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the-wise-old-elf · 22 days

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THE END IS SO SWEET STOP BUT THE BEGINNING TOO icl I anticipated this chapter significantly more than other ones 🤭

Nobody's Girl - Chapter Six.

I am so thrilled at the response this little story of mine is getting :) Thank you all so much!

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,138

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

God, it felt so different against her mouth. She wasn’t exactly sure how or why, but he did. Harder somehow, the dark pink flesh of his cock slick with her efforts, just as Maggie had drummed into her head. Running her tongue up the thick vein engorging the underside of his shaft, she popped the head back into her mouth, sucking softly, her hand grasping him, Luca looking at her with a blaze of green fire illuminating his eyes.

“Dannata donna diabolica,” he groaned, his voice all smoke and gravel, thumb skimming her cheek as she swallowed him back painfully slowly, his big hands moving in slow stroke to weave into her platinum tresses. “You look even sexier with my cock in your mouth, bella donna.”

Winking, her pretty, cloudy grey eyes shut with slow elegance, her hand stroking up and down his back, nails grazing his spine and setting his nerves to glimmer. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, grasping her head in his hands, his breath shuddered as if he was standing out in the snow. The reality was anything but as the heat slowly began to wind through him.

His mouth dropped open a little as he watched himself vanish between her lips, a rumbled groan echoing from his chest, Emily feeling her jaw muscles at full stretch as she took him back, slithering her tongue along the underside of his shaft before pulling back once more. The warm hug of her mouth had him feeling a coil tighten within, sparking softly, his eyes closing as he groaned, all rumbling baritone, making her cunt sting with desire.

“Fuck... fuck,” he croaked, fingers stroking swirls over her scalp as they tangled in her mass of blonde waves. “How the fuck have you never done this before?” His blood set to sizzle as she took him back deep, her nose tickled by his pubes, she throated him so keenly, dragging her lips back in slow, wet hug. “Don’t even answer that, baby. Just don’t fuckin’ stop.”

There he was, the king of the mafia, the most feared man in all of New York, and he was at her mercy completely, reduced to a trembling wreck. Her fingers toured those juddering muscles of his abs, reaching up to scrape her nails gently over his chest, flicking her tongue back and forth across the underside of his manhood, swallowing him deep once more.

His knees almost buckled.

That kind of response did wonders for her confidence, Emily looking up at him, releasing his cock with a little pop, licking the head with a softly indulgent flicker of her tongue. Her eyes found his, watching him intently as she took him back again, sucking with eager gentleness, one hand trailing her fingernails over his abs, the other moving to tickle his balls until he shivered violently. Maggie hadn’t mentioned anything about that, but she thought she’d try it out to gauge if he liked it.

Oh, he definitely did.

Feeling him becoming firmer within her mouth gave her the most delicious little shocks of excitement, becoming dewy at her apex, imagining how it would soon feel to have him inside her, her arousal glowing like moonbeams through the very depths of her.

That gathered excitement spurred her mouth quicker upon him, her tongue teases becoming more potent, Luca’s hands beginning to tug in her hair as his chest started to rise and fall quicker. His gravelly groans became more frequent, her lips tightening, oh, so tight around him, pleasure skittering up his spine.

The embers began to crackle, glowing, ever nearing bursting into flame, Emily sensing it, speeding her mouth up until she felt him pulsing between her lips, shooting his load onto her tongue with a guttural grunt as his hips swayed forward, swallowing back every last hot spurt, and looking very proud of herself as she licked her lip and grinned.

Reaching past him to the table, she picked up the bottle of vodka, taking a big glug before placing it back. “I take it you enjoyed that?”

His eyebrows raised, muttering a few cusses in Italian as he fixed her with a look of pure, predatory intent. “The fuckin’ broad ruins me, she knows she ruins me, and yet she still fuckin’ asks,” he began, shaking his head as she giggled softly, laying kisses against his hip. “How the fuck can someone be so fuckin’ good at somethin’ they ain’t ever done before?”

She shrugged softly, tongue running along the line of black hair leading from his crotch up to his navel. “Might’ve called in the big guns for advice.”

His eyebrow fluttered. “By big guns, you mean big cans, amirite? A certain redhead who works for me?”

“Correct,” she confirmed.

“Remind me to thank Maggie. And to answer your question, yeah, I did enjoy it. Lemme show you how much.” Moving to kneel before her, his eyes didn’t leave hers as he lifted each of her legs, draping them over his shoulders, placing a kiss against her knee.

His mouth slowly descended, tongue flicking between the press of each kiss, pushing her legs apart before he teased her soaking opening with his fingertips, slowly pushing forth, burying deep in the hot, wet clutch of her. Those long, talented digits began to stroke swirling circles, finding that spot that made her back arch for him like a bow, pressing, circling, her soft moan floating into the air.

He watched her losing herself to his ministrations keenly, kissing the inside of her thigh, elegant, his stare falling from her eyes to her glistening sex. Every so often, that green fire would catch her gaze again out from under the dark ink of his long eyelashes, his mouth slightly agape, all the while with his middle and fourth finger buried deep, the petals of her cunt played prettily around his fingers.

His other hand moved to occupy itself, thumb pressing to her clit, rubbing slick and tight. Emily gasped, her head falling back, her arousal blooming. The feeling of his hot breath against her swollen, pillowy sex was utterly sinful, Luca turning his head to grant her trembling inner thigh the press of his lips, delivering hot, open-mouthed kisses to her radiating skin.

She was slick and soft around the hard shunt of his clever fingers, malleable to him entirely as he continued to watch, eyes barely leaving hers, save for those languid blinks.

The aqueous current of her arousal quickly saturated his hand, fingers keen against every delicious spot that had her throbbing with glimmers, forcing her sharp breaths, his thumb making those tingles suffuse even more.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” His bicep flexed with effort, hand plunging back and forth as he began to twist his fingers against the fluttering, slick grasp, her wails unashamed, his mouth once again pressing kisses to her thigh.

He had her trembling, keening to feel his lips where his thumb stroked those tight circles, taste her silken dew, suck upon her as if she were honey. A faster push had her slick clasping him greedily, Emily moaning without reserve, his hands coaxing it forth, drawing it from her like someone rubbing the lamp to reveal the genie within. His only wish was to watch her shatter for him, though.

“Fuck!” The sound of her sweet little voice hoarsely delivering the first time he’d ever heard her swear made his insides pinch, waves of arousal surging through him, her soft wails filling the room loudly. “I’m gonna come, fuck, don’t stop!”

“Yeah, you are. You’re gonna come so damned hard for me, darlin’.” He knew he had her on the home run, fire licking her spine, her walls throbbing as they clutched at each thrust of his fingers. He hooked them further, digging them against her, each of her cries louder than the last, his thumb rapidly stroking her bud, erect and twitching for him.

His eyes finally left hers, watching her puffy little cunt spasming for him, the sight evoking a grunt of arousal, feeling her becoming glossier as he dragged it from her, the undoing that had her clenching and shaking. Her waves crashed against his shore with force, his fingers suddenly abandoning their burrow, her ruined sex then covered by the heat of his mouth and licked further into divinity.

Her hips bucked, hands weaving tightly into his hair as his tongue rubbed at her with rapid finesse, not stopping, driving into her harder when she attempted to push him back, shaking at the oversensitivity. It didn’t last long, Luca having her ascending towards the heavens again rapidly, except when she came that time, it was around his cock... after he’d stood, picked her up and promptly dropped her down on it.

“Mmm, that’s what you wanted, ain’t it, my beautiful doll. All filled up by a big dick.” Her reply was but a breath sigh of contentment, his mouth raining kisses over her elegant neck, moving to flatten her against the nearest wall and fuck her until she squealed with bliss.

The following morning, he left her sleeping soundly, kissing her head before heading down to his waiting car, one last thing to cover prior to beginning his day.

Maggie was quietly polishing cocktail glasses when she suddenly saw her boss appear, Luca curling his finger. “C’mere,” he spoke, reaching into his pocket and taking out a roll of bills as she sauntered over, counting them out. “Here.”

He passed her the folded notes between his fingers, rolling his toothpick across his bottom lip with his tongue. “Thank you.” He winked, watching her notice exactly how much he’d just given her.

“Three hundred bucks?” she cried, her eyes rounding. “Are you serious, Luca?”

He nodded, smirk growing. “Sure am, darlin’. Like I said, thank you.”

Being friends with the boss’s girlfriend sure did come with perks. And to think, Maggie had only been joking about her pay bump comment the night before. Slotting the bills into her bra as he left, the redhead grinned, smacking her gum against her teeth as she chewed it through her wide, self-satisfied grin. “You’re very welcome, mister C.”

She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her normally very refined and stoic employer look that damned happy, and that was how it continued in the weeks that followed, Emily of course not moving onto pastures greener.

She was the girlfriend of the number one mafia boss of New York, a man who treated her like a queen, cared for her, respected her, and boy, the sex. A greener pasture didn’t exist in her mind. In fact, the further into December they headed, the whiter the surrounding became, New York buried under mounds of snow.

It was just about passable, though, Luca taking her into Manhattan regularly, spoiling her with shopping trips, dining out at the most exclusive restaurants, visits to the theatre and sharing with her his most enjoyed passion. Well, aside from when they were naked together.

“Look at it,” he spoke, both staring up at the iconic Renaissance sculpture of Michaelangel’s David, on loan to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. “How the hell he managed to accomplish that with a chisel is beyond me.” He then couldn’t help but lean in and whisper to her. “Feel sorry for the fella, though. Guy had a tiny little pecker.”

Immediately, Emily snorted, clasping her hand over her mouth, her man making those giggles worse as he continued. “Michaelangelo wouldn’t have had the marble to carve out my braciole, that’s for damned sure.”

She thumped his chest softly in scold. “Stop it!” Oh, no. Even his appreciation of the arts couldn’t extend to him not lowering the tone when given the opportunity, Luca chuckling deeply as his beauty attempted to compose herself. “It isn’t strictly true, though. Did you know that Renaissance artists carved and painted the penis sizes of their subjects to be deliberately small? Back then, apparently the bigger the appendage, the more lacking in intelligence they were seen to be.”

His eyebrows rose. “I did not know that.”

She looked him up and down approvingly, a smile tugging the corner of her mouth. “All evidence to the contrary.” He took her hand in his, kissing it, continuing over the black and white marble floor to the next exhibit. Once their gallery tour was complete, they visited a nearby coffee shop, Luca keeping his eye on the weather as the snow began to flutter down again.

