25. Laura

Chapter 25

Laura

" I don't know why I'm doing this," I mutter to myself as I walk up the front steps of The Gwen, a gorgeous old luxury hotel right in downtown Chicago. I feel totally out of place: the people in here are all beautiful, rich, and well-dressed in business casual button-downs and slacks, while I'm slouching through the front door in dusty jeans and a black tank top. I didn't even bother getting changed for this. I'm going to be polite to Mr. Chacal, but I'm more than likely going to tell him to fuck off back to New York.

The bar is in a smaller, more intimate room off the main lobby. It's not too crowded, only a small group sitting at a booth, and a few people posted at the bar. I skim the faces, searching for anyone who might be Chacal, and cursing myself for not getting his phone number before I left so I could call him, when I spot the very last man sitting in the far corner of the room at a small table all by himself.

My heart nearly fucking stops.

The black lacquered mask gleams in the low light. The gold around the ears and the snout glitters from the flickering televisions flanking the mirror behind the bar. Jackal stares at me through the eye slits in his mask, sitting very still and proper, a whiskey untouched in front of him, his hands folded neatly, and his back very straight.

I feel dizzy. I have to blink a few times to make sure I'm not hallucinating, and I'm still not sure. Jackal only sits and stares at me, clearly looking straight into my soul, his back very straight and proper. This is crazy and impossible—but even when I rub my face, he's still there.

I'm having another break. That's what's happening. Except the last time Jackal was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, I nearly killed him thinking it was all just a dream.

I drift in his direction. Nobody's staring at him, but they should be. He's an enormous man in a black jackal mask—he really fucking stands out.

His chin lifts as I make it to the other side of the table. Before I can say anything, a waitress appears with a drink, something clear and bubbling. "Here you go. He said you'd want this. It's a gin and tonic." She smiles, lots of teeth and big gums, and winks before she walks away.

I watch her go then turn back to Jackal.

He's still sitting there, regarding me.

It's scary as fuck. My heart's pounding in my chest and I feel unsteady. I lean against the chair and take a long sip from the drink.

"You're Mr. Chacal, aren't you?" I ask.

"It took a lot of work setting that identity up. I thought you might see through it." He tilts his head to the side. " Chacal is the French word for jackal."

I groan and look at the ceiling. That's why the name seemed familiar. It was just Jackal in another shape.

"Sit down," he says and pushes the chair out with his foot.

"I should leave," I say, whispering at him. My tone's harsh and laced with all the hurt I've been stewing in. "This is bad, even for you. Marco ."

He doesn't register the name. "Sit down, little demon. You can make a scene if you like, but I'm a man in a mask. I've already drawn enough attention to myself. Do you have any idea how expensive it is to sit here and be so blatantly strange? I'm bribing half the hotel at the moment."

I hesitate, caught between rage and curiosity. He's Jackal right now, and I'm not mad at Jackal. I'm mad at Marco. I'm confused by Marco. But Jackal?—

I still want Jackal.

It's a twist in logic.

I'm tangling myself up, trying to justify this.

But stupidly, slowly, I sit down on the edge of the chair, half a second from booking it out of here as fast as my feet can take me.

"You look good," he says.

"Very funny. What do you want, Marco?"

"I want to talk. I want to explain what you saw the other morning. You've been ignoring me, little demon."

"I'm not your little demon. Marco ."

He tilts his head. "You throw that name at me like it's a curse. But right now, I'm only Jackal. You can call me whatever you want."

I shiver with excitement. God, yes, he's only Jackal. The mask is back in place, and we can pretend again, if I let myself, and I really, desperately want to play.

But I can't get past what I saw that morning. Valentina Santoro looking beautiful and sleepy. They spoke to each other like they're intimate, but he keeps saying they're not together, and I don't know who to believe.

"Why was that girl at your place?" I ask him, hating myself a little bit for voicing the question out loud. I should be wondering a million other things, like why would he want to be with me when his old boss was trying to destroy my family? Did he know who I was at first? And if he didn't, what was he doing at my art gallery opening? Instead, my ugly jealousy takes over, and I ask the least important question first.

