The Gun Runner (Mafia Made) (10 page)

From what I could see, Cap was the same way. Instead of detesting their actions as I did my father’s, I admired each of them.

I patted my hand against Michael’s thigh. “Thank God you two showed up when you did.”

“Amen,” he said.

I tilted my head toward Cap. “And, you lied,” I said.

He tossed his hands in the air. “How so?”

“You said you weren’t a good storyteller,” I said. “You’re a great storyteller.”

“Appreciate it,” he said.

He sat against the back of the booth and studied me for a moment, and then turned toward Michael. “Well, Tripp. If you want my endorsement, you got it,” he growled. “I like this fuckin’ girl.”

His voice fit him well. It was raspy and thundered from his lungs when he spoke. I looked at Michael and then at Cap. I had no real reason to think what I thought, but I decided in looking at him that he would always protect Michael, and Michael would protect me. Together, as an inseparable trio, we would live life free of any harm.

Michael chuckled. “I like her, too. I think I’m going to keep her.”

I wondered if meeting Cap was some kind of test. I felt like I was standing with my family on one side, and the man I was quickly falling in love with on the other. Each was tugging against an arm, and Michael was clearly winning the battle. I hadn’t been to see my parents in weeks, and for the first time in my life, I really didn’t care to.

I turned toward Michael and puckered my lips. “I’m going to keep you, too.”

And I had every intention of never letting him go.

Chapter Sixteen

Michael

I had been
dating
Terra for two months, and I couldn’t imagine life without her in it, nor did I want to. It was midafternoon, the beginning of summer, and roughly two weeks had passed since the incident with Agrioli’s men. Much to my surprise, I hadn’t heard a word from Svetli or from Agrioli.

Cap interlocked his fingers behind his head and leaned back into the chair. “So, when we get these AR-15s done, I’m gonna buy a fuckin’ sixty-inch smart TV .”

“Why, so you can watch
New Girl
on a bigger screen?”

“Those new 4K fuckers are the shit. They look like 3-D, but you don’t have to wear the glasses. You ever been to a 3-D movie and looked around the theater? It’s like you’re at a movie with a bunch of fuckin’ four-eyed weirdos. I ain’t gonna get caught dead wearin’ that shit at home, that’s for sure.”

“Who’d see you? You’re a fucking hermit.”

He shrugged. “Mail lady maybe. Or one of them kids on a bicycle with the bibles. That’s my risk. Or maybe you.”

“You’re a fucking mess.”

“I’ll agree. I’m a mess, but I’ve been this way forever. You? You’re different than you used to be,” he said.

“How so?”

“Well, you’re happy. Used to get mad when I sat in here and talked. Now you don’t give a shit. Damned girl’s got you happier’n shit no matter what happens around ya. Guess it’s good. Like I said in the beginnin’, long as you don’t lose focus. Far as I can tell, you look like you’re doin’ okay.”

“Appreciate the nod of encouragement,” I said. “But if you hated her, I’d still be with her. She’s perfect for me.”

“Who the hell could hate that chick? Damn, she’s gorgeous, polite, funny, and she can damn near outdrink me. Got a winner with her for sure.”

“Agreed.”

Cap leaned forward and turned his head to the side. The sound of a hard-soled shoe walking down the corridor echoed and caught my attention. The gait sounded familiar. I pointed to my ear, raised my right hand and clenched my fist. While he sat quietly, I pulled my drawer open and removed my pistol.

He nonchalantly walked through the door, removing any doubt about where I recognized the footsteps from.

Fuck
.

Anthony Agrioli stood staring back at me, alone, his face smeared with concern.

Genuine concern.

“I wasn’t expecting company.” I stood and folded my arms in front of my chest. “No disrespect, but you’re going to want to keep those hands where I can see them.”

Dressed in a dark gray suit, he pinched the lower corners of his unbuttoned jacket, pulled it open slowly, and shrugged. “I’m unarmed. I’m here to talk.”

I motioned to the empty seat beside Cap. “Have a seat, but he’s staying.”

He offered a half-assed shrug and sauntered toward the empty seat. He looked tired, disappointed, and like he’d eaten an overly large piece of humble pie for lunch.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked.

