Claudio: A Dark Mafia Hate Story (Chicago Crime Family Book 2) Page 4

  "Sweetheart, you could work a thousand years and you wouldn’t be able to earn enough to pay us off."

  She just stares at me helplessly. "But you won’t let me get a better-paying job!”

  "Yeah. That’s right. You going to tell me again that is not fair"

  "What good would it do?" She's learning.

  We stand there in silence for a minute, and I breathe in her light flowery scent and stare down at her, deliberately letting my gaze rove over the swell of her breasts.

  She bites her lip, her sky-blue eyes shimmering with crystal tears. "When you kill me, is it going to hurt?"

  "Maybe." I run my hand over her chest, and cup her heavy breast in my right hand. She squirms a little, so I tighten my grip on her arm and stroke the hardened nub of her nipple with my thumb, and she rewards me with a helpless gasp of pleasure. "Do you want me to hurt you? Is that what you like?”

  There's a drawer full of kinky toys back at my place that are begging her to say yes.

  "I don't like anything that you do to me!” My little spitfire glares up at me in helpless fury. “I don't like anything about you, you son of a bitch!”

  That's better.

  I shove between my hand under her skirt and cup her pussy in my hand, and she's so wet she's practically dripping on my fingers. My other hand is still firmly clamped on her upper arm; she tries to squirm away from me, but I hold her still.

  "Your pussy says otherwise. You just lied to me, and I don’t like liars.”

  I slide my fingers into her panties, and stroke her wet slit. Her struggles quickly cease, and her eyes close as she settles back against the wall. When I start rubbing her clit, she moans aloud and arches her back, pressing her pussy into my hand. Her breath comes out in slow, tortured pants.

  Fuck me. I want to bury myself so deep in her that I split her in two, but she hasn’t earned it yet.

  Instead, I listen to her breathing, and when she's almost at the precipice, I pull my hand away.

  Her eyes fly open in surprise and she makes a little squeak of protest. I raise my hand to my lips and lick my fingers. "Taste like peaches."

  She stares up at me. “You...I mean, you don’t want to...you’re not going to make me...”

  “I wouldn’t have to make you do anything, babe,” I say smugly. “You practically creamed on my hand.”

  The hurt in her eyes doesn’t make me feel as good as it should. I shrug my jacket off, and hand it to her.

  “Put it on.” Her shirt is in shreds, and I don’t want anyone else looking at her tits.

  Her hands are shaking as she obeys me. My jacket practically hangs down to her knees. "You...you stopped.” Her voice is dazed and accusatory.

  "That's your punishment for lying. You don't get to come. And don’t touch yourself tonight; if you do, I’ll know. Now I’m going to walk you out, put you in a cab, and you are going to go home and stay in your apartment. You're not allowed to leave your house tonight. And you do not want to test me on this."

  I love ordering her around. I get off on the frustrated fury in her eyes. And the glances she’s getting from other men are enough to send me through the roof; how the fuck am I going to handle it when I have to hand her over to be gang-raped?

  And as I walk her through the club, the answer to my dilemma flashes through my head. How could I not have thought of it earlier? Diego’s going to blow a gasket, but it will be worth it.

  Yeah, it’s a fucking crazy idea, but crazy doesn’t scare me. Crazy and I are old friends.

  Chapter Five

  Heather

  The TV screen is blaring over the coffee bar, and my attention is drawn to the news as I wait for the barista to fill my drink orders. There’s been a robbery at the Chicago Museum of Art and Antiquities.

  “The painting is priceless, it can’t be replaced...” A distressed curator is talking to the newscaster, flapping his hands.

  “I pay you to stand around?” Jake, my boss, has snuck up behind me.

  “Sorry,” I murmur, swallowing the sarcastic response that springs to my lips.

  “Useless. I wouldn’t pay you at all, if...” he trails off.

  If what? Suddenly it hits me - someone from Diego’s crew must have told him to keep me working here. That’s why he’s been willing to give me so many shifts. That’s why Claudio was surprised when he saw me applying for the night club job last night.

  Defiance flares up in me. “Then don’t pay me,” I say coldly. “Shall I quit?”

