Viper - Michael Morley [9]
Her long blue coat was tightly tailored, hugging her waist and flowing fashionably down to knee-length black boots. He imagined her naked but with the boots still on, his hands around her slender hips as he pressed her against him. Skin on skin. Skin on leather.
He was sure she would have a small tight ass and firm legs. An ass he’d want to slowly explore with his tiny bony fingers. Legs he’d love to run his tongue up and down before unzipping those boots.
Taste. Touch. See. FEEL.
Creed was already feeling, feeling fully aroused. He had to shuffle positions on his window seat to shake off the fantasy.
Thought, feeling, ACTION.
ACT like a killer. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? What all profilers were trained to do? Well, he could certainly do that – better than anyone dare imagine. He had great talents. Skills people still needed to recognize.
Creed wiped coffee from his lips, but his smile still lingered, and so did his own strange thoughts and fantasies.
7
Hotel Le Sirenuse, Positano
Damn Don Fredo! May his soul rot in hell! Bruno Valsi slapped a hand against the wall of the hotel’s honeymoon suite.
The old man was cleverer than he’d given him credit for. Elevation to the rank of Capo Zona was generous repayment for the loyalty he’d shown. But having Sal the Snake forced upon him – well, that was something else. It was humiliation. It was distrust. It was an insidious way of controlling him. It was damned clever.
‘Bruno. Is that you?’ called a hopeful voice from the bedroom of the luxury suite. As a teenager, Valsi had taken up with the young and plain-looking Gina Finelli. He’d done it purely as a way of ingratiating himself with her father, perhaps getting a little work, some protection in his life. Then Gina’s accidental pregnancy had changed things. The obligatory wedding that followed proved a blessing in disguise and Valsi’s ambitions vaulted. But now – to be honest – the Don’s daughter was another problem he could well do without. What little feelings he’d had for her had disappeared as surely as her waistline had vanished during his years inside. He couldn’t believe how she’d piled on the pounds.
A woman’s disrespect for her body is disrespect for her husband.
The bedroom lights were out and the room was lit only by the flicker of candlelight. Enzo was sleeping in an adjoining suite with his nanny and a bodyguard ouside the door. Gina was reclining against a mountain of cushions and pillows on the bed. ‘Did it go well for you?’ Her voice was soft and calm.
‘Well enough,’ said Valsi coolly. He swept his jacket around the back of a chair, like a matador swirling a cape around a bull, then sat on the edge of the bed to untie his shoelaces. ‘Your father, he sees fit to give me my own crew, but then he as good as tells everyone that he has me on a lead and that Salvatore – his trusted, thick-headed Salvatore – will walk me like a young pup that doesn’t yet know when to bark or when to sit.’
Gina grimaced. This wasn’t what she’d hoped for. For five years she’d faithfully waited for this night, for the very moment her husband would return to her bed. She’d not only personally chosen the suite, but the red and pink silk lingerie she wore had been specially made for her. No woman alive could have tried harder, or been more nervous about creating exactly the right mood for them to restart their marriage.
Valsi stripped off his shirt and dropped it on the chair. He stood to undo his belt and could feel her eyes trace the sculpted muscles of his shoulders, chest and abdomen. He slid off his pants and folded them, as he’d done every night in his cell. Gina could see that his thighs bulged from endless squats performed in the prison gym.
‘Let me help you,’ she said, a girlish lightness in her voice as her fingers slid around the waistband of his Calvin’s.
‘Let me piss.’ Valsi brushed her hand away.
He left her stranded on the edge of the bed. Her