Chapter Eleven
Emmi hesitated outside the guest room where Digger was probably asleep by now. This had been the longest, and the most confusing, day of her life. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that morning with Digger in her room, and she hadn’t been able to stop looking at him all day. The only way to find out if the incredible sex had been a fluke, or a first-time thing, was to do it again.
She had to know. Because in all the years she and Sam had been sexually active—and Emmi doubted her parents would be thrilled to know he’d taken her virginity when she was only fifteen—sex had never been this good. Not even close. She had to find out if it had been the result of being with someone new, or if this was truly Digger, all the time.
Not that fabulous sex could sustain a relationship, or change her mind about him. No. That wasn’t why she now stood outside his door, debating whether to knock or simply barge inside. No. Of course not.
Why the hell are you here then, genius?
Emmi opened the door and stepped inside, listening. If he was asleep, she’d leave. She stopped just short of gasping as light illuminated the room from his bedside lamp. He was sitting up in bed, a heart-stopping grin on his face.
“It’s cold.” He pulled back the comforter to reveal that glorious naked body she’d enjoyed all morning. “Crawl under here with me and get warm.”
“You look like you’ve been waiting for me. How did you know I’d come?”
“I told you this morning. You’re mine. It’s inevitable.”
This is only sex. And you are so full of shit.
“You’re freezing,” he said. “I can see it from here.”
She crossed her arms, and he chuckled. “Too late. I saw them.”
Her nipples were erect and poking against her PJ top. Of course he’d notice that. “Maybe I just came here to talk?”
“And maybe you didn’t.” He stroked his cock, and she drew in a sharp breath as her pussy grew wet. “Maybe you came here to fuck me again.”
“You know, sometimes you’re too fucking confident for your own good.”
“If you didn’t come here to talk, and you didn’t come here to fuck, why are you here?”
The sight of his hand, moving up and down the length of that magnificent dick, mesmerized her. “I’m not sure.”
“Come over here and let’s find out together.”
Emmi watched him for a few more seconds, then lifted her gaze to his. Lust and love filled his eyes. The latter was as unmistakable as the former. He’d leave in the morning and it was uncertain when she’d see him again, so she might as well have some fun tonight.
Before she lost her nerve, Emmi pulled off her PJ top and bottoms. He let out a low, soft growl as she walked toward the bed, and when she reached it, he pulled her down into his arms and kissed her until she could hardly breathe.
She wrapped her arms and legs around him and sighed against his skin as he trailed his tongue down her neck, over her breasts, and back up again before sliding his dick into her pussy. They fucked slowly, deeply, gazing into each other’s eyes as if they’d been lovers for years.
Her orgasm came gradually, strengthening with each thrust. He didn’t speak. There was no need for words. He knew when to quicken his pace and when to back off. How, she had no fucking clue, and after the second climax, she no longer gave a shit because it was real.
This was real. This was how he made love, and if she gave him what he wanted, she’d have this every day for the rest of her life.
After he came, they lay in each other’s arms. His breathing pattern told her that he was asleep long before she felt tired. Her mind wouldn’t stop. She even briefly thought about sneaking back to her own room, but that seemed cruel. She didn’t want him waking up to find her gone without an explanation. He’d assume the worst, and for the first time she could remember, she cared what he thought.
Emmi wiped tears from her face and sat up slowly. She hugged her knees to her chest and listened to the wind outside, which still hadn’t died down even though the storm was long gone. Would this have happened between them if there hadn’t been a blizzard? Would Digger have asked her out, or invited her to his place at some point?
Did it matter? It had happened, and now she had a decision to make.
All afternoon as she had worked side-by-side with her mother, she’d longed to talk to her about it but hadn’t, because Emmi knew what her mother would say. It was a foregone conclusion, as far as both parents were concerned. It was a foregone conclusion for Digger. She was the only one who resisted it.
If she asked her sisters, they’d say the same thing. And she couldn’t tell her friends, so that only left two choices. Accept Digger as he was, or end this now so neither one of them ended up hurt.
Except he would be hurt. He also would never give up. Which was kind of creepy if she allowed herself to dwell on it, but also flattering as hell. Because he was here, and the man she thought would never give up on her was now on the other side of the country, and had dumped her sorry ass without a second thought.
Emmi lay back down and snuggled against Digger’s warm body. Maybe if she slept, she’d find the answer in her dreams.
****
Digger spent three days following the punk around Brooklyn before deciding how to take him out. This was his favorite part of any job. Getting creative in how he made it look like an accident. It was his trademark. Not once, in any of the jobs he’d done for Mob bosses, CEOs, or anyone else who hired him, had the cops suspected foul play. That was an unparalleled track record, as far as Digger knew, and he took great pride in it.
As he waited inside a borrowed sedan, the job he and Jimmy Vaccaro pulled flashed through his mind. Well, okay. There was one job he wasn’t particularly proud of. The cops had ruled it accidental, but he and Jimmy really had taken a huge risk on that one. Totally worth it, it as far as Digger was concerned, but it too easily could have gone south.
The fact that he’d still heard nothing, other than di Stefano’s camp continuing to scramble because of it, was a huge relief. Even Tony hadn’t asked further questions since that one afternoon in his office.
He drained his Starbucks and ate the last bite of a double-smoked bacon, cheddar, and egg sandwich. Digger never liked to kill people on an empty stomach. It wasn’t that it made him sick to take someone out. Rather, it made him ravenously hungry, so he always ate beforehand.