“Can I ask you something?”

He couldn’t help himself. “Ya just did,” he winked, rumbling a chuckle as she rolled her eyes. “’Course you can, honey.”

“Who would you be, if you hadn’t gone on the path you did? What would you do if you weren’t all you are now?”

He liked that about her, the sudden randomness of her inquisitive questions. Scratching his chin, he thought on it for a moment, sipping his espresso before replying. “I think I’d design cars. Automotive technology fascinates me, so yeah, I’d do that. How about you?”

Immediately she snorted. “I barely have this life together, let alone having a dream of what I’d do should I not be where I am right now, lacking any purpose at all.” He sensed a slither of lament there in her words, Emily continuing. “I’m not really anything other than your girlfriend, and I am grateful for how wonderfully you treat me, don’t get me wrong. I have no job, though. No purpose to speak of.”

Thinking on it, he couldn’t even correct her there. She was right. It hit him then, that his sweet, lovely little creature was lacking in anything she could feel useful for. Hell, even when all she’d been used for was a card counter, he’d seen the pride she held at being good at her task. Luca rarely felt anything resembling guilt in his life, if ever at all, but it jabbed at him a little then.

He’d been under the illusion she’d happily fall into the role of gangster's moll, being that by his side, in his bed and weighted upon by the gravity of his affections was such a coveted role. His girl, it seemed, wished to be more than just finely dressed arm candy. A woman without a purpose, who was good with numbers. Hmm.

“A career gal, huh?” he drawled, pulling the toothpick from his mouth and pointing it at her. “I don’t meet many broads with such ambitions.” For that, she was elevated even higher in his esteem, another reason why she wasn’t a carbon copy of every other female he’d ever met. The only thing his ex-wife had desired was to be knocked up as rapidly as possible, so she could fulfil her dream of being a spoiled Italian housewife. “Tell you what, I might have a job for you.”

Her face lit up, making his heart miss a beat. “Really? What, like a real job?”

He nodded, placing the toothpick back in his mouth. “Yeah. Right now, my cousin does the books for my legitimate enterprises, but Angelo has always been better with a gun than he has a pen and an abacus. How’d ya like to take his place? I’d pay you, too.”��

God, he paid for everything already, not that she had an income away from what he so generously heaped upon her. Whatever she wanted, she got. Mostly, she didn’t ask, though. “Are you sure? You give me so much anyway.” She spoke shyly, Luca enamoured by her words even further as he reached to give her chin a little pinch.

“I got too much money as it is, sweetheart. Besides, I like spending it on you. Now, you get to earn some for yourself on top of that.”

On top of that?!

Her face had him chuckling, reaching back beneath her chin to shut her mouth. “Ya look like a goldfish over here, cara mia,” he rumbled, waving his hand dismissively. “Ain’t no mind. I’ll pay you what I pay him, and trust me, he’ll be happy to hand it over.”

She began the following morning, seating herself in a booth at the speakeasy across from a very chipper Angelo, who explained how everything ran. Of course, it went way beyond tallying receipts and invoices. There were certain sums of money that had to be hidden within the legal enterprises her boyfriend owned, which included an Italian deli, the speakeasy (technically a late-night coffee-shop-come-jazz-club, as so many former bars now operated under the guise of) a junk yard, two automotive repair shops and a burlesque club.

“See whatcha gotta do, toots, is mark it off as somethin’ that ain’t gonna look fishy if the feds ever get their grubby lil’ paws on the books,” Angelo began, making a mess of the pages before her by eating a huge bombolone right over them, Emily quick to grab a handful of napkins, preventing a dollop of custard dripping out from the bottom. “Ah, I’m a fricken mess! Thanks, hon.” he laughed, taking them from her with a wink.

“Okay, so what am I marking the injections of five hundred into each business a week as?” she asked, twiddling the pen between her fingers. “Sundry expenses?”

“Gotta be more specific,” he replied, sucking sugar from his fingers. “Make the entries slightly different to what you record from the legitimate invoices. Take the deli, for example. Imported goods there’ll suffice. For the burly-q, electrician fees, the repair shops can just be entered as parts, etcetera. Just look back at what I’ve put in the ledgers, and you’ll soon get the gist, Em.”

Em. Nobody had ever shortened her name before. Well, except for Luca, who occasionally referred to her as EJ. She liked it, it felt familiar, finally laying roots somewhere, with people who liked having her around. He left her to it, heading out while she sat comfortably, softly singing along to the Bessie Smith record playing on the gramophone over in the corner.

“I didn't have a friend and no place to go, so if I ever get my hand on a dollar again, I'm gonna hold on to it 'til them eagles grin!” She jumped at the sudden boom, looking up to see her friend walk in, singing along to the track. “Mornin’ sugar! Well lookie here at you, being all professional over there and slummin’ it with us workin’ Joes!” Maggie joked, bending to kiss her cheek.

“I have to earn a living somehow,” she smiled, picking up her slightly cold coffee and taking a big gulp.

“And here was me thinking you earned a crust from your blowjob skills. Oh no! That’s me who earns off of you doin’ that!” she yelled, throwing her head back as she smacked her gum between her teeth, Emily shaking softly with laughter. Maggie was still on cloud nine from her pay bump, even weeks on from the event. Her rent had been paid beyond the New Year, she’d purchased her Christmas gifts in full, and paid back her father for the loan he’d kindly given her a few months prior.

“You are such a riot,” she giggled, shaking her head. “Please never change.”

“Nah, darl. You’re stuck with me like this!” she beamed, heading off to put her coat and purse away before striding back out, singing away happily. “Oh, god. Bessie! She’s the cat’s pyjamas. What a voice!”

“She’s sure got some pipes,” Emily confirmed, stabbing the next invoice through the large spike she was keeping them all counted on before entering the next. “So, what’s the news on Donny? Did he show up last night?”

“Nah, but Enzo told me apparently, he got completely blotto and pissed on a cop car, so he’s in the caboose,” she revealed, Emily’s eyes widening. It must have happened outside of the borough, since every cop in Brooklyn was on her boyfriend’s payroll. All one had to explain was that they were a friend of Mr. Changretta, and they get off with a warning. Just then, the women’s idle chit chat was disturbed by the door opening, one of the ever-present security guys letting in a delivery man.

“Hey pal, cases go out back if you don’t mind,” Maggie called to him, making a gesture with her finger that he should go around.

“Can’t get there, sweets. You’ve a pile a’ snow against the doors bigger than a fuckin’ truck! Sorry an’ all that.” He handed over his docket for her to sign, turning and casting a very inquisitive eye over Emily. “Woah, ain’t you a dish, doll face. How you doin’, huh?”

“Fine, thank you.” Her polite reply was taken as an invite for the man to cruise on over, eyes roaming her with appreciation as she continued scribbling in the ledger.

“Yeah, you’re definitely fine,” he told her, licking his lips. “Gonna let me take you out some time?”

Looking up again, she shook her head. “No, thanks.”

Immediately, his nose was put out of joint, the man clearly not used to taking rejection. “Why the fuck not, eh?”

“Hey!” Maggie called, resting her hands on hr hips. “Watch your damned mouth, buster. She ain’t interested!”

“Yeah? And who the fuck are you, huh?”

“The person who is gonna call the boss down here if you don’t button your yap.” As it turned out, she didn’t need to, Emily noticing the man himself walk through the door a fraction of a second later, winking at her before he folded his arms, watching it play out.

“You do know who owns this joint, don’t you?” Emily then asked, her smile beginning to grow. “I mean, either you do, and you have balls the size of a Buick, or you don’t and you’re just plain ignorant.”

“Ain’t no matter to me who owns it, all I wanna know is why the fuck a low rent dame like you ain’t interested in a catch like me.”

Maggie winced. Emily winced. Luca moved rapidly.

“The answer to both questions is the same,” he spoke, the delivery guy turning around.

“Yeah? And who the fuck are you?” Oh dear. Ohhh dear.

Offering his hand, Emily watched as her man smiled the kind of grin that always reminded her of a lion about to pounce. “I’m her guy. Luca Changretta.” The man’s face went white as a sheet before he was yanked near enough for Luca to throw his forehead straight against his nose, the bone cracking with a sickening crunch.

“Oh Jesus, I’m sorry man! I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Mr. Changretta, sir. Please, please, don’t clip me! Don’t clip me!”

Grasping the back of his neck, Luca kicked his legs out from under him, the man falling to his knees as his head was sharply turned in Emily’s direction. “Apologise to my lady. Now.”

“I’m sorry, miss. I’m really, really sorry.”

Luca looked to her. “Sufficient?” She nodded, watching him lean in close to the bloodied face of the man he held, taking his toothpick out and jabbing him in the cheek with it. “If I ever see your face in here again, I will take this toothpick and ram it into your piss hole. I’ll then follow it with another twenty. Am I makin’ myself clear, pal?”

“Y-yes, M-Mr. Changretta.”

Finally, he let him go. “Good.” The man unloaded his trolley at speed, hightailing it out the doors, Luca sniffing while pulling a fresh toothpick from his jacket pocket.

“Boss,” Maggie called, clean rag in hand. “You gotta lil’ bloody schmutz. Catch.” Throwing it, he caught it neatly, giving his face a wipe down before turning to Emily.

“Am I good, darlin’?”

Oh, she was swooning so hard at having her honour defended like that, she almost couldn’t form speech. “You are, honey.”

“Good.” Tossing the rag back to Maggie, he then leaned in close, lifting Emily’s chin with his fingers. “I gotta head out for a couple hours. Love you.” Placing a kiss to the tip of his nose, he winked, turning to leave.

“Alright,” she called dreamily, “love you, too.”

She had wondered, when he’d say it in as many words. Now that he had, the declaration delivered so simply and without grand fanfare, just as she expected he probably would, he left her sitting there all of a flutter, with a nearby cooing becoming audible.

“Stop it,” she warned Maggie, casting her eyes to the side to see her friend making a smoochy face at her.

“Stop what? I’m just happy for ya, is all. Heck, darl. I never heard him tell his ex-wife he loved her when there were people around, not even once.”

At hearing that, there certainly wasn’t anybody in the whole of New York happier than Emily right at that moment.

