Chapter 6
SIX
Tony
One Year Later
I stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, Scotch in hand, my gaze fixed on the river snaking through the city, flanked by skyscrapers stretching into the sky.
Their lights drown out the stars, as if even the heavens bow to their presence.
Chicago is nothing like Italy, from the ground beneath my feet to the air I breathe.
This city isn’t just different; it’s a whole new world.
A world I’ve conquered.
In a single year, I’ve claimed this place as mine. Standing here in my penthouse, I don’t just feel like a part of this city. I feel like I own it. I’m bigger than its sprawling streets, taller than every skyscraper in sight.
For the first time, I feel like the lion that finally took the pride he was born to rule.
Out of the millions of lights in this city, the millions of lives scattered across its streets, there isn’t a single one I couldn’t extinguish, a single person I couldn’t bend to my will. The empire I fought tooth and nail to build, earned through bloodshed and slaughter, is finally mine.
But it’s not enough.
She’s not here; the woman haunting my every moment, waking or asleep.
Over the last year, I’ve had enough time to put the pieces together, to assemble the scattered fragments that have plagued my mind like a broken puzzle. Now, the picture is clear. I remember that night, every damn detail, like a scar burned into my memory.
Maybe those images are nothing more than illusions, traces of a drunken haze. Maybe they’re real. It doesn’t matter anymore. She’s not just a memory, she’s a craving I can’t shake.
She’s the prey I need to hunt down. The obsession I need to fuck out of my system.
No matter the cost, I need to claim that woman.
Even thinking about those arresting blue eyes, that silky cascade of blond hair, and those sinful lips warms my blood.
I shift my gaze back to the river stretching beneath me. It’s almost amusing. Primitive men built their entire civilizations along rivers like this. And once they’d staked a claim, built a home, even if it was just a shack, their next instinct was always the same: find a woman.
Thousands of years, nothing’s changed. Still the same animals. Same urges. All this evolution bullshit? Just a lie we tell ourselves to feel superior.
The rhythmic click of heels against polished marble breaks through my thoughts. I set my glass down on the small table beside me and turn around, shrugging off my jacket and laying it carefully over the back of the couch.
The thought of Lucia has me hard as steel again. That woman, her memory, has this relentless grip on me, even from miles away. I can’t wait to finally have her. To bury myself inside her pussy and silence this incessant ache. It’s a debt I owe my cock.
I’m taken aback when Melanie strides into the living room. Her long, sculpted legs are on full display, framed by a skintight, strapless dress that barely manages to cover her ass.
But her hair.
Her damn hair is short. And black.
She’d better pray to God she hasn’t done what I think she has.
She flashes a bright, practiced smile and adds an exaggerated sway to her hips as she walks toward me. Her hand settles on my shoulder, and she rises on her toes, leaning in for a kiss, but I pull back.
Her smile falters and she searches my eyes, questioning. But my focus is solely on her hair.
“Take off the wig. Now. I don’t have much time.”
She senses the warning in my tone and steps back.
Not a wig.
Fuck.
Vein in my neck throbs. Fists clench so hard knuckles crack.
“It’s for the new movie,” she stammers. “They wanted me to change my look, but—”
I raise a finger to my lips. She gets the hint, clamping her mouth shut. At least there’s enough sense rattling around in her head to follow that much.
It took me months to find someone with the same hair, exactly the right shade, the same silken texture. I didn’t care if their faces were different. I’d pin her down, bury myself deep, and pretend it was Lucia. That it was her tight pussy I was pounding, her body swallowing me whole.
And now this stupid bitch stands here, telling me she chopped it all off for some fucking movie.
I walk over to my jacket and slip it on. My face remains a mask of indifference, but inside, I’m burning alive, and it’s all because of her. She’s the reason I haven’t been able to kiss another woman’s fucking lips without imagining her flawless skin under my hands for the past year.
As I move past Melanie, her hand tugs at my arm. Before she can get a word out, my hand is around her throat, and I shove her back hard, slamming her into the couch.
This is on her. She lit the match. She set off the volcano.
As I press her slender neck into the cushions, I glare into her wide, panicked eyes and hiss through clenched teeth, “If you don’t want to end up as tomorrow’s headline—Famous Actress Found with Slit Throat in Dumpster—don’t come near me again until that goddamn hair of yours grows back.”
