Dirty Mafia Sinner (Dirty Mafia Kingdom #2)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

RILEY

The air crackles with tension as the stranger holds court across the bar.

I can’t take my eyes off him. All evening, I’ve soaked in his power like a bubble bath until I’ve absorbed every ounce.

This man radiates control mixed with an undeniable dark charisma as, one after another, men dare strike up a conversation. Exchanges are brief and to the point, before the next brave victim steps forward and is treated to an equal share of scrutiny and contempt.

My reaction is puzzling. Not attraction, per se, though he is handsome, tall with broad shoulders, short dark hair and high cheekbones. Not fear, despite the sense he sees beyond the perfect makeup, black dress, and high heels, straight to my hollow core. Not disinterest, which is how I regard almost everything these days.

I steal another glance, which he returns with a bone-chilling ferocity. Adrenaline races through me, and suddenly, everything seems brighter.

“Drink?” a server asks, drawing my attention. I stand between the bar and a cluster of pub tables set up for tonight’s event. It’s the perfect place to observe, and where I can avoid conversations on either side.

I return an empty champagne flute to the server’s tray and, flashing him a weak smile, take another. He nods and continues on, and I return my attention to the man across the bar.

Except he’s gone.

Loss rushes in. He disappeared, just when I decided the solution to my problems isn’t spending months coddled and pitied, but the exact opposite. Beneath his scrutiny, I feel alive, awake . Like I’ve been jarred out of a long tumultuous slumber a different version of myself.

I move across the open space, desperate to catch sight of him, until I’m standing in the middle of the club. Clusters of people surround me like jet bumpers in a pinball table. Minutes tick by as my eyes bounce from group to group until it’s obvious that my stranger has escaped me.

Once more, Fate’s lifted me high and then dropped me like dead weight.

I take a fortifying sip of champagne and swallow back my disappointment. It’s for the best. I’m not a reckless person. My life was orderly and safe until events not within my control sent me spiraling. Pursuing a powerful man like him? Clearly, I don’t know which way is up anymore.

Laughter filters across the space. A few groups over, my best friend, Emily, and her boyfriend and my new boss, Ciro, are in a large group, giddy and in high spirits, pleased as punch at all the attention. Tonight is the groundbreaking celebration for the new Riverview Casino on Brooklyn’s waterfront. Ciro’s business, C this man enjoys playing with broken things.

Call it shock, weariness, fatigue or recognition— of who I am and who I want him to be — whatever it is has me testing the theory.

I lean in and then wrap my lips around his digit.

The metallic taste of blood is less surprising than his reaction. His eyes deepen to an impossible blue, the color of a Midwest summer sky after a storm’s torn through. Energy radiates through me. It’s like I’m sucking the power clean off his finger. It’s dangerous and heady, and far, far beyond the definition of extreme.

I haven’t crossed the line; I’ve blown it out of the stratosphere. And yet, I push harder, suck harder until his nostrils absolutely, positively flare.

The driver clears his throat, breaking our connection and ruining the moment. How long has the car been parked in front of my building? I free his finger and turn toward the driver.

“Get out while you can.” Something in the driver’s tone makes me wonder if I’ll actually be able to get out, but I reach for the door handle, then the door falls open, and my fear fades.

I can’t help but glance over my shoulder at my stranger.

He’s back on his phone. For a moment, I’m certain I’m already forgotten, until he draws the same finger I sucked on across his lips.

Ignored, maybe.

Forgotten, not at all.

I hesitate. A desperate desire for more of whatever this dangerous man has to offer has me thinking the unthinkable.

Before it has me asking the unimaginable.

“Do you want to come upstairs?”

Never in my life have I been so reckless.

I glance over my shoulder at the stranger as we climb the stairs to my fourth-floor walkup. Random acts are not my thing, and I’m shocked I invited him in.

My friends back home joked how my house was the nicest in town, yet they hardly saw the inside. I had my reasons for keeping my family life private. But the truth is I’m great at being the shoulder others cry on yet struggle asking for help myself. Not that this stopped the Big-Hearts-with-Big-Mouths back in Marietta politely inquiring about my mental condition after “The Tragedy,” believing talking about what happened will fix me.

Just for a little while, I want to give no fucks. Tonight, every fiber within me is awake. And, if the man behind me gets off on playing with broken things, guess what? Tonight’s his lucky night.

“All these apartments are vacant?” His gravelly tone breaks the silence and echoes through the stairwell.

“Yes. My unit was the first one renovated. The rest are under construction.”

“You live alone in the building?” Lord, his voice is sexy, even while laced with disapproval.

“My best friend was supposed to be my roommate.” We reach the top-floor landing, and I find my key. “But she moved in with her boyfriend. I’ve only been in New York City for a week and haven’t had the time to find another roommate.”

We fall quiet as I unlock the door. Then we step inside and into the kitchen, and I flip on the light.

“This is the lock?”

My lips draw tight. Ciro’s LLC owns the building and was renovating it as a flip, up until C failure is likely. I’ve been spiraling all night, invited a stranger home for sex and let him bind my arms and choke me. My self-control is just another broken part of me.

