River Walk: Ten Kinky Collaborations (2 page)

“God-fucking-dammit,” he said, distraught. “We need to go over hard-limits and safe words. I can’t just let you push me to this point.” He pointed appallingly at the fresh welts on my ass. One in particular already started to bruise.

“Don’t you fucking start this shit. Not now…not ever. I don’t need safe words. And I have no hard-limits,” I said, cutting off his irritation. I felt my energy already waning. “I came here with the understanding of what would happen. Don’t treat me like a child. I’m a grown woman who knows exactly what I want. What I want with you.”

He let out a long, arduous breath and shook his head vehemently. “I know you’re a woman, Tesoro. That wasn’t what I meant. You have a habit of twisting my words to suit your own need for dominance. That is never going to happen—ever.”

He left the room and headed to the bathroom, returning with a warm cloth. I felt much too tired to do much else but sleep, and far too possessive to wash his cum out of me. Him marking me. If it were up to me I wouldn’t shower for a few days, relishing his scent.

After carefully cleaning me. He threw the washcloth on the floor and pulled me against his chest. The smell of sex clung to the air like a blanket of eroticism.

He was quiet, which meant he was thinking. That left me questioning and insecure. “You okay?”

He didn’t respond and the silence became deafening. However, he pulled me even closer, nibbling my neck. Gently, he craned my head to the side to meet his gaze. Doubt clouded his eyes. Not good. “I’m not sure, Tesoro.”

CHAPTER TWO

These are dangerous times and we have to adapt.
~Gene

My father called me to his office. Normally, when he did this, I’d play out about a hundred different scenarios as to why, but with the effects of my session with Stefan still coursing through me, I didn’t bother. My father never hid the family business from me, but he never included me in the details. So being asked to his office wasn’t a normal thing.

“Men are the head of family and company,” he’d say. “We are the feet that keep the family moving. We are the brains that make the smart decisions and the soul that keeps it alive.” For as long as I can remember, it’s been driven into me that men are greater than women at everything except dinner and childbirth.

It’s not that he thinks women are pointless, otherwise he’d never tell me shit about the family. He trusted me because his blood ran though me. And he depended on me a lot since my mother was no longer around. But if he called me to his office, that could only mean a handful of things, none of which were good. I was just thankful that I had seen Stefan and felt settled before this impromptu meeting.

“Have a seat, Jordana.” He pointed to a chair opposite him at his desk. The computer was off, his books were closed, and he wasn’t on the phone. It was serious.

“What is it, Daddy?” I sat with my spine straight, my hands in my lap, and spoke with a steady, strong voice. It didn’t matter how serious the situation, my feet wouldn’t falter, my brain could process anything, and my soul was strong. I could hold my own against any man, yet my father refused to acknowledge that.

“It’s Matty. He’s gotten himself into some trouble.” His eyes never left mine—waiting, watching, anticipating my reaction.

“What is it this time?” I hadn’t been surprised. Matteo—Matty—was a typical seventeen-year-old boy. There wasn’t much he didn’t do…or try. But this was the first time I had been called to Daddy’s office because of it. It must’ve been serious, but that still wouldn’t make me stammer. It still wouldn’t make me weak or frantic—things my father assumes women are when faced with difficult situations. Stefan tied me up, whipped me, stretched me, and expected me to be silent through it all. There wasn’t much I couldn’t handle.

“He’s in deep with the Giannottis. About five hundred thousand deep.”

My mind whirled with the information while my face remained stoic. I would never let on what went through my head. The Giannottis? Stefan Giannotti and his family were in the gambling business, same as my own. We didn’t own casinos or shuffle cards. People came to us for loans in order to gamble. They placed high-stakes bets with us. And we collected, by any means necessary. Stefan’s family was no different.

“Why would Matty be in debt with them when we have just as much money if he needed it that badly?” It was a risky question, but I threw caution to the wind and asked anyway.

My father leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the armrest. I knew that look. He did it when debating what to say. “He came to me and asked for money. I gave him some. When he came back for more a week later, I denied him. I thought it was drugs. I had no idea he was placing bets. And I certainly didn’t think he’d go to the Giannottis to get it.”

