27. Tamayo
TAMAYO
M y hands move without much thought, my mind preoccupied as I unwind my belt from Zarina’s wrists, massage the pink marks left behind, and ease her feet out of her heels. All I can think is, I just fucked Zarina Gallo . Mob princess of my enemy who I’ve promised to wipe off the face of Louredo’s map.
And damn, it was good.
I smooth my hands over her arms and dip to kiss the dimples of her spine. “One second,” I murmur against her skin before I dart away to slip my pants back on and grab a couple towels and water. When I turn back to the sofa, Zarina is curled up on her side with tangled hair flipped over her shoulder. My mouth twitches. I fucked Zarina Gallo and it was good and I want to do it again.
I dip the towel into one of the glasses and cup Zarina’s face. “Cold?”
She nods as I wipe away cum and drool and smears of makeup until she’s barefaced, save for mascara and eyebrow tint. The way I’m used to seeing her at home. A little more vulnerable, a little less masked. I press a kiss to her temple .
And she snags the towel out of my hand. “Turn around.”
I chuckle. “You’re naked, and we just did very nasty things to each other?—”
She pushes my face away with a glower. “And I would like to clean the evidence of that without an audience.”
I shake my head, turning on my good knee, and shrug off my shirt. My tank is more than enough when she’s bare. I raise it behind me, and she snatches it out of my hand. I have to bite down on my laughter. The towel lands with a wet smack on the coffee table.
“May I turn around now?” I ask
“Bring the water with you.”
“Yes, princess.” I lift myself onto the couch, scooting back to sit beside her, and press the glass into her hand. She’s pulled her skirt, previously rumpled around her waist, back down, and buttoned up my shirt. It strains over her chest, meant for my slimmer frame and barely able to accommodate her delectable curves.
She tilts her head back to drink, and all I can picture is her face under me, tongue out, neck arched. I squeeze my eyes shut and slip my arm over the back of the couch, behind her, without touching her. Her body slides closer to me, inch by inch, her toes slipping under my legs. Ten little nubs of dry ice—so fucking cold.
“Come here.” I open my arms. “Get warm.”
She curls into my side, and I pull her closer, placing her feet between my legs to warm them up faster. She shivers as I rub her back and arms and lean my cheek against her crown. I wish I had a blanket to bundle up around her, tuck under her feet, her chin. A little princess burrito.
“Was everything we did okay?” I ask. We didn’t discuss anything like I wanted, not in a way that eases my conscience.
Zarina chews on her lip for a moment, taking time to answer. “I think so. ”
“I welcome a different answer any time,” I murmur.
“Hmm.” She snuggles closer, shoving her hands between her legs. I want to draw her fully into my lap, let my heat seep into her.
Instead, I settle for rubbing patterns over her goose bumps. “Anything you really liked?”
She snorts. “Would you like a ranking?”
I grin above her head. “Sure.”
She holds up her fingers, starting with one. “Fucking my face is highest, bondage is a close second, and lowest is ‘cheeky slut.’”
“Why’s it lowest?”
She sniffs. “Because we’re not British, and I’m a brat.”
“Yes, you are.” I bury my mirth in her hair, knowing that if she sees it, I’ll likely earn a glare. “The overstimulation?”
Zarina gives a thumbs up. “Top tier.”
“But below the face-fucking?” I clarify.
“Correct.” She replaces her hands between her legs.
I trace my hand down her arm, over her wrist, fingertips brushing across her thigh where they disappear. “Are you sore?”
She snorts. “It was barely tight.”
I chew on that, calling to mind the few moments I thought she might push harder, might brat more in the hopes of a reaction. And each time, I wished she would have. I lift her chin to meet my eye. Hers are bright, as if the sun is lighting them up from the inside. “Would you like it tighter?”
“I think I would.”
I cock my head. “And the spanks?”
A shiver echoes over her body, and I don’t think it’s the temperature. “Harder next time.”
Interesting. I drop my hand to her knee. “How do you feel about orgasm denial?”
“I could be interested.” She scoots closer, head resting against the sofa cushions.
“And toys? ”
She grins, eyes closed. “The more the merrier.”
Her expression screams content, sated, and I want to bottle it up and keep it tucked away for later. I settle for gathering her as close as possible without dislodging her hands and feet. “Would you ever want to fuck while people watched?”
“Maybe.” Her head falls onto my shoulder, my lips in her hair. “I’d fuck myself while you watched. You like to watch, don’t you?”
How’d she know? “I do.”
“You’re not the only one who pays attention,” she says, smug.
“Cute.”
“What else do you like?” Zarina asks.
