The Man in Black_A Standalone Mafia Romance Page 8

  “I was angry that I was left alone. I was angry that my parents believed in a God, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. So after death, they believed they’d see me again, yet I didn’t believe that I’d ever see them again – that pissed me off for a while. I had such a short time with my parents. Only eighteen years.”

  “That’s not logical,” I respond, and her stare shoots to me. “Just because you believe there isn’t a God doesn’t mean it’s true. So what do you believe in? Nothing? That this is it? After we die, there’s simply blackness?”

  “No, I do believe that there must be more than...this.”

  “So you do believe in something. It’s just not named God or Heaven. And you will see your parents again – if we follow your way of thinking – in the afterlife you believe in. Like everyone, you don’t know what it looks like.”

  She digests my words. “You’re only saying that to make me feel better, but I like your way of thinking.”

  “It’s your way of thinking.”

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “No.” I’ve seen too much brutality to believe in him. “If God made mankind in his image, then God is a scary individual,” I say, realizing that it wasn’t even the mafia that made it impossible for me to believe in a religion – it was Rachel’s undeserving death.

  They should’ve taken me.

  I shake my head since my thoughts are traveling down the path I fight every night. But tonight, Brielle is helping to pull me out of them by having me talk about it.

  “Are you grieving too, Michael?’

  I nod, and the sense that she’s a harmless girl who knows absolutely nothing of my past or the Syndicate is verified when she discloses, “Fallon told me.” But she doesn’t press for more, although I know Fallon only mentioned that I’m grieving, not who I’m grieving. “Your grief is apparent on your face.”

  “Yours isn’t,” I say, making the corner of her mouth tilt up.

  “Not anymore.”

  “So it gets better?”

  “Yeah.” She grins. “The self-help books really did help me.”

  And my grin grows wider as well as she continues, “Start with small steps. Maybe put some color in your wardrobe by wearing a blue tie instead of all black. Try to get out more. Because otherwise, you’ll stay stuck in grief, which is what I did for almost a year. But then I moved and started over, and look at me now – I can talk about my parents without crying every time.”

  Her words hit me in the heart like no other talk about grief with anyone has done so far, and then she adds, “You already took the first step when you moved. Now don’t waste it; meet some new people. When you’re not moody, you’re actually quite nice.”

  “Moody?” I retort around a smirk.

  “Yes, you have a tendency to be rude.”

  “I just fixed two things in your apartment and you thank me by insulting me?” I say, joking.

  She shoulders me playfully. “No, I am thankful, Carrion.”

  As she looks up, our noses bump and we both freeze. Her breath catches while my stare shifts down to the enticing globes of her plunging cleavage before it moves up to her full lips and stays there. Then our gazes lock and hers glazes over as she studies me intently.

  Suddenly, I suspect that she may have misconstrued my behavior – have I been giving her the wrong signals? And what am I doing here when I should’ve left a long time ago? I certainly don’t need to drill her for information anymore.

  But the realization comes too late as Brielle bends forward slightly and presses her mouth to mine. The tantalizing sweet pressure of her lips lights a fire that’s been doused for months. I haven’t felt lust in ages, yet I tense and her eyes fall shut as a war rages inside me.

  Desire and guilt battle for supremacy while my blood rushes from my brain.

  CHAPTER 15

  Brielle

  I BREATHE IN MICHAEL’S musk cologne as we edge closer, an ache for him overwhelming me when our lips touch. The air whistles with magic, and I want his hands on me. I long to have him answer my inescapable attraction to him. I close my eyes, but then I realize that he’s not moving, so I slowly open them. As I pull back an inch, I hesitate. In hindsight, he might not have responded, which means that I just smooched him, but he didn’t smooch me.

  A glow of torment spreads across his features, and he seems a million miles away, his ashy-grey gaze more silver as it’s pinned on me. But when I inhale deeply, his stare travels downward to my cleavage, and he curses under his breath, “Fuck it!”

