Tempted by the Sinner: A Possessive Mafia Romance Read online

  “I caught you at a bad time,” I said as a smile slipped across my face. “And I can’t say I’m upset about it.”

  “Vince,” she said again.

  I moved closer. “You look better in just a towel,” I said. “But I wonder if you’d look best without it.”

  “Stop,” she said. “That line was terrible.”

  I shrugged. “You don’t seem to mind bad lines.”

  “I’m going to shower now,” she said, speaking slow. “And when I’m done, we can go to dinner.”

  I smirked and stopped halfway down the hall. She was still frozen, her eyes wide, and I knew fear when I smelled it. I could smell it all over her, wafting off in waves, a thick perfume of anxiety. I knew she was terrified of what I wanted to do, and goddamn, I wanted her to be afraid.

  I fucking liked that she was finally starting to understand.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Shower up.”

  “Alone,” she said.

  “Your loss.”

  She took a step toward the bathroom. I didn’t move. She stared at me as she walked into the bathroom and put her toiletries bag on the vanity. She turned and caught my eye, her face pale, her expression drawn and tight.

  I smiled as she slowly closed the door. I heard the lock click into place.

  I let out a breath and laughed to myself.

  The little princess didn’t really understand what she’d gotten herself into, but maybe now she was starting to see. Maybe my house was decorated nice, maybe some stupid ex fuck toy made my guest room look all girly and cute, but this little delicious journalist had embedded herself right into the heart of a monster’s lair.

  And I wasn’t the kind of monster that let my prey go without biting down deep first.

  I smile and turned away. She’d be ready on time, I was confident of that at least.

  I leaned against the kitchen counter, a whiskey in my hand, my favorite suit buttoned and fitted. I heard her heels on the stairs as I checked my watch.

  Right on time.

  I left the kitchen and watched her reach the bottom of the stairs. She turned to face me, a little smile on her lips. She held her hands out to the sides like she was presenting herself and gave me two little half turns.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  I cocked my head and stared. She wore this tight, short black dress with a long, plunging neckline that just barely covered her full breasts. Her hair was up in this artful little bun, two curled strands framing her face. Her lips were a light red, just pink enough to drive me wild, and she carried a little black bag in one hand.

  “You look good,” I said.

  She laughed. “Good? I look fucking awesome.”

  I grinned and walked toward her. I gave her a look and walked a circle around her. I could tell that set her on edge a little bit, but I stared at her high, tight ass. She wore heels that only made her lean legs look that much more gorgeous.

  “All right,” I said. “You look fucking awesome.”

  “Thank you,” she said, nodding her head.

  “Now come on. Let’s get going.” I headed to the door, pushed it open, and held it for her. She followed me outside and waited on the sidewalk while I locked up.

  “Where’s your car?” she asked.

  I held out my keys and clicked them. My car beeped a few spots away. She frowned and blinked before staring at me.

  “You like it?” I asked, walking past her. I stopped next to my black vintage BMW from the 1960s. It had two rows of seating, though only two doors, and the front swept back in a graceful swoop. She stared at it, her jaw hanging open.

  “That’s incredible,” she said. “I thought all gangsters drove, like, boring black SUVs?”

  “They do,” I said. “But I’m not a gangster.” I opened the passenger side door. “Go ahead, get in.”

  She hesitated. “Let’s keep the top up,” she said.

  “Whatever you want,” I said.

  She climbed in then I walked around to the driver’s side. I fired her up and enjoyed the little purr of its engine as I pulled out into traffic and headed south.

  I took her down to Passyunk Ave. It was packed with people walking from bar to bar. The restaurants were all crowded with young people, young parents with their families, older retired folks. Passyunk was one of the best spots in all of South Philly, and my family owned every single fucking inch of it.

  We drove slowly down the street and I spotted a few guys I knew. I waved as the group of them called my name and gave me a salute. They were Steven’s guys, young soldiers out for a good time. I spotted a few more people, some doctors and lawyers in the area I knew, and gave them serious nods.

  “You know everyone,” she said.

  “You have no clue,” I said and smiled to myself.

  This was my town.

  Sometimes out in New York, I forgot what it felt like to be the king. Out there, we were a small family just fighting for a little territory and a little respect. I carved out a nice niche for us, and I was building our empire brick by brick, day by day, but in Philly the work had already been done. We already owned the city, we already had respect.

  When I was in town, I was a king again, and that felt fucking good.

  But I had to remember it was temporary. This wasn’t my home, not anymore. My father built this world, my father earned this respect. I was given it because I was his son and I was an important member of his organization, but I hadn’t earned it all, I hadn’t created it out of thin air like I was out in New York.

  I couldn’t let myself forget.

  I parked the car down toward Mifflin Street. We walked along Passyunk Ave, heading north. I didn’t have any particular place in mind, and as we went, I stopped and greeted the people I knew. Mona hung close, sometimes her body pressed against mine, and I felt a thrill of excitement to be spotted out and about with her. For a little while, I forgot that she was a journalist.

  “Do you come out here often?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s a good spot.”

  “How do all these people know you then?”

