Chapter 2
Tonight is one of the craziest nights for the club. Crazy, as in Halloween seems to bring out the worst in mankind. It’s as if these fuckers think donning a costume gives them some kind of superpower to turn into the assholes they always wanted to be.
Me? I don’t need a fucking costume. I’m an asshole on a good day. Catch me on a bad one and…
Well, it’s better you don’t know.
I stare over the railing at the lower level. It’s only nine o’clock and the place is already packed. At least it’s a little quieter up here in the VIP section. This corner of the second floor is reserved for the Gambino family. My family.
Something about seeing the sea of people below me sends a wave of nostalgia through my veins. And I can’t help but wish my father were still alive to see the success of this club. He gave me shit about it for months. Hated the idea and insisted I needed to focus on the job I already had as underboss of the Gambino Crime Family. I went ahead and did it anyway, which shot me in the ass when the old bastard’s heart finally gave out and had me quickly moving up in the organization.
I always knew I was going to be Don. That I’d take over the family. I just didn’t expect it to happen before my thirtieth birthday. Instead of enjoying my youth like everyone else, like the fuckers crowded together below me, I have responsibility upon responsibility stacked up on my shoulders. The smallest mistake could be fatal. It could cost me my family, my friends… It could cost everyone their lives.
Doesn’t get more anxiety-inducing than that.
I glance to my left, at my kid brother, and know that I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep that from happening. No one is more important to me than Emilio. He’s two years younger than I am, and although we grew up in the same house, raised by the same parents, his life couldn’t be more different. He didn’t have to spend hours a day training, learning, preparing for the day he’d have to take over the family businesses.
Don’t get me wrong. Shit hasn’t been fucking rainbows and butterflies for him either. Both of us became made men at the age of sixteen. Like it was some fucking rite of passage. A passage no teenager should ever have to make.
“Oh, fuck!” Rafe, my best friend since we were in diapers, curses under his breath as he leans over the railing and peers down at the bar.
I follow his line of sight and notice what he’s staring at straight away. My fingers curl around the banister, my knuckles turning white.
“Antonio…” Rafe starts but quickly clamps his mouth shut when I turn my glare on him. He lifts his palms and takes a step back. “Don’t shoot the fucking messenger.” He laughs.
I ignore him and return my attention to her. Matilda Valentino. Tilly. A girl who should not be stepping one fucking foot inside this club. Not because our families are rivals either. Quite the opposite actually. I do a lot of business with the Valentinos.
Hold on… What the actual fuck is she wearing?
My dick stirs at the sight of her. Which is exactly why she shouldn’t fucking be here. Even when she’s wearing those long skirts and sweaters that show absolutely nothing of her figure, she makes my dick hard. But dressed like this? In that tight-as-fuck little red skirt and what I’m assuming is supposed to be a top but looks more like a bra…
Yeah, not fucking happening.
Like I said, I’ve done enough business with her family over the years to know that she does not belong in a place like this. And she certainly shouldn’t be dressed like that. It’s not her. I also shouldn’t be fantasizing about dragging her up to my office and bending her over my fucking desk.
“Fuck.” I run a hand down my face.
“You okay there, bro?” Rafe can’t hide the smirk on his lips. Not that he’s trying.
“No, I’m fucking not,” I grunt, without looking at him. Because I can’t take my eyes off her. I watch as she downs an entire cocktail before she makes her way through the club, leaving her two friends behind. “Where the fuck is she going?” I ask aloud as I start moving along the rail. Towards the stairs. Following her.
When I watch her push out through a side exit, I quicken my steps. She’s headed outside. That door won’t open once it closes behind her and she’ll be locked in a fucking alley.
I run down the stairs, everyone moving out of my way the moment they see me coming. Good, because I’d have no fucking problem knocking them on their asses. My shoulder slams into the door, pushing it open, and I come to a full stop.
Tilly is being shoved into the back of a cop car. “Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I call out.
The fucker slams the door shut, rounds the front, and jumps into the driver’s seat. His gaze meets mine through the glass, and he smirks. I rush forward in time to see him throw the car into reverse, his lights on as he guns it down the street.
“One double three, find out where that fucker is going,” I yell over a shoulder at Emilio—I knew he’d follow me—before turning around and storming back inside the club.
Rafe is holding the door open as I walk past him and make my way to the elevators that will take me down to the basement. He trails behind me all the way to my car. “I know you don’t want me to point out the obvious here, but what exactly do you expect to happen by going down to that station? You should just call her father,” he says.
I spin around on him. I don’t usually direct my anger at my best friend. Actually, that’s a lie. He’s just used to it. “You’re right. I don’t need you to point out the obvious. Stay here. Make sure Emilio doesn’t burn the place to the fucking ground.” I jump into my car and start the ignition.
