Chapter Nine
ART
Ten more seconds and my balls would have frozen off.
The line was ridiculously long in front of the shop.
This early in the morning, it only means one thing: fabulous donuts.
I’m whistling as I stroll down the sidewalk with my box of a dozen—well, eleven.
I had to verify the quality of the product before gifting it. I got candles, though.
It’s Luca’s birthday today. Yes, I remembered.
No, I just have a good memory. Also, he paid for it—I have no money with me, so I took some out of his wallet—so technically this is not a present.
And I needed some fresh air—it’s a fucking beautiful day—so I slipped away during the guards’ switch and Luca’s showering. I left a note, though.
I stop a moment to enjoy the sun on my face. The air feels chilly. I don’t like the cold, but this is my favorite season. Why? Because the warmth radiating from each sun ray is best savored in such an environment.
I push up the collar of my fringed sherpa jacket and wince when I feel wetness between my ass cheeks.
Luca’s cum is still leaking out of me. What kind of fool possessed me to beg for a bareback shooting?
I did melt from brain to balls when I had my first dry fucking orgasm, though. Which opened a whole new can of worms.
I mean, yesterday’s fuck-a-thon was crazy amazing, and after that juiceless orgasm, I just couldn’t think straight anymore and blurted out shit.
What is it about his humongous dick? Is it because he knows how to use it?
I still want to kill him nine times a day.
I also want him to look at me and touch me ten times more on that same day. It’s very disconcerting.
The way he wraps around me at night like he would a cuddle pillow is still annoying—even though I’ve never slept better.
And his shitty behavior when we aren’t canoodling, I hate it.
But then I get confused by the way he anticipates my needs and fulfills my desires in and out of bed.
I’ve been surrounded by murderers and assholes for too long not to enjoy a dysfunctional relationship.
Relationship? What the hell am I going on about? The fact that I put his dick before food…oh shit! No. No. No. Arturo Enzino doesn’t do relationships or connections or bonds. He’s fucked up, but he isn’t drawn to lousy, hostile, constipated, rude dicks.
I look up and see a couple of crows looking at me wrong, so I resume my walk, turning quickly into an alley, still fighting with my insane thoughts when I hear footsteps treading behind me.
Forcing myself not to jump the gun, I keep going, slightly rushing my steps.
Whoever is behind me does the same. Merda!
They can’t be Luca’s men since they are coming from the opposite direction from his building.
So I finally concede to the fear and let it take control.
Heart pounding, breath…where did all the air go?
I can’t run in these stiletto heels, so I slide my hand in my panties to get my phone.
I can’t call the police, they might work for whoever is following me, nor Luca, I don’t have his phone number. Fly!
My hand has found the cell when a man emerges at the end of the alley and plants himself in front of me.
My hand slides out of my skirt as I turn around and see two more guys approaching and blocking my other way out.
No Mario. I gulp a large, relieved breath.
I’m still defenseless against three goons, and there’s nobody around who could help me this early on a Sunday morning in a narrow alley.
I have no weapon except the box of donuts, which I don’t think they will accept in exchange for my wallet.
Why did I leave the condo? Why do I always do things without thinking?
“Is that him?” The one wearing grandpa’s Coppola asks, sneering at me after leering at my high-heeled boots and velvet skirt. “Should we check?”
“Doesn’t look like a him to me,” the man with a craggy face declares, staring at my whole attire.
“It’s him, alright!” the shortest one states. “Come with us, Enzino” he orders me. Right to the point.
Fuck. Did my father send them?
“Ugh,” I mutter.
“Are you deaf?” The same man raises his voice, making me jump.
Fuck my nerves.
“Oh, I was thinking about something else. But don’t bother repeating, I really don’t care.” I smile and try to move between them, but the thugs narrow the space.
“We will hurt you if you don’t follow us,” Coppola threatens me. The way he’s X-raying my skirt is gag-inducing.
“Us? Are you those psychos from…what was the name of that ridiculous cult?” I ask them, hoping to gain some time out in the open. Just enough to find a distraction that can get me out of this shitty situation. Because following them is not an option.
“The fuck?” craggy face, the brightest of the bunch grunts.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to accidentally insult you. I usually do it voluntarily. Donuts?” I smile sweetly while offering the box.
Coppola looks at it with interest, they are definitely low soldiers. Coretti’s or Enzino’s? How the fuck did they find me?
