The Sting of Love: A Mafia Romance (Gangsters and Dolls Book 5) Page 2

  “Fuck you,” he throws back, and the corners of my lips turn up into a smile. Looks like it’s time for the lesson I was contemplating.

  “You gonna put him in charge of me?” Mario asks Alex. “What the fuck does he know? Don’t know shit, doesn’t—” He doesn’t get the chance to finish. I don’t give it to him. I get up so fast he barely sees me coming.

  I grab his head and shove it hard down on the desk. The side of his left brow splits and blood runs down his face. He screams out in pain and puts his hands up for me to stop.

  Taking him by his hair, I hold on tight, and lift his head up so he can look me in the eye.

  “Fuck me? Fuck you, dog.” I snarl, and his eyes go wide. He’s never seen me like this before, and I’m certain he would never guess I was anything like this. “You fucking useless piece of shit.”

  “Man, let go of me,” he whimpers.

  “Not until we have a few things clear. I know enough. More than you, and what I say from now on goes. Like it or not, this is your fault, and if you didn’t have your ten years of service under your belt, you’d be shark food right about now. So, this is how it’s going to be. Got it?”

  He nods vigorously, and I let him go.

  “If you want to keep your job, you better learn some manners,” I say pointing

  my finger in his face. “I’ll be checking things out here across the hotels and the clubs. I’ll let you know what I need you to do.”

  “Okay, fine. I got it.”

  “Good, now get the fuck out.” I only dismiss him because I know Alex is done with his ass. Mario staggers out, holding his hand to his head as blood runs down it.

  When the door swings shut, I turn back to Alex, who is looking at me with approval and nodding.

  “Very good, my friend. Perfectly executed.”

  “That guy is a motherfucking prick,” I scuff.

  “Yes, I can see you’re going to be just fine though.”

  I chuckle. “I’ll hand him his ass if he gets out of line. You can trust me with this.”

  “I know I can. Gibbs is looking into everything else.” Alex stands and smirks.

  “I’m sure he’ll find the shit we need.”

  I have no doubt that Gibbs will find something soon. He’s been our PI for years, and there isn’t a damn thing that man can’t find to give you a good lead.

  “It’s that part that worries me. A lot of these clients have been clients for many years. One of them is screwing with us.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” I promise him, and we bump fists.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Alex promises.

  “Cool. I’ll call first if Gibbs turns up anything.”

  Alex leaves, and my thoughts return to the beautiful goddess back at the bar.

  I’m not too pissed, and since business is over for tonight it’s time for fun.

  I hope she’s still here.

  Chapter Two

  Willow

  Shivers of arousal still race over my skin.

  I’m so crazy stupid. Mr. Gorgeous was only looking. That’s all.

  I’d gazed up to the balcony ahead of me and there he was, standing tall, dark, and deliciously handsome.

  One look hooked me, one smile made my body come alive with heat …then he left. I figured a man so gorgeous couldn’t have been here by himself and if he was, maybe he’d seen someone better than me to catch his eye.

  Maybe my depressing essence fended him off.

  I shouldn’t entertain anything with anybody and I definitely didn’t come out tonight to hook up with a stranger, sexy though he may have been.

  Getting laid is not the answer to my problems, and it doesn’t seem like this drink is either. I can usually drink fine. I just can’t drink, or eat for that matter, when I’ve reached a certain level of rage.

  Today was the real day from hell. One that highlighted that I really have lost everything. I lost the last thing I had left in this world—my business, my gallery.

  It’s my own fault. I trust too much, far too easily and I’ve suffered severely from my mistakes.

  I take a sip of water instead of the vodka on the rocks I just ordered. The little sip I had is still burning the back of my throat. I don’t know how Dad drinks this stuff on the regular. Although I guess that’s why he classes himself as a man’s man, and it might also explain why he’s not as uptight as Mom.

  Fuck… what the fuck am I going to do now?

