I straighten my coat once I get out of my truck and pull open the door to the damp, dank concrete structure. This is where the ‘meat’ gets delivered. There are offices in the floors above, but I won’t need to visit them.
My work will be done right here.
I lean against a wall facing the door, waiting, my blood boiling violently as the vision of Heaven’s face flashes in front of my eyes. My fists clench when I think about one of my own guys hurting her, the guys I trusted with my own life.
That was before today.
A few minutes later, Alfie and Philly come shuffling into the room. They exchange a quick look, their shoulders relaxing when they see that I’m alone.
Mistake number one.
Never assume that because you aren’t greeted by an army that you’re going to escape unscathed.
“I’d like to go over the ambush on Patrick and Heaven Mulligan,” I say, my back stiff against the cold cinderblocks.
“Um, okay, boss,” Alfie says. He’s the more senior of the two, the one I expect the most from. “What do you wanna know?”
I push off from the wall, taking a few steps toward him. “Well, first, I’d like you to repeat the instructions I gave you.”
He nods, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “You, uh, said to rough up Patrick. Nothing major, just enough to send a message. And we were supposed to attack when they didn’t expect it. And, yeah, to, ah, to stay away from Heaven.”
I nod. “That’s right, Alfie. Pretty much on target.” I look at Philly. “Who’d you cover during that attack?”
“I was supposed to hold Heaven back,” he says, his eyes darting everywhere.
“Uh-huh,” I reply. “And how’d that go?”
He sneaks a look at Alfie.
“Don’t look at Alfie,” I snap. “I wanna hear it from you!”
“Well, she, uh, she got away and got into their car. She was going to Patrick’s gun, so I—”
“So you…what?” I inch closer still, forcing him to backup under my hateful stare. I don’t know at this moment what I’m more angry about — Heaven getting hurt, or finding out that my trusted guys may not deserve that title anymore.
“I grabbed her by the ankles,” he whispers.
“And?”
“I dragged her out of the car.” His eyes widen with panic. “But I swear I didn’t hurt her. She was going for a gun and I was afraid if I didn’t get her outta the car, the cops would show up and fuck up the whole thing!”
“So you dragged her out of the car and she ended up slamming her head badly enough in the process that she’s got scratches and bruises all the way down her face.
“I-I didn’t know that,” he whispers.
I turn slightly. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s what happens when you don’t plan, huh? You were supposed to hold her back. If you’d have done what you were supposed to, you wouldn’t have been on the defensive, right?”
“Right,” he says, his voice quivering.
I turn back to Alfie. “And you were supposed to ‘rough up’ Patrick. Your version of that almost put him in the hospital with two broken ribs.”
“He was, um, fighting back hard. I was trying to keep him down—”
And just at that second, my blood boils over and I launch a fist right at Alfie’s face. It cracks his jaw and he crashes to the ground face-first with a loud yelp.
I shake out my hand. Fuck, that hurt. I’m not used to the enforcer role. I usually delegate that shit to Roman, but not tonight.
Heaven is my responsibility.
And my liability, so it seems.
I kneel down next to Alfie and pull him up by the collar so I can see his face. Blood pours from his mouth, his eyes glazed with fear.
“You took the order,” I hiss at him. “You were in charge and you deserve to take the punishment.”
He nods, his eyes dropping. “You’re right. I did. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re damn right it won’t,” I mutter. I let go of his collar and stand up, glaring at Philly. “And what about you? Do you think you deserve to be punished?”
“I, um, well, no.” He shrugs. “I had to protect myself, so—”
“Wrong answer!” I thunder, shoving him backward into a wall. “You were supposed to protect her! If she pulled a gun on you, then your job would be to get it away from her! That’s why you were brought into this organization, Philly. To take orders and fulfill them, not to make up your own rules as you go!” I walk toward him, closing my hand around his throat. “When she went for the gun, you should’ve gotten into the car and driven away with Alfie. This was supposed to send a message. That’s fucking it!” I scream into his face, his skin getting more purple by the second.
And my vision is so stained with red, I barely notice. I feel him squirm against me as I clutch his throat tighter and tighter, making him sputter and writhe against my hand. Blood rushes between my temples, my pulse throbbing as Heaven’s battered face wallpapers my mind.
Every shred of self-control I cling to fizzles away as I slam Philly back against the wall, his eyes bulging from the sockets.
“You didn’t protect her!” I scream, my hand shaking as I grip him. “You didn’t fucking do your job!”
An explosion of sounds erupts from within the deep recesses of my mind — glass shattering, bullets popping, and the screams that have haunted my dreams ever since. My arm muscles tighten as a guttural roar bursts from my chest. His fingers dig into my hands, his nails clawing at my skin. The stinging sensation that results from the lancing makes me blink fast, clearing my vision enough that I can see his lifeless face and vacant gaze.
I release my grip and Philly drops to the concrete floor like a bag of cement. I turn slowly toward Alfie, short, sharp gasps slicing at my lungs. I take a few steps toward him, my mouth twisted into a grimace as my shoulders heave.