“Hold that tongue, you little shit!” The short one, the leader takes a step toward me.
“Hard to do when being sarchotic.” Sarcastic with a hint of psychotic. “Now, please back off, Igor.” I lift the box, ready to throw it at them.
“That’s not his name.” Craggy face looks confused.
I lower the box to clarify. “Igor is Dr. Frankenstein’s assistant. You know, the cross-eyed, hunchback, limping, with a face that looked like a Picasso painting?”
“Are you disrespecting me?” The leader growls.
“Duh, Sigmund.” This would be ridiculous if I weren’t in imminent danger. But they look like extras from a Mafia B movie.
“Again, not his name!”
Oh dear God. How did they find me without a brain?
Coppola man is suddenly in front of me, and he grabs my wrist with his disgusting paw, making me drop the box of donuts on the ground.
Luca’s birthday present! I kick his shin and stomp on his foot with my stiletto heel.
The guy groans before slapping me in the face.
His tacky ring cuts me, and my knee comes up and gets him right in the jewels in retaliation.
My hair is abruptly yanked back, and my skull burns as I’m dragged a few steps backward.
I sink my nails into the hand on my head and then twist my body around until I’m face to face with the craggy-faced shitbag.
This time, it’s the top of my foot that strikes the balls.
He lets me go, and I stumble backward, breaking the heel on my left boot.
I see red. Another pair of boots I can’t use anymore. I turn to the short one and snarl his way before launching myself at his organs. I tackle him against the wall while scratching, biting, and kicking.
“Get him off me!” he screams, before I feel something hitting the back of my shoulders. The street starts swaying as pain explodes at the back of my neck. Then my ass hits the ground, fuck that really hurts.
“This all you can do?” I slur. Brain-worm-infested amateurs.
Short guy points a gun at me. I wave at him with a snort, like that ever scared me.
A fist suddenly hits the side of my face, making me hit the hard asphalt.
“We need to go!” I hear one of them yell as a foot gets me in the guts.
I curl up and moan against the sharp, unbearable pain.
Then, a cough leaves my lips, and I try to get some air into my lungs, but it’s not easy.
Especially when I feel a hand on my thigh moving dangerously under my skirt.
The sound of a gun firing reverberates between the brick walls.
Two heavy thuds and some groans are followed by a deep, wrath-filled roar that makes my aching body tremble all over.
“Hands. Off. Him.”
Luca.
I tilt my head on the ground toward his voice, trying desperately to get a glimpse of him to be sure I’m not dreaming.
I feel tears filling my eyes at the sight of him striding over next to Carlo and Jeff, gun raised, murderous glare.
For once, I’m so glad to see that furious expression on his face.
I hear Coppola moving away. Luca shoots, hitting his shoulder.
A pistol slides on the ground at Coppola’s feet.
He must have tried to use it. Without looking at me, Luca sheathes his gun moving like a fluid, predatory animal.
God, the man is terrifying and extraordinary; he excites me in all the best ways.
Coppola and short guy are circling him, but he remains still, looking completely unconcerned.
I know firsthand how well those mountainous muscles work.
He is going to crush the moronic thugs. If not, Carlo and Jeff will, still pointing their guns on them.
Short guy moves quickly behind Luca and grabs him around the neck.
I see him go sailing over Luca’s shoulder in a matter of seconds.
At the same time, something shiny lands a couple of feet from me.
I push myself up into a sitting position.
Damn, I’m hurting all over. I look down and see Luca’s necklace lying on the ground, the chain is broken, but the pendant is there.
I grab both just as Carlo crouches down near me, gun still aimed ahead.
“Fuck!” he says, giving me a quick look. That bad?
My eyes move to the fight scene again. Coppola moves forward, kicking low, aiming for Luca’s legs.
Luca jumps over the kick and punches him.
I hear a couple of ribs breaking before he aims for the face, sending the man to the ground.
He slides one of his knives out, the sight making me cower and shiver.
It’s an instinctive, reflexive response that I can usually control. Not right now, though.
Luca hunches down and gestures for Jeff to come closer. His man pushes the muzzle of the gun to Coppola’s head while Luca grabs his hand.
“Was this the hand that touched him?” he hisses viciously in the angry man’s face.
“Fuck you!” Coppola spits out.