Chapter 10: Wicked Fame: Chapter 10

Nico’s eyes are orbs of fire when I slink into my apartment. His legs are crossed as he lounges comfortably on my leather couch.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I yell. “Did you break in?”

Nico smiles, though his jaw is tighter than a cork in a wine bottle. “Obviously.”

The fact that he forced himself into my apartment and is sitting on the sofa like it’s something normal tells me how dire the situation is. Nico doesn’t usually behave this way. He’s the second in command as the underboss so he usually carries himself with dignity.

“Are you going to explain yourself?” I inquire, far too cocky for someone who’s about to get chewed out.

“Sit down, Gabriele. We have to talk.”

“Regarding?”

“The don…Papa…he was poisoned.”

The ground falls from under my feet. It can’t be…

“What…is he—”

“He’s alive. Recovering. I got him a doctor in time. However,” his tone sharpens, “it’s clear that the men Luca was involved with had something to do with his poisoning. Which makes this entire thing your fault. Because you’ve been cooling your heels instead of figuring out who those dirty bastards are and burning down their houses.”

“I was told to lay low and reflect on my mistakes.” The excuse fills my mouth like shards of glass.

“But you’re still part of the family. I thought you’d try to find something and prove yourself. You used to be so eager when you were young. Is it age? Getting older? You have lost your motivation.”

“What do you mean?” Anger muffles my tone. “I’m as loyal to the family as ever.”

“I wasn’t doubting that. But loyalty aside, what else do you bring to the table?”

“The casinos I manage make good money. And I follow every order.”

The mafia isn’t much different from a corporation when it comes down to it. I’m having to defend my right to stay by reminding him of my achievements. And I’m not even sure why. Angelo is alive and he’d never ask me to leave. Nor would he blame me for this poisoning episode when I wasn’t at the scene. But I can’t be too hard on Nico. He almost lost his father. He’s probably scared and hurt, wanting to blame someone for his own failure.

Nico suddenly comes to his feet and looks me straight in the eye. “You’ve been acting strange lately. I heard from the boys that you paid for one of the customers who had defaulted.”

“It was the Astor girl. Her brother’s powerful. If your boys had roughed her up, there’d have been hell to pay. Besides, she’s loaded and there’s no sense in losing a regular client.”

Nico’s gaze sharpens. “Even if that’s true, you didn’t have any business getting involved.”

“I was preventing you from getting into trouble!” I throw up my hands in exasperation. “We’re brothers, aren’t we?”

“Instead of looking out for me, do your job,” Nico says, cold. “You’ve been dragging your feet on the matter since you killed Luca. It has been more than a week and there’s been no progress. During that time, the enemy seems to have figured out every single thing about us, down to what Papa eats for breakfast. They must have someone close to us on their payroll. The cook swears she didn’t poison Papa’s dinner and I believe her. She has been with the family too long and gains nothing from his death. Whoever it was is someone very close to the family and high up in the hierarchy. Someone who has access to Papa in his house.”

The implication of his words settles on me like stone.

“You suspect me?”

“I suspect everyone. Especially those Papa trusted.”

“Those outside his bloodline, you mean,” I sputter.

He shrugs. “I won’t apologize for being vigilant. The first name that came to my mind when I realized there was a traitor among us was yours, Gabriele. I wondered for a minute if Ricardo killing Luca was more than a coincidence and if you were unable to find anything useful on our enemies all week because that suited you.”

Speechless, I gape in horror as Nico wipes sweat off his pale forehead. The realization that he doesn’t see me as family dawns on me clear as crystal. He assumes I’m someone he can’t trust. After all the years I served him, that hits hard.

“Angelo saved my life,” I hiss. “But since you mentioned Ricardo, I admit it was out of character for him to go so far in a fit of rage. He has always had a hot temper, but he never messed up a job. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“See that you do.” He threads his fingers between each other. The pensive silence in the room balloons into a dark streak of uncertainty. He chooses to omit the obvious: And I’ll be watching you, Gabriele.

Damn it, is this how Francesca feels when I stalk her? Like she can’t breathe?

“If anything happens to Papa, I’ll be the next Don,” Nico continues.

