Forgotten Vengeance

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PARISI FAMILY BOOK 1

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ANDREA HAGAN

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Copyright 2023 by Andrea Hagan

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons—living or
deceased—events, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Forgotten Vengeance Parisi Family Book 1 by Andrea Hagan. All rights reserved. No part of this
book may be used or reproduced in any manner—except for brief quotations embodied in book
reviews—without the prior written permission of the author.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023905820

Tradepaper ISBN: 978-0-9994116-8-1

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 Contents

Also by the Author

Dedication
Content Warning

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue

Sneak Peek of Parisi Family Book 2

Acknowledgments
About the Author

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 Also by the Author

The Memphis Magic Series

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A kitchen witch holds a séance and accidentally summons a demon who unintentionally possesses
her. You know, it’s the classic boy meets girl story.
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To any family member reading this book...turn back now.
(My family, not the family.)

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 Before you begin reading…

This book is on the lighter side of dark mafia romance, but for a full content
warning, go to andreahaganauthor.com. Click on FAQ.

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 Chapter
One

Nicky

“Motherfucker!” A traffic detour has me shouting every expletive in the

book. Forced to make a right turn even though I need to make a left, my
foul mood improves when I spot a coffee shop.
But should I stop? I’m already late, and the preceptor overseeing my
clinical rotations is a real bitch. On the other hand, if I don’t have caffeine, I
can’t deal with said bitch.
A car backs out of a parking space, and I take it as a sign. “See? I need
this coffee,” I tell myself as I snag the spot.
Jaywalking across the street—there’s not enough time to be a good
citizen and catch the crosswalk—I step inside Corner Caffè, a self-
proclaimed “authentic” Italian coffee shop. Never having been to Italy, I’ll
just have to take them at their word.
I get stuck behind an indecisive prick, but he finally orders and moves
out of the way. This being my first time at this shop, I quickly scan the
menu before ordering a caffè latte and chocolate cornetto. Stepping to the
side, I try to ignore the clock on the wall judging me for this decision.
“Nicky,” a barista calls, and I walk to the counter. “Your cornetto’s
coming right up.”
“Thanks.” I grab the coffee cup, taking a much-needed sip, just as
someone knocks into my back. Hot coffee dribbles down my chin and onto
my light blue scrubs.
“Hey!” I cry, spinning around.
 Opening my mouth to give this asshole a piece of my mind, I can’t seem
to find the words. A few years older than me, he has a rather severe jawline
covered in short facial hair, tan skin, and thick lashes wasted on a man. His
black hair’s slicked to the side carelessly—like men try to do intentionally,
except his looks like he’s been running his hand through it in frustration.
Full lips turned down, whiskey-colored eyes hard, I wonder what he does
for a living. Power and warning roll off him in waves.

Romeo

Colpo di fulmine.
I always thought the thunderbolt was romanticized bullshit. And I would
be wrong, because I’ve been struck so fucking hard, it’s a miracle I’m
upright.
I need to head out to my meeting in Atlantic City, but I can’t take my
eyes off the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Likely in her early
twenties, she’s several inches shorter than me, with a gorgeous heart-shaped
face, pouty lips, and the perfect hourglass figure.
She clears her throat, and my eyes take a leisurely stroll back up her
body, but not before realizing there’s a coffee stain on her right tit.
She glances down to the wet spot on her scrubs, then to me—her
stunning hazel eyes murderous.

Nicky

“Nicky,” the barista calls.

 Tearing my attention from the hottest asshole in the world, I walk past
him to grab my pastry, but not before giving him a not-so-subtle shoulder
check.
Stepping outside, I pause to slip on my sunglasses when someone
knocks into my back. “Hey, watch out,” I cry, spinning around. “You.”
Asshole coffee-spiller looks at me like I’m something unpleasant stuck
to the bottom of his shoe. “Are you addressing me?” It’s a question, but in
his gravely tone, it’s more like a warning.
A warning I ignore as I mouth off, “Yeah, I’m addressing you, the man
who spilled coffee on me.”
“You spilled coffee on yourself.”
“Because you knocked into me! Now I have a coffee stain on my tit for
the rest of my day. Thanks,” I say with the attitude, spinning around to walk
away. Except I don’t get very far. It all happens so fast, and yet it doesn’t—
like it’s playing out in slow motion.
A black car pulling up to the curb.
The window rolling down.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
I’m on the ground, the asshole coffee-spiller on top of me.
Something wet drips on my face. I shove at him, and he rolls off of me.
Quickly, I discover the source—blood’s gushing from a gunshot wound to
this man’s shoulder.
Ripping my scrub top over my head, I make sure to use the material that
doesn’t have the coffee stain as I place it over the gaping hole in his flesh.
More bangs.
I scream.
I think I scream?
Then a different man’s helping asshole coffee-spiller up, and I go along
with them since my hand’s applying pressure to the wound.
Rapid-fire Italian is being hurled by the newcomer, and I look at him
with wide eyes. “I don’t understand what you’re saying! English!”
He ignores me, and it takes a moment to realize he’s not speaking to us,
but to someone in his earpiece. A blacked-out SUV rolls up, and Italian-
speaking guy opens the door, placing asshole coffee-spiller inside, which
forces me to release my hand.
“Keep pressure on the wound. Take him to Saint Matthew’s University
Medical Center. It’s the closest trauma hospital,” I instruct.
I expect a nod, a thank you, something, other than being picked up by
Italian-speaking guy and tossed into the SUV. The door slams shut behind
me and tires screech.
“Guess I’m coming with you to the hospital,” I say, resuming my hold
on the man’s bleeding wound. “Considering that’s where I was going, I
won’t complain too much. What’s your name?” I ask, sliding off the leather
seat onto my knees on the floorboard so I can get a better angle on my hold.
“Sam,” he barks.
“Sam—”
“Yes, boss?” The Italian-speaking guy answers from the passenger seat;
I didn’t even register him getting into the vehicle.
“Give me your shirt,” he demands.
Sam doesn’t hesitate, shrugging out of his suit jacket and taking off his
tie before unbuttoning his white dress shirt and passing it back.
“For you,” asshole coffee-spiller tells me through gritted teeth.
“What?” Looking down, I realize I’m in my bra. At least it’s my cute
black lacy bra and not the old ratty white bra I thought about putting on this
morning. I slip on the shirt and button it up. It fits me like a circus tent, so I
grab his hand, moving it to the wound. “Hold here for just a moment.”
Rolling the sleeves up so my hands are unobstructed, I resume my position
with added pressure.
Glancing out the window, I say to the driver, “Excuse me, but Saint
Matthew’s is east. You need to turn around and get on the Interstate.”
“You a doctor?” Sam asks me.
“Registered nurse. Training to be a family nurse practitioner.”
“Close enough.” Sam reaches under his seat, producing a bag.
He hands it to me, and I open it to find a medical kit. Mouth agape, I
say in a panic, “No, not close enough! Close only counts in horseshoes and
hand grenades!”
My “patient” tries to sit up, but I apply more pressure. “Be still,” I tell
him. I glance back up at Sam. “You can’t be serious? We’re in an unsterile
environment, I’m not a trauma surgeon, and you want me to perform blind
exploratory surgery in a moving vehicle?” I practically shriek. “He needs a
hospital,” I continue, thinking that if they’ll only hear me out, everyone will
be in agreement.
“It’s just a graze. Take me to Doc Caruso’s,” the man orders.
My mouth hangs open in shock. “I don’t give a fuck if it is just a graze,
getting shot is more than an office visit, you bullhead!”
“Nice bedside manner.” He smirks, and the severity of his face
diminishes somewhat when his lips turn up—the right side more so than the
left.
“That’s my point—we’re not bedside, we’re in the backseat of a moving
SUV!”
“Romeo,” he tells me quietly, then grimaces in pain.
“What?”
“You asked me my name.”
“Are you serious?” I snort. The only other ill-fitting name his parents
could’ve bestowed on him would have been Casanova.
“What’s your name?” he demands.
“Not Juliet.”
He smirks again. So maybe he could pull off Casanova if he lost the
shitty attitude and flashed more of that crooked smile.
“My name’s Nicky.”
“Nicky.” He says my name like he’s savoring it. “Italian?”
“No.”
“You look Italian.”
“And you look like a man who should be more concerned he was just
shot.” Glancing around the luxury SUV, all the hairs on the back of my neck
are now on end. Blacked-out vehicle. Security detail. Drive-by. Not wanting
to go to the hospital. “Who are you?” I whisper.
He mumbles something in Italian and closes his eyes.
“Hey, Romeo. Stay with me, okay? Open your eyes for me.”
He does as I ask, and I quietly murmur words of encouragement as we
turn down a street with row after row of warehouses. I have no idea where
we are; this is an area of the city I’ve never had a reason to visit. “Doing
great.” I give him an encouraging smile. “Just a little bit longer. Hang in
there for me.”
Coming to a stop at the back of a building, a garage door opens, and we
pull inside. An older man with a paunch gut and glasses is there to meet us.
Sam opens our door and guides me out, and he and the driver help Romeo
out of the vehicle.
Romeo shrugs out of their hold, trying to walk on his own, but he
immediately begins staggering. “Help him before he falls,” I order.
Surprisingly, they listen. Sam places Romeo’s uninjured arm over his
shoulder, and I follow them up a ramp and through a door. We’ve entered a
dated yet tidy medical facility. It’s one room, with a bed and monitor, an x-
ray machine in the far corner, and a sink in the other.
“Are you Dr. Caruso?” I ask the older man.
“That’s me.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Romeo has at least one gunshot entrance
wound to the left shoulder. I heard several shots, so I’m not sure how many
bullets he took.”
“Well then, let’s just take a looksie,” he says, as if this is a run-of-the-
mill occurrence. Who knows? Maybe it is. That niggling feeling I had
earlier is back—I’m in the presence of dangerous men, and I need to keep
my eyes peeled for my chance of escape.
Glancing down, I realize my hands are coated in blood, so I step to the
sink and give them a good scrubbing, along with my face and neck.
Knowing I’ve disassociated, it’s only a matter of time before the spike of
adrenaline wears off and I crash. But if I’m to make a run for it, adrenaline
is going to be my friend. There’s another door next to the sink that could
lead out, but more likely it leads to a bathroom. That leaves one exit, which
is currently blocked by a muscled-up Sam.
The doctor runs some x-rays with no one in protective radiation gear.
Jesus. Stepping to the side to view the computer screen, he announces, “Just
a graze.”
“What I fucking said,” Romeo wheezes.
“Doctor, there’s a bullet lodged in his shoulder,” I try to politely point
out, but good God, there’s an obvious outline of a bullet! “Right there,” I
say, tapping the screen.
“Hmm.” He removes his glasses, examining them. “No wonder. These
are my readers. Where did I put my glasses?”
“Now can we go to the hospital?” I throw up my hands.
The barrel of a gun is now positioned at my temple—the cold metal
against my skin causing me to tremble. “Remove the bullet and patch him
up,” Sam says in an eerily quiet tone.
 “Sam, you pull a gun on her again and I’ll have Doc Caruso preform his
first vasectomy on you—while he’s wearing his readers,” Romeo threatens.
Sam visibly blanches and holsters his gun.
“Luca, take Doc to find his glasses,” Romeo orders the driver, then turns
his attention to me. “I’m not going to the hospital, Nicky. So, you can help
me, or you can watch while I bleed out. What’s it going to be?”

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 Chapter
Two

Romeo

“This is bullshit!” Nicky growls.

Perhaps it wasn’t wise to ask a woman who’s madder than hell to cut me
open. She shoots daggers at me as she suits up in new scrubs and surgical
gloves. “This isn’t proper protocol, I can’t guarantee things are sterile, oh,
and I’ve never performed surgery before—because I’m not a fucking
surgeon! But sure, why not.”
The only thing that’s going to be sterile is Sam if he pulls another gun
on my woman, that I fucking guarantee. As soon as I saw Nicky, I knew
she’d be mine. And she will be mine, that I also guarantee.
“Are you allergic to morphine?” Nicky asks.
“No.”
“Good. I’m going to administer an intramuscular dose of morphine in
your gluteus maximus. Can you roll on your right side for me?”
“You’re going to give me a shot in the ass?” I growl.
She narrows her eyes at me. “In the muscle of your ass, yes.”
Cursing quietly in Italian, I roll over to my right side with some effort
and a whole hell of a lot of pain.
Nicky cleans a small area of my skin with a cold pad, and then there’s a
slight prick, but nothing’s registering over the searing pain of my shoulder.
“This won’t put you under, but it will help with the pain. I’ll need you to be
still while I’m working. Can you do that for me, Romeo?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Roll back over for me, please.”
 A phone rings and Sam answers, speaking quietly before ending the
call. “Luca’s taking Doc back to his house to look for his glasses,” he says,
coming to lurk beside Nicky.
“Go sit down. I don’t want you breathing down my neck,” she snaps at
him.
Sam looks to me with a raised brow, and I jerk my head to the chair.
He mutters something as he walks to the other side of the room and
takes a seat in a folding chair.
Lining up tools on a tray, Nicky says, “I’m going to make an incision
around the entrance wound to take a look. If the bullet’s too close to an
artery or bone, I’m leaving it in.”
Sam starts to speak, but she holds up her hand. “Non-negotiable. That’s
what any good surgeon would do. The risk of nicking a major artery or
causing serious bone damage outweighs the risk of leaving the bullet where
it is.”
Grabbing a scalpel, she moves it to my shoulder. “Can you feel this?”
she asks me.
The icy feeling of morphine running through my veins? Yes, I can feel
that. I try to answer, but my words come out all wrong. I’m going to close
my eyes for just a moment…

We’re in a convoy of blacked-out SUVs. I try to sit still, but it’s hard
because I’m so nervous. This is the first time Papà is bringing me along on
business. From the bits and pieces I’ve overheard, we’re at war. A war
we’re about to win. The Russos have a rat, and we’re taking them out
tonight.
I feel like I’m going to puke, but then I remember the face of my mamma
dying in my arms. My nerves disappear as rage takes over.
“My boy, are you ready?”
“Yes, Antonio.” Papà wants me to call him by his name now that I’m
about to become a man.
 “And you know how to use your gun?” he asks, eyeing the pistol in my
holster.
“Yes, sir.”
“Boy’s gonna do great,” Uncle Giuseppe says, slapping me on the back.
He’s not really my uncle; I’ve just always called him that. “Sammy’s so mad
he can’t come tonight.” He chuckles. I’m four years older than Giuseppe’s
son, Sammy, but he’s like my brother. We do everything together; well, most
everything. He’s too young to come tonight, at least that’s what Antonio and
Uncle Giuseppe say. “First kill’s the hardest. Remember that and push
through anyway,” Uncle advises me.
We slow down as the vehicles in front of us turn onto a long driveway, a
gatehouse up ahead. The man opens the gate for us and waves us on.
Antonio rolls down his window when it’s our turn to go through, raising his
gun with a silencer and shooting the guard in the head. The man crumples
to the ground. “Rats can’t be trusted,” Antonio explains to me.
Everyone’s killed their lights as we pull up to the back of the house.
Antonio has another man on the inside who, if he’s done his job, has turned
off the alarms and security cameras. Our men quietly slip out of their SUVs,
surrounding the house. It’s pouring rain now, and a booming crack of
thunder makes me jump. “Go,” Antonio orders into a radio.
One of our men begins pounding the door with a battering ram until it
busts open, and our soldiers swarm inside. I can’t see what’s going on, but
the sound of gunfire makes me jump again.
After what feels like a long time, a voice comes over the radio. “Clear.”
“Let’s go,” Uncle says, rubbing his hands together in glee.
I follow the men inside, stepping into a haze of gunpowder and the smell
of something burning that makes my eyes water. Sidestepping a dead body, I
swallow down bile as I try to keep up.
“Upstairs, boss,” someone calls.
We walk up the marble staircase, past more dead bodies, and I try not to
look at the blood soaking through the white carpet. Coming to the end of
the hall, we step into what looks like the master bedroom. A man’s in his
boxers tied to a chair in the corner.
“Maximo! Hope you don’t mind the unannounced visit,” Antonio says
with a devilish smile. Maximo Russo. The man responsible for killing
Mamma. I pull my gun from my holster and hold it ready.
 “Where’s your pretty wife? Out riding any and every dick is what I
heard,” Uncle taunts.
The closet door bursts open, and a woman screams, shooting Uncle in
the head. I watch in horror as Uncle crumples to the floor.
One of our men tackles the bitch—her gun skittering across the floor.
“Carlotta, you fucking cunt!” Antonio bellows as he jerks the sobbing
woman up by her hair and backhands her. Tossing her to the floor, he looks
to me. “Kill her.”
Raising my gun, my hand’s shaking so badly I’m having a hard time
keeping it steady. The woman looks up at me, pleading for mercy. I’m taken
back to Mamma dying in my arms, that same look of anguish on her face
before the light went out of her pretty eyes.
I clutch my stomach with my free hand, turning to the side as I puke.
Antonio’s hand connects with the back of my head, and I nearly fall into
my own puddle of vomit. “Lucky for you, Carlotta, my son’s a pussy. Since
he won’t get his first, he can watch his first. I’m going to fuck your wife,
Maximo. I’m going to pull out and nut all over your face. Might even give
you a proper burial, with my cum dried on your lips.” Antonio laughs,
sounding like the devil himself. “Tie her on the bed, spread eagle,” he
barks.
The soldiers do as he commands, all while Maximo shouts and Carlotta
sobs uncontrollably. She’s wearing a short nightgown Antonio rips off her
body with ease. Climbing up on the bed with her, he unzips his pants and
pulls out his dick.
“No!” she cries, thrashing around like a wild animal.
Quietly walking over to the bed, I aim the gun at Carlotta’s skull and
pull the trigger. The silencer makes it sound like a low pop, but the gun’s
kickback nearly knocks me on my ass.
“Now he grows a pair.” My father sneers.
I look away as he grunts, jerking off over the dead woman. It soon
becomes quiet and I glance back over—I wish I hadn’t—Antonio comes all
over Maximo’s face like he promised.
“You sick fuck!” Maximo bellows as cum drips down his cheek.
“Kill him,” Antonio orders me, tucking his dick back into his pants.
Feeling odd, like I’m floating out of my body, I hold up my gun.
Something wet is running down my cheeks. Am I crying? Bringing my other
hand to my face, I pull it back and examine the red, sticky liquid.
 Focusing back on Maximo, this time it’s easier to pull the trigger.
Another soft pop, and Maximo slumps over in the chair.

Jerking awake, my heart’s pounding frantically and I’m drenched in sweat. I

open my eyes, momentarily blinded by the harsh florescent lights. Trying to
move, I quickly realize that’s a bad fucking idea. My shoulder feels like a
hot iron’s sitting on it.
“My boy,” Antonio says, coming over to sit next to me in a folding
chair. “Who did this?”
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice sounding scratchy. Sitting up, I grimace
at the movement. “Think it’s related to The Diamond deal? Big coincidence
I get shot up on my way to the meeting.”
“I don’t like the timing,” he agrees.
Looking around, I internally panic when I don’t see her. “Where’d
Nicky go?”
“Sam took her for a little ride,” Antonio says, unconcerned.
“No!”
“No?” he demands. Nobody says no to the boss.
“What I mean is, let’s not waste an asset,” I quickly cover. “She could
work for us—take over for Doc Caruso. If she hadn’t been here, I’d be
dead. Doc should’ve retired ten years ago.”
He’s quiet for a moment as he mulls over the idea. “What do we know
about this woman?”
“She’s a nurse, said she’s studying to be a family nurse practitioner.
Calm under pressure. I don’t know much else, but I’ll find out.”
He pauses for a moment, and I pray Sam hasn’t already dug Nicky a
shallow grave. Grabbing his phone, Antonio calls Sam on speakerphone.
“Boss.”
“Drop the package off at her house,” Antonio orders. “In good
condition.”
“Will do,” Sam replies.
 He hangs up, and I suppress a sigh of relief. “Vet her. If she passes,
we’ll try her out. If not, you’ll be the one to put her to ground,” my father
warns.

Nicky

“You can just take me back to my car, please,” I say for the fifth time.
The driver and Sam both ignore me as we continue driving in the wrong
direction. Panic’s starting to set in—they’re taking me somewhere to kill
me, I fucking know it.
I try to quietly jiggle the door handle, but Sam notices. “It’s locked.”
“Now he speaks. Let’s see if I’ve got this straight. I saved your boss and
you’re going to repay my kindness by killing me?” Luckily for both me and
Romeo, the bullet lodged near the entrance wound, wasn’t near any major
arteries or bones, and it wasn’t fragmented. He might suffer some long-term
nerve pain, but it’s better than the alternative. The alternative being dead.
Sam shrugs. “Up to me, I would have put a bullet in your smart ass the
first time you mouthed off.”
Before I can mouth off again, just to spite him, his phone rings. “Boss.”
Silence. “Will do.” Hanging up, he cranes his neck to look at me. “Where
do you live?”
“Why?” I ask hesitantly.
“Because we’re to drop you off at your place. I’ll deliver your car later.”
“Why?” I ask again, hesitant to get my hopes up in case he’s fucking
with me.
He doesn’t answer, but I do get my hopes up when I give them my
address and the driver turns the car around.
I breathe a sigh of relief when we near my complex, and the driver pulls
up to the curb. “You know what was about to happen, don’t you?” Sam
asks, tossing my purse at me. Amidst the chaos of the shooting, I assumed it
was left behind.
 “Yes,” I nod, gulping.
“That could still happen if you don’t keep your mouth shut. Cops come
sniffing around, you weren’t there. You don’t know nothing. Understood?”
“Understood.”
The door clicks unlocked, and I don’t hesitate to scramble out. As the
SUV pulls away, my body begins to violently shake.
“Hey, you okay?” A jogger stops, pulling his earbuds from his ear.
Running over to the bushes, I lose the contents of my stomach.

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 Chapter
Three

Nicky

Writing off the Romeo “incident” as the weirdest day of my life, I toss my
bag over my shoulder and head out. As promised, my car was returned—
with a full tank of gas. So thoughtful of my would-be murders.
I’ve been looking over my shoulder the past twenty-four hours, but no
one’s hassled me—not even the cops. Why should they? Like the
grammatically-challenged Sam said, I don’t know nothing. And that’s true
—an Internet search couldn’t tell me a damn thing about “Romeo and
organized crime in New Jersey.”
Maybe Romeo isn’t even from Jersey. Hell, maybe Romeo isn’t even his
real name. Well, whoever he is, I need to forget about him and stay focused
on my goals.
Locking up my apartment and walking down the stairs, I nearly jump
out of my scrubs when I spot Sam leaning against my car. I turn around to
dart back up the stairs, but he’s already grabbed me by the arm. “You can
come with me of your own accord, or I can drag you by your hair and toss
you in the trunk. Your choice.”
“Such a gentleman,” I snipe, but I don’t challenge him, as I whole-
heartedly believe he’d drag me by my ponytail and toss me in the trunk
without a second thought.
I glare at Sam as he leads me to a blacked-out town car parked a few
spots down. He smirks as he opens the back door for me, and I climb inside.
When he slides behind the wheel, I say, “Look, I don’t know nothing, just
like you said. So why don’t you just drop me off at class, where I was going
before you so rudely kidnapped me.”
His eyes lock with mine in the rearview. “Up to me, I’d drop you off at
the bottom of Newark Bay.”
“Then it’s a good thing it’s not up to you,” I tell him, happy my voice
didn’t crack. “Where are we going?”
He grunts. “Romeo needs you to take a look at his shoulder.”
“Okay,” I say as I blow out a breath. I’m useful, so maybe that means
they won’t kill me.
We drive about thirty minutes away from downtown, and any hopes I
had about making it to this morning’s lab go out the window.
The silence getting to me, I finally say, “So, Sam, tell me something
about yourself. What do you like to do when you’re not threatening
innocent women? Mugging little old ladies crossing the street? Kicking
puppies? Stealing candy from children?”
“Killing and dismembering mouthy women who don’t seem to
understand the gravity of their situation,” he says in an eerily calm tone.
Deciding it’s in my best interest to shut up, I send an email to my
professor, letting her know I’ll miss lab today due to illness. I grit my teeth
in frustration; I’m almost finished with my nurse practitioner program, and
the last thing I need is a string of absences. But what choice do I have?
Besides choosing to travel in the backseat versus the trunk.
We pull into an older, upscale neighborhood where the houses aren’t
right on top of each other, and Sam turns onto a long driveway on a cul-de-
sac. He scans a keycard, and the gate creaks open. Making our way down
the drive, we reach a large French Chateau-style brick house.
Sam parks and hops out, opening my door for me. Leading me inside
the house, I follow him through a fancy foyer and up a spiral staircase. We
stop at the end of the hall, and Sam knocks on the door.
“Enter,” a gravelly voice says.
Stepping inside the masculine-looking suite, I find my “patient” in bed.
“You look like shit,” I tell Romeo, coming to sit on the edge next to him.
His brow’s sweaty, his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes look extremely
weak.
“What’s the excuse for your poor bedside manner now?” he says
quietly.
 Moving the covers down to examine his shoulder, I quickly see the
problem—the skin around his wound’s an angry shade of red. “You have an
infection. Plus, you’ve busted some sutures. I need to wash my hands
before we proceed,” I warn.
“Bathroom,” Sam grunts, jerking his head.
I quickly enter the bathroom and give my hands a wash before returning
bedside.
Grabbing the pill bottles on the nightstand—I want to see what he’s
been prescribed—but there aren’t any labels on any of them. “What have
you been taking?”
“Acetaminophen,” Romeo tells me.
Opening one of the bottles, I pour a few of the pills into my hand.
“These are hydrocodone,” I correct him.
Romeo grunts. “Those are from Doc. I haven’t taken any.”
“Is there a thermometer?” I ask, pouring the pills back into the bottle.
Sam brings over a large bag and I open it, rummaging through until I
find one. “Open,” I say, holding the thermometer to Romeo’s mouth. He
just looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Unless you prefer I take your
temperature rectally—which is the most accurate method.” That gets him to
open wide. “103.4,” I announce. “He needs antibiotics,” I tell Sam.
“What kind?” he asks.
“Have you ever had an allergy to doxycycline?” I ask Romeo.
“No.”
Turning back to Sam, I say, “I’d start with doxycycline, as well as
taking a good probiotic.”
Sam pulls out his phone and makes a call. After a hushed conversation,
he says, “Prescription will be delivered within the hour.”
“What about a triple antibiotic cream?” I ask, looking through the bag
one more time, but I don’t see the tiny tube.
“I don’t like using it; makes my skin itchy,” Romeo admits.
“That’s not an uncommon reaction to bacitracin,” I assure him. “Sam,
can you get me some unprocessed, organic honey, please?” I slip on a pair
of gloves and survey the kit.
“Why?” Sam demands.
“Because I like honey in my afternoon tea,” I mouth off. “Honey has
natural antibiotic properties.”
“Go get her some fucking honey,” Romeo snaps at Sam.
 Sam pins me with a hard look before stepping out of the room.
Romeo tries to sit up, but I press my hand on his bare chest, holding him
in place. “Lay down. It’ll be easier for me to suture you up.”
My hand still on his rock-hard chest, I try not to gawk. In the aftermath
of the shooting, I was in medical provider mode—I didn’t even notice his
body.
I’m noticing now.
Romeo’s absolutely jacked, with broad shoulders and huge biceps. A
wicked-looking snake tattoo starts at his uninjured right shoulder and coils
round and round, stopping above his pec, with the head of the snake
gruesomely cut off. A smattering of chest hair calls for someone’s fingers to
run through it; the hard lines of his stomach beg for someone’s tongue to
taste. Obviously, not my fingers or tongue, as I don’t appreciate being
kidnapped.
Dropping my hand, I get my tools set up. “There’s no numbing agent,” I
warn.
“Just sew me up,” he demands.
“Alright, tough guy.” Grabbing the needle driver, I suture him back up
and tie the nylon off into knots. Trimming the excess thread, I admire my
handiwork.
Sam returns with a jar of honey in one hand, a teacup in the other.
“Look at that,” I say, accepting the honey as Sam sips from the dainty
cup with his pinky extended. “Your henchman has a sense of humor.
Romeo, did you know that?”
The men exchange something in Italian before Sam leaves the room.
Opening the jar, I scoop a little on a swab and gently rub around the
sutures. “My mom taught me this little trick. ‘All is well when the honey is
sweet,’” I quote the Greek proverb Mom used to say when I was a kid.
Grabbing a bandage, I place it gently over the wound. “Leave that on for at
least twenty-four hours,” I instruct, removing my gloves.
Walking to the bathroom to wash up, I return to find Romeo tracking
my every step. “Hopefully, you’ll be on the mend soon,” I tell him. “Now, if
you’d have Sam take me home, I’ve already missed class this morning, and
I have a hospital shift this evening.”
“You’ll stay here until I’m on the mend, as you put it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ll. Stay. Here.” He enunciates each word like I’m hard of hearing.
 “I’m supposed to drop everything—all my obligations and
responsibilities—because you say so?” The fucking audacity of this guy.
“Yes. I need medical care.”
“Then go to the hospital like I told your stubborn ass to do after you got
shot!”
He smirks. “Why would I do that when I have a nurse with such nice
bedside manner?”
“And what if it takes you weeks to recover?” I demand, the thought
causing panic to bubble in my chest.
“Then settle in, because you’re not going anywhere,” he says matter-of-
factly.
“You’re going to hold me hostage? This is such bullshit!” He doesn’t
comment as I pace back and forth. “Where’s my room?” I finally ask.
“Right here.” He pats the spot next to him.
“Nice try,” I say, crossing my arms.
Sam returns, shoving a bottle in my hands. “Doc said you’re on your
own with the probiotic.”
It takes concerted effort not to roll my eyes; Doc must practice stone
age medicine. I examine the bottle that likewise is missing the prescribing
information. Pouring a few of the pills in my hand to figure out the dosage,
I say, “These are 100 milligrams, so today, you need to take two pills every
twelve hours, then one every twenty-four hours for seven days. Are you on
any other medications or supplements?”
“No,” Romeo answers.
I hand him two pills. “Sam, get Romeo something to eat before he—”
Romeo swallows the pills before I can finish.
“Fine, do it your way,” I say, handing him a bottle of water from his
nightstand.
He raises up and takes a sip before I take the bottle back from him.
“Sam, if you’ll show me to the guest room. Romeo, I’ll be back to
check on you in a few hours.”
“You’ll stay here and monitor him round-the-clock,” Sam orders. He
walks to the door, but not before snatching my purse.
“Hey, I need my phone! I’ve got to let my supervising doctor know I’ll
be missing my evening shift.” This will be the second clinical I’ve missed,
and I just know my preceptor’s already got her pen locked and loaded,
ready to give me a nasty write-up.
 Sam opens my purse—which I find offensive as hell—fishing around
until he grabs my phone.
Stomping over to him, I grab it and punch in my passcode, typing Dr.
Smith a message. Before I can hit send, Sam grabs it back from me and
reads my text.
“Seriously?” I gripe.
He hits send, and without a word, exits the bedroom with my phone and
purse.
I check the door handle—the asshat locked me in here.

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 Chapter
Four

Nicky

Walking to the bathroom, I return with a damp washcloth and take a seat on
the edge of the bed, dabbing Romeo’s sweaty brow. “You’d better not
fucking die, because if you do, I suspect your buddy Sam’s already got a
bullet with my name on it.”
“No one will harm you,” he tells me.
“How can you be so sure?” Sam seems pretty hell-bent on harming me.
“Because no one touches what’s mine.”
“Excuse me?” I say, nearly dropping the washcloth.
“You heard me.”
“That’s gotta be the fever talking.” Who the hell talks like that,
otherwise? “How about a bath? Lukewarm water will help bring your
temperature down just a bit. Plus, it’ll make you feel better.”
He grumbles something in Italian before he stands, and I avert my eyes.
Not fast enough, though, because I still got a glimpse of his huge dick. My
God, no wonder the man’s such an asshole. With what he’s packing, most
women would let him get away with it. I’m not one of those women, as
again, the whole kidnapping thing. But most women.
He’s a bit shaky on his feet, and I place his uninjured shoulder over
mine as I guide us to the bathroom, making sure to cast my eyes straight
ahead.
I get to work filling the tub as Romeo supports himself against the sink,
brushing his teeth. Averting my eyes so I don’t look at the man’s perfect ass
or muscular back adorned with tattoos—fine, so I did notice his body when
I gave him that injection at the clinic—I cut off the water.
When I turn around, Romeo’s right beside me. “Jesus,” I startle as he
climbs into the tub. He silently leans his head back against the tile, closing
his eyes.
“You need me to help you?” I find myself asking.
“Yes,” he tells me quietly.
I grab the detachable spray and turn it on low. “Raise your head up for
me,” I instruct. “I’ll try my best to keep your wound dry.”
Spraying his inky-black hair, I grab the shampoo bottle and squirt some
into my hand. As I massage my fingers through his surprisingly soft hair, he
groans, and it might be the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. Time for me to
schedule an appointment with an ENT, because clearly, I need my hearing
checked.
Giving his hair a rinse, I turn off the spray and grab a towel. I take a seat
on the edge of the tub, gently rubbing his hair dry as his intense eyes never
leave mine. “I’ll let you handle the rest,” I tell him, my voice sounding
husky to my own ears. Handing him a bar of soap, I turn around to give him
a few moments of privacy. And to give me a few moments to freaking
compose myself.
“Finished,” he calls.
I grab a towel and turn around to find Romeo now standing—water
cascading down his muscular frame as he climbs out of the tub. I pretend I
don’t see his dick standing at attention as I shove the towel at him.
My eyes cast to the floor, Romeo dries off, and I take his arm and lead
him back to the bedroom. He guides me to the dresser, where he grabs a
pair of black boxers. I turn around, but I can hear the man struggling with
one hand to get them on.
Sighing, I turn around and snatch the boxers from him. “Let me help.”
I’m a medical professional, I tell myself as I squat down and hold his
underwear out as he steps into them—his massive erection inconveniently
located at my eye-level as I pull up the fabric.
Standing, I refuse to make eye contact—or acknowledge my nipples are
embarrassingly hard—as I lead him to bed. He gets settled, and I walk
across the room and close the curtains before flipping off the overhead
light. “Rest,” I tell him, taking a seat in what might be the world’s most
uncomfortable armchair.
 Romeo comments, “That’s not very comfortable.”
“Why’d you buy such an uncomfortable chair then?” I demand, taking
off my shoes and socks.
He grimaces, and I hurry over to the bed. “Are you sure you don’t want
some pain medication? It would help you rest.”
He surprises me by pulling me down onto the bed beside him. “No, but
I’ll rest if you do.”
Not wanting to fight with him and jostle his shoulder, I decide to wait
him out. When he’s asleep, I’ll slink out of bed.

Waking up disoriented, it takes me a moment to understand why a heavy

arm is banded around me, or why something huge and hard is poking my
backside.
“Mmm,” Romeo sleepily moans, pulling me closer to him as he rocks
his dick back and forth against my ass.
My nipples pebble and my pussy clenches. Damnit, what is wrong with
me?
Pressing his surprisingly soft lips on the delicate spot beneath my ear,
he shocks me by running his tongue along my fluttering pulse; the move
causes my entire body to shudder.
He turns me so I’m facing him. I have no idea what time it is, but it
must be afternoon or early evening, because while it’s dim, I can still see
his dangerous, whiskey-colored eyes sizing me up like a predator would its
prey.
Clearing my throat, I lift my hand to his forehead. “Let me grab the
thermometer. I need to take your temperature.” Preferably not while I’m
grinding up against his dick.
“You need to stay right where you are and let me take care of this
pussy,” he says, nudging me with his erection.
“Oh my God, what is wrong with you?” I try to scramble away, but he
easily prevents me by wrapping his big hand around my neck.
 He pulls me just inches from his face, and I swallow nervously against
his hold. “Let me go,” I whisper, using my hands to try to pry his fingers
from my neck.
He releases me, only to move his hand down and cup my pussy, rubbing
me back and forth with his palm. “This is so inappropriate!” I cry, grabbing
ahold of his wrist.
“Your pussy doesn’t think so. I can smell your desire from here.” He
smirks.
“You’ve kidnapped me,” I say, ignoring his comment while trying to
ignore the fluttering sensation of my pussy, “and forced us into the role of
patient/caregiver—”
“And?”
“And you have a serious injury!”
“My fingers aren’t injured,” he murmurs, flicking his middle and ring
finger in rapid motion against my pussy. “My lips aren’t injured.” He
proves this point by crashing his lips against mine.
I gasp, and he uses the opportunity to invade my mouth with his tongue.
A strange sound rumbles from the back of my throat as he absolutely
dominates my mouth. His tongue lashing against mine, he groans against
my lips as he continues to flick his fingers over my clothed pussy.
He tastes like mint toothpaste and a really fucking bad decision.
Squeezing my hand around his wrist, I swear I meant to pull him away, but
I find myself shoving his hand down my pants.
He wastes no time, rubbing my clit with the pads of his fingers in a
circular motion. He growls against my lips—the sound reverberating
throughout my keyed-up body.
“Oh my God,” I moan, breaking the kiss when he thrusts inside me with
a finger.
Adding a second finger, he moves his thumb to my clit and murmurs,
“Just as I thought. This tight little pussy’s nice and wet for me.”
“Fuck,” I cry as he hits that ridged spot deep inside me over and over.
“‘All is well when the honey’s sweet.’ Isn’t that what you told me?” His
deep, gravelly voice feels like a caress to every intimate part of my body.
“And this honey dripping from my fingers? So fucking sweet.”
I moan, unable to find words as he works me into a frenzy. Arching my
back, my trembling body no longer feels within my control as my orgasm
barrels down on me like a freight train.
 “God, you’re squeezing me so tight. I can’t wait for your pussy to choke
my dick just like this.”
“Romeo,” I pant, writhing uncontrollably.
“That’s it, Nicky. Be a good girl and come on my fingers,” he coaxes,
moving his hand faster while applying the perfect amount of pressure to my
clit.
“I’m coming,” I cry, my body jerking and convulsing as I ride out the
intense waves of pleasure.
“Boss?” Sam knocks on the door, the sound jarring me from my post-
orgasm haze.
Scrambling away from Romeo, I quickly pull up my pants and climb off
the bed. Sam enters and I don’t hesitate, darting out of the room and
sprinting down the hallway.
Yes, I just let Romeo finger bang me, and yes, it was amazing, but that
was my pussy talking. Thankfully, my brain is back in control as I run down
the stairs. My purse is on the entryway table, and I grab it, flinging the front
door open and sprinting toward the gate.

Romeo

“Tell Paulie to let Nicky go unharmed,” I command, rubbing Nicky’s desire

back and forth between my thumb and middle finger. If I had the energy, I’d
hop out of bed and beat the shit out of Sam for his terrible fucking timing.
He raises an eyebrow, but calls my head of security and relays the order.
“She’s barefoot, so she’s not going to get very far,” I muse. “Does she
have her phone?”
He nods. “Yes. I put it back in her purse after Luca scanned it for a
tracker; it was clean.”
“Good. She’ll call an Uber to pick her up. Follow discretely and make
sure she gets home safe, and then bring me everything there is to know
about her.”
Nicky thinks she can run from me. How cute.

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 Chapter
Five

Romeo

The next few days are spent in bed—me in God-awful misery because I
refuse to take any of Doc’s pain meds. I need a clear head to handle
business, and business doesn’t take a break just because I’ve been shot.
“Morning,” Sam says, standing in the doorway of my home office.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“I should be six feet under, but should can fuck off.”
“Your shoulder doesn’t look quite so pissed.”
I glance down to my bare shoulder—which does look better—and tell
him, “My shoulder’s not as pissed as I am. What do you have for me about
the shooting?”
“Not much. I’m sending you the surveillance video,” he says, grabbing
his phone.
Opening my computer, I find the video and hit play. I’m rewarded with
a side-angle view of Nicky stepping out of the coffee shop. She’s even more
beautiful than I remembered with her long, shiny black hair; full hips and
breasts; tiny waist; creamy skin; heart-shaped face to match her sexy heart-
shaped ass.
She pauses as she puts on her sunglasses, and that’s when I step out of
the shop, bumping into her. Well, she did fucking stop right in front of the
door.
An older, mid-size black sedan creeps up, and the blacked-out passenger
window rolls down slightly. With barely contained rage, I watch myself get
hit, then tackle Nicky to the ground as the car speeds off. The camera angle
doesn’t catch the license plate.
“Cops responded to a shooting, but no one at shop heard nothing.
Surveillance had already been wiped.” One of the many perks of owning
the coffee shop.
“If this was a move by Philly, why haven’t we heard anything?” I
demand. The rumor mill’s been eerily quiet.
“Odd, I agree,” Sam says, weaving a knife between his fingers.
“And Nicky?” I demand.
He hands me a file, and the first thing I see is a picture of her driver’s
license. Nicky Anne Thomas. Twenty-four years old. Height, five feet six
inches. Weight, she’d probably say none of your business. Eyes, hazel. Hair,
black.
The next page is a copy of her birth certificate. “Born in New York,” I
comment. “Have you found Nicky’s mother?” Helen Thomas is listed as the
mother; the father’s information is blank.
Sam shakes his head. “I’m still trying to track down her family.”
I turn to her college transcripts. Bachelor’s in nursing, good grades. As
Nicky said, she’s training to become a family nurse practitioner.
“Husband?” Just saying the word enrages me. She wasn’t wearing a
ring, but I need to be sure I won’t have to kill anyone.
“No record of any marriages or divorces,” Sam reports, and I breathe a
bit easier. “Lives alone in a small one-bedroom apartment.”
“What about a boyfriend?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. No one’s been over to her place.
When she goes out, it’s to the hospital.”
Like hearing that. Flipping through her medical records—yeah, I’m a
controlling bastard—Nicky appears healthy, and on the pill. Even better.
Next is her credit report. “How is it she has no student loan debt?” The
woman’s got excellent credit.
“Don’t know. Maybe a scholarship? I’ll do some more digging.” Sam’s
phone buzzes and he grabs it, a frown on his face.
“What?” I demand.
“I put a tracker on Nicky’s car. This could be why she has no student
loan debt,” he says, showing me her location.
 Nicky

Still reeling from the whole kidnapping and fingering incident—especially

the fingering incident—I stick my head out of my front door and look
around. No Sam lurking; I guess that means Romeo’s healed up and
forgotten all about me.
Realizing I’m gritting my teeth, I relax my jaw as I walk to my car and
make my way to the club.
Punching in the code to the backdoor, I’m early, so I head to the
dressing room and roll out my yoga mat. Exotic dancing is much more
physically demanding than most people realize. After pulling a hamstring
when I first started, I never begin a show without at least thirty minutes of
warmup.
“Hey, Candy.” One of the other dancers joins me, changing out of her
bodysuit and into a sweatshirt and running shorts.
“Hey, Pearl. I take it you’re not working the evening shift?” I comment,
flipping a lock of my pink wig over my shoulder. It’s just enough of a
disguise to keep anyone from recognizing me. There’s still an outdated
stigma associated with exotic dancing. If my preceptor at the hospital found
out, she’d try her best to ruin my career. Hence the pink wig, along with
huge fake eyelashes and loud stage makeup I never wear outside the club.
“Nope, I just finished the early shift,” she says, pulling her blonde hair
back into a messy bun. “I’ve got an essay due soon and I need to buckle
down.” I’m not the only one paying for school this way; Pearl’s getting her
undergrad degree in classical studies. Unlike Pearl, though, I keep my
private life private. None of the girls know anything about me, and I want
to keep it that way.
“How’s the crowd?” I ask, gently pushing myself out of the side splits.
“It was slow earlier, but two men in suits just came in—try hitting them
up. They strike me as big spenders. One was flashing a Rolex. Could be a
knockoff, but worth finding out,” she tells me.
 “Thanks for the tip.” Pearl’s one of the only girls here who would help a
fellow dancer like that. Anyone else spots a luxury watch on a man, it’s like
vultures circling a carcass.
“Of course,” she says, sorting her cash into stacks based on
denomination. I don’t distract her as she counts, working my way into the
front splits. Holding the position for a few minutes, Pearl finishes up and
tells me, “I’m gone. Good luck tonight.”
“Thanks, and good luck with your essay.”
I stand and roll up my mat before changing out of my street clothes and
stashing everything in my locker. The final part of my pre-show ritual—
stepping into my pleasers. It’s more like climbing into them, as they’re
seven inches high. Some of the girls wear heels even higher, but I cannot.
Me and my bruised ass—along with my bruised ego—learned that lesson
the hard way.
“Candy on standby,” the DJ calls through the speakers.
Giving myself a once-over, I adjust my tiny black G-string and plump
my tits up in my sparkly black bra. I smile back at the woman in the mirror
—no longer Nicky, I’ve channeled Candy.
Heading backstage, I rub some grip solution on my hands. I’m
scheduled to perform right off the bat, so hopefully Mr. Rolex and his crew
will be seated stage-side and want a private dance later. I’ve had a few
jerkoffs think private dance is code for prostitution; in some clubs, I hear it
is, but not this one. Old man Joe, the owner, is actually a decent guy. He
doesn’t hit on us, doesn’t extort us. Well, doesn’t extort us too much. When
it’s all said and done, I’m paying nearly half of what I make on the house
fee and tipping out. Even so, on a great night, I can pull in several thousand
dollars, which I can’t make anywhere else.
The DJ begins hyping the crowd for my performance; I tip Big T extra
for the favor. “Let’s give it up for the one and only Candy!”
My adrenaline’s pumping as I walk on stage—a sensual sway to my
hips with each step. The music starts and I begin gyrating with my back to
the pole. It’s hard to see the crowd beyond those seated next to the stage; I
typically appreciate that I can’t see most of the audience, but tonight, I’d
like to lock eyes with the big spenders.
Not finding any men who fit that description, I forget about it, getting
lost in my performance. This is my go-to choreography I used as my
audition. Joe stopped me halfway through my dance and gave me the job on
the spot.
Starting with an easy fairy spin, I slowly make my way around the pole,
ending on the floor. I roll in a backward somersault; now on my knees, I
stay down and work my hands over my body while swaying my hips.
Moving into the side splits, I unfasten my bra, tossing it on the floor. That
elicits a round of whistles and catcalls, with money raining down on the
stage.
A younger guy at the other end of the stage snags my attention—waving
a thick stack of cash—and I crawl over, dancing on my knees in front of
him. He places a dollar in my G-string like he’s doing big things. “You are
so fucking hot,” he says to my tits, holding out another dollar.
Smiling as I go to reach for it, he jerks the bill away. “I’m gonna need
more skin.”
I want to roll my eyes. We’re a topless bar, not fully nude; but even if
we were, I still wouldn’t flash my pussy to this prick, for a freakin’ dollar
bill no less. Plastering on a smile as fake as my pink hair, I shake my head
apologetically before working my way back to the center of the stage.
My set’s winding down, and I decide to close with a biggie, just in case
Mr. Rolex is watching. Climbing to the top of the eighteen-foot pole, I
invert myself—holding on with my calf in front of the pole and my shin
behind it—crossing my legs. I spread my arms into a T before releasing the
knee brace—my body dropping like a rocket, head-first to the ground.
Stopping myself a few inches from the floor with a perfectly timed squeeze,
the crowd goes crazy.
Hanging upside-down for dramatic effect, I count to five before I
dismount with an inverted chopper onto the floor. Working the audience as I
collect my money yields more cash thrown my way.
I stuff the bills into my cash box and blow the audience one last kiss.
The dollar-bill tipper shouts, “Hey, you think you’re too good for me,
bitch?”
I know I am, but I just smile and wave as I strut off stage with my cash
box in one hand, bra in the other.
Amethyst’s waiting for her set backstage, giving me an eat shit look. “A
fucking inverted crucifix slide?”
I shrug. Sorry not sorry.
 “Cunt,” she mutters, wiping her nose. Chances are, she just snorted a
line of coke.
Ignoring her crazy ass, I keep walking. Amethyst is the only dancer I
don’t get along with, but I don’t take it personally—she doesn’t get along
with anyone. She’s all about drama, whereas I’m all about making money
and going home.
Stuffing my cash box in my locker, I put my bra back on and quickly
freshen up before heading to the floor to capitalize on my stage
performance. Making my way through the crowd, I’m searching for these
supposed big spenders.
I get some catcalls from a group of twenty-something guys, and I smile.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Sidling up to their table, I
smile. “Hi, I’m Candy. You gentlemen having a good time?”
“We are now that you’re here,” one of them says.
“How about we have an even better time? Lap dances to start?” I
suggest.
Someone palms my ass, and I spin around to find the dollar-bill tipper
sneering at me. “Don’t fuck with this bitch. Thinks her pussy’s made of
gold.”
“Honey, my pussy’s twenty-four carat.” I wink at the guys I’m working
while discretely trying to remove this jerk’s hand from my ass.
Just when I think I’ve seen it all at this club, the guy proves me wrong
by yanking me to him as he tries to shove his tongue down my throat.
Clawing at his chest does nothing, so I’m forced to knee him in the
junk. That does the trick.
“You fucking cunt,” he wheezes, cradling his balls.
The club bouncer appears, dragging the guy out. “You’re going to get
yours, bitch!” he shouts.
The owner, Joe, is now beside me. “Gentlemen, a round of drinks on the
house for the little dustup. Candy, come with me, lovely.”
“Of course. I’ll be back later to take care of you gentlemen. Remember,
twenty-four carat,” I say with a wink.
The vulture Amethyst is already there to descend on my turf. “Don’t
wait on her when I’m right here. Trust me, I can show you an even better
time—with a platinum pussy.”
Following Joe as I grit my teeth at the shitshow this night’s turning into,
we stop near the stairs to the VIP rooms.
 “He started it,” I plead my case. “Did you see—”
“I don’t give a shit about numbnuts. You’ve been booked for a private
dance.”
“What the hell, Joe?” I say, taken aback. “I choose my clients.”
“I know, I know. But this man insisted.”
“Insisted with how much cash?” I demand.
He smiles. “Enough for you to get your ass up there.”
“I’ve already had my ass groped and my mouth assaulted, and now
you’re sending me in with a man I’ve never laid eyes on? I want my house
fees waived tonight for all this bullshit.”
Joe snorts a laugh. “And I want to retire at a nice poolside condo in
Boca Raton. Go.”
I figured as much, but it was worth a shot. “He turns out to be a psycho
and kills me, I’m haunting you till your dying breath.” I hold out my hand.
“Gum.” Joe’s quitting smoking, so he’s always got a pack on him.
He reaches in his pocket and hands a piece to me.
If I’m going to die tonight, it’s not going to be with the nasty taste of
dollar-bill guy on my tongue.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Six

Romeo

I’m seething, my dick’s hard as a rock, and I might have blown a few
stitches to boot. I’m not sure who I’m more pissed at—Nicky for displaying
her body, my body, to the world, or the asshole who had the nerve to touch
what’s mine.
Fantasizing about what I’m going to do to the little prick, another of my
fantasies walks into the room. Nicky quickly loses the phony smile and
glares at me.
My dick twitches.
“You.”
“Me.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Watching the show. Quite the performance.” I’ve been to my fair share
of strip clubs in my day, but I’ve never seen anything as sexy as what she
did up on that stage. And that last move—diving head-first to the floor? I
was scared shitless for her safety and for myself, because I was afraid I was
going to nut in my boxers like a fucking teenager.
“Why do I not believe that’s a compliment?” She crosses her arms, her
tits dangerously close to slipping out of her bra.
My dick twitches yet again, but then I’m pissed all over again when I
remember every asshole in this place also got a look at Nicky’s tits.
“Come here,” I demand.
“No.”
 I stalk over to where she is and slap a hand on either side of her, caging
her against the wall. Trying not to grimace at the pain in my shoulder, I say
quietly, “You don’t tell me no.”
She squares her jaw. “I’m telling you no.”
I smile, and it’s not a nice one. To Nicky’s credit, she doesn’t flinch.
“This little side hustle of yours ends tonight.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
She balks. “I’m supposed to do what you say, just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“In what world?” she demands.
“In mine. Let’s go. We have business to discuss.”
She surprises me by shrugging. “Fine.”
“Fine?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at her abrupt change in attitude.
“Fine,” she grits.
“Before we go, I’ll take my dance,” I say, grabbing her hand and pulling
her over to the couch. I take a seat—sprawling my legs out, getting nice and
comfortable.
“I’m sorry, but didn’t you just tell me my little side hustle ends
tonight?” she mouths off.
My dick gets any harder, it’s going to explode. “That’s right. After you
dance for me.”
She smiles, taking off her ridiculously tall heels. Placing her bare heels
together and toes apart, she bends her knees with her arms out. I don’t say a
word as she goes through a whole number with pirouettes, arabesques, and
other ballet moves I don’t even know what the fuck they’re called.
She finishes, taking a curtsey. “There you go. You said dance; you
didn’t say which kind.”
I laugh; it’s likewise not a nice one. This time, she has the good sense to
look scared. Finally.
“Let’s go,” I demand. “I’ll escort you out.”
“Not necessary. I’ll meet you outside,” she tells me.
“I insist.”
“You’re not allowed in the back.”
“I don’t care.”
“I have to tip out. It could take a while,” she warns.
“I don’t care,” I repeat myself, and I fucking hate repeating myself.
 Sam’s waiting on us, and he wisely ducks his head when Nicky exits.
She walks in front of me, and I get a nice view of her perfect, heart-shaped
ass in that thong. Knowing every motherfucker in this placing is getting the
same show, I’m enraged all over again.
Shrugging out of my suit jacket with a wince, I drape it over her
shoulders.
“Are you kidding me?” she hisses.
“I don’t kid.”
“No, I’m sure you don’t,” she jibes.
Nicky stops at the VIP podium and whispers something to the bouncer,
handing him a few bills. And they say the mob shakes people down.

