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He glances around the room, not caring that I have a weapon aimed at his chest. “Where’s Sasha?” he demands.
“Not here.” I drop my arm and then remove the suppressor attached to the barrel. Once I unscrew it, I pocket the suppressor and holster the weapon beneath my suit jacket.
“Why the fuck not?” he snaps.
“My sister is pregnant, or did you forget?” He wouldn’t pull Sienna into this type of shit, but I don’t point that out even though I know where his annoyance is headed.
“And that’s an excuse for her not to have your back?”
If I wasn’t pissed at the audacity this fucker has to walk in here and finish a job I wasn’t finished with, I’d laugh at the seething look he’s giving me. “I didn’t bother telling her.”
“I expect Ren to coddle the bitch, but not you. You’re losing your edge, and frankly, it’s a fucking turn-off.”
“You’d still suck it, so . . .” I trail off, shrugging my shoulders and giving him my back while I turn back to look at the mess he made. Motherfucking shit. Kozlov was withholding, and now I may never find out what that was. Dom stops inches behind me as I look at the blood staining Alexey’s lifeless body to what’s pooling on the floor as drops continue to add to it. “I wasn’t done with him.”
“Sokolov was using him to funnel young homeless girls out of the country for God knows what. At least, that’s what I gathered from two audio recordings I recovered from his cloud. Now that this is done, order your boy to leave,” Dom demands, further ticking me off.
“No,” I deadpan, then turn to where Damien still stands in the case opening. “Clean this mess up. Text me when it’s done.” Flicking my eyes to Domenico, I say, “Follow me.” Then I step past him, heading to the door in a foul mood.
I can’t spill his blood here, but I can inside my apartment. Dom took my kill, and for that, he’ll pay with his flesh, in more ways than one when I rip his ass apart with my already hardening dick.
When I reach the kitchen door that leads to the side driveway, I fling the door open but don’t step out. Instead, I wait for Domenico to stride past me. When he nears his SUV, I shove him against the side of the vehicle, making his palms jut forward before his chest crashes into the B-pillar. Pressing the crotch of my pants against his ass, my dick swells as my front meets the hard ridges of his back. I prefer it when he’s dressed down, but this is nice too. He’s hot whether he’s wearing clothes or not. That thought seems to piss me off more today for some reason, fueling the fire burning inside me.
Reaching between him and his Land Rover, my fingers find the clasp on his slacks and pull it loose. I go for the zipper next, dragging it down in a fast motion, needing what he’s about to give me.
“You’re going to get us killed out here,” he says but doesn’t try to stop me when my hand dips into the waistband of his boxer briefs, my fingers finding the warm, hard flesh I knew would be there. All five of my digits wrap around him as my head lowers to the olive skin poking out above the collar of his shirt. My mouth opens, and my teeth bite down. Despite the wind whining around us, I hear the intake of air he sucks in through his mouth.
Squeezing the base of his dick, I drag my hand upward until I’m at the tip. I unclamp my teeth and begin to suckle his neck. A bead of cum meets the pad of my thumb as I press it against the hole the liquid seeps from. Running my tongue over the flesh I’m marking, I inch up to his ear. “I couldn’t think of a better way to leave this shit hole of a world than being buried inside you.”
“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.
“This is only partial payment for the shit you pulled in there, asshole.” I seethe against his ear as I let him go and shove his jeans down his thick thighs. “Now, jerk the fuck off so that I have something to lube my dick with.”
CHAPTER 9
CIERA
My anxiety ran high all day. At the market this morning, Giovanni went from carefree and relaxed to a lethal viper within the blink of an eye.
I’m the outsider among them, and I cannot allow myself to forget that. These people protect themselves and their own flesh and blood, which I’m not. It doesn’t matter that I’m marrying one of them. At the end of the day, I’m just a means for Antonio to get back at my father for a rivalry I know nothing about nor want to be a part of.
On the ride from my father’s home yesterday, Tony was honest with me about my situation. He told me it was past time for him to bring Cormac to his knees, and then he apologized for using me as a pawn. He seemed genuinely sorry for that fact, but there was resolve in his tone. A minute later, he told me I would marry his son. The finality in his voice said I didn’t have a choice.
When I didn’t speak, he glanced at me from the driver’s seat as if waiting for me to refuse. But what was I going to say? At that point, I didn’t even know he was the Italian-American equivalent of my father: the boss. Antonio did have an air about him, though, that immediately made you know he was in charge, whereas Cormac Fitzgerald comes off like the typical head bully in school.
I tried to keep my guard up last night but failed after we returned from his daughter’s wedding reception to find Giovanni halfway through a bottle of bourbon. It was clear that something was bothering him when I saw Giovanni and my future father-in-law pass a look between them that was evident of a silent conversation. The boss, as Giovanni refers to Tony more often than not, left my side to grab two glasses, filling them and offering one to me.
I’d only planned to drink one, maybe two, before going to my room to give them space and myself solitude. I’d already stashed a bottle in my room while they were at the wedding to help me sleep easier in a foreign place.
The liquor cabinet in the pool house was stocked fuller than back home at my great-uncle’s home, offering a variety to choose from. I’ve never gotten caught stealing what wasn’t mine before, so I didn’t think anyone would notice one bottle missing when there were multiples of the same bourbon as you’d find on the shelf at a store.
Unlike back home, some part of me felt guilty for taking it without asking. In Ireland, I’d always justified my reasoning. Other than Tony not giving me a choice in being here and demanding I marry his son in less than a week, he hasn’t been cruel or made me do things . . .
A shudder runs down my spine as memories flash through my head at the thought.
“You know they have a maid for that,” a voice calls out from behind me, causing me to jerk my head over my shoulder, relieved by the interruption.
My eyes land on Sasha with her shoulder propped against the frame of the wide case opening, her arms folded over her chest. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her makeup is more perfect than most models you see on TV or in a magazine. She’s still as intimidating today as she was last night when Tony introduced me to her and Sienna.
