Chapter 2

2

"It's settled then, the wedding will take place a week from Saturday. Tomorrow, we'll announce it to the families and celebrate," my father says, shaking the hand of Aldo Ricci.

My cousin Rocco motions for Aldo and his men to follow him out the door of my office, nestled in the backroom of our family's club in Cicero. This place was practically a Chicago landmark in its heyday, but it has been shuttered for two decades now. We never formally re-opened the 708 Club after the FBI raids tore through the city and the remaining mafia families went dark. Now, it serves as my command post for the outfit and the main site of our exclusive poker nights.

The moment the door clicks shut, I lean back against the leather of my chair with a sigh, popping open the button of my suit jacket before shifting forward to grab my lowball glass off the table. The whiskey has barely touched my tongue when my father dredges up the same discussion we've been having for five years now.

"Your number has long been called, Bowie," he murmurs, giving me a pointed look. "You need to take a wife, have a son- leave a legacy. Rocco made a deal with the Ricci's, it shows initiative."

I swallow the two fingers of top-shelf whiskey, relishing in the burn as I slam the glass down against the mahogany-lacquered tabletop. "Have I not proven my worth to you with the handling of business for the last ten years?"

My father kicks his foot up, his ankle resting on the opposite knee as he takes another drag from his cigar. "You've done right by the outfit so far. But there is chatter amongst the smaller families..."

I raise an eyebrow as I steeple my fingers and parrot him, "Chatter?"

He sets his cigar in the crystal ashtray beside him before slinging his arm to rest on the back of the leather-tufted sofa. "They question your… ability to have children," he says with a wince. "You've been with plenty of women, no? If you refuse to settle down or produce an heir, why should they put their faith in you? Why should they hedge their loyalties with the Sorrentinos over the Bellucis?"

I grit my teeth, wanting to avoid the subject of my sex life with my father altogether. "Gabriel doesn't have children or a wife," I mutter.

"Gabriel Belluci isn't thirty-seven," My father admonishes. "Fraccasi was thirty-five with no children and a wife he never let leave the compound. You see where that left his name- morto."

Pushing back from the table, I stride across the dark wood floors to the corner bar, grabbing the bottle of whiskey by the neck and re-filling my glass. "Cut the shit," I say, swirling the amber liquid around the glass before taking a drink. "You've never minced words before, say what you're thinking."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. His platinum rings match the silver that has overtaken his dark hair. "Bowie, you've got until the New Year or you'll pass your title to Rocco."

Heat pricks at the back of my neck, my fingers constricting around the glass as I meet his gaze. His expression is relaxed, like he hasn't just threatened to take away everything I've worked for, everything I was born for. I swallow down the rest of the whiskey in my glass, the door swinging open before I can respond.

"We've got a problem," Rocco states, sliding his phone into his pants pocket as he hovers in the doorway. "Another shipment's come up short at the hangar."

Three weeks ago, someone broke in and stole two crates of cocaine from a warehouse out at our private airstrip. They'd managed to cut the power on the security feed, knocking out one of the guards before slipping in and out undetected. Since then, I've taken all the power there off-grid, using generators and cloud-based servers to help mitigate the chances of something like that reoccurring. The fact that it's just happened again doesn't sit right with me.

My father clears his throat as he stands. "I'll leave you boys to handle business," he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder, then turning to shake Rocco's hand. "I'm taking Corinne to the cabin tonight, call if you need me. If not, I'll see you at the engagement party tomorrow."

Even though he's long passed the title of Don on to me and I loathe his comments regarding my relationship status, having Salvatore Sorrentino stick around as our consigliere gives us a generation of knowledge that the Belluci's no longer have. I give him a respectful nod, Rocco doing the same as he holds open the office door for my old man to exit.

"Did Dallas check the manifest when he unloaded?" I ask tersely as soon as my father leaves the room.

"Yes. He and Rhodes are reviewing the security footage now." Rocco fishes his gold Cuban chain from below his collar, fingers running deftly up and down the links; a tell he's had since he was a teenager. He's hiding something. Well, maybe not hiding, but there's something more that he doesn't want to tell me. It's unusual behavior for my second in command- a position he's held since his father passed almost a decade ago.

