Marco
“I’ll admit, I thought you were kidding about the McRib thing.” I shake my head as I stare at the tiny woman before me in amazement. Not only did she eat the supersized meal, but she also asked for extra barbecue sauce to dip her fries in as well as an apple pie for later. I’d been certain she couldn’t possibly eat half the amount of food she ordered, but she passed that milestone several moments ago and shows no sign of stopping. When she wipes her mouth on her arm, I’m not sure if I’m disgusted or in love. Never have I met someone with so many quirks before. Usually when I’m with a woman, they do their best to appear as if they never eat, nor have a single hair out of place. Nina is either extremely comfortable in her own skin, or she just doesn’t give a rat’s ass about impressing me. Then a horrible thought occurs to me. Fuck, have I fallen into the friend zone for the first time ever? No, hell no. It can’t be that. That’s the land of no return. My cock jumps to a painful and full alert when she begins licking the sauce from her fingers. Please God, I promise to be a better man—by maybe five percent if it’s not true. When the lick becomes a full-fledged sucking, sweat beads on my forehead. All right, name your price. Whatever it takes. I can’t be her brother or BFF. I want to fuck her too damn much for that.
Swear to Christ, she lets out a small burp, and I’m tempted to cry. I cast a desperate look upward in silent appeal. “That was so good,” she moans blissfully. So not helping, Belle. “I have no idea why McDonald’s doesn’t offer the McRib year round. Everyone I know loves it.”
I discreetly rearrange my cock, hoping she doesn’t notice that the damn thing has lost its mind. “That’s exactly why,” I say distractedly. “A limited edition sells more in a short time than something that’s readily available.” I wrinkle my nose as I add, “Plus, there would be a major pig shortage in the world—if that’s what it’s even made of.”
She gathers her trash and crosses my kitchen to the trash can. “Better people than you have tried to ruin the moment for me, Moretti, and I’m still one of the first in line when they come back. Thank God for Google alerts. You’re probably one of those clean eaters. All organic and carbohydrate free.” I walk over to my refrigerator and throw open the freezer. Inside are half a dozen containers of Ben and Jerry’s in various flavors. She stares at me like I’m a superhero. All those months of trying to win her over with my charm, and all it takes to impress her is Ben & Jerry’s? Unbelievable. “That’s pretty hot,” she murmurs reverently. I’m seconds away from making my move when she turns her back and tosses out, “Walking Dead in fifteen minutes. How about turning it on while I use the bathroom?”
Cold shower, anyone? I debate grabbing a pint of ice cream to hold against my crotch, but figure I’ll lose major points for that. So between gritted teeth, I ask her retreating form, “Do you need me to show you where the bathroom is?”
“Nope, I took a tour while you were outside the door talking to your bodyguard.” Then she has the audacity to pivot around and wiggle her eyebrows at me. “Guess all your men work out, huh? And what are the odds that there isn’t an ugly one in the bunch? Is this Jake’s regular post?” She meets him for all of two seconds and remembers his name? It galls me that she normally only calls me Moretti. Probably because she can’t remember YOUR name. I instantly feel a wave of irritation toward my cousin. Is this what jealousy feels like? If so, it fucking sucks. No. I am not jealous. That would be stupid.
“No, it’s not,” I snap. “My much older cousin will be doing the honors tomorrow. He was sick today. Speaking of, they’ve all been passing around a stomach bug, so I’d steer clear of Jake. Just yesterday, he couldn’t stop shitting long enough to drive to work.” Did I just resort to that? Even I’m ashamed of my deceit. But I don’t bother taking it back. All’s fair in love and war, right? Or in our case, lust and mayhem. It may have been petty, but I’m pleased to see the disgusted expression on her face as she cringes.
“That’s too bad. I’m sure he won’t be contagious for long, though,” she tosses out as she walks away. Fuck. I should have said he was gay. What does it even matter? I’ve never been insecure where a woman is concerned—the complete opposite in fact. I’m so busy trying to make sense of what I’m feeling that Jake is running through the front door a split second before the sound of a gunshot registers. And it’s close by.
Nina.
“Bathroom,” I hiss as I pull a handgun from my ankle holster. Jake calls for backup on his two-way radio then automatically steps in front of me—falling into the role of my human shield. Tony has always hated the fact that Nic and I do the same with him. And truthfully, I don’t like it any more than he does. What gives us the right to determine that one human life is more valuable than another? It’s a bit too much like playing God to me, but it’s the way of the family and to object would offend those sworn to protect me. It’s considered an honor by some to risk their lives for their superiors.
Within seconds, Jake has his shoulder against the door, sending it flying inward. I have no idea if it had even been locked, but the element of surprise is what’s most important. We stand in the opening blinking rapidly as we attempt to process the scene before us. A man wearing black is lying on his back on the floor while Nina stands over him with her foot on his throat and a gun aimed at his crotch. She seriously must hate that body part. “I was sitting on the toilet when this dickhead stepped out of the linen closet and nearly gave me a heart attack. If my pistol hadn’t still been in my bra, it would have been bad.”