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the-wise-old-elf · 23 days

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Giggles

reblog to fucking bite the person you reblog from

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the-wise-old-elf · 27 days

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This is so sweet he's literally the best ☹️ Ty for this

The Things I Would Do For You

Luca Changretta x fiance reader

A/N: Requested by the lovely @cillmequick. Based on this list of prompts. Prompt was "It terrifies me what I would do for you." Here's a twist for you, this was going to be dark and I made it fluffy!!

Warnings: language, mention of a weapon, brief fight, angst with fluffy ending

You could hear the brewing argument from the kitchen, your brother’s high nasal voice clashing with the manly tenor of Luca's. You gritted your teeth as you willed him to stop, but each time Marco dared to raise his voice to your powerful fiancé, you seethed with indignation.

Unable to shut out the sounds of his disrespect, you foisted another deft chop at the cutting board, imagining your brother’s neck there in place of the vegetables. Just when you thought you would scream, the voices ceased and your hand froze in midair.

Heavy footsteps thudded across the floorboards and the kitchen door swung toward you with a rush of warm air. Your eyes instantly shot across the room to your brother in question. However, the dark look of disapproval resting on his brow announced his decision before he had need to speak it. "You're not marrying that stronzo! I've already told him I'm sending you to Sicily next month."

That’s when your simmering temper climbed to a blazing inferno. Whipping around to face your brother head on, you announced, “I won't go! No one can keep me from him.”

The haze of anger overtook your body before you realized you were swinging at him, the large butcher knife still clutched in one hand raising above your head in a menacing swipe. He grasped your shoulders in an attempt to overpower you, crashing you both into a nearby wall and knocking the weapon from your hand and the air from your lungs.

The harsh metallic clang of the knife reverberated off the tiles like an alarm bell, the shock separating you to opposite corners of the room. Gasping at what you’d just done, you scrambled off the floor and dashed down the back stairs to the alley. Feet pounding against the creaky wooden steps, you rushed to find somewhere to hide.

It was Luca who found you pressed tightly against a wall, clutching a packet of cigarettes to your chest. You hadn't noticed they were crushed in your fist until his long fingers unfurled yours gently, a sigh escaping as he plucked one out and placed it to his lips.

There was only the rush of your desperately beating heart as you watched him light it for you. Handing it over into your trembling fingers, he patiently waited for your shoulders to relax with the first long drag.

You were waiting as well. A confession on your lips you knew he needed to hear. Blowing smoke over your shoulder to avoid his gaze, you shamefully admitted, "I'm not a good Catholic girl like you think, Luca. I could have hurt Marco tonight."

His eyes softened as he reached to stroke your cheek. "You couldn't hurt anyone, cara mia."

You shook your head against his hand. "I could if you asked me to," you declared, staring into his eyes earnestly. "It terrifies me the things I would do for you." The lovesick twinge in your voice assured him of your loyalty, making his chest swell with pride.

He enveloped you in a tight embrace, head resting upon the crown of your head as he promised, "I would never ask you to. As long as you're my girl, you'll be taken care of and protected."

At those words you began to cry softly. Luca cradled you there, stroking your back with his large hands and the silence comforted you until you began to think of Marco again.

"What do we do about my brother?" you asked with a sniff.

"I'll handle it. You don't have to worry anymore," he said, tilting your chin up to meet his twinkling eyes. A charming smile spread across his face as he added, "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

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the-wise-old-elf · 27 days

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STOP WHY DID I THINK THIS WAS LEGIT AT FIRST I WAS SCARED BC I LOVE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL 😭 THIS IS SO FUNNY

I do wholeheartedly believe Wes Anderson is a sick sick freak. I like his movies but I definitely think this guy has like a hidden room in his spacious french apartment that he slips into quietly each night and it is just filled with tiny little doll replicas of all the actors he's ever used in any of his movies and he puppets them around and mimicks their voices and shit. and sometimes he'll text Owen Wilson pictures of his little doll with a comb or something from an untraceable number and pair it with like "see how I take care of you Owen?" and then the following day Owen Wilson will find him at the service table and go, "Geez Wes look at this," and Wes will pretend to be all concerned and horrified but there is this calculating almost eager look in his eyes that unsettles Owen Wilson. and the next time Wes is having a little soiree with all his actors, his beloved beloved actors, maybe Owen Wilson will accidentally get lost on his way to the beautiful bathroom and find that little room and see all those dolls and his throat will hitch with horror. And before he can call Bill Murray or Adrian Brody to look a dark silhouette will appear in the doorway and Wes looks sort of resigned when he says, "I see you finally found my secret, Owen," and Owen Wilson will try and pretend that he's fine with it but they both know better. and Wes will go (the look in his eyes back again) "We both know this can't get out, right?" and he'll grin very suddenly and Owen Wilson will laugh along very nervously and leave the room and eat some brioche and when the evening is over he will rush over to his Prius and frantically click his keys but over the cobbles on the beautiful beautiful street there is the sound of footsteps. and tears are running down Owen Wilson's cheeks but he can't say a word and Wes, emerging from the shadows, will gently touch him on the shoulder and say, "look, I'll drive you to the airport, huh?" and Owen Wilson will try to refuse but they both know it's futile. and, halfway through the drive, Wes Anderson will smile and say, "I'll miss working with you" and then perfectly jump and roll out of the car, wiping off his corduroy pants, while Owen Wilson's Prius swerves into a local patisserie, bursting into flames

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the-wise-old-elf · 28 days

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THE BEGINNING AND END AND EVERYTHING ABT THIS 🫣 IM IN LOVE

Nobody's Girl - Chapter Five.

Thank you everyone for your kind praise of the last chapter! I appreciate you all so much :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 3,554

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

“God, you are so fuckin’ beautiful, doll, but if you don’t look even prettier when you’re takin’ a pounding. God damn,” he cussed, hands gripped onto her thighs as he held her spread before him, cock driving into her like a jackhammer. Now he’d gotten over his fear that anything even bordering on brutal would shatter his pretty little creature like she was heirloom glass, he was very, very much enjoying letting the beast in his nature run wild.

After all, she had demanded he fuck her harder, reducing his blood to pure magma.

As for Emily... not words existed. Merely static where her thoughts once resided, mouth dropped open, crying out as her lover fucked her so hard, she was sure he was attempting to actually go through her. The sexual finesse, the dirty talk, the way he fed her his thumb while grasping her jaw, slowing the savage onslaught of his thick cock as he leaned to her, kissing her neck sumptuously. God... it was both too much and not enough, if such a juxtapose could exist.

His mouth met hers, kisses of filthy indulgence shared, hand still clutching her jaw as he drove himself into her hard, but slow, oh so blindingly slow. He kissed every little sob that fell from her pretty mouth, the twitch of her slick walls around him sending a flare over his nerves, willing himself not to give in to it. He didn’t, hanging onto his own release until she shattered beneath him, both lying there in a state of blissed out contentment in the aftermath.

“You have all those books over there,” she began a while later, lying on her side as she gestured to the packed-out bookshelf across the apartment, “but I never see you reading any of them.”

“Don’t get much chance to these days,” he confessed, his hand wandering over the curve of her ass. He’d never seen an ass that perfect in all his damned life. “All my good stuff is at my house upstate, anyways. Gotta small library up there.”

“Yeah? Wow, that’s my dream, to stay in one place long enough that I can accumulate books, rather than sitting in a library for hours on end while I read,” she revealed, Luca looking interested.

“Who do you enjoy reading, hm?” he asked, fingers skimming back and forth over the curve of her waist and hip.

She took only a second to ponder. “Edith Wharton, the Brontë’s, Anton Chekov, Franz Kafka. God, I love Kafka. I get giddy on Kafka!” she enthused, watching his eyebrows rise significantly.

“Chekov and Kafka? Really?”

Her mouth dropped open, poking the centre of his chest with her index finger. “Hey, enough with this face of disbelief!”

“No, no, cara mia,” he was quick to speak, shaking his head. “No disbelief, just surprise. Kafka is my favourite author, yet I can’t think of a single other woman I have ever met who has even heard of him, let alone read his work.” He hummed a chuckle, his eyebrows fluttering. “Then again, the kinda broads I meet ain’t exactly bookworms.”

Her eye roll displayed a little bit of attitude he’d never witnessed in her before, and it made him chuckle, reaching to stroke the side of her neck. “Do I detect judgement there, Miss. Mortensen?”

She looked a little uncomfortable for a second before raising her eyebrows, her mouth twisting into a lopsided grin. “I suppose, but that’s only because I don’t know how people can’t find reading somebody else’s words fascinating, especially when there’s so much affinity to be found with them.”

“Gimme an example,” he requested, curling a piece of her hair around his middle finger.

“Kafka once said, ‘I am free, and that is why I am lost.’ It resounded with me so much, after leaving my mother and San Francisco behind. I finally felt free, but so lost for so long, not rooting myself anywhere. Moreso, never finding a place or a person to root myself with,” she spoke, her hand drifting up to cup his face, taking a brave breath. “Until I found you.”

The breadth of his smile made butterflies burst in her tummy, Luca covering her hand with his, turning his head to kiss her palm. “Let your roots wrap around mine all you want.”

“Like two vines curling together?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, leaning to kiss her, “just like that.” Peeling back the protective layers that surrounded her, he was finding a woman who seldom let people see what lay beneath. Quiet still, but so, so intelligent. Well-read and thoughtful, his absolute dream. He had yearned for a woman both of beauty and the intellect to discuss literature.

Why oh why had he wasted his time with whores?

He knew why, actually. Since he’d hammered in the final nail into the coffin that was his marriage, he had not sought women for permanence, merely a means to an end. And now here she was, the permanence he hadn’t been searching for at all, but who he now couldn’t see himself letting go of without a fight.

“So, tell me more about these.” Her hand wandered from his chest, over to the tattoos upon his arms, a seemingly random, haphazard collection of black brandings that marked his olive toned flesh.

“Whaddya wanna know?” he asked, his eyes following where her finger trailed down to his inner elbow.

“What does omerta mean?”

“The code of silence. It’s a Sicilian thing.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You mean a mafia thing?”

Laughing softly through his nose, he nodded. “Yeah, honey. A mafia thing. It’s a code of honour as well as silence. Very big in my world, omerta.”

“And the snake?” she then asked, her finger tracing the swirl of the viper upon his inner forearm.

“No reason, I just liked it.”

