Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) (107 page)

Agostini allowed Anthony to press him to have a grappa and a cannoli. Princess got the idea that it would be bad manners to refuse too firmly, and so she accepted a cappuccino and a biscotti. Anthony lifted the heavy phone on his desk to give the order.

After some preliminaries and niceties, Anthony said, “So, how can I help you?”

Agostini said, “Mr. Grace has an outstanding matter with you. We both know that this has happened before. I squared it with you.” Princess noticed that the rhythm and weight in Pierce’s words was distinctly more Italian-American than she was used to. More like Anthony’s.
 

Anthony nodded. “But Mr. Grace returned to the tables and, sadly, his luck did not.”

“No,” Agostini said. “But, in your kindness, you continued to pay him out a line of credit.”

“He continued to back it with the club as his asset.” Anthony smiled nicely.

“Yes, but as I believe you’re aware, that isn’t presently an asset of his. It’s currently mine.”

“Acquired, as I understand,” Anthony’s eyes sparkled, “through his gambling debts.”

A plump, pretty girl brought a tray with their pastries and drinks.

Agostini said, “I won’t go on covering his debts. If I did it a second time, I could appear weak.” His tone was clipped. “I want to give you something of value out of respect, Anthony, but I want you to write the debt off and not to take Mr. Grace’s markers anymore.”

Anthony sipped his espresso and narrowed his eyes. “What will you give me?”

“An opportunity.” Agostini very briefly outlined the cable consortium deal, told Anthony about the prospects, and offered him the chance to buy a parcel of options. He put a printed prospectus on the table.

Anthony sat back.

Princess told him, “Please understand this. I respect you and what you do, but you shouldn’t give gambling credit to my father on the expectation that he has the assets of the club to pay them off. He doesn’t now, and he won’t have in the future.”

She felt Pierce draw a long, slow breath as she spoke.

Anthony finished his coffee slowly. Then he began to rise.

“I understand your situation, Pierce. You can’t have the old man thinking you’ll wipe up his mess, and that has to stop.” He blinked slowly, like a cat. “Your proposition is a gamble. But I like the way Princess speaks up for herself. I accept the offer, and I shall wipe Mr. Grace’s debts here.”

He stretched out a large hand, and Pierce shook it.
 

“So, why do they call you ‘Fat Tony’?”

There was a long silence. Fat Tony sat back down at the big desk. Princess and Pierce sat, too. Slowly, he looked up into Princess’s eyes. “Nobody calls me that,” he said, rising from his chair. Agostini drew a breath in.

“When I was at school,” Fat Tony said, “my Daddy ran the ice cream shop on the corner. You’d think it was a good life, but it was hard. He had to pay off gangsters every day of his life. Everyone in our neighborhood did—all the other shops and restaurants, it was the same.” He looked slowly from Princess to Pierce and back.

“But the hoods, they loved my Daddy’s ice cream so much, whenever they came for a payment, all of them would want a cone or a tub, and a box to take home. He could never find a way to make them understand, it killed his business. ‘Hey, what’s a little ice cream?’ was all that they’d say. Many days, many weeks even, however hard my Daddy worked, he had nothing left at the end of it to feed us with. Nothing but ice cream.

“So, as a boy, growing up to be a teenager, I was a little on the fat side.” He winced at the thought. “All the kids at school called me ‘Fat Tony.’ It stood to reason. Ice cream was half my diet. So I was fat.

“But none of them called me that to my face. Out of respect.

“Then one day, this kid, thought he was the nuts, you know? Thought he was the big-shot in school because his Daddy was Claudio Champino, and he was an underboss around that area. His Daddy was the man that made my Daddy poor.

“And I’m walking home from school on my own, along by the canal. From behind me, I hear, ‘Hey, Fat Tony!’ and I turn and it’s this kid, Bruno Champino. Showing off in front of his buddy, I guess. And as he comes close with the big leer on his mouth and he’s walking with his wide, rolling swagger—this kid’s fatter than me by a long way, I’m telling you. And he calls me it again.

“So, I punched him. I wanted to land it square in the middle of his fat face, just to see his eyes when I did it. But I figured, he’s too blubbery, my hand was just going to get swallowed up in rolls of fat.

