Chapter 6
six
. . .
“The cemetery, boss?” Gian’s confused statement had me looking up and out the windshield.
Noting the name on the metal arched entrance, I grinned. “Trust the fucker to hide.”
“Huh?” He glanced at me over his shoulder.
“Nothing. Keep driving.”
Whining, he climbed out and fiddled with the gates before they swung open with a loud grind against the tarred ground. Disinterested, I looked at my phone and didn’t look up again until the car came to a halt outside a large mausoleum.
“Probably invited all his dead relatives,” I muttered as Gian slid into a spot between two SUVs.
At the door two heavies stepped forward. “You’re not invited to this–”
My right hook had him stumbling back into a wall, his hands clutching his throat, face already turning red. I cocked a brow at his friend, and palms up, he moved away to help his gasping partner breathe.
“Always so cordial,” Gian joked.
Ignoring him, I pushed through the large double doors, my eyes quickly taking in the nauseating scene.
Much like Arturo, the atmosphere was a garish show of trying too hard, an ostentatious display of power among dons, their soldiers and half naked women.
No wives, sisters, girlfriends, or anyone who required consent.
I arrived late on purpose and a second before Arturo cut a cake in the shape of a woman’s pussy.
Around me, conversation faltered, glasses paused mid-sip and heads turned.
The same shift of gravity that always followed me, whether I wanted it or not.
This time though, I relished it, especially the look on Arturo’s face.
Knife poised above the cake, his jaw flexed so hard I was sure I could hear his teeth grind.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Remo?” he gritted, voice sharp enough to peel skin. Our last run-in wasn’t exactly sociable. I punched him in the face for looking at my sister. “You weren’t invited.”
Taking my time to light a cigarette, I glanced at him, smirking. “I know.”
“I was about to cut my cake. You stole my fucking moment.”
“Actually, I improved it,” I countered, lifting a brow. “No one remembers cake, Arturo, they sure as fuck remember an entrance though.”
“You think this is funny,” he snapped, his face darkening.
I chuckled. “I don’t think, I know.”
A few men coughed to hide their laughter, others taking a step back as if expecting the air to ignite. It probably would’ve if Lorenzo hadn’t approached me. “I’ll keep him in line, Arturo. Please, cut the cake.” My brother sent a warning look my way.
“You better,” Arturo grunted.
Grinning, I accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “For the record, Arturo, your cake is…cute.” I lifted the glass slightly in a mock toast.
His rage practically vibrated through the air, the knife inching its way upward.
Lorenzo stepped between us, his back to Arturo. “Take a walk, now,” he hissed.
“Sure, brother.” My laugh resonating behind me, I walked away.
Ten minutes later, having circled the boring space, encountered less than interesting conversation, and seen nothing spectacular, I was ready to call it quits.
On my way though, something caught my attention.
In a room full of wanton women, she stood out.
Unlike the others who offered their bodies freely, her stance challenged you to try taking without permission.
Leaning against a marble column, face half hidden behind a black, cat-like mask, exposed lips painted the color of sin, matching a dress in the same brazen red, dark hair pulled into a high ponytail, I knew she wasn’t one of Arturo’s.
She wasn’t anyone’s. Her head turned with purpose, slow, deliberate, observant until eyes, the color of anonymity locked with mine.
Plenty women slipped into my orbit, soft, trembling waifs dressed in silk and intentions they didn’t understand, yet none walked into my world like they belonged there, a stance borne of a confidence she was untouchable. None like her.
I didn’t like mysteries, nor did I like being studied yet the amused curl of those plump lips was a magnet on their own. My steps slow, I prowled toward her, the music fading behind me. When I reached her, she didn’t flinch and merely tilted her head like I was the phenomenon.
“Who invited you?” I asked, sure she wasn’t invited, not by Arturo, definitely not a woman like her.
“You did.” Her voice was husky velvet.
“I would remember if I did.”
“You should.” Thick kohl lined eyes, a brilliant blue that suggested contact lens, dropped to my lips. “You have excellent taste.”
“I do.” I stepped closer, invading her space and her fragrance hit me. Dark floral, wild and mysterious. “You stand out in a place like this,” I commented. “Either bold or borderline suicidal.”
“The only person borderline suicidal here would be the one that dares to touch me.” A threat draped in seduction.
