Made to be the Mafia lords own

Amari's POV

Martinis. Italian beef. Then Manhattans.

I'm trying to remember something that has to do with why I'm here, but it all seems fuzzy. Like the jazz tune playing on the stereo. This is supposed to be a stop for jazz fans, like people really into that genre of blessed sounds, but here we are.

A trio. Poking our noses.

All I know is, that Marco and Isabella suggested someplace called The Green Mill on the North side of Chicago for some drinks. Why? No goddamn idea.

I look around the place and all I see are patrons dressed in jeans t-shirts and hats; a couple are dressed in shorts and sandals, their upper half bare.

"Some fashion here," I say.

Marco flashes a smile at me. He's been giving Isabella a lot of those since we sat down at this table. "Don't be sarcastic. The fashion is much more relaxed and less formal than it was in the past. It's all about being comfortable. Goditi la musica."

"You don't say. What did they wear in the past?"

Marco leans towards me like what he's about to say doesn't demand another listening ear. "Back in the nineteen twenties and nineteen thirteens, jazz fans would often dress in suits and ties, or with fur coats and jewelry. For men, hats were a must, and fedoras were particularly popular. For women, hats and gloves were important accessories. And of course, high heels and stockings were essential."

"Sounds like a cult to me," I comment. "What the hell is playing on the stereo anyway?"

Marco just smiles. Isabella laughs. I nurse my Manhattan.

A cool breeze drifts in through the open windows of the bar, bringing with it the sounds of the city outside. The hustle and bustle of the streets out there seems far away from the cozy interior of the bar, where everything seems soft and slow.

I try to relax my nerves, but it is so hard to shake the feeling of anticipation that has been plaguing me all day like a dog at a bone. I can't seem to put my finger on it, but something feels off. Like, there's something about to happen that's gonna change my life forever.

Marco and Isabella share a laugh. I get sick of it.

I sip my Manhattan, rise from my chair, and walk to the bar where I sit on a stool and watch the clock tick its way around.

"You okay, signora?" the bartender asks.

I sigh. Tell him that I probably need a better company in Italian. He shrugs, cleans off a tumbler, and walks off.

I sit here for a few minutes, then as if summoned by my words, someone comes and sits down next to me. I don't need to turn. I can tell it's a man.

As he sits down, I catch a whiff of his cologne. It is light and fresh, but also somehow earthy. I cannot help but take a deep breath, trying to place the scent. Is it sandalwood? Maybe sage?

The bartender comes over.

"Manhattan cocktail."

His voice is smooth and deep, like rich, dark chocolate. I don't even know why this comes to mind.

Bartender nods. "Same as the lady."

I notice him turn to me. "Nice to meet an indulger."

I feel my heart skip a beat. I don't know what it is about this man, but something about him feels... magnetic.

"I'm Antonio," he says, extending his hand.

I turn to him and I take his hand tentatively, like a peace offering. And experience a spark of electricity. It is like nothing I have ever felt before.

"Amari," I say, though my voice comes out in a whisper.

Antonio raises an eyebrow. "Amari. Lovely name. A pleasure to meet you." He releases my hand just as the bartender brings him the order. Antonio immediately takes a sip of his drink, like he's been craving for it.

"Said that before," I remind him, and scoff. "And pleasure? Not when it means bitterness."

"But does it matter?"

I try to collect myself, but I can't help but feel a little breathless. I say something about needing better company, and one comes like a wish granted by a djinn.

"Looks like you needed that," I say, finally finding my voice. "Is that what brought you here?"

Antonio leans in a little closer, and I can feel his breath on my cheek.

"I'm here on business," he says, his voice low and conspiratorial. "I'm in this part of town for a few days and wanted to find a place to relax after a long day."

I nod, my heart still racing. There is something about Antonio that makes me feel off-balance like I'm a pirate ship tossed in a storm. But I don't want to leave. I want to stay right where I am, in this strange, electric moment.

I like strange.

Antonio takes another sip of his drink. "What about you? What brings you to this bar on this particular night?"

I hesitate, unsure what to say. I don't want to tell Antonio the truth, that this was a suggestion but the novelty of it was what drew me to this bar, like a moth to a flame. Finally, I lie, "I just felt like going out. Gioviti la musica."

