Page 13

B enito

Nicolò is already sitting opposite Cristiano when I enter the office and settle in one of the four leather armchairs. A week has passed since I saw Contessa Castellano swim naked in the pool, and the sight is permanently etched on my eyeballs.

Cristiano looks across his desk at me. “Any word on who burned down your house?”

“Nothing,” I reply. “I even talked to Joe Bigelow…”

“The Marchesi associate?” Nicolò asks.

“Yeah. He says the Marchesi’s are keeping their cards close to their chests.”

Cristiano pulls a handful of cell phones out of a drawer in his desk. “Interesting. So, we don’t know if this is their way of retaliating after the drug bust?”

I shrug. “I doubt it is. It’s not Fury’s style. He prefers calculated theatrics over petty arson.”

“Your house going up in flames like that?” Nicolò arches a brow. “I’d say that was pretty theatrical.”

Cristiano drops the phones on his desk. “He has a point.”

“What other enemies do you have beside the Marchesi’s?” Nicolò asks.

Cristiano smirks. “How long have you got?”

I slump back in the chair and cross an ankle over my other knee. “I’ll find out who it was sooner or later. I’ve got some feds on it.”

Nicolò’s eyes narrow. “You don’t seem too concerned, Benny. I’d be knocking down doors and threatening lives if someone burned down my house.”

I don’t like my conviction being questioned. “Yeah, well you don’t need to worry about that, do you? Still living at home with your mama.”

“Ouch.” Cristiano shakes his head.

“Fuck you Benny. Just means I have more money to spend on women,” he replies with a sneer.

“You mean shoes,” I counter, glancing down at what appears to be another new pair of Saint Lauren Derby’s on his feet.

Cristiano pushes the phones across the desk. “To replace the burner you crushed.”

He glances sideways out of his window to the terrace—the sun is beating down and I expect his fiancée is enjoying the pool. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I have a feeling you’ll need several. ”

I frown at his comment. It’s not like I crush burners between my fingers on a regular basis. “Thanks.”

“So, what do we know about Fury’s successor?” Nicolò probes. “Did your mole have any insights on that front?”

Cristiano sits back and watches me as he rubs two fingers back and forth across his lips.

I uncross my legs, lean forward and rest my forearms on my knees, looking both of them directly in the eye. “It hasn’t been announced yet, but Bigelow seems to think Fury’s nephews are in the running to take over the clan.”

“Nephews?” Nicolò squints. “As in plural?”

I turn to him. “Yeah. Three. Lorenzo, Matteo and Luca. Lorenzo’s the eldest and the one with the more… shall we say… colorful history.”

“Meaning?” Cristiano rests his elbows on his desk.

“He was made at thirteen and killed his first capo six months later. Hasn’t stopped since. His brothers took a little longer to warm up. They’re power hungry but not much between the eyes. They get off on eliminating people—the bloodier the better—as opposed to building longstanding relationships that might ultimately give them control of a city.”

“So they’re loose cannons?” Cristiano rests his chin on two pointed fingers, brows raised.

“Yeah. At the very least.”

“So, what’s your recommendation Benny? Where’s their preferred heartland? Do we strengthen our numbers in Newark? ”

I consider his question. “We could definitely strengthen our numbers there. Losing Newark to us was the biggest blow they’ve suffered in years—there’s always a chance they’ll try to take it back. But, last I heard, Fury wanted to focus his efforts on Connecticut. Maybe we let ‘em have it for now while we get a feel for the new don.”

“Or dons .” There’s a warning note in Nicolò’s words.

Cristiano nods slowly. “Fine. Let’s lay low and keep a watching brief. Get some more men in Jersey.”

I click my tongue. “Consider it done.”

Leaving Nicolò in Cristiano’s office I head outside to make a few calls. As I reach the exit to the terrace, Contessa Castellano appears in the doorway. I didn’t know she was here, so I’m not prepared for the sight of her creamy white body pouring out of a tiny black two-piece and barely-there sarong, full lips parted in surprise, nor the way her eyes widen as she processes the fact I’m blocking her entrance.