Good enough reason as any, she thought, to have a certain pattern of ink etched into your flesh for the rest of your life. Her finger continued to glide, reaching his hand and swirling over the number six. “This?”

“It’s my lucky number, solidified even more lately. I met you on the sixth, and your birthday is on the sixth, too. The sixth of...” he trailed off, frowning with thought.

“The sixth of?” she repeated, winding her hand around.

He looked pained, face creasing as he wracked his brain. “The sixth of one of the months of the year.”

She couldn’t help but fall apart laughing, Luca grumbling softly. “Hey, it’s eleven thirty in the morning and I already blew my load twice. You have to forgive a fella for havin’ a scrambled-up brain.”

“Okay, you’re forgiven. April, by the way.” Leaning in, she kissed his jaw a couple of times, resting her head down on his chest, her fingers gently tickling over the dark hair. “How long do I have you here for today, then?”

“As long as you like. That call I made earlier, it was me tellin’ Angelo to handle everything ‘cuz I knew I’d be busy with somethin’ or another. Glad it was the way I wasn’t expecting to be.”

“You weren’t?”

“Nah, not just yet, I wasn’t. Thought I’d have to deal with why you suddenly stared acting like a rabbit caught in headlights,” he told her, fingers slowly stroking up and down her arm. “Why was that?”

“I’ll tell you another time.”

Oh, she should be so lucky. “Tell me now.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” she muffled, hiding her face.

“Can’t hide behind your hair forever,” he snorted, popping his shoulder against her face to make her look up at him.

“No, but I can burrow.” Detangling herself from his embrace, she grabbed the pillows, piling them atop her head and then pointing. “See? Successful burrowing,” she muffled, making him laugh quietly.

He grabbed the pillows, throwing them off and reaching an arm beneath her, hauling her body atop his. “Successful unearthing. Now, tell me.” She made a small noise of discomfort. “Emily.”

“I had a sex dream, alright? Are you happy now, mortifying it out of me?”

He laughed again, louder this time. “Sweetheart, when my tongue has been pushed right up in your holiest of holes, I think we’re passed embarrassment, ain’t we?”

Her concession came at the expense of a very pink face. “Hmm, suppose you’re right.”

“Was I as good in your dream as I am in reality?”

Of course, he’d ask that. “It was more of a combined effort.”

The grin he fixed her with had her blushing, hiding her face against his chest. “I demand to be shown.”

Just then, her stomach gurgled. Loudly. “And I think my belly demands to be fed.” Save by the rumble. Phew.

“You wanna eat?” he asked. “I can make that happen for ya. Whatcha want?”

Her head shot up from his chest, her eyebrow arching. “Are you going to cook?”

“I am not,” he chuckled, “Luca Changretta does not cook. He burns. Seriously, I decided to try and be a good husband one morning, when Filomena was days away from giving birth to Milania. Attempted to make her breakfast and started a small fire.”

“Not a good cook, huh?” she laughed, watching him grimace slightly as he shook his head. “Tell me, what are you good at?”

He eyes slowly found hers, grinning widely before sticking his tongue out and giving it a very rapid wiggle.

“Yeah, I think I might know that already, Luca!” she snorted with soft sarcasm, moving to lie at his side again. “What else?”

“I’m a mean shot,” he began, watching her widen her eyes.

“I think that’s standard for a successful wiseguy.”

“I did mean animals opposed to people. But yeah, them too,” he informed her, linking his fingers through hers and squeezing her hand. “I hunt when I’m up at my place in the Catskills. Always manage to get a clean head shot.”

“What else?”

“I’ve been told I’m a good listener. I prefer listening to talking. Trust me, this here, this is real fuckin’ chatty for me,” he spoke, pointing between them. She had noticed that the usually quite verbally concise man had indulged a little more than he normally would. It made her belly tingle. And then it rumbled, quite audibly.

He looked down, running a fingertip around her navel. “So, food?”

“Pastrami and Swiss on white bread, with lots of sauerkraut and mustard, please.”

He kissed her head, detangling himself. “Comin’ right up, doll.” While he walked to the telephone, she admired his form, chiselled back, a few scratches here and there from her nails, more tattoos as well. Oh, and the most perfectly pert ass in existence.

He made a call to the deli just up the block, putting in their order for the shop boy to bring down on his pushbike, her request followed by something loaded with mozzarella and assorted deli meats for himself, returning to the bed as soon as he’d hung up.

“Fifteen minutes. Just enough time for you to give me a live rendition of your dream.”

She should have known that he wouldn’t let it go. “I will, one day. When you’ve forgotten about it.”

He raised en eyebrow, shaking his head. “I’m a guy, darlin’. Trust me, we don’t forget things like that. Ever.”

Leaning to him, she tickled his cupid’s bow with the tip of her tongue, squeaking when he rapidly, but gently moved to bite it. “I’m still not showing you now.”

She got up to fetch herself a water, leaving him grumbling in mild agitation in her wake. Once they’d eaten, they returned to the bed, lying there talking for much of the afternoon in between bouts of sex that only got even steamier than the session before. They did finally make it out of bed, Luca taking her out for dinner in the city before they arrived back at Bella Vita.

While he went for a sit and a drink with his buddies, Angelo and Donny raising their glasses to her, she slid into a seat at the bar, being greeted with a cheek kiss from Maggie.

“So, I hear somebody was enjoyin’ herself with the big boss this morning, huh?” she grinned, her red lips curving to reveal a huge, beautiful grin. “I’d say tell me how you like his cock, but baby love, I fuckin’ heard!”

Emily’s eyes widened in an instant, reaching for the glass of vodka rocks she was furnished with, her hand missing the receptacle a few times before Maggie steered it into place. “Oh my god, how? I didn’t think I was that loud?”

Pointing up and to the side, the barmaid’s grin continued to widen. “Air vent, sugar. Trust me, when the music ain’t blastin’ out down here, the sound travels well. I ain’t even ashamed to admit it got me all hot in my undies, hearin’ you two goin’ at it!”

Her booming laugh filled the space at Emily hiding her face in her hands, reaching to squeeze her shoulders. “Next time you get that hot with ya man, at least let me come up and watch, eh?”

“Jesus, Maggie!” she cried, her friend reaching to pinch her cheek playfully.

“Come on, miss lady!” she laughed, pouring out a measure of rum for a waiting patron, sliding the glass over to him. “You’re the boss’s gal now, you gotta carry yourself like you are. No more wallflower behaviour. Lift that pretty chin, ‘cuz round these parts, you’re the fuckin’ queen now, darl. Everybody knows it, therefore so should you.”

The words absorbed like ink to blotting paper, Emily sitting up a little straighter, casting her glance around the room. She’d walked in there with her hand in Luca’s, and the patrons had noticed. The way they viewed her, it was with nothing but respect from the men, and envy from the women. She wasn’t nobody’s girl any longer, elevated to the most coveted position in that particular corner of Brooklyn.

She turned back to an expectant Maggie, paused in a lull, waiting for her thoughts on the observation. Her eyebrow rose, lifting her chin, remembering. Remembering the way he’d barely let her go for even a second all day, the way he’d praised and lavished her, the way the words cara mia had rolled so effortlessly off his tongue... the way his eyes had shone like peridot wildfire when he came for her.

“Hm,” she hummed, sipping her drink. “I guess I am, and honey...” Leaning close, she made a motion with her finger for her friend to lean closer, Maggie obliging, “...you should see how glorious my throne is.”

A very mischievous wink was delivered, and her mouth fell open, squealing as she drummed her hands repeatedly off the bar, pointing at Emily with both forefingers. “And that is how you be a queen, my gal!”

They shared laughter, Maggie counting down the minutes to her break, taking Emily with her when she went out back to the small rear alleyway behind the speakeasy, where it was quiet and free of people. Well, as quiet as Brooklyn could get on a Friday night.

“There is a way you could help me become queenlier, you know, Maggie,” she spoke, her friend lighting herself a cigarette, offering the case. “Ah, why not?” Cigarettes were a rare treat she couldn’t usually afford. Pulling one out, the redhead offered her light, snapping the lighter shut again.

“Ahhh, my regal acolyte comes to the oracle for her sage advice,” she nodded, blowing smoke down her nose. “Whatcha need help with?”

“Can I be blunt?”

“Are you gonna blush while you do it?” she couldn’t help but tease.

“Probably,” Emily confessed, taking a drag on her cigarette. “I need tips. Blowjob tips. Luca is nothing short of giving – and very talented – when it comes to pleasing me with his mouth, but I’m just so stunted by inexperience that I don’t want to shame myself by trying to return the favour when I have no real clue what I’m doing.”

Maggie began nodding rapidly, pointing her cigarette at her. “Now this, sistah, this is my mother fucking forte! Oh, you have come to exactly the right place, and please do feel free to mention I was the one who taught you to suck dick like a champion. I could do with a pay bump.” They shared giggles, Maggie continuing. “Alright, so first, you gotta make like his manhood is the most amazing thing on god’s green earth, like there ain’t nothin’ you want in your mouth more.”

“I’m there already,” she confirmed, smirking. “Continue.”

“Alright, so with your technique, think popsicle. Don’t go at it all guns blazin’ to begin with, give him a few strokes with your hand, couple’a licks over the head a few times, which you’ve probably noticed already is the most sensitive part of a cock.” A nod confirmed that such had indeed been noted. “Few little sucks, and I cannot stress this enough, get his dick real fuckin’ wet. It’ll feel amazing for him, think mimicking your pussy in terms of wetness.”

“So yeah, keep teasing, taking a little more of him back, go an inch at a time, and for the love of all things holy, cover your teeth. I mean, some guys like a gentle graze, so if he does, he’ll probably tell ya. Keep ‘em away until you know for sure, though. Tease the fuck outta him with your tongue, don’t give him too much at once, and yeah, just build on it. Speed up the closer he gets, then once he’s come, slow it down, be gentler.”

Nodding rapidly at her own advice, she was all done until something popped into her brain, her eyes widening as she flapped her hand. “Oh, just a warning, too. If you let him come in your mouth, be warned. Cum ain’t exactly tasty, so be prepared! He don’t smoke no more, though, so you have that goin’ for ya. Always tastes like salty bleach when they smoke, for some reason.”

“Gotcha, I think I can remember all that. And the warning? Appreciated.”

“Don’t panic about it, though. I mean, it don’t taste the best, but shit, darl. It’s fuckin’ sexy to have a guy blow right in your mouth, and he’ll love ya for it if you swallow. All men do.”

