8. Chapter Eight—Carlotta
Chapter Eight—Carlotta
Swallowing back the bile building at the base of my throat, I bob my head to show I’ve heard him.
I shove my hands beneath the table to hide the tremors wracking through my flesh, sucking in a lungful of stale, dank, damp smelling air. My head feels so stuffy and full, I fear I’m going to faint. I need out of here. I need—
“Can I go now?” My voice wobbles audibly, but I’m past the point of caring.
Rome raises a brow at my tone but dips his own chin in response. His blonde bodyguard stands behind him, his hazel eyes lasered focused on me. The smile he once wore erased completely.
“We will see you soon, Carlotta.”
I barely hear him, too busy raising myself up on my shaky legs and crossing the short space to rip open the heavy door. My whole body feels like Jello.
Shoes clattering loudly against the metal staircase, I race past the stage, making it outside and down the strip club’s back alleyway before my stomach expels itself.
When I’ve finished retching, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, moving a foot away from my vomit and sinking to the hard ground. The exposed brickwork cuts into my back, but I don’t care.
Folding my arms around my legs, I rest my cheek on my knees and sob.
How can this be happening?
Just over a month ago, I was happily living my life…
The life I carved out and created for myself away from watchful eyes, gossiping mouths and violence.
Now, my brother is dead, leaving me alone with no family but our mother and if that wasn’t enough, I have to take his place as a member of The Thirteen or be killed on the spot for learning about their secrets.
God.
Another sob bursts from my burning throat.
This can’t be my life. I can’t have worked so hard—running away from home, cutting contact, making a life for myself—only to be pulled back into the world of Mafia gangs, violence and bloodshed in a single night.
But the truth of the matter is that I am.
I can’t let Cristiano’s death be in vain and if joining The Thirteen is my ticket to finding out what happened to him, then…
I have to do it.
I swallow dryly, grimacing at the sour taste coating my tongue.
Swiping away the tears coating my cheeks, I raise my head, stopping dead when I see him standing there, his large frame taking up most of the space at the mouth of the alleyway.
The amber streetlights beyond cause his angelic blond hair to shine brightly, the contours of his broad, muscular shoulders highlighted beneath his black leather jacket.
He takes a step towards me and then another, until he bends his knees, his mask covered face level with mine.
It’s not the usual balaclava mask I recall him wearing—this one simply covering the upper portion of his face like a masquerade mask.
I think I like this one better for through the eyeholes, I can just make out the hazel color of his iris’, dotted with a spark of brown around the outside. His lips, full and plush looking, form into a small smile.
“I should have known it was you.” He shrugs those broad shoulders of his. “Do you come as a package?”
He nods wordlessly, pressing the sealed bottle of water into my hand. I take it from him, but I make no move to open it. I can’t; tearing my eyes from his feels impossible.
“Rome Folonari.” I roll his name along my tongue for the first time. “Sir.”
A nod.
“And you…his bodyguard. Mr…”
“Cassiel,” he breathes. “Cassiel Angelo.”
“All this time.” I reach out, fingertips grazing along his sharp jawline. “All this time you’ve stood outside of room eleven, knowing your boss is in there fucking my brains out and you’ve never told me your name. Not even when I begged you. Do you remember that particular evening?”
He blinks, throat bobbing slowly under my touch. “As if I could ever forget. You begged so sweetly, Red. It had my cock hard for days.”
It’s my turn to blink, my pussy fluttering at his filthy words. What the hell is going on with me?
Pulling back my hand, I crack open the water, swallowing over half of it in one go. I can feel Cassiel’s eyes on me, but I don’t hold his gaze, instead focusing on anything but.
This man is dangerous.
My nipples shouldn’t be puckering in my bra, my greedy pussy growing wet at the thought of me on my knees begging Cassiel to fuck me.
I shouldn’t even be near him at all.
He’s a bodyguard to the scariest Mafia don I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, with red stained hands large enough to break open my ribcage in one fell swoop. Not to mention his legs—thick and long—I’d never outrun him in a month of Sunday’s.
I should be fucking terrified of him.
So, why aren’t I?
“Did you both know who I was all along?” I scoff at my own question, watching a rat scurry through the overflowing trash. “Of fucking course, you did. Don’t be so na?ve, Carlotta.”
Tipping my head back, I close my eyes and exhale shakily.
All those months… all those months I’ve been visiting Nameless, smiling at the blond bodyguard standing outside of Sir’s room and here is he before me.