My jaw flexed, my cock intrigued. Only a woman who knew she could get away with anything, would speak like that. I lifted a hand to her mask, fingers tracing the smooth curve of the cheekbone. She didn’t stop me, didn’t lean in or away, just allowed me to touch her as if granting me permission.
I dragged a thumb along her jaw. “Take it off.”
“No.”
My pulse kicked up, unable to remember the last person who said no to me. She stepped closer until her body brushed mine, her breath warming my throat.
“I came for you, Remo. Only you.”
She knew my name which meant she knew who I was, my reputation, how easily I broke things, probably how I fucked too. “Stalking me could get you killed.”
Her lips skimmed my ear. “You don’t scare me.” Not quite an admission but not a denial either.
“Who are you?” I shouldn’t let her close, a niggle warned. But when her fingers grazed my jacket, tugging me closer by the lapels, logic burned to ash.
She laughed softly. “Tonight? Hmm, I’m whoever you want me to be.”
Something about her hinted she wasn’t an escort or one of the ladies on offer tonight. She turned, walking away before I could catch her wrist. That sway of her hips, lithe, that tight ass, perfection, that slit in her dress exposing a long-toned leg with each step.
Tempting. Mocking. Magnetic.
As if she pulled me by a leash she pretended not to hold, I stalked her toward the door.
“Boss?” Gian stepped in front of me. “We’re leaving?”
“Fuck off,” I snapped, my eyes catching the hint of red slipping out the door over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.” I shoved him away and headed for the exit.
“Boss, you shouldn’t go out there alone.” Gian chased after me.
On the landing outside, I glanced left and then right. “Where are you?” I muttered.
“Who?”
I turned, glaring at my right-hand man. “Go back inside.”
“But–”
“Do I look like a man who needs a fucking bodyguard?”
He opened his mouth, seemed to rethink his decision, and closed it. “No.” He spun around and went back inside.
Scanning the rows of cars, I spotted a flash of red heading toward the side of the building.
The air was sickly sweet, a premonition of mortality itself but call me a fucking idiot for going into unknown territory half-cocked.
Death and I had been at loggerheads for some time now, and he was still chasing my ass every opportunity he got.
I rounded the corner and stopped. With her back to me, she stood in front of a large cross carved into a mausoleum streaked with age, marble pale against the moonlight.
Candles burned on either side, their flames trembling in the slight wind, an almost nervous witness to this spectacle that didn’t have a name yet.
I walked up behind her. “Interesting choice.” I made no bones about wanting to fuck her.
She turned to face me, the mask still in place, hiding everything except what I needed for now. Her luscious red mouth. “You deal in death. I thought you’d feel at home.”
“Careful.” I stepped closer. “You’re standing on sacred ground but I can still make you disappear.”
“And yet,” she replied, voice dripping sweet sensuality. “You want me here.”
“Such confidence, micia.” I chuckled.
“Pussycat?” She laughed. “Nice. Night’s still young, my dark prince, want to play a game?”
My brow shot up, intrigued by this woman’s sassy playfulness. “Stakes?”
“If you catch me, you fuck me,” she taunted.
“Who says I want to?”
Unfazed by my rebuff, she moved closer, dropped her hand and squeezed my crotch. “That isn’t a gun, is it?”
“Still doesn’t mean I want to fuck you.”
“You think you’re in control?” she whispered, her warm breath brushing my throat.
My fingers traced a path from her shoulder, up her neck to her cheek. “I am.”
Her finger trailed down my shirt, unfastening one then another. “No. You’re curious and that’s worse.”
The fucking woman was right. My thumb grazed her lip and she opened her mouth, taking the digit between her lips, sucking softly.
“Fuck it,” I muttered a moment before I crashed my mouth to hers, and she met mine with equal hunger, no hesitation, no submission, only fire.
Her nails scraped my jaw, her other hand gripping my hair, pulling a sound from me I hadn’t made in a long fucking time.
Raw desire.
When she pushed me back against the cross, I let her, wanting to see what she’d do with the illusion of power.
Her touch was unbridled ownership, her kiss pure possession.
And when I slipped my hands under her thighs and lifted, she wrapped her legs around my waist, her hands sliding into my hair, dragging me closer, biting my lip until I tasted blood.
My laugh slipping into her mouth, my fingers dug into those soft thighs before I turned and slammed her body against the wall of a crypt at my side.
She deepened the kiss, all but sucking the life out of me.
“I need inside you now,” I grunted, breaking the kiss.