Monster Inside Me: Volume II (A Dark Mafia Romance Book 2)

  MONSTER INSIDE ME

  VOLUME II

  FAYE BYRD

  Edited by Christine V.

  Cover Image from @Lukatme1 - Deposit Photos

  Special thanks to all the following women who took some part in making this story become what it is:

  Ceara Therrien, Cheryl Edmonds, Fran Walsh, Ankita Kaul, Mana Liz, and last but certainly not least, Cecilia Rene

  Copyright 2020 © Faye Byrd

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the author.

  All trademark references mentioned in this book, including movies, movie characters or television shows, are the property of the respective copyright holders and trademark owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons is entirely coincidental.

  *****Warning!

  This book contains graphic violent scenes and harsh language throughout. Please take this into account if you have triggers related to violence. This book is a romance, but it’s a romance set in the mafia world and mafia-like showdowns will occur—as well other not-so-pleasant scenes.

  Table of Contents

  ONE—SOLARE

  TWO—I’M WAITING

  THREE—LITTLE FUCKING KID

  FOUR—DREAM COME TRUE

  FIVE—PIT OF CONFUSION

  SIX—COMING TO TERMS

  SEVEN—ANSWERS?

  EIGHT—SPIDEY SENSES

  NINE—THE LIGHT

  TEN—HONESTY

  ONE

  SOLARE

  When I enter the bedroom, my feet come to an abrupt halt. Two distinct yet opposite emotions move swiftly through me. The first is complete and utter disdain. How fucking dare she have food spread on my Lånan eiderdown duvet? But the second completely overwhelms the first, nullifying it almost entirely.

  Appreciation.

  One side of the bed has been folded back, ready and waiting for my aching body to climb into. A large wooden tray holds two of my Versace black and gold dinner plates filled with food she’s transferred from the crappy delivery containers, along with silverware, napkins, and two glasses of wine.

  Her strappy heeled sandals are slipped off and lying on the floor, and the rest of her is perched on the far side. She’s watching me intently, and I understand why.

  When I strolled from the bathroom to find her, I had intentions, but she’s halted them in their tracks by simply being herself—a generous and caring person. The kind I’ll only destroy. But goddamn, she looks so good sitting on my bed, her expression timid yet open—friendly. One I’m unaccustomed to encountering in my everyday interactions.

  Fear claims that prize.

  She scoots over and lifts my duvet, her eyes aimed at the inviting spot instead of me. “I hope this is okay.”

  A rush of uncertainty makes my fucking heart quiver in my chest, and it’s an unwelcome sensation. I’ve only ever felt it twice before. The first was when I was five. I can only remember flashes of the incident, but the fucking feeling is unmistakable.

  When we were young, every summer, we’d go to Denver where my parents owned a cabin on a lake. It was an exclusive community with only a handful of homes. Us kids weren’t allowed near the water without adults, and we weren’t supposed to go into the woods alone. But I was Dante Fucking Simone, and before I even knew what that meant, I liked to defy.

  In this particular instance, I disregarded the rules and led my three-year-old brother and his little playmate into the woods for a game of hide and seek. At some point, the little girl screamed, and I ran toward the sound. A man had her by the arm, and Ivan was pulling her other one, trying to hold on to her.

  I froze.

  For that one second, I felt exactly as I do right now.

  In the end, I pulled out my Gerber Mini pocket knife and stabbed the man in the eye, using that distraction to get them the fuck away. Our parents did a lot of yelling, at us and each other, and when it was over, the little girl’s family left. We never saw them again. As for the man, no one could find him, but I never took my brother near those woods again.

  Piper’s eyes lift to mine, and she has a little pucker between her brows. “Dante?”

  The second time, I was twelve and came up on some punks trying to push my kid brother around. I couldn’t decide whether to kick their fucking asses or if I should let him learn the hard way.

  I kicked their goddamn asses.

  On both of those occasions, I let my emotions make the choice. And looking at her now, offering me a level of kindness I don’t get very often, I do the same.

  My feet start toward the bed, but I pause before I slide in. With exaggerated movements, I drop the shorts while giving her a smirk. “I need to be comfortable if I’m being put to bed.”

  She doesn’t look away. Instead, her eyes roam downward, making no effort to conceal the hunger. She may even pout a little when I slip beneath the duvet. My smirk has turned into a genuine smile by this point, as it’s fucking nice to see a woman who isn’t ashamed to show interest in what she desires. In Piper’s case, it’s clear. She craves my body, not my money or name.

  Because of our positions, Piper’s on my left, which gives me pause as I settle against the stack of cottony softness behind me—causing a bedgasm of epic fucking proportions. It feels so goddamn good that I almost forget she’s here until her giggle brings me back to the moment. I grip her head and pull her in for a kiss. It’s just a press of lips, but even that feels like too much.

  “Thank you for this,” I murmur as I pull back. “It’s more than I deserve.”

  She snorts and leans over to grab the handles of the wooden tray. “I can’t deny that.” She places it across my legs and sits up straighter, brushing her fingers against my jaw. “But it’s good to see you again.”

  “It feels fucking amazing to be me,” I reply, grabbing her hand and kissing her palm before it can get away. “Even better with you here.”

