Page 32 of The Mafia Assassin’s Redemption (Mafia Obsession #2)

TWENTY-FIVE

torin

“What the fuck?” I spit right back at her, the burning flames of rage eating at me.

I caught Lucie walking back to the church with white paper bags of bakery goods, and the first thing my fucked-up mind did was search for blood, for a gun pointed at us, for Harry’s body.

For fucking Harry.

I raced back to the church when Lucie said she’d stayed back.

I mean, what the fuck do we pay security for? Goddamn cupcake runs?

If I was Callahan, I’d lock Lucie up for a week for that stunt. I’m going to do that to Harry, right after I punish her.

Right after I fucking hold her tight and make sure she’s okay.

She looks fine… unharmed, but looks are deceiving fucking things. I glare at her, and she glares right back.

If anyone hurt her in any way, I will kill them.

Just like I’ll do to her fucking uncle .

We’re still searching for him. But when we find him, and we will…

Not even the fucking package in my back pocket, the thing Luigi said he had for her and for some reason wanted me to give her, will stop me.

Nothing will.

Not the girl I chased out, not the anger in Harry’s eyes.

Especially not that.

Harry’s anger is a fucking turn-on.

“Why are you here working?” I ask in a deceptively gentle voice. It’s full of razor blades honed to slice. “I didn’t give you permission for that.”

“I don’t need your permission.”

“Actually, you do.”

She raises her hand to slap me, and I grin, grabbing her wrist and backing her against the table.

“No,” she says, “I don’t.”

“Blood marriage, Dirty Harry. You’re mine.”

I rub her inner wrist gently with my thumb.

“This is called a job and you let me go out today. With Lucie. And my whole fucking entourage. I didn’t break your stupid rules.”

“You weren’t with Lucie.” And I don’t want to talk about Lucie.

“I can’t stop women coming into the church, and anyway, I don’t know if the ones I spoke to were just lonely or feeling things out.”

“I’ll take the last one for the third in a threesome.”

Something hard, stinging, almost blinding slams into my cheek. She’s hit me with her other hand. I rub my jaw. Yeah, I deserved that. I didn’t even pay attention to the woman, not really. I just wanted her gone, and she’s nothing on Harry. No one is.

Harry’s a woman like no other.

But now she hit me… and she’s pissed.

I turn her around and pull her jeans down, along with her panties. My breath hitches at the hot-pink silk covering her pussy. My cock jumps to attention. I guess I like the idea of her in sexy shit under her frumpy crap.

I should really be mad about the shapeless jeans and big shirt, but I’m not. I don’t care it’s a look people wear, but the fact I got her a new wardrobe and she’s bratting out with her outfit choice… that’s something to care about, something to get hard over.

What can I say, it checks my boxes.

Harry struggles against me. “You asshole, we’re in church.”

“We’re in the rectory,” I remind her. “Not church.”

I lower myself to my knees, pulling her to the end of the table and parting her thighs so she’s in essence my prisoner.

The jeans keep her legs locked, so I can feast as I see fit.

I lick her slit, sliding my tongue inside her hot lips, and then I flip her, undo my jeans, and pump myself, drinking her in.

Fuck. It’s a beautiful sight. Those flashing silver-gray eyes, the anger that’s radiating off her. So I push into her to the hilt, and she bites my shoulder, even as she lifts her hips.

“You’re a cretin, an asshole. Wanting her. Fine. Have her, she’s pretty, she’s?—”

“Not fucking you, Harry.” I grab her hands and hold them down with one of mine so I can fuck her hard, my other hand on the table. “Of course I don’t want her. I couldn’t tell you a thing about her. Jesus fucking Christ. I want you. I can’t get enough of you.”

I thrust into her with every word.

This is going to be dirty and hard, because my balls are high and tight, pushing to release. My spine tingles. There’s coming and then there’s coming with Harry, and Harry’s worth it all.

I reach down and twist her clit, then start to stroke it as she tries not to moan, her body shaking, gripping, and pulsating around mine. Her cunt’s made for me. Everything is.

She looks me in the eye.

“You want her.”

“Why do you care?” I push out, starting to come, the absolute pleasure rocketing through me. “You hate me.”

And then I lose it, coming hard, spasming as I fill her pussy.

When I pull out of her, she shoves me and yanks up her panties and jeans.

Her anger radiates, so fueled by her orgasm that she almost falls.

She shakes me off when I help steady her, so I push every last button, push her down to the floor, and since she already hates me, order her to clean my cock.

I don’t expect her to. I expect her to fight me, to hurl biting comments.

