Kiss & Control: A Mafia Romance Page 5

  “In the alley,” she corrects, huffing as if I suggested Chuckie mount her in a sewer.

  The line ahead thins rapidly as the doormen turn away a group of prospective partiers. A few are dress code violations in wrinkled suits, while others just seem to get the boot for being drunk douchebags.

  Once we reach the front of the line, Perla squeals and wraps her arms around a short, red-haired bouncer. He’s a little goofy with a face full of freckles and a high-pitched laugh, but he hugs her with respect—not swatting her ass like the bums she’s paraded around in the past. She kisses him with tongue before gesturing between us in a quick introduction. “Eva, this is Chuckie. Chuckie, this is Eva.”

  “Welcome to Minerva’s.” He presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. Again, respectful. I like him, even if he’s a big fat no in our world and barely reaches my friend’s shoulder.

  I nod my greeting, and he steps aside, letting us both slip beyond the door without a cover charge or ID check. Score.

  Perla’s beaming and kisses him again as we pass, whispering something in his ear that makes him so red his freckles vanish.

  Inside, the Halloween theme is in full effect, with fog machines and strobe lights mixing in a haze of chaos. If it weren’t for Perla’s hand in mine, I’d lose her as she snakes through the packed crowd like a pro. She is, in a way. The only thing Perla does more than chase boys is party.

  Most people wear costumes, sticking with the Halloween vibe, though a few girls wear standard club dresses like us. The only thing people have in common is beauty. It’s like we hit a freaking gold mine of good looks tonight. Beautiful girls. Handsome guys. I can’t spot anyone less than a ten in the crowd.

  At the bar, Perla orders us drinks while I stare at the floor, trying to calm my nerves.

  Perla hands me a blue shot, startling me out of my head. “Calm your tits, Eva. You’re fine.”

  Chewing my bottom lip, I study the shot glass. “I don’t know if this was such a good idea.”

  Pop’s words keep echoing, dusting off anxieties I didn’t know I had. What if I’m not safe? What if this gets me into trouble I can’t get myself out of?

  She downs her shot and frowns. “Don’t be a pussy. The Eva I know would punch you in the twat right now.”

  I sigh, knowing she’s right. This isn’t me. I’m not afraid of a little rebellion.

  Tilting my head back, I down my shot. It’s fruity, and I like the taste for a change rather than cringe. “What was that?”

  “Blue Balls,” she shouts, trying to compete with Thriller remix overhead. “Let’s find Enzo. You need his tongue inside your mouth before I can sneak out with Chuckie.”

  Is it wrong that I’d hide to avoid Enzo if it meant she didn’t screw some guy in an alley? Does that make me a shitty friend?

  I groan but let her pull me through the crowd toward the dance floor where a collection of creatures gyrate to the music. With a little more booze in me, I’d likely ignore a vampire grinding against a sexy cow, but since I’m only one drink into the night, the spectacle brings on a case of the giggles, earning daggers from Perla. This is her domain, and there’s no room for my immaturity.

  I set my shot glass on a passing waitress’s tray and spy Enzo standing against the wall, looking as bronzed and beautiful as ever in a plunging white v-neck and pressed slacks. His tongue is also in the mouth of a leggy blonde in figure skater costume, sending my heart right into a meat grinder.

  Well, there goes my night.

  I see him before Perla does, who shrieks once she does. “Oh my God, Eva!”

  But it’s too late.

  I’m too late.

  Our casual flirting was just that to him—casual. Not that it stops my heart from cracking down the center. I liked him. Our laughs. Hugs. Winks. They meant something to me.

  “Oh, babe!” Perla wraps her arms around me, blanketing my body in her sweet perfume. “I’m so sorry! Do you want me to punch her? I’ll knock that bitch into next week!”

  “What? No!” I push free, fighting back tears I have no business producing. It isn’t anyone’s fault but my own. Papa taught me to take what I want, and I let Enzo slip through my fingers. If I wanted him, I should’ve gone after him sooner. “I just need a second, and I’ll be okay. Go find Chuckie.”

  My drama shouldn’t ruin her night, too. We just got here. There’s plenty of time to forget this still.

  She squeezes me again, her dark barrel curls tickling my shoulders as she leans in, a good six inches taller than me despite us both wearing heels. “I can’t leave you like this.”

