Chapter 10~ Evil Banshee

Chapter 10

Vincenzo

°° °° °° °°

I spent another three hours with Aurelio and Vito, going over important footage and trying to extract any useful information from the bastard who drove Tristiano to his end.

His story hadn’t changed—whether from years of practice in the art of lying or because he was telling the truth, I’d find out tomorrow.

By the time I left Aurelio and Vito, it was nearly 11 PM. There were some personal findings I needed to make. Usually, I would return to my room to do this, but there was a ball of fire in that room—one that would talk me to madness if I went back.

So, I opted for my study instead.

I reached my study, the room was dark, lit only by the dim glow of the city outside, filtering through the large windows that stretched from floor to ceiling.

I didn’t bother turning on the lights. The darkness was more comfortable, more familiar.

I moved to the bar, pouring myself a glass of bourbon, the liquid amber catching the faint light as it swirled in the crystal tumbler. I brought it to my lips, letting the warmth spread through me, grounding me in the moment.

But even the burn of the alcohol couldn’t erase the memory of her eyes, the challenge that lay within them.

It wasn’t just that she was beautiful—though that much was undeniable. No, it was more than that. There was something beneath the surface, something dark and dangerous that called to me in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. I downed the rest of the bourbon, the glass hitting the bar with a muted thud.

She’d be in that room now, probably trying to figure out a way to outmaneuver me. But it didn’t matter what she did. She was still in my territory, still playing by my rules.

And I knew exactly how to play her.

A mischievous smile curled on my lips at the thought of seeing what she’d been up to during my absence. She wouldn’t imagine that I was watching her—like the ever-seeing eyes of Big Brother.

I hoped to God she was asleep already so I could peacefully return to my room, because well, I’d be damned if I let her have a room to herself. God knows if she wouldn’t open a portal in the wall and stroll right out under my nose.

The thought made me shudder.

With a flick of my wrist, I turned on the monitor embedded in the wall behind my desk. The screen came to life, split into multiple feeds showing different parts of the house. It didn’t take long to find my little mouse, still trapped in the cozy cage I left her.

My jaw clenched when I saw her, anger making my eyes bulge. Refusing to believe what she was doing, I rewound the footage.

Involuntarily, I pressed play at the exact moment I left her alone in the room. She was stripping off the clothes she’d been wearing as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

I leaned back in my chair, watching as she walked around the room with that same arrogant confidence. Even here, in a place where she had no power, she acted as if she owned it. It was almost admirable, in a way. But it was also foolish.

I swallowed hard when her naked body came into view. I refused to acknowledge what all that feminine beauty did to my dick, telling myself I should be disgusted by the sight of that evil banshee.

Stacy cat-walked toward the mirror, struck a pose, and checked out her curves like a model who’d been trying a new diet, examining to see if it was working.

She disappeared into the bathroom, and I quickly switched to the camera hidden in the corner, giving me a view of the luxurious marble space. I watched as she slipped into the bath, her head tilting back in pure bliss.

The sight should have been mundane, nothing more than a woman enjoying a bath. But with Stacy, it was different. There was a sensuality to her movements, a deliberate provocation that was meant to unsettle.

And it did. But not in the way she expected.

The fact that she didn’t even consider the possibility of a camera hidden somewhere inside those rooms only highlighted her arrogance and stupid confidence.

My cock throbbed painfully in my pants when she worked a lather of soap over her swollen breasts, closing her eyes to savor the feel of the water on her skin. It must feel like heaven, a nice warm bath after such a long time.

“Oh, fuck!” I hissed under my breath when the bulge in my pants became too painful to ignore.

My cock had become twice its size. I was so fucking disgusted at myself for even having these thoughts.

Why the fuck was I even watching her take a shower?

“To stop her from escaping,” I answered easily.

My cock twitched at that lie, and I winced.

Okay, fuck! It’s been a while since I got laid—maybe what, three months? Fuck Marcel, that nice, cheerful stripper would have helped my nutsacks that night, but he just had to go and ruin it.

By the time I looked at the screen again, Stacy had left the bathtub. She took a towel and wrapped it around her beautiful breasts, making me hiss, but a part of my brain that still had sense thanked her for it.

That was until she dropped the towel in front of the mirror to examine herself again. My cock responded immediately.

“Fucking bitch!” I cussed silently.

She was a woman obsessed with her own body, a woman whose confidence was the eighth wonder of the world. She knew she was beautiful, and she was proud of that—a little too proud for my own good.

And she’s so fucking pretty when she’s not using that smart mouth to make my life miserable.

I didn’t want to, but I found my hand slowly traveling to my fly. I unzipped it, and my throbbing cock sprang out, the painful muscles throbbing along it.

I fucking hate jerking myself off.

But right now, I couldn’t help it. I licked my lips slowly, my eyes never leaving the monitor. I imagined my tongue trailing that creamy skin, my left hand fisting that auburn hair, which was almost red, while she knelt in front of me.

Her tongue would feel so good. I fisted my hand around my cock and stroked it, imagining it was my captive’s mouth choking on it. I started out gently at first, the sight of my enemy’s round tits providing the perfect backdrop.

More blood rushed into my cock, the more I pumped it, the harder it got. My movements became erratic. I threw back my head and groaned softly as the image of that pretty, sensual mouth slurping away on my rigid cock blurred my vision.

I came so fucking hard, my cum shooting on the desk, some on my face. As I tumbled over the edge, a single line escaped my lips, “My little mouse.”