Nicky

Walking past several bouncers, Romeo dares them with his hard eyes to say
something. No one does.
For the record, I don’t agree with this bullshit. At all. But I’ll let the big,
bad man think he’s won—at least this round.
“Your wound’s bleeding,” I inform him, the small red dot visible on his
dress shirt now that I’m wearing his jacket. “Let me look at it. I want to see
if the infection’s cleared anyway.”
He holds out a hand, stopping me. “Later.”
I shrug. If he wants to tear open his sutures and bleed out, that’s his
business.
Opening my locker, I grab my money box. Only having one stage
performance, zero lap dances, and one private “dance” with no tip, my take
is going to be pathetic. Still, that one private dance was worth the look on
Romeo’s face. Mom always said ballet was a waste of money, but tonight
made all those lessons pay off.
I frown when I straighten out my bills—all dollars.
“What’s wrong?” Romeo demands.
 “What’s wrong is you ended my night early! I’ll be lucky to break
even.”
He grabs his wallet, pulling out a stack of hundreds and slapping them
down on top of my pile. “Compensation for lost wages. Let’s go,” he barks.
Giving him a death glare, I make my way to the floor and tip out the DJ,
the bouncer, and the bartender, all with a pissy Romeo on my heels.
An old guy waves me down, but when he spots the scary man behind
me, the customer wisely hops up and walks briskly to another section of the
club.
Returning to the dressing room, I slip out of Romeo’s jacket, tossing it
to him. I grab my street clothes. “Turn around,” I tell him.
He snorts. “Suddenly you’re modest?”
“Fuck you,” I spit, spinning around for a shred of privacy as I take off
my G-string and pull on a comfy pair of panties. His eyes feel like they’re
touching my skin as I unfasten my performance bra and throw on an
oversized sweater and some leggings.
I take a seat, slipping on my shoes while Romeo watches me with a
lustful scowl—like he can’t decide if he wants to fuck me or kill me.
It’s the same way he looked at me when he backed me up against the
wall in the VIP room, and I’m not even going to acknowledge what was
going on with my pussy because of it. Or the way his severely handsome
face was so close I could have leaned in and kissed him. Or the way his
whiskey-colored eyes were trying to pry all my secrets from my soul. Or
the way his huge, rock-hard dick pressed against my belly. Or the way he
smelled like spice and danger.
Danger. I need to remember that one. He’s a dangerous, controlling
asshole who still might kill me—end of story.
We walk out of the dressing room, and I stick my head in Joe’s office. “I
have to cut this evening short. I just tipped out. Here’s my house fee.”
“Sure, you do what you gotta do,” Joe says quickly, accepting the cash.
A little too quickly, considering he’s losing his biggest money-maker for the
evening.
I glare at Romeo as we walk out the back door, finding Sam leaning
against a blacked-out SUV. “Hi, Sam. Threaten to kill any exotic dancers
this evening?” I quip.
“No, but the night’s young,” he informs me, opening the door for us.
Romeo growls—freaking growls like a damn pit bull.
 Sam wisely ducks his head as I climb into the back of the vehicle,
Romeo sliding in beside me.
“Hello. Luca, right?” I address the driver. “How’s it going?”
He ignores me as we pull out of the club, and make our way out of
downtown.
“We’re going the wrong way to my apartment,” I tell Romeo.
“We’re not going to your apartment,” he corrects me, adjusting his
watch. Pearl was right—it is a Rolex.
“What is it you think we need to talk about?” I demand.
Sighing loudly when he doesn’t answer me, I alternate between looking
out the window and sipping from my water bottle. My stomach growls
nearly as loud as the pit bull next to me did just a few moments ago.
“You’re hungry,” Romeo says. He didn’t state it as a question, so I don’t
respond. “Stop at the next convenience store,” he orders the driver.
We pull into a gas station parking lot and Romeo turns to me. “What do
you want?”
“I can just run inside—”
“What do you want?” he demands again, this time with more force.
Deciding it’s not worth arguing over, I say, “Banana, if they have it, and
any kind of chocolate protein bar.”
Sam wordlessly hops out of the car and walks inside.
“Lose the wig,” Romeo commands.
“Do you ever get tired of barking orders?”
He responds by trying to yank the wig off me.
“Ouch!” I say, holding it onto my head. “That’s not how you freakin’
take off a wig.”
“However you need to take it off, do it.”
God, he’s such an asshole. “I need a mirror and a sink.”
He growls—again with the growling.
Sam returns, handing me a protein bar. “No banana.”
“Thanks,” I tell him.
“Escort her to the bathroom,” Romeo commands Sam.
Sam opens my door for me, and I grab my bag and hop out of the
vehicle. We walk inside, and I take the opportunity to sneak a peek at him.
He’s not quite as jacked as Romeo, and is a few inches shorter than his
boss. His dirty blond hair’s styled in an undercut, and he has pretty baby-
blue eyes. Pretty baby-blue eyes that could lull you into a false sense of
security before he slits your throat.
As if he can read my mind, he glances over and smiles menacingly.
“Am I supposed to be intimidated?” I ask in a bored tone.
“If you had any fucking sense at all,” he says quietly, opening the gas
station door for me.
Reaching the restroom, it’s a one-staller, and I take great satisfaction in
slamming the door in Sam’s face. I get to work with my little spray bottle of
rubbing alcohol, and using the sharp end of a rat tail comb, I pop the lace
wig off and remove my hair cap. My real hair is a flat mess now, so I pull it
into a high ponytail. Romeo didn’t say anything about my makeup, but I
take a wipe from my bag and remove it, along with my fake lashes.
As I exit the bathroom, Sam’s glowering at me as we walk out. He
opens the car door for me, and I slide into the back of the SUV.
“Better,” Romeo comments, looking me over.
I roll my eyes. “This guy with the compliments.”
He surprises me by jerking my head around by my ponytail, and my
heart chooses this moment to try and jump out of my chest. His hard eyes
never leave mine as he says, “Where we’re going, show no disrespect if you
want to walk out alive. Understood?”
My mouth’s suddenly bone-dry, and I dart my tongue out to moisten my
lips. He watches the movement like a hawk. “Understood,” I whisper.
Easing up on the death grip, he runs his hand up and down my ponytail
once before dropping it and turning his head to look out the window. If I
didn’t have whiplash before, I do now after, well, whatever the hell that
was.
I nibble on the protein bar as we enter the wealthiest suburb of Newark.
Passing golf courses and mansions bordering on the obscene, we turn onto a
private drive, stopping at a guard house with a boom gate.
Luca rolls down the window, and the guard flashes his light into the
vehicle. “Evening, Mr. Parisi,” the guard addresses Romeo, returning to the
building and pushing a button, the gate opening for us. So that’s Romeo’s
last name—noted.
“Where are we?” I ask Romeo.
“The boss’s house.”
“Your boss?”
“The boss,” he informs me.
 Fuck.
We continue down the drive, and I want to correct him—this isn’t a
house, it’s a palace! Looming before us is a sprawling, Mediterranean-style
mansion with a stucco exterior, sweeping balconies with arched windows
and doors, and a terracotta roof.
Coming to a stop next to a fountain in the circular drive, Romeo tells
Sam and Luca, “Give us a minute.”
They exit the vehicle, and Romeo turns to me. “My father is going to
offer you a deal. You’ll take it,” he warns.
“That’s not really an offer then, is it? Not if I don’t have a choice.”
Without warning, Romeo wraps his large hand around my neck, and I
gulp. “It’s not,” he agrees, and I gasp in shock when his lips crash against
mine. It wasn’t a fluke—the man knows his way around my mouth. His
tongue aggressively twirls against mine as he angles my head to suit him.
He’s an asshole, I remind myself, but my hands refuse to listen as I grip
his dress shirt and pull him closer. He groans against my lips, breaking the
kiss.
Dropping my hands, my breath is coming out in jagged bursts, sounding
like I just ran a miracle mile. The man looks completely unaffected—and
doesn’t that just piss me off—but I glance down, noticing the huge bulge in
his pants. Maybe not so unaffected after all.
Without a word, he reaches past me to open my door, his arm brushing
against my tits. It wasn’t intentional, but I’m sure he felt my pebbled
nipples from that kiss.
God, that kiss. Not only does Romeo smell like spice and danger, he
tastes like it too.
Danger! I remind myself as I step out of the SUV.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Seven

Nicky

Romeo rings the doorbell, and I half expect a butler in a tuxedo to greet us.
Instead, an older woman wearing a black tracksuit with her gray hair pulled
back in a bun answers the door. She begins speaking animatedly in Italian,
kissing Romeo on both cheeks before opening her arms for an embrace.
My jaw falls to the ground when he actually hugs her.
The woman turns her attention to me, then back to Romeo. “This your
girl?”
“Yes,” Romeo says.
“No,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Nonna, this is Nicky. Nicky, this is my grandmother,” Romeo
introduces us.
“Hello. It’s nice to meet you,” I say.
Pulling me in for a double cheek kiss, she asks, “You Italian?”
I shake my head no.
“Pity,” she says sadly. “You look Italian.”
“Nonna, we need to see Antonio. We’re already late,” Romeo says,
pulling me along.
She responds with something in Italian, waving her hands and rolling
her eyes. I like Nonna already.
We enter through a foyer with sweeping double staircases, and down a
hall with paintings looking like they belong in a museum. Reaching the end
of the hall, Romeo knocks on a rather imposing door.
“Enter,” a gruff voice calls out.
 We step inside a luxurious office to find a man who must be Romeo’s
father—same build, same intimidating presence, same downturned lips.
He stands from behind his desk and steps around, surprising me by
coming in for a double cheek kiss. “Nicky, it’s a pleasure. I’m Antonio,” he
says in a thick Italian accent.
“Nice to meet you, Antonio,” I reply, steeling my spine.
“My boy,” he greets Romeo, kissing his son on each cheek.
Antonio gestures to the chairs across from him, and we take a seat.
Returning to his position behind his desk—no doubt the position of power
—he tents his fingertips together. “Nicky, this family owes you a debt of
gratitude.”
Most would wave off the compliment with a “not necessary,” or “glad I
could help.” Instead, I say, “Yes, this family does owe me.”
Romeo side-eyes me in warning, but fuck that. Yes, I’m dealing with
dangerous people, but I’m nobody’s doormat, and I won’t live the rest of
my life being treated like one.
Antonio smiles. It’s just as chilling as his son’s; the only difference is
the father’s lips quirk up uniformly on both sides. “Tell me about your
medical training.”
Surprised by the question, I answer, “I have my bachelors in nursing,
and I’m currently completing my nurse practitioner program, after which
I’ll be able to sit for the licensure exam.”
Antonio tsks. “So, you won’t be a doctor?”
“No, but a nurse practitioner can do most things a doctor can. I’ll be
able to diagnose and treat, and write prescriptions as long as a doctor is
overseeing my practice,” I say, feeling I have to defend my chosen field.
Most people don’t understand what a family nurse practitioner is or what
she does. “Plus, fewer years in school, fewer zeros on the tuition bill.”
Antonio smiles. “Smart girl. No bigger racket than higher education.”
My guess is this man knows a thing or two about running a racket, but I
keep my mouth shut. “You finish school in a few weeks, yes?”
“Yes,” I say, not liking that he’s run a background on me. “And once I
pass the licensure exam, I’m free to practice,” I continue, still unsure where
this conversation is going.
“Excellent. When all that’s taken care of, you’ll work for my family.”
“I’m sorry?” I sputter.
 “You’ve seen the clinic. Doc Caruso’s retiring. He’ll show you the
ropes,” Antonio tells me.
“While it sounds like a wonderful offer, that wouldn’t work. As I said, I
need a doctor overseeing my practice,” I tell Antonio, all the while I can
feel Romeo boring holes into me with his glare.
“Doc stays on in name.” Antonio waves away my concern. “Problem
solved.” He pushes a stack of documents across his desk, and I grab them,
trying to school my features when I spot the starting salary listed at the top
of the contract. It’s five times what an average nurse practitioner makes.
Hell, it’s five times what a lot of doctors make.
If I’m being forced to make a deal with the devil, I’d better read the
details. I’m to provide exclusive, concierge-style medical services on call
24/7 to members of the Parisi family. Those family members aren’t
specially named, but I suspect it’s beyond members of this household.
The duration of the agreement? For life.
No, it’s not much of an offer, despite all those zeros. I try to keep the
pen steady as I sign my life away.
“One more. Lawyers love paperwork, no?” He smiles, producing a
second document.
Reviewing the non-disclosure agreement, I half expect it to say
“Snitches get stitches and wind up in ditches,” but it uses much nicer
legalese. Still, the takeaway is I am to keep my fucking mouth shut. Signing
it, I push the document across his desk.
“Splendido.” He smiles brightly. “Nicky, you’ll meet with Doc Caruso
and go from there. Son, a few points of business.”
“Nicky, go to the family room and wait for me,” Romeo orders.
Oh, how I want to mouth off, but I bite my tongue. “No problem.
Antonio, thank you,” I say as I stand.
Antonio nods. “Nicky. I look forward to seeing more of you in the
future.”

Romeo
“My boy, you didn’t tell me what a beauty the new doc is,” my father
chastises me.
“I didn’t,” I agree, “because she’s mine.”
“You fucked her?”
“Yes,” I lie. If I have to piss circles around her, I will.
“Don’t blame you,” he says, leaning back in his chair.
“Anyone taking credit for the attempted hit?” I ask, changing the
subject away from Nicky.
“No, which concerns me,” he says, drumming his fingers on his
mahogany desk. “I want you in Atlantic City tomorrow. Since we had to
reschedule the meeting last-minute, let’s make sure everyone’s still on the
same page. I’ll lend you extra security.”
“Not necessary.” There’s only a few in my inner circle I trust, and
Antonio’s personal guards aren’t on the list.
“Very well.” He dismisses me, but before I can make it out of his office,
he calls, “Romeo?” and I stop at the door. “I expect Nicky to carry her
weight. Your dick better not be clouding your judgment on this.”
“It’s not.” I have no doubt Nicky can carry her weight. As for my dick
clouding my judgment, I have a feeling with this woman, my dick will have
to take a number behind my black heart.

Nicky

“Go to the family room,” I mimic Romeo’s command. Easier said than done
in a house with a thousand freakin’ rooms!
The smell of something delicious wafts through the air, and I follow it
down the hall until I reach the family room and adjoining kitchen. “Come
here, Nicky, and taste this,” Nonna tells me, standing over a pot on the
stove.
The only thing I’ve eaten in hours is a measly protein bar, so I jump at
the opportunity. She grabs a spoon and scoops up something red, handing it
to me. I blow on the steaming spoon for a few seconds so I don’t scald my
tongue. Tasting it, I tell her with a moan, “Delicious.”
“My famous red sauce,” she says proudly. “You marry Romeo and I
give you the recipe.”
I almost choke. “Nonna, Romeo and I aren’t—”
“You have nice child-bearing hips.”
Being an exotic dancer, I thought I’d heard every possible critique
and/or crass compliment one could receive, but this is a first. “Thank you?”
She scoops out a bowl of pasta and ladles the sauce over it. “Eat,” she
says, handing me the bowl.
I take it and have a seat at the island, letting the steam dissipate before
diving in. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” I tell her with sincerity.
She waves away the compliment but looks pleased. “Next time you
come, we plan the wedding.”
I nearly spit out a mouthful of pasta. “Nonna, that’s moving a bit fast.”
Sure, Romeo just kissed me senseless, but it doesn’t mean anything. Scratch
that—it can’t mean anything, not when I’m about to work for his family.
Mixing business with pleasure has the potential to get all kinds of
complicated. Deadly complicated.
“Romeo’s never been serious about a girl. You’re the first he’s brought
home,” she says, looking at me expectantly.
Not wanting to crush this old woman’s fantasy, I tell her, “We’re not
serious. Well, he’s serious, but I think that’s just his face.”
“Yes, he was a serious child. Even before…” She trails off.
“Before what?” I pounce.
“Before his mamma was killed, God rest her soul,” she says, making the
sign of the cross and kissing the crucifix hanging from her neck.
“Nonna, what lies are you telling Nicky?” Romeo asks, and I jump. For
a man as large as he is, he’s surprisingly stealthy.
“Only true ones. Come eat.”
Romeo shakes his head. “We need to get going.”
“Eat.”
To my amazement, Romeo relents, taking a seat beside me.
Nonna fills a bowl and passes it to him, smiling as she watches us. “You
two will make pretty babies.”
“Jesus Christ, Nonna.” Romeo nearly chokes on his pasta.
“Language.” She points at him sternly, and I giggle.
 Romeo glares at me, and I try to wipe the smile off my face, but I can’t.
Finishing the pasta, we tell Nonna goodbye and step outside, Luca
waiting to open the SUV door for us. This is the first full look I’ve gotten at
Romeo’s driver. Luca appears to be around the same age as Sam—likely a
few years younger than Romeo—but has more of a lean build, not that he’s
any less formidable.
We make it past the gatehouse and hit the road. It’s been a hell of a long
day, and with my belly now nice and full, I lean my head back and rest my
eyes.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Eight

Nicky

Waking with a start, I find myself being carried by Romeo through a dimly-
lit hallway. “Put me down,” I protest.
“No.”
“Where are we?”
“My house,” Romeo says in that gravelly tone of his, making things of
mine clinch that have no business clinching for this man.
“Take me home,” I demand, remembering what happened last time I
stayed the night at this house. With this man. In his bed.
“It’s late. You’ll stay here tonight.”
Desire and panic duel for control; panic wins out. “I’m not sure where
Nonna got the idea I’m your girl, but she’s mistaken,” I tell him in a rush.
He raises an eyebrow. “Is she, now?”
“Yes! I’m about to work for your father. A relationship with anyone in
your ‘family’ would be inappropriate.”
“That was in your contract?” he challenges.
“No, but I’m instituting the rule.”
“Cute,” he tells me.
“Put me down!” I slap his chest, and he grunts. “Oh, shit. Let me see
your wound.” After the events of the night, I completely forget he was
bleeding earlier at the club.
We stop in the living room, and he places me down gently on a leather
couch. Unlike his father’s house, Romeo’s is much less opulent. Everything
still looks expensive as hell, just understatedly so.
 He takes a seat beside me, shrugging out of his jacket and unbuttoning
his shirt. Damn, he’s just as sexy as I remembered, with that smattering of
chest hair calling for someone’s fingers to run through; the hard lines of his
stomach begging for someone’s tongue to taste. Again, not my fingers or
tongue, as I don’t appreciate being kidnapped and forced into a lifetime of
working for the mob.
He catches me staring and smirks. “Like what you see?”
Snapping out of it, I say, “I’m going to take a look, if that’s okay.”
“Be my guest,” he says smugly.
“A look at your injury.” Peeling off the bandage, I comment, “Your
wound’s healing nicely. Looks like the infection’s cleared. Did you finish
taking the antibiotics?”
“No.”
“Of course not,” I mutter. “You’ve busted open a few sutures. Do you
have any medical supplies here?”
“There’s a kit underneath the kitchen sink.”
Moving to the sleek chef’s kitchen, I find the kit and give my hands a
good scrub before returning with the right frame of mind—the one where
I’m not thinking of climbing Romeo like a tree and riding his dick so hard, I
won’t be able to walk straight for a few days.
I don sterile gloves before getting my instruments lined up. “No
numbing agent, but you’re a tough guy, if memory serves.”
“I bet your memory serves,” he says in a low timbre, causing my
nipples to pebble. “How many times have you touched this sweet pussy
thinking about my fingers inside you?”
“Oh my God,” I gasp, nearly dropping the needle driver. “Can we
pretend that never happened?”
“I can’t, and neither can you,” he says, his eyes darkening.
Steadying my hand, I warn him, “Be quiet or I’ll give you Frankenstein
stitches.”
I get to work suturing him back up before tying off the nylon. “There
you go. Try not to carry any women you’ve kidnapped for the next seven
days,” I tell him smartly. “Where can I sanitize these tools?”
“Just leave everything,” he tells me. “My housekeeper can clean up
tomorrow.”
“I cannot leave used sharps out!” I say, shocked. “Where’s your laundry
room?”
 “Off the kitchen.”
Removing my gloves, I march to the kitchen, washing my hands before
finding the laundry room. Grabbing a canister of detergent pods, I dump
them out on the dryer and return to the kitchen, where I rifle through
drawers until I find a permanent marker. Writing Sharps/Biohazard on the
canister, I return to the living room and discard everything inside, closing
the lid.
“That makes me feel somewhat better,” I announce before returning to
the kitchen, where I give my hands one final wash.
“Nicky,” Romeo calls.
“Coming.” Turning around, I yelp as I nearly bump into him.
He scoops me up in his arms before I can stop him. “You bullhead!” I
don’t fight him, though, as I’d rather he not bust any more sutures. He
carries me down the hall. “Where are we going?” I demand.
“My room.”
“I am not sleeping with you,” I say firmly, ignoring the way my pussy
flutters at the idea.
His lips quirk. “Who said anything about sleeping? I’m ready for my
private dance.”
“You got your dance at the club,” I remind him.
He narrows his eyes. “The dance I paid for, not you being cute.”
“Aww, you’re calling me cute. See? You can give a girl a compliment.”
Entering his bedroom, he flicks on the lights to dim mode before
placing me down gently on my feet. He stalks over to the uncomfortable
chair in the corner and takes a seat. “What music do you want?” he asks,
grabbing a remote from the end table.
“I only perform when I’m Candy,” I warn. “You’ll have to wait for me
to get into character.”
Romeo shakes his head. “I don’t want Candy. I want Nicky to dance for
me. What music?”
Panicking, I say, “But I’m in street clothes.”
“So?” He lifts his uninjured shoulder lazily.
“At least let me grab my bag with my heels.”
“Nicky, dance for me,” he says quietly, his eyes blazing with desire.
 Romeo

Holding my breath, I know I’ve won when the look on Nicky’s gorgeous
face goes from skittish to determined.
She doesn’t want anyone to know she strips for professional reasons—I
get it—but I still hate the pink wig. In fact, I’m going to trash the thing
myself, because her stripping gig just came to an end. One, she’s mine, and
I don’t fucking share. Two, I failed to tell Antonio about her little side
hustle. He’s old school and prejudiced that way—he’ll enjoy a stripper’s
company but look down on her in the same breath.
Turning on the music, I lean back in my chair as Nicky moves her hips
side to side, raising her arms above her head before bringing them back
down to the hem of her sweater—pulling it over her head and tossing it on
the floor. She’s braless, and fuck if that isn’t a beautiful sight.
Next, she peels off her socks and leggings—leaving her in a pair of
black lace panties I’d love to rip off with my teeth. Falling to her knees, she
begins gyrating her hips, smiling seductively at me as her natural tits
bounce beautifully.
“Crawl to me,” I command, my dick throbbing.
Dancing on her knees, she shakes her head back and forth. “You didn’t
want Candy. You wanted Nicky, and Nicky crawls for no man.” Moving her
hands to caress her tits, I quietly groan. Her nipples are hard enough to cut
glass.
“I don’t give a fuck how you do it, just get over here,” I growl, adjusting
my position to accommodate my raging hard-on.
Nicky rises, taking her sweet time as she saunters over to me.
Crouching down, she places both hands on my thighs, rubbing back and
forth, smiling up at me seductively. Fuck, she’s trying to kill me.
She stands lithely, moving one leg to the side of my chair and then the
other leg—straddling me while keeping her ass in the air as she dances over
me.
 Teasing me.
Torturing me.
Not touching me.
And I’ve fucking had enough. Jerking her down to my lap, she gasps as
her pussy lands right where it needs to be—on my dick.
“Do you feel what you do to me, Nicky?” I thrust my hips for emphasis
as I grab her by the hair and drag her lips to mine.

Nicky

How did this spiral so out of control? Dammit, Nicky! Candy would have
never let this happen.
Oh, but it’s happening. Romeo has a firm hold on my hair as he
explores my mouth. He’s gentle at first, but then it’s like a switch gets
flipped, and his kisses turn violent. Attacking my mouth with his tongue, he
retreats, only to suck my tongue into his mouth like he’s trying to devour it
—and me along with it.
There’s nothing I can do except grab ahold of his uninjured shoulder for
leverage as I grind my aching pussy against the huge bulge in his pants. He
groans against my tongue as he releases it, moving his mouth to my neck—
licking and sucking and biting—as he turns me into a fucking needy mess.
I cry out when he nips me harder than a love bite, and he smiles against
my neck, moving his tongue lower until he’s circling my nipple. “So
fucking perfect,” he praises, placing a gentle kiss on the rosy bud before
flicking it with his tongue.
“Mmm,” I moan as he sucks my nipple into his mouth, releasing it with
a little pop. He moves to my other nipple, showering it with the same
attention.
Circling his tongue around my belly button, he moves his head lower,
tugging at my panties with his teeth. “Let me see my pussy,” he says in a
guttural tone.
 “My pussy, and no, I don’t give fully nude lap dances.” As soon as the
words are out of my mouth, it hits me—the music’s stopped. Scrambling off
him, I grab my clothes off the floor.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He stalks over to me, but I hold up
my hand, and he thankfully stops.
“You paid for a dance. You got it,” I tell him, my hands shaking as I pull
my sweater over my head.
“I want more than just a dance from you, Nicky,” he says with such heat
I might combust into flames.
“This ends here,” I warn him, holding the rest of my clothes in my arms.
“Where’s my room this evening?”
Running his hand through his hair in frustration, he growls, “Last door
down the hall on the right.”
He doesn’t try to stop me as I hustle to the door. For that, I’m thankful; I
don’t know what I would do if he did. That’s a lie. I know exactly what I’d
do, and that’s why I need to get the hell out of his bedroom.
Walking briskly down the hall, I find the guest room and toss my purse
on the bedside table. My phone buzzes, and I read the message from an
unknown number.
You’re wrong. This doesn’t end here. This is only the
beginning.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Nine

Nicky

The next morning, I wake to my five o’clock alarm—an ungodly hour after
last night’s events. Entering the en suite bathroom, I take a quick shower
and dry off with a towel as soft as a cloud.
I speed through my routine, as I’ll have to swing by my apartment to
grab my scrubs for my hospital shift.
Or not. Stopping short, I find a brand-new pair of light blue scrubs laid
out on the bed with a note scrawled in haphazard penmanship.

Since I “made” you spill your coffee on your

tit.
~R

I also discover a matching bra and panty set, as well as a pair of socks
and trainers—everything in my size.
Slipping on my new clothes, I give my teeth a brushing with a new
toothbrush and toothpaste laid out on the counter, then throw my wet hair
into a ponytail. I grab my purse and follow the smell of coffee to the
kitchen. Sam’s seated on a barstool at the counter, drinking a cup.
“Morning,” I tell him, not shy about helping myself since Sam has no
manners whatsoever.
 “You play games with him and I’ll cut up that pretty face, make sure no
man will look at you, let alone touch you,” he menaces, now twirling a
knife in his hand.
“I’m good this morning, thanks for asking,” I mange with a steady
voice, ignoring the threat. “I need my car,” I say, blowing on the steaming
cup before taking a sip. “I’ve got to be at the hospital—”
“It’s in the driveway,” he interrupts, tossing me my keys.
Catching them, I say, “Thanks. I need to get going. Is Romeo—”
“Already gone. I’ll walk you out.”
I scoff. “So you stayed behind to babysit me? Make sure I didn’t walk
off with the sterling silver?”
“Stripper and trustworthy aren’t two words that go hand-in-hand,” he
says, still working the knife between his fingers.
“Aww, don’t tell me a stripper broke you heart?”
“Let’s go,” he barks.
Oooh, I may have just hit the nail on the head.
Placing my cup in the dishwasher, I follow Sam outside. He’s in a
different SUV than the one we rode in last night, and I follow behind him in
my car. We pass through the gate, and I pause to pull up the hospital address
in my GPS. Sam turns right out of the neighborhood as I turn left. Goodbye
to Sam, and good riddance.
Since I’ve got plenty of time, I stop at Corner Caffè. If there was a
blood stain on the sidewalk, it’s long since been cleaned.
Stepping inside, I rifle through my purse to find my wallet as I place my
order.
“Name?” the barista asks.
“Nicky.”
She takes my card, only to look at it and return it to me. “On the house.”
“Thanks, but why?”
“You’re Nicky Thomas.”
“Yes,” I say hesitantly.
“That’s why.”
Grabbing my coffee and pastry, I take a seat, feeling like all eyes are on
me.
A petite young woman wearing an apron approaches and plops down
across from me. “So you’re Nicky,” she says excitedly, taking a sip of her
iced coffee.
 “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“I’m Romeo’s sister, Valentina.” She’s a stunning little thing, with
caramel-colored hair pulled back into a ponytail, high cheekbones, and
playful brown eyes.
“I didn’t know he had a sister,” I comment.
“Half-sister. Antonio’s our dad,” she explains.
“Ah, gotcha. Well, it’s nice to meet you.”
“You too. Sorry I missed you last night. Nonna told me all about it. I
was sleeping over at my best friend’s house.”
I smile. “Sounds like fun. How old are you?”
“Seventeen. I’ll be eighteen soon,” she tells me excitedly. “My
birthday’s right before graduation.”
“Congrats! What are your plans after school?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “Now that my arranged marriage fell through,
I’m not sure.”
“Arranged marriage?” I nearly spit out my coffee.
“Yeah, my fiancé, Nico, got caught in some crossfire. Just as well. He
was a dick,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Okay,” I say, because I’m not sure what can be said after that little
admission.
“So, you’re a doctor, huh? You’re the most beautiful doctor I’ve ever
seen. No wonder my brother’s crazy about you.”
“I’m not a doctor, and your brother isn’t crazy about me,” I warn.
“Some kind of fancy nurse.” She waves my statement away. “I heard all
about it from Nonna. Look, everyone in the family will call you doc, so you
might as well get used to it,” she informs me, taking the last slurp of her
iced coffee. “And if Nonna says Romeo’s crazy about you, then he’s crazy
about you.”
“Well, if Nonna said it,” I joke.
“You can take it to the bank,” she finishes for me. “People forget about
her since she’s old and eccentric, but she’s sharp. Hears and sees
everything. You want to be Nonna’s friend.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that,” I tell her, taking a sip of my coffee.
“Have you met Sam?”
“Yeah, he just threatened to cut up my face this morning.”
Valentina rolls her eyes. “Bet a million bucks he didn’t make that threat
in front of Romeo. Just ignore him.”
 “Good advice. So, you work here?”
“Yep. After school and on the weekends. I’m ducking out early today,
though, because of my ballet recital. I wanted to take hip hop dance, but
Papà wouldn’t let me,” she says with another eye roll.
“I used to take ballet. I loved it.”
“Ehh,” she says, less than enthused. “It’s more something to get me out
of the house. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to work. It was so nice to meet
you. I hope you marry my brother’s grumpy ass.”
Before I can correct her, she’s already taken off to the back. Besides, if
Nonna said it.
I finish my pastry and make the drive to the hospital. Scanning my
badge, I track down my preceptor, Dr. Smith—the M.D. who oversees my
clinical work. And my God, the woman’s a real piece of work. No matter
how great of a job I do, it’s never good enough. I’d bet big money Dr.
Smith’s hatred of me has to do with the rumor of her surgeon husband
hooking up with a nurse on his team. I’m not that nurse—nor am I on his
team—but tell that to my preceptor.
“Nicky, so glad you could join us,” she says, her greeting dripping with
sarcasm. I blamed missing my shift the morning of the shooting on a
stomach virus. Hey, I did throw up that day!
“Me too,” I say, pretending her biting comment went over my head.
Following her into the first patient’s room, I stop short. No! No! No!
Please don’t tell me this is happening. It’s fucking Amethyst! She doesn’t
appear to recognize me—I wear a wig at the club for this very reason—but
if I have to speak, my voice might give me away.
“Hello, Ms. Jenkins. I’m Dr. Smith, and this is nurse Nicky. You’ve hurt
your right ankle at work, is it?”
“Yeah, lost my grip on the pole and came down on it bad,” Amethyst
explains. “I gave a lap dance after, but my ankle hurt like a mother.”
“I see,” Dr. Smith says with thinly veiled disdain. “Nicky, I’m going to
let you take over. Ms. Jenkins, you’re in good hands.”
Dr. Smith hates giving me the reins. I can only assume she’s done so
now because Amethyst explained her pole injury, and Dr. Smith’s a
judgmental bitch. “Hello. May I touch your ankle?” I ask, trying to pitch
my voice higher than normal.
“Yes.”
 “On a scale of one to ten—ten being the most painful—how does this
feel?” I ask, applying pressure on her swollen ankle.
She grimaces. “Eleven.”
“We’re going to need an x-ray to rule out a fracture. Let me consult with
Dr. Smith and we’ll go from there.”
“Okay,” she says, now playing on her phone.
I run into Dr. Smith in the hall, and she says quietly, “Did you diagnose
the stripper’s injury?”
“Possible fracture. X-ray to rule it out,” I tell her.
I follow Dr. Smith as we pass Amethyst’s room and walk into the
patient’s room next door. And then we meet with another patient. And
another. And another. Dr. Smith’s delaying care just because Amethyst
admitted to being a stripper. But I have to tread lightly here, as I’m already
on shaky ground with Dr. Smith.
After we finish with a case of strep, I gently remind Dr. Smith for the
second time, “We really need to get back to the patient with the possible
ankle fracture.”
“If we must,” Dr. Smith says.
We enter the room, and Amethyst says, “Finally. Hey, is there a vending
machine around here?”
“Yes, in the lobby,” I answer.
“Good. I’m getting hungry. I could really go for a candy bar.”
“Please don’t leave the room, as an x-ray tech will be with you shortly,”
Dr. Smith says curtly, typing in some notes on the computer before we exit.
“I’m going to take my lunch break now,” I tell Dr. Smith.
Narrowing her eyes at me, she says, “I didn’t authorize that.”
“I’m entitled to thirty minutes by law,” I say, not backing down, as I
need to get the hell away from Amethyst.
Scanning my badge, my shaky hand hits the elevator button as I ride
down to the cafeteria.
Candy bar.
Candy.
A coincidence, I tell myself.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Ten

Romeo

Waiting for Luca to finish his sweep of my SUV for bugs, Sam quips,
“Obsessive fucker.”
“Damn right,” Luca says, moving the sweeping device around the
outside of the vehicle. “Romeo’s face is too pretty for Sing Sing.”
“Fuck you, and yes, my face is pretty,” I say.
They both balk at that.
Knowing the drill, we get in and Luca starts the vehicle, giving it one
final sweep to ensure nothing on our person is sending out a signal.
“Clear,” Luca announces, storing his equipment inside a hidden
compartment in the trunk before sliding behind the wheel.
The first order of business—stopping by my lawyer’s office to sign
some documents. Once that’s taken care of, we make our way on I95 South
to Atlantic City.
I grab my phone and call Enzo—the soldier I’ve assigned to Nicky. He’s
young, but I trust him. Plus, he’s not into pussy, so I don’t have to worry
about him lusting after my woman. “What’s Nicky doing?”
“Your girl just finished a twelve-hour shift at the hospital around eight,”
he reports. “Looked tired when she left.” I don’t like hearing that. “Went
straight home, and it’s been quiet. I think she’s sleeping.”
“Good. Keep me posted.”
Hanging up, I grab my file and try to focus on my business as opposed
to my obsession. “Tell me again why this guy’s getting squirrelly?” I ask,
flipping through the background report on the developer who’s purchased
the floundering casino, The Diamond. He plans on razing it and building a
flashy new casino in its stead, and Parisi Construction will be there to do
the demolition and pour the cement for a pretty penny. At least, that was the
plan, until some fucker tried to kill me on my way to the meeting.
“Don’t know. The problem is, the developer appears to be squeaky
clean, and it’s hard to strong-arm a saint,” Sam says.
“Nobody’s that clean,” Luca weighs in. Being a former cop, he knows a
thing or two on the subject.
“Agreed,” I say. “There’s gotta be a skeleton in his closet.”
“I’ll keep digging,” Sam says.
Arriving in AC, we pull up to The Diamond. Sam and I step out of the
vehicle and enter the lobby of the dated casino, making our way to the bar.
The man I’m looking for isn’t hard to find, seeing as he’s the only patron.
Sam hangs back while I walk over to the table and introduce myself to
the developer.
“Mr. Parisi, nice to meet you.” The diminutive man stands, offering me
a limp-handed shake, and I can already tell I don’t like the little fucker. He
gestures for me to sit.
“I apologize for having to miss our meeting last week,” I tell him.
“Family emergency.”
“No worries,” he says, trying to play it cool, but he’s already sweating
like a motherfucker.
“I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page moving forward
with this project.”
“About that,” he says nervously. “My backers are getting antsy and
wanting to push this project through quickly.”
“Meaning?” I demand.
“We’re looking at all our options.”
“I’m sure you and your backers don’t want labor problems and delays,
which is what you’ll get if you go with another construction company.” It’s
not a threat, but a fact.
“I’ve been assured that won’t be a problem,” he says, fidgeting in his
seat.
“By whom?” Atlantic City was once controlled by the Russo family, but
now that every last one of those motherfuckers has been exterminated,
Parisi runs AC.
 “Phoenix Construction,” he answers. “A relatively new company, but
they guarantee no delays. Plus, they’ve put in a much more competitive
bid.”
“Let’s hear this competitive bid,” I demand.
“Look, I don’t want trouble with the Commission. Phoenix is the safer
choice.”
“Why would you think you’d run into trouble with the Commission if
you went with Parisi Construction?” I have an associate on the Casino
Control Commission I pay handsomely so we don’t run into trouble.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve made my decision,” he says, dabbing his sweaty
brow with a handkerchief.
“Very well. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” And
I sure as fuck know where to find him.
“Thank you,” he says, squirming under my hard gaze.
Pushing my chair back, I rise over the little fucker, smiling at him.
Pretty sure he just pissed his pants as Sam and I walk out of the bar.
Only once we’re inside my SUV do I ask, “Who the fuck is Phoenix
Construction?”
“Don’t know,” Sam answers. “Want me to pick up the developer and
help him change his mind?”
“Not yet,” I say, tapping my fingers on the armrest. “Let’s go pay Sergio
a little visit, see what he’s heard.”
Driving away from the flashy lights of the casinos, we arrive at Sergio’s
old-school Italian restaurant. Stepping inside, the hostess practically jumps
behind the podium to hide as Sam and I make our way to the back; Luca
remains outside to watch the front.
Knocking on the office door, Sergio answers, and we step inside.
“Romeo. Sammy. I didn’t know you boys were paying me a visit,” he greets
us with a double cheek kiss. “I would’ve made you something special.”
He’s around my father’s age, but unlike Antonio, Sergio’s a slob who
doesn’t care one iota about personal appearance. He looks like he just rolled
out of bed, with his wrinkled bowling shirt and frumpy slacks. His horrible
comb-over certainly isn’t helping matters.
“Not necessary.” All capos send their weekly cut to me in Newark, but I
like to show my face in AC now and then—just so everyone understands
they may be out of sight over here on the coast, but they’re never out of
mind.
 We follow Sergio through another hand-sensor door leading to a room
filled with computer screens and members of his crew behind them taking
bets. We pass a soldier wearing a headset whose eyes are glued to a chess
board on the screen.
“We’re ‘helping out’ a player in an online chess tournament. Grand
prize half a mil. Not bad, eh?” Sergio boasts.
I don’t comment—if Sergio wants his ego stroked, he’s got the wrong
Parisi.
We keep walking until we reach Sergio’s inner office, Sam keeping
watch outside. Sergio motions to a chair across from his desk, and as I take
a seat, he passes me a Cuban. He flicks a lighter, and I roll the cigar in the
flame before taking a puff. “That’s smooth.”
He lights his own and takes a puff. “Isn’t it? You want a drink?
Whiskey?”
“No, thanks.” This isn’t a social visit, and I like to keep a clear head
when handling business. “I just wrapped up a meeting with the developer
for The Diamond Casino. Have you heard of Phoenix Construction?”
“No.”
“Find out who’s running the operation and trying to undercut the
family.”
“On it,” he assures me. “And since you’re here, I’ll go ahead and settle
up for the week.” He opens a safe behind his desk and hands me a thick
envelope.
Peeking inside, I find this week’s kick ups. I take my time counting out
the money. It’s not that I don’t trust him, it’s just that I don’t trust him.
Pulling out my ten percent, I secure the rest with a rubber band and stick it
inside the pocket of my suit jacket. The rest of the cash in the envelope goes
to the boss. A capo was shorting Antonio a few years back. That capo is
now six feet under.
“Heard about the drive-by,” Sergio comments, eying my shoulder.
“What have you heard about the drive-by?” I challenge.
“No whispers on the coast, but you know I always keep an ear to the
wind,” he says, blowing out a smoke ring. “How you feeling?”
“Never better.” That’s a lie. My shoulder still hurts like a mother, but
I’ll be damned if I let that rumor get out.
“Also heard about that sexy new doc. I may have to get shot up so she’ll
play doctor with me,” he says with a boisterous laugh.
 I smile, and I have no doubt it looks as deranged as I’m feeling. “Nicky
is my woman. I’ll let the disrespect slide one time and one time only,
Sergio.”
“Sorry, Smiley,” he says, ducking his head.
“Forget about it,” I say, stubbing out my cigar in an ash tray on his desk,
which is terrible etiquette, but so was his use of the nickname I fucking
despise. “Just get me the information on Phoenix Construction,” I order as
we stand.
“Yes, yes, but wait! Let me send some cannoli back with you for
Nonna.” He leads me out of his office, startling when Sam appears from
behind the door. “Jesus, Sammy. Give an old man a head’s up.”
“Why would I want to do that?” Sam says, picking his nails with a
knife.
We follow Sergio to the kitchen, and he packs up six cannoli. “Grazie,”
I say, taking the box.
“Prego. Tell Nonna there’s plenty more where that came from.”
“Leccaculo,” Sam says when we step outside.
“Sono d’accordo,” I agree. No bigger ass-kisser in the family than
Sergio.
We make the return drive to Antonio’s house, and Nonna greets us at the
door. “Come in. You hungry?” she asks, leading us to the kitchen.
“Nonna, I need to handle business with Antonio. Sergio sent these for
you.” I hand her the box.
Opening it, she sticks her finger in the creamy end of one of the cannoli,
bringing it to her mouth. Making a God-awful face, she tosses it—along
with the entire box—in the trash. “I don’t know why Serio even tries. Sheep
milk ricotta, not this abomination.”
“Hey, I wanted one of those,” Sam grumbles.
“Sit. I feed you real food.”
Before Nonna tries to force-feed me, I take off down the hall.
Knocking on Antonio’s door, I enter and hand him the envelope.
Recapping The Diamond meeting, I tell him, “I think we should wait until
we know more about this Phoenix Construction before we make a move.”
“Anything else I need to know?” he asks, his calculating eyes never
leaving mine.
It feels like a trick question, but I answer, “No.”
His phone rings, and he dismisses me with a wave of his hand.
 Gritting my teeth, I walk out of his office and close the door behind me.
I’m the underboss, and yet Antonio still keeps me out of the loop on much
of his business.
I return to the kitchen, where Luca shows me a message on his burner
phone from Darius. My mood just improved. “Nonna, we have to go.”
“You get shot, you asshole, and you don’t tell your sister?” Valentina
huffs from the doorway.
“Language,” Nonna scolds her.
Hugging Valentina, I tell her, “Sorry. Busy.”
“Busy with your new girlfriend.” She smiles at me. “I met her and I
approve.”
“Principessa approves,” Sam quips, and Valentina narrows her eyes at
him.
“Nobody asked your opinion, Sammy.”
“Before you two start, we need to head out,” I warn.
“Bring Nicky to Sunday dinner,” Valentina tells me. “I want to get to
know her better. This is going to be so much fun.” She claps excitedly.
“So much fun,” Sam mimics.
Valentina crosses her arms. “Nobody invited your smart ass.”
“Language,” Nonna says again, exasperated.
I kiss Nonna goodbye, and we step outside. Luca holds open a signal-
blocking bag, and we deposit our cellphones before driving to the
warehouse. Inside, Luca does a quick sweep with his equipment—he really
is an obsessive fucker—while a bound and gagged man is strung up
between two front loaders. The construction version of drawn and
quartered.
Donning protective coveralls, I stalk over to greet our special guest.
“Hello, Eddie.” I rip the tape from his mouth, and he wails like a
fucking banshee. That rewards him with my backhand across his face, and
he lets out a pathetic sob. “You cry like a little bitch, I’ll treat you like one,”
I warn.
Rolling over a metal table with an array of tools, I go for the pliers first,
giving them a few demonstrative snaps. “Please, no,” he begs.
“The reason you’re here, Eddie, is because you disrespected me.”
“I’m sorry—”
I tsk. “Too little, too late. You see, Eddie, you touched something that
belongs to me. Tried to shove your tongue down her throat.”
 “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Joe’s Cabaret.”
“You talking about that slut stripper?” Eddie asks incredulously.
I laugh darkly, and Sam and Luca wisely take a step back.
“Man, you don’t know who the fuck you’re dealing with.”
Having heard enough, I grab Eddie’s cheeks and pry open his mouth—
shoving a dental gag inside.
He tries to speak, but it comes out muffled. Still, the sound of his tongue
being ripped from his mouth rings loud and clear.
“Fuck, why does the tongue bleed so much?” Sam comments as blood
sprays everywhere.
“It’s a muscular organ anchored by a web of tissue,” Luca answers.
“Thank you, Doctor Luca. That was a rhetorical question,” Sam snarks,
flipping Luca off.
Grabbing Eddie by the hair, I jerk his head forward. “Can’t have you
choking on your own blood. Now, Eddie, which hand did you use to grab
my woman’s ass?”
He makes a pitiful gurgling sound.
“Was that a left or a right?” I ask.
“Sounded like a right,” Sam comments.
“I was going to say left,” Luca says.
“Cat’s got his tongue,” I taunt, waving my pliers with the man’s severed
tongue in his face. “Guess to play it safe, I’ll have to cut off both his
hands.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Eleven

Nicky

Parking my car, I walk to the back entrance of the club with less confidence
than I’m used to. The backup wig I’m wearing isn’t nearly as good of
quality as my go-to wig; that one somehow didn’t make it home with me
from Romeo’s house.
I do a double take. Speak of the devil. Romeo’s blocking the door, with
his goon Sam in tow. “What are you doing here?” I demand.
Romeo answers by grabbing my arm and dragging me down the alley.
“Hey!” I cry.
He stops abruptly, baring his teeth at me as I try to squirm out of his
hold. “I said your little side hustle’s over. I don’t like repeating myself.”
Squaring my chin, I tell him, “Just because I’ll be working for your
father, that doesn’t mean you own me.”
He smirks. “Wrong. You work for me now. I bought this little club.”
“Bullshit.” Shrugging out his hold, I storm past him and key in the
passcode to the back door. It beeps red. I punch it in a second time; still a
no-go.
Grabbing my phone out of my bag, I call the owner. “Hey, Joe. It’s
Candy. I’m at the back door. Can you let me in? The passcode must’ve been
changed.”
“Probably by the new owner.”
“What?” I ask, my stomach sinking.
“I’m out, Candy girl. I got a sweetheart deal, and I’m on my way to
Boca Raton. Dreams really do come true, kid.”
 Hanging up, I spit at Romeo, “Are you fucking serious?”
“As a heart attack,” he says, straightening his tie. “Oh, and you’re
fired.”
Gritting my teeth, I say, “Fine by me. I’ll just go to Glitter, or any of the
other dozen clubs in town.”
Romeo snorts. “Good luck with that.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I demand.
“It means you’ve been blacklisted; no one’s going to hire you.”
“What is your problem?” I hiss, not doubting for a minute he’s already
sabotaged me.
“What’s yours?” he counters. “You’ve got a good deal with Antonio.
Plus, I know you’ve already paid off your tuition.”
“And you know that how?” I demand.
“Why are you so hell-bent on stripping?” he presses. “You a little
exhibitionist who likes flashing her tits and ass?”
“That’s it. But since I’ve just been fired, you won’t ever be seeing my
tits or my ass again.” With that, I spin on my heal and storm down the alley.
Sam moves from his position against the wall, blocking the path.
“Move,” I bark at him.
“Let her go,” Romeo orders, and Sam reluctantly steps out of my way.
“Nicky?” I stop, but don’t turn around. “I do own you. Best get used to it.”
Flipping Romeo the bird over my shoulder, I stomp to my car.

