Mafia Heir by L. Steele

5

Michael

The woman glides toward me on heels that have to be at least six inches high. The jeweled straps around her ankles contrast with the simplicity of the rest of the get up. She pauses in front of me, her head only reaching somewhere in the vicinity of my chest.

"Capo," she lowers her chin in a gesture of acceptance, "I was told you’d need my services."

"Is that right?"

"Yes," She tips up her chin, peers up from under her thick eyelashes. Her green eyes shine at me. I’m instantly transported back to my dream. The witch with the green eyes, dark hair, and skin like satin who had ensnared me. I place my fingers against her cheek and the softness tugs at me. She leans into my touch and the scent of her—something unknown, something sweet and cloying envelops me. My gut churns and my skin crawls. It’s not her. Of course, it’s not her. What had I expected? That because I thought of her, she would magically appear in front of me. She looks similar to the woman who had occupied my dreams, that much I can’t refute, though.

"Who sent you?" I growl, "Who’d dare try to intuit my needs so closely?"

She jerks her chin to the side, and I turn, glance down to find Luca staring up at me. He continues to fuck the woman whose mouth is open as she, no doubt, moans every time he rams into her from behind. He smirks at me and I show him the bird. How the hell did that figlio di puttana guess what kind of woman I had dreamed about? Clearly, just a coincidence, or my dear brother is more perceptive than I’ve give him credit for. He laughs, then turns back to pleasuring the woman in front of him.

I glance down at the girl who’s standing with her head bowed.

"Take off your clothes," I order.

I watch as she bends, catching the hem of her dress, slowly peeling it off. She drops it to the floor and stands before me completely naked with bejeweled six-inch stripper shoes. What had I expected? Clearly, she isn’t the woman from my dreams. How had I even thought for one second that she would come anywhere close to the purity?

That innocence with that sultry, unfettered desire within her gaze. Droplets of sweat beaded across her brow, her scent of moonflowers streaked with hot sex and that potent complex taste of her arousal which lingers on my tongue… All of her, coating my senses, while my conscience is tearing at me to get away from this woman who is not her. Porca puttana.

What the hell is wrong with me?

There’s a woman standing naked in front of me and I am not even tempted to touch her? This has gotta stop, right here. Right now.

I grip her shoulders urge her toward the glass wall. "Turn around; put your hands on the wall," I growl. I have to fuck her; doesn’t mean I have to watch her face while I do it.

She obeys.

"Part your legs," I order and she instantly complies. Boring. I stifle a yawn as I shove my hand down my pants, pull out my dick and begin to stroke myself. Come on, come on, you can do this. I swipe my hand up and down my length, and again…until, I finally begin to harden. Thank fuck. I blow out a breath. For a second there, I’d been sure I wouldn’t be able to get it up.

"Jut your hips backward," I command and she pushes out her bottom. I lean into her and the scent of her envelops me. Too sweet… Too…cloying. Too fucking different from the moonflowers that I want to draw into my lungs. My belly knots and the band around my chest tightens. I want to fit my dick to the channel of her willing pussy, and take her…but a cold sweat beads my palms. Porca miseria!

This is driving me fucking crazy.

I step back, tuck myself in. I move away and she glances over her shoulder, her gaze wide as she takes in my fully-clothed form.

"Leave," I bark as I run my fingers through my hair. "Get the fuck out of here."

She blinks rapidly, then turns, grabs her dress off the floor. She holds it in from of her as she walks to the exit.

Antonio glances over at me, his forehead furrowed. I glance away, head to the bar at the far end. I pour myself a glass of MacAllan’s twenty-four-year-old. Only the best for the Capo, of course. Sometimes my fucking title is something of a joke.

Why the hell had I returned from LA? Why had I taken my place in Cosa Nostra? Especially since its power is waning. Challenged as we are by the power ofThe Kane Firm, a rival faction, which is growing in influence every day.

It’s why my father had called me back, to join the fold, and help combat their growing influence. And I… I had returned from LA—I touch the scar on my throat—despite what he had done to me… Or maybe, it was because of what he’d done to me, I had come right back… To prove a point. To show him that I am more powerful than him.

That I could do what he couldn’t—unite the five families and lead them against our enemies. Consolidate my position and overthrow him to become the new Don.

