Page 25 of The Mastermind (Mafia Rivals #1)

CESARE

The Singapore night race was the most taxing of the whole season. Maybe that was why it was also my favourite. There was something about pushing yourself to the very brink of exhaustion and dehydration in one-hundred-and-four-degree heat that made me feel alive.

Tonight’s race was especially sweet. A different kind of exhaustion trailed through my muscles, reminding me of the hours I’d spent fucking Maddelena. My only regret was the hours had sped by far too quickly.

And yeah, the fact that I was starting from pole position, where I rightly belonged, didn’t hurt either.

Under the bright floodlights that turned the track from night to day, I scanned the crowd as Brazzo regurgitated information and scenarios we’d gone over a dozen times already. I nodded and absently absorbed it, reminding myself that keeping him calm would help me in the long run.

Now that I knew where the threat was coming from, I was doing my best to make it up to my team for the hell I’d put them through.

Up to a point, anyway. They’d turned themselves inside out this weekend to ensure that while Singapore was always going to favour our humidity-loving engine, every piece of information was kept under lock and key and relayed to our most trusted crew at the very last minute.

It’d made for longer hours in the garage than we’d wanted, but the penalty for working outside parc fermé hours had been worth?—

My thoughts screeched to a halt when I saw her.

Unlike the majority of her team, Maddelena didn’t wear the team gear.

The gleaming chestnut hair I’d delighted in roping around my fist as I’d banged her from behind last night was layered around her face in stylish waves. I hated that her eyes were covered by designer sunglasses but perhaps it was just as well.

Looking into those blue eyes would remind me of how she’d looked when she came all over my cock. And springing a boner in this tight race suit with the world’s press and several hundred thousand spectators with camera phones thirsting for a scandal would be far from ideal.

But fuck me if she didn’t look incredible.

I slid my own shades on so I could watch her without being seen.

Then I gritted my teeth when the VIPs she was obviously entertaining surged closer, temporarily blocking my view.

When one guy – some CEO of a Malaysian microchip company – placed a hand on the small of her back, a growl rattled up from my diaphragm.

Brazzo froze, his humidity-reddened face growing hotter. ‘Uh…’

I waved impatiently at him. ‘Keep going, I’m listening.’

He shuffled through his clipboard notes, rattling off wind speed, drag reduction zones, sector times and predicted tyre life as I stared daggers at the meaty hand on my woman’s back.

My woman.

Until I decreed otherwise, Maddelena Mancinelli was mine. Not even the perfectly sound argument she’d made of what would happen if our families found out – and my unhinged reaction to it – would sway me now I’d had her.

No fucker would lay a hand on her while I drew breath. I took a step towards them, just as she shifted, dislodging the hand.

Excellent news for both of them.

As if she’d heard me, her head snapped towards me. Her lips parted. I couldn’t see her eyes but I knew she was looking at me.

Even from the distance I could almost hear her sucking in oxygen.

Knew her nipples were hard beneath the thin gold cropped top she’d worn with a fluttery skirt with a high slit that showed off her spectacular legs.

Legs I craved around my waist more than I wanted my next breath.

Soon . And the next time would be even better since she’d taken the blood test last night and, as expected, the results had come back clean.

A body stepped in front of me, blocking my view of her. Another snarl built in my throat.

‘Here, brother. You look like you need to cool down some more.’ Rafa held out a fresh ice vest. ‘Before all your blood migrates south,’ he added.

My growl died. Brazzo mumbled under his breath and retreated several steps. I snatched the vest from Rafa and tugged it over the perfectly adequate one I had on. I wasn’t going to admit he was right, that my little head was in danger of ruling my big one.

When it became clear he wasn’t going to shift, I sighed, folded my hands beneath my arms and gave him half my attention, keeping the other half beyond his shoulder in case Maddelena crossed my eye line. ‘Anything to report?’

‘As it happens, yes,’ he said.

My focus snapped to him. ‘What?’

He nodded at the concrete-and-chainlink wall that formed the track boundary, and I followed him. ‘You said you asked Nightowl for confirmation that Stan was the link, right?’

‘Yeah. But as much as I’d love to, kicking the shit out of another driver during race season will be frowned upon. But if he’s irrefutably involved…’ I shrugged.

He pulled out the phone I’d given to him for safekeeping and showed me the latest message in response to my asking Nightowl for further information after my conversation with Maddelena last night.

