Chapter 16
16
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I lean back in my office chair. The letters and numbers are all blurring together on the screen of my laptop as I struggle to review the balance sheets and cash flow reports the Monarch Club's manager sent me. I push up from my desk, stride over to the bar, and add a splash of whiskey to my coffee.
My mind just isn't in it to focus on this type of work today. I thought coming to my office at the 708 Club would offer me fewer distractions than the office at the Monarch Club, but instead of being tempted with having Wren just an elevator ride away, I’m now brimming with apprehension at the distance between us.
I take a sip of my spiked coffee, the combination warming me from the inside out, but doing little to tame my thoughts. Hitching up my slacks, I prop a foot on the rung of the barstool, resting an elbow on the bar top as I fish my phone from my pocket to fire off a text to Rocco.
Stop by the 708 office after you've gathered today's headlines.
Dallas staked out Allen's house all night, only trading off with Rhodes this morning at my command. But he hadn't had time to check in with his associates before collecting Drea and the girls' lunch. He's made it clear to me that he takes all responsibility for what happened with Wren and for letting Allen get away. I may have been seething when I got to the hospital, but I don't actually blame him. He chose to prioritize Wren in the moment, and I'd have done the same. If anyone's to blame, it's me, for putting her in that position in the first place.
Taking another swig from my mug, my mind wanders to the day I saw the blood staining her creamy thighs after bending her over my desk and realized I wanted nothing more than to shield her from the crosshairs she'd be put in by being mine. I knew the danger that lurked with bringing her into my life, but I never bargained that a paunchy accountant with a bad hairline would be the snake that struck first.
Little did I know that at that moment, we were already bound by the one thing I thought I wanted least.
In la famiglia, the woman that carries your children, the one you marry, isn’t supposed to be fucked like a whore, pushed to her knees, and praised. No, she’s to be docile, run the house, bite her tongue, and you make love to her for the purpose of growing your family. It's all out of obligation. Sure, there's love in a lot of those relationships, but it's the kind that's learned, not experienced.
Maybe that’s what kept me from settling down all this time; the thought of a life void of my sadistic thrills. I'm self-aware enough to know that I use sex to flex the muscle of violence that lives inside of me. But with Wren, it’s different. She's different. Her words ring in my ears that she's not afraid, that she wants this, wants me, even after all that she's seen.
Cazzo, I want it all, with her.
As I finish off my coffee, my mind feels lighter, but my bladder now carries the burden. I stalk off down the hall to the restroom to take a piss. I hear the whine of the back door's hinges and the snick of the latch, followed by clips of dress shoes against the tile while I wash my hands. Pulling open the wooden door, I step out into the hall to see Rocco sliding his sunglasses into his shirt pocket as he lifts his chin in my direction.
"Ciao," I greet, tipping my head towards my office. "What's the word?"
"Allen hasn't come home," Rocco states flatly, entering the office and taking a seat on the leather sofa. "One of Dallas' men swept the house. He didn't see anything that showed a rushed departure."
I take my place behind my desk, steepling my hands on the lacquered surface as I listen.
Rocco drapes an arm across the back of the sofa. "Did you know Allen had a gambling problem?"
To be perfectly honest, I don't know much about the man. Before he started skimming money from me, he'd been a model employee. He’d been at Vento Ventures for two years, and aside from work related matters, we never really talked, and before the reporting issues he'd never given me a reason to look past the surface.
"What makes you say that?" I ask carefully.
"There were betting receipts from Hawthorne's on the table, and by the looks of it he wasn't any good at it."
“Hmm.” If he owed a bookie money, his theft makes more sense. I lean back, idly stroking my chin in consideration, "Ask around. I want to know if he took a loan from our outfit, he could’ve used a fake name if he’d wised up to who I am."
Rocco nods. "Is it possible that he's not only hiding from you, but who he owed the money to?"
I grunt in irritation, weighing his words. I suppose skimming money from me would make sense, if he thought a loan shark was after him. But that would also mean he didn't know as much about me as he thought, because if he knew, he wouldn’t have risked my wrath. Right?
"Would he invite peril into his pathetic life if he knew your position, just to bide time with another?" Rocco asks as if he's reading my thoughts.
"No," I affirm. “Only an idiot with a death wish would knowingly involve themselves with two facets of the mafia.” The dots are starting to connect the more I verbalize it. "Which means he borrowed from someone who he thinks runs this city, someone he's been made to fear-"
"Belluci," we say in unison.
Shifting in my seat, I pull my phone out of my slacks pocket and type out a message to O'Ryan, asking for a meeting tonight at the silos.
