Inked: A Bad Boy Next Door Romance (21 page)

Of course. If it wasn't enough that he was built like a god, he was interested only in his ability to use his body in his duties, and maybe secondarily in his ability to seduce women. He wasn't trying to look the way he did. He just wanted to be more lethal in his work. That he was making me hotter than I'd been in years was beside the point.

I messed around with some of the equipment while he focused on his work, not really working all that hard but just getting a decent little workout while my eyes got to take in the display of human physical perfection in front of me. By the end of his last set, his shirt was soaked and his blond hair was a shade darker from sweat that ran down his skin in diamond rivulets, and I could feel that my panties were soaked, but not from sweat.

“I'm going to get changed,” I said, getting up shakily from the leg extension machine I'd been on and wiping my forehead. “Do you think you can pick me up tomorrow at about eleven to go to Angela's grave?”

“That's fine,” Daniel replied, wiping his own forehead. “I asked your mother, and she told me I could stay in a guest room tonight anyway. If you need me for anything, I’ll be close by.”

“Okay. Thanks. See you later, Daniel.”

“Buona sera, Adriana.”

I laughed and turned at the door, giving him a grin. “Twenty-five years in this house, and your Italian still absolutely sucks. You sound like you're hacking at the syllables with a machete.”

He grinned back and ran his hand through his hair. “It's what you get when your tutors are a bunch of third-generation guidos. Besides, I'm much, much better with my French technique, if you ever want to find out.”

I laughed and left the gym, forcing myself down the hallway because there was nothing more my body wanted to do than to turn around and find out exactly how good he was. I hoped that my desire would ease with distance, but instead, I was still overheated when I got back to my old room and fell into the soft mattress, groaning in frustration. “Fuck it. Time for a cold shower.”

* * *

T
he next morning
, precisely at eleven, I found Daniel waiting for me in the foyer, dressed not in the casual clothes he'd worn the last week for me, but instead in a black, somber suit, looking for all the world like a Secret Service agent. I’d also dressed for the trip, wearing a black dress that I'd always kept ready, knowing the sort of lifestyle my family had. Mob daughters have to go to funerals too often, in my opinion.

“Ready?” Daniel asked, standing up and buttoning his coat. I looked and was touched that next to him were a dozen roses in a basket, mixed white and red, ready for me. “I asked the gardening staff to pick out the best.”

“Thank you,” I said, my throat tight with emotion. He might have most of the time alternated in his personality between that of the Terminator or a cocky Lothario, but I too often forgot that he actually did have a tender, observant side to him. “They're beautiful, and I know Angela would have liked them. Come on. I'd like to save my tears for the graveside, if you don't mind.”

Daniel drove me in his BMW, back in his silent mode but slightly more comforting than he'd been earlier in the week. When we got out, the bright sunlight dazzled me, and he silently offered me a pair of Ray-Bans from his inner coat pocket. I put them on and walked with him to the grave site.

It wasn't that hard to find. The dirt was still freshly turned and the Astroturf that had been laid on top screamed out against the dark, rich green of the surrounding grass. I had to resist the urge to reach down and tear the plastic off, at least tearing away the lie that under the turf wasn't just a pile of dirt but the body of my best friend.

“I hate the turf,” Daniel said quietly, his hands crossed in front of him. “I remember that from Bucky Francetti's funeral last year. They'd lined the edges of the hole with it, and it looked to me like they were making a mockery of him with it.”

“Some people are comforted by it, I guess,” I said, kneeling and laying the flowers on top of the small mound. “Twenty-three years. She was too young and too good to end up like this.”

“I didn't know her, but I saw her once when you brought her by the Don’s house,” Dan said softly. “She did seem like a good person. I'm sure you’re right.”

“I've spent the past week wishing that I'd gone to Uncle Carlo before that day, saying I needed help and protection. I was scared out of my mind, but putting on a front for everyone. If I had and you were there . . .”

“You can't beat yourself up about it, Ade. Besides, even if the Don had assigned me a week earlier or two weeks earlier, or whatever, it wouldn’t have stopped what happened to her. My duty would be to keep you safe and protected, and I would’ve been with you, not back at the apartment with her.”

I turned and stepped closer to Daniel, reaching up and putting my hand on his shoulder. “You have kept me safe, and I thank you. For the past week, I've felt more secure and safer than I have in months. Maybe in my entire life.”

His hand came to rest on my hip, and we came closer until my body pressed against him. His lips lowered toward mine, and I tilted my head, wanting at that moment for nothing more than to feel his kiss. I could tell in his eyes that he wanted it too, when suddenly, he pushed me away, taking a step back. I nearly fell on my ass as I stepped back, the heel of my shoe catching on the edge of the Astroturf blanket on top of Angela's grave. “What the fuck?”

