Covert (The Clans Book 9) Page 3

I don’t know if this is a safe place to say a word. I know he has gotten us a private spot, but the staff could easily overhear, and the Falcones and the CIA for that matter have eyes and ears everywhere. This could be a place that they have bugged for all I know.

  “Look, I need you to clarify all of what I heard. This is a safe space. I checked into it,” he says, his face still unreadable. I can’t tell if he is angry or disappointed with me or if he cares at all that I am involved with the FBI and CIA. It isn’t exactly good for the Clans when someone close to them has these kinds of ties, but I don’t intend to do anything to hurt them.

  “I’ve been learning the business from my father, and among seedy things such as doctoring the books for your clan, he also apparently deals in foreign weapons shipments. The majorly illegal kind. I didn’t know this, but he sent me over a year ago now to sign for a shipment at the shipyard. The boat wrecked, and the FBI found out the whole scheme— that he was sending guns to Tehran of all places. But it’s on me since I signed. In exchange for not throwing the book at me or worse, I was handed to the CIA and trained so that I could do their dirty work. Namely, going after Franco Falcone and hopefully his sons as well.”

  There it is, all laid out on the table. He can take it or leave it.

  The silence stretches out for miles before us.

  Finally, he asks me, “How are you planning to do this, to even have an in with Falcone?”

  “Use my womanly wiles. That seemed to be the consensus from the agencies anyway. He does like his women.”

  “You should not be losing that part of yourself to a man like that,” he spits, and I see something in his eyes; anger, jealousy, protectiveness?

  I look at him strangely, but he only smiles and sips at his drink as if nothing has happened.

  Chapter 5

  Marcel

  I don't know when we agreed to share a hotel room, but it isn’t like there isn’t room for it. For a place where people tend to spend thousands of dollars on small boxes and call them apartments, the hotel rooms are luxurious as fuck.

  I made her tell me everything. How in the hell did little miss Isabella, not even a true Clan member end up as a CIA agent going after the most terrifying crime family arguably in the country? Her father is an ass for putting her in this position, and when this is all said and done, we will have words. Maybe more than words. I don’t know if I want him working for me anymore knowing what he is involved with. Yes, I am mafia, but trafficking weapons, especially to go to a place like that.

  I watch her as she goes about her morning routine. She doesn't even look in my direction, and I wonder if I am really just a piece of furniture to her or if she is avoiding eye contact with me on purpose. It's been three days since our encounter at the restaurant and other than go over a good plan to reel in Falcone, we haven’t talked about it at all.

  It hadn’t occurred to me she would have thought I was there to propose to her based on her father's wishes. Her father has never come to me to ask such a thing, even though I am sure he knows that his daughter has been infatuated with me for years now. He actually planned on her marrying Stefan Dalca of all people, which never would have worked out. He is a wildcard, unstable, and Isabella even though she thinks she's bad ass now with all her CIA training is still a beautiful and sweet girl who needs and deserves someone strong and stable. Someone she can count on.

  I can see now why I would fit that bill, but I never saw her by my side before. Maybe dealing with father and his impending death and Aria and her plight blinded me from what could be. And now she is going to be charming Franco Falcone with her business smarts and good looks. . . her fresh young face because what sick old man doesn't fall for that shit? If things go well, she will be losing her virginity to this man, who doesn’t deserve it.

  She comes out of her room and poses in front of me as if this is like a fashion show, and I pretend like I don't care. I glance up with hooded eyes as if I am bored to see that despite the fact she is dressed for a supposed business meeting over coffee, she looks utterly indecent.

  Her long hair is tangle up in a braid and put to the side of her shoulder, and she is wearing a grey dress that lands above the knees, a tiny black belt accentuating her tiny waist. She would be the envy of any woman trying to pull off cute and corporate, and any man would drool over her. There is no doubt she is going to get Falcone’s attention at their meeting. And I have already trained her on what to say, how to handle him. Her words and her body will impress him.

  "What do you think?" she asks, her hands on her hips like she is fed up with me.

  "I think you look like a little girl trying to do business." I grin at her teasingly, and she simply rolls her eyes. When did that become the kind of cute that makes my cock twitch rather than the kind that was annoying?

  “You know, we’re adults now. There’s no need to constantly act like you’re my annoying big brother or something,” she says, slipping on a pair of kitten heels that make her legs look beyond appetizing. I have to adjust in my seat to hide the fact that I now have a bulge in my pants. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  “I am not your brother,” I tell her, a little too sharply as she goes for the door.

  “My point exactly.”

  She leaves before I can say anything else, and I am about ready to punch a wall. I can’t believe I just let Isabella Zugra walk out of this door with the intention of her bagging an old crime kingpin who is known for the way he goes through women and surrounds himself with young ones. Suddenly, I am angry.

  Angry at her.

  Angry at the CIA.

  Angry at the FBI.

  Angry at her father.

  Angry at myself.

  I am angry at me for not seeing it sooner. But you know what they say about hindsight.

  Shit, I think I have a thing for my sister’s best friend. And I think I am going to have to do something about it fast or I am going to lose her entirely.

