2. Luciano
Luciano
“It would be nice if you two didn’t look so irritated every time we meet for a meal.”
Tapping my index finger on the crystal glass before me, I flick my gaze to the man sitting across the table. It’s natural for me to want to sneer at him.
Fucking Russian bastard.
It sickens me right down to my Italian blood that I almost consider him a friend. Killian Lachlan, the second-in-command of the American Irish mafia and someone I might almost consider family if he weren’t full-blooded Irish, smirks at me, then turns his attention back to Nikolai.
“No offense, Nikolai, but our alliance is still a bit fresh,” I answer before I lift my glass to my lips and take a pull while scanning the sparkling city lights of Seattle through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the thirtieth-floor restaurant. “Forgive us for not being more…warm.”
Killian chuckles. “Aye.”
Shaking his head, Nikolai throws back a shot of vodka and lets out a satisfied sigh. “It’s been years since we became a team.”
His heavy accent is heavier now that the three of us are multiple drinks in.
We do this once a month. My boss and Killian’s boss requested it when the Russians asked for amends after the demise of their former Pakhan.
It’s our way of keeping a pulse on things.
To make sure no one else in the ranks goes rogue like the previous bosses.
“Team?” I ask with a half-scoff. “If we were a team, you wouldn’t be charging us such a high fee for moving our gems across the ocean.”
Nikolai laughs and shrugs. “Okay, maybe that was the wrong word. Friends, then.”
This makes Killian snort. “Fucking Christ. Are you getting sentimental now? I’m not drunk enough for this. The day I declare an ugly-ass Russian like you my friend is the day my wife starts obeying me.”
I chuckle at the thought of that. I’ve met Killian’s wife a number of times; that woman listens to him about as well as I follow the laws. Which is rarely.
Nikolai lifts his chin to the server when they offer another pour of their finest vodka. “Personally, I don’t understand the whole, eh, Daddy thing, but I also don’t understand why you like whiskey, either.”
Killian and I glance at each other, distant chatter and clinking glasses surrounding us in the upscale steakhouse. Amusement dances in his green eyes before he looks at Nikolai.
“Maybe you should find a woman willing to call you Daddy before you make any judgments. Because I can tell you, there’s nothing more satisfying than having a woman submit to you in such an intimate way, knowing you’re the one who gets to take care of her,” Killian says, then leans back in his seat and runs his hand over his bearded jaw.
“And spank her when she’s a brat. Which is often. ”
As much as I hate being jealous of another man, I have to admit, he’s one lucky bastard.
The chances of finding a good woman who is so deeply submissive but also as fierce and loyal as Killian’s wife are slim to none.
Most women target men in the syndicates for our money or our status.
I can’t remember the last time I felt a real connection with someone.
Never.
Fuck, I hate that that’s the case.
It’s the truth, though. The only women I’ve ever loved are my mother, bless her resting soul, and my cousin Lacey.
She moved to Las Vegas after a horrific accident, and it nearly broke me when she left.
Then I practically suffered a stroke when she married some asshole who, for whatever reason, has become someone I trust as much as I do my own men.
I lower my gaze to my drink.
Maybe it’s time to visit one of Seattle’s finest BDSM clubs. Something to take the edge off and put me in a better mood. My boss has made it known to me that I’ve been more of an asshole than usual, which says a lot because Alessandro has been a fucking dick himself as of late.
Two servers appear at our table with plates filled with expensive steaks and sides that cost more than some people’s mortgage payments. This is our normal, though. It’s pocket change to us.
We stay silent as they set everything down, then once we’re alone again, I raise my glass to the other men.
“Let’s get this fucking dinner over with so I can go home and get as far away from you two assholes as possible,” I say as they clink theirs with mine.
The other two men chuckle, and Killian shakes his head. “It hurts my feelings that you don’t enjoy your time with us.”
I pick up the gleaming silverware from beside my plate and use my fork to stab the tender piece of filet mignon. “You don’t have any feelings.”
