Brando
The Santini Brothers Series #2
by Marita A. Hansen
Publication Date: April 27, 2015
Synopsis
Death and sex on two legs ... BRANDO is coming for you.
Dark, brooding, and one hell of an asshole, Brando walks through life taking what he wants—and who he wants, whether they like it or not. And he wants Ivy, the second in command of the Vipers—a team of female assassins.
Having been owned before, Ivy tries to resist Brando, who is just as deviant as her former master—a notorious human trafficker called the Black Russian. But after discovering Brando’s devastating past, she sets out to get to know the real man behind the beautiful face: a tortured soul with secrets to die for.
WARNING: Sexual Content
BRANDO
The Santini Brothers #2
Marita A. Hansen
17 Years Ago
Church. Again.
It always bored Brando
to tears. He wasn’t looking forward to listening to Padre Antonio’s long-winded
sermons, telling everyone they would go to Hell if they didn’t adhere to his
strict moral code. At least the twins would entertain him. Brando walked down
the aisle, spotting his twelve-year-old brothers bringing out chalices to put
on the altar. Vinnie and Dominic were dressed in red and white, looking like angelic
altar boys ... although Brando knew they were devils in disguise.
As Brando followed his family into the pew a row from
the front, Vinnie placed his chalice down on the altar and looked Brando’s way.
Grinning wide, Vinnie pointed at Brando, then stuck his nose between two
fingers, basically calling him a pussy. Brando flicked him the finger, making
Vinnie laugh.
“Vinnie,” their mother snapped. “Stop clowning about.”
Vinnie smiled at her sweetly as if to say, ‘I didn’t
do anything wrong’, then went to stand by his twin and the organist.
Shaking her head, their mother settled into the seat,
smoothing a hand over her dark blue skirt. “That boy will be the death of me,”
she muttered.
Brando sat down next to her, his parents and siblings filling
up the long wooden pew. His family was the biggest of the Five Families—the Mafiosi who
ruled their island, which was situated off the southern coast of Italy. His
mother had created a dynasty, giving birth to ten children in ten years—although
she didn’t look like she’d even had one. She had the figure of a runway model,
something she’d been before marrying his father. From Paris to London, she’d
walked the high-fashioned catwalks, gaining a name for herself, her stunning
violet eyes her trademark.
His father’s booming voice traveled down the pew,
pulling Brando’s attention away from his mother. He glanced past her and his numerous
siblings, spotting his father talking to his oldest brother. His papà was
the Don of the Santini crime family. And he looked every inch a leader. The man
exuded power: from the width of his shoulders, his commanding height, and the
hard look in his steel-blue eyes. He was what a Don should look like—deadly.
Although his father wasn’t all about the job, women his old man’s true passion.
He was known as the lothario Don, something that caused numerous rows between
his parents.
His father said something to Ricardo—Brando’s oldest
brother. The harshness in his old man’s eyes softened, his love for Ricardo
inherent. Brando looked away, wishing his father showed him love, instead of treating
him like an inconvenience he wished would disappear.
The organist started playing, the music reverberating
around the stone walls and stained-glass windows, the colorful saints watching
over the congregation. After a few chords, the twins started singing, sending
chills up Brando’s arms. Everyone in the church went silent as they sung The
Lord’s Prayer, Vinnie and Dominic’s perfect harmonization giving the impression
that one person was singing the song.
“So beautiful,” his mother said, her voice thick with
pride, Vinnie’s indiscretion all but forgotten.
The song merged into another hymn, his brothers nearing
the end a few minutes later. Their voices went up higher, captivating the
congregation. They slowly brought the note down, holding it near the end. As their
voices petered off, the sound of footsteps resounded throughout the church. Brando
looked over his shoulder as a priest walked down the aisle—a new padre he’d
never seen before. The priest passed him, the swoosh of his black garments almost
eerie in the silence that filled the church, the man capturing everyone’s
attention.
Brando’s eyes followed the priest as the man walked up
the two steps to the altar. At the top, the Padre turned around to face the
congregation. Although his black hair had flecks of gray, he looked to be in
his mid to late twenties, his face smooth and attractive. He was also big—about
six foot of packed muscle. Brando had never met a priest who looked like he
could bench press two-hundred pounds, the man definitely unique. And those pale
blue eyes ... they reminded him of the Donatelli, who were nicknamed the
Blue-Eyed Devils.
“What’s Michael doing here?” his mother murmured. “He’s
supposed to be in Africa on a mission.”
“Who’s Michael?” Brando whispered.
“The priest. He’s Don Donatelli’s half-brother. One of
the twins.”
Brando smiled, thinking it was appropriate that his
twin brothers were altar boys to another twin.
The priest started talking, his voice deep. Brando
listened, hoping Padre Michael was more interesting than the last priest.
And he was.
Brando was so wrapped up with the man’s stories about Jesus
and his disciples that when the end of the mass came he was disappointed. Padre Michael didn’t
give long-winded sermons like his predecessor; instead, he talked about the
history of Catholicism, something that fascinated Brando. He loved anything to
do with history. At one stage, he’d wanted to go to university to study it, but
his mother had vetoed his wishes, saying he had to work in the family business,
which he hated. His father always gave him the most boring office jobs. He
didn’t want to be stuck in an office like a secretary. Women did that, and he
was no woman. If he had to work for his family, he’d much rather assist in the
gunrunning side of the business, or even better, to follow the soldiers around,
helping them collect money by strong arming the clients. Now, that was cool. But
his father had refused his request, saying he was too pretty to scare anyone,
and that the clients would more likely laugh in his face than give him money.
Brando breathed out, wishing his father would trust in his abilities. He was
doing well in his combat class and even better at the gun range. He had the
best aim, his brothers unable to compete with him. He never missed a mark, and
could even hit the target blindfolded. He had an instinct when it came to
shooting, guns another extension of his body.
His mother indicated for him to get up. “Follow me; I
want to talk to the new padre.”
He stepped out of the pew and followed her to the
priest, while the rest of his family headed out of the church with his father
... except for Alessandro. His ten-year-old brother ran after their mother as
though he was still attached to her by an umbilical cord. Brando’s youngest
brother was small for his age, looking like a seven-year-old more than a middle
school kid. Alessandro had been born premature, which was why their mother doted
on him more than the others, often coddling him to the point that their father
complained she was turning him into a sissy.
They came to a stop in front of the priest, who was
growling at Brando’s twin brothers. Vinnie and Dominic turned to look at their
mother, their smirks vanishing in an instant, her glare fiercer than the
toughest Don.
Brando’s gaze shifted to the priest, who was staring
at him. People always stared at him. Although his father had called him pretty,
he wasn’t, he was beautiful. He had high cheekbones, dark-olive skin that
hinted at a Moorish heritage, hair blacker than onyx, and golden eyes with flecks
of brown. He hated his appearance, especially when people said he was too
beautiful to be a boy. Instead, he wished he looked more like Ricardo. His
brother had a masculine jawline and fierce eyes, not features made for a
fashion magazine.
“Buon
giorno, Padre Michael,” his mother said, wishing
him good day. “It’s so nice to see you taking mass. Will this be a permanent
arrangement?”
The Padre’s pale gaze shifted to her. “I will be
taking the early Sunday and Saturday masses so that Padre Antonio can rest
more.”
“Well, he is in his seventies. Anyway, you’re a
wonderful speaker. Your sermon was very engrossing. I was sad when it came to
an end.”
“You’re too kind.” The Padre glanced at the twins, who
were now pulling faces at each other. “I wish I could say something nice in
return, but unfortunately, I’m very unhappy with these two little devils.”
“Why? What did they do?”
“I caught them drinking the sacramental wine before
mass.”
Brando’s mother gasped. “Padre Antonio allowed them to
get away with far too much. I hope you can whip them into shape.”
The priest nodded, his pale eyes moving back to
Brando. “And who is this young man?”
“My third eldest—Brando.”
The Padre’s eyebrows shot up. “He doesn’t look like a
Santini, he looks like a D’Angelo.”
“He takes after his great aunty.”
“Very much so. He’s a replica of her son Davido. How
old are you, Brando?”
“Seventeen.”
“Have you ever been an altar boy?”
“When I was younger.”
The Padre glanced at the twins again. Dominic was picking
his nose, while Vinnie was blowing kisses to a girl standing by a pew. The Padre
shook his head, then refocused on Brando. “Would you be able to help me on
Sundays? I don’t think these two will be of much use. They’re fantastic choir
boys, but not so much altar boys.”
“Of course he can help,” his mother cut in. “While the
twins...” she growled, capturing Dominic’s and Vinnie’s attention. “You two,
stop that nonsense.”
The twins went still.
