Chapter 3

A/N: Here we are again with an update. So glad you guys are enjoying the story. So, this story will have the format of changing pov's so this one is all Edward.

Thanks to our beta and prereaders, we couldn't do it without you.

Here we go with EPOV.

Song(s): "Stricken" by Disturbed

Marie. Fuck, I couldn't get the woman out of my head. She was gorgeous, and her body was banging–Madonna mia. I did the sign of the cross because a body like that should be worshiped.

Shit, I found myself cheesing just thinking about her. I couldn't remember the last time I got hung up on someone after hitting it. The way she approached me—there was no facade about her.

She was like a breath of fresh air. All these bitches throwing themselves at me were fake. Everything about them was for show. Fake tan, fake long ass nails, fake hair, fake tits. Not Marie. No, she was natural through and through.

Not to mention the sex. I bit my knuckles to stifle a moan. Goddamn, that cooz was perfect. For once, I even felt slightly bad talking about a woman like that. Only slightly.

Her sass, that mouth … the way she wasn't afraid to push back at me.

I was so used to everyone being afraid of me. Or kissing my ass. This broad didn't even blink, not giving two shits who I was. Just that she wanted me. Impressive, if you asked me, and I was not one to be easily impressed.

"EC—fuck, oh I mean, Edward, shit I mean, sir." Alistair stuttered like the fucking pussy he was. "I'm so sorry, sir. It's just I'm still reeling from the other night." He went on and on.

This kid was asking to get clipped. He never shut the fuck up.

I was going to have to talk to Aro, favor be damned. Any longer with this mamaluke and I was headed to the loony fucking bin. Get the men in white coats to lock me up. I walked ahead of him, hoping he'd take the hint and stop trying to talk to me.

"Shut the fuck up," I muttered, taking a drag of my cigarette. At this rate, I was going to start chain smoking.

"Yes, EC—sir."

I flicked my butt onto the curb. Then there was a bang as Alistair's body hit a parked car. I wedged him between myself and the shitty Toyota Camry. My forearm pushed against his carotid artery, blocking his airway.

I tried—I really did—but this motherfucker was testing me. It was bad enough that I had to be in Little Odessa doing recon because of the hit he made the other night; I didn't need to deal with his shit on top of that.

Fucking Russians. They should just stick to vodka. Their mob dealings made my life much messier.

"Do you realize how quickly I could kill you?" I warned, putting more pressure on his neck. My body caged him in, and I looked around. Now was not the time to get pinched. Things were already too hot as it was.

Alistair's eyes widened as his oxygen was cut off. He looked as though he was going to shit his pants. He nodded feverishly. "Yeah," he croaked out, panting. The sap's face started turning every color of the fucking rainbow.

I almost felt sorry for this clueless bastard—almost. His breathing became labored, and he went limp against my body.

I eased up my hold on him and he let out a gasp. After I released him fully, Alistair sucked in breath after breath, doubling over and coughing. The motherfucker even started vomiting. Drama queen.

"Would you cut the shit? Stop dicking my balls. I mean it. One more time and I'm gonna ice you," I warned, practically growling at this asshole. I adjusted my suit jacket and checked my watch. This late shit needed to end. I had a reputation to keep.

I strutted ahead of the low man and crossed the street. Laughter filled the air behind me, getting closer and closer as my phone started buzzing. Alistair and his dirty fucking hair had the audacity to laugh maniacally. "You're fucking oobatz. I hope you know that," I stated as I looked down at the text from Felix.

F: Come to the club. I want you to meet Alec.

I quickly sent him a reply. E: Stop texting me about stupid shit. I already have one asshole to deal with. I don't need another.

Motherfucker kept begging me to meet his boyfriend as if I had time to kill by shooting the shit with some random guy.

It was not like it mattered. Felix didn't want to come out of the closet. Too afraid of the backlash associated with mob life. As if him being gay affected his job. He was one of the best, and I was not one for giving praise freely. So what if he liked the braggiole.

"You know Aro said that you can't kill me yet," Alistair boasted. He was getting brass balls, let me tell you.

"Excuse me?" I spat. Fuck, I needed another cigarette. I was going to get cancer by the time I was done training this brat.

He should go back to slinging yak. When I spoke to Marcus after Alistair's first hit, I made sure to give my two cents on how I didn't think the greaseball was cut out for this life. The boss gave orders not to kill the fucker. Like under any circumstances. But it didn't mean I wasn't going to scare him every chance I got. Take that, shitbag.

I'd grown up in Bay Ridge my entire life, so I knew the important players. I rubbed elbows with the who's who and knew who to respect and who was a regular joe.

This mamaluke wasn't anybody special, so why the hell was his life so fucking precious? And the thing that irritated me the most was that he knew it.

I turned my head in his direction, finding him eyeing me, like he knew what I was thinking.

