Page 18

W hat the fuck have I done?

I’m staring at Kaya’s body under me, the light slowly dying in her eyes as she watches me for long seconds, then turns her head away. Her dress is askew, her legs bared, my cock still between her parted thighs, a mixture of my cum and her fluids painting her inner thighs.

This wasn’t supposed to happen! I wasn’t meant to touch her until we got back to Torino, until I knew where I stood in the whole clusterfuck of this mess involving me and her and my don. It would break me to surrender her to him should he demand it. I always knew that. Keeping away from her was meant to allow me to keep a clear head.

Then she had to go and talk dirty in that bar. Granted, it hadn’t been that filthy, even, but when she asked who was going to fuck her when I was otherwise occupied, I just saw red. Passion clouded my mind, my judgement. It thrummed in my blood until the clarion call echoed just one word: Kaya. Mine. She’s no one else’s.

And now, she is, even before God. We took vows in front of an Elvis impersonator, but ultimately, we knew who was really watching us. I’m not a religious man, but some things, it’s good to believe happens via a greater power.

I can’t go back on my word now. I never wanted to, but my Omertà is the vow that supersedes it all. Should the Don ask—

Fuck!

She’s pulling her legs from under me, scrambling away as much as the tight confines of this SUV backseat will allow.

“You should text them the address now,” she says over her shoulder.

I swallow, hard. The mission. How could I have forgotten that’s our goal tonight? It’s thanks to Valentino our hides are still safe and sound today, plus he’s harboring us—a murderer and one who perverted the course of justice in two cases—at his home. Had he not stepped in with his contact to take care of Daku’s assassin, we’d be in deep shit. The least we owe him is this.

“Right,” I mutter.

After putting myself to rights, I head to the driver’s seat and set us on the road to Short Hills. Valentino has a property there we’ll be using to lure that bitch and her testa di cazzo of a boyfriend. Kaya and I are portraying a rich young couple with money to burn, so our residence must also support this. And the house doesn’t disappoint. It’s a colonial-style white house with tall pillars in front and expansive French windows and balconies all around. Definitely screams affluent.

I send a text along with a pin to the number that woman gave me in the bar. Valentino will be here, along with a small crew in the self-contained basement, awaiting our signal.

It takes maybe an hour for the couple to arrive. He’s driving a beat up truck with a lift kit that could’ve nabbed him a brand-new vehicle altogether. More pretense than brains. Why doesn’t that surprise me?

“Kaya,” I say softly.

We have to get back in character. It won’t do for them to see us at odds or with ice instead of fire burning between us.

She retreats to a powder room below the stairs. When she emerges, my breath snags in my throat. She’s all in black, the boy shorts hugging her slim hips and baring the lower curve of her ass cheeks. Her breasts are encased in the same lace and silk, the cups pushing the soft mounds up and giving a hint of her dark nipples. The see-through black robe falling from her shoulders simply serves to make her more alluring rather than if she’d been just in the underwear.

As she passes by me, she threads her fingers in my hair and tips my head back with a sharp yank, her lips crashing against mine. The flare of pain along my scalp makes me react just one way—I won’t have that, so I take control. I lunge forward, walking her along until the back of her knees bounce against the massive ottoman in the lavish corner set in this sitting room.

My shirt comes off next as I stare at her prone form in front of me, her chest heaving. My knee finds its way between her legs, my body bracing from this point to lower over her and take her mouth again with mine.

There’s a beep from the front door intercom. The remote is right there on the small corner table, and I press the middle button without tearing myself away from Kaya.

I’m still on my guard even though I am ravaging her breasts and nipping her flat stomach. It takes our guests a moment to reach us. Fuckers must be appraising all the priceless artifacts and décor in the entrance. It’d nab them a pretty penny if they could do away with us and leave with all this loot.

I glance up when I hear footsteps still on the threshold of the room. Definitely the girl from the bar, and the asshole with her is the man responsible for my cousins no longer having a father.

“Took your sweet time,” I intone loudly.

The intercom is also on between this room and the basement—this is the cue for the crew to come up.

