43. Ana
43
ANA
Angelo strummed his fingers along the table at the seedy bar where we waited for Enzo Accardi.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” he muttered.
Valentin took Angelo’s hand in his and stroked his thumb over his knuckles. “You have a bad feeling about everything. It’s part of your charm.”
I struggled to hold in my yawn. I’d never been a night owl, and sitting at a bar, after midnight, after a day as exhausting as today? I was barely holding it together.
Angelo’s lips twisted. “It’s late. I prefer to take care of my toys, and this one needs sleep.”
And there it was, finally, the stark reminder of my place in their lives. I was going to help these two assholes amass more money and more power, and when they were done, then what?
I swirled my whiskey in my glass, scowling.
“Princess,” Valentin said, releasing Angelo’s hand and taking mine. “What’s wrong?”
“What happens to me when you’ve finally got control of my father’s territory?”
Angelo growled. “Nothing. You’re ours, angel.”
Right. Until he got tired of me. Or Valentin did. Children outgrew their toys… or broke them. Why should I think I was any different? Angelo might whisper pretty words about marrying me, but we all knew it was because doing so was the best way to lock down his territory.
A hand wrapped around my thigh, creeping up under my skirt, leaving a delicious trail of heat on my skin.
“Don’t,” I snapped. “Enzo could arrive at any moment.” And I’d known Paulo the bartender since I was a kid. And the two soldiers nursing their beers at the bar. And half the folks sitting at tables.
Angelo spread his fingers, and I moaned as one of them traced against the silk of my new panties.
“I love the fact that everything you’re wearing, I gave you,” he said. He traced his finger along the silk, not forcing my legs apart, just back and forth, wherever he could reach.
My breath turned ragged, and I tightened my fingers around Valentin’s. Why didn’t I have any self-control where these men were concerned?
Angelo continued to trace his fingers over the silk of my panties, idle patterns that made me want to spread my thighs apart and beg him to touch my clit, to fuck me with his fingers and do something to relieve the slow aching burn he was creating in my center.
“We’re in public,” I breathed. “In a bar in the middle of Costa territory. Angelo, everyone can fucking see!”
He slapped my thigh, and I bit my tongue rather than yelp with the pain. “Have I ever given you permission to call me by my name?”
I turned my head to stare at him, grateful to be positioned between him and the wall, terrified that anyone at the bar could see my face and guess what was going on. I’d called him by his name plenty of times before.
He raised an eyebrow. Holy shit, we were playing . This was a scene .
“Sorry, sir,” I breathed as I melted into my seat.
He slid his hand through the edge of my underwear and stroked a finger through my folds. “You’re fucking soaked.”
I whimpered then squeezed Valentin’s hand, trying to keep my face blank as Angelo teased me. The butterfly strokes of his finger against my newly smooth skin drove me wild, brushing up and down my slit, teasing me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus, couldn’t think about the fact that Enzo Accardi was supposed to show up any minute. My nipples were hard, my skin was too tight, and my face was flushed from the illicit arousal.
Valentin held my hand tight as Angelo intensified his exploration, running his fingers up and down my slit before delving into my folds. I couldn’t hold back a moan any longer. Angelo’s self-satisfied smirk only fueled the fire—he was so fucking arrogant and so fucking gorgeous and it did something to me when I handed him control.
I wanted to hate it.
I should have hated it.
Instead, I surrendered. I parted my thighs and wrapped my spare hand around Angelo’s neck, dragging his lips down for a deep, drugging kiss. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark and hooded, and his lips were as swollen and bruised as mine felt.
“Such a good little slut for me,” he murmured, and flicked my clit.
“Fucking—please,” I whimpered against his mouth.
Angelo’s wicked grin sent butterflies rushing through my insides. “So pretty and put together, a perfect mafia princess, but I know you’re nothing but a needy slut.”
“A desperate one,” I answered, trapping his hand between my thighs and trying to ride it.
“Say it, princess,” Valentin said, stroking his fingers over my knuckles, as if I weren’t pretending I wasn’t a wet, needy mess underneath the table. “Tell us what you are.”
“A slut,” I whispered, my face flaming with embarrassment even as I soaked my panties with desire.
“What kind of slut?”
“A filthy, needy one, who needs her daddy to make her come,” I whined, then flushed bright red at the words that had escaped my mouth.
“Daddy,” Angelo murmured in my ear. “Fuck, angel, that’s so hot.”
Valentin’s lips tilted up into a smile. “You can call him daddy instead of sir, if you want.”
Fucked up, Ana. Angelo slipped a finger inside of me, distracting me from spiraling over my daddy issues. I clutched at him, my lips against his jaw, desperately holding in my noises.
“I should make you get on your knees under the table and suck me off,” Angelo said. To my humiliation, my pussy clenched around him as I imagined myself taking his cock in my mouth as the bar looked on. “Oh fuck, you like that,” he breathed. “Our dirty little girl has a daddy kink, and she’s an exhibitionist.”
He positioned his hand so I could grind my clit into his palm as he pumped a finger in and out of me, and I twitched and jerked until I fell apart in his arms, melting into a puddle against his chest.
Had I really called Angelo daddy? And let him make me come in public? I hid my face in his suit jacket, my pussy still twitching with the aftershocks of my orgasm.
Valentin tugged on my hand. “Look at me, princess.”
