Chapter Two

Delilah

I 'd been aware of the man standing in the shadows even before he stepped toward me and grasped my hand. My senses leapt to life, my flesh tingling and my skin prickling. His dangerous energy told me he was one of the mafia brothers even before he'd confirmed it, my inner thighs clenching knowing I'd be soon be his lover.

His brothers were almost as sinister and charismatic, but my focus kept returning to Serafino, our shared chemistry too powerful to resist.

I took a small step back. My reaction to him wasn't normal, not anymore.

I'd been in the sex industry long enough to become jaded. It was why I knew I had to get out. What had once been empowerment and a heady adrenaline rush along with financial freedom had all too quickly become a grinding chore.

I'd had enough. This was my last hurrah, my last night and my biggest pay yet. It meant I'd have enough in my bank account to start a new life, to perhaps even study and make something of myself while I was still young.

Then Serafino asked me how much for a night alone with him and I couldn't help but secretly rejoice. Not only might I finish my profession with my biggest income yet, it might also be with the one man who'd caught my attention from the start.

Alessandro gave his brother a close-lipped smile. "What the fuck, Serafino? Since when don't you share pussy?"

"Since now," he growled. That he didn't elaborate, didn't justify his reasoning wasn't a surprise. He was obviously a man of few words.

Thanks to my profession, I'd become good—better than good—at judging a man's character.

Evander snorted, his dark eyes narrowed. "Of all the women you'd want to deny us, did it have to be this one?"

Serafino ignored them and I wondered which one of the brothers was the underboss. I vaguely recalled some gossip on the street about Evander stepping into the position, but perhaps I'd heard wrong? Or perhaps authority didn't count when it came to their sex lives with the brothers respecting each other's needs?

Serafino only had eyes for me when he prompted, "How much?"

My pulse stuttered. I already stood to earn thirty grand thanks to my friends being a no-show. Could I earn even more if I was willing to spend the night alone with Serafino while pissing off his brothers?

It's not like you'll ever see them again. This is your last opportunity to earn serious dollars before giving up your profession.

I shivered as I held Serafino's cold stare before I glanced down at the impressive bulge inside his pants. He was the type of man who'd forget his manners and fuck me in this crowded room with everyone watching on.

"Fifty k and I'm all yours," I said, my voice breathless.

While his brothers stiffened, he nodded without hesitation, his longish hair falling forward then back. "Done."

"What the fuck," Evander breathed.

"Well, shit," Alessandro muttered. "There had better be some decent pussy here tonight."

Serafino ignored them both as he reached for my hand and drew me away from his brothers and the crowd of partygoers, while four men with long hair and ripped jeans stalked toward a small stage where guitars, a drum set and a microphone waited. I smiled at the distraction. There would be very few now in the crowd who'd notice us leave.

It wasn't until I stepped out under a large portico with Serafino, and we headed toward a slate pathway, where gravel separated it and a concrete driveway on one side from some pungent, lemon-pine scented hedges on the other, that I found myself relaxing just a little.

The outdoors always soothed me, made me less guarded. That these gardens were lit up by solar lights and were mostly formal, clipped shrubbery didn't matter. Mother Nature might be cruel sometimes, but people were far more so behind closed doors.

I closed my eyes for a second as memories of my widowed stepmother battered me. Her shrill, accusing voice. Her excessive use of prescription drugs and alcohol. Her paranoia about her looks and aging. Her hate-filled eyes as she'd looked at me—the spitting image of my father—while telling me how repulsive I was before she'd locked me in the attic with no way out.

It hadn't mattered that it'd had a long lightbulb, not when it had swung like it'd been pushed by an invisible hand. It hadn't even mattered that I'd had a window to look through, not when it'd been barred to stop anyone pushing it open and not when it'd been so dusty there had been little to see and any sunlight had struggled to infiltrate the room.

She hadn't just imprisoned me; she'd chipped away at my self-esteem until one day I believed I'd deserved her abuse. At least it had made me realize I'd needed to leave the house before I lost my sanity. I'd never looked back. I'd escaped before I'd lost even more of myself to her.

"You're trembling," Serafino said, his voice low.

I sucked in a steadying breath, then flicked open my eyes. "Sorry," I said with a hoarse, half-laugh. "Sometimes I let my past catch up to me." I added hastily, "Rest assured, this is the first time I've allowed it to encroach on my job with a client."

He clasped my chin, his fingertips rough and rasping. I shivered. What bad deeds had he done with those hands? That I imagined they'd bring me to ecstasy as easily as they'd ended others' lives turned me on almost as much as it made me queasy.

To be so powerful and deadly that no one, least of all someone like my stepmother, would dare to treat him with anything but courtesy and respect must be remarkable. She'd probably piss herself facing someone of his reputation.

He looked down as he held my gaze, his shoulder-length hair sliding forward. "I don't want your professional persona. I want to know the real you."

I stared up at him, the shadows making him scarier somehow. But though I should have been intimidated, I was drawn to him, my anesthetized body responding to him in ways I'd never thought would be possible.

His dangerous, dark aura intoxicated me. Normal men didn't do it for me anymore; they hadn't in a long time. I needed someone who kept me walking on a tightrope. I needed excitement, I craved it.

Having sex and giving head to middle-aged, mostly married men, and to fresh-faced graduates born with a silver spoon in their mouths had long ago lost its appeal.