The woman is walking toward me now, her hand extended as if to come take the measure of my junk. Dio santo , she is not touching me! I wrap my hand hard around her wrist before she can make contact. In this short moment, the man has made a beeline for Kaya, who has propped herself up on her elbows to watch him with narrowed eyes he’s probably interpreting as “come hither” given how her hair is all mussed and her lips swollen from my kisses.

“Oh, we’re going to have fun,” the fucker has to gall to say.

I’m just about to roar my outrage when Valentino enters my peripheral vision and one of his men presses a gun to the small of this coglione’s back.

“We are,” my cousin says. “You, not so much. Nor you,” he tells the woman.

He’s holding a trench coat over his arm, and he opens it toward Kaya, who gets up and lets him wrap it around her.

“Carlito will take you home,” he’s telling her softly. “Thank you, Kaya. Without you, this wouldn’t have been possible.”

The gentle smile she gives him makes my heart clench. Kaya’s never going to look at me with a smile again. Nor will she let me touch her, or hug her. I won’t feel her arms around me like she’s hugging Val right now. She doesn’t even spare me a glance before exiting the room and subsequently the house.

“Get a grip,” Val hisses at me.

He’s right. We have important matters to deal with. I find my shirt and pull it back on. It makes me itch. The lack of collar on this garment makes it look like sleepwear, and I’m never caught in sleepwear even when I’m sleeping. A man’s got to have some standards, no?

Marco, Val’s best friend—who I’m pretty sure will be his left-hand man, as the right-hand position of his consigliere , his trusted advisor, has already been assigned to Antonio Bravi, his father’s best friend—comes up and injects the couple with a dose of benzos I formulated. Should keep them unconscious for long enough to get to the area surrounding Newark, which is Valentino’s territory.

A handful of men bundle the couple in tarp and cart them away. I follow Valentino to an SUV driven by Marco and slide in the back seat with him.

Val waits until we’re on the road to speak.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?”

“Fuck,” I mutter. “You just had to go all Victorian on me, did you?”

“Out with it, Stef. We’ve got about twenty minutes before we reach our destination and then you’ll be the least of my problems.”

I huff. “Well, when you put it that way.”

He doesn’t prod when the silence still thrums between us.

“I fucked Kaya,” I finally admit.

“And? She’s your wife, isn’t she?”

“That’s just it. I consummated our marriage.”

He hitches in an audible breath. “Didn’t she consent to this?”

“Of course she did! What do you take me for? Dio santo , Val—”

“Okay, I get it. I had to ask, the way you’re acting so torn up about it all.”

I’m almost ready to slam my fist in his smug All-American perfect jaw but I force myself to calm down. “Fuck, Val, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I ever did that. Much less to Kaya.”

“Because you love her.”

“Of course I love her—”

When I realize what I just admitted without thinking twice or even having to think twice, I clamp my mouth shut.

Damn it, I love her.

I love my wife.

And she won’t deign to look at me now.

Fuck, I’ve screwed up.

“She wanted this just as bad as you did,” Valentino says. “So where’s the problem?”

The Don… But is he really the problem? I’m scared of losing Kaya to him, but I’m scared of losing her, period.

“I can’t lose her,” I mutter.

Valentino presses a hand to my shoulder. “Is she worth it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then fight for her. If she makes you feel like there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for her, then you know she’s the one. She’s worth fighting for, fratellino .”

He’s never called me ‘little brother’ before. It makes me smile. But then all too soon, we’ve reached our destination. The smile dies, replaced by dread. What will I witness in there? This will be Valentino’s first step as the boss of his Borgata . Will we—me, my father, the Don’s soldiers in Torino—have done enough to toughen him up as his late father had wished for him?

The space looks like former hangars or a meatpacking station, all in metal beams and large, expansive, cold interiors. The couple has been placed in chairs, the woman’s hands and feet bound behind her, the man with his arms tied to his chair’s armrests and his ankles to the legs.

“Stefano.”