She turned back to the Padre. “Please give them
another try. I’m sure under your hand they will do better.”
“I’ll give them one more chance, but if I catch them
drinking the wine again, they will be gone.”
She nodded. “I’ll make sure they don’t touch it.”
“Bene. Though, I would still like to have
Brando’s help. Maybe he can lead them.” He returned his attention to Brando.
“Would you be able to do that for me?”
Brando nodded, not really interested, but if his
mother wanted him to help the priest, he would.
“Fantastico. Can you be here an hour before mass next
week? I will run through everything you need to know.”
The twins started whining about it being too early.
Padre Michael turned to them. “I don’t
need you two until right before mass. I just have to show your brother what to
do.” He turned back to Brando. “So, can you come early?”
Brando nodded again. The priest thanked him, then said
his farewells and left, instructing the twins to follow him. The twins did,
imitating the man’s walk, making Brando laugh.
His mother shook her head. “Buffoons.” Her attention
shifted to Brando. “If you whip those two into shape and make the Padre happy, I’ll
allow you to follow the soldiers around on their collection days.”
Brando straightened, her words capturing his full
attention. “I will.”
“Good boy. It would be a nice change to get on with
the Donatelli for once. I would very much like to settle the unrest between our
families. The Padre’s brother is giving us trouble again, trying to impose upon
our territories. Maybe if you please the Padre, he will
put in a good word for us.”
Brando agreed, willing to do anything to make his
mother happy—and his father, because if he could help with appeasing the
tensions between the two families then his father would have to notice him.
He smiled, knowing the Padre was going to change his
life.
Present Day
The
soldier’s car turned left, heading off the main road. Brando continued trailing the man, keeping a safe distance behind
so Miko didn’t see him. He’d been ordered to tail the soldier after Miko had
bought a new car, one that was far too expensive for his salary, suggesting he
could possibly be working as a spy. Brando had questioned Miko about it, the
soldier claiming he’d acquired it with gambling wins. He’d appeared to be
telling the truth, but Ricardo, who was both Brando’s brother and Don, wanted
it verified after a servant had betrayed them. The man had planted bombs in
their house, which had led to the death of a family member. Because of it, Ricardo
was taking no risks, wanting everything double-checked to make sure there
weren’t any more traitors amongst them.
Miko took
another left, disappearing down a muddy road, which led to the gypsy village. Brando
wondered whether Miko had won the money there, since the gypsies provided gambling
services as well as fortune-telling and prostitution.
Brando followed,
veering right a minute later. He parked behind a derelict barn half a mile from
the gypsy village and climbed out of the car. He popped open the trunk and searched
through his collection of disguises, looking for something that wouldn’t stick
out amongst the gypsies. His hand brushed over a threadbare shirt with tassels.
He removed his silk shirt and pulled it on, the front gaping open, revealing his
darkly-tanned chest. He slipped on a male beaded necklace, settling it on his
chest, then changed his pants into a worn-out pair of leathers. Once done, he grabbed
a mirror and checked his appearance. He ran a hand through his black hair, the
slicked back look not fitting where he was headed. He messed it up, knowing he
was still going to be noticed; his features too beautiful. Although he was
similar in coloring to the gypsies, their dark looks originating from the
Balkans, his golden eyes were too unusual, along with his model-like features.
He slipped
on a pair of dark sunglasses and a hat, solving the problem, then headed down
the dirt track to the village. Brightly painted gypsy caravans lined the
Mediterranean Sea, adding more color to the countryside. The intricate caravans
were all shapes and sizes, the mobile houses works of art. They were lined up
in rows, with narrow alleyways running between them. Several cars were parked on
the outskirts of the settlement, the vehicles belonging to the gypsies’ clients.
Brando
walked past the soldier’s car, keeping an eye out for Miko. A group of small,
scruffy children shot past him, chasing a skinny dog. On his right, in front of
a caravan the color of the sky, a male gypsy was sitting behind a table,
dealing cards to a group of middle-aged men in suits—none of which were Miko.
Brando
continued on, dropping his head as two colorfully dressed gypsy women walked
his way. They headed past him, too caught up with their conversation to pay him
any attention. He raised his gaze, hoping to find Miko quickly, because he
wanted to get back for the twins’ gig. Vinnie and Dominic were playing at the
family’s nightclub, their rock act his taste in music.
A flash of
black caught Brando’s attention, making his head whip around. His eyes shot to
a tall figure disappearing behind a red caravan. The man was dressed in black
priest’s clothing, his muscular physique far too familiar. He had only met one
priest with a physique like that...
Padre Michael Donatelli.
He’d heard
that Padre Michael was a prisoner of
the Black Widower, a sadist who took pleasure in torturing men. But, maybe he’d
escaped and was hiding out with the gypsies.
Brando ran
after the man, his assignment completely forgotten. No, he didn’t forget, he
just didn’t fucking care, his need for vengeance overwhelming everything. When
he’d heard about the Padre’s capture,
he’d been happy. The bastardo deserved
to be tortured ... or killed for what he’d done to him. He’d almost killed the
man on two occasions, but had restrained himself, knowing the consequences
would’ve been dire for his family. But now the Donatelli family was all but destroyed,
there would be no consequences, only sweet revenge.
He rounded
the corner, seeing a flash of black disappearing around another corner. Brando sprinted
between the caravans, turning in the direction the priest had gone. Again, he
saw the black cloth veer around another caravan. It was as though the devil was
dangling his prize just out of reach, taunting him with something he could
never have...
Vengeance.
Even more
determined, Brando picked up speed, running between the bushes and the caravans.
He took a left into another alleyway, this one a dead end. He came to a halt, surprised
to find nothing but empty space. He bobbed down and looked under the caravans, a
few of the big wheels high enough for someone to crawl under. He was greeted
with nothing, the grass undisturbed.
Pushing up,
he turned to the red caravan and peered through its window, the brightly
colored room empty. He checked through the window of the next caravan, finding
a young couple making love. He wondered whether he’d imagined the priest, the
bullet in his skull at times causing him to hallucinate. He’d tried to commit
suicide almost two months ago, but his mother had knocked the gun, stopping the
bullet from hitting him full on. He’d pulled the trigger after discovering he’d
been the result of an affair, and that his real father was someone he’d killed
in a hit gone wrong. Though, it hadn’t been the only reason he’d tried to commit
suicide. He’d been wrestling with suicidal thoughts ever since he’d gone to
help the Padre that fateful day
seventeen years ago, something he wished he could wipe from his memory.
But now he
had a slew of reasons to live for, one of them his job, the other a woman,
someone he hoped would be going to his brothers’ gig tonight. He kicked into
gear, wanting to get back on track so he could see her. He would find Miko,
verify the man was telling the truth, then head back home and enjoy the
remainder of the day, preferably ending it with the woman of his dreams riding
his cock.
A beautiful
female gypsy stepped into the opening, making him stop. Recognizing her, Brando
quickly dropped his head. It was Gemma Balak, one of the twins’ exes. She had a
scarf wrapped around her head, its tassels hanging above her stunning green
eyes. The rest of her long black hair hung loose, the curls spilling over an
embroidered green blouse, which stopped an inch above a flowing skirt, revealing
a sapphire stud in her navel.
“No use
hiding your face, Brando,” Gemma said, her accent Slavic. “I recognized you
instantly. You glide like a demon.”
Sneering, Brando
raised his gaze. “I won’t ask how you are, since I don’t give a shit.”
Her green
eyes flashed at him. “Ever the charmer.”
Removing
his sunglasses, he headed for her.
Gemma took
a step back, the woman unable to hide her fear, but to her credit she didn’t
run. “Why are you in my village?” she asked.
He slipped
his sunglasses into his pocket. “Not for you—obviously.”
She
grimaced. “You could at least be cordial towards me; after all, we were intimate
once.”
“No, I just
wasted perfectly good sperm.”
Her hand whipped out, slapping his face.
Before her palm had left his cheek, he grabbed her by the neck. Clamping his
other hand over her mouth, he pushed her up against a bright red caravan. The
woman started flailing about, trying to get free.
He pressed
his body against hers, stilling her. “I could snap your neck in a second, witch, but I didn’t come here for you.
So don’t strike me again or I might
forget why I’m here. Acknowledge me with a nod.”
She nodded.
“Now, I’m
going to remove my hand from your mouth, so don’t scream or I will kill you.” He freed her mouth, but
kept the other one on her throat, giving it a slight squeeze to scare her more.
She gasped, making him smile, her fear turning him on.
“You’re
evil,” she said, swallowing against his palm.
“Then why
did you fuck me, puttana?” he said,
calling her a whore.
“You cast a
spell over me, dhampir.”