His shoulders shake as he laughs, then takes a bite of his food. “The only ones I have are for my girl. You fuckers are just a monthly inconvenience.”
My lips twitch as I fight a grin because even though I dread this damn meeting every time it rolls around, the three of us do usually end up enjoying ourselves while spending most of the time talking shit to each other.
While we eat, we talk about business and the other syndicate families in North America.
The pact we’ve all had in place for decades is still going well, other than the small hiccup we experienced with the Russians a couple years ago.
Since then, the Russian bratva leaders have been replaced, and now they’re one of our allies.
Much as I hate to admit it. Fucking Russians.
Who the fuck prefers vodka over whiskey?
Vodka is for twenty-year-olds doing shooters at a bar on a Friday night, not grown-ass men.
When we wrap up our meal, the three of us rise and move through the crowded restaurant. Our security men, who have been standing at various points throughout the establishment, follow behind us.
It’s dark when we exit the high-rise building overlooking downtown Seattle onto the private floor of the parking garage available to certain types of patrons. Like us.
The smell of fresh rain is in the air, but when you live in this city, you’re used to it. My ears perk up when I hear a woman yelling in the distance, and with every step we take toward our cars, it gets louder.
“You cheating motherfucker! Who would even want to fuck you when you don’t last more than thirty seconds? I hate you and your tiny dick, bad breath, and your fucking whiny voice!”
What the fuck? How can such filthy words come from a voice that sounds as sweet as sugar, even when she’s yelling?
My eyes snap to Killian, and the corner of my mouth twitches. “Is that your wife?”
Killian’s gaze snaps to me as he shoots me a glare. “You want me to pull out my dick right now and show you just how tiny it is?”
Maybe it’s the whiskey running through my veins at the moment, but I actually laugh. “Let’s see it, man. I knew it was fucking small. This is making my night.”
Killian flips me off, and his lips curl up in a smirk. “Prick.”
We both chuckle, but the sound of glass shattering wipes the amusement from my face. When we turn the corner and take in the scene before us, my blood goes ice cold. Yet right next to me, Killian barks out laughter.
“That’s your car, man. Maybe worry about the size of your own dick before you worry about mine,” he says.
I barely take in his words, though.
Because before us is a woman, no more than five feet tall at best. She has dark roots and platinum ends in her hair, and it flies like a halo around her as she holds a baseball bat in one hand while she attempts to climb onto the hood of my SUV that she’s already been taking her anger out on.
Shattered glass sparkles like diamonds surrounding it.
Her dark, torn skinny jeans hug her round ass as she uses her free hand to reach for anything to grab. Then she lifts one leg and uses the front wheel as her personal step stool.
Our men look to us for instruction. If this were a man doing this to my car, they would already have a bullet in them. We don’t hurt women, though. Not ever.
Doesn’t mean this little brat doesn’t need her ass spanked good and hard for what she’s doing.
Jesus Christ.
My car is destroyed, yet I’ve never seen this woman in my life.
I’m not one to forget a face. Especially one as beautiful and pissed off as hers.
Even in the dim lighting of the parking garage, her gaze sparkles.
She’s determined, that’s for sure. And that stubbornness is going to get her injured if I don’t put a stop to her destruction.
“Get your ass off my car right fucking now!” I shout.
The woman freezes, though only for a second, her head swiveling around toward us as her eyes go as wide as saucers. Pretty saucers. Emerald-green ones with a fan of dark lashes surrounding them.
Fuck.
What the hell is wrong with me? This unhinged woman is vandalizing my car. Hell, it might be a total loss at this point with the damage she’s done.
As she scans the approaching group of men, her foot slips, and I swear, my heart leaps into my throat as she stumbles backward.
Thankfully, she catches herself before she falls onto the shattered glass surrounding her.
She could have gotten sliced open or hit her head. What the hell is she thinking?
“Don’t fucking move,” I growl loudly when we get closer.
I should have known that was a stupid thing to say.