"I'll get with O'Ryan, see if he can dig up more on Allen using that confidential case cover. In the meantime, I want all our guys across the city to know his face. If anyone encounters him, they grab, nab, follow, bribe or whatever to get that shit stain out to the hangar. But," I rock forward, resting my elbows on the desk and pinning Rocco with a hard look. "They don't hurt him in the slightest, not a single fucking hair on his sleazy head. His screams, his pain, every last whimper or beg that man has in him, is mine. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal, Boss," Rocco replies, pulling his own phone out and tapping away at the screen.
I drum my fingers across the desktop, eyes darting to my phone vibrating next to the stack of reports that still need my attention. The message on the screen confirms my meetup with O'Ryan. Even though I scheduled this, it still sends a jolt of annoyance through my system. This day is going to be longer than I anticipated, and I wanted nothing more than to spend the afternoon with Wren.
"What's got you twisted?" Rocco asks, pushing up from his spot on the sofa and heading towards the bar.
Pressing to my feet, I cross the room to join him. "You're getting better at reading me, cousin."
"You can thank Isa for that," he chuckles, grabbing two lowball glasses and setting them beside the bottle of whiskey I got out earlier.
"Oh yeah?" I lift an eyebrow at him, pulling out one of the tawny leather barstools and taking a seat as he pours us each a couple of fingers of the amber liquor. "Why's that?"
He slides a glass in my direction, sitting back on the stool beside me as his face splits in a grin. "Because with women, especially with one as complicated as Isa, you've got to learn to decipher every word and little flicker of expression they offer you."
I swirl the liquid around in my glass, thinking about his words and how they don't seem to quite reflect what I've seen of Wren.
"You see, women are like beautiful bullets." He pauses, bringing his glass to his lips and taking a gulp before continuing. "Sleek, shiny, and powerful. The outside can be perfect, not a single flaw, and you add it to the magazine thinking nothing could go wrong with such a pristine component. So you cock the gun, slide your finger to the trigger, take your aim… and when you pull back, BAM!" he shouts, slamming his glass to the table, whiskey sloshing out over the rim. "That bullet was hot, too much propellant and the barrel of your piece is gone along with a chunk of your flesh."
I tip back my own glass, the liquor burning down my throat as I try to figure out what the fuck Rocco is trying to say. My face must show my bemusement, because he's quick to keep going.
"What I'm saying is that, if you'd taken the time to notice the weight of the bullets you always used compared to that of the new one, you'd have been able to avoid the catastrophe. Women are the same, they have little tells that show you what they’re really feeling, no matter how perfect the outside looks."
Reaching for the bottle, I refill my glass and shoot him a questioning look. He nods and I top off his as well. "Okay, if you are so wise with women, then help me with my own."
Rocco spits out a mouthful of whiskey, droplets dotting across the bar as he swipes the back of his hand across his lips. "I'm sorry, did the great Bowie Sorrentino just admit to needing help with a woman?"
I punch his bicep playfully. "Don't be a stronzo, I'm serious."
He lifts his hands in mock surrender, chuckling. "Okay, okay. What can I do?"
I card a hand through my hair as I draw in a deep breath and try to gather all the thoughts that've been running rampant in my mind. "I want to tell Wren about la famiglia. Who we are, who I am, everything," I say, throwing back the rest of my drink, the glass clinking as I bring it down to rest on the countertop.
His eyes round in shock as he finishes off his own whiskey and swivels to face me. "That's a big step, are you sure?"
"I am," I reassure. "Even before the baby, I felt drawn to her. There's something there, Rocco. Something I can't explain." I turn to face him, sighing wistfully. "When I'm with her, my life doesn't seem so routine. She's smart, beautiful and has a sharp tongue. She doesn't just bend for me, isn't with me because I have power, she was choosing me before she had a reason to."
"Hmm," he muses, fingers dipping beneath his collar for that damn gold chain of his.
I wait for him to continue, watching him roll the chain between his forefinger and thumb as he looks up at the framed photos of our family through the years on the wall behind the bar.
Rocco may be younger, but he's always had a good head on his shoulders. With a temper that's tepid and a pragmatic viewpoint, he's always been able to help things make sense when that anger flexes alive inside me. He's also closer to his Ma than I am to mine. My little sister, Nicky, was the feisty princess that our mom was constantly trying to reign in, and I was the quintessential firstborn son. Sure, after Tio Mauro was killed, my dad took Rocco under his wing, but he’d already learned his best qualities from his Ma.
"Hmm?" I parrot. "I bare my soul to you and swallow my pride for a hmm?"
His face splits in a grin. "Easy, cousin. This is new to me, you've never had an ask like this before."