  She pulls her hand from my grasp and grabs the plate with her grilled chicken along with a fork, tilting her head to the tray. “You should eat.”

  I stare at her for a second longer, seriously wondering if she’s even fucking real, before pulling the tray closer and grabbing my own fork. The first several minutes pass by in complete goddamn silence, aside from the sound of silverware clinking against really expensive china. An awkwardness has woven its way between us, and I’m fucking positive my reaction when I exited the bathroom is the cause.

  Placing my fork back on my plate, I relax back onto the stack of pillows. “So let’s talk,” I say abruptly, widening my arms.

  She pauses, fork in mid-air, studying me with a careful expression. As she does this, a drop of cream sauce trickles from her piece of chicken, and I watch helplessly as it falls to land on my fucking eight-thousand-dollar duvet.

  I visibly fucking wince.

  Her eyes follow mine, and she gasps, hastily shoving the bite into her mouth with an apologetic shrug. “I’m so sorry,” she says after choking down the chicken. “I’m such a fucking slob.”

  She swipes her finger over the spot, essentially rubbing it the fuck in, and brings it to her mouth. Watching it slide between her plump lips is enough to keep me from saying a fucking word, though. She hastily places her dish on the tray and starts to move away.

  I grab her arm, stopping her. “Stay,” I say with a sigh, eyeing the barely-there spot
with contempt. “That fucking shit is driving me goddamn crazy, but I’d rather not let it ruin our date.”

  “Date,” she repeats, and it doesn’t seem like a fucking question. She’s testing the word on her tongue, tasting how it feels.

  “Is there a problem with that?” I lift my brow, daring her to deny me.

  “A first date?” she counters, and there’s a fucking mischievous spark brewing in her dark depths.

  I tilt my head in acquiescence. “I can agree to that.”

  She smiles and leans back against the pillows beside me, stretching her sinful legs on the bed, getting more comfortable. “So tell me about yourself,” she says, giving me a smug smile.

  I chuckle. “I think we’re beyond that, but I’ll give it a go,” I respond, lifting the tray from my lap and passing it over to her. “Can you take this to the kitchen first? Unless you’d like to finish eating?”

  “Uh, that would be a negative,” she says as she takes it and moves from the bed.

  Inside, I’m secretly ecstatic, but I do my goddamn best not to let her see. Eating in the bed is fucking disgusting, and this little experiment has only proven my fucking point. I don’t want to get into that level of my character just yet. She’ll see soon enough as it goddamn is. Repressing my evil is bad enough, but controlling my snobbish tendencies is a bitch.

  While she’s gone, I ease myself down onto my left side so that I’ll be facing her when she returns. Since my shower, only some residual soreness is emanating from my wound, and it handles the transition rather well, causing me to let out a contented fucking sigh when I finally get into position.

  I knew coming home would be comforting, but I never imagined it’d be this fucking awesome. And the reason for that sweeps through my door at that very moment.

  My eyes narrow into slits. “What the fuck is that?” I ask, flinging my arm out to point at her hands.

  “This?” She studies the offending object. “It’s your antibiotic shot. Lori dropped it off while you were in the shower, but he said you needed to eat something first.”

  “Lori?” I repeat, a little fucking put out by her pet name for one of my most trusted men—supposedly. But that doesn’t deter her. She marches straight to my side of the bed and starts lifting the duvet off my ass. “Whoa! What the hell, Piper!”

  She stops and giggles like it’s nothing. “Please don’t tell me you’re afraid of needles.”

  “Fuck no!” I snap, giving her the stink eye. “But shit, can’t you warm a guy up or something?”

  She rolls her eyes and grabs the cover, pulling it up to expose my ass. “The sooner this is done, the sooner we can get back to our date.” Her brow hikes upward, daring me to open my fucking mouth.

  I don’t. Instead, I just tighten my ass cheeks as she drives the goddamn needle into my tender flesh. The pain is nothing compared to what I’ve already endured today, so I can be fucking thankful for that at least. What I truly am glad for, though, is when she marches straight around the bed, discarding the syringe into the trash, and flops down in front of me on her stomach.

  “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Would you like some Tylenol, too?”

  I reach over and brush my fingers across the top of her arm. “I want you to climb up here and face me so we can get the awkward first date conversation out of the way.”

  She gives me a small smile before repositioning her body to match mine, except she’s lying on her right side. “I think I’ve already asked the first question.”

  “So you have.” I smirk. “Let’s see. I’m a very busy man, with my fingers in a lot of pies. I command respect and obedience.” At this, her brows climb up her forehead, and I push forward, hoping to clarify. “That in no way references my personal life. I’m not that kind of man … exactly,” I hedge, only to realize I’m digging a deeper fucking hole. I let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “I won’t command your obedience, Piper, though sometimes it may be appropriate.” Pushing my hand forward, I trace a finger along the neckline of her low-cut tank.

  Goosebumps move over her arms, but even so, she grips my hand and pulls it away. “I know you’re rich and powerful and your last name is Simone, which implies a certain lifestyle. I also know that you’re more than accustomed to getting your own way. Maybe you should tell me something new.”

