Consumed by Desire: A Dark Mafia Romance, page 13
I head inside and find Casso sitting in bed. He’s shirtless, and I stare at the tattoos on his chest, at the muscles on his ripped chest and stomach. He’s got a glass of whiskey on the bedside table and a tablet in his lap. I can’t tell what he’s reading and he turns it off when I step deeper into the room, watching me warily. He looks so damn normal stripped of his suit and his power, just a handsome man sitting in bed with messy hair and tired eyes.
“Wife,” he says, nodding once.
“Husband.” I shiver at the word. “I’m going to sleep.”
“That’s what we’re here for.”
He watches me like that’s the easiest thing in the world. I grab a t-shirt, shorts, underwear, and run into the bathroom to get ready. When I’m changed and freshened up, I stare at myself in the mirror. I see a small girl, smooth brown skin, big pink lips, bags under her eyes, hair a frizzy mess from sitting in the sun all day, but not bad all things considered. I don’t want to look away, because that means I have to go back in there.
I’ve never slept in the same bed as a man before.
The idea’s absurd. How do people even share a bed? Will I feel him breathing all night? Can I possibly fall under with him so close? I don’t know, and I can’t put it off forever.
I slip into the room. The lights are out and he’s under the sheets. I climb into my side and I’m intensely aware of him there in the low light, his dim body outlined by the silver moon. He breathes slowly, but he’s not asleep. I feel his eyes on me, watching.
“Did you have a good day?” he asks softly, like he’s struggling to form the words.
“Aside from this situation, fine.” I turn my back to him, tucking my hands under the pillow.
“Good. That’s good.” He clears his throat. It hits me that he’s nervous, which is so crazy. This is my husband, this is Casso. He’s the Don of a powerful mafia family. Why the hell would he be nervous? True, we’ve never slept in the same bed together before, but we’ve done so many other things—this shouldn’t be a big deal.
But it is. I feel it too.
“Well. Goodnight.” He lays back and I adjust myself, getting comfortable, or as close to comfort as I can. I feel like the gap between us is immense, and I shift slightly closer, wanting to feel his warmth against my skin. He notices and moves in my direction, and his hand touches my thigh, softly.
“Don’t get ideas,” I whisper. “Okay? Just sleeping.”
“Just sleeping,” he murmurs, his hand moving up and down my leg to my hips. It sends tiny jolts of excitement along my flesh. “I meant to tell you. We’re going to a party tomorrow.”
“What sort of party?”
“We need to speak to the Phoenix DA about getting charges dropped.”
“Someone in the family is in trouble?”
“No, not someone in the family, one of the Polish brothers has a case.” He sighs softly and grips my hip tightly. I chew on my lip to keep myself from releasing a whimper and he moves closer, pulling me against him in one fluid motion, so seamless and simple. Like we do this all the time. I feel him, hard and massive and warm, as he wraps his arms around my body.
I go very still. I don’t move an inch. I’m afraid that if I do, I’ll keep going, I’ll roll over and kiss him, I’ll straddle his hips and ride him, and once we cross that line, there’s no going back. Touching, cuddling, holding each other, that’s not so bad, that’s not something that can’t be undone. This might be okay. I can survive this.
Except it feels so good to have his body tight against mine and I don’t know what to do with that.
“The party,” I say stupidly, desperate to distract myself. “What do I need to wear?”
“I’ll get you a dress. Something nice. It’s one of those rich people charity events.”
“Do you go to many?”
“You’d be surprised. It’s expected of my family. We give a certain amount to appease the powers that be, and they tend to turn a blind eye if they happen across one of our more illicit activities. Though that rarely happens.”
His breath is warm against my neck. I stare into the darkness, his crotch against my ass, and I’m tempted to wiggle my hips. Just to see if he’s hard.
“Sounds, uh, fun.”
“It won’t be. It’ll be work.” His lips are against my neck and a shiver runs down my spine. “But I want you there.”
He wants me there.
