10. Santino
SANTINO
My impatience to learn the name of the woman I’m speaking to is taking over. This isn’t like me. She’s making me question myself and I don’t like people who do that, usually. This mystery woman has gotten under my skin. The more I talk to her, the more I find myself falling for her.
Me. Falling for a complete stranger.
If I’m being played, I’m going to put a bullet between the eyes of whoever is behind this. No one makes me look like a fool and if it is so easy to set me up, that’s a problem.
But as I stare at the image of her in brand new lingerie, I really don’t care if this is a plan to take me down.
“Sir?” Terrance’s voice ruins my good mood.
I press the button to reply. “Yes, Terrance?” A low throb forms right between my brows. I haven’t spoken to Luca in a few days. He’s been avoiding me since our conversation.
“You have another flower delivery.”
I sit up straighter and run my hands down the front of my shirt, acting as if I’m about to meet the person behind the gorgeous bouquets. My heart hammers in my chest, a similar feeling to when I went on my first date.
Silly flowers are causing me, Santino Salvati, a ruthless killer, to have butterflies.
Ruthless killers do not get butterflies.
The knock the door has me stand so fast, I hit my knee on the side of my desk. I bend over, cursing under my breath. “Come in,” I grumble.
The door opens and Terrance is hidden behind not one, but two flower bouquets. They are bigger than the others I’ve received, and not that I’d admit it aloud, but I might have inhaled a sharp breath.
It’s ridiculous to act this way.
“Where shall I sit them, Sir?” he asks, not moving an inch since he can’t see.
I rush around the desk to get to him, taking one out of his hands. “Apologies, Terrance. I wasn’t expecting anymore deliveries.” I place one is only long stem black roses on the coffee table. “Please, set the other on the edge of my desk, please.”
“Of course, Sir.” Terrance’s bouquet consists of black and red tulips.
There has to be a theme here. All flowers have been red and black. I’m not sure why. I don’t speak the language of flowers, but I’d love to learn.
I grab the card from the first bouquet then realize Terrance is still in my office. “You can go, Terrance. Thank you.”
“Of course, Sir. If you need anything else, please let me know.” He leaves, shutting the door behind him to give me privacy.
I flip the card over, curious what it could say since we’ve been talking.
“I can’t stop thinking about you. I hope these flowers make your day.”
I smile, rereading the words over and over again, tracing the gold letter with my fingers.
“Who are you? You have me too curious. I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.” The longer we talk, the longer she woos me flowers, slowly seducing me into a puddle of a man I’ve never been, the more I fall.
Eyeing the tulips, I stroll over to the desk, pinching a soft petal between my fingers. Plucking the card from the plastic holder, I read that one too, my heart still racing with excitement.
“I hope one day I’ll be as close to you as these flowers are. To be the center of your appreciation seems like a place I’d never want to leave.”
I growl, fisting my hardening cock as I read her words. I fall forward, gripping the edge of the desk to get a hold of myself. If I ever find out who she is, she will always be center of my attention. All day. Every day.
The want for this mystery woman makes me think of Jovie and a twist of guilt eats away at me for some reason.
I don’t stand a chance with her. We can’t be together.
She knows it. I know it. I can’t do that to my son, even if he deserves it for cheating on such a beautiful, smart woman.
She’d be perfect by my side. She has a different perspective.
She wasn’t raised in this life, one full of drugs and death.
I have a shipment of weapons coming into the docks at five o’clock tonight and that’s no place for a woman like Jovie. It’s imperative that she stays far away from me, or it will paint a target on her back. She’s too sweet for the ugly world I live in.
She deserves flowers too. Rainbows. A fucking unicorn if they existed. I’d give everything bright and happy to her. I’d find a way.
Even though my heart wants her, my soul knows that isn’t possible.
It’s best if I forget about her and focus on the person behind the flowers. This person must know who I am and what I do. Hell, they must have heard rumors about what I’ve done.
There’s one that is still talked about around town.
I had my men hold someone over a fifteen-story building from the roof. Upside down, of course. They had told one of their little friends about my drug operation and they tried to steal from me. His friends ended up dead and I had to deal with him.
Then, he accidentally fell out of their hands and splattered to the ground.
