His Vicious Desire
Chapter 1
Chapter One
T hree years ago
Bianca
The car slides into the parking lot smoothly. Sandro sees me taking a deep breath to still my nerves. “You good?”
I force a smile and nod. “Yes. I was joking. I didn’t think you’d actually throw a party for me.”
He laughs. “Right, like I was going to ignore all your hard work to graduate early, go unrecognized. There was also your birthday. I’m not a birthday person, but you are. A party for your eighteenth is kind of a required thing—you never had one for your sixteenth.”
I love Sandro. I’m lucky to have him in my life. It’s why I’ll never tell him that I’ve dreaded tonight for weeks. He hadn’t understood I wanted a night with him as a celebration. The reason why I loved my birthday—that was three days ago—was because it gave me a good reason to spend time with Sandro.
We could have had dinner at McDonald's, and I would have been happy.
I’m not sure how he thought I meant a party. I’ve never been a party person. The introvert in me shuddered at entering a room with more than a dozen people in it. He has no idea that all the girls here are practically strangers. Girls I invited out of desperation—for fear of being embarrassed when no one showed. Most of the girls didn’t even know my name. While they didn’t outright treat me cruelly—I’m almost positive it’s because they or their parents knew Sandro is mafia.
The Catholic all-girls school I graduated from a semester early, a week ago is toxic as fuck. Sandro thought I graduated early because I was in a rush to start at UNLV for the spring semester. Except it wasn’t the reason why.
I hated the pressure to be something I couldn’t be, skinny. Teenagers weren’t kind to others who didn’t fit the mold of the ideal teen girl. All I have are three friends. And two of them were more of the frenemy variety. They were my friends because I paid for things when we went out together. And they’re also plus-size. However, if they had a chance, they’d cut me down in a second to move up in the popularity stakes. I’m trying to look at tonight as a goodbye to the hell of high school.
Sandro is out and opening my door. I take the hand he offers and step out of the limousine. The club Sandro rented is loud. I fight the urge to cringe at the pounding beats.
He sees it. “Sorry, I’ll tell them to turn it down a notch. I can’t imagine being able to hear anything in there.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as I take the arm he offers me. I can’t walk in these stupid heels. He’d also bought me the red-bottomed high heels he thought I wanted. They might be stylish, but they hurt like hell.
The fear I had of walking in and the girls in my own party ignoring me doesn’t come true. Everyone is treating me like we’re best friends. I stamp down the unease and am simply grateful they don’t out me to Sandro.
He leaves me with Joanna and Kitty who edge out the pretenders to give me a hug in welcome. I’m able to breathe a little deeper when the volume is lowered.
Looking around I see something I never have before, men from the Outfit. I’ve encountered Luca often, and a few others, but Sandro was adamant about keeping me from coming into contact with mafia. They move like Sandro, fluid with a threat in their movement. Their eyes are moving constantly over the crowd—on alert.
Sandro is the unofficial second for Luca Toro, the capo who runs Vegas for the Outfit. There is only one Don of the Outfit, and he’s in Chicago. My father was Luca’s second before he died last year. When my father died, another man took over for him—despite Luca wanting Sandro. Luca told him that he hasn’t given up on him becoming his second, but Sandro is certain it won’t happen. All because our mother was half-Filipino.
The mafia is racist as fuck, and Sandro is certain he’ll never be allowed to become Luca’s second officially. It didn’t stop him from giving his whole life to Luca and Outfit business.
Sandro is back. Our eyes meet, he sees the question in them and nods. “I’m not going to be able to stay all night, and I’m not leaving you here without people to watch over you.”
“You’re leaving?” I can’t believe him. I’m blinking fast to keep tears at bay.
“I’m sorry. We have a truck carrying women coming through we have to stop and remind whoever is sending it that we won’t allow it. Luca needs me.”
Right, Luca. He always has to be there for Luca. Tears aren’t acceptable. I force a smile. No complaining, ever. I’m to smile and always be appreciative of what I’m given. Except this time, I can’t fake it. I mutter I need to use the restroom. I can’t look at him right now.