Had the moment not been so serious and heavy, I would have laughed in his face. His theory of men and women just blew up in his lap. But I couldn’t smile. I couldn’t be selfish about this because it was so serious. Not only do we not take kindly to unpaid debt, it made it worse that his unpaid debt was owed to our opposing family. Business was cutthroat as it was, add in serious competition and you have a bloodbath.

“Then pay it off. What are you waiting for?” My tone was hard and accusing, both of which I’m sure he didn’t appreciate.

“Five hundred is what he borrowed. That’s not including the vig. That would take too much time to come up with. They’ve given us a week. I need longer.”

“Okay. So, what can I do?” I slid to the edge of my seat, ready to do what was needed to get my brother out of the mess he made.

Daddy shook his head and leaned forward with his elbows on his desk, his fingers steepled in front of his face. “No, Jordana. You are to do nothing. I didn’t ask you here to bring you into the fold. I only needed to tell you that this is serious and possibly dangerous. I need you to go to the shore house for the week. Just until I’ve gotten it figured out.”

I could feel my eyebrows pinch together and my spine straighten. I could only imagine what I looked like to him. Angry? Defiant? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. His fist came down hard on the solid wood of his desk and the dark skin on his face lit up red like a burning flame.

“Do not argue with me, Jordana Maria Albanese.” The full name. That meant business.

“Fine, Daddy. Whatever you think is best.” Women were highly underestimated. Especially in the kind of life we come from. We were Daddy’s girls. We batted our eyelashes and gave puppy eyes and angelic smiles. We called our fathers “Daddy” and they viewed at us as innocent. With the right words, the right look, and a perfectly sweet tone, we got our way. It was something we learned very early on, usually before we walked. Men never caught on.
Yet they’re the brains
.

“You should go pack now. You need to leave in two hours.”

I had no intention of going to the shore house. Even as I agreed with him, I had my own plans. My own ways of saving this family. They can have their feet and brains and soul. I don’t need them. I am a woman, and I have the one thing men never will—I have my pussy. And if there’s one thing men love to eat more than spaghetti, it’s pussy.

Go ahead, Daddy, use your manly body parts to get Matty out of this one.

I’ll use mine. And we’ll see who ends up the winner
.

CHAPTER THREE

The central members’ only hangout was above the A&S pork store and meat market—a local Italian butcher shop. The sign displayed “social club.” However, if you weren’t a member of the Giannottis’ crew, you were
not
welcomed. Duplicity at its finest. A heavy presence of gangsters mulled around the doorway, making it impossible for the average person to purchase any provisions at the adjacent pork store. Of course, if you were Italian, entrance to the butcher was much easier. However, most people just avoided it, not wanting to drag their children in for a piece of bologna. I smiled. Fond memories of my handholding Nana bringing me into the pork store flooded me. That slice of bologna or Genoa salami was such a treat. My world seemed simpler then. Untainted from the ugliness I had yet to discover about the world around me. I hung a U-turn and double-parked right in front to piss them off. Fuck it. I needed to make a statement. A formidable one.

I had one chance.

And one chance only.

I swung my legs out slowly and closed the door with a bang, leaving the keys in the ignition. No one would dare steal my car. That wasn’t an option. Not in this neighborhood. I shook out my hair and adjusted my sunglasses as I walked confidently to the group of the wise guys loitering about on the sidewalk.

One by one, each man stepped forward, sadistically eager to shame me. Shame—an achingly familiar emotion to me now. I focused on the prize…goal. Two things happened in rapt succession: empowerment flooded my system due to the contemplation of forced humiliation, and then heated desire burned and singed my most sensitive parts. Well-hidden knowledge of my voyeuristic proclivities and the effect of forced degradation left me with a pair of soaked panties. I writhed under the glare of others, loving every second of it. I smirked in the face of my handlers. Their cheap suits and dollar-bathroom cologne had my eyes rolling—hard. Stopping short of showing how to really humiliate someone, I decided I’d roll through again and have some fun with the fuck-nuts at a later date. I filed that shit away with the others on my to-do list. Surely, I’d have the last laugh. Ah, the power of a woman. The thought had me laughing inwardly. Little did these fuckers know, they were dealing with a kaleidoscope of raw, sadistic need. Hell, I put the “
S
” in sadism. And when I plan to bring it, you better back the fuck up!