Armed with her new information, Emily made rapid mental notes, feeling herself growing aroused at the mere thought of having his cock in her mouth. She and Maggie walked back in, returning to the bar, unable to stop herself from swinging her ass as she walked, feeling her man’s eyes right upon her, turning to wink at him.

The conversation at his table was much, much more concise over the matter, but conveyed all it needed to.

“Oh, so she finally let you in there, huh, cuz?” Angelo chirped, waving to Emily before grinning at Luca.

He sipped his whiskey, enjoying the buzz. “A gentleman never tells.”

His statement earned a snort. “Yeah? I’ve heard all about your exploits, amico. You ain’t no goddamned gentleman!” he laughed, leaning closer. “So, how many times you jump her today, huh?”

“Yeah, I might not be,” Luca began, putting a fresh toothpick between his teeth, “but that gal over there is my fuckin’ lady, and you don’t get to hear shit.” He then paused, rolling his tongue around the inside of his cheek, a devilish grin beginning to widen his mouth. “Four.”

“You horny bastard.”

Luca raised his eyebrows, sinking his drink. “That’s what she called me, too, cugino. Now, cousin or not, you talk about my gal like that again and I’ll crack your teeth out your goddamned jaw.” Angelo knew he was only half joking, Luca winking as he rose and left the table, gliding across the room and over to the bar.

Emily felt his hand touch against her bare upper back, sliding down at he leaned in close. “Havin’ a good night, doll?”

It could stand to be better. “I am, but I think I need you to take me back upstairs.” Waving to Maggie, she sank her drink and slid from the stool, fingernail running along his jaw before she sauntered off in the direction of the heavy door. It was surprising to nobody more than her, how different a woman she was walking through it than she’d been two weeks before, carried through by Luca a bloodied and battered mess.

She could feel him behind her, her back tingling from his presence, sliding her feet from her shoes and her stockings from her legs once she reached the top of the stairs, moving to the couch and sitting down. “Get over here, handsome.”

“Oh, look at this now, making her demands of me,” he drawled, walking over to her all the same, halting once he was right in front of where she sat. “And what can I do ya for, now I’m here, huh?”

Without a single word, she stood, pushing the jacket from his shoulders, his waistcoat, tie and shirt following before sitting back down again, her gaze never leaving his while undoing his pants. “Stand there and enjoy, is what you can do.”

He had a distinct feeling he was about to do just that.

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the-wise-old-elf · 29 days

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This is me btw (left)

#adrien brody #this is a joke #because i know theres always that one person who'll take it seriously

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the-wise-old-elf · 29 days

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Luca is a big cat himself tbh

The real Black paw Hand

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the-wise-old-elf · 29 days

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HES SO FUNNY 😭

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the-wise-old-elf · 1 month

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guys idk how to explain it and don't ask how I came to this conclusion but I feel like Luca snores very loud

#luca changretta #please don't ask why

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the-wise-old-elf · 1 month

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I need to know the full clip for the 9th gif (for research purposes)

Adrien Brody as Ritchie Summer of Sam (1999) dir. Spike Lee costume design by Ruth E. Carter

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the-wise-old-elf · 1 month

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I SWEAR THIS FIC HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD THE TENSION 😭

☹️

Nobody's Girl - Chapter Three.

Check your girl out over here like Oprah. YOU get another chapter, and YOU get another chapter, and so on! I am seriously so flattered by everyone loving the story so far, and watching you all so rabidly consuming it makes me so very happy :)

With the time off work I have had recently, it's meant the story has virtually written itself, I'm up to chapter eleven in the writing, so what I thought would originally be a shorter series has turned into a longer one, meaning I can update more regularly. Well, I can only hope you like this chapter just as much as the previous two, and if you do, remember to leave me a little comment, or a reblog. You would have my eternal gratitude for doing so!

Previous chapters - One Two

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,300

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Conversation. With a woman he wasn’t involved with. Truly, Luca couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever enjoyed such, but there he was on an otherwise quiet Thursday night experiencing just that. A soft flurry of snow gently drifted down outside, his apartment the warm cocoon he and Emily sequestered themselves within, sitting on the couch, mostly her sharing stories of her life before she’d literally fallen into his.

“I remember there was this one time, back when I first got caught up with them, I was taken for a game at this house in Queens. Joey had loaned me to his brother, Giacinto, but of course there was the issue of how he could get me in at the table. So, he made a bet on a bet, I guess you’d call it. Strode in there and announced that he bet each player two hundred bucks they couldn’t beat me in a game of seven card stud.

“Of course, part of the point of poker is counting cards, but I can do it faster and better, and I did. I won Giacinto five grand in one night, and most of the guys were pissed as hell that I’d beaten them, except for one. He was an older guy, thick glasses, big birthmark on his cheek. He told me I was every man’s worst nightmare, a pretty blonde with a brain, and he respected that.”

“That’s Jimmy Phelan, Irish mob from Philly,” Luca nodded, quite impressed that she’d grabbed his attention.

She clicked her fingers in remembrance. “Yeah, Jimmy. That was his name. I’ve met so many wiseguys that it’s hard to keep up with all of the names. I remember the ones who have curious nicknames, like Carmine the Boots, and Duck Foot Silv. I never asked how they got them, though.”

Luca knew, of course. “Carmine is the boots ‘cuz that’s what he does to those who earn it, fits ‘em with a nice set of concrete boots and sends ‘em off for a swim in the Hudson River. Silvio, they call him duck foot ‘cuz the guy was born with webbed toes.”

Her eyes widened, leaning forward in her seat. “Have you seen the toes?”

“I have,” he smirked, scratching his jaw,. “He does this trick, sticks a quarter on his big toe and flicks it about ten feet in the air.”

She snorted with giggles, sipping her drink and catching an ice cube to chew upon. The sound of her cracking it between her teeth did something to his insides that he couldn’t explain, but was very, very pleasant. “I bet he’s a good swimmer too, huh?”

“Guy don’t need no flippers, that’s for fuckin’ sure.”

He looked at her for a long moment, enchanted as usual by her loveliness. It was so easy with her. She knew exactly who and what he was, and she just accepted it without fuss, acting unguarded with him, rather than either trying to work him out or shrink in intimidation. It made a nice change, to simply experience a slice of normality like that, and especially with a woman. Most only wanted him for his money or the association of who he was.

Or his cock. He was famed for having one hell of a nice cock, after a woman he’d bedded had been very loud in her praise of it one time.

“So yeah, back to Jimmy being nice to me. He gave me a hundred dollars, said I’d earned it, being such a good card player. I was amazed, and I thought the cash was mine to keep, but not according to Giacinto. Copped a huge beating for that assumption, ended up with this.”

Hooking her finger into her mouth, she pulled her cheek back to reveal the empty gum space where her back teeth should have sat, Luca feeling caustic within. How hard must he have punched her to knock a both a double and fucking wisdom tooth out, he had to wonder, remembering how tough his own had been to have extracted by a dentist.

“Bastardo,” he hissed, picking up his drink and knocking it back, refilling it. “Ain’t no big man’s game, sluggin’ a broad. You wanna prove you have cojones? Fuckin’ walk up to the biggest fella in the room and crack him in the mouth. S’what I used to do whenever I got thrown in Sing Sing as a kid, not long after I arrived here from England.”

“Have you ever done serious time for your endeavours?” she asked, lifting the wool shawl where it had slipped from her shoulders, Luca wishing she’d left it. Any chance he got to view more of her beautiful, lily skin, and he shamelessly took it. It had been gnawing at him for the past fourteen days since she’d been there, chewing away at his resolve like a starving wolf.

Usually, he’d have made his move by now on somebody he coveted. Hell, his record was ten seconds upon seeing a woman he desired, walking up to her and brashly asking a simple, three worded question. “Wanna fuck me?” No woman ever refused him. With Emily, though, because of her sheer loveliness, as tempting as it would be to corrupt, he held himself back.

It was a fierce internal conflict he waged war with, his rampant libido dictating he simply take her to bed and bounce her on his cock until she screamed his name, the very little morality left within him castigating such, because of how innocent and sweet the girl was. He couldn’t tarnish something that lovely and pure with the infection of his darkness. Until he could come to some resolve, he supposed he’d have to simply deal with the juxtaposition of wanting to cherish her like a princess and fuck her like a whore.

She was a billion miles away from the latter, though. Hence the conflict.

Also, he got the distinct impression that she was still too scared of him. For the most part, she was settled around him, a little shy still, but definitely comfortable enough to open up to him and talk, just like she was doing on that particular evening. If he showed the weight of his desire for her, though, she’d surely bolt. The last thing he wanted was for her to flee.

“I did a few years for theft, when I was eighteen,” he eventually replied, once he’d managed to finally pull himself back out of his thoughts. “Few times being locked up here and there in the time between, too.”

“Don’t you mafia guys have the police on payroll, or something?”

That was another reason why he held himself back. Would she truly want to remain in the world she’d been held prisoner in, should he instigate anything with her? Then again, at least this time she would have a choice. “We do now, yeah. Hence why I ain’t seen a cell in a while.”

“I think I’d cry if I was ever arrested. Jail sounds scary,” she spoke, sipping her drink, her sweetness making his chest hurt. Why did she have to be the loveliest little thing he’d ever met? It was making him crazy, the want to protect her, the need to fuck her dirty, both colliding with the resolve that he’d solely keep here there until he knew all he wanted about the Calabrese family.

It was a resolve that seemed to fracture away with every second that passed in her company.

She’d given him very useful information so far, too. Safe house locations his guys had duly gone in and looted, details of deals that she’d been made privy to that he’d been able to scupper before they’d had a chance to come to fruition. Because of Emily, he had the upper hand in the war against the family who – in his mind, at least – needed to show respect and fall back into line.

What would happen when the well that was her information dried up, though? What, he was simply meant to let this beautiful little creature, this utter mythical princess of a woman unlike any others he’d encountered simply be on her way, and leave his life with a little less pure, iridescent sparkle in her wake?

He was glad of the distraction when a heavy fist pounding the door below interrupted their evening, Emily nearly jumping out of her skin.

“S’okay,” he assured her as he stood, resting a hand to her shoulder. “That’s Angelo, he has a habit of knocking like he’s the fuckin’ police.” He headed to the stairs, descending, opening the door but remaining out of her sight as he and Angelo exchanged hushed whispers. Luca appeared again after a few minutes, looking lamentable, but also angry as he pulled himself into his thick, black coat.

