Deal with the Devil Read Online Free Page B

imagine drowning in them.
    I pull open the door. “After you.”
    A little shake moves over her as she moves past me. I let her go. With an effort, I ignore the animal urge to grab her slim waist, throw her over my shoulder and find some place where I can fuck her up against a wall.
    I have to remind myself that I’m at a fucking funeral to get the tightness in my pants to subside.
    She hurries into the church and down the aisle as solemn organ music marks the beginning of the service. I take a seat in the last pew, angled so my back isn’t completely at the door. It’s such an ingrained habit that it never occurs to me to let my guard down, not even in a church.
    The girl heads straight for the front and takes a seat on the end of the first pew, right next to Cecile Matarazzo.
    “The fuck?” I murmur.
    Leaning forward, I nudge Fat Donny who’s sitting in the row right in front of me. When he turns to look, I nod toward the front. “Who’s the girl next to Cecile, with the dark hair?”
    He cranes to see. When he turns back, a smirk creases his sweaty face that looks like someone ripped a tear in a sandbag. “That’s Mara Matarazzo. She’s Vito’s granddaughter.”
    I let that fact settle over me, rolling it around in my mind to get a taste for it. I have distant memories of a quiet little girl hanging around the clubs every once in a while, but that was a long time ago.
    “She’s really grown up, huh?” Fat Donny licks his lips and gives me a sly wink that he obviously thinks is conspiring. It really just makes him look like a fucking creep.
    “Jesus, show some fucking respect,” I growl at him. “Vito’s laid out up there for Christ’s sake.”
    “Relax, Leo.” He puts his hands up in a conciliatory motion. “I didn’t mean nothing.”
    He turns back to the front, sparing me a nervous glance every few minutes or so.
    Fucking creep.  Not that I have a leg to stand on in that department, considering all the things that I’ve thought about doing to little Mara Matarazzo in the last five minutes.
    I force myself to relax into the wooden bench. I have to maintain the stately and decorous demeanor that’s supposed to be a part of this sort of event. It ain’t exactly honoring Vito’s memory to be lusting after his granddaughter during his funeral.

    * * *
    T he funeral drags on for what feels like an eternity. The priests’ solemn statements are occasionally punctuated by wailing and crying from Cecile. She practically throws herself onto the casket when it’s the family’s turn to pay their final respects.
    How that woman created someone as sedately beautiful as Mara is something I will ponder until the day I go to my own grave.
    Getting that girl out of my head proves to be a more difficult task than I thought possible. I don't even know the broad and haven’t spoken more than a few words to her. But I can’ keep my eyes off her. The ramrod straight way she holds her spine and the haughty expression on her face make me want to do something to break down that icy facade. I want her broken down and begging.
    I’ve always had a thing for the ice queens. They go wild when you finally get them warmed up.
    We all troop out to the cemetery in a sad procession. I’m one of the pallbearers. Getting my hands on the casket of my mentor and de facto father is enough to remind me of how shitty I actually feel. Maybe lusting after a girl I barely know is my subconscious way of forgetting that I’m in mourning. It was working until now.
    It feels like half of Newark shows up for the reception, coming to pay their respects to one of the last old-school bosses left. I wade through the sea of bodies, recognizing less than half and feeling more and more cynical about the whole affair with each passing moment.
    Where were all these fucking people when Vito was alive?
    Willy Russo, the family’s lawyer, slides up beside me. I’ve told him before that with the silent way he moves, he would probably make a