I close my eyes and picture dancing with him. The world slows and comes to a stop, and his breathing is rhythmic. “Then I’ll be there,” I say quietly, more like a whisper, his heartbeat lulling me, his warmth and touch comforting me, until my mind starts to drift and the dreams drag me under.
Chapter 15
Casso
I’m halfway through my second whiskey when Olivia comes out from the hallway and does a little spin. “Well, how’s this?”
It takes all my willpower to keep myself from pinning her against the wall, ripping that fucking dress off her body, and taking her here and now.
“You look beautiful,” I say and truly mean it.
She grins back at me, cheeks pinkening. I don’t know why she acts as though she’s unaware of just how gorgeous she is, like she doesn’t own a damn mirror. She’s in a tight golden dress, a dark burnished color that makes her skin glow, with her hair pulled back in a tight bun. A large bow hangs down her back, and her smooth arms are bare, the front covering her breasts and legs entirely but draped in such a way that it makes her look like the dress is made from liquid. The effect is magical, a classical beauty, and I stare at her with a pounding heart, barely able to keep my hands to myself.
“I’m glad you like it,” she says softly, almost shyly, but how can a woman like that be shy? She looks like a goddess.
I put down my drink and offer my arm. “Shall we?”
She takes it, and together we descend the stairs. Nico’s waiting out front in the Range Rover and he grins when we get into the back. “I’m your driver for this evening,” he says, bowing dramatically.
“I refused a bodyguard and Nico insisted.” I grunt at him and wave away his fake attempts at helping me into the back. Olivia smiles at him and seems to appreciate his levity, and soon we’re rolling toward downtown and the venue.
I steal glances at my wife. Last night, she fell asleep in my arms, but I couldn’t manage to drift off. I was intoxicated by her, by the smell and touch of her, by the ease with which I moved to her side of the bed and held her against my body. It felt natural to hug her close, it felt good to be with her the way a husband’s supposed to, and I can’t decide if that scares me or sends a jolt of excitement into my core. It helps that her ass was pressed up against my cock and I was half-hard for hours afterwards thinking about fucking her mindless.
Even better, I woke with her still there, the smell of her permeating everything, and I remained in bed longer than I would have otherwise enjoying her presence. Only when it became obvious I had to move did I manage to extract myself without waking her.
The ballroom at the base of the Regency Hotel is dripping with old money and new transplants from other cities come to this place to follow their dreams and build their own empires and fortunes. The tech-set meets the old guard, oil barons and the current algorithm bros. Phoenix courted Silicon Valley-types with their VC money and internet startups about ten years back, offering generous tax breaks and easy tax filing and a bunch of other incentives, and now the most successful of that crop have inserted themselves deeply into the social fabric of elite Phoenix society, much to the chagrin of the families that have been in this city all their lives: the drillers, the diggers, the so-called lords and ladies. The old and new circle each other like slobbering wolves. It’s the same everywhere.
Nico trails after us, looking like a security guard. If he had his way, my entourage would be massive. But I’m not here to draw attention. I place my hand on the small of Olivia’s back and draw her close so I can whisper in her ear. “See that old man over there in the bolo tie and cowboy hat? That’s Bernardo Blessing, his family’s been ruining Phoenix since white people first came out here and started killing all the natives. And that guy there is Julian Abel, silver spoon so far up his ass he’s spitting coins. And that’s Edwin Hickmott, another rich old guy, I forget what he does. And over there is Donnie Oscar, invented some kind of fancy internet money, sort of like Bitcoin but worse.” I explain all this and more, the different factions, the various groups, as we get drinks and circle the room, shaking hands, making introductions and small talk.
“Casso Bruno, you haven’t been to one of these in too long,” Hedley Pibroch croons and tugs over her husband, a white-haired man with hearing aids and medals pinned to his overly large tuxedo that I’m pretty sure are fake. “Darling, it’s Casso Bruno, you know the Bruno family? They own all those restaurants and drinking establishments?” Her smile is bolted on.
“Yes, why yes, liked your father,” the old man drones. Speaking too loudly. Probably can’t hear himself.
