I tapped my chopsticks on the edge of my plate. “Hello.”
He patted his hand against the lapel of his jacket, and then his eyes met mine. “Sorry.”
It was the third time he’d done the same thing, and I couldn’t figure out why.
“You know you can always...” I poked the pile of ginger with the tip of my chopsticks. “I know that you can’t talk to me about everything that goes on—or anything, for that matter. But you can talk to me about how you feel.”
He picked up another piece of his roll. Momentarily, his eyes met mine. “Okay.”
“You just seem kind of off tonight,” I said.
He looked away. “Just trying to figure some things out.”
We ate without speaking for a few minutes, during which time I thought of Michelle’s comments about me living with my head in the sand. I’d given her speech considerable thought since my father’s release, and in short, she was right.
I had spent my life denying the existence of my family’s business. Now that Michael was somehow tied to my father’s activities, I was forced to accept that he was now involved—at some level—with the mafia.
It wasn’t an easy thing to do, but it was time I pulled up my big-girl pants and made the transition from being in denial to accepting Michael’s involvement as being what it truly was: My husband’s—and in turn, my—way of life.
I laid my chopsticks down and took a drink of wine. “I want you to know something.”
He glanced up. “Okay.”
“I’ve always denied what it was that my father did. I want you to know that whatever you’re doing, or whatever you have to do, no matter what it is, I’m no longer denying what it is that you do.”
He took a drink of wine and then grinned an ever-so-slight grin. “Okay.”
“And I support you.” I smiled. “One hundred percent.”
“Okay.” He tilted his glass of wine toward me. “I appreciate it.”
His eyes searched the table as he ate one more piece of sushi. When he finished, he pushed his plate to the side and then draped his arms over the back of the booth. His eyes met mine. “Everything I do, I do with us in mind,” he said. “Not me. Not you. Us. I want what’s best for us.”
“So do I.”
“No different than any other job, there’s good days, and bad days,” he said. “And sometimes there’s problems to solve. Today, there’s a little of both.”
“I hope you get them solved.”
“So do I.”
He leaned forward and reached for his wine. “I’m still not very happy about the dog.”
“Do you think it was just some random kid or something?”
“Hard to say.”
“And you’ve never found anything else missing?”
“My keys. I called BMW and canceled the key that was taken. Called the Humane Society yesterday, too. They’ve had no English bulldogs brought in.”
“That sucks.”
“Sure does.” His jaw went tight. “Too bad they can’t track him through that chip.”
“The little thing in his neck?”
“Yeah. I was thinking they could, but they said they can’t.”
I recalled the day I picked up the dog, and how they had placed an identification chip in his neck.
And just like that, it came to me.
“Wait,” I said excitedly. “His collar.”
He shot me a look. “What about it?”
“The paw thing. I bought it. I mean, they asked, and I didn’t know, so I said yes. It’s, uhm—It’s—He’s got a little deal on his collar. The thing that looks like a paw.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“That thing on his collar. It looks like a paw print. It’s a GPS tracker.”
“Seriously?”
I nodded. “I’ll need to see if I saved the paperwork for it, but yeah. That’s what they said.”
“I thought it made him smell good.” He leaned forward and grinned. “Kiss me.”
I sat up and kissed him, proud that I’d had the foresight to get the collar, but feeling foolish that I’d forgotten about it. “Sorry I forgot about it.”
“I’m glad you remembered, though. Doesn’t mean we’ll find him, but it’s worth a try.”
“I’ve just got to find the paperwork. I remember they gave him a name and a password, it’s on a little card.” I sighed. “I’ll find it.”
“I’ve got to deliver some things. It shouldn’t take an hour or so. When I get home we can look together.”
I smiled at the thought of finding Hank. “Okay. Do you have to go now?”
“I should.”
“If you need to go,” I said, “go.”
He reached for his wallet. “I need to pay—”
“Just go. I meant what I said. I’m here to help.” I grinned. “I’ll pay for it. Just go. Get your stuff done, and I’ll see you when you get home.”
He kissed me, stood and patted his hand against the lapel of his jacket. “I should be about an hour. If it’s going to be longer, I’ll send you a text.”
I reached for my purse and smiled. “I’ll see if I can find that stuff for the collar.”
“Okay.”
He turned and walked away.
I had no idea what he had in his jacket pocket, but whatever it was, he was nervous about it.
And if he was nervous, I was sure I didn’t want to know.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Michael
With slight reluctance, I was on my way to deliver the teeth. There were very few people in life that I trusted. Agrioli had quickly become one of them.
His wholehearted acceptance of me as his soon-to-be son-in-law was one of the factors that weighed heavily on my decision to trust him. Knowing that he took the code of Omerta to heart was the other.
In the end, the only thing a man possesses that can prove his worth is his solemn word. If his word isn’t worth anything, neither is he. I’d always considered myself a man of my word, and I viewed Agrioli as being the same as me in that regard.
