Page 19

B enito

Gaspare drags the blade smoothly up my neck as two of the men waiting their turn carry the body out back. Gaspare dips the razor into his metal bowl, rinses off the soap, then brings it back to my throat.

“Beautiful day, sir,” he murmurs through a furrowed brow.

My thoughts are still on Contessa. I can’t shake the image of her lithe form gliding across the room.

“It is,” I concede.

“Plans for this evening?”

Standard barbershop talk. Gaspare knows that even if I do have plans, I probably won’t divulge them. In reality, I had planned on visiting Augie and bringing him up to speed on some developments in Newark. Since Cristiano fought the Marchesi’ s out of the place, some loose cannons remain and they’re stirring up shit for our soldiers on the ground. But, with the recent burning of my primary residence, and the situation with a certain Castellano girl, I don’t have the capacity to deal with Newark too.

My reaction to seeing Contessa dance—and importantly, seeing other men watch her dance—has annoyed the fuck out of me. I didn’t know I had the gun in my hand for Christ’s sake.

I wouldn’t normally shoot a guy’s dick off—dead or not. For the injured—or deceased—party, it’s just one insult too far and I always thought I was above that.

I hate the idea that I might have a problem. That implies I’ve lost control—of my emotions, my physical reactions. And for a consigliere-come-assassin-come-second-in-command, that worries me.

So, as a priority, I need to get the vision of Contessa dancing like a fucking angel out of my head, the rhythm of her feet sending ripples through her thighs away from my damned dick. I need to be reminded of what I actually want: a real woman. Not a young girl—a brat—who’s made no secret of the fact she can’t stand to breathe the same air as me.

For once, I decide to tell Gaspare the truth.

“I’m seeing a lady friend this evening, Gaspare.”

He nods approvingly. “Taking her somewhere nice, sir?”

My gaze flicks to the apartment above the dance studio. “I believe so, yes. Small, bijoux. Exclusive. Exceptional personal service. ”

“She’s a very lucky lady, sir.”

She damn well will be, after I’ve paid several thousand dollars for her time and her discretion. One night should do it. A brazen fuck to get that brat out of my head.

I inspect my clean shaven skin in the mirror. “Perfect, Gaspare. Grazie.”

I stand and pull a roll of notes from my pocket.

“No, boss.” Gaspare looks horrified. “It is on the house.”

I tilt my head and smile, making sure it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “How is this place ever going to stand on its own two feet if we start giving service away?”

He looks like he’s just been spanked so I pat his cheek with a genuine smile. “You’re doing a good job, my friend. Don’t sell yourself short.”

I have no idea if Contessa is still in the studio as I cross the street, and I force myself not to care. My interest in that brat has gone far enough. To distract myself completely, I pull out my phone and hit a number I haven’t used in a while. I place my order, confirm the hour and address, and by the time I’ve unlocked the apartment door, I have a date for the night and a surefire solution to the problem downstairs.

I throw my keys and cell onto the counter and walk into the bathroom. I’ve stripped off everything but my boxers when the doorbell rings .

Well, fuck, she’s prompt .

I run a hand through my newly trimmed hair, no doubt roughing it up, as I go to open the door, then a sight I was not expecting makes the vision I’m trying to banish swell tenfold in my mind until I’m resting a well-placed hand about pelvis-level. Just in case.

“Miss Castellano. What can I do for you?”

She stands there for a few seconds, nothing coming out of her mouth. Her eyes are wide as though she’s trying desperately to keep them focused on my face. She’s succeeding to the point of looking slightly unhinged. Maybe terrifying.

I try again. “Contessa? Do you need something?”

“I… um… I?—”

Normally, the sight of someone as taken aback and flustered as this makes me feel like a fucking winner. It means I’ve got the upper hand; I’ve caught them off guard. But seeing Castellano red-faced and tongue-tied only makes me feel fucking hot all over. Exactly the opposite of what I’m trying to achieve. With her anyway.

“Yes?”

She swallows and almost chokes. “I just came to check you were okay,” she rushes out. “I heard gunshots earlier, and… Well, I know you were in the barbershop and that’s where the shots seemed to come from…” Her cheeks flush.

“Have you been watching me?” I say in a deep, low voice, deliberately ignoring the sheer hypocrisy lining my words .

“No!” She flushes even deeper. “I was dancing, and…”

As she struggles to speak I can feel myself committing the exact same sin my victim committed earlier. My dick is filling to the brim with blood.

“I just heard gunshots, that’s all.” She straightens her shoulders, collecting herself. “I just came to check you were okay.” Finally, her gaze drops to my torso, then my boxers and my naked thighs. Then she shakes her head and shrugs, dramatically. “And, clearly, you’re fine. So, everything’s good. I’ll let you get back to… Well, whatever you were doing.”

She turns her back to me, almost stumbling down the steps but then she stops abruptly. Her gaze narrows when she sees something at the foot of the stairwell.

I don’t miss the way her knuckles pale as she curls her fingers round the handrail. I lean round the doorframe and see exactly what’s stopped Castellano in her tracks.

My call girl.

Castellano spins around to face me, her features taut. “Clearly, you are just fine .”

I can’t help but smile. “Thanks for checking on me.”

She dips her gaze and tentatively makes her way down the steps.

Karina looks up at me with an arched brow. It wouldn’t be the first time she followed a warm-up act, if only that’s what this was. I look past her to the darkened street .

“It’s late,” I say to Castellano’s back. “I have a driver outside. He’ll take you home.”

Then, Castellano surprises me.

“Oh,” she says brightly, spinning around and disarming me with a broad, devastating grin. “I’m not going home.” She looks at Karina, then back at me. “You two have a good night now.”

