Page 30 of The Mafia Assassin’s Redemption (Mafia Obsession #2)

TWENTY-THREE

torin

Harry’s eyes are still unfocused as I take her into the brownstone, still wrapped tight in the cloak.

No one’s up, or at least no one’s in the main living room when we arrive, so I don’t need to stop on my way down to my suite.

Once I close the door behind us, I sit her on the sofa, turn on the bath, and grab a water and bottle of whiskey from the bar cart in the corner.

I watch as she drinks down the water, then carry her into the bathroom.

I pick up the bottle of bubble bath, pouring it into the tub.

When I’m satisfied with the temperature of the water, I strip her naked and help her in.

I know I need a shower, too. I’m sticky and my back throbs from my nasty little exercise with her.

Self-flagellation or indulging in masochism isn’t my jam. I know in my bones I won’t ever be dominated. I think that’s why I did it, to show her she can be dominated into causing me pain, into keeping my kinkiest and most destructive thoughts at bay. Like ones of forever.

I also did it for her own catharsis. Or maybe to test how far deep her hatred for me goes or just to prove to her that she’s a true sub. That she has power which she relinquishes to me, power I use within her perimeters.

Right to the very edges of them.

As I said, it was a nasty fucking exercise.

Harry was so lost in it, so caught up in what was unfolding between us, yet she never went beyond what I said. Some of it was because she had to be led there, taunted into unleashing her strength, but when she did, she didn’t stray from my orders. She obeyed.

Fucking twisted and hot as hell.

She was so far gone I could have had a captive audience outside of that room, watching us. Hell, I could have had them inside the room. Mikhail, the bratva pakhan I spoke to, had his pet blow him and pass out without a care in the world, like everything began and ended with him.

And I think Harry was in the same place.

I told her people would watch.

I lied.

I booked a room where we could see out, but no one could see in.

After all, I’m not exposing her to that.

“How do you have sweetness in you?” she asks, her voice slurred.

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

I dip the sponge in and gently slide it down between her breasts to her stomach. When it’s between her legs, I let my fingers wander, just a little.

And I’m rewarded with a moan.

But I pull back. This isn’t about me. This is aftercare for her. A way to re-anchor my lost little queen. Sweet and innocent, but so vicious.

“Probably my Mam’s fault. She’s a good woman.

” I almost say more, about how Mam knew her mom.

But those images of Harry’s brutalized mother rip through me, and I just can’t.

If something, one drop of truth shows in my words about what I saw, what I knew happened to her, I don’t know what I’d do.

It’s a truth I’ll bear for this woman, a truth I’ll let eat at me, and one I’ll take to my grave.

If I could make up a story that her mom had run off with a prince to a foreign land that closed its borders forever, I would.

“Don’t hurt my uncle.”

“If he hasn’t betrayed you, if he isn’t out to hurt you at all, then he’ll be fine.”

She swallows, trying to form more coherent thoughts. I wash her breasts, her arms, her feet. Is every part of her perfection?

Then my mind trips back to Anthony, whom I don’t believe for a second is “fine.” But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

“Torin…”

“Shhh.”

“Why do you go to places like that?”

“They’re honest,” I say. “If you’re there with the right person. If you have an agreement in place about what will happen and how it happens.”

She looks up at me, her hair half in the water, a bubble on her nose. The heart I was sure I didn’t have squeezes tight. With tense shoulders, I reach for the whiskey bottle and pour it into a glass next to me on the floor.

Harry sits up, frowning and sloshing water out of the tub and onto me as she reaches for my glass. I take a sip first, then hand it to her.

“And what if there’s no agreement?” She gives me a narrow look and gulps down some whiskey. I take it back, draining the remaining drops from the glass. Then I pour another finger before washing her back.

“If you’re talking about us, we don’t need one. We’re in a blood marriage. What I want, you want.”

She snorts, and I know she’s mostly out of subspace now.

“Yeah, well,” Harry says, “I want to see your blood outside your body.”

“I know, but you missed that opportunity tonight, didn’t you?”

She starts to rise and I move the bottle and glass out of the way and stand up. I lift her out of the bath, holding her wet, hot, naked body against mine for a long beat before letting her slide down to the tile.

“You were too busy being the perfect brat sub,” I murmur against her lips.

“I hate you,” she whispers.

I stop breathing. Because Harry whispers those words like they’re words of endearment and love, not dislike. Not hate. And it does something inside of me.

I kiss her softly, sweetly, tasting the whiskey on her tongue, the clean taste of her that I crave so deeply, and I whisper back, “I hate you, too.”

Harry wraps her arms around me and shudders.

I stand there, drinking in the wild moment. Holding her, not moving.

As she begins to pull away, I lift her in my arms again and carry her to the bedroom, setting her down on the sofa in the middle of the big bath sheet.

I wrap her in it and pull back the covers of the bed. I carry her over and dry her off. “I’ll be back,” I say, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

But to be honest, I’m not sure when. Something shifted between us, something that grates at my insides with sharp, jagged edges, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with it.

So I bury it, head down to the basement, and work until it doesn’t consume me anymore.

And that takes a very fucking long time.

