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Chapter One
CRUE
“ S weet baby Jesus. Are those slobbering pencil dicks gonna get off their asses and do something?” Mark groans with fervent annoyance and sinks so far into his seat that his ass is practically in the footwell of my car.
“At this rate, I’m gonna drill my own eyes out before I get a chance at theirs.”
Patience is a wise man’s game. It’s part of a forbearing nature and comes from a deep understanding of the interconnected fabric of existence. It’s about believing there’s more to life than charging headlong into every escapade, knowing we will reach the same outcome in the end.
That’s why patience, virtue, and wisdom don’t belong in the same sentence as Mark Lione. He bulldozes his way through life, and I’ve got to give him credit where it’s due. His no fuck’s given attitude has served him well.
“We know where they’re headed. Let me remind you that we’re watching them out of want, not need. Go wait at the club, if you can’t refrain from whining the whole time we’re sitting here.”
My focus remains on the two guys standing outside Lorenzo Napoli’s Sanctuary Club, even as I reprimand Mark.
A long-exasperated sigh is his reply, followed by, “That’s no fun either. Watching you squirm, while all the pretty chicks gang up on you, is my favorite part of going out.” He readjusts himself until he’s sitting upright again and then he rifles through my glove box for a pack of smokes that he stashed away before we got here. “And what if shit goes sideways here? There’s no chance in hell I’m gonna let you have all the fun yourself.”
He runs a hand through his shoulder-length mess of mousy brown hair, to get it out of his face, and lights his cigarette.
“Fuck's sake, man. This is a new car.” I growl, but Mark ignores my rebuke.
“Gotta break her in somehow. Show her how a real man handles his bitch.” In my peripheral vision, I see him wink at me.
I don’t really care about the car, or the smell of smoke that’s going to cling to the leather for the rest of its existence. Mark knows that too. He's been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.
We’re brothers, birthed in the blood of others. Mark’s always had my back. From the trenches of middle school – where I got my first bloody nose after taking one too many hits to the face, all the way to highly classified, special ops missions in the desert in the middle of Butt-Fuck nowhere. We’ve fought too many wars together for something this small to have any meaning. Hell, for all the shit I’ve put him through, Mark could set this car ablaze and leave it a smoldering ball of scrap.
After all, I’m the reason we were in all those battles. All it took was one bad day and a bully who pushed too hard, after years of driving me up the walls. Mark stood by my side and watched as I beat that kid into a coma. He would’ve been my first kill if it hadn’t been for Mark pulling me off the husk of his body.
Then there’s that huge heart of his. A quality I’m sorely lacking in. His heart gave him the strength to hold my weeping mother, after we were offered the deal, military service or juvenile detention. He kissed her cheek and whispered that he’d protect me, no matter the cost, when we shipped off to our first war-torn country.
It was a promise he made then and that he still keeps to this day.
If I knew how to love, I’m sure I’d love him.
My trip down memory lane is cut short by the sight of a fascinating creature emerging from the Sanctuary’s exit. I’d call her a woman, but the word doesn’t do her justice. Her movements are too fluid to be called merely walking. It seems as if she dances and skates on the very ground beneath her feet, as she side steps the very guys, who have an appointment with my blade tonight.
One glance at her dark-haired exquisiteness, and my blood runs feverishly hot instead of the tepid cool I’m used to. Each new heartbeat sends another wave of excruciating warmth through my body, and it’s all settling in one place: my stiffening cock.
Beneath the rim of her tank top, her petite frame is surprisingly athletic. Her massive tits must contribute significantly to her workouts. Her long, wavy chocolate-brown hair almost seems out of place as it ripples down her body. The tips of her hair reach her waist, flowing down from where it is secured in a very loose band.
I’m enamored by the sight of her. My gaze drifts down her slender waist, where her curves bloom into a plump, round ass and full, enticing hips. All that flesh is squeezed into tight, blue jeans that hug and accentuate every sultry contour of her body.
Get a hold of yourself, Crue, I reprimand myself, but to no avail. Saliva is flooding my mouth as images of her tight, wet slit rubbing against my face roll across my mind.
“Not gonna say anything, huh?” Mark eases back in his seat and obscures my vision with a well-placed plume of smoke.
Perfect timing. His distraction snaps me back to reality just long enough to regain my senses and cool off.
If I were the sort of man who chuckled, I’d be doing it now, because I must be losing my damned mind, drooling over her instead of focusing on my targets who have since started walking to their car.
My eyes don’t linger on them for long, though, and I steal one more glance at the slender beauty as she gets into the back of a cab.
What is someone so pure doing in a dirty place like this?
“Got nothing to say,” I finally reply to Mark. “We both know you’ll ignore me, anyway,” I finish my lackluster answer.
And then, as if this wasn’t enough of a complication to my night already, my phone starts buzzing in the center console. The caller-I.D. reads Unknown .
