Looking her dead in the eyes, Bruno shook his head, slow and unyielding. Groaning, he kissed her pussy like he kissed her pouty, heart-shaped mouth ? dominating and unforgiving. She tasted as good as she looked, sweet with potent levels of pheromones, that he relished every drop of it. He then started on her body again. Greedily, he sent her screaming into orgasm, over and over. Her entire body moving in a tidal wave of pleasure as his tongue flicked across her clit, sliding into the shallow depths of her pussy, enjoying her juices. Nothing else mattered in that moment.
Satisfied she’d had enough, he eased off the table, his hands reaching behind her knees. He tugged her ass to the table’s rim.
A slow, sexy smile spread across her lips. Obliging, she spread her legs wide.
He smirked. Without warning, he thrust into her pussy, hard enough to let her know who was in charge, he groaned sensuously as she let out a whimper. Ramping up the speed, her pussy walls swelled around his cock. Crossing over to his bestial side, he pounded harder, gripping her thighs tight. Wetness shot from her pussy, running down onto her inner thighs and his balls. They both groaned at the same time as he released inside of her, balls deep, thrusting one last time as hot cum shot into her core. Moments passed as they both came down from their earth-shattering climax. Her eyes were tired and heavy, but his eyes remained glued to hers. His callous palm smoothed over her soft skin. Kissing her nose, he inhaled her scent again. The sweet, warm cocoon of them being together made him feel supreme once again, sending a shiver up along his spine.
“Bruno,” she whispered.
Fuck that voice, that soft, vulnerable voice.
Scooping her up in his arms, he carried Annie upstairs to their bedroom, all his fatigue forgotten. Laid her down so she was stretched out across the sheets. Staring at her, Bruno wondered what had made her stay so long. She should have sent his ass packing long ago. Bruno always told her she’d regret falling for him and yet, she allowed herself to love him anyway. For now. She’d laughed when he told her this. There were still some rough edges she’d like to smooth out but she said she hadn’t minded that.
He often wondered whether over time, she would come to resent, or would she love him unconditionally as he loved her? When her breathing changed, and he knew she was asleep, Bruno pulled on his jacket and sitting on the edge of the bed, kissed her on the cheek then went out the door.
Chapter Seven
Framed….
Beyond the grubby southeast outskirts of San Diego, the wealth of the city took over, although it was shrouded now in the black of night. Bruno De Luca drove slowly past darkened homes, all bitterly larger than his own and the fancy-ass shops locked behind security bars until morning. As he approached the far end of Salio Drive, just before it connected to the main street, the road narrowed, marked by a thick neon signpost for the nightclub, Viscous. This too, belonged to the reigning mafia kingpin, Vincent Castillo. It was a place Bruno went to a lot and was a huge deal around here.
Bruno’s car rumbled up to the nightclub. Killing the engine, he stepped outside. Eyeing the place over, he grinned. It was anyone’s guess why the boss had requested his presence, but the big man didn’t mind at all. An absurd number of people queued around the block to get inside the most exclusive club on the east coast. Seeing a light on upstairs, he knew the boss was inside. The man had seemed calmer once the gunman was dead in the ground. Though evidently, not calm enough to sleep.
Bruno strolled right up to the door, oblivious to the whiny complaints from those waiting in line. As he neared the entrance, the enormous security guard ? arms muscular creations with bulging veins snaking, and a carved, severe expression on his face ? moved aside, pulling back the red velvet rope.
De Luca entered, without sparing a single word to the doorman.
Inside, the fluorescent lighting bounced off the hospital-slick shiny floors. Alive with an electric heartbeat from the DJ booth, the club was filled at this hour. It was well worth the half an hour commute into town. Heading over to his usual table, he sat down and jumped into a conversation with Blade and Johnny. When his phone vibrated with orders from the boss, he knew the fun was over and raced upstairs to join him.
Outside the old man’s office, he raised a knuckled fist to the door. Before he could knock, a thunderous fury he recognized as Castillo’s voice caused him to pause. It sounded like the man was alone, his heavy footsteps pacing the room in a stormy temper. Leaning close, he blocked out the sound of the booming music in the club below and listened with his free ear to what was being said.
“Believe me when I tell you this,” the boss growled. “I’ll break every fucking bone in your body before I go down. Least of all for a crime I didn’t commit.” A promise. Not a threat. Castillo didn’t do threats.
Holy. Fucking. Shit. There was no fucking way…. Had the body parts they’d only just disposed of been recovered? No. Even if they had, how could they have been linked to Castillo or himself so quickly?
All he knew for sure was that the law had launched a total war against organized crime in the past few months. The state of San Diego had received a hundred million dollars from Congress to get rid of organized crime and was determined to win this war. Perhaps, they were only clutching at straws. And besides, by that time, Castillo carried that much around in a suitcase. What could they do to him?
The boss continued, his voice verging on a blind motherfucking rage, “There’s no fucking way you’ll get away with this. I swear on my mother’s grave, on my father’s legacy, you take me to court, I’ll pick up the phone and send somebody to bring me your kneecaps. How’d you like that?” Whoever had gotten themselves on the wrong side of Vincent Castillo was about to learn this man had what law enforcement didn’t. The Castillo family had the fear of God and the fear of the .22 behind the judge’s ear. “I can make that contract any time, and I’ll have you. Boiled, baked or fried within 24 hours. That’s the way it’s done in my family.”
Bruno took a step back from the door. Not out of fear, out of shock. He’d never heard the man confess to what he might do, so openly. It was too dangerous and simply wasn’t done. One tape-recorded call like this, and he could go down for the next decade. Castillo may not have been worried, but Bruno was. Had he cracked? Maybe the boss really was losing it.
On a growl, came the sound of the landline phone slamming down onto the receiver.
A tendril of unease slid through the big man outside the door.
No sound emitted from the room after that.
Heedful, Bruno waited a short while before colliding his knuckles with the door. Once. Twice—
“De Luca?” called the boss, voice threatening and abrupt.
At the boss’ words, the door trembled beneath Bruno’s knuckles. Yanking the door wide, he stepped into Castillo’s office. His dark brown eyes sweeping around. The small room was tidy, unpretentious and homely. A rare steak lay forgotten on the antique desk, a hunk of meat lay on his fork across the plate. Five or so feet behind the desk was the window, the boss stood alone, heels together, hands cupped, arms hanging straight down like a military soldier, staring out. The air in the room was choking and smoggy like he’d been mainlining cigarettes, and smelled sharply of immediate grief.
Bruno tore off his jacket, tossed it onto the hat tree beside the door, and moved deeper into the room. “Evening, boss,” he said, stepping into the office. “How you doing?”
“You’re late,” Castillo quipped without looking at him. Castillo was a unique man. Sure of himself. Abrupt.
“It won’t happen again, boss,” Bruno replied. Stepping closer, he repeated his question, “So how you doing?”