Romeo

Watching Nicky storm off, my dick’s so hard it could cut steel. “I want a tail
on her 24/7,” I say. “Tell Enzo to pick a partner from his crew if he needs a
break, but warn him if this guy looks at my woman, I’ll kill him.”
“How is anyone going to follow her without looking at her?” Sam
points out.
 “They can get creative. I don’t give a fuck, just tell him.” Running my
hand through my hair in frustration, I say, “Pull Nicky’s bank and credit
card statements. I want to know why she needs the money so badly and
where it’s going.”
“That’s going to take a few days,” Sam warns.
“Just do it,” I growl.
I punch in the new security passcode—Nicky’s birthday—and enter my
club. The first order of business is calling my partner for all my above-
board dealings. “I want to raze the club I just purchased and build a strip
mall.” I want no evidence of Candy’s past, for her own safety. “Run the
numbers and get back to me.”
After I hang up, we spend the better part of the evening shredding
documents in Joe’s old office. We’re getting ready to leave when someone
pounds on the back door, having slipped under the barricade and ignored
the closed sign.
“I know somebody’s here,” the woman shouts, banging on the door.
“Open up!”
Sam and Luca pull their guns as I check the security feed. A woman
with fire engine red hair—too bright to be natural—is the fucking problem.
I open the door, and the woman tries to come in, but I throw up my hand
against the frame, blocking her. “Did you not read the sign? The club’s shut
down.”
“It can’t shut down without notice! I dance here. What the hell am I
supposed to do?”
“Not my problem,” I say, already bored with this conversation.
“Well, since I’m here, how about a private dance?” she says, eyeing me
up and down, smelling money.
“Go away,” I tell her, but she sticks her thigh-high boot in just as the
door’s closing.
“Joe’s not here anymore, so all those boring club rules are out the
window,” she says in a pouty voice. “I’m up for whatever you want, Daddy.
You wanna deep throat me? Fuck me in the ass? Tag team me?” She eyes
Sam and Luca then me, licking her lips. “Whatever fantasy you got, I’m
game.”
Opening the door wide, I pull her inside and close it behind her. The
woman’s winning smile is replaced with a look of terror when I pull my gun
from my holster and shove it in her mouth.
 “How about this for a fantasy? You deep throat my gun while I paint the
wall behind you red—an abstract fresco of your blood and brain spatter.”
Eyes wide with terror, she whimpers.
“I’ll piss all over your lifeless body,” I continue, driving my point home.
“Let loose my Doberman to tear what’s left of your pathetic corpse limb
from fucking limb.”
A sob escapes her collagen-filled lips.
“I’m sorry, was that a no? Not game for my little fantasy? Then I
suggest you go away and keep your fucking mouth shut about this club.”
Releasing her, I open the door and she dashes out.
“A bit over the top,” Sam says, and Luca chuckles.
I shrug. “Some people don’t get subtle.”
My phone rings, and I answer Enzo’s call. “Romeo, your girl just got
dropped off by an Uber at the airport.”
“What?” I say, gritting my teeth.

Nicky

My flight was scheduled for tomorrow morning because I was planning on

dancing tonight, but since Romeo screwed that up, I went ahead and
changed flights.
Stowing my small bag in the overhead, I put on headphones and close
my eyes.
The woman beside me nudges me awake. “Excuse me, miss,” she says.
“Sorry,” I say, realizing we’ve already landed and are now
disembarking.
Sliding out of my seat, I grab my bag and make my way out of the
airport, the sticky Florida humidity forcing me to shed my sweater.
Finding my Uber, I give my driver the address, and twenty minutes
later, we roll into the parking lot of the assisted living facility.
 I enter the lobby and sign in for the memory care unit. I’m beeped
through the locked door and walk to Mom’s room. She’s seated on the
couch, watching a game show.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, hoping today’s visit will be a better than the last
time, when she forgot who I was.
“Nicky, there you are. I want to go home.”
“I know you do, Mom. I’ll look into it,” I lie. It’s just easier that way.
“Good. How’s Derrick?”
“Derrick and I broke up, Mom.” That was years ago, but she doesn’t
remember.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s for the best,” I say, gently squeezing her hand. My ex was the
reason I moved to New Jersey in the first place. Mom would have thrown a
fit had she been in her right mind. My father was an abusive asshole from
Jersey she managed to get away from when she found out she was pregnant
with me. It’s not that I discounted Mom’s fears, I just figured in a state with
over nine million people, the chances of me running into a man who didn’t
even know I existed were nil.
A knock jolts me from my thoughts, and I answer the door. “Hello,” I
greet the nurse.
“Nicky, good to see you. Helen, it’s time to take your medicine,” she
tells Mom.
“I’ll have you know my daughter’s going to get me out of this place,”
Mom says, squaring her jaw. “I’m going home.”
“That’s good, Helen,” the nurse says, having dealt with this routine
before. “Go ahead and take your medicine for me.”
Mom does, and we chat a bit more before she begins nodding off. I help
her into bed, quietly closing her door.
Taking a seat in the lobby, I schedule a ride and watch some mindless
television as I wait. I’m notified my driver’s here, so I grab my bag and sign
out.
As I’m walking through the secured door, a blacked-out SUV rolls up.
Sam hops out of the front seat and opens the passenger door, motioning for
me to get in. Are you fucking kidding me?

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 Chapter
Twelve

Nicky

I act like I’m walking to Romeo’s vehicle, only to veer at the last second
and sprint over to my Uber. Before I can get into the car, though, I’m being
hauled over Romeo’s shoulder. “Put me down before you bust another
suture!”
“Miss, are you okay?” the Uber driver steps around his car. His eyes go
wide when he spots Romeo, shirking back a few steps.
“I’m fine. This man—”
“Her man—” Romeo interjects.
“Is ridiculous!” Smacking Romeo’s back, I demand, “At least pay the
driver so he doesn’t one star me.”
He tosses me in his SUV before reaching in his pocket and handing Sam
a wad of bills. Sam hustles to smooth things out with the driver as Romeo
slides in beside me.
“Tailing me cross-country. Any reason other than being your psychotic,
controlling self?” I ask with crossed arms. “Hello, Luca,” I call to the
driver.
He nods, which is something at least.
“This is why you had to dance, to pay for your mom’s care on top of
school,” Romeo says quietly, tucking a strand of my disheveled hair behind
my ear.
 “She’s done so much for me; it’s the least I could do,” I say, my voice
catching. All the pain and feelings of unfairness, the years of struggle and
loneliness, it all bubbles to the surface and the floodgates open wide.
Romeo picks me up and places me on his lap, and I bury my face into
his uninjured shoulder as I quietly weep. By the time I’ve cried myself out,
I realize we’re pulling up to a hotel.
“I got your shirt wet,” I say, looking up at him.
“I don’t care about my shirt,” he assures me, grabbing my chin and
bringing my lips to his. It’s a kiss so tender, it nearly makes me cry all over
again.
“You’re not going to give up until I’m your woman?” I say when he
pulls back.
“You’re already my woman, but I’m not going to give up until you
admit it,” he corrects me.
“I’m your woman. Are you happy, bullhead?” I say, kissing him again.
“Thank fuck,” Sam says from the front seat.
Romeo shifts forward and smacks the back of Sam’s head. That gets
Sam to hop out and open our door, grabbing my bag. Romeo exits, giving
me a hand.
We enter an ornate lobby and step into an empty elevator. Romeo scans
his key card, and we begin our ascent. “Does poor Luca have to sleep inside
the vehicle?” I wonder.
“He would if Romeo had a Rolls-Royce Phantom. He’d probably do a
lot more than sleep with that car,” Sam says, shaking his head.
Reaching the penthouse, my mouth falls open; I’m not sure I’ll ever get
used to this level of wealth. A huge marble living room leads to a terrace
with a private pool.
“Wow,” I say, walking to the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows and
admiring the pool. “I’d love to swim, but I didn’t bring my suit.”
“Go away,” Romeo tells Sam.
“Going away,” he says, walking down the hall.
Romeo opens the sliding glass door, and we step outside. It’s a balmy
night, with a few stars and a nearly full moon peeking out from behind the
clouds. “So beautiful,” I say, looking up.
“Agreed,” he murmurs. Glancing over, his eyes are on me.
“I don’t do casual sex,” I warn him.
 “Good, because there’s nothing casual about this,” he says, those
intense, whiskey-colored eyes of his never leaving mine.
Smiling, I pull my dress over my head as he silently watches. Stepping
out of my sandals, I lose my bra and panties. Giggling, I jump into the pool.
Rushing to the surface, I grab hold of the side.
Romeo strips, and damn, it’s a sight to behold. Appreciating his
beautiful form, my eyes have a hard time deciding which part to hone in on.
Muscular legs. Ripped stomach. Sexy V that leads to his huge, hard dick.
Defined chest. Shoulder with a bandage on it. That last one puts the breaks
on this little fantasy.
“Wait! Don’t jump in. Walk in from the shallow end—I don’t want you
submerging your wound,” I warn.
I swim to the other end of the pool to meet him, and he takes a seat on
the third step with his chest above water, pulling me to his lap. Straddling
him, I smile as I rub my cheek against his stubble, practically purring like a
cat.
Holding onto the pool rail for leverage, I grind my pussy against his
dick. Romeo groans, grabbing me by the throat as he absolutely attacks my
mouth with his. The kiss is demanding, but I wouldn’t expect anything less
from this man. I meet his tongue stroke for stroke, all the while the head of
his dick teases my entrance.
He stands, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he easily walks us to
the pool edge. Sitting me down on the cold marble, I shiver as he nudges
my legs as far as they’ll go. Falling to his knees, he kisses my left inner
thigh, then my right, before spreading my pussy open in an obscene V with
his index and middle fingers. “Finally,” he murmurs before diving his head
between my legs with reckless abandon.
“Oh, fuck.” I grab ahold of his head as he absolutely devours my pussy
with his tongue and teeth. He enters me with a finger, hitting the right spot
over and over again as he laps at my clit with his tongue—licking and
sucking and absolutely destroying me.
“Whose pussy is this?” he demands, blowing a warm breath on my
throbbing clit while curling his finger inside me.
“Oh, God. I’m so close. Please don’t stop.”
He growls against my clit, the vibration nearly enough to send me over
the edge. “I asked you a fucking question. Whose pussy is this?” he
demands again, nipping my clit with his teeth as he removes his finger.
 “Mine,” I grit.
“Wrong answer.” Raising his head, he watches me with a smirk as he
brings his hand down on my pussy with a firm slap.
“Fuck!” I cry, the impact causing a delicious mix of pleasure and pain.
He laughs darkly before going back to eating my pussy while working
me with his finger, adding a second, and then a third.
“Mmm,” I moan, shamelessly thrusting my hips to his mouth, needing
more. “Oh, God,” I cry, my orgasm building fast.
Romeo brings me to the edge and stops, and I want scream in
frustration. “Let’s try this again,” he says, giving my pussy a little warning
pat with the palm of his hand. “Whose pussy is this?”
“Yours, you asshole!”
A triumphant glint in his eyes, he says, “Damn right this is my pussy.”
He gets back to business—licking me while relentlessly fingering me over
and over. The sensations becoming too much, I close my eyes as my body
writhes uncontrollably. “Eyes open,” he growls. “Watch me make you fall
apart.”
I do as he commands, watching him eat me out like it’s his fucking job.
Gripping a handful of his hair, my body convulses and I cry out, “Oh my
God, I’m coming!” I swear I see stars, but Romeo doesn’t stop with his
tongue, gently bringing me down from my high.
He tugs me down so my feet are touching the bottom of the pool, and
turning me around, he guides my upper half to lay prone on the tile. The
coolness of the marble causes me to shiver again, but he’ll get no argument
from me about it—I can barely hold myself upright.
“Look at this perfect ass. I’m going to come all over it, mark it as
mine,” he threatens, palming my cheek and giving it a rough squeeze. “I’m
clean. Can I go bare?”
“Yes. I’m—” I haven’t even finished my sentence when he slams into
me from behind, and I cry out. Fuck, he’s huge.
I arch my back, and he pulls out, only to slam in again. “This perfect
pussy,” he growls, and then his resolve snaps, and he begins pounding into
me relentlessly. “My. Fucking. Body,” he declares, pulling out only to slam
back in, over and over. “This tight cunt. These perfect tits. This ass I want
to paint with my cum.”
It’s animalistic and raw, and I fucking love it. I raise up on my forearms,
pushing my pelvis off the ledge just a bit so I can snake my hand down and
play with myself.
He laughs darkly. “That’s it. Rub that needy clit. Come again on my
dick, Nicky. I want to feel your pussy strangle me.”
“Oh God, Romeo,” I moan, another orgasm building.
“That’s right,” he grunts. “Say my fucking name when you come
again.”
I move my hand faster and faster until I’m screaming his name.
“Romeo!”
“Fuck, Nicky,” he cries, pulling out; I can feel the warm ropes of cum
hit my ass. He grips the edge of the pool, both of us laboring to catch our
breath.
Turning me around, he easily scoops me up and carries me inside. I’m
so spent, I can barely speak—let alone walk—so I don’t argue.
He opens the door to the master suite and tosses me on the bed,
crawling in beside me.
“We’re wet, and I’m covered in your cum,” I remind him.
“And?” He demands, pulling me closer.
I snuggle against his chest as he runs a hand up and down my back.
“Mmm,” I say sleepily. “That feels so nice.”
“How many men have you fucked?”
“Oh my God, what is wrong with you?” I snap open my eyes.
“I asked you a question,” he demands.
“You’re the only real man I’ve ever fucked.” I don’t know Romeo well,
but I know him well enough to know that statement is true.
He rumbles contentedly, placing his lips on mine. “Tell me. I want to
know.”
“Why?” I demand, jerking back. “So you can go hunt them down? Beat
the shit out of them or something?”
“Or something,” he says quietly.
“Jesus. Do you realize how crazy-obsessive that makes you?”
“I do,” he readily agrees.
“How many women have you fucked?” I hold up my hand to silence
him—my fingers pressed against his downturned lips. “Don’t answer that. I
don’t need to know, because I’m not going to hunt those women down and
claw their eyes out.” I pause. Imagining him with another woman makes
my blood boil. “On second thought, I might.”
He flashes that sexy crooked smile, nipping at my fingers.
 Climbing on top of him, I lean down and suck his lower lip into my
mouth, biting down gently before releasing it. “Any other woman touches
this dick,” I say, gripping his hard length and positioning his head at my
entrance, “I will claw their eyes out. After I’ve clawed out yours.”
To drive my point home, I claw his chest as I impale myself on his dick.

Romeo

Somebody fucked up at the gate and let me into heaven. Too bad, because
I’m not leaving.
I place my hands on Nicky’s hips as she deftly sways back and forth;
it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Sei bellissima,” I praise, and
her pussy absolutely chokes my dick. “Sono pazzo di te,” I tell her, raising
up and capturing her nipple in my mouth.
“What does that mean?” She moans, raking her nails through my hair.
Instead of telling her I’m crazy about her, I show her. Releasing her
nipple with a pop, I flip us and rise to my knees. Her ankle placed on my
shoulder, I drive into her roughly as I claim what’s mine.
“Non riesco a smettere di pensarti.” I can’t stop thinking about you.
“Farei qualsiasi cosa per te.” I would do anything for you.
Her beautiful body trembles, and her pussy squeezes me like a vise as I
use my free hand to stroke her swollen clit. She writhes beneath me as I
fuck her with long, slow thrusts, whispering filthy words she doesn’t
understand.
“Oh, God,” she pants, over and over, gripping the sheets with her balled
fists as her body bucks wildly beneath mine. “That’s it. Quanto sei sexy,
vieni per me. Come all over my dick. Let me feel it.”
“Romeo,” she screams, her pussy convulsing hard as she absolutely
drenches me.
“Fuck,” I cry, losing control as I come. My body jerks until I’ve
emptied every last drop inside her.
 Pulling out, I scoot to the other side of the bed with Nicky in my arms
so we’re not laying on the huge wet spot. “My woman squirts when I speak
Italian in bed. Good to know.”
“Oh my God,” Nicky says, covering her face.
I pull her hands away. “Do not hide from me. It was the sexiest fucking
thing I’ve ever seen. Now, baciami,” I command. “Kiss me.” She does so,
and I rumble contently. “Vai a dormire,” I tell her. “Sleep.”
“Again with the orders.” I can feel her smiling against my chest as she
snuggles in close.
Oh yeah, the angel guarding the gate really fucked up on this one.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Thirteen

Nicky

The sound of Mom’s voice echoes in the distance, but I’m so scared, I can’t
move. Clutching my lion stuffie tighter, I curl up in a ball in the dark. It’s
hard to breathe—it feels like something heavy’s sitting on my chest.
“Help me!” I whimper.

Snapping my eyes open, my heart’s pounding, and it takes a moment to

figure out where I am. Romeo’s sleeping soundly next to me, and I quietly
roll out of bed and slink to the bathroom, closing the door gently behind
me.
I splash some water on my face and take a deep breath, try to get my
shit together. I haven’t had that dream in years, but with the stress of
everything lately, I guess it got triggered.
After using the toilet, I tiptoe back and crawl into bed. Romeo stirs, and
I go still, so as to not wake him. He settles, and I snuggle in closer to him.
Light’s beginning to pour in through the bedroom window, and I glance
at the clock on the nightstand, but my eyes land on the gun beside it. I
should be more concerned about who Romeo is and what he does for a
living. Yeah, I should be.
 Taking my time admiring his sleeping form, I wouldn’t call him
classically handsome—his features too harsh, his frown too prominent,
even in slumber. No, I’d describe Romeo Parisi as devastatingly handsome.
Smiling, I run my fingers through his chest hair before ducking my head
and running my tongue along the hard lines of his stomach. Yeah, I’m
eating my words, and they taste fucking delicious.
“Keep going,” he says in a gravely tone. Placing a hand on my head, he
gently pushes me further south.
Shaking out of his grasp, I tell him, “Quit bossing me and let me
explore.” I move back up his body, tracing my finger along the gruesome
snake tattoo. “What does this mean?”
“Cut off the head of a snake. Remove the leader, and your enemy is
easier to deal with,” he tells me, his eyes still closed.
“Who is your enemy?” I ask quietly, running my finger over the
decapitated head. He doesn’t answer, but I didn’t figure he would. “This
one?” I ask, stopping on a pocket watch that reads 8:17 a.m., with an
avenging angel holding a sword overhead about to strike.
“The time my mamma was pronounced dead,” he tells me, opening his
eyes.
“I’m sorry. How did she die?”
“Gunned down in front of me.”
My eyes go wide as I sit up. “Jesus. How old were you?”
“Old enough to never forget. Now, either put those pretty lips on my
dick, or shut them and let’s go back to sleep,” he commands, closing his
eyes as he pulls me back down beside him.
Remembering he nearly got gunned down in front of me, I say, “Let me
see your wound. Your sutures might be ready to come out.”
He growls, opening his eyes. “I already took them out.”
“When?” I demand.
“While you were asleep.”
“Let me see, bullhead.” I peel off the bandage, inspecting his wound. “I
would have left them in for one more day, but what the hell do I know? I’m
just the medical professional,” I say smartly.
Hopping up, I wince—realizing just how sore I am from last night’s
thorough fucking. “Was I too rough?” Romeo asks with a frown.
“No. Was I too rough?” I counter with exaggerated concern, and he
barks out a laugh.
 Smiling, I walk to the bathroom, returning with a small jar of coconut
oil from my bag. Rubbing the oil over his forming scar, I instruct him, “In
the next few weeks, I’d like to massage the area to help break up any scar
tissue.”
“I have an area that needs massaging,” he says, his lips quirking up in
that sexy crooked grin as he takes my hand and moves it under the covers to
his hard dick.
“Nice try.” I smile, removing my hand. “I need to get ready so I can
squeeze in a quick visit with my mom before my flight.” I climb out of bed
before my resolve crumbles, and I take him up on his offer.
“I’ve cancelled your flight.”
“Excuse me?”
“Take as long as you need with your mom, and we’ll fly back together,”
he says, climbing out of bed and pulling on his boxers.
Marching over to him, I poke him in the chest. “Listen up. You do not
run my life, and you do not just cancel my flight without talking to me
first.”
Grabbing me by the cheeks, he pulls me in for a rough kiss. Without a
word, he gathers his gun and phone and stalks out.
Infuriating man!
Taking a quick shower in another fabulous, spa-like bathroom, I rub
some leave-in conditioner in my hair so it’ll dry in waves. Hopefully.
Florida humidity and my hair do not get along. Throwing on a sundress and
buckling my sandals, I walk out to find room service has already been
delivered.
Romeo’s on the balcony talking on the phone, so I lift the silver domes
on the trays, helping myself to Belgian waffles, bacon, and fresh fruit.
“Morning, Sam,” I say as he joins me.
He grunts.
“How long are you going to hate me?” I demand.
Narrowing his eyes, he tells me, “I’ll keep you posted.”
I eat my breakfast as he flips through the newspaper, ignoring me.
Luca enters, and I greet him. “Morning.”
“Morning,” he responds politely.
“Wow, I got a word from Luca!” I say excitedly, and Sam snorts. Filling
myself coffee in a to-go cup, I secure the lid. “I’m ready to go see my mom.
Luca, can you drop me off?”
 “Yes, ma’am. I’m to drive you there and wait on you until you’re
finished,” Luca tells me.
“Ma’am? I liked you better when you didn’t speak,” I tease. “I’m going
to tell Romeo bye, then I’m ready.”
“Do not interrupt him when he’s handling business,” Sam warns.
Ignoring Sam—hey, that’s what Valentina told me to do—I open the
sliding door and step outside. Romeo’s still on the phone but motions me
over by crooking his finger.
I walk over to him and he grabs my ass, pulling me close as he gives me
a kiss. “I’ll see you later, tesoro,” he mouths, giving my ass a playful smack
as I walk away.
Smiling sweetly at Sam who’s glaring at me, I turn to Luca. “I’m
ready.”
Grabbing my purse, Luca and I ride down the elevator in silence and
walk out to the SUV parked at the curb. He opens my door for me before
hustling around the vehicle and sliding behind the wheel. We take off, only
to get stuck in traffic.
“How long have you worked for Romeo?” I finally ask, the deafening
silence getting to me.
“A while.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re an amazing conversationalist?”
He locks eyes with me in the rearview mirror. Without even a hint of a
smile, he says, “No.”
Deciding to take him at his word, I check emails for the remainder of
the drive.
Arriving at the facility, I meet Mom outside in the walled courtyard.
“Nicky, there you are!” she says excitedly, pulling me in for a big hug.
Wrapping my arms around her frail frame, it breaks my heart.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Come sit and tell me what’s going on.”
I smile softly. “Busy with school and work.”
“I’m so proud of you,” she tells me.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, trying not to tear up. It appears she’s having a
really good day, so I ask, “Do you remember when I was a kid, I’d have that
bad dream?”
Her eyes go from alert to glassy, and I’m afraid the moment of lucidity
is gone. She begins speaking rapidly in Greek; I never learned the language,
so I have no idea what she’s saying.
“Mom, it’s alright.” I try to take her hand, but she’s too agitated, waving
them around wildly.
A nurse hustles over to intervene. “Helen, let’s go take a little rest,” she
says, helping Mom out of her chair.
I swipe at a few tears as Mom is escorted inside, and I decide to leave
before I make matters worse.
Signing out, I spot Luca parked across the way. He hops out of the car
and runs over to me. “I expected you to stay longer. Everything okay?”
“Sure,” I say as he escorts me to the vehicle, opening the door for me.
I’m glad he’s a man of few words, because I don’t feel like talking.
Leaning my head back and closing my eyes for a few moments, we soon
arrive at the hotel. Romeo and Sam join us, and we make our way to the
airport.
“How did your visit go?” Romeo asks me. “You didn’t stay very long.”
“It wasn’t the best timing on my part,” I say, not feeling like unloading
on him. “But it was fine.”
“Good. I’ve got a few more calls to make,” Romeo tells me, taking my
hand and giving it a squeeze.
“Sure,” I say, grateful he’s not going to press the subject. Grabbing my
bag, I crack open my pharmacology book and get started on my assigned
reading.
We arrive at the airport, and my mouth falls open when Luca pulls onto
the tarmac next to a small private jet, just like they do in the movies.
“You said we’d fly back together; I didn’t think you meant like this!” I
marvel as Romeo takes my hand, and we exit the SUV and climb the stairs
to the jet.
“You think this prima donna would fly coach?” Sam says, jerking his
head toward Romeo.
“Careful, or you’ll be flying coach,” Romeo warns. “In a body bag.” I
hope he’s joking, but then again, Sam’s been a dick to me, so yeah,
whatever.
Stepping on board, the captain welcomes us, and I take a seat in a
reclining chair. Romeo takes a seat next to me, and Sam and Luca sit across
from us. A flight attendant around my age greets us. “Welcome. What can I
get you, Mr. Parisi?” she asks Romeo in a breathy tone, eye-fucking my
man.
 Ignoring the woman, he turns to me. “Nicky, what would you like?”
“Sparkling water.”
“Two sparkling waters,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine.
Smiling, I lean over and place my lips on his as a reward for being such
a good boy. Romeo takes charge, and I squeal in surprise as he pulls me into
his lap, basically fucking my mouth with his tongue.
“This is going to be a long flight,” Sam grumbles.
Romeo presses another kiss to my lips before placing me back in my
seat and buckling me up.
“Sam, maybe you could get the flight attendant to entertain you,” I
suggest. “Since Romeo’s taken, she might settle for the sloppy second-in-
command.”
Luca quietly chuckles.
“You must give amazing head, that’s all I can come up with,” Sam
mutters.
Romeo smiles. It’s a fucking terrifying smile. “Attento a come parli.
Apologize to my woman, Sam.”
“Sorry,” Sam tells me, ducking his head.
The flight attendant returns with our drinks. “Mr. Parisi, is there
anything else I can get you?”
“Privacy.” Romeo unzips his computer bag and places his laptop on the
table, dismissing her.
After the smoothest takeoff I’ve ever experienced, Romeo says, “Nicky,
go relax in the bedroom while I handle some business.”
“Oh my God, there’s a bedroom?” I won’t give him shit for bossing me
around because a nap sounds great; I have a twelve hour shift this evening
at the hospital, and I need to rest up.
He flashes that sexy crooked grin. “Straight back.”
“Maybe when you’re finished, you’ll join me. I’m more than happy to
prove Sam right,” I whisper in his ear.
His nostrils flare, and I give a little extra sway to my hips as I walk past
him.
The flight attendant shoots daggers my way when I reach the back.
“You’re nothing special,” she tells me with arms crossed.
“Aww, thanks for sharing. I hope you feel better now,” I say with a
sweet smile. Opening the bedroom door, I quickly close it behind me, as
I’ve had enough of that bitch.
 I check out the digs while I unfasten my sandals and take off my bra.
It’s a small yet luxurious bedroom with a queen-sized bed, and a writing
table and chair in the corner. Climbing into bed, I get settled under the
covers and close my eyes.
Something startles me and I sit up, a bit disoriented. Romeo is seated in
the chair, sipping whiskey from a crystal glass. “Come here, Nicky, and put
your mouth on my dick,” he commands, his hooded eyes lingering on my
tits.
“When you ask so sweetly,” I say with a smile. Stretching lazily to give
him an extra show, I swish my hips over to him.
He lifts my dress over my head, and I help him by raising my arms.
Tossing it on the table, he says something in Italian I don’t catch before
switching over to English. “Do you know how murderous it makes me
thinking about every motherfucker who’s seen what’s mine?” He growls,
leaning in and kissing my left nipple, and then my right.
I fall to my knees, laying my head in his lap. He fists my hair as I rub
my check back and forth over his rock-hard dick. Pressing a kiss over the
tip hidden beneath the fabric of his pants, I look up at him. “Then don’t
think about it.”
He bares his teeth in a snarl, jerking me by my hair as he unzips his
pants and shoves his boxers down—his huge dick standing ready for me.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth so hard, you won’t be able to speak for
days,” Romeo promises, tightening his grip on my hair.
My skin pebbles in anticipation as I grab him by the base with both
hands—pumping up and down as I moisten my lips. “You’d miss my smart
mouth too much to do that,” I tease, flicking my tongue against his
glistening head.
He groans, watching me with dilated eyes as he takes a sip of whiskey.
Too controlled; my goal is to make him drop that glass before I let him
come.
Grazing his head gently with my teeth, I surprise him by taking his dick
all the way to the back of my throat—my eyes watering as I take short,
shallow breaths through my nose and try not to gag. “Fuck,” he cries,
slamming the glass down on the table. He didn’t drop it, but I’ll still count it
as a win.
With his hand still fisted my hair, he begins to thrust his hips as I suck—
alternating between hard and gentle, learning what he likes. And it’s clear
what my man likes is hard. He pounds the back of my throat, the repetitive
action causing me to gag.
“That’s it, swallow me all the way down,” he praises, throwing his head
back against the chair. His hands are gripping the armrests of his chair so
hard I’m afraid he’s going to rip them off. “God, Nicky, this feels so damn
good,” he grits.
I’m not the one who was drinking whiskey, but watching him loose
control is making me drunk with power. I cradle his balls and give a gentle
squeeze as I stroke his shaft with my hands while my mouth takes him
deep.
Mixing it up, I move off of him, swirling my tongue gently around his
head. He groans, and I surprise him by roughly swallowing his dick.
“Fuck!” he cries out before switching over to Italian. I have no idea what
he’s saying, but it must be words of praise based off his ecstatic expression.
“I’m about to come,” he hisses, grabbing my hair as he pulls me off his
dick. Jerking himself, he grunts in Italian as thick ropes of cum hit my
chest.
His head falls back, and he barks out a laugh. “Fuck, Nicky.” Pulling me
up off my knees and into his lap, I reach for the box of tissues on the desk,
but he snatches my wrist. “Leave me on you.”
“I don’t have time to go home and shower before I have to be at the
hospital,” I protest.
“Even better. That way, every motherfucker there will know who you
belong to.” He rubs his cum across my chest, moving down to paint my tits
and stomach.
“You are an animal.”
“Mmm,” he agrees.
“Not fair. I want to mark you. Let that bitch out there know you’re
mine.”
“Everyone on this plane just heard who my dick belongs to,” he assures
me, grabbing my face with his free hand and kissing me hard.
The captain comes over the loudspeaker announcing we’re about to
land, and Romeo helps me into my clothes. Taking my hand, he leads us to
our seats while the flight attendant gives me the evil eye.
Yeah, she heard who Romeo’s dick belongs to, I think with a smile.

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 Chapter
Fourteen

Nicky

We land just as smoothly as we took off, and a young Italian guy wearing
more jewelry than I own is waiting on the tarmac. “Nicky, this is Enzo.
He’ll be your driver,” Romeo introduces us.
“Hello, Enzo” I say to the guy who can’t be more than a day over
eighteen, with a baby face and perfectly styled, light brown hair. He’s
wearing a white T-shirt—showing off his lean yet muscular physique—
designer jeans, and fancy sneakers.
“Ma’am.” Here we go with more of the ma’am business.
“After your shift, I want you back at my house,” Romeo orders me.
“I’ll need to sleep, and then I have homework to do,” I warn.
“You can do both of those things at my house.”
“We’ll see.”
“Bring her to my house,” he commands Enzo, but his hard eyes never
leave mine.
“We’ll see,” I repeat myself, poking him in the chest. I glance over to
Enzo—the guy looks scared shitless.
Romeo growls as he slams his lips to mine before stalking off to his
waiting SUV.
“You have brass balls, lady.” Enzo quietly whistles as he opens my door
for me. “I’m so glad to finally meet you,” he adds, sliding behind the wheel.
“What do you mean?”
“Er, it’s just, you’re Romeo’s girl. That means you’re important.”
“And special,” I say with a laugh.
 He raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow in the mirror.
“Sorry, just thinking of something from earlier. How old are you?”
“Old enough,” he says, puffing up his chest.
“Were you around when Romeo’s mom got killed?” I ask, unable to get
the story of Romeo’s heartbreaking tattoo out of my mind.
“No, Daniella was killed before I was born.”
“What happened?”
“A war, that’s what happened.”
“Between the Parisis and?”
“Russos,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How
do you not know this?”
“Hey, it’s not my fault! New girlfriend here just trying to figure out the
lay of the land.”
“Here’s the lay of the land—just tell everyone you’re Romeo’s girl, and
no one will fuck with you.” He pauses. “Except the cops. Don’t tell the cops
nothing.”
“I don’t know nothing.”
“Exactly.”
“How do you know where we’re going?” I haven’t told him my
destination, and yet we’re nearly there.
“You’re going to Saint Matthew’s, right?”
“Yes, but how do you know where I work?” I press.
“I’ve got your routine down pat. You’re a pretty boring woman to tail.
Except for the stripping part, that one threw me.”
“What?” I seethe. Grabbing my phone, I fire off a message.

Why the fuck did you have Enzo following me?

Because you’re mine.

That’s bullshit! I wasn’t yours until last night.

You were mine the moment I laid eyes on you.

I throw my phone in my purse—because how in the hell am I supposed

to argue with that?
“Hey, don’t get the messenger killed here,” Enzo begs.
“The messenger should think twice before following me.”
 “And tell Romeo no?” He snorts out a laugh. “You’ve met Romeo
Parisi, right?”
Traffic comes to a crawl, and there’s a lot of expletives being hurled by
Enzo at the other drivers.
“Who will be dropping off my car at the hospital?” I wonder as the
mysterious bottleneck clears and we continue on.
“What do you mean?” Enzo asks.
“I need my car so I can drive home when I’m finished with my shift,” I
patiently explain.
“You’re not getting it. I’m your driver.”
“I have my own car. I don’t need a driver,” I protest.
“Take it up with Romeo.”
Enzo pulls up in front of the employee entrance. “I’ll be back to pick
you up. Seven tomorrow morning, right?”
“Of course you know my schedule.”
“Of course,” he answers, missing my attitude.
“Thanks for the lift,” I say, exiting the vehicle and scanning my card.
The door beeps open, and I walk to the break room to change into my
scrubs. Feeling a bit naughty with Romeo’s cum now dried on my skin, I
remember I’m miffed at him, so I clean myself up.
I’m filling in for a nurse tonight as opposed to working on my clinical
hours, which means I hopefully won’t have to deal with my preceptor. After
clocking in, I’m stopped in the hall by Dr. Charles Smith—Different Dr.
Smith, but just as problematic for me if his wife hears I worked a shift with
her husband. “Nicky, long time no see. I hope my wife isn’t running you
ragged.”
“I finish up with my clinical hours next week.” Nicer response than
saying yes, because your wife is a first-rate bitch. “I’m actually filling in for
Deb this evening.”
“Wonderful, I look forward to working with you.” His phone buzzes,
drawing his attention. “Gunshot wound victim on the way.”
“Yes!”
“Pardon?" He gives me a funny look.
“I mean, I’m excited to watch you in action.” In other words, take notes
for my future practice.
By the time my shift ends, I’m dead on my feet, but it was a good
confidence boost—everything Dr. Smith did during surgery is what I would
have done.
Walking out, Dr. Smith catches up to me. “Want to go grab a coffee?”
“She doesn’t,” Enzo answers for me, lurking by the door.
“Thank you, Dr. Smith, but I’m going to get some sleep.” I glare at
Enzo as we walk to the car and he opens the door for me. “That was
unnecessary.”
“He was hitting on you.”
“No, he wasn’t.” Dr. Smith probably would have hit on me had I agreed
to meet for coffee, but that’s beside the point. “My apartment.”
“Romeo isn’t going to be happy,” he answers, pulling out of the parking
lot.
“He’ll get over it.”
I have to fight to stay awake, but I want to make sure Enzo’s really
taking me home.
We pull into my apartment complex without me giving him the address.
“It’s creepy how much you know about me,” I inform him.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry in the least. “I’ve texted you my
number. Call me if you need to go anywhere today.”
“I won’t. I’m going to bed,” I warn as I step out of the car and walk to
my apartment. Unlocking my door, I head straight to the shower and then to
bed, switching off my phone.
Waking early afternoon, I grab a snack before checking in on Mom. The
phone rings on her end, but no answer. Placing my phone down, I get back
to focusing on my online lecture about the cultural diversity of patients.
That gets me to thinking about my own heritage. I likely have some Greek
in me, but I know little about the culture. Mom didn’t like to talk about her
past due to her traumatic childhood, and I never pushed.
The lecture ends, and I try Mom again. No answer. I decide to call the
front desk—at this time of day, Mom should be back in her room. “Ocean
Breeze Manor, how may I direct your call?”
“Yes, this is Nicky Thomas. My mom, Helen Thomas, isn’t answering
her phone. Room 419. I just wanted to check to make sure everything’s
okay.” They’re supposed to call me if she’s ever transferred to the hospital,
but that didn’t happen the last time she fell and broke her wrist.
“One moment, please.” I listen to the pecking sound on a keyboard, and
the woman says, “Ms. Thomas, your mother is no longer a resident with
us.”
 “I’m sorry, there must be some mistake. I’m not behind on any
payments,” I quickly add.
“No mistake. I’m looking at her discharge paperwork.”
“What?” I gasp. “Who signed her out?”
“Let’s see,” she says. “Ah. Here it is. Her guardian, Mr. Parisi.”
“Any information on where she was moved?” I ask, my hand shaking so
badly I nearly drop the phone.
“Silver Court in Newark, New Jersey.”
Hanging up without a goodbye, I do an Internet search until I find Silver
Court. The monthly price tag has me nearly falling out of my chair.
I call the new facility. “Yes, I’m Nicky Thomas, calling about my mom,
Helen Thomas.”
“Yes, Ms. Thomas. Your mother is settling in nicely. I think you and
your family are going to be very pleased with Silver Court.” My family or
the family?
“What’s her room number again?”
“Room 314, the memory unit.”
Hanging up, I throw on my shoes as I call Romeo on speakerphone.
“Why did you not come to my house?” he demands.
“Why the fuck did you move my mom?” I shout. “You had no right! I
can’t afford Silver Court, and she didn’t want to be in Jersey!”
“Nicky, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says in a calm tone.
“Mr. Parisi signed the discharge paperwork,” I spit.
“I didn’t.”
“If you didn’t, then there’s only one other Mr. Parisi,” I say, my legs
giving out as I fall back onto the couch. “Why would your dad do that?”
“I’ll be there in a bit, and we’ll go see your mom. Get it sorted,” he
assures me.
“Fuck that. I’m going to see her now,” I say, hanging up.

Romeo
Stepping out of the SUV, Sam and I make our way to the bench overlooking
the Passaic River. Antonio’s seated with his two of his guards looming a
few feet behind him. The boss stands and gives me a kiss on each cheek,
then greets Sam.
We begin our walk, with Sam hanging back a few paces.
“There a reason you moved Nicky’s mom to an assisted living facility
here?” I quietly ask him.
“Family should be together, no?”
Bullshit. This was a power play—to let me know who’s in charge and to
keep Nicky in line. “You sure you want to squeeze the unions any harder?”
I change the subject.
“Don’t be such a fucking pussy,” he dismisses me.
“You can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip,” I warn.
The union president comes jogging down the path—his eyes going wide
when he spots us. He slows down, taking out his earphones.
“You’ve been avoiding my calls,” Antonio says as one of his guards
hustles over and pats down the man to ensure he’s not wearing a wire.
“Of course not. Just busy,” he answers, wiping his sweaty brow, looking
around nervously.
“Glad to hear it. My family now demands a three precent ‘fee’ from the
winning bidder’s union on all city contracts.”
“Fuck, Antonio,” he says, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.
“Most firms can’t pay two percent with margins so tight.” As was my point
just a moment ago.
“Not my problem,” Antonio says. “I hope it doesn’t become your
problem, or your wife and three boys’ problem.”
“Not going to be a problem,” he grits.
“Glad to hear it. Well, enjoy your run.”
Antonio turns to me when we’re alone, looking smug. “Looks like a
bleeding turnip to me. Put a tail on him. Make it obvious. I want him to
know we mean business. Oh, and Mamma expects you and Nicky for
Sunday dinner.”
“Of course.” Assuming Nicky doesn’t kill me first.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Fifteen

Nicky

Running to my car, I hop in, locking the doors.

