REMEDY: A Mafia Romance (Return to Us Trilogy Book 3) (13 page)

He doesn't say anything as he walks out the door.

***

Jacade

I tug my black baseball cap lower over my eyes as I approach the marina. I can just make out their figures as two men in suits shake hands on the bridge deck of The Enchantress. I pop in my earbud and call up the audio feed from Bernard's watch on my phone.

"We secure?" Gerry asks.

"Yes," Bernard answers. The headwind reduces the quality of the recording. But I can still decipher it. Jett always uses top-tier technology.

"Speak your mind," Gerry says.

"You and your side will back me in the vote," Bernard says.

"Not gonna happen. They back me."

Gerry's going to run against me too? Huh. They'll take each other out for me.

"You are not up for consideration," Bernard says.

"I damn well am, and I've called in enough markers to beat Trip."

"Tell your men to vote for me," Bernard orders.

"Fuck you."

"No, let me fuck you. Right now. I know you killed Vera, and I'll take it to Raymond."

"You have no evidence."

"I do. Ivy's the spitting image of Vera."

Fuck, Bernard. Fuck you, dirty old man, for throwing Ivy to the sharks like chum.

"What do you mean?"

"Ivy's your daughter. She's the bastard child you made with Vera before you killed her."

I focus on the frosty water as it swells against the hull of the yacht. A swift hurricane sweeps across the lake and destroys the whole damn vessel, heaving these scumbags to a harrowing death.

"You still have Vera's ring you used to flaunt back in the day? The one that matches Helen's. Haven't seen you wearing it in a while," Bernard says.

The mention of a ring pulls me from my fantasy of these men disappearing in an act of god. Gerry wore Vera's ring back in the day? Like the day I met him at the police station and he left that ring on the sink? Holy shit.

"Back off, Bernard, or I'll announce at the next council meeting you like to take it up the ass," Gerry threatens.

"You do that, Gerry, your body will be washing up on the shore instead of Vera's." Bernard's anger turns to a cool, soothing tone. "Listen, go my way and keep your wife, your family, your career—all intact. We've been sitting opposite each other at that table for thirty-five years. I'd hate to have to take you down. Don't make this difficult."

"I'll go after Ivy and Helen." Boothby's voice shakes.

"Be my guest," Bernard answers with a cocky confidence. "And I'll return the favor to your wife. Your daughter should be home from school soon for the holidays, right?"

There's nothing but scratchy wind for a moment as I'm sure Gerry is swallowing the crow in his throat.

"Trip will retaliate," Gerry says meekly.

Shit. He caved.

"I will continue to manage Trip like I have been. He follows orders."

Fuck me. It's true. He controls me with Ivy.

Gerry turns to step off the ship. I make my exit from the marina before I'm spotted.

***

Ivy

On day five of our separation, I wear a short, emerald green satin nightie with coffee-colored lace trim for our phone call. We talk for hours, nothing too heavy, just getting to know each other better.

"Were you in a fraternity in college?"

"No. The council kept me busy working and training."

"Did you have any fun?"

He's quiet before he answers. "I stayed focused during my schooling. I felt I had to prove myself because of where I came from. No time for parties."

He calls at the usual time on days six, seven, and eight. Jacade is exceptionally charming on the phone, and I discover he likes to waylay serious topics with jokes and compliments.

"So, will I need to sign an NDA too?" I ask him.

"Not unless it's a No Diddling Alone agreement." As I'm laughing, he says, "You're captivating, you know. You move like a gazelle. An easy grace not many women can pull off."

The heat rises in my cheeks. "You must be on crack if you think I'm graceful."

"Nah, just high on you."

On day nine, I push the envelope and wear only my embroidered sapphire balconette bra with matching panties and an incredible pair of five-inch, blue-and-black Manolos. Just putting this outfit on and walking around in these shoes has my blood pumping, and I'm horny as hell. When my phone buzzes, I pick up and catch the end of his deep, guttural groan.

"What? You like?" I settle on the couch and cross my legs, one gorgeous shoe up in the air where I can stare at it and one planted in the couch cushions.

"Yes. I like. Very much."

"Mmm."

