Black

I need to get the fuck out of here, so I curl my fingers around her hair, guiding her head over my cock in a faster rhythm. My orgasm slams into me hard, and as I growl out my release, she sucks every last drop from my body.

With a sly grin, she licks her lips, standing as I tuck my cock in my pants and button my jeans.

“Don’t do that,” she croons, reaching for my hand, but I shrug her off. “It’s my turn. I want that cock inside of me.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. Not tonight.”

Her jaw drops, but I just turn, pay my tab, and I’m out the door.

I’m a block from my house when Giovanni calls back.

“You have thirty minutes. You remember where to meet me?”

“I remember.” Pulling up in front of my condo, I shut off the car and rush upstairs.

“Don’t fuck this up. You fuck this up and we’re all dead.”

“I’m not gonna fuck this up.” I need this.

“Good. And you’re prepared to take the girl and run?”

“I’m ready.” Bending down, I slide a bag out from under my bed. I’d hoped this day would come, so everything is packed and ready to go.

“You need to let anyone know you’re leaving town for a while?” he asks.

It’s his subtle way of reminding me that I shouldn’t leave Shae hanging, or my brother, for that matter.

“No.”

“You sure about that?”

“Are you questioning me, Giovanni?”

“Watch your mouth with me, boy. I’ll see you soon.”

Ending the call, I fling the bag over my shoulder and walk out of my house, away from my fucked-up life.

I may not be an Ambrosi by blood, but I’m a DiMarco, and I’m about to find out what the DiMarcos are made of.