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Or so I think.
Six
Vincenzo
One month later…
It’s been a month since I last saw her.
One month.
Thirty days.
Every single one of which I’ve spent thinking about her. I’m obsessed. I’ve never felt like this before. Firstly, because when I want something I take it. None of this waiting around shit. Secondly, because she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.
She’s not a part of my world. Never should become part of it. But as I’ve come back just to see her, maybe I should make the most of this opportunity.
I’ve come to the conclusion that the problem is sex. I’m obsessing because I’m a man who can get anything I want but I haven’t got her.
Once I’ve fucked her a couple of times, I’m sure I’ll be able to put her out of my mind once and for all. Get back to the things that matter. Like keeping one step ahead of the law and making sure the business keeps expanding.
That’s what really matters. Making enough money to shift from the illegal to the legal. Working out a way to stop Michael inheriting. Keeping the Beluccis in their place.
What would she do if I just took her?
I look across at where she’s sitting.
She’s in the library like my people told me she would be. They tracked her down for me. She’s working hard on her notepad. From my position between two sets of bookshelves, I can see to the end of the aisle.
There she is, table to herself. Laptop open, an article about Tracey Benn visible on the screen. She’s taking down notes with her brow furrowed in the cutest way.
Every now and then, when she’s really concentrating, the tip of her tongue sticks out of the corner of her mouth. I want that tongue on my cock so badly, I have to grip the shelf next to me to stop from running over and making it happen.
I can’t go over to her. I can’t make conversation. There is no way of talking to her without it ending with me fucking her. I can’t do that. I can look at her but I must not touch, not after last time.
Last time made me obsess. What would one more touch do? I’d end up holding her prisoner in my house, never leaving her leave again.
She’s too innocent to have anything to do with me. If I let her into my life, she’ll find out who I really am. Either the Feds grind her down until she wears a wire for them or I fuck her up so badly, she’s nothing but a husk of the woman she once was.
There aren’t many innocent women out there. Not in my line of work, anyway. This one should stay that way. It’s not right that I should corrupt her. Even if I had an actual heart instead of this lump of coal, I know she should stay pure.
Can I resist her though?
I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in my life. Maybe I fuck her and let her go?
Or will that be like the junkies I refuse to work with that the Beluccis snap up for their street teams. The associates and made men who swore they could touch heroin once and not get hooked.
People lie to themselves all the time. No one sets out to become addicted.
I’m lying if I think I can fuck her and let her go.
One taste of her and I’ll be hooked. I know that. I can tell. It’s never been so strong inside me, the desire, the need, the hunger.
I watch her as a woman approaches her. Elderly, namebadge on her chest. Teresa Crane. Senior Librarian. White hair tied neatly back. Dress that says widow, long term. Ring still on her finger though. Husband’s long dead. No sign of a weapon on her. That’s all that matters to a man like me. Am I looking at a threat?
“Book going well?” she asks Ophelia who stops working to look back up at her and smile.
“Not so bad.”