The punk had driven to a warehouse in Red Hook where, as far as Digger had been able to work out, he and several equally self-serving business associates stored items they had stolen, or had made to look like the real thing. The way this punk made his money was a cliché.
He’d set himself up as an art dealer, but everything he sold was hot or fake. He and his band of cronies had been careful not to take items that were one-of-a-kind, or so rare, they’d hit someone’s radar. And the items they had made also weren’t ones that everyone was looking for.
It was the same concept as in the old days when the bosses would only deal in moderate-priced goods. Stay away from the low-end stuff or you won’t make any money, but steer clear of the high-end stuff so you don’t attract too much attention.
Tony was tipped off to this guy when he bought Teresa a wedding anniversary present that turned out to be fake. And he only discovered the fraud because one of Teresa’s friends came over, saw the vase, and lifted it up to look at the bottom. Apparently, some sort of maker’s mark wasn’t quite right, and this friend questioned it.
When Tony dug a bit further, he discovered what the guy and his friends were up to and confronted the punk about it. At first, once the kid realized who Tony was, he offered to get him the real thing and absorb the cost. He begged for his life, and told Tony he never would have sold him the vase if he’d known who he was.
But he strung out the deal for months, and eventually gave Tony another fake, only this time it was better made. Even Teresa’s friend was fooled. She told Teresa that this time, she had the real deal.
Tony believed it was over until a few weeks later, when he and one of his associates were discussing a recent job one of them had done. The punk’s name came up, and Tony learned about the second deception when the associate described an incident so similar to Tony’s, he might as well have been talking about the same one.
This time, when Tony confronted the punk, the guy actually admitted to giving Tony a second fake. He also told Tony he shouldn’t take it personally. That it was only business. The only reason Tony didn’t off the guy himself was because there were people around at the time, and someone might have overheard at least part of the conversation.
This punk was not only a dumbass, but he had no style. No class. No sense of finesse. Digger would enjoy this one. And because so many weeks had now gone by, the punk likely believed he was safe from the Mob boss he’d ripped off twice. What a fucking idiot.
Digger had watched the punk key in the passcode that opened the warehouse door. Digger already knew it. He also knew how to disarm the security system. He’d gone inside the warehouse last night after using technology to detect the disarm code that a ten-year-old could have figured out. This punk was truly an amateur.
After Digger finished his breakfast, he did one more sweep of the area to make sure they were alone. He also made sure no one else was in the building by using a thermal imaging camera. There was no reason to suspect anyone was, but Digger needed this to be clean and uninterrupted.
He exited the sedan, put on a new pair of gloves, sprinted across the street, punched in the code, and waited. No alarm. Digger smiled. The punk usually went inside and didn’t reset the alarm until he left again. Getting the code hadn’t been necessary, but he was glad he had it anyway. You never know when someone will get an uneasy feeling and change their habits at a moment’s notice.
Digger’s pulse raced. There was nothing like this in the world. Not even fantastic sex felt this clean and pure. He shook those thoughts away before images of Emmi’s body distracted him. This was his job, and he needed to focus.
Following the incessant whistling, Digger walked into a small room near the back of the building. A laptop was open on the desk, and the punk’s back was to the door. He had a spreadsheet open on the screen.
Digger applied pressure from behind, just under the ears on both sides. The punk gasped once and then slumped over in the chair. He already knew from his prior visit to this warehouse, and from following him, that this guy was taking a Chinese herbal medication called FU-ZI, said to treat various ailments.
He drank it in tea, and he had a bottle of lotion made from the stuff on his desk. The tea was out because Digger didn’t want to have to try to pour the shit down the guy’s throat. The bottle had a hand-written label on it, instructing him to “apply in very small doses to the skin for stomach upset or joint pain.”
Digger found it extremely ironic that a guy who resold stolen goods for a living had stomach issues. Stupid punk. After he slathered the lotion all over the guy’s face and neck, Digger replaced the bottle and closed the laptop.
It was tempting to go through the computer, or take it, but this needed to look like an accidental overdose. A quick Google search had assured Digger that doing what he’d just done with that amount of lotion would prove fatal.
Waiting around for the guy to go into respiratory arrest and die was the most satisfying part of this. Digger removed his gloves, turning them inside out as he did, and used a fresh pair in his pocket to put them into a plastic bag he’d brought along. Later, he would dump the bag and the second set of gloves into separate trash cans in Central Park.
For now, he stood a few feet away from the body and waited, his dick growing hard as the guy’s skin turned pale blue and he twitched a bit. The fact that he fell face first onto the closed laptop when he finally died was so perfect, it made Digger long to jerk himself off, right there. But that might leave behind DNA, even if he used gloves and was careful.
He went back outside, glancing around to make sure no one was near, and then removed the gloves before sliding into the sedan he’d borrowed from a friend. Once there, he used an anti-bacterial soap to clean his hands, even though those were now said not to be good to use. He was taking no chances, just the same.
It was a bright, cold winter day. Perfect for a stroll in the park. Digger smiled as he drove toward the Brooklyn Bridge. He felt alive and charged with energy. Even a small job like this one gave him the biggest thrills of his life.
And now, on top of all this, he had the one thing he’d wanted for as long as he could remember. Emmi. Yes. Life was perfect.