Chapter 8

XAVIARO

I slide on a pair of sunglasses to block the glare of the sun as I slow my car to a crawl, ignoring the irritated blaring of a horn behind me before the prick speeds around me like he has a death wish. Lucky for him, I have better things on my mind than taking time out of my day to teach him some fucking manners. Namely, the deceptive dominant man walking on the sidewalk a few feet away, making my heart race with memories of the other night.

I roll down my window, keeping pace with him until he finally realizes he's being followed. Sparrow whips his head around, one hand already reaching for the dagger I know he keeps tucked under his clothes, his pretty mouth twisted into a feral snarl. I ease on the breaks right in the middle of the road and flash him a grin.

"Get in," I say, hitting the button to unlock the doors.

His defensive posture melts away and the teeth-baring expression is replaced by a flat look. Sparrow crosses his arms and arches an eyebrow at me.

"Get in, please?" I try again, and he unfolds his arms, sauntering into the street to lean into the open window.

"Maybe I have places to be this morning. Did you ever think of that, Killer?" His eyes rake over me and the flash of heat that flickers through them makes me think he's picturing me bound and on my knees for him again.

It took me three days to fully get my head back on straight after that night. Even now, I'm having a hard time remembering the numb feeling that was so familiar before he walked into my life carrying a stick of dynamite and a match.

"Three seconds to get in the car before I make you get in the car. And if I have to do that, you'll be riding in the trunk instead of the passenger seat," I threaten, pulling back my jacket to flash my gun at him.

His bored, guarded expression shatters with a grin and a snort of laughter as he yanks the door open and slides into the passenger seat. As soon as the door is closed behind him, I lay on the gas, peeling out from my parked position and speeding up to the next light. The scent of bergamot and leather fills my car, and I glance at Sparrow out of the corner of my eye. His leather somehow smells distinct from the interior of my BMW. My leather smells like it's fresh from the factory, crisp and clean. His smells like it carries memories of everywhere he's been, with hints of rain on the asphalt and stale smoke.

"To what do I owe this kidnapping?" he asks conversationally, turning the dial on my radio to flip through the presets before stopping on one of the classic rock stations.

"It's not a kidnapping." In all honesty, I didn't expect to see Sparrow this morning. It's become a habit to detour down his block on my way to or from jobs. But once I saw him, my body decided before my brain caught up, and there was no way I was just going to drive right by. "It's a date."

He barks out a laugh, reclining his seat an inch. I ordered him into my car and here he is making himself at home without a second thought. Why is that so fucking hot?

"Sure, all dates traditionally start with the threat of being tossed into the trunk at gunpoint," he says in a deadpan tone.

"Yours don't?" I tease.

"First time for everything, I guess," Sparrow says with another smirk that I can see out of the corner of my eye, tempting me to take my eyes off the road for just a second to steal another look at him.

The bodega I was on my way to before I spotted him on the street comes into view up ahead, reminding me of what I'm actually supposed to be doing this morning.

"Shit," I mutter and then sigh under my breath.

"Didn't think this all the way through, did you?" he guesses.

"I've got a couple of collections I've gotta do. I would blow them off, but I've done that one too many times lately already," I confess.

"Collections? Like, breaking kneecaps and waving your gun in people's faces to get them to pay up?" The tremor of curiosity in his voice is unmistakable. "Sounds like a pretty unforgettable first date if you ask me."

"You want to come with?" I pull into a spot in front of the bodega and park.

"Hey, it's your kidnapping," he says with a shrug, reaching for the handle on his door. He pushes it open but pauses before getting out to look over his shoulder at me with a wicked grin. "Don't get it twisted though. If anyone is going to be tied up and gagged by the end of this date, it's going to be you."

Heat flushes over my skin and settles between my legs, tightening around my cock. I manage to bite back the whimper that forms on the tip of my tongue, but just barely. If I ask very nicely, will Sparrow tie me to his bed and keep me?

"You'd better hurry before I make a run for it," he taunts when I don't immediately follow him out of the car.

I manage to get my limbs to work again, and pull myself together enough to step out onto the shoulder of the busy street. I shrug my jacket into place, buttoning it and smoothing my hands over the soft, unwrinkled material. So far, Sparrow has only seen me after work hours. He's seen me in dark bars and filthy alleys. He's seen me undone in private. What will he think of the unflinching omen of death the rest of the city sees me as?