“Yes?” I answer. If whoever is trying to reach me wants to remain anonymous, it usually means that it’s business, but answering with a hello is way too civilian for someone like me.
“Come over, Crue.” It’s Matteo Baronne, my employer. “We’ve got something to discuss.”
Pleasantries and greetings aren’t Matteo’s style. That’s why I’ve taken a liking to working for him these past few months. Why waste the time checking in, when neither of us gives a shit about how the other is doing?
“I’ll be there in—”
“Good, good, see you then.” He cuts me off and kills the call.
I start the car and drive.
Mark lets out a shrill screech of excitement.
“Fina-fucking-ly,” he slaps my dashboard with an open palm. “I was going bonkers watching those two do nothing all night.”
“Time better served steeling your mind for the mission, I’m sure.”
He chuckles as if it were a joke. “Killing is what I do, and buddy, let me tell you, I’m damned good at it.”
Mark turns on the radio. For the rest of our drive, old blues and classic rock blare from my speakers. He sings along to some of the songs and hums the tune to others. His lack of interest in me is highly appreciated.
I should be taking the time to prepare for my meeting with Matteo, but instead, my mind returns to her . That out-of-place stunner who left a knot of unease in my gut. I need to know why someone so ordinary rattled my world like an earthquake.
We arrive at the Baronne family’s villa on the outskirts of New York in less than half an hour. The streets weren’t quiet, but if the military taught me one good lesson – other than how much I enjoy killing – it was how to drive at dangerously high speeds.
“Is this where you tell me to play it cool and watch my tongue?” Mark’s grin stretches from ear to ear, as he reaches for the door handle. He’s deliberately trying to press my buttons. To make this harder than it needs to be. Although I’m loath to say it, he’s giving me the ribbing an older sibling might. Under different circumstances it would’ve worked too, but I hate these mafia sorts. They’re a bunch of holier-than-thou pricks, who don’t deserve a lick of respect.
Aside from Matteo’s offered opportunity of a lifetime and his blood money lining my pockets, I view him exactly the same as I do his enemy, Lorenzo Napoli; he’s a cockroach waiting to be exterminated.
“For this piece of shit? Nah, give him hell.”
I get out of my BMW and Mark follows closely behind me. One of the Baronne family’s dogs meets us at the front door. He greets me, which I just ignore, taking a page from his master’s playbook. His face turns several shades of red darker with fury, but he leads us to Matteo’s office.
The don of the Baronne family is not an intimidating specimen by any stretch of the imagination. He’s tall enough, sure and his crown reaches my chin, but age and years of boozing have made his body plump. However, beneath the superficial layers of flab, I can tell that his muscles are still strong and primed for violence.
Matteo’s head is buried in a stack of papers on his desk when we enter. He’s so deeply engrossed in the binder he’s thumbing through that he doesn’t even bother looking up.
“Outstanding work so far, Crue. I’m impressed at how many names you’ve managed to strike off my list.”
His words are another reminder of why this is the perfect gig for me. No beating around the bush or feigning interest. We’re all business, all the time.
“What can I say?” I give Mark enough room to enter the office as well, but neither of us head for the visitors’ chairs opposite Matteo. Two more names will be ticked off his list tonight, and we don’t have time to sit around and play footsie under the table. “Money’s a powerful motivator.”
It’s my favorite of the many lies I use to sound normal. Whatever normal is in this context. But saying I’m in it for wealth and notoriety is far easier than admitting that I derive pleasure from watching the light leave my victims’ eyes. I love listening to the whistle of their final breathe, and that oh, so intimate sensation of my blade slipping beneath the layers of their skin as I plunge it into an artery...
It’s fucking orgasmic.
“Good. Because I’m adding another zero and another name.” Matteo lifts his head at last, and the mess of curly salt-and-pepper hair atop his head bounces in front of his face.
“The more of both, the merrier.” I keep my gaze level with his dark-brown eyes.
“Same rules apply. Stay on your current trajectory, working your way up through Lorenzo Napoli’s underlings. I want him to believe you’re a rogue unit, cutting his way to the top for whatever reason will plague that sack of shit’s mind.”
He reaches for an envelope that’s some distance from the rest of the chaos scattered across his desk.
“I am a rogue unit.” It isn’t my favorite way to describe myself, but Matteo knows that already. It’s why he hired me. He preyed on what little emotion I let bubble to the surface and lured me in with the promise of revenge.
“Hmm. That’s right.” His face hardens and he tips his head in an unnaturally respectful gesture. “I’m sorry, son. I forgot that this isn’t just a simple job for you. Forgive me?” He runs a hand through his hair, collecting the stragglers to press into a messy middle-part.
“Oh shit,” Mark finally says something. I’m used to him hijacking every conversation we’re in, so I could’ve sworn he’d left the room, before Matteo and I started speaking.
