Chapter 4-2
1394 Words
Junior
“Nico and Stefano are flying in this afternoon,” Paolo says, his focus on Gio, not me.
“What for?” I bristle.
“Because he’s our brother!” Paolo spits back.
“And did you tell Alessia and Ma?” I demand. I already know he didn’t. We Tacones have a code that involves not worrying the women of the family.
“Of course I didn’t. They don’t need to know. Nico and Stefano are part of business.”
“Are they?”
They’re not, really. We’re part of their business, because La Famiglia put up the money to start Nico’s Vegas casino and now we’re all shareholders of the corporation. But Nico hasn’t been part of our business in over ten years. And this outfit isn’t a f*****g democracy. They don’t get to weigh in just on the merit of being my brothers. Neither does Paolo, for that matter. But my tenure as head of the family is by nature rocky, because technically our father is still don, and any one of the fuckers can go run to him if they think I’m f*****g things up.
“Well, they understand business, anyway.” Paolo shoves his hands in his pockets, in a posture of concession.
I don’t answer.
“How’s he doing, anyway?”
“Desiree says he’s stable.”
“Good.”
Just saying Desiree’s name has me recalling how luscious she felt under my body this morning. The beautiful sounds she made, the way she gave herself over so completely. I never in a million years dreamed I’d make some woman’s fantasy come true, but knowing I can?
Is f*****g hot.
And even though I was an a*s to her after we talked, I have the strong urge to reward her for giving herself up to me like that. And for being her.
She appeared this morning, showered and wearing one of my t-shirts. Didn’t even ask me for permission, just helped herself.
I don’t know why I f*****g love that about her. Maybe because Marne, my ex, is so incapable of doing anything for herself with or without permission.
But as much as I love knowing she’s wearing my clothes, she’s gonna need her own s**t.
“Listen, you stay here and keep an eye on him, huh? I’m gonna run Desiree to her apartment to pack a bag.”
Paolo nods. “Sure.”
“Where did you put her car?”
“It’s in your garage.”
“Good. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Call me if anything changes with Gio.”
“I will.”
“And call Vlad. We need to arrange a meeting to deal with their f*****g setup. As far as I’m concerned, we’re at war. Find out what the word on the street is about the Russians. I want every ear to the ground.”
Paolo nods, phone already out.
I jog down the stairs and find my kitchen spotless, Desiree wiping down the inside of the refrigerator. f**k if it doesn’t get me hard, imagining enacting a scene where she’s my maid and I force her to bend over and take it from her boss. Does she want role play? Or is the mafia kingpin scenario all she needs from me?
I adjust my junk and clear my throat.
“Yes?” She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t jump to attention, or get nervous and babble around me like other females who work for me. This girl is totally different.
Built from a very special mold.
“Grab your coat, doll. I’m gonna take you to pack a bag.”
“Yeah?” Now she turns, shoving her thick brown hair from her face with the back of her wrist, her hands full with the spray bottle and paper towel. “Cool. Just let me finish here.”
I should tell her no one makes Junior Tacone wait.
The thing is—I’m sure she knows that, which is precisely why I find it hot that she gives me so much s**t. She knows better. I’m an asshole. I’m dangerous as hell, and she still decides to push me. It’s brazen as hell. I love her confidence.
I decide to let it go since my current view makes the wait worth it.
Desiree has this unbelievable body—curves everywhere, but toned muscle underneath. Nice full hourglass figure—big boobs, slender waist, big hips. Sturdy thighs. Like she works out, but can’t stop with the Ben & Jerry’s. Which is perfect for me. I like a little meat to hold onto. Especially when it’s shaped with such delicious mounds.
Right now she’s giving me a prime view of her a*s, the thin fabric of her scrubs stretched taut across the globes I turned pink just a few hours ago.
“I have a housekeeper, you know.”
“Well, she needs to clean the inside of your fridge, Tacone. You tell her that next time.”
I pick up a dish towel, spin it into a tight twist and whip it at her a*s.
“Ow!” She shrieks and throws her hand back. “f**k, that hurt.” She whirls and seeks my face with her gaze, brows down.
I don’t know what my expression shows—probably all the dirty things I want to do to her, because whatever she was going to say next dies on her lips and she flushes like an innocent.
“Come on, sassy-pants. I don’t like to wait.”
“Of course you don’t.” She punctuates the words by putting down the spray bottle and towel and shutting the refrigerator door with a little too much force. “Well—you’re the boss.”
“You seem to keep forgetting it, doll.”
I escort her out of the house and to my car, which is sitting in the driveway. She has the audacity to fiddle with my radio on the drive, changing it to some Top 40 station and singing along to the Camila Cabello song Havana.
I give her a sidelong glance. With the last name Lopez, I know she’s Latina. I’m guessing Puerto Rican, based on the neighborhood where she lives. “You speak Spanish, doll?”
“Si, jefe. You speak Italian?”
“Si.”
“Lemme hear some. I bet I’ll understand it.”
“You have a nice voice,” I tell her in Italian.
Her full lips stretch into a smile. “Pues.”
I like when she blushes because it seems so out of character. Or I guess I just like when I make her blush.
We pull into her neighborhood and I find a place to park. She gets out and slams her door. “I sure as hell hope you brought my keys.”
“I did.” I pull her keyring out of my pocket and twirl it around my forefinger. “And that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble, doll.”
She grins at me, revealing two deep dimples. “You love it and you know it.”
I smirk and tuck my hands back in my pockets. “Doesn’t mean I won’t make you pay for it.”
I catch the flash of excitement in her eyes before she turns quickly away and heads up the sidewalk to her building. I follow her at a leisurely pace, enjoying the swing of her delicious a*s, the toss of that thick brown hair.
We walk up four flights of stairs to get to her rundown place. It’s clean and organized inside—a two bedroom. She heads into one bedroom, I wander over to look in the other. It has a twin bed which hasn’t been made up, and a stack of boxes along the wall. I stroll closer to peek at the boxes.
“What are you doing? Stop.” She snaps from the doorway of the other bedroom.
I give her a “what?” look.
“Just—get out of there.” Her eyes are troubled, mouth set in an unhappy slant.
Hmm. More of her mystery. Who do the boxes belong to? Did someone die? I make a show of shrugging and positioning myself with my back against her front door to wait.
I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Earl Goldfarb, a private investigator we sometimes use for intel. I need you to research a girl—Desiree Lopez. Lives in Humboldt Park.
He replies immediately. Okay. Need me to watch her?
No. She’s with me now. I just want background info on her.
You got it. Priority?
Today. I hit send and shove my phone back in my pocket. I rationalize the intrusion on her privacy as necessary since she’s got s**t on me now. I need to know her weak spots. But the truth is I want—need—to know more about Desiree in general. I need to know everything that makes her tick. What causes her pain. What keeps her up at night. I need into that beautiful head of hers.
Through the open door, I watch her moving swiftly around her room, throwing clothes into a small suitcase.
I’ll find out all your secrets, doll. There’s nothing you can hide from me.
- Writer
