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I stared at him, wide-eyed, as stunned as a deer in oncoming traffic, breathing as if I’d run a marathon.
And then my phone rang.
I jolted in place. Stumbling, I pulled my leg off Tatum’s shoulder and tumbled to the floor. On my knees, I scrambled for my purse. Naked from the torso down, my ass was up in the air as I dug around for my phone. He gave my pussy a few smart pats and squeezed one buttock. I stuttered out a breath of surprise.
I shot a look over my shoulder but froze when I again saw his wet, smirking mouth. Jesus, nothing was sexier than when a man’s face was coated with your juices.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “Better get that,” and stepped outside to give me privacy as I tugged my capris on with one hand and swiped my phone open with the other.
“Clara,” came the male voice.
My heart jangled in my chest. I wheezed. Damn, I should’ve checked the number before picking up.
“Grigore?” I croaked out, my throat suddenly parched.
“How are those motherfuckers treating you?” he asked.
I cleared my throat and rasped out, “Fine.”
“Can you talk?” he demanded.
“Yeah. How are things at home?”
“Good, good. Listen, I have some interesting news. I’ve been digging around for info on the Lupu bastards. It’s the least I can do since they’re doing the same to us. It’s a fucking vault with every single one of those fuckers in New York.”
My mind was reeling, but I winced at his coarseness. Tatum rarely cursed, and only when he lost control, which only made it sexy as hell.
“One thing I did learn about that insufferable, stuck-up prick, Tatum, was that he’s a fucking corcitura, a gypsy half-breed,” he spat out.
“Grigore,” I chided, my heart tearing in two at hearing him insult the man who had been on his knees, tongue in my pussy, only a few moments before. “That’s way out of line.”
I imagined his face when he realized what he’d said to me, a woman. For obvious reasons, I rarely brought attention to that fact, and he often let loose with his colorful language, but every once in a while, I called him out on his coarseness. This wasn’t simply vulgar, it was outright wrong.
There couldn’t be a greater contrast than between Grigore and Tatum. He had his uses, but I was nothing more than a means to an end to Grigore. He knew of my father’s plans, of course, and wanted me to take over so he could rule on my behalf. His motives were transparent.
In contrast to Grigore, Tatum seemed entirely disinterested in my position. I never saw the glint of greed in his eyes like I did with Grigore. Or rather, I did, but it was a greed of an entirely different type. Tatum watched me like he wanted to fuck me into oblivion, like he wanted to devour me whole. The hunger emanated from him in waves. In one way, Tatum was a scarier prospect because he didn’t want my power or future position. He wanted to own me. The temptation, of course, would be that he had the power to make submission taste oh so delicious.
“Couldn’t get much out of them,” continued Grigore. “So I moved on to the other mafias in New York. I’ve been fucking with the Bratva—”
“You shouldn’t do that, Grigore,” I interceded, shimmying my hips as I yanked at the waistband of the capris. “If Alex ever finds out—”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m not afraid of those fucking assholes. I’m not blood bonded to them, like the Popescus. Turns out they’re no better than mongrels, either.”
Grigore was furious that the Popescu sef went into partnership with the Lupu clan after the death of his nephew, Simu. Simu wasn’t just any old clan member, either. He was the Popescu consilier, but he died at the hands of Luca, and we later found out, Nicu. Before New York, I saw them as brutes who killed another clan’s consilier in cold blood. Now, I knew there had to be more to the story. The Lupu men respected power; they were not impulsive, trigger-happy thugs. They wouldn’t have killed a consilier without provocation. Something happened to make Simu’s death an absolute necessity.
“I’m going to find out every dirty little secret this pit of vipers they call a clan has, and once I do, we’ll have every reason to turn our backs on them permanently. They will learn to fear the name Hagi, but you must stay strong, Clara. I’m sure they’re doing everything in their power to dupe you into thinking they’re civilized. Believe me, they’re anything but. Don’t get conned by these fuckers. You have your clan to rule here. They are the only ones who deserve your loyalty. Your undying loyalty.”
“Okay,” I breathed out because what could I do? I couldn’t tell my father’s consilier, my soon-to-be consilier, that I’d just hooked up with the enemy. Grigore talked a big game, and he wasn’t just talk. He was a cunning, shrewd man, and his digging made me nervous.
Glancing around the dressing room, I spotted my panties and stuffed them in my handbag as the ghost of Tatum’s tongue lingered on my clit.
It was only much later, while lying in bed at Tatum’s house late at night, that I realized Tatum hadn’t batted an eyelash at the notion of a woman taking over a mafie clan. His remark about walking a step behind me in public but taking care of my needs in private, looped over and over in my head. He’d put into words a life I hadn’t dared hope for and then added fuel to the fire with his claim that he’d take care of needs I didn’t even know I had.
I’d never met a mafie man like Tatum before—one who so easily accepted every aspect of me, and there were many. His wholehearted acceptance was almost frightening. Hope was scary for someone like me. I might be young, but I’d seen how the world worked, and in my experience, if it seemed too good to be true, it usually was.