“I love you,” Jake whispers under his breath, and I am seriously tempted to do the same fucking thing to him that Nina is doing to the bastard on the floor.
I shove past in disgust and squat down next to the intruder. I place my gun against his forehead and say with deadly calm, “Start talking, motherfucker.”
His eyes are wide with terror as he whispers, “I think I made a huge mistake.”
“That’s an understatement,” Jake snaps. “What you did, you stupid fucker, is sign your own death certificate.” Jake cancels the backup he called for, seeing it’s obviously nothing we can’t handle.
I study the man on his back intently but don’t detect even a faint resemblance to anyone in the Gavino organization. At one time or another, I’ve seen them all, and I don’t know him, which is puzzling. But when he begins to sob, I’m downright confused. Even the biggest of pussies wouldn’t dare cry in front of the enemy. No fucking way. What in the hell? “My mother is going to be so mad at me,” he chokes out.
“Seriously?” Nina mutters in disgust before lowering her weapon. “It’s rather pointless to threaten his manhood when he clearly doesn’t possess it.”
“He’s not a Gavino,” Jake says, echoing my own thoughts.
“I’m Langdon Foster,” he sobs. “My mom, Sophie, is your cleaning lady. She’s always talking about how rich you are and I—”
“You were planning to rob me.” Then something occurs to me. “Who fired the shot?”
Nina raises her hand as if she’s in school and has been called on by the teacher. “That would be me. He started for the door, and I didn’t want to risk him catching you by surprise. So I took a warning shot.” I follow her eyes as she looks upward at a gaping hole in my ceiling. “My bad,” she says sheepishly.
“Fuck my life. Could you not have simply called out?”
She flushes in embarrassment, which I can’t help but find rather endearing. “Er—I didn’t think of that. Sorry.”
I don’t bother questioning the kid further about his identity. He’s the spitting image of Sophie. It might have occurred to me earlier if I’d had any reason to suspect her offspring was hiding in my apartment. “Just how the hell did you get in here?” This place has been crawling with guards since the explosion, and it’s fucking pathetic that this punk managed to sneak right past them. So much for being safe in my own home.
“I snuck in when my mom was here last. She had no clue,” he adds quickly, obviously just realizing that his mother could be in trouble for his stupid actions.
“That was three days ago,” I say skeptically. For fuck’s sake, don’t say it.
But in the next breath, he confirms my suspicions. “Yeah, I kind of hid in here, then waited for an opportunity to get out. But I hadn’t counted on so many guys showing up and not leaving. I’ve been trapped.” He gives me a thumbs-up that has me puzzled until he adds, “Dude, you’re my hero. That blonde chick you had here the other night was smoking, and man, what a set of pipes she had on her. I hope this place is well insulated. Otherwise, all your neighbors know your business.”
I blame Jake’s laughter and Nina’s death stare for my next actions. The little dumb fuck may not know it, but he has them to thank for the mercy he’s about to receive. Mainly, I want to get rid of his ass before he cockblocks me forever. Holy fucking hell. The night I finally decide to relieve my months’ worth of blue balls from hell—Nina does not want us to be a thing—this fucker happens. Great timing, Moretti. I motion for a still-fuming Nina to step back, then I pull Langdon to his feet by the collar of his hoodie. He squeaks in surprise, and I’m afraid he might piss himself, but he keeps it together. “Jake, take this kid home and tell his mother what he’s been up to.” Langdon’s surprise is more like alarm now, which gives me a small glimmer of happiness. “If she’s not home, then wait. He doesn’t leave your sight until she’s been brought up to speed on her halfwit’s activities.”
“Oh, come on, man. You know how my mom is. She’ll take a stick to me for this.” He squares his thin shoulders and looks me in the eyes. He might be a moron, but I give him credit for bravery, even if he has no clue who he’s dealing with. If he did, he’d realize his mama is by far the lesser of two evils here. “I ain’t got nothing of yours on me. I gave up on stealing when I realized I’d be lucky to get out of here myself, much less take anything with me.” He raises his hands in the air. “Go ahead and check me over.”
I roll my eyes, then give him my best bored look. I even toss in a yawn for good measure. “Jake wouldn’t have let you in the car without patting you down, kid. This isn’t amateur hour.”
“Don’t you need to check me for a weapon?” he asks in confusion. “I could be packing and waiting for an opportunity.”
“You’re not that fucking brave or intelligent,” I scoff. “Plus, if you had any options, you wouldn’t have been lying on the floor like a pussy while Nina wiped her feet all over you. Now, man the fuck up and take your punishment. Then thank whoever it is you believe in for the fact that you’re leaving alive.”
But the kid will not shut the fuck up. “I want to make this right, Mr. Moretti. I know you’re gonna tell my ma, and she’ll be really pissed at me. Probably throw me out again. But I owe you for taking it easy on me after I disrespected you and your property. I went through all your things, and I listened to you and that woman—”
“Stop!” Is he suicidal or insane? Being friend-zoned by Nina is probably the best of outcomes at this point. I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t neuter me with her gun after this wealth of oversharing. “Trust me, kid, you’ll pay the marker you owe me and more.” I can’t believe the words out of my mouth, and by the shocked expressions Nina and Jake are wearing, they’re just as surprised. I go to my Zen place as I smirk at my cousin. He knows me well enough to be wary of my sudden change of mood. “You’ll be working for Jake until further notice. If he wants you to lick the vehicles clean, scrub the toilets, or untie and retie his fucking boots all day, you’ll do it. If he tells me even once that you’re doing anything other than what you’re supposed to be doing, you won’t like what happens.”