The question is so simple and innocuous, but it sits heavy on my chest. I’m always leading the conversation, providing answers without being asked the question. Because no one ever asks. They expect me to lead, and I want to, I do. But I also want sex to be a conversation as much as it is a pleasurable act.
I press my lips to her crown and hum. “I like to be in control, see the walls topple brick by brick because of what I’m doing or saying. I like leaving marks. And I really like to hear brats like you beg me to touch them.”
“I can tell.”
I smile into her hair and pinch her thigh.
She smacks my ribs. “We should fuck more,” Zarina says. “Might keep me from strangling you the next time you piss me off.”
I laugh. “I doubt it would help, but I’m willing to try.”
“Noble of you.”
“Thanks.”
Quiet settles around us, soft as a blanket and just as unassuming. I rub her arm and leg, trying to keep her as warm as I can, and Zarina settles further into the couch. Into me. My mind circles back to the glaring reality that I just fucked Zarina Gallo in my queer, kinky club .
And goddamn, I want to do it again. And again. And again.
And I can. She lives in my house, under my rule. My Gallo princess to wreck and ruin until both our games are played out and I get what I want—a seat at the table.
“Tamayo?” Zarina’s voice is a whisper, as if she doesn’t want to disturb the quiet moment.
“Hm?”
“Why do you want to be a don?” she asks.
I almost laugh. Can she read minds? Instead, I take a moment, figure out a way to answer that’s just enough of the truth. My knee twinges, unhappy with tonight’s activities. Another reminder of the goals I’ve spent years pursuing. I lay broken and bleeding in an alley a decade ago because of Gallo orders. Never again. If I have to buy up every piece of land in mine and the Southern districts to oust the Gallo Family and insert myself, I will.
And I’ll fuck their perfect princess while I do it.
I rest my chin on Zarina’s head, speaking as quietly as she did. “Me and my family, we’re excluded and exploited. We want more, better.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” Zarina pushes out from under my chin, leaning back to meet my face. “Why do you want to be a don? Not your family, not Darius, you.”
Because I want to protect my people, myself, from ever feeling like I did in that alley.
But I don’t say that. I stare at Zarina, her brown eyes flicking between mine as if she can read my thoughts in them. She doesn’t know my origin story, the betrayal of her family against me. And why would she? She was a kid when it happened, thirteen years old and living in the lap of luxury with a golden spoon in her mouth.
But me? I didn’t have parents to care for me, not after they found out I was gay. All I had was Darius and the Gallo crew I worked with. And then they treated me worse than my family— hurled homophobic slurs at me as they beat me. I didn’t get the option to live in ignorance.
I hitch a breath to answer, but a knock cracks against the door. Zarina grumbles, and I press a kiss to her hair before I disentangle from her and stride across the room to open the door.
Angie stands outside, holding a large, fluffy blanket draped over her arms. Pat’s behind her, craning their neck to get a look past me. The club music grates against my ears as I step back to allow Angie entrance—and Pat the chance to see Zarina drinking water on the couch.
Angie shoves the blanket into my chest, and I catch it with a grunt, letting the door fall closed on Pat glaring at me with barely contained threat. I ignore them and Angie, beelining for Zarina and tucking the blanket around her.
“Do you need anything else?” I murmur.
She cuddles into the warmth. “Food.”
I pull my phone out of my back pocket to shoot a text to Darius to order pizza. Before I can press send, Angie tosses down a bag of shrimp chips onto the sofa beside Zarina, who claps in excitement.
“My favorite!”
I shoot Angie a bemused look.
She shrugs, black-painted lips twitching with the hint of a smile. “The one outside asked for those and the blanket.”
So many interesting things tonight. Angie doesn’t talk to outsiders, let alone almost smile about them. I settle down beside Zarina as she munches on the chips and wish I could drag her back into my orbit again. But I refrain. “And the reason you brought everything yourself?”
Angie’s gaze flicks to Zarina and back to me, brow arched as if to ask, You sure you want me to say in front of her?
Zarina snorts around a shrimp chip. “Go have your little covert meeting. I’m fine. ”
I ignore her, pulling her feet onto my lap and rubbing them over the blanket. “I’m assuming this is about our guest?”
“Plural,” Angie says.
Plural? “Then Zarina already knows.”
“I do?” she asks, mouth full.
“Logan took the bait.” Angie tosses a flash drive at me, and I snatch it out of the air one-handed.
“That was hot,” Zarina mumbles.
Angie rolls her eyes.
I tamp down on a grin, shaking my head. “And our people?”
Angie doesn’t spare Zarina a glance, as if she’s not here. “They’re fine. Wendy says this better have paid off the rest of their top surgery.”
“It does.” I pocket the flash drive.
“Did he hurt them?” Zarina asks, worry lines on her forehead.
Angie shakes her head, eyes bright with mischief. “They fucked him.”