"But?" I question, folding my arms across my chest.

"Someone's pushing stepped-on product. Fentanyl OD's are up in the city. Police are getting involved," Rocco says, reaching for the whiskey and pouring himself a glass.

I pull my cell phone from my jacket pocket, open up the messaging app, and fire off a text to the sergeant on our payroll. "I'll meet with O'Ryan, and see what the police have so far," I mumble.

Rocco nods, and we slip into a conversation about his newly-brokered arrangement with Isabella Ricci. My father was right; it's a good move for la famiglia. The Riccis run a commercial laundry and cleaning service with contracts all across the city- fleets of vans moving freely through the streets that no one would bat an eye at. Uniting with them will give us access to those vans, experienced cleaners for messier jobs… hell, even the access to their warehouses and offices open up new potential locations for our exclusive poker nights.

It seems my baby cousin is coming into his role well. So well that my own father would give him my title. It isn't that I'm against the whole idea of settling down and starting a family, per se, it's more so that I can't imagine doing so with any woman I currently know.

The principessas are just so fucking docile. Don't get me wrong, I like a woman's will to bend for me in the bedroom, but outside of that, when they just sit idly by waiting for instructions… that kind of passive bullshit just makes my dick soft. I've dated outside of the families connected to the outfit from time to time, but when things get more serious and I have to explain the nature of my business dealings outside of my investment firm, that's when I usually cut and run. It just seems far too messy to bring an outsider into this lifestyle.

My phone vibrates against the lacquered top, and I tilt the screen to read the message of confirmation from Doyle O'Ryan. Looks like I'm about to get some answers about what's going on at our warehouse.

The night air is void of any sounds but the gravel crunching underfoot. I peel open the door of my Cadillac Escalade, climb in, and sit back to wait for Sergeant O'Ryan to pull away from the silos first. In the meantime, I retrieve my phone from the center console and switch it back on- the courtesy of no phones we extend to each other during our meetings- and wait for it to power up.

O'Ryan is around my age, and while we walk two different paths, there are a few parallels that we share common ground on: trust, control, and family. As the taillights of his silver sedan disappear onto West 29th, I switch on my headlights and slowly navigate through the dilapidated buildings. My fingers tighten and flex around the leather of the steering wheel as I digest the new information he provided on my way home.

The police haven't listed our family or associates as potential sources for the bad batches of coke being pushed. I'm not even sure it's ours, but it sure as hell seems convenient that we've had product going missing right as these OD's flare up. I've been working over the last few years to lessen our take on the drugs, slowly whittling our involvement down, but we still have a respectable presence on the streets. Between the Monarch Club, my investments, and the realty sectors, we've picked up enough legitimate revenue that within a year or two we should be able to leave the drugs behind altogether. The poker nights, loans, and protection orders will still keep our members busy and well-paid. But if this drug thing brings heat to us now, the Feds will be up our asses again in no time.

I press the button on the remote on my keyring to open the gate as I descend into the parking garage below the Monarch Building. Mateo waves from the guard station as I step out of my SUV, and I head off toward the elevator, swiping my keycard for the penthouse and skimming over my work emails as I ride up to the top floor. Allen, the head of accounting at Vento Ventures, has asked for another extension on final reporting for his department for the month. Maybe it's just a bad aftertaste of the day I've had, but something about it feels off.

By the time I step into the hall of the penthouse floor, I've got instructions out to HR and the department heads for a new position I'm creating come Monday morning. It's late, so I decide against briefing Rocco, pocketing my phone and swiping my keycard again to open one of three sleek black doors in the dimly lit hall, stepping into my suite.

The moonlight pouring in from the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminates a black box with a matching satin bow resting precariously on the white quartz countertop in the kitchen. My hand instinctively slides to check that my piece is still tucked in my waistband as I quickly cross the penthouse, my hackles raising.

"Cazzo," I mutter as I finger the small card tucked against the bow, instantly recognizing the handwriting.

'For tomorrow, cousin. -R'

I peel away the ribbon- courtesy of Isabella, I'm sure- and lift the lid to find a plain black masquerade mask. There's another card embossed with the Monarch Club's purple butterfly logo and details for the party, instructing guests to dress in all black.