I’m finding it difficult to wrap my head around the fact that he’s the same man who held an umbrella above my head at my brother’s funeral so I wouldn’t catch my death.
The same man who hand delivered me my calling card for tonight.
The same man who threatened a man and, by the looks of the split above his eyebrow, punched him for lashing out at me.
“I don’t understand…” I mutter, more to myself than anything. “I don’t understand any of it.”
“You will,” Cassiel offers, voice low and smooth. “In time.”
With difficulty, I peel open my lids, peering down my nose at him. “How can I if I’m dead?”
“Dead?”
I nod. “If I don’t agree to become a member of The Thirteen then I’m dead. At least that’s what Sir—I mean Rome—I mean…for fuck’s sake, he, that’s what he said.”
Cassiel shakes his head slowly, a lock of his blond hair falling down into his eyebrows before he pushes it back. “That isn’t going to happen.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “How do you know that?”
“Because you aren’t going to decline his offer. You’re going to become one of us.”
“One of us?”
“Well… I’m not an official member of The Thirteen, but I’m with Rome, so I may as well be.”
“You say that like you’ve already got me all figured out.”
“Not all of you.” He pops his shoulders, cracking open the lid of his bottle of water and taking a glug. “But more than you think.”
I cock my head to the side, assessing him. “Wanna expand on that?”
“Not at this particular moment, no.”
Huffing out my exasperation through my nose, I roll my eyes. “What did you even follow me out here for?”
“To check on you.” He says it like it’s really that easy; wanting to check up on a stranger simply because of the kindness of his own heart.
I don’t have an answer, so I flatten my lips, finding a point of the exposed brick behind his head and focusing on it.
I’m not quite sure how long we sit together in silence, but it’s long enough for the shock and adrenaline of tonight to wear off, leaving me shivering with cold. The light jacket I’m wearing isn’t a match for the freezing cold February air whistling through the streets of the city.
“Thanks for the water,” I finally say, my voice cracking embarrassingly.
On shaky legs, I push myself to standing, my sudden movement disturbing the animals foraging through the spilled trash bags, causing them to skitter away in a flash.
Cassiel rises too, towering above me with his well over six feet height. “You’re welcome.”
I give him one final nod and take a step, brushing past him as I round the corner.
“See you later, Carlotta,” he calls.
Ducking my chin into my collar, I raise a hand in reply, not once allowing myself to look back.
I know my answer to Rome’s proposition—it stares me dead in the face—but that doesn’t make me feel any less unsettled with the whole prospect.
The fact of the matter is, I don’t have any real choice; I can’t let myself be killed.
It simply isn’t an option, unless I want Cristiano’s death to be in vain.
When I snap at an awaiting customer on Monday morning, I know my lack of sleep caused by the night terrors I’m wracked with, is finally catching up with me.
I feel like I’m close to tears at every moment, my nerves frayed.
Jane glares at me through her glasses perched stylishly on the bridge of her nose, silently pointing to the stockroom.
I barricade myself in there for the rest of the day, tirelessly unfolding silk shirts from the latest shipment, steaming them, and then hanging them on the overflow rack.
For once I hate the silence working alone gives me.
It allows me to much time to think, to dwell, to panic about what this initiation could be if I say yes to becoming a member of The Thirteen.
When I finally clock out for the day, swiping my pass along the touchpad, I spill out into the bustling sidewalk, shoving my earbuds in and begin to walk.
Maybe if I tire out my body, my mind will follow suit, eventually allowing me to sleep tonight. Even if only for more than four hours.
I walk until my calves ache with cramp, unuse to the exercise and I’m more than halfway through the romance audiobook I’ve been devouring at a rapid rate.
Grabbing a soft cinnamon sugar pretzel and a hot cup of coffee from the cart, I find an empty bench in Central Park.
I flinch at the cool metal biting at my tight-covered thighs, but it’s worth it to sit down for a minute or two, the warmth of the coffee cup defrosting my palms and lighting a fire in my pit of my stomach.
I watch businessmen dressed in their tailored suits, couples, groups of friends and families pass me by, each in their own little world.
They have no clue that my world feels like it’s ending; closing in on itself, capsizing and dragging me down too until it feels impossible to breathe.
I bite back the sting of tears building in my eyes, screwing the grease lined paper coated with residual cinnamon sugar crumbs into a ball and throwing both it and my takeaway cup into the closest, overflowing trash bin.
