Bad Boy: Valetti Crime Family (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance) (2 page)

I
tip
the edge of the porcelain cup to my lips and close my eyes as the perfect temperature of tea spills into my mouth. My eyes close and the comfort of routine washes through me. But the feeling is only temporary. That’s when I register the change. Something feels off. I remember thinking that earlier as well. It’s too quiet. Crickets and other creatures of the night always provide soothing background noise for my evening tea. But tonight the noises are muted. It's as though something’s scared them away.

I always drink chamomile tea to help me relax and sleep. My normal routine is to sit on the porch while I finish a cup, followed by a melatonin pill. I’ve had issues falling asleep for the last year or so. Ever since my life completely changed. Staying asleep is never an issue, but falling asleep is difficult. In the year that I’ve been here, I’ve done the same thing every night.

Before my life changed forever, I didn’t have a care in the world and slept like a baby every night. I did whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Then I hit my mid-twenties and decided I needed to sow my wild oats. My mother had just passed away. She was older when she had me, and she died peacefully--as peacefully as you can with cancer--but it was hard on me and I didn’t want to face the pain. To say I engaged in high-risk behavior would be putting it lightly. Then I fell in love. Or rather, what I
thought
was love with an asshole named Lorenzo Passanova. I called him my Cassanova because I was a fucking idiot, high on lust and loving the risk that came with being with a man like him.

I thought being with him would be just like the books I love to read. Like I'd be living out the plot of a romance novel. I was a fucking idiot.

Meeting that asshole was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I didn’t even realize it until it was too late. He sucked me out of my safe little bubble into his world, and I felt alive for the first time in my life. But it was a mistake. A horrible fucking mistake.

When you play with fire, expect to get burned
. Over and over, I’d heard my mother’s warning, but I ignored it. The first time it happened, I knew I'd seriously misjudged him. Lorenzo smacked me so hard across the face that I fell to the ground. Even worse, I eventually tried to sneak out and leave his ass behind, but ran into his
familia
beating the shit out of a guy. Bags of dope were scattered everywhere as they made their threats. That was it for me. I saw and heard too much. I ran like hell, but they got me. They cornered me and took me back to Lorenzo and then to their Don.

Lorenzo beat the hell out of me in front of them. He told them he’d keep me in line for now, so they didn’t have to kill me right then. His
familia
were cold-blooded murderers who wanted me dead. I'll never forget the looks in their eyes. Or the disgusting joy that filled Lorenzo's dark eyes when he would repeatedly hurt me. I had one chance to slip away, and I took it. I ran like hell and blabbed to the police so they'd protect me.

That’s what living on the edge got me. As a result, I’ve settled my ass down tremendously. And now I’m back to being the good girl my mother raised me to be. Being through that shit and getting placed in the witness protection program will do that to you.

So now I stay in my cozy house feeling alone but safe, and surround myself with comfort and familiarity. It’s different now; I’m more alone than I’ve ever been in my entire life, but at least I’m safe. The last time the marshals checked in on me was nearly three months ago. Now I’m on my own and settled in.

This screened-in porch is now my favorite room in this snug, raised ranch house.

My toes sweep across the soft and high pile of the rug beneath the wicker furniture set. Across from me I have my antique curio cabinet. It contains my large collection of teapots and cups. When I run a load of laundry, I can faintly smell it from here. I inhale deeply and my lungs fill with all my favorite scents.

But the best part is the location. I’m nearly half a mile away from anyone. My home is set back into the woods and I’m surrounded by trees. The moonlight shines down and tonight it’s full, illuminating the woods as though it’s nearly dawn. Usually my ritual helps put me at ease, but tonight it’s less familiar, less comforting.

