Scorned Beauty: Chapter 9

“He’s six-six and two hundred forty pounds, but he’s dumb as a rock,” Matteo told Sandro.

We were having drinks before dinner and the men were talking about the Game of Bosses, a tournament sponsored by the Moscow mob that was held every five years. The next one was coming up in May. Many crime bosses waited until the games to settle their differences. If you asked me, it was simply a lot of testosterone posturing. Being boss was more than brawn.

Sandro was being challenged inside the Rossi crime family. Apparently there were lurkers still wanting to usurp the position, especially since Sandro had turned the family around and sent their profits soaring.

“I’m not worried.” Sandro glanced at me. “Didn’t Luca win one a long time ago?”

“Yes.” I took a sip of scotch. “He beat Vasily Orlov nine years ago, and the Russian wants a rematch.”

This time it was Nico who snorted. “Is he considering it?”

In our huddle were Matteo and Nico, Bianca’s brothers and my cousins who were as heavily involved as I was in the Archer Syndicate, an organization that kept the underworld in check. And the only reason we were ahead of Luca’s hackers in finding out what had happened to Natalya was because an online vigilante we worked with had access to clandestine databases and surveillance.

“Hell no, especially not now.” Besides keeping tabs on Grigori Petrov, I had my hands full unraveling the mystery of Natalya’s disappearance. There were more public cam sightings of her, but we were selective of what information we fed Luca’s team looking for Natalya. I didn’t want to get my uncle’s hopes up and then disappoint him when our leads led to nowhere.

“You need to spar with Ivy,” Nico told Sandro, while shooting his glance over to where the women were chatting.

“Are they still talking about the serial killer on the loose?” I asked.

The Mistress Strangler had seen a resurgence in headlines in the past three months after the unsolved murder cases four years ago. One of my contacts in the feds said that the killer might have gone to jail on a different charge and was recently released. Or it could be a copycat.

“Well, the wives are happy,” Sandro chuckled. “No one wants to be their husband’s mistress right now.”

“Yeah, Sonny said the same thing,” I replied. “Fewer complaints from the wives. You wonder if the killer was a woman.”

“So your underboss is handling the wives?” Sandro asked.

I shrugged, but I was on guard with his question because historically, being single was a disadvantage to becoming boss and I couldn’t use Luca as an example anymore. Ma was constantly fielding arranged marriage proposals from other organizations, but she had her heart set on a union with the Zahkarov bratva.

The women erupted in oohs and aahs.

“That doesn’t sound like serial killer talk,” Sandro mused. As usual, the husbands were attuned to their wives’ interests and collectively moved toward them.

I followed more leisurely, internally rolling my eyes about how pussy-whipped they were, when Sandro said, “I didn’t know Sloane was dating.”

“He’s hot,” Ivy gushed.

“Hey,” Nico growled.

I found myself shoving Sandro aside to look over Bianca’s shoulder and a vein popped in my temple.

I nearly blurted out, “that’s her neighbor,” but caught myself. I turned around and walked away, whipped out my phone and texted her.

And when there was no response.

“Dinner is ready!” Ma announced from the mouth of the living room. Her eyes fell on me. “What are you doing there, Dom, ignoring your cousins?”

“I had to settle a situation.”

“What situation?” Sandro asked. His eyes were studying me intently. If I left now, there would be more questions.

“Nothing that concerns you,” I shot back in a tone so unlike one I’d ever used. Terse. Irritated. I was always the annoyingly cool one.

His brow lifted.

“Hey, don’t be mean to my husband.” Bianca planted herself between us. Normally I would find it hilarious for my dear cousin to think that anyone could be mean to Sandro without consequences. He used to be a deadly contract killer before he became the boss.

I put on my signature charming smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Come on, cuz. Let’s see what our moms cooked.”

Sandro, Bianca, and I followed the others to the dining room. “I invited Sloane to this dinner.” Bianca was talking to Sandro. “But she turned me down. She likes Mom’s cooking and usually doesn’t say no.”

Probably because she was avoiding me. Admittedly, I’d been an ass to her. I checked my phone. No response.

So I typed:

“She probably didn’t want to make the trip, baby,” Sandro replied. “Traffic has been a nightmare.”

“True. The subway is no picnic either,” Ivy said. “Several lines are under maintenance.”

“It’s just she’s so alone during the holidays,” Bianca mourned.

The guilt burrowed itself deeper into my chest.

“She’s been busy with school, right?” Sandro said. “Maybe she just wants to chill.”

“Well, she wanted to go out tonight. I think her finals are next week, so she’s trying to blow off steam before then.”

Fuck, it better not be with Phil Harding. Yes, I had a file on him already.

I sat away from my mother, Sandro, and my cousins. I ended up sitting beside Cesar, who was at the head of the table. My dad sat beside him, so we were face to face. Ivy was on my left, but she was busy chatting with Nico and Sera.

My father, Paulo De Lucci, or Paulie, was Ava’s best friend before she even started a relationship with Uncle Cesar. Pop and Ma were already married, and I was four years old by then. That was why I was closer to Luca’s age than I was to my cousins, despite Pop being younger than Cesar.

