Inked By The Mafia Man

“Izzy,” I say quietly. “I think I need some advice. About…you know what.”

“Sex, you big baby?” Izzy giggles, her tone playful, letting me know she’s supportive and only joking. “It’s okay. You can say the word.”

“Fine, then,” I say, letting out a laugh. “Yes. Sex. What if he wants it later? What am I going to do?”

“Well, firstly, do you want to have sex with him?”

It takes me a second to answer. Not because of any hesitation. Not because I have to think about it.

But the true answer would make me scream down the phone. It would make me yell yes repeatedly like my center is turning my words into desperate cries for attention, closeness, and a life.

“Yes,” I say as quietly and calmly as I can. “I do. What we did – the time we shared in the office – made me want it even more. But when I get down to it, I’m just so worried. I’ve got no idea what I’m doing.”

“This answer might make you groan,” Izzy says. “But the best thing you can do is whatever feels right at the moment. Go with the flow. Let him lead the way and respond however feels best. Because yeah, sure, I could invent a bunch of horse crap about tickling his toes or doing a funny dance or whatever –.”

I laugh, interrupting her. “A funny dance?”

“Or whatever,” she goes on, laughing along with me. “But the truth is, everybody is unique. Every relationship has its own flow. So I’d say the best thing to do is…nothing, essentially. Just see what happens. I know that might not be very helpful.”

“No, it is,” I say hurriedly, even as anxiety twists through my gut. “I’ll try.”

I bite down, leaving the last part unsaid.

I’ll try…but there’s a very real chance I’ll fail.

Will Luca still want me?

Maybe he’s brought me here to become a casual sexual partner, nothing more, nothing like what I want.

Once he learns the truth, he might let me go.

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Luca

“I don’t want any cowboy shit,” I say, pacing up and down in front of the room.

We’re in the back office of a laundromat, all of my top men gathered, with a few of the security guards standing at the perimeter of the room.

My men watch me closely. Patton's eyes narrowed behind his glasses at the front.

Beyond us, I can hear the washers and dryers churning. Sunlight shines into the room, catching motes of dust.

“These men aren’t here because you’re cowards, or can’t defend yourself, or need somebody to hold your hand.” I nod to the guards, their faces blank and their stances ready. “They’re here because they know how to get out of a bad spot. They’re here to stop you from hurting yourself by getting into fights when you shouldn’t. They’re here to help us end this peacefully.”

“What about Conor?” Matteo calls, his silver tooth glinting as he bares his teeth. “He’s not going to take this lying down.”

“We’re in talks to arrange a meeting,” I tell him, sleep finally starting to tug on me.

I repress the urge to yawn. The adrenalin has finally gone, a huge dump of it, and now all I want to do is collapse…preferably with Lena in my arms.

“He’s being difficult,” Patton says. “But he’s open to a meet. We need to arrange the right circumstances.”

“Until then,” I go on, “be on alert. Listen to these men. Protect your families. We don’t want this war to turn out as bad as the others. That was the old world, lads, the fucking old world…that was the world of drug dealing and Family killings and blood on the streets. We don’t live that way anymore. If you want to keep this life, keep making money, use your heads.”

Some of them start shifting around, as though getting impatient.

I take a step forward, glaring at them until they stop. Fear sparks in their eyes.

Like all emotions, fear is necessary for a leader, especially with certain kinds of men.

“And if anyone makes a move without my go-ahead, there will be fucking hell to pay. I won’t have my soldiers acting like idiots. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” everybody says, their voices filling the room.

“Good.” I sigh, waving a hand. “Then get out of here.”

Patton joins me as we return to the car, his hand rising to cover his mouth.

“I’m spent, cousin,” he says.

“Me too.” I drop into the back of the car, letting my forehead rest against the glass. “I’m guessing Conor hasn’t called back?”

“Not yet,” Patton says. “The last time I spoke to one of his men, Jimmy.”

“Yeah.”

“He said Conor’s pissed. But there may be a chance for a peaceful resolution. It’s just, well, you didn’t kill any of those guards.”

“I wounded one pretty badly,” I tell him. “Knee-capped him.”

“In a fight to the death, that’s not such a big deal. It took restraint. They were shooting at you. To think to go for the kneecap in the heat of the moment…it takes a lot.”