Smiling
wickedly, he flicked one of his pointy incisors with his tongue, knowing it
would get a reaction. As predicted, her eyes shot to his mouth, the woman
shuddering in fear. She believed he was a child of a human and vampire—a dhampir in her native Slavic tongue.
After she’d slept with him, she told him he’d enthralled her with his demon
magic, making it impossible to resist him. He’d replied that she was a
two-timing puttana who didn’t deserve
his brother, and to shove her superstitious mumbo jumbo up her ass.
He moved
his mouth to her neck, scrapping his teeth up her flesh, playing on her irrational
fears. Goosebumps rose across her flesh. He nipped her skin, making her gasp.
“I should
suck you dry,” he said, amused as she whimpered. Obviously, Vinnie had fallen
for her looks, because she didn’t have a brain cell in her pretty head. “But,
I’m sure you’d taste bitter.” He sucked her earlobe into his mouth, giving it a
slight nibble. “Sì, definitely bitter.”
She started
breathing heavily—fear, hate, and even arousal mixing in together. “Let me go,”
she croaked out.
“You didn’t
say that when you moaned underneath me, saying my name, not my brother’s.” He
ran a hand over her full breasts, making her gasp again. “Are you excited?
Because your nipples are hard.” He tweaked them.
She gasped
again, her eyes going round. “I don’t want you, dhampir. Let me go.”
“Oh, you
hurt me so,” he said, sarcastically. “I thought you loved me.”
“I only
love Vincenzo.”
“What about
your husband?”
She went silent,
her eyes glossing over with tears.
He sneered
at her. “Once a cheater, always a cheater.”
“You approached me, not the other way
around.”
“You were just a job. I was paid to seduce
you to make sure you stopped seeing Vinnie.”
A tear
spilled over, getting caught in her long eyelashes for a second. It dropped
down, followed by more.
“Your tears
won’t work on me.”
“Why are
you so cruel?” she sniffled.
“As you said,
I’m a demon.”
“You
deserve to die for what you did to me. You stole my virginity and lost me the
love of my life.”
“You gave
me your virginity freely. That is
what lost you my brother. If you hadn’t cheated on him, I wouldn’t have forced
you to walk away.”
“I made one
mistake, which you used against me. I couldn’t bear my Vincenzo finding out. I
wanted him to remember me with love. And he was the one who was having second
thoughts about getting married—not me!”
“Only
because my mother was constantly badgering him to break it off with you. In the
end he decided to defy her, but you refused to see him.”
“What?”
“He was
going to risk everything to marry you, even his inheritance and being with his
twin.”
“But, you
said you’d tell him I cheated if I saw him again.”
“I would
never have told him, he wouldn’t have forgiven me.”
Her face
fell. “I could’ve stayed with him?”
“No, I
would’ve killed you if you tried, and my mother would’ve paid me to do it. She knew
you were trash. She was the one who paid me to find out if you would cheat on
my brother.”
Gemma’s
eyes widened. “Your own mother told you to seduce your own brother’s woman?”
“Sì.”
“Why would
she do something so cruel? I told her I loved Vincenzo with all my heart.”
“You must
have a small heart considering what you did with me.”
“That
wasn’t my fault, you seduced me.”
“Vinnie
wouldn’t have seen it that way. All he would’ve seen was betrayal. He would never
have forgiven you. He would’ve moved onto the next puttana in a second, knowing you were nothing but a lying fuck. Oh,
that’s right, he did move on. A day after you refused to see him he went to a
whorehouse and fucked up a storm.”
“You’re
lying!”
“Maybe,
maybe not, though I’m sure you’ve heard about his addiction to one-night stands.
I’ve lost count of how many women I’ve seen him with. Only the other day, I
walked in on him with two women. You should’ve seen what they were doing to
him—”
“Shut up!”
“Why? I
thought you’d want to know how the love of your life was getting on,” he
laughed, “or who was getting on his cock.”
“You’re a cruel
bastard!”
“At least I
don’t pretend not to be—unlike you, puttana.
You act like a victim, yet I remember you calling out my name as you came
around my cock. I also remember you kissing me all over my face, telling me I
was so, so beautiful, and, oh yeah,
you sucked on my cock like it was your favorite lollipop.”
“I hate
you! I hate you!”
“The
feeling is mutual.” He pushed away from her. “I hope I never see your face
again, Gemma, it makes me sick.”
She started screaming at him
in her Slavic tongue. Ignoring her, he headed around the corner, knowing she
was probably cursing him. But it wouldn’t work, because the priest had cursed
him a long time ago, with something no gypsy could top.
***
Brando
walked through the village, no longer concerned with concealing himself. Gemma was
probably running to her husband, telling Milan Balak he was here, and if the
idiot was stupid enough to attack him, he’d gun the scum down.
He started
peering into windows, trying to find the soldier. Gypsies stopped to look at
him, a few whispering in their Slavic tongue. He stopped outside the window of
a circular caravan, finding what he was after. Inside the room, the fat soldier
was having sex with a puttana, the
sight not a pretty one. Disgusted, Brando turned away from the window, annoyed the
afternoon had been a write-off. He’d confirmed nothing, meaning he had to
continue following the soldier until he got what he needed: absolute proof that
Miko was clean. Maybe he’d just cut to the chase later and torture Miko into giving
him it. He could tie him up in his whipping room and make him talk. No one
would hear Miko’s screams since the place was soundproof. He dropped the idea
almost immediately, knowing Ricardo would say no. Pity, he could do with letting
off some steam.
“Leave our
village peacefully, Brando,” a deep voice said. “Or I’ll make you suffer for
touching my brother’s wife.”
Brando
turned around, finding Drago Balak glaring at him. The oldest of the Balak
brothers was an impressive-looking man. In his mid-thirties, Drago had curly black
hair and olive skin, while the kohl smudged under his eyes made him look
menacing as well as exotic. Brando knew the kohl was used for the man’s work. Drago
was a lion tamer, his attire suggesting he’d just returned from the circus. He
was dressed in leather pants and a billowing white shirt, which was cut low,
displaying a powerful chest. Brando’s eyes moved to Drago’s hand, which held a
whip. Drago let the whip unwind, the leather strip tumbling to the ground.
Brando smiled.
“I prefer women to whip me.”
Drago shook his head. “You’re sick.”
“I don’t deny it.” Brando lifted up his shirt and placed his hand on his
gun, which was sticking out of his waistband.
Drago started
winding his whip up. “I want no trouble, Brando.”
“Tell your
brothers that.” Brando’s gaze shifted to four men, who were heading his way—one
of them Gemma’s husband, who looked like a younger version of Drago. Brando
smiled at them. “Ciao, Eenie, Meenie,
Miney, and Mo, how are you doing?”
Meenie went
for him. Drago turned and shoved his youngest brother back, almost knocking him
over. “Don’t be stupid, Milan, he’ll shoot you. Look where his hand is.”
Milan, aka Meenie,
pointed a finger at Brando. “He assaulted my wife! She has bruises on her neck.”
Brando cupped
his crotch. “Only because she deep-throated me.”
“Liar!” Milan
went for him again.
Drago
shoved him back harder. “Back down, Milan!”
Milan’s
dark eyes flashed; his glare now on his brother. “He touched my wife! My wife!”
“And if you want to touch her again, you’ll back
down. Brando will shoot you.”
“You bet I
will.” Brando yawned. “Can I go now? You’re boring me.”
Milan
pointed a finger at him. “Come near Gemma again and I’ll slice your throat
open.”
“Looks like
your puttana of a wife doesn’t give
you any, because you’re such an uptight
bastardo.”
“She is not a whore!” Milan yelled, his face going
beet-red. “Keep your filthy lies to yourself and don’t come back. You’re not
welcome in this village.”
“Then, I
guess I better pay you now for Gemma’s blowjob.” Brando pulled out a coin from
his pocket and flicked it at Milan.
Three of
the brothers went for Milan, grabbing him before he could attack Brando.
Laughing, Brando turned away, waving as Milan yelled louder, promising him
death. Footfalls thudded behind him, making him glance over his shoulder.
“Why are
you following me, Drago?” Brando asked.
“I’m
escorting you out. I also want to know why you’re in our village. Are you after
Gemma again?”
“I’m not
interested in her, never was.”
“Then why
did you fuck her all those years ago?”
Brando stopped
in his tracks. “How do you know about that?”
“I know
everything that happens in this village. So, are you here for her or something
else? And tell me the truth, because if she’s lying to my brother, I will kick that whore out of this
village regardless of what Milan wants.”
“I was
following one of my famiglia’s soldiers,
making sure he’s not a traitor. I ran into Gemma by accident.”
“Which
soldier?”
“A fat fuck
who wears suits too hot for the climate.”
“That
sounds like Miko.”
