Page 10 of Brutal Devil

Sadly, my pussy has no conscience. Heartless killers are apparently her jam. It’s totally that historical romance thing he just did. That’s all.

I try to take back command of my hand, but he’s stronger and holds tight, dipping his head, speaking so that only I can hear. “But you and I, Luna? We’ve just begun.”

It’s a warning.

It’s a threat.

It’s a promise.

And it settles inside me like a stone as he leads me out of Club Venere. As the autumn air hits my face when we venture into the late-afternoon sunshine, realization hits me with stunning clarity.

I’m going to have to fight my way out of this.

Or die trying.

Chapter 4

PRIEST

Luna Revello is silent as we drive through the city.

Just the two of us.

We’re in my armored G-Wagon, Rocco, my driver, good friend, and top bodyguard, at the wheel.

I brought the G because Tomasso Revello is one shifty son-of-a-whore. I don’t trust him. We’ve weakened his reach, but he’s not as impotent as he pretended back there at his club. Yeah, we have him by the balls. But I’ve seen desperate men do crazy shit. And trying to take us out, even if it takes out his daughter too?

I wouldn’t put it past him.

He’s old-school mob. And he rose to the top by killing the boss before him, chopping off his dick, and stuffing it down his throat. The stuff of legends, Tomasso Revello. Five years ago, we wouldn’t have come at him. But five years ago was a different fucking time.

And his daughter beside me?

She’s the stuff of wet dreams. Hot and uptight. Smart and mouthy. So stubborn that she’s dangerous. She’s got backbone and pride, and her tits are to die for. Not gonna lie.

I’ve been thinking about fucking them ever since I got a view down her tee and felt her hard nipples against me earlier. It’s not what I’m supposed to be thinking about. Lust doesn’t belong in my fucking headspace right now. But when I volunteered myself for matrimonial tribute as the oldest Andriani brother and the recently anointed don, I didn’t know what I was getting in my future wife. I didn’t really think of her as a person at all, if I’m honest. She was more of an abstract idea. A nuisance. Another duty I took on. I didn’t know she’d make my dick so hard that I could barely see straight.

But she does.

And she’s mine.

No going back on that now.

“You okay?” I ask her as Rocco glides to a stop at a traffic light.

The city is a riot of colors. Blue, red, yellow, green, white. People at any time of day or night, crossing the streets, crowding the sidewalks. So many cars moving. Buses, commuters, tourists, and below this concrete wilderness, the subway. I feed on the energy of this place, always roaring, balls to the wall, never sleeping. This city is like a regular one, only jacked up on coke, and I fucking love it.

It’s home.

“Okay?” she repeats like she doesn’t understand English.

But I know enough about her. She’s as articulate as they come. A degree in creative writing, perfect GPA under her belt. And a soon-to-be-completed MFA from one of the top programs in the country.

Yeah, my girl’s fucking intelligent, and I like that even more than I like her tits and her attitude. Smart women make my dick hard. Vapid chicks? Not for me.

“Your face,” I elaborate, still furious at her bastard of a father for daring to raise his hand to her. I’ve never wanted to killa man more than I did in that moment. The fucking restraint I exercised. Jesus, I hadn’t known I possessed that much. But apparently, I do.

For her.