Chapter Eight

FIAMETTA

I see flashes of him everywhere.

My stalker .

Late-night wandering outside my window. A masked man hides among the masses of a crowded sidewalk. His thick, rigid frame looms like a statue from a distance, while Simone and I have lunch together.

Even now, his reflection haunts me in the corner mirror I've set up in my workshop. But I never truly see him. At least, I don’t think I do. Whenever I think I do, it’s in my peripheral vision. And every time I actually focus on the subject I could’ve sworn was the man I met nearly two weeks ago, it’s just some random guy going about his business.

Sometimes I feel as if I’m going crazy. That the fever-riddled sleep from whatever drug was in my drink fried my brain permanently.

Then I remember him saying my name and two of Father’s men winding up dead after I left the club. Six more men have met the same fate, and two have disappeared. Tomas finds my looks of disgust and repulsion at the news far too satisfying and makes sure to let me know, as soon as he learns of another tragedy.

“Another day of fucking around or are you seeing someone?” As if merely thinking his name was enough to draw his attention, Tomas shouts his question from the showroom.

I groan, snatching the extravagant ballroom-style dress I’ve been working on off my sewing table, and I head out to meet him.

“How is that any of your business?” I struggle to keep my composure. I’ve had the misfortune of Tomas’s ever-watchful eye on me for two weeks, and it’s starting to wear thin for both of us.

“Because I’d rather do nothing in the apartment, than this dump.” He was never a pleasant man to be around, but his snide remarks and cutting tone have become more pronounced over the past few days. Annoyingly, he’s started referring to my apartment, as the apartment, as if we’re actually sharing it.

My calm, cool and collected self has eroded to reveal a grumpy monster. Every time he looks at me, rage bubbles inside my core. And that’s even before he starts drinking. Plus, he’s been creeping around my apartment at night. Mumbling to himself about whatever pissed him off that day, or how he’s sick of babysitting Daddy’s brat .

What terrified me more than his blatant disrespect of my father, his don, is how my door handle was jostling as he said it. I can’t bring myself to dwell on the mixture of drunken aggression and the lust that I’ve seen in his beady eyes. I just need to stay strong, until I see Father again. I need to tell him about Tomas’s indiscretions, so I can cut him out of my life for good.

He gets his answer, without my needing to give it, when the bell above my door alerts us to someone’s arrival. It’s Mrs. Alice Walker, a once-beloved heiress among New York’s high society, who has aged into elegant and graceful beauty. She’s one of my longest-standing clients, and she stops by at least once a month to order a new dress for one of the many humanitarian events her husband organizes. She, and a small handful of others, keep my boutique alive.

Today I get to thank her for one more good deed, making Tomas Bernardi sit around and suck his thumb while I do what I love doing.

Short greetings follow all around, and even Tomas manages to force a smile onto his face.

“Is this it?” Her blue eyes sparkle as she sees her dress for the first time.

“It is. All it needs is a try on and a few touch ups to perfect the fit, and you’ll be able to walk out with it today.”

“Goodness, you never cease to amaze me, Fia.” She runs her fingers over the material, and together we make our way to the fitting rooms.

“Give me a moment, then you and that lovely young man outside can give me your thoughts.” I nearly burst out laughing at her kind words about Tomas, but I just hand her the dress. Now isn’t the time.

“Just shout if you need me. I’ll be in the showroom,” I give her a real smile, as she closes the door.

However, when I step out of the fitting room hall, I see him again. He’s in the parking lot, among the cars, where I’m certain I spotted him once before. But it’s different this time. He still has his mask up, with only his eyes and hair visible. But he isn’t wearing the same leather jacket and blue jeans. Instead, he’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt and matching black cargo pants.

A spring of fear coils inside my chest and I refuse to blink. We’re making direct eye contact, which means he can’t just be a figment of my imagination this time.

Does that mean he never was?

