The mafia kings siren, p.10
The Mafia King's Siren, page 10
“Miss Wence?”
She panted, ready to run again, but not knowing where she could go. Massimo held his hands up.
“It’s okay. Please, just come with me.”
“I … I…” She took a deep breath and nodded. He took hold of her arm and escorted her to the Cadillac. He helped her in and then slid behind the wheel. As they drove off, she leaned her head back on the headrest and closed her eyes. She needed a moment to compose herself and make a plan.
Chapter Sixteen
“Where are we?”
Zaylah looked up at the sleek skyscraper. Heat-strengthened glass stretched up as far as the eye could see supporting the steel frame as a curtain wall. It was sleek, modern, and beautiful.
“This is Damon’s place,” Massimo said. “Well, mine too. He has the whole top penthouse and I live on the floor below.”
She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “For your comfort or his safety?”
He smiled at her, relief loosening the tension around his eyes. “Damon is more than capable of keeping himself safe.”
“You two seem very close.”
“My father was his father’s consigliere. We grew up together. Behind the scenes, he’s my best friend and brother. When we’re in our world, he’s the boss.”
A uniformed man stepped up to the car door and opened it. Massimo came around the front and handed him the keys before holding out a hand to help her exit. Eyes wide, she entered the lobby of the building, noting rich mahogany wainscoting, cream leather sofa, and expensive art on the walls. All of it screamed rich and she wondered what the hell she was doing there. What could a man like Damon Barese possibly see in her?
There were guards in the lobby, along with a concierge. Massimo nodded at each person as he led her to the bank of elevators. He swiped a key card into the last one on the left and it opened immediately. She followed him inside. The control panel didn’t have individual floor buttons, only small pad with numbers and a slot where he inserted the key card. He punched in a code and then placed his thumb on the glass pad. A moment later, the elevator moved and they were rising.
“Does Damon own this whole building?”
Massimo nodded. “This has his primary office for business.”
“The mafia king has an office?”
“Mafia? What mafia? I know nothing about any mafia,” Massimo said blandly. “Mr. Barese is a legitimate entrepreneur.”
“Of course,” she said dryly. “He’s all sunshine and rainbows. Is he still at the office?”
“No,” he replied. “He had something else he had to take care of, but he should be here shortly.”
The elevator came to a stop. Once more Massimo punched in a code and the door opened.
They exited from the car and a moment later the elevator closed. He opened the penthouse door and gestured for her to enter. Inside was spacious. Her footfall echoed hollowly through the foyer and beyond. Bold, masculine colors dominated the industrial décor. Leather, steel, and marble were the primary textures. A piano rested in front of an electric fireplace. The kitchen and dining room lay to the left. On the right was a hallway where a staircase wound up to a second floor. Zaylah walked to the wall of windows and looked down upon the city.
“It’s majestic,” she murmured.
“Eh,” Massimo said. “Could use some color. Maybe yellow … or pink.”
She turned and raised an eyebrow. “Pink?”
He shrugged. “Don’t you think it would bring out his eyes?”
“Um. If you say so.” What else was she supposed to say? “Does he know I’m here?”
“Eh.” He turned to head back toward the foyer. “All right, Little Miss Siren. I have a date with Bridgerton. I’m a season behind.”
“Eh is not an answer, Massimo.”
“Non posso parlare inglese!”
“You better not have said you don’t speak English.” He waved a hand over his head.
“Massimo!”
He disappeared out the door, leaving her alone in the home of a mafia king. Were there hidden cameras? Was this a test? If it was, she was going to fail because curiosity led her to wander through the spacious penthouse suite. She explored the kitchen and the hallway branching from it, which housed a very large laundry room. Upstairs housed several bedrooms, including the master with an en suite bathroom. Unable to help herself, she opened the closet door to a room larger than her apartment. Suits, dress shirts, pants, shoes … the man had more clothes than her. She walked over to a wall that held nothing but drawers, and opened one. Rows of expensive-looking watches. Ties were in another drawer. In a bottom drawer, a bevy of handguns.
That made her pause, and reminded her that Damon was a dangerous man. Slowly, she reached for one, an elegant model that was just big enough for her small hand. A weapon could even the playing field against Patrick. Did she have the guts to shoot him? Maybe not, but he wouldn’t know that. Surely Damon wouldn’t miss one, and by the time he’d figure out this one was gone, she’d more than likely be in Ireland.
She slipped it in her purse and made her way back to the living room. She sat on the couch to wait. And then wait some more. A yawn hit her, and weariness settled on her shoulders. All the shit Patrick put her through hit her like a sledgehammer. Not knowing how long Damon would be, she decided to rest. Drained, she laid down and closed her eyes, intending to grab a power nap. A moment later, she settled into sleep.
She had no idea how long she slept, or what pulled her from slumber. When she opened her eyes, Damon stood at the end of the couch, staring at her. Red splatter was smeared all over his white shirt.
“Is that your blood?”
“No.”
She didn’t even bat an eye. “Did he deserve it?”