This is not how I want to start the night. Neither did Sandro, which is why he left it until the last minute to tell me. Knowing him, he never planned on telling me. He was going to sneak out and hope I wouldn’t notice until he was already gone—the way he always does.
Blinking fast, I run right into a brick wall of silk. I bounce off it and almost fall in the stupid heels. I’m caught around my arm by a hand made of steel and enough electricity to power the strip. It’s not enough to keep me up, and I’m falling until the other hand grasps my other arm.
“Careful.” Is muttered low into my ear.
I shiver at the air going down my neck and the current still running through me from his touch. My eyes come up to find a man staring down at me with a thunderous frown on his face. If he didn’t look so angry, he might be handsome. I’m not sure, though, because his full silver beard covers so much of his face. I hate the beard. I want to see more of him—all of him.
He’s the same height as Sandro, six foot two, yet he’s broader and more muscle-bound. For the first time, I feel small. I’ve always felt too tall and fat at five-nine and forever battling between a size sixteen and eighteen. Pressed up against his hard, wide chest, I feel almost delicate—even in the four-inch heels that bring me to almost eye level with him.
Black eyes are burning into me. “Sorry,” slips out of me in a whisper. He lets go of me, and my knees are so weak I begin sinking the second he does. Seeing it, he catches me again quickly.
“You all right?” The words are gruff.
Embarrassed, I nod. “I hate these shoes.”
His eyes narrow, and he looks down at them. He lets me go, and this time, I’m prepared and find myself backing up from him.
“There you are, Gaetano. This is my sister, Bianca. Bianca, this is Gaetano. He’s going to help me by keeping an eye on things.” Sandro comes from behind me.
Gaetano’s phone number is in my phone, along with Luca’s and Bobby’s. I’ve never called the number or met the man. It’s only in case of an emergency. Sandro has talked about Gaetano, and I’ve heard his side of numerous conversations with the man. He’s Sandro’s other best friend since before I was born.
The guy is exactly what I thought he would be: a broad bull of a man in all black. He’s a threat, a promise of violence in male form, and my stomach flips a thousand times, wondering what it would be like to be pressed up against him on purpose. Is there any softness to him at all, I wonder.
The air becomes cool, and the burning in his eyes disappears with a single blink. “Ah, the princess. The girl of the hour. Happy birthday, and congrats.”
His words are mocking, princess and girl feel like an insult. Anger fires through me and straightens my spine. “Thank you. Sandro, you never told me your best friend here was so much older than you. I hope it won’t be too much for you to work the party tonight. Wouldn’t want you falling asleep at the wheel on your way home.”
I say it aware he’s only two years older than Sandro. Despite it being a jab at him, it’s also the truth. The man looks at least ten years older than Sandro—especially with the silver in his beard. Sandro only has a few streaks of silver in his hair, and he doesn’t have a beard. I finally understand what people mean when they talk about a hard life showing on someone. This man has had a hard life, there’s no doubt in my mind.
I don’t miss the way his jaw tightens. He looks to Sandro. “You’re going to owe me for putting up with these kids. I’d rather work the truck coming in than be here.”
Sandro chuckles. “Sorry, I’ll owe you. I need you here. You’re the only one I trust to keep these girls in line.”
Shaking his head, Gaetano walks away with a muttered curse in Italian. I hate the way it feels like a direct insult at me. “Why is he such a dick?”
An eyebrow goes up. “Gaetano doesn’t like people, and he really doesn’t like brats. What was that? Why were you so rude?”
Stung, does Sandro think I’m a brat? “He started it. Calling me a princess and a girl like it was an STD or something. He’s never even met me. Where does he get off being so rude?”
“He’s mentioned a few times that he thinks I spoil you. There’s also the fact that Gaetano is not a party kind of person. I had no doubt he’d be able to shut shit down with a look, so I asked him to be here. Be nice. Please.”
“Fine,” I mutter and keep walking toward the restrooms.