“Sì. Has he ever won money from gambling
here?”
“Why should
I tell you anything? You disrespected my brother and his wife.”
Brando
pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, removing a few hundred dollars. “I
will pay you.”
Drago held
out his hand for the money.
Brando
moved it out of the man’s reach. “Information first.”
“No, the
money first.”
Brando
stuffed the notes back into his wallet.
“He comes here
a couple days a week for whores and gambling,” Drago said, still holding out his
hand. “Though, I don’t know whether he’s won anything. If he has, it probably
wouldn’t be much since most of the gypsies who run the gambling are tricksters.
He’d have more luck at the casinos than here.”
Brando
pulled the money back out, handing over one of the hundred dollar bills. “Does
he have much money with him?”
“I assume
he does, since he’s able to pay for the young prostitutke. They cost more than the older ones.”
“How does
he pay?”
“Cash,
obviously. We don’t use electronic devices here.”
Brando held
the rest of the money up. “Contact me if you find any useful information on
him. I want to know where he’s getting the money from, whether it’s via
gambling or elsewhere. I will pay you well.”
“I’ll get
one of the prostitutke to talk it out
of him. We’re able to get a lot of information from pillow talk. If I discover
anything I will arrange to meet you elsewhere. And, don’t go near Gemma again.
Milan loves her.”
“His love
is misplaced. That puttana told me
only a few minutes ago she only loves my brother.”
Drago
frowned. “Is this the truth or are you causing trouble again? And be honest.”
“It’s the
truth. She’s still hung up on Vinnie. If I were your brother, I’d leave her...”
Brando smiled, “...in a grave.”
Drago shook
his head. “You’re evil.”
“That’s
what she said.”
“Leave
now.”
“One more
question.”
“What?”
“I saw a
Catholic priest here. Do you know who he is?”
Drago grimaced.
“Why would a priest be here? They think we’re a scourge on the earth.”
“They’re worse
scourges than you lot.”
Drago’s
eyebrows pulled together. “Don’t you have a brother who’s a priest?”
“Sì,
he’s a devil too.”
Drago shook
his head. “You’re the devil, not the holy men.”
“They’re
not holy, they’re murderers and pedophiles.”
“You
obviously have issues.” Drago turned around, muttering, “Don’t come back.”
“Don’t plan
on it,” Brando said. “Unless I feel like fucking your mother.”
Drago spun
around. “What did you say?”
“I love
you.” Blowing Drago a kiss, Brando walked off, thinking he needed better
medication, because his hallucinations were getting worse. Drago was right. There
was no way a priest would walk around a gypsy village full of whores, and
especially not the Padre. The only
woman the vile bastardo didn’t hate
was the Virgin Mary, the man a warped fucker.
Willing all
thoughts of the Padre out of his
head, Brando strode down the mud track, heading for his car.
Ivy pulled
on her Viper outfit, which consisted of black skin-tight pants, an even tighter
black top, and a black leather jacket. She knew she had one fuckable-looking
body, but it wasn’t why she wore the getup. The poured-on clothes allowed her to
move with ease, and as a Black Viper—a trained assassin and spy, she didn’t
want anything that might hinder her in a fight.
She slid a
knife inside her right boot and a gun in her jacket, grabbing an extra clip for
good measure. Pocketing it, she headed to the mirror, quickly pulling her dark
brown hair up in a ponytail. Once done, she smudged some black kohl under her dark
eyes and smacked on some lipstick, not bothering with any other makeup, her tanned
complexion flawless.
She headed
out of the room she shared with her sister. She veered left down the
passageway, aiming for D’s room. They had gotten a job protecting the Santini
twins. The two men were booked into playing a gig at H20, the hottest nightclub on the island. She knew why D had volunteered
for the job. Her fellow Viper was hot for Vinnie, one of the twins.
She knocked
on D’s door. The Santini Don had given the Vipers the lower west wing of the
house to live in. They’d moved in after the Santini family had been attacked,
so they could help protect them as well as receive help in return. Ivy and her
sisterhood of Vipers wanted to take down their former employer, the Black
Russian having massacred a number of them.
D answered
her door. The African American, Puerto Rican was practically a stunt double for
Rosario Dawson, the two looking eerily similar. She was wearing bright red
lipstick, black vinyl pants, and an electric-blue top. She’d also straightened
her curly hair, the brown locks now reaching her ass.
“Ready to
roll?” Ivy asked.
“Most
definitely.” D closed the door behind her. “I’m really looking forward to this.
Thanks for letting me come.”
“My
pleasure.” Ivy followed D down the passageway, her eyes going to the Viper’s
ass. She laughed, “What are you wearing?”
D spun
around. “What do you mean?”
“It looks
like you’re wearing granny-knickers under your pants. I can see the outline. If
Vinnie sees it, he’ll laugh more than hit on you.”
D’s face
flushed. “Give me a minute, I’ll change. Meet me out front.” She took off back
down the passage, disappearing into her room.
Ivy continued
onwards, stopping in the foyer as the front door opened. Brando stepped inside,
the man capturing her breath. No matter how many times she saw him, she couldn’t
get over his beauty. And God, he looked even more delicious than normal. Instead
of his usual suit, he was dressed like a gypsy. He was wearing a loose shirt and
tight black pants, making his bulge stick out. She wanted to kneel down in
front of him and take him right there and then into her mouth, not giving a
shit about who saw. But she wouldn’t, because, although he looked like heaven,
he was hell on two legs.
He gave her
one of his wicked grins; those two pointy incisors making him look villainous.
“Buona sera, Ivy,” he said, saying good evening, his Italian accent smoother
than melted chocolate.
She
remained silent, not knowing what to say or do.
“Not going
to speak?” he said, smiling wider. “But then again, I do tend to render women
speechless.”
She snapped
out of her dumbstruck state, and went to move past him. She didn’t want to be
near him, since he always created conflicting emotions in her. One second she
wanted to suck him off, the next she wanted to stab his eyes out.
She stepped
outside, stopping as he brushed a hand over her ass. She spun around, finding him
staring down at her, his golden eyes intense.
“I was
going to ask if you wanted to come to my room,” he said, brushing his hand over
her breasts.
She smacked
it away. “Don’t touch me!”
The first
time they’d met, he’d ordered her to take her clothes off, then had fucked her
without caring how she felt, just taking what he wanted. The next time he’d
seen her, he’d whispered into her ear that she was his property. She’d been
owned by one man before: the Black Russian, and that bastard had brought
nothing but pain and suffering to her life—and Brando would do the same.
He stepped
closer, making her back up fast, almost causing her to fall down the steps.
“Back off!”
she snapped, considering hitting him. The man didn’t know the meaning of sexual harassment—or more likely didn’t
care.
“Why are you
denying me?” he asked. “I know you want me.”
“No, I
don’t.”
“Such a
liar.” He grabbed her shoulders, leaning in for a kiss.
She shoved
him away. “I’m not yours to do as you please,” she growled.
“Oh, but you
are. So stop fighting me, we both know you want to fuck me.”
“You’re
full of yourself.”
“And for
good reason, I’m gorgeous.” He reached out to touch her breast again.
She smacked
his hand away. “Stop it!”
“You’re
lucky I like you, Ivy, otherwise I’d hurt you for daring to hit me.” He
sneered. “Though, I might not be so nice the next time you do it.”
“You tried
to touch my breast.”
“It’s
called a tit,” he said, emphasizing
the word, “and it belongs in my mouth.” He smacked his lips together.
“And your
cock belongs in a guillotine.”
He laughed,
his golden eyes lighting up. “Such a mean-spirited women. Maybe that’s why I
like you so much: you’re just like me.”
“I’m
nothing like you. I don’t treat people like shit.”
“Some
people would disagree with that.”
“Name them.”
“Kennedy,”
he said, mentioning one of the Black Vipers she didn’t get along with.
“She’s
deserves it, so you can’t use her as an example.”
“Okay, I
concur, you’re all sweetness and sunshine.”
“Don’t make
fun of me.”
“I was
being nice for once, and if you want me to be nicer, how about you give me a
kiss a day to ward my nasty personality away.”
“You have
got to be kidding?”
“Try me.”
She shook
her head.
“What are
you so scared of?”
“I don’t
trust you.”
“It’s just
one kiss.”
She
breathed out. “Will it get you off my back?”
“Sì.”
Knowing it
was a bad idea, she still nodded, just wanting him to stop bugging her. And, in
all truth, she wanted to kiss him and if he believed it was under duress, she
could walk away without Mr. Arrogant thinking he’d won her over.