  “I’m fine,” I reassure, trying to convince myself at the same time as her. “I don’t want a man that kisses like a fish, anyway.”

  She laughs, wiggling me as the humor shakes her thin frame. “I love you, Eva. We’ll find you a hottie. Don’t worry. I’ll see if Chuckie has any friends.”

  I sigh, pulling away again. “I can’t date any of them. You know that.”

  “Italian friends,” she corrects, grinning. “With a big salami for you to choke-”

  “Enough!” I wave her off, dangerously close to losing myself in giggles again. “Go hang out with Chuckie. I’ll get another drink and dance out of this funk.”

  That’s all it takes to send my best friend of fifteen years scampering into the crowd, leaving me alone with front row seats to Enzo’s mouth-to-mouth catastrophe. He’s really getting into it, sweeping his entire tongue into the poor girl’s mouth while she clutches onto him and practically chokes. It’s the exact opposite of my dream kiss.

  Forcing down a laugh, I weave through the packed club to the bar and order a Bay Breeze. As much as it sucks to be back at square one in my pursuit of anyone but Dario, I have to look on the bright side. I’m dodging a terrible kisser, at least. If I’m going to be stuck with someone for life, they better know how to kiss. I can’t spend sixty years sucking face with that thing.

  I watch the bartender work, envying her as she buzzes around grabbing bottles. From her short, lavender hair to her full-sleeve tattoos, she screams free. She’s living my dream, working and looking exactly how she wants. She doesn’t have to worry about maintaining a certain image or finding a husband. I’d trade my family name and all its money to be her. To answer to no one but myself. In my world, I’ll always answer to someone. First Papa, and eventually, a husband. The thought makes me nauseous.

  “Why the long face?” a deep voice rumbles.

  I flinch at the man beside me. Tall and serious, the dark-haired stranger’s eyes are nearly as ebony as Papa’s. He isn’t in a costume, wearing head to toe black instead. A tailored shirt. Dress pants. Expensive loafers. He’s put together, unlike a lot of the meatheads around in jeans and graphic tees. Even Enzo and his freaking v-neck.

  I shake my head, pulling my eyes from his to stare back at the bartender. The pools are hypnotic, but I don’t feel at ease when I look into them. They’re too deep. Too dark. Too murky. “Sorry. I must’ve been lost in thought.”

  The bartender slides my drink across the marble counter, but before I can hand her my twenty, the man slips her a fifty and lifts my glass. He extends it out to me with his palm shielding the top from the glittered confetti that shoots out of an ill-placed cannon above. The object of my envy smiles when he tells her to keep the change and winks.

  A knot lodges in my belly, and I keep the twenty outstretched toward the bartender. “You don’t need to do that…”

  Men don’t buy drinks without expecting something in return, and while the stranger is definitely attractive with dark, tousled hair giving him that broody rocker vibe, just standing next to him makes my chest a little tight. And not in a good way. It’s like taking a turn a little too fast in the rain while driving.

  The stranger waves a dismissive hand. “I want to. Now tell me why you’re upset, doll.”

  He has a strange accent I can’t place. It isn’t a mouthy New York one, nor is it a nasally North Jersey variant. It has the roughness of Ph
illy but is a little singsong—unlike anything I’ve heard in our area.

  Frowning, I slip the twenty back into my cleavage and take a quick sip of my drink. “I’m no one’s doll, sir. But thank you for the drink.”

  “Sir?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Such impeccable manners.”

  It’s a habit more than manners. I attended an all-girls Catholic school from kindergarten on. But he doesn’t need to know that. If anything, he needs to back off whatever he’s up to before I punch him in the face.

  I squirm under his gaze as his eyes practically burn through me. He could give Papa a run for his money with that stare. “Okay, how about fuck off?”

  He grins wolfishly, making the knot tighten low in my belly. “That’s more like it. You’re a baby, aye?”

  And there it is.

  I groan, pushing off the bar. There’s definitely a twinge of an Irish accent in his voice. “Did Perla and Chuckie send you? Look, I don’t need sympathy drinks. I can pay for my own shit.”

  I can’t believe her. She’s wasting both of our time.