My shoulders slump and I scrub a hand down my face. "I've never wanted someone like this before."
"Okay," he concedes. "You still going to have Doctor Marino run the paternity test?"
Folding my arms across my chest, I slouch back. "Yes, he's to come by next week. Have to wait until she’s at least eight weeks."
"So, wait until you know for sure. Then have a nice dinner with her somewhere private, ask her what she knows, what she thinks she knows, and then just be honest. Answer her questions, diminish her fears, show her she’s as special as you say she is, and take it from there." Dropping the chain, he shifts in his seat and pulls his phone from his pants pocket. He tilts the screen, eyes scanning across it, lips curling up into an impish smile before he places it face down on the bar. "Sorry about that, the boys were checking in."
"Good news?"
"Isa texted too, and by the looks of it, I'll need to stop by and give her a hand," he says slyly.
"Go on, get outta here," I say with a snicker. "Go take care of your bride."
Rocco presses to his feet and claps a hand down on my shoulder. "I wish the best for you, Bowie. I really do. It's been nice seeing you like this."
My brows furrow as I meet his gaze. "Like what?"
"Happy."
It's well after eleven before I finally make it back home. O'Ryan wasn't able to get to the Silos as quickly as he’d planned. The overdoses are still ravaging their way through the city, and the brass have been breathing down his neck. If the OD's are stemming from our stolen product being stepped on, whichever stronzo took the supply has to be running thin by now. We haven't had any more issues at the hangar, and Dallas and Rhodes have been meticulous with the guys taking it to the streets.
All the added stress of this lately has cemented my feelings on getting the outfit away from the drug trade. It's such a small fraction of business that the risk no longer outweighs the reward. I need to set up a meeting with the suppliers in upstate New York and find a way to make the break from the drugs even sooner.
O'Ryan said he'd do his best to poke around Allen's financials and phone records this week, while burying the paperwork among other open cases so as to not raise any questions. He said he’ll let me know if and when he finds something.
The living room is dark when I ease open the front door and step inside, eyes rapidly scanning the space for Wren. Rocco checked in on the girls when he stopped by earlier and brought the dinner they'd ordered. It was hard to tell by text message, but I got the feeling that Wren was disappointed with me being gone all day.
The light from the hall and the glow of the TV outlines the sleeping figures of the girls on the couch. They're in the exact same spots as when I left.
I chuckle to myself as I quietly press the door shut and flip the lock. Toeing off my loafers, I tread quietly across the room, draping the throw blanket from the back of the couch over Drea. Turning toward Wren, I pause. She really is beautiful, even with the bruises that set my teeth on edge. Her lips are parted slightly, her chest rising and falling steadily with each peaceful breath. One of her hands rests against her flat stomach, and that tiny buzz of excitement finds its way through my veins.
The more I take in her features, the more I feel my dick thickening beneath my zipper. Cazzo, I just had her this morning and I'm already desperate to be inside her again. I like sex- who the fuck doesn't- but I've never craved it so much or with just one person. And the fact she’s carrying my child seems to be a turn-on in itself.
Bending at the waist, I snake my arms under her knees and shoulders, scooping her body up and cradling her slender form against my chest as I straighten. I half expect her to wake up as I turn on my heels and head towards the bedroom, but she doesn’t even stir. I place a chaste kiss on her forehead when we get there, still hoping for a reaction, but nothing. To say I’m a little disappointed is an understatement; my sexual appetite is insatiable when it comes to Wren.
Shifting her in my arms, I peel back the covers on the bed before gently laying her down on the mattress. I start to pull the blanket up over her chest when she lets out a sigh and mumbles something inaudible, turning to rest on her side. The way she’s twisted has the material of the shirt straining tighter against her tits, showing her pert nipples through the fabric. I finish tucking her in and step back, my eyes still touring her face as I unclasp my Rolex and empty my pockets onto the nightstand.
Her full lips part as another little mewl escapes them and she snuggles against the pillow.
Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have those soft, pillowy lips wrapped around my shaft again.
My dick gets even harder at the memory, and I can’t seem to peel my eyes away from her mouth. I take in every last detail- the delicate rosy pink shade, the dip of her cupid’s bow, how her bottom lip is fuller, which makes it even sexier when she pouts.