He sat down. “Time is of the essence,” he said. “I’ll make this brief.”

The accent in his voice still conveyed his heritage clearly, but lacked the authority from when we had spoken before. The skin under his eyes was sagging, as were his cheeks. He appeared to have aged ten years since I saw him last.

In short, he looked like hell.

Reluctantly, I took my seat. “I’m listening,” I said.

He glanced at Cap, crossed his legs, and then looked at me. “One of my business associates advised me. His words. Stuck in my head.”

Based on his appearance alone, I felt I had the upper hand, and his demeanor only added to my belief. “Enlighten me,” I said with a note of sarcasm.

He cleared his throat. “My associate. He advised me. In dealing with your organization, one isn’t dealing with amateurs.”

It was the message I gave the two wounded men to deliver. “That is correct.”

He glanced at Cap, and then locked eyes with me. “Your men. Are they as well trained as you?”

“A condition of their employ.”

“Interesting,” he said. “My parents were immigrants. I grew up in South Philadelphia, delivering groceries for a market in my neighborhood, 9th Street. I worked my way to where I am today, scratching and clawing for each and every dime I earned. I’m a proud man, Mr. Tripp.”

Having Agrioli drop by unannounced was definitely strange, but his passive behavior was more odd than his unscheduled arrival. Confused on what point—if any—he was trying to make, I narrowed my eyes and glared back at him. “Why are you here?”

His eyes fell to his lap. It seemed several minutes passed. “Children. Do you have any children?”

I shook my head. “I do not.”

“I have two. As you are aware, one of them has been kidnapped. Taken hostage. Used for ransom. My only boy. The Russian bastards who...” Still staring into his lap, he paused, exhaled heavily, and then shook his head. “For his return? They ask twenty million dollars.”

They weren’t Russians, but it was an insignificant detail.

He lifted his eyes until he met my gaze. He appeared defeated.

I swallowed hard. The twenty-million-dollar demand was preposterous. “Have you tried to negotiate?”

His lower lip began to quiver. “I’m doing so now.”

It began to make sense. At least to me. He was seeking my assistance, but I was at a loss for what I could—or would—offer. I glanced at Cap, who sat slumped into his seat as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.

I shifted my gaze to Agrioli. “I’m still listening.”

“These men.” He turned his palms up and shrugged. “I can’t negotiate.”

“I’ll ask you again. Why are you here?”

“I’m a businessman. I make business decisions. In business, we have loss. It’s part of doing business. But this?” He shrugged.

In my limited dealings with Agrioli and his men, I had learned two things. They shrugged a lot, and they talked in circles. His Philadelphia-Italian accent was wearing my nerves thin, and his lack of explanation behind the intrusion into my office was quickly overcoming what little sorrow I felt for him regarding the temporary loss of his son.

I stood and cleared my throat. “I’m going to ask you one more time. No talking in fucking circles. Why are you here?”

“You’re a businessman, no?” he asked.

“I like to think so.”

“I have a business proposition for you.”

“This is the third time I’ve said this since you got here.
I’m listening
.”

“I’ll hire you to return my son. I’ll pay you two hundred thousand dollars.”

He had my attention, but he had yet to gather my interest. I sat down. “Not interested.”

“Four hundred.”

I cocked an eyebrow. A moment of silence followed. I picked up my pencil and began to twirl it between my fingers.

“Half a million.” He shrugged. “It’s all I can come up with in cash.”

Cap cocked an eyebrow.

I waited. Agrioli didn’t say another word. It appeared he was at his limit.

“I’m not considering your offer, I’m preparing my response,” I said.

“You’re a military man, are you not?”

“That is correct.”

“Iraq? Afghanistan?”

“Both.”

“Your opponents. If they surrendered, were they tortured later?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Treated respectfully? In how you say, accordance with military conventions?”

“Yes,” I said. “The Geneva Conventions.”

“A man who surrenders. He’s never killed?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Let me remind you, Mr. Tripp. My son surrendered. If I don’t pay—” His lip began to quiver again. “The Russians will assassinate him.”

Well
,
fuck.