After being exposed to him, it was easy to see why he had risen in the ranks to become the godfather.
He would just as soon die in jail for a crime he didn’t commit than talk to the police. He was truly a man of his word, and for that, I respected him.
I parked at the side of the restaurant and peered inside. Once again void of any outsiders, it was occupied by Agrioli, Sal and Gino. I exhaled a sigh of relief and walked inside.
After a greeting of hugs and handshakes, I sat down. “What a fucking day.”
“This kid’s a piece of fuckin’ work,” Gino said. “Whackin’ feds and runnin’ fuckin’ guns.”
“He’s the boy I always wanted,” Agrioli said with a laugh.
Sal poured a glass of wine and slid it across the table. “Drink.”
I reached for the glass, wondering what to do with the teeth, but nervous about doing anything without being asked.
“We’re going to open our books,” Agrioli said.
I had an idea of what the term meant, but wasn’t certain. I took a drink of the wine and nodded nonetheless.
“Peter? Peter will always be a soldier. He has no...” He leaned back and turned up his palms. “No business sense.”
I nodded.
“And no balls,” he said.
Sal chuckled.
I looked at Gino. Expressionless, he sat in his chair with his arms folded.
“The administration,” Agrioli said. “We’ve talked. You will be a Capo. Caporegime.You answer to the underboss.”
He motioned to Gino. Gino gave a slight nod.
“Sal? Sal tells me I need more soldiers,” h
e said. “We argue. Eventually, I agree. So, we need more soldiers.”
Although I hadn’t been formally advised, I had suspected—wrongfully so—that Sal was the underboss. As I waited for Agrioli to continue, I decided it didn’t matter.
He leaned forward. “Your associate. Cappi Lori, the attorney’s son. He’s a good man. Sal wants him for a soldier. Out of respect.” He shrugged. “We ask.”
Cappi?
I did my best to hide my surprise, but would have been shocked if I succeeded.
I lowered my glass. “It’s up to him.”
“We’ll talk.”
“At least he’s fuckin’ Italian,” Gino said with a laugh.
Agrioli’s eyes went thin, and his brows met in the middle. As he glared at Gino, he took a few long, deep breaths through his nose.
“I’ll act like you didn’t say that. But, you fuckin’ fuck, I won’t act like it again. Capisce?”
Gino swallowed hard. “Sorry, boss.”
“Essere un coglioni.”
I had no idea what it meant, but he said it with anger in his voice. After a long glare at Gino, Agrioli looked at me.
“My apologies. He doesn’t always think,” he said.
I didn’t respond.
I fully realized that there would be animosity toward me from some, if not all, of the members of the family. If I was thin-skinned I wouldn’t have agreed to do it.
“Peter will report to you,” Agrioli said. “Maybe Vito in a few weeks.”
“Whatever you want,” I said.
“Whatever I want.” He looked at Sal. “My capos need lessons from the son-in-law.”
Sal raised his glass of wine, and then glared at Gino, who was still giving me the eye. “What the fuck, Gino?”
Gino shook his head and then looked right at me. “The teeth.”
I looked at Agrioli. He looked at Gino. “You impatient fuck. If you weren’t my underboss...”
He turned to face me. “The attorney is coming for dinner next week. I’ll let him tell me what to do. Bottom of the river is what to do with ‘em.”
I chuckled. “Makes sense to me, too. He said if we toss ’em, they’ll be found eventually. Fuck, I don’t know.”
“You’ve got them, no?”
I reached inside my jacket and pulled out the plastic bag.
“Goddamn,” Gino howled. “You collect those motherfuckers?”
“Two men,” I said. “Sixty-three of them.”
“You counted ‘em?” Gino asked.
I nodded. “Wesley, or whatever his name was, was missing one.”
Agrioli reached for the bag. “I’ll keep them in the safe.”
“That’s where I had them,” I said.
“Tomorrow,” Agrioli said. He looked at Sal. “You two go do what you’re supposed to do. Talk to Vinnie.”
“We was gonna,” Sal said. “But we didn’t.”
“Excuses,” Agrioli said. “Everybody’s got ‘em.”
He raised the bag of teeth, nodded and shoved them into the inside pocket of his jacket. “We’ll talk to your associate. I want you there.”
“If you want me there, I’ll be there.”
He grinned and patted me on the shoulder. “The son I always wanted.”
Chapter Thirty
Terra
The sound of the garage door opening was the last thing I wanted to hear. Two hours of hunting had produced nothing. I didn’t want to disappoint Michael, but I had no idea where else to look.
I had hoped to have the house picked up before he got home, but it was pointless. On my knees in front of a mountain of what should be trash, I didn’t even bother getting up.
“Find anything?” were his first words upon walking in.
“All this stuff,” I said over my shoulder. “But not what we wanted. I have no idea.”
“You look in your car?”
“Yeah.”
“Garage?”