“We can't,” Daniel said, stepping back again. He turned and scanned the area, his head moving like a radar dish. “For both of our sakes—we can't.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Don't tell me that you don't want me,” I hissed, stepping around to look him in the eye. “I saw it in your eyes just now, and I've seen it in your eyes before. Tell me you don't want me!”

“Of course I do,” Daniel said, his eyes flickering with desperation and anger and something else. “But I can't, Adriana. Like I said, for both our sakes.”

“What do you mean?” I asked softly, my anger fading as I saw the emotion in his icy blue eyes.

“It can never be just the two of us, Ade,” Dan said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “First—and I'm not bragging—I'd ruin you for other men. I've made that mistake in the past, and while I'm more than willing to fuck some skank and leave her wanting me for years afterward, you're better than that. I won't ruin your life, because no other man is going to compare to me.”

“So why does there ever have to be anyone else?” I asked, putting my hand on his chest. “You and I, we've been eyeing each other for a long time. I think I can make my own decision about whether you're the type of man I want.”

“You know nothing!” Daniel hissed, pushing my hand down. Seeing the hurt in my eyes, his face softened, filled now with more hurt, and for the first time in his life, fear. “If I ever touch you, if I ever do what I want to do, I'm a dead man. Don Bertoli has promised me that much. And I'm also worried about something more.”

“What?”

“I'm worried that you're a dead woman as well,” Daniel said softly. “I can face my own death, Ade. I've never had a life of my own, except what Carlo Bertoli has gifted me with. But I won’t see you dead. I . . . I care about you too much for that.”

Daniel blinked and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out another set of sunglasses, this time mirrored aviators. He slipped them on, obliterating my view of his blue eyes, and his face seemed to lose all traces of emotion, once again the perfect Terminator. “I'll wait a few rows away until you're done saying your farewells to Angela.”

T
he next day
, Monday night, after dropping off Adriana, I was back at the Starlight Club, wearing one of my suits. I was desperate and needed to do something to get my mind right.

Never, in the close to ten years that I'd been doing work for Don Bertoli, had I drifted so close to disobeying an order from him. And the rule I'd nearly broken wasn't some minor little thing like wearing the wrong type of tie or being a little short on a pickup from one of the businesses under his protection. Screw up like that, and you'd get a few words, and maybe be punished with making it up out of your own pocket. For someone with my rank within the Don's organization, I'd get a frown at most and be tasked with going back out to make sure things were rectified as soon as possible.

But what I almost did would be like breaking one of the Ten Commandments, a sin that could never be atoned for. Every man in Don Bertoli's organization, from the lowest lackey to even Pietro Columbu, his second in command, had been taken aside by the Don and told in no uncertain terms from the time she was eleven years old and started puberty—Adriana was not to be touched.

And the day before, I'd nearly lost it. Her lips had been so close, her green eyes so filled with soft desire, her generous curves so perfect pressed against me. I'd nearly damned us both. It had taken every ounce of my willpower to push her away and step back, and I'd tried the night before to get rid of my weakness by myself, jacking off until my cock ached and I felt like a guilty teenager again. It hadn't helped, and the next day, my desire had returned in full strength, fueled even more by the outfit she'd worn, her legs amazing in those tiny little shorts. I couldn't trust myself, being constantly distracted, and I knew I acted like a total asshole, barely talking at all through most of the day until we were both relieved when Julius showed up again, right on time to do his night shift.

So I found myself at the Starlight Club, one of my suits on like a suit of armor more than a layer of blended wool. If I couldn't be the man who could resist Adriana, then come hell or high water, I could remember that I was a Bertoli man, one of the best fucking Bertoli men there was. And Bertoli men were allowed—in fact, sometimes even encouraged—to do what I was about to do. I looked up at the sign and figured it was worth a try.

The Starlight Club was pretty quiet, but it was a Monday night, and there were only perhaps a dozen patrons inside, their sweaty faces looking slack and simian under the dim lights.

“Welcome, sir,” the manager said, coming out from behind the bar to shake my hand. We'd known each other for a while, since I was the man most often tasked with the pickups at the club. The manager always had his payment on time and ready to go in a simple white envelope, and we'd enjoyed a couple of conversations in the spare time I had. “Business or pleasure?”

“Both,” I said, distracted. When he gave me a concerned look, I waved it off. His cash was secure for tonight. “Not that type of business. Tell me, is there a girl named Carmen working tonight?”

“Yeah, she's scheduled for a dance in five,” the manager said, relaxing. This sort of business he had no problems discussing. “She said you looked interested last time you were here.”

“I am,” I said, reaching into my coat and taking out two hundred-dollar bills folded together. I held them out, raising an eyebrow. “Think you might be able to reschedule the dance, let me have some private time with her?”

