“LOOK AT your sorry ass sitting behind that desk, and doing fuck all.” Cross stood in the office doorway with his arms folded over his chest, and a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “This a new thing for you—sitting in the Capo’s chair—or what?”
Tom laughed as he stood from the chair. “It’s a new development, yeah.”
“Since when? You weren’t the one behind that desk the last time I was in Chicago.”
“Five months ago or so.”
“Since you came back from New York, then?”
Tom nodded. “About then, yeah.”
“Are you liking it?” Cross asked.
“Do you like acting as your father’s underboss?”
“Two entirely different positions, man.”
“My question remains the same.”
Cross chuckled. “It’s a lot of work. Busy days, I guess.”
“Same here.”
“I bet.” Cross stepped into the office, and slammed the door closed behind him. “I figured while I’m in the city, I should come over and say hello. See what you were up to since you don’t know how to use a fucking phone.”
“I call you.”
“Once in a blue moon. I think you talk to my sister far more than you talk to me. I don’t know if I should be offended about that, or not. I mean, considering you’re supposed to be my friend and all.”
“Offended or jealous? You do know they’re not the same thing, right?”
Cross barked out a laugh. “Fuck you, you prick.”
Tom rounded the desk, and grabbed hold of Cross’s reaching hand. Despite what Cross said, Tom did call him every couple of weeks just to chat. He still missed his friend, though. The two gave each other a quick one-armed hug before letting go.
“It’s good to see you,” Tom said.
Cross shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. “We should do something, Tommaso. I’m going to be in the city for a couple of weeks before I’ll head back to New York.”
Tom cocked a brow. “A good week and a half of that will be spent with you on a gun run, right? I know the run for the cartel is coming up. A deal Theo made in exchange for two shipments of cocaine next month.”
“So?”
Cross posed the question so flippantly that it made Tom want to laugh. His friend had no idea the constant silent fight he had been having with his father for months now about guns and running them.
For as hard as his father tried to keep him away from the gunrunning side of the Outfit’s business, Tom still got word of what was going on every once in a while. Usually, one of his uncles would let the information slip when he asked the right questions.
“Not sure a gun run would be smart for me to get in on right now,” Tom admitted.
Cross scoffed. “What, like sitting behind this desk all day is doing anything for you? You can’t tell me that it is, Tom.”
No, it really wasn’t.
“Fact remains, Cross, I am way too busy right now to be up and going for something like that.”
“You sure?”
No.
“Yeah,” Tom forced himself to say.
Cross rocked on his heels, saying, “Suit yourself, but the offer is still open should you want to take me up on it. I’ve got a couple of days before I need to get on the road, you know.”
“Don’t you have a partner for these runs?”
Cross always used a partner, or he should be using one. It was one of the first things the two had learned when Theo taught them about the business of gunrunning. A partner could make all the difference in a good, clean run, or a failed one. A partner could save your ass in more ways than one, honestly.
“Haven’t used a partner in a year or more,” Cross said, shrugging.
“Kind of playing with fire, isn’t it?”
“I don’t have patience for people’s shit, man.”
“Or they don’t have patience for yours.”
“Same difference,” Cross grumbled. “Is the fact you’re busy the reason you haven’t headed back to New York to see my sister, or what?”
Tom smirked. “That’s real smooth of you, man.”
“Wasn’t going for smooth.”
Yeah, Cross never did.
Blunt to a painful point.
Never failed.
“Cam’s not asked me to come back,” Tom admitted. “I mean, we talk and whatever, but that’s not come up yet.”
“You need her permission or something? It isn’t obvious she likes you, or what?”
“It’s obvious. I’m not blind or a fool.”
“So, it is a permission thing.”
“Something like that.”
More like, he needed to know Camilla actually wanted him there. Tom didn’t need to be wasting his time, or hers. When she let him know something worth knowing, then he would make an effort.
Cross’s gaze darted to the clock on the wall. “You busy right now? We could grab some food.”
Today was supposed to be payday for Tom … in a way. Whatever money the crew had made over the last week needed to be on his desk before night fell over the city. It was his rule, and he didn’t allow his guys to bend it, no matter what. He had learned over the last few months that if he gave any of those fuckers an inch, they would not hesitate to take another mile.
