12. Marco
Marco
Having the NYPD on the payroll has its perks.
Chief among them is that when someone’s murdered with a bullpup rifle, specifically a Desert Tech MDRX, they’re kind enough to grant you a heads-up. From the shell casings to the wound it creates in the body, the gun is distinct, so I can’t imagine a sound reason to use it in a murder.
I don’t personally know the dancer killed at Bounce on Tuesday night, but I’m very familiar with the club, and how it caters to men, women, and everyone else. While the stages up front are a feast for the senses, the real fun happens in the back.
According to Officer Brady, Anita, the murdered dancer, was dating one of the male performers.
When I snuck into the dressing room to talk to him, Pio didn’t have much to say about his dead girlfriend.
The twentysomething-year-old was listless and puffy-eyed as he oiled up his chest and arms in preparation for his set.
“She had a regular. Some john who only bought private parties. I remember him because Anita didn’t care for the guy.
The money was good, but every time she had to deal with him, she came home crying. ”
Interesting but unhelpful. “Any idea who this guy was or what he looked like?”
When Pio shook his head, the beads at the ends of his cornrows clacked together. I left soon afterward so he could finish prepping, and in the spirit of celebrating small wins as they occur, I’m now on my third—fourth?—congratulatory drink of the night.
Day.
It’s still day.
Isn’t it?
“Hi there, handsome.” The sultry croon drags my attention up and away from the ice cubes in my glass. A woman with jet black hair in an asymmetrical bob grins down at me. Her face is round and perfect, her lips are plump, and her ass requires two hands to grab a single cheek. “Want some company?”
Raking my gaze over her figure, I swipe my tongue across my teeth. “I want a lot of things, but if company’s all that’s on the table, I’ll take it.” I press a kiss to the back of her hand, and her brown eyes glint as she tracks the motion. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”
Giggling, she perches daintily on my lap, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “Capri.” Her featherlight fingers trail down the length of my arm. “How about you buy me a drink, and then you can tell me about all the other things you like?”
I clear my throat and gently shift her from my lap to the seat next to me as an image of my wife’s face invades my mind. I can clearly recall her weight on my lap when I spanked her, and having another woman in that position just doesn’t feel right.
Shit. Am I really turning into a wet blanket now that I’m married? Less than two weeks ago, I would have already taken Capri up on her offer. Yet here I am, literally pushing women away.
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Capri launches into an animated rant about the death of vocal projection and the finer points of theater blocking.
While I don’t understand most of it, I find her enthusiasm infectious.
She’s flirty and sweet, exactly the kind of woman I’d normally go for.
A woman I can fuck without worrying about getting too attached. Forgettable. Expendable.
I should be enjoying the normalcy of the moment, but Bianca’s face streaks through my mind again. I shift in my chair to pull my phone free and check the screen.
No notifications.
That’s weird. Zo usually updates me on Bianca’s activity every fifteen minutes or so, even if she’s locked in her room using that vibrator she doesn’t think I know about.
But I haven’t heard from him since this morning.
Something’s wrong.
I surge to my feet.
“Hey—”
Ignoring Capri’s protests, I weave through the tables and don’t stop until I’m on the sidewalk outside the club. Because it’s raining, I linger beneath the overhang to call Zo.
The phone rings. And rings. And rings. After a click, a mechanical voice tells me that the person I’m trying to contact can’t be reached at this time.
I end the call and enter another number from memory. Luca picks up on the first ring. “Boss?”
“Zo’s missing.” There’s no time to mince words.
We might not be as close as we once were, thanks to me, but Zo doesn’t ignore my calls, nor does he miss check-ins.
Besides Luca, he’s the most loyal and dependable man I have.
“He’s supposed to be with B—” Realization cuts through my buzz, accompanied by a wave of panic.
“Luca. Track down my wife. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s involved in this. ”
“On it.”
We hang up, and I wave the valet over so that he can bring my car around.
What the hell was I thinking, leaving Zo to the mercy of a damn Conti?
He can take Bianca in a physical match, but she’s smarter than any other woman I’ve ever met.
Cunning too. I might as well have gift-wrapped him and handed him to the enemy on a silver platter.
Guilt clamps onto my throat, a sudden chokehold I’m too late to fight off.
The present fractures, torn to shreds by a maelstrom of memory.
In a heartbeat, I’m back on that dark, solitary stretch of road, sprinting like a madman toward my car, where all four doors are flung open and interior lights bleed onto the gravel.
The radio is on full blast, but I can’t hear the music past the ringing in my ears.
I stumble to a stop at the back door. Blood. So much blood—
“Sir?” The valet next to my car watches me with curious eyes.
Shit. I didn’t even hear him pull up.
After slipping a hundred-dollar bill into his pocket, I climb into the driver’s seat and speed home. Luca and the others can search for Zo without me. Better to center my attention elsewhere.
When I burst through the manor’s doors, the place is dark, the only noise the patter of rain outside. I go stock-still, listening for any sign of my wife.
Silence greets me.
Slowly, I ease my way up the stairs with my back pressed against the wall and my hand on my gun. If Bianca really did make a move against Zo, then all bets are off. No one dispenses with my men and lives.
