3. Why Are Mafia Men Hot?
CHAPTER 3
Why Are Mafia Men Hot?
IF YOU CAN’T STAND THE HEAT, GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN UNLESS…
I may have done a miscalculation. I didn't realize just how big of a distraction Mr. Costa would be. Even though he confined himself to a chair and his phone, his presence was suffocating...in the most peculiar way.
The thread slid out of the needle again. I cursed under my breath. Every few stitches my eyes wandered to the man sitting in the corner and my fingers were aching to do something that didn’t involve sewing.
I grunted as I attempted to rethread the stupid needle. I pricked my finger..again. This time I didn't dare look at him. He would probably make some snide remark about my focus and whether or not the degree on the wall was in fact mine.
The door dinged open and a man in a suit carrying plastic bags walked in. The smell immediately made my stomach growl. Mr. Costa stood up and took the bags from who I assumed was his minion. I hated to admit even the minion had a decent looking suit.
I watched as they whispered under hush breaths. It must be nice to have someone on your beck and call. Someone to do your dirty work, your laundry and errands. I could use someone to do my laundry. I snorted. Mr. Costa turned to the side to look at me and I went back to my stitches. Once his minion was out the door he flipped the sign to close .
"Um, we're not close," I said.
"We’re eating lunch now," he said sternly.
“At this point this would qualify as early dinner,” I pointed out. He moved to stand in front of me and waved at me to stand up. I crossed my arms and sat back. He scoffed before turning to head to the back. “Where are you going?” I asked.
“I’ve had coffee with your grandfather plenty of times to know where the kitchen in this building is. Now get up,” he said with an authoritarian tone that both heated my blood for more than one reason. He stood waiting in the hallway that led to the dressing rooms, the office and the kitchen.
“There’s windows out here so if you try something I have a witness,” I said, cooly, pointing to the front of the shop. A dark chuckle escaped his lips and fuck it was deep and gravely.
“You think an audience would stop the Don of the Italian mafia?” he said, voice dipping. My face flamed as thoughts raced through my head. Thoughts I only had when I was curled up in bed with a book. Ignoring his comment and the way his tone affected me I stood and followed him towards the back room.
It was a small kitchen. A table, four chairs, sink, some cabinets, microwave and a small fridge. I eyed our coffee machine.
I’ve had coffee with your grandfather plenty of times to know where the kitchen in this building is.
I needed to know just how deep my av? was with the mafia. The man before me held all the answers. When did this start? How did it start? And most importantly how do I end it?
I sat across from Mr. Costa as he set the bags on the table and began taking out the food. I needed to ask questions in a way that didn’t make the wolf in front of me feel cornered. A whiff of tomato and oregano crossed my nose.
"I thought I said no Italian," I said, breaking the silence. My voice came out harsher than intended but he seemed to brush it off.
Casting a sideways glance he said, "I know. This is for me."
Opening the second bag the smell reminded me of home; garlic, wine and red peppers. My stomach growled again .
"Is that-'' Before I could finish Mr. Costa smirked.
"This is your grandpa's favorite. Figured you would like it," he said. He walked over and set the takeout container in front of me. It was the good kind. One I could easily reuse at home. I tilted my head back to stare into his gray eyes. A strand of black hair fell forward and I was tempted to brush it back.
“Your food,” he said, his voice husky.
“Thank you Mr. Costa,” I said, keeping his gaze. The side of his mouth twitched.
“Mr. Costa uh?” he said it as if it was funny. He finally walked away and I greedily grabbed the container. The delicious beef stew was still hot. The smell made my mouth water. I haven’t had a proper meal all day.
" Carne guisada goes really well with ri-” he held up a carton of rice, cutting me off. I fought back a smile and he came back to my side with the side dish.
“I know,” he said.
Memories of Sunday lunch with the family floated around as we ate in silence. My mom and avó would be in the kitchen while my av? and dad were outside grilling and watching a soccer game. I faintly remember other people from the Portuguese community being there.
My avós house was the house for the community. Everyone was always coming over to hang out and eat food. I felt a prickle in the back of my head. Things changed drastically when my parents and my avó died. I had lost them around the same time.