He’s ashen by the end of my speech, but there’s also a sense of pride about him that hadn’t been there before. I know Sophie’s a single mother and there isn’t a man in the picture. I’m curious and make a mental note to get the full story. I’m sure there’s a file at the office containing everything I need. Outsiders aren’t allowed access to the family without being vetted. “You won’t be sorry, Mr. Moretti. You’ll see. I’m a good worker. I just made a mistake.” He puts his hands in his pockets and shuffles uneasily on his feet. “These guys said I owe them money, and if I don’t pay, then my sister’s gotta work it off.” His eyes are moist when he adds quickly, “I swear, I don’t owe them nothing. They’re pissed because I won’t join their crew. But I promised my mama I wouldn’t do the shit my cousin Travis did, ya know?”
So much for the brief moment of happiness. Fuck. I’m beginning to feel like the patron saint of lost and endangered souls. I should fire Sophie and wash my hands of this whole fucking mess. Shoulda, coulda, and fucking didn’t. Jake’s eyes are narrowed, and I know he doesn’t like what he’s heard any more than I do. We might be mafia, but we don’t prey upon kids. “I’ll handle it,” he grunts. We don’t leave loose ends. Sloppiness will get you killed—or make you wish you were dead. Not to say there haven’t been some less than motivated Morettis at times, but that’s usually a mistake only made once. There is no employee file with written warnings and the three-strike method. We can’t afford to be lenient with those who hold the lives of many others in their hands, and that point is driven home to every new family member. They need to understand that if their carelessness causes the death of another, then the same will be visited upon them. Is it brutal? Sure, but the real world operates in much the same way. If you’re in the military and you fuck up your assignment, then you may as well put a gun to another soldier’s head and pull the trigger. No matter what field you’re in, the domino effect is always in play; the only things that differ are the stakes.
The tips of Langdon’s ears are blood red when he nods sheepishly to Nina. “Sorry about scaring you. I swear I didn’t see nothing but… maybe your black panties. And that was only because they were around your ankles.”
I need a drink—no a bottle. Just when I think this kid couldn’t possibly be any dumber, he opens his mouth, and more stupidity spills out. I wait in silence, figuring Nina will teach him a much-needed lesson. But to my shock, she begins laughing. After staring daggers at me for the past five minutes over my… extracurricular activities, she grins fondly at Langdon as if he’s an adorable puppy. If that’s not bad enough, she goes right up to the little asshole and throws her arms around him. The fuck is this? “It’s all good, dork. And I hope your throat’s all right.” She pulls back to examine the area in question, and I seriously consider pounding my head against the wall to see if this whole thing is a dream. “Now, you listen to what Jake says and don’t get into trouble. I’m proud of you for taking responsibility for your actions. It takes a man to admit they’ve made a mistake and to genuinely want to make restitution.” What the actual fuck? Nina in mother-bear mode? She waves a hand in our direction before adding, “And I know that took a lot of courage considering what you’ve probably heard about er… the Morettis. I don’t know Jake, but I can vouch for Marco.” For a split second, I have that elusive warm, fuzzy feeling before she tacks on, “But please don’t go idolizing him. Find yourself a nice girl who respects herself and you.”
His head bobs up and down as he flashes her a look of puppy love. I’d find it rather sweet if the kid hadn’t fed me to the dogs with his loose lips. “I will, Miss Nina.” And once again, I’m almost rid of my interloper when he leans down to whisper loud enough for his mother across town to hear, “He doesn’t have a daughter, does he?” Well, that is plain baffling. We’re all mentally scratching our head at his farfetched question when he nicely decides to elaborate. “That blonde lady said she’d been a bad girl and needed a spanking.”
Oh fuck.
“Langdon,” I say in a voice that should have dropped him on the spot, but he’s like a goddamn wrecking ball, and I’m the building he’s intent on toppling. Jake is holding his sides and gasping for breath, while waves of disgust are rolling off Nina like waves crashing on the shore.
“I wouldn’t think much of it if she hadn’t kept calling him Big Daddy. Seemed like a funny nickname for what they were doing and all.”
Nina appears to comprehend that her newfound puppy is in grave peril because she clasps his arm firmly and propels him in Jake’s direction. “Langdon’s mother is probably worried about him. He needs to go home now.”