Get it together, Carlotta, snarls my mother’s nasally voice—the one that lives rent free inside my head. Stop crying over spilt milk.
I continue walking, simply to get her out of my head, winding past barren trees devoid of greenery and the shorn grassy banks that appear to have seen better days, until I hardly feel the harsh cold wind whipping around me, biting at the sensitive layer of skin on my face, marring it red.
With no idea of the time, I have no clue how long I’ve been walking for, or really in which direction I am headed. It’s only when my feet carry me over the threshold, do I realize where I am.
Nameless.
I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world to grab a drink from the bar while I’m here, maybe warm up a little? I can hardly feel my fingertips they’re so cold, mottled red and white.
Flashing my ID at the lingerie clad woman behind the check-in desk, I duck behind the silk curtain and step out into the wide-open space.
It’s no surprise that Nameless is crowded, even on a Monday night.
There’s no other place I know of that with the same level of security—protecting its customers privacy, whilst also catering to their desires without a single complaint or element of judgement.
Nothing is too much or too little at Nameless.
Dodging bodies, I make my way to the bar, sliding onto the padded leather stool.
“Just a glass of red please,” I ask the bartender, fishing my card out of the depths of my purse. “Whatever’s on the house.”
The bartender, a pristine white towel slung over his shoulder, shoves a half full glass towards me, shaking his head wordlessly when I press the slim card into his palm.
“The boss say’s you ain’t allowed to pay.”
I furrow my brow. “The boss?”
“Mhm.”
“Whose you’re—”
“There you are, Red.”
I turn on instinct, dragging my gaze up, up, up until I rest on Rome Folonari’s chiseled face.
“What are you doing here?” It’s the only thing I can think to say, my pulse ricocheting to dangerous heights.
“I own this place.”
Rome’s words pour over me like an ice-cold shower, realization setting in, burrowing itself deep into my bones until I have to repress the shiver snaking up my spine.
All along this man has known who I am.
If he’s the boss then it’s possible he even rigged the system Nameless uses to pair play partners together, based on their needs and desires, to ensure we were coupled up together.
Anger rises to the surfaces of my skin, staining my cheeks red until I can feel them flaming.
“You motherfucker,” I spit.
A dark manicured eyebrow rises at my language, the smile curling up at the corners of Rome’s plush looking lips making my blood pressure rise even further.
“You asked the question.”
Grabbing a hold of the edge of the marble bar top to stop myself from falling to the floor, I slip from the barstool, standing to my full height. Even in my stilettos I only come up to Rome’s chest.
Still, that doesn’t stop me from glaring at him, my hands balled into fists at my sides.
“I can’t fucking believe you. I—”
“Better not make a fuss out here, Red,” a gruff voice mutters deep into my ear, twin broad palms wrapping around either side of my waist. “Let’s go upstairs, hm?”
I glance over my shoulder to find Cassiel behind me, his jean clad hips pressed tightly to my ass.
Stepping heavily on his toes, I try to wiggle out of his ironclad grip. “I am not going anywhere with the two of you. You’re both a set of—a set of…”
Around us, we’re gaining the unwanted attention of other customers, their eyes appreciatively glancing Rome and Cassiel up and down, muted whispers travelling around the open space.
“Pick her up,” I hear Rome say, swiping up my still full glass of red wine. “I think you’ll need something stronger than this, Red, but we’ll take it up just in case.”
“What—” The rest of my words are drowned out by my surprised squeal as Cassiel lifts me up with ease, slinging me over his shoulder. His hand lands squarely on my ass, cupping the round flesh there hidden by my pencil skirt.
“Get your hand off my ass.” I struggle and strain, raining my fists down on his corded back. He’s so muscular I bet he hardly even feels a thing.
Cassiel snorts, the crowd parting as he follows in Rome’s large stride. “Your skirt is riding up.”
“Like fuck it is,” I snarl, blood rushing to the crown of my head so fast I’m beginning to feel lightheaded. “You just want to touch my ass.”
I feel Cassiel shrug. “You got me there, Princess. You want me to stop?”
I shut my mouth with an audible snap. Even as furious as I am, I can admit Cassiel is attractive. Panty melting so.
Rome too, although he’ll have to pry that information out of my cold dead hands… which might actually happen if I decline his offer to join his fucking Mafia gang.
Fucking hell…
Cassiel laughs brightly, his large feet eating up the steps, past the second floor I usually visit and up to the third floor. “Thought as much.”
Smug bastard.