Eventually, my eyes give in to the dryness and they snap shut. Blinking is usually all it takes for him to disappear. And though I’m more scared than I’d like to admit, I’m also a little excited. I’ve been dealing with this for weeks, unsure whether I’m losing touch with reality or if I’ve actually had someone following me around.

When I open my eyes, I’ll know.

“What are you doing?” Tomas’s voice interrupts this big moment.

With a groan of annoyance, my eyelids lift lazily, fooling myself into believing this is just another strange occurrence.

He hasn’t moved from his place among the cars. Hell, he’s got one hand in the air, slowly waving at me like we’re old friends seeing each other for the first time in years.

“Oh, shit,” I yell and point out the window.

“What is it?” Tomas snaps his head in the indicated direction, but my stalker dips behind the cars and vanishes again.

“Someone is out there.” I gulp, staring at the spot where I just saw the man in black.

“Are you sure?” Tomas launches out of his chair, and instinctively reaches a hand behind his lapel to grab his shoulder-holstered pistol. He flicks his eyes toward the changing rooms to make sure we’re alone before drawing it.

“No, but—”

He raises a finger to his lips to quiet me. “Calm now, Fia. Don’t break into hysterics.” I wasn’t going to, but maybe my face is telling him a different story. “I’m gonna go have a look. Stay here.”

Where else would I go? I can’t leave Mrs. Walker alone, if there really is a crazy man outside.

He pulls on his pistol’s slide and checks the chamber for a bullet. When he is satisfied, Tomas grabs his phone and makes a call. They answer quickly. “Yeah, looks like we’ve got something. Meet me outside for a sweep.”

He hangs up his phone and leaves.

I’m stuck in place for the first few minutes. I stare out of the giant windows in the hope of seeing my father’s men bring down the monster who is plaguing me. But as the intense adrenaline starts to fade, I decide it’s best to let them work while I do the same. Idle hands are a devil’s plaything, and I’ve got Mrs. Walker to keep mine busy.

I head into my workshop and grab my measuring tape and a few other tools I might need to properly measure her up.

“Mrs. Walker, is everything alright?” I ask, returning to the fitting room hall.

She mumbles something inside her room before answering me. “Splendid, dear. I’ll be with you shortly. My daughter called, and I’m going to finish up beforehand.”

“Take all the time you nee—” Before I can finish, an arm reaches out from a different fitting room and pulls me inside it.

While one arm pulls me firmly against his frame, his other hand wraps around my mouth before I can scream. It won’t stop me from trying, but the muffled noises coming from my mouth don’t get far against his thick leather glove.

“Keep that up,” he pins me against his chest with the hand clasping my mouth, while the other drops to his waist. “And I’ll have to silence you for good.” His free hand returns with a silver blade in it, and he holds steadily against my neck.

My heart begins to race out of control. I hold my breath, to stop myself from screaming, or crying for that matter. But in the initial struggle to calm myself down, I haven’t paid attention to the mirror he’s holding me in front of.

Suddenly my weeks of doubt and belief vanish.

It’s him. It’s the man I’ve seen all around New York. The man who was just outside.

My snake-eyed stalker, in the flesh.

I’d laugh at the irony of sending my guard outside, just to get caught anyway, if I wasn’t afraid my frantic hysterics would mean feeling the sting of his blade. He doesn’t make a sound while he inspects me in the mirror with a cold, calculated gaze that travels from my face to my feet, lingering particularly long on my chest when he returns.

My cheeks start to burn when I notice him leering.

I’m blushing while this monster wants to kill me.

I wasn’t just seeing things, but I’ve definitely lost my mind.

“Why didn’t you tell them about me?” His voice is a harsh whisper in my ear.

My reply against his hand is a garbled mess of sound. Realizing I can’t answer his question while he has me contained, the predator pinning me against his body groans so intensely that the sound reverberates through my entire body.

“Make a single sound out of place and I will gut you , here in your fancy fitting room,” he snarls viciously.