Antonio smiles. "I don't believe you. There's something else going on here, I can tell."

I feel my face flush and the sting.

He notices. "Feel like I'm putting you on the spot? No offense. Just that I'm a bit of a people-watcher, and I can tell when someone is hiding something. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

I am surprised by Antonio's sincerity. It is unexpected, but also refreshing. I take a deep breath. "It's okay. It's just...it's complicated."

"Hmm," he says, eyes still fixed on me.

"I've just been feeling like something is missing from my life. I'm not sure what it is, but it's been on my mind a lot lately."

Antonio nods. "I can understand that. Sometimes, we just know something is missing, even if we can't quite put our finger on what it is. And it can be frustrating."

I feel a sense of relief washes over me. Well, Antonio seems to understand me better than Marco or Isabella, and I feel like I can be honest with him.

This stranger.

"Maybe you just need to try something new," Antonio ventures. "Something that will shake up your routine and make you feel alive again."

He looks at me expectantly, as if waiting for a response.

I think for a moment. I am so used to going through the motions of my life, doing the same things every day. But I know Antonio is right. I need to do something different. "What would you suggest?"

Antonio smiles like he's been waiting for this question. "I have a few ideas. Why don't we start small, and then we can work our way up to something more adventurous."

"Something like?"

"Ever danced in a bar before?"

I am rendered speechless for a moment, and then I spurt out a laugh. "What?"

"A dance in a bar, Amari."

"No, I have not danced in a bar before and I have no intentions of doing so in this life."

"What did we say about doing things differently?"

"Not this, which I guess you have done plenty of times," I say, with some pang of jealousy. Why should I even be? He's handsome. Tall. Dark hair. Blue eyes. And a mouth that can warm one's insides, if given the chance. If he's been a bad boy, why should I feel bad?

"This is my first time too," he says.

And I have to scoff. "So you're willing to make me your first dance partner?"

"If you can trust me, Amari," he says, conditionally.

I look back at Marco and Isabella. His head is buried in her neck, and her left hand fingers his ear. Finally, some smooching is about to take place. Why should I be left out then?

I smile at him. "I think I can."

The music plays softly, and the lights are dim. We stand facing each other, and Antonio takes my hand in his. He places his other hand on my waist, bringing up a lot of tingles in my body, and we begin to move in time to the music. I feel the warmth of his hand on my waist, and I am so acutely aware of his body close to mine. Tingles of excitement flow through me as we move across the floor. The dance seems to go on forever, then it is over all too soon. The song ends but we don't move apart. Instead, we stand close together, looking into each other's eyes. There is a moment of awkwardness, as we both seem unsure of what to do next.

Then, Antonio speaks. "Would you like to come with me to my room for a drink?"

Amari's POV

His voice is soft and inviting. I hesitate, unsure if I should say yes or no. The rational part of her brain is telling me to say no, but the part of me that is drawn to this man screams yes. I find myself saying, "Sure, I'd like that."

Antonio smiles and takes my hand, leading me out of the bar. We get into his Cadillac. Drive to Drake Hotel on the Magnificent Mile. Walk into the elevator and ride up to his floor.

My heart is pounding in my chest. What was she doing? Was this a good idea? I didn't even let Marco and Isabella know I was leaving. Fuck.

The elevator doors open and we step out into the hallway. It is long and narrow, with a red carpet on the floor. The walls are a warm beige color, and there are small lamps on the walls. The hallway is dimly lit, but some floor-to-ceiling windows let in natural light. Antonio leads me to his door and opens it with a swipe of his key card. I follow him inside and find myself in a well-appointed suite. It is decorated in a sophisticated style, with dark wood and leather furniture.

"Would you like something to drink?" Antonio asks, walking me to the bar.

I nod, and he pours me a glass of wine. I take a sip, and the dry, crisp taste of the wine helps to calm my nerves.

We both sit on the sofa, not quite sure what to say. The silence stretches out between us until I finally ask. "So, what exactly made you want to invite me up here?"

"I just wanted to spend some more time with you."

