CALL ME A WHORE AGAIN

CHAPTER FIVE

KYLIANO

Angelo was standing two feet from the fucking door.

My cock was still buried to the hilt inside the virgin cunt that belonged—on paper, by blood oath, by Don Carmine’s decree—to my cousin. Her third orgasm had just ripped through her, that broken little whimper still vibrating against the leather, and every muscle in my body locked solid.

If anyone found out.

If the wrong mouth opened… If the driver talked… If Angelo so much as glanced through the tint at the wrong angle...

I grimaced, the consequences stacking like bodies in the basement. A made man who put his hands on another made man’s promised bride didn’t get a warning. He got a river and a six feet home. Family or not, cousin or not. Future Don or not.

I groaned low in my throat, the sound half frustration, half pure animal reluctance, and grabbed a handful of her ass hard enough to leave fingerprints. My fingers dug into soft flesh as I eased out of her—slow, deliberate, watching the thick slide of my cock leave a glossy trail of blood and cum that made my jaw clench. She was still fluttering around nothing, still open, still ruined for anyone else tonight.

I jerked my chin toward the deep footwell behind the front seats, the shadowed space under the partition where the floor dropped and the carpet swallowed light.

“Get in. Now.”

She blinked up at me, eyes glassy, lips parted. I didn’t wait for understanding. I shoved her head down into the narrow dark, folding her body into the cramped hollow like I was packing away evidence. My palm clamped over her mouth the second she made a sound.

Shhh.

After one hard look and a silent warning to her, then I was yanking my trousers up, tucking my still-wet cock away, buttoning my shirt with fingers that didn’t shake because made men don’t shake. I wiped the blood from my hands on the inside of my jacket, smoothed my expression into the blank, cold mask that had made grown killers piss themselves, and opened the door.

Cool night air hit me like a slap.

Angelo stood there in a black suit that cost more than most men’s yearly take, hands in his pockets, that same unreadable half-smile he wore when he was deciding whether to put a bullet in someone’s knee or their throat. Twenty-seven to my twenty-two years.

The only person in this entire family I might have called a friend if either of us still believed in the word but I guess I’m glad we don't call ourselves friends especially after what I just did.

He lifted one eyebrow.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your private moment, cugino.”

I shrugged, shutting the door with a soft click, body angled so the open space stayed blocked. “Just a whore. She can wait.”

His mouth twitched. “Generous of you.”

“I’m feeling fucking charitable tonight.”

He stepped closer, voice dropping into the low register we used when the walls had ears. “Don said I should look into something. Apparently my fiancée is missing. As much as I don’t give a fuck, I need you to look into her disappearance for me and find her.”

I almost laughed. The sound stayed locked behind my teeth. She was three feet away, knees pulled to her chest in the dark footwell of my own car, still dripping my cum, and Angelo was asking me to hunt her like a stubborn kid who’d wandered off at the park.

No suspicion. Not even a flicker.

I tilted my head, playing the part. “Your fiancée? The fuck you talking about?”

“Rosarie Darling. Maid. Twenty-four, a brunette with big doe eyes. Her parents called an hour ago—said the little bitch never made it home after her shift. Don wants her found. Fast. You always got eyes and ears in places the rest of us don’t bother looking. Thought you might already know where the fuck she flew off to.”

He pulled his phone, turned the screen toward me. A grainy staff photo displayed on the screen. Same dark eyes. The same mouth that had just told me I was soft and weak while I was buried in her. “That’s her. You know the face?”

I studied it like I’d never seen it bent over my bed this morning. Like I hadn’t just felt her virgin blood paint my cock. “ She's a maid. She works at the West wing. She mostly scrubs floors and other less important rooms though.” I handed the phone back. “I’ll look into it and trace her then bring her back to you.”

Angelo’s brow furrowed. He shook his head once, sharp. “No need to deliver her to me. She owes her answers to the Don, not her future fucking husband. I’ve got better shit to do than babysit a runaway bride who doesn’t know how to walk six blocks without getting lost.”

I let a dry edge creep into my voice. “She’s only three years younger than you, cousin.”

“And yet here we are,” he said, almost amused, “searching the whole goddamn city for her like she’s twelve and late for dinner. Child or not, the Don wants her accounted for quietly. No noise and please, no bodies unless necessary.”

We shifted into business the way we always did—short, clipped, no wasted breath. A shipment that had gone missing on the docks. A Capo in the north who was skimming a little too openly and needed his fingers rearranged. The usual quiet threats that would become quieter bodies by morning. Angelo listened the way he always did: still, lethal, already three moves ahead.

When he finished, he clapped me once on the shoulder, the closest thing either of us ever got to affection.

“Find the girl. Or don’t if you don't feel concerned enough. It wasn't exactly my choice to have her. Just make sure the Don doesn’t have to ask twice and one more thing, keep your fucking whore on a tighter leash next time. You’re getting sloppy.”

Then he turned and walked away into the dark, the sound of his shoes fading like a sentence that hadn’t been fully spoken. He approached his Porsche and sped off.

I stood there a second longer, watching the empty street. My gaze dropped to the inside of my left forearm, to the black ink that had been burned into me the night I became a made man.

Temimi, perché sono colui che non tradirà mai il sangue.

“Fear me, for I am the one who will never betray blood.”

Every man who took the oath carried the same words. Loyalty above hunger. Family above flesh. Blood above everything that breathed.

Up until tonight I had lived them. I had held my oath high over everybody as a made man does. No matter how hard it goes, blood always comes first.

Tonight the ink felt like a lie under my skin.

It had been broken by a common maid who could never be mine. Not legally at least without the whole house of cards catching fire.

Nothing in this life was ever legal. That part I already knew. Growing up in the mafia will drill that into your head.

I grimaced, turned, and opened the car door again sliding into the back seat. The leather still smelled like sex and blood and her.

I opened my mouth to call her name but a slap cracked across my face so hard my head snapped sideways. Pain bloomed bright and immediate.

Memories surged up like water through a cracked floor—old basements, older screams, the sound of broken bones and the raw torture. The mafia man in me rose raw and ready, demons already whispering the names of every tool in the kit, every quiet room where answers were carved out of skin.

Rosarie’s voice came out raw, shaking with something far colder than fear.

“Just a whore and she can wait. That’s what I am, right?”