It was no longer enough, not by a long shot.

I bit my bottom lip. "You're paying a hell of a lot of money to get to know the real me. Most men— all men—want the fantasy, not reality."

"I don't want the fairytale," he refuted, reaching behind my head to untie my eye mask and gently removing it before pushing it into his jacket pocket. I blinked up at him, feeling exposed somehow, as though he was now reading past my mind and into my soul. He smiled a little. "That's for men who can't handle real women or the real world."

He was the first ever client to request normal from their dream woman. That I needed the opposite wasn't lost on me. While he was looking for conventional, I was seeking unconventional. Tall, dark and deadly was clearly my type.

He clasped my chin and tilted my head higher as his mouth captured mine, revealing his dominance and skill as he kissed me. I quivered even as my lips automatically parted, his questing tongue that tasted and tangled with mine leaving me reeling.

Holy shit. I needed this stranger to make me want sex again. My passion o-meter was skyrocketing, my lacy thong wet as lust poured through me.

He was undeniably gifted, and I couldn't help but wonder how glorious it'd feel if he used his mouth and tongue on other parts of my body. I didn't doubt I'd find out soon enough and I moaned into his mouth, dropping my clutch bag before my arms draped over his broad shoulders while he cupped my ass with one hand and pushed my front against his arousal.

My pulse shuddered. He was freakishly big, but surely I was wet enough and experienced enough to welcome his length? I writhed against him and it was his turn to groan, his blunt fingertips digging into my butt as he pressed me so close we were almost one.

That his firearm was yet another bulging distraction under his clothes didn't deter me. If anything it made me wetter, my needs greater.

He pulled back to look down at me, his dark eyes glittering. "I want you, Delilah."

He might be a man of few words, but when he spoke with such intensity he didn't need to elaborate.

"I want you too," I said softly. No subterfuge, no acting out yet another man's fantasy. This was my fantasy, my need.

Even if he had asked to fuck me in the room where partygoers were celebrating, I wouldn't have said no. Not because of the fifty K he'd agreed to pay me and not even because it'd change my life for the better, but because he turned me on so effortlessly.

I would have had sex with him for free.

The front door opened, rock music blasting through and obliterating the peace and quiet. A portly, suited man shut the door, quieting the racket. He withdrew something from his pocket. I realized it was a cutter and cigar after he snipped the tip and then lit it, the end glowing. Then he stepped out of the portico and onto the slate pathway toward us.

I knew right away he was someone important. Not because of his age or the world weariness that was apparent even with the shadows that encroached upon him between the solar lights. The way he held himself spoke of someone who didn't intimidate easily. He was high up in the mafia hierarchy.

"Carlo," Serafino acknowledged drily.

The older man slowed, the lights now picking out his hard, silvery eyes and thinning hair that in no way diminished his self-importance and ego. He was definitely someone of worth.

"Serafino," he said, his demeanor reserved. "Need I remind you the Irish mafia is on the warpath? Bad enough we lost two good soldiers, we don't want to lose you, too. I'd suggest you stay inside with your whore."

Serafino stiffened, but I was used to the scathing term. Men like Carlo no doubt enjoyed hookers on a regular basis and yet they themselves were immune to derogatory labels.

"You will call this lady, Delilah," Serafino said quietly, but with such an alarmingly dark undertone my pulse spiked harder again.

Carlo nodded tightly. "It's nice to meet you, Delilah , if that is even your real name, of course."

I nodded back just as tightly, peeved by his assumption. "It is. My father loved his biblical stories. I'm sure he would have named me Samson if I'd been a boy."

Carlo had already lost interest, his dismissal of me all too obvious as he refocused on Serafino and reminded, "You know I err on the side of caution when it comes to our enemies, especially since one of our informants has suggested plans are in place to further avenge Sean's death."

"I'm aware of the situation."

Carlo sucked on his cigar, the tip glowing red before the sickly scent of its smoke wafted our way. "I have no doubt of that," he conceded. "Believe it or not, I do care about what happens to Lorenzo's boys."

"That was never in dispute. But I think we've proven we're no longer boys and can look after ourselves—and others—as has Isabella."

"You have all proven that time and again," Carlo acknowledged. "But Sean's brother, Connor, is—"

"A hothead who lacks self-control and discipline," Serafino interjected. He sighed heavily, clearly sick of the conversation. Or perhaps he was sick of talking, period. I had a feeling he'd spoken more than usual. It seemed his respect for the older man ran deep. He crouched to pick up my clutch bag, then returned it to me as he straightened and asked, "Do you wish to go inside?"

That he asked instead of commanded made me a little giddy. Until Carlo's shocked, smoky coughing fit quickly disintegrated my passion and left me feeling off-kilter. It looked like I'd be playing my role tonight, after all. I didn't want to leave my profession on a sour note, with my last client regretting his fifty K bill.

Once Carlo regained his composure, he continued puffing his cigar as he led the way back under the portico and to the front door, making conversation as he went. "Without you brothers and Valentino on duty there is a much higher likelihood our enemies will infiltrate this place. And if our enemies can't take one of us down, they'll kill or take someone we care about instead."

I didn't miss his pointed look my way. And by the way Serafino moved between me and the older man, he hadn't missed it either. It was...nice to feel shielded and secure, like nothing bad could touch me.

Until Serafino did. Because I had no doubt he was the baddest of them all.