Page 36 of Twisted Little Games (New York City Mafia #3)

Kirsten

I t turns out that people love a good Romeo and Juliet story because my approval ratings have never been better. My father sounded sick to admit as much over the phone. I can’t wait for Tristan to meet him and my mother.

While there are still some assholes who call me a mafia slut or worse behind my back in the office, most are too scared of my boyfriend to say a word.

And thankfully, since I went public with our relationship, Bowen Bertelli hasn’t sent any more men to try and kill me.

Not that Tristan leaves my side long enough for one to land a shot.

He doesn’t just sit in his truck outside the courthouse anymore; he comes in to visit, watches my trials, and even tags along to my lunches with campaign donors. Apparently, there are plenty of rich jackasses who like having a contact in the mob to handle the occasional dirty deeds for them.

Speaking of dirty deeds… “We need to hurry. And only one orgasm for me,” I tell Tristan when we sneak out into the dark alley behind Rosi’s.

The February night is unseasonably warm in the city, which makes outside a much better option than the bathroom for a quickie.

Tristan is so distracting that no smells or grime will deter us when the mood strikes.

Which it does often. I can’t even remember all the places we’ve fooled around the past few weeks.

“Just one orgasm?” he huffs as he spins me around so I’m facing the wall. My palms flatten on the cool, abrasive bricks. “You sure about that? I bet I can give you three in less than five minutes.”

“No. Just one. I need to be awake for the meeting with your cousins and Serafina.”

“Fine,” he says against my ear. “I’ll save the rest for when we get home tonight.”

Home. His apartment that’s now ours.

I haven’t slept at my place since the night before the attack, and I don’t miss it. It’s now up for sale, since Tristan convinced me to bring all my things over to his place rather than having to keep running back and forth for my clothes and shoes.

I agreed to the arrangement after he replaced all the furniture the prostitutes slept or did other things on.

Tristan hikes up the back of my black dress, tugs down my matching panties for me to step out of, and then wastes no time slipping his fingers inside of me. They feel a little too good, though. “Enough of that. I’m already close.”

“Fuck, okay. Hold on.”

I hear his zipper go down and then rise onto my toes as he rubs himself through my wetness.

Or at least, I thought it was his dick before he shoves something much smaller into my ass.

“Tristan!” I cry out in surprise. At the same time, he slams inside me.

“Oh, God. Oh…wow…” I trail off as he clutches my hips tight enough to bruise, fucking me hard and fast like he hates me.

“You like being double-stuffed?”

I nod and rest my forehead on the back of my hand as I adjust to all the penetration.

“You know what we’re doing later tonight, right?”

“Popping…my…cherry?” I guess.

“Fuck, yes, I am.” He slaps my cheek, making me groan. “I want my cum dripping from your pussy and my plug buried in your ass during dinner and our meeting.”

He thrusts so deep, his pelvis hits the plug, setting me off like fireworks. My cries of pleasure echo down the alley, but it feels too good to care if someone hears us as Tristan stills, filling me up with his hot, thick release.

A moment later, he’s pulling out and lowering my dress. “Fast is fun, but I prefer to be buried in you for hours.” He fixes his pants, then gives my ass a slap that jars the plug, nearly getting me off again.

“Both ways are great.” I sound drunk as I slip my panties back on. “No objections.”

Even after weeks, the passion between us continues to grow stronger each day. It’s been amazing making up for years of bad sex with the talented mobster who knows exactly what I need. We’re thinking about getting our own swing for the apartment, and I can’t wait.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Taking my hand, he pulls me back inside and to our table of guests, his two cousins and…

Saint Rovina. They all must know where we’ve been and what we were doing, since we’re both still breathing heavy, but none say a word about it as we take our seats.

Me more slowly and delicately than Tristan.

Even then, I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning.

“What’s he doing here?” Creed asks with a nod of his head toward Saint.

“When Stella found out what happened, that Tristan got shot, she told Saint. He said he wanted to help, so I invited him,” Dre explains.

“You should’ve invited all the bosses to deal with this shit,” Saint mutters, cooling my libido as I try to focus on the reason we’re all here.