“I’m aware of your role in the organization.” Everyone knows this. Nico is Angelo’s only son and he has been in the game for a long time. Nobody is better prepared to take over in the event of Angelo’s death.

I cough when Nico closes in on me quickly, his fingers lightly brushing over my suit jacket. He makes it look casual and brotherly but he’s fooling no one. The gesture is steeped in intimidation. It’s a silent warning, the proof that things between us have changed. That we’re no longer brothers but wary allies.

“I don’t need you in the family, Gabriele if you can’t do your job. Papa might have picked you up, but I have no obligation to keep you.”

Animosity hangs heavy in the air between us. A match waiting to be struck.

Those harsh, bitter words soak into the walls. I’m left stunned by Nico’s tirade. He’s usually so stoic. I’m trying to understand that he’s upset and shocked after what happened to Angelo. It could’ve happened to him just as easily. And he’s scared of dying.

But I’m more scared of what would happen to me if Nico kicks me out of the family, or, as he’s implying, makes me retire. He did that with one of the other, older capos last year. But that man was essentially useless, too old to take care of his responsibilities anymore. He was a deadweight to the organization. I’m only thirty-four. I’m nowhere close to being done.

“I’m sorry for what happened. Whoever was behind Angelo’s poisoning will die a slow and torturous death. I’m going to make the bastard pay.”

“Save your apologies. I need real, concrete information soon.”

“I’ll get it.”

He’s acting this way because he’s shaken by the episode. Yet, my stomach feels like it has collapsed in on itself. The Russo family, this world, is the only stable place I’ve known. Without it, I’d have been lost in life.

I can’t lose my only place in the world. The mere thought makes me nervous, catapulting me back to the cold, uncertain days of my youth when I thought I’d die on the streets like a stray cat. I hoped I’d left that past behind, just like I thought I’d left addicts like my mother behind, but at the moment, the theme of my life is déjà vu.

“Gabriele, here’s my advice to you: stop being distracted by pussy. Right now, there are far more important things to take care of.”

“What do you mean? I’m not distracted.”

“You’re spending too much time with the Astor girl.”

“It’s my job to watch her!”

“I don’t care where you stick your dick but be discreet about it at least. Maria is sensitive. And once you’re married, it’ll have to stop.”

“Of course. I would never cheat. Besides, as I said, I’m just watching her. Nothing is going on between us.”

Nico’s voice curls with a bitter edge as he laughs. “Then why is she at your apartment? It’s ten at night.”

I snap my head backward, my heartbeat ramping up.

And there she is. Her image is stamped on the video feed from my home security system.

Holy fuck. What is Francesca Astor doing at my front door in a low-cut black dress and the sexiest high heels that must be banned in the state of New York ASAP? I hope she isn’t high or drunk or worse—here to beg me for sex. Because there’s no chance I’ll be able to resist now. Nico’s suspicion and raw anger are chomping at my intestines. The fear of losing my only identity, my only home has me wanting to fuck something hard to make the insecurity stop. Am I just like her? The first sign of anxiety, and I bury myself in the unhealthiest addiction I can find.

Also, I’m going to strangle Antonio for giving her my address. It couldn’t have been anybody else.

“You might want to open the door,” Nico suggests, strolling ahead of me. “For me. I’m leaving.”

I chase after him. “She’s simply part of the job.”

“As long as you marry Maria, I don’t care what she is.”

Dammit, this makes me look so bad. The furious beast inside me rattles against the confines of my body as Francesca’s big doll eyes blink up at me.

I’ve had enough of her infecting my life like a goddamn virus.

I grab her jaw in a bruising hold before she passes through the threshold of my door. “Are you high?”

Tears fill up her eyes, dribbling down her cheeks. My nails digging in might leave marks on her porcelain skin. I don’t give a fuck. My patience has officially reached its end as of three seconds ago.

She exhales an alcohol-laced breath.

Even the numb part of me that usually feels nothing trembles in rage.

“I was scared.” The words sound weird because I’m crushing her lips with my fingers. “I blacked out for a bit, then woke up. A guy was tailing me.”

“You were afraid of a stalker and you came here?” I cough, unable to contain my sarcasm. “I’m your full-time stalker, baby.”