Enzo jumps out of his—yelling something as he waves his hands—but I
ignore him as I peel out of the parking lot. Traffic isn’t too bad, which is a
shame, because I almost dare someone to cut me off.
Pulling up to the nicest assisted living facility I’ve ever seen, I enter the
lobby and check in. I’m directed to the courtyard, where I spot Mom
enjoying a cello concert by a middle-aged gentleman in a tuxedo.
“Mom, there you are,” I say, going to wrap my arms around her.
She looks at me with a confused expression. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Nicky,” I say, dropping my outstretched arms awkwardly.
“Nicky. Nice to meet you. I’m enjoying this young man’s performance.
Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you.” I take a seat next to her, discreetly dabbing my eyes as the
man finishes a classical number.
“Helen, may I help you to your room?” I ask, wanting to check out the
accommodations to make sure she’s safe.
“Of course, Gia.”
I don’t correct her as I stand, offering my arm. Sadly, it’s not the first
time Mom’s called me by a wrong name, nor do I expect it to be the last.
Walking inside, I get directions from a nurse, and we make our way to
Mom’s room.
“This is nice,” I comment as we step inside. Hell, it’s nicer than my
apartment. Looking around the spacious one bedroom with luxurious
furnishings, it appears all of Mom’s personal things were brought here from
Florida. That makes me slightly less homicidal she was moved here without
my knowledge or consent.
“Thank you. So, tell me what’s been going on,” Mom asks.
“Busy with work and school, and I have a new boyfriend.” Whom I
might also kill, but there’s no need to confuse her with that last part.
She looks around, and then back to me, as if she’s just now noticing me.
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Nicky,” I say, trying to keep my emotions in check.
“Knock, knock.” A nurse enters, and I introduce myself, going over
Mom’s list of medications, but she’s on top of it. “Nicky, your mother is in
good hands here,” she reassures me.
“Thank you. Is there someone who could give me a tour of the facility?”
“Oh, you haven’t had a tour?”
“No,” I say, smiling tightly.
“Of course. Let me introduce you to our family coordinator.”
“Helen, I’ll see you soon,” I tell Mom.
“Bye, Gia.”
Walking out, the nurse must see the anguish written all over my face.
“It’s hard when they forget, but you handled that really well.”
“Thank you,” I say, choking down the tears.
I’m dropped off with the family coordinator, who enthusiastically gives
me the tour. “Our dining hall. Residents enjoy Italian espresso and pastries
from a local coffee shop, Corner Caffè.” Of course, they do. Is there
anywhere in Jersey the Parisi tentacles don’t reach?
We continue down the hall, and she points out the various rooms. Art
gallery. Library. Yoga studio. Indoor pool with lifeguard on duty. Game
room. Movie theatre.
It’s all very grandiose, with a grandiose price tag to match, I remind
myself. “Is there a payment plan we could discuss?”
“Oh, Helen’s expenses have already been taken care of by Mr. Parisi.”
“Of course,” I say, my stomach tied up in knots. I’m under no delusion
Antonio Parisi is doing this out of the goodness of his heart.
Thanking her, I sign out and return to my apartment. Tossing my purse
down on the coffee table, that’s as far as I get before the doorbell rings.
I check the peephole before opening the door to find Romeo with a
pizza box in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. Snatching the wine, I
slam the door in his face and lock it.
The doorbell rings again, and I open it, reaching for the box. “Package
deal—I come inside with the pizza,” Romeo tells me, jerking the box out of
my reach.
“I really should cut back on carbs anyway.” I go to slam the door, but he
sticks his ridiculously expensive Italian dress shoe inside, blocking it.
Flinging the door open, I stomp to the kitchen and grab the bottle
opener. Popping the cork, I pour myself a generous glass and take a swig.
“Where do I even start?” I mutter.
“Thank you is a good place,” Romeo has the nerve to say, placing the
pizza box down on the kitchen counter.
“Fuck you,” I seethe.
He smirks. “I said thank you, not fuck you, but if you want to start in
the bedroom, tesoro, I’m all for that plan.”
“He had no right!” I growl. Great, now I’m growling.
Romeo wraps his arms around me. “Look at it this way. You were
running yourself ragged between work, school, and traveling to Florida.
Now, you can visit your mom whenever you want.”
A valid point, except for one big problem. “She doesn’t want to be here.
That’s why I never moved her closer to me.”
“Why?”
“Because she was hiding from my abusive father, who’s from Jersey!” I
shout, jerking out of his hold.
“Give me his name and I’ll take care of it,” he says in a chilling tone.
I wag a finger at him. “Oh, no you don’t. Your family’s taken care of
enough.”
“Nicky, I’m not going to let anything happen to you or your mom,” he
assures me, grabbing my hips and pulling me close.
I’m still pissed, but my traitorous body melts into his arms. He lifts me
up onto the counter, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he jerks my
hair, angling my head for a kiss. As his tongue lashes against mine, my
stomach rumbles.
“You’re hungry,” he says against my lips.
Dropping my legs from around his waist, he opens cabinets until he
finds the plates. Had it been just me here, I would have eaten straight from
the box.
 I hop down and follow him to the living room. Taking a seat on my
well-loved couch, he hands me my plate, and I dig in. “So good,” I moan.
“Where is this from?”
“Daniella’s.”
“I’m not familiar.”
“Just opened,” he tells me.
“You own the place?” I take a guess.
“Yes.”
“Named after your mom?”
“Boccalone.”
“English,” I remind him.
“Enzo has a big mouth,” he translates, taking a bite of his pizza.
“So, you get to know everything about me, but I’m to know nothing
about you?” I challenge.
“The less you know about my life, the safer you are.”
“Look, I don’t need to know details about your ‘business’ dealings, but
we’re together. I want to know about you,” I explain.
“What do you want to know?”
“How old are you?” I feel that’s a good place to start.
“Twenty-eight.”
“What’s your sign?”
He scoffs. “I don’t fucking know.”
“What’s your birthday?”
“November 1st.”
“Scorpio,” I tell him. “Fits you like a glove.”
He eyes me skeptically. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Favorite baseball team?”
“Yankees,” he says without hesitation.
“Yay, we agree on something! Favorite movie?”
“The Godfather.”
“Cliché,” I tease, and he lifts a shoulder lazily.
“Favorite food?”
“Gravy and meatballs. Nonna makes the best. You’ll try it when you
come to Sunday dinner.”
“Ask me, don’t tell me.”
“Come to Sunday dinner.”
“You just don’t have it in you,” I say, shaking my head. “What time?”
 “Two.”
Pulling up the calendar on my phone, I say, “Sure, I can do that.”
Without warning, he jerks me into his lap, kissing me senseless. “Give
me his name,” he demands when he pulls back.
“What?” I ask, a bit breathless.
“This man your mom fears. His name.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know my dad’s name. She never told me.”
His phone buzzes, and he retrieves it and looks at the message. “I have
to go. Lock up behind me,” he orders, kissing me quickly before leaving.
Doing so—not because he told me to—I head to the kitchen for more
pizza. The man’s superhuman for being able to eat just one slice.

“Morning,” Enzo says, handing me a cup of coffee and a brown bag before
opening my door.
Climbing into the vehicle, I take a sip of my latte while pulling a
chocolate cornetto out of the bag. “Are you trying to get on my good side?”
“Is it working?” he asks, turning out of my apartment complex.
“Absolutely.”
“Yeah, well, since I’m now on your good side, maybe next time you
won’t tear out of here like a bat outta hell without me. Romeo was not
happy.”
“Sorry, hope that didn’t cause you trouble.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he tells me. “So, your evaluation is today?”
“Yes. I’m more nervous than I thought I’d be,” I admit.
“Don’t sweat it. You’ll do great.”
“Is that a pep talk or your opinion based on you stalking me?”
“Hey, now. Stalking’s a harsh word,” he tells me.
“What would you call it?” I demand.
“Watching your every move without you knowing I was there.”
Grabbing my phone, I do a quick search. How do you say smart ass in
Italian? “Saputello,” I call him.
“Saputella,” he fires back with a smile.
 “Hey, what do I need to know about attending my first Italian Sunday
dinner?” I ask.
“Come hungry. Embrace the chaos,” he advises.
“So, stretch pants and lots of wine. Got it.”
I finish my coffee and pastry, and we arrive at the hospital. “Break a
leg,” he tells me as he opens my door. There’s something ironic about a
mob henchman telling me to break a leg, but I keep that observation to
myself.
Scanning my card, I enter the hospital and stash my bag before riding
the elevator to the training room. I walk in to find my professor, Dr. Cole,
but I’m surprised to see Karen from HR as opposed to my preceptor.
“Morning,” I say warily.
“Good morning. Please, have a seat,” Dr. Cole says, and I take a seat
across from them. “Nicky, as you know, we’re here for your evaluation.
There are several issues that have come to our attention we need to address
first.”
“I was unaware of any issues, but please proceed,” I say, my stomach a
bundle of nerves.
Opening a file, she says, “You’ve been written up by your preceptor for
unprofessionalism, including missing two shifts—one without notice—
along with taking excessive breaks.”
“I did miss one shift without notice, because I had a stomach virus.”
AKA being caught up in a drive-by and kidnapped and coerced into
providing medical care. “As for excessive breaks, I disagree. Nurses are
legally entitled to breaks, including lunch breaks. Dr. Smith disagrees with
me on that point, but if you check my time records, you’ll see I only took
the legal minimum.”
“Let’s talk about patient care in relation to this issue,” Dr. Cole says.
“You took the lead on a patient who had a possible ankle fracture. She
waited over four hours before you even notified your preceptor the patient
needed an x-ray.”
Dr. Smith’s trying to torpedo me! “I respectfully disagree,” I say, trying
to remain cool. “I remember this patient; I examined her and immediately
recommended an x-ray. Dr. Smith chose not to put in the order due to her
own biases. The patient informed us she was an exotic dancer, and I believe
Dr. Smith made her wait because of it. I reminded Dr. Smith about the
patient’s need for an x-ray, but I couldn’t go against my preceptor, nor do I
have the authority to order the x-ray myself.”
“Both Dr. Smith and the patient tell a very different story. Your time
records also indicate you took a lunch break while this patient was under
your care, which delayed her treatment.”
“The patient has filed a formal complaint against you,” Karen adds,
handing me a document.

I came into the ER with bad pain in my ankle. Nurse Nicky was in charge of my care. When
I told her I got the injury stripping, she told me sluts deserved pain and I’d just have to
wait. Said she was busy taking care of patients who were worthy of her time. She left me
alone and in pain for hours. Only when Dr. Smith came in later to check on what was going
on did she finally order an x-ray and give me pain meds.

“This isn’t true!”

“It’s also come to our attention you’ve violated the Code of Nursing
cannon number five,” Dr. Cole says, steamrolling on. “You owe a duty of
responsibility to promote and maintain the upmost character and integrity.”
“And I’ve done that,” I argue.
She holds up her hand. “Inside and outside the hospital setting. It’s
come to our attention you are a stripper in your personal life.”
“I’m sorry?” I say, crossing my arms. “Where did you get that idea?” I
can’t deny it, so I deflect instead.
“We received an anonymous complaint,” Karen says, passing me a file
folder. Inside is a picture of me dancing on the club’s pole—which is
bullshit! There’s a strict no photo rule, but anyone could sneak a phone and
snap a quick pic. Anyone like Amethyst.
I’m about to deny it’s me, because it’s dark; plus with the wig, no one
could prove it. Unfortunately, the next document is my freaking application
from a few years back—with my name, address, and social security number
—signed by Nicky Thomas. If that’s not bad enough, the next document is a
letter signed by Joe saying I was an exotic dancer at his club, but I wasn’t
reliable—he suspected drug use and prostitution—and that’s why he had to
let me go.
“Ms. Thomas, it pains me to say this, but you’ve been expelled from the
family nurse practitioner program.”
Karen adds, “And as for your nursing per diem position with the
hospital—”
 “I’m union. You can’t fire me without a due process hearing and my
union advocate present,” I say, squaring my jaw.
She smiles tightly. “Then let’s set the hearing for next Friday at nine.
Until then, you’ve been placed on unpaid suspension.”
I don’t bother responding, getting up and storming out.
Running into a gleeful Dr. Smith in the hallway, I stop and whisper,
“Smile all you want. At least my husband’s not fucking another young, hot
nurse because I’m a dried-up old cunt.”
Her mouth hanging open, I march past her and grab my things, walking
out of the hospital with my fucking chin up.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Sixteen

Nicky

Plopping down on a bench, I call Enzo. “Can you come get me? I’m
finished.”
“Turning around now.”
A few minutes later, he rolls up and hops out, opening the door for me.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t expect you to finish so early.”
I laugh bitterly. “Neither did I.”
“Did it not go well?”
“You could say that. I was expelled from my academic program because
of some terrible human beings.” Fucking Amethyst. She did recognize me
and had nothing better to do than try to destroy me. Dr. Smith? I’m not
shocked by that bitch’s behavior, but Joe? I thought he was a stand-up guy.
“That’s bullshit!”
“And I might be fired next week from my nursing job, as the icing on
the cake,” I say, angrily swiping the tears from my eyes. I have no idea how
this will affect my contract with the family. If I’m not going to be a nurse
practitioner, am I no longer useful? If I’m no longer useful, will I still be
breathing? Sure, Romeo and I are together, but his dad’s the boss.
Enzo types something on his phone, and we take off. “My apartment,
please.” I need to shower, have a good cry, figure out the appeal process,
and contact my union rep to see if my career can be salvaged. Not
necessarily in that order.
“Sorry, Romeo says to bring you to him.”
“You were texting him about me?”
 He shrugs.
“How often do you send status updates about me?” I demand.
“Um.”
“Never mind.” I’ll ask the control freak when I see him.
I’m radiating frustration by the time we pull into Romeo’s driveway.
Passing through the gate, Enzo pulls to the front and opens my door for me.
Ringing the bell, I’m surprised when Romeo answers the door. Taking
my hand, he pulls me inside and wraps his arms around me. “Why is Enzo
spying on me?” I say, pulling back and smacking his chest.
“To keep you safe, I need to know what’s going on.”
I snort. “Bullshit. You’re a control freak.”
“And?”
“And, ugh! I got kicked out of my program today. It was my eval, but I
walked into an ambush!” Stepping inside his office, I explain what just
went down.
He silently takes a seat behind his desk, and finally says, “I’ll take care
of it.”
“How the hell are you going to take care of it? I need to go home—
figure out how to file an appeal with my school, plus find my union rep’s
info.”
“No.”
“What do you mean no?” I shout, wanting to rip my hair out in
frustration.
“What I said. I’ll take care of it. Do not speak to anyone else about it,”
he tells me.
“So I’m just supposed to sit back and do nothing?”
“No, you’re not doing nothing. You’re letting me take care of it.”
“Look, I’ve been taking care of myself and my mom for so long—”
Pulling me into his lap, he says, “And that ends now, because I’m going
to take care of you.”
“But I’ve been kicked out of the program! What will that mean for my
contract with your dad?”
He nips my lower lip, growling. “Let. Me. Take. Care. Of. It.” Pushing
me off his lap, he says, “Go relax.” He pauses for a moment. “I’m not sure
you know how.”
“Hey,” I grumble. He’s right, though, because I’ve never had time to
relax.
 “Call Valentina to hang out at the pool. Her number’s in your new
phone,” he says, reaching into his desk drawer and handing me a fancy new
smartphone.
“I don’t know whether to kiss you or slam this upside your head,” I say,
snatching the phone and marching to the door.
“Pass code is the same as your old phone.” Of course he knows my pass
code. Why wouldn’t he? “And all your things are in our room.”
I stop dead in my tracks. “What?”
“You’re my woman. You live with me now,” he says matter-of-factly.
Stomping back over to him, I poke him in the chest. “Listen up. I am
your woman, a woman who has a brain of her own, who’s taken care of
herself for years now, and who doesn’t need her man making all the
decisions!”
He grabs me up by the hips and slams me down on his desk, nudging
my knees apart. Jerking down my scrub pants and panties, I say,
incredulously, “What the hell are you doing? We’re having a fight, you
can’t just—”
“Eat this pussy?” He finishes for me, moving his head between my legs
and spearing me with his tongue. “My pussy? I can and I will,” he says
against my clit. Using his large hand to push me down on his desk, he fucks
me with the tip of his tongue.
“I am pissed at you!” I grit, trying not to squirm.
“I know,” he says, entering me with a finger as my pussy flutters and
clenches around him. “And yet you’re still going to squirt all over my
tongue.”
“Fuck you.” I ignore the waves of pleasure as he goes back to licking
and sucking like a man starved.
My orgasm’s building fast, and I tense my body up to prevent it from
happening. “Let go, Nicky,” he commands, flicking his tongue faster as he
hits those sensitive bundles of nerves deep inside me with his thick finger.
“No,” I say, gritting my teeth.
“Lascia che mi prenda cura di te,” he says, the sweet-sounding words
rolling off his tongue as he looks up from between my legs, still working
me with his finger. “You going to squirt for me, bellissima? Perfume my
office with your succo di fica?”
“I’m not,” I hiss, demanding my body not make me a liar.
 He laughs darkly, rubbing the stubble of his beard back and forth over
my delicate flesh; the rough sensation a delicious addition as he continues
to work me with his finger.
“Mmm, Romeo,” I cry when he goes back to lavishing my pussy with
long strokes of his tongue. Arching my back off his desk, I give up fighting
this—tweaking my aching nipples with my fingers as my pussy absolutely
convulses.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Smirking, he returns to destroying me with his
wicked tongue while working me with his finger; my desire dripping all
over his mahogany desk.
Grabbing his head, I pull him closer, writhing uncontrollably. He hums
his approval against my clit, locking eyes with me as I cry out, “I’m still
mad at you, but oh fuck, I’m coming.” My pussy absolutely gushes; the
relief the sweetest feeling.
With my heart beating out of my chest, he brings me down slowly
before removing his finger, placing a gentle kiss on my clit. “Who do we
know at Saint Matthew’s?”
Confused, I sit up on my elbows to find he’s on the phone.
“Go call Valentina, ask her to come over,” he whispers to me, his hand
now over the speaker.
“We’re not finished with this fight,” I warn him quietly as I fix my pants
and walk to the door.
“We are,” he assures me, bringing his finger to his mouth and licking off
my juices. “I’m sorry, what was that?” He returns to his phone call.
Ugh, that infuriating man! And how dare my pussy squirt all over his
tongue when I’m mad at him.
Punching in my passcode, I unlock my new phone and call Valentina.
“Hey, it’s Nicky. I was about to hang out at Romeo’s pool if you’d like to
come over?”
“Oh my God, yes! Be over in a little bit.”
Walking to the end of the hall, I step inside Romeo’s room—our room,
according to him—and enter the closet large enough to be considered a
family room. There’s seating in the center, with row after row of Romeo’s
suits and other designer clothes. Sure enough, all my clothes are hanging or
folded neatly on the opposite side of the closet.
I find my old bathing suit, as well as several new ones in my size.
Choosing a cute red bikini, I walk to the bathroom to find my toiletries in
the vanity drawers. Freshening up, I wrangle my hair into a high ponytail
and apply some sunscreen to my face and shoulders before walking out.
I run into an older, heavyset woman vacuuming the hall. “Excuse me,” I
say loudly.
She turns off the vacuum. “You must be Nicky,” she says in an Italian-
laced accent.
“Yes,” I say with a smile, suddenly feeling self-conscious about
traipsing through the house in a bikini.
“I’m Francesca, Romeo’s housekeeper. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m to
show you around, if you have time.”
“Nice to meet you too. Yes, and if you could end the tour at the pool,
that would be perfect,” I tell her.
“Of course. So here we have a guest bedroom.” She points to the room I
slept in the last time I was here, and we keep going. “Living room and
kitchen.”
Walking up the stairs, we reach a game room with a pool table and a flat
screen television so big, only a man would think it necessary. “Safe room.”
Francesca points to an alcove bookcase and pulls out a book—The Art of
War—and presses a button. The bookcase swings open, revealing a steel
door behind it. “Retinal scan entry, electromagnetic locking system.”
“Have you ever had to use it?” Just the thought of being trapped in a
small, windowless room has me breaking out in a cold sweat.
“No,” she says, swinging the shelf back into place.
Following her downstairs to the basement, we enter a gym. “Gun
range,” she points to a door. “And this is Romeo’s other office,” she nods to
another door on the opposite wall. Why Romeo needs two offices is beyond
me.
“Laundry room,” she points out when we return upstairs. “If there’s any
particular way you like your clothes laundered, just let me know.”
“There’s been a misunderstanding. I didn’t move in with Romeo.”
Francesca doesn’t comment as she leads me outside to the courtyard and
beautiful pool. “Pool house,” she points out. “You’ll find extra towels,
floats, and a fridge with drinks inside. When Sammy spends the night, he
usually stays out here.”
“Do you mean Sam?”
“Yes, but I’ve always called him Sammy. The boys grew up together.
I’ve seen it all, and that includes watching a conniving woman or two try to
worm her way into this life of wealth,” she says pointedly.
I cross my arms. “I’m not the one who’s wormed her way in his life;
Romeo wormed his way into mine.” Pausing, I correct myself. “I wouldn’t
characterize it as worming; he bulldozed his way in. But you needn’t worry
about me—I’ve always earned my own way.”
“Glad to hear it,” she says, looking her nose down at me. “Is there
anything I can bring you?”
“Yes. I’ll take an Italian sparking water with three squeezes of lime. Not
one. Not two. Three squeezes. A charcuterie platter. No, maybe some sushi.
Well, just bring out both. Oh, and a bottle of your finest champagne along
with chocolate-dipped strawberries. To start. Is there a bell I can ring when
I need something else?”
“There’s an intercom in the pool house,” she says with a forced smile.
No longer able to keep a straight face, I bust out laughing. “Francesca,
I’m joking.”
“Naughty girl,” she says with a chuckle. “No wonder he’s so crazy
about you.”
“From Nonna’s lips to God’s ear,” I mutter to myself, taking a seat on a
lounge chair.
“I’ll send Valentina out when she—”
“I’ve already got a father!” Valentina storms outside wearing a hot pink
string bikini with a sheer coverup.
“He obviously didn’t see what you left the house in,” Sam snipes after
her.
“Those two fight like cats and dogs,” Francesca informs me. She says
something in Italian in an exasperated tone and walks inside.
“This is ridiculous. I’m at a private pool,” Valentina says in
exasperation. “Nobody can see me!”
“Guards can see you!”
“Would you rather I wear a wet suit? Or how about a muumuu?”
“Either would be an improvement.”
“Fuck you,” she hisses, stomping over to me. “Hi, Nicky.”
“Valentina. Sam. Charming as always.”
“She’s seventeen—”
“Eighteen next week, jackass,” Valentina corrects him.
Throwing up his hands, he likewise mutters something in Italian before
storming inside.
 Valentina rips off her coverup and plops on her stomach onto the lounge
chair next to me. So that’s what all the fuss is about—she’s wearing a
thong.
“Ugh,” she says dramatically, placing her chin on her fist. “Everything I
do annoys Sam.”
“He seems pretty easily annoyed,” I point out. “What’s his story?”
“Sam’s four years younger than Romeo, but they’re like brothers.
Annoying brothers who try to control my freakin’ life!”
“Sorry. I’m an only child, so I can’t relate.”
“Be glad,” she says with a dramatic huff.
“Has Sam always been involved in the family business?” I ask.
“Yeah. Sam’s old man, Giuseppe, was the underboss until he got taken
out.”
“Jesus. How old was Sam when that happened?”
She thinks for a moment. “Four or five, maybe? That was during the
Russo war, way before my time.”
“What about his mom?” I wonder.
“Rachele was a stripper Giuseppe had a soft spot for. Rumor has it, after
she gave birth to Sam, she got hooked on pills. Now, she’s taking a dirt nap
because she talked too much. And here I am, talking too much,” she says,
making the sign of the cross. “Anyway, Sam never mentions her, so I
wouldn’t suggest bringing it up.” Ah, so maybe that’s the source of Sam’s
hostility toward me.
“What does Sam do for the family?”
“Did you not just hear the dirt nap cautionary tale?” She raises an
eyebrow.
“Heard it loud and clear. This is just between us,” I assure her.
“Sammy ‘The Knife’ Moretti—I know, dumb fucking nickname—is
Romeo’s right-hand man.”
“And Romeo is?” I’m not sure how to finish that question.
“Underboss. Number two in the family. How do you not know any of
this?”
“Because your brother’s more of a growler than a talker!”
“True story.”
“What about Luca?” I ask.
“The man’s spoken maybe ten words to me since I’ve known him.”
“Ten, huh? I think I’ve maybe gotten five.”
 “That’s Luca. He used to be a cop,” she starts, but then snaps her mouth
shut.
Romeo appears holding a bag. He also notices what all the fuss is about.
“Pool house. Change. Now.”
“I’m not a child you can order around for much longer,” Valentina
snipes, but doesn’t argue with her brother as she stomps inside the pool
house.
“She does have a point,” I say, sitting up crossed-legged.
“She doesn’t,” he says, taking a seat at the end of my lounger.
Deciding it’s Valentina’s battle, not mine, I ask, “What’s in the bag?”
He hands it to me. “Sushi. Francesca’s making you an antipasto platter.
She says it’s much better than a charcuterie board.”
“Oh my God, I was just teasing her.” Although she did sort of walk right
into it by accusing me of being a gold digger. “Now I feel bad.”
“You ask for something, you get it,” he says simply.
“Very well. I’m asking you to move all my things back to my
apartment.”
“Why would I do that? You’ve already moved in.”
“You breaking into my apartment and bringing my things to your house
isn’t me moving in,” I argue, crossing my arms.
“We’ll see,” he vaguely replies, standing. “I’ve got to get back to work.
Tell Valentina when she gets out here I know she didn’t change, and to get
her ass back inside and do so.”
Valentina comes sneaking out a few minutes later in the same bikini.
“He’s onto you,” I warn.
“This is a fucking prison!” she shouts, stomping back inside.

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 Chapter
Seventeen

Nicky

My new phone rings, and the caller ID shows Doc. “Hello?” I answer.
“Nicky, this is Doc Caruso. Boss asked me to show you the ropes. I’m
headed into the clinic now if you’re available.”
“Sure. Do you have your glasses?” I ask, hoping to save everyone the
trouble.
“Wearing them,” he says with a chuckle.
“Sounds good. I’ll meet you there.”
I hang up just as Valentina walks out of the pool house wearing high
wasted bottoms—which cover her ass—except now she’s wearing a bikini
top that consists of two, teeny-tiny triangles. “What? He told me to change,
and I changed.”
“I’ve been called into work,” I tell her. “I’m sorry to invite you over and
then bail.”
“Go do your important doctor stuff. I’m sure there’s some kind of
trouble I can get into around here.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” I tell her with a smile.
Hurrying inside, I change into scrubs and stick my head into Romeo’s
office. He’s on the phone, but motions me over. Ending his call in Italian, he
frowns at me. “Where are you going? I told you to relax.”
“Doc called. I’m meeting him at the clinic, but I need the address.”
“Enzo’s outside. He’ll drive you,” he tells me.
“You’re making poor Enzo wait around all day on the off chance I need
to go somewhere?”
 “Yes, Enzo’s waiting to drive you somewhere because he’s your driver.”
“You realize I drove myself before you mistakenly believed yourself to
be in charge of my life.” I take a step back, just in case Romeo decides to
“end” this argument by going down on me again. One, we don’t have time
for that, and two, it’s an effective strategy on his part, dammit.
I didn’t account for the man’s ridiculous wingspan; he easily grabs me
and pulls me to his lap. Our noses nearly touching, he says with hard eyes,
“Enzo is your driver and security. You step foot out of this house, Enzo’s
with you if I’m not. Understood?”
“Because of what happened to your mom?” I take a guess.
“Understood?” He growls.
“Fine, bullhead.”
“Key to our house is on your keyring.”
“Key to your house.” Giving him a quick kiss, I walk out of his office
before he can argue.
Sure enough, Enzo’s waiting outside next to a blacked-out SUV. “I’ve
never been to the clinic,” he comments as he opens my door for me.
“My guess is if you’re at the clinic, you’re having a really bad day. That
reminds me, what do you guys do about routine healthcare?”
“Routine healthcare?” he parrots, confused.
“That answers my question.”
We soon arrive at the warehouse, and Enzo walks me to the door. “I’m
not sure about the protocol, so why don’t you just wait out here.”
“No problem,” Enzo says.
Before I can knock, Doc opens the door, and I follow him inside.
A man around my age is sprawled over the bed in tighty-whities, his
upper thigh bleeding profusely through the T-shirt he’s holding over it. I
quickly jump into action, washing my hands and donning gloves. “What
happened?” I ask, moving the man’s hand out of the way before pressing a
gauze over the wound.
“Matteo tried to settle a dispute with a knife,” Doc tells me. He says
something to Matteo in Italian, and Matteo returns with something in
Italian, and then both men begin shouting.
“Doc, we need to suture the wound!” I interject.
“Go ahead.” He waves at me before taking a seat in the corner.
“Stronzo,” he mutters.
 “Matteo, I’m Nicky. I’m going to clean and suture your wound, and
then we’ll see if you need any pain medication.”
Matteo whispers something in Italian before leering at me—his breathe
reeking of booze.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand—”
He looks down to his hard dick, and then back up to me, his eyes
settling on my tits.
Ignoring him and his underwhelming hard-on, I work quickly, cleaning
and drying the area, but my hands still when he begins rubbing himself.
“Matteo, I will let you bleed out if you don’t act like a civilized human
being.” Glancing over to Doc for backup, I find him asleep in the chair.
He stills his hand but doesn’t move it from his crotch. Fucker. I have a
strong urge to stab his other thigh with the sewing needle, but I suture him
up. “There you go. Keep the wound dry for a week, and then come back
we’ll get those removed,” I instruct him as I place a bandage over the area.
Do you need any pain medication?”
“I need a sponge bath,” he says suggestively, his eyes never leaving my
tits.
“Sure, let me get that set up for you,” I answer, disposing of my gloves
and washing up before I grab a pan and fill it with ice cold water. Returning
with a smile on my face, I dump the pan over his head.
Matteo’s scream rouses Doc. “What?” the old man startles, looking
around.
“Bitch, you’re going to pay for that,” Matteo grits, grabbing my wrist
hard.
“Let go,” I demand.
Enzo’s now beside me, a gun pointed at Matteo’s head. “Nicky is
Romeo’s woman. I suggest you let go.”
“Meant no disrespect,” Matteo lies, releasing his hold on my arm, and
Enzo lowers his gun. Bullshit, but since I don’t want to escalate this any
further, I bite my tongue.
Matteo swings his legs around to the side of the bed and stands,
grabbing his jeans and wincing as he pulls them up. “Doc. Kid. And Nicky,”
he says my name with promise, limping out without so much as a thank
you.
“Kid?” I ask Enzo, rubbing the red marks forming on my wrist.
“Hate that fucking nickname,” he grumbles.
 “Doc, what about the patient’s chart?” I ask. “I need to add some notes.”
“No records.” Doc taps his temple. “All up here.”
I nod. Makes sense the mob doesn’t want a paper trail; it’s just going to
take some getting used to, as charting is second nature to me. Looking
around, I try to figure out where the medical waste should go. “Where’s the
biohazard box?” I ask.
Doc points to the trash can. I internally cringe, and make a mental note
of the changes I’ll be implementing around here. First and foremost, I need
a gun in the event I run into more patients like Matteo. Just as soon as I
learn how to shoot one.
After cleaning up, I give my hands one last wash and we’re out the
door.
“What’s wrong?” I ask Enzo. I can feel his nervous energy from the
backseat.
“Fuck! Romeo is going to be so pissed at me.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I let someone touch you.”
“Matteo acted an ass. That’s not your fault.”
“I shouldn’t have let you go inside the clinic without me,” he says in a
rush.
“So don’t tell him,” I suggest.
“And let Romeo find out from somewhere else that testa di cazzo
touched you? No fucking way. It’s just,” he pauses. “If I tell you something,
can it be like doctor/patient confidentiality or some shit?”
“I’m not a doctor, but sure.”
“I didn’t want to go in because I can’t stand the sight of blood.”
“But you’re—”
He sighs. “A soldier. Yeah, I know.”
“But isn’t it blood in, blood out?” I don’t know much about the mob,
but I know that much.
“God, don’t remind me.”
“Any particular reason for the blood aversion?”
He shudders. “It’s blood. It’s gross. I don’t fucking know.”
“All I can tell you is to keep a trash can with you in the future, because
if we’re at the clinic, chances are, there’s going to be blood.”
“Let’s stop talking about it,” he begs, having turned a lovely shade of
green.
 Returning to Romeo’s house, Enzo opens my car door and walks with
me, looking like he’s marching to his execution. “Hey, let me take a quick
shower and then talk to Romeo. Lay low for a bit.”
Walking upstairs to our bedroom—shit, I mean Romeo’s bedroom—I
strip and hop in the shower. Grabbing the shampoo bottle, I nearly have a
heart attack when I spot Romeo looming at the door. “Jesus Christ. You
scared me.”
He doesn’t say anything, just strips and steps inside. Grabbing my wrist,
he inspects the discoloration. His jaw ticks like crazy.
“I take it Enzo told you what happened.” So much for laying low.
“Enzo’s lucky I didn’t kill him,” he says in an eerily quiet tone.
“Please don’t,” I beg. “It was my fault. I told him to wait outside. But
nothing happened.”
“Nothing?” he looks pointedly at my bruised wrist, then back up to me.
“Fine, so Matteo is an ass, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“You’re never alone at the clinic again. If you’re there, Enzo is your
fucking shadow. Do I make myself clear?” he thunders, slapping his hands
on either side of the shower wall, caging me in.
Taking a page out of his playbook, I slide to my knees.
“What are you doing?” he demands.
“I think it’s pretty obvious,” I say, licking the head of his rock-hard dick
like a lollypop.
“I’m still pissed at you.”
“I know, and you’re still going to come down my throat,” I taunt.
I smile as I take his dick in my mouth. It appears we’re going to settle
arguments by going down on each other. I’m okay with that.

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 Chapter
Eighteen

Romeo

Waking with a naked Nicky in my arms, I’d love to do something about it,
but I slide out of bed and quietly get ready.
I leave a vase of red dahlias on her nightstand—her favorite, or so Enzo
gathered when he was tailing her. I’m almost out the door when the
whizzing sound of a skill saw rattles the ceiling.
Nicky curses, pulling a pillow over her head. I walk over to her side of
the bed, yanking the pillow down so I can see her gorgeous face. Scowling
face, but still gorgeous. “Why?” she bemoans.
“I’m having work done on the attic.”
She glances at the clock on my nightstand. “At six in the morning?” She
shouts over the sound of a worker firing a nail gun. “You’re a sadist!”
“I have to go into the office.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re in workout clothes.”
“I’m going to hit the gym first.”
“Do not overdo it with your shoulder. No heavy lifting,” she warns.
Making no promises, I say, “Enzo will be here soon if you need to go
anywhere.” I lean in and give her a kiss.
“To my apartment, so I don’t have to listen to this God-awful racket,”
she grumbles, pulling the pillow back over her head.
She won’t be going back there much longer, but I keep my mouth shut,
as I’d rather her not try to nail my balls to the wall with the nail gun.
Walking to the kitchen, I find Sam and Luca seated at my table drinking
coffee, with Sam leaning back in my chair. “Make yourselves at home.”
 “Would if not for the noise,” Sam says.
I move quickly, kicking the chair legs out from under him. Luca laughs
as Sam curses me, picking his ass up off the hardwood.
“Let’s go,” I say, walking out the door.
We arrive at my gym, and Darius Angelos—my go-to fixer and enforcer
—greets us with a fist bump. He was a part of my crew back when we were
both just kids, and I trust him implicitly. He’ll never be made because he
isn’t Italian, but as far as I’m concerned, we’re blood.
“God, he’s an obsessive fuck,” Darius comments, watching Luca scan
his equipment over the weight room. We’re the only ones here, as this place
is mainly a front to launder money.
“He is,” I agree, and Luca shrugs. “What’s the word on the street about
the attempted hit on me?” I ask Darius. “Anyone trying to make a name for
themselves?”
“One punk claimed to be the shooter. Wasn’t so bold when I strung him
up by his thumbs and threatened to cut out his spleen. Lying piece of shit. I
did make him watch as I cut out his spleen, just for the principle.” And this
is why we’re blood, because he’s just as crazy a motherfucker as me.
“Keep asking around,” I instruct him. “Someone’s gotta know
something.”
“Will do.”
“Now, tell me what happened with you and Matteo yesterday.” Being
the underboss is a lot like being a human resources manager, except instead
of employees filing grievances, men try to kill each other to settle disputes.
And that’s never good for business.
Darius shrugs. “Stabbed him.”
I snort. “Got that much. My woman, Nicky, patched him up.”
“Damn, that’s a shame. I was going for the femoral artery, but Matteo’s
a slimly little fuck. Slithered at the last second.”
“Hate when that happens,” Sam agrees.
“Let me rephrase—why did you stab Matteo?” I try again.
“Because he fucking put his hands on my cousin, Katerina!”
“The blackjack dealer at The Diamond?” Sam asks, giving me a pointed
look.
Darius nods. “Yeah. Matteo’s lucky I didn’t slice off his pencil dick.
Came into Al’s Sports Bar with some of his crew. Talking shit and brought
up my cousin, calling her a slut.”
 I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You cannot kill Sergio’s son in
public, with a bar full of witnesses.”
“So, I can kill his son in private?” Darius asks hopefully.
“No,” I say, even though I’d love to say yes, since the little shit put his
hands on my woman. “The fallout would be too great. We clear?”
Darius grumbles his assent.
Shrugging out of my pullover, I hand him an envelope with this week’s
“salary.” “Besides, I need you down in Boca Raton,” I tell him, giving him
the address. “Joe Mancini needs to take a little nap. He’s in his early
seventies. Gray hair. Hunched shoulders. Paunch gut. Anchor tattoo on his
left forearm.”
“I’ll pack my bathing suit after we wrap up here and head down south,”
Darius says eagerly. “I could use a little fun in the sun.”
“Nobody wants to see your pasty ass in a banana hammock,” Sam
taunts.
“Only an insecure man is afraid of wearing a banana hammock. You
insecure about what you’re packing, Sammy?” Darius challenges.
“Ask your mom.” Sam smirks, weaving a knife back and forth between
his fingers.
“Enough,” I say in a bored tone. “Darius, one more point of business. I
want you to find a stripper named Amethyst, used to dance at Joe’s club. Be
discreet about it.”
“She also need a nap?” Darius asks, a twinkle in his eye at the prospect
of more bloodshed.
“You are a twisted motherfucker,” Sam comments.
“Wouldn’t be very good at my job if I weren’t.” Darius shrugs.
“No on the nap.” If the stripper goes MIA, that could bring unwanted
attention to Nicky. “But put the fear of God in the bitch.”
“You got it,” he says, rubbing his hands together.
I walk over to the bench press and load the bar. “Nicky green light
this?” Luca asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Last time I checked, I’m still in possession of my balls. Spot me,” I tell
Darius as I lay down on the bench. He guides the bar up and over to me,
then lets go. “Fuck!” I cry when I try to lift the bar—my shoulder feels like
it’s being ripped in two.
Luckily, Darius has reflexes like a cat, grabbing the bar and placing it
back on the rack before it crushes me.
 Luca and Sam’s phones buzz at the same time. “Nicky says and I quote,
‘do not let the bullhead cause permanent damage to his shoulder. I’m
sending a list of approved PT exercises,’” Luca reads.
“Not a fucking word.” I point to Sam.
“Who, me?” Sam says, putting in his earbuds and grabbing some
dumbbells.
After physical therapy moves that looked like nothing, yet still hurt like
a bitch, I shower and change into my suit. Walking out of the locker room, I
fist bump Darius. “I mean it. Let me handle Matteo.”
He grunts his acknowledgment.
“Tell your mom I said hi,” Sam taunts, tossing his knife in the air and
catching it.
“Bring a knife to a gun fight, Sammy, and find out what happens,”
Darius promises.
“Fucking idiot,” Luca says to Sam, fist bumping Darius before we head
out.
Entering the coffee shop, Valentina has an espresso waiting for me, but
she pulls it back at the last second. “Only if Nicky’s coming to dinner
tonight.”
I narrow my eyes. “You realize this is my business, I’m the boss, and I
pay your wages?”
“Meager as they are,” she complains, handing me the coffee.
“Principessa thinks she should be paid a CEO’s salary for making
coffee on the weekends,” Sam chides.
“Luca.” Valentina smiles brightly, handing him a coffee. “Sammy,” she
says, narrowing her eyes at him with a scowl. “You know where the coffee
machine is.” With that, she walks to the back.
“That b—”
“Careful,” I warn Sam.
“Barista,” Sam covers. “I know where the coffee machine is, but who
the hell knows how to operate that fancy thing?”
“That barista you just offended,” Luca offers.
Bored of their bullshit, I walk to the back—unfortunately, they follow
me. Placing my hand on the sensor, my office door beeps open. Antonio
runs Parisi Construction out of a flashy, multi-million dollar penthouse
office downtown. I prefer to fly under the radar—the less flash, the less the
feds take note.
 A knock on the door sounds, and we glance at the monitors behind my
desk. The security feed shows Matteo holding a brown paper bag.
Remembering the bruising on Nicky’s wrist, a hundred different ways I
could kill Matteo play through my mind. The first being to grab the paper
bag and hold it over his head—suffocating the little fuck while I cut off his
offending hand.
“Remember what you just told Darius about the fallout,” Sam warns
me.
“When did you become the family consigliere?” I challenge. That’s a
joke. Our family doesn’t have one—Antonio would never give anyone that
much access to his private dealings, myself included.
“I do look good in a suit while giving sage advice,” Sam says, adjusting
his tie.
“I’m not going to kill Matteo,” I concede. “Wouldn’t want to dirty up
my office.”
“We’re holding you to that,” Luca says, opening my door.
“Luca. Sammy,” Matteo says with a thinly veiled sneer. “Romeo.” He
addresses me with slightly less attitude, but not much. My trigger finger
twitches.
“Matteo. Have a seat.” I gesture to a chair across from my desk.
“Where’s Sergio?”
“My old man sends his regards,” Matteo says, reaching in the bag and
handing me an envelope and a takeout box.
Ignoring the subpar pastries, I count out the money. “What’s the word
on Phoenix Construction and The Diamond?”
“Phoenix is owned by some nobody from Delaware,” Matteo reports.
“Obviously doesn’t know whose town he’s in.”
“And whose town is he in?” I challenge.
“Parisi’s,” he answers quickly.
“Name of this ‘nobody?’”
“John Davis,” he says, pulling out a file and handing it to me. I open it
to a picture of a man exiting a nondescript office building. I can’t make out
much because he’s wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses, but he appears to
be on the younger side—maybe a few years older than me—with a fit build.
“Who’s in his crew?” I ask. “If he doesn’t go with local or union guys,
there’s going to be pushback on all fronts.”
 “Nobody knows. The Diamond would be his first AC project,” Matteo
reports.
I keep flipping until I find a copy of Phoenix Construction’s business
license, which gives me the office address, but not much else. “Where’s the
best place for me to ‘bump’ into Mr. Davis?”
“He hits a small gym called Aces Wild Boxing Club,” Matteo tells me.
“Finishes up around six in the morning.”
“Looks like I’ll be hitting the gym,” I comment.
“Need my crew’s muscle?” he offers.
“No. Just stay out of the way.”
Offended at that, Matteo goes to stand, but I raise my hand. “I wasn’t
finished. This beef with you and Darius.”
He sneers. “Darius isn’t family.”
“No, but you are, and I expect better. A brawl at a bar with witnesses?” I
say with disgust. Walking around my desk, I lean against it so Matteo’s
within arm’s reach.
“Darius fucking stabbed me,” he says, pounding his chest. “Over a
stupid, lying cunt!”
“I’ll handle Darius, but I want to make sure you understand this ends
here. Capisci?”
“Of course,” he grits.
“Good. Oh, and one more thing.” I yank Matteo out of the chair by his
neck, his feet desperately trying to reach the floor. Fuck, that smarts my
shoulder, but I hide my grimace. “Touch my woman again and it’ll be your
last mistake,” I warn, punching him in the kidneys over and over while
holding him up by his throat. It’s a dirty move, but I never claimed to fight
fair.
“He’s about to pass out,” Luca comments.
Luca’s right—Matteo’s face has turned a violent shade of red. I release
my hold, and Matteo falls to the floor. Giving him one last kick to the
kidneys, I step over his crumpled body as I return to my desk.
“Sam, please show Matteo out.” Sam saunters over, but the stubborn
prick Matteo waves him off, picking himself off the floor while clutching
his arms around his midsection. I smile. “Tell your old man to send more
than his regards next week.”
Rage flashes in Matteo’s eyes for a split second before he ducks his
head in respect. I know the feeling of unadulterated rage all too well, but
Matteo’s mistake is directing that sentiment at me. Unlike Antonio, I don’t
have a hard-on for Sergio, and when I’m boss, I’ll have no problem putting
Matteo’s punk ass to ground.
Sam closes and locks the door after Matteo’s gone, giving me a look as I
toss the pastry box in the trash can. “What? I didn’t kill him,” I say.
“No. Instead, you made an enemy out of him.” Sam shakes his head.
I shrug, unconcerned. “Matteo can take a fucking number.”
My phone buzzes and I look at the message. “Let’s go. I have some
errands to run before we pick up Nonna and Valentina for Mass.” Nonna’s
given up on Antonio, but she still holds out hope my soul can be saved. I’m
a good grandson, so I let her cling to her delusions.

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 Chapter
Nineteen

Nicky

Unable to go back to sleep despite my best effort—I’m not sure the dead
could sleep though this noise—I get up and throw on my clothes.
Grabbing a water bottle and packing my gym bag, I track down Enzo.
“Take me to my apartment, please.”
“No can do,” he answers, taking my bag and carrying it for me.
“Why not?” I demand.
“Romeo won’t be happy.”
“I’ll tell him you were looking at my tits.” Obviously, I wouldn’t do that
to Enzo, but he doesn’t need to know I’m bluffing.
He makes a face.
“What’s wrong with my tits?” I demand.
“Nothing,” he says quickly, schooling his features.
“You’re gay?” I take a guess. “It’d be okay with me if you were,” I say
gently.
“Don’t say that so freakin’ loud,” he hisses, opening the SUV door for
me. Sliding behind the wheel, we lock eyes in the rearview. “Yeah, I’m gay,
but I don’t go around announcing it. The family’s still pretty set in the old
ways. Romeo knows, probably Sam and Luca, but that’s it.”
“Your secret’s safe with me. If you take me to my apartment.”
“Damn, Nicky.” He shakes his head. “That’s dirty fucking pool.”
“I’m a pool shark and you just got hustled. Let’s go.” We’re not even
out of the driveway before the guilt kicks in. “You know I wouldn’t really
hold that over your head,” I confess.
 “I figured as much. But I also figured if I don’t take you, you’d call an
Uber, and Romeo would have my head either way.”
“Smart thinking. So, do you have a boyfriend?”
“I did, but we broke up. He didn’t like having to sneak around,” he
admits.
“That’s tough, but one day Romeo will be the boss, right? Maybe then
things will change with the family.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he says thoughtfully.
My phone chimes, and I check my email. Nothing from school saying,
Just kidding, you’re reinstated. Romeo claims to be handling it, but I’d feel
a hell of a lot better if I saw evidence of him handling it.
We arrive at my apartment, and Enzo follows me up the stairs. A piece
of paper with NOTICE typed in boldface is plastered to my front door.

Dear resident,
This apartment has been sold to a third-party. This letter serves as notice of the
termination of your lease. You have thirty days to vacate…

Ripping the letter off the door, I turn to Enzo, who holds up his hands. I
unlock my door, hurrying to my bedroom as I rifle through my shoe box of
documents. Finding a copy of my lease, I skim it until I find what I’m
looking for.

The Landlord has the right to terminate this lease upon the sale of the property. Thirty days
written notice shall be provided to the Tenant.

“Well, shit.” Scrolling through my contacts, I find my landlord’s

number and hit call. “Hello. This is Nicky Thomas. Apartment 204. I just
saw the notice. Who bought the building? I’d like to speak to them to see if
I can extend my lease.”
“Nicky, you don’t want to tangle with this guy,” he says in a rush. “Just
move on and don’t look back.”
“What’s his name?” I demand.
“Romeo Parisi. Nicky—”
“Thanks,” I say, hanging up.
Oh, we’re going to tangle alright. Grabbing a red permanent marker, I
mark a big X on the notice. At the top of the document, I write a notice of
my own.
 Dear New Owner,
Fuck. You.

