The Bossman (13 page)

Every hair on Sophie’s arms stood up and unwanted tears spilled down her cheeks. “He-he’d send you over?”

“I’ll get you a tissue,” Pauly muttered and got up, returning with the whole box, which he set in front of her with an awkward pat on her shoulder.

“You remember the time you wanted to go to the prom?”

She let out a sob and grabbed a tissue. She remembered. She and her mom had been at each other’s throats--she couldn’t remember why anymore, just normal teenager/mother stuff, and her mom had refused to buy her a new prom dress. She said she could wear the same gown she wore to junior prom or borrow a friend’s old gown. She’d been furious, so angry with the perceived injustice.

And then Pauly had shown up, just like he’d known. He handed her a wad of bills--five hundred bucks--said it was just for her to go to the prom, that she didn’t need to share it with her mom, or even tell her about it, if she didn’t want to.

She sobbed--her face a wet mess hidden beneath tissue after tissue. “Oh God,” she moaned, trying to get a hold of herself. All her grief at the loss of her father rolled over her, fresh again, but different this time. This time it was an ache to thank him, guilt at how she’d come to hate him in his death, for leaving her.

He hadn’t left her--he’d been taking care of her all along, through the most unlikely person--his own murderer.

She sniffled, trying to get her breath back. “Do you think,” she sniffed again, “he forgave you?”

Pauly nodded slowly. “I told him I was sorry, over and over again. He said he knew I didn’t mean it. He knew it was--” Pauly’s voice broke and he blinked rapidly, “--it was a stupid mistake.”

Still bawling, she reached across the table and closed her hand over the top of Pauly’s large knuckles.

“Sophie?” Joey banged on her door again and cursed. He looked through the keys on his chain to find the one to her apartment and unlocked the door, though his gut already told him she wasn’t there. And he feared he knew exactly where she was. He opened the door.

“Sophie?” he called out, taking a quick walk through her place. Food was left out on the counter in mid-preparation, ribbons of basil cascading off the cutting board, the smell of raw garlic in the air. He walked down the hall to her bedroom, and on a terrible hunch, checked her closet for the gun.

Shit.

He ran for the door, fear pumping through his body in icy bursts. Dear God, let her not do something stupid. If Pauly saw she packed a gun…well, he had no doubt who would win any battle between them.

He got in his car and peeled out. He made a quick sign of the cross.
Mary, Queen of Peace, please let her be unharmed. Please don’t let her do something stupid. Don’t let her get herself killed. Please.

He arrived at Pauly’s in record time, jumping out and running to the front door, which he pounded with his fist, his heart in his throat. He waited only five seconds before he circled around to the back and banged on the kitchen door.

Pauly opened the door and took in his expression of doom. “First Sophie, now you knocking on my door, huh?”

He wasn’t breathing at all.

“Come in. It’s all right--she hasn’t shot me yet,” Pauly said.

He followed Pauly in and literally sagged against the wall with relief at the sight of Sophie. She sat at the table, her eyes and nose red, used tissues balled up all around her, but very much alive.

“We’re just talking.”

“Hey, Joey,” she said softly, standing up to greet him. He could see the handle of his pistol poking out from her sweater pocket and he grabbed it, yanking it free and giving her a sharp smack on the ass.

Pauly lifted his eyebrows in surprise and hid a grin.

“I was just leaving,” Sophie said, turning to hug Pauly as if something meaningful had passed between them. “Thanks, Uncle Pauly,” she said, kissing both his cheeks, then hugging him again.

He gave her an awkward pat on the back, but appeared pleased.

When she turned to him, it was with the meekness of someone who knows she screwed up. He raised his eyebrows with as much stern warning as he could impart. “Go wait for me at your place.”

She nodded. “Okay, bye,” she said weakly.

When the door shut behind her, he blew out his breath and eyed Pauly warily. He had tucked the gun in the waistband of his jeans, and he didn’t think he’d need it, but he was ready if an attack came. “I didn’t tell her. I swear to you, Pauly.” He ran his hand through his hair. “But it is my fault she put it together.”

Pauly looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m glad she came over,” he admitted. “Her old man’s ghost is the one that haunts me the most, you know?”