The longer I stare at the molded mask, the more my jaw tightens as I empty my pockets and slip off my jacket. I'm happy for Rocco, but I'm not looking forward to the pointed questions that I'm sure I'll be fielding all night.

Fuck, maybe my old man's right. Maybe it's finally time to settle down, get married and have a couple of brats…

I shudder at the thought of being tethered to someone like Isabella Ricci for the rest of my life, pushing that thought out of my head as quickly as it entered. What's the point in building an empire just to be goddamn miserable for the rest of my life? People can talk all they want, but the proof's in what I've accomplished over the last decade. I shouldn't need a wife or a child to legitimize that.

I grumble curses under my breath as I make my way down the hall to my room, discarding my clothes on the chair and sliding into bed. I just have to get through the next twenty-four hours, and then all this bullshit will be behind me and I can get back to focusing on what really matters. I huff out a breath as I cradle the pillow and roll to my side. Sempre per la famiglia .

"Viva gli sposi!" I shout, raising my glass of champagne above my head. There's easily over a hundred people gathered at the Monarch Club to celebrate Rocco and Isabella's engagement, and they all echo my sentiment with their own glasses raised high. "Brindisi!" I call out even louder, bringing the glass down to my lips and throwing back the champagne.

Isabella's family insisted on having the event catered, even though it was well within the capabilities of the club to provide the meal tonight. I guess Aldo's nephew owns a catering business and wanted to support his family. That action only inflates the respect I have for the Ricci's, and it also has my old man's words about settling down echoing louder in my head.

I discard my glass on an empty high-top table as I look around the midnight purple interior of the club to see how many of the smaller families in the outfit turned up. There are multiple younger women scattered about, and while they're all classically beautiful, I don't feel anything more than appreciation for their looks as I glance toward them. I'm sure most would be eager to wed me, bed me, and bear my children- and no doubt their fathers would be twice as eager to trade them to me. But I just can't bring myself to settle for a placeholder.

The room suddenly feels more crowded when Rocco's hand snakes around Isabella's waist, dipping her backwards in a big showy kiss that has everyone swooning and cheering. I need something stronger than champagne.

Excusing myself and heading off down the hall, I stride past the kitchen and private rooms towards the stairs to my office, pausing when I hear the sounds of commotion and a woman's scream outside the door to the alley. I immediately go to investigate, turning the handle of the door and slowly pushing it open to assess the situation.

As soon as I poke my head outside, I see a tall man in a hoodie hovering over a woman slumped against the dumpster, wearing a server's uniform and gold mask. Her fingertips are stained crimson as she pulls her hand down from her face and inspects them, and her whimpered plea for the guy to leave her alone sparks something inside of me. I may be a made man with more kills than I can count on my hands, but physically hurting a woman is fucking disgraceful.

The man throws his hands up, yelling at her as he inches closer, and I step around the door, releasing it and letting it slam shut behind me to announce my presence.

"She said to leave her alone," I growl as I advance on the guy, snatching his wrist and twisting it behind his back.

"Back off, asshole," he spits, squirming pathetically in an attempt to break free from my hold.

I squeeze tighter, his body going rigid as the realization of my strength registers. Then, without warning, I splay my fingers to drop his arm, ramming my palm between his shoulder blades and forcing him face first to the concrete.

The girl winces at the sound of his body hitting the ground beside her. If she's concerned for him, her face doesn't show it, though. Her bright blue eyes hold a morbid curiosity in them instead, sparking my intrigue.

She watches intently as my hand circles the back of the guy's neck, roughly pulling him to his knees as I crouch down beside him. The douchebag spits a glob of blood at me, narrowly missing my face and landing on my chest. Guess the all-black attire worked in my favor.

I tilt his head to face me, his pupils dilated and blood trickling from his nose. Lifting my chin in the direction of the girl, I say, "Apologize." My thumb is pressed so deeply into his neck that I can feel his pulse quicken as I turn his head to face her.

"S-Sorry," he mumbles.

She lets out a ragged breath, shaking her head. "Go home, Trey." Her shoulders droop as she adds, "and stay away from me."

