Page 5 of Corso DeLuca

The Governor is an institution in its own right—first and foremost, a hotel equipped with everything a connoisseur of the deadly arts requires to unwind—five-star dining, top-shelf spirits, beautiful women courtesy of Silvio’s on-site night club, and a fully-stocked armory of fine-crafted weapons. So any motherfucker shooting up my fucking hotel has to be out of his gotdamn mind to think he will live to kiss his kids good night.

“You’re an asshole, Corso DeLuca,” she deadpans.

I do nothing to conceal my displeasure with the female filling my arms. Damn you, Gregorio, for sending this brassy woman to me. A letter arrived this morning, written in his handwriting, I couldn’t read it prior to the wedding. Now, I wish I had. In all our conversations, my one-time friend failed to mention the set of balls on his female partner. Jessie NuCalla is as reckless and condescending as she is courageous. Or is she just plain foolish? Either way, I promised Greg I would protect her if she came to me.

Protection she will have, but I never agreed to be tactful.

“You’re an ungrateful pain in my ass, special agent.” I shoot back, lifting her higher in my arms. A wince slips from between her plump lips before she bites back the sound. A tough girl who led assassins into my hotel, I muse. Entire families vanish from the earth for lesser offenses.

“Should I thank you for putting a bullet strategically above my vest?”

I huff at the insinuation of my involvement in this botched assassination attempt. “Blind and a big mouth.”

“Oh, I see you for the scum you are,” she charges on, not caring that she’s bleeding through her shirt. The warmth of her life’s blood flows, rather than trickles, on my forearm. “I refuse to die. Your ass will pay for this and Greg’s death.”

Her voice, rich for such a soft woman, cracks when she says Gregorio’s name. Listening to her threaten me because of a man who died months ago, I now understand his concern for Jessie NuCalla. Loyalty at all costs can be a deadly hazard of the job.

“I didn’t kill Gregorio,” I growl. And… If I wanted you dead… would you be bitching at me now?”

Where Jessie’s full hips had been lax in my arms, she stiffens. She looks up at me, shifting her generous, soft curves in my grasp. My cock suffers an ill-timed response, hardening to the point of discomfort. She knows I speak the truth. The men and women I employ shoot to kill, and they wouldn’t create this shit show in my fucking hotel. Luckily, my clientele are a level-headed bunch who maintain their composure in minefields of shattering glass and splintering wood. A crash sounds behind us. I keep moving because I know whoever is after her won’t stop till she’s dead.

“Doesn’t change the facts, asshole. I’m taking you in for questioning.”

More gunfire erupts.

“Read the room, woman,” I bellow, shaking my head. “I’m saving your ass.” My most trusted soldier, Joseph, forms a line of defense. He would die to protect me, not just anyone bearing the DeLuca name. In thirty years, we have buried enough bodies for the DeLuca family to fill an NFL stadium.

Roman has secured his wife and infant son to return to the fight. Pulling his signature blue blades, he says. “The private elevator is waiting.”

“Gabriel,” I call to The Governor’s manager. “Announce that DeLuca business may be conducted on company grounds. Anyone sporting a weapon,” I look down at Jessie’s injured shoulder, “loses an arm.”

The polished marble tile close to Jessie’s head explodes. Jagged shrapnel discharges through the dust as I curl my upper torso protectively around the FBI agent who’s ignoring her wound to reach for the weapon still in her grasp.

“Dani!” I yell. “Tap-tap.” Dani Alonzo, is the most skilled assassin, male or female, in the five crime families-Santino, Scarponi, Abruzzo, Vitroni, and the DeLucas. As if just returning from a leisure walk, she emerges from the wedding crowd gathered on Al Di La’s dance floor. A layered black cape covers a red lace-wide leg suit on her petite frame with a thick black lace belt shaping her waist. Shorter than the average woman, Dani’s olive skin, green eyes, and flowing dark waves belie her lethality. With a simple turn of phrase, tap-tap, she will kill, maim, butcher, and/or poison to eliminate the threat to her charge.

Without a word, Dani flips her cape off her shoulders, revealing twin underarm holsters. Magazine clips line the sides of her waist belt.

“Leave the two alphabets,” referring to the FBI agents. “Kill everyone except,” I look directly at Jessie, “the one who shot her.”

Dani nods, her silent strides taking her into the killing field. Everyone, even a killer as skilled as Daniella, is expendable. I should have told Gregorio the same when he came to me with concerns that his life and that of his partner were in danger. I have lost more people than I care to remember in a war that is invisible to most. Unless born into a crime family there is truly no way to fathom the brutality of a mafia heir.

“Who’s the pint-sized psychopath?”

“I’ll fucking drop you, Jessie.”

“That’s what assholes do. Drop shit.” I try not to laugh. She’s cute when she’s in pain. I’ll remember that.

“I take it to mean you feel like shit?”

“I do. One of your asshole-y friends shot me,” she groans in response.

“Sorry to disappoint. This is on you.”

Her brows bunch, as if the reality that her being here drew no doubt the same hitman who eliminated our mutual acquaintance.

“Liar,” she hisses. I notice the slight gap between her two front teeth. On most people it could be considered a flaw, but on her, it adds to her unconventional approach to suspect apprehension.

I told Gregorio I’d protect her if anything happened to him, but hell. The woman hurls insults faster than lightning strikes.