Arrogant Prick: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (2 page)

I
shimmy
the tight leather shorts over my thick thighs, struggle with the final button, and look at myself in the mirror. It confirms that I need to spend more time at the gym instead of eating cannoli. Damn my easy access to the best Italian pastries Brooklyn has to offer. The fact that I've failed to join a gym since I finished at NYU doesn’t help either.

I take the mesh crop top off the hanger and pull it on. My lacy black bra looks amazing under this sweater. My cleavage has probably never looked this good before. Bright red lipstick, dark eyeshadow, and just a hint of blush complete my ensemble. I look damn fuckable.

I put my arms over my head and shake my hips to the beat. Playing softly on my stereo is a demo CD from a new DJ. I make a mental note to call and book him for a live audition. He's a lot better than I had expected for a random drop-in.

I take one last appreciative look at my outfit before I sigh and take it off, putting everything back where it belongs. No way will my mom let me hear the end of it if I try to go out looking like this. I cringe just thinking about what she'd say, and pull on a simple black cocktail dress with a modest neckline instead. So much for my cleavage looking awesome. There was never any doubt I'd end up leaving the house in this dress.

Even my dad shouldn't complain about me wearing this. Oh, who am I kidding? If he saw me, he probably would. I glance at the shoebox on the shelf in front of me. Cocooned in tissue wrap within are a pair of Miu Miu gold gladiator heels, still unworn and in mint condition. He got them for me after I reluctantly agreed to move back home after school. They'd go so well with this dress. I tear my eyes away from them and grab the gold heels I bought at Target instead. They're not Miu Miu, but they'll do. I'll wear the designer pair when I can afford to buy them on my own.

A knock on my door reminds me that life still goes on outside my closet.

“Morning, sweetheart. Can I come in?” Mom’s voice is sharp, cutting through the door, and the heavy thumps of the music. Her tone tells me she wants to say something I don't want to hear.

She knocks again urgently before I have a chance to leave the closet. “I’m coming in, honey; I hope you're decent.” She opens the door without waiting for me to answer, since of course it's unlocked. Dad doesn’t believe in locks in his house, with the exception of his private study.

“Morning, Mom.” I bite back what I really want to say. Couldn’t she wait for me to let her in? I just want to pretend I have a little bit of privacy in this house.

I can tell she’s not feeling the music. If it’s not Celine Dion, she’s going to give it a thumbs down. I eject the CD, return it to its case and put it in my purse along with my keys and my phone.

“You were at work late last night,” she remarks as she subtly scans the room, looking for any signs that I’ve been acting like an independent grown adult. “Were you doing something fun?”

I suppress a loud sigh. “We’ve been over this. I do inventory every second Wednesday of the month. Those are always late nights.”

“Oh, right.” She snaps her thumb and middle finger together, rubbing the nails of each finger against one another. That's one of her tics. She's going to ruin her French manicure if she keeps it up. She's fretting about something, so I know she didn't come here just to make small talk.

She looks down at my heels disapprovingly. “Why aren’t you wearing the heels your father bought you? They look so much better than those cheap knockoffs.”

They really do. “I don’t want to get the Miu Miu’s dirty in the club. I want to save them for the right occasion.”

I hate lying to her, but what can I say without hurting her feelings? I’m not accepting my dad’s bribes for behaving like his little princess. I’m twenty-three years old, have a business degree from NYU, and should be able to make my own decisions about my romantic life. I just accepted the gift so he wouldn’t be insulted. But not a day goes by when I don’t regret letting mom convince me to move back in with them after school.

She nods, and purses her lips. “Marco came by this morning.” Here it comes. “He said you were flirting with someone at the club last night.” She gives me another disapproving look.

I can’t suppress my frown. I should have known this was coming. Of course that was going to come back around and bite me in the ass.

“You know how your dad feels about that.” She softens her voice, to remind me she’s on my side.

I stiffen my shoulders and shake my head to get rid of the tears threatening to well up in my eyes. “That was nothing, Mom. It was just some harmless flirting. It didn’t mean anything.”

“There’s nothing harmless about flirting with someone who hasn't earned your father's approval.” She steps close to me, locking her eyes onto mine. “You're his little princess. He only wants the best for you.”

“What’s best for me, Mom?” I look deep into her eyes, hoping to find sympathy from my mother. But instead I just see my dad’s loyal wife looking back at me. “I might as well have joined a nunnery if you want me to follow all his rules.”

She puts her hands on my shoulders and squeezes tightly. “The right guy will come along eventually, and then you can settle down and have a family of your own. Until that time, you just need to listen to your father.”

“And who’s going to decide who the right guy is for me? Don’t I get a choice in this?” I retort.