I stride around the car, bypassing the parking meter without stopping. When I reach the door to the shop, I pull it open and wave Sparrow in ahead of me. My eyes fall to his pert ass and my cock gives another eager throb. Hopefully the threat to tie me up later was more of a promise than a tease.

"The shop owner behind on his payments?" Sparrow guesses. "Are you gonna pull out your brass knuckles and rough him up a bit?"

"I would never rough Vinny up. He makes the best egg sandwiches in the city."

"Damn straight, I do," Vinny agrees from behind the towering wall of products he keeps stacked on the counter to encourage impulse buying.

"Morning, Vin." I greet him with a brief flicker of a smile. "Three to go and coffee too."

"Coming right up," he says, and seconds later, the sizzling sound of the grill fills the cluttered shop.

"Breakfast sandwiches?" Sparrow questions. "I thought we were breaking kneecaps."

"Never break kneecaps on an empty stomach," I advise.

While we wait for our food, he wanders around the shop, touching random items and whistling along with the music playing over the speakers mounted to the ceiling. I track him with my eyes, adding up the things I already know about him from watching him for weeks. It's not much. I know he takes his coffee black and he never passes a dog on the street without stopping to pet it. I know that he has exactly two pairs of jeans, both of them worn and holey. And I know that if I thought I still had a soul, he would have claimed it as his own when he slammed me up against that door in the alley and put his hand around my throat.

I swallow at the ghost of a feeling wrapping itself around my neck and quickening my pulse.

It's a paltry list full of holes that only make me more curious about him.

"Where did you grow up?" I ask, and he stops his meandering to turn towards me with his head cocked to one side.

"That the most interesting thing you want to know about me?"

"I want to know everything about you," I answer without hesitation. "I figured that was a good place to start."

"Connecticut," he says, grabbing a package of spearmint gum and tossing it onto the counter next to the cash register. "Just the one brother, and parents so WASP-y they could be on the home page of the Connecticut tourism website. No pets because my mom didn't like mess."

I listen as he rattles off facts about himself like he's reciting someone else's biography that he had to memorize for a class project.

"But you like dogs," I say, thinking about the way he always lights up when he stoops to pet one.

"Better than most people," he agrees with a one shoulder shrug. "What about you?"

"Grew up right here," I answer. "Second generation Italian with a big Catholic family. Seven sisters and twenty… three nieces and nephews at my last count. They all got the hell out of Wildcliff as soon as they could."

I didn't notice Sparrow moving closer, but I'm suddenly very aware of his body nearly pressed up against mine and his attention on me like I'm telling him the secrets of the universe instead of just rambling about my family history.

"You miss them?" he says, and I nod.

"Sometimes. I have family here though."

"Family," he says in a bad Godfather impression.

I chuckle and then look up to see Vinny standing behind the counter again with three sandwiches wrapped in aluminum foil and a curious look on his face. I clear my throat and pull my usual stoic expression back into place.

"Thanks," I say, reaching into my pocket to pull out cash to pay for the food, coffee, and Sparrow's gum.

He waves off the money and then stuffs one of the sandwiches into a bag for me and the spare coffee into a cardboard carrier so I won't have to juggle things. "On the house. I owe you a lot more than a few sandwiches for what you did for my family last month."

"Don't mention it. See you around, Vin." We grab our stuff and Sparrow follows me back out onto the street. He heads for the car when we step outside, but I shake my head and jerk my chin down the street. "We're not going far."

He doesn't ask questions, just unwraps his sandwich and bites into it as we walk. He groans around a full mouth.

"Oh my god, this is amazing. I can see why Vinny is under your protection." He devours his food in a few greedy bites then stuffs the wrapper into the pocket of his leather jacket before taking a sip of his coffee. "So, what did you do for him?"

I chew a bite of my own sandwich and glance over at him. I've never really dated. Scratch that, I've never dated, full stop. I've had a couple of repeat casual hook-ups, but that's as deep as it's ever gotten. You'd have to have your head in the sand in this city not to know who I am and what I do, but none of them ever had the balls to bring it up. Maybe they knew they couldn't stomach the details. But Sparrow wants to know. He already knows, and for some reason, he's not afraid of me. He's not afraid of what I do to people.