I feel a rush of heat through my body at his words. I have never experienced this kind of chemistry with anyone before. There is something about this man that draws me in and makes me feel things I have never felt before. I know I should leave, that coming here is a bad idea, but I find myself wanting to stay. Regardless, I won't be fingering his ear.

Antonio looks at me, and for a moment, simply gaze into each other's eyes. Then, slowly, he leans in and kisses me.

The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative. But as it deepens, it becomes more passionate, more intense. I experience myself being swept up in the moment, losing myself in the kiss. I have never felt so alive, so electrified. It's a new experience for me, and I am both frightened and exhilarated by it.

Finally, we break apart, both breathing heavily. I look into Antonio's eyes and glimpse something there that I haven't noticed before. It is a look of desire, of need, of yearning. Simply put, he wants to part my legs and screw pleasure into me.

"I guess the dance did it," Antonio says, and the desire in his eyes doesn't drop a notch.

"Yeah," I say, sotto voce.

The next thing I know, his hands are all over me. When he finally takes off his clothes, I confirm that his cologne is sandalwood.

We kiss until I start to get wet. And I know he is hard as well when he intensifies the kiss, rubbing himself against me like an eraser against a penciled diagram. A moan escapes my lips. The feeling of his member makes me realize what I have missed. He kneels on a pillow. His palms bring me closer and my legs wrap around his waist. I'm almost his height now.

We say nothing to each other.

Fuck, we both know what we want.

And we both know how to make it happen.

His roaming lips find my neck and glide down to my cleavage. Hands unhook my bra and his mouth takes my left nipple.

The moans start coming out without a cease now. The feeling is heavenly. I feel like crying out when he begins to rub my other nipple with his finger.

Sucking and rubbing.

I feel my climax coming. Raise my hips to control the sensation. He notices this stops, brings me down, and turns me around so that all I'm looking at is red sofa skin.

Antonio pulls up my skirt and my panties come down. I hear him fumbling with his.

"Brace yourself," is all he says.

Then he is inside me in one swift motion.

The fact that I am so wet makes his intrusion bring out the most unholy scream I have ever made during sex. He begins to move and I bow my head and cry in pleasure.

Antonio asks me if I love it, I and tell him that I do. After my first and second climax, I tell him that he is the best. I almost tell him that I love him, but I find the will to stop myself.

He comes right after I do.

Three orgasms.

First of its kind.

Antonio is splayed over me like a blanket, spent, and exhausted. I hear him switch breathing outlets, once his nose, then his mouth.

"You overworked yourself trying to make me have multiple orgasms," I tell him.

"You're welcome, Amari," he says, and carries me in his arms to the bed, like a baby.

Antonio's POV

I wake up and find that something strange has happened. I'm alone in my bed.

Amari's gone.

Fuck. How sly. So she doesn't want to see my face. Want it to seem like a one-night stand and just that.

Great.

I sigh and run to look at the digital clock on the nightstand. I curse and rush into the bathroom. Thirty minutes in this hotel room and I'm going to be late for a meeting because the distance will eat up some driving time. I don't bother calling room service. Just wash up, pick one of my suits, don it, and get the hell out of here.

At the parking lot, I noticed that my Cadillac had been cleaned already. I nod at the bubusboynd get in. I push a button under the glove compartment and retrieve a Colt Python. Check the magazine to see if it's full and wedging it behind the waistband of my trousers isn't a friendly visit. I'm certain a lot of enemies are going to be in attendance. One notable family in particular.

I gun the engine, put the car into drive, and tear through the streets of North Chicago.

Antonio's POV

The meeting is in an old restaurant in Little Italy, right on Morgan Street. Even from behind the windshield, I see that the place is quiet. No patrons. No music.

I step out of my car, perceiving the aromas of garlic, tomato sauce, and freshly baked bread coming from the many Italian restaurants and bakeries that line the street.

I walk to the door. Catch a whiff of fresh flowers coming from vases lining both sides of the building. I put my hand on the knob, push it open. And the first person I see as my eyes adjust is Amari.

**********

Some weeks earlier.

It is a cold, rainy night in Chicago. Under the dripping rain, the streets look like a fictional paradigm. Too many colors. Vibrant nightlife. Diverse population. As unreal as it can all get.