What the fuck?

I snatched a bunch of paper towels on the table and cleaned up, then trashed the cum-drenched paper towels. I tucked my cock, which was still aching for the real stuff even after that Oscar-worthy performance by my hands, back into my pants and zipped up.

She was still in the shower, doing God knows what.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she planned on wasting all the damn water in this house. Feeling very disgusted with myself, I switched off the monitor, the screen going black as I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

I dropped my head into my palms and mumbled, “Fucking idiot.”

This was business, I reminded myself. Just another task, another loose end that needed to be tied up.

But no matter how much I tried to convince myself of that, there was a part of me—a small, dangerous part—that couldn’t ignore the way my pulse quickened when I thought about her.

Stacy Salvatore. She was a virus, something toxic that had been injected into my world, and the only way to deal with it was to contain it, control it, and, when the time was right, eliminate it.

I poured another glass of bourbon, the liquid sloshing slightly as I walked to the window, staring out at the city that stretched out below. The night was quiet—the kind of quiet that held a promise of violence, which was true, because tomorrow I planned on knocking on death’s door by visiting the fucking Irish.

A soft knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I didn’t bother turning around, already knowing who it was. The door opened, and Aurelio stepped inside, his presence a heavy reminder of Tristiano’s death.

“Everything’s in place,” he announce in a low tone. “I sent word, although we haven’t gotten a response yet.”

“We will,” I reassured him. “Even if we don’t, we’ll still go anyway.”

Aurelio nodded. “About the banshee…” He referred to Stacy as ‘the banshee’—he thought it was a befitting title for a woman with her reputation.

Devil’s instrument.

“We’ll bring her with us. I can’t take any chances with that one. And don’t worry about protecting her if it comes down to it. I’ve seen firsthand how she handles herself in such situations.”

There was an uncomfortable silence before Aurelio sighed. “I’m not entirely sure she won’t be a problem.”

“She already is,” I replied. “But not for long.”

Aurelio hesitated, sensing the shift in my mood.

He was good at that—reading people, understanding the subtle nuances that most others missed. It’s what made him useful, what kept him close.

“Make sure she’s kept comfortable,” I said, finally turning to face him. “For now.”

“Fine. I’ll keep tabs.” His expression became more serious now. “While we’re on the Irish cartel, we also need to talk about Ricci.”

Ricci Deluca. Leader of the Barruciano cartel, the rogues in our world, I’d not forgotten.

We had a truce, a necessary evil given the circumstances, but that night they crossed a line. They tried to kill me, and in return, I killed a good number of their men, even borrowed their truck to bring Stacy to Fog House.

“We’ve been waiting for them to reach out,” Aurelio continued, “either for war or peace, maybe a renegotiation of the terms of our previous contract. But nothing yet. That could mean they’re planning something big and bloody.” His voice lowered, “Or they’re already in bed with the Irish cartel.”

“It’s a possibility.” I responded with a curt nod, “But we don’t move until they do. Let them make the first mistake.”

Aurelio’s face crowded with concern. “Vincenzo, I’m not sure we can handle two wars right now, not with the recent loss of my brother. Not with his head still unattached to his shoulders.”

Taking a slow sip of the bourbon, I regarded him under my lashes, “In essence, you’re saying?”

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed, “I think we should try to iron things out with Ricci before it gets out of hand, they’re too close to home. Or better still, we could let your brother know since the alliance concerns the entire Region Mafia Men.”

I let out a low scoff, “Russel’s wife is heavily pregnant,” I reminded him, a sharp edge to my tone. “And Barrucciano’s problem is with Chicago, not with Region Mafia Men. We handle our own shits in our respective territories. Russel has his to handle, so does Dylan, Marcel, even Nikolai.” I took another sip, “Besides, Russel just came out of some deep shit.”

Aurelio dragged a tired hand through his face, “Yeah, because of that banshee and her evil family.”

I walked towards him, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and squeezed, “Before I had a family, I had the streets, I had your brother. This isn’t my first rodeo, Aurelio. So don’t worry about things going south.”

Aurelio didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he nodded. He knew better than to push me further on this.

Losing a close family could take a toil on a man, even the strongest, so I excused his doubts.

He knew better than to ask questions, knew that there were some things that didn’t need to be said. With a slight bow of his head, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Later, I returned to my room.

The lights were off, leaving the room in peach darkness. So she prefers sleeping in the dark, typical devil. Well, at least we have something in common.

The little mouse was sprawled out on the bed, the duvet pulled up to her neck, hiding her from the cold— and from me. She looked so peaceful in her sleep.

You’ll never suspect she’s capable of killing— or raping a man.

I stood for a moment and watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept, wondering if she had anything on underneath that duvet. The thought of what she might do if she woke up to find me next to her in bed made me grin.

I mentally facepalmed myself, in a world filled with terrible sins, sleeping with Stacy Salvatore would be the worst of all.

Earlier, I had the chef prepare her a variety of meals, I cursed myself for being too preoccupied with jerking off to a video of her taking a bath to actually check if she’d eaten or even managed to seduce the chef into providing her a weapon in the form of cutlery.

But either way, it didn’t matter. There’s no way she’d leave that bed without my noticing. Right now I was too tired, and it was almost 2 AM.

Sprawling out on the couch, I let out a long, tired breath. Sleep took me quickly, pulling me into its depths before I could kick off my shoes, or worse, let myself near her.