Both Uncle Cesar and Pop stayed out of the made man business, so they rarely bugged me about my shit.

“Dom,” Cesar greeted. “All’s well?”

“All’s good,” I lied. I was itching to get out of this dinner and go to New Jersey to confront Sloane. For weeks, I was able to pack her into a corner of my mind, which I took out to play with when I wanted to jack off in the shower or when I woke up dreaming about her. Fuck, those dreams were getting worse and worse and I was getting flashes in the middle of the day of our writhing bodies. I was hoping to squeeze in a weekend with her before Christmas, but the longer I didn’t text her, the harder it became to do so. I knew I was behaving like a dick and at the same time I was trying to excise her from my mind after Ma reminded me of my family obligations. Not that I was considering the arranged marriage, but while working on Grigori to get the properties back, it was hard to be around Sloane.

We made the rules to this affair. We were just hookups. But I was possessive. Probably a trait I inherited from the De Luccis. No one was going to fuck her until I was ready to let her go. But what did I do at the first sign of her moving on? I was in danger of losing my shit.

Hypocrite much?

Pop gave me that concerned-dad look when he handed me the appetizer plate they were passing around. I shrugged and gave him a tight smile. Good thing Cesar pulled him into a conversation about the latest real estate deal Matteo and Nico were negotiating.

The seconds passed excruciatingly slow. Sloane wasn’t answering my texts, but I was tracking her phone. She moved to another pub on the waterfront. At least she hadn’t gone home with that fucker yet. I couldn’t help myself from typing another text.

I was looking forward to spanking her. I wasn’t sure if she was into that shit, but I was feeling very aggressive right now in showing her she was mine…

Fuck…I caught myself.

She was mine…until I declared we were over. I controlled whatever the fuck we were.

“You’re not eating, Dom?” Ma asked.

Fucking Ma. Then I apologized to the Lord for cursing my mother. Everyone’s attention swung to my sparse plate.

My eyes met Pop’s again. I could feel Cesar’s stare burn the side of my face.

“Uh, I had a late snack at the club.” Then I leaned over to look at Ava at the other end of the table. “But you know I love your cooking.”

“I can pack you a box in case you get hungry later,” Ava said.

“Hey, I thought I was getting all the leftovers,” Nico grumbled.

Ivy laughed. “They might think I don’t feed you enough. Although, come to think of it, you do most of the cooking.”

“No need, Aunt Ava.” I tapped my wineglass. “Just need to drink some more.” Maybe an entire bottle.

“So it seems Luca and Lucy are spending Christmas with us,” Pop piped in, distracting everyone from my uncharacteristic silence. Excited chatter exploded about their impending visit. We called Lucy Luca Junior. I didn’t know how that started, whether it was because their names appeared similar on paper or it was my sister’s rebellious attitude, which Luca seemed to approve of.

After getting a reprieve with the help of Pop’s diversion, I forced myself to get a grip and eat a decent serving of the roast lamb and cheesy Brussels sprouts I’d normally wolf down and have second servings of.

Dinner lasted an agonizing two hours before I could leave with a valid excuse that I was needed at Cardo—a De Lucci-owned dance club. Our special rooms were fully booked months in advance, more so for the holidays. I jumped into my Ferrari, debating now whether I should switch vehicles, knowing I’d be parking on the street, but the desire to get to New Jersey as soon as possible won out.

When I arrived in Hoboken, it took me another half an hour to find parking. I was gritting my molars so hard because Sloane’s location showed she was on her way back to the apartment. When I finally squeezed my sports car between a Dodge sedan and a pickup, I hustled over to her street and watched her dot move, thankful for the traffic slowing her down.

It was a chilly night, but I was steaming in my suit and overcoat. I loosened my tie and blended into the shadows in front of Sloane’s building. I glared at my phone, specifically at her location dot approaching.

A white sedan pulled up beside the space by the fire hydrant in my line of sight. I could tell there were two people in the back of the vehicle.

The fucker stepped out to the traffic side first. He tried to round the vehicle quickly to help Sloane out, but she didn’t wait for him. When he put his hand on the small of her back, the muscle beneath my left eye started twitching.

I was done watching.

I emerged from my stakeout position and crossed the street, my eyes still glaring at the hand on her back. They must have seen my rapidly advancing figure reflected on the glass door because they stopped and turned my way.

My eyes narrowed at the coat over Sloane’s shoulders. It was a man’s coat. His coat.

“Dom, what are you doing here?”

“I texted you, baby,” I replied.

The fucker had the sense to drop his hand from Sloane’s back, but was an idiot not to move aside. “I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“I don’t,” Sloane replied instantly. “Dom is the cousin of one of my best friends.”

I raised my brow at Sloane. I derived fleeting amusement from the awkward way she tried to explain who I was to her. She could hardly say friends with benefits now, could she? Although at this moment, I was more frenemy with benefits. I was definitely more than a hookup or a fuck buddy.

But Phil’s next words sent my already simmering temper skyrocketing. “Is he harassing you?”

