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I expect someone to jump inside the elevator or jam his hand against the door as it closes, but nothing appears.
Still, an ominous feeling accompanies me even as I enter my apartment.
The feeling of being watched.
6
KINGSLEY
“Forget whatever my brother told you. I won’t agree to the divorce.” Mateo chugs a shot of triple vodka like a Russian mobster on his initiation day.
He’s disheveled curly hair sticks to his forehead like broken leaves, and his crumpled suit resembles a hand-me-down. He’s all dark—eyes, hair, expression, and personality.
Not as demonic as Nicolo, per se, but close enough. He also happens to be one of the most feared members of the Luciano family due to his no-nonsense personality.
He slides the glass across the counter in the bartender’s direction, wordlessly asking for a refill.
He, Aspen, and I are having a daytime meeting in his empty club downtown. An obscure though elegant place that only allows the rich and their kinky grandmothers within its walls.
Nicolo was supposed to join us in the unholy union, but some other business came up. Probably torturing a poor soul until they wish for death.
Aspen, who’s sitting on my right at the bar because I unintentionally—or intentionally—made sure I was between her and Mateo, listens carefully to his statement.
She has already consumed her tequila and also asked for a refill. She releases a breath, exasperated at that as if she’s a teacher and Mateo is a naughty boy in her class, then hikes her sleeves up her arms.
The woman is dressed in black pants and a white button-down, but she looks sexier than a naked pole dancer.
And I obviously need to stop thinking about ramming my cock into her cunt if I don’t want to end up with a missing ball complication sponsored by the witch coven.
“Ms. Blunt asked for a divorce. She doesn’t even want alimony or compensation.”
Mateo, who’s been watching his shots like a hooker obsesses over money, whirls around in his chair to stare at Aspen. Maniacally. Like she’s next on his shit list.
“What did you just call her?” There’s no slur in his Italian-accented voice. The man spent two nights in jail, partly because he used his fists to draw a map on the other man’s face, and partly because that man is a Della Roma. Aka, one of the Lucianos’ rivals, and there was more work than I signed up for to get him his ‘get out of jail free’ card.
“Ms. Blunt,” Aspen repeats, obviously not reading the atmosphere. Or maybe she read it loud and clear and is provoking him anyway because she’s sadistic.
“Her last name is fucking Luciano.” Mateo points a finger at her.
“She prefers her maiden name.”
“I don’t give a fuck what she prefers. In front of me, you call her Mrs. Luciano.”
She nods, though not meekly, and definitely with her spunky defiance that I want to sink my fucking teeth into.
I hate this woman with more passion than should be allowed, but I still want to fuck her anyway.
Hate-fuck her, to be more specific.
The logic my dick goes by is that I’ll finally be able to control her and show her the actual brand of my crazy. Even if only in sex.
And no, this new logic didn’t start after I learned she’s the femme fatale from twenty-one years ago.
Absolutelynot.
Mateo chugs half of his glass. “Go to Caroline and tell her the fun is over. She better come home today or I’ll be the one to drag her back.”
“She might file a restraining order in case of any threatening behavior.”
