Kristen Ashley - Rock Chick Revolution

“I know,” I whispered.

“Yeah, you know,” he said, eyes still holding mine. “Before you knew any of this, you accepted me. And that was not a test, baby. Just circumstances that prevented you from knowin’ where I was at. But gotta say, I’m glad to know it.”

I leaned in and touched my mouth to his.

He put a hand to my neck and slid it up into my hair to hold me there so my mouth touch lasted longer and included some tongue.

Only then did he let me go, but when I resumed my position, I did it closer.

“So how’s that all gonna go for you? Disconnecting from the business?” I asked.

Again his eyes caught mine in an intent way that made me brace.

“Your brothers know. Lee’s men know. Marcus knows. Now I’m gonna tell you,” he said softly, but his soft voice was not his sweet voice.

It was a voice that was telling me to brace.

Luckily, I already was. I just did it more.

“What are you gonna tell me?” I asked.

He leaned into me and his hand went back to the side of my neck and stayed there when he declared, “You do not fuck with me, Ally. This disconnect with Vito is gonna go fine, because the people who I deal with in my business understand that.” He paused. “And why.”

“You’re a made man,” I whispered my guess.

His head moved back an inch and his eyes narrowed. “What?”

Why was he asking “what?”

“You’re, uh, not a made man?”

Ren said nothing and stared at me.

“Ren?” I prompted when this went on a while.

“We’re Sicilian, babe, but we’re not Cosa Nostra.”

My head jerked. “You aren’t?”

“Fuck no. If we were, I’d never get out.”

Wow.

I did not know this.

How did I not know this?

I mean, I didn’t know everything that went down in Denver and I’d purposefully never gotten into Zano business, but I knew a lot.

Just not this.

“I just assumed—” I started.

“We aren’t clean,” Ren interrupted me. “Vito’s into a variety of shit that his father was into and his father’s father started. But they left New York to come to Denver to leave that shit behind and do their own thing.”

“Oh,” I mumbled.

“Fuck, you thought my family was mafia?” he asked, his voice getting louder. Which, by the way, was not a good sign.

What it was was a sign that we were moving out of easy.

“Actually, I—”

“Jesus,” he clipped. “I was gonna say this is gonna go fine, not because if it doesn’t, I’ll whack anybody who fucks with me. Just that they all know I know how to take care of myself and my family. I’ve proved that in a variety of ways. I’ve also not hesitated proving it or getting creative. So they’ve learned not to fuck with me.” He scowled at me and repeated, “Jesus.”

I didn’t know what to say. I personally didn’t think that it was a huge leap to make, him being Sicilian and the nephew of a third generation crime boss, but it was also an assumption that didn’t shine a great light on me.

“Ren, your family does certain… things. And they’re Italian. Sicilian Italian. Your dad was whacked. And Vito can be scary. I put two and two together—”

“And made twelve.”

Oh man.

I put a hand on his chest and leaned in. “You’re right. I’m sorry. That was totally uncool. Totally. Really, I’m sorry.” I tipped my head to the side and pressed my hand into his chest “Forgive me?”

“For thinkin’ I’m an underboss?”

Hmm.

Time to shut my mouth.

See, I’d been stupid and I’d apologized.

And he hadn’t accepted.

I offended him and maybe his acceptance was going to take a few minutes.

So I was going to give them to him before I lost my patience and pointed out (in a perhaps snotty or sarcastic way) that he should accept my apology.

“I’ll just take the dishes down to the sink,” I muttered, moving to exit the bed.

Instead of getting out of the bed, my coffee mug was pulled from my hand, put on the nightstand, and I was shoved back into position facing Ren.

“All this time, you thought you were fuckin’ a wiseguy?” he asked.

“Um…” I mumbled, because I did. It was just that he was angry and I didn’t want to say it out loud.

“You did. You thought you were fuckin’ a wiseguy,” he pressed.

I pushed my lips to the side.

“And you let me in there,” he went on.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He stared at me.

I fought squirming.

Then he burst out laughing.

I stopped fighting squirming and glared.

“What’s funny?” I snapped.

His hand shot out and hooked me behind the neck, pulling me into him even as he leaned close.

“Christ, you love me so much, I was so damned in there, you accepted me as a wiseguy.”

I had a feeling I was never going to hear the end of that.

