Page 12 of Hot for Her Italian Mafia

“Hurt him. Badly,” I say, deadpan.

“If you find him?”

I shouldn’t bother searching for him. He’s another nobody who comes to this place to cause a ruckus. He can’t be of too much value to anyone. Yet I find my logical mind has been taken over, possessed even, to learn more.

If he preys on innocent women to get his jollies off, I’ll take his cock as a trophy. I’ll leave him alive to forever remember what sins he has committed. But he didn’t strike me as a low-class thug looking to pillage and plunder Josie’s innocence. He dressed sharply, spoke well, and carried a smugness around him that reminded me of the underlings in my organization.

They all think they’re untouchable until they’re not. But if those worries become a reality, it’s best to know who the Queen bee of the hive you kicked is.

Or maybe I’m justifying it in this way to sate my own burning fire. I know myself, and if I catch that bastard near Josie again, I won’t be satisfied until he’s crumpled on hands and knees, begging my woman for forgiveness.

And she is mine after last night.

“I won’t kill him, if that’s what you’re worried about. I want to know who he’s working for. That’s all.”

“Got it,” Devin says. “I’ll buzz you if I find anything.”

I end the call with a button on my steering wheel and get out of my car.

I’m late but it’s by design.

Fuck, who am I kidding? This isn’t by design. I spent my whole afternoon trying to find a reason not to come back here right away. Our escapade in front of her building is a fate I want to spare Josie from. A man like me has no part to play in her future, yet in the land of milk and honey, I find myself starving without her presence.

Josie has become my all-consuming drug. She’s an injection of dopamine into a mainline vein, sending the highest high straight into my cerebrum. Every night I see her is another hundred-dollar fix to keep me moving forward. What a slippery slope that is, and slipping has never felt so good. But I have to hold a modicum of self-restraint. We pushed the boundaries and dipped our toes in dangerous waters.

The Sunken Sailor is full to the brim. Its drunken inhabitants spill onto the sidewalk laughing, fighting, and causing commotion. They’re a rowdy crowd, and to think I wanted to skip on my nightly visit. I’d be a piece of shit if I had. The dangers that Josie could find herself bar none on a Saturday night.

Getting through the herd isn’t much of a task. A push and a shove get me into the building. I immediately scan the floor for Josie. She’s at the bar, standing in her usual spot with eyes glued to the door. She’s been waiting. Eagerly anticipating my arrival.

Our eyes lock. A devious twinkle floods her baby blues, and she nibbles on her lower lip. A strange sensation centers in my belly and pulsates outward to my loins making my balls ache.

I make my way over to my booth. My usual waitress is clearing it up while the patrons who sat there moments ago are ushered to a different table. I’ve gotta admit, the perks that come with being a regular are mighty impressive. Though, it might have more to do with old Oscar behind the bar knowing who I am.

Josie watches me cross the floor and fall into the booth. She’s fidgeting uncomfortably. Wringing her hands, juggling her weight awkwardly between both feet, eyeing me…dangerously. She wants to come over here. I can tell by the naughty smirk growing ever bigger the longer she stares at me.

Big mistake, little girl. If you come anywhere near me, I won’t be able to control myself.

Maybe that’s what she wants. A dance with the devil to see what thrill it might bring. Would Josie be so bold as to throw herself into me here? In front of anyone? Allow me to devour her very fucking essence the way I did last night? But it won’t be like last night. I wouldn’t stop at kissing, no. I’d pull her onto my shoulders and bury my face between her soaking thighs.

My mouth waters at the tantalizing thought. One taste—it’s all I need to change my breakfast, lunch, and dinner to a diet of her pussy juice.

A thud against the table brings a wicked smile to my face. Josie’s carefree staring inspired more than filthy thoughts. My cock has sprung to life, and it’s knocking a hole into the flimsy wooden table.

“Mr. Palermo, you’re here,” my waitress says. She’s nervously brushing down the front of her frock. “I didn’t think you were coming in tonight.”

“I’ll have my usual.”

“Oh, of course.” She’s not pleased with my shortness. But with a low huff, she starts towards the bar. The waitress doesn’t make it there before Josie has her cornered, leaning in close before she speaks.

I know what you’re up to, pretty little thing.

CHAPTER 8

Josie

“Swap tables with you?” Eleanor asks, whipping her golden-brown hair over a shoulder. “Why would I do that?”

“Because a table of six is bound to pay better than one guy who doesn’t even finish a drink most nights,” I say.

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