After that things changed and the community fell apart. Now while we walked around giving pleasantries to each other there was distance. Even with Senhora Maria it was as if there was something hanging between us. I stared at my food. It tasted so much of the home I used to have and forgot about.
“Did you get this from Duarte’s Cozinha ?” I asked. He nodded quietly, taking a bite of pasta. My brain rummaged through my childhood memories. Duarte’s Cozinha had always been one of the only Portuguese restaurants in Loba Vista that offered breakfast, lunch and dinner. And now it is being run by Duarte Jr.
“Dj was always a great cook. Took after his grandpa,” I said, taking a bite. “I’m happy he’s keeping it going,” I said, swallowing hard.
“It’s always good to see the kids take on the tradition and keep it alive,” Mr. Costa said. My stomach tightened. One day this shop would mine. Something I always wanted to keep going. But my problem now was the mafia.
“Thank you,” I said quietly after a bit. Mr. Costa leaned back in surprise as he wiped his lips.
"I believe that's the first nice thing you've said to me, Cinderella," he said.
“I’m ready to take it back,” I said, blankly.
“But then you wouldn’t have dessert,” he said as pulled a small container from the bag. I raised an eyebrow.
“Depends on the dessert,” I said, crossing my arms. His lips formed a smirk I was becoming addicted to. He opened it, revealing one of my favorite Portuguese desserts.
“Is that bolacha maria ?!” I said in shock. I hadn’t had it in a long time. It was a layered cake of egg custard, cookies dipped in espresso and whip cream topped with cinnamon.
“Say thank you again and it’s yours,” he teased. I looked at him and then the dessert.
“You should give me dessert seeing how I have to work overtime to make your suit,” I pointed out. He looked at me for a second before sliding the cake over to me. “Smart choice Mr. Costa,” I said with a smirk.
My mouth watered as I dug a spoon into its creamy deliciousness. A groan escaped my lips and I felt Mr. Costa’s stare. My mouth exploded in flavors of sugar, cinnamon and coffee. He shifted in his seat and muttered something in Italian.
My brain began to attempt to translate. I didn’t speak Italian but I spoke Spanish and Portuguese. Once you knew one romance language it wasn’t hard to figure out the others. If I got it right I think he said, that noise will get you in trouble.
My cheeks flushed. The familiar feeling from before began spreading. He said that from hearing me moan about the cake which was in fact moan worthy. He, however, was not. At least that’s what I kept trying to convince myself. But it was hard when he looked the way he did and made me feel things I knew I shouldn’t be feeling.
“ Nos seus sonhos ,” I said in Portuguese and from the look in his eyes I had translated his Italian correctly. His gray gaze heated for a second. A slow smirk stretched across his face.
“Oh they will be Cinderella," he said in English. I scoffed at him.
"No they won't," I retorted.
"And who are you to tell me what to do while I’m dreaming?” he asked, leaning on the table. Fuck. There I went, being interesting again. But Mr. Costa felt like burning fire and his flames enticed me.
"Lucia Silva," I said, shrugging my shoulders nonchalantly. I was well aware this man could snap my neck in half but for some reason I wanted to see how far I could push him.
"I don't like your attitude," he said as his nostrils flared.
"One, I don’t care. Two, you don’t need to since I’m just a commoner making your suit. And three, I can't stand your high and mighty attitude and therefore will continue to put you in your place," I said. His fists clenched. Okay, maybe I pushed him too far.
"No one puts me in my place," he spat out. I chuckled.
"Last time I checked I had you sitting in a corner,” I recounted, keeping my eyes on him. Men like Mr. Costa expected people to flinch under his gaze, crack under his words and break beneath his hands. But that was not and would never be me. I didn't look away. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of thinking he intimidated me.
My body began feeling hot as his eyes traveled down my face in what looked like appreciation. I bet he wasn't used to someone going toe to toe with him. I bet no one ever challenged him.
Until me.
The thought excited me. I was a Silva and I was raised to fight and stand my ground. The thought of bringing a man like Mr. Costa to his knees was seductive.