  He slams his mug on the table before crushing his mouth to mine, forcing me to lie back as he folds his fingers around my neck and angles my head. The bruising, punishing insistence of Michael’s lips sends every nerve ablaze as he grabs a fistful of my hair. Then his other hand dances down my side to grip my waist and slither backward, giving my ass a possessive squeeze and pulling me into him while his big, strong frame settles on top of me. He coaxes my lips open with his tongue and delves inside, tangling it with mine in a provocative duel and letting out a guttural groan. I feel the rumble in his muscular chest as he grips my hair at the roots firmly and we writhe into each other without restraint, his stiffening arousal pressing against my damp center so that my legs fall open in silent invitation.

  He kisses my mouth yet ignites my entire body by grinding into me hungrily, and I revel in the sensations he kindles. Then his palm cups my breast and I whimper, looping my arms around his neck. And even though there’s not an inch separating us, I still want him closer as he seduces every nook and cranny of my mouth before nipping the corner and latching his lips onto mine again. I’ve always believed kissing was about a brush of the lips, but this...this is about tasting and feeling, and Michael feels like silk and fire.

  When he thrusts his bulge between my legs, I push my hips up, creating delicious friction like I’ve never experienced in my life. His heavy weight warms me while I caress his broad shoulders that could shelter a woman forever.

  His eyes pressed shut, he lets go of his tight grip on my hair and drags his mouth down my throat to nip the swell of my breasts. He pushes them together as he molds them roughly, making my back arch off the couch, and then he bites my nipple over the fabric of my tank. Releasing a deep growl, he slides lower, slipping the neck of my top down to expose me, and I need his mouth on my naked skin.

  My hands fly into his hair and I moan, “Oh, Michael!”

  But my voice breaks his trance and his head shoots up, our gazes colliding. My chest rises and falls while he breathes raggedly, and I wait for agonizing moments for a response. Michael blinks once, and I can literally see him building back the wall I just began to smash down. His eyes focus and he pushes himself up with both hands, his posture becoming distant.

  “We can’t,” he says, rising off me with grace, entirely in control again, which astounds me.

  It takes a minute for me to gather my wits since my limbs are still tingling, yet I stumble upward and blurt out, “Why?”

  He gives me a side-look while going around the coffee table to the radiator that has his shirt draped over it, and with his back to me, I catch him adjusting his pants, where I clearly still see his erection.

  “I should leave. I’ll fuck you and cast you aside. I’ll hurt you, and you don’t deserve that.” He shoves his arms into his shirt, muttering almost angrily, “So innocently reckless. I knew it.”

  His reaction perplexes me while I try to assemble my thoughts, wanting him to stay. “What are you talking about?” I timidly ask.

  He spins around, buttoning up in a hurry. “I’m talking about how this is a bad idea. We work at the same place, and I don’t date anyone, which is what you probably want. And apart from that, you’re twenty-one and I’m thirty-three.”

  “So? I don’t care that you’re older.” I’ve never been enthralled by any man to the extent that I am with Michael. I thought the attraction was mutual since he’s been hovering around me so much and takes care of me in an oddly kind, a
lbeit a bit overbearing, way.

  He scrubs his hand over his mouth, speaking so softly that I almost don’t hear it, “I care.”

  The silence is deafening as a wave of pain clouds his face and his bright gaze dulls. Scratching my brow, I don’t know how to proceed, feeling embarrassed. The first time I initiate a kiss I get rejected – a sense of foolishness that stems from my vulnerability descends upon me and tears prick behind my eyelids.

  Then he whispers, “I should go.”

  “Michael—” I move forward but stop when he slowly tilts his head, in warning, I think. It’s a small gesture, but it’s effective, nonetheless.

  “We can’t...” he repeats quietly, maybe more to himself than to me?

  Heat still burns my cheeks from his expert touch, which I crave much more of, but he won’t allow it. However, I won’t act like a child; I’ve never felt the age difference between us, but perhaps he does. He’s experienced, while I’m not.