“I have to go out, something I gotta attend to,” he spoke, Emily rising to her feet.

“Oh, alright. When will you be back?”

He shrugged, not looking pleased at all. “Hopefully not too long, but don’t wait on me, alright?”

She nodded, and then completely on blind impulse, reached for his face, pulling him down to her tiny level and kissing his cheek. “Be careful.”

His heart all but broke the ribs covering it with the force of its rapid thuds. He winked, thumb stroking the apple of her cheek. “I will, doll.”

As he walked back down the stairs, he could still feel the soft press of her lips against his cheek, his pulse amped up from even the tiniest display of affection from his houseguest. He truly hadn’t expected it, and when he should have left the building with nothing but business on his mind, instead, it was only getting back to Emily again that occupied his thoughts.

Meanwhile, the girl herself flopped back onto the couch, sighing as she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, god help me. I want that man so badly!” she grimaced, groaning with discomfort. Truly, she didn’t know how the hell to play it, either, feeling so conflicted.

Sometimes, he’d flirt with her, but she was too shy to reciprocate it, meaning he’d pull back and cool down with how he acted around her. Other times, she knew only too well he was trying to wheedle information regarding the Calabrese’s from her, information she found herself giving, getting herself furtherly wrapped up in a world she knew truly wasn’t any good for her.

How much danger was she in, though, from her place beneath the albatross-like wings of Luca Changretta? Nobody would be fool enough to touch her. However, that was only if she became more to him than whatever she was, she supposed. Then again, he had told her several times already she was safe with him.

Falling into a silly daydream, she imagined him taking her in his arms, kissing her, those big, tattooed hands laying worship upon her, that sultry voice of his speaking his wants and desires. She let her mind wander for so long that she was still partially in a daze when she heard a rapid knock at the door, followed by the creak of it opening, the music no longer playing.

“Luca? It’s only me,” a female voice called, her heeled feet alighting the stairs. Before she could speak, a buxom looking redhead appeared, her face surprised as she took Emily in. “Oh, hi! I’m Maggie, and you are?”

“Hi, Maggie. I’m Emily, and Luca is out,” she spoke, picking up her drink and finishing it.

“Oh, oh alright. I must’a missed him leaving,” she muttered, holding two large jute bags in her hands. “I was just bringin’ up the takings to him, but I guess I can leave ‘em with you. You’re his new gal, right?”

She shook her head. “No, just his, uh, his friend.”

Maggie snorted, placing the takings down on the coffee table. “Luca don’t have gals who are just friends, sweetie pie.” She viewed her carefully, watching the way the young blonde blushed furiously, reaching for the vodka bottle. Only a tiny drizzle remained within.

“Damn,” Emily pouted, “I drank it all.”

“Hey, I gotta load of premixed cocktails I’d otherwise throw out. Fancy coming and helping me drink ‘em while I clean up for the night?” Maggie offered, suddenly feeling like she would be being rude to go and pour it all away, and leave the girl upstairs alone, waiting on a man who would likely be gone for hours. Especially too after she’d blatantly embarrassed the hell out of her by her assertion over her boss and his lack of female friends.

Who was she to judge? Stranger things had happened, she guessed, although she had to admit, she was very curious. If Luca wasn’t giving her a good fucking on the regular, then just what was she doing there? She had noticed her boss not present down in the joint for the last two weeks, with none of his usual rotation of females making their way up to the apartment. Curiosity demanded an answer.

Smiling, Emily rose to her feet, stuffing them into her shoes. “Sure, that’d be nice.” Following Maggie back down, she was ushered over to the bar, taking a seat on one of the high stools, the clean up in full effect as people swept, tidied and mopped, the band disassembling their instruments and returning them to their respective cases.

“Here, I hope you like Manhattan’s,” Maggie spoke, pouring a large measure into a copper mug and passing it over, topping off her own and holding it out. “Cheers, Emily.”

“Cheers.” She took a swig, the alcohol hitting her throat so hard, she almost coughed, the redhead throwing her head back.

“Sorry, sugar. I make ‘em potent!” she smirked, taking a soapy cloth and beginning to clean down the bar. “So, you and Luca. What’s the story, darl?”

Emily didn’t really feel comfortable with revealing the whole truth to a perfect stranger, even though obviously she was a trusted person by the man himself. She wouldn’t have been working in his speakeasy if she wasn’t. “I’m staying with him for a little while.”

“And you ain’t knockin’ boots with him?” she was then asked.

“No, definitely not,” she replied, taking another sip of the rocket fuel in her grasp.

Maggie raised an eyebrow, beginning to pick up liquor bottles from behind the bar and clean the runs and drips away with her cloth. “But you wanna, amirite? Everyone wants to fuck Luca, ‘cept me. I like ‘em a little prettier.”

Watching her wink as a cute, almost angelic looking blonde saxophone player walked past and waved goodnight, Emily caught her drift immediately. Turning back to Maggie, she shrugged lightly. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m his type.” By that point, she’d seen a picture of Filomena, his ex-wife when he’d shown her some photographs of his children. She was dark haired, buxom, Italian and glamorous. Everything she wasn’t.

“True,” Maggie spoke, pausing to light a cigarette, her cleaning endeavours finished. “But men like somethin’ a lil’ different, they’ll find themselves urging for a taste of the unfamiliar when it’s presented to ‘em. You should give him a go, darl. I hear he’s good with his cock.”

It was an unfortunate time to take a sip of the lethal Manhattan, Emily half spraying it back into the mug at her brazenness. Maggie couldn’t resist in teasing further. “One of the dancers here was fucking him a while back. Said he was hung like a bull and had the stamina of a guy half his age.”

Emily felt herself shrinking with every word, Maggie throwing her head back and laughing hoarsely. “Oh, ain’t you a cutie! Gettin’ all shy. Sorry, I know I’m brash. I’ll behave.”

Perhaps having a female perspective into her predicament might be helpful, she then pondered. Maggie seemed nice, friendly, too. It wasn’t like Emily had a whole lot in the way of friends, either, no gal pals to run her thoughts by. “Okay, so the truth is, I do want to,” she began, Maggie’s face lighting up as she leaned over the bar, huddling close.

“Tell me more, sugar!”

Pausing, she took another sip of her drink for courage. “I want to, but I never have before. With any man.”

The barmaid’s eyes all but fell out of her skull. “Really?”

She nodded.

“But... why? Sex is amazing with the right guy!”

Just then, a door flew open down at the other end of the room, one of the dancers striding out, mid-tirade. “It’s the fuckin’ same with all you fuckin’ Italian jerks!” she screamed, the guy following her looking nonchalant. “All of youse expect us to fuckin’ suck dick, but when it comes to returning it, nadda, nothin’, no sale! Would it fuckin’ kill you to eat me out just once, Luciano?”

He shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “I ain’t about that.”

“Yeah, me and my thirsty kitty cat know only too well, you two-bit fuck! We’re done!” She was out of the joint in a blur of sequins and fury, Emily and Maggie sharing a wide-eyed look at having front row seats to such a show.

“Yeah, he ain’t the right guy,” the latter snorted, jerking her thumb in the direction where Luciano, one of Luca’s street guys had just walked in, softly cussing to himself in Italian.

“To answer your question, I don’t know, really,” Emily confessed, thinning her lips momentarily. “I’ve never found anyone I like enough to do it with, I guess. It’s like I’m a beacon for shitty guys with bad intentions.”

Her confidant didn’t truly know how to answer that, since Luca did seem to go through women like they were entering and exiting in a revolving door. However, there was a plus point. “Well, if you decided to, at least it wouldn’t be a lousy first experience for ya. He’s forty-three, the man has heaps of experience, so it wouldn’t be like my first. Two pumps and a squirt, baby. I was so disappointed,”

The women both snorting laughing, Emily throwing her head back as she truly began to cackle loudly. Oh, she was funny, this brazen woman who had taken her under her wing and plied her with lethally potent cocktails. While she was beginning to relax and find herself making a new friend, the topic of their conversation was walking into a speakeasy in Bushwick, his crew around him.

“Luca, glad you could join me,” Giacinto Calabrese spoke, leaning back in his seat. “Drink?”

“No thanks,” he drawled through the chew on his toothpick, “won’t be stayin’ all that long. So, Angelo here tells me you gotta deal for me, huh?”

His adversary gestured to a chair, Luca taking a seat, his eyes never leaving the man as he felt his mood darkening, looking at his hands. Those were the knuckles that had smashed the teeth out of her mouth. “I do, because you have somethin’ of ours we want returned to us, but I’m a fair man. I’m happy to exchange.” Lifting his chin, he pulled his cigarettes out, lighting one up. “Give me the girl, and I’ll walk away from the warehouses in Yonkers. You have my word.”

He rolled his tongue against his cheek, chuckling a deadly hiss. “Your word is worth shit, and Emily ain’t for sale, pal.”

“Oh!” The wise assed man laughed, entertained. “On first name terms with the little puttana now, huh? Wait, I can’t call her that, though. Bitch is more frigid than a fuckin’ nun!”

Luca remained still, but his eyes moved with all the intent of a predator locking onto its target, slowly pulling the toothpick from between his lips. “The fuck you just call her, stronzo? A bitch?”

“Yeah,” Giacinto laughed, “I called her a bitch, and...”

That was as far as he got before the lion that was the head of the Changretta mob pounced, grabbing his collar and pounding his head down onto the table, their respective guys all drawing their weapons.

“You’re outnumbered, fellas,” Angelo rumbled, tutting. “Put ‘em down.” The men fell back, all watching the scene unfold before them.

Luca loomed like a shadow of death, his hand holding Giacinto fast against the smooth, dark wood. “Did you call her a bitch when you knocked her fuckin’ teeth out? Did ya? Tell me, how hard does a guy like you have to slug a tiny little thing like her to crack the goddamned teeth from her jaw? This hard?” His fist met his face in a sickeningly strong blow, the piece of shit beneath his grasp grunting in pain. “This hard?” He punched him again, this time loosening one of the teeth he was aiming for, Luca hauling him up and beginning to lay repetitive punches to his face, Giacinto flying back to the floor.