“We done here?” I said, feigned disinterest dripping from my tongue.

The wiry one with a chipped tooth stepped forward. “Hardly.” His smile was sardonic.

I rolled my eyes, but not before slowly lifting my black pencil skirt...to stick my middle finger deep into my core, taking one quick swirl and hitting the bundle of nerves that begged to be relieved. My sigh rent the air. They adjusted their obvious hardons in succession. Withdrawing my finger, I sucked it with a pop...essentially flipping them off. A myriad of emotions played on their faces—anger, gall, and dare I say…awe?

With my work here done, I casually say, “I’ll see the boss now.” I gently slapped chipped tooth’s face while the other two looked on. He didn’t move, just blinked. “Oh, that
was
a directive. Not a question, love,” I corrected, walking past him into the building. Incompetence, I shuddered to myself.

Game on…

I was shocked to see that the place hadn’t been updated from the seventies’ wood paneling.
Probably still talking about the Lufthansa heist
, I thought, rolling my eyes. Guinea’s! Ugh. A few old wise guys drinking espresso gaped at me as I took the stairs. I pushed my sunglasses above my head and threw a wink their way. That’s right, you fuckers, the enemy is in the house.

A long flight of stairs was another daunting task. My skirt—a second skin—wasn’t very practical for these steps. With my hand on the banister, I slowly, but confidently, made my way up. Upon reaching the top step, I heard a harsh voice yelling in Italian beyond the door in front of me. My heart thumped steadily against my ribcage like a drum, creating the soundtrack of my sudden nerves.

I blew out a long breath.
Should I knock?
Nah.

I strutted confidently into the office, immediately noticing the modern theme it was decorated in. A tall, dark, suited man stood with his back to me, arguing over the phone in Italian. I let the door slam behind me and stood beside it, waiting for his attention to be drawn my way. The face that met mine wasn’t the one I had expected. I
expected
Stefan’s father. However, the man in front of me had a scar that ran from the outside of his left brow to the corner of his lip—Zeke, the infamous underboss.

His lip curled into a cruel snarl of a smile as he hung up the phone. “Well. Well. Well,” he said, tsking.

Every nerve in my body recoiled, but my face remained stoic. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making me afraid. It quickly became apparent that everything about this man’s demeanor screamed coldness, aloofness, and self-absorption.

My chin jutted forward as I threw my bag on the chair in front of his desk. With my spine straight and my shoulders squared, I said, “I’m sure you know why I’m here. So, drop the sneer and let’s get to it.”

His brow raised and his smiled widened in calculation. “This sneer?” He leaned forward, arms bracing on his desk.

“Yeah, that one.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes in disgust. He was one ugly, hard-looking fuck. “I’m here to barter,” I said, finally taking a seat and throwing one leg over the other to punctuate my intent.

“Oh, really.” He stood up, folding his arms, gazing at me with dark, cold eyes. “And what makes you think you have anything to barter?”

“Pfft, let’s not play me for a fool. I happen to know you have singular tastes.” I shrugged, turning to plan B. This hadn’t been my original negotiating ploy, since I had thought I’d be dealing with Stefan’s father. But this actually worked out better in my favor. Sick bastards like the one in front of me were easily played, and I am a fantastic player. “I may be able to fulfill one or two of those…
tastes
.”

Everyone knew he was a sadistic prick of a lover. I didn’t relish the thought of laying myself bare for Scarface—however, in the interest of my brother and family, I’d do anything to put this to bed.

He walked around the desk to his humidor, reaching for a cigar. “‘Singular tastes’ is putting it mildly, little-girl.” He twirled the cigar in his meaty fingers. The need to humiliate me came off him like stink of a skunk. His perception of my one weakness…my brother. I hated being in this position—exploited. “And what exactly are you searching for out of this…
barter
?”

“I want my brother’s debt to be erased.”

He laughed. It was loud and covered my skin, crawling on my flesh like the cockroach he was. “Matteo has wracked up quite a debt. Half a million. I don’t even pay the professionals that kind of money to make me cum. What makes you think you’re worth that much?”