stood, sat the glass on the edge of my desk, and buttoned his suit jacket. Each button met its hole slowly, and I watched him wrestle with something. I refused to prompt him. Anything he needed to say would have to come from him. I mentally encouraged him to grab his balls and just speak. He didn’t, but I expected that too. He fled my office, and I chuckled…so very predictable.
I considered checking the safe again, but I needed more seasoned help. I hit the button on my phone and called out, “Taylor, get in here.”
Seconds later, he strolled in. Unlike Ashley, Taylor didn’t fear me. I’d never given him a reason to. Yet.
I replaced the gun on the desk, and he didn’t ask questions. He threw back the rest of Ashley’s whiskey and then picked up the gun and inspected every inch. Then turned a blank look on me.
“I can’t fucking remember what goes in it.”
He snorted, opened the safe, and filled it in a few seconds. “It’s a .38.”
With a final inspection, he handed me the gun grip first. I rolled my eyes at him. “Cause I keep my tape measurer in this skirt.”
I took the weapon, jerked the hem of said skirt up my thighs and strapped the gun into the holster. He watched with heated interest, and continued, until I folded the black wool in place again. We tried that once. It was a bad idea on both our parts, and we left it there.
He helped himself to another glass of my whiskey while I sat behind the desk. “So what should I expect today?”
It was his way of asking how many bodies he’d have to clean up later.
I honestly had no idea, so I told him that. With him, not having answers was fine, and I appreciated that relationship with someone. He took his drink and moseyed toward the door. “Just don’t let it be you,” he said before opening it.
If I hadn’t known Taylor’s chest echoed the emptiness of mine, I would have been touched. “Are you going soft on me?”
He closed the door behind him without justifying my question with an answer.
I shifted in my chair, the heavy weight of the gun giving me little comfort, physically or mentally. The meeting was scheduled for later, but if the situations were reversed, I’d have shown up early, not giving my enemy time to get comfortable.
My phone rang, and Taylor asked if he should kill the guy about to walk in.
“No, better not.” Neither of us had a way to verify the man’s identity, and if Taylor killed him and he turned out to be some flunky, we’d be in a worse situation.
Could I kill a man in hopes he was my enemy? Would my brother or father do that? Whenever I had to check my conscience on something, I asked myself what would Marco do? He’d put a bullet in the man’s brain, no hesitation. But my brother lacked the subtlety I possessed, or my equally evil father.
“Just send him in.”
The grunt he gave me in agreement told me the man had already walked through the door, and since gun fire wasn’t echoing through th
e office, he complied.
I came around the edge of the desk, unsure what to do. The man had already stripped and taken my territory, nothing I did would change the facts. The only piece I had left was the legal side, only because he likely didn’t know it existed, but I wasn’t ready to walk away from twenty years of work and sacrifice.
I threw my shoulders back as a man entered my office. I’d only seem him in surveillance photos and on phone screens. In person, he was larger. At least a foot taller than me and shoulders twice as wide. I could see tattoos peeking out from his stiff collar and at the perfect presses of his cuffs. Not enough to see any gang affiliations or colors though.
He glanced around the room, and his eyes slid over me like I’d been relegated to a piece of furniture he needed to assess with all the rest. Would he pack me off to storage if I didn’t meet his tastes?
While he inspected everything, I did the same to him. The soft lines around his eyes and the smattering of gray in his hair, and well-groomed beard, told me we were close in age. It comforted me I hadn’t been reduced to ashes by a child.
The silence began to grate on me. “Can I offer you a drink?”
His black eyes flashed to mine for a second and slid to the bar. Instead of waiting for me, he helped himself. Peeing in the corner to mark his territory.
Then he stepped around my desk and took the chair behind it, forcing me to turn to face him or leave my back to a predictor. And I wasn’t an idiot.
“You called this meeting.” It seemed I was willing to prompt this man at least.
He gave me another long and appraising look before gesturing at me to sit. Seeing no point in refusing I took the seat Ashley almost sweated through an hour ago.
He surprised me by speaking first this time. “Twenty years ago, you took a ragtag criminal operation and turned it into an empire. You put your brother, father, and even your lover in prison to make it happen.”
A reminder I didn’t need. “Is there a question in there somewhere? Or are we taking a trip down memory lane. If so, don’t forget to make a right at no one gives a fuck and go straight through to make your god damn point.”
If he planned to kill me, I wish he would just get it done. All this teasing wore on me.
“You’ve got a mouth on you.”
Another non-question, so I didn’t say anything.
“My question,” he took a sip of his drink, “is why? Why betray everyone you loved to overthrow the decimated remains of a has been gang. I researched you thoroughly, and it’s the one question I can’t find the answer to.”
“You came here to ask me why I became a criminal?”
“No, I came here to ask you the nature of betrayal.”
I considered his questions and answered the only way I could. “Go to hell.”
One side of his mouth lifted as if he might smile, but he didn’t go that far.
“I’ve been there, Passerotto. I’d rather tear off my own limbs with my teeth than go back.”
I shifted, uncomfortable for the first time. Not by his graphic outburst, but by the pet name—little sparrow. I tried not to scowl. Black widows are little too.
We sat in silence as he studied me closer and I him. Tattoos splayed across his knuckles. Definitely prison ink. And a faint scar on his upper lip. Something felt strangely familiar about that scar, and him.
He spread his hands across my desk in ownership then flashed his eyes to mine. “Come here, Passerotto.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to decide whether to kill you or keep you. So give me a reason to keep you.”