Any further links between Willow and Mancinellis?

Nightowl’s message was as cryptic as ever.

THE HAMMER IN THE SEA

‘ Santo cielo, I’m not in the mood for more puzzles.’

He glanced around again and leaned closer to whisper in my ear.

‘I think this one might be an easier solve. We know The Hammer is the Solynik Clan because they used to be the Molotok Clan, which means hammer. And I’m thinking the sea refers to St Petersburg and the Baltic Sea. Ivanovski is based there, remember?’

I blinked, impressed. ‘Fuck, yes.’ I saw Brazzo and two other engineers hovering nervously. ‘Keep digging. We’ll pick this up after the race.’

He clasped the hand I held out. ‘Stay safe. Kick ass.’

I nodded and thumped him on the back. The moment he stepped away, Brazzo rushed forward and picked up where he’d left off.

I gave in to the urge and scanned the crowd again.

She was gone.

Just as well. Being buckled into my safety harness by my crew while sporting a hard-on would be embarrassing for all involved.

But for every one of the sixty-two laps and one hundred and ninety miles, I would plan the many and varied ways I’d celebrate my race win between Maddelena’s juicy thighs.

She would feel me deep inside her for the next week.

The rousing Italian anthem celebrating my win – I’d fight anyone who didn’t agree it was the best in the world – ended to the perfect sync of exploding fireworks along the start-finish straight. My grin threatened to split my face as the crowd and my crew screamed their joy.

Rafa stood with each arm around Bibi’s and Dante’s shoulders. Beside me, Renzo beamed from the second-place step.

It felt fucking good to be back where we belonged. Even if the driver to my left had given up any semblance of civility.

‘Enjoy it while it lasts, old man,’ Narciso muttered under the guise of offering congratulations.

I clasped the back of his neck, letting my fingers dig into his skin. He hissed and tried to back away, but I tightened my hold.

‘Keep it up, squirt,’ I breathed, my teeth bared in a smile. ‘I’m more than happy to teach you one or two things about good manners.’

He looked considerably paler and less petulant when I let him go, and I made sure to aim the Jeroboam-sized champagne spray right in his eyes, then left Renzo to laugh in his face as he sputtered. There was only so much juvenile behaviour I was willing to lower myself to.

Grabbing my trophy after the obligatory photos, I stepped off the podium.

And saw her.

She stood beneath the podium, next to the pit lane wall. Her sunglasses were perched above her head now, and so I snagged her stare easily.

Her crew surrounded her, but none were paying attention. I throttled the urge to wink, torn by the apprehension on her face.

My win meant her loss. Possible repercussions. I didn’t – shouldn’t – care.

They’d made their risky bed, attempted to gain the upper hand with underhanded means. That sucked for her. I was a Salvatore. We never let shit like that slide.

Besides, she had nothing to fear as long as I kept her in my bed and she kept her mouth shut, right?

I locked eyes and raised the bottle to her as I took another gulp.

Anyone watching would think I was taunting her – as was my blood-given right – not imagining spreading her naked on my penthouse terrace, drenching her in champagne and lapping up the bubbles straight from her pussy as the fireworks announcing my victory exploded above our heads.

She hastily broke eye contact when her brother approached where I stood, champagne bottle in his hand. The smile she turned on looked forced, her eyes sombre. My chest tightened but I shrugged that off too, turned and walked away.

No matter.

I planned on putting a much more satisfactory look on her face before the night was over.

Enrico, my personal trainer, approached with a half-gallon bottle of water, holding out his hand for the champagne. ‘You need to hydrate.’

‘You’re no fucking fun.’ I grimaced and handed it and the trophy over, then gulped down several mouthfuls of water. He was a hard taskmaster but I had him to thank for my excellent physique.

When he’d satisfied himself that I wasn’t about to collapse into a dried-out husk, he nodded. ‘Rafaelle is looking for you. I told him to meet you in the ice bath room after your media interviews. Can I trust you to do your stretches before then?’

I grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Have I ever let you down?’

He smiled. ‘No. And it’s good to see you in a good mood. It’s been a while.’

‘Winning always puts me in a good mood, Rico.’ The only thing that would top that right now was being balls deep in Maddelena’s cunt with nothing between us, but the wait was a sweet torment I could withstand. Barely.

The media interviews were a breeze, my irritation not even rising above a simmer when the usual stupid questions about rivalries with the Mancinellis came up.