“Instead, I hit him in the throat. I didn’t think it was going to look as good as whacking him on the nose. Boy, was I wrong.” Fat Tony laughed. It was not a nice sound. “Kid grasped at his throat, his face went red, he staggered about with his arms flailing. It was some sight. So then, he wobbled around and he fell into the canal. Me and his buddy, we watched, but there was no sign of him coming up. After a long time, there was one long stream of bubbles, but that’s all.

“I figured he was dead before he hit the water, anyways. So this kid shakes his head, and he looks at me before he turns to go. Well, he’s going to tell Claudio Champino, this kid’s dad, what happened. The underboss who made my Daddy’s life a misery.

“Long story short, the cops found the kid by the canal, dredged Bruno out. I went to Claudio Champino and told him the other kid had been in a fight with Bruno and Bruno wound up in the canal. The kid saw me and I knocked him down. Must have used a little too much force, because he didn’t get up again. Claudio sat me down and he asked me how the fight started. I told him I didn’t know. He asked me again and again and I wouldn’t say.

“Bruno was a bully and he was always starting fights, I knew that his Daddy would think that was what happened, and if I gave him a hard time not telling him that, he could think about whether I was being respectful in not wanting to blemish the memory of his son, or if I was afraid to say, or if I was just a good soldier. That counted for a lot around there. Still, whatever he thought, it kept his mind off whether the other part of the story was true or not.

“Man, I grew up fast that day. Eleven years old, can you believe it? That underboss, Champino? After that, he went easier on my Daddy. But he was still a pig. I bided my time for two years before I whacked that motherfucker.

“So, everybody who calls me ‘Fat Tony’ behind my back—and I know that includes your Daddy, Princess—it started when people had to remember who I was. And I guess they still do.”

He pushed the chair back slowly and it scraped. Uneasily, Princess stood, too. As did Pierce. Anthony met Pierce’s gaze.

“She’s got balls, this woman.” His eyes were on her, but he was still speaking to Pierce. “You think you can cope with her?”

There was silence. Anthony said, “Well, take good care of her. And take care of yourself, too. Both of you are welcome here at any time.”

On the drive back to Park Place Pinnacle, he said, “You took both our lives in your hands there, you know that?”

The Sicilian edge was still coming off his voice.

“You weren’t scared were you, Mr. Gangster?” She squirmed in her seat when she saw the strain in his pants.

The look in his eye was all the answer she needed. She wondered if anything at all would scare him. “So, now you can give me back the deeds.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to set you free.”

“Yeah,” she said, “you set me free and I’ll be gone so fast the dust will be burning.”

“It’ll be hard getting used to you not driving me mad.”

“Likewise, Mr. Gangster.”

“Perhaps I’d better not.”

“Better not what?”

“Let you go.”

“You’ve only now worked that out?” She banged her fist on his chest. “Do I have to hold you against your will?”

“I like it that way so far,” she said. “Other than that, hold me against whatever you damn well please.”

“You won’t struggle?”

“Sure I will.”

“It’s a deal, then. I’ll hold on to you.”

She breathed hard. The moment was somewhere she never thought she would be. Never wanted to be. Or never knew that she wanted it. Now Princess was certain, nothing mattered to her as much as this.

“Did you know that story?” she asked him.

“No. Well, certainly not that version of it. Actually, all I knew was that he was fat when he was a kid, and now he’s not.”

“So, aren’t you better off for knowing the whole story?”

He looked at her as he drove. “You’ll get me killed.”

“So, how long are you planning to hold me for?”

He thought for a moment. Raised an eyebrow in that sarcastic way and said, “Hmm.”

She banged his chest again

“Ow! You really will get me killed.”

“But you’ll love it.”

“Every second.”

“So?”

He grinned. “Okay, how does ‘forever’ sound?”

“It’s a start.”

He accelerated, and she was glad. She couldn’t wait to get back to the dungeon.

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I could have gone anywhere else in Lower Manhattan for a quiet drink that night—anywhere but
Bar Sicilia
on the edge of TriBeCa—and my life would have taken a different turn. More accurately, my life wouldn’t have made the white knuckle swerve that it did.

Vix, the beautiful dancer from the night before, she probably would have found me wherever I went. There may not have been much I could do about that; she was on a mission. I was on a stool by the mahogany bartop. When Vix came in, she shimmied over and stood beside me. Close beside me. Her voice was a low breath, hot in my ear.

“Hey, big boy. You could get lucky again tonight.”