“Christ’s sake, not like this.” Withdrawing, he lifts me by the hips and spins me around, before settling me against the door and himself back inside me.

My elbows brush the trim.

“Wrap your thighs around my waist.”

I hiss as I readjust so my inner thighs straddle his hip bones, drawing him impossibly deeper and making obeying him that much more difficult.

His hungry gaze lifts from my breasts to my face.

“What’s your name?”

I blink. “Riley.”

Seconds pass until it becomes obvious. “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” I say.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m fucking you senseless, then tossing the condom into the trash and leaving.”

Every twisted part of me breaks all over again. Because as infuriating as he is, I want his kind of dirty. “Why ask my name if you’re fucking and running?” I insist.

He snorts. “Leaving. Not running.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not. Running would imply you mean something to me. You don’t.”

Ouch.

I squirm, and he hisses. His cock is still hard as steel.

“Do it,” I demand. Surprising him, and myself. “Finish, and then stroll on out of here.”

Without warning, he grabs me by the throat. To intimidate me? To show me who is boss?

I don’t understand what possesses me. Maybe it’s tonight’s panic attack. Maybe I’ve lost so much, walking the ledge between life and death feels normal. Maybe it’s simply curiosity … At this point, I’ll take pleasure, even the risky sort, over anguish any day. Acting on instinct, I tilt my head back and dare him with my eyes to squeeze harder.

And he does.

Until my eyes tear up.

Until there’s a shift between us, this tiny fragile thing, this pull neither of us can deny.

“Christ’s sake.” He curses and drops his hand to grasp my ass. Hiding his face in my breasts, he pulls me onto him and drives into me like a man possessed.

I’m bound and at his mercy. Moving with him while we fall into a quick rhythm. “Oh God,” I cry out, my body knowing what it wants even if my mind doesn’t. “Please,” I whisper. “I’m so close.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans. “I want to destroy this tight pussy. Fill you with so much come, you’ll be drowning in it.”

His dirty words have me begging. “Please. Say yes. I don’t care if you leave afterward. I don’t care if you fuck my breasts on the kitchen floor. My entire body is on fire. I never…”

“Never what?” he demands.

“I need to,” I plead, avoiding his question. “ Now .”

He stiffens. “Jesus Christ.”

“What are you doing? Don’t stop.”

“You asked for it.”

I’m bounced into the air, just to the point where his bulbous tip rests at my entrance. Perched in this position, the seconds feel like minutes, until he relaxes his hold and my full body weight descends onto him. I take his massive erection in one brutal fall and swear my womb is crying.

“Ahhh,” is all I manage, the sweet, painful building tension picking up where it left off. If he repeats that move again, I’ll shatter.

“Look at me.”

I open my eyes, not even realizing I closed them.

“Ask me if you can come.”

“Can I come?”

“No.”

If my wrists weren’t bound, I’d slap his smug face.

He pulls me into his chest without breaking stride, flexing his hips and driving me wild, because he’s so mind-shatteringly deep. “I’ll do anything,” I cry out, desperate. “What do you want from me?”

“What you promised earlier.”

I struggle in his arms, tension coiling like a spring seconds away from snapping. My mind races, trying to solve the riddle so we can put an end to this game.

“Submit like a good girl, then you can come all over my dick.”

How can a man be this beautiful and so filthy? I groan and plead with him with my eyes. Please. I need this more than you’ll ever know.

“Count to three.”

I blink as he lifts me once more, then hastily begin to count. “One. Two.” He relaxes his arm and flexes his hips, and I nearly pass out, completely forgetting to say three while I erupt around him.

“Yeah, Riley,” he groans. “So fucking good.”

My name lingers in the air as his thrusts become more violent. Then he jerks deep, holds still, and curses in Italian against my neck.

You never forget your firsts; first day at school, first A, first car, first backseat kiss, first drink, first loss, first one-night stand, first orgasm . But anchored against his hard chest, with his lips suckling my neck and his cock still inside me, I realize something else about firsts—they always, always end.

And, as warned, he does just that.

Without a word, he withdraws and sets me on my feet to his right, then disappears inside the bathroom. I stand on shaky legs, the toilet flushing and water running. We don’t speak when he returns, fresh and composed, and cold … so brutally cold. Like he’s utterly unaffected by what transpired.

I’m frozen, stunned. What were you expecting, a high-five?

He opens the door but then pauses to glance over his shoulder. Like he’s about to ask for my number. Like I’d consider repeating tonight’s insanity, even as I’m thanking God I’m alive and not a victim of my recklessness. I mean, he’s leaving while my wrists are still bound.

But I don’t regret tonight. He’s given me something more to dwell on than sadness and remorse. A dirty, filthy memory. Of a time when I relinquished control and felt more alive than I have in years.

My eyes lock on his face.

His rake over my body.

But instead of asking for my phone number, my cold, cavalier hookup demands something utterly baffling.

“Get the goddamn lock fixed.”