I frown at the sight of my other cousin Luciano on the premises. Guess he decided to join us for the real shitshow. He will, after all, be Valentino’s second-in-command once they really get going.

“It’s Stef-ano,” I correct with an exaggerated drawl, wanting to bring some levity to this moment.

Luciano butchers my name again, just like Kaya does.

“I don’t speak much Italian,” he says with a small shake of the head.

“You’re even more boxed mac and cheese than Val.”

“Okay, so if you two stronzos are done,” Valentino chides with a raised brow, but he’s smiling, so the barb doesn’t hit so hard. “Can we wake them now?”

I nod. “Go ahead.”

A syringe of adrenaline is slammed into each of their thighs, making them jerk awake. It’s usually not recommended, but these two aren’t going to see the light of sunrise again, so recommendations can take a flying leap.

We’re all watching in silence.

“So you’re the cugine who thought killing my father would get you made,” Val says quietly.

I swear, the low, almost toneless quality of his deep voice sends chills down my spine. He never sounded like this in Torino.

“And you’re the whore who egged him on,” he adds, turning to the woman.

Her eyes are wide with terror.

“Good thing you’re opening these baby-blues so big. It will make my job easier,” Val continues. He produces a thin long blade from the inside pocket of his jacket and stares at it. “It still has my father’s blood on it, did you know?”

I’m not sure who he’s asking this question to.

“You saw a bright future ahead of you, didn’t you, Mandy?” Slowly, he approaches her, then his hand lashes out, and the knife is embedded into her eye. “How’s it looking now?”

She’s screaming in pain—her boyfriend is jerking out of his chair, at least trying to.

“And you, Rocco. You were so ready to climb the ladder, by any means. That has consequences.” He nods at Marco, who comes forward with pliers in hand and proceeds to pull out the guy’s thumbnail.

His scream resounds. He starts cursing, then crying, then begging for mercy. Valentino is unmoved, as are all of us. Actions have consequences—it’s the first rule of being on the ground in the Mafia.

Valentino waits until Rocco’s wailing has reverted to pitiful moans, then he has Marco pull out another nail. The screaming starts anew. One by one, this goes on. When they’re done, it’s the first knuckle that gets cut off. Rocco is woken up by a shot of adrenaline every time it’s taking too long between cuts and Valentino seems pissed with waiting.

It’s sunrise by the time Rocco exhales his last breath. Mandy has passed on during the night, not so much from her eye injury but probably from a deeper bleed in her brain as the blade passed through the ocular space into her skull cavity. Not that we care. Her body, with the blade still in her eye, will be sent to the boss her boyfriend was trying to impress, a message telling him he’s being watched by the Andrettis. Rocco’s nails and cut knuckles will also be part of the package, even though he’ll end up swimming with the fishes somewhere.

I needn’t have worried. Valentino has got this.

Me, I’m not so sure. Because as the dawn brightens the surroundings, a text lands on my phone. It’s from Don Giacomo. Kaya’s Family Reunification visa has been approved and will be on the system whenever we touch down in Italy. It can take up to two weeks for this to happen; it took less than forty-eight hours in our case. Must be the Don at work. Around midday yesterday, a courier came for me with an envelope containing a brand-new passport for Kaya. It showed her having left Italy within three months of her initial arrival and the rest of the year spent around countries of Eastern Europe before she reentered the country again. It’s a fake, yes, but it got the job done.

We can now go home.

Problem is, I don’t want to. Because I will lose whatever I have left of my wife once there.

Worse, it could mean I’ll lose my life. Don Rossi has shown mercy once where a wayward enforcer of his was concerned. I can’t count on my mother to also save my ass this time.

Yet, I refuse to give up Kaya.

I refuse to let the Don take my wife as his woman should this be what he’s expecting when we return. I’m his enforcer, but I will disobey at the risk of triggering his wrath if he asks this of me.

She will forever belong to only one man.

She may have started off as the Don’s girl, but now she will only belong to me.

For my wife, I’d go against my Don… I would die for her.

So be it if this is my fate. She is mine.

My wife. My heart. My everything.