“What type of private time?” he asked while still making the money disappear. While ninety-nine percent of the customers probably suspected it, only the select few like me were permitted access to the other services the Starlight Club offered. “Carmen's one of my best. She's pretty pricey. She’s selective as to who she gives private time to.”

“I bet,” I said, reaching back inside and showing the wad of cash I had with me. Bertoli rewarded his men handsomely, and I lived a frugal lifestyle. “Tell her if she's worth it, she's not going to need to dance for a month afterward if she wants.”

“And what do I get? Sorry, business and all.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, and he quavered a bit. He knew what I could do, and he'd be lucky that I didn't just destroy the entire club. I unbuttoned my coat, showing him the Beretta in a holster under my left arm, then reached into the pocket next to it and pulled out another hundred-dollar bill. “That's three, plus a bonus for you personally if Carmen's worth my time and money. Good enough?”

“Yes, sir,” the manager stammered, stepping back. He reacquired his smile quickly though, and swept his arm to his left. “If you'll just follow me, I'll make sure you're comfortable before getting Carmen.”

I shook my head, pushing past him. “I know where to go. Get Carmen and send up some bottle service. The good stuff, none of that fake label shit you pass off on the mooks.”

I went into the VIP room and hung up my jacket, sitting on the reclining couch. I'd had my choice of places to go. Don Bertoli controlled most of the places like this in the Seattle-Tacoma area, but I didn't need whips, chains, or anything kinky. Not that I had anything against it, but my cock was more than enough for the women I dealt with.

Carmen was quick, coming in like a little pixie in her green silk robe and no heels. She was tiny, maybe five feet tall if you were being generous, with long, thick black hair and large doe eyes that I bet made most men think she was performing just for them when she was on stage or in a private dance. Her blindingly white teeth were perfectly even, and I wondered how a girl so pretty wasn't trying to make a living doing something else. But hell, I’m the last man who should judge anyone. Besides, I didn’t know her or her circumstances.

“Hey, Papi,” Carmen said, sauntering her way across the room and sitting next to me, placing a hand on my thigh where it lay light and warm, enticing. “When Terry came in and said you were out here, I was so excited I had to get here as quick as I could. I hope you don't mind that I forgot my heels.”

I knew she was lying—it was part of her appeal, I was sure. On stage, the high heels added to the act, but in private, she could be the naughty young girl much more easily. “I bet. So I guess you've been thinking about me?”

“You have no idea,” she said, turning more toward me and rubbing her tiny little hand over my chest through my shirt. “I haven’t been able to keep you out of my mind all week. In fact, I've done some naughty things while thinking about you.”

I chuckled, trying to relax into the lying fantasy. With some of the women I’d been with, lies were necessary, and I certainly didn't want to know the truth in a lot of cases anyway. “So how about after the bottles get here, you and I talk about those naughty things some more?”

Carmen pouted, and I had to admit she could pull off the hurt, innocent look very well. “I'd like to show you if you'd let me.”

I nodded and reached for the knot on her robe. “Perfect. But I have to warn you, Carmen. I'm not an easy man to please.”

She let me undo the bow, leaving her robe held closed just by the simple crossing of her belt, a bit more of her cleavage becoming visible in the extra slack. “I know all about you. Two of the girls in the back tonight are hatin' on me right now. You're a legend, both for your generosity and your . . .”

The bottles arrived, and while it wasn't Dom Perignon, it wasn't cheap trash either. I let her pop the first cork and pour us both a glass, trying to grin as she let a little bit 'accidentally' splash on her robe, the thin fabric sticking to her skin. “Oops.”

I waved it off and took a fifty-dollar bill out of my shirt pocket, where I'd transferred my stash for the night. “Here, you might need to have that dry cleaned.”

“Mmm, you’re generous. The girls said you'll ruin me, but as generous as you are, I may just have to risk it. You mind if I dance some for you?”

“Of course not,” I said, gesturing with my glass toward the tiny little dance area in the middle of the room. “But start with the robe on. It looks sexy on you.”

She smiled at my compliment as she walked out, her ass swishing from side to side as she did. She went over to the sound system and punched in a song. The room's soundproofing took care of eliminating the crappy pop and bass-heavy hip-hop the main room had and replaced it with smooth, sexy Spanish-influenced cool jazz. I was surprised. “Not what I expected, but nice.”

“The average jackass out there can't appreciate the finer things like you do,” Carmen said, letting her body sway side to side as the music filled the room. She danced well, letting her clothes come off at a slow enough pace that she wasn't just peeling them off to get down to business.