  “No!” he barks angrily. Then he looks rattled, and he turns and hurries away. Huh. Touched a nerve there.

  I grab the drinks that the barista has just set on the counter, put them on my tray, and stalk off. I’m normally sunshine and light with my customers, but today I just plop the drinks down on the table in front of them and rush off.

  I haven’t been able to think straight since Wednesday night. In defiance of Claudio, I did touch myself. A lot. And I thought of him while I did it, and I wore his jacket, too. His scent clung to it, light cologne and sweat and his distinctive masculine musk. After I made myself climax, I hugged myself, and pretended it was his arms around me.

  I hate this about myself, that my only release comes when I picture the man who’s going to end my life some time soon. What does it even mean? It’s like Stockholm Syndrome, and he hasn’t even taken me prisoner.

  Do I have so little self-respect? Am I consumed with some deep self-loathing that I never knew about before? Honestly, I always thought I had decent self-esteem – up until this. I don’t have a swelled head, I don’t think I’m some kind of goddess, but I was always proud of myself for growing up in the ghetto with a drunk for a dad and a mom who ghosted me, and turning out decent.

  I’m not a prostitute or a junkie or a mob groupie. I don’t break the law, no matter how broke I get. I worked nights and weekends all through high school and still got good grades. I have a goal – a college degree leading to a job with a living wage – which some day, no matter how long it took, I’ll achieve.

  I practically raised my younger brother by myself, and I take care of Mary and my father. I treat people with respect unless they give me a reason not to. I’m a decent human being.

  But here I am, letting the most evil man I’ve ever met creep into my thoughts and take them hostage. What’s wrong with me?

  Mary taps me on the arm. “You’re not smiling,” Mary says, looking worried. “Do you want my money? I made twenty dollars in tips today.”

  I see Jake scowl at her from across the room. I scowl back, and he swallows hard and looks away.

  Interesting.

  Anyway, I don’t like the way he treats her. The only reason he even hired her is because he gets a tax break, from a local government agency which secures employment for the handicapped. And he snaps at her all the time, tells her she does a lousy job, and makes her feel bad about herself.

  “Oh, no, it’s not the money. I have a headache,” I lie. “I’ll go grab some aspirin from the store.”

  I hurry out the front door. I don’t have a headache, but I am hungry, so I’ll grab myself a sandwich.

  Apparently, Claudio has ordered Jake to keep me on the payroll. That must be why Claudio asked me about how I got the night off. He’s told Jake to keep me busy from morning to night, apparently.

  As I walk by a doorway, I see a dark huddled shape, and I start to hurry. Not fast enough; someone lunges at me violently and grabs me. It’s not Claudio; I can tell by the unwashed reek.

  The bastard didn’t even have the guts to do it himself.

  I start screaming at the top of my lungs. I kick backwards and my heel connects with a shin, and I hear a grunt of pain, and the grip on my arms loosens. They sent an amateur to kill me?

  Then suddenly I’m free. Nobody’s holding on to me anymore.

  I spin around. Claudio is standing there – and he’s got the man’s throat in a death grip. The man has a long yellow stained beard and wild eyes, and his clothes are crus
ty with dirt. His arms flap uselessly, his eyes rolling back in his head as Claudio squeezes the life out of him. He’s not an assassin, he’s just some homeless lunatic who’d assaulted me at random.

  Claudio’s hand shoots out, and he grabs my arm. The next thing I know, he’s grabbing both me and the homeless guy into an alley. Claudio lets go of me and snaps the dead guy’s neck and drops him to the ground.

  It happens so fast I don’t even have time to scream.

  Dead. There’s a dead man at my feet and I can’t even look at him because his head is angled the wrong way.

  “You just...killed a man in front of me,” I gasp. I back up, half a dozen steps, and turn my back so I’m not looking at the dead guy.

  Claudio follows me, and steps in front of me. We’re almost at the mouth of the alley now. “Doesn’t matter. A wife can’t testify against her husband.”

  Well, that just took a right turn to crazy-town. All right, I’ll play along.

