ONE
AVA
That whole thingabout saying another man’s name while in bed with a different man? It’s a cliché, but true for me. I had a string of names on the tip of my tongue.Luca. Brando. Rocco. Dario. Romeo. Ohh, Romeo.However, since it’s considered bad form, I moaned and bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.
It wasn’t like the man wasn’t hot. He was more mature, with a body that was naturally fit. He smelled like expensive cologne. The kind I wanted to keep inhaling. His skin was tan and smooth. His hair was slicked back and the color of jet stone. He had better hair than some twenty-somethings that I’d gone out with. He screwed better than any twenty-something I’d been with. He knew how to please a woman.
His stamina? I was half his age, or less, and I was covered in sweat, begging for sweet relief to sweep over me like a cool wind. My body needed to snap, and my reality to go spiraling into oblivion. At least for a few precious seconds.
Looking into his eyes, I wasn’t sure if he would be offended by me thinking of other men anyway. I wasn’t sure if he was truly into me either. This was, for the both of us, a hook-up of convenience.
He was there. I was there. And there was some mutual physical attraction between us. Enough to push us into bed together. The only thing that could complicate things was the fact that he was my sister’s uncle-in-law. It also had the potential to make things awkward. Brio was a younger version of Tigran, and Brio was married to my sister. Again, though, this was all about getting our fixes and nothing more.
I thought of those names again.
All thoughts froze in time when my body finally snapped and gave in. I wiggled like a worm on a hook as reality faded and pure bliss took its place. It was hard-earned bliss, and I reveled in it. From the intense look on his face, he was having the same reaction.
Tigran Macaluso slipped out, resting on his side, a grin on his handsome face. He was half Armenian and half Italian. Some said he was the leader of the Armenian mafia in New York. I agreed. It was my business to know these things. My literal, actual business. I got paid to snoop around the most dangerous men and then write pieces about them forVice City Press. I had moles all around the city, but nothing compared to getting the meat off the bone myself.
“This is the moment we should both light a cigarette,” I said. “And say something profound, like…well done.”
He laughed a little, but the quiet after his laughter faded unnerved me some. At this point in the proceedings, I’d already be grabbing my things and getting out. Or starting another round again, especially if the guy was really into it. I felt an obligation to Tigran to a certain degree, though, since he was my brother-in-law’s uncle. Didn’t want things to get awkward at the next holiday gathering or anything.
“Who is she?” I blurted.
Yeah, asking him who he was thinking of while fucking me wouldn’t make things awkward too. Not at all.
He sighed. “You first.”
“Ohh, a game. Fun.” I smiled to cover the wince when he reached out and moved a strand of hair out of my eye. I didn’t play this game. Ever. But he was different. And I didn’t have a problem with being honest with him. I just didn’t want all the touchy feely shit, so I put pressure on his hand to keep it from doing soft things to me. “The Fausti family.”
“The entire family?”
“I have a few favorites. But yeah. The family in general.”
“I’ve heard things about you being obsessed with them. I suppose the rumors are true.”
“Guess so.” I shrugged. “It’s a dream of mine to write a piece on them.”
“Some dream,” he said, his voice rough.
“What? They’re one of the most powerful families in the world. They’re considered royalty in Italy.”
“They’re also considered one of the most dangerous families in the world.”
“Exactly.” I pointed a finger at him. “Who wouldn’t want an exclusive look behind their gates?”
He went to bite it, but I snatched it back. “Most people, actually. Especially if they value their hearts.”
I waved a hand. “That little thing? The heart stealing? It only happens if they’re double crossed, and not to women—that I know of. I’ve done so much research, but their secrets are like gold. They hide them well.”
“Remember this, Ava Girardi: to some people, like the Fausti family, secrets are worth more than gold. You go digging around? You might find yourself without a heart—woman or not—for a gem that’s not even worth your time, much less your life.”
“I can tell the difference between fool’s gold and the real thing. It’s what makes me so good at what I do.”
“Uncovering secrets from the underworld and exploiting them?”
“It’s a dangerous job, but someone’s got to do it.”
