Chapter Thirteen #2
As I helped her on the boat, the captain held out a blindfold for her.
It was standard protocol. No one, outside a select few, could know the location of my home.
However, the gesture still pissed me off to no end.
She was not a prisoner. As my angel settled into her seat, I pulled my gun and pointed it in the seaman’s face.
“Put it away,” I growled, my finger resting on the trigger as the demon inside of me grew eager.
His bearded face paled as he stepped backwards, tripping over into the driver’s seat. I rolled my eyes as I inhaled my delicious toxins. “Sir, I apologize—I was—”
I flicked the butt of my cig into the water and pointed to my angel behind me. “She is to be treated with respect. She doesn’t require a blindfold because she's with me. You so much as look at her, you will have a bullet in your throat,” I growled, pressing the barrel of my gun under his chin.
Excitement slithered up my spine as visions of his blood splattering all over the white leather took over.
A hand landed on my back, causing that feeling to break apart, ending my fun. “Col, please! Don’t!” she pleaded. I stood up, tucking my gun back into my suit. She tried to pass me, to get to the shaking man below me, but my arm stopped her.
“Karina,” I warned, my eyes finding hers.
She looked up at me, her heart shaped face morphing into anger. “He was doing his job!” she snapped.
“Go sit down,” I hissed, snapping my finger and pointing to her seat.
“If this is how—”
I gripped her ponytail, bringing her flush against my body, causing her to lose her breath. “Sit down, or choke on my cock. Right here. I’ll make him watch, and then I’ll kill him for getting to see you on your knees.”
Fury was present in her eyes, but hidden underneath that sky blue was arousal. I smirked as I brought my lips to her ear. “Do what your demon says, angel.”
She gasped but did what I ordered. Once she was seated and flustered, I turned to the captain. “Port 45.”
“Yes, sir,” he stuttered, nodding like a maniac.
As the vessel took off, I sat across from my angel and assessed her, tilting my head as she turned to look at my island.
My island wasn’t small by any means, but with the size of the house, it seemed that way.
The mansion was black stone, stark during daylight, but invisible once the sun said its goodbyes.
I did everything I could, ordering all the right materials for the project years ago when I found the land for sale.
I purchased it almost immediately, with the foolish hope that I would be happy in the future. My jaw clenched at the thought. The problem with leaving all the power to one man was simple…when that man crumbled, so did his power.
When he was weak, everything else was weak.
Ray Romano was no longer fit for the role to lead the mafia.
Our enemies were getting wind of that. The week after Tony's, when Ray was in my home, healing from the brutal revenge of Gwen Davenport's dagger, I got a phone call…
One week after the Romano dinner. Collin's mansion.
The dagger was impressive, I had to give Davenport credit for that. It was made of metal unlike any other, something rare. It wouldn’t be flagged going through a metal detector. The blade itself was black, with a standard black handle that featured an inscription on the handle in gold lettering.
“Revenge should have no bounds.” Shakespeare. Hamlet, to be precise.
Ah, Davenport, ever the book worm.
I continued to sip my whiskey, studying the weapon before I opened the report.
Of course, I wasn’t an idiot. I had the thing sent off to a lab in Miami to test its properties.
This metal wasn’t from American soil, and I needed to know what the hell I was dealing with it.
The only good thing to come of this shitty situation was that it wasn’t laced with poison.
Romano was still healing, but that didn’t stop him from ordering me around. As long as he stayed in that fucking bed, I would do whatever he wanted. I didn’t need him venturing around the house and discovering a not-so-dead Kevin Matthews in the basement or my angel.
He could never know about my angel, no matter how much she annoyed me.
My cell phone buzzed, and annoyance prickled my skin. “What?” I barked in the receiver, throwing the dagger across the room, the blade landing deep in the wall by the fireplace.
A low chuckle sounded on the other end of the line. “Dobryi vecher.”
“It’s morning over here, you Russian dick,” I deadpanned as I rose from my chair, crossing my office to yank the dagger out of the wall.
“A little birdy told me your Italian King has fallen ill,” the man said, his thick accent lingering on every word.
“Oh, you must be referring to the little birdy I skinned alive last night,” I returned. My feet stopped in front of the window, the early morning sun starting to rise over the water.