Jake seems disappointed the show is over, but he gathers his composure and motions Langdon ahead of him. He pauses long enough to say, “Security system is still updating.” He hands me a slip of paper, before adding, “There’s the new code. Should be ready to set as usual in another thirty.” He moves in Langdon’s direction, and I hear the kid chatting aimlessly, but thankfully, I can’t make his words out. I shudder to think what other fun facts he’s filling my cousin’s head with. I’ll never live this shit down. I’ll have to kill Jake to keep this from getting out. I brace myself for Nina’s attack, but she brushes past me and leaves the bathroom. Whoever said silence was golden had obviously never encountered a quiet woman. I’ve always felt it better to get problems out in the open, rather than let them fester into something uglier. But women like to “process.” Which is code for, striking when you least expect it. They run through every possible scenario and figure out ways to neatly box you in so you have no choice but to wave the white flag and beg for mercy. Hell, I’d be tempted to toss out a few tears right now if she’d let this go. Dare to dream. Even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I move through my home until I find her in the kitchen standing in front of the microwave. She opens the door and tosses a bag of popcorn inside. A chill runs down my spine as she whistles while waiting for her snack. “How can you possibly be hungry after eating that much food an hour ago?” Oh, shit. Rookie mistake, Moretti. I know better than to question a woman’s eating habits, especially one who’s already pissed at me. Clearly, I’m not of sound mind right now.
“It’s for Walking Dead. I always have a snack when I’m watching it.” She cuts her eyes at me in a way that makes me want to crawl from the kitchen. “If seeing a woman eat is too nauseating for you, then feel free to go elsewhere.” She empties the bag into a nearby bowl and finds the bottle of movie theater butter in the cabinet. I applaud myself for keeping a straight face while she saturates the popcorn until it glistens. I have a feeling that part of it is for my benefit, but I wisely avert my gaze and zip my lips.
When she picks up her snack and turns toward the living room, I open the refrigerator and grab a beer. “What would you like to drink?” There’s no fucking way I’ll take her a glass of water or a diet soft drink at this point even though most women I know seem to prefer those two things.
I know I was right to wait when she calls out, “Coke. Regular, if you have it.” She’s sitting cross-legged on my leather sofa while she flips through the channels on my remote. Her brow is furrowed as her finger frantically pushes the channel up button. “Oh my God, Moretti, where is AMC? I swear if Rick dies in the first part of the show, I’m going to lose it.” She drags a hand through her hair, leaving a piece sticking comically up. I think that ship has already sailed, Belle.
Risking bodily harm, I pluck the remote from her grasp and bring up the guide. Within a few moments, she’s happily munching on her snack while I’m staring at the television in revulsion. How can she eat during this? I want to fucking puke. This is the goriest show I’ve ever watched. Give me The Sopranos any day. Seeing some dude torture another is far easier to stomach than a zombie eating some guy’s arm off. “So this is your favorite show, huh? Isn’t this a bit… unsettling?”
She completely ignores my question as her attention remains riveted on the carnage unfolding in all its high-definition glory. It’s one of the few times I wish I didn’t have a television. At least fifteen minutes pass before she responds to my questions as if I’ve just asked them. “Minka and I have watched this since the beginning. Normally, we’d either be together or at least texting each other during it.” She shoots me a dirty look that plainly says, thanks for ruining it, asshole. I almost point out that no one has taken her cell phone away, but I’d rather not open that can of worms tonight. This is a tricky situation that even I’m not sure how to explain. Neither are technically our prisoners—nor are they free to go. The official story is they’re under our protection. If Nina should refuse that, then this will get much more difficult. I am concerned for her safety—that much is true—as is the fact that she’s at risk right now with the unrest in our world. What she doesn’t know is that she’s sitting mere inches away from the man who may have very well painted a target on her back.
“This doesn’t seem like your kind of thing,” I say, attempting to get her off the subject of Minka.
“There are more things in life than the Playboy Channel, Moretti.” She smirks, then goes back to ignoring me when the commercial break is over.
Despite myself, I’m thoroughly engrossed in the violent drama by the time it ends. I stare at the screen in bewilderment, thinking I must have missed something. “Where the hell did they take Rick? I thought you said he was going to die, but he’s clearly alive in the helicopter.” Instead of a response, I hear a sniffle. Really? Swear to fuck, I refuse to be jealous of a television character. Exasperated and more than a little tired, I grumble, “Belle, this isn’t real. The dude is an actor who makes a shitload of money to wear a nasty, sweat-stained shirt every week. He’s somewhere safe and sound having a beer and hoping they’ll turn this crap into a movie.” I feel like the world’s biggest jerk when her sniffles turn into full-blown sobs. I’ve never been good with tears, and Nina has been on an emotional roller coaster since learning of Franklin’s death. I reach out and awkwardly pat her knee, attempting to offer her comfort that says without actually saying, sorry I killed your family earlier. Greeting card companies would clean up if they expanded their selection of sympathy cards.
Her mascara has smeared so much that she resembles a raccoon when she stares at me. “Why does everything I love go away, Marco? Am I cursed?”
Oh fuck. Go ahead and take me now, Lord. Put me out of my misery. I’m still struggling to find the right words when she shocks the hell out of me by getting on her knees and crawling in my lap. God, it seems, has a wicked sense of humor. “Belle,” I murmur helplessly. “Rick is still alive. I know you love the show, and this sort of thing can be kinda… hard to handle, but he didn’t get eaten by a zombie, so there’s still hope, baby.” I wince at the intimacy of the endearment I’ve used, but she doesn’t appear to have noticed.