A sad, sad day.
Whoever this person is sending me flowers, must have heard all of the horrid and twisted things.
People are not exactly quiet about what I do or what they have heard about me.
It’s no wonder that conversations stop when I walk into a building or people stare, whispering to one another if this story is true or that story.
They are all true.
Allegedly, if the police ask.
I reach down between my legs and squeeze my semi-hard cock, hoping the slight pain is enough to ease the desire.
I haven’t felt like this in years. I can’t remember the last time I had sex.
It didn’t become a priority after my wife died.
I threw myself into running this syndicate.
It’s all that mattered. Now, I have an empire so many are wanting to collapse.
As long as I’m breathing, the empire will continue to grow, and if Bianchi isn’t careful, his plan is going to backfire, and I’ll control the southern territory.
I’m a reasonable, fair man, unlike my enemy.
There are plenty of people who would support the leadership change.
People make more money when I’m the one leading them.
And who doesn’t like to make money?
I tap the cards on the desk, then sit on the edge, opening the drawer.
I add them to the stack from the other bouquets.
I plan to cherish them forever. If this entire thing ends up being a ploy, I’ll still keep them to remind myself I’m able to feel something other than being completely numb to life.
Grabbing my phone, I take a picture of the tulips, set them as my background image, then send Ms. Smith a picture.
I’m dying to know what she looks like. I want to see the face that belongs to the body I’m completely obsessed with. It’s fucking perfect. She’s a Greek goddess, all curves, and thick thighs. She was made to be worshiped, and I’ll happily get on my knees to kiss the ground she walks on.
Me: “I received your flowers. As always, they are beautiful. Let’s make the tulip card happen, Ms. Smith. Let’s meet and I’ll focus entirely on you.”
My phone clatters to the desk as I watch her bubbles appear.
I’m trying to be as nice and as patient as I can when it comes to having her tell me who she is.
I want her to be comfortable, yet as the days go on, I feel strung along.
I dislike that. No one has the upper hand when I’m involved in the situation. I am always in control.
Being out of control is nerve racking.
Her: “I hope to one day, but not soon.”
I toss my phone on the office chair, frustrated beyond belief. “One day,” I scoff. “And not soon?” Absolutely not.
I bend down to pick up my phone, irritated. I don’t understand why she doesn’t want to meet yet.
Me: “I won’t wait for one day soon. I’ll find out on my own if this goes on for much longer.”
Her: “I can’t ask you not to look into me. I know this bothers you. I’m asking you for a little more time.”
I knock the Italian imported wood with my knuckles, growling in protest.
Me: “What’s a little more time?”
Her: “A… few more months?”
“Months!” I shout, rereading her message over and over.
There’s no way she means months. Now, the hair on the back of my neck’s standing up.
Why would she need months to meet me? My idea that this is a set up makes more sense.
Months. Bianchi must be planning something.
The woman he’s using to send videos to me, I wonder how much he is paying her to do this.
Is it against her will? Is she doing this for laughs? Or is she rolling in the money he is giving her?
My fingers ache to type that I’m done, that I never want to speak to her again.
The flash of anger possesses me, and I fight against it.
No matter what I think or how I feel in this moment, I could be wrong.
I have to be open to being wrong. There’s a woman on the end of this phone and no matter the circumstances, I’m to treat her with respect.
My fingers hover over the touchscreen, debating on releasing my wrath. I can’t. I pride myself on thinking before I speak. I can’t let me anger get the best of me.
Me: “Months is out of the question. It’s already been too long for me.
I’ve wanted to know who you are since the first bouquet.
I’m not a man who trusts easily. I’m starting to wonder if this is a game.
I don’t play games, Ms. Smith. I win them.
I start them. I finish them. If you truly knew me, you’d know that.
I’m invested in this, whatever this is, and I want to know you. ”
I run my fingers through my hair, rereading my message to see if I sounded too harsh. I am who I am. Harshness is part of my nature, but with my mystery woman, I only want to be gentle and easy. I want to give her a part of me that no one else has had in a very long time.
And how ridiculous is that? How sad does that make me? Wanting to completely fall in love with someone whose name I don’t even know.