Wicked Tastes

  Alice May Ball

  NOTHING CAN KEEP THEM TOGETHER, BUT SHE ACHES TOO MUCH TO LET HIM GO

  A dark lord of the Vegas underground is the last man I expect to find in my little bridal salon.

  She is the flavor he’s craving.

  Poppy believes she’s kept all her darkest hunger and desire secret, hidden away, and under wraps. But in the glint of an eye he sees it all.

  He’ll taste all the love she has until she begs for more.

  One lick of his cruel lips and a look from his cold, killer’s eyes and this unprepared and innocent girl is frozen to the spot, pinned like a butterfly, fixed and trembling. She knows his mouth is watering for a feast, and she will be the main course.

  But can the dark paths he lures her down ever lead to a happy ever after for her?

  [SPOILER ALERT]: You BET they can. And they will, in ways you’ll never expect.

  Lucas and Poppy’s secret desires are Filthy, Dirty, and DEEPLY sinful. But Alice has got you covered. Lucas’s rare and ruthless ways with his tongue and every other tasty part of him will get your heart racing and your lips smacking.

  Breathless romantic adventure? Piping hot, ready to serve.

  Hearthrob hero? Extra large.

  Thrills and action? Up to 11.

  HEA? Guaranteed to melt.

  * * *

  Hot as a Sicilian chiille.

  Wicked Tastes

  Alice May Ball

  About

  Filthy Desire

  A Dirty Kings of Vegas Mafia Romance, Book 4

  By Frankie Love with Alice May Ball

  I run the most powerful mob family in Vegas.

  Nobody tells me a girl is “off-limits.”

  Even when I know all the reasons she’s forbidden,

  nothing will stop me protecting her,

  but will she be safe from me?

  * * *

  Dear Reader,

  Liam’s hard instalove is way out of bounds. Lucky for us, we don’t mind raising the sizzle to 11. Xo, Frankie and Alice

  * * *

  The Dirty Kings of Vegas is a mafia romance series with love at its core.

  We met the O’Malley clan back in the novel McQueen – but here they are again, ready to show everyone who’s boss!

  * * *

  Frankie Love has teamed up with the sinfully sweet Alice May Ball and together they’re ready to roll the dice on love.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Lucas

  I swing the black Porsche Cayenne out of the dusty lot and away from the meeting. I’m shaking my head, trying to get free of the thick, dark clouds in my head. I’m going to need a council of war.

  I stop to pick up a burger and fries that I’ll eat in the car. The gorgeous girl in the window has bright blue eyes, a smile like sunshine, and a name tag that says, “Cheryl.” When she leans forward to hand me the order, a button pops on her tunic and she gives me a view of the swell of her stunning cleavage.

  Breathily she asks, “Can I do anything else for you?” She touches her neck and bats her eyelids, “Sir?” She draws it out. Pinches the side of her lip with her teeth. Her eyes roam over my body. She looks at me with a mix of hunger and fear. Like she’s hunting to be the prey.

  “Thanks,” I shrug. “No.”

  My Cosa Nostra casino has three gourmet restaurants, and a bar with national award-winning bar snacks. And still, every morning, I crave the first juicy bite of a well-seasoned burger, the tang of the pickles and tomato, a crunch of lettuce, and the thick melted cheese, all wrapped in a warm, yielding bun.

  As I eat, I think about meaningless sex. Thrashing around for an hour or two with someone like Cheryl might help me relax. Unwind. I hate the shallow, empty feelings afterwards, though. I’ve been around too much for all that nonsense. Maybe it’s a shame, but I’m not so easily amused these days.

  Between bites, I make one last call to the head of the L.A. Franconi family.

  I grit my teeth through the anonymous voicemail announcement, yet again. Angry and impatient, I chew and swallow a bite of burger that I’d rather have savored. As evenly as I can, I leave my message.

  “Leo, if you don’t come to your daughter’s wedding and give her away, if you’re not here to put your blessing on the union, you will regret it the rest of your life.” In an attempt to sound friendly, friendlier than I feel, I add, “Ask me how I know.”

  His daughter, Lily, will marry my son Giovani on Saturday, whether Leo comes or not. Lily and Giovani are a golden couple. They may well be a match made in heaven. The Franconis and the Morettis are definitely not.

  Either way, our families are headed for tough times, and Leo not taking or returning my calls is not a good sign.

  I’m there for my family, even though it hasn’t always been easy. At last, now I can be there for both of my daughters. And my sons, with all the regrets I have there. I’m there for the firm, too. Our people are loyal. They’ll do anything for the family. And I repay their loyalty. I take care of them. If somebody needs something and they come to me, it doesn’t matter who they are, I’ll be there.

  Now, today at least, I’m even there for Leo Fucking Franconi’s family.

  At my age and stage in life, I guess it’s a lot to ask now, but I do sometimes wish someone was there for me.

