Page 4 of Corso DeLuca

How the fuck does he know what Greg told me on his deathbed? My breath hitches, but not at the revelation. His voice is hypnotic with deep tones of smooth base on a Sunday afternoon. Internally, I feel a thread forming, the pull of this man knotting me in places that he should not be. Between my thighs, the long dormant empty hallow of my vagina receives a blast of heat and then the damn thing actually contracts. A rhythmic clenching that matches the beat of my heart.

Stop it, hormones. Bad guys are off limits.

Now focus, Jessie.

I’m face-to-face with the evil bastard who ruined my entire existence. Corso DeLuca is the worst kind of criminal—smart, charming, and smoking hot. Someone clears their throat, breaking the temporary spell. This is my chance. Make him pay for his sins, Jessie. He is the reason Greg isn’t here. I take one step forward—for justice—my partner— prepared to nightstick Corso DeLuca senseless to get answers.

“Corso DeLuca, you’re wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of—”

My voice, it falters.

Greg’s name shouldn’t be within one hundred miles of a DeLuca. I’m still processing the enormity of my Greg and Corso sharing the same space, less a conversation involving me, when a gun blast rips through the air.

Behind me, Teal releases an eardrum-splitting scream. I turn, gun drawn. Vince’s eyes are wide with shock. Crimson droplets splatter onto a part of my jacket.

Damn it. There’s more than one shooter. I take aim at one of the women I noticed earlier, but I don’t get a shot off.

The bullet strikes above my vest, wrenching my shoulder in a wide backward arc.

It drills a spiraling hole of flames below my clavicle. I bellow out as excruciating pain hits every nerve like storm lightning. The impact lifts me off my feet, sending my body backwards… in space. I’m falling with no one to catch me. Pain, burning and sharp, robs me of my strength. I’m helpless. But, strong arms and dark eyes sweep me up, protecting me from future harm. Corso—not Donaldson, not Teal, not my Greg—cradles me to his chest. Broad, solid muscle cocoons me, wrapping around my trembling body like an electric blanket. I try to fight the pull to snuggle into his solid warmth, but my reserves are depleted. Five years with Greg… I’d gotten used to being touched. With him gone, I’d lost the comfort of a simple kiss to the temple, the gentle squeeze of my hand, or the intimate embrace of another person.

I’ve needed someone to hold me, be there for me, because frankly, it’s been a shit year. My final thought before darkness takes me, I’ll wait to kill him. Someone outside of the bureau knows my every move.

Is it possible a savage like Corso DeLuca could help me uncover what the hell is really happening?

TWO

Corso

Jessie NuCalla has me in an arrested state. Fortunately, it’s not in the way the hellion envisioned. She’s curvier now than in the one photo I have of her. Long hair, natural and full, has slipped its confines to sweep my forearm. Smooth brown skin, tempting me to taste, looks velvet soft. Body wise, her breast are magnificent— round melons that I’m sure challenge shirt buttons on a daily basis. Her waist is thick, rather than flat, and her ass is juicy, plump enough to fill a ten-ounce glass if squeezed the right way. At the visual that flows into my head, a smile tugs the corners of my mouth up. I feel her gaze on me, though sweeping lashes hide eyes the color of fresh brewed tea in the sunlight.

“My partner would’ve whipped that condescending smirk off your face, Corso DeLuca. You’re lucky Greg isn’t here.”

Jessie is a spark. A defiant flash in a dark world where my punishments and passions are doled out with restraint. The attraction started when I first saw her picture, but now—the open challenge of this woman who’s absolutely confident in her self-righteous opinion intrigues me—to a point.

“Am I, special agent?”

I regret being a man of my word. An oath is only as good as the man who offers it. I swore to Gregorio ‘Greg’ Luciano that if there ever came a time that he couldn’t safeguard Jessie, that I would. There’s no exit for either of us.

A part of me blocked out a reality where Gregorio wasn’t fighting in the justice system I’d learned to elude. Now my refusal to accept that danger, regardless of which end of the gun faces you, cop or criminal, can lead to greeting Hell’s ferryman. Past tense for Greg.

“Fuck yeah. But me, I’m going to level The Governor with you in it.”

Now, a DeLuca, the most savage bloodline in the modern mafia, has the responsibility of protecting an FBI agent. If it were anyone else, the head of the family would demand a call to explain my actions. But the network of associates I’ve amassed on behalf of the DeLuca family through the years has elevated my position. No one dares to piss me off. They all respect the power at my command.

“More dangerous people than you have tried, princess. The Governor can defend itself very well.”

My father ensured that the building itself was designed with defense against an array of attacks.

“Yeah, well, the FBI is a fuck-ton more lethal than the Esposito crime family. And who’re you calling princess?”

Letting a note of irritation edge my voice, I say, “The hand-carried ranting harpy who got herself shot in my establishment.”

So, she knows of the decades old war between the DeLucas and Espositos. We control this city. Mattia Esposito and his rumored secret weapon will do well to stay clear of my doors if they want to stay above ground.

I think of The Governor as more than my home. It’s the castle in the center of my kingdom, a quiet den for this weary lion, the big dick of my domicile, occupying four blocks of DC’s most expensive real estate. True to all males of the species, I take pride in ownership… and safeguarding those who enter my flagship establishment. The fact that my associate and business partner, Silvio Santino, would choose to host his wedding to the lady songbird, Paisley Phire, adds to The Governor’s prestige. I’ve worked hard to separate my entrepreneurial venture from, shall I say, the grittier elements of the DeLuca family businesses.

Since the murder of our Don, Ermanno DeLuca, securing the sanctity of these four walls, the strong tower of the DeLuca empire, is a critical reminder that my family, now and forever, are the rulers of the mafia underworld. There are those who seek to overthrow our rule, starting with the fall of The Governor. Every Italian learns from school age that you fuck with the ruler, you get your knuckles smacked. If said instrument is in the hands of a DeLuca, you get your head separated from your body and the butchered parts couriered to your wife’s salon appointment.