"His daughter's boyfriend was putting his hands on her," I answer, tossing my empty wrapper into the next dumpster we pass. "She tried to leave and he put her in the hospital. Vinny asked for a favor, so I paid the guy a visit and made sure he wouldn't hurt anyone else."

"You killed him?" he asks, his voice dipping low.

I turn my head to study his expression, looking for any sign that this is more than he can handle. It's one thing to get blood on your hands seeking revenge for someone you love. But cold-blooded murder for money and order is a whole different beast. Does he think I'm a monster?

He sips his coffee, meeting my eyes as he waits for my answer. I don't see a flicker of reservation or fear, but there's only one way I'll know for sure.

"Yes, but I gave him a taste of what it feels like to be helpless first. I beat him as badly as he beat her, until he was a bloodied, whimpering mess. Then I put a bullet through his temple." I don't feel a damn thing as I recount what I did to him. There wasn't any thrill in it, but there isn't any regret or shame either. I suppose there is a certain amount of pride in knowing he won't be putting bruises and burns on anyone else's daughter.

Sparrow shivers and moves closer to me, his expression that same dangerously cold one he wore when he walked into Death Company.

"Good," he murmurs.

My heart stumbles over its next beat. I stop in my tracks and he takes another couple of steps before realizing I'm not next to him anymore. He turns towards me and I tighten my grip around my coffee cup and the bag I have clutched in the other hand. He seems to have an uncanny ability to read my mind, because it only takes half a second before he closes the space between us and grabs my tie, slamming his mouth into mine in a biting kiss.

I chase his tongue with mine, forgetting for a minute that we're standing on a crowded street and Lorenzo may very well still have someone following me. A kiss like this is worth any trouble it might cause. I gasp at the sharp sting of his teeth against my bottom lip before he pulls away, leaving me aching.

"Who's the other sandwich for?" he asks, jarring me back into reality.

"Her." I point at the woman sitting on the stoop a few buildings down. We start walking again, slowing when we reach her.

She looks about the same as last time, her clothes two sizes too big and unwashed. There's a fresh bruise around her left eye that she isn't even bothering to try to cover. She gives me a weak smile, her gaze flickering to the bag and the extra coffee.

"You gonna kill him if he doesn't pay up today?" she asks just as casually as she's asked every time I've stopped by over the last few months.

"Maybe," I answer unemotionally. Strictly speaking, dead people don't tend to pay their debts. But at a certain point, some people are worth a hell of a lot more dead than alive. "You finally take out life insurance on the bastard like I told you to?"

She hesitates, then nods. "Not much, but it's something."

"Good." I hand over the coffee and the sandwich, then set my own mostly full cup on the crumbling cement stoop next to her before turning back towards Sparrow. "You sure you want to come in? You could stay out here and keep Loretta company."

He squares his shoulders, tilts his head back, and chugs down the remainder of his coffee, placing the empty cup next to mine when he's done.

"Let's do this."

SPARROW

An icy kind of calm descends over Xaviaro on our way up the creaky steps to the second-floor apartment. I'm not sure how I notice the shift, but one minute he's the Patron Saint of Battered Women and the next he's the fucking grim reaper, here to collect. He stops in front of the third apartment door on the left and cracks his neck one way, then the other.

The sounds of the city outside seem to fade and everything feels dangerously still, like the calm before a storm. My insides sizzle and pulse, adrenaline pumping through me like a drug.

He raises his hand to knock, three sharp raps of his knuckles that sound like gunshots in the eerie silence. A year ago I might have flinched, but I'm not that man anymore. My breathing is just as even as Xaviaro's, neither of us moving a muscle as footsteps approach hesitantly on the other side of the door.

There's a muttered curse and a slow smile spreads over his lips. It's not like any of the smiles I've seen him wear before. It's not playful or dirty or cocky. It's the kind of smile that must haunt the nightmares of the people who cross the Morettis.

"Open up, Reggie." His voice is just as dangerously controlled as the rest of his demeanor, and fuck me, I've never been hornier in my entire life.

"I don't got your money," the same muffled voice answers from behind the closed door.