"Your tits are lethal. I'm gonna ram my cock between them."

"Oh." Oh my.

"I'm gonna fuck them long and hard. The tip of my dick will paint your chin with pre-come."

I swallow to clear the clog in my throat. "It will?" My voice wavers.

"Yes. And you'll open your mouth for me like a good girl, won't you? You'll stick out your tongue and beg to lick my head while I fuck your tits."

Oh boy. The dirty-talking doctor has returned.

"Yes," I say in a breathy voice.

"And you'll smile when I ice your face. You'll lick every drop of my come off your lips."

"Yes, Sir."

Jacade doesn't respond, our uneven breaths the only sound between us.

I put my phone on speaker and set it on the coffee table. My fingers search between the couch cushions and grasp my Magic Bullet. Without asking permission, I slide my panties down and kick them off.

"Ivy, no. Five more days till the five weeks is over," he says in a low, rugged voice.

No way. If he leaves me alone in my apartment but calls and talks filthy to me with his raspy voice, I don't care what Dr. Armond Kelch ordered, I'm gonna take matters to B.O.B.

The vibe buzzes on my clit. I writhe on the couch, wishing he was here.

"It's me." His voice is rough and urgent. "My mouth is on you. I'm sucking your clit. Holding your hips down so I can feast on your heavenly cunt."

He growls, and the sound of his clothes rustling comes over the line.

"I wish I could see you." It's difficult to talk right now, but our words connect us.

"You know what my cock looks like."

"Yeah, but I want to watch you jack yourself off."

"I see you," he mutters.

"I can hear you. I hear your hand pumping your giant cock."

"Yeah, baby."

His voice, the vibe, it all works too fast.

"Ahh!" I shout as an overwhelming climax forges through me. After a few seconds of tense silence—no breathing, nothing—he grunts and puffs out three loud breaths in a row.

I whimper and try to catch my breath as I come down from my orgasm. My tingling body sags into the couch, and my arms go slack at my sides.

"Fuck, babe." His velvet voice could melt chocolate.

"Don't hang up." I need this connection.

"I won't."

I know he won't. Anything I ask, he'll give me.

I take my phone to my bed and hug my pillow, pretending he's next to me and my hand is on his firm ass. I fall asleep listening to the sound of Jacade breathing over the line.

Finally, day ten arrives. The night of the vote. My phone rings earlier than normal.

"Hey."

"Hi." His voice is strung tight like an archer's bow.

If he would come over and drill that intensity into me, I could help him relax. But he needs to do this his way, so I don't push it.

"Good luck tonight," I say. Is that what a girl says before her boyfriend runs for mob boss?

"Thanks." He's quiet and withdrawing from me again.

I'm done avoiding the topic of my decision. After the phone sex and all the intimate words he's been whispering to me, the conclusion is foregone. "Win or lose, you come to me. Ten days is over."

"You're sure?"

"Never been more certain."

"It'll be late," he says.

"Don't care. Come home."

I bite my lip and take a deep breath. He has to say yes. It's time.

"Green nightie. No panties." His deep, commanding voice ignites in my belly.

"Yes, Sir."

Jacade

I take my chair next to Bernard, and Conroy starts the meeting with his moronic phone question.

"Raymond Carillo has ordered us to elect a new leader according the rules of the CSA constitution. Nominations from the floor, an appeal from each candidate, and the traditional blind vote. Majority winner is announced today, and we'll stand united behind the victor. No dissent after the vote. Internecine warfare will only weaken us. I'll open it up for nominations now."

Mahoney raises his hand. "I nominate Bernie Heldman." He leers at me.

Fuck you, fucktard.

Dr. Momen speaks up. "I nominate Jacade "Trip" Jordan."

"Anyone else?" Conroy asks.

Boothby shrinks under Bernard's glare. Coward.

"All right. Lowest rank goes first. Trip." He tips his head toward me.

I stand and take a deep breath. I imagine Ivy sitting in Viktor's empty chair. She's looking at me with bright green eyes as if I can do no wrong. I soak up the strength from her devoted gaze. I'm the undefeated champion—not becoming a loser now.