And I have made progress since my return. I am close to finalizing a deal with the rest of the five families. My brothers had each completed their education and joined in the affari di famiglia, as well. That had strengthened my position considerably. All I need is one last, powerful push… One last strike that will show the rest of Cosa Nostra that I am ready. I need… One last power play…

And I need her. That’s assuming she is even real… She can’t be, though. She’s a figment of my overwrought imagination. Perhaps the stress of trying to stay one-up on my father is getting to me. I need an escape valve, for sure, and if it isn’t going to be sex then… It will have to be some other form of physical exercise.

I brush the knife in its sheath at my side, then head for the door.

Antonio straightens to attention. "Boss," he mutters, "you’re leaving already?"

"I’m in the mood for some training."

"Training?" He scowls, "You mean fighting?"

"Semantics," I drawl. "It’s training to stay alive, after all."

"It’s dangerous, Boss." He rubs his chin. "Maybe I should come with you?"

"I can take care of myself." I stab my thumb over my shoulder, "These stronzos will need your help in getting home in one piece."

He hesitates, "It’s not safe for you to be out on your own."

I draw myself up to my full height, "You saying I can’t defend myself?"

"No, Boss," he holds up his hands, "all I am saying is that, in case you need back up—"

"I won’t." I pat his shoulder. "You stay with them; I’ll see you at home."

I open the door and stalk out. Down the corridor, taking the steps two at a time, past the crowded dance floor and out the back door. I walk up the alley, turn onto the main road, deserted at this time of the night. I head toward the gym where I normally work out, and practice my MMA techniques, using my knife with my sparring partner. The cool air clears my head and I draw in lungfuls of it. I keep a steady pace, as I walk the few blocks to the gym.

I turn down a road, when the hair on back of my neck rises. I hear footsteps behind me, pause, glance back, but don’t see anyone. I slow down my footsteps, straining to catch any noise. An owl hoots somewhere, then a motorbike backfires a few streets away. The alarm of a police vehicle blares, then fades away. Silence descends, and I stroll forward. All of my senses go on high alert as I approach a junction.

When the first man springs forward from the intersecting road, I don’t hesitate. He doesn't appear to be armed, but I’m not taking any chances. I pull my knife from its sheath and thrust forward. The blade pierces his stomach. I twist the blade and he screams. I pull it out and blood spurts from the wound as he bends over. I bring my elbow down on his neck and he collapses.

A second man lunges for me... No weapons either. Huh? I duck, stick out my leg. He trips, crashes to the ground. I kick him in the side, but he rolls over, jumps to his feet. I swipe my knife forward; he steps aside, grabs my arm and twists. Motherfucker! Pain slices up my arm, my grip loosens and the knife slides from my fingers and clatters to the ground. He swerves around, no doubt with the intention of throwing me over his shoulder. I grab his neck with my free hand and squeeze. For a few seconds, we are locked in position; then I bring up my knee to bury it in his side. He huffs; his grasp loosens. I pull free, swipe his legs out from under him. He hits the ground, and lays there stunned.

A third guy rushes me. He smashes his fist in my face. Figlio di puttana! The pain slices through my head and my vision flickers. I stagger back and he sinks his fist in my stomach. I grunt, then duck and head butt him. While he struggles to catch his breath, I grab him around the waist and throw him over my head.

I grab the knife from the ground and straighten, chest heaving, a headache screaming behind my eyes.

Just then, someone wraps his arm around my neck and yanks me back. Che cazzo! I try to break free, but he wraps his other arm around my neck, locking me in a chokehold. Motherfucker! His grip tightens around my neck, and specks of black dot my vision. The knife slips from my grip. What the fuck! Anger slices through me and my pulse rate ratchets up. Adrenaline laces my blood. I grab his arm, try to twist it off me, but it’s like a steel band. I bend my arm, pull it up, then bury my elbow in his middle. The breath whooshes out of him and his grip loosens. Instantly, I grab his arm from behind me, bring it over my head, then drop my weight and yank him up and over my shoulder.

Even before he hits the ground, I have snatched up my knife. I race toward him, and before he can try to sit up, I raise my leg and stomp on his stomach. A groan rips out of him. I grab his hair, raise his head, and slit his throat. Blood gushes out. He opens his mouth, stares up at me as the light goes out of his eyes. My stomach heaves; bile rushes up my throat and I quickly stand and turn away, gulping lungfuls of fresh air.

