Home > Luca Vitiello (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles #0)(7)

Luca Vitiello (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles #0)(7)
Author: Cora Reilly

Cesare was more my man than he was Father’s soldier, and I trusted him to keep his mouth shut when required. “Father won’t be happy about this,” I said.

Matteo gave me a curious look. “About us walking into a trap or that the Bratva tried to kill us?”

“The first, and maybe the second.”

“I’m growing tired of people trying to kill us,” Matteo muttered, his tone serious for once.

I took a deep breath. “That’s how it is. How it’ll always be. We can’t trust anyone but each other.”

Matteo shook his head. “Look at Father. He trusts no one. Not even Nina.”

He did well not to trust his wife considering the way he treated her. The marriages in our world rarely led to trust, much less love.

 

 

CHAPTER 3

 

 

LUCA, 20 YEARS OLD

 

 

The second we entered the elevator, the sound of music and laughter drifted down to us.

“Seems like this party might be worth our time,” Matteo said, checking his looks in the reflection of the doors. Except for our general facial features, we didn’t look alike. I was still the spitting image of my father, same cold gray eyes, same black hair, but I’d never wear it in that disgusting slicked-back way he did.

“That would be a plus, but the main reason we’re here is for connections.”

The apartment belonged to Senator Parker who was away on business with his wife. His son, Michael, used the chance to throw a party, inviting pretty much everyone who mattered in New York.

Michael waited in the open door when Matteo and I stepped out into the hallway. It was the first time I’d seen Parker Junior without a suit, since he was trying to follow in his father’s footsteps. He waved at us with a crooked smile, already drunk.

I nodded at him. For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to hug me like so many people tended to do with everyone, but then he thought better of it. Good for him. “So glad you could make it,” he slurred. “Grab a drink. I booked a few bartenders who can prepare any cocktail you want.”

The penthouse was packed with guests and the beat throbbed in my temples. Matteo and I wouldn’t drink much, if anything. We’d learned from our mistakes of the past, even if the present crowd didn’t pose a danger. Most of them would piss their pants if they knew half the things Matteo and I had done since we’d become Made Men. As it was, they only knew rumors. Officially, we were the heirs of businessman, real estate mogul, and club owner, Salvatore Vitiello.

The moment we entered, people began to whisper. It was always the same. Michael pointed at the bar and buffet, but I barely listened. My eyes were drawn to the dance floor, which had been set up in the center of the large open space that must have been the living room before the furniture had been removed for the party. Several girls who had been dancing with sons of other politicians were throwing glances our way.

Matteo and I exchanged a look. The thrill-seekers were about to descend on us. These kinds of girls, from good families, pampered, and entirely boring, were our main prey. They wouldn’t end up trying to kill us.

One of the girls, a tall blonde sex bomb with fake tits and an outfit that clung to her body like a second skin, began eye-fucking me immediately. She left her dance partner standing dumbfounded on the dance floor and shimmied over to me on high heels.

Michael groaned. I glanced his way.

“That’s my younger sister, Grace.”

I frowned. This could complicate my plans. Michael looked at my face, then at Grace. “I don’t care if you make a move on her. She does what she wants anyway. She’s always on the lookout for her next conquest, but lots of wieners have been dipped into the mustard jar, if you catch my drift.”

My eyebrows rose. I didn’t care if Grace had fucked half of New York’s male population. She was for fucking and sucking, not anything else. But if I had a sister, I would definitely mind if she acted like that, unlike Michael.

Michael shook his head. “I’m off. I don’t want to witness that.”

He moved to the bar and Matteo followed him, but not before he sent me a wink.

Grace danced closer and closer, then touched my chest. “I hear you’re involved in organized crime,” she crooned into my ear. Her hand slipped lower, her eyes eager and flirting. She definitely went for it.

If she reached around, she’d feel the gun in the holster at my lower back hidden under my t-shirt. “Is that what you hear?” I asked with the smile that got girls like her going. Dark enough to call to her bored-as-fuck-pampered-rich-girl persona but nowhere near my true dark side which would scare her away.

She shivered against me. “Is it true?”

“What do you think?” I growled, pulling her against me, letting some of my harshness show. Her lips parted, her expression a mix of fear and lust.

She pressed her mouth to my ear. “I think I want to be fucked.”

“Good,” I said darkly, “because I’m going to fuck you now. Lead the way.”

With an excited smile, she grabbed my hand and pulled me along. Matteo grinned at me but, a second later, he was back to shoving his tongue down a brunette’s throat.

Grace and I entered what I assumed was her bedroom. I pushed her toward her vanity and hoisted her up, knocking half of her lipsticks off in the process. She pursed her lips. “You’re making a mess.”

I gave her a dark smile. “Do I look like I give a fuck? The rest of your fucking lipsticks will fall off when I fuck you.”

Her lips parted. She was used to weak-ass rich boys who’d never swung a fist in their life. “Then you’ll have to pick them up later.”

Was she testing me? Trying to see if I was someone who could be pushed around like her preppy boyfriends of the past?

Tugging her skirt down, I checked the unblemished skin of her hipbones. It was more habit than necessity. Definitely not a Bratva assassin.

“I won’t do a fucking thing, Grace, got it?” I growled as I slid my hand under her skirt then pushed her thong aside, finding her wet. “People do what I tell them, not the other way around. New York is my fucking city,” I added as I pushed two fingers into her. Her eyes flashed with fascination.

She was fascinated by the danger, even when she didn’t know the first thing about it.

I finger-fucked her hard. “Choke me,” she whispered.

One of those.

I closed my fingers around her throat and pressed her down on the vanity, shoving the rest of her makeup to the floor. She shuddered with pleasure. I hardly put any pressure behind my grip; if she knew that this was how I’d killed a man, if she knew how many worse things I’d done with these hands, she wouldn’t have asked me to do this, but for her this was a game, a thrilling kink. It was the same with all the girls. I was their darkest fantasy come true.

She didn’t understand that I didn’t play a dark role for her, that this wasn’t my dark side, not even close, but the only side I was allowed to show in public.

 

 

Matteo and I had gotten less than two hours of sleep when our father rang us out of bed, ordering us to come over for breakfast. But first, he wanted a word alone with me. Never a good thing.

“What do you think he wants?” Matteo asked as we headed toward Father’s office.

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