  I gave her a little smile. “My family owns a lot of businesses in this area,” I said.

  She laughed. “Interesting answer.”

  “What can I say?” I held out my hands. “That’s the truth.”

  “So your family… owns this spot,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral.

  “You could put it that way.”

  “Interesting. And all those people?”

  “Some of them are in my organization, you know, employees of my various businesses,” I said. “Some of them are important people in their own right and simply worth knowing.”

  “And you think you’re worth knowing?”

  “Oh, I’m definitely worth knowing.” I grinned at her and nodded at a fat bouncer standing outside of a pulsing nightclub. I couldn’t remember his name, Fat Mikey or Big Tommy or maybe Bulbous Billy.

  “I think you’re showing off,” she said, walking a little closer to me as a couple walking their little white dog came strolling past arm in arm.

  I gave her a look and slipped a hand across her lower back. She looked surprised as I drew her closer right as the little white dog barked and lunged at her.

  “Watch your fucking dog,” I said.

  The guy gave me an annoyed look, yanked his dog’s leash, and pulled it along.

  “Jesus,” she said.

  “I know, fucking people,” I said. “You’d be surprised how many shitty dogs are around here. And the fucking idiots let the dogs do whatever.”

  “You saved me from a real beast,” she said, grinning.

  “I saved those nice shoes,” I said. “Maybe your ankle, depending on how hungry it was.”

  She laughed and leaned against me for a second longer than necessary, then drew away. I let my hand drop from her body, but the feeling of her warmth stuck with me.

  “Do you ever miss all this?” she asked. “You kn
ow, since you’re in New York now.”

  “Sort of,” I said as we dodged a loud group of teenagers.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s like this.” I came up to a stop next to a bench set out in front of a little pizza place. I nodded at the guy working behind the counter, a nice kid named Raul, and looked at Mona. “All this respect? I didn’t build it.”

  “Who did?” she asked.

  “My father. He built all this.” I gestured around me vaguely.

  “But you’re respected on your own though. I mean, these people aren’t coming up and asking about your father. They’re just… greeting you.”

  “True,” I said, palms up. “It’s not like I’m just some fucking asshole. But in New York, I’m building my business all on my own. There’s nobody out there to siphon away the glory and nobody to blame when shit goes wrong. Out there, it’s all on my head.”

  “And you like that?” she asked.

  “Fuck, yes, I like that,” I said.

  She looked at me with an odd expression for a long moment then startled as Raul pushed open the pizza place door. He poked his head out and held out a bottle of Coke.

  “Hey, Vincent,” he said. “How’s it hanging?”

  “Good, man,” I said, taking the drink. “Your mom good? Your sister still in school?”

  “She graduated, man,” he said.

  “Shit, how old are you now?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Keep your fucking grades up so you don’t end up working in this shithole your whole life.”

  Raul grinned. “Man, I don’t need grades to become a soldier, just like—”

  I held up a hand and cleared my throat. He stopped himself and his smile faltered.

  “Not in front of the lady,” I said.

  “No, Raul, go ahead,” Mona said. “What exactly is Vincent here?”

  “Go back inside, Raul,” I said, my tone gentle. “Thanks for the drink. Tell your mother I said hi and I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

  Raul nodded quickly then ducked back inside.

  Mona gave me a look and tilted her head. “What was that?”

  I shrugged and opened the Coke. I took a swig, offered her some, and she took it.

  “His older brother worked for one of my businesses,” I said. “But he had an accident and is no longer with us. I take care of his family now.”

  “I see,” she said, drank some soda, offered me the rest. I shook my head and she shrugged, capped it, and tucked it under her arm.

  “It’s a dangerous line of work, sanitation,” I said.

  She laughed. “Sure sounds dangerous,” she said. “How come you don’t want Raul to get involved?”

  “He’s a smart kid,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. “Kid could do some shit with himself. Go into med school, become a doctor. Maybe a surgeon. Kid can make a mean pizza dough, probably got good hands.”

  She shook her head and gave me another strange smile.

  “You’re an odd one,” she said.

  “Quit looking at me like that,” I said. “Come on, let’s go.”

  I headed down the sidewalk again and she hurried to catch up, the soda sloshing under her arm. I took it back from her, took another sip, and ditched it at the next trash can. I wasn’t much of a soda drinker, but I couldn’t turn the kid’s offering down. I nodded to a few more people, greeted several others, and answered more of Mona’s questions about the neighborhood.

  Mostly though, she asked about me, about growing up. I told her as much as I could. I told her about moving up in the world as my father’s business gained more and more power, about feeling lonely and isolated, about being thrust into the heart of things before I was ready. I talked about learning fast, learning how to fight, how to defend myself, how to outthink my opponents when I couldn’t win with my fists.

  I learned all that before I was fifteen years old.

  I had to learn it. I was the son of Don Leone, and every other fucking kid in the city knew it. They all wanted a piece of me, wanted to prove that they were harder than the Don’s son, that they were better than me. And I had to step up to every challenge, fight every stupid bully that came my way. Sometimes I won, sometimes I lost, but I always walked away giving as good as I got, or at least trying to.