Even so, Tom didn’t want to refuse Cross’s offer.
Cross stood still, waiting for an answer.
“Well?” his friend asked.
“Do you mind ordering it for here?”
Two birds, one stone.
Cross passed a look at the flat screen television. “There anything good to watch on that?”
“Any channel you want.”
“Find me a game to watch. I’ll order pizza.”
Tom headed for the couch that faced the television. He dropped down on one end, and Cross took a seat on the other. Both used the coffee table as a footrest while Tom flipped through satellite channels. Cross’s voice carried over the noise of the television as he ordered from his favorite pizza place in Melrose.
“That’s going to be cold by the time it gets to here,” Tom told him.
Cross wordlessly pointed at the microwave across the office. Soon, his friend had hung up the phone and shoved it back in his pocket.
“So, hey,” Cross said.
Tom looked over at him. “What?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go on that run with me?”
“Don’t tempt me, Cross.”
“You should go.”
“I should,” Tom agreed.
“But will you?”
Tom chuckled. “That’s the million dollar question.”
It was a while later before Tom’s crew started filtering into the warehouse one by one to pay their dues for the week. Half of his attention was on counting the money while he ate pizza. The other half was on the hockey game.
“Fuck, come on,” Tom groaned. “You know that was a damned goal, you asshole.”
“I saw the playback,” Cross argued, never turning around. “It didn’t go over the line all the way.”
“It did.”
“Nope.”
“See you on Monday, Skip.”
Tom waved a hand at Dale to excuse him from the office just as the machine on the desk beeped to say it had finished counting the bills. Dale had just reached for the door when Tom looked down to see the number on the cash counter.
He hesitated.
Took in the number again.
And again.
“Dale, you’re short,” Tom said.
Instantly, Cross reached for the remote on the couch, and turned down the television. Tom discarded the piece of pizza he had been working on, wiped his hands down on his jeans, and fished the cash out.
“I double counted, Skip,” Dale said.
His tone sounded weak even if his words came off sure.
Tom didn’t miss it, but he opted to ignore Dale as he started slipping through the bills in his hand. He counted them once, and then twice. Finally, Tom set the money down on the corner of the desk, feeling a numbness settle into his bones at the realization settling through his mind.
There was only one reason Dale would be short on cash.
“What were your pickups this week?” Tom asked.
“The three bookies, and a couple of pickups from the Heights.”
Tom nodded. “You know I’m aware how much cash should have come in from those payments, right?”
Dale cleared his throat. “One of the bookies said he didn’t get the total owed from one of his—”
“Bullshit.”
“That’s the story I was told, Skip.”
Tom yanked a drawer open on the desk, and reached for the weapon inside. He placed the gun carefully on the top of the desk, and stared hard at the man across the room. Dale kept glancing at the door like he was going to bolt. Tom had no intention of letting the fucker get that far—thieves had a habit of spreading, after all.
“Those bookies know to make up what they don’t have because we allow them to keep the other part of the cut when it does come in. All the Capos have a good working relationship with their bookies because we have to. A little bit of trust goes a hell of a long way in this business. Try again, Dale.”
Cross pushed up from the couch, and grabbed a couple of napkins from the desk. Still, he stayed a couple of feet back from the two men conversing, and didn’t try to join in. Tom appreciated it.
Dale, however, couldn’t seem to stand fucking still. His gaze darted in all directions like a wild cat caught in a corner. He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets, and edged closer to the doorway.
Tom palmed the butt of the gun. “Adriano thought someone might be skimming off the top of his money a while back. He thought some of the payments coming in were a little short, and that’s why he started rotating pickups between different guys. Some of these payments are bottom line, and don’t change a damn dime. Ones like these, Dale, when I already knew ahead of time from the bookies because they call in to let me know what to expect. I bet you didn’t know that, huh?”
Dale swallowed hard. “I—”
“Is it because I’m young that you all treat me like a fucking idiot? Or is it because I was born with more zeroes in my bank account than you’ll ever have?”
Cross snorted under his breath at that one.
Dale inched closer to the door again.
Fuck this shit.
Tom was done talking.
Talking did nothing.
Not in this case.