Fucking hell. Since when does the act of taking a life make me physically sick? Was it after the thirtieth? The fortieth person I killed? When had I lost count of the number of lives I’ve taken?

Feigning nonchalance, I bend over the body of my latest kill and wipe the crimson blade on his shirt. By the time I straighten, I have control of my emotions.

The sound of running footsteps reaches me. I slide my knife into its sheath, turn as Luca reaches me.

"The fuck, Mika?" He comes to a stop and takes in the fallen bodies. "What the hell happened here?"

"What do you think?" I murmur as more footsteps sound. Sebastian arrives, followed by Massimo. Antonio brings up the rear.

"Who the fuck would dare attack the Capo?" Massimo wonders aloud, as Antonio bunches his fists at his sides.

I pull out my handkerchief, wipe the blood off of my face with it. My skull feels like it's on fire, but I ignore it. Show any signs of weakness, even before your own family, and they'll begin to undermine you. I haven't come this far, only to be seen as weak. No way, will I allow this attack to slow me down. Whoever is behind it had better pray for his life, for when I find him... I am going to carve out his heart and fucking eat it.

One of the fallen guys groans and Luca walks over to him. He grabs my attacker by his collar and hauls him to his feet. "Who the fuck sent you?"

The man blinks and his legs seem to give way from under him.

Luca tightens his hold on the guy, then shakes him. "Tell me who sent you," he growls.

The man opens his mouth, but Luca buries his fist in the man's face. Blood blooms from his nose, drips down his chin.

He follows up with a hit to his side, then his stomach. The man doubles over. Luca grips his face on either side, brings his knee up, and smashes it into the man's chin. The man shudders, then slumps back.

"Easy there," Seb cautions, "you trying to kill him?"

Luca turns to us, "Asshole tried to fuck with the Capo's life." He shakes out his fist. "He deserves to die."

"You may get that wish sooner than you realize." I jerk my chin toward the man. Foam overflows his mouth and drips down his jaw.

"Che cazzo!"Luca grabs the man’s jaw, tries to yank out whatever it is he swallowed. Disgusted, he releases the guy, who collapses, then writhes around before stilling.

"Fuck," Seb swears. "He swallowed poison. How the hell did he get access to that?"

"Maybe he had it hidden in a hollow tooth?" Luca suggests.

"Who the hell would do that?" Seb frowns. "Not any of the Cosa Nostra."

"The Russians would," I murmur as I study my sodden handkerchief before tossing it on the ground, "as would the Kane Company."

"Fucking Cawnays," Luca pronounces their name with an Italian accent, which means it sounds like the Italian word for dog. "They need to be taught their place."

"Whoever they are, why would they send four men to take down one guy?" Seb scowls.

"Guess they know our Capo is a master at hand-to-hand combat, eh?" Luca bares his teeth.

"Still," Seb scratches his jaw, "it seems excessive."

"Maybe they were taking no chances?" Luca raises a shoulder.

"They wanted to hurt me enough to put me out of commission for a long time," I drawl. "But considering they were not armed..."

"What the hell, they weren't carrying any weapons?" Seb stares at the fallen men, "So they didn't want to kill you?"

"It would seem that way." I fold my arms over my chest. "Speaking of," I glance between them, "how did you all know to get here?"

"A passerby saw the fight. He obviously recognized you," Luca jerks his chin at me, "and called it into the cops. Luckily, the officer on duty happened to be on our payroll, so he called me. Not that you needed the help," he smirks, "but I'm glad we got here, anyway."

One of the men on the ground stirs. Another groans. Seb swoops down and drags the closest one up by his collar.

"Take them back for questioning," I grumble as a Ferrari screeches to a halt in front of me. Christian climbs out and another car draws up parallel to his. Xander slides out from behind the wheel of my Maserati. I nod my thanks as I slide behind the wheel.

"Clear up this mess, Antonio." I jerk my head toward the bodies.

"Already on it, Boss." He pulls out his phone, no doubt, to summon those in our crew who specialize in the disposal of bodies.

My face seems to have gone numb and the pounding in my head increases. Fucking hell, it hurts like a bitch.

"You okay, fratellone?" Seb murmurs, "Should I call for a doctor?"

"Fuck that," I growl as I grab the wheel. "Race you home," I call out to Christian, who swears aloud. I slam the door shut, then hit the accelerator, wheel the car around the gathered guys, before taking off down the road.