Wrong (Spada Crime Family #2) (17 page)

It makes me feel…powerful. He’s barely moving, letting me control the speed and depth of penetration. Once or twice he shifts his hips, but he never takes away the control he’s handed over to me.

I move faster, rocking on him until the insides of my thighs start to burn with the strain. His hands tighten on me, and I can tell he’s riding closer and closer to climax.

“Sarah,” he says suddenly, and nothing else, and then he jerks his hips up hard. I respond by grabbing the back of the couch to force myself down on him, holding still as he thrusts hard into me. With my other hand, I reach down between us and touch myself.

I explode on him. The moment I do, I feel him let go, too, and we fall over the edge together, until finally I fold forward onto him and kiss his mouth.

He gently strokes his hand into my hair. “You didn’t hurt me. I knew you wouldn’t.”

Chapter Eight

Nick

Unlike Phil Spada, I don’t own a mansion filled with conference rooms. My crew meets regularly at Marlo’s, a bar a few blocks down from my place, where I can count on the staff to keep quiet. They pay me once a month to keep an eye on the place; in return for a substantial discount from my regular protection rate, I get to set up meetings in the back and be assured they don’t spread my business around.

We’re getting together today, at the regular meeting time, to discuss in a little more detail what exactly we need to do to keep income flowing now that the MMA ring is temporarily shut down. That’s been a big source of cash for us over the last few years, but we can’t depend on it now until things get settled. I’m thinking about shaking down a few more local businesses for protection money, but I’m also interested to hear ideas from some of the guys. Some of them can be pretty innovative, especially when it comes to strategies the law won’t necessarily jump on. A couple of them are really good with computers, and I hope they’ll float some thoughts about expanding their efforts on that front.

I’m not having much luck keeping the conversation on track, though. All anybody wants to talk about is Sal. Well, specifically the way Sal looks at the moment, after I beat the shit out of him yesterday. Apparently he’s worse off than I am. I’m not surprised. He never was the greatest with his fists. He’s more of an automatic-weapon type of guy.

It’s hard for me to keep from smirking at the commentary, even though we have more important things to discuss. I’ve wanted to put Sal in his place for a very long time, and now that it’s happened, I’m glad it’s making an impression. It’s another step closer to my eventual goal—taking over for Spada.

I’m heading in the right direction. I’m sure of it. Shit, I can almost taste it. Get rid of Sal, move in on Spada… I won’t even have to take Spada out myself, if I’m reading the room right. Nobody respects him anymore—at least not the way they used to. He’s bared his ass, shown his weaknesses. His men are like sharks—converging on the blood in the water, looking for the chum, and then for the live victim to chew up and spit out.

It’s not just the bullshit with McAllister. If Spada still had control of his organization, that spat with Sal wouldn’t have happened. Sal wouldn’t have dared to go after Sarah. And, quite probably, I wouldn’t have been quite so fast to go after Sal.

“All right, it’s time to get back to business.” My voice puts an end to most of the muttering, nudging, and grinning that’s going on around the table. “We’re not here to gossip like a bunch of women in a sewing circle. We’re here to make plans.”

“Yeah,” Chris pipes up. It’s not so much a brown-nosing agreement as it is his way of introducing a new topic. “Do we have any word on when the fights can start up again?”

“Not yet. Still waiting for Spada to give the go-ahead.”

“Fuck Spada.” I get the feeling I wasn’t supposed to hear those words, muttered from the back of the room. I’m not completely sure who said it, but I act like I am.

“That’s enough,” I say in a tight voice. “We’re not here to share your opinion of Spada, either. He’s the boss, and while he’s the boss, we do as he says.”

“I heard somebody’s planning on clipping him.”

This time I know exactly who said it, and I give him a direct look. “Gossip,” I snap. “And if I hear any more of that bullshit, I knock your fucking teeth out. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The man looks properly chastised.

I sort through the notes on my phone and prepare to launch into the formalized business part of the meeting, but just as I pull up the information I need, the phone rings. It’s Spada himself.