“A thief is a thief is a thief,” Tom said. “And do you know what the only good thief is, Dale?”
The man didn’t answer.
Cross did. “A dead one.”
Exactly.
Fast as a blink, he lifted the gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
It was only after Dale’s blown out skull hit the floor that Tom realized a couple of other guys on the crew were waiting outside the office.
Tom figured this was what his father would call a teachable lesson for all. It was good for these fools to see that he wasn’t playing around anymore, and he wasn’t going to take any of their shit after today.
“Come on in,” Tom told them with a cold smile, “and don’t mind the mess, guys.”
Tom laughed as one of the guys helping to pack up the guns into the false bottom of the eighteen-wheeler fell flat on his ass. The icy ground had no mercy for the men trying to work.
“Want some skates?” Tom called out.
“Fuck you, Rossi.”
“Want a hand up, then?”
“You would just let me drop back down.”
“Likely,” Tom agreed.
“Asshole.”
Tom chuckled when the guy tried to get back up, but only fell once more. February was one bitch of a month. Nearing the end of winter, it fooled people into thinking spring was nearing, but it was never near enough.
He did end up helping the guy up. Another one of the guys working to help load up the smuggled guns starting tossing a salt and gravel mixture over the ground. It would help a little bit, but not a whole lot.
“Shit, can we get out of this cold for five minutes?”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Tom agreed.
The group headed inside the warehouse, and Tom pulled down the bay door. It effectively closed the cold outdoors off, and left them inside the heated warehouse. Up above their heads, the heaters turned on full blast.
“Warm up for a bit,” Tom told the guys, “and then we’ll finish up, okay?”
“Sounds good.”
“Sure, Tom.”
He waved two fingers over his shoulder, and headed for the back of the warehouse. He knew exactly where he would find Cross, and he wasn’t wrong.
At a metal table, Cross had a map spread out. The guy was meticulous on the details when it came to his gun runs. Every single thing was planned out to the finest of details. He planned for anything, and everything.
When something went wrong, Cross had three backups on hand to fix it. Tom respected that, and frankly, he had learned a lot from his friend’s ways when it came to gunrunning. It was just too bad he would likely never get to put it to use.
Cross glanced up from his work as Tom approached. “Still not up for going with me on this run?”
“After that mess last week, you should know I really can’t leave my crew for too long.”
“It’d only be a week, maybe. I’m sure you’ve got someone to handle them for that long.”
He did.
Lou. Adriano.
Plus, Tom could delegate tasks. The guys on the crew would be kept busy, and then they wouldn’t have even a second to find themselves in shit. Still, he heard his father in the back of his mind warning him, and drawing clear lines in the sand.
Gunrunning was one of those lines.
“Not this time,” Tom said.
Cross nodded at the guys near the front of the warehouse. “Thanks for helping them, anyway. An extra pair of hands is always needed.”
“It was good—like old times. You know, back when we first learned how to do some of this shit with Theo.”
“You think? It’s definitely not my favorite part of the job.”
“Hey, you’re the bigwig gunrunner now, Cross. You don’t have to worry about dismantling weapons or packing up guns. You get all the money and glory while they do the grunt work.”
Cross cocked a brow. “And put my ass on the line every time I make a run, Tom.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m fucking with you.” Tom shoved his hands in his pockets, finally feeling warm enough to maybe open the bay doors and finish packing in the last few cases of guns. “Besides, I’m starting to realize I needed something like this.”
Cross’s attention was already back down on the map. “What’s that?”
“Just … being around people I actually like, and don’t want to kill.”
A laugh echoed from his friend. “Yeah, that makes all the difference when you’re working, doesn’t it?”
“Makes it less of a chore.”
And all his crew felt like was one big, useless fucking chore added to his daily life.
Tom didn’t admit it out loud, though.
“Maybe you’re in need of another break, man,” Cross said, never looking up from his work.
“Hey, if I don’t have the time to head out on a run with you, then I don’t have time to take a break to do something else.”
Cross shrugged. “Make time.”
Easier said than done.
So was his life.
“Tommaso. I heard you were in this part of the city.”
