Chapter 18

18

Gravel and dirt spray behind the tires of my Escalade as I cut across the backroads toward the hangar. Rocco mutters a curse as I rip the hand brake and whip the wheel, tires screeching as we turn, picking up speed, heading down the paved drive where the gate's been crashed through. The headlights of Dallas' Range Rover flash in my side mirror when we hit the tarmac and I can see Leo and a few of the other night crew guys crowded around something near the side of the building as we skid to a stop.

"What the fuck happened?" I spit, throwing open the driver's door and not bothering to close it before I stalk towards the group. My mood is palpable as I approach. The three a.m. mayday wake-up call is one hell of a way to start my day.

Blood rushes through my ears, drowning out the sounds of the others piling out of the cars as my eyes zero in on the crimson liquid splattered across the concrete.

Leo steps aside, revealing Adrian's lifeless body lying right outside the office door. Hitching my slacks up, I crouch down beside his head, or what's left of it. Cazzo, my chest tightens at the thought of having to tell his family. Adrian was just a couple of years behind me in school and he's been working for me since I took the mantle. His dad was one of my old man's collectors, and we often worked the door together at poker nights on the weekends.

It's stuff like that that I don't think about whenever I raise the barrel of my gun and pull the trigger. Everyone has a family, everyone is something to someone no matter how fractured or singed their soul is. All of that, the backstory, doesn't matter when it comes down to it, because we have a code and it's the way the families have always operated.

I learned a long time ago when I was coming up to tuck that shit away. The first kill though, that's the hardest, and no matter what, it's the one that sticks with you. I was seventeen when the Fracassi fiasco was blazing through the outfit…

"There is no offense worse than betrayal, Bowie," my father says, shifting his eyes from the road to me and back to the road. "In business, in your relationships, and especially in la famiglia. Your word, your loyalty, that's what really makes a man."

My head bobs as I nod in response, the cold metal of my nine mil pressing into the skin of my lower back as I shift in the passenger seat of his Bentley. My stomach flips and I roll down the window, letting the cool night breeze wash over my flushed skin in an attempt to ease the anxiety that's coursing through my veins like lava.

Switching off the headlights, my father maneuvers the car behind the trees and hedges lining the drive to Frankie Fracassi's estate. He shifts the car into park, killing the engine, and my heartbeat starts to ratchet up. Unbuckling his seat belt, he turns to face me, pinning me with a pensive stare. "It's time, my boy. Tonight is the night you become auomo d'onore."

"What do you wanna do with him, Boss?" Leo questions, pulling me back from my thoughts.

I drag my fingers down Adrian's eyes to close them, the blood staining my fingers in the process, saying a silent apology to my friend before I stand. "Jace, get him to Harrison's. Have them rush the job and wait for the ashes," I say, finally managing to drag my eyes away from Adrian's cracked-open skull to meet the stoic faces of the guys around me. "Rhodes, you go break the news to Molly. Make sure she knows we'll take care of her and the twins."

Nodding in confirmation, they get to work as I head inside the office where Rocco's looking at the split-feed security camera monitor. He glances over his shoulder as the door latches behind me and points to a block of static on the screen. "Looks like they shot out the camera at the entrance, probably why Adrian went outside. Caught him by surprise."

Pointing to another square, he continues. "Guys heard the commotion, came out, fired back, got one of them in the back before the car sped off."

He clicks back to the live view and I tap the screen. "Let's go check this guy out."

The air is still when we step outside, the starless night punctuating the grim happenings. All you can hear is the slosh of dewey grass against our shoes as we walk in silence toward the body splayed on his side ahead of us. "Don't recognize him, do you?" I ask Rocco as I kick the guy's shoulder, rolling him onto his back.

"Nope," he replies, bending down to grab the Sig, flicking on the safety, and slipping it into his waistband. "Maybe the cameras caught something before they opened fire."

