Married to the Bad Boy Page 2

  “I like to cut to the chase. Life’s too short to spend it talking about bullshit.”

  “Me too. And the answer is no.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re coming home with me tonight.”

  She cocks her head and crosses her legs. “I’m not interested.”

  “Your body tells me something different.”

  Then she raises a middle finger with a shadow of a grin ghosting her face. “How about now? What is my body telling you right now?”

  My chest shakes with laughter at this little spitfire. “It tells me that you like the chase.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She rolls her eyes again at me, brushing an errant strand from her head, and I catch her wrist in mine. Elena sucks in her breath slightly and blood rushes to my chest when I feel her heartbeat through her skin.

  “You like the filthy shit I keep whispering in your ear. Admit it.”

  “Maybe I do, but I’m still not interested.”

  She says one thing, but doesn’t make a move to pull from my grasp. Like a flower starved of sunlight, she opens up to me. Wants more. There’s a vein jumping in her neck: I. Want. Him.

  A flash of irritation sears my chest. “You have a boyfriend, right?”

  Elena sips her drink quietly.

  “Fuck him. Come home with me instead.”

  “He’s more like an asshole ex.” Her eyes darken at the mention of him.

  Ah, even better.

  “Didn’t I tell you? I’ll make you forget about him.”

  Her eyes shine like dark gems as she stares at me, her bottom lip trembling as if she dares to believe.

  Fuck, I want to get closer to this girl, but I want her without all the guys gawking at her, so I stand up.

  “Take your drink. C’mon.”

  “Where are we—?”

  I take her hand and pull her from the bar stools, bringing her to the back rooms with VIP booths. The noise drops away slightly as we enter the mostly deserted VIP room. I sit down, still holding her hand. She looks hesitant, but my smile wins her over. It always wins them over.

  She slides over the booth, and I don’t throw an arm over her like I want to. The leather couch squeaks as she moves closer to me, her thigh gently touching mine as she turns her body toward me. Her big, expressive eyes tremble in the low light. This girl is fucking scared. Nervous?

  I push it aside as I take her in. My eyes can’t get enough of the smoothness of her skin, the way the dress folds over her tits and ass, and her lips, slightly puffy as though from a bee sting.

  “So is this where you’re going to make me come with your tongue?” The last bit shakes from her voice in a nervous laugh.

  “If that’s what you want, sure.”

  She inhales deeply and exhales in a shuddering breath. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

  “I do.”

  My finger runs along her jaw, turning her face toward mine so that those stung lips are right under mine. I hold her there the same way I’d hold her over the edge of a cliff. She trembles, waiting for me to make the first move. Her breath mists over my face and then she shakes her head.

  “No, I can’t.”

  No. Yes. No. Yes. Make up your fucking mind.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t while he’s still in my life.”

  Like I give a fuck about stepping on some other douchebag’s toes.

  Her brown eyes widen. “Seriously, if he saw me with someone else he’d—”

  “Elena.”

  My thumb moves across her cheek, under those beautiful, blowjob lips that I’d love to give a test run.

  “What?”

  “Shut up.”

  Then I kiss her.

  It’s like an instant high the moment my lips touch hers. The heat I’ve been watching flush her skin burns into my mouth. My hands drop down her silky neck, and I take a fistful of her hair and sweep it aside. Blood pounds through my veins as my tongue sweeps over her bottom lip. Then I grasp the base of her neck, my cock pounding with blood.

  She pulls away from me with a painful yelp, her hands flying to her neck, where I notice shadows of purple. What the fuck? Are those bruises?

  My chest slowly fills with heat as I connect the dots. Elena lets her hands fall from her neck and shakes her hair back into place, flattening it nervously.

  “I—this is a bad idea.”

  My cock screams for me to keep going, to pin her down and lick her from head to toe.

  “If it’s a bad idea, why did you follow me in here?”

  Elena’s fingers linger on my chest. A flare of warmth spreads where she touches me and she lifts her head.

  “I was selfish.”