"Gentlemen, the time is upon us. You will be the founding fathers of a groundbreaking era. The organization has been heading this direction for some time, but I'm the one that's going to spearhead the revolution. We'll ramp up our legitimate investments and phase out narcotics, pharms, and cars over a five-year transitional period."

They're frozen, no sign of shock from any of them. Huh. Encouraging, I hope. Perhaps I haven't hidden my cards well, or they've been thinking in the same vein for a while too.

"The scholarship and training programs will continue as they are, except… we'll expand them to include women." That turns a few heads. "Women will be a tremendous asset for us. It's time to open the doors to them."

Bernard coughs, and Mahoney's jaw drops. Surprised, assholes?

"Candidates will still train in the fighting circuit." I turn my gaze to Mahoney. "But after the five-year transitional period, fighting will be above ground. In addition, effective immediately, we go in for extractions. No more leaving soldiers to die at the hands of our enemies." I make eye contact with Conroy.

I press my palms to the table. "Viktor compromised our position. The FBI sent Drake as a message to us. They're looking for informants. They'll offer witness protection and leniency to any of our associates willing to flip and testify. If they gather enough evidence to take it to trial, we'll all rot in federal cells next to our Italian counterparts. I don't know about you, but I enjoy the life I've built for myself and don't want to live out my years fighting to survive in an orange suit and pissing in a tin can."

I pull my shoulders back cross my arms over my chest.

"Legit revenue already accounts for eighty percent of net cash flow. We would only be phasing out twenty percent of profits, which can be easily replaced with a few well-planned investments. My success speaks for itself. I've been operating clean for five years and have seen respectable increases in gross income. Your children and wives will live free and safe. The next generation will not carry the burdens of guilt and fear that we all live with, but they will benefit from the clout and prestige we have accumulated. The change will be challenging, but worth it in the end. For our families and for ourselves. Thank you."

I take my seat and survey their reactions. The men exchange glances and a few eyebrows rise, but the overall vibe in the room is positive, apart from the tension rolling off Mahoney, Bernard, and Boothby.

"Bernie, you're next," Conroy says.

Bernard stands and clears his throat as he straightens his suit. His lips quirk in a smile.

Oh, you find this amusing? I don't see anyone else laughing, old man. I tap my finger against my thigh.

"Change will lead to our demise. Trust me, my compatriots, Trip's plan will leave you destitute. Instead, let's expand our narcotics operations to include shipping internationally. We should run elite escort services from our clubs and hotels. We're already fucking them, we'll just funnel them into the business and make a profit on it. There's a huge market in selling women overseas. We can ship them with the drugs."

What the fuck? The air in the room cracks and pops. Running hookers and human trafficking? He's insane to touch those markets. The Clemente Clan will declare war. It's suicide for all of us.

Dr. Momen sits up and places his elbows on the table. "What are you saying, Heldman?"

"I'm saying dream big. The money is out there, we just have to reach for it. Imagine doubling or tripling your income each year. Trip is young and idealistic. Always has been. I have forty years with this organization to his eighteen. I know this city and our role within it. We remain strong if we keep our value system as it is. Going legit means huge pay cuts for us all and a potential collapse of our infrastructure." He sits down with his smug-ass face.

Moron.

Mahoney speaks up. "So, Trip. We gonna be philanthropists? Ring a bell with a red pot in front of Walmart? We could sell Girl Scout cookies. I heard they make a huge profit on those."

I rise slowly and make eye contact with each one of them except Mahoney. You know me, fuckers. No bullshit. "There's no question Bernard holds rank over me. He's been a reliable leader for much longer than I have. But he's also old." I stop and look down at him. Why the sour face, Bernie? "You'll get ten years tops out of him. I'll be boss for thirty years before you'll need another vote." I let that sit for a beat. "I don't have to tell you the Midwest narcotics market is dominated by Clemente. Salvatore Lucero will not take kindly to infringement on his territory." I spread my feet and take a deep breath.

I smell fear. That's right, gentlemen. Bernard is proposing to take on the Italians. You game?

"There's several outfits moving goods through the port. Lucero won't even notice us." Bernard dismisses me like a child. "I've already worked out a cargo agreement with a carrier in Nigeria."