"That's a conversation for Marco, not for Jackal."

"Let's pretend you're both, or else I can get up and walk away and never see you again."

His head tilts to the side. "Alright, little demon. Valentina and Marco are good friends. They're… close. But not romantically involved and never have been. They've known each other for years, and when Valentina's father was killed?—"

"Killed by my father," I point out. "After he tried to destroy us."

Another acknowledging head nod. "After that went down, she was lost. They started working together and Marco protected her from some of the more violent elements of the former Santoro network. Valentina likes to take certain liberties, and she slept on Marco's couch that night after drinking half his beer and eating all his food. She's generally a pain in his ass."

I lean back, considering. Just friends. Close enough that she sleeps over, but nothing more. I can imagine how hard things must've been after Santoro's Famiglia imploded—there was probably a lot of jockeying for power, and I'm betting Valentina was in a lot of danger those first few months. Marco would have been in a good position to keep her safe if what he's saying is true.

"What did you tell her about me?" I ask him.

"The truth. That you and I are seeing each other. She wasn't happy about it, but like I said, she owes Marco a whole lot. I think she'll get past it. But maybe she won't. That doesn't matter."

I touch the rim of my glass but don't drink. I feel cold and confused, and I'm trying to decide how much of this I can believe, but Jackal hasn't lied to me yet. He made it clear that revealing his identity would ruin our game, and he was absolutely right about that, and he never claimed to be something that he's not. There have been multiple opportunities for him to hurt me, to spy on me, to steal something from me, to press me for information about my family, but he hasn't a single time. It's always been about us.

"Were you involved in the war between our families?" I ask, afraid of what he's going to say.

Again, he nods. "Yes, Marco was. He ran a crew that got involved in more than a few altercations with the Biancos, but mainly they controlled the cyber division of the Famiglia."

"Do you still hate us? Do you still hate my family?"

This time, he hesitates. His shoulders tense, and his head tilts to the side as if considering. But he nods. "Yes, baby, I do."

I appreciate his honesty, but hearing that hurts anyway. "Then how can you justify this?"

"I don't know," he admits. "You aren't your family. I don't hate you , but I do hate the organization your brother runs. They've been systematically destroying any competition and closing an iron fist around Chicago. Soon every minor crime family will either be paying tribute or chased out of town. My future depends on resisting them."

I let that sink in. I'm not sure how I feel about it. I've never been very involved in the Famiglia and never really cared what my brothers were up to before. He's right, I'm not the organization, but I am still a Bianco, and the men running the Famiglia are still my brothers. I care about them, even if I don't really care about the mafia.

"Your boss drove armored trucks into the oasis and tried to murder me," I say quietly, meeting his gaze and trying to keep my voice from shaking. "He tried to hurt everyone I care about. Why should I get past that?"

"It was war. I wasn't involved in that operation. I could make other excuses, but you're right. You don't owe me anything."

I don't like that answer. I don't like it at all. I lean toward him, pitching my voice softer. "I want you to beg , Jackal, or Marco, or whoever you are right now. If you want me to keep seeing you, I want you to beg."

He stiffens. I try not to smile. My heart's pounding in my chest at the idea of this powerful man pleading with me. For most of this relationship, he's been the one in control, but now I feel like the roles have reversed, at least for the moment, and I like it.

I figure, if this proud man's willing to debase himself for me, then I can believe that he's sincere. And really, I don't hold what happened against him, in the same way he shouldn't hold all the dead Santoro soldiers and his dead boss against me. It was a war, and we didn't know each other. It's not like I didn't pull the trigger more than a few times myself during that fight. I have blood on my hands, too.

"Please, Laura," he whispers, but I'm already shaking my head.

"Not good enough."

"I need you," he says, speaking louder. "Listen to me, baby. I can't lose this, not when it's only beginning. Not when it feels so right. Please, give me another chance."

