His (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance)(11)

“There. Even more gorgeous,” he says with a grin.





7





Vince





After the door closes behind her I lean against the wall and run my hands through my hair. Hol-ee shit. Not only did I just let the witness to a fuckin’ crime that could bring the fuzz down on the entire Citrione family go, but I went and got myself some of the most ridiculously hot ass I’ve ever seen. Fuck. This is going to be an absolute mess.

I palm my cell and dial Frankie. “It’s me,” I say when he picks up. “What’s the score?”

“Fourteen to seven,” he says. “Giants are up.”

I grit my teeth. I can’t get into specifics over the phone, so I’m forced to talk in code. “What about the kicker?” It’s the current code for a player we’re pushing to flop. Ronnie is supposed to drop almost everything thrown his way to make sure the bets our clients placed fall through as expected.

“Looks like he has cold feet.”

I hang up the phone.

Shit. That means Ronnie hasn’t been flopping for us. I don’t particularly enjoy having to make examples of people, but I also don’t like when people cross me. I can’t afford to look weak. No biggie, Vince. You handle this shit all the time. I have, but I’ve also never let someone who shouldn’t have witnessed a deal go down walk away. If she talks about what she saw and then Ronnie just happens to get hurt shortly after? Yeah. Her story is going to look a whole lot more credible. This would have been a lot simpler if Ronnie had just behaved.

I ball my fist and punch the drywall, sending a puff of plaster dust up and shredding the already raw skin on my knuckles. “Fuck!” I yell, barely feeling the burning explosion of pain in my hand. My cock is still wet from her pussy and I’m thinking about whether or not I’ll have to have her killed. I can’t do it though. That’s what pisses me off more than anything. I’d normally just do what was best for business, even if it meant getting some blood on my hands. Somehow she got so far under my skin that I’m about to start putting my neck on the line for her? I can’t tell if it’s my cock doing the thinking or something else, but I know with a gut-freezing certainty that this girl is going to get me into a lot of trouble.

I pull out my cell and punch in Jimmy’s number.

He picks up on the first ring. “What do you need, boss?”

“I need a tail on a girl. Aubriella Lightner,” I say with a little uncertainty. “At least that’s what her name-tag said.”

“Anything else?”

I’ve always liked Jimmy. He doesn’t waste time with small talk or ask unimportant questions. You give him a job, and if it can be done, he does it. If only all my men were like that. “Yeah. One other thing. This is a dry tail. Do you understand?”

There’s a pause. Of course he understands. He’s just making sure he doesn’t say anything stupid over the phone. “Yeah. Got it boss.”

I hang up the phone. A dry tail means the standing order to kill any tail who is about to reveal sensitive information is not in play. It’s usually only reserved for dangerous targets like police or full-blooded, made members of a familia. He’s probably wondering who the hell this girl is. Welcome to the club, Jimmy.





8





Aubriella





I wait way too long in line at the bakery because they are out of everything bagels and the woman at the front of the line is taking out her whole week on the poor girl who had to break the news to her.

“It’s only nine AM,” says the woman. She pronounces the last as ‘aaayh eeehm’, four syllables. She’s standing with her feet as wide as a linebacker, like she doesn’t plan to give up her tirade any time soon.

“Yes ma'am,” says the girl behind the counter. “We had a catering order come in from the bank across the street and we were barely able to fill it, so we’re currently restocking.”

The woman throws up her hands, looking at the rest of us in line as if we’re equally outraged and will join her. “So then it’s just screw you to the rest of us? Who cares if anyone else gets what they want for the rest of the day?”

“We will have more made in about thirty minutes. They are already in the oven. I could have the kitchen make you something for now free of charge and we’ll get you a bagel as soon as they are ready.”

The woman slams a palm down on the counter dramatically. “Are you even listening? I don’t want some scraps from the kitchen, I want—”

I surprise myself by storming to the front of the line. I guess saying “fuck you” to a mobster last night made me a little desensitized. I normally wouldn’t get involved in something like this, even if I knew I should.