“I feel safe with you,” she explains. “It makes zero sense. Maybe it’s because you’re the only guy I know who has a gun. If somebody tries to hurt me, you can shoot them.”

“Not your bodyguard,” I remind her.

“But you’re strong. Plus, you never hesitate.”

Is she naïve because she was raised in a sheltered environment or because she never had to suffer the consequences of her actions? It’s undoubtedly the second one.

I may feel bad for her artistic struggle from time to time, but that’s not enough to make me resent her for humiliating me in front of Nico by turning up at the worst possible time. He’s already suspicious of me and she made it worse. Damn, she’s just like my mother. All she cares about is her next fix. And now that I’m her muse, apparently, I’m what she needs to get her art career back on track.

I press my fingers into her jawbone, using all my strength, not stopping even when she whimpers.

Irritation fizzes in my blood. I’m annoyed by how easily she trusts me, by how naturally she expects me to help her, and by how codependent she is becoming. I’m even more annoyed by how I let her get away with it. Every. Single. Time.

But that stops now.

I’m not about to be used by her anymore. Muse or not.

I’ll use her instead. It’s time she got a taste of her own medicine.

“You’re so addicted to danger, Francesca.” I let my hand drop, satisfied at the red marks left behind on her pale skin. “Because you think you can run before you really get hurt.”

Those lips. Those juicy, plump lips glazed with pink lip gloss that smells like strawberry taunt my nostrils. Like a decadent dessert waiting to be bitten into.

I claim them with mine in a punishing, brutal kiss. My teeth knife into her flesh, drawing blood. Grabbing her by the ass, I cage her against my body, trapping her in a prison of muscle she can’t escape. She doesn’t even fight me.

The second her salty taste seeps into my tongue, the gruesome memories, and hollowness I’ve always carried in my bones fade. The injustice of losing my position fades into an afterthought. The wraiths that inhabit my mind stop clawing at my conscience.

For the first time in forever, I exist without fears, without bitterness. Nothing in the world compares to this feeling.

My fingers melt into her jaw. Skin on skin, it’s pure madness, an obsessive craving that erases everything but the desperate clamoring of our heartbeats.

She’s addicted to my pleasure but I’m addicted to her pain. The more of her cries I smother with my tongue, the more blood I draw, the more desperately she squirms against me, the better I feel.

I don’t need you Gabriele if you can’t do your job.

I understand now why Francesca needs substances. It’s the only way to escape the weight of powerlessness. When my body is dominating hers, the friction between us erases the reality that haunts me. There’s at least one thing in the world I can control. Right now, I need that sense of control. I crave that power, even if I have to use her to get it.

Maybe we’re more similar than I imagined.

Another scorching kiss, my tongue diving into her mouth and I forget where I am. Who I am. Wishing it was my cock inside the slippery heat of her mouth, not my tongue.

When we peel our wet, swollen lips apart, I shove her backward into the hallway.

“Go. I’m in a bad mood today. There’s no telling how cruel I’ll be.”

But Francesca has abandoned all common sense, not that she had any, to begin with.

Her body snuggles closer, breasts grazing my torso. Heat swirls through my stomach. I’m hard. Damn it.

“Use me to make yourself feel good. It’s the only thing I can give you. I want to make up for all the times you’ve helped me. Please.”

She drags her nails over the back of my shirt, teasing the skin underneath.

“I’m not my mother,” I say. “I can’t throw away my pride for a fleeting high.”

“I know you blame your mother for being an addict and she deserves it, but in a way, you’re clinging to her. You don’t want to let her go because that’d make you feel abandoned for real.” A horde of shivers flutters inside my stomach.

I know that. I’ve always known that I was trying to convince myself of my mother’s affection by holding onto the image of her.

Because those memories are all I have.

And now, I’ll overwrite them with ones so dark, there will be no question of my mother ever taking up any more space in my brain.

If I’m Francesca’s muse, she can be my grim reaper.

My grip tightens on her waist, sinking into the soft flesh of her hips. God, I want to taste that skin, to drown myself in those beautiful curves.

I can’t save her, but I can help her destroy herself.

With one hand, I pin her wrists to the wall above her head. “Guess what? I’m going to make your wish come true.”