  I hold up my bare left hand and wiggle my fingers. “We can’t get married. You haven’t given me a ring.”

  He shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls out a box. He snaps it open. Looks at my finger calculatingly. “I guessed a size six ring finger.”

  My mouth is gaping open. There is a diamond ring in that box, a galaxy of sparkles nestled in inky black velvet. “You...guessed? How?”

  “Measured one of your gloves when I was in your apartment the other day.”

  Ok, that’s not at all creepy. “Was that when you left me the wallet?”

  His smile is terrifying. “Yep. And you never even said thank you. We’ll have to work on your manners.”

  I take a step back. “Would it be bad manners to tell you to go screw yourself?”

  He moves towards me. “It’ll earn you a spanking you’ll never forget.” He snaps the box shut and shoves it in his pocket. Then he grabs me by the wrist and hauls me out to the street. There’s a limo waiting for us, and the back door is open. I’m too shaken to protest as he forces me into the car and climbs in next to me.

  “You just murdered a man,” I say, the words sounding high and shrill. “I saw a man die right in front of me.”

  Claudio slams the door shut, and the limo pulls into traffic. “Do you always repeat yourself like that? Because it could get annoying.”

  I am in the back seat of a car sitting next to a man who just committed murder.

  I take deep breaths and let them out slowly. The air whooshes out from my lungs and I clutch the car seat tightly, desperate to ground myself.

  Claudio’s looking straight ahead, without a care in the world. He’s dressed like a million bucks, as usual. Wearing a gray raw silk suit with a darker gray tie. His face is so brutally handsome, it’s hard to stop staring at him. How can such dark cruelty live inside such a beautiful home?

  I swallow hard, and slide away from him, towards the other door. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Where are we going?”

  He frowns. “I just told you. To get married.”

  He’s actually serious.

  “You don’t need to do that to keep me quiet. I wouldn’t have called the police about that guy,” I protest faintly.

  He’s still staring straight ahead. “I know. That’s not why we’re getting married.”

  “We’re not, actually, getting married.” I sit up straighter.

  He shakes his head, finally turning to look at me, with a cruel twist to his beautiful mouth. “Shame about your brother, then.”

  “You wouldn’t!” I spit out at him. “You’d kill him because I refuse to marry you?”

  That just makes him laugh. “To be more specific. I’d torture him until he wishes he were dead, and then let him die from his wounds. I’d make a special project of it, the way I do with anyone who steals from us. It would last, oh, a week at least. Unless you’ve got a hundred thousand dollars to pay back his debt. But if you’re my wife, then your family’s debts are mine, and I’ll repay it.”

  “What?” I squawk. “It was fifty thousand, three weeks ago.” Like it matters. If the mob wants more than twenty-three bucks in tips, and a half-carton of stale Chinese food, I’m out of luck.

  “That’s the interest.”

  “You don’t even know where my brother is,” I protest faintly. “Nobody does.”

  “Would you bet his life on that?” His ice-cold gaze freezes my blood.

  I suck in a breath, and then meet his gaze defiantly. “What if I said yes? You’d go after Mary, wouldn’t you? Or my father?” I don’t know why, but I want to hear him say it. I’m compelled to probe the depths of his evil, like a finger poking at a rotten tooth.

  He cocks his head to the side. “A bed-ridden old man dying of liver failure? And a girl with the i.q. of a child? No.”

  “But...you said you would.”

  “No, I said that’s why you were staying. Because you thought I’d take it on them if you left. But I never threatened them. Not my fault if you jumped to conclusions.”

  He’s right, he never openly threatened them. And I’m shocked. I thought his cruelty knew no limits. This is a man who left a wallet made of human skin in my apartment.

  “Don’t we need marriage licenses or something?”

  “Already got them.” How long has he been planning this? And how did he get the paperwork without me?

  I wonder if this is some kind of sick game, but I can’t imagine why he’d bother. I’m locked in a car with him. He can take me anywhere, do anything he wants to me.