  I purse my lips as I consider the task she’s given me. It’s actually harder than you fucking think. Who I am on the surface is an open book, and the things you don’t know, well, there’s a fucking reason for it.

  Tugging my hand—which she was still holding—I run it down the soft material of the duvet she’s lying on. “This comes from an island twenty miles off the coast of Norway. Lånan. It’s uninhabited, but each year, the workers return to collect the eiderdown. Only eight to ten duvets are produced per season, and they cost a lot of fucking money.”

  Her eyes flit between my hand and my eyes several times before they narrow. “Thanks for making me feel even more like shit,” she deadpans, obviously not appreciating my truth.

  “Piper,” I say, bringing my hand back up and brushing it along her hair, then down to rest on her waist. “I didn’t tell you that to make you feel bad. I told you because I want you to understand. I’m a very particular man, who doesn’t take kindly to anyone fucking up my shit. I love nice things—probably too fucking much. But in case you didn’t notice, I let it slide. You’re here. I’m here. And that’s barely even a thought in my mind.” I roll my eyes at her expression. “Okay, it does bother me, but not enough to matter. I want you here more than I care about that.”

  She stares at me for a beat longer, and before she speaks, she has to stop and clear her throat. “That was an interesting way to get your point across, but effective nonetheless.”

  I tickle her side, causing a small giggle before slipping my hand around her back and pulling her closer. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she says, granting me a shy smile.

  “Okay, my turn. Same question.”

  “Dante,” she says with a little head shake. “I know you ran a background check on me. You already know who my father is. What’s left?”

  Shit! I didn’t consider this leading us here, but it is something that has to be discussed. Special Agent Henry Tate is a pain in both our asses, and she’s completely unaware of the details of our family connection. The question is, now or later?

  I blow out a breath. “I do know your basic background, and your father is something we’ll need to discuss eventually, but I don’t think it’s first date material.” I smirk. “Why don’t you fill me in on Lori?”

  She chuckles. “You like that, huh?”

  “No.” I don’t say it coldly, but I sure as fuck make it sound serious.

  “Uh-huh,” she murmurs as she pushes closer to me. The duvet keeps us from tangling together, but the building heat threatens to sear me. Her fingers go to my still damp hair, scratching against my scalp. It feels fucking heavenly. “As I danced Friday, I couldn’t help but glance around, hoping to see you stalking me from some dark corner. You weren’t. So I went home, sure that I’d see you Saturday. We both know how that turned out. By Sunday, I was pissed. So when … a guy I know, Brady, asked me out—”

  “Brady,” I interrupt, my whole body going rigid.

  “Just someone who lives in my building,” she says, scratching my scalp more urgently in an attempt to calm my clear and present attitude. I try to relax so I can hear whether he’ll need to die or not. “Anyway, we went to lunch. You know, a fuck Dante Simone date. Only, I was miserable. Even though we’re friends, Brady and I, he’s made it clear he’d like more. It was awful and awkward, and I just really wanted it to end.”

  My muscles relax even more. “Okay, so Brady sucks. Good.”

  Her fingers tighten, and she tugs on the strands. I groan, not from the pain but from the sparking sensation that travels down my spine. “You’re only going to get us in trouble doing stuff lik
e that,” I warn, feeling my cock stir beneath the duvet.

  “You’re acting like a jealous asshole,” she sing-songs, tugging a little harder. “I thought that was the beauty of your arrangements—the freedom you give the women involved.”

  I push closer, pinning her upper body with my own, the duvet the only thing making us two separate entities. “I’m not sure if I’m willing to follow the status quo with you. Just hearing about that date made me want to murder Brady while he sleeps.”

  Instead of admonishing me, she fucking loses her shit and slams our lips together with a force that drives me goddamn mad. Our teeth clash, tongues twining together, and I fall into her completely, jumping straight into the fire without any thought to how badly I’ll be burned. It’s only the nudge against my left shoulder that brings me back to reality, and I pull away, resting my forehead against hers.

  We’re both panting like we just ran a marathon. “Fuck, Piper,” I say between heavy breaths. “You’re killing me.” I kiss the tip of her nose before retreating to my spot, taking care as I settle back down.

  She’s staring at my tres ceiling, calming her own breaths. “Maybe we should … ” She pauses and breathes a couple more times before turning her head my way. “Maybe we should wait a few days before seeing each other again. Let your wound heal?”

  “Oh, Piper,” I say with a chuckle. “You think I didn’t come out of the shower ready to recite those exact words?”

  She rolls back to her side and tucks her hands beneath her cheek. “Why didn’t you?”

  I look off absently and ask myself that same question. Why the fuck didn’t I? I blow out a breath. “I’m not sure. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, both now and last time. I’m not used to someone taking care of me.”

  “Everybody needs a little help every now and then,” she replies with an absent-minded shrug.

  I don’t respond, mostly because I don’t buy that fucking bullshit. I’ve never needed help before, and I’ll be goddamned if it starts now. Instead, I go for distraction. “So Sunday was the date. Tell me about Monday and Lori.” I say the last word with obvious scorn, causing her to snort—such a cute little sound.