Silence.
I smiled as I looked down at my blood-stained outfit: a white beater and my slacks. I was sure my face was still covered, much like my tattooed skin. The skin of a killer was never clean.
“You underestimated me again, Kavi,” I drawled, picking up my whiskey glass.
He started rattling off curse words in Russian, and I rolled my eyes, bored with the conversation.
It was his fault his man was dead. Don’t send an incompetent man if you valued his life—not that his life was worth much anyways.
I'd spotted his boat floating in the dark water last night about two hundred feet away from my island.
I let him have his fun for a few minutes while I visited my angel.
Thirty minutes later, I had him in my basement. Unfortunately for him, he had already made a phone call to the man currently condemning me to Russian hell.
“Are you quite done? I have a busy schedule, and listening to you waste air is not on it,” I said coolly.
“You will die for this.”
I chuckled. “Kavi, let me let you in on a little secret. Hundreds of men have said those words to me, and none of them have been able to fulfill it.”
“That changes now,” he growled. “Romano is dying. His son is dead. The Italian reign has come to an end.”
“You step foot on U.S. soil, I will have your balls spoon fed to your son while your wife watches.”
He laughed. “You are just the errand boy,” he spat. “You are nothing.”
“I’m the nothing who just finished carving your brother’s face off in my basement, Kavi. You would do well to not underestimate me.”
I hung up the phone, my jaw tense as my shoulders.
I knew it would only be a matter of time before scum would come to claim what was rightfully mine.
I may not have been blood, but I was the only one Romano had left.
His men’s loyalty only goes as far as the zeros stretch in their bank accounts.
That dinner was a fuck up. The aftermath made national news, and now, the government was involved, all eyes on the FBI.
No matter how many senators we had in our pockets, we still didn’t have the president. So far, my ears in the White House hadn’t heard anything, but then again, I didn’t trust anyone.
I turned and opened the report from the lab, my eyes scanning the words quickly. By the time I reached the end of the letter, I was smiling.
The metal was “Chernaya Smert”, or Black Death. Chuckling darkly, I picked up the dagger once more, the sun bouncing off the black blade.
This was a Russian metal.
Well, well, well…
Present Day.
The wind changed then, causing Karina’s hair to flow in my direction, her vanilla scent hitting me like a hurricane, warning me of what was to come as I focused back on the present.
She focused on what was behind me, her eyes going wide as she realized where she was. She scanned the wall of skyscrapers behind me, and as we inched closer and closer to the shore, her body language changed.
“Chicago? This whole time?” she gasped.
I put my forearms on my knees, letting my hands hang between them as I studied her. She looked at me and then at the city. “Look at me, Angel,” I demanded, unease weighing heavy on my shoulders as images of her running away from me entered my mind.
I needed her eyes.
She obeyed, like the good girl she was.
“Who owns you?”
She licked her lips, causing my cock to twitch. “You,” she answered, her voice husky, but there was something in her voice. She answered it almost immediately, and I feared I didn’t own her completely. “You betray me, Karina and I’ll—”
She lunged at me, crawling into my lap, taking my face in her soft hands. I snaked my hands up until they settled on her hips, those blue eyes scanning my face, lingering on my lips before looking into mine.
Her lips touched mine. The act was so gentle, I didn’t—shock slammed into me, but I kissed her back, giving her everything would convince her to stay with me.
“I’m with you, Col,” she promised against my lips. The ache in my chest magnified, stronger than ever before, and I realized something.
I was her prisoner.
My angel had captured her demon.
Cigarette smoke filled the air, thickening throughout the dark, crowded space. Region leaders sat around the tables, whores and strippers in their laps, grinding against their limp cocks as the money was counted on the table in front of them.
My angel was on my arm, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t alone.
I didn’t hate this feeling—because it was her.
We were in Club Sweat, the sister club to Club Fever, located in the heart of Boston, almost a twin to its sibling.
I led her to the private elevator, halting the bodyguard who was supposed to join us on the ride up. I didn’t need to say anything to him; my raised palm and threatening look sufficed. The elevator was mirrored, and my angel surrounded me.
It pleased me, probably too much.