"Love you too." The fucker blew me a kiss and walked ahead of me.

Can't kill the kid. Can't kill the kid. I chanted this over and over. I prayed for courage not strength—I had enough strength, and if I was given any more, I couldn't be controlled.

I was accustomed to respect. Craved it after all this time. While I wasn't the boss per se, that old fart, Marcus, trusted me more than some of his actual blood. I took care of shit and quite literally knew where the bodies were buried. Not that any of that mattered. If my loyalty were ever questioned, the administration wouldn't hesitate in clipping me. Done. Just like that.

This was one of the many reasons I couldn't get attached to chicks. My life wasn't a 9-5. There wasn't the consistency of being home for dinner and shit. There wasn't being home by a set time. There wasn't even a guarantee I would come home at all. Chicks didn't want that shit, even if they were desperate, like some of the shorties I'd had in rotation. Mainly I liked my freedom and not having to answer to anybody. I doubted marriage and kids were in the cards for a schmuck like me. Why break it if it ain't broke?

Bay Ridge wasn't the only place where everyone knew me and respected me. No, I had my hands in different dealings all over Brooklyn, and I'd been freelancing in Manhattan lately as well. Recently, I bought into a little club in Manhattan, and I'd been running shit in and out. Selling product wasn't an issue. It was finding trustworthy people to run it and not become "testers."

We were in Russkaya territory doing minor surveillance, and afterwards, we needed to collect a vig from some marks in the neighborhood. I gripped my nine, not trusting anybody as of late. Garrett's death really complicated shit for me. As if anything lately had been easy. Which brought me back to Marie … how simple and easy our time together was.

I shrugged, breaking myself out of my thoughts. I gotta stop with this cooz. Fuck, maybe I should call Lauren or Tanya over tonight to blow off some steam.

"Let's go kill people," Alistair said.

I swear the asshole just skipped ahead of me. Can't kill the kid. I repeated my chants and vowed to have a talk with Aro about how strict this no-killing policy was.

"Edward, please," Ma whined, like she always did when I came home for family dinner.

I rolled my eyes, looking around the room for a buffer. The motherfuckers all looked away. Pussies.

The house smelled like her eight-hour marinara; it had probably been sitting there before mass this morning. Garlic bread was on the table as well as fresh muzz. The pasta was cooked to perfection, and her meatballs were to die for. My ma was a lot of things, but a bad cook wasn't one of them.

My Nonna Liz lived with my parents since she was getting up there in age. I wouldn't ever tell her to her face, but she was losing some of her rocks. Dad didn't mind having two women cooking for him, though. The only problem was when Nonna forgot she turned the stove on and then left the room. She was gonna kill Ma one of these days. Or burn down the house.

"Ma, we go through this every time I come home for dinner. I'm not cut out for marriage and the white picket fence shit," I ranted, stabbing a meatball.

Ow, I rubbed my arm. She wrung the dish towel, hitting me with it. Code for 'don't cuss at the dinner table.' Thank god she forgot the freakin' swear jar since I was going broke. I threw my hands up, defeated. "Fine, fine. I'm sorry for the cussing. But I ain't getting married."

"Edward Anthony Cullen! I need grandchildren. I'm going to be dead soon. Don't you want me to experience that?" Ma bellowed, carrying another platter of pasta into the dining room.

"What the fuck you need grandchildren for? You still got him home." I crooked my finger in the direction of Emmett, my younger and much more straight-laced brother. He still lived at home at twenty-four-fucking-years old. Motherfucker didn't want to do his own laundry or make a meal.

"Hey!" Emmett protested, gracing us with a mouthful of food as he spoke. Fucking gavone.

"Mouth closed, kid." My pops finally woke up to what was happening. Sometimes he just dazed off. I mean, I don't blame him when dealing with this crew.

"Grandchildren are the light of my life. Edward, I'm so proud of you," Nonna said tenderly, palming my cheek with her right hand.

"What about me?" Emmett whined, leaning over to take more pasta in his bowl. Jesus, did they never feed him?

"Who the hell are you? One of Edward's friends?" Nonna asked Emmett, looking at him like he was a hardened criminal. I let out a snort at that.

"Nonna, I'm your other grandchild!" he protested. Not this shit again. So she forgot the poor schmuck existed, big whoop. Like I said, she'd lost a few marbles.

Nonna must have gotten scared because she stood from the table and waved her cane in his direction. "Get the fuck away from me!" she screamed, heading for her room.

Ma hung her head, doing the sign of the cross. "Madon', Emmett, you couldn't just go along with her for five minutes?!" Ma ran after her mother, leaving Pops, Emmett, and me at the dinner table.

"So, Edward, now that we have your relationship status out of the way, when are you going to get a real job and leave your life of crime? I'm sick and tired of hearing your mother cry over you and your criminal activities!" Pops complained, taking his plate into the kitchen.