Still, the whole time she danced, my eyes were glued more to the green of her robe than the ripe swell of her breasts, and to the red of her lipstick. The green was so much like Adriana's eyes, the lipstick so much like her hair. My cock twitched, starting to swell in my pants, but not because of the hot girl in front of me.
Shit
.

I blinked my eyes, throwing back the rest of my glass and grabbing the bottle by the neck, sucking deep from the green glass. Carmen smiled, a naughty angel smile as she saw my reaction, thinking it was because of her dance and her seduction skills. Bringing herself closer, she pulled off her bra, leaving her in a tissue paper-thick G-string and some little rhinestones that she'd attached around her right eye with spirit gum for decoration. “Mmm, I can't resist anymore,” she said, climbing into my lap and grinding on my lap. “Isn’t this where we were last time before we got so sadly interrupted?”

“Someplace like that,” I said, reaching around and grabbing a handful of her ass in a last desperate attempt to put my focus on where it needed it to be, and not on the Italian-Scotch woman who was in the forefront of my mind. “Much better music, though.”

“One thing,” Carmen said, lifting her breast to my mouth. I sucked, letting my tongue flicker over her coffee-colored nipple, which hardened almost immediately in my mouth, and she threw her head back, moaning. “Oh shiiiit . . . but the rules.”

“And the rules are?” I asked, letting go. My cock was hard, but I just wasn't into it, and the break in the flow wasn't helping. I’d hoped to let my instincts take over. After all, pussy is pussy. But her words irritated me.

She noticed and gave me her best attempt at a heart-stopping smile. “Nothing bad, Papi. Just we have to have protection. Do you have your own, or should I get some from my robe?”

“Of course. I have my own,” I said, not minding the
rule
. I may have been with a few women, but I wasn’t stupid. I always used protection. “That's fine. And nothing kinky. Not tonight.”

“Mmm, you’re too good to be true,” Carmen said, rubbing back and forth. She kissed my nose, then around to my neck, licking and sucking while she dry-humped me.

I closed my eyes, trying to lose myself in the feeling of this spicy little sexual nymphet on my lap, but I couldn't get Adriana's face out of my mind. Groaning, I threw my head back, pushing Carmen away. “This just isn’t going to work. Get off.”

“But, why?” she whined, still climbing off. She knelt in front of me, reaching out and cupping my cock through my pants. “Your big friend here says he wants me, and he's bigger than I've ever had. Please, Papi? You've got me so hot. I need it. A real man, for once in my life.”

Carmen lowered her eyes and leaned forward, kissing the crotch of my pants. She was moaning, and I could tell she was serious about it. She would have fucked me even for no money by that point, but I couldn't. For the first time in my life, I had a willing, desperate woman there, ready for me to fuck her, and I couldn't do it. “No, Carmen. Go away.”

“Come on, I need you,” she said, reaching for my belt. Her hand froze and her eyes jerked up when she heard the click of the hammer on my Beretta.

“I said go, Carmen,” I said evenly, with no inflection in my voice. It was my enforcer voice, the one that made men a lot more hardened than Carmen piss their pants in terror. The barrel pointed between her eyes, an inch from her forehead, probably looking like a cannon from her perspective. “Get the fuck out.”

She whined in fear as she scooted back and ran from the room, not screaming but clearly scared out of her mind. I stared at the fucking gun in my hand and shuddered, lowering the hammer carefully before putting it on safe and placing it back in my holster. Had I really just done that? I must’ve been fucking losing it.

I grabbed my coat and put it on, not caring about if my tie was screwed up or not. Walking out, the manager looked at me with fear in his eyes, and I knew Carmen had told him what just happened. “For your troubles,” I said, pulling out the rest of the bills I'd brought and handing them to him. “Tell Carmen . . . tell her I'm sorry.”

His fingers shook as he took the pile from me, and he didn't even count it as he tucked it in his shirt. “Yes, sir,” he stammered. “But sir—”

“You take five hundred for the trouble and half a bottle drunk, and give her the rest. Fair enough?”

He nodded, his eyes still wide in fear, and I left the club, stalking out into the night. I climbed into my BMW and started the engine, leaving twenty feet of black rubber on the pavement as I peeled out of the parking lot.

What the fuck had I been thinking? Pulling my pistol just because a girl wanted to suck my cock? The worst part was, I was ready to pull the trigger. All because it was Carmen who was on her knees and not who I needed. Fuck, it wasn't even that I
wanted
her anymore. I
needed
her. I needed Adriana.

And I couldn't tell Don Bertoli. If I went to him and told him that I couldn't continue to protect his niece because I wanted to fuck her more than anything else in the world, I wouldn't even be able to get the sentence all the way out of my mouth before my corpse hit the floor. I couldn't quit.

“You're in deep shit,” I whispered to my reflection in the rearview mirror as I drove. “Deep shit indeed.”