The Enforcer (Untamed Hearts Book 3)(125)

“Get the f*ck outta here.” Frankie kicked Tino as he said it.

Tino turned and looked at him, even if his back was on fire and his shoulder was hurting like a motherf*cker. He’d cheated a little and did blow before he got down here, but he wasn’t too high to miss the flash of fear in Frankie’s dark gaze.

For that one long moment Frankie saw what he’d created.

Then the moment passed, and he kicked Tino again, forcing him to get to his feet despite his injured thigh that wanted to give out. Tino didn’t let it; he stood his ground as he turned around and gave his father the same glare Nova had.

They were both taller than Frankie now.

Stronger.

More cut and disciplined, with black belts and a vendetta.

It was the last time Frankie hit Tino.

No one hit him, not anymore.

Even when Tino started doing the don’s dirty work, no one was able to get the edge on him.

He was done bleeding in basements.

And he would put a motherf*cker in a shallow grave in a New York f*cking minute if they tried to take them down, because Tino had a ship to fight for and a dark pope to protect, and he took that shit very seriously.





Chapter Thirty-Four


East Harlem, New York

Late November 2008

“Are you very high? No.”

“Oh, come on,” Carina said in a singsong voice as she looked up at Brianna from her spot on the tattoo table. Ass in the air, Carina rested her chin in her hand and said, “Just a little one.”

Brianna shook her head. “No.”

“Chicken,” Tino added from the table next to his sister, with his ass also in the air. “Get a four-leaf clover. ’Cause your ass is good luck.”

She laughed. “No. I’m not getting a leprechaun or a four-leaf clover or anything else tattooed on my ass. Just no. You can’t make me. My mother taught me to resist peer pressure.”

Tino snorted. “Oh yeah, that worked out great for you.”

Brianna let them say what they wanted, but stood steadfast against a wall covered in tattoo pictures and watched Tino and Carina get matching tattoos on their asses to celebrate being out of Brooklyn.

100% Grade A Italian

A gigantic f*ck-you to all the Northern Italian families who didn’t consider Sicilians real Italians. Some Sicilians didn’t consider themselves Italian either. They were their own special breed of Mediterranean badasses, who apparently held grudges they wanted to last forever.

So there it was, stamped right on their asses until the end of time.

According to the Morettis, Sicilians weren’t just Italian, but top-shelf, grade A Italians at that.

Brianna had to admit, standing there looking down at the two of them, the tattoos made a good argument. Tino’s shirt was pulled up, his jeans were pushed low, showing off the rounded, muscular curve of his ass, and he couldn’t care less.

Brianna held Tino’s leather jacket tighter against her chest, unconsciously smelling his cologne that clung to it. Usually he wouldn’t take it off, because it exposed his gun holster and the Glock it held, but the tattoo parlor was one of the many businesses in the Moretti network.

The owners knew what Tino was, and they had him and Carina in a private room because of it. Which was probably a good thing, considering the ass issue. Carina’s was hanging out too, the tan line from her too-small bikini vibrant under the fluorescent lights.

The heavyset, bearded tattoo artist working on her tattoo appeared to notice, but Tino didn’t seem too worried about it. Instead he rested his chin in his hand and stared at Brianna as he asked, “Are you checking me out?”

Her cheeks heated, because she and Tino had been on hold in the friend zone for a long time. It had been manageable because Tino had been largely gone until recently. Now he was around all the time, and the tension was slowly starting to drive her insane.

“Hard not to.” Brianna gestured to his ass with the jacket still in her hand. “It’s out there for everyone to see.”

Tino waggled his eyebrows. “Looks good, right?”

“Stop.” Carina made a gagging sound.

“Especially since you don’t back up your teasing,” Brianna added with an arch of her eyebrow, deciding that if he could dish it, he could take it.

“I’ll back it up,” Tino said with a wide smile that made him look too handsome and was all the more dangerous because he knew it. “You want me to dance for you, baby.”

“Yeah.” Brianna’s cheeks were still hot, but she looked at him anyway and refused to back down. “Dance for me.”

Tino was silent for a long seconds, his dark gaze hot and needy as it ran over her, making her think his teasing might not just be teasing. They shared a private moment in front of two burly tattoo artists and his sister, but in the end Tino said, “Nah, good girls don’t want dirty boys to dance for them.”

“Bullshit.” Brianna looked away, but she made sure he heard it. Then she shrugged and said, “But whatever.”

“Bri—” Tino started.

“I get it,” she said before he could give her an explanation.

They were all silent then, caught in a sea of secrets and lies. Brianna stared at Tino again, his broad, cut back with the straps of his shoulder holster stretched across it above his shirt. Sometimes he wore a holster that held two guns, one on each side for times when life got more complicated. When he disappeared for a few days with his uncle and came back tired and world-weary.