  He scratches his cheek; the hard planes of his face shadowed with stubble. “The only Chuckie I know is a killer doll. I don’t know a Perla, either. Sorry to disappoint.”

  I press my lips together tightly, studying him. He’s older—maybe early thirties—with hints of crow’s feet nipping at his eyes. He’s attractive, sure, but in a dangerous way, like the villain of an action movie that specializes in looking irresistible during murderous rampages. “Who are you?”

  “Just an admirer of pretty things,” he teases, lifting a beer to his lips I hadn’t noticed in his other hand. He carries himself with catlike grace, every move slow as if he’d spook me. And he does. My fight-or-flight instinct is through the fucking roof.

  “What’s your name?” I take a step back and a gulp of my drink, trying to steel the rubbery feeling in my knees.

  If he is Irish and not friends with Chuckie, he needs to be as far away from me as possible. I’m not well-versed with Papa’s business, but I know we don’t cross paths with that group for a reason. Particularly the Tullys. It’s precisely why Perla is out of her damn mind to fool around with Chuckie, regardless of how respectful the man is. He could get her into a mess of trouble.

  His eyes squint, and I swear there’s a twinkle in his nearly black irises. “Are you a reporter? What’s with all the questions?”

  “You bought me a drink. I’d like to thank you properly.” It’s a lie, but I don’t care. I’ll do anything to shake an answer out of him. We’re in a room packed with people, but it feels like it’s just the two of us. He’s sucking up all the oxygen.

  “You already thanked me, doll.” He splits his smirk into a full-fledged smile as he takes a step back. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Evangelina.”

  Goosebumps riddle my arms. “Wait, how do you…?” I ask, but he slips into the crowd before I can get the entire question out.

  No one calls me Evangelina except for my parents. Generally with a side of lecturing.

  I need to get home.

  Now.

  I down most of my drink to take the edge off and set the nearly empty glass on the bar top before heading into the crowd to find Perla. I might even sneak her into the house with me tonight for safekeeping. That man more than tripped my danger alarm. He has predator written all over his angled face and makes Jason Voorhees look like Mr. Rogers.

  Weaving through throngs of partygoers, I pass Enzo, who’s still seeking undiscovered life at the back of someone’s throat, though now it’s a redhead in a bee costume instead of the blonde.

  Good riddance. I don’t want a guy who bounces from girl to girl.

  Perla said she planned on hooking up in the alley, but I doubt she’s gone outside already in the brief time I’ve been at the bar, so I wander the club searching for her. Even in the foggy conditions, she should be easy to spot in her glitter explosion of a dress.

  My heart thunders in my ears over the music, my body still humming in panic after the exchange with the stranger. I check the dancefloor, booths, and lounges, searching the faces that seem to blend together.

  When I come up empty-handed, I cut through the middle of the club, getting more annoyed as the fog grows thicker and hampers the search. I’m exhausted, and the creepy stranger situation aside, I just want to go home and sleep.

  “Dammit, Perla,” I mutter, flustered when my third and fourth laps are equally futile. My heels feel like cinder blocks.

  I really don’t want to interrupt her fucking Chuckie, but I have no other choice as I lumber to the hall leading to the bathrooms and emergency exit. We left our phones in the car with our coats and bags, so I can’t even text her a warning. I’ll have to face my fears and jump headfirst into the fire. I just hope she has her dress on and that I won’t see any freckled man parts tonight.

  Stumbling down the hall, most people mind their business, though a few stop to eye me, including a handful of men who lick their lips as they not so subtly check out my exposed cleavage. I flip them off, continuing along to push the metal door at the hall’s end wide and step into the alleyway.

  “Perla! Stop fucking Chuckie! We need to go home!” I moan, resting a hand on the building’s brick exterior.

  My head throbs, and dizziness joins the exhaustion to complete the trifecta of misery. I drank too much too quickly, and now I’m screwed. I don’t even know how I’ll climb back up on the roof like this. I’ll wind up falling off, no doubt. “Please, Perlie!”

  I scan the dark alley, but the lovebirds are nowhere to be found. Only dumpsters and trash bags keep me company. Likely rats, too, but I don’t want to think about that or I’ll end up back inside and no closer to getting home.