A woman on a mission, I take great satisfaction in taping the new and

improved notice on the door.
“Sure you aren’t Italian?” Enzo whistles. “Appassionata. You’ve got the
fire.”
Yeah, I’ve got the fire, and Romeo’s ass is getting singed for this one.
“Now that you’re evicted, where to?” he asks.
“Let’s go see my mom.” There’s no point trying to go back to sleep; I’m
too worked up.
Enzo drops me off, and I have a nice visit—Mom’s luckily having a
much better day today. After I kiss her goodbye, I meet Enzo in the parking
lot.
“Now where to? Back to Romeo’s house?” he eagerly suggests.
Making a game show buzzer sound, I say, “Wrong answer. Let’s hit the
gym.” I give him the address before pulling out my phone. Checking my
email, I sigh.
Enzo gives me a questioning look. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s still no word from school or work.”
“Romeo said he’ll take care of it. He’s a man of his word. Don’t sweat
it,” he assures me.
Don’t sweat it. Ha! Easier said than done. Just my entire future on the
line.
We pull up to the gym and Enzo parks, opening my door for me.
“Thanks. I’ll be about an hour,” I tell him.
“I’m coming in with you,” he says.
“Next stop is the salon for a bikini wax. You coming in with me for
that?” I challenge, and he makes a gagging sound. “Okay, it’s not that
disgusting, but my point is Romeo said you’re my shadow if I’m at the
clinic. This isn’t the clinic. I’ll be finished in an hour,” I say, patting him on
the cheek as I walk to the entrance.
I’m relieved when I scan my card and the door beeps green—at least
Romeo hasn’t bought this place and rescinded my membership. I make a
quick stop in the locker room, changing into my workout clothes and
stashing my bag.
 Hitting the weight room floor, I do a quick warmup, looking over my
shoulder, thinking Romeo will storm in at any moment. The fact that he
doesn’t disappoints me, and I one hundred percent acknowledge how
fucked up that is.
Grabbing some weights, I begin a set of dead lifts. “I’m seriously going
to have to kill every motherfucker in this place,” Enzo grumbles, suddenly
beside me.
“How’d you even get in here?” I ask, finishing my set.
“Please, don’t insult me.” He scoffs. “At least put a shirt on so Romeo
doesn’t chop off my balls.”
“This is a shirt,” I say, looking down at my cute crossover sports bra.
“It barely covers your tits.”
“See, you were looking at my tits.”
“The evil woman wants me castrated,” he mutters, taking a seat on the
bench across from me.
I sigh dramatically. “If you’re going to be in here, how about working
out with me as opposed to just sitting there watching me like a creep?”
“Like half the guys in here?” he retorts. “Besides, these sneakers are
more for aesthetics than actual use,” he says, crossing one leg at the ankle
and adjusting his shoelace.
“Hey, you want me to show you a couple of form pointers on your dead
lifts?” a muscled-up guy says as he sidles up to me, using the old “form
pointers” as an excuse to invade my personal space.
“She fucking doesn’t,” Enzo answers for me.
“That’s what you’re wearing to work out, bro?”
“No. This is what I’m wearing to fuck you up, bro,” Enzo promises,
standing and stalking over to me.
“Whatever,” the guy says, walking off.
“Please don’t start a brawl in here,” I beg Enzo.
He snorts. “Give me some credit. I was going to wait until we got to the
parking lot to fuck him up.”
“I hope you’re joking,” I say, counting out a set of squats.
He shrugs, staring down the guy across the gym.
I wrap up my workout early, so as to not run into pointer guy in the
parking lot, just in case Enzo wasn’t joking. After I take a quick shower in
the locker room, we’re off to my bikini wax, where Enzo and I agree we’ll
both be better served with him waiting outside.
 When we return to my apartment, it appears Romeo received his notice,
because the letter’s gone. My smug smile vanishes when I unlock my door
to find the man seated on my couch. “This isn’t your building for another
thirty days.” I don’t even bother asking how he got in here.
“Let’s go,” he barks, standing.
“Excuse me? Where is it you I think I’m going with you?”
“Sunday dinner.”
“Are you kidding me?” I shout, throwing up my arms in frustration.
“I’m mad as hell, and you expect me to play nice at your family dinner?”
“Nonna will be upset if you don’t come. She’s been cooking all day.”
“You don’t get to play the grandma card!”
“I play whatever cards I’m dealt.” He reaches for me, but I dodge his
grasp.
“Of course you do, because you’re the one stacking the deck! Stop
trying to strong-arm me into this relationship. That may be how you do
business, but I’m not an acquisition.”
“Bellissima,” he coos, but I storm off to my room, because dammit, his
grandma card trumps my pissed off card.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Twenty

Nicky

Stripping out of my clothes and tossing them in the hamper, I open my

closet. My empty closet. Feeling Romeo behind me, I turn around and
watch with satisfaction as his eyes land on my wax job.
He scowls. That’s not the reaction I was going for.
“Why the fuck were you not wearing panties?” he demands.
“As you can clearly see, I just came from my wax appointment. Now,
unless you want me to go to dinner naked, I’ll need my clothes brought
back to my apartment.”
Pupils dilated, he stalks towards me, holding a garment bag I’m just
now noticing. Not my fault, because it’s hard to notice anything except the
huge bulge in his pants.
I snatch the hanger and walk to my bathroom, slamming the door
behind me. Unzipping the garment bag, I find a gorgeous black maxi dress
made of stretchy material. Just as good as stretch pants; now, all I need is
the wine and I’m ready for my first Italian Sunday dinner. If only I had an
Italian boyfriend who didn’t make me want to smash the wine bottle over
his head.
I exit the bathroom to find Romeo seated at the foot of my bed, typing
on his phone. “Sei una bella ragazza,” he tells me, standing and pocketing
his phone as his eyes rake over my body.
“Let’s go,” I say walking to the door, refusing to succumb to his Italian
sweet-talk. Even though I still don’t know what he’s saying, my pussy
seems to be fluent in Italian, as it tingles at his words.
 He’s behind me, running his hands over my ass. “Non indossavi le
mutandine, ragazzaccia. Voglio fotterti il culo.”
Commanding my pussy to stay out of this, I take a wild guess as to what
he just said. “No panties. Think about that tonight when you’re in bed,
playing the cards you’ve been dealt. Alone. In your little game of solitaire.”
He laughs, and the deep, menacing sound is borderline terrifying.
Grabbing my throat, he pulls me back against his chest, his rock-hard dick
poking me in the ass. “Tesoro, the only game I’ll be playing tonight is tying
you up and deciding whether I’m going to let you come. Right now, the
odds are not in your favor.”
“You have some fucking nerve,” I grit.
“I do,” he agrees, nudging my ass with his dick before he releases his
hold.
Walking briskly to my living room, I slip on my sandals and grab my
purse. Romeo opens the door for me and of course, Sam’s lurking outside.
“God, you’re like a bad penny, always showing up,” I grumble.
“Count on it,” Sam agrees.
Romeo’s blacked-out SUV rolls up and Sam opens the door for me. “Hi,
Luca,” I say, sliding all the way across.
“Hello, Nicky,” he answers politely.
“This is exciting. We’re on a first-name basis now. I feel we’re making
progress here.”
Sam snorts as we take off; no wonder Valentina advised me to ignore
him.
I’ve scooted as close to my window as possible so I can ignore Romeo.
That lasts for about one second before he yanks me into his lap. “Did you
have a nice workout?” he asks.
“How many status updates is Enzo required to send?” I say, crossing my
arms. Fucking turncoat Enzo.
“I want you to learn how to handle a gun,” he says, tucking a stray piece
of hair that’s escaped my ponytail behind my ear.
“For once, I agree with you.”
He nods. “An asshole like that guy at the gym gets in your face, you
shoot him in the kneecaps.”
“I’m not going to shoot a man for speaking to me!” I say, smacking his
chest. “How did the physical therapy go?”
“He cried like a little bitch,” Sam calls from the front seat.
 Romeo fires something back in Italian that makes Luca snicker.
My fingers begin unbuttoning Romeo’s dress shirt, and he raises an
eyebrow. “Don’t get any ideas. I want to see your wound, make sure you
didn’t bust your scar open.” Pulling his shirt down, I inspect his shoulder—
the skin’s tugging away from the sides slightly, but not enough to justify
new sutures. Buttoning up his shirt, I ask Sam and Luca, “How much
weight was he trying to lift before I texted you?”
Neither man answers me.
“Their silence tells me all I need to know. Dammit, Romeo! You can’t
just jump back into business as usual—your body’s been through serious
trauma! Do you hear me, bullhead?”
“Tesoro mio, how tight do you want those ropes around your wrists
tonight?” he whispers in my ear.
“I’ll take that as a ‘Yes, Nicky. I hear you loud and clear,’” I say,
ignoring the fluttering between my legs. “What’s happening with my school
‘incident?’”
“I’m taking care of it.”
“Romeo—”
He growls.
“Fine,” I huff. Glancing out the window, I see we’re already turning
onto Antonio’s driveway. We reach the security guard, and I try to get back
to my own seat, but Romeo simply wraps his arms around me tighter.
Luca rolls down the window. “Afternoon.”
“Afternoon. Mr. Parisi. Ms. Thomas,” the guard nods to us before
returning to his booth and opening the gate.
“And if your dad asks me about school?” I quietly ask Romeo as we
continue up the driveway.
“You’ll tell him things are good. Which they are, if you’ll fucking trust
me.” He nips angrily at my bottom lip.
Arriving at Antonio’s palace, er, I mean house, we step out of the SUV.
Nonna’s wearing another velour track suit—this one silver—waiting for us
at the door. Waving her hands wildly, she fires off a string of Italian, to
which Romeo returns something.
“Ciao,” Nonna addresses me, pulling me in for a double cheek kiss.
“Hello. Thank you so much for the invitation.”
“Open invitation. But next week, you come with us to Mass first,” she
informs me.
 “That sounds lovely, but I’m not Catholic.”
She makes a pfft sound. “You convert.” That being settled, she turns her
steely eyes to Sam. Shouting loudly in Italian and waving her arms, it
sounds like she’s giving him up the road. See, I knew I liked Nonna.
Sam picks her up, spinning her in the air. “Put me down, scemo!” He
does, kissing her on both cheeks, all the while Nonna pretends to be
annoyed.
Luca’s greeting of Nonna is a much more understated double cheek kiss
before she leads us inside.
“It smells amazing,” I comment, the delicious scent of garlic and herbs
perfuming the air, and we haven’t even made it to the kitchen.
“Grazie. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starved.”
“I need to get back to the kitchen. Valentina’s watching the gravy,”
Nonna says, and the men groan.
“That happened one time, stronzos!” Valentina shouts from the other
room.
“Language!” Nonna shouts back. “Boys, wine and antipasto in the
dining room. Nicky, come with me.”
I follow her to the kitchen that can only be described as controlled
chaos. Every burner is occupied with a bubbling pot, two ovens are in use,
and fresh pasta is laid out on the kitchen table covered with flour.
Valentina’s frantically stirring the largest pot, her apron spattered with
red sauce. “Nicky!”
“Hey, Valentina.”
“Move,” Nonna says, basically pushing her granddaughter to the side.
“I scorched the bottom of the gravy pot one time and I’ll never hear the
end of it,” Valentina tells me with a sigh, taking off her apron and tossing it
on the counter. She opens the cabinet, grabbing a glass and pours me some
wine from an open bottle. “This is the good stuff Nonna hides from the
men.” She grabs another glass and pours herself some.
“Just a taste,” Nonna warns her granddaughter, getting to work
transferring the fresh pasta to a boiling pot.
Valentina grabs a piece of crusty bread from the island and sneaks
around her grandmother. Pouncing like a tiger, she dips it into the gravy pot.
Nonna tries to whack Valentina’s hand with the wooden spoon, but misses.
Barely.
 “Try this,” Valentina says, tearing half of the bread and handing it to
me.
Looking to make sure I’m not about to get whacked with the spoon,
Nonna’s smiling, so I take that as meaning it’s safe to proceed. “È
delizioso,” I moan after taking a bite, hoping I haven’t butchered the
compliment too badly.
Nonna smiles ear-to-ear, saying something in Italian before switching
over to English. “You’ll make Romeo a good wife.”
I look to Valentina for help, but she shrugs. “Nonna’s already talking
wedding.”
“We’re still figuring out our relationship,” I warn everyone. “Your
grandson can be…” I pause, searching for the most diplomatic way to
phrase this. “Overbearing at times.”
“Ha. That’s a very nice way to put it,” Valentina says.
Nonna waves away my concern with her free hand. “So you fight, then
make up in the bedroom. Italian men make the best lovers, no?”
Valentina makes a gagging sound. “That’s my brother we’re talking
about here.”
“Then let’s talk this boyfriend. Brax.” She fires off something in Italian,
switching over to English. “What kind of name is that?
“Better than Nico,” Valentina says, crossing her arms and raising her
chin in defiance.
“One bad apple. Plenty more nice Italian boys,” Nonna says, walking
over and checking something in the oven.
“Where am I to find this nice Italian boy?” Valentina says, exasperated.
“Enzo?” Nonna suggests.
I about choke on my wine. “Sorry. Went down the wrong pipe.”
Valentina seems to buy my excuse. “Nonna, Enzo isn’t my type.
Besides, why can Romeo date someone who isn’t Italian, but I can’t?”
“Romeo needs a wife, and Nicky looks Italian.” Not what I’d call a
ringing endorsement, but I guess I’ll take it.
“What’s your heritage?” Valentina asks me.
“I’m not sure, but I’ve likely got some Greek in me.”
“See, European. Close enough.” Nonna waves her hand, settling the
matter.
“Have you ever done one of those family DNA tests?” Valentina asks
me.
 “No, but I’ve thought about it,” I admit. What stopped me was having to
provide Mom’s information. She worked damn hard to get away from my
dad, and the last thing I wanted was to create an electronic trail right to her
door.
“No. No cops,” Nonna says dismissively.
“It’s not the cops, Nonna,” Valentina explains. “I’m talking about one of
those paid genealogy companies.”
“Ah, but the cops steal your results. I listen to true crime podcasts.” I
about choke on my wine again at the thought of a crime boss’ mom into true
crime. “Nicky, don’t do it.”
Well, if Nonna said it.
“Valentina, go tell your Papà it’s time for dinner. Nicky, carry this to the
dining room,” she orders, handing me a large bowl of pasta.
I do as instructed, setting the bowl on the dining table filled with
enough appetizers to be considered a meal.
“Please tell me Nonna saved the gravy,” Sam begs.
“She saved you a special bowl,” I tell him. “Extra charred bits.”
Sam mutters something under his breath as Romeo silently pours a glass
of wine, handing it to me.
“Thank you, but don’t take me coming to dinner as you having won,” I
warn him quietly, sipping my wine. Valentina’s right—the bottle in the
kitchen is the good stuff.
“I always win,” he warns me.
“Solitaire?” I ask sweetly, grabbing a few olives and popping them in
my mouth.
His lips quirk up ever so slightly, but the warning in his hard eyes tells a
different story—a story of me naked and tied to his bed, at his complete
mercy. Is it a horror story or toe-curling erotica? The fact that I don’t know
troubles me.
Valentina joins us, giving her brother a kiss on each cheek, then Luca.
“Sammy,” she says cooly.
“Principessa,” he retorts.
Antonio and Nonna follow her, having a lively conversation. Switching
over to English, Nonna says, “Sit, sit. Eat before food gets cold.”
Antonio takes a seat at the head of the table, and I wait to see where I’m
supposed to sit. Romeo helps me out by pulling out a chair beside his.
 “Nicky, so nice to see you again,” Antonio says, scooping out some
pasta from a bowl and passing it to Romeo.
“Thank you for having me.” I’m dying to say something about my
mom, but I keep my mouth shut as Romeo passes me the bowl.
“Nicky, how is your mamma?” Nonna takes a seat on the other side of
her son.
“She’s doing well,” I say, serving myself before passing the pasta to
Luca beside me. “I had a short visit with her this morning, now that’s she’s
in Newark.” And since Nonna’s opened the door, I continue, “Imagine my
surprise when I found out she’d been moved here.”
Romeo’s hand is now on my thigh under the table; he squeezes so hard I
try not to squirm.
“Much more convenient for everyone,” Antonio says, smiling at me
over his wine glass. It’s the smile of a big, bad wolf before he devours you,
bite by bite.
I smile back at him, refusing to cower. This rewards me with another
thigh squeeze, this one harder.
“You should have brought her to dinner,” Nonna says, seemingly
oblivious to the tension lingering in the air.
“Thank you, but she has late-stage dementia and doesn’t do well with
unfamiliar surroundings.”
“Terrible thing, that dementia,” Nonna comments.
“Yes,” I agree sadly, taking a sip of wine.
Romeo’s hand is back on my thigh, this time giving it a gentle squeeze.
“So Valentina, I bet you’re excited—birthday, prom, and graduation all
coming up,” I comment, changing the subject.
“So excited! My birthday party’s Thursday, you have to come!”
“I’d love to.”
“Yay! And I’ll have to show you my prom dress.”
“I haven’t decided if you’re going,” Antonio warns.
“Come on, Papà!” Valentina begs.
“Let the girl have some fun, Antonio,” Nonna chastises him.
A phone goes off, and all the men at the table check theirs. Nonna
shouts something, then switches over to English. “No phones!”
“Sorry, Mamma. I need to take this call.” Antonio walks out with Nonna
firing what I assume are curse words at her son before taking a big swig of
wine.
 “Who’s your prom date?” Romeo levels his gaze at Valentina.
“Will you stay out of this?” She groans.
“Brax,” Nonna helpfully adds.
“What kind of name is that?” Sam snorts.
“Last name?” Romeo demands.
“Nonna, what kind of pasta is this?” I ask, trying to help out poor
Valentina.
“Cavatelli.”
“It’s amazing.”
“Last name,” Romeo orders again, this time with more force.
“Sorry, I tried,” I tell Valentina.
After the interrogation, Nonna brings out the meat course. By the time
dessert’s served, I’m grateful for wearing a stretchy dress with no
waistband.
“Cannoli. Real cannoli,” Nonna announces.
I’m not sure what she’s referring to, but one bite has me moaning. “This
is amazing, but I couldn’t possibly eat anything else,” I say, pushing my
plate away.
Everyone goes eerily silent.
“You no like my food?” Nonna demands.
“I love it. It’s just I’m full.”
Crickets.
“But I’ll make room for your delicious dessert,” I quickly amend,
pulling my plate back to me.
“You never tell an Italian grandma you’re full. Those are fighting
words,” Romeo whispers in my ear.
Nonna returns with a coffee pot, and I want to tell her I don’t drink
coffee this late, but I figure that’d go over about as well as me telling her
I’m full. So instead, I just smile and say thanks when she fills up my cup.
“Give me a few minutes to speak with Antonio, and then we’ll go,”
Romeo tells me, grabbing my cheeks with one hand and pulling me in for a
quick kiss. He says something to Nonna in Italian, and she waves him on.
Sam follows, and Luca excuses himself to get the vehicle ready, whatever
that means.
Peering at me over her coffee cup, Nonna asks, “When can I expect
pronipote?”
 “Great grandbaby,” Valentina translates for me, and I nearly spit out my
coffee.

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 Chapter
Twenty-One

Romeo

My father has disappeared from the Sunday dinner table on more than one
occasion, but he’s never been gone this long. Not unless there’s a problem.
I knock on Antonio’s door, and he beckons me inside. “We’re finished
with dinner,” I tell him. “Any business I need to know about before we head
out?”
“I’ve been dealing with a fucking headache,” he admits, rubbing his
temples. “Philly’s upset because one of theirs went missing in our territory.
I need you to look into it. Eddie Phillips.”
My brows furrow. “Phillips? Not Italian?”
“Italian on his mother’s side. It’s Carlo’s sister’s boy—the sister who
went to college and got knocked up. Married a nobody.”
“I’m amazed Carlo allowed it.”
“The marriage?” Antonio snorts his laughter. “Carlo allowed it, only to
kill the groom. Word is, the couple said ‘I do’ and Carlo pulled the trigger at
the altar. Made everyone go to the reception with the dead groom seated at
the head table.”
That sounds like something Carlo would do. Rumors abound about
“Crazy” Carlo Capozzi— the biggest is he likes to dismember his enemies
and keep their testicles in a jar as a souvenir. Personally, I’m not impressed,
as that’s as good as pre-signing a confession should the cops come sniffing
around.
“What was this nephew doing in Jersey?” I ask.
“Supposedly on his way to New York, stopped over at a strip club.”
 “Which club?”
“I don’t know. Find out,” he orders me.
“They happen to send a picture?” I ask, and Antonio grabs his phone,
forwarding it to me. Unlocking mine, I take a look at this missing Eddie.
Fuck.
“I don’t want this to become a problem with Philly,” Antonio says. Oh,
it’s going to become a big fucking problem if anyone finds out Eddie’s
dismembered remains are sprinkled across various Jersey construction sites
—and unlike Crazy Capozzi, I didn’t keep a souvenir.
“I’ll handle it,” I tell him, and he nods.
“What’s happening with The Diamond deal?” he asks.
“Matteo gave me the run-down on our ‘competitor.’ I’ll be paying the
guy a visit soon.”
“Good, but Philly takes priority.” He waves his hand, dismissing me.
Sam’s waiting for me in the hall, but I shake my head, indicating we’ll
talk about this later.
Entering the kitchen, I find Nicky laughing with Valentina, who hides
her wine glass behind her back. “Don’t start with me. Nonna told me I
could have a sip,” my sister says.
“A sip, not a bottle.” Grabbing the glass out of Valentina’s hand, I pour
it down the drain. “Let’s go,” I tell Nicky.
“We’ll see you Thursday,” Nicky tells my sister, giving her a hug.
“Birthday gift ideas?”
“Spring me out of this prison for twenty-four hours?” Valentina asks
hopefully.
“Sorry, I’m not a miracle worker.” Nicky shrugs.
“No, but you must be a saint for putting up with his grumpy ass.”
Valentina jerks her head in my direction.
“Language,” Nonna admonishes Valentina before handing me three to-
go boxes.
“Nonna, thank you for dinner. That was the best meal of my life,” Nicky
says.
“Sposarla,” Nonna commands me. Marry her.
“Ci sto lavorando.” I’m working on it.
We return to my house, despite Nicky’s every conceivable protest. She
gives me a death glare as we step inside, and I place the to-go boxes in the
fridge. “I’ll be up in a little while,” I call after her, watching her beautiful
ass sway up the steps. “Basement,” I tell Sam and Luca.
Leaving our phones on the kitchen counter, we walk downstairs, and I
scan my hand, my other “office” door swinging open. Walking down
another set of rickety wooden stairs, we’re now ten feet below ground in the
cellar—the safest place to have this conversation. I explain what went down
in Antonio’s office, and both men curse.
“I killed Eddie because he disrespected me,” Sam suggests. “I had no
way to know who he was, and he was acting a punk in our territory. I’ll take
a beating for it. I owe you one anyway.”
“You do,” I agree, remembering the God-awful beating I endured as a
kid to spare Sam. We were playing hide-and-seek at the house, and Sam
picked the lock on Antonio’s office door so he could hide behind the desk.
A big no-no. You don’t enter the boss’s office without permission, and my
ass learned that lesson on Sam’s behalf.
“But what if Philly’s demanding more than just a beating?” Luca
challenges.
“Antonio’s not going to hang me out to dry,” Sam’s quick to answer.
I wish I shared Sam’s confidence, but I have no idea what kind of deal
Antonio’s got in the works with Philly, and whether he thinks it’s more
important than my friend’s life.
“If we go with Sam’s story, it has to be rock solid,” Luca continues.
“How did you run into Eddie?” he asks Sam.
“They know he was hitting up a strip club,” I warn.
“I ran into him at Glitter,” Sam suggests. “I’ll have one of the girls back
me up to say she saw me and Eddie there if anyone comes sniffing around.”
“The more people involved, the more this has the chance to go
sideways,” Luca warns.
“No one’s going to find Eddie.” I think out loud. “Joe’s Cabaret is
razed. Joe’s retirement was cut short.”
“I almost feel bad for the guy—imagine the last thing you see in this
world is Darius in a banana hammock.” Sam shudders.
I snort. “I don’t fucking feel bad for the guy.” I paid Joe above market
price for the club, and then he turns around and tries to torpedo Nicky’s
career. When are people going to learn not to fuck with what’s mine?
“There’s nothing linking Eddie to me, and people go missing in Jersey all
the time,” I continue.
 “So, we go through the motions of hitting the street, and come back
with nothing for Antonio?” Luca asks.
“Let me sleep on it,” I finally say, running my hand through my hair in
frustration. We return upstairs—me with rope in my hands—and I say,
“Now, if you two will kindly get the hell out of my house.”
“Trust me, nobody wants to hear you and Nicky going at it,” Sam says,
eyeing the rope.
“Going at it, or Nicky killing Romeo?” Luca raises an eyebrow.
“I think it’s almost the same thing,” Sam muses.
I shrug. Nicky killing me while I’m balls deep inside her wouldn’t be a
terrible way to go.
Locking up and setting the alarm behind them, I walk upstairs to our
bedroom to find it empty. I frown, pulling up the security feed on my
phone. My dick stands to attention when I find Nicky stepping out of the
guest bathroom shower, water dripping down her tits and that bare pussy
I’ve been thinking about all evening.
No, not a bad way to go at all.

Nicky

Cinching the robe I found in the linen closet, I step out of the bathroom to
find a boxer-clad Romeo sprawled out on the bed. So much for locking the
door.
“Whichever bed you prefer,” he says, holding a rope in his hands. He
makes it go taut with a snap, and then he’s on his feet stalking toward me.
Fuck.
“I thought you were kidding,” I say, taking a step toward the door.
“I already told you I don’t kid.”
“I’m not going to be bullied into submission,” I warn him.
“Oh, but tesoro, you are going to submit to me. The sooner the better.”
 “Fuck you.” I realize I need a better comeback, but now’s not the time
to come up with one as I sprint out the door and down the hall.
I’m halfway down the stairs when I stop dead in my tracks, clutching
the banister so I don’t careen those last steps into the jaws of a growling
Doberman.
“Mercutio, disengage,” Romeo commands, and the dog immediately
goes from attack-mode to sitting. “Good boy.”
“An attack dog. What’s next? An alligator moat around the castle to
keep me prisoner?”
He easily scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder, walking us
back up the stairs. “Nothing’s off the table.”
“Romeo, you don’t get to do whatever the hell you want and then fuck
your way out of trouble with me,” I say, exasperated. “This is a really
unhealthy dynamic.”
“Says who?”
“Every therapist in the world!”
We reach the master bedroom, and Romeo tosses me on the bed. Before
I can squirm out of his grip, he’s already got one of my wrists tied to the
headboard. I buck wildly, but he easily pins my body down.
His eyes heavy with desire, he ties my other wrist to the headboard
before spreading my ankles and tying them to the footboard. He opens the
nightstand drawer and pulls out a knife.
My heart feels like it’s going to implode. “What are you—”
He answers by cutting through the tie of my robe, and I gasp. Parting
my shredded robe like a curtain, his eyes linger over my naked body.
“Le leccherò la figa. All fucking night,” he promises, running the tip of
the knife down my stomach, the cold, pin-prick sensation causing me to
shiver. I watch in part fascination, part fear as the knife doesn’t draw blood,
but leaves a small red mark in its wake.
“Whose pussy is this?” he demands, laying the knife flat on my
stomach. Everything’s heightened with the added sense of danger as he
licks his way down my body, swiping my clit with his tongue.
“Yours,” I moan as he flicks at my clit.
“So why did you think you were going to keep me from my pussy?” he
demands, backing away from me. He walks over to the other side of the
bedroom to the seating area by the window.
“Romeo, please,” I beg.
 He ignores me as he pours himself a whiskey from the decanter, then
opens a wooden box and takes out a cigar, cutting the end before silently
walking back to me. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he sits down his
whiskey and cigar on the nightstand before he leans over and kisses my clit.
Enters me with a finger, and adding a second, he makes a come hither
motion—hitting the right spot while doing something with his tongue that
should be illegal.
“God, yes,” I moan, my orgasm already building. He smiles up at me as
he removes his fingers, and I groan in frustration. “It’s a good thing I’m tied
up,” I threaten.
“I agree,” he murmurs, grabbing his cigar and rubbing my desire all
over the cut end of it with his two fingers. Flicking a lighter, he moves the
uncut side through the flame before bringing it to his lips, taking a puff.
“Are you really going to leave me like this all night?” I ask in a breathy
moan.
“A cigar’s best enjoyed slowly, to savor the taste and aroma.” He brings
the end covered in my juices to his nose and takes a deep breath before
bringing it back to his lips and taking another puff. “Paired with two fingers
of whiskey,” he murmurs, using the same two fingers he just had inside me
to stir his drink, “I’m not in any hurry.”
“Jesus Christ. You win. I’ll move in with you. Now untie me and fuck
me already!”
He flashes his sexy crooked smile, but instead of untying me, he takes a
sip of whiskey and another puff of his cigar.
I’m going to kill him.

Romeo

It feels like I’ve just fallen asleep when Nicky thrashes beside me, crying
quietly.
 “Nicky!” I say, giving her a little shake. She tries to sit up, but I pull her
closer. “Tesoro, I’ve got you,” I say, her tears dampening my chest. “What’s
wrong?”
She blows out a shaky breath. “Just a bad dream.”
“About what?”
“It’s nothing,” she says, snuggling in closer to my chest.
Nicky, Nicky. When is she going to learn?
The sun hasn’t risen yet, but I feel my way down her body in the dark
until I’m where I need to be. Splitting her legs apart, I kiss her left inner
thigh, then her right, before moving my tongue up and down her seam.
“Romeo—”
I silence her by feasting on her pussy.
“Oh my God, right there,” she moans.
Of course right there. I know her body better than she does. Spearing
her pussy with the point of my tongue, I alternate between attacking her and
lavishing her with long, flat strokes.
Her breaths come out in short, sexy bursts as her pussy throbs against
my tongue. And that’s my cue to pull back. “I fucking asked you a
question.”
“You asshole,” she hisses, pushing my head back down.
I nip at her clit, and she yelps. “This pussy comes when I say so. Didn’t
I teach you that lesson last night?” Over, and over, and over again until she
was begging, and when I finally allowed her to come, I nearly drowned in
her juices. As I said, not a bad way to go. “Tell me what had you so upset.”
“I already told you it was just a dream,” she says through gritted teeth.
My hand comes down hard, and she lets out a hiss. “Tell me, or I’m
spanking this pussy over and over until you do,” I warn her, my dick
throbbing.
She lets out a heavy breath. “I used to have this recurring dream,
especially when I was little.”
“About what?” I say, soothing her pussy with gentle strokes of my
fingers.
“I’m stuck in a small, dark space, like a maze, or maybe a hallway? I’m
not exactly sure. Anyway, I haven’t had that dream in years. I guess being
stressed about almost being murdered by you and your family, being kicked
out of school, and my mom being held hostage in a gilded assisted living
cage triggered it. Happy, asshole?”
 I’m now over her, thrusting my tongue in her mouth. She fights me for
only a moment, but then goes soft, letting me take charge. Finally.
Pulling away, I rest my forehead against hers. “No, I’m not happy
you’re upset,” I say, licking and kissing my way back down her body before
getting back to business.
Nicky’s thighs fall open wider as she lets out a sexy moan.
“Fuck, that sound. Do that again and I’m going to come all over
myself,” I say, sucking her clit into my mouth and letting it out with a little
pop before going back to working her softly with the flat of my tongue.
“Oh, God,” she chants, over and over. “Romeo!” She cries as her entire
body convulses, and I work my tongue faster. I don’t stop, wringing out
every last drop of her pleasure.
I move back to my spot, tucking Nicky’s limp, satiated body into my
arms. “Sleep,” I command.
“But what about you?” She reaches down with her nimble hand,
wrapping it around my dick.
I grab her wrist, moving her hand to my lips as I kiss her fingers, one by
one. “Sleep,” I repeat, and I still fucking hate repeating myself.

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 Chapter
Twenty-Two

Nicky

An earsplitting sound awakens me, and if it’s one minute before six a.m.,
I’m going to march up to the attic and turn the saw on its operator.
Stretching my sore arms over my head, I glance at the clock—a few
minutes after ten. The construction worker lives to see another day.
Hopping out of bed, I use the bathroom and stand in front of the full-
length mirror. Examining my naked body, I look like a woman who’s been
thoroughly fucked six ways from Sunday. My hair’s absolutely wild, so I
start there, trying to tame it with a brush. My lips puffy and my skin raw
from Romeo’s stubble, there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do about that.
Examining my stomach, the red line from the knife has disappeared, but the
pink, snake-like indentations around my wrists and ankles from the ropes
are still prominent, and why does that make me smile?
I take a quick shower and throw on some leggings and a slouchy
sweater to hide my naughty markings before heading to the kitchen.
Francesca’s scrubbing what looks to be an already spotless countertop.
“Good morning,” she chirps, pouring me an espresso.
“Morning,” I say, accepting the tiny cup.
“Can I make you something to eat?”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to fuss over me. I’ll find something.”
She hands me a paper bag, and I pull out a chocolate cornetto. “Thank you.
My favorite.”
“Romeo sent it for you. Told you to eat.”
“What time did he leave this morning?”
 “He was gone before I got here at seven.”
Good God, the man really is superhuman, because we were up and at it
all night.
I take a seat at the island and eat my breakfast, texting Enzo I’ve got
some errands to run. It takes all the restraint I possess, but I close my phone
before I check my email. Romeo told me he’s handling my school situation,
so I’m going to trust him, or at least try to. It’s hard as hell for me to let go
of control, and I have the rope burns from last night to prove it.
The doorbell rings, and Francesca excuses herself, only to return a
moment later with Enzo.
“You’re on my shit list.” I point to him.
“Me? What’d I do?”
“Sunday dinner. I told Nonna ‘I’m full.’” Both Enzo and Francesca’s
eyes go wide.
“Sorry, I just assumed everyone knew not to go nuclear at Sunday
dinner,” Enzo says.
“Sure, now I know. Francesca, before Enzo and I leave, could you
introduce me to Romeo’s dog so it doesn’t try to maul my face off the next
time we cross paths?”
She shudders. “I stay away from that beast, but you can go outside and
talk to his handler, Paulie. I’ll let him know to expect you,” she says,
grabbing her phone and sending a message.
Finishing my espresso, I place the cup in the dishwasher before opening
the cookie canister and pocketing my “insurance policy.” “Give me just a
minute,” I tell Enzo.
“If you’re ripped to shreds, I’ll be ripped to shreds,” he nervously calls
after me.
“Don’t be so melodramatic.” At least, I hope he’s being melodramatic.
I step out the back door, walking past the pool until I’m near the
property’s edge. A burly older man waves at me, leashing “the beast” before
I proceed further.
“Hi, I’m Nicky.”
“Ciao. I’m Paulie. This is Mercutio.” He turns to the menacing-looking
dog. “Mercutio, sit.” The dog does so, waiting for further command.
“Hi, Mercutio,” I say, reaching out my hand slowly. The dog gives me a
sniff, and I take that as a good sign as I grab the biscotti from my back
pocket. He takes the cookie from my hand, and I wait until he’s chewed it
up before I dare to reach out again to pet his head. “Let’s not you and I be
part of a Shakespearian tragedy, okay, Mercutio?” I tell him quietly.
“Now he knows you’re a friend, he won’t harm you,” Paulie assures me.
“How long has Romeo had him?”
“Since Mercutio was a pup.”
“I’ve never seen him in the house until last night,” I comment, daring to
give the dog another scratch.
“Mercutio’s a hard worker,” Paulie says, and the dog perks up at hearing
his name. “He’s usually out here running security checks with me.”
“How big is this property?” I ask, having never ventured past the pool
until this morning.
“Twenty acres, so we have some ground to cover. We’re secured by an
electric fence, along with guards who patrol 24/7, plus state-of-the-art
surveillance equipment,” he assures me.
Romeo being an over-the-top control freak, or is this kind of security
the norm? Seeing as he’s my first mobster boyfriend, I have no point of
reference. “Sounds like we’re in good hands. Paulie, it was nice to meet
you.”
“You, too. When you have some time, I’d like to work with you and
Mercutio, teach you the commands,” he tells me.
“Sure. Mercutio, I’ll be seeing you.” The dog just looks at me, but he’s
not growling, so that’s an improvement.
“Thank God,” Enzo breathes when I return.
“Aww. You were worried about me.”
“Of course I was fucking worried about you! You saw that beast and his
teeth.” He shudders.
“Mercutio or Romeo?” I tease.
“Both,” he mutters.
“Let’s go to the nail salon, please, and then Silver Court.”
“Sure, but I’m to take you somewhere first.”
“Where?” I demand.
“Downstairs to the gun range.”
“I’m not sure Romeo’s thought this one through,” I muse. “Does he
really want me armed?”
“Good point, but I’ll let you take that up with him.”
I follow Enzo downstairs to the gym, and he opens the door to the
range. It’s a compact space with two shooting lanes, separated by a half
wall. He presses a button, and an automated arm whizzes the target into
position.
“We’ll start with a 9MM. This one doesn’t have a safety. Always keep
your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.”
After Enzo shows me the ropes, I put on my headphones and safety
goggles, picking up the handgun. He helps me with my stance, backing up a
safe distance behind me as I aim and shoot. I keep pulling the trigger—
adrenaline pumping until there’s nothing but empty clicks.
“Good job, but next time, try aiming for the target,” Enzo tells me after
we’ve removed our headphones.
Giving him a look, I say, “I was aiming for the target, jackass.”
“You’re right, Romeo didn’t think this one through,” he agrees.
“Again,” I order. I’m not leaving this range until I hit the bullseye.
He instructs me how to reload, and while it’s not as easy as he made it
look, I finally get the hang of it. Pulling another gun from his waistband, he
moves to the other lane. I watch in awe as he creates a smiley face in the
target out of bullet holes.
We remove our headphones, and I ask, “How long have you been
shooting?”
“Longer than you. Nobody’s a marksman on their first try,” he assures
me.
“Are you just trying to make me feel better?”
“Is it working?” he asks.
“Yes,” I admit.
“Good. Ready to go?”
“No,” I say, placing my headphones back on and adjusting my footing.
After I fire off all my rounds, Enzo takes my gun before retrieving the
target. “Yay! I hit it!” I say excitedly, removing my headphones.
“You hit the space around the person, not the person,” he corrects me.
Hands on my hips, I say, “Go stand over there and let’s see if I can’t fix
that.”
“Don’t you have a nail appointment?” he’s quick to remind me.
“Saved by the state of my cuticles. Let’s go.” We walk upstairs and out
to the car. “When do I get my own gun?” I ask, sliding into the backseat.
“When I’m confident you won’t accidentally shoot me,” Enzo tells me,
closing my door.
 I narrow my eyes at him when he gets behind the wheel. “Rest assured,
if I shoot you, it won’t be an accident.”
He snorts a laugh. “Then you’re going to need to log more hours on the
range to have any chance of backing up that smack talk.”
Now that I’m expelled from school, I’ve got the time, I think with a
sigh.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Twenty-Three

Nicky

Returning to Romeo’s house—I mean our house, since I did agree to move
in with him, albeit it when I was tied up and turned on—I find a note on the
bed.

We’re going out tonight. Be ready at seven.

~ R

Next to it, a garment bag is laid out, along with a sparkly clutch and a
shoe box. I would bitch about him ordering instead of asking, but I lose the
attitude when I unzip the bag, finding the most beautiful silver gown I’ve
ever seen. Turning it around, I admire the backless design. Opening the
shoe box, I realize he did just as good with a killer pair of stiletto sandals.
Grabbing my phone, I send him a message.
You’re lucky you have such good taste.

I couldn’t agree more. I’ve been tasting your sweet pussy

juices on my tongue all morning.

My pussy flutters at the reminder as I type my reply.

You are an animal.

 And?

And nothing.
Getting ready, I carefully step into my beautiful new dress and throw
my hair up in a sleek ponytail. The decision has nothing to do with Romeo
running his hand up and down my ponytail in the back of his SUV. Nothing
at all.
I channel some of Candy’s style, as I need my makeup a bit flashier than
my normal look. Painting my lips bright red, I close the lipstick tube and
stand, admiring myself in the mirror.
“Che bella donna che sei,” Romeo says, appearing in the doorway.
“I hope that was a compliment.” Although he could be reciting a
grocery list in Italian and it’d still turn me on.
Smiling as I walk over to him, I place a quick kiss on his lips, not
wanting to ruin my lipstick. He’s not having it, of course. Grabbing my
face, he thoroughly fucks my mouth with his tongue.
“Where are we going?” I ask, breathless when he releases me.
Romeo strips out of his clothes, and I enjoy the view until my eyes land
on the bandage on his chest. “What the hell is this?” I demand. “If you tell
me you were shot and let Doc patch you up, I’ll shoot you again.”
He smirks. “Assuming you could hit me.”
“That little snitch, Enzo,” I grumble.
He pulls off the bandage covering his new tattoo, his lips quirking up
slightly at my shocked expression. It’s a large lighting bolt over his actual
heart, striking a black anatomical heart that’s dripping black ink “blood,”
with Nicky written in beautiful cursive at the top.
“Romeo, I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s a first.”
Smacking his arm playfully, I say, “I love it. What does it mean?”
“Colpo di fulmine,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate as he turns on the
shower and steps inside.
“Do you have a list of aftercare instructions I can see?” I ask him.
“This isn’t my first tattoo.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” I march to the bedroom and grab
my phone, searching online until I find general instructions.
Returning to the bathroom, I find he’s already out of the shower,
standing in front of the vanity with a towel wrapped around his lower half.
“Watch out.” I push him out of the way so I can wash my hands before
grabbing some cream and gently massaging the scar on his shoulder.
“Feel free to move this massage lower,” Romeo suggests with a smirk.
“Uh-uh. You told me we need to leave at seven,” I remind him. “Does
this hurt?” I ask, working the thickened skin back and forth with a little
more pressure.
“No.”
“Would you tell me if it did?”
He grunts, but I’m not sure if that’s a yes or a no.
Washing my hands again, this time I don sterile gloves before applying
a thin layer of cream to his new tattoo. “Even though you’re supposed to
leave this uncovered, I’m going to bandage you up since we’re going out.
Where are we going, by the way?”
“Charity gala.”
Color me shocked. “You’re a philanthropist?”
“I’m whatever I need to be,” he simply answers.
Finishing up, I dispose of the gloves and give my hands another wash
before fixing my lipstick.
“That color will look perfect on my dick later tonight,” he tells me
quietly, running his hand up and down my ponytail and giving it a little tug
before stalking out.
Smiling as I put away my makeup, I exit the bathroom to find him
struggling with his bowtie. “We need to work on your shoulder mobility,” I
tell him.
He curses in Italian as he struggles, but finally he gets it tied. Adjusting
his cuffs, he buttons his tuxedo jacket and holds out his hand for me. “Let’s
go.”
Placing my hand in his, I’m still not sure how Romeo spends his days at
“work,” but his calloused hands tell me he’s doing more than pushing
papers.
We step outside, and Sam opens the SUV door for us.
“Sam. Don’t you ever get tired of playing the third wheel?” I wonder,
climbing into the vehicle.
Sam mutters something under his breath in Italian.
“What was that?” Romeo demands, sliding in beside me.
“Nothing,” Sam says quickly, closing the door and hopping in the front
seat.
 “Hi, Luca,” I say.
“Nicky,” Luca says politely as we take off.
“Did you have a nice visit with your mom?” Romeo asks me.
“She wasn’t having the best day, but that’s alright,” I say. “I’ll try again
tomorrow.”
He takes my hand and laces our fingers together. He examines my nails,
frowning. “Why didn’t you use the credit card I gave you?”
“How you run your family business while micromanaging my life is
impressive,” I say, jerking my hand away. I found the black credit card in
my wallet when I was going to pay for my manicure earlier today, but I
didn’t use it, even though my bank account is dwindling now that I’m no
longer dancing.
“You know that’s not the only impressive thing about me, tesoro,” he
tells me quietly with a playful crooked smile.
“Don’t change the subject,” I warn him. If the man’s not distracting me
with Italian, it’s with his dick—both of which are equally impressive and
distracting. “I’ve always made my own money, and I will continue to make
my own money.” Hopefully. “About that, Romeo, what’s happening with
school—”
He growls.
“Jesus, you growl at me more than your attack dog,” I tell him.
“If Sam and Luca weren’t with us, I’d pull you over my knee and
redden your ass for not trusting me,” he whispers menacingly, and God,
maybe I do need a therapist, because the threat makes my pussy tingle.
Seemingly out of nowhere, he pulls out a black box and opens it.
I gasp at the sparkling diamond chandelier earrings. “They’re stunning.”
“They’re yours. Wear them tonight.”
I want to argue they’re too much, but I swear his hand twitches, and so I
simply say, “Thank you.” Putting the earrings in, I fasten the backs. “How
do they look?”
“Dull in comparison to your beauty.”
“Romeo,” I swoon, leaning over and kissing him. He’s not one for
pretty words, not in English anyway, so I revel in the moment.
“You’ll look even better on your knees, wearing those earrings and
nothing else as you swallow my dick down your throat,” he whispers in my
ear.
And he’s back.
 We pull up to an event center, and a valet comes hustling over. Luca
rolls down his window. “You’re not touching this car,” Luca warns. “I’ll
find a spot.”
The poor kid looks so confused as Sam hops out, opening our door for
us.
We step onto the red carpet, a photographer snapping pictures of men in
tuxes and women in gowns ahead of us. When we reach the front, the
photographer motions for Romeo and me to get together. Romeo ignores
the woman, pulling me along.
“You’ll never make the society paper that way,” I tease.
He grunts. “Good.”
We step inside a huge banquet room with a jazz band playing softly on
stage while people mill about—eating canapés and sipping expensive
champagne.
“Pretentious bullshit,” Sam declares.
“For once, Sam and I agree on something,” I comment.
“I take it back. I love this kind of thing,” Sam says quickly.
“Too late. We’re on record agreeing on something.”
Turning his attention to Sam, Romeo tells him something quietly in
Italian before Sam nods, disappearing.
A rather portly gentleman in a tux approaches us with a big smile. He
shakes Romeo’s hand enthusiastically. “Mr. Parisi, I can’t begin to thank
you enough for—”
“My pleasure,” Romeo says, cutting him off. “Mr. Becker, this is my
girlfriend, Nicky Thomas.”
“Ms. Thomas, so nice to meet you. Congratulations on the successful
completion of your nurse practitioner program. Good luck with your
licensure exam. I’m sure you’ll do wonderful things.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying to hide my utter shock.
“If you ever want to come back to Saint Matthews, we’d be more than
happy to have you on our team.” He gets pulled away to another
conversation. “If you two will excuse me, duty calls.”
So many questions are swirling around in my head, but I start with,
“Who was that?”
“CEO of Saint Matthews Health System,” Romeo says nonchalantly.
“What did you do?” I ask, mouth agape.
“What I said I would do.”
 “Thank you,” I say softly, reaching up and giving him a quick kiss.
“Thank me like you mean it,” he chides, not impressed when I pull
back.
“Asshole,” I mutter, grabbing his cheeks and kissing him with
everything I’ve got. His tongue invades my mouth as his hands roam
shamelessly over my ass.
“Better?” I demand, taking my thumb and wiping the smudge of lipstick
off his bottom lip.
“Yes,” he agrees. “Now every man in this place has been warned.”
“Warned?” I ask.
“That you’re mine. They want to keep looking, it’s on them if they loose
their fucking eyes,” he menaces.
My mouth falls open. “Romeo, you cannot gouge out the eyes of every
man who looks at me!”
“Says who? Let’s dance.”
“You dance?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Don’t look so fucking shocked.” Leading me to the dance floor, he
takes my hand in his and spins me.
Giggling, I place my other hand gingerly on his shoulder.
“Sei bellissima.”
“Grazie,” I say, and now, it’s his turn to raise an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t
you look so fucking shocked.” I’m picking up a few words, and after I take
my entrance exam—oh my God, my entrance exam!—I’m going to begin
Italian lessons. Then, I’ll really know if Romeo’s whispering sweet nothings
or reciting newspaper headlines.
Leaning in, his lips brush my ear as he whispers a string of Italian,
rolling the R in one of the words seductively.
I shiver, and he pulls back with a knowing smirk. “Stronzo,” I call him,
and he laughs.
The song ends, and he leads me off the dance floor. “Let’s find our
table.”
“I need to go to the restroom first,” I tell him.
“Mr. Parisi,” a man calls Romeo over.
“Go ahead. I’ll be back in a few,” I tell him.
Romeo scans the crowd, finding Sam and motioning him over with the
jerk of his head.
 “And the bad penny shows up,” I lament as Sam and I walk out of the
banquet room and down a hall.
“You seem surprised,” he comments.
We reach the ladies room, and Sam barges in before me. “What the hell
are you doing?” I demand, chasing after him. The restroom is empty, but he
checks each stall anyway before walking out.
After using the toilet, I’m washing my hands when Dr. Smith enters.
“Guess it pays to be a whore.” She sneers.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but why don’t we ask your
husband?” I say, grabbing a paper towel and drying my hands. “Is he here,
or is he out with another woman?”
She flinches—my shot having hit the mark—but continues, “It’s just a
coincidence you’re here with the biggest donor of the evening, and
suddenly, your suspension was one big misunderstanding?”
“I’d be careful going forward, Dr. Smith,” I warn her in an icy tone.
“You’re getting dangerously close to slandering my professional
reputation.”
“Professional.” She laughs derisively. “More like professional
prostitute.”
Taking a deep breath, I hold my head high as I walk out. It’s either that
or punch her in the face, and I’m far too classy to start a brawl at a black-tie
fundraiser. At least, I’d like to think so.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asks, waiting by the door.
“Just my old preceptor, Dr. Smith, talking crap. Hopefully, she’s not
going to be a prob—”
Sam marches into the ladies room, exiting a moment later. “No longer a
problem.”
“What did you do?” I ask in shock.
“Nothing,” he says, grabbing my arm and pulling me along. “Just
encouraged the lady to shut the fuck up.”
I smile wide. “You just helped me out back there. We’re friends now!”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t read anything into this.”
“Go ahead and say it. Fri. Fri. Fri-ends.”
“Rompicoglioni.”
I’ll find out when I begin my Italian lessons, but it’s a safe bet
rompicoglioni doesn’t translate to friends.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Twenty-Four

Romeo

Having hit every strip club in the city save for one, we roll up to Glitter and
step inside. Men are seated around the main stage—wanting desperately to
buy into the fantasy this place is selling. Having my own personal fantasy
back at the house, I’m ready to put this Eddie business to bed.
“Fifty dollar cover.” A bouncer I’ve never seen before tries to intercept
us.
“We’re here to see Leo,” I say, brushing past him.
He goes to mouth off until both Sam and Luca move their jackets to
show off their pieces. Raising his hands in surrender, he returns to his stool
by the door.
Reaching Leo’s office, I don’t bother knocking before entering. Big
mistake, as Leo’s getting blown by a woman on her knees with fire-engine
red hair.
“Don’t mind us,” Sam says, working a knife back and forth between his
fingers.
“Fuck,” Leo startles, pulling the woman off him before shoving his dick
back in his pants. “Baby, we’ll finish this later.”
The woman stands, and it takes me a moment to place her—it’s the
stripper I threatened from Joe’s Cabaret. She smiles seductively at us as she
walks out. Either she was high as a kite and doesn’t remember the
encounter, or she’s a hell of a poker player.
“What’s the redhead’s story?” I ask, wanting to make sure the bitch kept
her mouth shut about Joe’s.
 He considers. “From New York, maybe? I don’t know. I’m not exactly
running background checks here. The girls show me a half-way believable
ID, they’re in. So, what can I do for you gentlemen?”
“A guy went missing after visiting one of Newark’s gentlemen’s clubs a
few weeks back.” Holding up my phone, I show him the picture of Eddie.
“Ever seen him?”
He shakes his head. “Man, I see a hundred average Joes like him every
day.”
“You running security footage?” Luca asks.
“Of course not. Those cameras are just for show,” he answers. What I
like to hear.
“We’re going to talk to the girls, see if anyone recognizes our guy,” Sam
tells him.
“Be my guest,” he says. “Romeo, about the money I owe—”
“Do I look like fucking customer relations? Take it up with Diávolos
when he comes to visit you,” I threaten, and Leo blanches. When Darius’
switch gets flipped, the crazy motherfucker lives up to his devil nickname.
“Maybe we could work something out,” Leo says quickly. “You and
your men interested in borrowing the redhead?”
“We’re not. Say hi to Diávolos for me,” I taunt before walking out.
We make a show of speaking to a few of the girls before we leave. No
one could be sure whether they saw Eddie or not, which works out perfectly
for me.
Climbing into my SUV, I send Antonio a message.

