Mercenary (Gangsters of New York #3) - Bella Di Corte Page 0,64
you can. The keys are always in the same place.
“You have to put your hand underneath the lip of the fireplace to find them. Slip the key toward you, or it will just feel like a metal lining. The key always goes into the fourth lock, on either side. Once the door closes on the safe side, the key stays with you and there is no opening on the other side.”
“Sì,” I said, and our eyes connected from across the room.
“My grandfather had these put in when he first built this house, years ago. It’s an extra level of security that no one knows about, except for a few.”
“But the builders,” I said.
“Not anymore,” he said, taking a seat on the bed, loosening his tie and kicking off his shoes.
“They have all died by now?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”
Ah. After they built the house, his grandfather had them killed so no one could tell.
“What if they told their families?” I said, thinking it through.
“Couldn’t. My grandfather gave specific orders that whoever was working on the house—the ones in charge of building these rooms—had to live on the property. There’s a pool house out back, and that’s where they stayed while they worked here, along with the architect who designed them. They couldn’t leave. My grandfather sequestered the men until it was done. He offered them enough money that none of them refused his offer.”
“I doubt they would have anyway,” I said, thinking about how he was like his grandfather in that way. He had a way about him that made it impossible to say no to him.
He shrugged. “The day they were finished, the van driving them home blew up—something to do with a mechanical issue.”
Sometimes it was hard to accept how their minds worked, how cruel they could be.
“My grandfather took care of their families,” he said, as if he could read my mind.
He said it so simply, like his grandfather had put a sticky bandage on a gaping wound, and that was enough.
“It is still cruel,” I said. What was worse than murder? Not much, and they were immune to it. In fact, it was a way of life for them, and business was business, no matter how it was dealt with. If it became personal? I refused to think about it. Death was the end game, but getting there was hell on earth.
“So are you,” he said. “Standing that far away when you look like that.” He grinned. “You’re blinking at me, angel eyes.”
I stopped after he pointed it out. I stepped closer to him, and when I was close enough, he grabbed me around the waist, pulling me between his legs. My breath caught, and it shuddered out when his hands started to caress my legs. He unzipped one boot and then the other. I stepped out of both.
His hands roamed up my back, and at the top, slowly unzipped the dress. I removed my arms from the sleeves and let it fall, moving it to the side.
His eyes took in my body greedily, the black lace I had worn, and his hands fisted under the chignon, pulling my head back. His tongue licked from between my breasts, up my throat, until he came to my mouth. Then, removing the pins I had in place, he released my hair. It fanned down my back, and he groaned deep in his throat as it did.
“No one can you hear you scream in here,” he said.
I moaned at the look in his eyes. His mouth came over mine, hard and rough, as his hand fisted harder into my hair. Our tongues moved in the same rhythm, but then became a melody of hard and then soft. He kissed me this way until I felt the desire go from pooling to a mad rush between my legs.
I unbuttoned his shirt, moving my hands against his skin, as his mouth moved lower and he started to suck his way down my neck. He was marking me. I wanted him to. I wanted him to mark me forever. He bit the lace bra, bringing it down, and I cried out when his mouth closed over my nipple. He sucked even harder and then bit me.
“So loud,” he murmured against my sensitive skin. “You’re not made of glass, but let’s see if we can fucking make you break it.” His hand lingered over my culo and then came between my legs, moving the underwear to the side.