I considered if I could avoid this. Stay on this side of the desk, even if the safety over here was precarious at best. In an arm’s length, he could snap my neck with one hand.
“My patience is not infinite,” he said, his voice a deep rumble.
I stood, smoothed my skirt and walked around to stand beside him. At my height, and his, he didn’t need to tilt his neck to meet my eyes. Heat and a spicy cologne wafted from his skin. I didn’t want to think he smelled good, but damn, he did, like a long distant memory.
He reached out and pulled me closer by the hips. Then lifted me as if I weighed nothing and deposited me on the desk. My feet hung down on either side of his knees. I wanted to snap my thighs closed, but I also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he rattled me.
“Word on the street,” he said, dragging one calloused hand up my calf to the sensitive hollow behind my right knee, ‘is you’ll do anything for a price.”
He continued moving his hands up both legs now until he stopped at my thigh holster outside the wool of my skirt.
“What’s this?” Something like amusement played in his gaze now.
He dove his hands under my skirt, unlaced the weapon and drew it off in one swoop. When he caught sight of the gun he chuckled.
“Next time, grab a bat or a hammer. It might be better protection than this tiny thing.”
He placed his hands back on my thighs inside the fabric this time, the gun forgotten, by him at least, next to him on the chair. “Now where were we, oh right, a price.” His hands inches higher. “Name it.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill me?’
“I can’t kill you until I know all your secrets and dismantle you body and soul from the inside out,” he said like reciting a grocery list. ”This is my only offer. Name your price.”
Frustration, nerves, the sensation of his big hands framing the soft squishy parts of my legs, I didn’t know, but my calm fractured.
“For what? What are you buying for fucks sake?” I said, not quite a yell, but definitely not a whisper.
Another almost smile. “You’re smarter than some of your contemporaries. I'm buying you. Every secret, every memory, every inch of your delicious body will belong to me, and me alone. Now name your price before I decide to just take it all, since there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
He destroyed my street crews, dismantled my territory, and now he wanted to lay claim to my body as well? “Aren’t there twenty year olds out there who would line up to see to your needs? Don’t you want something with a little less miles on it?”
“I prefer my women with some experience.”
“And I prefer my men a little less sociopathic.”
He stood, towering over me to lean in and meet my eyes better. “Stop playing with me and name your price.”
I sucked in a long breath and pushed it out slowly. “My men, and my safety. No one dies. Use them, put them to work, if they want to work for you, but no one dies in this invasion.”
He took the seat again and gave me a real smile this time. It looked debasing. “If they don’t attack me or mine, I’ll let them live.”
“Does that rule apply to me as well?” I asked. The ice pick on the bar at the corner of my eye begged for a home in his neck.
He licked his lips and cupped my ankle gently. “No, Passerotto. I like a woman who puts up a bit of a fight.”
TWO
EDDY
I should have killed her. Walked into her office and been done with it. This damn woman was going to be more trouble than she was worth. But after all these years, the betrayal, and her causing endless suffering I wasn’t going to simply walk away from my revenge.
It might be easier, or more satisfying, if I spotted even a glimpse of fear in her eyes. I ran a hand back up to her thighs this time under her skirt. I watched her features carefully but no emotion flickered there. She’d shuttered herself completely like a blackout curtain over an early morning sunrise.
I leaned in, only a couple inches from her mouth. Had to give her credit for not flinching away. “Ask me to kiss you.”
Her answer brushed my lips. “No.”
“No…that sounds a lot like dissension.”
She shifted a little in front of me, the only outward sign of her discomfort. “You never said I had to enjoy this arrangement.”
I licked my lips, my to
ngue mere millimeters from her mouth. “It might be easier if you did.”
The first flash of emotion crossed her features and she dragged her eyes from mine. Once she cleared back to indifference she resumed her stare down. “You’ve taken my life’s work in less than a week. I don’t want anything from you, including pleasure. And despite all of your demands and posturing you can’t force me to like anything I have to submit to.”
I clapped my hands together slowly and stood up. “What a speech. Are you finished?”
She pressed her lips together into a thin line and followed me to standing. Annoyance I could recognize easily enough.
“Then get anything you’ll need and let’s go.”
She grabbed a bag the size of an elephant from behind her desk, and a long black coat from the hook by the door.
“Anymore guns in there? A desert eagle would fit. Or a sawed-off shotgun perhaps?”
“Damn, I didn’t think of that,” she said, deadpan.
I led her out of the office. The man lingering by the front door when I arrived stood nearby watching us carefully. No doubt a backup weapon wouldn’t have escaped his mind. A backup and a spare.
She made a gesture toward him as we exited, and the man sat down. I’d bet my fortune he was ready to jump into action at her slightest motion. He needed a place on my list of her associates to watch out for.
I could deal with corruption, evil, insanity…but loyalty was harder to break open and use against people.
My car idled by the back door as we exited. I held the door open for her to slide in before me.
“Where are we going?” She asked, once I settled into the seat beside her.
“Finally afraid?”
“Should I be?”
I didn’t answer her. Not if she held up her side of the deal. I took good care of what belonged to me.
The car pulled away and we rode in silence. She stared out the window on her side as if all the answer to her situation would come to her in a flash of street lights. She owed her problems to good old-fashioned greed. It took days to dismantle her empire and replace it with my own. Almost too easy. She’d grown complacent over the years, thinking her crews stayed with her out of some kind of loyalty and devotion.
The Count (Twisted Classics Book 3) Page 1
