Page 21 of Iron Blade

“Thanks, boss!” He waved the bills in the air, smiling at me, as a black car pulled up.

It was one of our Irish services, because I wouldn’t trust an ordinary Uber to take my boys around. We also paid better, and that was important. I considered it investing in the Irish community.

That left me with the black Mercedes-Maybach, and balls as blue as the arctic ocean.

I stared up at her window, wishing I was inside with her.

Had I brought a driver because I intended to be joining her in her small apartment tonight? Yes. Had I looked at where she lived, to find out exactly which window was hers? Yes.

Was my change of plan for the evening a disappointment? I wasn’t sure.

There was something sweet about the chase.

She was gorgeous. Her skin smelled like flowers that I couldn’t identify; other than the fact they weren’t roses. She was more elegant than the common rose, and I had been hard the entire time I escorted her through the gallery.

I pulled a pack of Dunhill cigarettes from my pocket and leaned back on my car.

The brisk air was like a cold shower, helping me forget the ache in my cock. I tapped the box before opening the fresh pack and lighting the first one.

The first cigarette of a new pack was like hitting the road with a full tank of gas. There’s just something about it that makes you feel like you could take life by the horns.

I would conquer her - this Goddess called Kira Kekoa. I would take her like the Sabine women and convert her to my cause, to be my legal, loving wife and partner in all things. As my father had been with my mother, until her demise.

But unlike my mum, Kira would never leave my sight. I’d never leave her unguarded.

The word “mine” kept rolling around in my head again and again. She was mine, and I would hold her close. I would keep her close until the end of fucking time.

Was it mad? Yes. Was I obsessed? Undeniably so.

I felt no need to refute that.

From the moment I saw her long limbs walking down the gallery, leading a crowd like a siren, I knew she was something. She spoke out of her arse, keeping everyone riveted with every word. She was a liar, that was for sure.

Normally, I’d take lying as an insult. But not from her.

There was something about her lies that didn’t barb my skin. It was like she wove a picture of beauty.

That nonsense about the artist, Vasali, was pure bullocks. She did it for a purpose - to drive up the cost of art.

The first sign of intelligence is the ability to deceive, and my Kira was a fucking genius.

But then there was that honest moment, when she saw my painting. A moment of true admiration crossed her deceptive little face. I realized that she wore a mask, like me. I wanted to strip her bare, to see the true and tender flesh beneath the facade. I wanted more from her than I could have. It was unbearable.

But I was a patient man. I had to be, with my background. So, I’d take down the barriers erected between us one by one.

Cosima Durante was, most definitely, one of the obstacles between me and my Juliet.

The Italian heiress had no right to be so… judgmental.

We were both the only children of two ruthless men who clashed like stags chasing after a single doe. It had been glorious, taking the Italian containers that they had kept on their long ships, and sinking them to the bottom of the ocean. All the legitimate wares, and pounds and pounds of cocaine harmlessly drifting down to the ocean floor.

Fuck you Eugenio Durante…

When I finished the cigarette, I dropped it to the pavement and crushed it under my boot.

I walked down the road, to the Irish bar called Four Green Fields. It was a hole-in-the-wall owned by an associate, Rowan. I had protected his family business when the Russians stormed into his place demanding “protection money”. Now, it was our favorite spot.

The door swung open and closed. The crowd hushed.

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