"Yeah, I'll have Dallas check the feeds further," I mutter. Taking a few steps forward, I swivel my head around, looking for anything else they could have left behind.

"I'd put money on these guys being the same ones I called you about seeing near the back fence," he says, jamming his hands into his pockets.

I hum in response, something glistening at the edge of the road a couple of yards ahead of me catching my attention. Cazzo, the sharp edge of the shattered screen slices the pad of my thumb as I scoop up the busted cell phone. Turning to Rocco, I hold it up. "Maybe we can get something off of this to help."

After we got things cleaned and patched up at the hangar, I didn't have time to go back by the house to see Wren before needing to head to the office. I've had these client meetings on my calendar for months, and no matter how tired I am, I don't want to reschedule. At least they should make the day pass quickly.

"Happy Friday, Mr. Sorrentino!" Cami chirps as I step off the elevator. "I've got the conference room ready, three carafes of coffee and assorted bagels, just as you like."

"Thanks, Cami," I nod, slipping my key into the lock and twisting the handle. "Go ahead and forward my calls to voicemail."

"Sure thing. Uhm, Mr. Sorrentino…" She hesitates, twisting her chair around and tapping her long red nails against the glass top of her desk.

I pause in the doorway, tilting my head in her direction and cocking an eyebrow in question.

"Is Wren okay? I know she's at some training course, but I tried texting her and it came back undeliverable."

Cazzo. Add this to the list of things I need to talk to Wren about; how she wants to deal with us at work. The superficial cut on my thumb catches the ridge of the key as I deposit it back into my pocket.

"Wren's fine, Cami. She dropped her phone getting into a cab, shattered out the screen. I just had her pick up a new one on the company plan with a new number since she's a department head now."

"Oh, okay," she replies, her features softening, mouth parting slightly like she wants to ask more. But she doesn't. Her lips curve into a slight smile and she starts shuffling some papers around idly.

"If she checks in today, I'll tell her you asked. The classes have kept her pretty busy, but she'll be back in the office Monday."

She nods, returning to her computer as I continue into my office to prepare for my first meeting.

The morning's meeting ran long, so I took my next clients out for lunch on me. There's this great little bistro close to the office, good food and just quiet enough to host a meeting. These guys have been with me for years and I know they won't miss the slide deck presentation if they get free alcohol while we talk performance. The waiter's just left with our order when I feel my phone vibrate against my thigh. I turned on Do Not Disturb, but have Rocco and Wren set for an emergency bypass. My pulse quickens, my mind automatically assuming the worst as I shift in my seat and pull it out of my pocket. Keeping it below the table, I swipe my thumb across the screen, and my eyes widen when I see a picture of Wren in her underwear kneeling on the bed, the words 'miss you' underneath it..

Swallowing roughly, all that fresh blood my heart's pumping rushes straight to my dick. This girl never ceases to surprise me.

I lift my eyes to find my clients are engrossed in a conversation amongst themselves, so I fire a text back, telling her to behave and that I'll make it up to her later. I click off the screen, but before I can get my phone back in my pocket, it vibrates again.

Cazzo.

Wren's braless in this photo, her perfectly round tits filling the screen, and my dick throbs at the sight.

Wren

What if I don't want to behave?

Then I'll have to punish you.

In that case…

The next picture comes in a second later. Her hand's tucked into the front of her black lace panties.

At this point, my dick is painfully hard as I adjust myself below the tablecloth and excuse myself.

My heels clip against the hardwood floor in the hall leading to the restaurant bathroom, fingers curled so tightly around my phone I'm surprised I haven't crushed it in my grip. I check the stalls and make sure there's no one else in here before flicking the lock on the door. Clicking on Wren's contact, I put the phone to my ear as the call connects.

"Hello?" she breathes.

"Why aren't you working on your coursework?" I ask, stepping into a stall.

"I finished early and wanted to play. I've been cooped up here for too long," she answers, breath hitching in the middle.

"Tell me how you're playing, Passerotta," I demand.