"Put the food down," he commanded. His words crawled up my skin, sending goosebumps everywhere. My heart pounded against my chest.
Was this the voice of a Don ? His aura shifted to something darker. Instead of scaring me it called to me. The darker side of his voice was alluring. I wanted more. So I ignored his command. I was intrigued to see what he would do if I didn't.
I leaned against my chair further, taking another spoonful of cake. I closed my eyes, savoring the taste. I faintly heard his chair screeched against the tile floor. When I opened my eyes he began stalking his way towards me. My breathing faltered for a second. The wolf had come out to play. My heart rattled against my chest.
"Stand," he said through clenched teeth. Once again I didn't. " Ora ," he said.
I bit my tongue. His Italian was tempting and it did just enough to get me to obey. I set my cake down and slowly rose. I was at eye level with his lips and I let my gaze unfocus. I didn’t need my eyes showing him how he was affecting me. He leaned in. Soft lips brushed my ear and I dug my nails into my palms, fighting back a shiver. His heat was engulfing me, his cologne smothering me.
"Make no mistake that I allow you to be bold. The only reason I haven't snuffed out that little fire you have brewing is because of your grandfather," he said, gripping my chin with his hand. I was forced to stare into his steel gaze. I breathed in sharply at the skin to skin contact. "If that wasn't the case you would have already been on your knees begging for forgiveness," he said. I hated the way my body responded to his statement. I yanked my face away from his hand.
"Begging for forgiveness for speaking the truth? Never. On my knees? When the mood strikes," I said. We stayed staring at each other in a silent battle. For a second I thought he was going to say something, do something by the way his hands kept flexing but then he turned away.
“We need to finish eating so you can work on my suit. We don't have all day," he said. I sneered as the wolf retreated back to his corner. I continued to eat my cake and remind myself that he was a temptation that I couldn't afford. He was a part of the fucking mafia for crying out loud.
The late evening turned into night as I made sure to make a to do list of all the things needed to get done and by when. Mr. Costa’s suit at the moment was top priority due to the deadline but I didn't want to fall behind on my other customers. While sewing the baste stitch on his pants I decided to bring up Mr. Benanti.
"Question. How exactly do you and Luca know each other?" I asked. I heard a sharp intake of breath. I made sure to innocently look up at him. I wanted to know more about their relationship and connection to my av? . His fingers were paused on his cell.
"We’re family," he said, watching me.
"Really?" I asked. Those two were complete opposites. Light and dark and not just with features.
"Sadly," he said as he stretched his legs. After a few more stitches I couldn't resist asking more questions.
"Why do you not like him?" I asked.
"He’s a pain in my ass and always around," he said simply.
“He doesn’t seem like bad company,” I commented. While being around Mr. Costa made me feel like every single one of my nerves were on fire, being around Luca for a few minutes calmed the storm within.
“Because of our status we’re always together and the fucker likes to talk,” he said, stretching his arms. Once again I was enamored by the way his shirt seemed to stretch with his muscles. Where the fuck did he buy his shirts? Did someone make them? Can they teach me?
"Oh I get that. I read about that in a mafia romance book," I said. My hands froze. Fucking shit. Mr. Costa’s eyes bore into mine. His mouth set in amusement.
“What have you read?" he asked. He was intrigued...again. I sewed three stitches before I regained my composure .
"I've read some books," I said. I hoped my tone sounded nonchalant, borderline bored.
"Please continue. I'd love to know what happens in these books," he said. I rolled my eyes.
"I need to sew," I said. He chuckled. It was deep and intoxicating. I was slowly, in a short time of 24 hours becoming addicted to it. I seriously need to get laid. I could not be attracted to a chuckle that came out of a man that beat up people for a living. He’s probably killed someone with his bare hands. Those big, calloused bare hands that would feel great against my bre-
"Fine. But I'm going to bring this up again at some point," he said with a wolfish grin. I bet that was the grin that got him away with plenty of things. Maybe that was the same grin that tricked my family into working with the mafia. But something deep down told me that that was wrong. There was something I was missing.