The next day, Harry and Lucie volunteer together at one of the animal shelters.

This time they’ve got a guard, as well as Mikey, with them every step of the way.

Liam drives them. I can’t lock her up every hour of every day the way I’d like to, but I can make sure she’s watched carefully by people I trust when she’s out.

I’d hit the weights and treadmill in the basement in the early hours of the morning before succumbing to ‘Harryitis’ and crawling into bed with her. I held her against me for hours, listening to her breathe, wondering how the hell I got to this place.

Callahan comes into my office after his morning run and shower as I’m poring over data collected last night.

He adjusts his tie and straightens his suit jacket as he walks inside.

“Going somewhere?” I ask.

“Fucking lunch with a gobshite I’m not going to make a deal with. He likes his boots licked.”

“He should get that kink some attention. There are plenty of people at sex clubs who are into that.”

Cal snorts with laughter. “I don’t have to go if we’ve got something more important to do.”

“Not sure. The club we went to last night,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “I spoke to a pakhan. That gun of Dec’s? I can almost guarantee it’s one of his. One of his that was skimmed off the top.”

“Fucking…”

“I let him know we happened to find a few. And that we’d buy them outright.”

He nods and we both know, regardless what my brother paid, it’s not worth it to piss off bratva we’ve got no beef with.

We don’t insult them by giving the guns back, and we don’t anger them by not offering payment.

Double payment opens doors, and bringing the problem to his attention keeps them unlocked.

“What did he say?”

I shrug. “The kid was new and he disappeared with some inventory… the kid being a guy in his late twenties, by the way, but new equals kid, I guess. They’ve been looking for both the kid and the guns. Said we’d let them know if we find out more.”

“Will we?” he asks, putting a cigarette between his lips as he sits in front of my desk.

“Declan?” I call out.

It takes a few minutes but Dec, Seamus, and the pets tumble into my office. With a sigh, Callahan flicks open his Zippo and lights the cigarette.

“Where are your guns from, Dec?”

Dec hits me with a pained gaze, then slouches against the wall as Seamus ruffles Arnold’s fur.

“Bought ’em from some Irish guys,” Dec says with a defensive air. “Paid in cash.”

Seamus rolls his eyes. “They were Russian, bro.”

“I know.” Dec tears his eyes away from us and kicks the floor with a deep sigh. “I had a phone number, was supposed to call to get more. I didn’t. I just thought it’d be good to see what was out there…”

Declan says this last bit to try to appease Cal who just takes a drag of his cigarette, a deep frown on his face. “We’re paying twice for them. They’re bratva-linked weapons. We don’t have issues with this family. You know this shite , Dec. Don’t stir the fucking pot when it doesn’t need it.”

“I didn’t,” Declan says. “I just… I did say I’d be interested in more, but that was just to see if I could get a better deal.”

Goddammit. He knows we protected him the most growing up, and now he wants to be us, to earn his way and our respect. I just wish he wasn’t in such a big rush to be as brutal as us. Because that type of brutal could kill him.

My mind replays the conversation. “Wait, what do you mean, more?”

“The morning you asked me to make it seem scarier for Harry? I’d just gotten the guns the night before. It’s why I used the rifle. Thought it was the best bet to try it out.”

“See?” Seamus says, pulling out a laser to make Clawzilla race around like a mad thing. “There is half a brain in his head. He didn’t wait until we had a job.”

“Shut it, Seamus,” Callahan says mildly. Then he nods at Declan. “Go on.”

“I was supposed to go to East Harlem, to some store.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out a card. “Eion. That was his name. He said to ping the number the day before I was gonna go.”

Seamus takes the card and reads the number and the jotted-down address. “ Shite. Tor?”

I take it.

“Let me fucking guess, it’s the same address where you two found the dead Russian and the drugs?” Callahan asks.

I nod. “Nothing would have stopped those pieces of shit we beat down in the bar from calling the number and saying we were on the way that day. ”

Which would mean the cops were called and the body… well… it hadn’t been there too long, but that icing with the amount of drugs in there? We’d have been caught with those…

Fuuuuck.

We all exchange looks.

“Question is,” I say, “is this a Murphy family setup we’re looking at or one hell of a coincidence?”

And how the hell do all the other puzzle pieces fit together?

Because some way, somehow, Harry’s a part of it. From way before the blood wedding.

What the actual fuck is going on?

Callahan pulls out his phone. “Mikey says Lucie and Harry are now at the church. The guard’s inside, Mikey’s outside.

So everyone is good.” He stubs out his cigarette, then stands up.

“Dec and Tor, go to the bar where Declan made the gun deals. Seamus, we’ll go give the uncle a shakedown and see what falls out. ”

We all head off in different directions. I drive down to the Lower East Side.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Declan says in a sheepish voice.

I look at my brother. “I know. Look?—”

His ringtone blares out. “Yeah?”

Then silence. He ends the call and looks at me. “We’ve gotta go to Bianco’s house. Now.”

Coldness slams down heavy in my stomach. “What happened?”

“Seamus said they went to his office. He didn’t come back from a coffee run this morning and missed a big meeting. Anthony Bianco’s gone.”