  I’m in Sicily. I came here to escape life for a little while. That came after a massive argument with my darling ex-fiancée, William Pearson, over money and the last of the investments we shared while we were together. He was so vile to me and the things he called me were so awful it left me in tears even as we argued.

  I thought a few weeks in Sicily with Aunt Lurlene would stop me from going over the edge and losing my mind. I’m a week into my stay, and now I’ve been informed that there’s nothing to go back to LA for.

  William was serious when he said he would take everything. He took it all.

  He couldn’t leave me with the one thing he doesn’t even need. When he bought the art gallery and told me it was a present for being so passionate about my career, I should have made sure I got the title deeds.

  I just didn’t think. At the time it never occurred to me to ask for such a thing from a man I’d been in a relationship with for three years. Two years later, and look at me.

  No home because he took that too, and no business, so no source of income. Everything was in his name. It’s more salt to add to the wounds I got after the way he left me at the altar just before we said our vows.

  That was how this year kicked off. William left me at the altar, heartbroken and a mess. Completely unable to understand why he chose to tell me he didn’t love me anymore in front of our five hundred guests.

  What followed that was him taking everything we owned. This morning wrapped it up, and he couldn’t even give me the news himself. He got his secretary to do it. Porsha.

  Porsha, who he’s been shacked up with since we broke up. It was Dad who told me that part. I don’t think I was supposed to know.

  Porsha delivered the bad news of the loss of my gallery bright and early this morning and asked if I could arrange to have my stuff gone as soon as humanly possible because it was hard for a heavily pregnant woman to be running around in the heat.

  Pregnant. As if the situation wasn’t bad enough, when I asked how far along she was, she gladly informed me she was nearly nine months pregnant and ready to give birth any day.

  Since William and I only broke up eight months ago, that gave me my answer as to where he spent all those late nights and confirmed every suspicion I ever had about whether or not he would cheat on me.

  Bastard.

  I’ve been sitting by the bar surrounded by people having the time of their lives. I’ve been here for just over half an hour and I can’t quite decide which parts of the shit I should be more angry with. That bastard did so much to me, and now I’m broke. I have a little under seven thousand dollars left in my account and a one bedroom apartment I sublet after the wedding fiasco. At twenty-eight years old, I really thought I had my life figured out. But I don’t have shit. I’m no better off than I was after I left college, and even then, at least I had a job.

  Fuck this day, and fuck William. I hope his fucking dick falls off.

  I pick up the vodka, get ready to down it, but I only manage a sip as it starts to burn my lips.

  Shit, I can’t even get drunk properly. I should have just gotten a few cocktails instead of going in for the kill with the hard liquor.

  I try to signal the bartender who served me, but he’s too busy, and the other two guys are making drinks. I’ll have to get up and try to catch their attention.

  I stand with the intention of doing just that, but when I step back, I find myself bumping into a hard wall. A hard wall with arms that steady me as I stumble.

  Turning my head, I look up and find myself
gazing into the most striking pair of hazel eyes I’ve ever seen in my life, and Mr. Gorgeous from the balcony looks even more perfect up close than he did when he was far away.

  His dark brown hair is longish on top and unruly in a sexy way so when he tilts his head to the side a lock falls over his eye making him look more alluring. His olive skin is perfectly tanned and has a sun kissed glow to it that commands attention.

  And those eyes are just…wow.

  It seems fitting that his eyes would be as striking as his face. I did wonder what color they were when I first saw him. And the smile that lifts the corners of his sensual mouth is even sexier, doing things to my insides that I shouldn’t want in my frustrated state of mind.

  Like many other Italian men I’ve seen in my stay here, he has that beauty in his features and that sexy edge Aunt Lurlene spoke of in her justification for her one way ticket to Sicily.

  “Non te ne vai, bella signora,” Mr. Gorgeous says snapping me out of my daze, and I swear to God I drool when I hear his accent.