Some time had passed and the baste stitching was done. I sat back, rolling my shoulders.
"What kind of stitch is that?" he asked, walking back to me.
"It's a baste stitch. Essentially the stitch is really long so that when you try it on if it's too big or tight I can pull out the string easily without damaging the fabric and sew again," I said. “I needed to give my machine a break so I did the last bit of it by hand.”
"That makes sense," he said, nodding at the fabric. I fought back a smile. This was the first time someone had seemed to take genuine interest in what I did. I stared at the garment in my hands. It was a talent to take something and transform it. It’s why I loved sewing. When it came to fabrics there was endless creativity and possibilities. I nodded, standing up with the pants.
"Is this the part where I strip?" he asked. I grabbed my pincushion and made my way to the dressing rooms .
"This is the part where I try not to stab you," I said over my shoulder. He chuckled, following behind me.
Once in the back of the shop Mr. Costa slipped behind the curtain. There was a tiny stage that was surrounded by three mirrors and about four dressing rooms. I secured the pincushion to my wrist before walking to hand Mr. Costa the pants.
“Here’s the pants,” I said in front of his dressing room. The curtain abruptly opened revealing Mr. Costa in his black boxer briefs. His legs were long, thick and muscular like a soccer player. My weakness.
He had a black lines that swirled around from his ankle, up his left leg that slipped underneath his briefs and reappeared to crawl up to his left pec. My gaze eventually made its way to his face. He truly was handsome. Without a word of acknowledging my blatantly staring he gave me a lopsided grin as I handed him his pants.
“You didn’t need to take off your shirt,” I pointed out.
“Can’t concentrate?” he teased. I rolled my eyes, turning away from him. There was a bit of rustling behind me.
I stood in front of the stage and watched Mr. Costa take center. I held my breath. Not because he was going to be wearing something that I designed but because I always got anxious during this part.
If my measurements were too big that was an easy fix. But if it was too small and there wasn’t enough space I would have to recut the fabric all over again and that would be a pain in the ass. The fabric glided up his legs and laid slightly loose at his hips.
I sat back on my heels, staring at where the fabric sat on him. It could be tighter in certain places, specifically the inside of his thighs. My focus shifted gears to work mode as I began pinning. I made my way down his legs before going back to his thighs. I checked the way the pants shaped across his muscles.
While I wanted it to fit in certain places I also wanted the fabric to move with him. There was a tap on the top of my head. I glared at Mr. Costa. His eyes were like melted silver.
"See. I told you, you would be on your knees,” he said.
“Please remember I’m holding pins,” I said deadpan. His eyes sparkled with mischief. My hands made their way to tighten his waistline.
Right now they sat slightly too loose at his hips. My eyes wandered to his toned stomach and the way the waves of his tattoo. He had scars. Some were tiny scratches, some red and raised and some jagged. I swallowed. These were the markings of a man whose life revolved around fighting and surviving.
"So about those mafia romances?" His question interrupted my thoughts causing me to slip a pin into his hip. I gasped although he didn't flinch. I immediately looked at him.
"I'm sorry!" I exclaimed. He chuckled.
"A little pain never hurts," he said softly. My cheeks warmed. I bit the inside of my bottom lip as certain scenes began filtering through my head. He was right. A little pain never hurts, not when done in a delicious way. A safe, delicious way of course.
"I told you we wouldn't be talking about that," I said. I checked the other side of his hip and glanced down. The ankle is a bit wide on this side.
"I mean I can't tell you if what you read is true but there's a few things I could show you," he said. My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean show?” I asked, my eyes fixated on his right ankle. He hummed softly. He was going to drive me insane. He was a walking temptation.
I shook my head, backing away from him. The left calf needed to be taken in as well. Other than that it didn't look too bad. I stood up and he lifted my wrist that had the pincushion wrapped around it. His fingers moved softly across until he found the end of a pin. His eyes flickered up.
The air around us began spinning, pushing and pulling until my chest brushed his. His warmth cocooned me. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip and I couldn’t stop myself from watching. My eyes went back to his finger. He pressed against the thin metal and I gasped as a bead of blood formed.