With his rage pumping like water through a broken dam, Luca loomed over him, pulling a flick knife from his pocket and releasing the blade, holding it so hard against his cheek, his blood began to seep from beneath the press. “You ever speak her name again and I will cut your fuckin’ tongue from your head. The Yonkers warehouses are mine now, too, just for the fuckin’ gall of you. Give your fuckin’ father my goddamned regards, Giacinto.”

“Fuck you, Luca!” he spat, shame and rage coiling through him.

“Fuck me, huh?” he laughed, low and deadly. “Nah, kid. Tell me, you right-handed? You are, aren’t ya? It was your right hand you used to beat her, wasn’t it?” Wrenching his arm up, he grasped his wrist, bringing the knife down between his third and fourth fingers, beginning to slice through skin, sinew and tendons. Giacinto screamed, Luca holding the knife towards Angelo, needing both hands to grab the second and third, then fourth and fifth fingers, grasping hard before literally ripping his hand apart.

“Can’t go punching little girls no longer now, can you?” Standing, he left him screaming on the floor, looking to his guys. “Step down from the warehouses as of tonight, or I do worse to all six of youse.” With that, Luca and his eight cohorts left the speakeasy, heading back to their cars, Brooklyn bound. Entering his apartment just under a half hour later, he made sure he was quiet, not wanting to wake the beauty in his bed.

Hanging his coat and jacket, he unlaced his shoes, removing his tie as he walked over to the bed, just about able to see her outline there curled up, sleeping soundly. Reaching toward her face, he gently swept the platinum strands of hair that had fallen loose back behind her ear, tenderly stroking the apple of her cheek with the back of his fingers.

He realised right there that she could never again utter anything about the Calabrese’s, and he wouldn’t care at all. He didn’t need her for information. He just needed her to be safe.

The twisted irony wasn’t lost on him, though, that the very person she wasn’t safe from was the one whose bed she slept soundly in, but for very different reasons than what the Calabrese’s represented. He lingered there only a moment longer before going to the bathroom and undressing, pulling on his grey and white striped pyjama bottoms, heading for the couch.

“Luca?”

He actually jumped a little, hearing her soft voice suddenly sound through the dark. “Yeah, doll?” Turning, he watched her sit up, peeling the bed clothes back as she shuffled over, patting the mattress. “It’s freezing. You can’t keep sleeping on the couch. I don’t mind sharing.”

He hesitated only a second before walking over, climbing in next to her, his heart beginning to race. Her warmth was the most alluring intoxication he’d ever felt near to him, wanting nothing but to wrap himself around her, meld his body to hers, tell her in no uncertain terms that Giacinto Calabrese would never dare touch her again.

Lying there, Emily could feel the tension radiating from him, not knowing why he was in such a state, but sensing it all the same. Had something happened, while he was out, something to spark his temper, amp his ire? She felt him turn away from her, turning over herself and hesitating a moment before putting the advice she’d had from Maggie to good use. ‘Just move on him. You’re beautiful, sugar. He won’t turn you down.’

It wasn’t necessarily a sexual advance, as Maggie had been specifically advocating, but it was a step in the right direction. Wrapping her arm around him, she pressed herself against his back, resting her hand to his chest. Her heart almost leapt into her throat when she felt him grasp her hand, thumb stroking, placing a kiss upon her fingers.

He clutched her hand tight, feeling her breath flutter against his shoulder blades, his heart still hammering. If he turned to her, that would be it. He wouldn’t be able to hang onto the bull within him, goring against the very last of his soft flesh in a bid for freedom. Flesh that had softened for her.

He remembered how he’d felt, punching Giacinto repeatedly in the face, until he had expelled blood with every groaned breath, all for her, because of her, because no man would ever make the sweet little darling curled against him feel less than all she was ever again.

But still, he didn’t dare turn over. It’d be like Satan himself defiling the purest of angels. If only Luca knew, though, as he wrestled with the beast within, that the only thing the angel pressed against his back wanted was to feel the burn of his lust against her skin.

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the-wise-old-elf · 1 month

Text

YESSS SLAYED AGAIN I LOVE ANGELO AND DONNY THEY'RE SO CUTE

Nobody's Girl - Chapter Two.

Ask and ye shall recieve, besties! Thrilled at how well-received the first chapter was, thank you all so much for your feedback :)

Previous chapters - One

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 3,445

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

The sound of a garbage can hitting the sidewalk from the street below with a clatter was what roused Emily from her long, deep sleep the morning after, coming to and not immediately realising where she was. Until she smelled him on the sheets.

While his scent lingered, the man himself was nowhere to be found, but he had left her a note. A note and a stack of cash.

‘I have business to deal with, I’ll be back later. Go buy yourself some clothes and whatever else you need. Two of my guys, Angelo and Donny will be waiting for you downstairs. They’ll look after you.’

His writing was elegant and loopy, very fine penmanship, she thought, placing the note down and getting out of bed, remaking it neatly. Picking up the crisp stack of bills, her eyes bulged. All fifties. Twenty of them.

“A grand?” she gasped, her mouth dropping open. He’d left her a thousand dollars, like it was small change!

Placing the money back down again, she ventured to the bathroom, the only part of the apartment that was walled off from the rest. Looking at herself in the mirror, she could count it as a small mercy that Joey rarely touched her face, she supposed, always wanting to keep her pretty, as he once worded it after a beating. His body shot punches were a different matter. The soreness lingering over her ribs and stomach attested that, although she doubted anything was broken.

Her eye was tinged with the violet and shadowy green of bruising, but gladly not swollen, the same to the side of her mouth and both cheekbones. It wasn’t ideal as visages went, to have her looks marred like that, Emily always taking pride in her appearance. Looking on at her reflection, a few tears of relief pooled her eyes, realising that the wounds he’d inflicted upon her were all that was left of the scumbag that was Joey Calabrese.

Once she was washed and refreshed, she dressed in the other clean shirt left for her, pulling on the grey coat he’d also placed with it, thinking what a mess she looked. A sullied face, no shoes, no underwear (hers were still hanging to dry after she’d washed them in the sink the night before) and wearing men’s clothes that buried her.

And she was about to go out in public? The utter shame of it.

Emily quickly realised that she didn’t have a whole lot of choice in the matter, though, so all she could do was go with it. What made nerves pool in her belly more was the fact that she now had to place her faith in somebody who wasn’t Luca, two somebody’s in fact. Her trust in their boss was only tentative at best, after all.

Was she really being taken to purchase clothes, or was something else more nefarious about to befall her? What if he’d struck a deal with Gino for her return? The words lamb and slaughter came rapidly to mind. Realising she was panicking and so far, Luca had shown no real signs of deception, she took a breath at the top of the stairs before padding down, swinging the door open and turning right.

Two very large men turned in their seats at the bar, wide smiles greeting her. “Hey, sleepy head. I’m Angelo, this is Donny. The boss told us to take you out someplace nice for clothes. My wife tells me that new place Barney’s is the best, so we’re takin’ you over to Manhattan. You ready, toots?”

He received an elbow and an eye roll from his cohort. “Can’t just be callin’ her toots like you know her, man,” he admonished lightly, extending his hand. “Miss Mortensen, a pleasure. I’m Donny, anythin’ you want, just ask, alright?” She shook his hand, Donny bringing it to his lips to place a little kiss upon her dainty fingers.

“Oh, look at this guy over here,” Angelo chirped, “Mr Smooth, amirite?”

“Screw you, pal. Gotta treat the ladies with respect, eh? Plus, she’s the boss's gal and I ain’t lookin’ to get clipped for my yap, know what I’m sayin’?”

They were a pair, she had to admit, set at ease by their little back and forth banter. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both, too. I’m not Luca’s girl, though.”

Angelo lifted his chin with a little grunt. “Wearin’ his clothes, came from his apartment, he told us to look after you and treat you nice. Yeah, you the boss’s gal, toots.”

“Enough with the toots, already! This guy and his lip,” Donny chuckled, offering his arm to Emily. “Let’s go, huh?”

Her giggles peppered the air, taking the arm of the younger man, Angelo ambling along behind them. “See? Even left us his best car to take you out in. If you ain’t his gal then trust me, the big man is definitely sweet on ya, wanting you taken out in the Rolls.”

“Woah,” she gasped, seeing the shiny, black Silver Ghost parked at the curb, a car of esteemed value and luxury. “Oh my god, it’s beautiful.”

“Ain’t it, though?” Donny spoke, opening the door for her and gesturing in. “Drives like a dream, too.”

The men mostly talked between themselves for the duration of the journey, asking her a few questions here and there along the way. Truly there wasn’t much more they could converse with her about, for what did two mobsters and a naive twenty-three-year-old woman truly have in common? Not a whole lot.

“So, the big man says you’re a sunshine state gal,” Angelo broached, looking at her in the rear-view mirror. “What part ya from?”

“San Francisco,” she replied.

“Get outta here, I gotta cousin from my wife’s side who lives out there!” he laughed warmly. “Hey, how about those Giants, huh? We whooped ‘em big style this year!”

“Oh, I don’t really follow baseball. I take it you’re a Yankees fan?”

“Until my dying breath, toots!”

The demeanour of the men set her at ease, even more so when they entered Manhattan, a place she had only been to once before. The buildings loomed huge overhead, Emily looking out of the window with curiosity filled eyes, Donny nudging Angelo and jerking his head back with a smile at her wonder.

“Oh, it’s so fancy,” she exclaimed, looking up at the department store once they’d parked up and alighted the car, her gaze then falling down to her bare feet. Discomfort tingled through her chest and down her legs. “And I have to go in there like this.”

“Eh, don’t you stress about it, you hear?” Angelo spoke, offering his arm. “You gonna get all fixed up even prettier than you are, I tell ya. Let’s go.”

Donny swung the doors open, following them into the hustle and bustle of the store, Emily feeling like such a fish out of water as she gazed around. It was all so indulgent, so luxurious, and there she was, a poor girl from San Francisco, barefoot and makeup free, with her roots showing and her face all marked up.

It didn’t take long for her appearance to draw stares. From clientele to staff alike. One particular woman working within the ladies' clothing section was absolutely not shy in looking her up and down several times, Emily dropping her head in embarrassment, letting her pale waves cover her face.

Oh, no. That would not do.

“Hey you, with the twisted-up mouth like a dog’s asshole,” Angelo began, clicking his fingers at the woman and pointing before him, pulling out a fat wad of bills from his pocket. “We got a lotta dough to spend in here, and it’s your job to make Miss Mortensen happy while she’s goin’ about it. So, set your face straight and hop to it.”