“Yes. One of O’Shannon’s cohorts.”
There was a lot of evil in the world. Damon Barese might not be a good man, but he had a code. His own brand of ethics. She rose and held out her hand. He took it and she led him upstairs to his bedroom, where she walked him into his en suite. She dropped her hand and went to the shower, where she turned it on. Testing the heat, she adjusted until steam billowed out of the stall. She turned toward him.
“Take your clothes off.”
He stripped down, not at all self-conscious that he was naked. He stepped into the shower. She picked up his discarded clothes and left him to destroy the blood of the man he killed. Zaylah headed into the kitchen and placed the clothes in the deep farmhouse sink and filled it with water. Then she went into the laundry and found the bleach. Bringing it back into the kitchen, she dumped the whole thing into the water.
“What are you doing?”
She glanced over her shoulder. A towel wrapped around his hips, the V-cut of his chiseled abs on display. Wet strands of hair clung to his neck, and scruff darkened his jaw. “Bleach destroys DNA.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” she replied. She turned around to face him and leaned one hip against the counter.
“You’re not freaking out,” he said.
“Why would I?”
“Because you know what happened tonight.”
They stared at one another, then she came to a decision. Stepping close to him, she reached out and pulled the towel loose. It fell in a heap onto the floor. She remembered the size of his cock from when it was in her mouth, in her body, but it still managed to make her gasp. Taking a step back, she reached the buttons on her blouse and began to disrobe. He didn’t say a word, only watched her with hooded eyes. And when she stood naked in front of him, he reached out and ran a fingertip over a beaded nipple.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice husky with desire. “Inside and out.”
Hands cupped her breasts, teasing the puckered nipples, then slid down her body. Pausing where her legs were pressed together. He leaned over, his lips hovering over hers. Brushed her lips with his own, deepening as she relaxed. The tenseness slowly drained away, and her legs slightly parted, allowing him to settle between them. He brushed his fingertips along her inner thighs, and she shivered from the ticklish sensation. Approaching closer to her center. When his knuckles skimmed along her pussy lips, excitement electrified every nerve ending, radiating through her body and causing her heart to thump erratically.
He broke the kiss to drift down, latching onto a nipple. Taking the turgid pebble in his mouth and gently biting as he eased a finger inside her. A riot of sensations sluiced through her and a whimper escaped as he pressed his thumb against her clit. Fire danced though her body. She’d never had a lover that took his time. Concerned not only with his pleasure, but her own. In and out his finger pumped, until her hips were moving in rhythm. He returned his mouth to hers, deepening the kiss until his tongue matched what his fingers were doing. Probing, conquering.
He shifted, adjusting, his cock now poised at her entrance.
“Wait,” she breathed. “Condom.”
His eyes glittered with lust. “Shit.”
He moved off her for a few minutes, the sound of a condom wrapper loud in the whisper silence of the room. Then he was back, pressing into her. She arched her back, eyes rolling in the back of her head at the sheer pleasure engulfing her body.
He gave a groan as he thrust deep. Zaylah met his lunges, pushing up harder and faster. A live wire beneath him. Bucking frantically to meet his driving force. He buried his face in the junction of her neck, nipping the skin. His breath hot and heavy in her ear.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, and her fingernails scratched up his back. It was all too much. Too hot. Too wicked. Her climax struck her like a thunderbolt, and she cried out in pleasure. Unable to hold back. Shaking as spasms rippled through her. Vaguely aware he followed her.
Afterward, they lay panting, his body heavy against hers. She didn’t want him to move so she wrapped her arms around him. Allowing herself one moment of fantasy, where he was hers and she was his. That there wasn’t an outside world destined to tear them apart. He had wormed himself into her heart and she knew, without a shadow of doubt, he’d stay the only one there. Sharing herself with any other man was out of the question, and Patrick’s ultimatum hung like an albatross around her neck. If she had ever doubted the path she had placed herself on, this moment pushed aside any lingering fear.
Eventually, all good things came to an end. Damon pulled out of her body and disappeared for a few minutes in the bathroom. He returned with a washcloth to clean her. Then he pulled her into his arms. She ran a finger over the hard planes of his chest.
“He has my sister,” she said softly. “That’s what Patrick O’Shannon has over me.”
The lazy stroke of his fingertips up and down her spine stopped.
“When I went to identify my brother’s body, Brutus came and took Vivi. If I try to leave, if I run … she takes my place.”
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“I’m allowed to talk to her,” she continued. “Brief minutes for a job well done. Reward and punishment at the same time. She’s managed to give me careful clues. It’s what I’ve been trying to figure out at the library.”
“What type of clues?”
“One time, she mentioned me cooking turnips, and I knew it had to be a code because I’ve never in my whole life held a turnip.”
“Turnips.” He mulled that over. “What else?”
“She mentioned enzymes and science. Then this last time, she mentioned finding a dog by the river and how Pops wouldn’t let her keep it.”
“Who’s Pops?”