I sit in my Cadillac parked on Lakeview. Sleek and black. A thirty-fifth birthday present for myself.

The leather seats creak as I shift my weight. I can feel the pulse of the city around me. The noise of the traffic and the lights of the city reflected in the wet pavement. My eyes are fixed on the large, imposing building in front of me. I know what I have to do. Been planning this moment for years, and I feel ready.

I move my eyes to the side view mirror as a vehicle takes the fork into the street. It stops, and the headlights blink three times. I checked my watch. Right on time. I take my Colt Python and stuff it into the waistband of my jeans. Slowly, I step out of the birthday present and wait for the people in the car to come over.

There are four of them. But they look enough.

"Chilly night, capo."

"Won't hear nor feel us coming, Francesco. You ready?"

"Si, capo," they all chorus.

"Just need you out here, ready for when the bullets start firing. I'll go in alone so they think I've lost my mind coming in alone. Capito?"

They said they do.

"Your uncle is in the safe room," Francesco says.

"Cowards love to hide," I quip.

"Barracudas in the back, capo," Juto points out. "Want a piece?"

"I've got my piece," I tell him, and with a determined stride, I approach the front gate.

*********

Lakeview is located on the north side of Chicago, right on the shore of Lake Michigan. Like a head to a body. Known for its eclectic mix of restaurants, bars, and shops, as well as its easy access to the lakefront. It's a lively neighborhood with a diverse population and a goddamn place to live if you want to be close to the action. Which should be the only reason my father situated the family house here. Plus, it's a short drive or train ride away from the Loop, so one can easily get to the heart of the city when one needs to.

As I reached the front door, the guards stepped forward, their faces grim. From what my men have told me, I know that the last floor of the building is heavily guarded. The thing is, that's my destination anyway.

"Spiegati," one of them said, his hand resting on the gun at his hip.

He doesn't know who I am. Good. I meet his gaze, unflinching. "Soni qui per verdere il capo, mio zio."

The guards look at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, one of them nods, and they step aside, allowing me to pass.

This looks too easy.

I walk through the lobby and feel the guards' eyes on my back as I go. I take the stairs to the top floor. As I ascend, I take out my gun, check the mag, and check the spares in my ankle holster. The staircase runs to a stop and opens onto another hallway lined with armed guards.

They stare at me. And I feel the tension in the air tighten like a Roman knot. I need to move quickly. Without hesitation, I rush up the remaining steps, my feet pounding on the marble floor.

On instinct, one of the guards draws his gun and fires a shot at me. I duck, as the bullet flies past my head. I spin around, my gun hand out, and fire back. The bullet hits the guard square in the chest, and he crumples to the ground. I don't pause, just keep running. More guards emerge from the shadows, and the hallway erupts into chaos.

I fired shot after shot, the sound of the gunfire reverberating through the hallway. The sensible ones take cover, but I am too relentless, so they drop dead with the slightest error, my aim ever correct. I have to get to the safe room, no matter what. I turn a corner and see the door that leads to the safe room in front of me. It is heavily reinforced, and very clear that I will have to use force to get through it. Without hesitation, I change the mag and fire at the door, the bullets ricocheting off the metal. But I don't stop. I keep firing, and the door begins to buckle.

Finally, with one last shot, the door gives way, and I slither into the room. I find myself in a large, dimly lit space. There is a desk in the middle of the room, and behind it, a man sits in a leather chair. I recognize his face.

"Luigi," I say. He's my uncle's henchman. Bloody arse wiper.

Luigi Demarco looks up at me, his eyes cold and calculating. "I've been expecting you."

My grip on the Colt Python tightens. "Oh, Luigi. But I didn't get an invite."

"Sarcastic," he comments. "And quite deft are you."

"That's what you get when you employ dumb guards. Why waste money on their suits when they are useless?"

"Did you come here to banter, Antonio?"

My eyes scan the table. I don't see any weapon on it. And both his hands are flat on the surface. Doesn't seem like they'll be going anywhere soon. My eyes move to the door behind him. He notices this change of sight. The man in the chair leans back, a smirk on his face.

"You think you can get into the safe room?" he says, his voice mocking. "It's impenetrable. No one can get through that door."