“If you read mafia romances then you know that there is an overlap between pain and pleasure,” he began. My heart banged against my chest and my thighs clenched. He brought his finger to his lips and licked it clean. “And like I said, a little pain never hurts.”
A phone blared from the dressing room slicing through our tension. I waved him off, needing to get myself under control. My face and frankly my whole body was boiling.
Of course I thought about those things. I’ve read about women getting tied up, slapped across the ass and ears filled with filthy words that make them pant. Those things intrigued me. But I wasn’t sure if that was something I was into. I glanced at Mr. Costa. I wondered if he could show me.
“Shipment..tonight…” My ear kept picking up bits and pieces from his phone call bringing me back to reality.
All of a sudden I was reminded of what Mr. Costa was, of whom my av? really worked for. It was one thing to be around him but to actually hear parts of a life I only read in books and seen on tv was another thing. Now it felt too real.
I had so many questions but maybe I wasn’t ready to face them yet. I chewed my bottom lip coming to the conclusion I would rather live in my bubble for one more night. With shaky hands I grabbed the pants from Mr. Costa as he came out from the dressing room. He stared at me with worried filled eyes.
"Nothing has ever happened to your grandfather in this shop. It’s safe," he assured me. I didn’t ask for this confession but I felt relief in it. I still wondered how long this twisted relationship my av? was in has gone. Would I have to carry it on? Taking a deep breath I gave him a hard look.
“That may be the case for him. But one day this will be my shop. And if history has taught us anything it has taught us that men will use women to get to other men,” I said and began walking towards the front of the shop. “You can’t assure me that when this place is mine that my safety or this shop won’t be used as a pawn,” I said over my shoulder.
I packed his pants in my bag, planning to continue sewing it at home. Mr. Costa passed me on the way to the front door. His hand hovered over the doorknob while his gray gaze rooted me to the ground.
“That’s true Ms. Silva. But are you a pawn?”
Today there were no appointments and the shop was peaceful. I sewed, stitched and cut fabric to distract myself. It was another sleepless night of my head being consumed with questions. Why my av? ? How did he get mixed in this? How much were my parents involved? Why did no one tell me? I wanted to call my av? but I knew he was too busy in England.
Before I knew it, Mr. Costa’s pants and Amalia's dress for the upcoming charity were finished. My hands were killing me and the headache from yesterday was still hanging around in the outskirts of my brain. Putting everything away I gritted my teeth.
A dull ache that began on the left side of my head was spreading. Yesterday I ignored the headache but another one today was a signal of something else coming. But I didn’t want to think about it. I took a deep breath, gathering my things. It was late afternoon and soon Mr. Costa would be here for his appointment. I just needed to go over inventory, have him try on the clothes and then go home.
The bell above the door rang. Turning around it was Luca. His blonde hair was gelled back. He wore a gray suit that made his blue eyes stand out.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. My stomach tightened. Hopefully it was something clothing related and nothing else. I really didn't need this right now. He placed his hands in his pockets.
"I did say I’ll see you around,” he said with a grin. I rolled my eyes.
“I didn’t think ‘ around’ meant the next day. We must have different definitions,” I said looking back at my inventory list. We needed more black satin, threads and needles.
“What can I say? I couldn’t get your sweet smile out of my head,” he said with a grin. While Mr. Costa was brooding and dark but Luca was the sun, pulling everyone into his gravity.
“What do you need?” I said asking in my customer service voice. Luca’s eyes glanced around the shop and I lowered my hand beneath the counter. We had an emergency button that alerted the cops.
While I hoped I didn’t need to use it I watched Luca’s eyes travel to the corners of the shop. I inwardly cursed. We were supposed to install cameras during the summer but we started getting orders for the fall festivities and that plan was forgotten.
“Need? What if I simply needed your presence?” he asked. I scoffed.
“Mr. Benanti, we had a five minute conversation. Don’t tell me it only took a few sentences from a beautiful face to win you over,” I said. Luca walked over to the register and my finger touched the side of the alarm button.