  Somebody who got me. Someone I could kick back with. Someone I could be on a level with, who I didn’t have to make a show or wear a face for.

  As soon as I hang up on Leo’s voicemail, before I’ve got a clutch of salty fries between my teeth, Giulietta, my youngest daughter calls. Her bright voice makes my spirits lighten and rise. Her laugh is a welcome distraction. She and her sister Mia are with the bride, Lily, and they’re getting ready to leave the bridal shop.

  The address is on my way. I haven’t had much of a chance to catch up with Giulietta. I almost never see her sister Mia these days either, so I jump at the chance to pick them all up.

  Here Comes the Bride is the name of the bridal salon. When I turn in to the lot, the salon looks like it’s made out of white and cream silk, lace, and taffeta. Like a courtesan’s boudoir that’s been bleached. I get so many conflicting feelings. All of them unwelcome. The thought of going into the bridal store makes me want to turn and run.

  I call Giulietta and tell her I’ll wait for them in the car.

  “Don’t be silly, Daddy. Come in. Wait at the reception desk.” Her voice bubbles with froth and giggles, “if you’re shy about coming near the changing rooms.”

  Reluctantly, I agree. I was never able to refuse anything to either of my daughters. As I walk in the front door, a girl steps out behind the desk and offers me a seat.

  Seeing her is a jolt. Like a flashbulb moment. The innocent gleam in her eyes, the ripe fullness of her curves, the sight of her she makes me hard.

  The girl’s eyes gleam. She looks back at me like a pinned butterfly. Her lips part. She makes my heart bang. I haven’t felt anything like this in a long time. Many years.

  The scent of her hair makes my mouth water and my senses spark with a taste like strawberries and cream, dripped through, slathered in a dark, sinful honey.

  She’s shy. I can tell. A breathless blonde. Bouncy and bright, smiling to cover her shyness. But in her mischievous eye, I feel a streak of wickedness that could be as deep and as dirty a channel as my own.

  I catch myself watching the front of her dress, stretched tight across her thighs. The fabric grips and holds the curve of her ass. And I’m wondering how she tastes. The girl’s eyes gleam, fixed on me with what feels like a mix of fear and fascination.

  Then, I hear Gulietta’s laugh and she bursts through the door, with Mia and Lily in tow. They hug the girl, blowing kisses, saying, “Thank you, Poppy.”

  And they bustle me to the car. Poppy. Her eyes and mine are still locked, and I have to drag myself away. Poppy.

  In the car, I ask the girls, as casually as I can, “Is she coming to the wedding?”

  “Poppy?” Mia’s eyes sparkle with a sharp gleam in the rearview. She and Giulietta look at each other, widen their eyes, then laugh.

  Giulietta says, “Why do you ask, Dad?”

  ~|~

  Chapter Two

  Lucas

  Drago was my joint second in command. At a level with my son, Tony. We all ate together. We broke bread, we shared steaks and red wine, we drank whiskey. We broke each other’s balls, and we talked late into the night. Like we were all family.

  I still wonder if by putting two powerful men in equal positions, I was bound to be writing one of their death warrants.

  Drago Calabresi is not family, so he was never going to move higher. He knew this from the start. Maybe for all of those years, he held his resentment tight and choked back on the bile of his anger. Perhap
s even while he smiled, he silently seethed inside. Certainly, he never allowed it to show.

  He came from Sicily and rose quickly through the ranks. He was our most savage and ruthless enforcer. Apparently, the second seat at the table was not high enough for him.

  And now he is a problem. As well as taking responsibility, I have to take action. But he is too well connected for the most simple and obvious solution.

  And although everybody knows what happened, there’s no clear proof that he was responsible for Tony’s death.

  I called the council of war to meet in a deserted warehouse outside of Las Vegas. Everyone drove separately. Giovani, my oldest surviving son, should be celebrating and preparing for his wedding. Instead, he is already seated at the big table in the middle of the room, under the low hanging lamps. Captains and soldiers hunker around the table.

  My consigliere, Cesare Abbruzzo, arrives at the same time I do.

  We all know what we’re facing as we sit with dust and the dark tang of iron in our mouths. Our choices are limited.

  We are still clawing back our family’s position in Vegas. Liam O’Malley took it from us and he knows I’ll do whatever it takes to snatch it back.

  I need to make preparations. First, I will have to travel to Sicily. I compose an email to an uncle there.

  He gets back a couple of hours later and puts me in contact with Alex, who I don’t know. We start to discuss some arrangements.

  With developments from L.A., I could be at war on three fronts before the end of the month.

  If that’s how it has to be, I’m ready.

  Chapter Three

  Poppy

  Even I know who Lucas Moretti is. He is one of the dark lords of Vegas. A ruthless baron of the underground. An emperor of crime. His daughters, Giulietta and Mia, are friends of mine, but I never met him.