  Listening for moans, I inch along, barely supporting myself with an arm as the world spins. This is probably from the shot Perla bought. She likely ordered a damn triple to loosen me up.

  “Perla?” I call, pressing a hand to my stomach when a wave of nausea hits. “Perla, come on! This isn’t funny!”

  The club door creaks open behind me, and I whirl. “Thank God, Perlie! I’m so sick! I…”

  My mouth clamps shut when I see it isn’t Perla and Chuckie joining me in the alley. It’s the stranger from the bar.

  “Do you mind? My friends are out here fucking,” I huff, clutching at the wall as the ground shifts beneath my feet.

  The man takes a step closer, grinning as he did earlier, only now his eyes somehow seem even darker. “Are they? I swear I saw them exchanging bodily fluids in the men’s room a second ago.”

  The men’s room? I’m going to smack Perla into next week. “My other friends.”

  He sighs, assessing me with a pained expression. “Don’t lie, Evangelina. You’re terrible at it.”

  Blinking rapidly, I struggle to keep my eyes fully open. “How do you know my name?”

  The man chuckles, moving closer. “I know everyone’s name.”

  I groan, letting my head rest against the wall. “I’m sick. Get away from me, or I’ll throw up on you.” It isn’t much, but vomit can be a useful deterrent.

  “Don’t fight it,” he murmurs. “Relax. Give in.”

  A chill runs through me despite the exhausted fog I’m operating under. “You drugged me?”

  Oh, fuck. I’m so stupid. How did this happen? I know better. He handed me my damn drink.

  “Shh. I’m helping you.” He extends a hand, but I stumble out of reach.

  “Get away from me!” I cry, though it comes out as barely a squeak. “Perla! Chuckie! Anyone! Help!”

  He keeps coming closer, sending me backpedaling. “Let me help you. You aren’t safe here.”

  I throw my hands out, forming a cross with my fingers to ward him off as if he’s the devil. “My father will kill you if you touch me. I need to go home. He’s expecting me.”

  “It’s not safe there either. You need to come with me.”

  This guy is insane. There’s nowhere safer than our c
ompound. Papa will crush any man that comes near me. Including this idiot.

  My knees knock together, a heaviness settling in every cell. I’ll never outrun him. There’s no way out. My body is betraying me, shutting down with every step. “I don’t even know your name.”

  His hands find me, one holding my arm while the other settles into the small of my back. He’s shockingly gentle. “I won’t hurt you. Just take deep breaths and sit down so you don’t crack your pretty little head.”

  I want to believe him but can’t. He drugged me and now has me cornered in an alley. This won’t end well no matter what he says. Good people don’t drug other people. He’s a monster.

  “I don’t want to die without knowing your name,” I choke out, letting him guide me to the cement as tears streak my cheeks. “I need to know who to send the angels after so they can avenge me.”

  It’s ridiculous to egg him on, but all I have left are my words.

  A laugh escapes him as my body gives in, the last bits of fight leaking out. “They call me Death, Evangelina. Now rest your eyes. It’ll be over soon.”

  3

  Fallon

  Fuck grieving.

  Staring at Ma while she cries won’t get me any closer to answers. Nor will watching Pop and Nolan drink themselves into oblivion. We all mourn in our own ways, but I refuse to sit around while a killer runs free, so I leave to make sense of what leads I have: none.

  Street by street, I search for the faceless monster that annihilated my brother. I’m not sure what I’m looking for other than a beast. No one else would murder a man in his own bed as he slept. It’s the mark of a coward.

  I have nothing to run on. No tips. No hunches. Jack fucking shit.

  A late night text from Aidan to Pop said he’d be at the docks instead of the Lombardi meet, and until there’s a time of death from the medical examiner, I have to trust that Aidan sent the message. Pop shelled out a small fortune to make sure we’re the judge, jury, and executioner of the matter. The story didn’t even hit the papers.

  I replayed yesterday in my head a thousand times over, dissecting every interaction, but nothing was amiss. We had Sunday dinner at our parents’ house, as usual, and Aidan was his same old self, laughing and busting my stones about not tucking my shirt in. If he’d feared for his life, he hadn’t shown it. Instead, he chatted about expansion plans for the import operation, wanting to slowly add more weapons to our portfolio now that our supplier offers more goods.