Looked into the missing package without luck. I’ll keep

digging.

He replies before I can pocket my phone.

Unacceptable. Dig fucking deeper.

I’ll dig deeper, but is it a hole for myself?

“And now?” Sam asks.
“And now we move on to the next dumpster fire. Book us the
presidential suite at The Diamond for the night. I want to be in AC early
tomorrow so we can ‘bump’ into John Davis.”
 Nicky

“Pack a bag. We’re going to Atlantic City,” Romeo announces from the
doorway, startling me. I was so engrossed in my studies, I didn’t even hear
him come in.
“Why?”
“Pack. Now,” he barks.
I sigh. “Fine, as long as I can do some studying tomorrow.” I close my
book, placing it on the coffee table before walking over to him and giving
him a kiss. My eyes narrow and I pull back. “Why the fuck do you smell
like a strip club?”
He raises an eyebrow. “A strip club has a smell?”
“Of course a strip club has a smell.” Booze, sweat, and cheap perfume,
mixed with a tinge of desperation, lust, and/or animosity, depending on the
night. “I swear to God, if you let another woman touch you, I’ll sick
Mercutio on you.”
“You think you can turn my guard dog against me?” he challenges.
“I have my ways.” Way. Singular, as in a biscotti cookie. “Why were
you at a club?” I demand.
“I had business to take care of,” he says, as if it’s no big deal.
“What if I came home smelling like other men, and I told you I’d been
to a club?” I challenge.
“Then I’d find out which club and burn it to the ground, along with any
man who dared touch you,” he says matter-of-factly.
Hands on my hips, I tell him, “You’re missing my point.”
“That you’re crazy-obsessive?” He throws my words back at me as he
grabs my ass and pulls me close. “I know you are, and I love it,” he says,
nipping my bottom lip. “I’m going to shower and change. Pack,” he orders,
smacking my ass before walking out.
Gathering my notes, books, and brand-new laptop that was left for me
this morning by a thoughtful yet completely domineering man, I pack up
before walking upstairs. Not knowing if this trip is business or pleasure, I
grab a variety of fancy and casual options. As an afterthought, I throw in a
bathing suit just in case.
Needing my toiletries, I walk to the bathroom, only to get sidetracked
by the peep show. Leaning against the vanity, I feel like a naughty little
voyeur as I watch the shower spray run down Romeo’s chiseled body. The
man really is a work of art with his hard lines and muscles wrapped up in a
beautiful olive skin package. He soaps up his hand, moving it down to wash
his dick, and just the thought of another woman grinding up against my him
has me stripping out of my clothes and climbing in the shower.
I knock his hand away, wrapping both of mine around him and working
his shaft until he’s nice and hard for me. Only me.
He smirks. “Crazy-obsessive and you can’t keep your hands off my
dick.”
“My dick,” I correct him.
He smiles that full-on crooked smile I adore as he takes a seat on the tile
bench. “Then come here and show me who this dick belongs to,” he
challenged, patting his thighs.
I do so eagerly, placing a hand on his uninjured shoulder as I climb onto
his lap, straddling him. He gently wraps his hand around my throat, and
fuck, why do I love that so much?
Rubbing my pussy back and forth against the head of his dick, he
groans. “Sit all the way down on me.”
I smile, shaking my head side to side. Pressing my hips down, I allow
the tip inside before raising up, quickly repeating the motion over and over
—causing his dick to twitch when I release him. “See how your dick begs
for my pussy?” I taunt.
He laughs menacingly, sending a thrill throughout my body. “Teasing
me while I hold your life in my hands, hmm tesoro?” He demonstrates that
fact by squeezing my throat. Icy pinpricks of sensation course through my
body—the feeling unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
He releases the pressure, and I take short, shallow breaths as my heart
pounds frantically in my chest. “I trust my life in your hands,” I whisper,
my voice as raw as the emotions bubbling in my chest.
“Good girl,” he growls, crashing his lips into mine as we attack each
other with our tongues.
 I grip his shoulder, using it as leverage to slam all the way down—
impaling myself on his massive dick. We both curse, him in Italian.
“Nicky, I want you to fuck me so hard, you’re limping by the time we
walk out of this shower,” he commands.
“We’ll see who’s limping,” I challenge, slamming down on his dick
over and over.
He groans, and it really is the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. “What have
you done to me?” he demands. “I’m addicted to this pussy.” Releasing my
neck, he leans forward and captures my nipple with his mouth.
“Good, because this pussy’s the only one you’re getting,” I warn him,
my voice low and throaty as I clench my internal muscles around his length.
Releasing my nipple, he groans. “Then I’m a lucky man. Squeeze my
dick just like that while you ride me.”
I grip his shoulder tighter as I move my hips, squeezing my pussy
around him and holding the pressure.
He curses as his head falls back against the tile. “Questa figa è il
paradiso.”
I shudder, tipping my head back on a moan. Whatever he just said, his
beautiful words are better than any aphrodisiac. And he fucking knows it.
Smirking, he says, “La figa più dolce.” Grabbing my hip roughly, he strokes
my clit with his thumb of his other hand as I ride him.
“Romeo,” I cry, burying my head in the crook of his neck as I move my
hips back and forth.
Jerking me by the hair to where our faces are inches apart, he demands,
“Look at me when you come. Know there’s only one man who makes you
feel this way.”
“Yes,” I pant, moving faster. “Only you.”
“Good girl,” he growls.
“And there’s only one woman who makes you feel that way,” I
challenge.
“Only you,” he promises. “Squirt all over my dick, Nicky. Come apart
for me.” His lips roughly find mine, our tongues desperately chasing each
other’s.
“Oh God,” I moan, breaking the kiss as wave after wave of pleasure
courses through my entire body.
“That’s it,” he praises, grabbing my hips and moving me faster. “Say my
name when you come.”
 “Romeo!” I throw my head back, lost to the pleasure as my pussy
absolutely seizes around his dick.
He’s right behind me, letting a string of Italian curse words fly before
emptying himself inside me.
I snuggle in close and let out a little sigh; I’m so blissed out I’m not sure
I remember my name.
Romeo chuckles, kissing the top of my head. “My dick belongs only to
you. Now, up,” he commands, helping me off him.
I’m feeling a bit lightheaded and stumble, and he grabs me with a smile,
placing me back down on the bench before grabbing a washcloth. Soaping
it up, he kneels before me, washing me gently.
Standing, he moves the spray head to wash me off as I lean my head
back against the tile. “I can’t move, let alone limp out of this shower. Are
you happy?” I demand.
His lips quirk. “Mmm, very.” Tossing the rag, he grabs the soap and
gives his body a quick wash before turning off the shower.
He scoops me up in his arms, carrying me out and placing me on my
feet. Grabbing a towel, he gently dries off my body. “Did you eat lunch
today?” he demands.
“I forgot; I was too busy studying,” I admit.
He frowns. “Let’s get you something to eat, and then we need to leave.”
I walk to the closet and throw on some clothes and grab my bag, and
Romeo takes it from me as we walk downstairs and outside.
“Hi, Luca, and hi to my new bestie, Sam,” I say, sliding in the back of
the vehicle.
“I must have missed something,” Luca says.
“You didn’t miss anything,” Sam’s quick to respond.
“Rompicoglioni,” I call him. I looked it up—it does not mean friends.
Luca snickers, and Sam says something in Italian I don’t catch.
“Enough. I need to make some calls. Eat,” Romeo tells me, handing me
a take-out box.
While he’s on the phone barking orders in Italian, I devour the silkiest
pasta carbonara I’ve ever tasted—likely from Nonna’s kitchen.
Romeo’s still on the phone, so I put in headphones as I flip on the
overhead light and crack open my pharmacology book. Before I know it,
we’re greeted by the neon lights of Atlantic City.
 Luca pulls up to the front of The Diamond—a sprawling high-rise with
a few decades of wear under its belt.
We check into the presidential suite and ride the private elevator to the
top floor. “This is nice,” I comment, stepping into the suite. It’s certainly
not as luxurious as the one we stayed at in Florida, but I’m not a hotel snob.
“It’s a dump,” Romeo corrects me.
I check out the master suite and return to the sitting room to find Luca
walking around, holding what looks like a metal detector a tourist with
socks and sandals would use at the beach, old-school headphones covering
his ears.
“What is he doing?” I ask, but Romeo holds up his finger, signaling for
me to wait.
“Clear,” Luca announces, removing his headphones.
“Checking for bugs,” Romeo tells me.
“I assume you don’t mean bedbugs?”
Sam shudders. “Now I’m going to be thinking about that all night.”
“Night night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite, bestie,” I call after
him.

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 Chapter
Twenty-Five

Nicky

The next morning, I wake to find Romeo already gone. Throwing on his T-
shirt, I follow the smell of coffee to the living room, where I’m surprised to
find Enzo seated on the couch, sipping an espresso.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I say.
“For you.” He hands me a to-go coffee cup and a paper bag with a
cornetto.
“Please don’t tell me Romeo made you drive two hours just to deliver
breakfast?”
“Course not. I drove two hours to deliver breakfast, make sure you don’t
forget to eat lunch, and not let you out of my sight while Romeo’s away.”
“Romeo’s away, Nicky and Enzo will play.” Giving my hand a little
shake, I throw my invisible dice, and he laughs. “Come on, let’s hit the
casino for just a bit, and then I’d like to do some studying by the pool.”
“Studying poolside. Wild woman,” he taunts.
“You told me I was a boring woman to tail. Didn’t want to make you a
liar. When does the casino open?”
“Uh, it never closes. First time to AC, huh?”
“Yes, and I’m so glad I get to pop my AC cherry with your smart ass,” I
inform him.
He makes a gagging sound.
“Come on, it’s not that disgusting. Give me a few minutes to get ready.”
After choosing my skimpiest dress just to fuck with Enzo, we ride the
private elevator downstairs and step onto the gaming floor. It feels like
we’ve entered a giant neon labyrinth—no windows or clocks, music
pumping, drinks flowing, bells ringing.
“What do you want to play?” Enzo asks.
“I don’t know, I’ve never gambled before,” I admit.
“Roulette it is.”
“Why roulette?” I wonder.
“A game of complete chance. Lucky for you, no skill required,” Enzo
tells me.
“Hey,” I grumble.
He leads me to a roulette table with a female dealer and a white-haired
man standing at the edge. “Buy in?” Enzo asks the dealer.
“Ten dollar minimum.”
Enzo pulls out a roll of hundreds secured with a rubber band and slaps
down a bill, and the dealer slides over four stacks of chips.
“Now what?” I ask.
Enzo tries to explain the difference between inside and outside bets, but
I shush him, just placing chips on the numbers I like.
The dealer waves her hand over the board as she announces, “No more
bets,” and I grip Enzo’s arm excitedly as I watch the ball go round and
round, coming to a final stop on black 13. Damn. I didn’t go that ominous.
“And you lose,” Enzo tells me deadpan. “Maybe you would’ve had
better luck had you listened to rules of the game.”
“You told me yourself it’s a game of chance,” I inform him.
The old man across the table hands me a chip with a smile. “For you,
doll.”
“Thank you.” I beam. “And I win,” I quietly gloat to Enzo.
After cashing out my chip and paying Enzo back, I made out with four
hundred bucks. I’ll definitely call that a win for my first time gambling.
Returning to the suite, I throw on my swimsuit and coverup and grab
my backpack. “Ready to hit the pool,” I tell Enzo.
We ride the elevator to the rooftop, and I pick a lounger overlooking the
ocean and the large observation wheel making its leisurely rotation on the
Boardwalk. I’d love to explore, but I’m on a strict study schedule in order
to be ready for my licensure exam. Straightening out my towel, I plop down
on my stomach and grab my book.
“You want me dead. That’s the only explanation.” Enzo shakes his head,
taking a seat next to me.
 I assume his melodrama is because of my high cut bikini—not quite a
thong, but close. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud. Sun’s out, buns out.”
“Sun’s out, buns out, Romeo’s gun’s out,” he mutters. “I have to hit the
john.”
“Great. Sing happy birthday two times when you wash up,” I instruct
him.
“Smart ass. I need you to come with me. I’m not to leave your side.”
I give him a look. “I am not going into the men’s bathroom.”
“Then let’s go back to the room,” he suggests.
“Enzo, go to the bathroom and I’ll be right here studying when you get
back,” I say, patting his cheek.
“Rompicoglioni,” he mumbles, walking off.
“That doesn’t mean friend,” I call after him.
Adjusting my chair upright and getting my towel situated, I have a seat
and return to my book, only for a man to take a seat in the chair Enzo just
vacated. Hard to tell with the sunglasses and hat the man’s wearing, but he
appears to be around Romeo’s age, dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, and work
boots. “I hate to see a smart woman such as yourself hanging out with the
wrong crowd,” he says, eyeing my book.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t become you. Parisi,” he says the name as
if it’s the most vile thing on the planet.
“Who are you?” Is this guy a cop? Well, if he is, he’s barking up the
wrong tree, because I don’t know nothing.
“A new kid in town. And this town?” he says, gesturing out to the
Boardwalk and beyond. “This town will belong to me.”
“I hope you didn’t put too much preparation into that speech,” I inform
him.
He laughs, and it’s nearly as chilling as one of Romeo’s laughs when
he’s pissed. “Tell your boyfriend John Davis sends his regards. I’ll see you
around, Nicky.”
 Romeo

We’ve been staking out Aces Wild Boxing Club for hours now, but no sign
of John Davis. “I find out Matteo led me astray, I’m going to kill the little
shit.” If there’s anything I hate more than repeating myself, it’s someone
wasting my time.
“What now?” Luca asks.
“Let’s drive by John’s office,” I say.
Luca navigates to the nondescript building. There’s no Phoenix
Construction sign, and the building looks vacant. “Back to The Diamond,” I
bark, in a hell of a mood.
Returning to the hotel, we pass through the casino, and I stop at the
blackjack table where Darius’ cousin, Katerina, is dealing.
She makes eye contact with me for a split second before returning her
attention to an older man at her table. The man hits and busts big time. No
surprise there; the house always wins. Katerina clears her hands for the eye
in the sky, and her replacement dealer slips into her spot.
Waiting a moment, we step outside to find Katerina in the alley,
smoking a cigarette. “Mr. Parisi,” she says, ducking her head in respect.
“This has to do with my cousin and Matteo?”
“No, but since you brought it up, tell us what happened,” I command.
Flicking her cigarette, she says, “Matteo was in the casino with one of
his buddies, drinking and talking shit. My shift ended, and when I left to go
to my car, they were waiting on me. Matteo cornered me and copped a feel
while his buddy laughed. Thank God a coworker pulled up and saw I was in
trouble. He came over, and Matteo and his buddy backed off.”
“Who was this man Matteo was with?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Not a regular in Matteo’s crew, unless the guy’s a
newbie. Matteo called him Eddie.”
“This him?” Holding up my phone, I show her a picture of the
“missing” Eddie.
“Yep, that’s him.”
“You sure?” I ask.
She looks again. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry Matteo disrespected you. It won’t happen again.” Reaching
in my wallet, I hand her a stack of hundreds. “Not a word of this to
anyone.”
 “Of course, Mr. Parisi,” she says, pocketing the money.
“You ever hear the name John Davis around here?” I ask.
“No.” She shakes her head.
“That name gets so much as mentioned, I want to know about it.”
“You got it.”
We return to the SUV, and I punch the seat next to me. “Fuck! Can
someone tell me why Matteo was hanging out with Crazy Capozzi’s
nephew?”
“That’s a question for Matteo,” Sam says.
“Or is it? Maybe don’t show your hand yet,” Luca suggests. “Give
Matteo just enough rope and see if he hangs himself.”
Before I can decide the next move, my phone buzzes with a message
from Enzo.

Small problem.

I hit call. “What?” I demand.

“Nicky’s back in the room safe and sound, but there was an incident at
the pool,” Enzo tells me.
“What incident?” I say, my trigger finger twitching.
“I swear I left her for just a minute to take a piss, and a man approached
her. Claimed to be John Davis.”
Red. I fucking see red. “Take Nicky home now. I’ll deal with you when
I get back.”
“What?” Sam asks when I hang up.
“John Davis just signed his death warrant.” And Enzo’s not far behind.

Nicky

“I’m dead. I’m a dead man. I really should have gone to confession,” Enzo
says, burning a hole through Romeo’s carpet with his pacing.
“Will you stop? He’s not going to kill you—”
 The door flings opens, and Romeo stalks into the room. Silently, he
grabs Enzo and drags him out by his neck. Fuck, he’s going to kill him.
“Romeo, stop!” I cry, running after them. Romeo’s dangling Enzo over
the banister, with Mercutio on the floor below, pacing and growling. The
dog jumps, nearly taking a bite out of Enzo’s designer sneaker.
“Mercutio, disengage,” I command calmly but loudly. Paulie ran
through some of the basic commands with me and Mercutio, thank God.
The dog immediately stills, waiting for the next command. “Romeo,
disengage,” I try. Hey, it worked for one beast!
Romeo cuts his eyes to me and laughs. I’m not sure if I helped the
situation or just made things much, much worse, but I let out a sigh of relief
when Romeo pulls Enzo over the railing and tosses him on the floor.
“You’re lucky Nicky has such a soft heart,” Romeo tells Enzo in a tone
that chills my blood. “Get out of my sight before I change my mind.”
Enzo picks himself up off the hardwood and scurries away.
“Good boy,” I say. Whether that was to the dog or his owner, they can
decide for themselves.

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 Chapter
Twenty-Six

Nicky

We arrive at Antonio’s house for Valentina’s birthday party. At least fifty

workers in white jackets, red scarves, and white chef hats are milling about
the back yard. There’s a makeshift stage with an orchestra setting up, and a
bar on the other side of the lawn with bartenders polishing glasses.
“I’m going to speak to Antonio. I’ll be back,” Romeo says, giving Enzo
a warning glare.
To say Romeo was not happy when I delivered the message from John
Davis is like saying Mercutio’s canines are razor-sharp. Enzo would know,
considering he got an up close and personal look at those canines last night.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Enzo for the hundredth time.
“Stop apologizing and just don’t get me killed tonight, okay?” he begs.
“I’ll be on my best behavior.”
I spot the birthday girl, who’s barking orders like a drill sergeant. A little
man in a black suit with a walkie talkie strapped to his belt writes furiously
on his clipboard. “Four red Venetian candles for each table. Light them all
in fifteen minutes,” she instructs, adjusting the red-checked tablecloth.
“Where are the Parmigiano-Reggiano shavings and red pepper flakes for
each table? I want those set out now, along with the bottles of sparking
water. Make sure the bottles are properly chilled.”
The man says something in his walkie talkie before scurrying away.
Valentina begins arranging red roses in the center of the table before
spotting me. She bounds over and we hug. “What do you think? Shabby
chic pizzeria vibe.”
 I smile broadly at her. “You nailed it. This is amazing!”
“Thanks. I love planning parties. It’s the one thing in my life I get to
control,” she says quietly. “So, we have pizza stations, an antipasto and
salad bar, and finally, the gelato bar next to the cake station,” Valentina
points out. “I wanted something low-key and fun.” I wouldn’t call five
outdoor brick ovens, hundreds of red roses, a band, a bar, and a six-tier
birthday cake “low-key,” but Valentina’s definition of low-key and mine are
two very different things.
A chef uses a large paddle to expertly remove a pizza out of the fire and
slides it on a silver tray under a warmer. “It smells divine,” I comment.
“Principessa’s pizzaria.” Sam appears, grabbing a slice of pepperoni.
“Burn your tongue off. That way, you’ll be unable to speak for the rest
of my party,” Valentina says hopefully with fingers crossed.
Sam wisely waits to take a bite of his piping-hot pizza. “There’s no way
Antonio’s letting you wear that,” he says, nodding to her sports bra and
spandex shorts.
Valentina rolls her eyes. “Don’t be an idiot. This isn’t what I’m wearing.
Nicky, come chat with me while I get ready.”
“Sure.” I follow her, with Sam and Enzo tagging along.
“What the hell are you two doing?” Valentina snaps at the men.
“Too many new faces here. I’ll walk you to your room,” Sam says
firmly.
“I’m just trying not to be ripped to shreds,” Enzo explains his reasoning.
“You don’t think everyone got an anal probe before stepping foot onto
Antonio’s property?” she challenges Sam.
“Sounds painful. I’m still gonna walk you to your room,” Sam says,
clearly not backing down.
“Ugh, whatever.” Valentina grabs my hand, hurrying me along.
We follow her inside, passing several guards who nod at us before
walking upstairs. “This is my wing of the house,” she says as we veer left
down a large corridor. “Nonna’s is on the other end, and Papà’s is
downstairs.”
“Where is Nonna?” I ask.
“Power napping so she’ll be ready to party. She’s bought a new track
suit and sneakers just for the occasion.”
“Love it,” I say with a little laugh.
 We stop at the end of the hall, and Valentina holds her hand to the
sensor, and the door unlocks. “Don’t even think about coming into my
room,” she tells Sam, pulling me inside.
He smirks. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’m allergic to pink.”
“Perfect,” she says, slamming the door in his face.
“Wow, your room is amazing. I feel like I’ve stepped into a fairy tale.”
It’s a room fit for a princess—with a huge chandelier hanging above a
tufted upholstered bed with billowing white bedding in the center. Next to
the window on the opposite side of the room is a built-in reading nook with
bookcases filled with books and various knickknacks.
“Yeah, a fairy tale.” She snorts. “I’m Rapunzel stuck in the tower, but I
don’t have the hair to pull off a jail break.”
“Where would you go if you could?” I wonder.
“I don’t even know. Isn’t that sad?”
“Valentina, you’ve been an adult for one day,” I gently remind her. “It’s
alright if you don’t have everything figured out.”
She sighs loudly. “Everyone else seems to have it figured out! All my
friends are going away to college. I’ll be stuck here until Antonio lines up
the next Nico for me to marry.”
“Why not do something for yourself until that day comes? What are
your interests? Talents? Hobbies?”
She shrugs. “I can make latte art and throw parties. That’s about it.”
“Then you’d make the perfect event planner.”
“Papà wouldn’t let me work for someone else,” she says dismissively.
“Start your own company.”
Her jaw falls open. “But you said it yourself—I’ve been an adult for one
day! What the hell do I know about running a business?”
I shrug. “Figure it out. Then, if one day down the road you have to
marry another Nico, you’ll throw yourself one hell of a reception.”
She pauses to consider, finally saying, “I’ll think about it.” She opens
her closet and pulls out three dresses. Laying them out on her bed, she asks,
“Which one?”
Feeling like I’m on dangerous co-conspirator ground here, I look over
the selections. “Try this one,” I say, pointing to the dress with the longest
hemline. She strips out of her clothes and pulls on the dress. “Gorgeous,” I
tell her. “Red is definitely your color, but are you sure your dad will be okay
with this dress?” While it’s on the longer side, it’s also a spaghetti strap,
deep V-neckline with cutouts everywhere at the top—except the one piece
of fabric attaching it together.
Valentina waves away my concern. “Papà’s been so distracted lately, he
won’t notice.”
“Will your boyfriend be here tonight?” I wonder.
She walks over to her vanity and takes a seat on a fuzzy white chair,
applying red lipstick with precision. “Yeah. I warned Brax not to come, but
he insisted.”
“Does he know about your family?” I ask.
“Maybe, but he’s never come right out and asked me. There’s always
been rumors whispered about me, but I’ve never addressed them. But hey,
the good thing is mean girls have never fucked with me because of it.
Anyway, it’s not like my boyfriend is on moral high ground with his last
name.”
“What do you mean?”
“His dad owns a car dealership and is just as crooked as any of men
that’ll be here tonight,” she tells me.
“Will many members of the ‘family’ be here?” I wonder.
“Everyone will be here to pretend to fawn over the birthday girl so they
can get in good with Antonio. I’m under no misconception this party is
about me.” She shrugs, putting the cap back on her lipstick.
“Well, I’m here to fawn over you.” Besides, kissing Antonio’s ring isn’t
something I’m interested in.
“Aww, thanks.” She smiles, fastening her stiletto sandals. “I’m ready.”
“Hey, what does ‘cole-po-de-full-mean-a’ mean?” I try to phonetically
say the Italian phrase Romeo used about his tattoo.
“Colpo di fulmine?”
“That’s it.”
“The Italian thunderbolt. It translates to ‘lightning strike,’ so I’m not
sure why we call it a thunderbolt. Anyway, love hits you like a lightning
strike, and when it does, you’re powerless to deny it. It’s referring to love at
first sight, but I like to think you can get hit with the thunderbolt any time.
Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I just heard it somewhere.” I try not to smile, but I can’t help it.
Valentina squeals. “Oh my God! Is the big, bad Romeo secretly a mushy
heart romantic?”
Laughing, I say, “I plead the Fifth.”
 “I’m going to give him so much shit.” She smiles deviously.
We step out of her room to find Sam and Enzo waiting on us. Sam’s
eyes nearly bug out of his head when he catches sight of Valentina. “You let
this happen?” he shoots me an accusatory look.
“Out of the options presented, this dress had the most coverage,” I say
defensively.
“You two know I’m right here?” Valentina huffs.

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 Chapter
Twenty-Seven

Romeo

I relay the message Nicky received in AC, and Antonio scoffs. “Who does
this little fucker think he is?”
“He’s cocky because The Diamond went with his company—Phoenix
Construction.”
“Then tell this John Davis it’s a twenty-five percent pay-to-play in my
town. He balks at that, he and the developer will both have serious
heartburn.” In other words, put them to ground. Fine by me, as I’m going to
kill John regardless. “What about the Philly situation?” Antonio demands.
“I’ve hit the clubs, but no one remembers Eddie.” I haven’t had a
chance to feel Matteo out about his connection, so I decide to keep that
information under wraps until I know more.
“Unacceptable. Keep looking,” he orders.
I stand, but he motions me to wait. “Why am I seeing you in the society
section?” He tosses a newspaper across to me. You can make out my face in
the background of another couple’s photo.
“I needed an in with the CEO. We’re discussing Corner Caffè supplying
coffee and pastries in all the hospital cafeterias and on campus.” Which is
true, just not the whole truth.
Antonio doesn’t look impressed with my business dealings, but nothing
I’ve ever done in my entire life has impressed the man. “When does Nicky
finish school?”
“She’s already finished her program and is studying for her licensure
exam.” Also true, just not the whole truth.
 “Good,” he says, tenting his fingers together. “Heard she patched up
Matteo. Sergio’s in my ear, wanting retribution against The Greek.”
“Darius is an important asset to this family, and Matteo was in the
wrong,” I warn.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Italian blood comes first.”
“Of course, but I’ve handled the situation.” Between Darius and Matteo,
Italian blood spills first as far as I’m concerned. “There’s another matter I
want to discuss with you. I’m going to ask Nicky to marry me.”
“Are you, now?” he drawls. “She’s not Italian.”
“No, she’s not,” I agree. “But she’s likewise an important asset to this
family.” Espousing my love for the woman would fall on deaf ears;
business is the only language Antonio understands. “And it will make
Nonna happy.” Correction—two languages. Business and keeping Nonna
happy.
He’s silent for a moment, finally saying, “I’ll allow it.”
Funny, I don’t remember asking for his permission, but I keep my
mouth shut.
A knock sounds. “That’s Brax’s old man. Your sister just made herself
useful. For once.” He dismisses me.
I exit the office while the father of Valentina’s boyfriend enters. The
man acknowledges me with a nod and phony smile. Fuck, this is going to
kill Valentina if she finds out Antonio’s been using her relationship to his
advantage; or even worse, orchestrated it to begin with.
Stepping outside, I find Luca waiting for me. “We need to find
Valentina’s boyfriend, Brax, and have a private chat with him,” I tell him
quietly. “Where’s Sam?”
“Escorted Valentina inside to get ready. Nicky and Enzo are with them,”
Luca reports.
“Perfect, then let’s go find Brax now.”
Guests are starting to arrive, and we work our way through the crowd.
“That’s him,” Luca says, pointing to a blond teenager in skinny jeans.
We walk over, and I extend my hand. “I’m Romeo, Valentina’s brother.
Are you Brax?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” he says, shaking my hand. Except I don’t let go,
squeezing hard enough to get his attention. “Oww, man!”
“Did you know there are twenty-seven bones in a hand?” I muse.
“Let go,” he begs.
 I smile, squeezing harder. “If you’re playing games with my sister, I’ll
break all twenty-seven of them—one by one. That’ll put a damper on your
baseball scholarship. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” he cries, and I release his hand.
“Glad we understand each other,” I say, slapping him on the back so
hard he stumbles forward. “Enjoy the party.” He practically sprints away
from us, and I tell Luca, “Keep an eye on him.”
Luca nods, disappearing. I scan the crowd, and make my way over to
the next problem. “Matteo.”
“Romeo. Why the fuck is The Greek here?” he demands.
“This is my sister’s birthday. You will act accordingly.” Grabbing my
phone, I pull up Eddie’s picture. “I’m looking for this man. Ever seen him?”
He glances at the picture and then looks me square in the eyes. “No.”
Lying motherfucker. But that begs the question why?
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, spotting Darius and walking over to him.
The insult doesn’t go unnoticed by Matteo. Good.

Nicky

The party’s in full swing, and I look around for Romeo, but I can’t seem to
find him.
“You want a cocktail?” Enzo asks.
“Sure.”
“Then walk with me.”
“The bar is literally five feet away from us,” I point out.
“Then walk with me five feet.”
“Are we going to be conjoined twins from here on out?” I demand.
“God, I hope not. You’d seriously screw up my game.” Enzo spots
someone over my shoulder. “Tommaso,” he calls, waving the guy over.
I turn around and lock eyes with Tommaso, and he ducks his head so
quickly his foot catches on the leg of a chair. The guy falls like a ton of
bricks, hitting his head on the table before bouncing to the ground.
“Are you alright?” Running over to him, I squat down and ask, “How
many fingers am I holding up?”
“I’m alright, ma’am,” he says, trying to stand with closed eyes.
“Open your eyes, I want to make sure you’re not concussed,” I tell him.
“I’m fine, ma’am,” he says with eyes still firmly shut.
“What’s happening here?” I ask Enzo, who’s now beside me.
“Nicky, Tommaso is my backup. In case I can’t be there to drive you,
he’ll fill in for me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tommaso agrees, having now opened his eyes, but
refusing to look at me.
“I’m sorry, is there a problem?” I demand.
“He’s afraid Romeo will kill him if he looks at you,” Enzo whispers to
me.
“Why?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Because Romeo threatened to kill Tommaso if he looks at you.” Of
course the controlling psycho did.
“Ms. Thomas, it was nice to meet you,” he says, picking himself off the
ground and sprinting away.
I sigh. “I need a drink.”
Making our way to the bar, someone bumps into me accidentally, but
there’s no way the hand skating over my ass was anything other than
intentional. Spinning around, I find the culprit. “Did you not learn manners
since the last time we saw each other?”
“It was an accident,” Matteo says, holding up his hands. “Don’t be so
fucking touchy.”
“Touchy.” I scoff. Says the man child that can’t keep his hands to
himself.
“Matteo,” Enzo says, crossing his arms.
“Enzo. I bet this is the closest you’ve ever been to pussy,” Matteo
taunts.
“You talking about Nicky or yourself?” Enzo fires back.
Looking past me and ignoring Enzo, Matteo begins speaking Italian to
someone who makes his way over.
“Ah, you must be the new doc,” an older man says, gesturing loudly.
“I’m Sergio, Matteo’s old man.”
“Hello, I’m Nicky,” I say, offering my hand for a shake.
 He grabs my hand, but instead of shaking it, he brings it up and places
his disgusting lips on my skin before I have time to pull back. “What an
improvement over old Doc Carrucio, no?” He eyes me up and down,
laughing boisterously—like what he said was the funniest thing ever.
“Thank you. When’s the last time you had a physical?” I ask, returning
the favor by eying him up and down, my gaze lingering on his gut.
Sergio hems and haws, and I try not to smirk.
“Sergio!” someone calls.
“Nicky, a pleasure. And little Enzo. Don’t tell me Romeo’s leaving his
woman in the Kid’s hands!” Sergio laughs again as his own “joke.” “Next
time you’re in AC, Nicky, you come to my restaurant.”
“Thank you.” No way in hell.
Sergio excuses himself, and I turn to his son. “How’s the wound
healing?” Even if I hate Matteo’s guts, I still owe him a duty of care.
“I need to talk to you about it. Alone,” Matteo insists, eyeing Enzo.
“Give us just a second,” I tell Enzo. He takes a few steps back, staring
Matteo down.
“What’s the problem?” I quietly ask Matteo.
“I need you to look at my wound. In private,” he says suggestively.
“I’m more than happy to look at it right now. Let me find Romeo and
ask if he has a medical kit around here,” I say, turning around and walking
off.
“Hey, it’s fine! Don’t worry about it,” he calls after me.
“Che idiota, that Matteo.” Nonna says. “Here.” She holds out a wine
glass for me.
“Grazie,” I tell her, taking a big swig.
“Elena, you are looking lovely,” an older gentleman joins us, addressing
Nonna.
“You have cataracts.” Nonna dismisses him.
The man smiles brightly. “Ah, but I just had corrective surgery last
month.”
“Then you see I’m not interested.”
He chuckles. “I see a stubborn woman.”
“The surgery was a success. Buon per te.”
I spot Romeo across the way, speaking to a man nearly as large and
intimidating as he is. Romeo locks eyes with me and motions me over with
the crook of his finger. I excuse myself from whatever the hell’s going on
here with Nonna and her cataract-free suitor.
Enzo trails behind me as I weave my way through the sea of party-
goers. Romeo grabs me and kisses me senseless before dismissing Enzo.
Turning to the other man, Romeo says, “Nicky Thomas, this is Darius
Angelos. Darius runs my gym.”
I didn’t know Romeo even owned a gym, but I’m the one who said I
didn’t need the details of his business dealings. “Hi, Darius. It’s nice to
meet you,” I say, shaking his burly hand. The man’s around Romeo’s size
and build—maybe a bit more muscled—with curly black hair and dark
brown eyes. A scar bisects his left eyebrow, and a wicked-looking devil
tattoo takes up the entirety of his right forearm.
“You, too. Sorry to hear you were the one having to deal with that
stronzo, Matteo,” he says with a twinge of an accent I can’t place.
“Dealing with assholes comes with the territory.” Turing to Romeo, I
smirk. “Look at all the Italian words I’m picking up.”
He smiles at me, and then turns his attention to his buddy. “Darius, what
was the first Italian word you learned?”
“Stronzo,” he says with a laugh.
“You’re not Italian?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Greek blood, here. Schmucks like us do the work,
and the Italians take the credit, or so the saying goes,” he says with an easy
smile, but I wonder if that’s a point of contention.
“Do you speak Greek?” I take a shot.
He nods. “Yes.”
“I don’t speak the language, but my mom does. If I recorded her some
time, could you translate for me?”
“Of course.”
“Or I could just translate for you,” Romeo tells me.
“Fluent in Greek? Impressive,” I tell him, and he quirks his lips.
“Come, let’s pay our respects to Antonio,” Romeo tells me, guiding me
away with a hand on my lower back.
“Darius, nice to meet you,” I call.
“You too.”
Romeo takes my hand, and we make our way to the head table. It’s
much easier to get the crowd to part when I’m walking with the underboss
—everyone practically jumps out of our way.
 Valentina’s standing next to her father, accepting envelopes with a sweet
smile. I can only assume that means cash for Valentina and ass-kissing for
Antonio.
We reach the king and his princess holding court, and Antonio holds out
his hand.
Shit, am I really expected to kiss his ring? Panicked, I grab the boss’s
hand, giving it an awkward shake before letting go. Glancing over to
Romeo to see if I’ve fucked up, his stoic face gives nothing away.
“Nicky, so nice to see you,” Antonio says.
“Thank you. I wouldn’t miss Valentina’s party.”
“I hear you’ve finished school,” he says with a smile. “When do you
start working for me?”
“I sit for my entrance exam next month, and once I pass, I’ll be ready to
practice,” I tell him.
“Excellent,” he says, turning his attention to the next well-wisher. I
guess that means I’m dismissed.
Romeo pulls me along to Valentina, and I tell her, “I texted you my
present—a gift certificate to a spa.”
She smiles sweetly. “Thank you, but the only way I’ll go is if you come
with me.”
“Deal,” I tell her.
“Hey, where’s my present?” she demands of Romeo.
Eying her outfit, he says, “I’m not going to send you back to your room
to change. Happy birthday.”
The man with the clipboard approaches, pushing a cart stacked with
presents. “Oooh, I want to open this one first,” Valentina says, pointing to a
sparkly gold box. The man hands it to her, and she grabs the card and opens
it first. “‘Hope your birthday is a bang.’ Who the hell is John Davis?”
“No!” Romeo and I both shout, but she’s already pulled the ribbon. The
box falls open and confetti explodes with startling pop.
She squeals, and Sam is there in a flash, chucking the box across the
lawn before tackling Valentina to the ground. Before I know what’s
happening, the wind’s knocked out of me as Romeo takes me down.
“What are you doing? It’s a freakin’ confetti gift box!” Valentina shoves
at Sam, but he doesn’t release his hold.
Luca squats down, examining the box. “Clear,” he announces, and
Romeo rolls off of me, hoisting me up.
 Valentina gives Sam a shove before standing, wiping the grass from her
dress. “As I said, an exploding—”
There’s another loud pop, and Valentina and I are taken down to the
ground. Again. On our backs, we’re now watching a round of fireworks
flash in the sky.
She hisses something in Italian, shoving Sam off of her and jumping to
her feet. “The fireworks weren’t supposed to go off until nine!”
Romeo helps me up, and my eyes go wide at the number of handguns
being holstered.
“Now it’s a party!” Nonna announces, appearing from behind two of
Antonio’s guards as she raises her wine glass.

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 Chapter
Twenty-Eight

Romeo

“Why can no one find this little shit?” I thunder.

“‘Faulty electric wiring’ has already taken out the Phoenix Construction
office. Only a matter of time before John Davis is smoked out,” Sam
assures me.
I growl my response. “Not good enough.”
“Darius is on it. Give him time to do his job,” Luca reminds me.
“Tell that to fucking Antonio breathing down my neck.” And that has
nothing to do with Valentina’s safety, and everything to do with his
wounded pride.
“The guy’s got balls, I’ll give him that,” Sam says.
“He does. And the first thing I’m going to do is string him up and cut
them off,” I promise. “Hell, I might even pull a Crazy Capozzi and keep a
souvenir.”
“He’d bleed out too quickly,” Luca says thoughtfully. “Unless you
cauterize the area first.”
Sam snorts. “Thank you, Dr. Luca.”
“Welcome. The Matteo and Eddie situation?” Luca asks.
“Matteo claimed he’d never seen Eddie before,” I say, running my hand
through my hair in frustration.
“It’s possible Katerina misidentified Eddie,” Luca suggests.
“She seemed confident in her ID. Plus, she said Matteo called him
‘Eddie.’ We don’t have another Eddie in the family,” I point out. “Put a tail
on Matteo. I don’t trust the fucker.”
 Sam whistles. “Sergio finds out, he’s going to be pissed.”
“He can likewise take a number.”
My phone rings, and I check the caller. “Antonio,” I answer on
speakerphone.
“Get to the park. We have a meeting.”
“What meeting?” I ask, but he’s already hung up.
Gritting my teeth, I vent, “If my old man didn’t play things so close to
the fucking vest, I might be better able to do my job.”
“Ha! I’ll quote that back to you when I’m your underboss,” Sam
informs me.
“There’s no business I wouldn’t trust you with,” I tell him.
Sam puts his hand on his chest. “That’s touching. I feel like we need to
hug it out or something.”
“Try. I fucking dare you.”
Sam just laughs and shakes his head as we pull up to the park next to
Antonio’s vehicle. Beside it is a blacked-out town car with Philadelphia
tags. Fucking hell.
“I don’t like this,” Sam says.
“Agreed,” Luca chimes in.
Sam and I exit the vehicle and walk up the path to find Antonio and
Crazy Capozzi seated across from each other at a picnic table, eating sub
sandwiches. Two deadly bosses decked out in designer suits having a
picnic. I would laugh if I wasn’t so concerned things are about to turn
deadly. For me. I nod to Sam, and he hangs back, opposite several guards
looming a few paces from their respective boss.
“There’s my boy,” Antonio calls, wadding up his trash. “Carlo, you’ve
meet Romeo.”
He stands and we greet each other with a double cheek kiss. “Romeo.
You were just a little ankle biter the last time I saw you.” Carlo’s around
Antonio’s age and build, but with an ugly mug covered in pockmarks.
“Carlo. I have sharper teeth now,” I say, taking a seat beside Antonio.
“Heard you do.” He chuckles, but then his face turns serious. “The
reason I’m here, Romeo, is my sister’s boy has gone missing. As you can
imagine, she’s beside herself.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Carlo,” I lie. The woman raised a piece of shit; I
did the world a favor by putting her son to ground. “I’ve been hitting up all
the clubs, but no one knows nothing.”
 “That is unfortunate. Antonio, I’d hate for our trade agreement to go
south over this,” Carlo says.
“As would I. Carlo, you have my word we’ll keep looking,” Antonio
promises.
“Yet you haven’t found who shot your boy, no?”
“How do I know it wasn’t you?” Antonio challenges.
“Drive-by? Not my style,” he says, flicking at an invisible piece of lint
from his suit jacket. “You know I like to get up close and personal when I
take care of business.”
“Then on your orders,” Antonio presses, crossing his arms.
“I’m going to end this conversation now so we can part as friends. Find
Eddie, or the Russo war you had all those years ago will look like a fucking
walk in the park. Get it? Walk in the park?” He throws his head back and
howls in laughter.
“You come to my city and make threats?” Antonio balks. “Carlo, you
really are crazy.”
I inch my hand inside my jacket in case I need to go for my gun. Carlo’s
fucking certifiable—you just don’t tell him that to his face.
Carlo just smiles, but his eyes have gone crazy. Fuck. I rest my hand on
my gun.
“We will continue to look into Eddie’s disappearance so, as you say, we
can part as friends. Still, I make no promises,” Antonio says.
“Then I likewise make no promises. Antonio. Romeo,” Carlo says,
standing. He whistles a tune as he and his guards walk off.
We wait until Carlo and his men are gone before Antonio turns to me.
“I’m too old for another fucking war. Find Eddie.”
I decide to lay some of my cards on the table. “I have a witness who
saw Eddie with Matteo in AC at The Diamond, about a week before Eddie
went missing.”
He raises his eyebrow. “What did Matteo have to say about it?”
“Showed him a picture of Eddie. Claimed to have never seen him. I
didn’t ask more.”
He tents his fingers, contemplating. Finally, he says, “Look into it.
Discreetly. If we have to go to war with Philly, we’ll need everyone to fall
in line. Do not burn any bridges with Sergio and his crew.”
“Got it.” I won’t burn any bridges now, but when I’m the boss? Light
the motherfucker up and watch it burn.
 Nicky

“Today, I’m going to have you practice with a 12 gauge shotgun, just so you
get a feel for different firearms,” Enzo tells me when we enter the range. “I
don’t want you to become too dependent on one particular gun that you
don’t know how to handle any other, should the situation arise.”
“Fine by me. Bigger is better,” I say, admiring the badass-looking
shotgun.
“Not necessarily,” he warns me.
I feign shock. “Next thing you’re going to tell me is it’s not the size of
the boat, but the motion in the ocean.”
“Rompicoglioni.”
“Still doesn’t mean friend.”
He smiles. “This is going to have more kick than a smaller handgun, so
you’ve gotta have proper technique to absorb the recoil.” He demonstrates
loading and unloading, and then places the gun in my hands—the butt
positioned below my collar bone at my pec muscle. “Lean into it, and push-
pull—push the stock into you, while pulling the front of the gun away from
you while you fire,” he instructs me.
“This feels awkward as hell,” I admit.
“But I thought bigger was better?” He jibes.
“Pissy woman holding a big gun here,” I warn him.
Enzo backs up, and if I get knocked on my ass shooting this gun, I’ll
never live it down. Taking a deep breath, I try to do everything he just told
me as I pull the trigger.
Yay, I’m still standing! Enzo retrieves the target, and I say proudly,
“Look, my aim’s getting better!”
He points at the target. “That would be a shoulder graze. All you’ve
done now is piss off your attacker.”
I huff. “God, you’re a glass half empty fucker.”
He shrugs. “I’m a realist. Reload.”
 My phone buzzes, and I grab it from my back pocket.

We’re going out to dinner. Be ready in an hour. Enzo will drive

you.

When you ask so sweetly.