  ***

  It is two hours later when she comes breezing back in the door, and by then I have almost torn my hair out or worse, gone after her and blown her cover because I can’t stop thinking about what might have been going on. My head keeps going to the worst of places, wondering how his hands might rake over her beautiful body and demand to take from her what I wanted to be mine.

  Damn Stefan for getting in my head about that.

  “So, how did it go?” I gruff out as she kicks off her heels and starts taking down her hair. The braid has left it wavy and the Manhattan air had pieces of it windswept.

  “Considering I have been gone for two hours, it went well. He ended up buying us lunch as well since the conversation went on so long. I was invited to a gala he is attending next weekend. It’s black tie, so I’ll have to make sure I have the right thing to wear. I didn’t bring much of that with me.” She rambles on as she goes about making coffee in the kitchenette, basically a kitchen the size of an apartment back in L.A. “He says there will be many business associates there to mingle with, and he can introduce me to them.”

  “You know as well as I do that a gala isn’t just about business.” I am trying my best to contain both my rage and my desire, but I know one of the two is about to come out. I just have to choose which one.

  “It’s not like I haven’t been expecting something like this since the beginning. I have been psyching myself up for it ever since they told me to use the fact that I am a woman to get an in with Franco. It isn’t like I am thrilled about it, but I have come to terms with it,” she says as she hits the button for the coffee maker just a little too hard.

  I have come up behind her, so close I could reach out and touch if I got the courage together. I don’t know if there would be any future for us after Falcone got a hold of her. I don’t know how cruel he will be, how he will twist her, or how this whole job will ruin her. But I want to try.

  And if nothing else, her first time does not need to be like that. It should be important.

  It may sound
damn cocky but how much more special could it be than losing it to me?

  “If you’re prepared to go all the way with this, Isabella, then I am going to need you to do me a favor.” She turns around to look at me, and I can see the shock in her wide eyes at how close I am to her. I press her up against the counter, showing her just how she makes me feel.

  “What favor?” she whispers, and I lift up her leg, my hand caressing her thigh just underneath her dress.

  “Don’t give that part of yourself to him.”

  Chapter 6

  Isabella

  My heart is beating so fast, I’m afraid I’m going to have a heart attack. I have been dreaming about this moment since I hit puberty, and yet, I never truly thought it would happen, especially once I got the news I would be marrying Stefan Dalca.

  He was incredibly rude when he turned me down, but I had never been so relieved. He just isn't my type of man.

  Marcel always has been, but he has always been just out of reach. Barely less than a brother. He is Aria’s brother, after all, and I am younger than them both. I thought I was always too young, too silly, or just not good enough to get the attention of Marcel Funar. But here we are, and this is so real it’s frightening.

  His hand is on my thigh, and I feel a warmth building in my center like never before. I have saved myself all these years, hoping that the man I married would be worth it. But now I’m staring down the barrel of losing my virginity to Franco Falcone and out of wedlock. If I want a different choice it’s now or never.

  And what better choice could there ever be than to let Marcel take my virginity?

  I try not to shake in fear as I suck in a breath, settling my leg into his touch. I press into him so his hand is forced upward more, and his finger is so close to sliding along my panties, I can almost imagine what it will feel like when he follows through.

  "Please," I beg, my heart pounding in my ears. But if I am going to die, I can die in his arms any day of the week.

  "You want me to claim you?" His lips trail along my earlobe as he asks the question, and I fear I might faint, losing my balance. But he is holding me so tightly up against the counter now, I don’t move an inch.

  "Yes," I tell him as his other hand comes to caress my neck leaning it back before kissing down the left side of it. Each place his lips land feels like it is on fire.

  His lips finally land on mine, and I latch onto him, my hands tangling in his hair and clawing down his neck as my breath comes in jags. I want him so badly; I don’t even care about any pain or about him being gentle. Just the fact that it is him in this hotel room overlooking Manhattan makes it perfect to me.

  "Take me," I tell him, and he doesn’t waste any time, my panties rip as he yanks them down and puts me up on the counter. His pants are off before I can even miss his arms around me, and I’m staring at his perfect chest as soon as I pull his shirt over his head and add it to the discarded pile on the kitchen floor.

  He hikes up the bottom of my skirt so I’m exposed, pausing as if he is looking at some painting in a gallery.

  "You are beautiful," he says, his eyes drunk with lust as I look into them, praying that this is not another dream or fantasy. It feels so real. I can remember how I got here. So, it has to be real, right?

  It takes everything in me not to blurt out something neither of us is ready for. It doesn't matter that I have been certain about him for years, I can’t dump a four letter word on him without letting him catch up. This is as close as we have ever been, and I won’t do anything to fuck it up.

  His cock is right at my center, and I reach down, stroking it for a moment. I want to savor the feeling, the shape of it, everything. This is the first man I have seen like this, and I want him to be my last. If I am not ruined for him after I get the Falcones put away for the rest of their lives, then I am going to find a way to put Marcel by my side for the rest of mine.