As I’m pulling out onto the street, my phone lights up with a message from my brother.
E:
17th Precinct, 167 E 51st Street, Sergeant Alan Murphy and Officer Daniel Ginnes.
I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and peel out of the garage, horns blasting in every direction as I weave in and out of the bullshit city traffic. The more I picture Tilly being led away in a pair of cuffs, the more my fucking anger rises to the surface. By the time I pull up in front of the station, I’ve reached my boiling point.
I storm into the building. The fucker on desk duty looks up, clearly startled. His face pales when recognition sets in.
That’s right, asshole. You should be fucking scared.
I own most of the pigs in this city. Everyone has a price. You just have to find out what it is. And if they don’t submit to being bribed at the get-go, they will… once you dig up all of their dirty fucking laundry and hang it over their heads.
“Where the fuck is she?” I growl, causing every head in the joint to turn my way.
“W-who?” the kid stutters out.
“Matilda Valentino. One of you fuckers cuffed her and brought her in. So, like I said, where the fuck is she?”
“Ah, Murphy took a girl into interview room three,” one of the detectives speaks up from a desk on the right.
“What are the charges?” I’m curious as to what the fuck they think they have on her. That girl is pure fucking innocence.
“Prostitution…”
My eyes widen, and my fists clench at my sides. “What the fuck did you just say?” I ask through gritted teeth. “Forget it. Which way?”
He points to a closed door and I stalk over and tug it open. My glare hones in on Tilly right away. She’s seated at the table, her wrists still bound and her head down. “Remove those now.” I point at the cuffs as I step into the room.
“Who the fuck are you?” the sergeant asks.
I feel someone rush in behind me, a detective I recognize. “Do what he says, Murphy, now.”
“Why the fuck should I?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll break your fucking hands and make you remove them with mangled fingers,” I growl out. The whole time I don’t take my eyes off Tilly’s face. She’s staring back at me, her brown eyes big and wide. There’s no fear there, though. A little bit of embarrassment maybe, but not an ounce of fucking fear.
“Are you threatening a police officer?” Murphy pushes to his feet, as if the change in position will somehow shift the power dynamic here. It won’t.
“No, not threatening, promising,” I tell him.
“Fuck. Mr. Gambino, sorry.” The detective maneuvers around me, walks over to Tilly, and uncuffs her. I reach for her arm and pull her upright. “This interview is over—scratch that. It can’t be over because it never fucking happened.”
“You can’t do that,” Murphy says.
“I already did,” I tell him. I’ll deal with his ass later. After I take Tilly home.
I turn around and walk out, tugging Tilly behind me. My fingers clench around her wrist. Fuck, I shouldn’t have touched her. Her skin is soft, smooth under my fingers. Too soft. Too smooth. And way too fucking intoxicating.
Tilly is silent. She doesn’t say a word as I open the passenger door for her and usher her inside. As I climb into the driver’s seat and pull out into the traffic. It’s not until I park in front of my house thirty minutes later that she turns to me with a questioning look on her face.
“Where are we?”
“My place,” I grunt before opening my door. Then I walk around to her side and hold out a hand.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t hesitate to take it. “Why?”
That’s a good fucking question. Why the fuck did I bring her here?
“I don’t know.” I shake my head and pull her through the house.
It’s cliché as fuck to say. But it doesn’t make it any less true. Matilda Valentino is not like most girls. She doesn’t blink an eye when we brush past the armed guards. She’s not stunned by any of the opulence. And she doesn’t question what it is I do. Because this is exactly how she grew up too.
With that mental reminder, I drop her hand like her touch alone is going to burn through me. Then I walk into my bedroom and into my closet, pulling out a t-shirt. When I turn back around, I find Tilly waiting in the middle of the room. Staring back at me.
“Put this on,” I tell her.
“Why?” she asks.
“Because right now, you look every bit the hooker you were accused of being.”
Her face drops and her arms fold over her stomach. Too fucking late. I’ve already seen it, all that bare fucking skin, and it’s not something I’m going to get out of my head in a hurry.
“You didn’t have to come and get me. They would have had to let me out eventually. And it’s Halloween. I’m a devil, not a hooker,” she says.
“What you are is temptation incarnate. Put the shirt on, Matilda. There’s an empty guest room down the hall, to your right. Use it. I’ll take you home in the morning.”
“Why am I here, Antonio?” she asks, taking the shirt out of my hand.
Hearing my name on her lips does something to me. Though I’d much rather hear her screaming it. “Because I’m a nice guy, and I wasn’t going to leave you sitting in a fucking police station.”
She blinks at me. Once, twice. Before a smirk curls her lips. “I’ve never heard anyone refer to you as a nice guy,” she says before turning around and walking out of the room.
I watch her ass sway as she goes. Even though I know I shouldn’t.