“Our grandfather, in Ireland. I’ve been Googling turnips, dogs, and enzymes but all I get are recipes or dog management aids. Nothing to point me in the direction of ‘X marks the spot.’ And I’m trying very hard not to be bitter that she can’t tell me anything specific.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I will do anything to save my sister from being one of Patrick’s employees.”
She kept to herself the plan she’d settled on to free Vivi and herself. After tomorrow night, she’d have to find her sister fast before Patrick realized the phone was missing.
“What if I help you find her?”
She blinked. Had she heard him correctly? She twisted up to look at him. “What? Why would you do that?”
He bent one arm and placed it behind his head. “Because she’s your sister.”
Moonlight streamed through the window, allowing her to see the sincerity in his words. “I appreciate your offer, but unless you can make rhyme or reason from those clues, I only have one recourse.”
“And that is?”
She hesitated. She couldn’t tell him the truth.
“I continue to play his game,” she replied, laying her head back on his chest so he couldn’t see the truth in her gaze.
His arm tightened around her. “You’re lying.”
She didn’t bother to answer.
“I have soldiers I can send out to scour the city,” he said. “I won’t leave a stone unturned.”
And somehow … somehow she knew he was telling her the truth. All the mistrust she’d given him. All the anger and fear she’d harbored. He didn’t hold it against her, was still willing to help her, and the remainder of that damn wall around her heart crumbled to dust. Ice gave way to warmth, heating her from the inside out.
“Thank you,” she said softly, trying very hard not to cry.
Chapter Seventeen
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“It’s personal.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of reading about mafia dynasties, and it made me wonder if you have a mafia wife lined up?”
“What?”
“Don’t you have responsibilities to the Don and the Family?”
He didn’t answer. A minute stretched into two, until she figured he wouldn’t respond at all. Leaving her to guess that answered her question, and she discovered she hated the thought he’d one day be married to a very suitable mafia wife.
“Anything I tell you has to be in strict confidence,” he said softly. “You go to the Feds and your life would be forfeit.”
Her heart thumped heavily in her chest. “If I go to the Feds, my sister’s life is forfeit as well.”
He sighed. “No, I have no mafia wife lined up. I run a borgata, which roughly translates to neighborhood. It’s a little different than what people think. My main job is to make money and gain territory for the Famiglia.”
“Is there a Don?”
“He’s in Chicago. My father was an underboss. He’s the one who had a mafia wife. And a mafia mistress. And a mafia temper.” Bitterness tinged his voice. “He ended up beating my mother to death when I was thirteen. Because she was from a prominent Italian family, my father was demoted. Sent here to run a borgata, and while he was capocrimini out here, he was in exile there.”
“What happened to him?”
“I had to kill him.”
She blinked, not sure she heard him correctly.
“Being head of a borgata isn’t a stigma, but everyone knew what my father had done. He was desperate to gain favor and return to Chicago.”
“What did he do?”
“We had a peace agreement with the DiLuca Borgata on the other side of the river,” he continued. “He thought he had a foolproof plan. Get rid of the last of the DiLucas. When he found out the daughter was still alive, his new plan was to marry me to her. He destroyed everything for a foolish plan.”
She gasped and maneuvered onto her side so she could look at him. He looked down at her and brushed a strand of hair off her cheek.
“So … in order to maintain peace, you had to do the unthinkable.”
“Yeah. Something like that. I put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.”
She cupped his cheek. “That must have been an awful moment for you.”
“I was numb. I think. Even though I hated him for what he did to my mother, this was the man who gave me life, and I ended up taking his.”
She took hold of his hand and linked their fingers. “Sometimes people we love do terrible things, and even though it’s hard, we have to learn to accept that’s who they always were. That’s not on us.”
“I tried so hard not to hate him.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I struggled with my brother’s selfishness for a long time, and there are moments he still makes me angry, but I try to remember the good times. Before he became the boy who got lost.”
He kissed her forehead. “I’m so glad I met you, Zaylah Wence.”
“I’m glad I met you too.”
He wrapped his arms around her and nestled her into his side. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll think better after a good rest. Maybe we can stay in bed tomorrow and make love all day.”
“Yeah. That sounds wonderful.”
She stared into the darkness, unable to sleep. Damon relaxed against her, and she waited until his breathing turned deep and even. Then she carefully rose and dressed, making sure not to disturb his slumber. Zaylah gave herself one last glimpse of him, committing him to memory. He’d offered to help her find her sister, but she was out of time. Leaving him was the hardest thing to do, and as she rode the elevator down to the lobby, a tear slipped down her cheek.
Chapter Eighteen
Damon reached out but only found cool sheets. He cracked one eye open to confirm he was alone in the bed.
“Zaylah?”
She didn’t answer.
He sat up, looking toward the bathroom. The door stood open, no light and no Zaylah. Hoping she was in his kitchen brewing some coffee, he stood and headed over to his closet. The light immediately came on as he stepped inside to find a pair of sweatpants. As he dressed, he noticed the drawer that housed some of his handguns was slightly open. Investigating, he realized his Sig Sauer was missing.