Embarrassed, I shook my head.
He tugged again. “Toy, first rule.”
Right. Perfect obedience. My cheeks flamed hot, and I was ready to cry with anger at myself for letting that happen. But when I looked into Valentin’s eyes, I found softness rather than cruelty.
“You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?” His gentle kiss to my knuckles melted the horrified block of ice in my chest. “A perfect toy, letting her owners play with her whenever they want.”
He meant to be kind, but all I heard was that I was a toy, that despite my hours of work that evening, visiting the widows of men we’d lost when that asshole blew up my family compound, the only thing they cared about was how good a fucktoy I was.
I yanked my hand away from his, the shakes from the aftershocks of my climax turning into trembling from hurt and rage. “Right. A toy. Just a toy. Lest I forget.” The whiskey burned my throat as I threw the dregs of my glass down my throat.
I’d made a very public declaration of alliance when I’d kissed Angelo here, in the middle of Costa territory, in my first public appearance since my father was murdered. And I continued to ask nothing in return, as stupid of a slut as they accused me of being,
When I pulled away from Angelo, he had the gall to look hurt before he wrapped an arm around my waist and hauled me right back against him. “Too late for second thoughts, angel.”
Valentin snatched my hand back in his. “You were brilliant today, Ana. Thanks to you, we have a shot at claiming Gio’s empire.”
“So you can expand your construction business and protection rackets to Yorkfield?” I sneered. “I don’t give a fuck about holding onto Gio’s empire. We’re going to make sure the families of everyone killed in that blast are taken care of, that they know the remaining Costas give a fuck, and then?—”
I didn’t have any idea what would come next. How long would keeping me as their toy entertain these powerful men? And now that I’d given in, ended the thrill of the chase, would the end come that much faster?
The panic thrumming through my veins must have been visible on my face because Valentin squeezed my fingers. “Where’s your head at, princess?”
Before I could answer, the door slammed open and bodies in black technical gear and balaclavas poured into the rundown bar, filling it with violent energy.
Angelo shifted, blocking my view of them and blocking their view of me. I reached up under his suit jacket and pulled out the gun he kept tucked into the back of his pants, then slid to the side so I could see, keeping my other hand hidden behind him.
“Good girl,” Valentin murmured, letting go of my hand. “When shots start firing, run through the kitchen and out through the back. We’ll cover your exit, then meet you back at our apartment. Don’t let anyone in but us, not our men, and not your father’s.
“Can I get you boys something to drink?” Paulo drawled from behind the bar, where he continued to polish glasses, as if the half a dozen soldiers weren’t bristling with weapons and menace.
“We’re here for one thing,” one of the men answered in a thick Russian accent. “If Ana Costa comes with us, no one will get hurt.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Paulo asked.
“Boris Tchérnov sent us,” the man growled, “so she can fulfill her end of the deal her father made.”
He found me. I contained my panic, promising myself I could lose my shit when I was safe. My eyes flicked to the expensive tennis bracelet on my wrist, the designer dress I wore, down to my red bottomed heels. I could run. Again. Now.
Paulo laughed, the cheeky fucker, and jerked his chin toward our table. “Don’t think she gives a fuck about her father’s deal.”
The man visibly bristled, then turned his attention to me. “These men don’t need to die today. Come with me.”
“The fuck she will,” Angelo snarled, and the bar exploded, guns cocking and pointing at one another. “I’ll let every man in this bar die a bloody, painful death before I hand Ana over to a Tchérnov.”
Paulo shot first, knocking the leader’s weapon out of his hand. He’d reached under the bar and grabbed his gun so fast nobody saw him.
Bullets flew. Angelo stood up.
“Ana, now!” Valentin snapped.
Holding the gun in one hand, I peeked out from behind Angelo, then ducked and wove behind tables as I ran for the kitchen door as fast as my heels permitted. The sound of gunshots followed me, but nobody wanted to see me hurt.
I crashed through the swinging doors, then ducked behind the wall to kick off my shoes.
Fuck.
Fuck!
“Miss Costa!” A fierce whisper from behind a counter brought my thoughts back to the immediate problem—my safety. “You gotta get out of here!”
I hesitated, part of me screaming at leaving Angelo and Valentin behind, at leaving my people in the middle of a firefight.
“Now, before they come looking for you,” the voice pled, urgently. A young man wearing a white coat and black clogs gestured to me. I’d figure out what his name was later. Right now, we had to go. Together, we ran toward the back.
When we reached the door, I held a finger up. Wait. I listened at the door and heard nothing. Which meant absolutely nothing, of course. Shit.
I kicked open the door and stepped out, only to find a giant of a man, dressed like the ones who invaded my bar, standing right fucking there. I shot his knee, then kicked the gun out of his hand when he dropped to the ground, screaming in pain.
“Come on!” I shouted to the kid. He looked between the man on the ground and me with wild eyes. I grabbed his chef’s coat and dragged him out of the alley, then handed him the gun.
I didn’t have a purse, Or a phone. Or a credit card. Or any way of calling a cab to get home.
“Give me your wallet,” I commanded.
He scrambled, looking through his pockets, then pulling out the worn, folded leather. I pulled out twenty dollars for a cab, then handed it back to him.
“Tell Paulo I told you to call Angelo tomorrow. He’ll pay you back.”
“Keep it,” the kid said. “We protect our own.”