Page 14 of The Mafia Assassin’s Redemption (Mafia Obsession #2)

ELEVEN

torin

“See, now I know how to beat you at poker. You and fucking Cal are almost impossible to beat, unless you’re all up in some chick,” Seamus says, sliding the pile of chips toward himself as I lose the game. Again.

He’s right about Cal. Lucie is proof positive of that. But me… there’s no reason for me to get all worked up over some lass. Unless it’s lack of sex. And that’s not an issue for me right now.

I drum a chip against the table and bounce my knee. I should be ashamed of what I just did, what I took. But I’m not.

A quick and simple fuck would have gotten the results needed, but instead, I ran with it, pushed her to her edge. And she met me there, spitting fire and rolling down into subspace every step of the way.

“Was up in said chick, now I’m not. I did what I needed to. That’s all.”

“Oh yeah, bro. And I like to tongue the Blarney Stone whenever we’re in Ireland.” Seamus snickers and runs a hand over the chips. “You know what? I don’t give a shit what you tell yourself, as long as you keep losing like this. ”

I scowl. “Fuck off, Shay.” I call him by his little-used childhood nickname.

“Just saying you never lose, unless you’re distracted.” He taps his head. “Not a winning strategy.”

“The only strategy is to play without a tell. I don’t have one. Neither does Callahan.”

It’s times like this I wish I still smoked.

But he’s unleashed something in me, the torrent of fresh memories of my new reality. The knowledge that in my room, a demon awaits.

And I don’t feel like facing her. Not tonight.

No doubt she’s plotting my death for fucking her. I had to, though. Ours wasn’t a regular mafia marriage where everyone would be content just seeing a stained sheet. It had to be legit. And if Salvatore had decided not to attend, the sheet would have been sent as proof.

As it was, I’m slightly shocked he didn’t try to watch us fuck.

I blow out a breath when Dec joins us, a scowl on his face as he unscrews the lid of a bottle of Redbreast. He drops into a chair—Cal’s chair—takes a long swallow, and nods at the pile of chips in front of Seamus.

“Jesus, Tor,” he says. “Makes me feel better about my night.”

I glance at my phone. “It’s almost three, and judging from the love bite on your throat and the stench of weed on your clothes, I’m thinking you were at an underground club partying your ass off. How bad could it have been?”

Seamus examines his bite. “Did your pretty trouble come with extra trouble, boyfriend-style?”

He swats our brother away. “No. That trouble was the clinging type, y’know? ”

Seamus nods and I don’t react, just take his bottle and guzzle the amber-colored liquid.

I don’t like clingers. I like contracts and encounters that come with a use-by date.

I rise from my seat, stretching my arms overhead. Dec picks up Clawzilla as he moseys on by and hugs him close. “Clawzie, you love me, don’t you? I know Arnie does, but you do, too, right?”

And then he kisses the cat who hisses but doesn’t move from his superior position on Declan’s lap.

Arnold’s in his corner of the room, close to the fire that isn’t lit. I can’t help but feel like the dog’s letting us know he’d like a fire, just to warm his nose and paws.

“And why aren’t you fucking your bride, Tor?” Declan asks. “She isn’t half-bad in a nice dress. Not the horrible fucking thing she wore at the wedding. The one she wore afterward.”

Dec, who’s clearly high and drunk, snickers, continuing to throw digs. “Is your new wife that bad?”

I ball my fingers into a fist as I try not to rearrange my brother’s pretty face.

“Declan,” Seamus mutters. “Did you find fucking religion at church? Because Torin will send you to meet your Maker.”

“I’ve already met Mam.”

“I’m talking about the other Maker. Long beard? Overachiever? Has a thing for smiting?” Seamus says, trying to distract him.

“Did you see her wedding dress? What a frump.” Again, Declan chuckles and my chest grows tight as blood thrums hard in my temples. “I’d love to know how he wrangled her into the other one with sparkles. At least it made her look half-decent.”

He’s eyeing me, each word designed to goad me into a reaction.

It shouldn’t bother me. This is something he’ll regret tomorrow, along with his drugs and drinking. Dec’s a good kid at heart. A shit stirrer for sure, but good.

So why do I want to beat him to a pulp and teach him some manners right this second?

“Did you see those pumps? Patent leather, red, and hot as fuck. I think she was taking the piss with the wedding shroud, though.” Seamus cocks a brow at me. “And the other dress looked good. So leave it alone, Dec.”