Instead of helping, I seem to be doing the opposite. My poor shirt is taking the brunt of the damage. It’s like trying to use a Kleenex to mop up the Hoover Dam. I’ll take the wet shirt any day, though, over the damp nose she has pressed into the side of my neck now. “It’s not just that,” she hiccups, and I pat her back as if I’m trying to burp an infant. Hell, I have no clue what to do with a hysterical woman. Usually, when they lose it around me, they throw shit and use “fuck” a lot. What now? Maybe a glass of water—or vodka? Bottle of Valium? I’m seriously considering texting my mom for advice when she begins speaking again. Crap, she was waiting for me to ask her what else she is upset over. But… I don’t want to know. “First, there was my dad and then my mom.” Wait—is her father dead? Fuck, I have no clue. Better to remain quiet and hope she falls asleep. Or I could send one of the guys for more food. That seems to make her happy. “And even though I was conflicted over his way of life, I loved Franklin. And now he’s gone. Frankie was a turd, and I didn’t like him at all.” I’m nodding, in full agreement on that last statement when she slaps her hand over her mouth so loudly that I wince. Damn, that must have hurt. Her bottom lip is wobbling as she says tearfully, “I’m going to hell now, right? It’s a sin to speak badly of the dead.”
“You get a pass when the recently deceased is a worthless twat,” I say confidently. Let’s hope that extends to those who exterminate said twats from the earth.
She blinks rapidly, and I can almost see her brain processing my words. Even if she calls bullshit, at least it’s stopped the crying for the moment. I’m silently congratulating myself on talking her from the ledge when the tears return—again. Fuck me, how long has this been going on? Shouldn’t she have run out of moisture by now? She nods in the direction of the kitchen as if I’m able to read her mind. More popcorn? Maybe she’s an emotional eater. “Then there’s the McRib. Another thing that leaves me again and again. I smile and welcome it into my life, but it doesn’t really care about my feelings, ya know? It disappears with no warning, and I’m left to wonder why.”
This has got to be a joke. I expect to see Jake and Langdon pop out of a nearby closet at any moment laughing their asses off. I’ll probably kill them, so I hope it’s worth it. I shoot her a grave look as if I’m on board with this madness. “Yeah, that one sucks the most, Belle. Fuck the Big Mac. That’s like winning runner-up in a beauty pageant. They pat your head and tell you how pretty you are, but you know different. If you were all that, you wouldn’t be standing on the sidelines while the hot chick walked off with the crown. Why not call a spade a spade, am I right? If you’re not a winner, you’re a loser. If you’re not a McRib, you’re a fucking burger.” That was kind of brilliant if I must say so.
Her eyes are so wide they’re damn near crossing. She hasn’t blinked in at least a minute, and it’s beginning to freak me out slightly. “I… guess so,” she says carefully. Then she snaps her fingers, and my balls want to pack up and run. “What about Rick Grimes?”
“Who in the hell is that?” I mutter before dropping my head in defeat. “We aren’t back to Walking Dead, are we? For the love of—Belle, it’s not real. Do you lose it every time the zombies go all buffet on some poor bastard?” When she shakes her head, I grip her shoulders gently but firmly. “Then why are you so… emotional over tonight’s episode? The dude didn’t even die. From what little I saw, he’s better off than the rest of them. You should be pissed that poor Molly and Darin are left riding horses and shooting a bow while he’s on his way back to the land of WiFi and Prozac.”
Something that sounds suspiciously like a giggle escapes her throat. “It’s Maggie and Daryl.” She snorts. “And where did the Prozac thing come from? I can think of many more important items than that.”
“Are you serious? In a fucked-up world like that, a good anti-depressant would be priceless. The ability to go to your happy place while your best friend is zombie kibble, what could be better? Granted, an argument could be made for Jack Daniel’s, but you could easily blow through that in a night. Better to have something on hand for the long term.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. What now? I’m seriously getting whiplash from these rapid-fire mood changes. Happy, sad, pissed, confused, and deranged. And that’s just in the past half hour. I’m worn the fuck out. I was joking about the Prozac, but that might not be such a bad idea. “Based on what I know about you, Moretti, I would have guessed that you’d find a tramp to ease your suffering and not a pill. Well, unless it was Viagra. No judgment,” she adds quickly. “All men have performance problems from time to time. There’s no shame in seeking medical attention.”