My free hand clamps around her throat, though I don’t squeeze, so she can still breathe easily. Stepping between her legs, I press my bulging arousal between her legs.

“Gabriele?” she yelps, her innocent eyes going wide. But she doesn’t resist.

“You’re fucked, Francesca.”

I drag her into my apartment by her neck before slamming the door shut. Then I retrieve my firearm from the drawer. I pull out the magazine to show her it’s fully loaded before pressing the gun into her forehead. She releases out a soft pant.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m a dick. No, I’m actually a lot worse, as she’s about to find out.

“Make me come in five minutes or I’ll pull the trigger,” I tell her. “Don’t think for a moment that I’m joking. I’ve killed people for less.”

Francesca stutters. “What?”

“If you can’t do it, then run along home to your Mommy now.”

Her eyes slant downward. I feel the gears in her head churning for once. She’s seriously mulling this over. The ache in my dick intensifies at the thought of her bailing now. Not when I’m finally ready to end this torture she has been putting me through since that night at the gala.

But my Francesca never disappoints. Her streak of self-sabotage runs too deep.

“Okay,” she whispers.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, you can end my life if I don’t bring you to orgasm in the next five minutes.”

With eager fingers, she undoes my belt, sinking those hands into my boxers and brushing her thumb across the head of my cock. I curse under my breath as her fingers travel across my shaft. Ecstasy boils over inside me and spills through the cracks of my hardened resolve. Her touch is a brutal assault on my senses.

Then she opens that pretty mouth and I nearly lose my mind.

The sight of her puffy, bleeding lips turns me on even more, hardening my cock to steel. Knowing I did that to her, imagining her displaying those bruises to everyone she meets for the next few days gives me a rush. I’ve always had deviant sexual tastes, but I usually tone them down enough to make it bearable for my partner.

Not tonight. I’m done being considerate of her.

She slowly takes the tip into her mouth, licking up and down. She knows what she’s doing. Within moments, pleasure prickles every cell in my body. Her tongue plays up the hard ridge of my erection. Then swallows me inch by inch, deep throating, closing her eyes, and devoting herself fully to my pleasure. Her fingers move against the base of my cock while her mouth tries to take me fully. She settles into a rhythm with her hands and tongue, and every minute of the experience is pure bliss.

Until it’s too much for me. I want all of me inside that tight, wet hole of hers. I want to punish her, leave her on the verge of breathlessness, wishing she’d never started this. Wishing she had never laid eyes on me that night we first met.

Cupping the back of her head, I drive my thick, length into her mouth which is too small to fit me. A strangled sound explodes from her. That only fans the fire in my blood, inflaming my sadism until I want to wreck her more.

Her anguished cries, struggling breaths, and the sight of her strawberry-colored lips closed over my erection is my every erotic fantasy brought to life.

“Open wider, baby,” I drawl. “I won’t come like this. And you don’t have much time left.”

She winces but obeys. As I thrust into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat with each stroke, her gag reflex makes her choke again and again. Tears leak down the sides of her eyes. Her throat must feel raw and abused. It’s probably uncomfortable beyond words. But there’s no escaping this hell now. Not unless she’s ready for worse. The metal edge of the gun pressing into her skull is a constant reminder of the stakes.

The sensations kick up a notch as I feel an impending climax gripping my insides. The glorious feeling of release crowds my nerves as control unravels from me.

I spill inside her mouth, the fierceness of my orgasm rocking me to my core.

No other woman I’ve had has made me come faster or harder.

She swallows it all. I assume it’s because she’s too worn out to spit out my cum. Her fingers are shaking when she wipes the remnants off her lips.

“Congratulations on saving your own life,” I say.

I expect her to start the waterworks any moment now, or run out in fear after what she just experienced.

Instead, she grins at me.

“That was exciting.” Her face is flushed, her eyes glazed with manic light. “I’ve never done something like that before.”

It takes me a second to fully comprehend what I’m witnessing.

She’s happy. Exhilarated.

Is she crazy? Wait, why am I even asking that? She’s Francesca fucking Astor. Madness is her personality type.

I’m too speechless to even consider what this means. Who would have thought that Francesca would have the same dark tastes as me? Is that why I’ve been unconsciously attracted to her since the moment we met? Because I sensed she could make all my fantasies come true since she’s just as wicked and twisted as me.