  He glances outside as if he’s looking for an escape, but since I’m plagued by insecurities at the moment, I don’t say anything. Turning away, he walks toward the entryway, and I follow him, snatching a book off the shelf on the wall as I pass.

  “Michael,” I mutter just when he opens the front door and halts.

  “Take this.” I hold out the book with a purple cover that helped me mourn, thinking it might help him in his battle to move on as well. I believe he’s grieving his mother since he talked about her in the past tense and asked me numerous questions about how I grieved my parents.

  Michael looks at the paperback with suspicion, and I push it into his hands. Reluctantly, he takes it.

  “Read it when you feel...sad.”

  A deep crease wrinkles his brows as he studies me for several long seconds before giving me a little nod and widening the door. He steps out to stride down the staircase and is quickly out of sight.

  A range of emotions assault me as I touch my kiss-swollen lips, still coming down from the spell he’s woven, trailed by shock at his reaction, along with a gloomy sense of rejection. I don’t understand why he’s been so nice and has now opened up to me if he doesn’t want to be with me.

  Why does he reel me in and push me away?

  Regardless, I need to find a way to weaken this indisputably raw attraction to an unattainable man if I’m going to keep from getting my heart broken.

  He’s a man who may be fighting more than just grief.

  A man who’s probably dangerous to fall for.

  CHAPTER 16

  Michael

  I JUMP INTO MY CAR with the book titled Regret is Useless in my hand, and I toss it onto the passenger seat. How is Brielle able to see through me when no one else can? The book seems to be addressed to me with that title.

  I run my hands through my hair, the memory of her pliant hourglass figure now etched in my brain, filling it with wicked, unwanted thoughts. She always manages to surprise me, and while I had anticipated an argument when I stopped kissing her, she remained composed. Her pure incorruptibility, which I’ve sensed shining through, makes me realize just how innocent Brielle is, and I won’t bring another innocent into the Syndicate world.

  I shouldn’t get more involved with her.

  I should stay away.

  There’s no reason for Brielle and me to cross paths anymore anyway – I’m absolutely sure she’s not aware of my past or the mafia.

  So why did I stay and make repairs in her apartment? Of course it would give the wrong impression, on top of me hanging around her so much the previous few days to gather information and cover myself.

  “Fuck!” Although I try to put her out of my mind, the thoughts continue to trickle in, making confusion settle in my gut, and it irks me that I’m not entirely in control of my emotions when it comes to her.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I start the car and drive through the dark, deserted streets, disconcerted by the fire she induces inside me. However, I tamp it down, telling myself these feelings are natural. It’s merely been too long, and after all, I’m still a red-blooded man.

  THE FOLLOWING EVENING, I enter the empty restaurant past closing time. The black floor is shining and the dozens of suspended hanging bowl lights are dimmed. All the tables have spotless white tablecloths – it’s obvious the crew has already cleaned. Then I see the host leaning in the kitchen doorway before he spins around, and as we both cross the room, he nods goodbye, buttoning his coat. I stare at the kitchen door for a moment but get distracted when a Syndicate guard saunters into the restaurant, holding a big brown bag.

  “Hey, Michael. I have the new smartphones Adriano requested.”

  I signal to the second floor. “He’s probably upstairs.” As he steps forward, I meet him halfway. “What do you have? Burner phones?”

  “No, regular smartphones. Cam and Mary needed new ones, and I got you guys extra,” he explains, opening the bag, so I look inside and see they’re the newest model.

  Without thinking, I confiscate one. “I’ll take a new one too. Are they being paid for?”

  “Yes. Officially, it’s a company phone for Palermo. Carmine’s taken care of the subscriptions for the regular phones.”

  “Okay. Thanks. You can go up.”

  He dips his chin and goes toward the staircase as I hear a noise coming from the kitchen. Striding by the bar, I slip through the door and stop at the sight of Brielle leaning over her dessert counter and jamming lids onto jars almost violently while she mutters, “What did you expect?! Urgh...” She then draws in a calming breath and shakes her head before she chuckles at herself.