"I'm rubbing my clit, but I'm not as good at it as you are," she replies, her voice sultry.

"Oh yeah?" I mutter, holding my phone up with my shoulder as I unclasp my belt, draw down my zipper, and fist my cock. "I want you to put me on speaker."

My fingers curl over the velvety top of my head, gathering the precum that's leaked out the tip and spreading it down my shaft as I hear the shuffling of her phone.

"Now what?"

"Cup one of those big tits in your hand for me and tell me how it feels."

"It's heavy. Soft but heavy," she answers.

They are heavy, and they keep getting heavier. I swear Wren's boobs get bigger every day, and I'd be a liar if I said I didn't love it. Sinking my teeth into my lower lip, I close my eyes, picturing her on our bed playing with herself, and fuck me, I can feel my balls already starting to tighten. I flex my grip, alternating the pressure with each stroke, rolling and tugging on the piercings as I go.

"Pinch your nipple, baby. Pinch it as you shove two fingers inside that pretty cunt," I instruct.

She gasps, breathing out a little sigh after, but I know she can do better.

"Harder, Passerotta. Pinch it really hard like I would and add another finger," I growl.

"I-I don't know Bowie. It's not the same."

"Be a good girl for me. I've got a meeting to get back to and I can't sit through it with a hard on."

"Okay," she says breathlessly before I hear her whimper in pleasure.

"Good girl," I praise. "Now ride those fingers like they're my dick."

Her soft moans grow louder, small cries interrupting them as I stroke myself faster. "Oh yeah, baby. Fuck yourself, my dirty girl. I'm going to fuck you so hard tonight..." My breathing grows ragged, heat prickling at the base of my spine as my balls draw up. "I'm gonna come. Think you can come with me?"

"Yes. Oh yes!" she cries out in pleasure.

"That's my girl," I murmur, my leg seizing, muscles twitching as hot cum spurts out, coating my fingers and dripping down into the toilet.

Our heavy breaths fill the line between us before we say goodbye. As much as I don't want to, I really need to get back out to my clients. As I clean myself up, I can't help but think about the cute way her skin flushes when she climaxes and the easy smile that's probably spread across her face as she's coming down from her orgasm right now.

Tucking my softening cock away, I fix my pants and wash my hands, making my way back to the dining area. I apologize to the gentleman, muttering an excuse as the waitstaff bring out our food. The conversation shifts to business, and thankfully this is just a check-in meeting, because in my blitzed-out haze, my mind keeps wandering back to Wren.

I'm starting to see what Rocco meant about not having to wear a mask and being able to be yourself around your woman. We're doing everything so out of order, but she just goes with it and it's all coming so easily. She doesn't make demands of me, want to spend my money, or whine in an irritating voice that makes my balls recede. Instead, she makes me do crazy shit, like leave a meeting to jack myself off in the bathroom, or watch chick flicks and trip over my words like a thirteen-year-old boy when I asked her to be my girlfriend. There's a small flutter in my chest, and I hope that when I do tell her everything, it doesn't change any of this.

The lunch meeting concludes with hand shakes, the guys all happy with their portfolio's growth. I'm happy they're happy. Keeping Vento Ventures growing will only aid in my ability to cease the drug side of business. After this morning's events, I've got Rocco setting up a meeting with the Volkov's in New York.

I wave as their rideshare takes off down Michigan Avenue and start the two-block walk back towards Vento's office. The crossing light flashes, and the Friday afternoon bustle of the Magnificent Mile shuffles across the street. I hit the button for my floor in the elevator, pull my phone back out, and switch off Do Not Disturb mode. Thirteen voicemails are waiting for me- not too bad- and I scan through them, eyes stopping on the one I've been waiting for.

New Voicemail - Doctor Marino

Taking a deep breath, I hit play, his heavy Italian lilt filling my ear and my stomach swooping at his words. I fire off a text to Wren as I cross the lobby to my office, tucking away my phone and anxiety in the process.