She pulls me into a hug, and I give her a weak embrace in return. Her diamond earrings glitter in the light from the crystal chandelier hanging high above our heads. The earrings are brand new, with a total weight of four carats between the pair. Dad got them for her after they had a particularly bad argument where she ended up being right. He never admitted he was wrong, or outright apologized to her though. Is that the kind of guy I'm supposed to wait for?

“It'll be okay, honey.” She holds me tight as her voice shakes a bit. She's trying to convince herself, as well as me. I squeeze her back tightly, grateful for that bit of empathy. “Your father is a great man. Being the wife and the daughter of a great man means that you and I have to live by different rules than other women. You'll realize eventually that this is all for the best.” I resist the urge to argue, or shake my head.

“Okay, Mom.” She lets me go. “I have to go to work now. I’ll grab breakfast somewhere on the way.”

“Okay, honey. Don’t be out too late.”

I grab a cardigan and walk past her, frustrated that she’s staying behind in my room when I’m heading out. It’s not like I don’t know that she snoops through my room when I’m not home, but she doesn't have to be so obvious about it.

“Bye.” There’s no point reminding her that I manage a club. It closes at 3 a.m. on weeknights, and 5 a.m. Thursday through Sunday. How am I supposed to run the place without staying out late?

I take the stairs as quickly as heels on plush carpeting allow and head into the garage. My trusty beige Corolla is parked next to mom’s white Porsche Cayman. My car doesn't even look like it should be in the same neighborhood as the Porsche, let alone the same garage, but I earned this car myself. My parents offered to buy me a car when I was first learning how to drive, but I turned them down. Sure, it's hardly the most glamorous car, but it runs, and it's mine. I get in the car, take out my burner Nokia and send a quick text to my best friend and old college roommate Sarah:

Meet me at La Cigogone. I need a drink.

Sarah’s not going to judge me for drinking at 10 a.m. Besides, a little mimosa with a late breakfast never hurt anyone. I tuck the phone back in my purse. It’s a little weird having a secret cellphone, but I think it’s weirder finding your mom going through a printout of all your texts from the phone company. I supposed that's the price of having a phone on the family plan in the Pavoni
familia
.

The Corolla whines to life with a turn of the key, and I pull up to the guarded gateway. Phil nods to me with a smile and brings the gate up, and I pull out with barely enough space to clear the slowly rising gateway.

This is going to be a long day.

H
eavy bass beats
pulse out from the entrance to Hush. I instinctively bob my head to the beat. I have to admit, whoever runs this place has good taste in DJs. The club is packed for a Wednesday night. At 11 p.m., there's already a long line snaking around the corner. It’s your usual Brooklyn crowd. Local hipsters in their mid-twenties, in stark contrast to the Manhattan bankers looking to enjoy a night out in Brooklyn. Clueless tourists wearing jorts and t-shirts who are going to be waiting in line until they give up or the club shuts down. Places like these are always at capacity for people who don’t look the part.

The guys I’m looking for will be standing out like a family of Norwegians in Afghanistan. They're wise guys in cheap suits, acting like lords among peasants. The ones working security are only associates or soldiers at best. They're just guys on the outside, trying unsuccessfully to dress the part and hoping to work their way up into the big leagues. It's like there's an unofficial dress code of sorts that involves wearing ill-fitting pinstripe suits with cheap patent leather shoes. Their hair is always slicked back with dollops of pomade as they walk around surrounded by clouds of their expensive cologne. I've never met a young wise guy who didn't spend more on his cologne than their girls do on perfume and shoes combined.

I blend in with the crowd easily despite my size. I'm wearing a plain white t-shirt over a pair of close-fitting dark jeans. An old belt I picked up at a thrift shop and my full sleeve tattoos round out my look.

I skip the line, lean into the doorman and subtly pass him a Benjamin. The right look, confidence, and some cash lubricant are all it takes to get into the most exclusive places in the city. Most people fail because they can’t convince themselves that they belong in places like this.

I ignore the dirty looks I get from the line and walk past the bouncer into the club. The doorway opens into a huge open space lit by multicolored lasers, glowing fog, and pulsing strobe lights. I stand by a woofer that's almost as tall as I am, letting the bass pulse through my bones as I survey the club.

Waitresses in leather booty shorts and crop tops carrying champagne bottles over their heads weave their way through the gyrating crowd. The champagne bottles are topped with sparklers and are intended for the well-moneyed crowd at the VIP tables. The bars lining the walls of the club are crowded with club-goers who can't afford bottle service.

I make my way across the dance floor, heading for the bar on the far side of the club to get a better vantage point. The security is the standard fare—huge guys in staff t-shirts who look like bikers or college football players. Big guys, but it's unlikely they can actually fight. In addition, I take note of the wise guys in charge. I've spotted at least four of them. That count includes the two outside, plus another two inside, but not Rizzo. After finding the picture Tommy mentioned of his crew partying at Hush, I decided Rizzo would be easier to get to first. Now I just have to find him.

