Lennon
Isit in the aftershocks of the earthquake that was my night with Sandro. The beautiful disaster that has turned my world upside down, my heart to rubble. I’m on the sofa, still in the auction dress, sand on my feet, trying to process what he told me.
The police said Mom walked in on a robbery in the hotel room. It never made sense to me why someone would risk killing her over some money. Most of the guests there were mob-affiliated in some way. Everyone knew better than to screw up and make a mess on their territory. But her walking in on a Russian mobster with a trafficked girl, yeah that would get her killed.
My mind has to rearrange, reshape the day of her death, what it entailed for her. The images I’m conjuring up are ugly and unbearable. She would have known immediately she was in trouble. The last thing she would’ve felt would’ve been raw terror.
My body hurts everywhere, my soul is numb. I’m drowning in a pitch-black pool of sorrow. I lean my head back and close my eyes. I can still feel Sandro’s arms wrapped around me, his lips on mine, the soreness between my legs that was pleasure just hours ago.His touch is a phantom imprint, haunting me. It was so freeing to replace the deep longing with joy for one night. To let go and indulge. But now the agony of being without him is a hundred times worse.
I’m a junkie. And my drug of choice is a beautiful mobster.
Against my will, my mind begins to explore the implications of what he told me. What he and Gunnar did. I’m so torn between the horror of how easy it was for him to kill a man, and the shameful fact that I’m glad the man is dead. I’m glad he’s not still walking around this earth, enjoying breathing after ending my mom’s life.
I also can’t help the warm feeling in my chest at the thought of Sandro caring enough to avenge my mother. And that makes me feel like a terrible person. I can’t condone murder. No matter how much the asshole deserved it. I mean, I don’t believe in an eye for an eye, do I? Actually, I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. What does justice for Mom look like? I’ll have to think about that later. When my brain isn’t mush.
The ache, the sorrow, the resurfaced anger, the magical night Sandro and I spent indulging in each other, it all swirls into one ball of chaos in my mind as I drift off into a restless sleep.
Chapter 28
Alessandro
Big Tony pulls into the parking garage beneath the condo.
“Fuck,” I spit as I watch Giada striding over to the elevators.
Big Tony sets his coffee cup into the holder and glances back at me. “You want to keep driving?”
I could, just so I don’t have to deal with her shit, but something in me is broken right now, and the Beast is stomping around on the shards of my heart, demanding blood. I hear it pulsing in my ears, feel it in the pressure behind my eyes. I swing the door open before he comes to a full stop and, with long strides, catch up to her just before she reaches the elevator.
I grab her arm, and she whirls around, brown eyes wide. Guess she didn’t hear me coming up behind her. Her fear gives me a perverse sense of satisfaction. “What are you doing here, Giada?”
Her fear morphs into rage as she takes in my appearance. She rips her arm from my grasp and rubs it. “Just getting home? I guess the rumors are true then. You bid on her at the auction.”
“If you’re referring to Lennon, my brother bid on her.”
A slow smile ghosts her mouth. Her dark eyes narrow. “Do you think I’m that stupid? You wouldn’t let Rocco near your precious whore.”
My hand is around her throat in a flash, her body pressed up against the elevator door. Her heavy perfume turns my stomach as I glare down at her, steam practically coming from my ears.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I squeeze harder, feeling the fluttering pulse and birdlike bones in her throat. “No, don’t answer that. Let me remind you that our organization isn’t actually a feminist one. No one gives a shit if a wife or girlfriend orfiancéwalks around with bruises or broken bones.”
Her voice is strained from my grip as she chokes out, “You wouldn’t.”
No, I wouldn’t.I don’t get off on hurting women. But she doesn’t know me. Not really. And if I have to make her believe I’m that kind of man to keep Lennon safe then I will. Because I do know Giada. She’s a vengeful cunt. “Try me.”
She arches her body forward, rubbing herself on my cock like a cat.
I jerk back in disgust. My hand loosens from her throat.
She shoots me a triumphant look, but it's mixed with malice. “Oh, Sandro. You do know how babies are made, right? The Commission will expect an heir, so you better get used to the idea ofmebeing the woman who owns your cock.”
She goes to reach for me, and I grab her wrist and hold it against her body. “I will do my duty and fuck you. But it will be in the dark, from behind and you won’t be touching me.”
Her tiny body is trembling, but I know it's not from fear. I’ve hit a nerve. Giada has always used her looks, her body, to get what she wants from men. She can’t fathom not getting what she wants from me when I have full access to her body. It’s like I’m saying her currency is worthless, and she doesn’t have anything else to offer. I’ve made her feel worthless. It’s a mistake.
Her eyes narrow, a glint of dark intent flashes beneath her fake lashes. “Have it your way.”
I release her and take a step back.
