Chapter 9
NIC
F uck …Of all the things I expected out of tonight, this was not one of them. I was a dick earlier, I know that, but being a dick seems to be my only defense in a world where I’m not allowed to physically hurt people. I needed those boys, we were out with, to know who Lorna belonged to. She’s beautifully na?ve when it comes to other people's perceptions of her, and far too trusting. I learned that from a lawyer who’s buried somewhere in the woods with a hole in his head.
But despite all that, she’s here in my room, her pussy is already wet, her body so responsive to my touch that I can feel the energy; and the way she moans as I kiss her, has my dick pressing hard against her stomach. I’ve noticed that she’s been more irritable than usual in the past few days. Now I know why. She’s been suffering and the fact she’s come to me for help only proves how bad that suffering has become. I release her tits from the sports bra she’s wearing, avoiding touching them in case they’re still sore. I just want to look at them, I want to study her body and make note of any changes that are happening. I may have only had one night with Lorna James, but I remember every detail about it, and already I can see that her tits have gotten rounder.
Gently, I arch my hand around her throat. I need to feel in control because suddenly I’m nervous. I’ve never had to be careful with a woman before but the condition Lorna's in has me wary. I don’t want to hurt her, or the baby. All the books say it’s safe, but I remember wondering while I was reading if the people who wrote the book had ever had the kind of sex I’m used to.
“You have to tell me if I hurt you,” I whisper against her skin as I kiss my way up her jaw, using my free hand to take my cock out of my boxers. Gripping her ass, I lift her up off her feet and sit myself back on the mattress. I’m figuring I can’t hurt her if she’s the one on top, and that gives me peace of mind as I guide my cock to slowly slip inside her.
“How’s that?” I gather her hair and hold it at her nape as she rests her arms on my shoulders and lowers herself over me. She may not have much experience but it sure as hell feels like she knows what she’s doing as she gradually takes me until I’m balls deep.
“That's good,” she tells me, looking between our bodies at where we connect.
“You did the right thing coming to me.” I kiss her neck as I guide her hips up and down. “I promised I’d take care of you, give you whatever you need.” Lowering my hands, I spread her ass cheeks apart, squeezing them tight and making her moan some more.
“I think I’m going to come, already.” She makes a nervous little laugh as her nails dig into my shoulders and her hips thrust harder. This girl is wasting no one's time, she seems to know exactly what she wants and it makes me wonder how long she’s been suffering.
“That's a good girl, you take what you need,” I tell her, watching her body stiffen as she throws her head back and her walls grip my cock between them, to the point of pain. “Fuck, you look hot when you come. Look at you, all knocked up and desperate for cock.” I clasp under her jaw and hold her in place. “You want me to keep this desperate, little snatch full, don’t you? You want me to come inside you, again?”
She doesn’t speak, but her head nods enthusiastically.
“Yes, you do. You can try to deny it all you want, pretty girl, but you like my baby being inside you.”
She groans in frustration.
“You know it belongs there. You like that I own your body now.” I thrust my hips up, ensuring she feels me as deep as I can get. “You love knowing that no matter how much you hate me, I’m still going to take care of you.”
Her feeble attempt at a head shake makes me snigger.
“Tell me I’m right. Tell me I’m right, and I’ll fill this pregnant pussy with more of my cum.”
“Nic.” She shakes her head again, trying so hard to deny it.
“You can’t lie to me, Lorna. I fucking feel it. I feel the way this pussy is clenching at me. I see that look in your eyes even when I’m pissing you off. It’s me you came to tonight because you know you belong to me. Giving you what you need is my responsibility.” Just saying the words almost has me spilling inside her. I never imagined that knocking up my little sister's annoying friend could bring such satisfaction. “You're going to look so fucking adorable when this belly pops out.” I touch my palm to her stomach again. Ever since she's been living with me I’ve been holding back. I haven’t even wanted to admit to myself how much I want to put my hands on her. “Then everyone will know what I did to you. Everyone will know that you're mine.” She’s too distracted with pleasure to argue with me, maybe she doesn’t even want to. Who knows? Maybe, Lorna James is finally ready to succumb to what this is. I hold her body still as I offload inside her, making sure she feels each pulse my cock makes as I fill her tight, needy pussy with cum. Then wrapping her tight in my arms I hold on to her, clinging to her body like all of a sudden I’ve become the desperate one. I decide to wait until my heart is beating steady again before I ask her if she wants to stay in here with me tonight. I like the idea of her being close to me, sharing my space with her, and being able to touch her through the night. I’ve never felt that way about anyone before.
