Chapter 44 Lorenzo
Lorenzo
“Let’s get this over with,” I said as I walked into the New Jersey warehouse.
The last thing I wanted to do was hold an auction, but we couldn’t hold onto the weapons’ cache for much longer.
The heir to the Irish mob, Cillian O’Connelly, Gustavo and Angel Castillo, and a Japanese man I only knew as Takeo were gathered, waiting on me.
“I have a wife who I’d like to get back to. ”
Cillian rolled his eyes. “What bollocks,” he muttered. “You were the one that dragged us to the middle of fuck-all Jersey.”
“No one is keeping you here, O’Connelly,” I reminded.
The man muttered something under his breath, but I didn’t bother trying to figure out what it was. I didn’t care that much. “Damian, show the men what we’re working with.”
Damian led the men on a tour of the crates, showing off the wares without letting any of them touch. “We have your initial bids,” he said. “Take ten minutes, and make us better ones.”
While the men debated over prices with their organizations, I answered a text from Isabella: she wanted to know when I would be home, and I tried to give her an estimate without promising too much. Damian leaned against the crate next to me. “Tell me there’s an update on Alfie.”
My vicecapo shook his head. “My last lead dried up. He’s in the wind.”
The most dangerous place for a psycho like him. “Fucking fantastic.”
The auction itself was fairly short. I looked over the three final bids.
Takeo’s was the exact same as the bid he’d sent weeks ago: he wasn’t going to wiggle on price.
The Castillos offered another hundred thousand on top of their previous offer.
Cillian topped his initial offer with two hundred and fifty thousand.
“Gustavo,” I said. “Wire the money through the account Damian will set up for you. As soon as it clears, it’s yours.”
Cillian snarled. “Gobshite. There’s no way this skanger twat put down more money than me.”
Gustavo wheeled around on him. “?Qué dijiste?” Rapid Spanish flew from the man’s mouth; no one had to be fluent to know that what he was saying was foul. When he reached for the holster on his waist, Angel stepped in.
“Padre, we aren’t in Miami,” he said, as if reminding his father that they weren’t among friends.
Gustavo stared at his son for a moment before backhanding him. Angel barely flinched, but the ring that his father wore sliced his cheek open. “Perro insolente,” the older man spat and waved his son to where Damian stood, ready to make the wire transfer.
“You’ve got this?” I called to my vicecapo, who waved me off.
I headed for the exit, ready to be done with this day when Cillian O’Connelly stepped directly in front of me, puffed large and red with anger. “I bid more than that Venezuelan bastard.”
Like I gave a fuck. I tilted my head, mocking. “Are you really going to complain that I’m not being fair?”
“I offered you more money.” Cillian’s stormy blue eyes crackled with anger. “What kind of git refuses to take more money?”
I sneered. Not only did Isabella want the weapons out of New York, but why would I hand over military-grade hardware to a man who would use them against me. “The kind that knows his enemies, O’Connelly. Now, get the fuck out of my way.”
I stepped around the bastard, content with the knowledge that I had a dozen men in the warehouse, guns trained on our guests. “You’re going to regret this, Vitali,” Cillian yelled after me.
“Go for it,” I threw back over my shoulder. The Irish were the kind of pain in my ass that I would have to deal with sooner or later. But there were more important things first.
Getting to eat dinner and take a shower with Isabella was a balm for the last handful of disappointing days.
Alfie was still in the wind. I pissed off Cillian O’Connelly and the man would come looking for retribution eventually.
Nikolai wouldn’t take my calls. He still wasn’t happy about what I had done to Efram.
Problems on top of problems on top of problems. But I didn’t want to think about any of that right now.
Not when I had Isabella, shower-soft, beside me in bed.
I curved myself along her back. “How was your massage today?”
“It was very nice,” she said, tipping herself back so that she was pressed against my chest. “Thank you for that.”
“We could make it a weekly thing,” I offered.
She chuckled. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. I don’t want to become spoiled or something.”
She meant it as a joke, but there was something about her voice that was wrong. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Again, there was that faux singsong cheery voice. It was beyond phony.
“Isabella.”
I felt, more than heard, her sigh. “Both Amalia and Gemma are mad at me,” she admitted softly. “Gemma got mouthy, and Amalia …”
She kept talking, but my focus had shifted to the warmth of her skin against mine. Being as busy as I had been, it felt like it had been ages since I’d had her. I kissed her shoulder, sliding my hand down her body.
Isabella caught my hand. “Seriously?”
“What? It sounded like you could use a little bit more relaxation.”
She shoved my hands off. “You weren’t even listening to me, were you?”
“You were fighting with Gemma and Amalia because Gemma ran her mouth. Again. Did I miss anything else?”
Isabella went stiff before turning over so that she could look at me. “You’re not taking me seriously.”
“No, I’m not,” I said. Petty squabbling had always burrowed beneath my skin; I had absolutely no patience for it. “What would you like me to do about any of it? I offered to send Gemma away. It would have been the kindest thing we could have done for her, but you didn’t want to do that.”
I could see it on her face that I had hurt her feelings, but I didn’t take any of it back.
“So, I can offer to send her to New Jersey to be babysat by my aunts for the indefinite future…or I can help you relax before you fall asleep. Which would you rather do right now?” There was anger in her eyes, but the want on her face was even more clear.
I shifted closer to her, sliding my knee between her thighs.
Isabella heaved a great sigh. “I want to relax,” she murmured.
“Of course, dolcezza.”
I rearranged the pillows for us so that she could recline without the weight of the baby pressing down on her before I made myself at home between her thighs.
She wasn’t wet when I ran my tongue around her clit and dipped it down to lap at her entrance, but it didn’t take her long to get there either.
I was persistent, drawing soft sounds from her throat and coaxing her to a fever pitch. Isabella sank her fingers into my hair, holding me against her as if she were afraid that I would pull away. Her hips kicked upward, chasing her pleasure, and I cooed encouragements against her.
I pushed my tongue inside her, groaning at the way her wetness dripped down my chin. My cock was hard, tenting in my boxers, and I was about to remove them entirely when one of the windows smashed open by a smoking cannister.
Isabella screamed, and I snapped into action. I grabbed for the gun that I kept in the bedside table, but before I could raise it and aim for whoever was outside the window, I saw a beam of red. Through the smoke, I watched that beam land on me; I let go of the gun and let it drop to the ground.
The bedroom door was kicked open, and Isabella screamed again, clutching the bedsheets to her chest in an effort not to be naked in front of whatever was coming.
A man in full SWAT regalia came storming into the room. He was carrying a rifle with a scope on it. “Lorenzo Vitali,” he boomed, “you are under arrest for felony arson. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to remain silent…”
He droned on as another SWAT member approached me. His gun was holstered, but not strapped, and he held a pair of handcuffs in his hands. Isabella was frantic, begging them to leave me alone. “Dolcezza.”
She fell silent and watched, eyes wide and sad, as they clapped the handcuffs onto my wrists.
She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, but the SWAT with the rifle pointed it her way before she could move to get off the bed.
She froze with a whimper. “Don’t point your gun at my wife,” I growled.
“Shut up, Vitali.” But the gun moved away from her, aiming at me instead. That was fine. I could handle that.
As they led me out of the bedroom, I could hear Isabella scrambling after us. Elio was standing in front of Amalia in the hall. Damian had been stopped on his way to the office. “Chiama il mio avvocato,” I called to him.
“I’m on it. Don’t worry.”
I wasn’t until I saw the absolute terror on Isabella’s face. The Feds could put on a horror show all they liked, but if something happened to her or the baby because she was stressed out, I would make them all pay.