My need to hurt is equal to her need to be hurt.

She has shown me that she can take what I throw at her. Now I need to find out if she can take all of me. “Do you want more?” I ask.

My cock’s hardening again.

“What’s more?”

“Me inside you.”

A twinkle in her blue eyes. “Hell yes.”

Her fingertips scratch along the buttons of my shirt.

I move my hands up her thighs, feeling stroking a finger along the wet fabric of her panties. She purrs, arching forward in anticipation. Grinding my finger over her clit through the barrier, I swirl my tongue over the hard tip before biting. She grows wetter and wetter, her greedy channel trying to ride my finger.

But it’s not my fingers I’ll be stuffing inside that tight pussy tonight.

Lifting her up, I press her back against the wall. Her legs wrap around my waist readily. I slap her ass. She only coils her legs tighter around me. I extract a condom from my pocket and roll it over my length. Holding those round hips in place firmly, I impale her on my hard cock.

She cries out at being penetrated so deeply.

Burying my face at the side of her neck, I drag my lips over the curve of her throat. “Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“It’s going to hurt a lot more. Punishment ought to hurt.”

Fisting my shirt, she squirms to accommodate me. This is a hard position for her, but I love how deep I hit inside her like this. She’s fucking tight and smells like heaven. My lips scrape the side of her neck.

“But Gabriele…?” she gasps.

“Yeah, baby?”

“What are you punishing me for?”

“For showing up at my apartment without warning me. You have no business here. Imagine if I was married, how bad it’d look.”

“You’re not, though.” Her confidence is jarring even though I’ve never told her that I’m single.

“I might be soon,” I confess. I hadn’t meant to say it. Nothing is certain between Maria and me so far. But judging by Nico’s tone today, it’s a done deal.

Francesca doesn’t probe me. Her eyelids are draping down in pleasure, her teeth sinking into her bottom lips as she arches her back and fights the heightening pleasure. Even she knows she hasn’t earned it.

I slide out and then push back in. Her cry burns my ears. Fire strokes every nerve ending.

“Francesca,” I say her name. It’s a question and an answer. “Your pussy looks so good taking my cock.”

“Yeah? How good?” There’s that feisty side of hers, pushing through the pain and tears. This girl is a fighter. I wish she could see that about herself, too.

“Good enough that I could watch it every day.” Her nails sink into my shoulders as I refuse to let her catch a breath, pushing into her harder, the rhythm of my thrusts growing more frantic. “Multiple times.”

Her shaky breaths meld into a coherent sentence as she continues to take my pounding like a good girl. “I’m going to hold you to that promise, Gabriele.”

“I promised you nothing. Don’t start hallucinating when I’ve not even pounded you hard enough to make you see stars.”

“You promised me pain,” she reminds me.

“And you’ll get it,” I reply. “I want to feel your pussy spasm around me.”

“Mmmmm,” she mumbles.

With one more brutal thrust, I push her closer to the edge. Her cries twist into pleading moans. Easing one hand off her lips, I grind it against her swollen clit, hoping it’s enough to set her off.

She bursts apart in my arms screaming my name, loud enough to wake up my neighbor’s sleeping cat. I love every moment of it. Every second when her head, her throat, and her body are filled with nothing but me.

I wish I could keep her like this forever.

But my body is acting on instinct, hammering into her faster, seeking its own release. She looks hazy, still in the throes of her orgasm, but she takes me without complaining.

Every clench of her walls around me is a glimpse of paradise. I drown in that tight heat, the pull of her sex squeezing every bit of pleasure until I have no more to give.

Until I’m nothing but an exploding firework inside a human body.

It’s an all-consuming experience, made fiercer by me still being inside her. Our bodies are pressed so close together, I can feel her chest rising and falling against me.

I’m not a religious man, but if I was, I’d say it’s a spiritual experience.

It takes a while for all the pleasure to ebb from me. Francesca drops her legs and I let her go. Her knees wobble, but she grabs the wall and stabilizes herself.

Those big, innocent eyes arrow straight into my soul.

“Whew. That was intense.”

I avert my gaze. I can’t stare at her directly, not after what we just did. Not after how deeply we were connected. I’m afraid she’d see that something has changed for me.