“Make sure they get aftercare and the week off if they want it—except testing day.” No one gets out of STI testing day.
“Already done,” Angie says.
I cock my head. “Who’s the other guest?”
She glances at Zarina again, but this time it’s more calculated and annoyed than cautious. “Marcus Accardi is outside, demanding to see Miss Gallo.”
Fucking idiot. He and Alonso have exercised every avenue they can to keep their names separate from mine, from the Den of Inequity, and all the underhanded bullshit they’re doing. And he shows up here anyway? Making a scene? Men and their tiny, indefensible egos.
“The line is mostly inside,” Angie continues. “Darius and Gemma are holding them at the door.”
Zarina wipes her hands free of crumbs and studies Angie then me with a shrewd look. “Has the DA left yet? ”
“He’s recovering in his suite,” Angie says.
Zarina turns to me, nudging my leg with her foot. “Walk him out.”
“What?” Angie and I ask in unison.
Zarina sighs, exasperated. “Walk him out of the club as a courtesy. Make sure he had a good time, that he gets to his car safely, and that he passes right by Marcus. And then completely ignore the asshole.”
I consider it, pursing my lips. “That will only rile him up.”
“Exactly.” Zarina’s smirk is nothing short of malicious.
“I would prefer not to provoke him,” I say.
“Marcus is already provoked—you’ve got his weasel and his snake in custody. He didn’t show up here for me, not really. He came for you.” She tosses the chips on the table, bag half-gone, and licks her fingers clean. “Walk Logan out, shake his hand, and invite him back anytime. It’s double assurance—you have the footage, now make sure the Accardis know for certain that the district attorney is in your pocket and his actions are targeted.”
The scope of her proposal sinks in. “Remove Logan’s chance to double-cross.”
Her smirk widens into a full-tooth grin. “Exactly.”
I yank my phone out again to call Logan’s driver, hand never leaving Zarina’s feet. Until I hang up. She pulls her legs in, and I lean over to press one last kiss to her temple then her cheek. “Get dressed, princess.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Angie, can you walk her out the back while I deal with Marcus?” I rise, striding to one of the closets along the back wall and pulling out a new shirt.
“Tamayo,” Angie’s voice is full of disagreement.
“I’m not having her exit through the front, Angela,” I snap.
“I don’t like this,” she gripes.
I button up my shirt and tuck it into my trousers. “I know. ”
“There’s a back exit?” Zarina asks, still bundled in her blanket on the couch.
“Sort of. Angie will show you the way. Pat, too.”
Angie huffs and grinds her teeth, the action more sinister with her black lipstick and heavy eyeliner.
Zarina looks her up and down with a hitch of annoyance in her brow. “Will Angie also lecture me the whole way?”
I bend over the back of the couch and find her lips for a goodbye peck. “Likely.”
“Fun,” she grumbles.
I kiss her again. “Be good.”
“No promises,” she sing-songs.
I mock sigh. “I’ll meet you at home.”
Without another glance back, I open the door and jerk my head to signal Pat inside. They rush past me as I descend the stairs into the chaos of the club. The kink demonstration is finished, and the crowd has moved onto the dance floor, over the couches, into the private rooms. Those dancing are barely doing so, their hands and lips doing far more than feeling the music. Someone’s tied to the spanking bench, a skirt scrunched up around their waist as their partner strikes their ass redder than a ripe apple.
I stride past it all, nodding when a soldier falls in behind me—a sarcastic woman named Carl. We ascend a second set of stairs that leads up to VIP suites and dungeons for rent. I rap my knuckles over a door and wait a few moments before it swings inward.
“Tamayo!” Logan greets me, fully dressed and arms wide in welcome. “What service your place has!”
“We aim to please.” I affect deference, dipping my chin slightly and shaking his hand. “Your car is ready for you.”
He claps me on the back, stepping out of the room.“And you’ve come to see me off?”
“Of course. ”
“A true host!” He pulls the door shut and falls in-step beside me. “I’ll have to visit more often.”
“We’d love to have you,” I lie through my teeth as Carl and Logan’s security follow us downstairs. “I assume you were well-entertained?”
“Yes, of course, of course.” He double-checks his buttons are correctly aligned, his cuffs fastened. “I wish I could’ve stayed longer.”
“Perhaps next time.” I lead him out of the front door, his car waiting at the curb, and we slow to a stop beside it. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Marcus angrily arguing with Darius and Gemma—a capo who weaponizes claw-like nails and makeup better than any gun—at the entry door, and I have to focus intensely on not laughing at him. Carl’s already aware, shooting Gemma a frown as I hand Logan a specific business card—one for the capo that manages the sex workers—and shake his hand again, the exchange seamless. “Thank you again, Logan.”