But those eyes look up at me, glittering with hate, anger, and despair when a sob erupts out of her mouth. Still, she grabs me.

“Harry— Ah, fuck.”

She latches on, sucking me hard and deep, and I’m so overly sensitive right now that she might get her wish and kill me after all.

But then she lays off the impressive sucking and starts to lap me. It’s gentle, soothing, and if I weren’t me, I’d think she actually wanted this. I try to stop her but she goes heavy until finally she’s done.

This time, I tuck my deflating cock away.

“Anything else, Master?”

I laugh even though I’m still furious. “Christ, Harry, anyone would think you’re trying to make me fall in love with you.”

“No one can do the impossible. ”

For a moment, I stare at her. “Are you talking about me or you? If you’re talking about me falling in love, you’re right, I’m probably not capable. If you’re talking about others falling in love with you, just know you’re the kind of lass who could make Satan turn into a melty-eyed puppy.”

I turn away to tidy up, clearing the trimmings of the flowers, picking up the debris on the floor. I find a mug, sniff it, and down the remaining drops of whiskey before putting it into the sink.

When I raced into the church, I caught a whiff of that flowery shit Shiv used to wear. And for once, it didn’t bother me, because Harry’s nestled too deep under my skin.

Fuck.

This fucking woman.

Harry.

Melty-puppy eyes?

Christ.

I don’t even know how I said any of that.

It’s not… me.

Harry helps me clean, and she refills the mug for me, then gets another from the counter. I glance at mine. “That woman I made the backfiring joke about used this one, didn’t she?”

“Don’t worry, her cooties are sophisticated. English, Russian, and Italian.”

I laugh. And I get it. Harry’s smart. Dumb as fuck when someone puts a gun to her head, but otherwise smart.

Fury starts to bubble and prick at my skin and I take a bigger swallow of the whiskey. I force my brain away from the men who tried to shoot my wife to how good the whiskey would be if this were an Irish Catholic church.

There’s a subtle difference, all to do with the quality of the booze behind the scenes .

But honestly? It’s hard to stop the cascading thoughts of murder from consuming me.

“Jesus, Harry,” I say. “You almost got killed.”

“Near the door.”

“What kind of semantics are those?” I demand, fingers tightening on the mug.

Harry meets my gaze, slightly helpless. “You know I can’t stop anyone from coming in to talk.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to like it if you’re in danger.” I know, I know, I could fucking make her a prisoner at home. Maybe buy her a gilded cage and lock her up. But she loves it here, just like she loves these flowers, just like I wish?—

I stifle the thought. “I really hate you being in danger for reasons I don’t understand.”

“Well, sometimes I don’t understand you.” She stands in the middle of the kitchen and I’m overcome by an urge to kiss her.

But I don’t. I put the mug down and continue to clean. I’m missing an important piece of this puzzle, the thing that’ll make it all make sense. It’s not here in the rectory kitchen, though.

I empty my whiskey in her cup. “Finish up what you need to, and I’ll drive us home.”

With that, I sit in the back of the church watching people come and go, the package in my back pocket burning.

I pull it out. It’s in an envelope, Harry’s name on the front in flowery writing. And from the feel of it, there is more than just a letter inside. Maybe some photos. But I don’t think any of it will solve my mystery.

I use my finger to open a corner of the envelope, knowing Father Luigi trusted me to give it to her. I’m not sure why he kept it until now, or what it’s about. Maybe it’s part of fucking blood marriages. I don’t know. The research I did never included mysterious envelopes.

But before I can get it open, the person I should be giving it to approaches and I slide it in the pocket of my jacket.

I didn’t park right outside the church, so I take her hand, pretending she wants me to, and we walk over to the next block.

There’s a moment where her fingers curl around mine, and she moves closer, making something deep in me swell, like we’re connected and she needs that protection.

Shit, maybe she feels like we’re being watched.

I glance around, but it’s just the usual New Yorkers rushing past, caught up in their own worlds.

She shifts closer to me, her hands gripping mine like we’re something more, something special, something that just is.

Something connected.

But then she tugs at her hand. I tighten mine in response.

“I’m not going to run,” she mutters, her anger back.

So’s mine. “Right, because I’m not letting that happen.”

We reach the car and I open her door, giving her a gentle nudge when she doesn’t move.

With a big sigh, she slides in on the passenger seat. Despite the anger, I fight my smile.

Back at the brownstone, I park and drag her out and up the steps to the front door as the bodyguard leaves with Mikey. One will take his position in a car down the street, and I assume Mikey will head back to Queens to deal with operations there.