The night air feels a bit colder on my shoulders, sending a shiver down my back. I wrap the cashmere throw tighter around myself, all the way up to my neck. I feel my forehead crease as I realize I feel someone’s eyes on me. The sensation freezes my body for a moment as the fear I had nearly every night when I first moved here returns. I turn quickly in my seat and feel my heart racing. The sound of blood rushing through my ears is all I can hear. When I first moved here, I was terrified the Cassanos would find me. But they didn’t. It took a long time for me to feel safe, and an even longer time for the nightmares to stop, but it's all over now. I breathe in deep and concentrate on relaxing.

I settle my back against the seat, thinking I'm just being paranoid. A thought occurs to me.
Maybe this is my survival instinct warning me.
The idea causes a row of goosebumps to travel down my arms. But just like all of the anxiety I’ve dealt with this week, I push it down and chalk it up to my nerves.

I place the teacup down gently on the table and stand up, stretching slightly and covering my mouth as I yawn. The blanket slips off my shoulders, and a chill runs through my body. I’m quick to pull it back up to cover me and grip it close. Fall must be coming. It’s the change of the season that’s throwing me off. I close my eyes and listen harder. Some noises are faint, but they’re still present. I just need to relax and accept the approaching transition from summer to autumn. Some things can’t be helped.

Still, I check the locks at the front door twice after depositing my cup in the sink. Being alone in a cabin in the country isn’t the smartest thing for a young woman on her own. My options for disappearing and starting a new life were limited though, and when you want to hide, it's best to be far away and alone.

I move the curtain away from the large window in the front room and look down the gravel driveway, seeing nothing. The grass is tall and needs to be mowed. I sigh and again the throw slips, but it’s warmer inside the main part of the house, so I let it drape over the crook in my arm.

My bed is made and I can’t wait to sink into it and drift to sleep, but I need to check over my email and messages one last time before I can pass out. The one good thing about my job is that I can do it from anywhere. When I first moved here, I had to stop working on anything associated with my real name. My blog, my columns and articles, anything else tied to my online presence, you name it—done. I was crushed. I had been a renowned book reviewer, beta reader, and part-time writer. The money was great, but I would have loved it all regardless of the pay.

I had to say goodbye to my former life though because the Cassano
familia
could have found me that way. The mafia that saw me as a rat could have easily tracked me down if I'd continued working under my real name, and it wasn't worth it.

So I started over under a pen name, and it’s going better than I ever imagined it could. The experience and knowledge that I gained in my former life helped me tremendously. Now I'm firmly established in the industry, and I'm doing even better than I was before.

This is my life now--books and tea in a remote cabin in the woods. I love it, but lately it’s felt empty. I could go on like this, feeling as though I’m living a full life, but I’m so alone. I wanted nothing more than to be by myself when I was running and hiding. But now I find myself questioning if I’ll ever have anyone real in my life, and anything substantial.

I’ve thought about getting a dog—a big one, to help make me feel secure. A dog's love is unconditional. I want that love desperately. I need it from someone, or something. But a dog would need walks and interaction, plus dogs have to be taken to the vet. Those are all opportunities for people to see me. I don't want that. I want to stay hidden. I
need
to stay hidden. But I do need companionship. I've been craving it more and more as I've settled into this new life.

At least I have my business. I have my blogging, my books, and my friends, even if they're all online. I almost didn’t start over. I almost gave up and poured my heart into a book of my own. But my life is no romance. And writing it down would make it real. Once I’d gotten over the fear, I didn’t want to relive it. So I did my best to move on.

I was hesitant to start from scratch, but I pushed myself to do it anyway. Within two months my new blog had taken off, and I’d revitalized my income. I log on and see twelve new messages in my email. The first few are easy enough to reply to, requiring nothing more than copying and pasting from a template of other answers I've already given. The next email takes some time to write out though. I'm responding to a new author who messaged me looking for advice on her series. I'll have to get back to her in the morning. I don't have the energy right now. But I take this business seriously, and it shows. And it pays. Just before I close the laptop, I hear a
ping
.