I focused on the pencil as it flipped between my fingers. His points, as presented, fell on attentive ears. I had spent my adult life doing what I believed to be right, and opposed anyone who I believed to be wrong. On the night Agrioli’s son was taken, his men were trying to rob us. Their actions were not only criminal, but contrary to my moral code. My retaliation was only implemented after they were given a chance to withdraw—which they refused.

I sat before Agrioli and struggled with whether the abduction of his son was right or wrong. In the heat of the moment, it seemed right. I began to wonder if my approval of Svetli taking Peter hostage was based in part on what his last name was.

I considered my separation from my parents. I had no doubt that Agrioli would experience the same types of feelings in the absence of his son that I felt after losing my parents, and I wouldn’t wish that upon any man. A few seconds later I realized in addition to Peter’s abduction being on my hands, his blood would be as well.

I allowed Peter to be taken, and now he was going to be killed.

I caught the pencil in my hand and clenched it firm between my thumb and forefinger. “As men on this earth, all we have is our word. A man who falls short on his promises, he has no honor. Are you a man of honor?”

“I am.”

I glanced at Cap. He nodded once. It was his way of conveying approval without nodding his head like an enthusiastic ten-year-old.

I met Agrioli’s gaze. “Here are my conditions. From this day forward, you will not interfere with me, my business, my employees or my customers.”

His eyes widened and the corners of his mouth curled into a hopeful grin. He uncrossed his legs and stood.

I raised my index finger. “I’ll need a minimum of a three-man team to extract him. You’ll reward each of the men on my team whatever amount they request, and you’ll donate my portion to a children’s home that I’ll specify later. No negotiating. Take it or leave it. If you agree, I’ll do my best to save your son from the Russians.”

He extended his hand. “You have my word.”

If he was much of a man, that was all I needed.

Chapter Seventeen

Terra

His forearms rested against my shoulders. “Quit moving your head.”

“I’m just trying to see it.”

He pulled away and forced a sigh. “You can see it after I get the damned thing around your neck.”

I stomped my foot like an angry kindergartner. “Okay.”

He leaned into me and snuck a kiss. Full on my lips and passionate, it took my mind away from the wonderful night out, our footrace into the condo, and his presentation of my
anniversary
gift.

A diamond necklace.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him closer. Our lips meshed, our tongues danced, and my mind went blank of everything around me. My legs began to shake—as they always did when we kissed—and eventually he pulled away.

“Ten seconds,” he said with a smile. “It’s all I need.”

His eyes were blue; a color they rarely were. It seemed they were a mixture of blue and gray, and sometimes simply gray. When he was calm, and only when he was calm, they were blue.

“There,” he said. “Now you can look at it.”

I raised my hand and felt it carefully with the tips of my fingers. He had flashed it in front of me when we walked in, but wouldn’t let me see it until he had it around my neck.

“I’m...I’m going to run...I’m going to the bathroom,” I stammered.

He laughed. “Go.”

I gazed into the mirror. It was beautiful—an ornate white gold pendant with small diamonds encompassing a much larger center diamond. A matching chain suspended the magnificent piece around my neck.

Two months. It had only been two months, but I knew. Each time I saw him was like the first time. He made me feel beautiful with all he said and did. I’d seen romantic comedies, read books, and heard many stories about men who were perfect—but I never believed they really existed.

Until now.

I had several necklaces in my collection of jewelry, but I never really wore them. I admired this one in the mirror for some time, knowing I would cherish it for as long as I lived.

“I love it,” I shouted.

“Good. That’s what I hoped for.”

We walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. I hadn’t perceived the day as a special day, but realized that it was the two-month mark of our having met. I had every expectation of Michael
not
knowing what significance the day held, and believed our dinner date was something I would cherish alone.

Once again, Michael proved to be different than other men.

“It’s funny how things change,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Three months ago, I would have sworn that I’d be single forever. Now, I can’t imagine not having you.”

“I feel the same way.” I reached up and touched the pendant. “It’s crazy.”

“It’s not what I expected, but it isn’t crazy. You know, the day I met you,
that
was crazy. I saw that dipshit dragging you across the parking lot, and I knew I had to do something. So, in my mind, I’m thinking I’ll smack the guy, he’d let you go, and I’d go on my way. I thought you two were together. You know, in a romantic sense. Anyway, the closer I got to you, the more attractive you became. It made me sad thinking you were going to end up leaving with that guy, but I was sure that’s what was going to happen.”