"You know that's not what I want to hear, Reg. My boss is not a patient man and neither am I. In fact, I get a little less patient every second you don't open the fucking door."

A door behind us opens and a neighbor pokes their head out. Her eyes go wide as soon as she sees Xaviaro, and she ducks back inside immediately. The sound of her deadbolt being thrown echoes in the hallway.

"You've got until the count of three," Xaviaro warns. "One," he says, the number carrying a startling amount of weight as it falls crisply from his tongue. What exactly he'll do at the count of three, I have no clue, and I doubt Reggie does either. But before he can even get to two, the door is flung open and the man on the other side puts his hands up in front of his face, his eyes screwed shut like he's bracing for instant death. "Good choice."

Xaviaro steps inside, grabbing Reggie by the front of his shirt and walking him backward while I close the door behind us. I glance around, wrinkling my nose at the apartment that makes my current place look like the Palace of Versailles. A rat scurries over Xaviaro's shoes, but he hardly seems to notice as he releases Reggie but continues to tower over him, backing him up against the wall.

"I've been trying to get the money together, I swear," he says.

My eyes land on a pile of used needles on the nearby table and a couple of guns. Xaviaro notices them too, chuckling darkly.

"Funny how you always manage to find money to fund your habits, but never to pay your debts or feed your wife."

"What's that bitch got to do with anything? It's her fault I don't have the money. No one wants to pay for a bruised whore," he scoffs, as if he's not the one who bruised her in the first place.

Xaviaro growls, the sound vibrating through my bones and settling in my gut with a pulsing heat.

"Keep talking," he challenges, pulling out his gun.

Reggie's eyes dart to his own weapons and I can see the calculation in his eyes as he tries to figure out if he'll get there in time. I take a step closer to the table, blocking his path and drawing his attention to me for the first time.

"Who the fuck is he? You get a fucking intern? Or is it ‘bring your kid to work' day?" he cackles at his own joke.

"He's my date. Blood and gore makes him horny." I know Xaviaro is just toying with the guy, but honestly, he's not wrong. Maybe not the blood and gore part—I think I'd mark myself down as indifferent at this point. But watching the same man who whimpered on his knees for me a few nights ago go all heartless hitman is a fetish I didn't know I had until this moment.

"You're a fucking fa—" He doesn't even get the word out before Xaviaro pulls the trigger, the gunshot ringing loudly through the apartment along with the distinct smell of gun smoke and blood. Reggie slumps to the floor with his mouth and his eyes wide open, and his blood painted along the wall.

Xaviaro tucks his gun away and runs his hands through his hair.

"I fucking hate that word," he says through clenched teeth.

Everything happened so fast, it takes me several long seconds to catch up. But once I do, my heart slams wildly against my ribcage and my hands tremble with adrenaline. I close the space between us in three quick strides, stepping over Reggie's splayed legs to launch myself into Xaviaro's arms.

He catches me with a muffled oomph against my lips as I wrap my legs around him, tangle my fingers in his perfectly neat hair, and lick my way into his mouth. His hands find their way to my ass, holding me up with ease as he opens pliantly for me, just like he did the other night, offering me anything I want to take from him, and I fucking want it all.

I grind my throbbing erection against his stomach and he moans into my mouth, kneading my ass cheeks and panting around my tongue.

"I should call for cleanup," he says between kisses, and I groan.

"My god, you have an obsession with disposing of dead bodies," I grumble, unwrapping my legs from around him and getting my feet back under me.

He laughs and drags two fingers over his lips, not like he's wiping the kiss away, but as if he's trying to rub it in, to keep it tattooed on his skin.

"We can't all leave our kills lying around the city wherever we please," he counters.

"Alright, what do we need to do? Roll this guy up in a carpet and take him to the landfill?' I guess.

"You've seen too many movies, Little Sparrow. I'm going to call in a couple of the foot soldiers to deal with it. We've got a few other stops to make still."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Yeah? Kidnapping, murder… This is already the best first date I've ever been on. If you let me wield the pipe to break the next guy's kneecaps, it would definitely put this thing over the top."

"We'll see," he says, but I can already tell he's ready to cave on the issue if I decide to push it.

"Alright then, lead the way."