“I’ll have to threaten to shoot you some other time; I need to get ready,”
I tell Enzo.
He smirks. “I look forward to the day you can back up that threat.”
“Stronzo.”
“Your aim still sucks, but the Italian’s improving,” he calls after me.
Walking upstairs, I take a quick shower and dry my hair. I’m not sure
where we’re going, so I choose a short black halter dress and stiletto
sandals. My kryptonite may be my man speaking Italian, but I think I know
his, so I make sure my ponytail’s extra sleek this evening.
Smiling at myself in the mirror, I add my diamond earrings as the
finishing touch, and walk downstairs and outside to find Enzo in the
driver’s seat.
Wouldn’t be a problem, except Mercuito’s pacing back and forth around
the car with one of Enzo’s fancy sneakers in his mouth.
“Mercutio, heel,” I command, and he trots over to my side. “Drop it.”
The white sneaker falls to the ground, slobber and all. “Are you just fucking
with Enzo now?” I ask the dog, giving him a scratch.
“He’s just keeping everyone on their toes,” Paulie calls from across the
yard. He whistles, and Mercutio bounds over to his handler.
I can’t help but laugh at Enzo, who’s now out of the car, standing on one
foot. Grabbing the gnawed-up shoe, I toss it to him. “You have all your
toes, or did Mercutio keep them?”
“I need hazard pay for this,” he grumbles, turning his nose up as he
slides on his destroyed sneaker.
“How much were the shoes? I’ll buy you a new pair as soon as I pass
my exam.”
“A thousand dollars.”
“What? Who freakin’ pays that much for sneakers?”
“You do,” he says smugly.
“Now who’s the pool shark?” I challenge.
“Me, and you just got hustled.”
 “Yeah, yeah.” I laugh. “Let’s go.”
We make our way downtown, pulling into a restaurant that looks closed.
“You sure this is the right place?” I ask before spotting the name on the
unlit sign—Daniella’s. The thought of a little boy watching his mom get
gunned down in front of him breaks my heart.
A blacked-out SUV pulls up and Sam hops out first, opening the door.
Romeo steps out, and I’m able to get a stealth view of him thanks to the
tinted windows. A tailored suit hugs his muscular body and broad shoulders.
His lips are in their natural downward position, his eyes hard. Danger still
rolls off him in waves, but turns out I love swimming in choppy water.
Enzo opens the door for me, and Romeo’s there, extending his hand.
“Sei bella.”
“Grazie,” I say, giving him a kiss and taking his hand as he leads me
inside.
We walk through the empty restaurant to a back private room. “Watch
the front,” Romeo commands Sam.
“Do we get an actual date without the third wheel?” I exclaim as Romeo
closes the door.
“You know you’ll miss me,” I hear Sam call through the door.
“Romeo,” I swoon. “I love this.” It’s a romantic scene—Frank Sinatra
plays softly in the background, and a candle flickers on the table next to a
vase of beautiful red dahlias—my favorite.
“Good.” He pulls out my chair and takes a seat beside me, running his
hand up and down my ponytail, and I smile. “Did you get to study today?”
he asks, pouring us a glass of wine.
“I did, and then Enzo and I spent some time at the range.”
“I saw. You’re improving,” he comments.
Narrowing my eyes, I say, “What do you mean ‘you saw?’” He doesn’t
answer, but he doesn’t have to. “You spy on me!”
“My woman, my house,” he simply says.
“Romeo—”
He silences me by pulling me to his lap, sliding a huge princess cut
diamond on my ring finger.
My eyes go wide. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”
“Pretty obvious.” He smirks.
“This is crazy.”
“It’s not.”
 “We don’t really even know each other.”
“We do.”
“It’s too soon.”
“It isn’t.”
“I’m scared.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re overbearing.”
“I am.”
“I push your buttons.”
“You do.”
“We’ll drive each other crazy.”
“We will.”
“Say more than two-word responses!” I shout.
“Sei la donna dei miei sogni. Voglio stare con te per il resto la mia vita.
Sposami amore mio.”
“English?” I say, exasperated.
“Marry me,” he simply says.
“And he’s back with the two-word responses!” I say, smacking his
chest. “Yes.”
He cracks a wide smile. “Yes what?”
“I’ll marry you. Three-word response,” I say, smiling.
He takes his thumb and wipes the happy tears from my eyes before
kissing me like he owns me. The man does own me, but we’ll spend the rest
of our lives with me pretending he doesn’t. The thought makes me smile
against his lips.
Pulling back, I hold out my hand, admiring the stunning diamond on a
dainty gold band. “It’s so beautiful.”
“It was Daniella’s,” he tells me, emotions swirling in his hard eyes.
“I’m honored,” I say, placing my left hand over his heart before
bringing my lips back to his.
A knock on the door sounds, and Romeo calls, “Enter.” Servers appear
carrying large trays filled with pasta and other entrees.
“I didn’t know what you’d want, so I told the chef to make a little of
everything,” Romeo tells me.
I smile even wider. “This is perfect.”
“Mr. Parisi, can we get you anything else?” a server asks.
“Privacy.”
 The servers hurry away, and Romeo begins scooping pasta on my plate.
“Are you trying to fatten me up?” I say, half-jokingly.
“Mmm. The thought of your belly swollen with my child does things to
me.”
I can feel those things it’s doing to him because I’m still perched on his
lap. “In a few years,” I warn. “How many kids do you want?”
“As many as you’ll give me,” he’s quick to answer.
I consider. “Two sounds like a good number.”
“Four it is,” he says, feeding me a bite of pasta before I can argue with
him.
A muffled pop has me jumping. “Was that—”
Romeo flips the table, and plates go crashing. Yanking me down to the
floor, he squats beside me. “Gunfire. Stay here.” He reaches inside his
jacket and pulls out a pistol, placing it in my hand. “There’s no safety, so try
not to shoot me.” With that, he runs out of the room. Toward the gunfire.
Several more rounds of gunfire go off, and then everything becomes
eerily quiet. I wait what feels like a lifetime before the door creaks open.
Peaking over the table with my shaky hand pointing the gun, I lower it with
a sigh when I see it’s Romeo. “Thank God,” I say, standing and running
over to him.
“Come,” he says, taking the gun from me and sticking it in his
waistband. “We need to clear out, in case someone called the cops.”
Following him through the wrecked restaurant—overturned tables and
shattered glass litter the floor, and a mosaic of bullet holes decorate the wall
—a Parisi Construction truck is parked near the door. Two burly men are
carrying a large glass window panel to replace the shattered one.
Another worker has a bucket of white paint, about to cover up the red
spray painted scrawl on the sidewalk, “An eye for an eye. Vengeance is
coming.”
Romeo hurries me along, and I slide in the back of the SUV, him taking
a seat next to me.
“Congratulations,” Luca says, eyeing me in the rearview mirror as we
peel out.
“Thanks, Luca.”
“Yeah, I guess Romeo could have done worse than you,” Sam concedes.
“Thanks, bestie.”
 I twist my ring nervously. I’m not naive; I knew what I was getting into,
but that doesn’t mean I have to like this part of Romeo’s life.
He looks over to me, grabbing my chin. “I can hear you thinking from
over here.”
“Sorry. I’ll try to think quieter,” I snipe, shrugging out of his hold.
“Tell me.”
“What happens next?” I ask instead.
“I’ll drop you off at home, and then I need to take a little trip to AC,” he
says in an eerily calm tone.
“I hate this,” I tell him quietly.
“It won’t be like this always,” he promises. “Where do you want to go
on our honeymoon? Anywhere in the world. You name it, and it’s done.”
I play with my ring—the ring belonging to the last Parisi wife who got
caught up in the crossfire—and Romeo must sense my trepidation. “Stop
fucking thinking,” he growls. “You are mine. End of story.”
It’s not the thinking, but the foreboding about how this story will end
that has my stomach tied up in knots.

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 Chapter
Twenty-Nine

Nicky

I’m seated poolside beneath a large umbrella, taking an online practice test
with Mercutio laying by my feet. Reading the last multiple choice question,
I click on the answer and submit my test for “grading.”
Mercuito suddenly runs off. “Hey, don’t you want to know my score?” I
call after him, but quickly see what’s snagged his attention.
Romeo’s squatting down, giving his dog a playful rub. “What are you
doing hanging all over my woman?”
“I already told you—Mercuito growls at me less than you do.” Smiling,
I run over to Romeo, jumping into his arms and peppering his downturned
lips with kisses. “Please tell me you killed the fucker.”
Romeo growls, and I interpret that as a no. “Take a study break. I want
to show you something.”
“Sure,” I tell him.
He gives me a more thorough greeting with his tongue in my mouth
before placing me on my feet.
I lace my fingers through his as he leads me inside. We walk upstairs to
the end of the hall, and he opens the closet door—except it’s no longer a
storage closet, but a spiral staircase. “I’m intrigued,” I admit.
He flashes a smile, and I follow him up the stairs—revealing a gorgeous
dance studio with floor-to-ceiling mirrors on one wall, a barre spanning the
opposite. “Romeo, this is amazing! You did all this for me?” I ask, my heart
melting.
 “For you to dance.” Taking my hand, he leads me to a door, which I
assume is the storage closet. Opening it, he says, “For you to dance for me.”
I step inside what looks like a small, upscale VIP room, with rich red
carpeting and red walls, a half-circle black leather couch, and a pole on an
elevated platform.
“So this wasn’t a gift for me, but a gift for yourself,” I say, hands on
hips.
“They’re not mutually exclusive,” he says with that gorgeous lopsided
grin of his. Stalking over to the bar, he washes his hands and pours himself
a drink before taking a seat on the couch. “Dance for me,” he commands
over the rim of his crystal glass.
“I’m not warmed up,” I warn.
“Then come here and dance on my fingers,” he says, moving his middle
and index finger in a dirty come here motion.
“I’m on my period,” I warn him as I walk over to him.
“Do I look like I give a fuck?” he says, slamming his drink down.
Grabbing my bathing suit, he rips the one-piece from chest to crotch.
“Jesus!” I gasp.
Discarding the shreds on the floor, he pulls out my tampon by the string.
With his teeth.
“Oh my God, you really are an animal!”
“Mmm,” he murmurs his agreement. Tossing it in a small trash can by
the couch, he pulls me into his lap so I’m straddling him. He runs a finger
through my slit and enters me, pumping and stretching, adding another
finger. “Dance for me.”
Deciding if he’s not worried about my period, I’m not going to worry
about it either, I move my hands to my hair, rocking my hips back and forth
in rhythm with his ministrations.
“Dio, quanto sei sexy,” he murmurs, and my pussy clenches around him
like a vise. His lips curl into a smirk. “This pussy is mine.” He moves his
free hand to my ass, working his way until his finger’s circling my tight
hole. “And this ass is about to be mine,” he promises.
“You’re too big. You’ll rip me in two,” I moan, gripping his right
shoulder as I begin to move faster on his fingers—that familiar tug deep in
my pelvis beckoning me.
“I won’t,” he promises. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt you.”
 I whimper as he removes his fingers from my keyed-up pussy, and he
tsks. “Pazienza,” Opening a drawer on the small table beside the couch, he
retrieves a silver plug. “On your hands and knees,” he orders in a low,
guttural tone.
I’m nervous, but I’m also turned on and curious, so I do as he
commands.
“Has a man ever been in this?” Spreading my cheeks apart, his finger
returns to circling my tight hole.
I shudder. “No.”
“Good girl.” My pussy tingles at those two little words. He squeezes a
bottle of lube—the cold gel hitting my ass causes my entire body to tense.
“Relax,” he murmurs, rubbing the toy back and forth through the lube.
Something hard nudges my hole, and I take a deep breath. “That’s it,”
he praises as he gently pushes the toy inside. There’s a slight burning
sensation, but mainly just an unusual full feeling.
Grabbing onto my hips, he slides his dick back and forth against my
pussy lips before easing inside. He’s already a tight fit, but with the plug in
my ass, it’s an overwhelming sense of fullness. “Fuck, that feels good,
tesoro.”
“Yes,” I moan.
He rocks back and forth, but pulls his dick out—the loss causing my
pussy to clench. “Brace yourself on the couch while you hold this on your
needy little clit,” he orders, handing me a small suction vibrator.
My knees on the floor, I support my upper half on the couch and turn on
the vibrator, placing it on my clit. Looking over my shoulder, I watch as
Romeo cleans off the evidence of my period from his dick using his
discarded shirt.
Our eyes lock as he squeezes out a palmful of lube, running his hand up
and down his huge shaft. “Every part of you belongs to me. Say it.”
A moan escapes my lips—the constant sucking vibration nearly too
much. “I’m close,” I pant.
He rears back and pops my ass cheek with his hand; the sting laced with
a tinge of pleasure as my ass contracts around the plug. “Not what I fucking
asked.”
“You stronzo.” I grit.
He pops me again. The feminist in me hates it, but try telling that to my
pussy. “Yes, every part of me belongs to you!” I growl. “Now fuck my ass
before I come all over myself,” I demand, my entire body begging for
release.
He slides out the plug, and the sweet relief nearly has me coming. “Oh,
God,” I cry.
“Don’t you dare come until I tell you to,” he barks. I move the vibrator
away from my clit, and the loss has me whimpering in frustration. “So
fucking needy.” He chuckles, nudging my tight bud with the crown of his
dick.
“You’re not going to fit,” I tell him.
“Watch me,” he taunts.
Good idea. I turn my head to the side so I can watch us in the mirror—
Romeo’s severely handsome face has a look of determination as he nudges
my ass, and I feel him inch inside. Moving the vibrator back to my clit, we
both moan, but he keeps his body taut as he slowly enters me just a fraction
deeper.
My entire body begins to convulse as he pushes in deeper until finally,
his pelvis is flush with my ass. He lets out a string of Italian, the words
sounding like praise.
“Oh my God,” I cry, my entire body shaking; I have to lower the
vibrator, the sensation becoming nearly too much.
Romeo laughs darkly. “God has nothing to do with all the unholy ways
I’m going to fuck you,” he promises. “Move the vibrator back on your clit.”
I do as instructed, and he begins fucking me with fast, shallow thrusts.
Gripping the couch cushion for dear life, I moan as he whispers words I
don’t understand while he fucks my ass with fast thrusts.
“You ready to come for me, tesoro mio?” He grunts, his movements
becoming jerky, his breathing labored.
“Yes,” I moan, moving the vibrator until I find a spot that makes my
entire body shake.
He yanks me up by my hair so I’m upright on my knees. Circling my
neck with his hand, he gives it a squeeze while whispering all sorts of
filthy-sounding things in Italian.
It’s his dick. It’s his words. It’s the vibrator. It’s the hand necklace.
Maybe it’s a combination of all of the above. Whatever the hell it is, my
body bucks wildly as my ass clenches around his dick. “Romeo!” I scream
like a woman possessed; my orgasm so intense, I can no longer remain
upright.
 Romeo curses in Italian, catching me with an arm banded around my
waist. He holds me there as he thrusts into my ass fast and hard. “Fuck,
Nicky!” He cries as warm jets of cum fill me.
Gently, he pulls his dick out, and my upper half crumbles to the couch.
“I might be dead,” I whisper, my voice scratchy and hoarse.
“You’re not,” he assures me, scooping me up in his arms and carrying
me downstairs.
He cleans us with soapy washcloths, then runs a bath, pouring in some
salt. Picking me up, he places me in the huge jet tub before climbing in
behind me. “Maybe not dead, but this is heaven,” I practically purr, leaning
back against his chest.
“Mmm,” he agrees, wrapping his arms around me.
“Don’t let me fall asleep; I need to go see my mom.”
“I’ll take you,” he tells me, kissing the top of my head.
“Have you ever been around someone with dementia?” I ask.
“No.”
“Hopefully, she’ll be having a really good day, but if not, she might get
agitated and start yelling. Or she might not even remember me—just to
warn you.”
“I’m sorry, tesoro,” he says gently.
“It’s alright,” I whisper.
“It’s not. It’s fucking unfair, and I’m sorry you have to go through it.”
Angling my body so I can look into his hard eyes, I tell him, “Your heart
isn’t black.” I place a tender kiss on my name stamped over his heart.
He jerks me back by my hair, our noses inches from each other’s. “I’m a
bad man, Nicky.”
“We’ll agree to disagree.”
“Whoever came up with that dumb phrase should be put to ground.”
“We’ll agree to disagree.”
He growls, giving me a hard kiss. Climbing out of the tub, he wraps a
towel around his lower half and lends me a hand. “Are you sore?”
“A little.” It’s not exactly painful, but my ass definitely feels stretched.
He frowns as he grabs another towel, gently drying me off. It’s strange
having someone take care of me the way Romeo does. Even in past
relationships, I’ve always kept men at arm’s length. Between school, work,
and taking care of Mom, there just wasn’t room in my life for anyone or
anything else.
 “What?” he demands as we enter the walk-in closet.
Smiling, I trace the thunderbolt over his heart. “Colpo di fulmine,” I say,
or try as best I can. “The Italian thunderbolt.”
“I never believed in it, until I saw you.”
Grabbing his cheeks, I say, “Ti amo.” I love you.
He smirks. “You’d fucking better.”
“Romeo with the sweet sonnets,” I say, batting my eyes and clasping
my hands to together.
“You want sweet words dripping from my tongue, or do you want your
sweet pussy juices dripping from my tongue?” he demands.
“They’re not mutually exclusive.” I use his words against him.
“What have I said about this smart mouth?”
“That you love it?”
Laughing darkly, he pulls up his pants and grabs his belt, snapping it
taut in his hands.
“No! My ass has had enough for one day,” I warn.
“Who said anything about your ass?”
Fuck.
Grabbing a dress off the hanger and a pair of sandals from the shelf, I
dash out of the closet to the bathroom, locking the door. I can hear still him
laughing, but I’m not sure if it’s in jest or in warning.
Dressing quickly, I sneak downstairs to find Francesca dusting the
living room. The thought of this woman cleaning the naughty dance studio
has my cheeks heating, and I make a mental note to sneak up there when we
get back and do it myself.
“Afternoon,” she tells me.
“Good afternoon. Thank you,” I tell her. She’s brought inside my
computer and notebook.
“Of course. You’re going to ace that exam.”
“Thanks. I hope so.”
She shoos my comment away. “You’re smart, just like my
granddaughter, Celeste. She’s a senior in college, studying criminal justice.”
Francesca holds up her phone, showing me a picture.
“She’s beautiful,” I comment. The woman’s around my age, with
gorgeous curly brown hair and an athletic, lean build.
“Thank you,” she says proudly. “Romeo’s so good to her. Pays for her
schooling and apartment. The man really spoils her.”
 “How nice,” I say, giving a tight smile.
“Oh, you didn’t know? I’m sorry. Me and my big mouth. Can I get you
something to eat?”
I shake my head. “Thanks, but I’ll just make myself a smoothie.”
“A smoothie?” she says, like I’ve offended her.
Good, I hope I have offended her. I march to the kitchen, opening the
freezer and grabbing the ingredients before I slam the door. Dumping
everything in the blender—I’m not sure why I’m even bothering, as I’ve
lost my appetite—Romeo appears in the doorway.
“Ready?”
I give him a death glare as I flip on the blender, envisioning a certain
appendage of his chopped and pureed. The cycle finishes, and I pour my
smoothie in a to-go cup. “There’s no reason for you to come with me,” I
finally say.
“Care to tell me why?” He stalks over to me, but I hold up my hand.
“It’ll give you time to go visit your side piece, Celeste. Have fun
spoiling her.” Taking off my ring, I slam it on the counter before grabbing
my smoothie and stomping outside.
“Where’s Enzo?” I demand. Sam and Luca are waiting beside the
running SUV.
“I sent Enzo home. I’ll be driving you and the boss to visit your mom,”
Luca tells me.
Fuck that. Chucking my smoothie at the men, I sprint to the driver’s
seat.
“What the hell, Nicky? These were new shoes!” Sam cries.
I slam and lock the doors before peeling out. Glancing in the rearview
mirror, I watch as Sam and Luca chase after me, waving their arms and
yelling. My foot heavy on the gas, I don’t slow down, at least not until I get
to the gate. Luckily for me, it’s motion-activated, and the gate swings open
before they can catch up to me. Rolling down my window, I fling my
cellphone in the grass, as I’m sure it has a tracker.
I hang my arm out the window, flipping everyone off for good measure
as I peel out of the driveway.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Thirty

Nicky

Hitting the open road, I’m suddenly not so confident about my grand
larceny. Stealing the underboss’ vehicle might not have been the best plan.
Plus, I don’t have Enzo with me, and that’s probably not a smart move after
everything that’s gone down.
Terrible decisions aside, I gave Romeo my heart, and he just destroyed
it. God, could I be any more naive? The bitchy flight attendant was right all
along—I’m nothing special, at least not to a man like Romeo.
Swiping angrily at my eyes, I come to a stop at a red light, unsure of
where I should go. I can’t visit Mom right now—I’m a mess. Plus, that’s the
first place Romeo will look for me.
In for a penny, in for a pound of bad decisions, I pull into the first strip
mall I come across with a hole in the wall bar. Stepping inside, it’s an old-
school sports bar with multiple televisions mounted to the walls, games
competing over each other in volume. It’ll do.
I take a seat at the smoky bar, and a cute bartender around my age
smiles. “You look like you need a drink.”
“An understatement. Whatever lager you have on tap, please.” I would
order something stronger, but I’ll need to be able to drive myself back to my
apartment. My thirty days aren’t up yet, but they will be soon, and I’ll need
to find a new place. Maybe I should look for something closer to the clinic.
The Parisi family clinic, because I’ll be working there. For the rest of my
life. Fuck, how did I get so tangled in this web?
 I give my temples a quick rub, and the bartender returns with my beer.
“On the house.”
“Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.”
“I do. A beautiful woman walks into my bar, it’s on the house,” he tells
me with a friendly smile.
“You’re sweet, thank you. What’s your name?”
“You can read his name in tomorrow’s obituary,” Romeo says in an ice-
cold tone.
Slowing turning around, I narrow my eyes. “You.” The SUV must also
have a tracker. Dammit.
“Me.” He barks something to the bartender in Italian, who shirks away.
Romeo turns his cold eyes back to me as I leisurely take a sip of my
beer. “So let me see if I’ve got this right. You keep a side piece, and that’s
perfectly acceptable, but a man dares to compliment me, and you threaten
to kill him. And you think that’s also perfectly acceptable?”
“Let’s go,” he orders.
I snort out a laugh. “You are fucking delusional if you think I’m going
anywhere with you. We’re through. Take your SUV; you can send my
things to my apartment at your convenience.”
He grabs my neck, jerking my face just inches from his. “You are
fucking delusional if you think I’d ever let you go.”
Prying his hand from my neck, I look around for help, but it’s as if
everyone’s afraid to breathe, let alone spare a glance in our direction.
“Nicky, you can walk out of here, or I can throw you over my shoulder,”
he warns.
“I have to go to the bathroom first,” I say, stalling for time.
“I’ll walk with you.”
“Fine.” Digging through my purse, I throw some bills down as a tip.
Not a soul looks up as we walk to the back of the bar. “Fucking
cowards,” I mutter. We reach the ladies room, and I slam the door in
Romeo’s face, locking him out. Looking around for my escape—yes,
there’s a window! It takes some effort and a few curse words, but I’m
finally able to get the blasted thing open.
Hoisting myself up, I crawl through it, only to run into another wall. An
annoying wall in an expensive suit and strawberry stains on his Italian
loafers. “Nicky, I’d suggest you go back inside and walk out with Romeo,”
Sam warns me.
 Straightening my dress, I say, “No thanks. Cheating is something I
refuse to accept.”
“You saw this cheating with your own eyes?” he challenges.
“No, but I heard it with my own ears. Francesca told me about her
granddaughter, Celeste, and how Romeo keeps her. Pays for her school and
apartment. Spoils her.”
Sam snorts. “Francesca wishes Romeo had a thing for her
granddaughter. I can assure you he does not. Look, we can’t talk about this
in the open, but there’s more to the story.”
“Sure, Sam,” I say dismissively, turning to walk away.
“You run, he’ll just find you. And there’ll be hell to pay,” he warns.
An SUV pulls up—the same one I “borrowed.” I could run, but Sam’s
right. Romeo would find me, so I turn back around and walk to the vehicle.
Romeo appears, not looking happy. Good. He can join the fucking club.
He opens the door and says to Sam and Luca, “Give us just a minute.”
Luca grumbles something but steps out of the vehicle.
Climbing in beside me, Romeo closes the door. Grabbing my chin so
I’ll look at him, he says, “I don’t keep Celeste, not in the way you’re
thinking. Yes, I pay for her college and expenses, but it’s a business
investment. She’s going to be a cop, and I need one on my payroll. That’s it.
There’s no relationship outside of business, and I’ve never had sex with the
woman. Francesca will be dealt with for even insinuating there was
something more.”
My heart wants to believe his words, but my head’s screaming at me not
to be a fool. Shrugging out of his hold, I demand, “How do I know you’re
telling me the truth, and not just want I want to hear?”
“Because I’m fucking telling you the truth. Come here,” he says, pulling
me into his lap. He places my hand over his heart. “This beats only for
you.” He grips me by the chin and pulls my mouth to meet his. I’m tense,
but he kisses and licks and nibbles until I eventually soften. He pulls back,
resting his forehead on mine.
Before I know what’s happening, he jerks me by my arm, and now I’m
sprawled out on my stomach over his lap. He lifts my dress, and his hand
comes down hard on my ass.
“Oww!”
“I’m going to redden this beautiful ass for the stunt you pulled,” he
warns, swatting my ass again. “You left.” Swat. “Alone.” Swat. “Without
your guard.” Swat. “Without your phone.” Swat. “Without your ring.” Swat.
“Do you know how fucking crazy that made me?” he bellows, swatting my
ass hard this time.
“Stop,” I beg, a tear running down my cheek.
“You going to behave from here on out?” he demands.
“Not if you’re keeping other women.”
Massaging my stinging ass, he tells me, “Nicky, I’m not keeping other
women. Ho tutto quello che ho bisogno qui.”
“You can’t Italian sweet-talk your way around this. I want to know it’s
just me. Nobody else,” I demand.
“Who else would there be?” he murmurs, still gently massaging my ass.
“I want to hear you say it.”
Romeo laughs, sending a chill up my spine. “You want to hear me say
my single obsession is you? That every other woman in the world pales in
comparison to you? That my dick turns to stone only for you? Nicky, you
want a blood oath I’ll be faithful only to you?”
He jerks me up to where I’m seated in his lap as he reaches down and
retrieves a knife strapped to his ankle. Pressing the handle into my hand and
wrapping my fingers around it, he leans into the blade positioned at his
chest. “Then I’ll swear it as you flay open my sternum and carve out my
heart; it belongs to you anyway.”
“Jesus Christ!” My mouth agape as I lower the knife. “A simple
acknowledgment you aren’t fucking around with other women will suffice.”
He smiles, ramming the palm of his hand into the blade of the knife I’m
still holding.
“Romeo,” I gasp in shock.
A drop of blood pools there, and he takes my free and clasps it with his
bloody one. “I’m not fucking around with other women. There’s only you,”
he vows, gently squeezing my hand. “Ti giuro che.”
He removes the knife from my hand and places it back at his ankle. “I
told you my dick belongs to you.” He growls. “Don’t make me fucking
repeat myself.” Producing my ring from his pocket, he slides it on my
finger. “Take this off again, and I’ll fuse it to your skin.”
“Mr. Romance,” I snort out a laugh, dabbing the tears from my eyes.
He grabs my face, kissing me hard before raps his knuckles on the
window. “Take us to Silver Court,” Romeo commands as Luca slides
behind the wheel.
 “Hi, Luca,” I say.
“Do not ever get behind the wheel of this vehicle again,” he warns me.
“His little OCD eye was twitching like crazy,” Sam comments.
“Sorry, but tell your boss not to piss me off.”
“Believe it or not, I don’t have a death wish,” Luca informs me.
“Hey, it’s not like I do!”
Both Luca and Sam mutter something in Italian.
I grab my purse and find a wipe, cleaning my hand before grabbing
another and gently dabbing the cut on Romeo’s palm. Finding a small
bandage, I stick it on his wound as he silently watches. Our eyes never
leaving each others, I bring his rough palm to my mouth, placing a sweet
kiss where he made himself bleed for me.
Finding my compact, I open it and cringe at my splotchy reflection; not
to mention the mascara pooling around the corners of my red, puffy eyes
like a raccoon. I grab another wipe and try as best I can to fix this hot mess.
“He spoke the truth—you are beautiful,” Romeo quietly tells me.
“Then if he spoke the truth, you have to let him live,” I say, snapping
my compact closed.
He narrows his eyes. “You would have me show weakness?”
“No, I would have you show restraint. You do not get to kill every man
who dares speak to me.”
“Says who?” he demands.
“Can someone reason with him?” I ask, exasperated.
“I don’t have a death wish either,” Sam quips.
We soon arrive at Silver Court and check in before riding the elevator to
the memory unit. Knocking on Mom’s door, Romeo and I enter to find her
watching television. “Hi, Mom,” I say tentatively.
“Nicky,” she says, and I smile, walking over and hugging her.
“Mom, this is my…” I pause, searching for the right word. Fiancé, too
confusing for her. Lover, too much information. Domineering asshole, too
on the nose. “This is Romeo.”
“Hello, young man,” Mom says.
He takes her hand and presses a kiss to her skin. “Helen, a pleasure.”
“What do you do for a living?” she asks him.
“I’m a business owner.”
“That’s nice. Romeo,” she says his name like she’s trying it out.
“What’s your surname?”
 “Parisi, ma’am.”
“Mom, did you enjoy your art class?” I ask.
“What?”
“Your morning art class?” I gently repeat.
Mom’s eyes have gone vacant—I sadly know this look too well. She
begins waving her hands wildly as she cries out.
“Helen, it’s alright. Let’s go take a little rest,” I say in a calm voice,
leading her to the bedroom. She grabs onto my arm with a death grip,
saying something frantically in Greek.
“It’s alright,” I try to calm her. “Just lay down here and take a little
rest.”
“Knock, knock,” a nurse stands at the door.
“Hello, I’m Nicky. Her daughter,” I whisper the last part as to not upset
Mom any more than she already is. “Helen got a bit overstimulated,” I
explain.
The nurse jumps into action, turning on classical music and closing the
blinds before leading Mom to bed. “Time for your medicine, Helen.”
I walk out of the room on the verge of tears, even though I did warn
Romeo about this exact scenario. “We can try again another day,” I tell him,
plastering on a fake smile.
“Your mom’s Greek?” Romeo asks me quietly.
“Maybe? She was abandoned as a baby at an orphanage and didn’t
know her birth parents. When she was little, she stayed with a Greek family
and learned the language.” Mom never spoke much about her life growing
up, and I never pushed. The times I did ask, it upset her too much. “It’s not
uncommon for someone with dementia to revert back to the language they
spoke as a child,” I explain to him. Sadly, I know too much about this
disease.
“Why did you never learn Greek?” he asks me.
“She only spoke it a few times growing up. It would slip out every now
and then when she was upset. Were you able to catch what she was saying?”
I ask.
“No.”
“Maybe next time, then,” I say sadly.
He holds the door open for me, and I walk to the front desk to speak to
the charge nurse, with Romeo and Sam hanging back.
 Romeo

“Bring me everything there is to know about Helen, and keep fucking

looking for Nicky’s dad,” I tell Sam in Italian.
Whatever language Nicky’s mom was speaking, it wasn’t Greek to me,
or to anyone, because it wasn’t Greek.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Thirty-One

Nicky

I spread out my study materials on the kitchen table, when Mercutio barks
at the back door.
Letting him inside, I give him a scratch behind his ears. “I know what
the beast wants.” Smiling I open the new canister of dog treats, feeding him
one before taking a seat. “Sit with me while I study?” The dog plops down
on my bare feet. Shit, he’s heavy.
“Nicky, I want to apologize if I gave you the wrong impression.”
Francesca sticks her head in the kitchen. Her eyes go wide with alarm as
she spots Mercutio by my side.
He growls softly as I hold onto his collar. “Do you mean that, or did
Romeo threaten your job?” I demand. Or worse.
She starts to answer, but I hold up my free hand, silencing her.
“Francesca, I am going to be Romeo’s wife whether you like it or not. My
advice—don’t try to undermine our relationship again. It will not work out
for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to study.”
“Of course,” she says, ducking her head and walking out.
Mercutio growls again. “That growl for me for overreacting, or because
I let her off the hook too easily?” He doesn’t elaborate as he walks to the
door, and I open it for him.
Two hours later, I can feel my eyes crossing—so many medical facts are
swimming around in my brain, it feels like it’s going to burst. A “study
aneurism;” not a real condition, but one in fifty people in the United States
have an unruptured brain aneurism, and fifty percent who have a ruptured
brain aneurism die of the condition. “Good God, I need a break!”
Walking to my closet, I throw on a black leotard and head upstairs to
my studio. I put on some classical music and spend about thirty minutes on
the barre warming up, but I’m bored. I never thought I’d say this, but a part
of me misses the pole. Sure, the men could be terrible and the hustle
exhausting, but there was something liberating about owning a stage.
Unlocking the naughty dance studio, I flip on the light and turn on more
pole-appropriate music. I watch myself in the mirror, moving my body
organically as I think up a new sequence. I decide on a Juliet spin, as it
looks a bit more elegant. And then I laugh, because I told Romeo when we
first met I wasn’t Juliet. Still smiling, I climb to the top, inverting myself
with an inside leg hang.
“I knew you and my brother were freaks!” Valentina exclaims. “A secret
sex room! Oh my God, is this like Christian Grey shit?”
Damn, I forgot to lock the door. “You’re too young to know about
Christian Grey shit.”
“Please,” she says, rolling her eyes.
And then her eyes go wide as saucers as I drop headfirst to the floor.
This pole isn’t very tall, so it’s not as a dramatic effect as the eighteen-
footer at the club, but she still gasps. “How the hell did you do that?”
Transitioning off the pole, I answer, “Years of pole dance fitness
classes.” Which is true—that’s how I moved so easily into exotic dancing
when times got lean.
“You’ve got to teach me some moves,” she says in awe.
I snort. “No way. If your brother didn’t kill me, Sam would.”
“Oh, come on! I need help; I can’t dance, and prom’s coming up.”
“What do you mean? I thought you took ballet?”
“Yeah, I’m a decent ballerina, but I want to learn sexy moves,” she tells
me.
“Why?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Why not? It’d be good to have a few tricks in my bag.”
“We talking sexual bag?”
“Maybe.”
“Have you had sex before?” I ask, even though it’s none of my business.
“After Nico died, Papà wasn’t so psycho about guarding my chastity.
He’d still probably blow a gasket if he found out I’m not a virgin, but it
wouldn’t be as epic of a blowup. At least, I think I’m not a virgin. It might
not count?”
“How would it not count?” I ask, confused.
“My very first boyfriend, his dick was so small, I’m not sure my hymen
broke. Hell, I wasn’t even sure he was inside me until I hurt his feelings by
asking when he was going to stick it in. It was already in.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, choking down a laugh. “If it makes you feel better,
most people’s first time sucks.”
“It doesn’t make me feel better, but you know what would?” she asks,
perking up. “You giving me some pole dance lessons.”
“Valentina, wait for the right guy who doesn’t need seducing. A guy
who’s into you for you,” I encourage.
“A nice Italian boy who doesn’t need seducing, who’s into me for me,
and not the Parisi name. Pray tell, where do I find this unicorn?” She asks,
finger on her chin.
“Brax isn’t this unicorn?”
“Nope. Brax and I have no future, even if he were Italian. He’s moving
cross-country for a baseball scholarship. It would never work.”
“Do you love him?” I ask.
She considers for moment. “No, I’ve never been in love. What’s it
like?”
“Infuriating.” I smile wistfully.
“Sign me up!” she says with a laugh.
“You never saw this room,” I tell her sternly, turning off the music and
ushering her out as I lock the door behind me.
“I never saw your pleasure room,” she calls. “I’ll meet you at the pool.”
Closing up my other dance studio, I take a quick shower before joining
Valentina outside.
“Before you stick your nose in that book—” She stops mid-sentence,
her eyes falling to my sparkling engagement ring. “Why did no one tell
me?” She grabs my hand, examining my ring.
“We got engaged at Daniella’s, but then the restaurant got shot up.
Romeo’s been a bit preoccupied dealing with the aftermath,” I explain.
“Flimsy excuse, but the ring is stunning. One thing about my brother—
he does have good taste.”
I give a soft smile. “It was his mom’s ring.”
 “Oh my God!” she squeals. “The big, bad Romeo is a mushy heart
romantic! Have you told Nonna?”
“About Romeo’s mushy heart?”
She laughs. “About the engagement, smart ass.”
I shake my head. “We’re going to break the news tomorrow night.”
She squeals again, hugging my neck, and I can’t help but get caught up
in her bubbly enthusiasm. “I have to plan this wedding!”
“Only if I can hire your company.”
“But I don’t have a company,” she protests.
“Then I suggest you get busy.”
She laughs. “You’re perfect for my brother’s grumpy ass.”
“Thank you, I think? Also, I wanted to ask if you’d be my maid of
honor?”
“I’d love to! This is so exciting! I live for weddings!” She claps
excitedly.
“God, I can smell the estrogen from here,” Sam calls from across the
courtyard.
“Hold your breath. I’ll let you know when it’s safe. Might be a few
minutes,” Valentina tells him. “Have you set a date?” she asks me.
“No.” I shake my head. “We haven’t gotten that far yet. Just to warn
you, there won’t be much planning. I want a small, simple wedding.”
“Oh, you poor, naive thing,” she says, patting my arm.
“Yep,” Sam adds, having walked over to us.
“How are you speaking? You’re supposed to be holding your breath.”
He moves lightning-fast, grabbing Valentina from her lounge chair.
“No!” she squeals, but he’s already tossed her into the pool with a
splash. “You asshole!” she cries when she surfaces, shoving the wet hair
from her face.
“Change your bathing suit. I’m going to have to wash my hands now
that I touched your bare ass.” He makes a face.
“Vaffanculo!” Valentina shouts. She goes to splash him, but he’s already
moved out of the line of fire.
“Nicky, Paulie needs you inside to update some security features,” Sam
tells me.
“I’ll be planning your wedding while also planning Sammy’s funeral,”
Valentina tells me.
 “If you kill him, just don’t get any blood on my book,” I warn her,
throwing on my coverup.
Stepping inside, I track down Paulie and follow him to the game room.
“I need to add you to the panic room,” he tells me, opening the secret door.
“Place one eye in front of the sensor and look straight ahead.”
I do so, and it beeps green before he types something into a tablet. “Got
it. Now move away from the sensor and do it again.”
I do as instructed. The light beeps green again, and this time, the door
swings open.
“Get her squared away?” Romeo asks from behind us.
“Yes, boss,” Paulie says.
“Good. Nicky, follow me,” Romeo commands. He takes my hand and
leads me to the master bedroom closet. Moving one side of the Persian rug
out of the way, he picks up the chaise lounge.
“That is too heavy for you to be lifting,” I say, hands on my hips. He
ignores me as he sits it down, before picking me up and carrying me over to
the cleared spot. “Bullhead,” I say when he places me down. “What is
this?”
He answers by lifting up boards of hardwood. I glance down into the
dark hole, and I make out a set of stairs. My heart’s suddenly beating a mile
a minute, and I take a deep breath, trying not to let this spiral.
“If you can’t get to the safe room, this tunnel puts you out past the fence
and tree line,” Romeo explains. “I hope you don’t ever have to use it, but I
want you to know what to do, just in case.”
He extends his hand, and I wipe my sweaty hand on my dress before
taking his. He helps me down a seemingly endless set of metal stairs. We
keep going, finally reaching the bottom of a dark, dank hallway. Oh my
God, it’s my worst nightmare come to life! Sliding to the ground, I feel like
I can’t breathe.
“Nicky, what’s wrong?” Romeo demands, but I can’t speak, the sound
of my hyperventilating echoing through the tunnel. Before I know what’s
happening, Romeo scoops me up and carries me up the stairs. He sits me
down on the bed and returns a moment later with a glass of whiskey.
Focusing on deep breaths, I take the glass—knocking the amber liquid
back. The whiskey burns something awful going down my throat, and I
cough violently before handing him the empty glass. “How do you drink
that shit?” I demand.
 “What happened back there?” he asks gently.
“I’m so embarrassed,” I whisper, covering my hands over my face.
He takes a seat beside me, jerking my hands away. “Don’t be
embarrassed. Be motivated.”
“What?”
“This fear you have could be used against us by my enemies. Whatever
you have to do, whatever it takes, do it so you can walk down those stairs
and down that tunnel. Because if things ever go to shit, there’s no time for a
panic attack.”
“Thanks for the love,” I say sourly.
“Tough love,” he corrects me, kissing the top of my head.
Pass my exam. Learn Italian. Become an expert marksman. Overcome
an irrational fear of underground tunnels. It’s good to have goals.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Thirty-Two

Romeo

“Give me an update on Matteo,” I ask Luca, kicking my feet up on my

desk.
“Nothing out of the ordinary. It would help if I could tell my guy what
to be out the lookout for,” Luca says.
“That’s the problem—I don’t know.”
“Knock, knock,” Valentina says, entering my office holding a tray.
“Don’t forget, I’m leaving early to get ready for prom.” She hands me a
latte with a leaf design, then hands Luca a similar one. “Last, and probably
least,” she announces, handing Sam a latte with a dick and balls drawn with
foam.
He snorts. “You need a bigger cup if you’re going for anatomically
correct.”
“Don’t talk like that to my baby sister,” I warn him.
“Not a baby. Adult here, remember?” Valentina huffs. “Romeo, I’d like
to discuss a business proposal with you.”
My brow arches in surprise. “I’m listening.”
“Are you wanting to trademark this latte dick art? I’m not sure you’d
have much of a market,” Sam says, taking a sip.
“Annoying men with inflated egos and under-inflated dicks? I’m sure
there’s a niche market.” Valentina smiles sweetly at him.
“You have ten minutes,” I warn my sister.
“Be right back,” she says, grabbing the tray and dashing out.
“This ought to be good.” Sam snorts.
 “As good as that dick foam on your lip?” Luca asks, and Sam flips him
off after wiping his mouth.
Valentina returns with two binders, handing me one. She clears her
throat. “Can the audience please disburse?”
“Nine minutes,” I say, looking at my watch.
“Ugh, fine. Romeo, I want you to invest in my event planning business,
‘Party Principessa.’” She gives Sam a smug look. Returning her attention
to me, she says, “If you’ll flip to pages one and two in your binder, I’ve laid
out my business plan. Page three is my marketing strategy. I’ve dedicated
thirty percent of the first year’s budget to advertising and networking
events. Page four is a balance sheet with estimated income. Page five is my
proposal—I’m asking for $200,000 in exchange for a ten percent stake in
my company.”
“You’re valuing your startup company at two million dollars?” I balk.
“My company is me, and I’m worth more than that,” she retorts.
“Elevator pitch?” I ask.
“Weddings. Birthday parties. Bridal showers. Baby showers. Whatever
your party needs, this party princess will make sure you receive the royal
treatment.”
“Catchy. Do you have any prospective clients lined up?”
She smiles brightly. “Only the wedding of the season.”
“Whose wedding?” I ask.
“Yours and Nicky’s. She’s already on board,” she tells me excitedly.
If Nicky’s on board, then I’m on board. Except I don’t tell that to
Valentina, as this is good negotiating practice for her. “I’ll give you
$100,000 for twenty percent, with the stipulation Corner Caffè has the
exclusive contract for supplying coffee and pastries, and Daniella’s has the
exclusive contract for supplying wine and Italian food.”
“One hundred thousand for fifteen percent,” she counters. “And I’ll
agree to those stipulations, as long as your vendors prices are reasonable. I
won’t be shaken down,” she warns.
Grabbing my phone, I call my lawyer on speakerphone, relaying the
details of the agreement. “Type it up and let me know when it’s ready, and
Valentina and I will drop by to sign the paperwork.”
Hanging up, I say, “Once the paperwork’s squared away and your
company’s registered and the bank account set up, I’ll wire your funds.”
“Clean money,” she demands.
 “No such thing,” I inform her. “We have a deal?” I ask, extending my
hand.
“Deal,” she says, and we shake on it. “Thank you!” She squeals,
hugging me.
“Good job, Valentina,” Luca tells her.
“Thanks. What, no comment from the peanut gallery?” she asks Sam.
“I’m too much in shock to come up with anything,” he admits.
She smirks. “Good. Stay that way.” With that, my sister triumphantly
exits my office.
“What just happened?” Sam asks, mouth hanging open.
“Romeo got shaken down, that’s what happened.” Luca chuckles.
Probably so.
Grabbing my burner phone from my desk, I get back to business, letting
each capo know I’m in search of a package, and a $20,000 finder’s fee will
go to the family member who brings it to me in good condition. A very
slow, tortuous death awaits John Davis for fucking up Nicky’s engagement.
Ending the last call, I check the security feed on my phone—Nicky’s
wearing a sexy red bikini studying by the pool, with Mercutio sprawled out
beside her. I never thought I’d be jealous of my dog. “What have you
learned about Nicky’s mom?” I ask Sam, closing the screen.
“I can’t find Helen’s birth certificate, but that’s not surprising if she was
abandoned as a newborn,” Sam reports. “Can’t find anything about her in
the New York or Florida foster care systems, but she could’ve flown
underneath the radar. Helen and Nicky moved to Tampa when Nicky was
around five. Helen operated cash under the table as a cleaning lady. No
criminal history. No voter history. No credit. She’s practically a ghost.”
“Makes sense if she was hiding from an abusive asshole,” Luca
comments.
“And this abusive asshole?” I ask.
“I have less to go on with the father than I do Nicky’s mother,” Sam
complains.
“What about the DNA test results?” I demand.
“I’m waiting to hear back from Tommy whether he’s found a familial
hit in the NPD database,” Luca says. The cops maintain a DNA database
under the radar. I don’t give a shit what they do, as long as my family and I
stay off their database and their radar.
 “Tommy better keep his fucking mouth shut. I don’t want Antonio
catching wind of this,” I warn.
“I’ll make sure Darius puts the fear of God in the little shit,” Luca
promises.
Sam opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it.
“Go ahead. Let’s hear it.” I wave my hand.
“Someone tried to take you out, and Nicky just so happened to be there
to save the day and work her way into the family,” Sam says.
“And?” I say, my trigger finger twitching.
Sam must notice because he holds up his hands. “And I’m just pointing
out facts. I’m going to grab something to eat.”
“Ask Valentina if she has any of those bomboloni ballsacks to go with
your dick latte,” Luca suggests. Sam flips Luca off again before leaving my
office.
I open my safe, handing Luca an envelope of cash. “For Tommy. As
soon as Celeste finishes the police academy, we need to sever ties with
Tommy. Permanently.”
“Fine by me. He’s a shifty motherfucker,” Luca says, but he doesn’t
leave.
“Do you share Sam’s concerns about Nicky?” I ask Luca. He’s a man of
few words, but when he does speak, I pay attention.
He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I respect the hell out of Nicky.
She’s worked her ass off to make something of herself. Sam would never
admit it, but his own baggage is clouding his judgment about your girl.”
“And Antonio was worried my dick’s clouding mine,” I admit.
“It doesn’t matter if anyone else has concerns; the question is do you?”
Luca asks.
“About Nicky? No,” I say with conviction. “But something about her
mom isn’t sitting right.”

Nicky
“What do you think? Should we go down there?” I ask Mercutio, who’s
watching me peek into the pit of despair, as I’m now calling it. “Will you be
my emotional support dog?”
He plops down, letting out a huff.
“I agree. Nobody in their right mind would want to go down there,” I
say, placing the flooring back and fixing the rug. After I drag the chaise
with effort, my phone buzzes, and I grab it from the nightstand.
What are you and Mercutio doing?

Sighing, I text back a reply to Romeo.

I would ask what you’re doing, but I already know the answer.
Spying on me.

My woman. My house. And I thought my dog. I’ll pick you up

at 5:00.

That gives me time to dance. Show starts in 30 minutes if

anyone’s interested.

“Come on, Mercutio. This show isn’t for you. Back outside with
Paulie,” I tell him, and he follows me downstairs.
Letting him outside, I return to the bedroom, changing into a see-
through mesh black bra and thong. Francesca’s been ducking me, but I still
think it prudent to throw on a robe. Searching for my shoes, I can’t find a
single pair of my pleasers. Unless Mercutio turned them all into chew toys,
my guess is the controlling asshole threw them away when he moved my
things, along with my pink wig.
His loss.
Walking upstairs, I unlock my secret studio, making sure to lock the
door behind me this time. There’s a small storage closet I’ve never opened
before. Turning the knob, I hit pay dirt—bras and thongs and a row of sexy
pleasers. What do you know? All in my size.
Selecting a pair of peep-toe black pleasers, I stand, testing my footing.
Feels good, so I start my warmup routine of dynamic stretching before
easing into the splits. My phone buzzes, and I grab it from my robe pocket.

Tonight, I want you straddling my dick with your legs spread

just like that.
 Scanning the room as my pussy clinches, I can’t find the camera. My
phone buzzes again.

You won’t find them. Take off the robe.

I was supposed to be in control of this little show, but leave it to Romeo

to take charge. I do as he commands, tossing the robe across the room.
Running my hands over my tits and through my hair, I flip over, flat on my
back as I do a reverse summersault, now on my feet.
I walk across the room to turn on music, but a song starts to play.