“Bianca, where are you hiding?” Nothing. Not even the squeak of a floorboard. Despite the silence, I know she’s here somewhere. I can feel her like a promise on my skin. “Come out, love. Let me see that beautiful face.”
Halfway up the stairs, I tuck my gun away. No need to scare her right off the bat. Her perfume lingers in the air, so I track the sweet fragrance through the house, shedding my jacket along the way.
“Where, oh where, has my lovely wife gone?” My singsong musings echo down the empty hall, followed by a faint rustling. “Oh, where, oh where can. She. Be.” I slow before the open bedroom door.
The room Bianca claimed the first day she arrived.
“You can’t run from me forever, principessa.”
The reminder is as much for her as it is for me. Vicious, unrelenting anger and worry churn within. I fish my cell out of my pocket, tapping through to the file hidden behind a passcode and pressing a button.
The compressed audio of Bianca’s breathless moans fill the room, reverberating off the walls, and despite the situation, my cock swells behind my zipper.
“I don’t think I ever told you how delicious you sound when you’re begging for it.
” My fingers speed across the keyboard. “I wonder what your father would think if I sent him this video.”
The knife flashes out of nowhere. I lunge to the right, and the blade pierces the doorframe behind my shoulder instead.
My pulse spikes, and excitement hums through my veins.
Oh, so she wants to play, does she?
Bianca launches herself at me from behind the armoire, her fists up and her teeth bared. When she clocks me across the face, I laugh. I sweep her legs out from under her and use her weight to bring her to the floor with enough force to rattle the walls.
She gasps, but before she can fully catch her breath, I straddle her, trapping her arms on the sides of her body. Bianca struggles beneath me, and my cock, nestled between her breasts, stiffens.
“Careful.” My husky, feral warning creates a different sort of tension between us. “Unless you want this to develop into something else entirely.”
Bianca freezes.
The video continues playing, her pleasured moans repeating on an endless loop. She pales, but all my sympathy has dried up, so I wrap my legs around her frame. “Where is he?”
Breathing heavily, she jerks her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I’ve been struggling to battle back the rage and guilt long enough to think, to maneuver. To play this game of chess with her on equal footing. But I’m nothing like Bianca. Why waste time acting slowly and methodically when you can just burn the whole thing down?
“Fine.” I grab my phone off the ground, my fingers flying as I finish crafting my message to Aldo. “We’ll do things the hard way. I keep forgetting you’re a fucking robot who only cares about her reputation.”
“Don’t!” Bianca thrashes violently, somehow managing to free an arm. She snags my wrist with a quivering hand that’s cold to the touch. “Please, Marco. I’ll tell you anything you want if you just get rid of the pictures and video forever.”
My brow furrows in confusion. Why is she begging? This reaction goes way beyond a loss of reputation. She seems genuinely…frightened.
I tilt the phone to display the text and recipient, my thumb hovering over the send button. “Why shouldn’t I?”
Bianca trembles as she stares at the screen. “Livia. If you send that, Livia will be punished for it, not me.”
Recalling the night I killed the escort and my wife aimed a gun to my head, I rock back on my heels. “Gonna need you to elaborate.”
Bianca continues to shiver as she scrambles out from under me, refusing to meet my eye.
If I needed confirmation that she’s disclosing the truth about her sister and what will happen if she fucks up, her behavior is it.
But why should I care what happens to Livia?
I try to convince myself that she’s as much of a Conti as Bianca and deserves whatever she has coming.
But Bianca’s fear, a terror big enough for her to beg me not to follow through, is impossible to ignore.
Suffocating. I can’t help but recall the child version of myself.
The one who always hoped that someone, anyone, would show me grace only to be denied even that.
I climb to my feet. “Is Zo alive? If he’s not, I won’t just send this to Aldo, I’ll have it posted online. Everywhere. I’ll fucking take out an ad in Time’s Square, Bianca. Where is he?”
Bianca nods, schooling her expression back into her usual icy mask as she stands. “He’s fine. He’s on his way to a safe house. My men were going to pump him for information and then release him. That’s it. You have my word.”
Her eyes dart to my phone again, and I don’t miss the nervous pinch of her brows.
I’m not sure why, given all the shit she’s put me and now Zo through, but I believe her.
“Give me an address. Now.” She rattles off a number and street name, and I call up Luca with Zo’s location.
As soon as he confirms his men are on the way, I hang up and delete the video and all the pictures of her with the blond douchebag.
Once I finish, she opens her mouth, then shuts it and glances away.
The urge to brush my fingers across her cheek is so strong that my hand lifts of its own accord.
I drop it and shake the feeling off. Deleting the files means nothing.
There can be no further kindness, no camaraderie between me and the daughter of Dulce’s potential murderer. My mother deserves better.
Placing my phone in my back pocket, I spin toward the door. I grab the handle of the knife still embedded in the frame and jerk it free.
“Thank you, Marco.” Bianca’s voice is tremulous, and I know the apology burned.
I don’t look back. I just pocket the knife, the cold steel a reminder of exactly where I am and what I have left to do. “Save your breath, Bianca. My mother is still in the ground, and your father may have put her there.”
I exit into the corridor, and the door clicks shut on the woman I almost pitied.
Some things can’t ever be erased.