She unlocks the door to the studio, drawing a small frown from my brow. It’s almost seven pm… Surely she’s finished training for the day? Unless, she’s going back inside to get ready to go somewhere else… The thought scratches at something in my brain. The other girls who left earlier were dressed like, well, fair game, if you ask me. They were going out -out.

Karina approaches, dousing me in a cloud of Opium perfume. “Good evening, Mr. Bernadi,” she purrs in a deep, throaty voice, then kisses my cheek, lingering until the warmth pulls me back to where I’m meant to be.

She threads her fingers through mine and pulls me into the apartment, kicking the door closed. I glance at the open door to the bathroom with slight longing. I probably have blood splatters on my face and fingers. But Karina has seen it all before. Made men are discreet when it matters, but when it comes to their sexual exploits, they may as well believe they’re Rupert fucking Murdoch. I know I’m not the only mafioso Karina has entertained. The woman has earned her yacht .

I kick the door to the bathroom closed too. I’ll shower in the morning.

Exactly one hour later and I’m experiencing yet another first. I’m apologizing to a hooker because I can’t get it up.

And now I’m cursing the fact she’s a bit too well-connected for my liking.

“I’m not taking your money, baby,” she drawls, as she turns to let me do up the zipper on the back of her dress.

I glare at her. “Yes you are, because nothing untoward happened here, okay? I fucked you. I paid you. Alright?”

Her brow twitches. “Benito…” She bends at the knees and brings her face to mine. “Who was that girl?”

Her Russian accent is thick as gelatin.

I roll my shoulders back. “What girl?”

“The girl who was here when I arrived.”

I feign a frown. “There was no girl here when you arrived.”

She tilts her head to one side. If there’s one thing a man will never get past a call girl, it’s relationship bullshit, which irritates me because I’m not even in a fucking relationship.

I sigh impatiently and force a note of boredom into my tone. “If you mean the girl who came to check I was still alive after hearing gunshots, that was my boss’s future sister-in-law who happens to study dance at the studio below this apartment.”

Karina’s head tips backward and she eyes me from beneath long, flawless lashes. “She came to check on you.” She smiles. “How sweet.”

I stand, leaving Karina crouched low. “She is not sweet. She’s a brat.”

“Milaya…” Darling … She straightens and meets me, eye to eye. “A brat is a teenager. The ‘brat’ who came to check on you this evening was no teenage girl.” She stands flush against me and brings her lips to my throat. “She was all woman .” She lifts her lashes slowly until they graze my jawline. “And your dick knows it.”

I squeeze my eyes closed. I don’t need to hear this. I uncurl another roll of notes. “Here’s a tip.”

Her eyes pop at the five hundred I just gifted her for nothing.

“This conversation is closed.”

She slides the notes into the pocket of her Vivienne Westwood trench. “What conversation?” she asks with a wicked glint in her eye. “From what I recall of our hour together Benito, there was no conversation.”

I plant a slow kiss on her cheek. “And that’s why you’re the best in the business, Karina.”

Her smile, for once, is authentic and only intensified when she clasps her fingers around my chin, channeling my focus on what she says next. “I’ve known you a long time, Benito. You like this woman…”

I’m about to open my mouth to argue but she slams a hand over it. I wouldn’t permit that from anyone but her. “So stop fucking around and do something about it.”

I roll my eyes. She doesn’t understand mafia family dynamics, but she even slays that thinking to a pulp. “I don’t care whose fucking sister-in-law’s niece’s auntie’s next-door-neighbor-but-twelve she is. I’ve never seen you feel before. So it doesn’t matter who she is, only that she’s yours.”

Before I can assert that Contessa Castellano is not mine, and in fact, that would be her worst nightmare realized, Karina is heading out the door and down the steps. I stand at the top, wearing the same pair of boxers and an unbuttoned shirt, watching her departing back.

“Stay safe,” I call after her. She turns and jangles a set of keys, and the Tesla logo glimmers in the fluorescent light. That woman knows exactly what she’s doing and who she’s playing.

The second the door closes behind her, another one opens and in a matter of seconds I’m staring at a completely different set of long, flawless lashes—only these are a hundred percent natural.

“That was a short date,” Contessa says, a smirk lifting one corner of her mouth.

A thread of annoyance winds itself around my brain. “Who says it was a date?”

“You mean you didn’t even offer to cook dinner?” Her jaw falls in mock horror.

“You’ve seen my apartment,” I say, shrugging one shoulder. “I barely have enough room to make coffee.”

Her cheeks turn pink and I know she’s remembering how she had to come to my aid in operating the coffee machine. But something sobers behind her eyes. Possibly the realization that I did indeed only intend to fuck the woman that just left.

“Well, goodnight Bernadi.”

She pulls the door of the studio closed and is about to open the door to the street when something sharp drives through my chest.

“I didn’t sleep with her,” I blurt out.

She stops dead still and I hold my breath.

Slowly, her head turns, her dark hair falling over her face. “That’s none of my business,” she whispers.

Whatever sharp thing is in my chest twists painfully. I’m suddenly lost for words.

I find myself, for the first time in my life, feeling weak. Bernadis never admit weakness. Weakness means death, and I will not die for anyone.

I remember the car on the corner. I resume my dry, soulless tone. “My driver will take you home.” She opens her mouth to object but I beat her to it. “Cristiano’s orders.”

Her mouth snaps shut and she opens the door. Karina’s words ring in my ears no matter how hard I try to push them away. She’s yours .

Contessa Castellano will never be mine, so there’s no point in imagining anything else.