His dark blue-green eyes, similar to Declan’s, are filled with the concern that I might decide to hit him instead of Dec.

I won’t, but only because he never once asked why I parked the pissed-off bride in my room on the ground floor, above the basement that’s also mine. I have an office I work from, too, here in our brownstone, but I’m more at ease tinkering in the basement, where I do most of the illegal shit.

Well, I do it there or on my rust bucket of a boat, an old light ship I bought that’s barely seaworthy.

“Pour some coffee laced with rat poison down the gobshite’s throat,” I say as the door opens and Cal appears, shirt open, fresh scratches over his ink, making it known just what he and Lucie were doing.

“My office. Now,” he mutters.

I sigh, taking the bottle of Redbreast. Squaring my shoulders, I follow him.

He stands with his back to me, facing the bookshelf. “Y’know, Torin, I never exactly asked what you were up to all those times you took off and came back with boatloads of cash.”

“Robbing the rich and keeping their money,” I say, leaning against the door. I raise the bottle to my lips and take a long gulp.

He turns and scrubs a hand down his face. Then he reaches for his pack of Carrolls on the desk and pulls one out. He pauses, then offers the pack to me.

“I don’t smoke.”

He lifts an eyebrow.

“Much. Not like I did.” But after a beat, I take one and slide it behind my ear as Cal lights up.

“You were a hitman.” He takes a long drag and blows out a thin stream of smoke. “I know you killed Desmond Kelly, which was a stupid thing to fucking do.”

“He was a thug, ran half the gangsters in Dublin and beyond, and he liked to bully old ladies. Forgive me if I put him six feet under.” I don’t acknowledge the hitman comment. I don’t need to.

Cal stalks up to me and grabs the bottle from my hand. I take his cigarette and pull the smoke into my lungs before handing it back to him. “I should be with my woman.”

“So go.”

I open the door and Clawzilla squeezes around me to sit and watch us, like he knows this is the room with the action.

He lets out a meow. Cal sets his cigarette down on the ashtray, goes to his desk, opens a drawer, and grabs a few treats.

The cat dances around, rubbing against Cal’s leg, acting like he’s starved until Cal starts feeding them to him.

“Shit.” I close the door and Clawzilla munches on the treats. I gesture to the cat. “No wonder he’s gotten so fat.”

“If Lucie hears that, she’ll kick your ass and tell you he’s just big-boned.

” Cal pets the animal and then puts the treats away.

He pulls on the bottle and picks up his cigarette.

“I know exactly who that shite was. I also know there was a hit on him by his rival. The money matched what you brought home.”

“Water under the bridge, Callahan.”

“Siobhan. I blame her. Do not tell me you got political with the Quinn clan. I promised Da we’d never do that.”

I bite on a smile. “So, you’re not for a free Ireland? A united?—”

“Don’t push me.”

I’m doing exactly that.

“Just saying, Cal…” I grab the cigarette and take another drag before he gives me the filthiest look and snatches it back.

“We got dragged into a blood marriage. We all did, not just you. And we don’t know much about the Ricci family except they have power and they’re not the nicest people.

I don’t do business with them for a reason.

Right now, we’re good. Our organization is strong.

Respected. There are no wars on any horizon.

So why did you, the man I can almost guarantee pulled off killing Bernardo without being seen, go and volunteer to marry the mousy lass? ”

She’s anything but mousy. But she hides herself, even I see that. Cal, however, is pushing buttons right back.

I think about his words.

The “why” is fair. But it’s also complicated, so I give him the abridged version.

“I tried to save Shiv over her family. I’m the reason they were killed.”

“For fuck’s sake.” He takes a deep drag and angrily stubs his cigarette out. “I told Mam?—”

“She asked me to find someone to help. I took it on. And then fucked it up, Callahan. Of course I volunteered for this marriage. I’ve kept an eye on her since that night.”

“You… Jesus.”

I grab the bottle back, and though there’s a better bottle on his desk, he nabs Dec’s after I guzzle some more.

“Politics isn’t the only trap out there, Tor,” he says. “Hitman with a fucking heart, conscience, and a cause… not a good mix. And you collected payment?”

“No. ”

He frowns. “Mam didn’t know why the Rao family wanted Harry’s family dead, but there’s a reason, and that reason almost always has to do with money and power. You need to find out because now we’re in it.”

“There aren’t many of them left.” Those that are don’t look for survivors, especially a girl, and have formed other alliances that rule Italy hardcore.

“Should I even ask?”