It wasn’t fair. I’m always nice. Fuck Gaetano, I’m not a brat. My whole life I was raised to be a good girl, to behave, to never ask for more than I deserved, and I didn’t deserve anything more than a roof over my head and food in my belly—my father bore it into my brain even before my mother’s death when I was seven years old.
Marissa, my nanny, might not have used the same words. Yet they weren’t much different. I wasn’t to question or ask for things from my father or Sandro. If I was a good girl, I would be rewarded. What the reward was, I was never told. I thought it would be my brother and father’s love. It turned out to be things Sandro could buy me…kind of like this party.
I breathe deep. I had Sandro, and he tried, and he cared. And I needed to be grateful for it. I am. I really am.
“Oh my god, Bee! Who the hell was that scary, sexy man you and your brother were talking to?” Kitty asks as she comes up behind me.
I barely manage not to roll my eyes. Kitty is one of the frenemies, someone who would knife me in the back while she’s smiling to my face, given the chance. She knows I hate being called Bee. But she accuses me of being a snob for wanting to be called Bianca. “A guy who works for my brother. Excuse me, I have to pee.”
Actually, I don’t, but I also don’t want to talk to her. I’m saved by Joanna, my actual best friend coming in. “Bianca, oh my god, that guy is sooo freaking hot. He saved you from falling at his feet, but girl, I’d have no problem going down on my knees for him.”
I close the stall door on her.
“I was telling her the same thing. She says he works for her brother. Does that mean what I think it means, Bee? Is he packing heat?” Kitty giggles
Free to roll my eyes, I do as I force myself to pee.
“I’m not answering that question. And it’s not fun and games.” I say for the thousandth time. A memory flashes of Sandro coming home bleeding, assuring my mother he could sew up his own wound. He only needed her to get him some towels and the kit under the sink in the bathroom. Then my father shot, and blood everywhere as my brother and Luca carried him into the house. Of watching the doctor dig out the bullet in his leg as he begged Luca for something to put him under. There wasn’t anything to put him under, but Luca gave him a handful of pills he took with a large swallow of whiskey, and the way he screamed as the doctor sewed him up.
None of it was fun and games. 22222Flushing the toilet. I shake my head as I come out of the stall.
They’re staring at me as I walk out. “What?”
They move so I can wash my hands.
“You like him,” Joanna whispers, her eyes wide.
“Ooh, Bee, did you bump into him on purpose?” Kitty’s eyes are bugging out.
“No. Ew. Shut up. I do not like him. I ran into him because the asshole didn’t watch where he was going, and these heels are a pain in the ass. Besides, whatever. He would never look at me twice. Not like I want him to. Sandro says he’s a sullen dick. He’s probably gay and trying to hide it because you can’t be gay in the mafia.” Drying my hands, I toss the paper towel.
The bathroom door opens, and a group of girls come in.
“Hey, birthday girl. This is an awesome party. Thanks for the invite.” Darcy Reynolds waves at me. Her last name is from family money—the family of the kitchen products in everyone’s home, and a whole section in the grocery store. She’s never even acknowledged me before.
“Thanks,” I mutter and duck my head, intent on getting the hell out of the bathroom that’s filled with too many people.
The music is thumping, and girls are on the dance floor. Suddenly, the music is cut. A pop star I’ve loved for years is guided onto the stage. She waves to the crowd and asks where I am. A spotlight finds me. Everyone is cheering, I want to sink into the ground and be swallowed up. Her greeting is sweet as she tells me happy birthday. She begins singing one of my favorite songs and the spotlight is gone.
Relief turns my knees weak, and they won’t hold me up, I search desperately for a chair close by. The hand made of steel is around my arm again. I’m not questioning it and lean into his hard body—bad idea. I now want to plaster my entire body against his burning hot strength.
“You need to leave these shoes at home.” Rumbles from him as he half-carries me to the edge of the party to one of the tables. I’m plopped into a chair like he’s dumping a sack of potatoes. Black eyes are roaming over me. “You okay?”
I nod fast. Embarrassed, hating the way he’s studying me. Still stung by the girl comment from earlier, I kick out in a lie in an attempt to remind him I’m not a little kid. “I went too hard on the vodka in the bathroom.”