He leaned
his head down to her, the man so much taller. He cupped her face, his eyes beyond
beautiful, their golden hue captivating to look at. She stared into them, forgetting
to breathe. He leaned even closer, his cruel lips pressing against hers. His
tongue pushed inside her mouth. The next second, she was up against the wall,
his mouth ravaging hers. His hands moved to her breasts, pinching and pulling
at them, making her libido flare out of control. She grabbed his ass and pulled
him closer, knowing she was making a mistake, but unable to stop. He knocked
her hands away and stepped back, leaving her breathless and confused.
A smile
formed across his face. “I knew you wanted me.” He laughed and made for the door.
A second
later, realization struck her as he disappeared inside the house. The bastard
had suckered her! She swore. Men had called her a cock tease, but Brando was a
pussy tease.
Furious, she
stormed back inside the house, wanting to rip a piece out of him. She stopped
under the archway, seeing him disappear up the staircase, probably heading for
his bedroom. She went to follow, but hesitated, knowing if he got her in there
she’d be a lost cause. She’d probably end up with her ass in the air and his cock
in her pussy, like the last time. No pleasure for her, only the bastard getting
off, then telling her to leave. If that happened again, she was sure she’d
attack him, the man a selfish asshole.
She spun
around and headed back down the passageway that led to D’s room, wondering why
her fellow Viper was taking so long. She knocked on the door. It opened a few
seconds later. D’s best friend poked her head out, the blonde American woman
giving her a sneer.
“What’s D doing?”
Ivy asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Changing,”
Kennedy said.
“It doesn’t
take this long to change a pair of panties.”
“She wants
to look her best for Vinnie, so wait, bitch.” Kennedy closed the door on her
face.
Ivy yelled
out, “You’re the bitch! And tell her to hurry the fuck up or I’ll leave without
her.”
Kennedy
poked her head out again. “Then leave, because she’s my friend and you’re not
getting your filthy claws into her.”
Ivy leaned
her back against the passage wall, giving Kennedy a smile. “Not happening,
bitch. I’ll wait as long as she needs.”
Kennedy
glared at her, then her head snapped to her left. The wheelchair-bound Santini
appeared around the corner. Bella stopped a few paces away from them, her eyes
going to Kennedy. Like all the Santini, she was stunning. Though, her blue eyes
and heart-shaped face were not only beautiful, but sweet-looking. Bella dropped
her gaze and rolled her wheelchair past them. Kennedy pushed away from the door
and started following her, the bitch in heat. Ivy had caught the lesbian Viper
sitting on Bella’s lap the other day, hitting on the poor woman.
Bella glanced over her shoulder at Kennedy, her eyes going
wide. Kennedy grabbed the back of the wheelchair, telling Bella she’d take her
wherever she wanted to go. Ivy shook her head, knowing that Kennedy didn’t have
a chance in hell with Bella, since the woman was straighter than Brando’s fat
cock.
Ivy
breathed out, wishing she could get Brando out of her mind, the man already
owning it.
“Get some
freaking clothes on before Brando gets here,” Vinnie said, walking into his twin’s room. They shared a small
house out the back of their family mansion. It was a place where they could
play their music without the others bitching. There were a few rooms: a bedroom
each, along with a storage room, a bomb shelter in the basement, an adjoining
lounge and kitchen, and their soundproof music studio, where they were cutting
their first album.
Vinnie’s
twin grinned at him. Dominic had a towel wrapped around his hips, his body
still damp from the shower. Colorful tattoos covered both his brother’s arms,
the water designs on his left one standing out the most. He also had silver rings
in his nipples, a pierced eyebrow, a small bullring in his nose, and a stud in
his tongue, his twin having a piercing fetish.
“Why bother
getting dressed when the chicks will only rip my clothes off,” Dominic said,
scratching his nuts through the towel.
“Just get
some clothes on before Brando gets here or that sadistic bastardo will pistol whip you for making him wait.”
Dominic
dropped his towel, the Prince Albert in his cockhead making Vinnie grimace. His
brother picked up a pair of jeans off the polished wooden floor and yanked them
on. The jeans settled halfway down his bare ass, displaying too much of his
front as well.
“Put on
some boxers,” Vinnie said, sitting down on Dominic’s bed.
“Got none
clean, forgot to put them out for the wash.”
“Then at
least wear a belt or a long shirt to cover everything.”
The sound
of footsteps approaching the room pulled Vinnie’s gaze to the doorway. Brando entered
through the opening, looking like a hitman—which he actually was. Their brother
was dressed to the nines, decked out in a black suit and leather gloves. Under his
jacket, he was wearing a white shirt and a holster, the latter holding a .22
handgun. He also looked freshly showered, his black hair still damp.
“We’re going
to the club, not a hitman’s convention,” Dominic said. “Change into some jeans
or you’ll stand out like Vinnie in a gay bar. Actually, that’s not a good
analogy, considering what he’s wearing.”
Vinnie pushed
off the bed, wanting to hit his twin. “I don’t look gay,” he snapped, feeling
insulted, “and you’re the one who fucks anything with a pulse.”
Dominic
grinned. “I’m not the one dressed like one of the Village People.”
“I am not,”
Vinnie said, his leather pants and black muscle shirt perfectly fine. “And what
I’m wearing is better than your grunge-look,” Vinnie’s gaze moved to Brando, “and
the Godfather outfit over there.”
“I’m a bodyguard
tonight, and bodyguards wear suits,” Brando said, smoothing a hand over his
jacket, which was probably Armani, maybe Versace, his brother having expensive
tastes.
“We have
enough soldati guarding us. Instead,
we need you to go incognito. I want you to slip into the crowd to see if
anything’s happening that we need to be concerned about. I’m still getting
stalker mail, plus the heavy-breathing phone calls have started up again.”
“I don’t
own suitable jeans and my leathers aren’t for going out.”
“Borrow
some of mine, then,” Vinnie said, knowing Brando was referring to his BDSM
shit.
Dominic sniggered.
“What’s so
funny?” Vinnie said.
“I wouldn’t
wear your clothes, you go commando.”
“So do you.”
“Only when
I run out,” Dominic continued sniggering. “The chicks keep stealing them.”
Brando
shook his head. “Just give me something clean.”
“Give him
that bright pink pair you have with the love hearts on,” Dominic said.
Vinnie
flicked his twin the finger, then turned to his drawer, pulling out some clean black
leathers. He chucked them to Brando, along with a black Led Zeppelin T-shirt. Brando
dumped the clothes on Dominic’s bed and started undressing. He laid his jacket
on the mattress and pulled off his holster, slipping his shirt off next. He
reached for the T-shirt, the severe scarring on his back capturing Vinnie’s attention.
Long lines carved up his brother’s flesh, Brando’s obsession with being whipped
beyond disturbing.
“Are you
ever going to stop doing that merda
to yourself?” Vinnie asked, using the word for shit.
“I rarely
do it to myself,” Brando answered.
“You ask
people to.”
“Everyone
has their fetishes.”
“Not
self-harming ones that mutilate their back.”
“You have
tattoos—that’s self-harming, and Dominic also has weird piercings, which I also
consider self-harming.”
“That’s
decoration. What you do is nasty merda,
and it must hurt like fucking crazy.”
“I like pain.” Brando pulled the T-shirt on,
covering his scars once more.
Vinnie
shook his head. “You’re a weird bastardo.”
“I don’t
deny it.” Brando stepped out of his pants and pulled on the leathers, the
casual attire making him appear much younger than his thirty-four years, which
was five years older than Vinnie and Dominic. Brando was too mo-fucking
beautiful to be a Santini. Their mother had had an affair with a D’Angelo, most
of the men from that family resembling male models. And Brando used his looks
to his full advantage, picking and choosing whoever he wanted to fuck. Unfortunately,
he had a bad habit of treating women like puttane,
only using them for sex.
Brando
smiled, though it wasn’t a friendly one, especially when he showed his pointy incisors.
It just made him look even more sinister. It was what had given him his
nickname.
“Let’s go, vampiro,” Vinnie said.
“Stop calling
me that,” Brando grunted, giving him a scowl.
“Lighten
up, man. You obviously need sex, ’cause you’re wound up tighter than a nun’s pussy.”
Dominic
sniggered. “I agree. You definitely need to get laid, bro, and since that Viper
isn’t willing to bend over for you, just fuck one of our groupies. Hell, don’t
smile and any female will bend over for you. Also, don’t talk; you put females
off when you order them around.”
“I don’t need
advice on females from a fenucca,”
Brando said, slipping his gun into the back of his pants.
Dominic
glared at him. “I’m not gay. I’ve told you enough times I’m pansexual.”
“You’ve
fucked men; that’s gay.”
“I fuck
women more, so I’m not gay!” Dominic
stormed out.
Brando
sniggered. “He must have PMS.”
