Page 7 of Mafia Star

What the ever-loving fuck am I doing? Besides trying not to come in my jeans, which is a Herculean effort considering Beth’s pussy is pressed against my cock, and I’ve already sucked one of two of the most magnificent tits ever. I’ve never wanted to have a woman slide down my dick like I do this one who’s driving me crazy.

It took everything in me not to freak the fuck out when I recognized her. From a distance, she was a chick with a banging body— curvy and soft in all the right places —and she had four shitbags eyeing her. I know them because I’ve been a member long enough to be acquainted with many of the regulars. Apparently, not Beth, though. Why do both of my pet names feel so damn natural even though I have no entitlement to call her either?

The moment our bodies touched in the main room, I knew it was her. Don’t ask me how. Her perfume and eyes confirmed it. But instinct told me. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. But once I was certain, anger pulsed through me. She was completely oblivious. I noticed she recognized a couple of men, and I assume they’re the douchebags she used to meet here. The fuck she’s touching another man now. And I sure as fuck am not sharing her.

Protectiveness made me practically drag her away from anywhere those four could reach her. Possessiveness made me want to spank her, and it’s why I can’t stop kissing her as though she were my girlfriend not a woman to scene with then walk away. Not as a woman who might be a one-night stand. No. This is way different.

This is way more terrifying in its intensity.

I want to explain I’m not into domestic discipline. That’s why I like her stubbornness and her steel backbone. But saying that implies we’re in a relationship. We’re not.

“Marco, what’s happening?”

There’s timidity in her voice now. And it matches mine, even though I’m fighting to keep it to myself. I don’t like it. Not after the stubbornness of a moment ago. I don’t want her scared around me. I don’t want her doubting herself. And I don’t know what to do about my own self-doubt. It’s not an emotion I’ve felt in years.

“I don’t know, piccolina. It’s not anything I expected.”

“This is— different.”

I can practically hear her saying “isn’t it?”

“It is.”

That makes us both freeze. This shouldn’t be happening. We look at each other before she stands, and I help her ease around my legs. It’s a dose of shitty reality. I rise with her and wrap an arm around her.

“Beth, this is not a mistake. But this is a surprise. What do you want?”

She looks at me for a moment, and I know neither of us is going to tell the truth.

“I want this to be a surprising but good memory.”

I give her a peck on her lips then release her. She looks around for her shoes I’m not sure she noticed me taking off. She reclaims them, along with her bra and panties. She fastens her bra and slides the underwear and heels back on. We don’t avoid meeting each other’s gaze, but neither do we linger. When I reach to unlock the door, I have the unsettling realization she might not be going straight home. She covers my hand and stops.

“Marco, I’m not staying tonight.”

“Me neither.”

I hadn’t done anything before I ran into her. I actually stood someone up who I usually connect with when we’re both here. I saw the woman when I came in. To be honest, I totally forgot about her the moment I ran into Beth. The idea of going to find her or anyone else feels wrong. The idea of coming back here to be with anyone else feels wrong.

After we both put our masks back on, I walk her out until she gets to the locker room. I’m done before her since I just slip my shirt on. I wait for her in the shadows since we already said goodnight. But I follow her out to make sure she gets in her car. I saw her pull out her keys before walking outside. I get in my car after she pulls out. I rest my head back and close my eyes. What the fuck did I just do?

All of us— my father, uncles, cousin, brothers, and friends —are in Uncle Salvatore’s office. None of us is sure what to say. You can practically touch the anger in the room as though it were a breathing person we’re all ready to execute. Every member of our senior leadership is looking at each other, including Uncle Cesare, who usually stays out of most of this shit but has been more present since Carmine and Serafina got together.

Uncle Salvatore is tapping his fingers in the unusual pattern he has. It’s not pinky to index finger or index finger to pinky. It’s more of what I’d call an arpeggio. He claims it’s from the hours at the piano my nonna forced upon him. Each gets three taps. Ring finger then index finger then pinky and finally middle finger. He does it when he’s thinking. Sometimes it heightens my rage or anxiousness. Other times it’s reassuring. Today, it’s the former.

“Are you really sure it’s him?”

As I speak, I’m looking at Carmine, who was the bearer of the bad news. While Enzo is our hacker, Carmine is our intelligence gatherer. The man can find out the last time the Pope shat. He used to employ his skills to manipulate all of us. He’d discover little things and plant seeds that led to needless arguments that he would then quietly offer suggestions to resolve. He manipulated master manipulators. I understand now why he did it. A sense of survival when we were all kids. A need to feel relevant as a teenager. And deep resentment as an adult. We have our shared nonno to thank for that. But now that he uses his skills only for good, we all get along much better. He has the respect he’s always deserved but trashed for years.

“Yeah. I can’t believe it either. But we had him followed. We made sure one of our guys on the force was at the meeting. Cost a fucking fortune to get that cop to go along with it.”

“But Luigi?”

I still just can’t wrap my head around it. He drove Beth home after the reception. He’s guarded Pia and Natalia for fuck’s sake. We’ve trusted him to work at the garage. Now we find out he’s a narc.

Uncle Salvatore stops drumming his fingers and looks at Carmine again after staring out the window into the dark. I didn’t make it home from the club before I got the call to come here. Discovering Luigi may have broken the omertà is one of the deepest betrayals in the Mafia. In our family. To me. He’s a few years older than me, but we grew up together. We were friends. We’ve gone through some wild shit and saved each other’s lives more than once. To learn he’s been helping the cops, maybe even the feds, is the lowest blow.

A fundamental tenant of our code of honor is that no matter what, there is never a justifiable reason to involve the government, especially law enforcement. You just don’t. And if you go away for a crime you didn’t commit, oh well. You never share family secrets.

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