I nod my head against his palm, and he slowly lowers it. Instead of pulling it away though, he slides it down my cheek, neck and chest, until his thumb hooks the front of my white, with red flowers, summer dress. He pulls the front down to expose more of my cleavage.

I shouldn’t find this so hot. The way he threatens me with his words, but everything else about him can’t seem to get enough of me and my body.

“I saw you in the soup kitchen. Saw your dog, too.” Is Tomas the dog he’s referring to? “He didn’t bat an eyelid when I walked in. So, you didn’t tell them anything. Why not?”

“Because I didn’t know what to say.” I answer his question so quietly, I can barely hear myself. But it’s the truth, all the same. It seems impossible to believe, yet here we are with everything that made me feel insane becoming true.

From this close up, I can tell he’s handsome beneath his biker mask. His razor-sharp jawline cuts through the fabric and ends in a strong chin. His shimmering green eyes, which have haunted my dreams and twisted my fantasies, remain as entrancing as ever.

Before he can respond again, I notice something surprising – a look of reluctance in his otherwise stoic eyes. I also feel something unexpected. Instead of his sharp knife stabbing into me, the familiar jab of his weighty cock slams against my spine.

There’s no reason to believe his erection isn’t from some sick perversion that stems from enjoying killing. This might be a part of his ritual, and where I’m enjoying his touch and the way he stares at my body, my stalker could be using it as fuel to finish the job.

“Or did you not want them to know?” He pulls the front of my dress down further, until one shoulder strap snaps against my shoulder and the other slips down my arm.

His violent tugging doesn’t end until the neckline of my dress is below my breasts, and his hungry gaze is aimed directly at my sheer, white, nylon bra. A satisfied growl comes from his throat, as his hand moves up once more.

“Wh... what are you doing?” A breathless moan accompanies my words as his hand returns to my breasts.

He cups one of my breasts in a tight grip, allowing the crook of his index and middle finger to slot perfectly around my rapidly engorging nipple. Noticing my own reaction, my stalker tugs on the bead, softly at first but increasingly harder in grip, until a mixture of tantalizing pleasure and pain trickle throughout my body.

While he delivers pleasure with one hand, the other remains a constant reminder of why he’s really here. He glides it down my the length of my body, and I can feel the sharp edge of his knife through my dress. But all the while, the spear dangling from his body is the only thing that’s actually stabbing me.

What the hell is going on?

I can’t deny that he’s completely unhinged.

But does that make me worse? Because this monster isn’t only terrifying me…

He’s turning me on.

The likelihood of my walking away from this, unscathed, is low. The beast groping me and squeezing me against his body is too far gone. But I have to try something, and my gut tells me that reasoning this out with him won’t work. So, I won’t appeal to the man in hopes of changing his mind. I’ll appeal to the lunatic who’s enthralled by my body.

“Are you going to stab me with that blade?” I ask with feigned courage, in an attempt to get under his skin. But my own words are laced with the sickening enjoyment of what he’s doing to me. “Or with your cock?”

My question knocks the cold look from his eyes, and his brows raise in astonishment that I’m standing up to him, even this close to death.

Is this what he wants? Someone feisty, who’ll stand up to him and deny him what he wants?

“Brave,” the deep, husky growl with which he speaks melts my heart into my tummy. If he wasn’t here to kill me, this would be so hot. “But how can I allow your fire to grow, Little Flame, when you would cause so much destruction?”

In an instant, my masked monster releases my chest and snaps his hand to the back of my head. He grabs a fistful of my hair and forces my entire body forward, until I collide with the mirror.

While I am half bent over and with my ass in the air, the masked monster steps behind me. He slams the full weight of his hips against my ass, and somehow, like a homing missile finding its target, his cock manages to knock against my entrance through his jeans.

I yelp out a moan, expecting to see fury in his eyes that I’ve made too much noise, but they don’t allow anything resembling an emotion to pass. He pins me to the mirror with his lower half, constantly teasing the wet spot between my thighs, before releasing my hair. He allows his hand free to travel down my body and finds the hem of my dress.