Vinnie
scowled at him. “Why can’t you stop riling him? You know it upsets him when you
call him gay.”
“He calls
you gay, and you’re not, so I don’t see the issue, especially since he is.”
“He’s not. Pansexuality
isn’t the same as being gay. He’s into personalities, not what sex a person
is.”
“Sounds
like a cover for being gay.”
“Fuck,
you’re a stronzo,” Vinnie said,
calling him an asshole. “He. Is. Not.
Gay. I see him with more women than men.”
“Bi, then.”
“Again,
it’s not the same. Bi’s two sexes and he fucks anything: female, male, intersex,
trannies, he doesn’t care, so shut your mouth around him, and don’t you dare
mention anything to Mamma.”
“Why hide
it?”
“Because Mamma’s homophobic, so stop talking
about it.” Vinnie grabbed his guitar and headed out, Brando shadowing him. He gritted
his teeth as Brando continued to talk about Dominic’s sexuality, probably
because he’d told him not to. He kicked himself mentally for it, because if you
told Brando not to do something: that was precisely what he would do.
They headed
around the large neoclassical-styled house, the lights from within lighting up
the surrounding darkness. Up above, a full moon stood guard over their enormous
property, the dark waters of the Mediterranean Sea in the distance only just
visible.
Vinnie was looking
forward to the night. It was the first time since the beginning of the mafia
war they’d been given permission to return to the stage. He’d missed rocking
the club, getting the chicks screaming and breathing in the whole vibe of
performing live. He wished he could tour, but he was locked to the island for
the meantime—to his family. Still, it was fun to dream every time he played up
on H20’s stage, pretending he was
performing in front of thousands of fans.
Vinnie
climbed into the back of the armored vehicle, taking the seat next to his twin,
who glared angrily at Brando as he climbed into the car. Two soldiers were
sitting up front, while another carload of soldiers were waiting behind them—their
bodyguards for the night. Although they’d eliminated one of their enemies, another
lot were still on the loose, plus the fan mail Vinnie was getting had plunged into
stalkerville, the last letter freaking him out. The letters had seemed harmless
up until about two weeks ago. The fan had gotten mad at him for not replying,
then yesterday she’d sent a kidnap threat, stating that she would chain him up
if he didn’t stop cheating on her, the freak having delusions he was her fiancé.
Something
in his peripheral vision caught his attention, cutting off his train of thought.
He peered past Brando, looking out the window as the driver started the engine.
Two Black Vipers were descending the front steps, the female assassins residing
in the main house. They were both wearing skintight clothes, the darker Viper capturing
his attention the most. The porch light illuminated her features, the woman gorgeous.
She was a mix of African American and Hispanic. She had long brown hair and the
most stunning figure—all curves and a shapely ass he wanted to grab with both
hands.
“You’re
drooling,” Dominic said.
Vinnie turned
to his twin. “I am not.”
“Liar. Why
don’t you just fuck her and get it out of your system.”
“I don’t
want to fuck her.”
“Then I’ll
fuck her.” Dominic started moving his crotch like he was having an epileptic
fit.
“If you do
that, I’ll smash your face in!”
Dominic laughed.
“I knew you liked her.”
Flicking
him the finger, Vinnie turned to look out the window again as the driver
steered down the driveway, not interested in Dominic’s teasing.
“I don’t
know why you’re holding back,” Dominic said. “I’ve fucked almost half of those Viper
chicks, yet you haven’t even touched one. What’s your issue?”
“It’ll be
awkward the next day.”
“Only if
you’re not upfront about it being no strings attached.”
“It’s easy
for you to say. All the Vipers know if they fuck you they risk getting an STD,
so they don’t expect anything the next day.”
“I get one
case of gonorrhea and you never let me live it down.”
“As far as
I remember, you’ve had gonorrhea twice, crabs three times, and genital herpes.”
“It wasn’t
herpes, it was chlamydia, and I’m clean now. No fun without a rubber.”
Vinnie rolled
his eyes, thinking Dominic should’ve protected himself a long time ago. It was just
pure luck that the idiot hadn’t contracted anything more serious.
The driver exited
their property, the Mediterranean Sea looking like slick black oil under the
night sky. A loud honk came from behind the car. A second later, the two Vipers
zipped past on a motorbike: one driving, the other holding onto her tight. Vinnie
watched them disappear into the dark, Dominic’s words running through his mind.
Maybe he should fuck D and get her
out of his system. He just had to be up front about what he wanted—a one-night
stand, nothing more.
His phone
rang. He pulled it out and clicked it on, placing it to his ear. “Pronto?” he answered.
No one replied.
“Pronto?”
Again, no reply,
only breathing sounds coming through the line.
He grunted,
realizing it was his stalker. “Stop calling me. Also, stop sending me those freaky
letters. I’m not your fiancé, I’m no one’s.” He hung up.
Dominic
grabbed Vinnie’s phone out of his hand and looked at it. “It’s a different
number. I’ll try tracing it tomorrow.”
“Why bother?” Vinnie said, taking the phone back. “You haven’t had any
luck tracing them before.”
“They’ll
slip up eventually, then I’ll have something to latch onto.”
Vinnie
slumped back into his seat. “I wish.”
“Trust me,
Vinnie, I’ll catch the psycho.”
Brando elbowed
Vinnie, giving him a toothy grin. “Then I’ll make her regret the day she saw
you.”
Vinnie
smiled, Brando’s expression snapping him out of his annoyance. “What are you
going to do? Suck her dry, vampiro?”
“No, she
can suck my cock dry before I slit her throat.”
“You’re a
sick motherfucker.”
Brando turned to look out
the window, muttering, “I know.”
Brando emerged from the vehicle, ordering the soldiers from the other car to
move out of his way. He was here to protect his brothers, not to be protected.
The soldiers stepped aside, not willing to challenge him. He scanned the club’s
front and the sidewalk, assessing any threats. People stood in a long line
outside H20, many of them openly staring
at him. He knew he was beautiful, that was obvious; he had to be blind not to
acknowledge it. Though, some of the club-goers’ stares held fear, because they
knew he was Mafioso. It wasn’t just
the soldiers standing at his back: he had a reputation as a killer, many
knowing he was a hitman.
He tapped
on the car’s roof, indicating it was safe for the twins to get out. More
soldiers emerged from the other car, creating a barrier for his brothers to
walk through. He’d wanted to take the twins around the back of the nightclub, slipping
them inside without anyone noticing. But Dominic liked fanfare, his brother
needing to breathe the adulation in more than air itself.
The twins
emerged from the car, which set off the women in the line. The groupies ran for
his brothers, screaming their names. The soldiers held the women back, giving the
twins and him free passage to the club door. The bouncer stepped aside for
them, bowing his head in respect, the club belonging to their family.
More
screams welcomed them as they entered the club, the scantily clad women all
reaching for the twins, wanting a piece of them. Dominic grinned, looking like
he was about to come in his pants from all the attention. A woman in a dress
three sizes too small, held out a marker for Dominic to take, saying something
Brando couldn’t hear. His brother reached past the soldiers and grabbed the
marker, his grin widening as the woman pulled down her dress top. He scrawled
his name and number across her bare breasts, handing the marker back once done.
He flicked out his studded tongue at her, then resumed walking.
The
soldiers continued to push the club-goers back, trying their best to protect
the twins, although hands still snuck through. Vinnie let out a yelp, a female
probably pinching his ass. A commotion broke out. Vinnie swung out at a man,
attempting to punch him in the face. Brando laughed along with Dominic,
realizing the man had done the pinching.
One of the
soldiers dragged Vinnie’s finger-happy admirer away, the man screaming his
undying love for Vinnie. Another soldier pulled out a gun, making the club-goers
back up fast, fear now replacing lust and fanaticism.
Dominic
continued laughing over Vinnie having his ass pinched by a guy. Vinnie raised
his fist again, looking like he was going to punch Dominic. He lowered it a
second later, his eyes moving
past Brando.
Brando
looked over his shoulder at what had caught Vinnie’s attention. The motorbike-riding
Vipers were leaning against the bar, Ivy drawing his eyes to her. She was
watching him, the memory of her lips against his making him ache below. The second
in command of the Viper Sisterhood had a drink in her hand. She was standing
next to... Fuck, who cared who she was next to; all he cared about was Ivy and
what he would do to her. He adjusted his package, his cock already filling out,
the woman a walking wet dream. He probably shouldn’t have pulled away from her
earlier. He just didn’t like how she was playing him, making out as though she
wasn’t interested, because she sure as hell was wet for him, just didn’t want
to admit to it. Yeah, he knew she hated his personality, especially after he’d
ordered her to strip so he could fuck her. She’d done it without complaint. It hadn’t
surprised him at the time, since most women stripped when he asked, but he’d
thought she was a maid back then, not a spy. An enemy had hired her to kill his
family, but unbeknown to the man, Ivy had her own agenda. She wanted an
alliance with his family, so they would help her kill a former employer, which they’d
agreed upon after the Vipers had risked their lives to save them.