“I’d prefer if you would call me Luca. Mr. Benanti is so formal,” he said. I rubbed the alarm button once. His eyes remained trained on me but he rested a hand on the counter, his fingers drumming.
“It’s formal because of the status of our relationship,” I said simply.
“And how do I change that?” he asked. A giggle escaped me before I could stop it. I’ve heard stories about the mafia my whole life. Hell, I read mafia romance books. With everything I’ve read and heard about the mafia, Mr. Costa completed the description. But Luca? He seemed to be the opposite. Did this golden retriever of a man have a bite? Or was he all bark?
“I don’t like mixing business with pleasure. Now tell me, is there anything you need from Silva’s Seamstress Shop?” I asked. My hand fell away from the button and I began updating the inventory list I had on a spreadsheet. Luca leaned away from the counter, taking his hand away.
"Dante told me to come by and hang until he got here," he said. I snorted.
"I don't need a babysitter from men I hardly know,” I said. “Even if they're friends with my av? ," I added.
“He sent me to watch a beautiful woman. Can’t say I’m mad about it,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. I narrowed my eyes at the blonde beauty.
"I'm not getting in between you and your cousin," I said, typing on my laptop. The dull ache was coming back harder. I could feel its tendrils spreading across the left side of my head. I took deep breaths through my nose.
"Why not? That sounds like a nice position," he said. My stomach clenched. I looked up at him, assessing. He had an easygoing smile and the look in his eyes promised delicious mischief. Luca was just as tempting as Mr. Costa.
“Who says I want to be in any sort of position with you and Mr. Costa?" I asked, titling my head up in defiance towards him. Luca leaned against the counter and I was again smothered in his cologne. Dear God, did all mafia men smell this delicious? His scent was a mixture of citrus, cardamom and cedar this time.
“Your blushing face says otherwise," he said with a crooked grin. My eyes snapped back towards my laptop and I waved him away.
“Just sit in the corner and stay quiet," I demanded.
"Don't worry, I'll be enjoying the view,” he said, walking towards the door. With a wink he flipped the sign close and sat down.
If Mr. Costa was a distraction Luca was right there with him. I felt his gaze crawling all over me, reading me. But I knew Luca wouldn't sit still. During our whole conversation he kept fidgeting with his hands and slightly rocking on his feet when he stood. It was as if he was anticipating something happening and waiting. He walked around the store staring, feeling fabrics. I enjoyed the quiet for about another hour and a half until he came up to the cash register, standing in front of me.
"So I guess now you know," he said softly. My heart lurched and I did my best to keep my face neutral. I hadn’t outright spoken to anyone about the whole mafia thing.
With Mr. Costa we were always bickering and I didn’t want to interrupt my av? on his trip. However I couldn't help but feel like I was missing a piece of the truth. I nodded.
"How are you holding up?" he asked. The corner of my lips twitched. That was sweet of him to ask. Taking a deep breath, I stretched my back. His ocean blue eyes had one clear emotion, concern.
"Honestly? Terrified. Confused. Angry. Relief?" I said, trying to describe what I was feeling. He looked taken aback by the word relief. "Well it kind of helped my childhood make more sense. I remember so many moments of being hushed out of a room or taken for a walk while some clients came in," I explained. I began darting my eyes back and forth as if looking for the missing pieces of my childhood. Because there was something I was still missing.
"Little things that even though I never paid attention to never made sense and now they do," I said. He nodded in approval. I closed my laptop and moved to grab Mr. Costa’s suit jacket. I needed him to try it so I could finalize the stitching.
"It's a good thing that you know about the mafias now," Luca said casually. I froze mid-step.
"Plural?" I asked, my stomach dropping. I was going to be sick. A smirk graced his pretty face.
"I guess there’s still some things you don’t know. Wolf Grove, that's us. Hare Ridge, that's the Irish. Your friend Danny works for them. Tiger Bay are the Koreans. Although they're leaving the area to someone else. A different family from overseas. The main family is retiring, rightfully so. Hummingbird Heights are the Jamaicans. And Eagle Pointe are the Americans,” he explained. “They think they're the shit. They're not," he sneered.