She did not go there. Both my dick and I are outraged. Question anything except my ability to perform in all circumstances—for however long I desire. She’s giving me an angelic smile that says she meant no offense, but I call bullshit. The little minx knew exactly what she was doing. Yet even knowing she’s pulling my chain, I still can’t help but take the bait. “I’ll have you know, Belle, that I’ve never needed help in that area.” I clamp my hands around her thighs and pull her snugly against the bulge in my pants. “I could fuck you right now until you couldn’t remember your name, and I’d just be getting started. Every time you moved the next day, you’d be reminded of the feel of my cock slamming inside you.” Her grin slides away as her breath catches in her throat. I’m smugly satisfied at turning the tables until I notice her nipples have hardened as they press against the material of her shirt. And that’s not the only thing that’s come to life. My cock is thrilled to discover that only a few layers of clothing separate us. I know I shouldn’t… She’s vulnerable, and only an asshole would take advantage of the situation we’re in now, but fuck I’ve wanted her for so long. Just one little taste of heaven before I return to hell…
It all begins innocently enough, a simple slide of my lips against hers—almost chaste. A gentle tracing of her mouth with the tip of my tongue. See, no problem. I’m in complete control—until I’m not. This is where things get fuzzy. One moment, I’m pressing teasing kisses against that beautiful pout, and the next, she’s captured my tongue and is sucking it into her mouth. This is where I officially lose it and turn into a fumbling schoolboy instead of a skilled lover. My only consolation is that she appears just as frantic as I am. My hands are everywhere at once as I attempt to touch every glorious inch I’ve previously been denied. I finally settle for gripping her ass and squeezing it. Not original in the least, but it feels so damn good. I’m not sure who’s responsible, but her shirt has been pulled up and her bra down. Wait—did she do that or did I? Who in the fuck cares? There’s a nipple near my mouth, and I don’t waste another second trying to figure out how it got there. Her back arches, and she cries out as my teeth nip the dusky tip, then I soothe the sting with a flick of my tongue. Holy hell, she tastes amazing, like a ripe peach dipped in bourbon. An odd combination to compare a woman to, but that’s exactly what Nina is to me—sweet and intoxicating. “Marco,” she moans, and I damn near come in my pants. Why is everything about this woman so sexy?
I’ve unbuttoned her jeans, and my hand is halfway to nirvana when my phone rings.
Ignore it. They’ll go away.
She lifts herself slightly, and I make it another inch before my two-way radio sounds.
Someone is dead.
I want to ignore it—fuck, do I ever—but that would be utterly foolish. “Goddammit,” I hiss as Nina looks up at me with eyes full of desire. If you hurry, you can pick right up… But I know that’s not going to happen. It’s like she transforms into Nina Gavino, ice queen in seconds. No vulnerable looks. No sex-crazed gaze. Shuttered expression. Which means, of course, she’s already pulling away. The universe fucking hates me. I click the intercom button on the radio and snarl, “WHAT?”
There’s a moment of silence on the other end. I rarely lose my cool, so obviously I’ve taken whoever the hell it is by surprise. I didn’t bother to look at the display before responding. Knowing my luck, it’s probably my mother. “Marco.” The grim tone in Jake’s voice effectively cuts through my pity-party. Something’s very wrong. “I took the kid home and—fuck, man, his family’s dead. Mother took a shot to the head and chest. Sister had three rounds in her. Forehead, leg, and gut. I went in with the kid to give an explanation about his new job and—goddammit, what a fucking mess. I got the kid out of there and wiped my prints. Hell, I didn’t know how you wanted to handle it.”
Most things in my world require tactful concealment. I’m not worried that Nina will call the police, but I wish I had spared her the details. Had I not been so distracted, the gruesome picture Jake just described wouldn’t have been another trauma Nina was subjected to. She’s sitting in the corner of my sofa now with that same blank expression she was wearing earlier. She’s retreated to that place we all go to when we can’t handle anything more. “If you’re certain you left nothing behind, then take the boy to the office and give him some time to decompress. The police will want to question him. As bad as I hate it, he really needs to be the one to give them a heads-up. Gonna look suspicious if he doesn’t officially find them and follow the usual procedure.”
“I agree.” Jake sighs. “Maybe Rutger can talk to his contact and ease the way a bit. Kid’s been in your apartment for days. Not that we want the scrutiny of being his alibi, but he couldn’t have done it. Well, I suppose he could have left and come back, but that’s unlikely. Someone would have seen him. Plus, they were killed today.” He pauses for a moment, and I can almost see him swallowing hard before he adds, “It was… still fresh.” I dart my eyes in Nina’s direction and note that she doesn’t appear to have moved an inch. Hell, her shirt is still pushed up on one side. As beautiful and desirable as she looks, sex is not even remotely on my mind. Not with this.
“Hey listen, let me think this through, and I’ll hit you up in a few.” I toss the radio aside and lean forward, rubbing absently at the tight knot in the back of my neck. Mother took a shot to the head and chest. Sister had three rounds in her. Forehead, leg, and gut. Fuck, it was a hit. Why Sophie? Related to me or some stupid shit of Langdon’s? Fuck. Sophie. What the fuck is going on?
“Who killed them, Marco?” she asks in a voice as vacant as her expression. Her ability to disassociate herself from reality is unnerving. It makes me wonder what kind of shit has gone down in her life for her to perfect that kind of defense mechanism. Few are born with such skill. It takes trauma to hone it to the point that she has.
“I don’t know, Belle,” I reply honestly. And even though I have shit to handle, I pull her back against my chest and give us both the comfort we need. She’s stiff at first, but she gradually relaxes as I absently drop a kiss onto the top of her head, while rubbing her back soothingly.