“It was an accident, Pauly.”

Pauly nodded. “Yeah, I think she might understand that,” he said, his eyes going to the door through which Sophie had departed. Pauly looked at him with grim assessment and he stood tall for it, still on needles wondering whether there would be paybacks for his blunder. “So what are your intentions with her?” Pauly demanded.

Joey was taken off-guard, but quickly jumped to the new tracks. “I’m going to marry her,” he asserted. “Just as soon as I convince her to have me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you good to her?” he demanded. “Because if I ever find out you’re not, you’ll be answering to me.”

It was so endearing, he couldn’t help but grin. “You standing in for her dad?”

Pauly lifted his chest as if it were a role he would be honored to fill. “That’s right.”

He held out his hand and when Pauly took it, pulled him in for an embrace. “Thanks, Pauly. I promise I will take good care of her.”

“You’d better,” he said as they parted.

“Thanks for talking to her. I think she needed it, you know? She never got over his death.”

Pauly’s face sagged. “Yeah, me neither.”

Joey climbed in his car and made the sign of the cross, looking heavenward. Thank the Virgin Mary everything had turned out all right. As he drove to Sophie’s, all the fear he’d suffered on the way over morphed into frustration. What the hell had she been thinking? Jesus, Christ she could have gotten both of them killed.

He used his key to enter and she emerged from the kitchen, looking overly bright. “Dinner’s ready,” she chirped.

“Put it back in the oven, we have some talking to do.”

She eyed him warily, but obeyed, returning to the kitchen.

“Sit down,” he ordered when she returned to the living room where he paced the length of the sofa and back.

She sat in an overstuffed chair, looking small and uncomfortable.

“What in the
hell
were you thinking?” he started in, waving his arms and raising his voice. “You could’ve been killed. You don’t show up at the door of a soldier carrying a weapon. Not unless you’re absolutely sure you’re going to use it, and
Jesus
, were you really thinking you wanted to?” He didn’t let her answer, storming on, “Is that what you intended? To go over there and kill Pauly? Exact your own retribution? Do you know what it’s like to kill a man, Soph? Do you?” He shook the back of the chair she sat in.

Tears spilled down her cheeks and she shook her head. “No.”

“Did you want to kill him?”

“No,” she sniffed. “No, I just--” she stopped. “I don’t know, maybe. I didn’t think it through.”

He shook the back of the chair again. “You’re damn straight you didn’t think it through. I told you we’d talk about it when I got over here, but you ran off, half-cocked. You could’ve been killed, Sophie! Or you could’ve got me killed for breaking the code and telling you. Jesus Christ, Soph!”

“Jesus, yourself, Joey!” she yelled back. “Why don’t you just spank me and get it over with?”

“I’m going to,” he thundered. “But I’m too angry to touch you right now!”

She drew in a sharp breath, realizing how meticulous he’d been to not lay a finger on her. Instead, he’d shaken the chair she sat in, banged on the end table beside her, waved his hands in the air.

Hearing he was mad reduced her to a small child. She drew her knees up to her chest, perching her bare feet on the seat cushion and hiding her face, her tears turning into a full sob.

She must’ve looked pitiful, because when Joey knelt beside her and peeled her hands back from her face, his expression was kind. “I’m sorry. Don’t be scared, little girl.”

She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of you, Joey. I just don’t want you mad at me.”“Aw, baby. I’m not mad. You just scared the hell out of me, that’s all.” He rubbed her knees.

He loved her. She knew it now. She hadn’t believed any of his smooth talk, but his expression had been absolutely terrorized when he burst into Pauly’s, and the way he’d sagged against the wall, pale and exhausted, had told her everything. He wasn’t the sort of man to show fear, not to anyone. He hadn’t looked afraid when he’d been injured in a bomb and his brother had laid in a coma--he’d looked worn and resolute. But tonight she’d seen real fear. And it had been for her.

“How did it go with Pauly?”

She sniffed. “Good. My dad visits him sometimes. Tells him to take care of me,” her voice wavered.

“Whoa, really? Did that make you happy?”

“Yeah, kinda,” she laughed through her tears. “I guess I always felt like he abandoned me, you know? But he didn’t.”