  I stare and have to swallow hard as my mouth waters, then I remember my manners, also that I don’t speak Italian, so I don’t know what the hell he just said to me.

  “I’m… sorry. I don’t speak Italian.” I don’t even know how to say that like the average person would to get around the island. The plan was for me to stay close to the house, and if I was going to venture out, I’d at least take a phrasebook or have my phone on the language app.

  I left the house without my phone on purpose. I didn’t want to talk about shit anymore with anyone.

  My gorgeous stranger smiles wide and looks me over. “I said, I hope you’re not leaving, pretty lady,” he says, and his voice in English is just as sexy even though there’s not even a hint of an accent in his words.

  He sounds just as American as I do, and it didn’t escape me that he just called me pretty lady, although I feel completely out of place in a classy club like this in my little summer dress.

  “No… I was just getting a drink,” I answer, and he releases me. Heat leaves my body with the loss of his touch, but it comes rushing back as he turns his smile up a notch.

  “Oh, good. You should get a drink with me, then,” he cajoles.

  I raise a brow. “Should?”

  “Yeah, because you’re doing it all wrong.”

  I bite down hard on my back teeth. I’m not angry, I’m just annoyed that he’s right, although he has no idea how right he is. Nothing is truer than his words. I’m doing it all wrong. That includes everything.

  “What am I doing wrong?” I ask, trying to appear nonchalant.

  “This,” he answers and swirls his fingers around in a slow motion.

  I find myself smiling. “Okay, so how would I do that the right way, then?”

  “Not here.”

  “Not here?”

  “No.”

  He gives my body a bold sweep and a hint of fire lights up his eyes. Men are always looking at me, but this guy is by far the sexiest man to show me attention in a very long time. Just for a few brief seconds, he actually makes me forget my problems and I find myself getting so lost in his stare I wish I could stay in the lure of attraction that’s drawing me to him.

  “You can’t do it right here,” he adds, cutting into my thoughts. “You’d have to come with me to my private lounge, where I’d make your drink. It wouldn’t be vodka. You’re not a vodka girl.”

  Christ… I should go back to the house. It’s really late, and if I go for a drink with this guy, what else am I going to get myself into?

  He’s so gorgeous though, who would say no to him?

  “It’s just a drink. I promise I don’t bite… unless you want me to.” The slight chuckle he gives me has me smiling again.

  Just a drink… I can have a drink with a handsome stranger in a classy club, can’t I?

  “Okay.”

  A twinkle flickers in his eyes, and he flicks his hand to point toward the door to our left.

  I step forward, and his other hand goes to the small of my back in an almost possessive manner. I’m tiny next to him as we walk. I’m guessing he’s well over six feet, so he makes my mere five foot two look like I’m a midget.

  The music beats loud and vibrant as we take the stairs to the upper deck, then it fades to a low like at the bar, as we enter a lounge. I thought we’d reached our destination, but we continue walking and go through another door that leads to a room that instantly takes my breath away.

  The first thing my gaze lands on is the wide archway that covers the left side of the room. It gives the most incredible view of the sea and the beach outside the club. It has a balcony that looks similar to the Juliet baroque-style ones I’ve seen in Verona.

  The floor is covered in those bright shiny tiles like the club floor with glittery specks that look like diamonds splashed into the surface, and the black leather sofas compliment the sophisticated décor.

  “You like?” he asks.

  I turn to face him, and he gives me a satisfied grin. “It’s beautiful.”

  I continue to gaze at him and wonder who he is to have a private lounge here.

  “I run the place,” he says, correctly guessing what was on my mind. “And I don’t always like a crowd. This lounge is perfect when you just want to be alone.”

  “It’s nice. Are you here a lot, then?”

  He gives me a wide toothy grin. “When I’m not in Chicago. You?”

  “I live in LA. I’m just visiting family.”

  “And you came to a nightclub by yourself?”

  “I… came out for some fresh air.” It’s a half truth, and I’m glad he can probably tell that I don’t really want to delve into what sent me out here by myself. Doing so was quite stupid now that I think about it.