He doesn’t notice Marcus behind me, despite the fact he’s now charging over here. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Tamayo.”
“We’ll see you again soon.” I clap him on the back.
“You might not be able to get rid of me!” He winks, laughing at his own joke as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.
I force a chuckle and a smile and pettily hope the next few moments discourage him from ever returning. I gesture to his driver, waiting with the car door open, at the same moment Marcus calls Logan’s name.
Perfect .
I frown, like I don’t know who could possibly recognize Logan here, in this setting, and then the moment I turn, my face shifts into anger while my chest fills with warm satisfaction. Marcus’s expression is livid and also surprised. He might have had his suspicions, but he definitely didn’t think Logan would actually be in bed with me, Andrea Tamayo, a lowly gangster.
Logan visibly pales as his mouth stretches into a fake, half-terrified smile. “Mr. Accardi!”
I almost snort. Almost. The man’s never shown anyone else the same overwrought respect of addressing them so formally. My hands slip into my pockets, and my shoulders affect a casual slouch. I’m still wearing my mask of anger with a hint of disgust.
“Logan? What are you doing here?” Marcus stops a few feet away, his people behind him.
Darius takes his place behind my right shoulder, Gemma at my left, Carl behind her. And we watch.
“Visiting a sponsor!” Logan chuckles nervously. “You know me, always looking to expand my votership.”
Marcus’s gaze penetrates deeper without any further explanation. “Father wants to have you round for dinner to discuss business.”
“Yes, yes, I got his message.” Logan hedges, hand on the door and feet shuffling away from us both. “It’s been a terribly busy day.”
Marcus looks directly at me. “I can see that.”
“Tell him I’ll give him a call in the morning?” Logan takes one step into the car.
“Sure, Logan. He’ll be interested to hear that I saw you here , of all places.”
Logan clears his throat. “Ah, well. It’s quite late, Mr. Accardi.”
“Especially for a man of your age.” Marcus takes Logan’s hand and helps him into his car, leaning down into his space. “Take care of yourself. Heart disease is the leading cause of death in older men, especially those who have such high-stress positions as you.”
“Thank you for your concern.” Logan pats Marcus’s hand still in his. “I’ll be sure to rest well. ”
“See you soon.” Marcus straightens and shuts the car door.
Logan’s security waits until Marcus backs away from the car before sliding into the front passenger seat, and then the car drives away. All under Marcus’s watchful eye.
And then he turns to me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
His lip curls in disgust, like he can’t believe he’s deigning to speak to me directly. “Where’s Zarina?”
“Not here.” I search the crowd, his driveling posse of fuckboy mobsters, and frown in faux confusion. “Where’s Dan?”
He grinds his teeth, and god, I wish I could smile at that. “You know, I pity you.”
I almost snort.
“You bit off more than you can chew—with me, with her. You think you can tame a girl like Zarina Gallo? She needs a firm hand. I would’ve given her that, but now…” He shakes his head like he pities us. Too bad he doesn’t know I had her well-in-hand only minutes ago. “Now I only have an iron fist ready to crush you both.”
“All I smell is fear, Accardi.” I finally allow myself to grin, slow and malevolent. Only a little man with a little ego seeks to control others, to use violence to get his way. “You’re rank with it.”
His eye twitches. “Zarina will be mine, sooner or later.”
“Zarina belongs to herself alone.”
Marcus laughs. “See you at the party, Tamayo.”
“I assume you’ll dress as Tweedledum?” I snipe.
He lunges at me, but his soldiers yank him back by the arms as Darius and Gemma step ahead of me. Too bad, honestly. I’d much rather he start a fight so I can end his blip of an existence. Marcus tries to shove his people off him, but they don’t let up, chanting, “Not here. Not yet.”
Marcus finally yanks free and squares up to me, nose as close as he can get with Darius’s hand on his chest. “You’re just a cockroach,” he spits. “A pest allowed to live by the grace of the Cardinal Families. We can eradicate you at the snap of a finger, Andrea Tamayo. Remember that.”
“I prefer termite.” I lean in, closing the gap between us and holding his glare with my own. “You all have sat still in your mansions, ignoring the people beneath them, for too long. Do you know what happens when you don’t treat a termite problem quickly?”
Marcus doesn’t answer. And he isn’t meant to.
“The foundation collapses, Marcus.” I straighten and brush off my shirt, as if being so close to him has sullied me. “You’ve left the foundation unattended for decades, cozy in your towers. I can’t wait to watch it all crumble to dust.”
Darius shoves him back into the waiting arms of his men.
“Get home safe, Marcus,” I call as I turn my back on him. One of the highest insults I could give. “Daddy wouldn’t want you out too late.”