I’m just about to suggest it but her voice speaks over mine.
“This doesn’t mean I like you.” She kisses my cheek before standing up, picking her shorts up from the floor, and leaving me with a hard, dripping cock and a really bruised ego.
“Morning,” She breezes into the kitchen with a huge satisfied smile on her face. I swear she’s fucking with me as she takes a seat at the breakfast bar, acting like nothing happened. She smiles at me again as she reaches to grab one of the pastries I went out to get her, first thing. The sickness seems to have passed, but these are still the only things she can stomach eating in the mornings, and she may have pissed me off last night, but it’s still important that I keep her fed.
“Morning.” I clear my throat and finish the last of my coffee before getting off my stool and straightening myself out.
“Are you going somewhere?” She glances at the holdall I have waiting by the door.
“I’ll be back in time to pick you up for Serena’s birthday dinner.” I try not to look at her, if I do it will make me want to touch her again, and last night she made it very clear where we stand.
“I could drive myself if I had my car.” She picks the wrong time to bring up the subject of her fucking car again.
‘I said I’ll pick you up. I’ll be back in plenty of time.” I snap, heading toward the door and picking up my holdall.
“Wait, where are you going?” She gets up from the breakfast bar and comes after me, acting like she fucking cares.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I was hoping we could talk about what happened last night.” She keeps glancing at my holdall like it’s unnerving her.
“Nothing to talk about, you needed something, I provided it. That’s my job, right?” I throw the holdall over my shoulder and attempt to move on.
“Are you doing a job for Dario?” Her question makes me freeze.
“Don’t worry yourself with what I’m doing, just eat your breakfast and be ready for Seb when he gets here.”
“I don’t want Seb to take me to college. I want you to take me so we can talk.” She looks hurt, and it’s concerning how much I hate that
“Like I said, there's nothing to talk about.” I pick up my keys and walk out the door before there's any chance of me giving in to another one of her demands.
I arrive at Thadeo De Marco’s mansion forty-five minutes later, and seeing Dario sitting behind his old man's desk still makes me smirk. I should have killed the old bastard for what he did to my father and all he took from our family, but sometimes situations aren’t that simple. The De Marcos run New York City, has done for decades and my sister being married to Thadeo’s only son complicates things. To ruin them would ruin her, and thankfully, once Dario realized some of the underhand things his father had done, he gave his father no choice but to hand over his control.
Knowing how much it must frustrate Thadeo to see his son thriving in the power he took from him makes letting him live almost seem worth it. The old man is weak, he doesn’t even attend Dario’s meetings anymore. I hear rumors from his house staff that he barely leaves his bedroom these days. But family bonds must at least appear to be strong and Thadeo’s mansion is the best place for me and Dario to discuss business, especially the kind we need to discuss today.
“I see you came prepared,” Dario smirks as I place my holdall on his desk.
“Isn’t that the first rule?” I sit back in the chair opposite him and light myself a cigarette. I don’t smoke at home anymore. I don’t smoke in my car, either. I don’t smoke in any of the spaces that Lorna shares with me, and after everything that happened last night, I’m sure as hell in need of one.
“So, what have you got for me?” It’s been weeks since my last kill, the assassination of Jacopo went smoothly, so smoothly that the Lombardi brothers paid me a bonus. Though I took no pleasure in killing a man from 800 meters. I’m hoping the folder Dario has in front of him contains something a little more edgy. I could use something to take my frustration out on.
“We don’t know much about him, there's nothing on his history, but one thing we’re sure of is that he isn’t fucking Russian.” Dario passes me the file and allows me some time to scan through it.
“He’s selling from a bungalow out in the Bronx, I’ve had eyes on it for the past two weeks and what he’s shifting is definitely firearms, and definitely Russian.”
“Dario, you don’t want to start a war with the Russians.” I shake my head.
“You're correct, I do not. But last night, one of those guns was used to shoot Amanté Greco’s daughter in the face.” He places a clear plastic bag containing a gun with evidence written across it on the desk, and I don’t ask where he got it from…Some things you just don’t question.