“He was fond of you as well,” I say, playing it up. We chat briefly about how the city’s falling apart, as always.
I leave them with smiles and well wishes and move on. “Is everyone like this?” Olivia asks, grinning at me. “Do you have to kiss all their asses?”
“Pretty much,” I say, not smiling back. “At least I have to be polite. These people don’t have power over me exactly, but they can make my life a living hell, and I am in business with a good chunk of them. It pays to be liked.”
Another tech bro, Berthold Roaning, holds court nearby, and standing in his little crowd is the woman we’re here to see. I point her out discreetly.
“She’s cute,” Olivia says, sounding surprised. “And young. What is she, like, thirty?”
“Forty. Keeps trim.” I laugh softly. Joyce Flowers is Phoenix’s rising star, its hard-nosed DA tough on crime and tougher on corruption. “Except she’s as corrupt any the rest of them,” I whisper and Olivia laughs.
“Tell me she’s in your pocket.”
“Not exactly. But she owes me a favor or two. Come on, let’s see what Joyce has to say for herself.”
Joyce is a tall white woman with dark hair, severe-looking, in a simple pant suit that accents her lack of figure. She’s like a willow tree incarnate. But she’s got a presence, I’ll give her that, and the rich love to shake her hand and pretend like they’re her best friend, even while giving money to her primary challenger. But Joyce, she’s a snake. She’ll win reelection if she has to drag every old asshole in the city by the balls to vote.
I insert myself into her conversation, but as soon as I appear and make my introductions, Joyce slips away. So begins the most frustrating game of cat and mouse imaginable: every time I get near, Joyce makes up an excuse, polite as can be, and hurries off. Nico watches it all from the bar, laughing to himself, the bastard. It’s like I’m chasing her around the room. She’s a master at evading my advances.
“She doesn’t want to talk,” Olivia observes.
“Astute.” I toss back a whiskey, frustrated. “How am I supposed to get this woman on our side if she won’t give me the time of day?”
“Is this a normal problem for you?” Olivia touches my chest, batting her eyes, playing it up. And shit, I like it. She’s the most incredible woman in this room by a healthy margin.
“No, not remotely. There’s a reason she’s trying to ditch me and I’d better figure out why.”
“Poor little mafia Don. I almost feel sorry for you.” Oliva’s lips brush my neck and she smiles at me seductively.
My palms sweat and my heart races. We’re in the middle of a crowd, but I’m alone with her. A waiter passes and I grab a glass of champagne.
“Here’s to my lovely wife,” I say, taking a sip, but Olivia catches the glass and steals it.
“And here’s to my doting husband.” She tosses it back, cheeks flushed. I watch her lips with ravenous fascination.
She’s doing this to piss me off, but it’s having the opposite effect: if she doesn’t stop, I’m going to drag her into a back room and have my way with her, because I can’t stand another second of her flirting like this without having a nice, long taste.
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to regret looking so damn good in that dress,” I murmur in her ear and I feel a tremble run down the length of her body.
“Maybe I’d like that.” But before I can answer, she squeezes my shoulder. “Casso. I’ve got an idea. Still want to talk to that DA?”
“I do, obviously, but—”
“Come on.” She grabs my hand and pulls, and I’m hurrying after her.
She leads me across the room toward the far bar. At first, I think she’s aiming to get another drink, but instead she goes past it, down a short hallway, and pauses outside of the restrooms.
“What’s the plan here?” I ask, looking around the otherwise empty space. At the far end, the kitchen bustles. Plates and silverware clatter. Voices shout in Spanish. Curses and pleas.
“Stay.” She taps a finger on my chest. “Wait.” Then she slips into the women’s room.
I stay and I wait. I lean against the wall, arms crossed, and spot Nico at the hallway’s entrance turn aside a couple of older folks. I don’t know what he says, but he gently makes them head somewhere else, then looks back at me with a wink.