  I never stayed down, what’s what my father always taught me.

  We paused outside a Mexican place I loved, real authentic Mexican food. I looked inside the window and spotted an empty table toward the back then looked at Mona.

  “When I was twelve, I remember this kid,” I said as Mona stood close next to me, close enough that I could feel her arm brush against mine. “He was this big, fat motherfucker, hit puberty like a speeding train before anyone else. Facial hair, acne, like six feet tall, voice deeper than the Mariana Trench.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” she said.

  “Just a little. Anyway, I was at this sweet sixteen with my father for one of his, uh, employees’ kid. We were having a nice time, drinking soda, swimming in the pool, eating hot dogs, that sort of shit. Then when the kids broke out a soccer ball and started messing around, that monster came after me, hit me hard, threw me to the ground.”

  “I bet that was rough,” she said.

  I waved that off. “It was fine, but the hard part was my father came storming out onto the field. For a second, I thought he was going to yell at the kid, and I swear that pimpled freak turned pale as a ghost and nearly pissed himself. Instead of smacking the monster bastard upside the head, my father grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. My ankle hurt like hell and was swelling up already, but my dad didn’t care. He got in my face, and can you guess what he said?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I can’t imagine.”

  “He said, ‘Son, if you don’t get back up after someone hits you, then you’re not worth a damn. That’s all there is, you hear me? Just keep getting back up.’ I never forgot that.”

  “It’s good advice.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, it is, but he did that in front of every kid out there. I had to fight half of them before the year was over just to get them to stop making jokes behind my back.”

  “Must’ve been hard, growing up with a dad like that.”

  I cocked my head and shrugged. “Maybe,” I said. “There were perks too, of course. People tend to remember the hard parts of their childhood.”

  “I know what you mean,” she said.

  “Yeah, you got a story there?”

  “Not really.” A secretive little smile that only made me want to unwrap her even more. “I had a nice childhood. Loving parents. Doting, really.”

  “I bet.” I gestured at the restaurant. “Let’s eat here, shall we?”

  She shrugged and followed me to the door. Before I could grab the handle and pull it open, a motorcycle came screaming down the road, its engine spitting and barking. It pulled up to the curb, black and silver chrome. The guy riding it climbed off, but didn’t kill the engine, just left it running.

  He had a shock of shaggy black hair, wore a dark, beat-up leather jacket over black baggy jeans and brown work boots. His skin was light tan and his eyes were a deep, dark brown. He stared at me with those dark eyes, and I noticed his nose was crooked, just a little bit, as he reached into his jacket.

  I reached behind me, gripped the butt of my gun. I was about to draw it, heart racing, a step too slow, when the guy pulled out a box.

  I held the gun but didn’t pull. He approached me and I noticed that he looked pale and there was a bead of sweat on his forehead.

  “Vincent Leone?” he asked.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I said.

  Mona shifted close to me. I noticed her staring at my hand underneath my jacket, the one that gripped my Glock, but I didn’t let it go.

  He held out the box. “From my boss. For you.”

  I reached out with my free hand and took it. He nodded, turned, ran to his bike, jumped on, and sped off.

&
nbsp; I stood there, dumbfounded. I looked at the box and finally relaxed enough to release the grip of my pistol. People were staring, and I could see more than a few concerned faces.

  I turned away from them and stared at the box in my hands. It was black, about the size of a shoebox. There were no markings, but it looked beat-up and dented, like it’d been used before. The lid fit loose and something inside shifted around.

  I went to take off the lid, but Mona put a hand on top of mine.

  “Wait,” she said. “Wait, hold on. That could be… that could be a bomb or something.”

  I shook my head. “If someone wanted me dead, they would’ve used guns,” I said. “That guy had the drop on me.”

  She stared at me, eyes wide with fear.

  I stared at the box and lifted the lid.

  Mona sucked in a sharp breath and staggered away from me. I stared down at the skeleton of a snake, the spine long and curved, the rib bones sprouting out like so many tiny legs. It was bleached white, perfectly white, and the skull was intact, its jaw hanging open like it was about to strike just before it died and was stripped of flesh.

  Beneath the skeleton was a note.

  I gingerly pushed the skeleton aside and picked up the note.

  Three words were scrawled in black marker. They were shaky, the handwriting awful.

  Join and die.

  “Vince,” Mona said. “What the hell is that?”

  I dropped the note back inside and closed the lid. I stared at the box for a few seconds as my heart slowed back to normal. I looked at Mona and shook my head.

  “I have to get going,” I said.

  “What?” she asked. “Vince, what’s going on?”

  “I need to go talk to my father,” I said. “You can stay and have dinner. I’ll send one of my guys to check on you.”

  “No way,” she said as I turned and headed back to my car. “Vince, hold on.”

  She grabbed for my arm but I pulled away. I heard her heels clacking on the pavement but she was so far from my mind at that moment.

  I was trying to wrap my head around what I’d just been given.

  “Vince,” she hissed in my ear and grabbed my arm again.

  I stopped and faced her. I stared into her pretty eyes, glanced at her pretty lips.