Watching over her was the only way to keep her safe.

I picked off anyone looking too closely, those ready to shoot kids.

And I also spread the rumor that the Federici family were all dead and Shiv was the assassin.

Another sin, I suppose, but that way any Raos I let live got the message: everyone died, including the one they hired along with the family.

Or should have gotten it, anyway.

“No.”

“Fuck.” He rubs his face again. “This time I won’t ask.”

“It’s for the best. Can I go?” I rake a hand through my hair.

Callahan nods. “Tor?”

“Yeah?”

“Watch your back. I don’t feel good about this. If you’re still taking hits for money… stop.”

I take the bottle. “I hung up that hat the night of that shit show in Dublin, Cal. The only people I’ve killed”—mostly—“are for our family. For jobs when I have to. I do my part when asked, away from the computer. But the girl? She doesn’t know a fucking thing about what happened that night and why. She was ten.”

He nods. “Then we let the sleeping dogs lie and we protect her until this all blows over. She’s religious?”

“Pretends to be.”

“Why?”

“I never thought about it, but I’ll find out. And when we’ve deemed it safe, I’m sending her far away from here.”

I turn on my heel and walk out, Clawzilla right behind me. Claws clack on the floorboards, and I don’t need to look back to know Arnold’s following me, too.

My suite’s on the ground floor at the back of the brownstone, past the kitchen.

Light gleams from under my door.

I hesitate and think about knocking, but in the end, I turn the handle.

A shoe hits the wall right next to my head.

Clawzilla hisses and Arnold barrels in, barking. But he stops, looking around for the threat. When he doesn’t see one, he walks up to Harry and starts sniffing.

And Clawzilla? He saunters by Arnold’s side, growling low, fur standing on end. Then he rubs against her and starts purring.

Fucking no good traitorous creatures. “If she moves, attack.”

Arnold wags his tail as she scratches his ear. Then she looks at me.

“Get out,” she hisses.

I look around, like there’s someone else she’s talking to. “It’s my room.”

She’s no longer in the magical dress that looked so pretty and perfect on her when we came up from the basement and returned to the church, when Dec started in on us and only Seamus’s foot on his toes stopped him mid-ballbusting.

It was fucking clear to everyone what happened between us. Fuck, I have no idea if they heard. Maybe they did. I don’t really care.

They didn’t see how she looked as she crawled to me. How hot and tight and wet she was on my fingers, and when I pushed into her…

My cock starts to harden.

I force my thoughts away from one of the hottest sexual experiences in my catalog.

“Why are you still up?” I ask. “It’s past three.”

She sticks her hands on her hips. “In case you missed it, I was abused tonight, defiled. Beaten?—”

“For fuck’s sake.” I grab her arm and haul her into the bathroom where I hand her a shaving mirror. Then I lift the skirt of the drab dress she’s got on, pull down her cotton panties, and make her look at the lovely crisscrossing red marks I left. “You weren’t abused or beaten.”

She squeals. “Bruises. You really are a monster, aren’t you? Low-down, disgusting…”

“And you loved every fucking second. Begged for more if I remember right. More, more, more, right, Harry? The marks will fade, and those tiny bruises will, too. But get ready. Next time I’ll be biting your ass.

” I snatch the mirror away and put it down before spinning her into my arms as Arnold growls and Clawzilla hisses.

“There won’t be a next time. I was weak. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You sure seemed to love it. And don’t worry, I’m not touching you again.” I let her go before I do something dumb like kiss her.

I had to cross a line, and I got more than a little carried away. But I won’t again. We’re married under fucking God and the mafia’s hand, and that’s all that matters. It won’t take much to get the legal piece of paper sorted.

Not that we need it.

God’s man on the ground is all the mafia needs.

I look around. My bathroom’s a mess. Drawers are open, contents emptied onto the counter. Then I go back into the bedroom. That’s a mess, too. My desk is covered with crap, the sofa cushions are overturned, my clothes are everywhere.

“What the fuck were you doing?”

“Looking for your gun so I could shoot you.”

“I don’t keep weapons in my suite. Get changed and go to fucking bed. And yes, that’s an order.”

With that I stomp off, leaving the door open. I head down to the basement where I lock the door and stretch out on the sofa.

Arnold scratches at the closed basement door sometime later, barking, dragging me back into the world I needed to escape for a little while. I shower, change, and unlock the door, running up the steps after him. He darts toward my room in a frenzy, and once I get there, it’s clear why.

Harry’s gone.