  A weak feeling seizes my chest when she says that. I don’t know why. “You’re not selfish for wanting me. Ditch the loser and come home with me.”

  A sad smile twitches across her face. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “It is.”

  I bend my head again, taking her lips in mine before she can utter a protest. Ah—fuck, the way she feels, her body rubbing against mine, her soft lips. Her palm rides my chest, the heel digging into my muscles. I just can’t wait another moment without knowing what her tits feel like, so I brush my palm against the warm curve of her breast. My thumb kneads her hard nipple as I deepen the kiss. She utters a moan against my lips that makes my dick throb. I squeeze her and then my hand moves to her waist and I take a handful of her flesh.

  “Ow!”

  Elena breaks off the kiss with a painful cry, and I snatch my hand away as if it were burned. Jesus, is she covered in bruises?

  Small tears bead in her dark eyes and a surge of rage flashes across my eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  She shakes her head, dismissive. “It’s fine.”

  Like hell it is.

  “Who is your ex?”

  “Why?”

  “So I can beat the shit out of him.”

  It bursts out of me before I can really think about what I’m saying, but it occurs to me that I really want to do this. I want to find the prick and bash his fucking head in. What kind of man hits a woman? It boils my blood to see this kind of shit. I’m no white knight, but I want this girl to not flinch when I touch her.

  “Yeah, that’s not a good idea.”

  Surprise rattles through my head. “Are you one of those chicks that keeps running back to the guy who beats you up?”

  The icy glare she shoots me says it all. “Fuck you.”

  “Then why’s it not a good idea?”

  “Look, you seem like a tough guy and all, but my ex is—ah, connected.”

  Connected. He’s in the mob? Huh. Interesting.

  “You can say the word, you know. It’s not a bad one. Mafia.”

  Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. “He’s a wise guy.”

  “So am I, hon.”

  The energy shifts between us. All of a sudden, it’s tense. I reach down to my ankle and show her the piece I have strapped there. She sits up straighter and I have to laugh at her startled expression. An apprehensive look overcomes her face.

  “Are you—are you with Johnny’s crew?”

  Her wispy voice trembles from her uncertain lips, and I incline my head.

  She knows Johnny—knows who I’m connected to. This is getting more and more interesting.

  Elena drops her voice, adopting a frightened timbre. “Could I ask you—I mean, are you the right person?”

  “I work for John. You can ask me anything.”

  Elena bites her thumb anxiously, shooting me looks before she finally sighs. “I need to put a hit on someone, and I’ve a lot of cash.”

  A hit.

  My head turns so violently that I pull a muscle in my neck. I study her. It’s not often that I get asked for a hit from a woman. Her eyes burn with a quiet intensity that instantly raises my suspicions. Is she with the cops? Nah, I fucking doubt it.

  “Let me guess, your boyfriend?”

&n
bsp; She nods.

  Plenty of women have hired my services to “take care” of violent boyfriends. My fists. Their face. That’s all it takes for them to walk away forever.

  Not this guy.

  A violent surge of energy pounds through my veins, making the ones on my hands swell.

  “I think I have a pretty good idea, but why?”

  She slowly licks her lips and just the small motion is enough to make my dick throb.

  “I left him and he’s coming for me. He won’t stop until I’m dead. It’s him or me.”

  I breathe in her tantalizing scent, my eyes all over her generous cleavage, and my balls seize when her thighs bump against mine. I reach up, brushing back her dark-brown hair, and I touch one of the bruises on her neck. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.

  “Sure you want to do this? I’ve handled guys like this before.”

  Her voice hardens and her big eyes narrow at me. “I want him dead. I have ten thousand American dollars in cash.”

  Well, this isn’t quite how I imagined my night ending up. Fuck. I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. This angelic, little Italian girl who looks as though she would shrink from the sight of blood is asking me to kill a man. Her boyfriend.

  “What’s his name?”

  The intensity from her eyes finally drops as she glances away and murmurs the name. It’s so soft that I can barely hear it. “R-Rafael Costa.”

