Page 19 of Captured Fantasy

I went upstairs and ran a hot bath. It was quiet in the house, the only sound the gentle rushing of the air conditioner and the ceiling fans. After the bath was ready, I went to the bedside table and took out my vibrator and took it to the bed.

I stripped and slid onto my back and pressed the vibrator to my clit. I was hot and slick. Whether from myself or Federico, I couldn’t tell. I gathered the wetness and circled my clit with it, pleasure rising in my hips. But it wasn’t Lucien or Federico who came to mind, it was Cosimo Barone and the memory of his hand between my thighs.

CHAPTER FIVE

COSIMO

I stood in my kitchen making a cup of coffee while the exhausted girl from the bar last night soaked in the bathtub. My eyes burned from being up most of the night. Between the restraints, the ice, the heat, the folded leather of my belt, we’d both found euphoric release tangled together on my bed.

The only problem was, I still felt unsatisfied.

I picked up two cups of coffee and went back to the bedroom. The sheets were torn off the bed, the waterproof protector bare and stained. The restraints I’d unbuckled from her wrists hung from the bed frame, one of them a little torn where the clip attached. Setting aside the coffee, I picked it up, trying to decide if I needed to replace it. It could probably go another few rounds.

I made the bed with clean sheets and sat back against the headboard. The window was open and warm air streamed through, fluttering the curtains. Beyond the small balcony lay the river, rippling and surging like a living thing. The water calmed me, giving me something to come back to every night. That was the main reason I rarely spent any time at my parent’s house anymore. I needed something to ground me and my family did the exact opposite.

The bathroom door swung open and the woman appeared in one of my shirts, her hair wet. Her mouth was a little swollen and there were faint bruises forming on her wrists, but her eyes were satisfied.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” she said, taking one of the coffee mugs.

“I’ve heard it a few times,” I said, shrugging.

“You want to go again?” Her hopeful gaze fixed on me as she swayed her hips, trying to entice me.

I reached for the pack of cigarettes in the nightstand, getting to my feet. “Nah, we both got what we needed. Going outside to smoke. You’re welcome to whatever you want in the fridge. Or you can order in, I don’t care.”

I felt her eyes on me, disappointed and irritated, as I went into the living room and pushed open the sliding glass doors to the deck. The sky was hazy, thick with humidity, and it smelled faintly of industry. Despite this part of the river being a prime spot for New York’s richest, it still always smelled a little bit like oil and exhaust on cloudy days. I’d gotten used to that at this point.

I leaned on the railing, setting my phone aside so I could light a cigarette. The smoke sat in my lungs for a moment, triggering that little buzz my body craved. Then I expelled it through my nose in a heavy sigh.

Something wasn’t quite right. It never felt right after hookups anymore. As hard as I came and as willingly as that girl had given into my fantasies, I never felt like I got over the edge. At a certain point in the night, usually when my body was exhausted and my walls were down, I got right up to the edge. But I never fucking went over all the way.

I doubted I was ever going to experience that feeling. I was in line to be underboss after my father, which meant Romano would probably want to pair me up with some perfect, little mafia princess. Fuck Romano and his archaic laws. If it weren’t for the threat of violence from the outfit’s boss, nobody would agree to something as outdated as an arranged match.

The girl was gone when I went inside to shower, but she’d left her number on a bit of paper. I crushed it in my fist and tossed it in the trash as I walked through the kitchen. She’d been a good fuck, but not good enough to call back.

My phone buzzed as I was tying my shoes and I stood, swiping to read the text. It was from Lucien.

Need your help this morning. Meet me outside the city limits, usual place at 9.

I glanced at the clock. Fuck, it was eight-thirty. Sighing, I grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it on over my head, slipping my gun against the small of my back, and smoothing the fabric over it. I headed out to the garage where my truck sat waiting for me.

The prearranged spot for conducting activities that couldn’t be done within the city limits was below an abandoned steel bridge several miles away. I rolled down the windows of my truck as I left the city, breathing in the pure air as I headed out into the country.

I parked off the side of the road behind a group of trees and headed down the hill toward the river. Cicadas buzzed in the trees overhead and the air smelled rotten, like the dead fish washed up along the shoreline. Rocks crunched under my feet as I navigated the rough terrain, moving sideways down the side of the hill studded with bursts of dead grass and litter.

Lucien stood at the edge of the river. Instead of his habitual gray suit, he wore work pants and a loose, linen shirt. His revolver hung in his right hand, tapping gently against his thigh. Federico had a sawed off shotgun over the shoulder of his scuffed white button-up. There were three men on their knees before him, each one with a bag pulled tight around their necks.

“Cosimo,” said Lucien. “Punctual as always.”

“What’s this?” I asked, keeping my face casual. I didn’t need anyone knowing that every alarm was going off in my mind.

“Russian traitors,” said Lucien, closing the distance between us with quick strides. “Sympathizers.”

He pulled one of the bags off and the man beneath gave a short gasp, his chest heaving. He had a strip of cloth bound over his eyes, but I could tell immediately that he was Italian.

“Fuck,” I said. “That’s one of your soldiers.”

Lucien’s ice cold eyes didn’t waver as he flipped the revolver and held it out to me. “Time to cull the fold, underboss,” he said.

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