Her eyes bulged at being handed a fifty, the woman fixing her face in a wide, friendly smile that had not existed prior to knowing that the well-dressed men and the poor looking, barefooted scrap who accompanied them were, in fact, likely the wealthiest people in the store. Maybe the girl was of some kind of European aristocracy, she wondered? Perhaps a little eccentric, hence the men’s clothes and bare feet?

“Certainly, sir,” she nodded, turning to Emily with a smile. “Good morning, Miss Mortensen. My name is Ivy, and it would be my pleasure to show you some of our garments. What are we in the market for today?”

“Everything, four times over,” Donny spoke, winking at Emily when she smiled up at him. “Go on, you go enjoy yourself. We’ll be right here, darlin’.” She was a little reluctant to move away from them, Donny remembering Luca specifically stating to treat her with care and never leave her alone, even for a second, watching her relax when he stepped forward and accompanied her as she began browsing the clothing.

Dresses, blouses, skirts, pants, shoes, underwear, stockings, cardigans, shawls, purses and hats were all perused and gathered, Emily having a wail of a time trying everything on and playing model for her approving audience.

“Beautiful, stunning, get in black, too!” Angelo enthused as she twirled in a deep red fringed dress, he and Donny clapping. She presumed them to be merely humouring her, of course thinking she was the boss’s girl, no matter how much she corrected them to the contrary. The two mafioso’s were genuinely having a good time with their young companion, though, watching this girl who looked like she’d never had two pennies to rub together suddenly catapulted into a world of splendour.

“You need a fur too, toots. Here, feel this. Mink. Gorgeous, ain’t it? I got one for my wife last week. I swear, she’d sleep in the thing!” Angelo spoke, approaching with a gorgeous, pale grey coat. Emily placed her arms in, pulling it over her shoulders, turning to look at herself in the mirror.

How was this her life?

“How much is it?” she asked the assistant.

“Two hundred and thirty dollars, Miss Mortensen.”

She’d been adding it up in her head, her running total for the items she’d already chosen. God, it cost even more than all of them put together. Turning to Angelo, she bit her lip nervously. “Do I take it?”

“Of course, ya take it! How much did your man give ya?”

“A grand,” she confirmed, the burly man laughing softly.

“Well, he gave me an extra G on top of that, should you go too wild. Told me to make sure you had a good time, so let’s see to gettin’ you a chinchilla too. You’ll need different ones for different outfits, amirite? I know you dames like that.”

She had a thousand, and Angelo had a backup thousand. Good god, her head was spinning. The chinchilla coat was tried on, Emily falling in love with it, choosing an outfit to wear right away and going to dress while the assistant took her purchases to the sales desk and rang everything up. All in all, it came to seven hundred and twenty dollars.

She felt faint.

A trip to the cosmetics department, and she’d spent almost another hundred on high end makeup, perfume, face creams, necessities for her hair, etcetera. No matter how much the guys encouraged her, she still felt guilty, knowing it wasn’t her money and she hadn’t done a thing to earn it.

“Yeah, you did,” Donny spoke after she had voiced that thought to him, his arms laden with bags as they left the store. “You saved the boss’s life by tellin’ him about what was under his car.”

She supposed if that was the way Luca expressed his gratitude, she could live with it. Still, she would have settled for a place to stay for the night and only that all the same. Afterwards, she was whisked across the city to a beautiful Italian restaurant for lunch, Emily feeling much more confident about her appearance after applying some makeup on the ride over.

“Well, toots,” Angelo began at the doors, taking her hand and kissing it. “We had a real good time with you, but this is where we leave ya. Don’t worry about your things, we’ll get it all back to Brooklyn.”

“See ya, darlin’.” Donny spoke, offering her the same before they turned and left, Emily quite confused as the Maitre'd approached.

“Miss Mortensen, your table is ready. Please follow me.”

Were they really leaving her to dine in the city alone? How on earth would she get back to Brooklyn? She didn’t even know Luca’s address! All her thoughts swirled as her heart began to hammer, being led through the grand looking restaurant, Emily looking up and feeling her worries melt in an instant.

“Well, don’t you scrub up beautiful, huh?” Luca spoke, rising to his feet and taking her hand, kissing it softly. “You have a good time with the guys?”

“I did, thank you,” she spoke, suddenly feeling a little shy. “Thank you so much, too, for leaving me the cash. I have change, here.”

At watching her delve a hand into her pocket, he shook his head, touching a hand to her arm. “No, doll. That’s your money, not mine.” God, she was just so adorable. No other woman he’d ever encountered would think to be that courteous as to try and return the cash she hadn’t spent to him. The man pulled in roughly two million a year, and here was this sweet little flower, trying to give him change.

“How has your morning been so far?” she asked courteously, Luca taking the bottle of carbonated water from the table and pouring a glass for her. It still aggrieved him, that he couldn’t enjoy a good bottle of wine while in a restaurant. Fuck the Volstead Act.

“Busy, mainly. It’s how I like it, though. Profitable, too.” Translation; he’d personally visited a man who was proving to be a growing pain in his ass regarding his rum running operations, and duly shot him in the face for his behaviour. He’d then called upon another who owed him money, and broken a finger for every week he’d been late to pay him. Four fingers had ended up bent out of shape, Luca walking away with his money plus a hefty late payment fee.

It was good being king.

It hit him then, realising that it had been a long, long time since anybody had asked him how his day had gone. It was so simple, yet so profound that she had the courtesy to genuinely inquire. The whores he fucked never did, obviously. His ex-wife seldom had, that was for sure. He rested his chin in a clasp between his thumb and forefingers as he viewed her inquisitively, Emily just about able to see the smile beginning to grow from beneath his hand.

“What?” she asked, feeling uncomfortable to be caught in a gaze so focused. “Do I have something on my face?”

He closed his eyes, laughing softly through his nose. Fucking adorable, and it killed him. “No, baby. I just can’t remember the last time I met a woman like you.”

“I saw the girls in your joint last night,” she began, shrugging a little, “You must meet pretty girls all time. I mean, not that I think I’m exceptionally pretty or anything.”

Leaning forward suddenly, he covered her hand with his. “True, doll. I do meet pretty gals all the damned time. But that ain’t what I meant.” That bold, evergreen gaze of his fixed upon her so strongly, her heart skipped, Emily swallowing hard. Being fixed with a gaze of such intensity, she didn’t know whether to be nervous or excited, so settled for an equal measure of both. “You’re not like other women.”

Shyness crept over her, her cheeks colouring as she bit her lip, the tattooed hand resting atop hers gently squeezing. “How can you know that? You barely know me.”

“True.” His eyebrows fluttered slightly, leaning back again as he removed the toothpick from between his teeth, pointing right at her with a narrow-eyed gaze. “Says a whole lot about you that I can, though, don’t it?”

The conflict within her ran so rampant, for a few moments she felt a little queasy, shrinking into the collar of her fur coat more, the chinchilla pelt soft against her cheeks, cheeks that prickled cerise, wishing she could hide how her emotions betrayed her feeble attempt to remain passive.

She needn’t have felt bad. Nobody was a match for Luca Changretta once he’d set himself to unravel them.

“Oh, and by the way,” he began, standing, adjusting his suit a little before touching a hand to her shoulder as he leaned down. “You are exceptionally pretty. Excuse me a moment.”

He walked away grinning, leaving here there practically boiling under her collar. “Rack ‘em up and knock ‘em down.” he muttered smugly, trying to ignore the tight pull of protest against his scheming arrogance when it jabbed him in the chest. The voice telling him his desire to know more about who she was as well as what she knew could pipe the hell down, too. As could his heartbeat.

Fuck.

After using the restroom, he returned to the table to find a waiter hovering, looking at him nervously. Fear or awe; they were usually the top two reactions invoked by his presence.

“Rib eye, rare. Emily, have whatever you want.”

Lifting up the menu, she quickly scanned the dishes, thinning her lips as she tried to make a decision rapidly, so as not to hold the waiter up. None of it was familiar to her. “What would you recommend?” she asked coyly, looking up at the young man with the crisp, white notepad in his hand.

“The chicken piccata is our special today, miss. An exceptionally excellent dish.”

She nodded, handing over the menu. “One of those, please.”

“Certainly.”

She let her coat fall from her shoulders, deciding she felt comfortable enough not to hide in it and pulling her arms out, letting it drape over the back of the chair. The dress she wore was beautiful, Luca noted, realising that no matter how humble and poor her beginnings were, she had very good taste. He also very much enjoyed the way the black lace hugged her tiny frame.

God, she was so little. Five feet two, if that. He’d be scared of breaking her, if he ever got her underneath him, pressed her to his bed, let his hands and mouth wander over her...

“Do you come here regularly?”

Her question shattered the glass that housed his impure, lustful thoughts, Luca reaching for his water and taking a sip. “I used to all the time, but not so much recently. Don’t wanna run into my ex, but I know for fact she’s in Florida with the kids right now.”

She had wondered over his marital status, noticing that his apartment didn’t contain a drop of anything that could be constituted as a female presence. “Oh, sorry that you guys broke up,” she spoke out of courtesy, not really knowing how else to reply.

He sniffed, rolling the toothpick in his mouth over his lower lip with his tongue. “Don’t be, I’m not.”

“Didn’t end well, huh?”

“Nah. It’s probably mostly my fault, but yeah. Eighteen years over, because neither of us cared enough to save it. What about you? Any exes out there with burned bridges?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. She had to laugh, because little did he know but her involvement with men was so limited, it was fair to say she was severely stunted where relationships were concerned. Twenty-three and still a virgin by choice. Pathetic, really, she thought. Women her age were usually married with children, and she was still trying to find her way, but failing.

He was giving her that look again, Emily feeling like she wanted to crawl under the table and hide from the intensity of his stare. Gathering herself a little, she quickly found something to take her mind of her sexual inadequacy. “So, these tattoos,” she began, tapping the number six atop his hand. “Do they hurt? How many do you have?”

He couldn’t help himself. “Not much, it's a bit like a cat scratch. As for how many, maybe I’ll show you one day.”

Her insides were reduced to smouldered ashes when he winked again, Luca watching her blush and drop her gaze. He truly couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed having the upper hand so much.

And the arrogant fool still told himself that this was all it was.

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