I start to undress, eyes still fixated on her mouth as I undo the buttons on my shirt, shrugging it off and tossing it to the floor. She seems to be a deep sleeper, but I still try not to make too much noise. Unfastening my belt, I lower my zipper, pushing my slacks to the ground and kicking them aside. My fingers dip beneath the waistband of my boxer briefs and curl around my aching shaft. I give it a light squeeze, slowly sliding my hand up and down, stroking myself casually as I think about how good it felt when she sucked me off after fucking her. The way her tongue teased the tip, how she used the perfect amount of suction…
Edging forward, I rake my teeth across my bottom lip as I tighten my grip around my cock, rolling the barbells of my piercing with each pass. A bead of precum leaks from my tip and I remember our first night together, the way she rocked forward and licked it away unabashedly. I catch the drop on my thumb and reach out to swipe it across her lower lip. I can’t help but smile at the way it glistens there as I give myself another stroke.
Her mouth is right there, waiting for me. Warm and inviting, lips parted and ready…
Moving a little closer, I bend at the knees, bringing my cock to her lips. Little puffs of air skate across the sensitive skin, sending a flurry of chills up my spine. I ease forward, and I have to clench my teeth around my knuckles to stifle the moan as I rest the tip between her lips.
She doesn't stir as I notch inside. She shifts slightly, mouth parting further until my cockhead rests on her tongue. I swallow roughly, drawing myself back a bit before I give a shallow thrust, sinking further into her mouth.
Cazzo, it feels so good.
Wren is just so goddamn beautiful, even when she’s asleep. Her lashes flutter against her cheeks, blonde hair pooling around her on the black pillowcase like a halo. But I know she’s the farthest thing from innocent, and I wouldn’t change that about her. Wren’s devilish side drives me crazy.
I rock the tip in and out of her mouth, gritting my teeth as I try to restrain from slamming my dick all the way to the back of her throat. She looks so peaceful as she lies there, soft and pliant with steady, even breaths that come from a deep sleep. It’d be so easy to slip under the covers behind her and slide a hand between her thighs. I bet she’d be wet, she’s always so fucking wet. I could push my dick inside, fill her so full of my seed that it’d be dripping out of her sweet, tight cunt. The thought of impregnating her with my child isn’t even a fantasy anymore, but I’d still fuck every last drop back inside her as she kept dreaming.
My breath shudders. I want to give her everything she dreams of. I’d bring the world to her feet just because she asked me to. Her feisty personality sets her apart from every other docile woman I’ve been with, but having her like this, at my mercy, is an intoxicating feeling of its own.
I brush a few rogue tendrils away from her face, threading my fingers into her hair. My hand finds its way to the back of her skull and my grip is light as I steady her head and rock my hips. She lets out a sigh that’s reminiscent of a moan, and my tether snaps. I shove in fully, hissing at the sensation of her teeth scraping my shaft.
Wren’s eyes shoot open in shock. She blinks chaotically, clearing the veil of sleep from her baby blues, and they instantly soften when she realizes it’s me.
"Shh," I coo, thumb stroking the side of her head as her mouth tightens around my length. She looks up at me with a hooded gaze and her tongue teases my slit. "That's it baby, just go back to sleep while I keep fucking this pretty mouth of yours."
She hums in response, and I keep going, tip hitting the back of her throat every couple of thrusts, and the way it contracts at the intrusion draws me closer to the edge. Pushing the blankets back, she trails a hand down to ruck up her shirt, my shirt, and I watch as it disappears into the waistband of the borrowed boxers.
"You like this Bella?" I murmur. "Does it turn you on for me to use you like this?"
Wren hums again, the vibrations making my balls start to draw up.
"I'm gonna come and you’re going to be a good girl and swallow every drop for me, aren’t you Passerotta?"
She nods faintly and I fist her hair, picking up my pace as I feel the familiar tingle at the base of my spine. After a few hard thrusts, my release rockets through me, shooting down her throat. I stroke my length, milking the last few drops onto her tongue as I ease out.
Her throat bobs with a swallow and her tongue darts out to lick her lips. Without being prompted, her face splits open, showing me she did as she was told.
"Good girl," I praise, her eyes lighting up with a smile as she withdraws her hand from the boxers.
I snatch her wrist, bringing her glistening fingers to my mouth and sucking her sweet juices off of them before letting her have it back.
"Did you get off, Passerotta?" I ask, tucking my softening dick back into the confines of my boxer briefs.
"No," she says in a breathy whisper.
I crawl over her, pulling the blanket over the both of us, palm cruising across her stomach and into the front of her panties.
She yawns, gently pushing my hand away and rolling over. “Maybe tomorrow,” she says, nuzzling into my chest.
I press my lips to her temple as her eyes slide shut, then wrap my arm around her shoulders, holding her against me. We fit perfectly together, like two halves of the same whole, and I’m starting to wonder if there’s anything I can do that’ll make her look at me like the monster I am.
Maybe she was made for me.