Of course she’s not going to stand here and wait for nine men, covered in expensive suits and tattoos, to reach her in the middle of a dark lot.
I don’t blame her. She might not have a ton of self-preservation, but at least she’s smart enough to know she doesn’t want any part in dealing with us.
She drops the bat with a loud clank and takes off running.
“Get her,” I snap to my men.
Both Killian and Nikolai nod for theirs to pursue her as well. Suddenly, men from three different mafia families are chasing the woman who decided my car was offensive to her. And apparently my dick, though it’s not fucking small, so apparently there’s some sort of mix-up.
“You fuck her and ghost her? Not sure why she’s hung up on you if you have a tiny dick. Maybe I should offer her a good time to make up for whatever disappointment you caused.” Nikolai smirks at me.
Irritation prickles at the back of my neck as I shoot him a glare.
It’s not the tiny dick comment that is pissing me off.
It’s the idea that Nikolai is talking about fucking her, and it makes me want to pull my gun out and put a bullet in him.
She took a baseball bat to my car, not his, so he better watch what he says about her.
For whatever reason, this little brat chose me to fuck with, and that means she’s mine to deal with.
Minutes pass while we wait for our men to return with the woman who’s going to regret the day she ever laid eyes on my SUV.
When they finally come striding back, my jaw clenches. None of them have her.
“What the fuck happened?” I snarl. “Where the hell is she?”
Angelo, one of my immediate men, shakes his head as he covers his bare forearm with one hand. One of Nikolai’s men staggers behind them, bent over at the waist, his hands cupping his crotch.
“She fucking bit me,” Angelo answers. “Then she nailed him in the fucking balls when he tried to help me hold onto her.”
I stare at Angelo coldly before glancing at his arm, and sure enough, blood trickles down toward his wrist from the teeth marks that split his skin.
“You let her go because…she fucking bit you?” I ask quietly.
My muscles tighten in the back of my neck as I look him up and down with disgust. This man is six foot five, probably two hundred and fifty pounds, and he couldn’t handle a bite? From a little girl like that? Fucking pathetic.
“How the fuck am I supposed to trust that you’re not going to crack if someone decides to torture you for information when you can’t handle some little girl biting you?” I glare. “Fucking pussy.”
Angelo sighs and drops his shoulders, anger flaring in his eyes. “Sorry, boss. It won’t happen again.”
I’ve known Angelo long enough to know the only one he’s pissed at is himself.
If it had been a man who had gotten away from him, I have no doubt he would have pulled out his gun and shot his assailant.
But we’re dealing with a woman, and while there are a lot of reasons why each of us is going straight to hell when we die, hurting a woman will never be one of them.
“She did a number on your car.” Nikolai smirks as he walks closer to my bashed SUV. “You sure you’ve never met her?”
I grind my molars together, trying to find some sort of patience so I don’t murder him right here and now. “I’ve never seen that woman in my life.”
Killian lets out a low whistle as he looks over my car and then glances across the lot. “Think she meant to do this to that SUV instead?”
I follow his line of sight to another Range Rover, almost identical to mine, only this one is still intact, with gleaming paint and solid windows.
In reality, I don’t give a fuck about my car. It’s a means of transportation. One of many that I own, and money is nothing to me. But this woman fucked with a mafia man, and for that, she will pay for her sins.
One way… or another.
Even if I have to put her over my lap and spank her like the naughty brat that she is.
“Pull the surveillance for this lot and send it to me within an hour. Find out who she is. I don’t care what resources you have to use.
And I need to know who owns that car because I have a feeling it’s someone I need to pay a personal visit to,” I instruct my men, then turn to Killian. “Can you give me a ride?”
Killian chuckles and lifts his chin before he makes his way toward his blacked-out Escalade. “Absolutely. We need to call Scarlet on the way so I can tell her. She’s going to have a fucking good laugh about this.”
Of course she is. I’m sure by tomorrow morning I’ll be the laughingstock of all the wives in the Irish mafia.
Jesus Christ.
My boss is going to get a kick out of this, too.