I wonder for a split second if he’s watching the meeting somehow, but I’m pretty sure even he hasn’t gone that far yet. I excuse myself from the room and answer the call.

“Angelino. I need to talk to you.”

“I’m in the middle of—”

“I don’t care what you’re in the middle of. Get to my place. You’ve got ten minutes.” He hangs up.

Instead of staring at the phone in annoyance at his brusqueness, I pretend the call is still going and nod and smile a few times before I put it away.

“That was the man himself,” I tell my crew. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve been called to an emergency meeting. Chris, could you take over?”

“Sure, boss.”

#

I’m ushered into the house by an armed man, and two more of Spada’s personal guards are standing outside his office. Their presence, as well as their stances, tell me immediately that this isn’t a casual meeting. Spada’s calling me onto the carpet.

“Sit down,” he snaps when I come in.

I sit. No point arguing yet. I’m sure I’ll get inspired to do so later.

He launches right in. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, taking on De Luca like that? You have no fucking right and you know it.”

“De Luca’s a piece of shit—”

“De Luca’s a made man just like you are, and I’m not going to sit by and let you two kill each other. Never mind that you go behind my back, you don’t bother getting permission. This is not an organization where you can just do whatever the fuck you want. You should know that by now.”

I’m seething inwardly, but I manage to stay calm on the outside. “So why isn’t he here? He’s just as guilty as I am.”

“Because I don’t want you shooting each other down in the middle of my house, that’s why.” His voice is tight now. “This has got to stop, Angelino. I can’t have the two of you at each other’s throats. It sets a bad example. Now, you two either work it out or I’ll work it out for you.”

“He had no right to go after the bakery. That’s Sarah’s.”

Spada’s eyes narrow. “You’re putting your career and your reputation and quite possibly your life on the line for what? A piece of pussy? I know she’s a pretty woman, but this is fucking ridiculous. You’ve known her, what, a couple of weeks? You need to get your priorities in order, Angelino.”

“It’s more than that.”

“More than what?”

“More than just fucking.”

“You stole her from Sal to make Sal look bad. Well, that wasn’t the brightest move, either, Angelino. You’d be better off just giving her back.”

My teeth clench. There’s no way anybody’s touching Sarah. Especially not Sal, and especially not Spada. “Sal is an asshole. He was hitting her.”

“So fucking what? She’s a woman. He was keeping her in line.”

“Bullshit. He likes hurting people. You know that.”

He gives me a dismissive wave.

“What he did at the bakery—that was just him being a prick. He has no reason to destroy that building other than to get back at me.”

“You brought this on yourself, Nick. Now, you’re going to make restitution to Sal, like you promised, and this is going to end. You got me?”

Shit. I don’t have the money to pay for the goddamn bakery, and Spada knows it. But I give him a nod. There’s really not much else I can do.

Correction. There’s one thing I can do. Sentiment is moving against Spada. I’ve seen it in my own men, and I’ve seen it in some of the other crews. His power is eroding. People are doing business without his permission. That’s not going to get any better, unless Spada grows a pair and starts taking down everybody who pulls an unsanctioned heist or arranges a protection contract outside his normal jurisdiction. And that’s not going to happen. Add that to the erosions in Sal’s organization, and I’m in the best position I’ve been in for a long time.

So the best thing I can do right now is sit tight and do what I can to shore up my own reputation. Paying Sal isn’t the worst way to get that started. I just need to come up with the money.

If I’m going to pay him, though, I also need to hurt him. I need to follow Spada’s orders, but I also need to flex my own muscles so Sal doesn’t come out on top.

It’s a tricky question, but as I mull it over, an idea floats up. Spada will hate it. I don’t hate it at all.

In fact, it’s perfect.

#

Back at home, I find Sarah sitting in the kitchen with the laptop we both damn near died for. She’s got a couple of notebooks open next to it, and she’s scribbling in them, then inputting numbers into the computer, then going back to the notebooks.

“What are you up to, sweetheart?”

She jumps as if I’ve startled her and gives me an embarrassed grin.

“Sorry,” I tell her, and walk up behind her to set my hands on her shoulders. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay. I was just really…focused.”

