15. Chapter Fifteen—Carlotta
Chapter Fifteen—Carlotta
“You better not be leading me down here to kill me,” I mutter over the loud stomp of Cassiel’s boots as he follows me down to the basement level.
“What the fuck goes through that mind of yours, Princess?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know…”
The same burly man who’d stood in the basement of club Euphoria, demanding I remove my weapons from my body, stands at the bottom of the stairs, gaze trained on Cassiel and I.
“Finch.” Cassiel bobs his head in greeting. “Unload, Princess. No weapons inside the meeting room.”
I blink, my eyes adapting to the bright florescent strip lights running along the ceiling of the cellar. “How do you know I’m carrying anything?”
A dark blond brow rises independently. “Princess, are you saying you’re not?”
Wordlessly, I stoop to remove the long kitchen knife tucked inside the calf of my leather booties.
I hand it to Cassiel who throws it into the pile of weapons without a second glass.
“If you agree to becoming a member, Princess, then we’re going to have to get you some better weapons.”
“And if I choose not to agree?”
Cassiel doesn’t reply, instead rightening the mouthpiece of his balaclava and ushering me further down the corridor, it’s walls lined with racks and racks of dark, dusty bottles.
“What are those?”
“Bottles of wine. Red, mainly.” Cassiel grins, his teeth even whiter than usual in the dark light of the basement. “There’s a few casks of homebrewed whiskey too. Made them myself.”
“You made them?”
“Yep.”
“And the wine?”
The cloth material of his mask shifts slightly as he wrinkles his nose in distaste. “The wine isn’t my thing, it’s more Rome’s.”
Our steps merge into a single set as we walk side by side down what is seemingly a never ending corridor. “Is that—Do you live here? Is this place yours?”
I see Cassiel glance at me out of the corner of his eyes. “Something like that, Princess.
Another set of footsteps sounds behind us, gathering speed by the sounds of it until they’re running, the slap of their shoes thumping against the concrete.
“Angelo, wait up!”
Snapping my mouth shut, I turn to see a lanky, tall brunette man sprinting towards Cassiel and I, the chains holding his black denim jeans up jangling loudly.
“Surprised to see you running late, Luca.”
He catches up to us with a grin, knocking his shoulder playfully against Cassiel’s and taking my place at his side. The small space isn’t wide enough to fit all three of us, so I slink back into the shadows, my eyes trained on the backs of the two men.
“Same could be said to you. It’s not like you to be anywhere but at the boss man’s right hand side.”
Cassiel pops his broad shoulders, his hand grazing mine in the cover of darkness. “Had to pick up some precious cargo.”
Luca nods. “Cool. I had this blonde chick I met at the bar a couple of weeks ago sucking on my dick and I forgot what time it was. Can’t believe I had to blow my load early just to make it to Rome’s stupid meeting. It’s not like the new girl is going to say no, are you?”
Luca, as Cassiel called him, peers back at me, brows raised in question. Up this close, the smell of strong vodka and weed wafts across my nose as it bleeds from his pores.
I hardly get my reply past my tongue before he’s talking again; his voice loud and echoing across the passage’s stone walls on either side of our trio.
“She’d be fucking stupid to disagree…”
I grind my teeth at the way he talks like I’m not even there.
“Rome will blow her head off. Shame, because she’s a pretty little thing. I wouldn’t mind—”
Feet scuffle against the concrete ground and I hear a distinctive thump followed by the whoosh of breath knocked from someone’s lungs.
“Don’t fucking talk about her like that or I’ll gut you myself, Castello. You hear me?”
Cassiel’s corded arm lays across Luca’s neck, pinning him to the exposed brick wall, a penknife, similar to the one hidden between my breasts, grazing the side of Luca’s carotid artery.
I see the color drain from his face, pupils growing wide to give him the appearance of a wild animal, trapped and afraid.
Not that I can blame him.
I’d been fucking scared too if Cassiel was glaring at me, spitting through gritted teeth and holding a sharp looking knife to my neck.
Too aware of my own heart beating at its regular rate, beneath the protective layers of bone, tissue and sinews, I reach out and touch Cassiel’s arm.
I squeeze once and then I trail my touch down his back, feeling his muscles flex and bounce beneath my palm.
“Tell her you’re sorry, shithead.”
Luca’s eyes find mine. His mouth must be dry, his throat bobbing once, twice, before he speaks.