I lick my lips and cross my legs. "Not too bad. But I'm not convinced."

An edge of panic breaks into his voice. "You're all I think about," he says and that gets my attention. "From the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep, I can't get you out of my head. Even when you blocked your cameras, I keep refreshing the link I have to your house's system, obsessively making sure it's still there. I need another chance with you, Laura. I need you in my life. I need our game, but I also need you , and whatever it is we're building."

Tingles run down my spine. I sit up straighter. "More."

He slips out of the booth and kneels beside the table. People are staring with open curiosity. "I'm pleading with you. I'm begging. I'll give you anything. I'll do anything. But I need you to give me another chance." He moves closer and puts a hand on my thigh. I'm breathing fast and my mouth is watering at the sight of him on his knees, staring at me through his mask. And I swear, I can't prove it, but I think he's smiling.

"More," I whimper.

His grip on my thigh tightens. "I dream about you. I touch myself, thinking about your taste. Ever since we played our first game together, you're all I've wanted. I'm going to ruin my life for you, Laura Bianco, and it will have been absolutely worth it. Please, baby, give me another chance. Let me back into your life." He's right next to me, both hands on my leg, and I'm trembling with excitement. He leans in closer and whispers, "Did you like that, baby? Do you like it when I beg for you?"

I nod slowly at him, my mouth hanging open. Fuck, this guy somehow takes getting down on his knees and turns it around on me, like all along this was some game he's playing. Like he's the one teasing me, and not the other way around.

And it's absolutely working.

"Let me taste your soaking wet little pussy again, baby," he says, very quietly now. "I want to sink my cock between your legs. You haven't had me inside of you yet, and I am fucking dying to stretch you out and make you come. I want to lick your nipples, make you sweat, kiss you hard until your lips are swollen, and I want to fill you to the brim again and again. I want to make you crawl to me, take my cock down your throat, and ride my dick until you can't see color anymore. I want to make you mine, baby. Please, play another game with me."

Well, shit.

My resistance officially melts away.

And my panties are soaking wet.

This isn't how I pictured his begging would go, but here I am, trembling with excitement.

"Okay," I manage to say. "I'll play."

He strokes a palm across my cheek, and I nuzzle into it. "Good girl," he says, and abruptly he's back in his seat.

I blink multiple times, getting myself back together. My cheeks flush with embarrassment as I realize all eyes are on us, and I'm absolutely sure they know what's going on over here now. Fortunately, as soon as he's back in his spot, conversation at the bar resumes and we're not the center of attention any longer.

"What's the game?" I manage to ask him.

"You're so impatient," he says with a laugh. "I knew you would be, baby, so I won't make you wait." He takes three cards from his pocket and places them in front of me. They're room keys: 405, 407, and 409. "Pick one. Go upstairs. Whatever you find in that room is the game for tonight. You'll obey the rules, or you will be punished."

I lick my lips and blink rapidly. I finish my drink to help steady me. "What will I find?"

"That's part of the game. Choose a room."

I look up at him, at his cold gray-blue eyes, and back down again. This man hates my family . He would've killed me two year ago without hesitation. And now he's getting on his knees, pleading with me to give him another chance, and creating elaborate sexually charged games for us to play. He's wearing a mask in public, all for me.

It's sick, but the fact that I should be his mortal enemy, and yet he wants me anyway, only makes this even more enticing.

I reach out and grab key 407.

He pulls away the other two. "Good choice."

"What's in there?"

"Go upstairs and find out. Remember, baby, the safe word is albatross . But I'm warning you, when you see me next, I'm not going to be gentle."

Be still my fucking heart. "Promise?"

"I promise, baby. Now, get up and walk away. I'll give you a head start."

I could scream. I could absolutely scream. But slowly, I push my chair back and get to my feet. "How much of a head start?"

"Two minutes. Now, run , little demon. Before I take you right here in front of all these people and fuck you into a messy little puddle like the filthy fucking girl you are."