“Saint, this is District Attorney Kirsten Hunt. Kirsten, Saint Rovina,” Tristan says in introduction. The frazzled looking man barely acknowledges me.

“I think Aiden Sanna has enough on his plate, and there’s no reason to drag Gideon into this mess,” Creed replies.

“I’ve got enough on my plate too,” Saint says. “In case you forgot, my sister is still being held captive by that prick, Kai.”

Oh, right. Tristan told me some of the drama going on with the families.

“I know. And I’m sorry. If there was something I could do to bring Cami home, I would do it. I’ve got private investigators in several states on the lookout for her.”

“You do?” Saint asks Creed in surprise.

“Of course. We’re family now.”

“I still can’t believe I’m here, willingly joining a meeting with mob bosses,” I remark with a smile and shake of my head. “Just so you know, my relationship with Tristan doesn’t mean I’m doing any of you shady favors.”

“That’s right. If your guys get arrested in Manhattan, then you’re on your own,” Tristan reiterates.

“ What the hell is this ?” Serafina asks when she walks into the private room with a server and takes us all in. “I thought I was meeting with the DA about my dad’s murder.”

“You are,” Creed says. “And we think we know who is behind his death. Come in and sit down.”

She glances around at everyone hesitantly before pulling out the closest chair and sitting. The server retreats as if he knows we’re about to get down to serious business.

Creed even gets up and closes the door, giving us more privacy.

“I know you’ve been eager to find the shooter, and while we haven’t acquired any new evidence, there’s cause for us to believe that it was Bowen who arranged the hit,” I begin.

“You think my brother killed our father and came after you,” Serafina says with a shake of her head. “You’re wrong.”

“Bowen had more to gain from your father’s death than anyone,” Tristan jumps in and tells her. “And he had things he was hiding from your father, shit your father would’ve killed him for if he had found out.”

“Like what?” Serafina asks.

“We should start at the beginning and give you the whole truth,” Creed says. “Bowen set up the raid that got my brother Carmine killed. He planned to have those cops kill me, too, probably Tristan and Dre as well, to wipe out all the Ferraro blood relatives.”

“Why would Bowen do that?” Serafina asks.

“Because he wanted your family to take over as the boss of bosses,” Creed answers.

“I don’t believe he acted with your father’s knowledge.

And if your father had known what he planned to do, I think he would’ve stopped him.

Your old man and I both wanted peace between all five families.

Weston kept a low profile because he knew it was best for his business.

Being the boss of bosses would’ve put more attention on him, making his hitman-for-hire empire suffer. ”

“Fine, so that sounds like my father. He respected the other four families, and I doubt he would’ve engaged in any sort of violence to take one out.”

“Bowen’s plan backfired,” Creed explains. “And even though the cops hired were killed, made to look like a suicide, he was probably a little paranoid about Weston finding out if the DA was to dig a little deeper.”

“Which brings us to the present,” I chime in. “Three cops have tried to kill me. And the only big case I’ve been looking into that could bring that sort of heat is Weston’s assassination.”

“So, you think my brother hired cops to kill you so he wouldn’t be implicated in our father’s death?”

“Exactly,” Tristan replies.

“And what proof do you have?” she directs this question to me.

“Well, right now, none,” I respond honestly.

“Then, what are we even talking about this for? And what exactly do you all expect me to do?”

“We want you to kill your brother,” Creed tells her, making me wince. I prefer to stay out of the details.

Serafina huffs out a laugh. “Oh, is that all? Just go kill my brother, my only remaining family, the head of an empire our father built that would crumble without someone to lead it? Or do you plan to step in and take it over?”

“You can lead it, Serafina,” I tell her. “I know there are criminal elements to Weston’s enterprise that I don’t want any details about, but why couldn’t you run things?”

“Because in case you haven’t noticed, I have tits and a vagina. Oh, and not to mention, I was adopted. Weston isn’t my biological father. There’s not a single drop of Italian blood in me either. I know because I’ve been tested. I’m half Irish and half German.”

“I don’t give a shit about the old rules,” Creed says. “Gideon, Aiden, and Saint don’t either. We would be willing to look past your bloodline and sex to put you in charge of the Bertelli family.”

“Well, good for you, but what about the hundreds of employees who worked for my father and now my brother? Your approval won’t mean shit to them.