“Just saying, Zano, if you’re looking for new career paths, I’d prefer you veer from that one,” I returned.

“Babe, you thought I was already on it.”

This sucked, but it was true.

“Whatever,” I muttered, yanking at his hand at my neck and looking anywhere but at him.

“Ally,” he called.

“What?” I asked the bedpost.

“Baby, give me your eyes.”

He was talking sweet.

I heaved a sigh and gave him my eyes.

“So, I want a stay-at-home mom and you give me a badass PI. You accepted a wiseguy and got whatever I am. We’re a fuckin’ pair.”

We were.

I looked into his eyes and wondered how on earth we were working.

Then it hit me I shouldn’t think on that too much. We were. That was all that mattered.

“I suppose I should thank you for giving up your six figure part of a criminal empire for me,” I said somewhat ungraciously.

This made him smile and pull me closer as his eyes dropped to my mouth and his lips murmured, “You’re welcome, honey.”

“Now, I need to go out and run off my French toast,” I informed him.

His eyes came back to mine just as his lips hit mine and he replied, “Oh, we’ll work it off.”

A shiver slid over my skin and my happy place got happy.

His head slanted, his lips pressed to mine and his tongue slid inside.

We then proceeded to work off the French toast and the sausages.

I wasn’t sure what we did would help me stay in shape should I have to outrun bad guys.

But it was a whole lot better than running.

“You good?” Ren asked, and I looked from my place in the passenger seat to him behind the wheel of his Jag.

“I’m good,” I answered. “You good?”

He grabbed my hand, gave it a squeeze and rested it on his thigh. “I’m good.”

I looked out the windshield.

Even though we were heading to have dinner with Mom and Dad, I was good.

This mostly had to do with the fact that Ren instigated Operation Two Year Fuck-a-Thon today. Ren got out of bed to make us these awesome toasted roast beef sandwiches with peppers, mushrooms and melted cheese for lunch, and we both got out of bed about an hour and a half ago to take a shower. The rest of the time was in bed making love or holding close, touching and whispering, or snoozing to prepare for more making love.

It was righteous.

So since we had no fights or breakups and nothing exploded, but I’d had seven orgasms, I was all set for dinner with my man and my parents.

“Date night tomorrow night, baby,” Ren said on another hand squeeze, and I looked at him.

“Okay, but I have a meeting at Lee’s office to discuss my future career plans tomorrow evening, so we’ll have to go after that.”

“What the fuck?” he asked, eyes narrowing on the road.

“It’ll be cool,” I assured him. “I’ll talk them around but if I—”

“No, babe,” he bit out. “What the fuck?”

I looked forward.

My parents lived in Bonnie Brae, which was just off the very popular ‘hood where I lived, Washington Park. Wash Park surrounded a massive park-slash-hotspot that even in the winter was teeming with activity. It was practically impossible to find a parking spot in Wash Park. Bonnie Brae, unless you were close to Bonnie Brae Tavern, didn’t have the same problem.

But lining the curbs outside Mom and Dad’s house were not only Lee’s Crossfire and Hank’s 4Runner but also a shiny black Caddy, a semi-sporty Hyundai coupe, a Chevy SUV, a Honda Accord and a GMC Acadia.

“There’s a space in front of the Acadia, Zano,” I pointed out, and it was only two car lengths down from Mom and Dad’s, so I wasn’t certain what the big deal was. Still, maybe Ren was feeling nervous so I said, “Sorry that Lee and Hank are here, even though we didn’t know they were coming. But they’ll be cool. And all these cars mean one of the neighbors is having a little get-together.”

“One of your neighbors isn’t having a get-together, babe. The Acadia’s Dom’s. The Honda is Connie’s. The Chevy, Jeannie’s. Hyundai, Ma. And the Caddy belongs to Vito and Angela.”

I stared at the lineup of cars.

Holy shit!

Ambush!

“Are you serious?” I asked, sounding like I hoped to God he wasn’t, mostly because I hoped to God he wasn’t!

“Yes, unfortunately,” he answered, putting on the brakes to swing in in front of the Acadia, which would mean he intended to park.

“What are you doing?” I yelled.

He stopped the car and looked at me. “Parking.”

“Don’t park. Do not park. Drive on. I just got a really bad headache, period cramps and I think that French toast gave me food poisoning. I’ll text Mom. She’ll understand.”