“What?” I hear my chair creak as I lean forward.
“She was just a girl, eighteen. Amanté is one of my oldest district leaders, and I have promised him his vengeance. I need you to go to the Bronx, and find out who this Doyle guy sold this to. I want a name and an address before you put a bullet through his skull. The man has no business selling Russian metal in my city.”
“Understood.” I nod, knowing that going into this one comes with a risk. A man who trades weapons will undoubtedly be armed, Russians are picky over who they hire to undertake these kinds of ventures so I’m also assuming he will be skilled. I’m going to have to have my wits about me.
“Like I told you, I have been aware of him for some time. I’ve been watching. You don’t pick fights with the Russians without cause. What happened last night was tragic, but it also gives us the perfect reason to strike.
“How do you want this done?” I’ve taken care of more than a few men for Dario now, each time has been different to the one before. Storming into this man’s house will be too dangerous, I need the element of surprise, and time if I’m going to make him talk.
“Jeremy Doyle is a creature of habit. He leaves the house just once, every day. At one pm he takes a walk to his local store, picks himself up whatever he’s having for dinner, a twenty-pack of Marlboro, and a bottle of scotch. That’s when you will move in. You familiarize yourself with his space, learn what you can. Then wait for him to come home and catch him off guard.” Dario makes it sound so simple. “I need a clean job, Nic. You're right, we don’t want a war with the Russians. I also don’t want to give the NYPD any cause for alarm. I promised Chief Robert’s that we’d leave them out of this one.”
“So, I get the name from Doyle, kill him, then pass that name on to Amanté?” I make sure I’ve not missed anything out.
“You think you can handle that?” Dario checks,
“Amanté was a good friend of my father’s, I will see that he gets what he needs.” I nod my head and shove the folder into my holdall.
“Nic.” Dario catches me as I’m about to walk out the door. “You're doing well, I wasn’t going to tell you this yet, but I’m hearing whispers of Bruno Monti’s deteriorating health. I’m sure I don’t need to point out the fact that he has no sons. You would be eligible to put yourself forward, should he step down or pass on. I would support it.” I can tell from the slight smirk on my brother-in-law’s face that he’s happy to tell me this news. The two of us haven’t always gotten along, I very much misunderstood his intentions with my sister when they were first married and Dario misunderstood me. I’ve worked hard to earn his respect. I’m sure excelling at doing his dirty work, and the fact I allow his murdering cunt of a father to still breathe upstairs in his room has gone a long way to help with that.
“I appreciate that support.” I smile before making my way out the door. It’s time to fuck up Jeremy Doyle’s day.
I sit outside Doyle’s bungalow in one of the fake business-signed vans we use for surveillance. This one is for a security system installer and whoever used it before me clearly lives like an animal. It stinks of stale cigarette smoke and there are takeout wrappers filling the footwell. Right on cue, Doyle steps out of his front door and locks it behind him. I watch him stroll down the street until he turns the corner then I get to work. Picking up my holdall I cross the street, being vigilant as well as brisk in pace. I take the path that leads around the side of the house so I can gain access through the back door. I nearly leap out of my skin when a huge Rottweiler starts barking like crazy. He may be foaming at the mouth and looking like he’s going to kill me, but he’s not going to be able to do much while he’s locked up in that steel kennel. I check over the neighbours’ fences in case anyone’s feeling nosey today and when the coast is clear, I take out my lockpicks. I have to ignore the constant barking coming from behind me as I focus on the lock. It’s been a while since I’ve had to do something like this.
My father used to run this district for the DeMarcos when I was younger. We were, of course, upgraded to a much more profitable one once Madalina married Dario. I was lucky enough to never have to get by on those streets, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t want to learn about them. Back then I was convinced that one day these streets would be my responsibility. I wanted to understand them, how else could I make them better? Often, I would swap my fancy designer clothes for thrift store jeans and a worn, filthy sweater. I’d head into the streets of the Bronx and hang around with the wrong crowd. I figured the best way to know your streets is to eat, sleep, and breathe among them. I learned more during those days than my father could ever have taught me. He would pay thousands of pounds on boxing lessons for me but nothing taught me how to hold a guard or throw a punch better than fighting for scraps behind a 7-Eleven. You’ll never experience kindness quite like a man offering you the cardboard he sleeps on because “ Your young bones ain’t used to the ground like these worn ones .” Being able to pick a lock is one of the many things I learned from those days that I spent pretending to be a nobody. But it isn’t the most valuable.