Trey's body goes slack, finally accepting defeat. Standing up to my full height, I tug him up with me, fish a fifty from my pocket, and press it into his palm.

"Catch a cab and get the fuck away from my club," I spit, giving him a shove.

His eyes dart to the girl and then back to me before he jogs off at a frenetic pace.

I turn back to the girl, finally getting a good look at her. God, she's beautiful.

"Are you okay, Rachel?" I ask, reading the name embroidered on her vest and extending my hand to her.

A look of confusion flickers across her features and her nose scrunches up. She eyes my tattooed fingers, trailing her gaze up to meet mine before she places her small hand in mine with a slow nod. I effortlessly pull her up to stand, and she's so petite that her head barely reaches my chest at her full height. My other hand cups her elbow, steadying her as she wobbles on her feet, blinking her eyes like the effort to stand threw her off her axis. Seeing just how tiny and delicate she is only fans the embers inside me, my anger flaring back to life.

That fucking bastard.

"Uhm, can I have my hand back?"

Her voice is sweet like honey, prompting me to drop the hand I didn't realize I was still holding. I clear my throat, motioning to the door. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"It's okay. I'm fine really," she insists, moving towards the door and grasping the handle.

"Come," I instruct, gripping the door and holding it open. My hand presses lightly at the small of her back, maneuvering her inside.

She hesitates for a moment, tilting her head to look back at me in contemplation. I'm sure seeing me rough up that asshole doesn't earn me the prince charming title you'd read in storybooks, but I haven't given her any reason to be scared of me. Yet.

"Okay," she breathes.

I nod in satisfaction and guide her to the stairs, my hand never leaving her body as we climb them to the offices. The soft nighttime glow of the violet lights are just enough to highlight her soft features, and my cock stirs to life as I swipe my keycard in my office door.

Stepping inside, I switch on the lamp beside the sofa. Then my hands circle her hips, her eyes widening as I hoist her up to sit on the back of it. Grabbing the first aid kit from the side table, I rip open an antiseptic wipe, step between her legs, and lightly dab at the drying blood on her forehead. It doesn't look like it'lll need stitches, though it may leave a faint scar. Cuts to the face always bleed in exaggeration.

I place a butterfly bandage across the cut, sliding my hand down the curve of her cheek, curling my fingers under her chin, and tilting it to the side to inspect my work. Her lithe fingers circle my wrist as dark lashes flutter behind the gold mask, her baby blues looking up at me as she whispers, "Thank you."

Cazzo. Her soft touch and hooded gaze has my dick thickening behind my zipper. There's just something about this girl sitting in my office, lips parted slightly, thumb stroking at the palm of my hand.

I'm drawn to her like a magnet, and before I even really register what I'm doing, I go in for a taste of this sweet little bird that's perched on my sofa, slamming my lips down on hers. I swear I feel an electric current arc between us the moment they connect, and though I catch her little gasp of surprise, she doesn't push me away. Instead, she deepens the kiss, her hands looping behind my neck as our mouths slide together in a growing hunger.

Licking at the seam of her mouth, I silently ask permission to take this further. Those pillowy lips spread and our tongues tangle, her legs circling my waist, pulling me closer, telling me how badly she wants this. Her nimble fingers scrabble at my chest, popping the buttons on my black silk shirt. Mirroring her actions, I break open her vest, plucking at the buttons of her white dress shirt beneath and pushing it off her shoulders.

Her head falls back as I trail kisses down her jaw, nipping at the soft flesh near her ear. I slide my hands up under the black lace bra to palm her perfectly round tits, and a soft mewl escapes her lips as I band an arm around her waist and pull her flush against me. My dick throbs at the proximity of her covered pussy as I move us around to the front of the sofa.

Resting a knee on the leather cushion, I bend at the waist to lay her down, her pale gold hair pooling around her head like a halo. My hands rest on her hips, thumbs snaking beneath the waistband of her slacks to stroke her supple skin as I lick a trail up her collarbone.

Every soft sigh of pleasure she releases plucks away at my resolve. I try not to make it a habit of fucking my employees; it's just messy. But she doesn't work for me; she's here with the catering company. I'll likely never see her again after tonight.