Her pupils roll back from the lack of oxygen, and I release her, letting her collapse into the couch. Without sparing a glance to see if she’s still breathing, I turn on my heel and walk out the door.
***
Rafael takes a deep drag from his cigarette, his voice louder than the pounding music of the strip club. “Grabbed a dealer yesterday. Had a Black Souls tattoo.”
I keep my eyes on the stage, watching the dancer spin around the pole like a storm.
“Make sure his death sends a message, so loud that they’ll slice that tattoo off themselves with a knife before we even get to them.”
“Consider it done, boss.”
“Any updates on Emily?” I ask.
Rafael shakes his head. “Nope. Still wandering the streets with that friend of hers, Jill.”
“Nobody’s popped her cherry yet?”
He taps the ash off his cigarette into the tray, smirking.
“Are you kidding? I’d bet good money she’d drop dead at the sight of a cock.
I don’t know how she manages, especially with that slutty friend of hers getting railed by a new guy every night.
If I were her, I’d say screw the sex-phobia and beg someone to take me for a ride already. ”
“Make sure she doesn’t get a whiff that we’re
watchung her. I don’t want her causing a scene before we’re ready.”
“Man, she’s way too clueless for that. If it were her sly little friend, maybe she’d catch on, but this one? She’s off in her own world.”
I turn to him and my tone hardens. “And until we’re ready, stay away from her sly little friend too.”
His smirk stretches wider. “Sharp as ever, boss.”
“It doesn’t take a genius to notice your cock salutes her every damn time her name comes up.”
He just shrugs in response and snaps his fingers at one of the girls. Moments later, she’s straddling his lap, back to his chest, grinding her bare ass and pussy against his crotch.
“When’s Carlo getting back?” I ask.
“Probably tomorrow. He’s closed the deal and secured the trade. Found a new buyer in Ukraine.”
“Make it the day after.”
He pushes the girl’s shoulder down, bending her further so he can look at me. “You heading to Italy?”
I nod.
There’s doubt in his eyes, but he doesn’t press. “When should the jet be ready?”
I turn my gaze back to the stage, nodding toward the pole dancer. As she strides off toward my room upstairs, I stay where I am, downing the last of my drink in one go.
“Just enough time for one good fuck,” I mutter, then follow after her.
***
When I enter my room, the dancer is already seated on the leather couch, the thin straps that barely covered her breasts and pussy tossed aside.
I take a cursory glance at her. Her body is well-shaped, toned in all the right places, but her skin is too tan, and her blonde hair is the wrong fucking shade.
Not the kind of blonde I want. I push the air out of my lungs, my frustration simmering just below the surface.
I shrug off my jacket and hang it on the rack.
“Behind the couch. Bend over, stomach down,” I order, and she moves fast.
I step behind her and unzip my pants. Sliding on a condom, I thrust into her wet pussy with unrestrained force, her loud moan echoing through the room. Grabbing a handful of her hair, I pull her head back, forcing her to gasp for air.
“Repeat it. ‘Please let me go. Don’t do this. I’m begging.’ Over and over till I come. Got it?”
She arches slightly, a quiet sound escaping her—one she immediately despises herself for, because it gives her away, because it reveals how her body responds even as fear coils tight inside her.
“Please, let me go. Please don’t do this. I’m begging you.”
Eyes closed. Her words turn into Lucia’s. This pussy’s hers. This body’s hers. I’m breaking her open, thrust after savage thrust. Over and over, I drive into her, the rhythm unforgiving. In, out, in, out—until I finally explode, filling the condom.
I’m panting, seething with rage, my chest rising and falling like a caged animal.
A guttural growl escapes me, raw and unfiltered, because something is still missing.
Something vital, maddeningly out of reach.
It’s as if I haven’t truly climaxed in a year.
My patience is gone. No more waiting. It’s time to end this misery once and for all.
***
“Until you catch the Mad Bull, don’t expect the Black Souls case to be closed completely,” Don Fernando says after taking a sip of his favorite red wine.
I stab my fork into my steak, my agreement clear in the gesture. “I agree. Right now, I’ve dismantled most of his crew. When he finally crawls out of hiding to regroup, that’s when I’ll strike.”
“That man’s like the leader of a fanatical cult, patient, ruthless, and utterly unhinged. He’s a snake, the kind that can sit in the dark for hours, even months, watching its prey. You need to be careful, or he’ll sink his fangs into you the moment you let your guard down.”