Joey stood and pulled her to her feet and into an embrace. They stood locked together, her cheek pressed over his heart, his arms solid and warm. After a long time, she pulled away. “Dinner’s probably ruined by now, but I don’t think I can eat knowing I have a spanking coming.”

He smiled. “Let’s get it over with, then.” He led her into the bedroom, seeming to understand her fear mounted with each step they took, because he wrapped his arm around her waist, providing reassurance.

“Get me that paddle you ordered,” he commanded when they stepped in the bedroom. Though she’d been quite certain he would ask for it, his words made her dizzy. She retrieved the box with paddle and butt plug she’d ordered and handed the wooden implement to him, feeling herself blush, not quite able to meet his eyes.

He cupped her chin and lifted it. “You are getting a serious spanking, little girl.”

She flushed even more. “Yes, sir,” she mumbled, wishing he’d let go of her chin so she could hide her embarrassment. He held her eye long enough to make it clear her humiliation was registered and perhaps even owed.

“Pull down your pants and bend over the bed,” he ordered.

She unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down to mid-thigh. He hadn’t specified her panties, so she left them on, bending over with the lacy lingerie still intact.

She should have known better because in a moment it was yanked up into her cleft and the hard wood of the paddle cracked down on her bared cheeks. She gasped at the sensation. He’d been right--wood was completely unforgiving. Not at all like the surface sting of his belt. This was a deeper pain, a shock of force that connected with her sit bones and lifted her to her toes. He smacked her again and again, not giving her time to catch her breath or recover before the next swat landed. The long plank of wood was able to hit both cheeks at the same time, seeming to double the pain. She jerked and jumped, but his hold of her panties prevented her from listing to the side. After ten solid whacks, he paused, leaving her whimpering softly into the blankets, her legs trembling too much to hold her.

He yanked her panties down and leaned down, speaking low in her ear. “The next time I tell you to take your pants down, you pull down your panties, too, or you’ll be wearing them up round your ears for the rest of the day,
capisce
?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

It was funny when he turned tough, more of the Sicilian came out. Her sex pulsed in response to his gruff admonishments.

“You don’t ever,” he began spanking again, “ever,” another whack, “threaten a member of the Family with a gun.”

She hadn’t exactly threatened Pauly, but she wasn’t going to argue. She understood what he meant.

He continued paddling and lecturing. “And Never. Ever. Make choices that endanger both of our lives.”

That gave her a sharp pang of guilt. She hadn’t thought about how she’d endangered his life as well.

“
Capisce
?”

“
Capito
!” she gasped.

She heard the rustle of his movements behind her, but didn’t dare move from her prostrated position to see what he was doing. When she heard the squirt of a bottle and felt a cold moisture trickle down her crack, it became clear. The cold metal of the stainless steel butt plug she’d purchased pressed against her back hole.

Oh God.

She’d bought it for spanking play--not for a serious punishment. She squeezed her cheeks closed.

“Open your ass to me,” he growled.

His dominance made her pussy clench and her anus flare open. He took advantage of the reaction and pressed the plug forward, causing her to squeal as her opening stretched wide to accept it. Once it was seated, the sensation was a heady mixture of arousal, fullness and desire, which, combined with the throbbing of her well-paddled cheeks, turned her limbs to rubber. She moaned, wantonly.

A whistle through the air sounded a split second before a line of fire scorched her bare cheeks. His belt. She balled her hands into fists around the bedspread, unable to follow all the sensations. He continued to whip her, the soft leather belt catching the base of the plug, causing it to jostle and move within her, amping her need even as he smarted her already sore bottom. She moaned and cried out as he brought her to the simultaneous brink of orgasm and breaking point with the pain. In a delirium, she blurted, “Please, I’ll be a good girl, I promise. I’ll be your good girl.
Please
!”

The spanking stopped and she heard the belt drop to the floor. Large hands wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her up to stand, where she was enveloped in a full body embrace. She trembled in his arms, her mind void of thought, her ass on fire, her hole still filled with the thick plug.

“You are my good girl,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head and swaying with her as if she were a child soothed by rocking. “You took that so well, little girl.”