I manage to get the door open so I can step inside the kitchen and I quickly learn that it’s not just Dario’s surveillance team that lives like animals. The counters are covered with dirty plates, crushed cans, and empty packets, the trash is overflowing and I don’t even want to know what the black shit floating in the basin is. I quickly pass through into the living room where there's a pyramid of cigarette ends piled in an ashtray on the coffee table. The TV is still on but muted, and I wouldn’t even lay a dead body on the old, ripped couch that's stained yellow and rests in front of it.
I start searching around for any evidence of guns, or a clue into who this Doyle guy is and where he fucking came from. There’s nothing in here, other than a bad smell so I head down the hall to search the rest of the place. There are two bedrooms which are pretty much empty, a bathroom you couldn’t pay me to take a crap in, and a closet which, ironically, contains a vacuum and a good stock of cleaning products. I close it back up and spot the bookshelf at the bottom of the hall. It’s shelves are stacked neatly with books and I get the feeling that I might have hit the jackpot.
Doyle clearly doesn’t take pride in anything, and this bookshelf looks exactly how you would expect a bookshelf to look.
It doesn’t fit in.
I step closer to it, checking down the hall toward the front door over my shoulder before I shift the thing sideways, and just like I expected, I see a hidden door.
Dragging the bookshelf further away from the wall, I take my lockpickers back out of my pocket and work on opening it. Once I’m in, I feel the wall for a light switch. Time is ticking on and Doyle could be back any minute, the whole point of me letting myself in was to gain the upper hand and catch him by surprise. I don’t want to be the one getting caught out. Eventually, I find a pull cord and when a light at the bottom of the stairs flickers on, I take a chance and follow them to the bottom.
Down here things appear to be very different. There's a cot bed in the corner of the room that’s neatly made up, a desk that is tidy and organized, and on the other side of the room are the crates I’ve been looking for. Lifting one of the lids the first thing I pull out is a VEPR 30-06
“Fuck.” I size up the impressive piece in my hand before placing it back and taking some pictures on my phone to show Dario. Then I get to what I’m really here for. I figure a man's desk is a good place to start when looking for his secrets.
There’s a framed picture of Doyle standing beside a little girl on his desk and it’s a harsh reminder that the man, who I’m here to kill today, is someone's father. Then I remind myself that Mia Greco was someone's daughter. That Doyle is selling dangerous weapons to bad people, and that he’s selling them on our streets.
I lift the screen of his laptop and when I see that it’s locked with a passcode, I decide to spend the limited time I have, searching elsewhere. I pull open the top drawer of the desk and search through typical top drawer-fucking-items. Loose change, a screwdriver, some loose bullets, and, of course, a takeout menu. I feel through the second, finding a handgun, along with a passport that names Doyle as Salvok Alekseevich and makes him a Russian citizen. I move on to the third but it’s locked.
“Here we go,” I whisper to myself, taking out my lockpickers again and crouching to the floor. I know nothing about Doyle, it seems as if no one does, and if he’s had special armed forces training, there isn’t much I can do to him that will get him talking. Maybe I can find a client list locked away here in the drawer, or a phone containing contacts, there has to be something.
It’s tough but, eventually, I get the damn thing open, and all I find is a sealed envelope taped to the back of another photo frame. There’s a note paperclipped to the envelope that says…
In the event of my death, please give this to my daughter.
I lift up the note and when I see the name written on the front I drop the frame like it just caught on fire.
“No!”
My head shakes as I pick it back up and slowly turn it around and my guts clench when my fear is confirmed.
“Fuck,” I whisper before quickly setting everything back in its place. I need to leave everything exactly as I found it and get the hell out of here. I rush back upstairs, dragging the bookshelf back into place, then hurry back to the kitchen so I can let myself out the back door. I press my shoulders to the wall and catch my breath before ensuring the coast is clear for me to cross the street to my van. When I see that I have a clear run, I walk as fast and as inconspicuous as I can manage to get in the driver’s seat.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! ” I slam my hand on the wheel, not knowing what the fuck I should do next. Or how Dario is going to react when he finds out that I’m going to have to fail him for the first time. What I do know is that Doyle is going to live to see another day while I figure it all out.