A young blonde spots me pushing through the crowd and tries to grind her ass on my crotch. She’s a tight little thing with a nice face, and on any other night I would take her home and fuck her brains out. But fucking’s not on the menu tonight. She pouts her pink lips as I gently move past her.

The crowd at this bar is heavy and packed in tightly. Men are waving cash around, trying to get their orders in to the bartenders. Competing against them are women flashing cleavage.

I press my way through the pack, drawing glares and complaints. But they turn away, lowering their eyes and voices as soon as they realize who’s moving through. Thick crowds like this bring out the animal in us. There’s no place like a club, thick with hormones and testosterone, to show you where you belong in the pack.

Another guy tries to follow through in my wake, only to be shouldered back. A curse word is followed by a shove and it quickly devolves into a fight.

I pause and watch, impressed by how quickly the security responds. The two are soon separated, and both are escorted out despite their friends’ protests. They should have let it play out. Fights between these boys shouldn’t even really be called fights. It’s just posturing and shoving. No real harm can come from it.

I make my way to the front of the bar and find myself in front of an empty stool with a simple black purse sitting on it. This isn’t the type of purse you’d expect at a place like this. I’d guess it was bought at a Marshalls or T.J. Maxx.

My heart misses a beat, and my cock stirs in my jeans as my eyes fall on the woman sitting on the stool next to the cheap purse. She’s beyond hot. Her thick, shiny black hair falls past her bare shoulders. Her large breasts press against her dress, begging to be set free. Her gold heels are propped up on the brass footrest running the length of the bar. My eyes move slowly from her painted red toenails up to her creamy pale thighs. Shit, I want this girl bad. But I've got to keep on target. Can’t get distracted tonight.

Reluctantly I move on even though I'm already picturing her crimson lips wrapped around my thick cock. Hush is huge, and I have a lot of ground to cover still. I push through the sea of people, envious how most of them have nothing but booze, drugs, and sex on their minds. I'll never have that kind of simplicity in my life. The next bar I move to is just as crowded as the one I just left, and there isn't anyone else who can hold a candle to that mysterious woman with the black hair.

There's no sign of Rizzo either.

I'm starting to get frustrated with my lack of leads, but if I'm being honest, I'm also getting frustrated with myself. Why am I thinking about pussy when I need to keep myself focused on finding more of the men responsible for my family's murder?

I cut through the dance floor to get to the bar on the right side of the club. There’s a group of young girls drinking cocktails out of bright plastic cups, waving dildos in the air. Obviously they're a bachelorette party. I take a nice easy path right through the thick of things. As I'm cutting through, one of the girls grabs onto the back of my shirt and tries to pull me into their circle, but I tug my shirt out of her fingers and leave them to the drunken idiots gathering around them like flies on honey.

Rizzo’s not at this bar either. Shit. If Tommy was lying about Rizzo working this place, he could have been lying about everything. But I could have sworn he was telling the truth. I round my way around the club again and find myself back at the far bar. I push my way back through the crowd. The crowd’s about the same size as before, but the faces are different. I hope the bartenders here get paid well for churning through this many people so quickly.

I scan the crowd looking for Rizzo, but there’s no one that fits his description. I find my eyes drawn again to the woman sitting next to the empty stool. God, she’s gorgeous. I can't believe no one's next to her or even talking to her. Just my luck to find ass worth dying for and be unable to take advantage.

I tear my eyes away from her and head to the bathroom. Rizzo slings drugs on the side. I should have thought to check the bathrooms earlier. My mind’s too clouded with visions of the mystery woman's sweet tits bouncing in my face. There’s a long line leading into the bathroom, and I skip it over the protest of the pissed guys waiting in line. One of them is dumb enough to grab at my shoulder, and he ends up paying for it with a sprained wrist and probably a broken finger.

I wait in the line inside, pretending I gotta piss. I grin as I spot my mark. Five-foot-six, about a hundred and sixty pounds. Black hair with an undercut and an ace of spades tattooed on his neck. Fucking classic goon.

I clench my fists by my sides and feel my knuckles crack. Heat rushes into my face as I picture his face pulverized under my fists. But I can’t make my move tonight. I have to be more careful about this if I want to live long enough to get the man who ordered my family dead.

I stay in line long enough to get to a urinal and take a piss. I don’t want to draw any attention on my way out. I need to case the joint and get an idea of Rizzo’s movements to find the best spot to get the drop on him. There’s only a painful death in store for me if I’m impatient.

I take a leak and head back out into the club, and aim once more for the far bar. Might as well get myself a drink before I head out now that my work is done. It’ll look less suspicious too if I’ve drawn any attention, although I doubt I have. Most people here are already drunk. I head to the front of the bar and find myself staring at the raven-haired beauty.