Romeo

Opening my desktop for a bigger screen, I’ve now got a front row seat to
this private show; my dick’s already throbbing at the prospect.
I watch with rapt attention as Nicky moves her body sensually, her back
to the pole. She tweaks her nipples before moving her hand down, toying
with her pussy over that barely-there thong.
My hand itches to knock hers away, taking control. Instead, I unbuckle
my belt, my fingers making quick work of the button and zipper. Freeing
my dick, I watch as she grabs the pole over her head, easily swinging
herself around. Her scantily-clad body moves so gracefully, and I’m
questioning why I didn’t leave work early to get home for the in-person,
VIP treatment.
She spins upside down before turning right-side up and letting go of the
pole, her feet gliding to the floor. Unfastening her bra, she covers her tits
with her hands as she pulls one bra strap off, then the other, now hiding her
bare tits in her hands.
“Let me see my tits,” I growl.
As if she can hear me, she moves her hands to her hair, and I get a view
of those perfect tits before she peels off the thong—her bare pussy on
display for me and me alone. “That’s it,” I say, stroking my dick harder.
 “No,” I groan when she walks out of camera view; I’m going to have to
fix this blind spot problem. “What are you doing, naughty girl?”
She answers by returning a moment later with the vibrator in her hand,
dancing while twirling it in her fingers like a baton.
“Like where this is going,” I hum, jerking my dick harder.
Backing up to the pole, she reaches one arm above her head and the
other down to her pussy, placing the vibrator on that beautiful clit of hers.
She arches her back in ecstasy, swaying her hips as she pleasures herself.
Fuck, just when I thought my woman couldn’t get any sexier. There’s no
volume, but her throaty little moans and whimpers play on repeat in my
mind anyway, so I can fill in the blanks.
I watch Nicky get herself off while jerking my dick to the point of pain.
Her mouth makes a sexy O shape, and I stroke faster—my spine tingling as
my balls draw up. “Fuck!” I cry, coming all over my hand.
Nicky’s not far behind, and I watch her beautiful body shake and
convulse before she drops the vibrator and slides to the floor.
Cleaning up my mess, I put my dick away before grabbing my phone
and texting her.

Same time next week.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Thirty-Three

Nicky

We arrive at my future in-laws’ palace—er, I mean home—with Nonna

waiting for us at the front door.
“Nicky!” Nonna says excitedly, pulling me in for a double-cheek kiss.
I hold up my left hand, and she squeals in delight, animatedly saying
something in Italian as she greets her grandson, then Sam and Luca. “Come.
We celebrate. You hungry?” she asks as she leads us inside.
“Starved,” I say, having learned my lesson about turning down Nonna’s
food.
“Hey, Nicky! Come upstairs while I finish getting ready,” Valentina
calls.
Feeling Romeo’s eyes on me—I’m gathering he enjoyed the private
show—I give my hips an extra shake as I glide up the stairs.
“Are you excited about tonight?” I take a seat on Valentina’s bed,
watching her put the finishing touches on her makeup.
“I’m holding my breath,” she admits. “I can’t be sure Papà won’t pull
the rug out from under me as I’m walking out the door, telling me I can’t
go.”
“Would he be that cruel?”
“Antonio Parisi?” she asks incredulously.
“But you’re eighteen now.”
She shrugs. “Parisi prison, Parisi rules.”
“Which dress did you decide on?” I ask.
 “One moment.” She places the cap on her lipstick and walks inside her
closet. When she returns, she’s wearing a black strapless bodycon dress and
killer heels, holding a longer gown by the hanger.
“You look amazing, but are you sure the prison guards are going to let
you walk out of the house in that?”
“One step ahead of you,” she says, taking the gown off the hanger and
slipping it on over the short dress. “Zip me up, please.”
I walk behind her, zipping up the floor length, demur mermaid gown
over the secret dress. “You devious little thing,” I tell her.
“Hey, it’s by necessity.”
I follow her downstairs to the living room, where Nonna snaps pictures
with her cellphone and speaks excitedly in Italian.
Antonio joins us. Looking at his daughter without a hint of a smile, he
announces, “Sammy, you’ll drive Valentina.”
“Come on! Please, Papà, let me drive myself. I’m just going to Tory’s
house down the street. I’m spending the night at her house, remember?”
“I shouldn’t let you go to begin with because of the disrespect—a boy
comes to my house and looks me in the eyes when taking out my daughter.”
“Papà, all my friends are meeting at Tory’s house for pictures and then
we’re taking a limo as a group,” she says, exasperated.
“Sammy will drive you,” he repeats with finality.
Valentina kisses her dad on both cheeks, then her brother and Nonna,
before giving me a hug. “Just try to ignore Sam and have a good time,” I
whisper in her ear.
“Easier said than done.” She shoots daggers at Sam as she walks out.
“Make sure no boys try to sneak into Tory’s house after the dance,”
Antonio tells Sam; he nods, walking out. And there goes Valentina’s big
evening.
Antonio checks his phone, telling something to Romeo in Italian.
Romeo kisses me quickly before following his dad down the hall.
“Always business.” Nonna waves her hand. “Nicky, come with me.” I
follow her, taking a seat on the barstool as she pours us each a generous
glass of limoncello.
“Did Romeo go to prom?” I ask, taking a sip.
“Wait here,” she says, returning a few minutes later with a photo album.
She opens the album to a picture of a stunning woman around my age with
lustrous black hair and kind brown eyes. “Romeo’s mamma”
 “She’s beautiful,” I say.
“Si.” She flips the page to a wedding photo of Daniella and Antonio.
“They looked so happy,” I comment.
“My son’s one true love. After Daniella died, he was never the same,”
she says sadly. “I pitied his second wife, Valentina’s mamma. The woman
was a, what’s the word?” She pauses. “Ditz. Poor thing had to live in the
shadow of a ghost.”
“Hard to compete, I’m sure. Where is Valentina’s mom?” I ask.
“Dead,” she makes the sign of the cross and kisses her crucifix.
“Valentina just out of diapers. Plastic surgery gone bad. See these
wrinkles?” She points to her face. “Proof of a good life.”
She keeps flipping, with later photos featuring a very pregnant Daniella,
and finally, Daniella proudly holding Romeo. “Aww, he was such a cute
baby.” I smile at the little bundle with a head full of inky-black hair.
“Yes. You and Romeo will make cute great grandbabies for me.” I try
not to choke on my limoncello as she flips to a page and stops, her hand
dramatically over her heart. “This the day Daniella died,” she says, showing
me the picture.
“How old was Romeo?” I ask, holding my hand to my head. Something
in the crevices of my mind is wanting desperately to come to light.
“Eight.”
“May I?” I ask.
She hands over the album, and I take a closer look. An eight-year-old
Romeo’s wearing a school uniform—a navy suit with a St. Andrew logo.
Jumping out of my chair, I drop the album and run to the bathroom,
retching before I can reach the toilet.

Romeo

“Tell me you have good news about Eddie,” Antonio demands.

 “I don’t,” I answer, not going to sugarcoat it. “We could just send non-
traceable remains back to Philly and wash our hands of it.”
Antonio shoots down that idea. “If Crazy Cappozi finds out we’re
conning him, that would be worse than doing nothing.”
I shrug. “Then we do nothing. Carlo gave us no notice one of his family
members was going to be in our territory.”
“What about this Matteo connection?” he demands.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on him, but so far nothing.”
He sighs, tenting his fingers together in contemplation before making a
call. “Matteo. Come to my office. We have business to discuss.”
“Sure, boss. I’m actually on my way to Newark right now with the
package Romeo wants. Give me about two hours.” I smile in anticipation;
could this day get any better?
“Excellent. We’ll meet you at the drop-off point.”
Antonio hangs up, and he tells me, “I’ll meet you there, in case Matteo
needs to be strung up alongside John Davis.” My old man hasn’t gotten his
hands dirty in some time, but he’ll make an exception if we learn Matteo
was ratting us out to Philly.
Exiting Antonio’s office, I meet Luca in the hall, and we walk to the
family room. “What’s wrong?” I ask Nonna. She has a strange look on her
face.
“Nicky saw a picture. Made her sick,” she says, jerking her head toward
the bathroom. “Pregnant?”
“What picture?” I demand, and Nonna shows me.
“She pregnant?” Nonna hopefully asks again.
“Maybe?” I answer, and Nonna claps her hands together in delight.
“I’m not pregnant,” Nicky yells through the bathroom door.
“Nicky, I’m coming in,” I call.
“Don’t.” Ignoring her, I enter the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
“Watch where you step.” She’s on the floor, hugging the toilet.
“Are you alright?” I ask, squatting down behind her and pulling her hair
back from her face, tucking it behind her ears.
“I think so,” she says weakly. “Maybe something I ate earlier isn’t
sitting well.” Flushing the toilet, she moves to the sink and rinses out her
mouth before washing her hands. I can’t help but notice them shaking like a
leaf.
Following her out of the bathroom, I say, “Nonna, we’re gone.”
 “Go. Stop at the drug store and get three pregnancy tests. Let me
know!” she calls after us.
Walking outside, Luca opens the door for us, and I climb in after Nicky.
She lays her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. “I can just stay at
my apartment for the night; I don’t want to risk giving anyone a stomach
bug if that’s what this is.”
“To my house,” I order Luca, ignoring her asinine suggestion.
My phone buzzes. Looking at the message just forwarded to me from
Luca, our eyes lock in the rearview. I told Sam there was no business I
wouldn’t trust him with. Turns out I was wrong.
We arrive home, and I scoop Nicky up in my arms. “I can walk,” she
says weakly.
I ignore her protests as I carry her upstairs, where she goes to the
bathroom to brush her teeth. She walks out, and I grab her and toss her over
my shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?” Carrying her to the closet, she
starts to panic when she sees the escape tunnel open. “Romeo, no!”
She screams and thrashes wildly as I carry her all the way down.
Placing her on her feet, she slinks to the floor, wrapping her arms around
her knees. “Why are you doing this to me?” She sobs.
“Because I want you to remember.”

Nicky, five-years old

“Did you see it?” I ask, running into Mamma’s arms. She picks me up and
peppers my cheeks with kisses.
“I did! The best little ballerina I’ve ever seen!”
“Where’s Papà?” I ask, looking around.
“He had to work, sugar plum.”
 “Oh.” Papà always has to work. He’s very busy, but when does let me in
his office, I can sit on his lap behind his big desk, and he gives me a piece
of chocolate wrapped in pretty gold foil. But if any of my uncles come, I
have to leave so they can talk business. I have lots of uncles who come to
the house all the time to talk to Papà.
“Let’s stop and get some gelato to celebrate,” Mamma suggests.
“Yay! I want strawberry! No, chocolate!”
Mamma smiles. “How about both?”
“This is the best day ever!” I say, jumping up and down.
Franco walks behind us. He’s big and a little bit scary, but Mamma says
we need him to protect us. I told Mamma I could protect us, because I’m a
ballerina and a superhero. I have a cape and everything.
After gelato—I only spilled a little bit on my tutu—we go home.
“There’s my stellina,” Tata says, hugging me.
“Bath and bed, please,” Mamma says to my nanny, Sophia—but I call
her Tata.
“I want to tell Papà good night,” I whine.
“He’s busy, sugar plum. Maybe we’ll see him tomorrow at breakfast.”
“Come with me,” Tata says, taking my hand. “Sticky fingers,” she says,
making a face, and I giggle.
After a bath where my mermaid recuses the pirate, I brush my teeth
because I’m a big girl, but Tata still likes to brush them after I get finished.
“I want to seep in my rainbow tutu,” I beg.
Tata sighs. “Child, if it will get you to go to bed, then you can wear it.”
As I snuggle into bed with my lion stuffie, Tata reads me a story and
kisses the top of my head. “Buona notte, Gianna.”
I try to go to sleep, but a loud noise has me jumping out of bed and
running to Tata’s room next to mine. “Tata, I’m scared,” I cry.
She gets out of bed and throws on her robe. “It’s just a storm,
angioletta. Let’s go back to bed.” She takes my hand, and we walk out of
her room. A loud bang sounds from downstairs, then a bunch of pops.
“What’s—”
She places a hand over my mouth as she picks me up and runs into my
room. Closing the door quietly, she opens the closet door and steps inside
with me. “Be quiet, angioletta,” she whispers, her hand still on my mouth.
Another pop sounds closer, and Tata begins running her hand along the
floor of my closet. I don’t know what’s happening; it’s dark and hard to see
anything.
“I’m going to sit you down. Not a word,” she warns quietly as she
places me on my feet. Falling to her knees, she’s looking for something on
the wall.
The light turns on in my room, and I slap both hands over my mouth as
Tata opens a small door I never knew was in my closet. She crawls inside
and holds out her hand for me.
Reaching out my hand, I freeze when the closet door opens. I want to
scream, but I don’t dare make a sound. An older boy’s wearing a blue
school suit—like the one I wear to Catholic school, only the patch is
different. He looks at me, his face covered in something red; he’s holding
my lion stuffie in one hand, and gun in the other.
He silently hands me my lion, and I just stare at him for a second before
I take it.
“Gia,” Tata whispers, reaching out her hand.
“Go, and don’t ever come back to Jersey,” the boy tells me quietly,
closing the door.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Thirty-Four

Nicky

“Nicky,” Romeo says gently, and I open my eyes.

“It was you,” I whisper, my voice sounding small.
“Yes,” he says, sliding down beside me the stone floor.
“Oh my God, Helen is Tata! She’s not my mother; she was my nanny.”
Rocking back and forth, I mumble, “This isn’t true. This is a dream.”
“Not a dream.” He pinches my arm hard.
“Ouch!” I say, rubbing the spot.
“Nicky—”
“Have you known this entire time?”
He shakes his head. “No. I just found out this evening. Your DNA test
came back a familial match with Maximo Russo,” he says, pulling up a
report on his phone and handing it to me.
There it is in black and white—99.999999999% percent probability
Maximo Russo is my father. Romeo takes his phone back, deleting the
message.
“I’m a Russo. Your enemy.” The implication hits me like a ton of bricks.
“You’re going to kill me.”
“Nicky,” he says gently. “Sei la mia anima gemella.”
“What does that mean?” I cry.
“You’re my other half. My soul. I could no more kill you now than I
could kill that little girl in the rainbow tutu.”
“Your father—”
“Will die before he touches you,” he vows.
 “Tell me everything,” I beg, dabbing at the tears threatening to fall.
He shakes his head, squeezing my thigh comfortingly. “Tesoro, it will
only hurt you.”
“Tell me anyway. No more secrets. I want to know the truth.”
He takes a deep breath, and says, “I was just a kid, so I wasn’t involved
with the inner workings of my family. I knew we were at war with your
family—the Russos.”
“Did my family kill your mom?”
“Yes, but I still don’t know what brought things to a head. All I know is
I was hugging my mamma’s lifeless body on the sidewalk. After that,
everything changed. Antonio pulled me out of school, and I was taught at
home by a tutor. My childhood died along with Daniella that day,” he says
quietly.
“God, I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“Yours died too that day,” he says gently.
“How did your men get inside my house?” I ask.
“Antonio had one of our men on the inside.”
“What was his name?” I demand.
“Franco.”
“Mamma’s guard,” I say, swallowing down a sob.
He nods. “I followed Antonio and Sam’s dad inside that evening after
our soldiers busted down the doors. We went up to your parents’ room.”
“And Antonio killed them,” I finish for him, rage coursing through my
veins.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I did.”
Standing, I take off in a dead sprint down the dimly lit corridor.
Romeo curses, and it’s not long before he catches up to me, jerking me
to a stop. I fight against him, and he shouts, “Nicky, fucking stop! You need
to hear this.”
I try to pull away from him, but he won’t let me. “Your mamma was
brave, just like you. She hid in the closet, jumped out and surprised us.”
“Why did you have to kill her?” I shout, pounding on his chest, the tears
blinding my eyes.
“Your mamma killed Sam’s dad,” he explains. “Shot him in the head.”
“I’m going to be sick,” I say, and he scoops me up before I crumble to
the floor, leading me back to where we started. He takes another seat with
me in his lap.
 “Antonio ordered me to kill Carlota, but I couldn’t. Threw up
everywhere and thought I was going to pass out. That pissed Antonio off, so
he had her tied down to the bed, was going to rape her while me and your
father watched. I couldn’t let that happen, so I put a bullet in her head.”
A broken sob escapes my mouth, but he barrels on. “Then Antonio
ordered me to kill your father. I did, because that’s what good soldiers do,”
he says, running a shaky hand through his hair.

Romeo, nine-years old

Antonio and his men storm out of the room in search of the safe, leaving me
alone with two dead bodies. Staring at their empty eyes, that’s all I feel too.
Empty.
Somehow, I’m able to make my feet to move, and I stumble out of the
room and open the first door I come to. I flip on the light—it’s a little girl’s
room with a princess castle in the corner, and a vase of red flowers on the
dresser. Red, like the color of the blood I just shed, that coats me now like a
second skin. I don’t believe in God—not after what happened to Mamma—
but I still pray this little girl is far, far away from this house.
I grab a lion toy from the floor, confused as to why there’s red on it,
until I realize it’s blood from my fingertips.
That’s when I hear it. A small rustling sound coming from the closet.
Raising my gun, I tiptoe over and open the door. A tiny little girl in a
rainbow tutu stands there, sweet little eyes wide with terror.
A woman’s hand appears from a small trap door in the corner of the
closet. “Gia,” she whispers.
I hold out the lion for the little girl, and after what feels like a lifetime,
she takes it. “Go, and don’t ever come back to Jersey,” I warn her, closing
the door.
I get busy, dragging a petite housekeeper’s body down the hall and into
the little girl’s room. It takes everything I’ve got to hoist the dead woman
up and into the bed. Covering her, I pump a few bullets into the covers and
smear the blood on my hands all over the bedding.
“Torch this motherfucker,” I hear Antonio order in the hallway.
“Wait, what about the girl?” I hear someone ask.
“I killed her,” I lie, stepping out into the hallway.
Antonio smiles, peering over to the little girl’s blood-soaked bed.
“That’s my boy.”
I wish it weren’t true.

Nicky

“I remember.”
God, so much makes sense now. The dreams. I really was in that dark
tunnel, terrified and crying. My love of red dahlias. Mamma had a flower
garden. I used to walk barefoot in the backyard while she tended to her
flowerbeds—the red ones were always my favorite.
“Helen—I mean Tata—she wasn’t speaking Greek, but Italian,” I say,
shaking my head.
“Not Italian,” Romeo corrects me. “Likely Sicilian, which shares
similarities, but is a different language, one I don’t speak.”
“You saved my life. Why?” I demand, anger taking over. “Why didn’t
you kill me? Isn’t that what good soldiers do?”
“It is what good soldiers do, but I couldn’t. Because I’m not Antonio.”
“Maybe not, but you’re still a Parisi! The same Parisi that killed my
family!”
“You want vengeance?” He pulls a gun from his waistband, placing it in
my hand. Moving the barrel to his temple, he says softly, “Then take it. I’d
still die a happy man because I got to love you.”
I told Romeo I trusted my life in his hands, but by a cruel twist of fate,
his life is now in mine. The question is, what am I going to do with it?
 Holding the gun to his head, I look into his eyes. The same cold eyes of
my family’s killer; the same cold eyes of my savior all those years ago.
A sob escapes my lips as I lower the gun and bury my head into his
chest. He rubs circles on my back while speaking soothing words in Italian.
Switching to English, he says gently, “It’s alright, Nicky.”
“Nicky,” I say with an acrid laugh. “I’ve been Nicky for so long, but I
find out it’s a lie; I’m really Gia.” Helen—I mean Tata—called me Gia; I
should have listened to her.
He takes the gun I didn’t realize I’m still holding, and holsters it before
grabbing my chin. “You’re whoever the fuck you want to be, as long as
you’re mine.”
That elicits another laugh from me, this one hysterical. “I told you I
wasn’t Juliet, but I fucking am. You’re Romeo, I’m Juliet, and this story
doesn’t end well.”
“Says who?”
“William Shakespeare!”
“There’s my woman’s smart mouth,” he says, placing a gentle kiss on
my salty lips.
“My mamma killed Sam’s dad.” My eyes go wide. “Does Sam know
who I really am?”
He shakes his head. “No, and I’m going to keep it that way.”
“How?” I demand.
“Your identity was hidden for twenty-four years. What’s a few decades
more?”
“You make it sound so easy. We get married, and how can I look at your
father day in and day out, knowing he ordered his little boy—a child—to
murder my family?”
“Register for silver for our wedding, and I’ll gift you his head on a
platter if that’s what you wish.”
My mouth falls open in shock. “He’s still your father.”
“He is, but I’m going to burn in hell anyway, so what’s one more sin?
Come. I have business to attend to tonight.” He stands, scooping me up and
carrying me upstairs. Putting everything back in place, he tells me, “Not a
word to anyone.”
“Not a word,” I vow. “I trust you.”
“About fucking time.” He growls, wrapping his arms around me, and I
melt into him.
 “If you burn in hell, then I’ll be there sweltering beside you,” I promise
him quietly.
He says something in Italian, kissing the top of my head. “Tesoro, I hate
to leave you right now, but I have to go take care of some business.”
Kissing me breathless, he walks toward the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I
can.”
“You come home smelling like a strip club, I’m still going to kill you,” I
call after him.

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 Chapter
Thirty-Five

Nicky

Staring at myself in the mirror, it’s funny how nothing has changed, and yet
everything has.
Gianna Russo.
Now I understand why Mom—I mean Tata—was so adamant about
staying away from Jersey; the story about my abusive father fabricated to
make sure I wouldn’t push too hard. Or why she was so against me taking
ballet; she was afraid it would trigger my memory of that night.
Was it right of her to make that decision for me? To keep me in the
dark? I don’t know, but what’s done is done.
After a long bath, I crawl into bed, feeling like I’ve run a marathon. I
did just sprint down a tunnel without a panic attack, so there’s the bright
side.
I’ve just closed my eyes when my phone buzzes, and I grab it from my
nightstand, gasping when I read the message from Romeo.
Luca’s been shot. We’re at Glitter strip club. It’s too risky to
transport to the clinic. Meet us here.

On my way.

Hopping out of bed, I throw on my scrubs and trainers before calling

Enzo. “You outside?”
“No. I’m at a club,” he answers. I can hear boisterous shouting in the
background along with base-thumping music. “Romeo gave me the night
off, but Tommaso’s outside. Where do you need to go this late?”
“Glitter strip club. Luca’s been shot,” I say matter-of-factly, having
slipped into medical provider mode.
“Luca’s what?” he yells, the music seemingly gotten louder.
“Shot!”
“What?”
Cursing, I hang up on him and run outside to find Tommaso playing on
his phone. He looks up and averts his eyes. “Ma’am, good evening.”
“Fucking look at me!” I shout, and he meets my eyes—his wide with
shock. “Luca’s been shot. Take me Glitter strip club,” I order, climbing in
the back of the car.
It feels like it takes an eternity to make it out of the driveway. Not good,
because I know every second counts. I’m not a religious woman, but I pray
Luca makes it.
We soon pull up to the parking lot of Glitter, a club I’ve never been to
before. It looks closed, but I spot Romeo’s SUV next to the back door, and
we park behind it. Tommaso opens my door for me, and I hop out with my
medical bag.
The back door to the club is locked, and I bang loudly on it. Calling
Romeo for the third time, it goes straight to voice mail again. I bang louder
on the door this time, and it swings open, Matteo there to lead us inside.
“Where’s Romeo and Luca?” I ask. We reach the front of the house, and
I spot Sergio in a chair by the stage, next to an older man I’ve never seen
before. Immediately, I get a bad feeling.
“Nicky!” Sergio greets me enthusiastically.
“Hello, Sergio. I was told Luca’s been shot. Where is he?” I ask,
looking around the empty strip club. “Romeo texted me to come to this
club.”
A shot rings out, and I scream, spinning around in time to watch
Tommaso fall to the floor. I run to him, but it’s pointless—he’s missing half
his skull.
The smirk on Matteo’s face turns to a full-on grin as he unscrews the
silencer from his gun.
“Ah, yes. Well, Luca’s been shot, and now poor Tommaso, but that’s not
why I asked you to come,” Sergio says, tossing Romeo’s phone on the table.
“Nicky, this is Carlo.” He jerks his head to the older man with a hideously
ugly face who’s watching me with amusement.
 “Where’s Romeo?” I try to discreetly glance around the room for my
escape route.
“There’s been a change in leadership, my dear,” Sergio tells me. “The
Parisis were always such fools. Never noticed a snake in the grass until it
bit em.” Sergio’s gut jiggles with laughter.
“Are you that snake?” I demand, taking a small step back.
Sergio smiles, casting his eyes to the other side of the room, and my
eyes follow. Covering my mouth to suppress a gasp—Antonio’s slumped
over in a chair by the stage, his body riddled with bullet holes.
I do a double take when Amethyst enters carrying a tray of drinks—
she’s changed her hair from red to hot pink. Placing the tray on the table,
she takes a seat in Sergio’s lap. “Amethyst, take Candy to the back. Show
her where to change for her performance.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she tells Sergio, standing.
“Gentlemen, you’re in for a treat. I hear Candy’s quite the dancer,”
Sergio says, now puffing on a cigar.
“Ah, yes,” the man seated next to Sergio says. “I’ve heard all about it.
Joe’s Cabaret. You see, Candy, my dear nephew went missing after your
show.”
Squaring my chin, I say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Funny, Romeo said the same thing,” he says, taking a puff on his cigar.
“Enough talk, let’s see these tits that cost my nephew his life. If I like your
dance, I’ll let you live. See, I can be a fair man.”
“Go on, ladies,” Sergio tells us, pointing a gun in a shooing motion.
“You bitch!” I whisper furiously to Amethyst as we exit the main floor.
“It wasn’t enough to try and ruin my nursing career, now you’re going to
get us both killed!”
“You don’t know nothing.” She sneers.
If only that were true. “You think Sergio’s going to let you live after
you’ve witnessed all this? Your usefulness just ran out. Oh, and nice hair,
by the way,” I can’t help but snipe.
She crosses her arms. “You don’t own pink hair, bitch.”
“Who is that?” I ask, as we have to step over a dead body to reach the
dressing room.
“Leo. Used to own the club. Sergio does now, and I’m his girl, before
you be getting any ideas.”
I snort. “Don’t make me fucking puke.”
 We enter a small dressing room, and she shoves a pair of red pleasers at
me. “Those are mine and I expect them back.”
“I need a bathroom.” Glancing around, I’m looking for an errant cell
phone I can swipe to call Enzo, but no luck. She points to a door, and I enter
the small bathroom, locking it. Damnit, no window.
My stomach churning, I will myself not to throw up as I flush the toilet
and run the water. Taking a nerve-steeling breath, I fling open the door,
rushing Amethyst. She wasn’t expecting it, and I slam into her as she
grunts, tumbling to the ground.
“You cunt!” Amethyst cries. “You know I have a bad ankle!”
Running over to the door and flinging it open, I come to a skidding halt.
A guard with an assault rifle hanging over his shoulder shakes his head.
Without a word, I walk back inside and close the door. My shaky
fingers unlace my trainers, and I take my socks off, followed by my scrubs.
I’m leaving the underwear I’m wearing on—no way in hell would I place
anything on my privates that had been in contact with Amethyst’s.
Fastening her pleasers on my feet, the heel height is a little higher than I’m
used to, but comfort is the least of my worries.
Amethyst sneers. “Don’t know why everyone thinks your pussy’s so
special.”
I am special, and I’m going to teach that lesson to this bitch, and
everyone in this club, I vow.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Thirty-Six

Nicky

Back on the club floor, my body’s screaming at me to run, but the only exit
I see is guarded by another goon holding an assault rifle, so I place one foot
in front of the other, climbing the stairs to the stage.
The music starts—the same song Romeo chose for my little private
show—and I’m just going to pretend I’m in my own studio dancing for the
man I love. That’s the only way I can get my body to move otherwise.
Shaking my hips side to side, I give my ponytail a toss before circling the
pole.
“This doesn’t look like a woman who wants to live,” Sergio calls.
Fucker. Unhooking my bra, I let it fall to the floor before I grab the
pole, performing the sequence I choreographed for Romeo, before things
went to shit.
What if he’s dead?
No, don’t think that! I’m dancing for Romeo, I repeat to myself. The
Juliet spin sequence is up next, but that feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy,
so I throw in a chopper spin instead. The song nears its end, and I climb to
the top of the pole, inverting myself. Releasing my arms, I let go of my leg
squeeze, going in near free fall until I’m a few inches from the floor.
“Bravo!” Carlo claps enthusiastically as someone kills the music.
Climbing off the pole, I scramble to put my bra back on.
“No need to be shy. Those tits are going to make me a pretty penny,”
Carlo says with a big smile.
“What?” I demand.
 “You’re a peace offering to my friends in Philly,” Sergio answers, and
my stomach falls. “But don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your mom here in
Jersey, assuming you act like a good girl and don’t cause any trouble for
this nice gentleman.”
“I want a turn with Nicky first,” Matteo demands. “I’m owed for the
disrespect the bitch showed me.”
“Carlo, you don’t mind if my son samples your merchandise?” Sergio
asks.
“Be my guest, my boy,” Carlo tells Matto, taking another puff of his
cigar. “Take a sip and tell me how the vintage tastes.” He laughs manically.
“Bitch, I’ve been waiting for this,” Matteo says, jumping on stage and
grabbing my arm, twisting it behind my back as he drags me down the
steps.
“Hey!” I cry in vain as he shoves me down the hall.
He opens the door to a VIP room and shoves me down on the carpet.
Groaning, I sit up to find Romeo tied to a chair, his mouth taped shut. Next
to him is Luca in the same situation, except his stomach’s bleeding
profusely.

Romeo
One hour earlier…

“I assume, since we’re not carrying a body with us, Nicky didn’t know
about her heritage,” Luca comments as we pull out of the driveway.
“She didn’t,” I assure him.
“And now?” Luca presses.
“And now our little Newark PD friend Tommy will go to ground for
what he knows.”
“Anyone else know about Nicky?” Luca asks.
“Helen. She was Nicky’s nanny.” If I have to kill an old woman with
dementia to keep Nicky safe, then so be it. I can’t risk her having a moment
of lucidity and saying the wrong thing to the wrong person.
“And Sam?”
“He doesn’t know, and let’s keep it that way for now. I need time to
figure out how best to handle this moving forward,” I admit.
“Shit, man. You’re in love with your sworn enemy.”
I sigh. “Yeah, a big pile of shit.”
“Is she worth it?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Can I trust you with this?”
“On my life. Always. You know this,” he answers me without
hesitation, and I nod.
We arrive at the warehouse, where Matteo and Antonio’s vehicles are
parked. Unlocking the door, Luca and I step inside to find a body strung up
between two front loaders. A body that doesn’t belong to John Davis, but to
Antonio Parisi.
A click sounds, and the barrel of a gun is now positioned on the back of
my skull.

Nicky

Romeo’s eyes go wide with rage as he struggles against the ropes. “Not so
tough now, are you, Romeo?” Matteo taunts. “You’re going to watch as I
fuck your girl, then she’s going to watch as I put a bullet in your head,
followed by Luca’s. Sammy, Darius, and the dick-sucker Enzo are on their
way, and I’ll finish off your little crew. The cherry on top—your girl gets
shipped to Philly to be Carlo’s whore. How does that sound, boss?”
I’m surprised Romeo’s fury hasn’t burned through the ropes; I can
literally feel his rage from across the room. Matteo goes to grab me, but I
kick and claw like a wild animal.
I dig my nails into his cheek and he cries out in pain. That only rewards
me with a backhand across my face, the impact knocking me over. Matteo’s
on me in a flash, and I buck wildly, but he’s stronger than me, pinning my
hands over my head by my wrists.
“No!” I scream as he rips off my panties with his free hand.
“Shut up, you stupid cunt,” he grunts, moving his hand to his zipper.
That action shifted his body just a few inches, and I’m able to slip one leg
out from under him. I go to kick him, but he moves his hand from his zipper
quickly, grabbing my ankle before my heel connects with his face.
Placing my ankle over his shoulder, he smirks. “Look at this, Romeo.
Your girl wants me to split her open like a log.”
He moves his hand back down to free his dick, and I don’t think, I just
act. Rotating my hip, I turn Amethyst’s eight-inch heel toward his neck and
kick with all might.
Blood sprays down on me like a water sprinkler, but I don’t dare look
away.
Eyes wide with shock, Matteo tries desperately to rip out the heel from
his neck, but I press even harder until I hit bone. My leg muscles are
screaming at me, but I don’t dare let up.
“Carotid artery. Approximately one and half inches below the skin.
Supplies oxygen and blood to the brain,” I ramble, the medical facts
spewing from my mouth like the blood spewing from Matteo’s neck.
Gritting my teeth as I press with all my might, I tell him, “You’ve got about
five to ten seconds left before you—”
He falls over like a ton of bricks, my leg going down with him at an
awkward angle.
“Die.”
Jerking my blood-spattered foot out of the heel that’s imbedded in a
dead Matteo’s neck, I take the other one off and fling it at him before
running to Romeo.
“You are the woman of my dreams,” he says in awe when I rip the tape
off his mouth.
“You must have disturbing dreams,” I inform him.
As I rip the tape from Luca’s mouth, Romeo says quietly, “You look at
my woman right now, I’ll kill you.”
“I’m already dying,” Luca groans, but he still averts his eyes.
“Listen to me. You are not dying,” I tell Luca in a hushed voice, having
no way to know if that’s true.
“Nicky, check Matteo’s ankle for a knife,” Romeo instructs.
 Running back to Matteo’s lifeless body, I lift his pant leg to find a knife
sheathed in an ankle strap. I grab it and run back to Romeo, working the
blade back and forth until the last of the fibers snap, and the ropes fall to the
floor. He takes the knife from me, making much faster work of Luca’s
ropes.
“I’m a liability. If you see a chance, take it and go without me,” Luca
says quietly, holding his hand over a gaping hole in his stomach.
“Shut the fuck up,” Romeo commands, unbuttoning his shirt with a
grimace.
I gasp when I see his chest and stomach—blood and bruises covering
every inch.
He whispers something in Italian as he hands me the shirt and I put it
on, my hands beginning to shake with each button as my adrenaline wears
off.
Ask and you shall receive. Shots sound, and my adrenaline gets another
spike as Romeo jerks me down to the floor. “Stay here with Luca,” Romeo
says, pressing the knife in my hand. He runs over to Matteo, searching him
until he finds a gun. “Lock the door behind me,” he says, running out.
Toward the gunfire. Again.
Locking the door, I walk over to Luca, but I stop myself. “It’s too risky
for me to look at your wound with me covered in blood. Talk to me. Tell me
what happened.”
“Matteo shot me in the back like the little fucking coward he is,” he tells
me with effort.
“How many rounds?”
“Just one.”
I nod. “So your stomach, that’s the exit wound.”
His face a ghastly shade of white, he says, “Fuck, I’m dying.”
“Keep applying firm pressure. We’re going to get out of here, and you’ll
be sore as hell for the next few months, but you’re not going to die, do you
hear me? Who would freak out the next time Romeo pisses me off and I
steal the SUV?”
“I’m not the only one who freaks out over that,” he whispers, closing
his eyes.
“Keep those eyes open,” I command.
“Help! Please let me in!” Amethyst pounds frantically on the door.
 I open the slat to look through the spy hole; clearly, there was more
going on in this VIP room than just dancing. Amethyst is alone, rubbing
white powder from her nose.
“No!” Luca cries, but I’ve already opened the door.
“Nicky, thank—”
I jerk Amethyst by her copy-cat pink wig, angling her neck to the
perfect position as I thrust the knife with all my might. Bones crunching,
blood squirting, I keep pressing the blade into her carotid artery—what I’m
quickly learning is the sweet-spot to stab your enemy.
She makes a gurgling sound as her eyes go wide, and she stumbles
back.
“Oh, no you don’t.” I lunge forward—my hand wrapped firmly around
the knife—until she’s pinned to the wall. Grunting in exertion, I press with
everything I’ve got.
“Who’s special now, bitch?” I smile as her eyes roll back in her head,
and her lifeless body crumbles to the floor.
“No wonder he’s so crazy about you.” Luca chuckles quietly.

I have no idea how long Luca and I have been waiting in this room—could
be minutes, could be hours—but finally, Romeo pounds on the door.
“Nicky!”
Unlocking it, I run to his arms, but not before I inspect his body to make
sure he’s not shot. Satisfied, I say, “Let’s get to the clinic.”
Romeo picks up Luca like the man weighs nothing.
“Will you look at this knight in shining armor shit,” Sam says, now at
the door with Enzo. “Nicky, are you jealous?”
“I’ve already stabbed two people tonight. What’s one more?” I must
look deranged, because Sam holds up his hands and doesn’t make another
smart ass comment for the entire ride to the clinic.
After imaging, I confirm there was only one bullet—the exit wound
through Luca’s stomach. Checking his vitals, I look over to see Enzo a
violent shade of green. If he faints, that’s his fucking problem.
 Grabbing a notepad and pen, I work out the numbers for the blood loss
estimation formula. “Good news. You don’t need a blood transfusion,” I
announce to Luca, and Enzo runs to the trashcan, retching loudly.
“What the fuck is his problem?” Romeo demands.
“Bad sushi,” Enzo’s quick to answer, and I keep my mouth shut.
Doctor/patient confidentiality or some shit.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter
Thirty-Seven

Nicky, one week later…

“Romeo was the only one with street cred, so you had to get your ass shot?”
Sam taunts Luca, who’s laying in a hospital bed Romeo moved into the
guest room, along with various equipment I requested. “Making me look
bad.”
“Man, you don’t want to be part of this club,” Luca says, his voice
weak.
“Besides, Sam, you look bad all on your own,” I inform him.
“Rompicoglioni,” he mutters under his breath.
“What was that?” Romeo demands.
“Pain in the ass,” I translate. My official Italian lessons have begun, but
I’ve already picked up the basics. “I have to go. Don’t even think about
getting out of this bed,” I warn Luca.
Romeo grabs me, kissing me senseless. “Good luck, tesoro. You’re
going to do great.”
“Yeah, Nicky. Good luck. You’ve got this,” Luca agrees.
“Try not to fuck it up,” Sam adds, and I flip him off.
Walking outside, Enzo opens the car door for me. “Size twelve.”
“Excuse me?”
“My shoe size. You owe me a pair of sneakers.”
I laugh. “I said after I pass my exam.”
“So, pass your exam,” he says, pulling out of the driveway.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” I say smartly. “Hey, I’m sorry about
Tommaso,” I tell him in a much more serious tone.
 He shrugs. “It happens. We all know the risks that come with this life.”
“Would you get out if you could?” I wonder.
“Hell no.” His eyes find mine in the rearview. “Would you?”
“Hell no.” Russo by blood. Parisi by choice. There’s still quite a bit I
need to work through, but Romeo’s my man. End of story. And we’re
changing the ending from tragedy to a happily ever after. Take that, William
fucking Shakespeare.
We arrive at the testing center, and I check in. Enzo lurks in the back
until finally, a terrified test proctor asks him to step out into the hall.
The exam begins, and I breeze through the multiple choice questions
and move on to the essays. The final question: “Describe the differences
between the carotid artery and the internal jugular vein.”
The short answer? Stab your enemies in the carotid. It’s the same as
going for the jugular.
Of course, I don’t write that; instead, I write a response that doesn’t
self-incriminate. I don’t know nothing, remember?

Romeo

Luca tries to get out of bed, but I hold up my hand. “Nicky’s right. Stay in
bed.”
“Like you stayed in bed after you were shot?” he challenges, and I
shrug.
“I’ll give you a play-by-play,” Sam promises as we walk out of the
room.
“Not the same,” Luca grumbles weakly.
Sam and I walk downstairs, and I scan us inside the cellar, where
Sergio’s being kept on the brink of death, only to be revived for more fun
and games.
Shrugging into a slicker, I examine my tools. “Sergio, should I begin
today’s session by cutting out your lying tongue?”
 “He’d bleed out too quickly. Luca isn’t here, so I felt the need to
announce that,” Sam explains.
“Very well,” I say, grabbing a scalpel. “Death by a thousand cuts. Where
were we?”
“Number two hundred twelve,” Sam answers.
“Still a ways to go,” I announce, walking around Sergio, who’s hanging
from the ceiling by a hook. Examining his disgusting naked physique—he
looks like he’s been run through a meat grinder—I go with a small incision
on his right tricep, then his left. That elicits a round of pathetic wailing.
“Two hundred fourteen,” Sam announces, keeping tally with a piece of
chalk on the wall.
“Please, end this,” Sergio begs. “Put a fucking bullet in my head and
end this.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Sam asks. “I haven’t even had my turn yet.
Have you ever watched me skin a man alive, Sergio? There’s an art form to
it, one I’ve mastered,” Sam boasts, weaving his knife back and forth
through his fingers.
“Please,” Sergio whimpers.
“Tell me who John Davis is working with,” I command.
“I fucking told you, I don’t know John Davis. The guy’s new to AC.
He’s a nobody.”
“Wrong answer,” I say, slashing his left tricep about an inch from the
previous incision.
“Fuck!”
“Two hundred fifteen,” Sam announces.
“Mercy,” Sergio begs. “I’ll tell you something you want to know, but
only if you promise to kill me.” He can’t look me in the eye to make that
offer, because both of his eyes are swollen shut. “About your mamma’s
death.”
“I’m listening.”

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 Epilogue

Nicky

“I never thought my first job would be to plan my father’s wake,” Valentina

says, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “He was an asshole, but…” she
says, trailing off.
“He was still your dad. I’m sorry,” I say, squeezing her hand. Sorry
she’s grieving, not sorry the man responsible for destroying my family is
dead.
“How’s Romeo doing?” Valentina asks.
“Alright, I think.” The man plays his emotions close to the vest, and
Antonio’s death is no exception. Looking around the backyard, I say, “Wow.
You’ve outdone yourself.” Worker bees are milling about, getting
everything set up. Black and white roses adorn the tables, and framed
family photos are strategically positioned.
“Thanks. The who’s who of Jersey has been clamoring for an invite. Of
course, the Five Families of New York will be here.”
“The Five Families?”
She rolls her eyes. “How do you not know this stuff?”
“I told you—your brother’s more a growler than a talker.”
“True story. So, everyone signs in here,” she says, opening a guest book
with a gold cover—hell, it’s probably made of real gold. Grabbing the quill
pen, she dips it in the pot and tests the ink on a cocktail napkin before
nodding to herself, placing the pen back in its position.
She continues her military march in stilettos. “Here we will have all of
Antonio’s favorites prepared at each chef station. Dessert bar. Cigar and
whiskey lounge.” She points out everything. “Hey, Nonna.” She waves
across the patio at her grandmother dressed in a demur black dress.
“Wow, this is the first time I’ve seen Nonna in something other than a
track suit,” I comment.
“I may have hid all her black track suits to force her to wear a dress,”
Valentina admits.
Nonna joins us, and I greet her with a double cheek kiss and my
condolences. “How are you holding up?”
“Limoncello helps,” she says, pulling a flask from her bosom and taking
a sip. “I never liked that Sergio.” She says something animatedly in Italian,
switching over to English. “Phony cannoli,” she says, spitting.
Romeo walks outside, never taking his eyes off me as he joins us.
Straightening his tie, I give him a quick kiss.
“If you two will remove your tongues from each other’s mouths, we
need to plan your engagement party and shower,” Valentina chastises.
“Baby shower?” Nonna asks hopefully.
“Bridal shower. Or do you need a baby shower?” Valentina asks me,
eyeing my stomach.
“Just the bridal shower,” I say firmly.
“Phew, okay then. Wedding conference next week. No excuses.”
Valentina points to her brother.
“Why did I invest in your company again?” Romeo narrows his eyes.
“It’s principessa’s world. We’re just living in it,” Sam announces,
having joined us with a plate. He pops a bruschetta into his mouth.
“Glad you’re finally understanding how this works,” Valentina says.
“And the wake hasn’t started yet.” She looks to the plate in his hands and
back up, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Valentina, where should we put the gifts?” The same nervous little man
with a clipboard from her birthday party is holding a small black gift box.
“Who brings a gift to a wake? Unless it’s for me, and in that case, I’ll
accept it, but still,” Valentina says.
“Where did this come from?” Romeo demands, and clipboard man
looks like he might shit his pants. Before he can answer, Romeo snatches
the box, hurling it across the yard and into the pool. The impact causes a
confetti explosion.
“If you don’t kill this little fucker John Davis, I will!” Valentina stops
her foot.
 “Language,” Nonna admonishes her granddaughter.
Romeo and Sam take off—probably to kill whoever let that package
onto the property—with a terrified clipboard man chasing after them,
saying something in his walkie talkie.
Nonna swipes a bottle of water from a nearby table and hands it to me.
“Drink.”
“Okay,” I say, unsure why she’s suddenly concerned about my
hydration.
She watches me take a sip. “More,” she instructs.
“Nonna, I’m not thirst—” She narrows her eyes at me, and I chug the
bottle.
“Molto bene. Pregnancy test in the bathroom. Go pee.”
Valentina snickers, and I sigh. And now it’s a party.

The End

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 A Sneak Peek of Forgotten Deeds:
Parisi Family Book 2

Darius

Shifting closer to the door, my left trainer is now stuck in God-knows what
kind of bodily fluid. I yank my shoe free, positioning myself in the darkest
corner of the alley. The back door to Glitter strip club opens, and out struts
a red-head with huge fake tits to match her collagen-filled lips.
“Amethyst,” I call, stepping out from the shadows.
She jumps like a scared cat, dramatically placing a hand over her heart.
“Sorry, you got the wrong woman.”
I’m on her in a flash, dragging her to the back of the alley with my
gloved hand over her mouth. A shame, as I’m curious to know what her lips
feel like. If I cut them off her face, would they ooze poison like a puffer
fish?
Shaking that though away, I focus and say, “Mr. Parisi warned you to
keep your fucking mouth shut. Now I hear you’ve been running your flap
about his girl, Nicky Thomas.”
She struggles against me, but freezes when she spots my calling card—a
devil tattoo on my forearm. Ah, so my reputation as the Parisi family
enforcer precedes me. How nice.
I inhale deeply, savoring the smell of this woman’s abject terror. Fear
really does have a smell—pheromones secreted to send out a non-verbal
SOS—and for me, there’s nothing sweeter. “This is your last chance. Next
time Diávolos comes calling, he’ll make sure to collect. Keep your fucking
mouth shut. Understood?”
Amethyst frantically bobs her head, and while my fingers are itching to
unsheathe my knife and find out about those puffer fish lips, I reluctantly let
her go. The woman sprints away from me; turns out, she does have half a
brain cell.
My ears perk up when I hear it—a tiny whoosh of air.
Spinning around, I hustle to the end of the alley to find a petite woman
with a halo of blonde hair hunkered behind the dumpster.
 “Don’t be afraid.” Jesus, did I really just say that? Offering her my
hand, she looks at it for a moment before taking it, and I help her up.
Our eyes lock, and it feels as if she’s scanning my soul for every bad
deed I’ve ever committed. I hope she’s got all day, because it’s a long
fucking list. Not that I would complain; it wouldn’t be a hardship to look at
this beautiful thing for hours on end. Likely in her early twenties, she’s tiny
compared to me—I’d guess five feet four inches—with long, light blonde
hair curled into loose waves, and haunting pale blue eyes. I can’t make out
much about her figure with the baggy sweater and pants she’s wearing, but
that only piques my curiosity.
Her body trembles under my scrutiny, and suddenly, I don’t like the
smell of fear—at least not from this sweet little angel.
She looks down at our hands still connected, her eyes traveling up my
forearm, stopping at my tattoo. Dropping my hand like she’s been burned,
she takes off in a dead sprint.
I easily catch up to her, my arms banded around her petite frame before
she can make it out of the alley. “You going to keep your mouth shut about
what you heard, aggeloudhi mou?” I ask, pulling her closer to my body.
Leaning in, I take a whiff of her hair. She smells like lemons and
something else I can’t quite place. A clean smell. It’s nice.
She struggles against me, and my dick turns to stone. Interesting.
“I didn’t hear anything,” she whispers with a shaky voice.
“Good girl.” I reluctantly release her from my arms, and she scurries to
the door, punching in a code before disappearing inside the club.
Silly little angel, thinking she run from the devil.
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 Acknowledgments

As always, a big shoutout to my beta readers, ARC Team, and Street Team
—thank you for reading and hyping the strings of words I put together. And
thank you to Carissa for ensuring those strings of words make sense. To
Joan, thanks for lending your medical expertise; to Fedy and Monica,
thanks for being multilingual bookworms and double-checking my Italiano.
Finally, thank you, dear reader, for choosing this book! I can’t wait to share
more of the Parisi family!

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 About the Author

Andrea Hagan has an accounting degree and a law degree, but she neither launders money nor
represents members of the Mafia. She lives in the Southern United States with her husband and three
children. Join Andrea in a non-blood in, blood out way on social media. Sign up for her newsletter at
andreahaganauthor.com for more Parisi family fun!

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