Page 4 of Mafia Wars

I finished my shift, and I’m exhausted today. I think it’s more mental than physical. I push the keys into the front door, and my stomach tightens as I step inside. The smell of whiskey hits me first, sharp and sour, and I know before I even see him that it’s going to be one of those nights. Mark is slumped on the couch, a bottle dangling from his fingers, his eyes fixed on me like I’m prey.

"You left the damn freezer door open," he slurs, his voice low but charged, like a thunderstorm about to break.

"What?" I blink, confusion flashing through me. "I wasn’t even—"

"Don’t lie to me!" His shout cracks through the room, and I flinch. "You let everything thaw out. All that food, wasted. You think I don’t know you did it on purpose?"

My pulse races, a thud-thud-thud that I feel in my throat, in my ears. "I didn’t," I say, my voice trembling. "I wasn’t even near the—"

"Shut up!" The bottle slams onto the coffee table, whiskey sloshing over the edge. He stands, his movements jerky and unsteady, but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous. His eyes are wild, dark, with something that makes my skin crawl.

"I didn’t do it, Mark," I whisper, backing toward the kitchen. "You have to believe me."

"Believe you?" He laughs, a cold, humorless sound that freezes me in place. "You think I’m stupid? You think you can make a fool out of me?"

"No, I—"

"Don’t lie!" His voice roars, and suddenly, he’s moving, closing the distance between us. I can’t breathe, can’t think. My back hits the counter, the edge biting into my spine, and I’m trapped.

His face is too close, his breath reeking of alcohol. "You’re lying," he says, quieter now, but somehow that’s worse. His eyes burn into mine, and I can feel the rage radiating off him like heat. "And you’ll pay for it."

Tears blur my vision, but I can’t let them fall. Not now. Not in front of him. I press my palms against the counter, trying to ground myself, trying to keep from shaking. But my heart is racing, my mind screaming at me to do something, anything, before this gets worse.

And I know it will. It always does.

CHAPTER THREE

CIAN

THE WATER IS scalding, just how I like it, pounding against my shoulders as I lean one hand against the shower wall. Steam fillsthe bathroom, curling into the corners like smoke, but it does nothing to clear my head. Nothing does.

I close my eyes, tilting my head back under the spray, letting the hot water pound against the tension coiled in my neck. The day’s been long—too long—and my patience is a thread stretched to snapping. Another blowout with Uncle Finn over shipment routes. Same old argument, different day. His way or mine. Except his way always leaves loose ends—and loose ends are dangerous. Then there was Jason, the screw-up of the century, botching the drop-off. Why the hell we still let that idiot near the business is beyond me. The whole thing’s a mess, and, as usual, it’s fallen to me to clean it up.

The water doesn’t wash away the weight pressing down on my shoulders, and the ache at the base of my skull only grows sharper. My mind spins, replaying every misstep, every bad call, until my teeth grind together. I hate mistakes. Hate inefficiency. But most of all, I hate the sense that things are slipping through my fingers like water down this drain.

I let out a frustrated breath, my hand drifting lower as I try to find some kind of release, something to take the edge off. The image comes unbidden—one of the dancers from the club last night, dark-eyed and curvy, her dress clinging to every inch of her body. I’d thought about taking her home, but the idea of answering her the next morning killed the mood. I don’t do strings, and women always seem to want them, and I wasn’t a guy who used the back rooms in the club; I didn’t like using someone else’s bed.

The water slides over my chest, and I wrap my hand around myself, letting my mind wander. For a moment, I’m somewhere else, not in this house, not in this life. Somewhere quieter, freer. It’s just me and the dancer; she lowers herself to her knees and unzips my trousers. I stroke my cock as I envision her mouth warm and wet around it; she pushes my cock into the back of herthroat; I let out a groan as I stroke harder, pushing deeper into her mouth, searching for the release. I pump harder, my hands wrapping around her long blonde hair, tightening against her scalp as I force her mouth up and down my shaft, moving her faster and harder. “Oh fuck, yeah!” I mumble, gripping my hand against the wall to keep my balance as I move even faster, rising on the tips of my toes to reach that place that will give me some freedom.

The illusion is smashed as a noise from behind me has my eyes snapping open, instincts kicking in like a live wire. I spin around, every muscle coiled tight, my hand flying to the gun concealed beneath the washcloth. The weight of it is a cold, familiar comfort—I even sleep with one under my pillow. My fingers curl around the handgrip, but I don’t pull it out. Not yet. My gaze locks onto the shadow in the doorway, my fingers loosen their hold on the gun, and I withdraw my hand, leaving it in its hiding place.

It’s her—the new maid. What’s-her-name. Luna.

She freezes, her wide hazel eyes locked on mine, her mouth falling open as her gaze drops— to my engorged cock.

“Jesus Christ!” she yelps, spinning around so fast she nearly trips over herself. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t—no one told me—”

I don’t move. For a second, I just stare at her, my mind trying to catch up to what’s happening. She’s got one hand clamped over her eyes like that’s going to erase what she just saw, and the other is fumbling with the door handle.

I should be pissed. Hell, I probably will be in a minute. But right now? I can’t help it. I smirk.

“You got an eyeful there, sweetheart?” I ask, my voice low and teasing.

She makes a strangled sound, halfway between a gasp and a squeak, but doesn’t answer.

“Turn around,” I say, leaning against the wall of the shower, the water still beating down on my back. “You’ve already seen me naked. Fair’s fair, don’t you think?”

“No,” she says immediately, her voice shaking. “I’m—I shouldn’t be here. I’ll just—”

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