I was completely surrounded by murderous people. I bit the inside of my cheek. Danny was a part of the mafia? Daniel Callahan was a doctor. He was always the brightest in class. How many more of the people I grew up with were involved without my knowledge?
"Danny is a doctor!" I said. Luca nodded.
"Someone needs to pull out the bullets and sew up the holes," he said. "But don't worry! Your gramps shop is on neutral ground. Everyone agrees to leave this area alone. Everyone needs a suit and he's the best in town," he rushed out.
So I was right. This area was uncontrolled by no one. But why didn’t that feel right? Neutral ground simply because of clothes? There had to be more to this story.
I eyed the notebook under the cashier that had the client list. Just how many of them? I placed Mr. Costa’s jacket on my work table. I faintly heard Luca’s footsteps behind me.
"So I would be careful who you throw that pretty smile to," he said. Luca grinned at me and heat coursed through me. For a man who could probably kill with his bare hands he had a pretty face.
"Are you including yourself in that?" I questioned, leaning against the table.
"I'm number two on the list of men you need to watch out for." His voice was rough. I felt myself leaning in, being pulled by his voice as he took a step closer. His blue eyes were enticing and welcoming. This is probably how he got people to talk. One look, one smile and I was ready to confess–naked.
"And who is number one?" I asked as I watched his eyes trace over my face.
"You've heard about Dante's inferno right?" His low voice was pulling me closer. I nodded, afraid to speak. With Luca I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes. That was something I wasn’t used to. He must have been over 6’2. Mr. Costa was most likely six feet tall since it didn’t take much to be eye level with him and I was only 5 ’9.
"It is said that Dante’s Inferno involves the nine circles of hell. Well my cousin has nine levels when it comes to…what he does. There's a reason that's his nickname," he said. He tugged at the tape measure around my neck and wicked thoughts began plaguing my mind. He hummed and his gaze darkened.
Then he gripped both ends and tugged hard. I gasped as I fell into his arms. My face flamed at the feel of his hard chest beneath my hands. The fabric of his suit jacket was soft. Did we make this one?
“You know my cousin isn’t here yet. Maybe-” Luca's phone rang, breaking the tension. I leaned back quickly, heart pounding in my ears. Luca looked at me as he answered the phone. Nothing was going to happen. Nothing would have happened even if this blonde Italian god left my curiosity unfulfilled.
"Hello cousin," Luca said a bit loudly. I moved to gather some materials for the appointment. I needed to get space away from Luca and how he was making my body react.
A loud banging vibrated through the shop. I could make out Mr. Costa’s voice loudly speaking about the door. He was leaning into the glass. His eyebrows were drawn in, his eyes blazed with annoyance .
"I don't know. I think she's safer locked in with me," Luca said, with a taunting smirk. I rolled my eyes. Mr. Costa began tugging at the door. The hinges creaked. I glared at Luca.
"If he breaks my door, he's not allowed in here," I snapped. Mr. Costa stepped away from the door. Sighing, I walked over to unlock it.
"You're no fun," Luca pouted slightly as Mr. Costa stomped in towards his cousin.
"I don't need a 'Whose Dick Is Bigger Than Whose' especially with me in between," I said, crossing my arms. Luca smiled wickedly.
"Why are you alone with him?" Mr. Costa said, thrusting a finger in Luca’s direction. His gray eyes looked tired. He had a frown on his face. I felt the need to wipe it away. I dug my fingers into my palms. I desperately needed to put batteries in my vibrator and lay off the mafia romances.
"You sent him to watch over me as if I'm a child," I stated. He looked over at Luca.
"I wouldn't leave him alone with you unless there was a 12 foot pole attached to him," Mr. Costa said. I glanced at Luca confused.
"I mean I have a-"
Mr. Costa’s eyes cut Luca's sentence down. Luca straightened himself, looking away from his cousin. For some reason I felt like laughing. Luca in our conversation was easy going and yet Mr. Costa had the ability to shut him up.