  He moans into my ear, and I wrap my legs around him, pushing him forward as he slides himself inside of me. Like ripping a band-aid, he plunges in, not leaving me time to worry about the pain. My eyes are filled with tears, but it’s about more than the ripping from inside, it’s about the beauty of this moment even as we are savages writhing against each other as the pain turns to pleasure. He slams deep inside of me, and I cry out. We'll probably get complaints from the guests next door and below us, but who cares right now? I can't believe this is what I have been missing.

  His breath is hot on my neck as I feel my body tense up and then begin to shake. I can hardly stand it as it builds up like electricity. And just when I think I might burst, my center clenches around him

  "Marcel," I moan as I feel him throb inside of me, cumming along with me.

  And all I want is to do it all over again.

  Chapter 7

  Isabella

  Franco Falcone looks like he might have looked alright in his younger years. I mean, he had to look good enough to inspire a woman to produce all those sons of his, but now his nose, his teeth, his eyebrows, they are all too much. He still has a manly face, but it has thinned along with his hairline. He has that salt and pepper look to his hair which is longer in the back, still thick there somehow.

  I’m trying to find things to like about him as I take a turn around the room by his side, being introduced to all of his associates and even to his sons. There are three of them, all looking like they just stepped out of some machine mass producing Italian crime families. Seriously, they could be in the Godfather without a single bit of training or makeup.

  As we approach the back half of the large ballroom filled with some of the most pretentious people in New York, I spot the open bar and want nothing more than to have some liquid courage. "Excuse me, Franco, I think I just need a little refreshment," I tell him, squeezing him on the shoulder like someone I’m close with. I will have to admit there is some muscle there like the old man still works out.

  "Of course, Miss. Lupo!" he calls over one of his sons, the youngest if the looks are accurate at all. "Can you take Miss Erins to the bar for a moment. I will meet you both over there momentarily. I could use something to quench my thirst as well."

  I try not to roll my eyes. He is forcing this persona of himself in front of me like it might fool and charm me, but I know this family is full of heathens. I don’t know if I’m simply not easily fooled because of my closeness to the Clans, or if he is bad at this part of being a bad guy.

  But I have seen it with the Funars how they always put on a good act before Aria’s father died even though nothing was alright.

  Lupo offers me his arm and I smile in taking it. "So, what would you like, some wine, maybe?" he asks as we approach the bar.

  I shake my head. "No, I am more of a vodka kind of girl or maybe even some brandy," I tell him, and he grins.

  "A woman after my own heart, then." He orders from the bar in perfect Italian which I pretend not to know a word of. While I know some phrases. I don’t know everything. It is something I have been learning considering I’m going to be in their midst trying to uncover their secrets. He has ordered me a vodka drink of some kind and asked that it be made strong. Seems he takes after his father with the ladies though is not as buttoned up about it. It’s a good thing that even with my weight I can hold my liquor, one of the few useful, things I got from my father.

  The drink slides across the table and I down it with him, raising my eyebrow in a challenge. Maybe the young Falcone is the bluntest and he might let something slip if he gets a little tipsy here tonight. Maybe then I won’t have to crawl into bed with Franco himself. Though, at least I had my one night with Marcel, a night I hope to repeat again someday.

  We continue drinking, and I lose count. I don't even notice when his older brother, Alfred comes up behind him until he says something a few minutes later, already sipping at a whiskey.

  "You're Teresa, right?" he asks, giving me what I believe to be a smoldering eye. My god, are all these men womanizers? Then again, I haven’t seen a
ny of them with a ring on, no sign of their mother, whoever she is. Do they even share the same one?

  "Yes, Teresa Erins," I say, holding my hand out to him. "This is all lovely." I point to the decor around us and all the glitz and glam that hides sinister business dealings that make millions daily.

  He shakes my hand. "I hope you are not put off by my brother here. He's often bad company when he drinks." They laugh like it is only child's play, brotherly competition perhaps, but there is an edge to it that I am sure only I catch as

  he places his hand hard on Lupo’s shoulder.

  Lupo downs another drink and wipes at his face. He smells like a walking bar now, so I think I have accomplished something. "Hard for any of us to be good company tonight, brother," he spits, and I cock my head in interest. This could be something.

  Alfred shakes his head, but Lupo ignores it, or maybe doesn’t even notice. "It being the anniversary of our brother's disappearance and all. Still haven’t found him after all these years."

  "Oh, I didn’t know, I’m so sorry. Are there no leads?" I ask, feigning horror and sympathy. I wouldn’t put it past one of them to take out a sibling, so maybe this is the information I need.

  "The only thing we know is Vinny was obsessed with some bit -"

  "Please, Lupo, you are going to scare away our guest." An arm wraps around me, and I don’t need to look to know the voice belongs to Daddy Falcone himself, here to shut up his youngest from spilling all their secrets.

  Alfred practically drags him away as Franco orders himself a drink, before leading me to the edge of the room. His hand is firm on my back, letting me know he is in control here.

  My heart is pounding, fear building that he knows I’m up to something I shouldn’t be. Maybe I was too interested in what Lupo had to say or didn’t say the right things to his business associates.

  "I’m sorry for my son’s crudeness. He had the least of his mother, and it is often most obvious when he has too much to drink."