  Her personality is so refreshingly honest that it makes my lips twitch. But as she rotates around, she shrieks and I instantly hold up my hands in apology.

  “I told you to stop sneaking around,” she blurts out as I offer, “I didn’t mean to sneak around.”

  “How long have you been standing there?” Her tone is brusque.

  “I just came in,” I say, knowing she means to ask if I overheard her, but her gaze narrows.

  Abruptly, she turns her back to me and finishes placing her jars on the shelf. Yet she doesn’t speak any more, which I notice because she usually keeps the conversation going.

  Although I should go, I edge forward and she glances at me shyly while wiping off her counter, but then the door swings open, capturing our attention as Gianni strolls through it, sliding a knit hat on his head.

  “Brielle, leave it. We’ll finish tomorrow,” Gianni instructs.

  “I’m done,” she tells him yet carries on as he stops besides her and grips her shoulder. “You okay today?”

  She glimpses at me and her lips thin. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

  The wrinkles in Gianni’s cheeks deepen and an amused expression crosses his face as he glances back and forth between us.

  “Go home, Gianni. I’m leaving in five as well,” Brielle comments, yet Gianni motions to me.

  “Make sure she leaves within five minutes.”

  Brielle halts for a moment to glower at Gianni as I nod, realizing how affectionate the staff is toward her, most likely due to her easygoing manner, which is evidently missing at present.

  As Gianni exits, I reach inside my pocket and hold up the brand new phone, handing it over and saying, “Here’s your new phone.”

  Brielle simply stares at it and then at me. Her brow furrows as she tosses the cloth on the spotless counter and accepts it, but she asks, “From Adriano? I’m getting a company phone? That’s not in my contract.”

  Fuck. I didn’t think this through. I just got her a new one because that old one was shit and we have an abundance of phones anyway.

  So I lie, “Every employee gets a phone.”

  At last, her lips curl into her characteristic attractive smile, and her deep dimples show. “They didn’t tell me that. This is great.” She taps on the screen, being less curt with me. “I have a dinophone, which doesn’t work so well anymore.”

  I know.

  “Are the
re minute or texting limits? Or will a payment be deducted from my salary?”

  “No, there’s no limit and no payment. Adriano isn’t very strict. Palermo pays for it, so it’s your phone and it won’t be taken out of your salary. This is an extra.”

  As she begins to install her email, she murmurs, “I like this extra.”

  Looking up, I see my reflection in a jar on the shelf, and I find myself smiling. However, it turns into a frown when the door opens and Adriano peeks inside, hurriedly saying, “A word, Michael?”

  Since Brielle’s occupied with her cell, I eat the distance to him as he inches open the door just enough for me to pass. When I step through, I glance to the right and see that Adriano’s aiming his gun at a man with his hands in the air.

  I recognize the scrawny soldier, and when the door falls shut, I mutter, “What’s he doing here?”

  “What do you mean?” Adriano swipes his upper lip, evidently riled up. “I saw him staking out outside, and he had a knife with him.” He jerks his chin to the floor right beside the bar where a knife lies.

  “I caught him in the alley last weekend when he tried to sneak in to talk to you and I stripped his rank. Brielle saw us.”

  Adriano addresses him, “And you dare to come back...” Then he whispers to me, “Have Brielle go home through the alley because I can’t have her witnessing this.”

  “Is anyone still here?” I ask just as a guard bounds down the black staircase. With a snap of my fingers, I beckon him over and instruct, “Brielle, the pastry chef, is in the kitchen. You have to take her out of here via the fire exit and then home. I’ll tell her. Come with me.” Moving through the swinging door, I enter the dim kitchen. Thankfully, Brielle’s gliding her arms into her coat and stops when she notices us.

  I motion to the guard. “He’ll take you home.”

  “Why?” she retorts suspiciously with a subtle glare that bothers me.

  “Because it’s late and it’s cold,” I respond, tilting my head and challenging her to defy me as the guard speaks up.