  “Take a seat.” He points to the stools by the bar counter.

  While I sit, he heads behind the bar and starts taking out an assortment of fruit, fruit juices, and liquor. It’s fascinating to watch him.

  “What are you making?” I ask.

  “Your drink.”

  “I haven’t told you what I want yet.”

  “You don’t need to,” he answers with a wink and rolls the sleeves of his black dress shirt up his thick forearms. I catch a peak of some of his tattoos. There’s a snake curling up his left arm and a dragon’s tail on the right. Instantly, I wonder if he has any more and what the rest of his well-muscled body looks like.

  He catches me watching, and a blush creeps into my cheeks.

  “What if I don’t like it?” I challenge.

  “You will.”

  I like his confidence. I like it even more when desire fills his heated gaze. Sexual hunger I haven’t felt in a long time stirs to life and he looks at me like he knows exactly what I’m feeling.

  With a satisfied smile, he reaches for a pineapple and starts cutting it up. He grabs a coconut next so I assume he must be making me a piña colada, until he reaches for a fruit I don’t recognize and a few strawberries, mango, and raspberries.

  The fruit collection gets tossed into the blender along with ice, and I have to admit that watching this gorgeous man make me a drink is definitely some form of compensation for the hellish day I’ve had.

  Once the fruit and the ice blends, he pours the mixture into a glass jug and grabs a bottle of Malibu Rum. He then drizzles in one shot.

  Aunt Lurlene loves making cocktails all the time, so I know there should be a little more than one shot of rum in there.

  “Is that all you’re adding?”

  “Yup.”

  “Is that how you make that drink?”

  “No. You don’t know me. If you knew me, I’d be adding another four shots and you’d have this drink in a tumbler. Since you don’t know me, I want to make sure that whatever you do with me tonight won’t be influenced by anything other than me.” He gives me a wink, and my lips part.

  I just stare at him, trying to process his words and the overdose of sexy he just gave me. I try
to gather my composure and pretend I’m not affected by his charm, but he can see through my shit, and I’m sure I’m giving myself away with the blush that I know has turned my skin red.

  “How can you be so certain I’ll be doing anything with you tonight?” I throw back trying to act like I’m not charmed by his words.

  “It’s called wishful thinking, Bella.”

  I melt as the traces of his accent make their way into his words.

  He grabs a cocktail glass, pours the drink into it and holds it up.

  “Taste it,” he says, sliding the glass over to me.

  I take it, and my God does it taste amazing. The combination of fruit is sweet but has that tantalizing effect that has me savoring the intense flavor. The one shot of rum too was just enough of a balance to give it a kick.

  “Oh my God, this is perfect. I’d bet if I made it, it wouldn’t taste like this.” I giggle.

  “I doubt that, but I’m glad you like it. Now that’s over, you can tell me about yourself.” He leans onto the counter.

  I raise my shoulders into a shrug. “There isn’t much to tell.” Since I’m starting to worry that I’m unlucky, maybe it’s best to limit the amount of info with him I share and go for that less-is-more effect.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Willow.”

  “Willow… pretty name.” I love the way he says my name.

  “Thank you. My dad is an artist and loves doing landscapes. He loves willow trees, so he thought I should be called that.” I take after my father in every way, and even when kids used to tease the hell out of me at school, I still thought my name sounded cool. I do landscapes too. When I became an artist, I just fell into it, exactly like Dad.

  “I like it. I’ve never met a Willow before.”

  “Well, now you have. What about you? What’s your name?”

  “Donatello, but people call me Donny. It’s easier.”

  “Do you like being called Donny?” I definitely think Donatello sounds cooler.

  “In the circles I travel in, you get a name and it sticks, whether you like it or not.” He chuckles.

  I wonder what kind of circles he travels in, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but something in the way he intensifies his stare stops me. I swallow the words sensing that it might not be something I should ask.