His (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance)(21)

11





Vincent





I slam my fist on the console of my BMW.

“Fuck!” I yell, punching the console again hard enough to leave a dent.

I’m sitting outside her apartment watching the last slivers of sunlight sink behind the Manhattan skyline. I don’t know what to do with myself. How the hell did I let this girl get to me so much? Why did it hit me so hard when she pushed me out. I’ve been kicked out after a good fuck dozens of times, and I never felt shit. I got what I wanted and they got what they wanted. End of story. Except this time it isn’t. I can’t just walk away from her. So what do I want now? Do I really want to get involved with her? I’ve already got Frankie breathing down my fuckin’ back about offing her. I guess Jimmy told him what he saw and now half the familia is on my case to ice the girl. That’s the last thing I need, especially considering the shitstorm that is apparently brewing between some of the most powerful crime families in the Northeast.

I originally planned to just show up and set her straight, remind her why she should remember to keep her mouth shut. But one look at her in that tight skirt and the way her tits were pressing against her top made me want to own her. I wanted to feel her warm cunt again and no amount of good sense was going to stop that.

I sit there, feeling like an idiot for several more minutes before I see her coming down the steps of the apartment building. It looks like she took the time to fix her makeup and make herself look presentable, because I can hardly tell I just fucked her brains out. I get a small rush of satisfaction when she turns to the side and I see that part of her hair is standing up in the back. Didn’t completely wipe the traces of me clean, doll. The thought is bittersweet. Why does her wanting to erase any sign of me feel so shitty? It’s like she’s the one using me. She just wants a good fuck and then expects me to get the hell out of her way as soon as she’s done with me? Fuck that. The irony of being treated the same way I’ve treated countless girls isn’t lost on me, but it doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed off by it.

I turn the car on and follow her. She drives a shitty Corolla, even though I know her job has to pay her well enough to drive something nicer. Her apartment was run-down and small, too. Where’s all that money going? My stomach sinks when I think about the possibilities. She could be a junkie or into gambling for all I know. That’s the last thing I need. Still, I keep following her until we reach the SportsCast studios on the East end. When I park outside, I call Jimmy on my cell.

“Jimmy, she’s coming in.”

“About time. Thought you said she starts at 5:30.”

I grin. “She got tied up.”

“I see her now,” he says.

“You got everything set up, right? The intern badge, the uniform?”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, boss. I did everything you told me. She’ll have no fuckin’ idea.”

“Good,” I say, hanging up.

The plan is for Jimmy to keep an eye on her at work and make sure she’s not talking to anyone there or acting suspicious. If anyone asks, I’m making sure she doesn’t talk about what she saw. The truth is I’m more concerned about whether she’s letting any other guys hit on her or flirting. I’d lose my fuckin’ mind. I’d pull out my piece, march straight to her office, and put a full clip into whoever thinks they can squeeze in on my girl. My girl? Am I really already thinking like that? Jesus Christ. I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands. This girl is going to get me killed.

It’s only an hour later when I get a call from Jimmy, but the time moved slower than molasses. “Boss, I’m sending something over. Check your email.”

I hang up and check. He sent an attachment. It’s a PDF of some kind of article. An article she is writing. It’s not finished, but so far it reads:

Corruption Under the Lights

When star wide receiver, Ronnie White, was drafted out of FSU in his junior year, the expectations couldn’t have been any higher. Sportscasters were touting him as the next Randy Moss and already counting him as a future hall-of-famer. If the first two years of his NFL career were any indication, they were right.

He has it all. Money, fame, women, success … or does he?

A deeper look into his finances reveals that Ronnie has a gambling problem. A big one. An anonymous source says he saw Ronnie lose fifty thousand dollars in a single poker match last summer in Vegas. And that’s not the only witness to his gambling habits. Countless reports exist of reckless gambling and poor financial decisions, including a multi-million dollar mansion in Florida, over a thousand miles away from his penthouse suite in New York.