“I’m sorry, Carl—”
Cassiel presses the knife further into Luca’s neck until a bead of ruby red shows, trickling down to hit the collar of his peacoat. “I didn’t say you could say her fucking name. In fact, don’t even look at her. Look at the ground and tell her you’re sorry before I carve my initial into your flesh.”
It’s all sorts of wrong to admit to myself that the throb of my pussy isn’t just because of Cassiel’s body pressing close to mine, but because here he is defending me, threatening to carve up a man who simply made a crude joke at my expense.
I hardly think now is the time to tell him that I’ve heard far worse about myself; he’d probably go on the fucking warpath, and we don’t have time for that right now.
Fixing his eyes at my feet, Luca tries again. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
Wordlessly, I nod, still trailing my hand up and down the length of Cassiel’s broad back in what, I hope, is a soothing manner.
With a final snarl and a grunt in Luca’s direction, Cassiel drops a hold of him, swiftly pocketing his weapon.
Rightening himself with more grace than I thought possible from a man who just nearly had his neck cut and his life taken from underneath him, Luca draws himself up to his full height of almost six foot.
True to his word, he doesn’t even glance my way as we begin walking again, following the sound of male voices, but I see Luca grin, his teeth gleaming in the overhead strip lightening at Cassiel.
“It’s like that is it?” I hear him say, arrogance lacing his tone now the knife isn’t at his throat.
Cassiel turns, body tightly strung, but Luca dodges out of the way, his leaner, more nimble body allowing him to slip through the cracks easier.
“I’m joking, I’m joking.” He raises his hands in surrender, before lumbering further forward and sliding into the throng of tall, well-dressed men, milling about.
A strong sense of déjà vu washes over me as Cassiel and I slip through the open doorway.
The meeting place might have changed for reasons I still don’t quite understand, but everything else is exactly as the same as it was when I walked into my first meeting with The Thirteen.
A large rotund table takes up most of the space in the circular room; a handful of men already sitting, waiting.
Another handful stand around the edges, leaning back to rest against the wall behind them, arms crossed, faces blissfully blank, watching Cassiel and I, but not giving anything away.
It’s a struggle to get a read on anyone.
Instinctively, my eyes search our Rome in the sea of Mafia men, finding him already sitting at the head of the table, his hands laced in front of him.
Indifference coats his features too; he looks so calm and collected. But I see the flash of his eyes when they find mine, the way his jaw ticks.
He tracks his gaze down the length of my body, taking his sweet time, lingering on the curve of my tits, straining against my suede jacket and my thighs clad in a pair of tight-fitting leggings.
A heat of fire follows in the wake of his pretty brown eyes, and I wonder if he’s thinking about Sunday night too, when he moved inside me, our gazes locked on each for the first time since I’d been visiting Nameless.
I squeeze my legs together, quelling the ache in my core, while I shrug the coat from my shoulders. It’s warm down in the basement what with the number of male bodies in close proximity to one another.
At least, that’s what I repeat to myself silently, surreptitiously glancing down at myself to make sure my nipples aren’t saluting the whole room.
It’s simply the mixture of body heat. It has nothing to do with the ridiculously attractive man sitting at the head of the table, nor his best friend who, on spotting Rome, touches my hand quickly and then leaves my side.
The other men standing about, part like the Red Sea for Cassiel and I watch as he clasps his hand on Rome’s shoulder and bends to whisper something deep in his ear.
I see Rome’s gaze flick to Luca, who, throwing his head back with laughter at something one of the other men said, doesn’t notice a thing.
Pushing away the feeling of loss now I no longer have Cassiel by my side, I take a step forward, claiming an empty chair at the other end of the table, as far away from Rome as I can get, before hanging my coat along the back and sliding into the seat.
Straightening my back and raising my head, I peer right into Rome’s narrowed gaze.
My face warms beneath his stare, but I don’t back down.
He’s just like all the other Mafia men I’ve had to deal with in my life growing up—never taking no for an answer and always searching for the crack in my facade, my weak spot, something they can use to tear me down and keep me crawling back to them.
Rome wants me to look away, to fail, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. I’m not just a toy to be used at his disposal. I hate him and yet my body wants him again more than anything.
My heart rams against the protective cage of my ribs, but I don’t allow my nerves and fear to show on the outside.
I can’t. It will be my downfall if I do.
I’ve been around enough of these sort of men to know as soon as any sort of weakness is shown, they’ll pounce, like vultures, sinking their teeth in until there’s nothing left but a pile of bones.
“If we’re ready,” Rome speaks quietly, not bothering to raise his voice.