"Not you too!" I groaned. Madonna mia, everybody was fucking testing me. Now I was just jonesing to kill somebody to let off some steam.

Pops was a blue collar joe who earned his money the old-fashioned way. Hard work, busting ass day in, day out. Manual labor and shit. He was a plumber but had bigger aspirations for us. I made mad bank, so I don't know why the fuck he was so salty.

Emmett stuck his tongue out at me like the petulant child he was. He loved not getting his ass handed to him. Unlike me, who every time I walked into this godforsaken house, I was being reamed for my "poor choices."

"Edward, one of these days, someone is going to come along and knock your world upside down, and you're going to want to be a better man. An honorable man." Pops carried a gallon of ice cream out from the kitchen and went to sit in his chair. The recliner aka his throne was not to be touched by anybody. Ma once tried to spot clean it, and Pops almost had a heart attack right then and there.

"I don't want to be tied down and have expectations placed on me. I already give myself enough shit. I don't need some broad giving me shit too!" I whined, beyond over with this visit already. Next Sunday, I was coming up with an excuse for not showing up. See, I tried to be a nice guy, and where did it get me? Nowhere but up shit's creek without a paddle.

I finished my pasta, listening to Emmett drone on and on about his job at the hospital. He was in food service, which made sense since the homeboy loved food. I needed to try and get him to hit the gym with me.

Ma came out of Nonna's bedroom, huffing and puffing. "I hope you're happy now. Your grandmother won't come out of her room until you leave." She threw her hands up dramatically.

I needed to get out of here. I was afraid the craziness was contagious or in the water. Am I the only sane person in Brooklyn? Oobatz motherfuckers.

"Ma, I live here!" Emmett explained, as if we didn't know that shit.

"Yeah, well now you need to leave. I don't know where you're gonna go since you don't have a shift until tomorrow night," Ma told him, shaking her head, and began clearing the table. "Oh that reminds me. I need to iron your work shirt, honey!"

I wasn't a typical guinea like my father or colleagues, so I helped Ma clear the table. I didn't want people waiting on me hand and foot. I just wanted respect, which apparently was hard to come by these days.

"Your grandmother thinks you're gay because of Emmett now by the way." Ma smirked, scrubbing a dish. She refused to get a dishwasher even though I'd offered many times to pay for one to be installed. No, nobody did dishes like Esme Cullen.

I snorted. "Nonna will forget that shit by tomorrow." At least I hoped she would.

"Don't be so sure. She remembers more than you think." She gave me a pointed look, throwing me a dish towel. The same one she hit me with earlier. "We wouldn't be having this conversation if you'd settle down with a nice Italian girl. One who will give me lots of grandchildren." The woman winked at me, never one to be coy.

We finished the dishes without too much of a guilt trip. Ma went to bingo with the "ladies" from church. Pops was passed out on his recliner, in an ice cream coma. Emmett was on his phone, no doubt looking at porn. My poor Nonna was holed up in her room because she thought my brother was my boyfriend. Fuck, you can't make this shit up.

All of this craziness made me wish I could see Marie again. Maybe if I hit it one more time, I'd get this shit out of my system. I mean, Lauren was on standby, but she'd probably bitch at me for standing her up the other night. As if she had a right.

"What's got your panties in a twist, EC?" Emmett taunted, always trying to pry into my business. My family was lucky that I even told them my actual profession. Now they were getting greedy and wanted to know everything there was about my life. Sometimes, I thought Emmett was a tad jealous. What he didn't realize was the shininess didn't last as long as the bloodstains.

"Ah nothing. I mean, I don't fucking know." I grabbed the back of my neck, unsure if I should even say this shit to Emmett. Big mouth of all people.

Emmett sat quietly for a minute, waiting for me to continue. "There was this girl a few nights ago at the club—Marie—and I can't stop thinking about her. She was feisty, sassy, and didn't give a damn about who I was. This broad knew what she wanted. She was hot too, banging body. Obviously she worked out a lot. Sexy little brunette with brown eyes."

I started for the front door, and Emmett followed me wordlessly. I looked over at him, thinking he was stroking out. The stunad bastard. "She's feisty, fit, and is a brunette?" Emmett questioned, looking for confirmation, of what I had no clue.

I nodded. "Yeah, Italian too," I added, walking to my whip.

"I think I know who she is!"

Translation:

cheesing - East Coast slang for huge smile

oobatz - Italian slang for crazy, insane

Braggiole - Italian American slang for dick. Literal meaning is sausage.

gavone - Italian American slang for someone who eats a lot

Madon' - shortened version of Holy Mother

whip - a car, usually flashy/expensive

A/N: Oh, Emmett. Leave us a review and let us know your thoughts. Until later lovelies.