“What are you doing?” Do I ask out of fear or excitement? Even I can’t tell.

My masked monster ignores me, continuing on his path. He yanks my dress up and hooks it above my ass.

“Already. Fucking. Soaked.” He says each word with the most emotion I’ve seen flashing from his eyes so far.

I don’t even know how he can tell, considering his eyes have never left mine in the mirror.

His blade runs up the side of my thigh without breaking the skin, as he jams his waist forward to tease my yearning hole. It reaches its destination and with a quick flick of his wrist, the silver slices through my panty’s waistline, and they fall to the floor.

For the first time since he’s pulled me in here, he releases me completely. He drops down to the floor, but before he grabs the garment, he cut off of me, I feel his face press into my thighs. He rolls it between them, and I’m certain if it weren’t for his mask, he’d steal a taste of me.

And I want him to.

Oh, Lord, how I want him to. I want him to tear off his mask, drown himself with my juices, and cease all this nonsense about killing me. I’m sure that’s a no go, but how much fun could we have if he doesn’t? Why does it have to stop in this changing room with some tongue action?

We could indulge each other’s sickest whims. I could hook this beast on cum drunk satisfaction, and and he could scratch the need he awakened in my core that first night we met. Something tells me that his long, thick erection is the only thing that could push deep enough to reach it.

“What are you gonna do to me?” My voice is wispy, instead of startled. As if eager to receive whatever the monster has in mind.

He sets his blade down at his side and takes off one of his gloves. The action is slow, as if he’s waiting for me to watch him expose his hand from the glove. Once uncovered, he presses both hands into the squishy meat of my ass. The gloved hand parts my cheeks, while the naked one starts caressing my flesh as it sinks down to my legs.

“There’s something different about you.” He grumbles, as his hand finds its place against my inner thigh. “And it’s pissing me off.”

“What is it?” The sensation of his touch comes with a soft moan I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

“I don’t know.” With a forceful push, he parts the leg his hand is on from the other. A growl comes from the deep cavern of his chest, as the hand parting my ass cheeks slides up to the small of my back. Another forceful push drives me forward, until my breasts and face are pressing against the mirror, and my ass is all but against his mouth. “And you see, that’s what’s pissing me off. It’s my business to know, and an anomaly like you causes immeasurable problems.”

“Uh-huh.” It’s meant to come out like please go on , but between my own heart thumping in my ears and my brain working overtime to fend off any satisfaction I might be deriving from this, the message may have been lost along the way.

“And that’s why I’m here, with your cunt inches from my face, instead of my blade fucking your guts.”

Even his threats are tickling me in ways I can’t explain .

“So, what I’m going to do, Fiametta, is this.” He doesn’t give me time to react before his bare hand moves up to my slit. With expert precision, his index and middle finger lock onto my clit, and start moving in sharp, short circles.

My body immediately starts vibrating at the sensation. I choke back moans, groans and other noises that are fighting to get free. Mrs. Walker is one room over, and there’s no telling who else might be in my boutique by now.

And there’s no explaining what’s happening in here without getting a one-way ticket to the looney-bin.

He’s moving fast, trying to extract my pleasure as if there’s no time to waste. Thinking about it, there isn’t. While his fingers move in their circles, I feel his thumb glide through my folds, before the tip finds itself resting against my entrance.

All the while, his eyes remain fixed on mine. Even when I can’t keep them locked on him, and they roll to the back of my skull, his green orbs refuse to break contact. Refuse to blink. He’s watching his torture and relishing in it. He wants to see me explode and if he carries on like this, he’s going to get his wish.

“Fiametta?” Tomas’s voice bellows from the front of the store. My ever-nearing climax disappears into a bundle of nerves, brought about by fear of his finding me like this. “There’s no one out there,” he continues.

“Fuck,” my monster grumbles, and starts slowing his moving digits. “Looks as if our time’s up.”