I looked into her lovely green eyes. “Yeah, Vix. I expect I will.”

She knew where this conversation would go as well as I did. I guess she was hoping she could make it take a surprise turn, while I was putting off the inevitable. Nobody likes disappointing someone, and a gleam of eager anticipation on their face makes it harder.

Last time I’d seen Vix, she was spread out across the hotel bed, sheets ravaged, rumpled, and screwed around her fantastic curves. She slumbered away with her thumb gripped between her teeth after a long night of inventive and strenuous engagement, much of which also involved a bouncy little cocktail waitress who was still buried somewhere in the bedding.

As Vix stood by me at the bar, she pressed up close against me. She pursed her lips as her shoulders shook. Those gorgeous tits bounced against me and lit a fire in my jeans. Soft flesh against hard. Always a thrill.

She said, “I’ve always liked confidence in a man.” Her voice was a smooth purr and her fragrance was a blend of her natural scent and something expensive—probably from one of the private, appointment-only boutiques at the top of Fifth Avenue. She wore a pale, cream silk affair that displayed her luscious figure. The view had a stimulating effect on me.

My cock thickened involuntarily in her direction. As she leaned on my shoulder and those lovely, soft breasts squeezed around my arm, she said, “You want another girl with us again? Or should we try to find that little tramp from last night?”

Her eyes lowered. “I know you loved the taste of her hot, wet lips as much as I did,” she added, and her tongue pressed out between her ruby lips.
 

After a longer pause than I really needed, I peeled Vix off of my arm. “I won’t be fucking her tonight.” The model’s face brightened and, in spite of my trying not to, I lowered my gaze to watch as her chest rose. Her breasts were fabulous.

I took her hand off my arm. “And not you either, Vix.” Her face fell. Her lips tightened and she narrowed her eyes as I reminded her, “Our time was last night. I know I explained it, and I know you remember. Once, and once only. No tears, no exceptions.”

She tilted her hips to rock against my thigh. As she pressed her mound against me and her heat called to my still-rising cock, visions from last night played through my mind and clouded my thoughts. And I remembered the taste of Vix’s soft peach of a mound, hot and juicy as she ground it into my lips.

The scented tang of her, thrilling on my tongue as I’d trilled the tip around the base and the hood of her quivering bud before I slid, long and deep, up and into her lips.

All the while, little Jaynie had stretched her lips all the way down the length of my fat, throbbing cock. She slid me into her throat and sucked on me. Her softness tugged on my hard rod.
 

I snapped back out of the happy memory. “Sorry, Vix. It was a great night, it was a sensational fuck, but that’s the rule. You knew it from the start.”

Her eyes hardened. “I did everything for you,” she hissed. “
Every
thing. And you loved it all.”

“You did, Vix, and you did it all fantastically.” I raised my shot glass in a salute. “Wouldn’t have missed a taste, a sniff, or a single hot grind of it.”

Her hand slipped down the front of my white tee, grazing her nails across the soft cotton to feel the ripples of my abs underneath. She dragged her fingers down to the back of my jeans and gave my hard ass a tweak. “You’ll never get another night like that, Luka. You won’t find another woman like me.”

That made me sad. “Don’t say that, Vix.”

She gripped and squeezed my ass with enough tease to make my cock stiffen more. Her breasts pressed against my arm again as she stretched on tip-toe to whisper, her breath warm and damp in my ear. “It’s true, Luka.”
 

I rolled my eyes and smiled as the tip of her tongue flicked around my earlobe. Her voice was low enough that I heard the moisture in the softness of her mouth.

“And you can’t bear to hear it.” Vix lifted her chin. “You know it, right?”

“No, Vix.” I peeled her off again, really hoping I wouldn’t have to do that another time. “You were sensational. Way better than most, okay? Don’t make me go on. It was great. It’s done.”

My balls ached and I felt like my cock might walk out on me as I said, “Thanks,” kissed her on the tear dripping down her cheek, patted her ass, and gave her a smile. “Bye, Vix.”

My cock never wanted to let them go, any of them, it would have kept them all. It pointed and jumped after every single one like an eager puppy. But then in no time it would be pointed at the next one. Another dancer or runway model. Or a beautiful bartender, a cabin attendant. A lawyer, maybe. A couple of lawyers from the week before had turned out to be real tigresses.