A waving
hand ripped Brando’s gaze away from Ivy. A few feet away, a female was trying
to get his attention, her waves making him wonder whether he knew her. He
didn’t recognize her face and he had a good memory. Regardless of how many
women he’d slept with, he could remember each and every one of them; facial
recognition part of his job.
He walked
up to the woman. “What do you want?”
“You. I’m Fiore.” She held out a shaking
hand, the woman obviously nervous. It turned him on along with her looks, her
dark hair and kohl-rimmed eyes reminding him of Ivy—just a less smoldering
version.
Ignoring
her hand, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the floor, placing
a hand under her ass to help hold her up. She squealed, her expression shocked.
“No need to be scared, honey, I’m going to make your night.” He gave her deep
kiss, pulling back several seconds later. “Is that fine with you?”
She nodded,
her face flushed, the woman no doubt still stunned by what he was doing.
He glanced
over his shoulder at the soldiers. “Watch the twins; I’m going to be busy.”
“We don’t
need watching,” Dominic said. He walked off with Vinnie, who was throwing
glances at the Vipers, the one standing next to Ivy capturing his brother’s
attention.
Brando carried
the woman through the crowd, purposely passing by Ivy, intending on making her
jealous. He was going to perform for the Viper, and anyone else who was inclined
to watch. He had perversions—public sex one of them, and since everyone knew he
was Mafioso they didn’t dare stop
him. Plus, it was his family’s club, so he could do whatever the hell he liked.
He steered the
Ivy substitute to the corner closest to Ivy and pushed her against the wall.
The woman looked both excited and shocked, her eyes drinking in his face, not
realizing how ugly his personality was, because if she saw how much hate he had
inside of him, she would run screaming.
He lowered
her to her feet. “Do you know me?” He ran a finger over her bottom lip, which
was quivering. “Because you didn’t fight me when I picked you up.”
Still
looking stunned, she nodded.
“Where
from?”
“Here and-and
around town,” she stuttered.
“Do you know
who I am?”
She nodded
again, making him think of a bobble-head. “Brando Santini. You’re famous.”
He smiled. “That’s
the first time someone called me famous.”
“Well, you
are on this island. My friends drool over you. They will be so jealous of me.”
He laughed.
“Is that so?”
“Sì.
I come to H20 hoping you turn up with
your brothers. Some of my friends like them, but I prefer looking at you,” she
babbled, resembling the way the fangirls talked to the twins, the women often
revealing too much in their star-struck state. “You are so beautiful. I used to
have a picture of you as my screensaver until my boyfriend saw it.” Her face
dropped, the woman probably realizing she’d overstepped the mark.
Brando frowned.
“How did you get a picture of me?”
“I too-took
it when I saw you in the-the park once,” she stuttered out.
“You’re not
stalking me, are you?”
Her eyes
widened, fear now coloring them. “No, no,” she said, shaking her head
vigorously. “I was taking pictures of the flowers and you walked past. Honest,
it was just a coincidence.” She screwed up her face. “I didn’t mean anything by
it; it’s just ... you’re so beautiful and—”
“Calm down,
I’m not angry.”
She
breathed out, looking greatly relieved.
He smiled.
“So, how about you give me your email and I’ll send you a naked picture of me
to replace the old one.”
Her eyes
went big. “Really?”
“Yeah, so
what is it?”
“You got a
pen?”
“I don’t
need one; I’ve got a very good memory.”
She rattled
it off, also giving him her number. Brando committed them to memory, planning on
doing a background check on her.
“You can
call me anytime,” she said.
“What about
your boyfriend?” he asked, only wanting a fuck.
“Don’t
worry about that creep; I’m going to dump him.”
“Bene. Now, no more talking, I want to
kiss you.” He pressed his lips against hers again. She kissed him back, the
woman moaning against his lips. As they kissed, he pulled out a condom from his
pocket, Vinnie’s leather pants well-stocked. He unzipped his pants and rolled
the rubber onto his hard cock. Once ready, he broke the kiss and spun the woman
around. He pushed her dress up and yanked down her panties, giving her ass a
slap for good measure. She let out a squeal, then went to say something, but he
cut it off, clamping a hand over her mouth. He pushed her against the wall as
she tried to turn around. “Calm down, sweetheart,” he said, brushing his lips
over ear. “You want me, don’t you?”
She stopped
struggling and nodded.
“Bene, and if you don’t fight me, I’ll
make sure you come.”
She started
shaking.
“Dio, you’re turning me on.” He uncovered
her mouth and moved his hand down her body, running it over her tits and
stomach. The woman jerked as he touched her pussy, but didn’t fight him. She
was already wet, fear and attraction a powerful combination. He pushed his
finger inside of her, the woman’s shaking growing. “Again, there’s no need to
be scared,” he kissed her neck, “as long as you please me.”
She gasped
as he shoved another finger inside, not being gentle about it.
“Are you
going to please me?”
“Sì,”
she groaned.
“Aren’t you
worried about people watching you?”
She went
stiff.
“It doesn’t
matter, because if I said strip, you would, wouldn’t you?”
“Sì,”
she whimpered.
“I bet you
masturbate to thoughts of me at night.”
She
groaned, confirming he was right.
“I bet
you’ve dreamed of my cazzo pumping
your figa.”
She groaned
again, her answer a breathy rumble.
He removed
his fingers and took hold of his cock, penetrating her fast, the woman letting
out another squeal. He placed a hand over her mouth again and brushed his lips
over her ear. “You can squeal all you want, just remember where we are.” He
glanced to his side, smiling at a group of women at a table. They were watching
him as though he was putting on a show just for them. He blew them a kiss,
making a few of the horny donne giggle,
then refocused on the woman he was imbedded in and started fucking her. She
whimpered again, but didn’t complain or try to stop him. He closed his eyes, imagining
she was Ivy, someone he would fuck again—no matter what she said.
Because the Viper was his,
whether she liked it or not.
***
“I can’t
believe he’s fucking her in public,” D said, her voice thick with disbelief.
“You can see his ass moving.” She looked at Ivy, her hazel eyes enormous. “He
even has an audience. Those females look like they’re lining up to be next.”
Ivy gritted
her teeth, wanting to kill all of them, most of all the one Brando was nailing
to the wall. She forced her gaze away from him, willing herself not to hit the bastard
for taunting her, because that was what he was doing. He was punishing her for not
bowing down to him. And she wanted to punish him back, doing something that
would anger him, but she had no interest in whoring herself like he was doing.
Instead, she would snub him, not letting him know how much he was affecting
her.
The sound
of instruments being tuned thankfully pulled her attention to the stage, but
not for long, because her gaze started wandering back to Brando, the man a
magnet. She knew he’d picked that corner, knowing she would see everything. She
just wished it was her he was fucking. She imagined herself in front of him,
with his cock plowing into her, while his hands moved all over her body, those
beautiful lips of his talking dirty to her. They curved up so wickedly,
tainting his beauty with an evil air, but she still loved them, especially when
he smiled at her as though he was imagining her naked. With one look he could
make her feel both dirty and desired ... hell, he could make her wet just by
saying hello.
She swore
in her head, annoyed she was thinking about him again. She wished she wasn’t attracted
to him, although it was hard not to be with the way he looked. She willed
herself to focus on the stage again, where one of the twins was tuning his
guitar. The male was decked out in leather pants and a muscle shirt, looking every
bit the rock star. She instantly knew which twin he was, because D was
blathering on about how gorgeous Vinnie was. It was getting tiresome.
“I’m bored,
let’s go,” Ivy said, needing to get away from Brando before she lost her cool.
“No way,” D
said. “Vincenzo’s just getting started. And we have a job to do.”
Ivy’s
attention moved to the surging crowd, who were trying to get as close as
possible to the Santini twins. Vinnie started playing a rift on his guitar, his
deft fingers flying across the strings. Dominic’s voice came over the microphone
a few seconds later. It was rich with a raspy edge to it, the man sounding sexy
as hell. With him and his brother’s good looks and talent, it made her wonder
why they were playing in a nightclub when they were capable of commanding a
much larger crowd. Her mind went to their mother, the barracuda probably the
reason. The woman was a control freak, who was constantly keeping tabs on her
children. It had been her who’d paid D and Ivy to watch the twins and Brando,
making sure they were safe.
