when my mouth finds her hot center, the words turn into a strangled cry. Her hands scrape at my shoulders. They draw blood. I don’t give a damn about that either.
Tonight, we’re the people we were once upon a time. We’re two lonely, passionate souls who want each other so bad that words won’t do it justice. Only our bodies can. The world is on the outside tonight. The way it used to be. There’s nothing that matters except for the next kiss, the next touch, the next groaning, shuddering orgasm.
I’m freeing myself from my pants and I’m plunging into her and she’s gasping, sharp and shallow. She’s rising up on her elbows so we can press our foreheads together and stare into each other’s eyes as we fuck the rest of the world away.
“Fuck me, Tommy,” she begs. The way she used to when we were teenagers. When this was all we had. When this was all we cared about.
We come together, hard. And then again in the shower. And a third time back in my bedroom under cover of darkness. We don’t say much. We don’t need to.
Everything important has already been said. A long, long time ago.
The next morning is a different story. My mind is still hazy with thoughts of Corinne. How she sounds when she comes on my cock—it’s like music, the chorus to a song you can’t get out of your head.
My father has no such distractions. We’re standing in a butcher shop. The smell of blood is thick, and Bogan has his blade—a kitchen knife the size of a small hatchet—poised to strike the foot off the pig he’s butchering. I’ve always known he fancied himself a butcher, but I’ve never watched or even wanted to.
“Corrine knows how to fix the problem we’re having with the Italians.” I stand back as he picks up a long thin knife and slices the pig open, then sticks his hand inside to pull out the innards. A thin spray of blood flicks my way and lands on the sleeve of my suit jacket.
He’s whistling while he works, pretending to ignore me, but he hears. And we both know it. Corrine’s plan is the only one we have and it can work, but it’s going to require Bratva resources and I can’t just demand those. Dealing with my father takes finesse, the ability to make him think he’s winning no matter what.
This time, though, I don’t have time to coddle his ego. These Italian fuckers need to be put in their place. Because now, it’s personal.
“How do I know she didn’t make the program herself?”
‘I know her’ and ‘I trust her’ aren’t phrases that will convince him. But it’s all I have. “I trust her,” I say carefully.
“Because you’re fucking her.” He sets the knife and the guts of the pig on a tray behind him then frowns at me and shakes his head. “Your cock is not a good judge of character.”
My cock has nothing to do with Corrie’s work. “Corinne is the only hope we have. She’s enlisted the people responsible for writing the program in the first place. They’re going to undo it. Reverse it.”
“How will he know? If this woman of yours is so smart, how will we be able to see that she is doing the right things?”
I growl in frustration. This isn’t going well.
My father is peeling back the pig’s skin to reveal the muscles and skeleton. When I first came to the Bratva, I heard a story about him skinning a man who turned rat against him for the FBI. The turn our conversation has taken is no coincidence. My father doesn’t do coincidences. He’s trying to send me a message.
I take off my jacket and pull an apron from the wall. Maybe he needs to see how far I’ll go, too. I hold onto the pig’s front legs as he strips the skin down its back.
“Father, if someone crosses you, I will kill them.”
He clucks. “I don’t want to take a chance. Why not just blow them up? All of them?” He nods and lays the pig’s skin to the side. “Firebombs solve many problems.”
“Too much attention. The investigation could expose us.” I shouldn’t have to tell him that. Maybe he’s testing me, to see if I am as in control of the situation as I say I am. “If Peyton doesn’t deliver, I’ll kill him. But this is our chance to turn the program against the Italians and