I erased the space between us and snarled into his face. “Fucker⁠—”

Sloane grabbed my arm to yank me away, practically shoving me inside the building as she muttered breathlessly, “I’m sorry, Phil. No, he’s not harassing me, but I got this.”

“You sure?” He followed us inside.

“Yes.”

He was lucky my need to pound into Sloane was stronger than my need to pound him into the wall. Searing possessiveness entangled itself inside me, locking muscle and sinew. Possessiveness wanted to explode out of my skin. And with the way Sloane was clinging to my arm, she was sensing it too.

I frequently diffused tense situations, not caused them. I watched over people who I considered family. Sloane was an outlier, an undefined entity, because the urge to say “fuck it” was overwhelming.

Instead of giving in to planting my fist in Phil’s face, I whipped his coat off her shoulders and shoved it at him. “I believe this is yours.”

He shot me a glare, and I returned it with a smug smile. I even felt a little sorry for the prick. He must have paid for the ride and the drinks, but I was the one going up to Sloane’s apartment. I fell back behind her, just because I didn’t like how short her skirt was, and Phil was still at the bottom of the staircase.

I didn’t want him seeing up her skirt.

She dressed up for him?

Wait. Did he already put his hand up her skirt?

“You have some nerve,” Sloane muttered when he was out of earshot. “Showing up here just because you think I reneged on our agreement.”

“You were ignoring my texts.”

Sloane laughed without a measure of mirth. “And you? I didn’t hear from you for weeks.”

There were two more floors before I stripped her naked, or maybe I was gonna spank her first.

“And you sent that picture to get my attention?”

“That colossal ego of yours is like the size of an overgrown tumor.” She muttered the words under her breath and stomped up the steps ahead of me. Just a little more defiance, Firecat. You’re getting me so hard.

Sloane unlocked the door and walked in. With the way she disappeared into the bathroom and slammed its door, she was as furious as I was.

The water started running.

“Sloane.”

“Would you give me a minute, you fucking jackass.”

The edge and irritation in her voice sent warning bells through me that the evening wasn’t gonna end in cathartic angry sex. I sensed these things. There was zero sexual tension coming from Sloane. In fact, it was like she was done with me.

In retrospect, and if I was thinking like a sane person, she had more reason to be pissed at me because I kinda ghosted her. Kinda…because we had no expectations of each other. And from what I’d learned about Sloane so far, she was a practical girl. No nonsense. This woman wasn’t pining for any man.

I waited patiently for the water to stop running. Was she showering in there?

When she finally came out, I was leaning against the wall.

“You could have waited for me in the living room.” She made a feeble gesture with her arm.

“I’m fine right here.” My eyes studied her. Why didn’t I notice her pinched expression earlier? Because you were all about your outrage, asshole. “Did you get sick?”

“No,” she groaned. She was still wearing her tall boots and shuffled to the couch and plopped on top of it, falling sideways, burying her face in a pillow. Ginger immediately jumped up, but Sloane pushed the cat away. “At least not from the alcohol.”

“What is it, Sloane?”

“I’m feeling nauseous,” she whimpered, drawing her legs into herself in a semi-fetal position.

A chill crawled up my spine, and I walked toward her like I was approaching a coiled cobra. “Are you pregnant?”

Might as well get that question out of the way, no matter how the thought made my erection deflate and my balls retract.

She laughed into the pillow. “No, jerk, I got my period. The cramps are killing me.”

“Oh.” Relief swept through me and the weakening in my limbs made sitting down a good idea. As I sank into the couch, I thought of a sympathetic response to say. Somehow, saying I don’t mind period sex would come off as insensitive, even as a joke. I had a partner before tell me sex helped with cramps. I didn’t mind messy. I didn’t mind blood. But I did mind when a woman was uncomfortable with it, and judging by how pale Sloane’s lips were, she would feel better sleeping it off. There was an overwhelming need to make her feel better. I wasn’t down about leaving her alone, especially when I’d decided to spend the night with her.

“You’re not getting sex tonight.”

“I’m getting that,” I clipped. How dare she think I would be so selfish with my needs when clearly she was in pain? I wanted a woman to enjoy sex. I might not be husband or boyfriend material, but if we were talking about ego, I prided myself on giving a lady pleasure first.

She snorted. “I should have ended it with you right outside if I didn’t think doing it in front of Phil would bruise your outsized ego.”

She was ending it? Whatever it was?

“We’re not talking about this right now.”

“I don’t care,” she said and shifted with difficulty on the couch.

My mind was contemplating on what to do next, and since I was still wearing my overcoat, I walked back to the pegs right beside the entrance to figure out my next moves.

After she realized I wasn’t leaving, she croaked, “What are you doing?”

“It looks like you need help.” I folded my suit jacket over the couch.

“I’m fine. Just go,” she groaned. “Let’s just end this now. It’s a sign.”

“Fuck your sign,” I snapped. “I’m not leaving you here while you’re in pain.”

“It’s not the first time. This will pass overnight. I just need to sleep it off.”

“Well, you don’t look comfortable. Should you transfer to the bed?”

“It’s a new mattress. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“I’ll buy you another one.”

“Dom!”

“You can’t kick me out,” I said with determination. “I’m staying and taking care of you.”