The fans started
screaming, acting like the brothers were tattooed rock gods, which was why they
weren’t her taste. She hated tattoos after having to look at the Black
Russian’s face for so long. Her previous employer was covered from head to toe in
black tattoos, his visage terrifying. And he was as deadly as he looked, which
was another reason why she had to protect the Santini brothers. She needed them
to help her destroy the Black Russian, the man having murdered her mother and
oldest sister, along with a number of Vipers.
A woman
reached over the stage, trying to touch Vinnie’s foot, the guy oblivious to
what she was doing. He was concentrating on his guitar, lost in the music,
looking like it was giving him a high. The hard rock strains were filling the
nightclub, pumping loud through the sound system.
Ivy’s eyes roamed
the crowd again, not liking the frenzy the twins were whipping up. The women
all looked like they wanted to take a piece of Vinnie and Dominic home with them:
an arm, a leg ... a cock ... fuck, the bitches would probably shred the brothers
just to get one taste.
“I don’t
like this,” Ivy said. “They’re working those women up too much.”
“That’s
because they’re hot as hell,” D replied.
“Which is
precisely why they should have a barrier.”
“The stage
is high enough, and shut up, I’m listening; they’re really good.”
“You’re not
here to listen, you’re here to protect them, so do your bloody job or next time
I’ll bring Cyn with me.”
D’s eyes
snapped to her. “Don’t you dare! Vincenzo’s mine, and if Cyn touches him, I’ll
rip her uterus out through her mouth.”
Ivy
laughed. “Cyn’s not interested in Vinnie, that evil bitch wants to taint Father
Silvio. I saw her following the poor man around. So, do your job, or she’ll be
coming tomorrow night.”
“Stop
getting on my case,” D snapped. “Brando and the soldiers are also here to guard
them.”
“Brando’s
more interested in fucking than doing his job, so quit arguing with me. The
twins need to be protected. We can’t have any of the Santini hurt; we need every
one of them to take down the Black Russian.”
D exhaled
loudly, muttering, “Okay.” Her gaze moved to the crowd. “Can’t see anything;
other than a sea of heads.”
“I think
it’s stupid they’re playing when the war is still going.”
“They
obviously think there’s minimal risk, plus it’s their club. They wouldn’t let
any Donatelli in.”
“They could
still slip in.”
“Which is
why they bring so many guards,” D pointed to the corners of the stage, where
large men in suits were standing, watching over the crowd, protecting the twins,
“so stop worrying.”
“I still
don’t like it. This is an unnecessary risk.”
D pointed
at Vinnie. “Look at his face, he looks truly happy. That is why they’re here.
Those two need music to breathe. They’re stifled back at the compound. I
haven’t seen either of them looking this happy since we met them. Everyone
needs passion in their lives. Music is theirs.”
Ivy
grunted, knowing D was right. The twins looked like they were in seventh heaven,
the two obviously needing to perform.
A couple of
women started talking next to Ivy, their comments catching her attention: “Lucky
puttana, I’d love a piece of that
honey. He’s mouthwatering.”
“I heard
he’s a hitman,” the second one said.
“He can hit
my pussy with his cock all he wants.”
The women laughed.
Ivy’s eyes followed
their line of gaze, scowling at what she saw. Brando had turned the female he
was fucking around. The bitch had her legs wrapped around his waist and her
arms around his neck, kissing those cruel lips of his, his cock still imbedded
in her.
Jealousy
flared again.
Red
Hot
Volatile
And itching
to kill.
She dug her nails into
her palms to stop herself from reacting. She didn’t understand why she wanted
the bastard so much. She should like nice men, the kind who gave her gifts of flowers
and chocolates, unlike Brando, who would grab his crotch and say he had a
present for her. Who spoke to women like that?
Assholes.
That was
who, and she needed to ignore him.
She forced
herself to look at the twins again. Up on stage, Dominic had stopped singing
and was asking the crowd whether they were having a good time.
“No,” Ivy
muttered.
D elbowed
her. “Sssh.”
Dominic
continued talking, asking whether everyone wanted to hear Vinnie sing. The Barbies
packed in like sardines started screaming, “Sì!”
He placed a
hand over his heart. “Oh, you wound me. I guess I should leave, since none of
you want me here.”
The women
started screaming for him, making him grin wide, the man obviously lapping up
the attention, unlike his twin, who didn’t appear to care for it. Ivy’s gaze shifted
to Vinnie, who was staring across at ... D.
Dominic
thrust the microphone in front of his twin, snapping Vinnie out of the stare.
Shifting his guitar to his back, Vinnie took the microphone and yelled into it:
“How’re ya doing?” The crowd screamed in response, surging forward even more.
Vinnie’s eyes
moved back to D, a smile lighting up his face. “I would like to dedicate the
next song to someone who helped save my famiglia
almost two months ago. Grazie, D,
you’re a sweetheart.”
“The
ungrateful bastard,” Ivy muttered. “I saved his fucking family, not you, you
barely did shit. He should give me the credit.” She looked at D, whose mouth
was hanging open. “Close your mouth before Brando sticks his cock in it.”
D shut her
mouth, her gaze not moving from Vinnie. He started singing, the song a love
ballad, which pulled Ivy’s attention back to the man, his voice impressing her.
It was similar to his brother’s, just not as gravelly, his notes purer. It was
probably because Vinnie didn’t smoke like his brother, who seemed to have a
cigarette surgically attached to his lips.
“Oh, God,”
D moaned. “I want him so fucking bad.”
“Then do
him, because it looks like he wants a piece of you now.”
D glanced
at her. “Do you think so?”
“He just
dedicated the song to you, didn’t he?”
“But, it
doesn’t make sense; he’s ignored me for so long.”
“Men don’t
make sense, so go jump on his bandwagon and take a ride.” Ivy tensed as Brando
walked past her, running his hand over her breasts. He kept on walking, disappearing
into the crowd before Ivy could react.
D’s eyes
moved to her in shock. “He just groped you. Aren’t you going to do something
about it?”
“Yeah, leave. Get a lift home with Vinnie, I’ve
had enough. No amount of money is worth this shit.” She took off, needing to
get out of the club before she hit Brando—the man driving her insane.
To continue reading BRANDO here are 4 Amazon Purchase Links.
IT - AmazonItalia
(BRANDO is also available at other Amazon global stores as well as Smashwords. It will be available at Barnes & Noble, Apple, and Kobo this coming week.
Ricardo (Senior) – The father of all but Brando. He’s bedridden with
an unknown illness.
Concetta – The
mother of all but Valentino.
The Santini children from the oldest to the youngest.
Ricardo
(Junior) – The 37-year-old Don. Due to taking an
experimental drug eight years ago for his Intermittent Explosive Disorder
(IED), he damaged his nervous system, losing ninety percent of the feeling in
his body.
Salvatore
– Age 36. A widower who recently lost his wife in
a bomb explosion. He has two young children, Mia and Piero.
Valentino
(Pirelli) – 35 and the
love child of Ricardo (Senior). He’s not acknowledged as a Santini due to being
the outcome of an affair his father had with a prostitute. He grew up in a
brothel and is a hitman. His wife was murdered by Landi soldiers due to being
born into the wrong family. He has two teenage daughters: Mira (18 turning 19)
and Siena (17).
Brando
– 34, unmarried, a
hitman, and the only Santini with golden eyes. The rest of his family has
violet or blue eyes. His mother had an affair with Davido D’Angelo, someone
Brando accidentally killed in a hit gone wrong.
Anna
– 33 and married
to Sergio Rosso. They have three young children: Bruno, Cara, and Lena.
Luciano – 31 and a widower with one child: Giorgio. He is
still mourning his wife’s tragic death from a car accident five years prior.
The
Twins – Vincenzo (Vinnie) and Dominic – The rocker twins are
29. They are singers and guitarists in a hard rock band, which has a cult
following. They are single. Dominic is also a finder—someone who locates people who don’t want to be found. He’s very
good with electronics and is fond of tattoos and piercings. Vinnie is an
explosives expert and only has tattoos, not sharing his twin’s piercing fetish.
Silvio
– 28. A Catholic
priest who is plagued with guilt after causing the accident that killed his
brother’s wife and crippled his sister.
Bella
– 27 turning 28.
She is wheelchair-bound due to the car accident Silvio caused while driving
drunk.
Alessandro
– Age: 27. He is 10 months younger than Bella. He was born prematurely and
wasn’t expected to survive, but is now one of the strongest men on his island.
He became famous after working as a porn star, his muscular body and sexual
prowess gaining him a legion of fanatical female fans. He is also famous for
his tattoos, which cover more than half of his body. His back ones were done to
hide bad scars, which were inflicted upon him by kidnappers when he was
fourteen. He also has multiple piercings, his Prince Albert and huge sexual
appetite gaining him notoriety amongst the mafia community.
The Santini Brothers #1