  My insides blaze when I hear the name. I only know one Rafael Costa, and he’s in New York. He’s one of us—La Cosa Nostra. The new boss, Vincent, would chop my head off if I touched one of his made guys.

  Disappointment settles in my guts like lead as I lift myself from the couch and grab a couple glasses along with a huge bottle of vodka.

  I can’t help her. Fuck.

  “Will you do it?”

  I sit back down next to her, my eyes on her beautiful body. I imagine it sprawled on a floor somewhere, a hairline crack in her skull, a red pool of blood behind her head.

  My jaw aches. Turning back to the table, I pour a couple glasses and press one into her questioning hands.

  “Drink, sweetheart. You look like you could use it.”

  Elena lets out a sigh and brings the drink to her lips. “You’re not wrong.”

  Heat burns down my chest as I swallow the alcohol, the warmth glowing in my cock as her body jostles next to me. She drains the glass and reaches the bottle before I can pour her another. The crazy broad just takes it as if she owns it.

  I like her already.

  “Will you do it?”

  I hate saying the next few words.

  “He’s a made guy. I can’t.”

  Elena’s face falls horribly for a moment right as she brings the second drink to her mouth. For a moment I’m horrified that she might cry, but the look disappears. She shrugs, indifferent.

  “Whatever.”

  Whatever. Yeah fucking right.

  Fuck. I don’t want to know anything about this woman. I don’t want to feel sorry for her, and I shouldn’t want anything to do with her. She’s another guy’s girl, but he doesn’t respect her, so why should I respect his claim?

  I catch a strand of her dark hair dangling in front of her face and twirl it in my finger before gently tucking it behind her ear. Her nostrils flare as I stroke the side of her cheek.

  “I’m going to go.”

  I catch her hand as she stands up. “No, come on. Stay.”

  Elena tugs it out of my grasp, shaking her head. “I can’t.”

  I don’t have the heart to lay more filthy lines on her, not when pity tightens my chest. I watch her leave the VIP lounge, her head still held high. It’s as though she’s not a victim.

  Then I’m left uncomfortably alone with my thoughts. Instead of picking up another chick, I go home. I wander to my bedroom and lay flat on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

  It’s the most empty moment of my day. I feel my heart beating, but nothing much else.

  * * *

  My boots slide through gray slush on the streets as my breath puffs out in white clouds. I reach for the door handle of Le Zinc, Johnny’s restaurant and headquarters. It’s a swanky, upscale French bistro with an antique zinc bar. I step inside the warmth gratefully, the sudden heat prickling my frozen fingers and toes. Pierre, a young guy who watches the door, nods at me as I enter.

  It’s noon and the place is packed. A mixture of Johnny’s crew and oblivious civilians fill the restaurant. Pierre takes the wool coat from my shoulders and I smooth the suit over my chest. Johnny sits at his usual table in the back. He stands up, smiling, his arms outstretched.

  “Tony, how are you?”

  Tommy, the new soldier, sits nearby, along with one of Johnny’s captains—Fred. At first sight, Johnny doesn’t look like much. He’s slender and slight of build, and usually wears a small smile, but he’s the thirty-five-year-old boss of the Cravotta family. At the age of twenty, he bought out all the payment companies and had all the construction companies in his pocket. At twenty-five, he bought out a dairy company up north and began extorting all restaurants and grocery stores that didn’t use Verdino cheese. Now every grocery store only stocks his cheese, and restaurants that fail to make protection payments go up in flames. When he was thirty, he backed Les Diables, a biker gang in the city, during the biker wars. They work for him now. He gets a taste from every construction company, restaurant, casino, and racetrack in Montreal. He’s invincible.

  It’s for those reasons that I always seem to forget to breathe in his presence. I’m not the kind of guy who gets nervous, but Johnny’s a fucking legend.

  He smiles at me as though I’m his best friend and pulls me into a fierce hug, and I kiss him on both cheeks. It means nothing. I’ve seen him smile like that to a man he pulled into an embrace, right before he dug his pistol into the man’s chest and killed him.