That cheap purse is still on the seat next to her. I pick it up, pull the stool back to make room for my legs and slide into the seat. She looks up at me from the paperwork she’s working on at the bar. Her eyes are big and dark, and they widen as soon as they fall on me. Her luscious red lips open, but whatever sass she was about to spit my way gets stuck in her throat.

I want to grab her by the back of her slender neck and crush my lips against her, but instead I hold out the purse for her. “This your purse, sweetheart?”

She twists her bright red lips at my last word, and I widen my grin.

“Yeah, thanks.” Her voice is low. I can barely hear her over the music. She takes the purse and puts it down on her paperwork, covering up whatever is important enough for her to work on in a club.

“Are you saving this seat for a friend?” I ask the question even though I already know the answer. This girl was expecting to be left alone tonight. How she'd expect that, looking like she does in a place like this, is a question I want to ask with my cock buried deep inside her.

“No. Feel free to take the seat.” There’s sarcasm in her voice. She’s used to having her way. She shakes her head and rests her face against her hand. I can see her looking at me out of the corner of her eyes through her fingers, taking in every detail of the tattoos on my arm.

I order two glasses of Hudson Baby Bourbon, neat, and pull my stool closer to hers. “How is it that a girl like you manages to get left alone in a place like this?”

She puts her hand down over her paperwork and looks at me. There’s an edge of nervousness in her eyes. Like she’s not used to being hit on. How’s that possible?

“Maybe
most
men who come to this club just know when a woman wants to be left alone,” she says sharply.

Behind her, a woman turns around to slap a man in the face. “Hey!” she yells, “Get your hand off my ass!”

The skinny guy with the fedora, handlebar mustache, and glowing red cheek takes a step toward the offended girl and gets a cosmo in the face for his trouble.

I cock an eyebrow at the pale beauty. She looks at me and laughs. “Okay, maybe that’s not why.”

“So, is that what you're working on?” I nod my head at her paperwork. “Is it a list of guys you’ve killed for hitting on you at the bar? Is that why they all leave you alone?”

She laughs again and shakes her head. Her hair dances around her high cheeks. The sound of her laugh sends a tingle up my spine. There’s something special about this girl. I need to have her.

“It’s just work.” She closes the folder over the paperwork as I lean in to get a look.

I turn to her and catch her dark eyes with mine. “Well now that you're done with work, have a drink with me.” Just in time, the bartender puts down the drinks I ordered, and I slide one toward her.

She looks at the drink and bites her full bottom lip. The sight of that makes my cock twitch in anticipation. God damn, I need to take this woman home. Just looking at her makes me forget why I came here in the first place.

“You really shouldn’t let bourbon like this go to waste.” I pick up my drink. “Whoever stocks this bar knows what they’re doing.” She smiles like she wants to tell me a secret. She looks at me from under long lashes, and after a moment of hesitation picks up the drink. I raise my glass to my lips as she raises hers. Without hesitating I drink half, relishing the sweet burn in my mouth. She takes a decent sip, puckering her lips, and I see her eyes flickering to her side.

She’s taking a peek at a wise guy who’s keeping a close eye on her from beyond the crowd at the bar. That must be why she’s untouchable. She’s been claimed by one of the Pavonis. All the more reason to take her to her home and fuck her till she screams my name.

She puts the drink back down and gives me a small smile. Her lips have made a red impression on the rim of the glass. It makes me picture her marks smeared all over my body, and my cock twitches at the thought. Her eyes dart to the side again, trying to hide the fact that she’s subtly keeping an eye on the wise guy watching her.

She shifts her body toward me, her knees mere inches from my thighs. She leans forward slowly, giving me a hint of her pale cleavage. “Now that we’ve had a drink together, it’s probably best for you to go.” I don’t believe she means that for one second. She’s just worried about the Mafiosi watching her. No woman has riled me up this badly before, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk away from her just because some Mafioso thinks he owns her. You only own what you can keep, and I mean to make her mine.

“Is that what you want, or are you worried about what the guy in the cheap pinstripes thinks?”

Her mouth opens in surprise. She didn’t think she’d given it away. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s not like what?” I ask, leaning in. She doesn’t pull back, but her eyes shift over to her watcher. I can tell she wants me as bad as I want her, but she’s nervous.

“From what I can tell, there’s only one reason no one’s been trying to take you home tonight.” I put my hand on her knee and rub her soft skin with my thumb. I can see the goosebumps running up her legs in the dim light. “You’ve been claimed by someone you don’t want, and you haven't found a guy with a pair on him large enough to risk taking you home.”

She smiles coyly, and she takes a quick sip of her drink. “And you think you've got a pair large enough?” she asks with her full lips twisted into a smirk.

“I know I do.” I run my hand up her thigh to the edge of her dress. She draws in a sharp breath, swelling her breasts. “Come home with me. I promise you the best night you’ve ever had.”