“It can’t be a coincidence,” she says, echoing my thoughts. “But why them? They’re not connected to either of our families other than working for you, right?”
“Correct.” I don’t elaborate because this isn’t a conversation we should be having. Nina already knows far too much and not only would the Gavinos frown on her involvement, but my family wouldn’t like it either. You don’t bring outsiders to dinner without an invitation, and you damn sure don’t give a member of another family an all-access pass to your business. That’s a diplomatic way of saying, trust no one, especially mafia. She knows too much. I might have had mostly good reasons for protecting her, but I’m beginning to think she’d have been better off on her own. I can only shield her so much from what’s going on—unless I hand her off to someone much further down the food chain than me. My feelings for her are already interfering with my job and also my judgment. I’m making all kinds of excuses to justify her staying with me, when none are valid now.
“So what’s the next move? Do we talk to Langdon and see what he knows or maybe check it out ourselves before the police become involved?”
I untangle her from my arms and get to my feet. I have to put some distance between us, so I can return to the asshole she’s always accusing me of being. That guy can handle hurting her feelings. The man who only moments ago had his tongue in her mouth cannot. “We don’t have a move, Nina. You’re currently under our protection—that’s it. I can no more discuss family business with you than I can Langdon or my barber. It’s regrettable that you heard my conversation with Jake. It was an oversight on my part and not an attempt to include you in our operations.” Please don’t fucking cry. Her eyes are ablaze with anger—but her lips are trembling. I sound like an obnoxious prick, but I have to get my point across to her. I’m trying to save your life, Belle. The muscle in my cheek clenches as I await the explosion that never comes. Instead, she stands without uttering a word and walks away. Seconds later, I hear the bedroom door quietly close and then there’s nothing. Her silence is more effective than a hard kick to the balls. And no doubt she knows that too. But what is she thinking? No, Moretti, don’t go there.
How could there possibly be any happy marriages in our world? I’m not naïve. There must be some pillow talk going on. The Moretti women are not clueless. They knew what they were signing on for before they took their vows. There’s also some who would enjoy looking like a big shot by bragging to their significant other. And there are undoubtedly wives who get tired of being kept in the dark and begin asking questions and snooping around. It’s understandable on both accounts. It’s against human nature to bind yourself to someone, yet keep a big chunk of your life from him or her. Sex and/or relationships are seldom simple. And it’s doubly complicated for me. Fuck, if I mess up and talk in my sleep with the wrong person around, things could get ugly in a hurry. I wish I were a normal man who could follow Nina with my tail tucked between my legs and beg for forgiveness, but that’s not going to happen. Instead, I shoot Jake a text and fix myself a cup of coffee while I wait for him. It’s gonna be a long night, and it has little to do with Sophie’s family and everything to do with the woman down the hall. For a moment, she was mine, and she tasted every bit as sweet as I expected.
But now I know she’ll never be mine.
Fuck.
Nina
I flop onto Marco’s big king-sized bed, feeling pathetically sorry for myself. I’m reeling from his words to me. It wasn’t so much what he said, but the cold way he delivered the smackdown. I’m not sure why it was such a surprise, all things considered, but I hadn’t expected it after what had happened between us. Which was a damn joke. The man fucked everything that moved. He was quite experienced at keeping his personal and professional life separated. His bimbos probably don’t think unless he allows it. Don’t knock them, sweetheart, you were on your way to joining their ranks. And that thought is more humiliating than anything. The first moment we’re alone, and I toss my morals right out the window to hump his lap like a bitch in heat. How am I any better than the blonde that so impressed Langdon? Another chick whose panties magically fell away when Marco Moretti turned on the charm. Maybe this is what happens when you write romance novels for a living. Eventually, you look for hot make-out sessions and believe it means something. But it’s Marco, and I know there has been no pining for me on his end.
I need to hash this out with Minka. She’ll remind me to stay clear of Marco. I lift my head and look around until I spot my purse a few feet away. I crawl over to it and dig my phone from the side pocket. I’m still surprised Marco hasn’t confiscated it yet. I don’t want to risk calling her and alerting Nic. I can only hope he hasn’t already taken hers. I send her a text in our own unique code and anxiously await a reply. Where is she? I yawn and wearily put the phone on vibrate and then lay it against my chest, so I’ll know when she responds.
In the meantime, my thoughts drift over the events of the day, and I feel a pang in my heart. Franklin is dead. I still can’t quite believe it. He’s always been larger than life to me. Invincible. He was no longer a young man, but still—how could he have let someone kill him? There’s something so human about that. Not sure what I was expecting, but he was mafia. I would have been less surprised by a car bomb, the kind that blew Marco’s car to pieces. Now that was the type of mob stuff you see on television. I know it’s wrong of me, but if Franklin had to die, then I’m absurdly glad that Frankie Jr. went out with him. My future would be scary indeed if he were alive and unchecked by his father. Although Franklin could be somewhat blind to his son’s many faults, he wasn’t stupid, by any means. And Frankie was careful about crossing big lines that he knew his father would disapprove of, which afforded me a small amount of protection. Well, that and the fact that Minka scared the hell out of him. She’d always known he was a snake, and it hadn’t taken her long to understand that he couldn’t be trusted where I was concerned. She’s always brushed aside my gratitude, but we both know that our friendship has had many far-reaching implications and that may well be the most important one.