He scrambles away, backing himself into a literal corner before struggling to his feet. “Please, Matteo, don’t. I’m sorry I didn’t follow instructions. I’m sorry I didn’t stop Philly from hurting Heaven. I’m sorry—”
I hold up a hand. “Stop,” I snarl. “I don’t want to hear it. Consider that your message, Alfie. Take care of the body.” And without another word, I walk out of the room. A faint bleeping in the distance amplifies with each step I take away from the scene I just enacted. It must be some far-off alarm buried somewhere in the basement of the building. But by the time I reach my truck, my ears are ringing from the blaring sounds going off in my head.
Adrenaline courses through me as I slide into the driver’s seat and turn on the ignition. I grip the steering wheel tight, shaking it with the same degree of violence I just displayed back at the building. I let out a thunderous yell, my teeth clenched as the realization washes over me. I maneuver the truck out of the parking lot. With a rocketing pulse, I drive through the darkened streets of Manhattan back toward my townhouse.
Tremors assault my body as I swing the steering wheel around a series of turns.
For years, I’d controlled it, kept it buried deep because I knew the damage it could do if it was unleashed.
Tonight, I let it all out. I let my emotions command me in a way they never should again.
For the first time in years, I freed them.
All because of Heaven.
As much as I try to convince myself that she’s only a speed bump along my path, soon to be steamrolled, the more control I lose.
And before tonight, only I knew how dangerous that could be.
Chapter Twelve
Heaven
I roll onto my back, letting out a deep sigh as I stare out at the sun peeking over the tops of the buildings in my view. And the view is amazing, I have to admit that to myself even though I won’t give Matteo the satisfaction of hearing it.
I grab a pillow and press it over my head, groaning into it. It’s been a week since I’ve seen or spoken to my family, save for a call to Aunt Maura to arrange the transfer of my things to M
atteo’s townhouse, and one to Patty to see how he’s feeling. He was, of course, more concerned about me because he’s just that good a brother. He also feels hella guilty about his part in all of this. He believes that if he’d have been able to overtake those assholes who assaulted us in the park, that Dad would have had more faith in us standing up against Dominguez and let me stay instead of marrying me off the Italian.
I tried to convince him that it was way more than just us getting jumped, even though in the back of my mind I wonder the very same thing.
It doesn’t really matter now. The stage has been set, contracts signed, and lives sold. I haven’t reached out to my father at all, even though he’s passed a few message on to me through Matteo. And even though I miss him, I know I can’t have a conversation with him. I’ll end up saying something I’ll regret because even after a week, the latent anger still festers deep in my gut.
Let’s just say there’s a very fine line between love and hate and right now, I just don’t know which side he falls on.
I’ve been out a couple of times with Matteo glued to my side. They’re almost like PR appearances, for Christ’s sake. We go to places to be seen together so that the entire underworld knows we’re really doing this and blissfully happy while we make our bullshit wedding arrangements. We peruse flowers, taste cakes, and visit venues, not that any of it will come to fruition. I made it clear in my father’s office that first night that this wedding will be small. I’d like to not humiliate myself in front of a cast of thousands, thank you very much. The smaller, the better in my opinion. My family, his family, a few business associates. Small, much to my aunt’s dismay since she’s always wanted to plan a big wedding. We traipse all over the place, making fictional selections, smiling, and hugging. Matteo always has an arm draped around me or snaked around my waist.
And for as much as I detest this situation and the sham we’re trying to produce, I can’t deny that I like the feeling of his muscles holding me close enough that I can breathe in his delicious and intoxicating scent. There have been far too many brushes against him in the past week, ones that make every nerve ending tingle. I’ve caught him staring at me more than a few times from across a room while we’re both at the townhouse. When I call him on it, he makes up a bullshit excuse as to why…like, he’s just checking out how my face is healing.
But I can still feel the heat in his gaze. And it’s even hungrier now than it was when I first laid eyes on him, although he hasn’t come near my bedroom since that first night. I don’t know. Maybe he feels like he can’t control himself. Lord knows, I taunted him with that striptease. He might be afraid of losing control if he becomes a regular spectator.
I’d like to see that happen. He’s usually wound pretty freaking tight. I’d be nice to see him let go and give me the upper hand for once!
Speaking of…
I swing my legs around the side of the bed and run my fingers through my sleep-tousled hair. My fiancé doesn’t know it yet, but today is the day I set the agenda for our outing. After a quick shower, I pull my hair into a slicked-back ponytail and dab some makeup onto my face, adding extra layers of mascara to make my eyes really pop. A little pink lip gloss completes my transformation and it’s back to work I go.
Whether Matteo likes it or not.
I walk down the staircase and wander into the kitchen, the scent of rich Italian roast wafting in the air. My mouth waters as I open a cabinet above the sink and grab a big white mug, filling it with the delicious coffee and then dumping in spoonful after spoonful of sugar. I’ve tried Matteo’s espresso, but it’s too strong for me, so I always come back to this. A little cream and it’s absolute perfection. I blow on it gently and take a sip, letting out a low moan because it’s that good.