Tom spun around at the sound of his father’s voice. Across the warehouse, Tommas headed in Tom’s direction. At his father’s sides, the man’s right and left hands flanked him. Damian Rossi, the underboss for the Outfit, and Theo, the front boss and the man who controlled the gunrunning portion of the business.
He shot Theo a look, knowing that was likely how his father found out he was here. After all, Theo had been at the warehouse earlier when Tom first arrived, but left shortly after saying he had business to handle.
Right.
Business.
“Had to call him, huh?” Tom asked Theo.
“Be nice,” his uncle, Damian, said.
Technically, Damian was a cousin, but Tom had grown up knowing the man as an uncle. Same with Theo, really. All of them—and even Adriano—were terribly close friends. It made it very difficult for Tom to do anything without one of them telling the other, and then the information almost always made it back to his father somehow.
“How’s this run looking, Cross?” Tommas asked.
As usual, Cross was focused on his work. He answered, of course, but didn’t look away from the maps. “It’s looking fine, Tommas. Nothing to worry about.”
“Good, good.” Tommas’s gaze turned on Tom. “I thought you had work to do on your side of the city today?”
“Someone needed an extra pair of hands.”
Damian strolled past Tom, and clapped him on the shoulder. He didn’t say anything, though.
“As long as the extra pair of hands is all he needed,” Tommas said.
“I could use a partner on the run,” Cross said.
“You didn’t tell me that,” Theo replied. “You rarely use partners now.”
Cross looked up from his work, and his gaze darted between Tom and the other men. “It’s good for Tom to keep up on his skills, that’s all. Wouldn’t want him getting rusty when he might need to be your backup someday, right?”
“Tommaso doesn’t run our guns,” his father said. “You do, Cross. Concern yourself with that at the moment.”
“I am, but I’m just saying—”
“Either way,” Tommas cut in, making sure his voice was heard, “Tommaso will not be the one going on the run. I’m the only one who gets to make the choice.”
Tom shot his father a look. “I wasn’t going on the run to begin with.”
“Had to make sure.”
“Of course you did,” Tom muttered, “because apparently my word means fuck all.”
Frustration and irritation ran rampant through Tom, but he shoved it back down. He knew why his father was doing this, but that didn’t mean he particularly fucking liked it. He didn’t need a reminder about who was in charge.
Tommas frowned. “I didn’t say your word—”
“You don’t have to.”
Tom shook his head, knowing this was the one thing he and his father were never going to see eye to eye on. Every single thing else between them was as good as gold, and smooth fucking sailing, but not this. Tommas couldn’t just take that his request to his son would be heeded. No, he had to do shit like this, too.
It drove him nuts, and made him defensive. Two things he hated the most.
“I’m heading out,” Tom said, done with the whole show.
“Tommaso, wait a damn second.”
Tom headed past his father with a wave. “Nah, I get it, Dad. You made your point. Later, Cross. Good luck on the run.”
Cross didn’t answer him.
Nobody followed behind.
Thank God for small miracles.
“It’s not a bob anymore.”
Camilla’s dark eyes lit up, dancing with amusement on the screen. “No, it’s grown out a bit.”
To make a point, she flipped her hands through her shoulder-length brown—now—locks. Seemed she had changed the color again, too. Tom didn’t know how to keep up with this girl.
He kind of liked it, though.
“Did you see my brother?” Camilla asked.
“A couple of times last week, yeah.”
“Lucky him.”
Tom raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean, Cam?”
“Nothing. So hey, I like this Skyping thing.”
He did, too. Much more than chatting on the phone or the occasional text. She was crystal clear on the screen, giving him a nice view of the sports bra and tiny shorts she was lounging in. She sat cross-legged on her couch with the laptop set up on the other end. Tom had settled into his bed before making the Skype call.
“It was a good idea,” Tom said. “At least I actually get to look at you like this, and not sit here and wonder.”
“Wonder what?”
Tom grinned. “The usual—what you’re wearing, and all that shit.”
Camilla laughed. “My eyes are up here, Tom.”
His gaze drifted on the screen to look up at her face. He found her smirking, and she’d arched a brow high in response to his leering.
“What?” he asked. “You can’t get on Skype half naked and expect me not to look, Cam. That’s unfair.”
“It’s not like I’m indecent or anything.”