Fucking hell, Bernard.

"Who will be your right-hand man, Heldman?" Conroy's hands tremble as he points to Bernard.

"Trip," Bernard declares.

Yeah, right. In your dreams, motherfucker. If he wins, I'm a ghost. He'll never see me or Ivy again. My days under his thumb end tonight.

"And your second in command, Trip?"

Fuck. The crucial question. I don't know. I don't have anyone I can trust to take my back. "Well—"

"Me." Jett's deep voice resonates across the table as he swaggers through the door. He looks sharp in his Armani suit with his hair slicked back. A din of gasps and urgent muttering hits my ears. I give Jett a huge smile, welcoming him with a handshake and a grip on the shoulder.

"Jett. Good to see you, brother."

He waits for the commotion to settle and addresses the room. "The name's Jett Ellis, for those of you who don't recognize me." A few gasps echo across the table. "I haven't been to one of these meetings in ten years, but I came for Trip. And to let you know"—he lowers his chin and points a finger at Boothby then radiates it over to Bernard—"you fuck with him, you deal with me."

Ha! How does it feel to piss in your pants, men? You gonna mess with the most lethal and elusive hit man in history? This is precisely what I need. Jett's my ace in the hole.

"All right. That's enough. Let me explain the voting procedure," Conroy calls out.

I shake Jett's hand. "Thanks for taking my back, Jett."

"Anything for my little brother."

Thurman and Momen watch Jett's back as he exits.

Conroy's nasal twang fills the space. "The candidates will sit at the front of the room with their heads covered, backs to the door. Council members will enter one at a time. Votes are placed with a left palm on the right shoulder of the candidate of your choice. Your hand on his shoulder symbolizes your pledge to take his back if he wins. The candidate shows his trust in you by letting you approach him from behind while he is unarmed and blind."

Yep, hopefully no one blows my head off tonight while I'm in that chair.

"As acting boss, I'm the only one who will see the votes as they are placed. Twenty-one men will vote, eleven from North District." He nods at Boothby. "And ten from South." He angles his head toward Bernard. "Trip and Bernie, remove your jackets and take your seats." He pulls two chairs to the front of the room. "Everyone else, wait out in the hall. Mahoney, watch the door."

Bernard sneers at me and takes the chair to my left. I stare forward as a hollow silence coats the room and chokes my windpipe. Conroy covers my head with a black leather hood. The bitter cold of darkness overtakes me. I close my eyes and attempt to regulate the thumping in my chest.

Ivy's luscious lips slide up my neck
.

A naked Ivy waits in her bed for me, her legs spread and bound
.

The first hand presses my right shoulder. The weight lifts, and I inhale a breath of suffocating leather.

The swish of a touch to Bernard's shoulder raises the hair on my neck.

Press
.

Swish.

Press.

Press.

Swish.

The movement pauses. We have six votes each.

It could go either way from here.

Press.

Press.

Press
.

All nine of the remaining palms land on my right shoulder.

In the end, I have fifteen votes, and he has six. That means at least five of Gerry's men didn't cave to his coercion and voted for me.

I won. Fuck. I won! I knew they'd go for it. I pull the cover from my head and breathe fresh air. The men file back into the room—less Mahoney and Boothby. Bernard has to turn sideways to slide past the entering council members as he storms out the door.

"We have a new boss. Trip Jordan will lead the council into the future. Congratulations, Trip." Conroy smiles and raises my arm like he's done so many times in the ring. "The champion reigns."

The familiar rush of victory pumps through my veins, but my mind is on her. How long will it take me to get to her apartment from here?

"Thank you, my friend. Thank you, everyone. I promise I won't let you down."

Conroy babbles some shit about using the code to spread the word and unity during the transition. I shake hands and accept congratulations.

Now get the fuck out of my way. My woman is waiting for me.

I grab my jacket and tear through the doorway. The stairs clang as I take them two at a time. I pump my arms and race down the suburban streets of Chicago with a stupid grin on my face.

Oh shit. I almost ran past my Ferrari!

My feet skid as I hit the fob, and the door opens for me. My ragged breath fills the car. The tires screech on the street as I peel from the curb and fly to Ivy.