I like to think that my mom sent Minka to me to make up in some small way for leaving me behind. I realize it’s childish and utterly pointless to blame someone for dying—it wasn’t as if cancer was optional—but she postponed going to the doctor until it was too late. If only she’d gone earlier, then maybe she’d still be alive. She admitted toward the end that there had been a sense of foreboding. She’d known that the stomach pain she was feeling was more than one of the simple ulcers she’d had before. But she wanted to believe that if she ignored it, then it would go away. So that’s what she did.
And to make matters worse, she assured Franklin she had seen a doctor, and it was nothing. The only one not blindsided by the news that she had stage 4 pancreatic cancer was her. It’s one of the few times I can remember her arguing with Franklin. He’d been so angry, accusing her of recklessly throwing not only her life away, but his and mine as well. Of course, the next day, he hired the best doctors available. But as so many have learned, money can do many things, but it cannot buy you a cure when none exists. She squandered all her options by disregarding the warning signs. By being afraid.
I sometimes wonder if she did it on purpose. I do believe Franklin made her happy in a way and that she loved him, but a part of her never got over my father, her high school sweetheart and the love of her life. He was killed in a hunting accident, mistaken for a deer. According to her, he never knew she was pregnant. And unfortunately, she’d been raised by a single mother who had no desire to raise another child and certainly didn’t want to be a grandmother. So after she had me, she relied on help from the state until she could find a job and a place to live. I hadn’t been old enough then to understand how tough things must have been for her, but she never once made me feel as if I was a burden. Our apartment was small, but we always had what we needed. As I got older, I knew other kids dressed better than I did, and their parents had nicer cars, but I never cared. Thanks to the very kind man who owned the restaurant where she was a waitress, she was able to work a flexible schedule that allowed her to attend all my school functions and field trips. People seemed to gravitate to her since she was not only pretty but outgoing as well. I’d been so proud to have her as my mom. And my biggest supporter. Which also meant I missed her so very much.
Then Franklin Gavino walked into the restaurant, and it felt as if our lives changed overnight. He lavished her with nice things she’d never been able to afford, but more importantly, he gave her his time and attention. He made her feel as if she mattered, which was something she hadn’t felt in a long time—if ever. I was ten when they were married in a small service at Franklin’s home. My surname was changed along with my mother’s to Gavino. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal to me at the time. Heck, other than being jealous of sharing my mom, I was excited over our new adventure, as she liked to call it. But like every fairy tale, there had to be an evil turd—and that was where Frankie Jr. came in. He played the part of adoring brother when our parents were around, but when we were alone, he scared the hell out of me. Since he was bigger, he liked to bully me, then called me clumsy as if I tripped on my own rather than him pushing me. If that had been his only sin, I could have lived with it. But something in the way he looked at me set alarm bells off—loudly. Thank God, he’s gone.
I don’t know if he witnessed something I wasn’t aware of, but Franklin appeared to be of a similar mind where his son was concerned, and he tried to ensure we weren’t left alone in the house. Sadly, he’d been more observant than my own mother, who brushed aside all negative comments I made about Frankie. I think she was terrified of accepting it as the truth because it would mean her perfect new life wasn’t all that it seemed. And worse yet, she would have to take action. I know my mother loved me dearly, so I can only conclude that things must have been much harder for her than I realized before Franklin came along. That’s the only reason that makes any sense to me. I need to believe that desperately.
That’s why Minka had been such a hero to me. We met at a family gathering, and she took me under her wing as if we’d always been friends. Unlike some of the others, she hadn’t acted as if I didn’t belong because I wasn’t Gavino by blood. Hell, she mentioned more than once how envious she was of that very fact. She knew I had more freedom that she ever would. Her name made her a prisoner whereas, for me, it was more like loose shackles. Kind of like when celebrities receive a key to their home cities or an honorary degree from a university. It was simply for show and little else. In our case, it was Franklin’s attempt to make us into a normal family—something I had to commend him for. Even as I cursed him for putting me in the position I now found myself in. That was primarily how I viewed my relationship with my stepfather. Mostly a curse, but with a few sweet moments thrown in for variety. At least he tried. Oh, how I hated that voice in my head at times. The nasty bitch never failed to point out my shortcomings. I have no idea why, but it certainly liked Franklin better than me. And Marco too, for that matter.
Traitor.
And now I have no family left… and can admit I feel very alone.
Exhausted both mentally and physically, I snuggle into the soft comfort of Marco’s bed and try not to think of all the germs probably crawling atop his 5000 thread count sheets. If I remain on top of the comforter, I should be fine. It’s absurd, but I roll my eyes at myself and push everything else away. The necessity of staying here. The car bomb. Langdon and his family. Marco—especially—and my stupid lusting for a man as deep as a paper cut. No, it was time to tune out, take a nap, and hope that Minka has an answer. She always does. God help us both if the day comes when she draws a blank.