He collects his knife and my panties off the floor, with his gloved hand, but even though the other has stopped its wicked movement, he doesn’t pull it away from my pussy. As he stands, taking his position behind me again, he presses my damp, white cotton to his mask and breathes in deeply.

“Sweet as flowers in the springtime,” he mutters to himself, before stashing them in his pocket.

“You shouldn’t stay here,” I say, as a surprising pang of heartache strikes, at the thought of his strong hand moving away from my legs.

“I know.” But instead of retreating as I expect him to, he wraps an arm over the front of my shoulders and pulls me back into his enormous frame. His arm moves up, until the crook of his elbow is around my neck, but he doesn’t squeeze hard enough to stop my flow of oxygen.

And, where I should be afraid that he’s going to choke me to death right here, I’m not. I’m wildly turned on by the strange eroticism that his eyes reveal in the mirror. How they flutter as his touch strays from murderous to sexual. Even his breathing is more audible against the material mask. It’s as if we were lovers on the verge of having crazy, hot sex with a whole lot of bondage, torture and discipline.

“I’m going to kill you, Fiametta,” he says in a low, growling whisper. “I have to.”

But his actions don’t mimic his words. While he speaks, he uses the arm around my neck to tighten my body against his, until my bare ass is in line with his hips. His free hand finally parts from my damp skin, and snakes its way up to my cheek, where he forces two of his soaked fingers into my mouth.

I’d ask him why he’s so adamant about killing me, but I can’t find the words behind the swarming lust that coats my brain.

All I know is this moment.

Here and now.

Tasting myself on him, while he pins me in place and doesn’t give me a choice to say no.

And with another vicious thrust of his hips, matching the one he made earlier, his throbbing cock finds its way against my pussy again. He forces it forward as far as his clothing will allow him to go. So close to parting my lips and slipping inside, yet never allowing me the pleasure of fully experiencing him.

Unzip him and take it .

Intrusive thoughts start running through my head.

Grab his cock. Stroke it. Play with it. Bury it inside you.

Can’t kill you if he’s too busy cumming .

That last thought is the last remnant of my sanity trying to reason the forbidden delight I’m getting from this. And it’s working so well, that I want to indulge this sick fantasy.

“I’ll be seeing you.” He releases my neck and pulls his fingers out of my mouth. He takes a single step back, observing the chaos he’s left strewn across my body. Then, his eyes move from my messed-up dress to my tits reddened from how they were squeezed against the mirror, before settling between my legs where he allowed his hands to play.

There’s nothing stopping me from screaming now... if I want to. Other than the fact that he might stab me, but I’m sure Tomas brought the rest of his cronies into the store with him.

If I call for help, there’s a small chance I will survive. They’ll catch the man who has been terrorizing my family. And we can be done with this nightmare.

So, why don’t I, as I watch him stow his blade?

“Wait.” I whimper before he can open the door. He looks at me over his shoulder, with lust dripping in his eyes. “Why don’t you just kill me? Finish this?”

“Fiametta?” Tomas roars before my stalker can answer. “Get out here n—”

“What do you think you’re doing, young man?” Mrs. Walker’s voice stills Tomas. “This is a lady’s changing room, and you’re not supposed to be in here. Be gone you, vile little man!”

She’s standing up for me. There’s no way I can believe she didn’t hear what happened one room over. My cheeks are instantly set ablaze at the thought of leaving this room. I could never explain this to Mrs. Walker, or to anyone for that matter, but the thought of her believing I was getting some sneaky action on the side is enough to make me blush.

In the chaos of Mrs. Walker’s reprimanding Tomas, the brute finally answers.

“Because my Little Flame.” God, why does hearing him call me that turn my legs to jelly? “You can’t die until I’ve had the pleasure of fucking you.”

If I was blushing before, I’m definitely as red as a tomato now. Such a vile thought, but it’s somehow so intoxicating. Stab me with your cock before finishing me with your blade. I guess it’s the perfect answer to my earlier question.

He opens the door and gestures for me to leave first.