“But I didn’t.”

“I know.” He smiled his dimple-revealing smile. “And I couldn’t get you off my mind. I sat at my office staring at this mountain of paperwork and I knew I needed to get to work, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t focus on anything. I just kept thinking about you. It wasn’t so much your looks as it was me wanting to know more about you.”

“Know more about me? You told me you wanted to eat me out.”

He chuckled. “I said I wanted to
taste
you.”

“You finger banged me in that restaurant and then licked your fingers. That was your first taste.” My pussy began to tingle thinking about it. I inhaled a deep breath, closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, hoping my charade would encourage him to do
something.

“I get up in the morning and take a shower, and when I’m standing in front of the mirror shaving, I look at myself and think ‘what in the hell can she see in me?’ This happens like every other day, and eventually I decide I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. You obviously see something. I’m glad you do.”

“Are you kidding me?” I snapped. “Your eyes need checked. That day in the parking lot? You came walking up and told the asshole to let me go, right? That instant, and I mean right then, my pussy gushed. It wasn’t what you said. It was
who
you were. You’re attractive, Michael. Very attractive. But what’s inside of you, and you knowing what’s inside of you? That’s what makes you irresistible.”

He looked embarrassed. He grinned. “Thank you.”

Be it our landmark date, the necklace, or that I was simply filled with love for him, I didn’t know, but I wanted to tell him how I felt.
Love
. Something as sacred and satisfying shouldn’t be so difficult to communicate. I knew how I felt and I wanted to tell him—hoping that he felt the same way—but more than anything, I feared rejection.

I was twelve when I told Salvadore Tarrucci I loved him. He was thirteen. He was wearing a paisley shirt, one of his—and my—favorites. We were in seventh grade together, and it was almost summer. I wanted a lover for summer break, or at least I thought.

Visions of holding hands, my first kiss and getting ice cream together filled my twelve-year-old mind.

He stood and stared. I was sure he didn’t hear me. Maybe he was in shock, I thought. As far as I was concerned, I was the prettiest girl in school, and telling him may have taken him by complete surprise.

I told him again.

He smiled and reached for the padlock on his locker. While he gathered the books for his next class, I decided he hadn’t heard me, because if he had, he would have said something. I waited anxiously for him to reassure me he felt the same way, but it never came. So, I told him again. His face turned red and he giggled.

A month later, we broke up. Although I never counted, I expect I told him I loved him two dozen times. He never returned the gesture.

Bobby Cardone didn’t have a girlfriend. So, right before summer break, I told him I loved him. I was desperate.

He wasn’t.

He laughed.

It was the type of laugh you laugh when someone tells you something so stupidly funny that you almost pee and can’t catch your breath for several minutes. An eye-watering laugh.

I cried and ran to the other side of the playground, hoping along the way that I would just die.

But. I didn’t.

Those were my earliest rejections, but they certainly weren’t my last. From that point until my early twenties, I didn’t bother expressing my love for my significant other. With Vincent, I waited to express myself until I was sure, and fully expected his feelings mirrored mine.

I was wrong.

Although I should have left him over his abusive behavior, it was ultimately his inability to commit that he loved me that cost him our relationship.

Losing Michael would kill me. I couldn’t risk it. I loved him and nothing would change it. As nice as it would be to know he felt the same way, what I stood to risk was far too great. In the end, I chose silence over substance.

He tapped me on the leg. “Hello? Are you still with me?”

“Oh, yeah. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

Loving you.

“Nothing. Middle school.”

“Middle school?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe because summer’s finally here. I think I was thinking about summer break when I was a kid.”

He seemed to lose focus for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have summer break as an adult?”

“I know,” I said.

In all actuality, I was on summer break all the time, but I knew I couldn’t tell Michael. At some point the truth had to come out, but I dreaded when the day would come. With each passing day, saying it got tougher, and the repercussions got greater.

He stood up and held his hand over my lap. “I’ve got something else on my mind.”