  Still, the moment I saw him, I knew him. I recognized him, even though I never saw a picture of him. Seeing him, I took a sharp breath, and I had to steady myself against the counter. Power vibrates off him, like he makes the room buzz with it. He definitely made me buzz.

  I’m still tingling inside now, still echoing from the feeling of standing so close to him. So near such a powerful man. He could have reached out and taken me as a snack.

  I know he could have any woman in this city. He probably has a dozen every week.

  Those eyes. And those hands. He could do it. He’s strong enough.

  My phone rings. It’s Marina Tarrantella. Marina is the fussy and fickle mother of the bride who’s booked fittings for almost every day next week, just for the bride and three bridesmaids. She’s panicking about getting sugar decorations for the wedding cake. It’s vital that they match the silk flowers she wants as motifs on the bridesmaids’ dresses.

  I do my best to stay in the conversation as she reels off endless lists of every possible thing that could, in the most unlikely of circumstances, go so terribly wrong.

  All I can think of is the strong pair of killer’s hands. His perfect manicure. The hint of a tattoo snaking out under the folded cuff of his tailored shirt. Ink creeping sinuously along the inside of his wrist.

  Standing near him, I tasted as much of the sharp tang of testosterone as I usually get in the gym early on a Monday morning.

  Okay. I admit it. And, yes, I have checked. The men who are most serious about working out, at least in the gyms I go to, do their hardest and toughest sessions early on a Monday morning, between five-thirty and six-thirty. That’s when they work out hardest, and they’re bench-pressing and lifting at their most roaringly competitive.

  Turns out, that just happens to be about the best time for me to work the treadmill, the cross trainer, and the rowing machine. Half an hour of that, makes me not want to shower. I would sooner keep the trace of that damp air on me all day.

  It wouldn’t go over well in the bridal business, though. The blushing bride doesn’t expect her fittings to be in wafts of eau de jock.

  If I could bottle that taste, I could be rich. But I wouldn’t. I would keep it. Refrigerate it all. Take out a drop, late at night. For inspiration.

  It still wouldn’t have the power of a close encounter with Mr. Moretti.

  When I went into the bridal business, my head was bubbling and fizzing, full of romance. Opening my bridal salon was bound to take me deep into romantic stories. I set the scene, like I still do, at all the consultations and fittings, with champagne and canapes.

  Maybe if I’d thought it through, I would have realized that however near I was to romances and romantic stories, I would always be looking in from the outside.

  And the business is a lot more demanding than I ever thought it could be.

  It seems like no Vegas bride, or at least no Vegas bride’s mother, can ever choose a dress, and have the dress fitted and finished, without changing their minds about every imaginable aspect of it, from the style and the cut of the fabric to every minute detail of the trimmings and edgings. Usually two or three times.

  I do everything I can to make sure that whatever else happens, at the end the dress looks fantastic and the bride is a knockout.

  Everybody’s tastes are different, though, and not everyone has an eye for aesthetics. The bride is the boss, or sometimes her momma is, and if they want gold edging or purple trim with scarlet ribbons, who am I to tell them, ‘no’?

  So, I have people work with me, but only one full-timer. All the rest of my help is freelancers or home workers. Sometimes I think that running and organizing them takes more work than I’m giving them to do.

  Giving the bride and her family and guests the best attention doesn’t leave me much time for dating.

  That part is okay. My time served on the dating circuits is over, I’m determined about that. Since our little family imploded nearly ten years ago, I felt like an outsider everywhere. But never more than on a date with a stranger.

  In all the countless dates I went on, the few happy memories I have are all of the food. And half of that was nachos. Nothing wrong with a good bowl of nachos and dip. But, seriously, when they’re the highlight of a date? Something’s not right.

  I had way too many ‘wow’ moments, and nearly all of them were not the good kind of ‘wow.’

  All the physical excitement I have now is either alone or a different kind in the gym. Or with my tango teacher.

  The other women in the dance studio all swoon and sigh and say what a shame he’s gay. I think it’s wonderful for him, though something he said made me think his love life may not be a whole a lot better than mine.

  The father of the groom, the powerful man whose evil eyes and whose irresistibly strong, gentle handshake tipped a waterfall inside me, is easily the sexiest man I’ve encountered in a very long time. If ever. In the flesh. Just think about him in the flesh makes me hungry to see and feel all the muscular flesh that he has under those clothes.

  Making clothes every day teaches you to picture the body beneath them. With a high degree of confidence, I can say that he has one very fine ass. Picturing isn’t anywhere near enough.

  I want to feel his heat. And his heft. I want to lick sweat off him.

  I want to be crushed by him. Pierced and split wide.

  Chapter Four

  Lucas

  Out in the bright sunlight on the cathedral steps, I stand with my younger son, Angelo, tall and proud in our monkey suits. I’m doing what the man at the head of the groom’s family traditionally does. I survey the scene. I nod and smile. Exchange words with senior members of the other families as they make their formal gestures of respect. And I pretend to be calm.