A woman emerges from the bathroom—Mathilde Tempera, heiress to a pantyhose fortune—looking somewhat put out. “Very rude woman in there hurried me away,” she says, shaking her head in a huff. “Very, very rude.” She leaves in a cloud of rank perfume.
Olivia appears in the doorway, beckoning. “Hurry.”
I nod to Nico and step inside.
The bathroom’s nice. Pink mostly. Six stalls, only the far one occupied. Small hand soaps cover the counter with an assortment of other feminine hygiene products. I poke at the offerings and Olivia glowers. “We don’t get half this,” I mutter.
The toilet flushes and out steps Joyce. She walks head down to wash her hands and comes up short when she spots me. Her head raises, her eyes widen, and her skin pales—if that’s possible. Olivia beams at her, hanging on my arm, the brilliant fucking girl. I remind myself to thank her later.
“Hello, District Attorney Flowers,” I say with a smooth grin.
She glares. “This is the women’s room, Casso. What the fuck are you doing? I guess I shouldn’t ask, since obviously you’d stoop to following me into the toilet. That’s the sort of man you are.”
She’s goading me, clever girl. I don’t rise to it.
“So we’re dropping pretense, that’s fucking nice. Gets real old being all stuffy with you, Joyce, when I know you’re a cold-hearted killer deep inside.”
She rolls her eyes and steps up next to me to wash her hands. She pumps soap and scrubs. “Make it fast.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“It’s an election year. You think I want to be associated with the Bruno Famiglia right now? I’d rather cut off a hand. I’d have a better chance at winning.”
“Come on, these old windbags love me.”
“But the young ones don’t. Your father made enemies, and he left them for you, but you’ve been too busy doing your crime thing to notice.” Joyce finishes and I hand her a wad of paper towels. “Thank you.” She dries her hands.
“I need to call in a favor.”
“Shitty time for that.” She throws the paper towels into the trash and faces me.
“I’ve been good to you, Joyce. Now I need you to reciprocate. Don’t make me resort to threats.”
Joyce’s eyes slip to Olivia. “And who’s this?”
“My wife, Olivia Cuevas. Yes, that Cuevas family.”
Joyce sighs and nods. “Nice to meet you.”
“You as well.” Olivia’s perfectly polite.
“Who got picked up?” Joyce asks, looking supremely exhausted and wary. “I might be able to help but there’s no promises.”
“Mickey Stazek. I need something from him, and he says he’s got a case.”
Joyce barks a laugh, shaking her head like it’s the worst joke she’s heard all day. “You’re kidding me. Since when did you work with the Polish outfit?”
“Since now. Can you do it?”
“No way,” she says, crossing her arms, trying to look tough. “Mickey’s got a murder case against him, didn’t you know? A murder case with a good witness. He’s going down and I’m getting the credit. Sorry, Casso, but you’ll have to ask for something doable.”
I grind my teeth together. Fucking Mickey didn’t mention his charge was murder, I wouldn’t have tried to use my political connections to help a damn murderer. Not that I mind the killing bit, more that getting caught is a real problem, and I don’t feel like getting tangled with that mess.
“Lower the charge then. Give him, I don’t know, involuntary manslaughter, something like that.”
Joyce shakes her head. “Witness saw him execute a guy. Shot him right in the skull, no hesitation. There’s too much evidence here. Not going to happen.”
“There has to be something. A campaign donation, a crook you want prosecuted that I don’t care about. You want another big case? I can give you one.”
“Not happening, Casso. I’ve got this one all lined up and ready to go. Maybe if there weren’t an election, but I’m half DA and half politician. Now, please, when we’re out of here, act like we don’t know each other.”
“Seems like we don’t,” I say softly, glaring at my useless DA friend.
“For now, until I win reelection, you’re right.” She softens a bit. “Try me again after the votes are tallied, okay? I want to work together. Just not on this.” She turns and leaves and the door swings shut.
“Shit.” I pace back and forth. “Mickey’s going to play hardball now.”
“What will you do?”
“Come up with something?” I stop walking and look at her. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