Heated annoyance fills out my chest. There are men in the house and she’s dressed like this ?

“Don’t you have any clothes?” I snap.

She sucks in a breath through those plump, pink lips, annoying me even more.

“Well, hello to you too,” she says with a thin smile and ticked off eyes. She thrusts a hip to one side and props a hand on it, making it almost impossible not to dip my gaze. “What brings you here again so soon? Someone burn down your new apartment? ”

“I think you’d know about it if they had, seeing as your dance studio is beneath it.”

She chews on her lip before replying. “I wouldn’t mind too much. It would solve a few problems.”

I fold my arms and lean against the doorframe. “What kind of problems?”

“Like having to run into you on a daily basis, or having to educate a spoiled grown man on how to use a coffee machine.”

“Spoiled?” I chew on the word.

“You haven’t needed to make yourself a coffee in four years, Bernadi. I would describe that as spoiled.”

My jaw stiffens. “I would describe it as ‘busy,’” I say with a sneer. “But you wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

Her lips purse into a petulant pout which sends an un-planned-for shot of blood to my cock.

“I need you to do something for me,” I say, curtly.

Her eyes roll . “Oh you need me to do something for you? Consider me at your service… not.”

“You’ll do as you’re told, brat.”

Her lids ping open.

“There are grown men in this house. It is not appropriate for you to be walking around in next to nothing. Do you understand? Go and put some fucking clothes on.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. For a second there I thought you were my father. But…” She tilts her head to one side, “seems I need to remind you, you’re not.”

She reaches for the knot at her side and deftly loosens it, letting the tiny slip of sarong fall to the floor. Her two-piece sits high on her hips and I just know that the string disappears into the round cheeks of her ass.

“I think we might need a little lesson in semantics here,” she says in a voice like poisoned silk. She lifts one foot at a time and slips off her patent black sandals, one by one.

“You see, the word ‘next’ usually means the thing that comes immediately before or after the present thing.”

She reaches up and pulls the band from her hair, drops it to the floor and shakes her long black hair out until it cascades over her shoulders and face.

What the fuck is she doing?

“So, in the saying ‘next to nothing’,” she continues, snapping open the clasp on her watch and holding it up by the strap, letting it dangle between us, “the ‘nothing’ means exactly that, and the ‘next to’ means the thing that comes immediately before it.”

She drops the watch and I lift my palm just in time to catch it.

Then she reaches her hands behind her back. My pulse thickens, filling my ears.

“Note how I used singular, not plural.” She lifts her brows. “Thing. Not things .”

I note she’s wearing two things right now. Two-piece top and bottom. My chest fills out and my arms drop to my sides, fingers flexing and curling.

She turns her head sideways slightly and looks at me from beneath an arched brow and dark lashes. “So, if I really was wearing next to nothing, there would only be one thing between ‘clothed’ and ‘nothing’, right?”

Her tongue nips forward and brushes along her top lip, wetting it.

Then she releases her hands to her sides and the bikini top falls to the floor.

“This, Bernadi, is ‘next to nothing.’”

My gaze falls, uncontrollably, to her bare tits. They’re perfect. Beautiful handfuls of porcelain flesh, pink pebbling around diamond sharp nipples. My cock stiffens and I don’t even care. I lick my lips and swallow, unable to tear my eyes away. My hands ache to cup her flesh; my mouth dries at the thought of sucking on those mesmerizing peaks. My head spins at the thought.

“And…”

I drag my gaze back to hers and see she’s watching me, each puff of breath lifting the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes. She’s standing defiantly on the step but her gaze has softened, which only makes her next words sting.

“…you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t wear. I can wear whatever I want. Even ‘next to nothing.’”

She turns slowly and walks back out to the terrace, her slim hips swaying. I was right about her ass. It’s devouring the piece of cotton between her cheeks.

I can’t do anything but stand and stare after her, hoping that whatever lava is brewing in my belly settles before I tear this fucking place apart.