"Well I'm leaving!" Luca said. "I was the perfect gentleman cousin. Don't worry." Luca clapped his hand on Mr. Costa’s shoulder. He turned to face me and leaned towards my ear. His warmth breath sent shivers down my spine.
“For now,” he said. My cheeks heated. And with those two words Luca was gone. The tense air seemed to dissipate.
Now I was alone with Mr. Costa and it was already seven. He looked at me up and down. He was probably noticing my rumpled oversized blouse, scuffed leggings and disheveled hair. He, on the other hand, was wearing a dress shirt, with fitted slacks. My eyes paused on the stain around his cufflink. My heart stopped. Blood?
I turned away, making a beeline for my materials. A thousand thoughts raced through my head. Had he hurt someone? Torture? Worse? Fuck and I was alone with him. A part of me was scared but also intrigued.
Mr. Costa followed me towards the dressing room. "What did my cousin tell you?" he asked. I bit my lip.
"Don't worry about it," I mumbled. His hand gently grabbed my shoulder turning me around and then moved to cupped my cheek. My eyes widened. What was he doing? His hand felt warm, gentle. His eyes bled with concern. How could someone who represented forms of darkness be so concerned with me? How could he be so gentle?
“Why are you touching me?” I asked. His eyes casted down before meeting my gaze.
"Tell me," he pleaded softly. I licked my lips.
"If your hand stays on my face I’m kicking you in the balls and then you won’t be able to do anything with your dick,” I said with a bite.
Instead of removing his hand, his fingers pushed into my hair. I bit the inside of my cheek, to keep my reaction at bay. His body was so close to mine. My focus began waning. I wanted his hand to tug my hair, to feel his muscles against my skin. His mouth was hovering slightly above mine, right there for me to take. Mr. Costa pulled away and the air around us cooled immediately.
“Usually that works,” he said. I barked out a laugh.
“Did Mr. Bad Mafia Man really think that a gentle hand, a soft voice and batting those pretty gray eyes would make me tell you anything?” I asked. I placed his suit and pants in the dressing room. There was a tick in his jaw. Was I playing with fire? Absolutely. And I was enjoying it.
“Should I try a different approach, Cinderella? Do you prefer a firmer hand?” he asked with an eyebrow raised. “Want Mr. Bad Mafia Man as you put it, to force the truth out of you?” I tossed my hair over my shoulder, exposing my neck.
“Try it Mr. Costa,” I said, offering myself to the wolf. His hand wrapped around my neck. He could feel my pulse drumming against his fingers. I did everything I could to keep a steady pulse. His pupils were beginning to dilate and his cheeks pinkened. His nostrils flared as he took in a breath .
“What did he tell you?” he asked, adding light pressure. I sucked in a breath. Fuck.
“Is that the best you can do?” I snickered.
"If I didn't know any better I'd say you like this," he said. His thumb stroked my vein. My whole body tensed, fighting itself. There was wetness gathering between my thighs and I was aching for relief.
"I wouldn't say that when you're threatening to cut off my air," I said. I sounded more breathless than I wanted to. His breath caressed my cheek and my eyes fluttered closed.
"If you can still form full sentences it's not a threat Cinderella," he whispered. Grabbing his wrist I stared into the wolf’s eyes bravely.
"And clearly I’m not breaking so you can remove your hand now," I said. His response? A devilish smirk. His hand slid off of my throat, slowly, achingly as if imprinting his touch to my skin. "Thank you," I said. I stepped back and pointed to the dressing room.
"Strip and try these on," I said. He raised an eyebrow.
"No please?" he teased. I scoffed. His eyes never left mine and he kept the curtain open, providing me with a show. His tattoo caught my eye again.
I had seen the way it swirled up his leg and arched over the waistline of his boxers but what did the parts hidden beneath his underwear look like? I walked over, enticed by his tattoo once again.
"I didn’t think that word would be in the dictionary of a man such as yourself," I said. He pulled his pants, slowly zipping them up. My eyes shamelessly watched.
" Bella , are you confusing me with the men in your books?" he asked.