His frown deepens. “Your brother was adamant that there’s no liquor allowed. Where the hell is it?”
“Gone, tossed. It was just a little pre-gaming. No big deal.”
“No. No fucking pre-gaming. Damn it. You’re too damn young to drink. I’ll be talking to Sandro.” It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.
Sandro will probably attempt to ground me. More than likely, though, it will be a bunch of yelling and telling me he’s disappointed in me. I’ll nod and say I’m sorry, and it will never happen again. Then he’ll give a sigh of relief because he wants to believe me, and we’ll move on from it.
“Okay, Grandpa.” I can’t look at him. Every time I do I want to stare to try and take in every detail. His cologne is driving me nuts, something woodsy and light, almost sweet. I wonder what it tastes like on his skin. The thought is so unlike me, I’m shocked by it. Thank fuck the lights are dim in here to hide my blush.
He doesn’t like that, and he stomps away. Now that he’s not right beside me, my eyes follow him. It’s seriously unfair a man as hot as he is, is such a dick. Then again, I guess that’s how they all are. I mean, I love Sandro, and he’s not a dick to me, but for the women who come in and out of his life—he’s a dick.
Joanna nudges my arm. “What was that? Are you going to hit that?”
I roll my eyes so far into my head that I worry they’ll get stuck. “Again, ew. Shut up. I’m not going to waste my first time on someone like him. It’s probably tiny.”
Joanna is the only one aware of my plans regarding men. My mother was vocal about how she felt trapped in her marriage. I was only five when she lectured me about having a job and my own money, so I wouldn’t have to depend on a man for anything. No men before I finished school and had a job. It didn’t matter that at the time I had no understanding of the things she told me—they were engraved in my brain that if I followed the plan, I wouldn’t be as miserable as my mom was.
She giggles. “Whatever, I’m going with as long and thick as a baseball bat. I also bet he’d make the first time so good he’d turn you into an addict for him.”
“Gross, shut up. I’m trying to listen to my favorite song over here and you’re ruining it,” I mutter.
Her eyes go back up to the singer, and she shakes her head. “This is insane. You’re so lucky to have a big brother like Sandro. All my big brother ever gave me was mono.”
When the singer is done, she’s kind enough to take pictures with me and gifts me a few signed items before leaving.
When she leaves, I assume that’s it for the night. I’m wrong. On one side of the club, there was a taco bar set up. Someone had added a long table, and now there are small lambskin handbags that can be personalized however the person chooses. I’m shocked. Sandro had given me one of the bags for my actual birthday a few days ago. Holy crap, these bags run six freaking grand.
I’m getting hugs from everyone around me and squeals of happiness in my ears. There were sixty-five girls who had RSVP’d, and it looks like there are a few girls who hadn’t RSVP’d. Three women are from the brand and are helping with the personalization with charms and badges along the purse strap. One of the women assures me they brought an extra twenty bags, per Sandro’s request, so there was a mix of colors for everyone to choose from. The colors are black, pink, and white, and it looks as though almost everyone is picking pink and black.
It takes almost an hour for all the girls to get their bag how they want them. While that’s happening a double layer cake with a string of tulips climbing up the side has candles on it for me to blow out. There are matching cupcakes surrounding it.
I watch as the girls who have their bags and decline a cupcake are guided smoothly and without much pushback out the door. Only half an hour after my cake was presented, there are fewer than a dozen girls left in the club. I glance at my phone to see it’s almost eleven thirty. Sandro had said he wanted the party over by midnight.
It’s clear the men are following Gaetano’s orders as every time they get a girl out the door, they look to Gaetano. Then their hand goes up to their ear, they’re communicating over earpieces—earpieces I can’t see. I’m also unable to even tell Gaetano’s lips are moving.
A part of me wants to be annoyed. But deep down, I’m grateful. I’ve been fighting a yawn for the last hour. Even when my friends were hanging out at my place, I always had them out the door by ten with the excuse it was a time set by Sandro. All I want to do is go home, snuggle under the covers, and go to sleep.