“On what?” I peer at the computer. She’s got a spreadsheet open as well as some kind of design software. There’s another window floating around as well, but it’s covered up and I can’t see much of it. It looks like it might be recipes, though.

“Plans for the bakery. I need to revamp a lot of stuff to get the books back into the black.”

“Sarah…” But I stop. I can’t tell her I’ve been ordered to pay Sal for the bakery. I can’t tell her I don’t have the money, and that the smartest thing to do would be to follow Sal’s plan and burn the place for the insurance money. Or, barring that drastic an option, to shut it down and cut my losses until I can suggest something that’s more likely to stay solvent. I can’t tell her any of that. When it comes down to it, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to do it.

I told her she was worth so much more than her business, and I meant it, but I’ve also become painfully aware of exactly how much that damn bakery means to her. Shutting it down would break her heart, even if it was only temporary. Burning it down would do more than that—it would shatter whatever’s started to grow between us. I have no intention of getting attached, of attaching words like “love” to what I feel for Sarah. But I can’t hurt her, and I can’t do anything that would make it impossible for her to stay with me. She’s been hurt too much already. If I destroy the thing that means the most to her after promising her I’ll protect her, I’m no better than Sal.

The silence has gone on too long, and she says, “What?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

Turning away from the computer, she gives me a direct look. “How are your ribs?”

“Still working.”

“The hand?”

I open and close my fist. It hurts, and my fingers are stiff, but I don’t think there’s going to be any permanent damage.

“Well…I think it’s in good enough shape to spank you.”

Her eyes widen a little, and I almost regret making the comment. Almost.

“Spank me?” I can’t tell if she’s actually afraid or not. She might be teasing.

“I never really punished you for your insubordination.”

“My…insubordination?” Now she’s definitely edgy.

That’s not going to do at all. I lean over her, setting my hands on the chair on either side of her shoulders. “You went to the bakery without permission. I can’t just let that slide.”

“I…I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean you could use a good spanking. It’ll make you think twice next time.” I lean forward and catch her lip between my teeth, nipping it.

“Nick…” Something in her voice makes me lean back and look at her more closely. She’s shaking. “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t do it again. I promise.”

“Oh, shit,” I mutter. I grab both of her hands in mine and lift them to my lips. “Honey, no. I’m not going to hit you. I promise.”

“You said…”

Gently I cup her face. “Sarah. Do you trust me?”

She’s slow to answer, and when she does she’s hesitant. “I think so.” At least she’s honest.

“I gave you my word. I intend to keep it.” I kiss her forehead. “You’re safe here.”

She nods. I kiss her again, this time catching her mouth. Shit. I just want to reassure her, but my dick’s so hard I know I’m not going to be able to ignore it. Just touching her does this to me. Just getting close to her.

While she’s still sitting there looking small and like she’s not sure what’s going to happen next, I scoop her up and carry her to the bedroom. She’s small and so light in my arms. Thinking about Sal hurting her makes me want to kill him, and I had plenty of reasons to kill him already.

I push that out of my head. No thinking about Sal right now. No thinking at all. I lay her down on the bed and lower myself over her, kissing her mouth, her face, her neck. Then I lean back.

“You can trust me.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“I won’t hurt you. I swear I’ll never raise a hand to you or our child when it comes.”

She nods, and then she’s silent, studying my face.

“What are you thinking?” I ask after a while.

“I’m thinking I want you to fuck me.”

I grin. Good answer. “Roll over.”

One of her eyebrows quirks, but she does it. I grab her pants and drag them off her, not even bothering to undo the buttons. They slide off easily, leaving her in that little scrap of cotton she calls underwear. Lying there on her stomach, she looks so vulnerable. I want nothing more than to drive into her, fuck her into the mattress, but I’m trying to prove a point here.

I unfasten my own pants, fumbling a little with the zipper because I’m trying to go too fast. I shuck my shirt, too, and when I’m done, I’m naked and she’s not. I’m not sure I want her naked.

She turns her head to the side so she can see me. I know the angle must be bad, and I shift a little to make it worse.