  “Hey, John.”

  “Have a seat. Do you want something to eat?” Always courteous, Johnny waves over someone even after I shake my head.

  He gives me a menu, but I know the thing by heart at this point. The waiter bustles to our table, his pen poised over a small notepad.

  “No, really, John. I’m good.”

  “At least have a drink with me.”

  The waiter grabs the bottle of wine, a vintage from Tuscany, and pours a glass for me. “All right.”

  He swirls his glass over the white tablecloth and lifts it to his lips. “Tabarnak, c’est bon.” Fuck, it’s good.

  My hand curls over the stem of the wineglass, and I take a small mouthful. It’s pretty fucking good—dry and full of flavor. I set the glass down, avoiding his painful stare.

  “I’ve bad news about Turner Construction,” I say finally, lifting my head to meet his eyes. “They won’t do business with us.”

  Johnny doesn’t say anything for a moment, but a sudden, caustic, burning heat flares from his eyeballs. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  I swallow hard. “They’re an American company—they don’t do business like us. They can’t accept bribes.”

  “Then you make them understand how it’s done.”

  I grit my teeth from the rumble in his voice. “I tried leaning on the boss a little, but I think they’re just going to leave Montreal. They just don’t want to deal with us. I’m sorry, John.”

  There’s nothing but the sound of people talking, the clatter of silverware, and John’s frozen stare boring into my skull. He opens his mouth.

  “I’m really disappointed with you, Tony. I thought you were a better negotiator.”

  I clench my hands over the table, feeling a surge of anger.

  Don’t get angry at the boss.

  “There was nothing else I could do. Americans don’t do business with the mob. It’s just that simple.”

  “Do you think I got to where I am now because I gave up that easily?”

  Quiet resentment builds inside my chest as he stares at me.

  I never wante
d this life for myself.

  “There’s something else I need you to do.”

  He reaches in his jacket and I tense for a moment, because he could easily be reaching for a gun. Johnny smiles at me as he takes a photograph from his inner jacket and shows it to me.

  It’s a family photo of Jack Vittorio, the former New York boss, and his wife and—the girl I met yesterday. Holy shit, she’s Jack Vittorio’s daughter?

  “This girl showed up in my restaurant yesterday, trying to contract a hit on a made guy.”

  “Yeah, I met her in Tommy’s bar. She asked me for the same thing.”

  Johnny smirks at me. “You’re fucking kidding me?”

  “Nope. I told her no, of course.”

  “Anyway, I need you to watch her. I don’t want anyone fucking up my relationship with New York or Les Diables. She might try going to them next. Do not let her.”

  An unpleasant twist leaves me feeling gutted as I stare into the photograph. She’s beautiful, really—the type of girl my Ma would love. Dark hair and innocent, big eyes. Italian.

  “And Tony?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Try to keep your dick in your pants.”

  “I can’t promise that,” I respond, grinning at the photo.

  He sighs loudly. “Go. Get the fuck out of here and start your collections.”

  The cold, dismissive tone freezes my jaw shut. I somehow manage to grunt out a good-bye and then I stand from the table. He’s looking somewhere else. It’s as if I’m already gone.

  Fucking hell, I need to get a new job.

  But that’s it, isn’t it? I can’t just quit—not after becoming a made member. It’s not just a job. It’s a way of life.

  I gather my wool coat and shrug it over my shoulders, eager to get out of there. At first it was great. All the pussy I could want and more money than I’d ever had, but after a while you start to notice that all the girls kind of look the same. They act the same, and they want the same things from you. Namely, your money. But I still want something to fill the gaping hole that girl nailed into my chest the other night.

  * * *

  The warmth slowly unfreezes my fingers as I flex them, pain prickling all over my skin as they thaw. I clench my jaw, thinking of the sickening sound of cracking bone. It replays over and over in my head. The image of the lead pipe in my hand repeats in my head as I smash it against his knees, producing a thick, meaty sound. His face contorts with pain as his knees explode into fragments. The gag I shove down his mouth only partially muffles his screams.