Matteo walks in wearing nothing but a pair of running shorts, the muscles in his chest rippling as he twists his baseball cap backward. I try not to stare but it’s difficult. I bite down hard on my lower lip. Mm, just yummy. He’s strong, flavorful, and hot as hell. Just like my favorite coffee.
Minus the sweat.
But even that makes my belly flutter…just seeing him standing there, glistening, flexing…
Oh, Christ. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten off. Ten days, to be exact, since his mouth feasted on me at his sex party.
And every time I think of that scene in the room that preceded my own salacious encounter — the most sensual gang bang I think I’ve ever seen — I want to feel his lips on mine and on a whole host of other places. And I don’t just fantasize about his lips. I fantasize about other parts of him, too, one in particular that I only had the pleasure of jerking.
And as much as I hate to admit it, I’d very much like to have the pleasure of riding said part.
This is what happens when you are too embarrassed to ask your aunt to please throw in your vibrator collection when packing up your things.
You’re left with your hands, and they don’t come close to comparing with a certain other tool that is always within reach.
Pun intended.
Good God, I really do need to get back to work!
I take another sip of my coffee and gaze at Matteo from over the top of the mug. I place it back on the counter. “I was thinking that maybe we could go back to my old neighborhood today,” I say.
He looks at me, his perfectly shaped blue eyes making my heart thump a little faster, much to my dismay. “Why?”
I roll my eyes and walk around to his side of the counter. “Because I need to do something productive, Matteo! I walked away from my family because I was ordered to. But I will not walk away from my job! I made that very clear the night we got engaged,” I say, sarcasm dripping from the word. “I’m sure you remember.”
His gaze darkens. “It’s not smart for you to be there right now. Dominguez won’t dare come for you here in my area of the city. But you’re fair game in your father’s domain.”
“I’m not afraid,” I whine, feeling a little like a petulant child. “Besides, I’m not suggesting that I go alone. I mean, you won’t be in the meetings with me, but—”
“There’s the deal breaker,” he snaps, turning away from me to brew one of his tiny cups of espresso.
“Why? Am I supposed to have a bodyguard for every single meeting I take?” I shout. “Let me ask you something, Matteo. Is this really going to be it for me? Am I just going to live out the rest of my days as your trophy wife? The one you parade around and grope in public and ignore in the bedroom?” I snap my lips closed. Oops. I didn’t mean for that last part to slip out. Shiiit.
He swivels around, an expression of surprise etched into his features. His lips curl upward. “I didn’t realize any of that bothered you, especially the last part.”
“It doesn’t. I-I, um, didn’t mean it the way it came out,” I sputter. “I just meant, you know, we’re more, ah, connected when we’re out of the house.”
He holds out his espresso cup and takes a sip, his eyes never leaving my face. “So, lack of connection. That’s your gripe?”
“No!” I yell, slapping my hands against my legs. “My ‘gripe’ is that I am losing credibility with each day that passes! Do you think that the people who work for me are going to take me seriously now that I’m out of the picture and Conor is running the day-to-day? I mean, it’s pretty damn clear that he’s the one to beware of right now. My role is fading away more and more and I can’t…” My voice cracks, and I stop talking before the sob I’m trying to choke back erupts out of my chest.
Matteo sets down his cup and walks over to me. He tries to tilt my chin upward but I jerk my head out of his grip. “My life is in complete upheaval,” I whisper. “I need to get it back. Please understand that. I’ve worked too hard. I need my father to see that I’m the right one to lead my family, not Conor. I can’t lose that fight. There’s too much at stake.” I stop talking when my voice wavers again, my eyes tangled with his.
After a few seconds, he nods. “Okay. We’ll go. But you don�
�t go into any meetings alone.”
“Oh, come on!”
“Forget it,” he says. “You of all people should know that someone can always be watching and waiting for a chance to strike. And in your old neighborhood, there are plenty of weak links.”
I throw my hands into the air in frustration but I want to let out a gleeful yell.
I’m back, Conor. So get the hell out of my way!
Chapter Thirteen
Heaven
“These numbers don’t look right, Sean,” I say, staring at the computer screen. “For the past week and a half, you’re showing a profit every day.” I glare up at him. “Where are you tracking the shipments that are going out?”
I glance over at Matteo standing against the wall, but he’s busy studying his phone. Or at least, he’s pretending to be.
Sean follows my gaze, visibly shaking as he looks back at me, his eyes as big as saucers. “I, uh, I’m tracking everything in the main system. All of the receipts have been entered.”
“Sean,” I say again, trying to control my anger. “On a daily basis, you have liquor, beer, and food being delivered to this restaurant. The invoices are all inflated by the drugs being smuggled in those crates, and you’re supposed to separate the money for the drugs to avoid a paper trail. Instead, you’re using the total invoice amounts for tracking. Why?”
“Um, well, last time Conor was in here, he said to keep everything together so it’s all in one place. You know, more organized.”
“Oh, so that way you can make it easier for the Feds to see that we’re laundering money if they should happen to raid us?” I snap, slamming my hand on the desk.
Matteo looks up from his phone at that moment but says nothing.
Savage Ruler: A Dark Italian - Irish Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Sinfully Savage) Page 10
