REDEMPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Liam

I snagged the Macallan bottle from the mini bar, fell onto the leather chair behind the desk and imbibed enough alcohol to relax the tightness in my muscles. Alexa only left the office ten minutes ago, yet I'm already anxious, waiting for her to return. I hate when we're apart. Over the past few weeks, we distanced from each other, which challenged my obsessive possessiveness. I wanted her back at the club, working behind the bar, and back at the penthouse, spending the nights in my bed.

Alexa, however, adopted a different approach regarding our relationship. Perhaps her insistence on staying at the Coffee House and sleeping in her own bed was an impenetrable fortress she built between us to protect herself from me just in case I broke her heart again.

We sent an array of text messages, though, I thought, unlocking my phone to read the one she'd sent me this afternoon.

Alexa: Sorry, I missed your call. I am in bed with a cold. Make me better? I promise to love you forever.

The lying little con artist. I damn believed that sickness tale and prepared to collect her after the bogus trip to the Grape and Vine so that we could spend the entire weekend in bed together. I had it all figured out. I was prepared to let her rest while I ran ragged around her, assisting every demand and need.

I specifically protested the idea of celebratory gatherings, and the disobedient woman schemed regardless. She even dared to cajole the men.

Tonight, on arrival, I instantly discerned too many familiar faces in the crowd. People I seldom socialise with unless exchanging favours. The dancers, who usually wear next to nothing, dressed in impressive attire with a sophisticated touch of elegance. I knew the high-priced champagne, tailor-made tuxedos, and pretentious gowns embodied grandiose defiance, courtesy of my beautiful woman.

I had calmed down for a nanosecond until witnessing Alexa's cosy display with her co-worker, Jace, the apparent homosexual whose shifty eyes haughtily disrobed her while they talked. Alexa, so trusting, unassuming and oblivious, believed his lies and spurious claims. I, however, know a serpent when it provokes me so audaciously.

Jace watched me advance. He even curbed a smirk when perceiving the cocked Desert Eagle. He tried to convince Alexa that I am a tempestuous tyrant, and he is a saint who preaches world peace—fuck off.

"You cancelled the party." Brad entered the office. His hair and clothes were dishevelled, his belt buckle slackened and clanking together. "I thought you got over the festivities..." His eyes bounced around the room. "Where is Alexa?"

I sent Nate a message.

Me: I want everyone out of the building.

Nate: Yes, Sir.

"Alexa went home." I balanced a cigarette on my bottom lip, matched a flame and drew in a long drag. "She is spending the weekend at the penthouse and will need to pack a bag."

"That's good." Brad helped himself to the minibar. "Do you need me to pick her up?"

Brad had drunk too much alcohol. It's not usually a problem because he's a better driver when under the influence, but I am not testing fate with my woman in the car. "Where did you go?" I pointed to the lipstick and smudged foundation on his shirt collar. "Cherry?"

He shrugged, collapsing onto the leather sofa. "I didn't get a name," he said minus shame. "I don't understand women."

I exhaled smoke. "Said by every man roaming this godforsaken planet."

"So, this bird lets me pummel her from behind," he said, and I mentally prepared myself for the raconteur. "And it was decent, fun, whatever." His lips flattened into a grim line. "She was a virgin."