Wordlessly, I slink away.

When I get rid of the condom and return from the bathroom, Francesca’s not in the living room anymore. I stride into my bedroom to find her curled up on my bed like a cat. She shows no signs of leaving.

“Another round?” I ask just to be polite.

Spreading her arms, she flashes a smile. “Cuddle with me.”

Horror widens my eyes. “Why don’t you ask me to stab you? That might be easier.”

“It’s aftercare,” she shouts, creases developing between her thick brows. “That’s part of sex, too. Gosh, you’re so cold. No wonder you’re still unmarried. Your wife will leave you if you refuse to cuddle after you just fucked her.”

Her statement clubs me in the chest. If things go well, I’m going to get married to Maria. The thing is, I don’t know the first thing about how to treat a wife. I’ve never dated, only slept with sex workers and willing women who didn’t do relationships. I had no idea that I was expected to hang around and coddle them after getting them off, too.

Slithering under the sheets, I grudgingly spoon with Francesca, writing this off as preparation for my married life.

It’s only three minutes. Five minutes, tops. It won’t kill me.

“Are you happy now?” My gruff voice comes out soft. I just can’t damage her. Every time I go there, I end up pulling myself back.

She’s too precious to break. Or maybe she’s too broken to break further.

Her arm dangles over my body. She drapes one leg over mine. Like she owns me. Like we’re actually something.

When she rubs her cheek against my chest, warmth flutters against my skin. I assume it’s arousal, but I’m not hard.

She exhales against my collarbone. “If you weren’t in the mafia, what would you do?”

She’s hitting me in all the vulnerable spots today with her words. With Angelo’s health, the issue of succession, and what Nico said…I’m already afraid of how long I have left in the family.

“I don’t know. Never thought about it. All my life, I’ve only been focused on surviving in the streets, doing whatever it took to make myself valuable to Angelo. I may have been born to be in crime,” I say. “What about you? If you weren’t an artist, what would you do?”

She sucks in a shocked breath. “I’ve never considered any other career path. It has been my dream since I was a child to be an artist. Guess we’re the same.”

Neither of us knows or wants to consider anything other than what we’ve hoped for all our lives, even if it isn’t the best course. The safety of the familiar is more soothing than the uncertainty of the unknown. Suddenly, Francesca’s obsession with wanting to be an artist to the point of becoming an addict makes sense. I’d do whatever it took to stay in the mob, too. It’s the best life I’ve known; the only life I’ve known. I fit better here than I fit anywhere else.

But some deep, dark curiosity prompts me to ask: “If I wasn’t a capo in the mafia, what do you think I’d be?”

“A soldier in the military. Your physical fitness is extraordinary and I think that you’d be happy doing something that involves physical combat.”

I laugh, my fingers groping a strand of her hair. I never considered enlisting in the army, not even when I was young and I wanted a decent life. Doesn’t sound as fun as beating up people for a living, but at least I can still work with my body. For a brief second, visions of an alternate life parade through my mind—a life where I live in the light and have medals rather than wounds decorating my chest.

I close my eyes and force the image away.

“That’s funny.”

“No, I’m serious. It’s still not too late.”

“The government doesn’t pay that much. I’m used to living in luxury,” I mumble. “Besides, they’d kick me out the moment they look at my criminal record.”

I’m pretty good at this job and it’s not like I have a passion or dream I want to pursue. I dare not hope for a life I cannot have again.

“What about me?” Francesca says, looking up from my chest. It’s still a little ridiculous to me that we’re cuddling after sex, but it’s too comfortable with her body nestled against mine. It feels right. Uncomplicated. I’m going to enjoy it for now. “If I wasn’t an artist, what do you think I’d be?”

“An heiress.”

She punches me in the chest. “That’s not a career!”

“Let’s see…a fashion designer or a model. You have good taste in clothes.”

She perks up. “Was that a compliment?”

I shrug. “If you’re so desperate for validation, I guess it could be.”

“Oh, shut up. Why did I even ask?”

I rest my face over hers. The sex has satiated me but also drained all my energy. Sleep is curling its dark claws around my consciousness.

Before I realize it, I pass out with her in my arms.