Chapter 8 Vin
Vin
Tommy has been blowing up my phone all night with intel updates, except there’s not a single fucking piece of usable information in any of it. Every text is just another dead end.
Stretched across Sophie’s couch, I’m wide awake. Sophie’s coffee is coursing through me, adrenaline sparking my nervous system, and I’m listening to the silence so hard the air itself seems loud.
A soft whispering sound keeps drifting in from somewhere at irregular intervals, and it takes me a full minute to place it: Sophie’s sheets, rustling as she shifts in bed.
Why does she keep moving?
Instantly, I get it and almost laugh out loud. The girl’s jacking off. Ha. I stand soundlessly, inching toward her room to hear better. Everything goes so quiet for so long I think she must have heard me, but then a soft moan filters through the thin door.
My chin drops to my chest as I fight to suppress my laughter, but when I hear her whisper my name, breathy and needy, I stop laughing instantly.
FUCK, that’s hot.
I wasn’t kidding earlier when I said I’d bend her over that sink and fuck her ass.
Her ass is fucking phenomenal. For about two seconds I debate going in there and helping her finish the job, replacing whatever she’s using with my cock, before I remind myself that we’re in the middle of a God damn war. I need to stay focused.
I can’t think about how it would feel to be inside her. Not imagining those big brown eyes watching me over her shoulder while I rail—
Fuck. Focus.
Sophie’s bed creaks and I retreat to the couch, dropping onto it just as she emerges and heads to the bathroom. When she comes back, she locks eyes with me. Shy and uncertain, she crosses the living room and settles in the corner of the couch, tucking her feet underneath her.
“You’re not sleeping either?” she asks, pulling a blanket over her lap.
I can’t help but smirk. “Did you just fuck yourself thinking about me, princess?”
She turns bright red and shakes her head, glancing away. “Oh my gosh, Vin. Honestly, your mouth is just—”
“You love it. Don’t lie.” I lean toward her, loving the way her pulse jumps in her throat. “Your walls are thin as fuck. You had to know I’d hear you. Were you hoping I’d come in and take over for you?”
When she doesn’t meet my gaze, I sit back. “Alright, princess. Choosing your hand over my dick sounds like a missed opportunity to me, but you do you.”
A scratching sound at the window has me on my feet, gun in hand, and at the door in a heartbeat. Sophie’s staring at me with those big doe eyes, and I motion sharply for her to get down on the ground. She obeys immediately, and I slip out into the night.
I take my time prowling around the building. It’s dilapidated, falling apart, a standalone structure with barely a foot of space between it and the equally shitty buildings flanking it.
Why the fuck does she live in this shithole?
The thought gnaws at me as I check corners, test shadows. As Siena’s cousin, she’s family, and as the head of that family, I can’t have my people living like this: exposed, vulnerable, an easy target. Does nobody fucking get that we’re in the middle of a war?
Then again, this shitty little apartment in a shitty two-story building in a shitty neighborhood in Brooklyn means we’re not exactly on anyone’s radar out here.
It’d make a perfect safe house, actually.
If Sophie keeps cooking for me like she did tonight, I might just take her up on that offer to stay.
The thought of staying here, eating her food every night, watching that ass of hers in that tiny kitchen—
Nope. Bad for business. Way too close to home.
I was joking with Sophie at the party, acting like I was trying to fuck her because I knew she’d say no and that it would piss Siena off.
But the truth is, the last thing I need is seeing an angry woman at every family event we both attend for the rest of my life.
In fact, I shouldn’t even be here right now.
By the time I’m done scouting the perimeter, finding nothing, I’m angry.
Angry at myself for going to that stupid party against my better judgment. At Matti and Tommy for having their heads so far up their women’s pussies they’re less than useless. At Siena for being a mouthy cunt and commandeering my best friend and brother. At Sophie for—
She’s lying ass up on the floor when I walk through the front door. I swallow back a groan and avert my eyes. I tap her leg with my foot, keeping my gaze anywhere but on those little shorts stretched tight over her big ass.
“Sophie. Go back to bed. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
She rises and brushes herself off. “I can’t sleep knowing you’re awake out here.”
I roll my eyes. “Does nobody fucking listen? Jesus Christ. It’s not fucking safe especially by this big window and the front door.”
She goes quiet, staring at the floor, toying with the drawstring from those tiny pajama shorts that are going to be the death of me.
I huff out a breath. Fucking women.
“Jesus fuck, fine. But sit down and get away from the window.” I settle in the middle of the couch and wince when a broken spring jabs my ass through the cushion. “No offense, princess, but your couch sucks.”
She’s silent, perching on the edge of the couch.
I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed that I caught her jerking off, embarrassed about her shitty furniture, or upset I yelled at her.
I’ve never understood women, but it’s not hard to tell when they’re unhappy.
I exhale hard, searching for something to say that’ll erase that look from her face.
“So. You’re Siena’s cousin. You hang out with her a lot growing up?”
She lifts her gaze to meet mine. “When I was little, yes. I’m the same age as her sister, Emily. Or I was. She was.” She shakes her head, flustered. “Now that she’s gone, I don’t know how to say it.”
She glances away, and the truth hangs heavy in the air between us: Siena’s sister, Emily, was killed in a plane crash last year. A crash caused by one of my father’s men.
“But when I was 12, Siena’s father was killed, and everything changed after that.” Her voice is small, careful.
That was also my father, Aurelio. He killed Siena’s father 20 years ago, the same day he took out his own father and grandfather to secure his position as head of the Demonio family and bury the Bellamortes for good.
I won’t apologize for him. Those sins sit on a long list of transgressions that he will pay for when I take him out and step into the big seat as soon as I fucking find him.
“What changed when her father…died?”