“Yeah.”
He looked around the living room and then at me. “Quite the mess.”
I looked at the three piles of paperwork spread out on the floor. “I know. I was kind of organizing it, though.”
“You can just go there tomorrow and tell them you lost it, huh?”
“I can. But I wanted to find it tonight.”
“One more day won’t kill us.”
“Did you get everything done you needed to do?” I asked.
“I did.”
“Feel better?”
“I do.” He removed his jacket and laid it over the bar stool.
“Good.”
“I feel filthy.” He unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt. “I think I’m going to shower.”
Still sitting on the floor beside the piles of paper, I looked up at him with lustful eyes. “I feel filthy,” I said. “I think I want to suck your cock.”
He took a few steps toward me. “It seems like we haven’t—”
“It’s because we haven’t,” I said with a laugh. “Since I got in trouble. Too distracted, I guess.”
“Something,” he said.
“Get it out. I want to see it.”
He unfastened his belt and unzipped his pants as he took the last few steps toward me. I fixed my eyes between his legs and waited.
He flopped his half-stiff dick free of its confines and kicked off his shoes. While he fumbled to push his pants down his thighs, I crawled directly in front of him and wrapped my hand around the base.
“Let me get undressed,” he said with a laugh.
I had no such plan. I took the tip into my mouth, circled it with the tip of my tongue a few times and began to suck his cock like it was my last opportunity to do so.
Within seconds, it was as stiff as a rock.
While stroking the thick shaft with one hand, I worked him deeper and deeper into my throat. Now forcing myself to gag with each eager stroke, I met his downward gaze.
“Jesus,” he gasped. “What’s got into you?”
I held the tip against my throat for a few seconds, and then gasped as I pulled my mouth free.
“Sucking your cock makes me horny,” I said. “I’m soaked.”
Before he had a chance to respond, I took him into my mouth. I cupped his balls in my hand and began to work my mouth up and down his throbbing shaft.
I felt powerful when his cock was in my mouth. Whether he realized it or not, sucking his cock was therapeutic for me, leaving me feeling that there was one thing I could always offer him that satisfied him like nothing else.
My eyes closed. Lost in the act itself, I continued to suck him with vigor while massaging his tight scrotum.
I opened my eyes as he pressed his hand against my forehead. “Get up.”
I pulled my mouth free and gave him an innocent look. “What?”
He stepped to the side and reached for the leg of his pants. “Take off the sweats.”
Score!
I jumped to my feet and pushed my sweats and my panties to my ankles in one swift motion.
My pussy was on fire, and my mind was in the gutter. I wanted him to fuck me senseless, or at least until I collapsed from exhaustion. I kicked my sweats to the side and waited for further instructions.
He tossed his pants behind the couch. Dressed in his socks and his half-buttoned shirt, his stiff dick swung from side to side as he walked toward me.
He pulled me tight to his chest and pressed his lips to mine. Our tongues circled one another, and together we jockeyed for position as his cock twitched repeatedly against my clit. Within seconds, his passionate kiss had turned my legs to butter and my mind into a useless organ that was incapable of making the simplest of decisions.
&nbs
p; He pulled away and looked me up and down.
I’d had enough.
Knowing that much more than bending over would have sent me into a tailspin, I stumbled forward a few steps and bent over the arm of the couch. It was my invitation for him to continue.
I felt his hand against the small of my back, followed by slight pressure against my aching pussy.
And then...
“Oh God,” I gasped. “Yes.”
In one quick stroke, he filled me with dick. No tip first, no short strokes, just one long thrust, pushing himself balls-deep.
He was where he belonged.
And where I wanted him.
Deep inside of me with his hands gripping my hips as if he had no intention of ever releasing me, he began a rhythmic series of deep thrusts. With each in-stroke, he forced the air from my lungs completely. As he pulled himself from inside me, I gulped the air for my next breath.
The sound of skin on skin filled the room, and acted as a reminder of what it was I loved about having Michael fuck me.
He had a huge heart, and was as kind as any man could ever be, but he fucked me like he owned me.
And I loved him for it.
His right hand slid around my waist and between my legs. I buried my face into the cushions of the couch and prayed to last long enough for him to reach climax. His finger found my swollen clit and began to circle it with precision as he continued to pound his way into my heart.
My clit began to tingle and my legs started to shake. I arched my back and opened my mouth, feeling fair warning was in order.
“I’m—”
“Hold on,” he begged.
His hips pounded against my ass, shoving me into the arm of the couch with each powerful thrust. His finger worked my clit into a throbbing frenzy.
Trying to wait even one more second would be an exercise in futility. I inhaled a deep breath, held it in anticipation of the inevitable and pressed my chest against the couch’s cushion.
As I felt myself begin to climax, his cock swelled to what felt like twice its girth. His breathing became labored, and in one more stroke, he bellowed out into the room.
“I’m going to come inside you,” he wailed.