  A tiny, hidden part of me wishes that he wanted to marry me because he simply couldn’t resist me. He’s like the dark nightmare version of my knight-in-shining-armor fantasy. The prince from the fairy tale, who rescues the heroine from her life of poverty and fear. He’s strong, wealthy, handsome, fearless.

  But in the fairy tale, the prince is overwhelmed by passion and true love. That’s not what’s happening here. There’s something else going on, and I desperately need to know what, but one look at the hard set of his jaw and it’s clear that he won’t answer my questions.

  We ride in silence until the limo glides to a stop in front of a non-descript brownstone with a sign out front. “Eternal Bliss Wedding Chapel.”

  We climb out of the car. His driver opens the door, and climbs out too. His name’s Carmelo, he’s known around the neighborhood for being one of Diego’s enforcers. He was working at the bar the night that I went there and begged for a loan.

  Claudio’s fingers close around my arm, and reality crashes back down on me, shattering my foolish fantasies of a passionate prince carrying his bride up the castle steps. This is a kidnapping.

  There are people walking down the street, a meter maid ticketing cars, a man walking two poodles on a leash, a cluster of girls in bright fashionable clothing. I could scream for help.

  But now isn’t the time for that. If Claudio actually wants to marry me, then for the time being, it means he’s not going to kill me. And if I agree to play along with this farce, I’ll be able to escape later. I have no idea where I’d go to hide, but I can figure that out when the time comes.

  He said he wouldn’t go after my father or Mary, and for some reason, I believe him. And there is no way he could know where my brother is. So I’ll just buy time until the right moment, and then run for it.

  Claudio hurries me up the steps.

  There’s a “closed” sign on the front door. Claudio ignores it, opening the door and propelling me inside. Carmelo is right behind us.

  We’re greeted by a man in a dark suit. The man is pale with fright, swallowing convulsively. He looks at Claudio with an expression of absolute terror. I know exactly how he feels.

  “Move it along,” Claudio snaps at the man.

  “Just what every bride yearns to hear on her wedding day,” I say bitterly. Claudio flashes me a nasty smirk.

  “Hey, sweetheart, I just can’t wait for us to be married. I thought you’d be flattered.”

  Carmelo makes a strangling sound, lik
e suppressed laughter, and looks at Claudio in appreciation and surprise. As if he’s not used to Claudio making jokes.

  “Whatever. Let’s get this shotgun wedding over with,” I say icily, and this time it’s me who gets the surprised look from Carmelo.

  Claudio’s fingers tighten so much I let out a yelp of pain.

  “Careful how you talk to me in public, angel.”

  Angel? That’s a new one.

  But I don’t want him to crush my bones to powder, so I bob my head obediently.

  The man recites the vows so fast that he stumbles over the words. He keeps darting nervous looks at Claudio.

  Love-honor-obey. The old fashioned version of vows, which these days are usually “love, honor, and cherish.” Did Claudio request that?

  “I do,” I mutter. Claudio gives me a look.

  “I do,” I say loudly.

  Claudio agrees that he will love, honor and cherish me. In other words, he lies. Just like I did. What a way to start our married life.

  When the man says “You may kiss the bride,” Claudio just gives me a cold glance and says “later.”

  And I’m hurt. This is my wedding day. Could the bastard do the decent thing just for once in his life, and at least pretend?

  When I was a little girl, I would draw ugly stick pictures of myself getting married to a prince. We both had spiky crowns on our heads. When I was in grade school, I used to fantasize about our perfect little cottage in the suburbs, with a room for our baby, right next to our bedroom. It was my escape from an unheated, bare-walled one bedroom apartment that reeked of sour milk and despair.

  Claudio’s snatched that dream and crushed it to powder. I’m not a bride in a bodice ripper novel, I’m the hostage in some strange transaction that I don’t understand. He isn’t marrying me because he’s smitten – so why? I’m not Italian, not wealthy, not connected in any way. How could marrying me possibly benefit Claudio?

  We’re silent as we head out to the car. Carmelo delivers us to a neighborhood about twenty minutes away, a fancy neighborhood of brick townhomes and pretty Victorian-looking streetlights, with a little park at the end of the block. It’s as far from the neighborhood where I live as the Earth is from Pluto.