It’s a message from a new book friend. She joined my book club a few weeks ago. Right now it’s just a small Facebook group, but it’s my baby. Although she’s not very active in the group, she’s messaged me a number of times. I get so many messages a day. Some are from other bloggers and columnists who are just starting out and looking for advice. Others are from authors wanting to send me advanced reading copies and beta reads. I can read two books a day, so I’m always happy to help where I can. But Val’s messages are different. They’re more personal.

What did you think of the book?

I scan the message twice as my fingers hover above the keys. I read and receive so many books that most of the time I have to sift through my emails before replying in order to make sure I'm keeping everything straight, but not this time. I know exactly which book Val's referring to.

Smut, also known as erotic romance to some, is a genre with which I'm intimately familiar. I prefer the term smut though, because it fills me with life. Like I'm naughty for reading it. The book she picked out though is exceptionally taboo. Arousal heats my core. The idea of being taken by a strange man has certainly been a dark desire of my own. I clench my thighs and bite down on my lip. I won’t admit how I touched myself to some scenes.

I decide to respond with a professional answer.

I thought the author did a fabulous job of depicting the scenes with vivid imagery and capturing the heroine’s emotions and character arc. Overall a well-written book.

She’s quick with a reply.
So you enjoyed it?

I did,
I message back.

Is it so wrong that I’d want it to come true?
Her reply makes me stop and consider her words.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the fantasy. But I’m sure real life would be much different.

You don’t think you’d enjoy it in real life?
Her question forces a small laugh from my lips. Although it’s wonderful to get lost in them, these books aren’t real. I know I’d enjoy some things. I’ve often fantasized about them. But this conversation is veering a little more into the territory of my personal preferences and is less about the book. It's also late, and I need to go to sleep while the melatonin is still active or I'll never get to bed. So I settle for a quick reply with a little humor that she’d enjoy.

Oh there are scenes I’d enjoy, but I’ll stick to role playing for that ;) Gotta go to bed, ttyl!

Night!

A shiver of want travels through me as I exit her message and look at the list of remaining emails. I’ll get to them all tomorrow.

I close my laptop, but I feel more awake now than I was when I first sat down. The book Val mentioned is all I can think about as I change into a nightgown. The imagery of a dark, damp cell and chains flood my mind. I can picture being the heroine. I can understand her desire to please her master. I wasn’t a huge fan of the ending though. It wasn't the happily ever after I enjoy from romance. It was more realistic. After all, how could you ever fall in love with your captor, but still be sane? Would it even be possible to have both the sweet fantasy and the dark reality?

As I crawl into bed and lie on my back, I let my fingertips gently brush along my clit as I think about the book. I hear the clinking of the chains and the smack of the whip. I see her back arch as she raises her lower half to him for more. He takes her however he wants, and she’s more than happy to let him use her body. My legs part, and I dip my fingers into my slick pussy and run the moisture over my clit. A small moan escapes me as I see the scenes play out in my head.

She’s been trained to love the sting of the belt, and the feel of his hand slapping her ass. His bites. His marks. My hand grips my breast and I pinch my nipple between my fingers and pull, imagining it’s him. I turn my head as though his lips are touching my neck, as if his teeth are about to pierce my skin. Anything and everything he does to her is a reward. He thrusts into her and takes his pleasure, over and over. Using her body. And she enjoys it. She thrives under his touch. I circle my clit, wanting him to reward her for her obedience. It’s all she lives for. She is his, and that’s all she desires. She only lives to please him. He doesn’t stop until he has his fill and cums deep inside her. That alone is enough to bring her over the edge. And I find my own release with her.

You don’t think you’d enjoy it in real life?

I remember Val’s question as my breath steadies and I turn on my side, feeling exhausted from cumming.

In real life, that scenario would be a fucking nightmare. Just as I close my eyes, I feel a pinch in my neck. My lips part as I wince and raise my hand to feel what caused the sting, but it falls lifeless to my side. I vaguely make out a dark figure rounding the bed to approach me.