Mafia's Devil part 5

Our eyes connect, and his widen. Me? I lose my sight because the man’s cock seizes and then shoots semen like a damn sprinkler. The warm slush free-falls right into my poor virgin eyes.

I open my mouth to scream, but instantly find out what a horrible idea that was when Luciano Gavino’s cum slides past the seam of my mouth.

Now — I’m a cook and all, but that doesn’t mean I want to taste this man’s batter.

I gag and wipe my face. The sound of his slush crackling all over my skin fights with the sound of my wheezing.

I drag myself out from under the bed and crawl away. I’m not sure where I’m going, but finding the nearest sharp object I can impale myself on sounds like a great idea.

Now that I think about it, I’ve been harassed by enough sharp, impaling objects for the night— namely Lucianos enormous, spluttering cock. Maybe I should hop off the nearest rooftop instead. You know, go out with a bang and all. On the pavement.

“Let me call you back,” I hear him speak to the phone.

It looks like I interrupted his very bland, very boring, phone sex.

Two legs appear in front of me. They’re naked, tanned, and have a healthy amount of hair. I look up and find a third leg. It’s less hairy, less tanned, but definitely healthy.

“Mercy,” I cry as I crawl around him.

“You ruined my priceless Maserati,” he growls. “You sneak into my private quarters…”

His hands grip my wrists and haul me off the carpet, which I was trying to telekinetically beg to wrap around me.

I’m thrown on Luciano’s bed, one of my heels popping off. I try to twist off, but he pins me by my shoulders. He squeezes, compressing me, making me smaller to remind me of who’s the master here.

Isn’t Italy shaped like a boot on the map? Well, I think this Italian is about to kick my ass.

“What did you do? Spy? Bug the place? Did you steal documents?” he roars.

His face is contoured with anger. The yellow hues of the light make his grey eyes look like they’re on fire. Or maybe that’s his fury leaking through.

Being alone with this mafia boss on top of me makes me realize the gravity of my situation. Luciano is in his element. His men are marching through his mansion, his guns are scattered through his room, his darkness is seeping through his veins.

This has gone horribly wrong. I only know this man by reputation, and there’s not much empathy listed in his long rap sheet.

“I just wanted to prank you,” I blurt.

That doesn’t make him relax. His eyes still promise death, while his life-source is still salty on my lips.

“Seriously. I just wanted revenge by playing a silly prank. You can check my purse.”

“Do I look like I do pranks, Karine?”

No, he doesn’t. He looks like he drinks the blood of his enemies for a living. He has never looked this terrifying. I’ve underestimated him.

“I’ll go now! It’s over! Seriously!” I yelp.

I know my way around men. I’ve met all sorts of leering, plotting men through my father. Luciano floors me, though, because he’s not a man. He’s unnatural.

He yanks me off the bed, and my brain slushes in my skull. “You will pay for your insolence. Now get your nosy little ass off my damn property. You’re too fucking loud.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I snatch my heel and run out of there in a loud, stumbling spectacle. When I cross another bedroom, I enter it and lock the door. I rush into the bathroom and scrub my face until only two hairs dangle from my eyebrows and lashes. 

I need to get out of here. I’ve made a mess of things for my father. Who knows how Luciano will react to this. I don’t even know why he invited us in the first place.

Still shaken, I wipe my face on a spare towel and walk out of the bedroom and into the auction room. Guests were still mingling, but I only wanted my father.

A strong, suited chest crossed me. The man’s neck was tanned with a tattoo peeking out. His toned build was so similar to Luciano’s that I jumped.

My eyes swung up and found a face completely different from Luciano’s, but just as fierce.

Luciano had a permanent pout on his lips, permanent furrowed brows, heavily stubbled cheeks, a jarred scar on his chin, and a head of short, unruly curls. It was like all of his features were pruned, trying to hide something inside of him. His face itself was a mask; so stern that I don’t think the sickest daredevils would want to find out what’s under it.

I study my cousin, Maksim Kuznetsov. He looks more relaxed. His hair is buzzed down to a military cut and his shoulders relaxed, but he’s every bit a man. I nearly don’t recognize him. Last time I saw him in our teenage years, he looked much more boyish.

“Karine,” he frowns. “What is the matter?”

“Huh?” I blurt.

My eyes widen with panic. Another thing Maksim and Luciano have in common is their status and their trigger-happiness. If Maksim found out what transpired in Luciano’s bedroom, gun clips would be emptied, and business at the local funeral home would be booming.

What the fuck was Maksim doing here?

“You don’t look well. What happened?” his eyes are already scanning the background, looking for a bully to pulverize.

“Nothing. I just got bored and decided to choke on some appetizers. You missed the show.”

Maksim raised an eyebrow. I think he forgot how quirky I could be. Well, that term is debatable. Some called it quirky, while others— namely Manny, called it early signs of schizophrenia and recommend psychoanalysis.

I clear my throat. “Uh, long time no see. You got taller and… wider? I like what you did to your hair.”

He smirked. “No, you don’t. I had to buzz it down because my sons seemed hellbent on making me bald.”

I laugh. “Where’s your wife? Raelynn, right?”

“She is home. I don’t bring her to tense territory.”

That makes me raise an eyebrow. There’s tension between him and Luciano?

“Are you here for business?”

He nods. “Yes. Some items on auction tonight are not art.”

He’s speaking about weapons, territories, maybe drugs. He and Luciano don’t trade flesh.

“Pay attention, then. You don’t want to bid on a ring for Raelynn and end up having a cart of cocaine shipped to your house.”

He chuckles and shakes his head.

“The twins will definitely make you bald if they’re tripping on coke,” I add, and quickly regret my morbid comment.

What is wrong with me?

With a cringe, I add, “I’m going home. It was nice seeing you after so long.”

He touches my shoulders, a silent goodbye, and I nearly jump again because those were the shoulders Luciano was just squeezing.

Maksim goes back to scanning the crowd. Who knows what lives in that head of his. I sure don’t want to find out. I’ve dealt with enough blunt, surly, untrusting mafia bosses for the day.

I look for my father. It’s time to go home.