His: Tony: The Sabatini Family by Fiona Murphy (mystery books to read .TXT) 📗

of celibacy only to wake up one morning with no idea of the woman’s name. Seeing the pain on her face at my loss of memory caused me to stop. After that, everything changed. I changed.

Since that day more than thirty years ago, I haven’t fucked nearly as many women as people think I have. I preferred long-term, exclusive relationships with mistresses. Most of them lasting three or four years, once even seven years. They always ended when the woman wanted more than I could give them which was today and no promise of tomorrow.

Before I even so much as kissed a woman, I learned their habits, their likes and dislikes. Not just of sex but everything that mattered to them. I dug into their favorite memories and the things that gave them nightmares. Learning about them informed their wants and needs, especially the ones they hid, sometimes from even themselves. Pleasure was always at its ultimate when it was reciprocated. Unless I knew she hated her father’s gruff voice as he ordered her around, I could not know to always whisper into her ear as I gave her instructions to touch herself or me. Things that might seem small, were often the most important and best learned before doing damage to her, and the relationship I had with her as my lover.

There have been times, in between a mistress, when I accepted a woman’s offer of servicing me. I couldn’t help but be amused at the way some women found it a thrill to say they swallowed my cock—or in most cases—attempted to swallow my cock. As long as it was what they wanted, and they understood it would not become anything more, who was I to deny a woman’s wish?

Yet, I never used them the way I used Christy. I needed her to sate the insane fucking need that almost overwhelmed me at her proximity. What I really wanted, what I craved, was to take her then and there and meld into her until there was no her or me—only us, the way I felt we should be. Except a tiny sliver of sanity held me back, self-preservation reminding me she wanted me dead.

Joseph slams the door once I’m in the backseat, yanking me out of my head.  I catch him sharing a glance of concern with Vito. Shit. I can’t do this right now. I cannot fucking think of Christy because it’s turning me inside out and making my skin itch. Only once, that third fucking day when I went cold on coke, have I felt like this. This makes no fucking sense. I used coke almost daily for two damn years, I had spent less than a half hour with Christy.

Forcing a deep breath, I do something I rarely have to do outside of a hit; I touch the ice. For the first time in years, it doesn’t happen as fast as I need it to. Another deep breath, come on, let me feel it, and it’s there. Ice flows through me, centering me, allowing me to push back what happened with Christy to the back of my mind.

Vito clears his throat. “About the Christy chick...”

Goddamn it, I should have known after so many years together, since we were twelve years old Vito could tell something was off. I hadn’t told him or Joseph she was a threat. As far as they know, she was a woman who wanted to live in the building and make her living from her body.

Since I wasn’t going to need them to dispose of her body, I figured they didn’t need to know. I would leave her in her home after putting the needle in her vein. She would be found by whoever cared enough to check in on her. Killing Christina Teller was supposed to be quick, easy, simple. Only now...the idea of killing her, makes every muscle in my body go tight in defiance. No, fucking no, it wasn’t going to happen. But if I don’t kill her, I’m not sure what the hell to do with her.

“The woman is none of your concern.”

Joseph clears his throat. He’s been my best friend since we were six years old. He often pushes in a way no one else but Dominic would. “Boss—"

I cut him off. “If I want either of you two to handle shit or tell me any fucking thing, I’ll let you fucking know.” I spit out the words as Vito pulls into the parking lot of Emilio’s restaurant, and now I understand his call for help—the place is on fire.

***

Tony

As Emilio paces his office, my phone rings. It’s Paolo. Emilio frowns at me answering it. Fuck him. Right now, there isn’t much we can do.

“Boss, she went out the window. I lost her.”

“Well then, fucking find her. She most likely went back to her place.” I give him the address. “I need you to take as many people as possible to get her and keep her. If she runs, she’ll be in the wind. She has nothing keeping her here.”

“Okay, Boss. I swear, I'll get her back.”

“You better. Your hands depend on it.” The idea of Christy on the loose, out of my reach, is fucking with my head all over again. I make my way to the bar in the corner of Emilio’s office and pour more than I should.

As the scotch slides down my throat, the burn reminds me of the way my whole body burned at the idea of fucking her. What the fuck am I gonna do with her?

I pull up my phone and send Christy’s phone number to a contact I have, telling him I need a trace. It takes a minute before he responds. He hates when I reach out to him. Because I make it worth his time every fucking time, he always comes through.

My phone rings, “Yeah.”

“Do you know the carrier where the phone number comes from?”

“No.”

He sighs. “It will take a minute.”

Vito nods as he walks in