“No need for forgiveness. I don’t want or expect sympathy or pity for what happened to my mom. But I will take your money and keep ticking names off your list, until that fat sack of shit , Lorenzo Napoli—”
Feels the fear she did in her final moments surrounded by his men. I finish the sentence in my mind only.
I clear my throat and try to rid my mind of those thoughts. Emotions complicate things. That’s why I count myself one of the lucky ones, who rarely feels them.
“Yes, well, you’re going to love what I’m holding in my hands, then.” He waggles the envelope, and I walk over to take it from him.
And just like that, we’ve moved on.
“Gonna tell me who’s inside or would that ruin the fun?” Unlike the other dossiers Matteo has given me, this one is surprisingly thick. Must be someone very important to Lorenzo. The Napoli family’s balding second-in-command springs to mind, but I don’t stay on the thought long.
Matteo’s previous notes have always contained a few candid photographs, a name, and a loose schedule of the intended’s comings and goings; from the lowest member I’ve been given the pleasure of killing, right up to the made-men Mark and I are headed out to kill tonight.
What’s so different about the person waiting for me inside here? I fiddle with the envelopes unglued flap.
“Lorenzo’s daughter.” Matteo opens one of his desk’s drawers and pulls out a fat cigar. He cuts off the end and shoves it in his mouth before speaking again. “Isn’t it funny how things work out, sometimes? He killed your mother; you kill his daughter. Generational genocide.”
“I don’t think that word means what you think it does.” My bad attempt at a joke raises Matteo’s eyebrow.
He’s the one who said it’s funny. Why’s he looking at me like I’m the crazy one?
He shrugs it off and continues, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “Fiametta Napoli is his biggest weakness. She’s the Napoli family jewel.”
“Why haven’t I heard about her, then?” It’s back to straight-faced seriousness for me.
“That’s exactly why you haven’t. She’s a well-guarded treasure. Had it not been for my wife, God bless her soul, being present at Fiametta’s birth, even I wouldn’t have known she existed.”
Would this be a better time to crack a joke? Something about how it’s only the women who suffer at the hands of their wicked men. Probably not. I’ll just keep my mouth shut.
“She’s to be your last kill, Crue, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun with her in the meantime. Taunt her, torment her; I don’t mind how you choose to do it, but I would prefer her pretty mind broken before the deed is done.”
“What the fuck? Why?” Mark asks the question I won’t with flabbergasted disbelief. I’m glad he does, because this is an odd request, even for Matteo.
“Why go on a murder spree to hurt the man who killed your mother? Why stand at Crue’s side for a fistful of dollars? Why do anything?” He scrounges around in his desk for a golden flip lighter and starts snapping the lid open and closed. “It’s about the message we send. Killing Napoli soldiers is going to rock the foundation. But force Lorenzo to watch his little angel’s descent into the murky depths of insanity, well, there’s no real coming back from that, is there?”
“Huh.” Mark utters the sound. I shift my gaze to see wicked approval in the shape of his pursed lips. “You’ve got a strange head on your shoulders. I kinda like it,” he says.
Matteo chuckles.
It’s not the time for confusion, but it permeates my brain anyway. Mark can insult the man to his face and get a laugh, whereas I get raised eyebrows and the same concerned look our enrollment officer gave me when I signed up for the military...
I must be getting worse at telling jokes.
“Now, my elite assassin, and your ever-flattering colleague, if there isn’t anything else.” He brings the lighter to the tip of his cigar and puffs a few times until it catches. “Get the fuck out of my office.”
We do as we are told.
The Baronne guard, who brought us here, is waiting outside Matteo’s office and follows us back the way we came. His dutiful watch ends at the villa’s front door, and he slams it shut once we’re through.
“What happened to giving him hell?” I jab an elbow into Mark’s side as we descend the grandiose staircase to my Beemer. Teasing someone in a friendly manner is another trick I’ve taken years to learn. Unlike joking, I find the addition of mockery an easier concept to grasp.
Mark's disgruntled snicker reaffirms my belief that I’m getting better at it.
“Nah, man, I’m not going anywhere near that crazy piece, if I don’t have to.” He rubs down the front of his shirt where I connected with him.
Like me, Mark isn’t afraid of Matteo Baronne. Neither of us are stupid enough to believe we can go toe to toe with the criminal empire under his employ, but our fearlessness comes from years of living life on a razor’s edge. Dying is less of a worry when you’ve put yourself in front of as many bullets as we have and do - since that very first fight that left a kid brain dead.
Back in my car, I reach for the envelope in my pocket. I drop it into Mark’s lap, so he can have a look at it while I drive.
“Doesn’t this chick look familiar?” he asks as soon as he looks at the very first candid photograph. “I’m sure I’ve seen her before.”
I snatch the picture out of his hands and an uncomfortable sensation of hot blood coursing through my cold veins leaves a dizzying nausea in my guts.
He has seen her before. So have I. Less than an hour ago, to be exact, exiting Lorenzo’s Sanctuary Club.
Ah, fuck! Why does it have to be her?