He’s smart enough to know he can’t leave with Tomas guarding the hallway, but how does he see this playing out? My intrigue with him can only go so far. Mrs. Walker bought us some time, but I’m still going to have to tell Tomas about what happened.

The thrill does not outweigh my urge for survival. He probably already knows that, having started our discourse by asking why I haven’t told anyone yet . He wants to play this game of chance. He’s risked everything by coming here to taunt and tease me, and now it’s time to see how his gamble plays out.

Something tells me he won’t be in this tiny cubicle when Tomas and the rest of Father’s men storm it. He was one step ahead when he stood outside my window, and seems to know the layout of my store well enough to sneak through it and grab me. All the signs point toward his having an escape plan ready.

I fix up my dress as best I can and make my way back to the front room where Mrs. Walker is laying into Tomas for trying to sneak into the changing rooms. She’s in her new dress, holding the trailing material that would’ve pooled at her feet with one hand, while waggling a furious finger at Tomas with the other.

“Good Heavens, what happened to you?” She faces me with wide-eyed apprehension.

“What the hell?” Tomas roars, ripping his gun out of his holster and gesturing toward the door where three more of Father’s men wait outside it.

I don’t have to say it out loud for him to know.

Mrs. Walker yelps at the sight of the weapon, and instantly jumps out of Tomas’s way. The three men rush toward the changing rooms.

“Would you like to continue our business in my workshop, Mrs. Walker?” I ask hesitantly.

Seeing the fear in her eyes is my first true taste of why Father wanted to keep my life separate from his. How can I go on and live normally, if the world knows I’m a mafia princess?

“Yes, dear. Let’s go,” she hooks an arm over my shoulder, and we walk to the back room.

“I’m so sorry about all of this, Mrs. Walker,” I say, once we’re in the safety of my workshop and I have my tools ready to fit the dress properly.

“Don’t be,” a naughty smile flashes across her face. “I’ve been where you are now.” She furrows her brow and shakes her head at the thought. “Well, not exactly with armed men chasing my suitors. But the ripped dress, the gasping breathes, and that all too familiar twinkle in your eye.”

I nearly chuckle. All those things are present, yes, but for very different reasons than my having a suitor .

“Mind if I ask you something?” I start pressing sewing needles into the material I need to tighten up.

“Go ahead. It’s not as if we’re keeping secrets anymore, is it?” She smiles at me.

“You must’ve heard something. Why did you stop Tomas from coming in?”

Mrs. Walker emits a sigh that’s laced with fond reminiscence. “It might be hard to believe, but I was young once, too. I won’t pretend to know what’s going on with you, the guns or your tail outside, but I do understand the fiery passion of love—”

That is not what this is. Intrigue, definitely, but love is the last word I’d use to describe whatever this is.

“You’re young. You need to enjoy yourself, and if it means having some sneaky fun wherever you can take it, then who am I to stand in your way?”

“Scour the parking lot. No one in and no one out until we find this son of a bitch,” I hear Tomas roar from the show room.

So, the monster escaped. I’m relieved to know he wasn’t gunned down in a tiny cubicle inside my store. I want this to be over. For Tomas to go back to whichever hole he crawled out of. For my life to go back to normal, so I can pretend I’m not a mafia heiress.

However, this man who has been watching me, since our dance in that club, has piqued my interest and hooked my curiosity.

“And anyway, you’re my go-to-girl when it comes to my outfits for a night on the town. I wouldn’t want to start getting bad designs just because I upset you,” she cracks a joke to still my nerves, after Tomas’s outburst.

Who would’ve thought a stranger could put me at ease after what just happened? But joking isn’t going to make this any easier. I need to know what this guy wants with me. It has something to do with Father’s shady empire, I’m sure. But what I can’t wrap my head around is my role in this thing. With the killer’s record sitting firmly in the double digits for Napoli murders, I have to know why he can’t just finish the job on me.

Screwing me can’t be his only motivation, can it?

Let’s just hope curiosity doesn’t kill this cat, before I can get my answers.