Sophie meets my gaze, leaning back into the cushions and pulling the blanket up to her chest. “My father wouldn’t let me hang out with them anymore.
He’s Siena’s father’s brother, a Bellamorte, and Aurelio was gunning for him too.
To save his life and the lives of me and my mother, my father promised Aurelio he’d have no more contact with anyone associated with the Bellamortes, including his dead brother’s family.
That meant I couldn’t see Siena anymore. ”
I snort. Fucking weak. “And he kept that promise?”
Aurelio would definitely see a promise to a woman as weakness. To be honest, I do, too. Your brothers in the life always come first. Always.
Sophie nods gravely. “To a fault. My father is a man of his word.”
“My father is a dick. The way he tells it, your father was one of his best friends and slated to be underboss but was too weak to keep around or bother killing. I’m surprised he let him out of the family. This isn’t exactly a job you retire from.”
She nods, shifting closer. “I know. My mother was surprised too. She didn’t believe it at first, but I saw it with my own eyes. My father has never wavered. His family comes first, and the only way my mother would marry him is if he swore off mafia life forever. For her, he would do anything.”
I study her. There’s more to her than I originally thought. She comes off as quiet, sweet, unassuming. But if she witnessed my father in action when she was that young, she’s stronger than she appears. Has to be.
“Your mother must be an amazing woman for him to give up his whole life for her.”
Sophie’s face transforms when she smiles. “My mother is amazing. But so is my father. I love them both so much. My mother could never have any more children after me, so we are very close.”
Staring at her, the look on her face when she talks about her family, jealousy creeps in. My family life could not be more different.
As if she reads my thoughts, she asks, “What about you? Were you close with your mother before she…passed?”
What’s she’s not saying: my father killed my mother too. No one saw it happen, no one can prove it, and of course he’s always denied it. But I saw him beat her when I was growing up, and one day she disappeared. The math isn’t hard.
“She was the first reason I vowed to destroy my father.”
Sophie shifts in her seat, pulling her knees up, her shins against my side.
When she pulls the blanket over her legs, she covers my lap as well so that we’re sharing the warmth.
I shoot her a sharp look, but she’s not trying to flirt or cuddle.
I’m not sure how to process this: she’s just being nice.
I turn toward her so her legs are no longer touching me, so that none of her is touching me, but let the blanket stay across my lap.
“So you were close to her?” Sophie asks.
“No,” I snap, my voice too loud. I expect her to flinch, to withdraw, but she doesn’t.
She’s calm, listening, and it’s fucking unnerving.
“Tommy was her favorite. He was a weird kid, and my mother and I always protected him. She protected him at home from Aurelio. I protected him out in the world until he learned to fend for himself.”
“Who protected you?”
It’s a simple enough question, but it shoots tension down my spine.
I laugh harshly. “My mother, early on, maybe, even though she and I were never as close as she was with Tommy.” I pause, thinking back, not something I often do.
“I stayed out of the house as much as I could. Me and Matti went everywhere together. But when I was at home, I was usually in the kitchen with Lucia.”
“Lucia?”
“My father’s cook. Lucia was old, thick, soft when I was a kid, and she hasn’t changed.
She still runs the kitchen on the Demonio estate with an iron fist. She’s rough around the edges but soft if she likes you.
She looked out for me and Tommy, yelling at anyone else who came into her kitchen but letting us spend hours there. ”
“She sounds nice,” Sophie says quietly.
I nod. “She kept a little table in the kitchen for me and Tommy. We’d do homework there. When we weren’t doing that or eating, Tommy would read and I would sleep. She barely spoke to us, but she wouldn’t let anyone fuck with us either.”
“You would sleep? In the kitchen?”
She blinks like the words don’t compute, and I chuckle.
“Yeah, arms folded on the table, head down. It was the only place I felt safe enough to rest. It was always warm. It smelled good. My father never came in there, never. He said it was for women. It took him years to figure out that’s where we spent a lot of our time.
That was when he started putting us to work for him. ”
Sophie is quiet, assessing me with those warm eyes of hers. Not judging, but I get the feeling she’s making room for me to open up. That alone shuts me down.
“I have happy memories in the kitchen, too,” she says. “My nonna lived with us, and I started spending more time in the kitchen after Siena and Emily—when I couldn’t hang out with them anymore. I got close to my nonna, and she taught me so much.”
“Makes sense.” I glance at her. “Can’t believe you missed Siena though. You guys are so different. She’s a fucking nightmare.”
Sophie’s eyes sparkle. “Does that make me a dream?”
“Compared to her, everyone is a dream, princess. She’s annoying as fuck.”
Sophie laughs, light and genuine. It’s hard not to smile. “Only to the people she doesn’t like. She thinks you use women, and that’s never going to be okay with her.”
“I only use the ones that want to be used.”
I brace myself, expecting the sparkle to fade when I say that.
Most nice girls know my reputation well enough to stay far away from me.
I make no secret of my aversion to relationships of any kind, and I love the rep I have for mowing through women.
It makes it easier to weed out the ones who’ll become clingy, problematic.
But if anything, her glow brightens and her smile curves into a smirk.
What the fuck?
“What’s that look mean, princess? You like the idea of being used?”
Her response is confusing. Her breathing changes, becoming shallow and quick. Her cheeks flush pink. She just stares at me for a long minute, pupils dilating.
Instead of answering my question, she pushes the blanket off her, piling it in my lap, and stands. “I’m going to make some tea. Do you want some or do you want some more coffee?”
“Coffee. Always coffee,” I say, watching her phenomenal ass as she walks away. “And if you have more of that Napolitano stuff, I’ll take as much as you’ve got.”
She glances back over her shoulder, catching me staring, and smiles.
Fuck. This is bad for business.
But I can’t seem to look away.