I rock back, unclasping my belt and slacks and slowly dragging down the zipper. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she wriggles beneath me eagerly, bucking her hips up, giving me a clear signal as to what she wants.

She bites down on her bottom lip as I free my cock from the confines of my boxer briefs.

"Tell me what you want, Bella," I instruct.

Her silence gives me pause, but then I notice how those baby blues are laced with lust as they track my fingers gliding over the barbells of my pierced shaft while I stroke it. "I want this," she states unabashedly as she leans forward and licks the bead of precum from my swollen cockhead.

Holy fucking shit. Is this girl even real?

Her hips undulate as she pushes down her black slacks, the backs of her hands rubbing against my stiff cock, and the last of my hesitation vanishes.

I step back, pulling out my wallet to grab a condom before pushing my pants to the floor, kicking them off and tossing hers to the side as well. Shit, there isn't one. I run a hand through my hair, rolling my lip between my teeth as she tugs her bra off overhead. I swallow harshly at the sight of her pert tits, debating my options as she glances up at me with a hooded gaze.

"I don't have a condom," I grumble.

"I have an IUD," she whispers.

Fuck it, the anger and frustration over the last twenty-four hours converts to adrenaline- a night of anonymous sex is exactly what I need, so as long as she's cool with it, so am I.

I toss my wallet aside, my fingers curling around the skimpy lace underwear at her hips, and she lets out a squeal of surprise as I tear them away, leaving her laid bare beneath me.

Hitching forward, I guide the head of my cock between her slick folds. She's so fucking wet and warm, my breath comes out in a shudder and her eyes roll closed as I bump her clit.

"Eyes on me," I growl, dragging my cock back down and positioning the head at her entrance. Her eyelashes flutter, fingers clawing at my forearms as I notch my tip inside. "So fucking tight," I hiss as her lips round in an 'o'. "I want to see you as you take every inch and I want you to count every rung as this pretty pussy swallows them, understand?"

She nods up at me demurely, and I swear I get even harder. "Good girl," I praise, shoving forward to sink in further.

"One," she chokes as the first barbell disappears. Her walls pulsate tighter around me, eager to pull me in. When we make it to ten and I'm fully seated inside her quivering cunt, I strum her clit with my thumb while I give her body a minute to adjust to my size. I know I'm big, and I've stretched her tiny slit wide with every inch of cock I've fed her. Gradually, the tension in her muscles fades and I ease myself back slowly.

"Oh fuck!" she cries out, her back arching up off the leather as I drop to my elbows, bracketing her head as I thrust forward and bottom out inside her. Then we immediately fall into a rhythm of hard thrusts and bucking hips as our moans fill the silence around us.

"Yes! Fuck!" she yells, splaying her palms across my chest and pressing me backward.

I twist our bodies, pulling her up to straddle me as I lean back against the arm of the sofa and let her take the lead. I'm not usually one to give up control so easily, but there's an avidity in her eyes that no other woman has shown me before and it's a fucking turn-on. Her hands rest on my shoulders while I help guide her hips as she grinds on me, seeking the friction she needs to get over the edge.

She starts to bounce up and down on my lap, her inner walls fluttering around my cock. "I-I'm gonna come!"

Her head lolls back, movements slowing as I grab her hips to take over. Picking up the pace, I drive into her relentlessly, chasing my own release.

"Come with me Bella, let me see you shatter," I murmur against her lips. My balls draw up, my spine tingling, and just as her juices flood my lap, I come harder than I ever have before in my life.

Her petite body melts against mine, our chests rising and falling in unison as we struggle to catch our breath. My thoughts are still clouded with the post-orgasm high when I finally lift her from my lap and clean up our mess between her legs with my shirt.

"I should get back to my friends," she says, standing from the couch and reaching for her clothes.

I don't object, grabbing a clean shirt from the closet. We dress in silence, sated looks on both our masked faces, and when I open the door and lead her back down the stairs, something flutters in my chest as she presses up to kiss my cheek and mutters a thanks. But I don't read into that feeling, and I don't ask for her number.

I know better than to involve someone outside of the outfit in my life.