I reached for his hand, not knowing what he was doing or why he had got up from the couch. It was late, but I didn’t think it was so late he would consider leaving. He pulled me into him as soon as I was standing, and kissed me gently.

I wanted more.

Thirty seconds later, after lowering me to the bed, he gave it to me.

He lifted my dress over my head, but everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Maybe it was because I wanted it so bad. Maybe I was noticing all of the details that had escaped me in the beginning. Maybe it was that I knew deep down inside that I loved him, and my love allowed me to enjoy all of the small things that I had simply taken for granted before.

It didn’t matter.

I was enjoying it, regardless.

I nervously chewed my lower lip as he reached toward my hips. He hooked his fingers beneath the delicate fabric of my panties and met my gaze. With his eyes locked on mine, he slid them down my legs in what seemed like a ten-minute ordeal. When he pulled them over my feet and tossed them beside my dress, I inhaled a choppy breath.

Whenever I watched him touch me it seemed I even forgot to do the simple things.

Like take a breath.

He stood and removed his shirt. The color of his skin was a reminder that summer was upon us, and the light-bronze color suited him well. His biceps and upper chest flared as he reached for his belt.

I watched intently while he unbuckled his belt and removed his jeans. His gorgeous cock swung from side to side as he climbed onto the bed. Another labored breath on my part acted as a reminder of my desire to have him inside of me. I tore my eyes away and searched for his hypnotic eyes.

His mouth met mine, and at the same time, he guided himself into me. His girth made each time feel like the first time, and this time was no exception. I gasped for breath as he filled me with his thickness, and he bit into my lip in return.

Passionately, we kissed, his hands gently touching me, caressing me, reassuring me. He found his rhythm—a slow, steady motion—pushing himself into me fully with every stroke. Our mouths eventually parted and he kissed along my shoulder all the while continuing his predictable—and oh-so-enjoyable—punishment of my wet and willing pussy.

I squirmed while he nibbled at my shoulder, only stopping when he moved his mouth to my breasts. Kissing and gently sucking, he teased my nipples, sending small tingling shocks jolting through me from my nipples to my clit.

I opened my eyes only to find him staring back at me. He held my gaze, lifting his mouth from my nipples and slowly arching his back while deep inside me. With his head directly over mine, our eyes remained locked.

His rhythm increased steadily, as did his force. I spread my legs as wide as I was able, giving him free rein to do with me as he pleased. In a few seconds, he was fucking me steadily, the upper portion of his shaft tapping a tune against my swollen clit.

I closed my eyes.

It was the sex women dreamed of, but most would never know. In an unfamiliar state of sexual arousal, I felt myself inching my way to climax with each stroke. A few thunderous thrusts later, and we both began to moan.

I grabbed for the cheeks of his ass and pulled against his muscular flesh, forcing him to go as deep as he was able. His back arched further. I clawed at his butt. My clit began to tingle. His hands groped at my breasts. My mind tried to catch up with what was happening, only to give up and allow me to focus on nothing. Quickly, nothing became everything.

I felt him swelling inside of me. I reached for his balls and cupped them in my hand. Almost instantly, I reached the peak of my sexual bliss, and felt as if I exploded into the room. My eyes opened and closed repeatedly as he thrust a few more strokes, each one a little shy of full penetration.

My body shook. I cried out.

He erupted inside of me, filling me with his love.

He collapsed onto me. I realized we hadn’t spoken a word.

We didn’t have to.

We both stared up at the ceiling for some time. After several minutes, I turned to face him. “What was that?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Was that fucking, or was it making love?”

“With you, it’s all the same,” he said. “It isn’t the act, it’s the person that determines it.”

“So, in your opinion, fucking and making love are one and the same?”

His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. “Precisely.”

“I thought fucking was rough and deep and hard, and making love was soft and slow and sweet?”

He chuckled. “It’s all making love if you love the person you’re doing it with.”

“And it’s fucking if you don’t?”

“It is.”

I decided to take the risk. I cleared my throat lightly. “So what were we doing?”

He turned his head to the side and gazed into my eyes. “Making love,” he said.

I
fucking love you.

“Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” I said.

His eyes smiled. “I love you too, Terra.”