“Nice try, girl. You could make a fucking paper bag look indecent, and you know it.”
Her grin deepened, turning sexy and sinful in a blink. Just the sight alone was enough to make Tom’s dick hard beneath the sweats he’d thrown on after his shower.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“I got that piercing done. You know …” Her finger pointed downward, and she flashed her teeth. “Down there.”
Tom’s brow lifted high, and his throat tightened. “Did you now?”
“Wanna see?”
“You’re wicked, Camilla.”
She winked, and didn’t deny it. “It hurt, but not as bad as I thought it would. The girl who did it made me sign this stupid waiver saying I understood that I might lose all feeling in my—”
“You didn’t, right?”
“Sign the waiver, or lose feeling in my clitoral nerves?”
“Camilla.”
She gave him a little shrug, and then dipped her hand between her thighs. On the screen, he had the sexiest view of her fingers edging beneath cotton panties. The speakers caught the sound of her fingers stroking through her sex, and the wet sound it made. Her lips popped open in a perfect O shape as her breath caught in her throat.
“Oh, I still feel. Quite well, Tom. Better now.”
“Oh?”
Oh?
He sounded like an idiot.
He didn’t know what else to say at the moment.
Camilla nodded, and her teeth cut into her bottom lip while her fingers kept working between her thighs. “It’s something new, you know? I’m always aware that it’s there now, even walking down the street. I could probably wear something tight enough, and it would make me come just by walking.”
His gaze was still firmly locked on her fingers moving under her panties. She’d made a damp little spot on the cotton from her juices. Her fingers moved from a thrusting motion, and then up higher, circling and tugging.
On that damn piercing.
He would really like to be the one playing with that fucking thing at the moment. Not watching her do it on a screen.
“Jesus Christ. You’re killing me here.”
“What do you want me to do, then?” she asked.
She was teasing him, and Tom was helpless to her game. He liked it a little too much to stop her from doing it.
“Well, moving those fucking panties aside so I can see what’s mine would be a great start, Camilla. Get on that, babe. If you’re going to tease me, at least make it worth my while.”
“Tom—”
“Let me see your cunt, Cam.”
She didn’t hesitate after that to use her other hand, and pull the cotton aside. The wet, pink sliver of her sex peeked out at him. All bare, waxed, and pretty. The tips of her finger smacked gently against her clit as a shiver raced over her skin.
“Let me see the piercing, Cam.”
“Sure you want to?”
Yeah, killing him.
Dead.
“Don’t make me turn off this screen,” he told her.
She gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
Probably not.
He wouldn’t tell her that, though.
“Let me see it, babe.”
She sucked on the fingers she had been using to fuck herself. Then, she made a V with her fingers around the hood of her clit. It allowed her to show off a tiny vertical bar that went straight through the hood of her clit. Two small balls were attached to each end of the bar. One rested on the top of the hood, and the other, right on her clit.
“You lie,” Tom said, “because no matter how good it looks—and it really, really does—that had to have hurt a whole hell of a lot.”
Cam shrugged. “Or maybe the pretty girl who did it was enough to keep my attention—”
The growl-like sound that came out of Tom surprised even him. The flood of jealousy that coursed through his system was a shock to his soul.
“I was kidding,” Camilla whispered, grinning in that way of hers.
“Better be.”
“I was. Care to show me yours now?”
“I don’t have anything new to show, Cam. It’s the same cock that had you coming a half of a dozen times.”
“Yeah, but I bet it would get me off faster to watch you play, too. Don’t you want to watch me get myself off while you come, too?”
How was Tom going to refuse her?
She was already back to toying between her clit, and the little barbell she had added to her body. Tremors rocked over her skin. Her shoulders shook. The lust darkening her gaze was enough to make him fucking wild.
“Yeah, I’ll play, babe.”
Camilla wet her lips. “When are you going to come back to New York, Tom?”
He hesitated to answer.
She had never asked him that question outright before.
“Do you want me to?” he asked.
“What do you think?”
“I’ll be back.”
“When?” she asked.
“Soon,” he promised.
Somehow.
Tom flashed her a smile. “Now show me how wet your pussy is, Cam. And start telling me how those fingers of yours can’t even compare to my cock.”
She did.
He loved it.