Besides, as long as Bowen is alive, I would never challenge him.

Despite what you all believe, my brother loved our father and would never have hurt him.

He’s been physically ill since his death. ”

“A guilty conscience will have that affect,” Saint mutters, the first words he’s spoken this whole time.

“What are you even doing here, Rovina?” Serafina asks him.

“The Ferraros are my family now. My sister married Dre, and they’re expecting, so our bloodline is officially united. When someone goes after a Ferraro, I want to help. That’s the whole purpose of merging families.”

“What is he talking about?” she asks me.

“Well, twice when Kirsten was attacked, Tristan was there to keep her safe, as you probably read about in the news as well. The second time, he took two bullets, which has angered my family,” Creed answers for me.

“Your brother’s men shot the wrong guy when they came after Kirsten,” Dre tells her.

“Again, what evidence do you have that my brother hired the shooters?” she asks.

“None yet,” he answers.

“Then, until you have it, I don’t want you accusing Bowen of shit.” She pushes up to her feet and looks us all in the eye one by one. “And if anything happens to my brother, I’ll come after every single one of you. Unlike what you claim my brother did, I don’t miss when I decide to kill someone.”

With that threat, she walks to the door, yanks it open so hard it hits the wall, and leaves.

“Well, that didn’t go like I thought it would,” Tristan remarks.

“She’s not wrong,” I say, giving him a small smile. “Without hard evidence, we don’t have a leg to stand on.”

“Bowen isn’t the brightest,” Creed grumbles. “There has to be something he left behind, a wire transfer or some text messages. Too bad all the attackers are dead.”

When Creed glares at me, Tristan reminds him, “Two of those were not her fault, and the one she took out was in self-defense against a goddamn cop. One is on me for dropping him on his head, and the other, well, as much as it pains me to say it, Detective Shithead was doing what he thought was right, protecting the public from drive-by shooters before anyone else could get hurt. He’s one hell of a shot to hit both in the head. ”

At first, Tristan thought Bryan could’ve been involved, but after talking to him, he came to realize what I already knew — that he’s a pussy.

And he wouldn’t try to kill me. We even gave him a tip about the gelato shop, and when Tristan and I drove by the other day, Bryan was inside, leaning on the counter talking to Emanuele like they were hitting it off.

“I’ll handle it,” Saint says, causing everyone to turn to him. “I’ll find the proof we need that it was Bowen who killed Weston and talk to Serafina. If she still won’t do what needs to be done, then I’ll do it.”

Is he crazy? Tristan looks at me and nods as if thinking the same thing. If Saint kills Bowen, then Serafina will make good on her promise. This is basically a suicide mission.

Oh.

I guess that’s the point. Tristan told me that Saint was in a dark place, but damn.

“What? Why are you all looking at me like that? Creed and Dre have families, and I’m guessing Tristan needs to stay on the straight and narrow path for his new woman, so the Ferraro family can’t go after Bowen openly.

The DA here obviously isn’t going to get her hands dirty, even though Bowen’s sending cops after her, so I’ll do it. ”

“It could get messy,” Creed warns him.

Saint huffs out a laugh. “Blood is already on my hands. How much messier could it get for me? Just don’t tell my sister. Stella’s got enough to worry about with Cami and now the baby…”

“Deal,” Dre says with a nod.

“Great. We’re skipping dinner,” Tristan says as he pops up from his chair and grabs my hand to pull me along behind him.

“Have a good night,” I say on the way out.

I struggle to keep up with his urgent pace on the sidewalk. “Is that smart, for Saint to handle things?”

“God, no. I’d prefer to kill Bowen myself. But…well, welcome to the mafia where shit is always getting fucked sideways.” He flashes me a grin. “Just like you every morning.”

“You need to stay out of this mess. And I like waking up to you, slowly, deeply, making love to me,” I admit to him. “Who knows, maybe Serafina and Saint will like sideway fucks too.”

“The only one getting fucked will be Saint, and not in the good way. The assassin is going to ruin his life.” Tristan laughs. “But if Saint manages to get Bowen out of the picture first and keep you safe, then he’ll at least go down living up to his name.”

The End