Deadly Little Sparrow (Mafia Bound #1)

by K.M. Neuhold

I’ve always loved solitude, so why in the past year the reality of my vacant bed has started to keep me awake at night is anyone’s guess.

A parade of nameless, faceless men to warm my sheets worked fine for a little while, but now I’m here again, numb and unsatisfied because to truly scratch the itch under my skin I need someone special.

Criminals and lowlifes in Wildcliff have a few flattering nicknames that they whisper behind my back. The Grim Reaper, Sudden Death… Although most just mutter, “Oh shit,” under their breath when they see me coming.

I catch a quick glimpse of one more tattoo, a little sparrow behind his right ear, and my eyes linger on it.

Would it be inappropriate to propose to a man while he’s in the middle of threatening someone’s life? It would be a hell of a story to tell at our wedding, if nothing else.

People have gone so far as to call me a spoiled brat on more than one occasion. Fine, we’ll just call this little exchange a temper tantrum then. And there’s plenty more where that came from.

I didn’t come this far just to end up with a bullet between the eyes courtesy of this Mafia goon, even if he is a sexy Mafia goon. Dead is dead, no matter how hot your murderer is.

Pretty little Sparrow. Angry little bird. I’ve always been a sucker for that feral kind of beauty, more thorn than rose. But who are you? And where did you go?

The word ‘stalking’ has crossed my mind a time or two, but I prefer to think of it as doing my job. Enzo expects me to know what’s going on in Wildcliff, and some sexy, unhinged assassin out for Reaper blood is front page news as far as I’m concerned.

I sigh heavily. I fucking hate disposing of bodies. The fluids, the dead weight, it’s the murder equivalent of folding laundry. The job is done, why are there now more chores being added to my list? Except, you can’t just leave dead bodies piled in baskets in your bedroom until you get around to dealing with them.

Who are you, Little Sparrow? Will you let me close if I promise to be everything you need? We could be so beautifully dangerous together. Until then, I’ll keep watching.

My heart beats faster with the excitement of sliding onto a barstool mere feet away from the friends of the man I bled out. Maybe I’m more fucked in the head than I realized.

I’m a well-oiled machine, but you’re a goddamn hurricane, beautiful and violent, leaving a path of destruction in your wake.”

I have no idea if he’s more eager for my orgasm or his own, and it doesn’t really matter. Good boys can have both.

I’m not sure how I notice the shift, but one minute he’s the Patron Saint of Battered Women and the next he’s the fucking grim reaper, here to collect.

My eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah? Kidnapping, murder… This is already the best first date I’ve ever been on. If you let me wield the pipe to break the next guy’s kneecaps, it would definitely put this thing over the top.”

I work to mentally size him up, trying to drill down to what it is Xaviaro really wants. What will make him shake and scream? What will leave his head spinning and his balls so drained that he’s unable to come again for the rest of his life without thinking of me

“You’re a sweet little murder marshmallow, aren’t you?”

“I kind of like you too,” he confesses, and a grin tugs at my lips. “Thank fuck for that. Otherwise the stalking and kidnapping would’ve been way out of line.”

Waking up as the big spoon to a big, tough mobster who’s purring softly in his sleep is a kind of fucking heaven I probably don’t deserve.

Repress your trauma or use it to fuel a deadly vendetta, that’s what I always say. Let’s be real, deadly vendettas are so much more fun than therapy.

The rope harness under my suit is the perfect metaphor, actually. I can have all the dangerous vulnerability that Sparrow offers, but to the rest of the world, I’m the same deadly Mafia hitman I’ve always been.

Tomorrow morning, we’re going to have another sit down with Enzo and the guys and make a plan. Can you wait that long?” “It’s like murder edging,” he complains. “But yes, fine.”

“Must be something in the water around here, because all our compasses point north,” Salvatore says. “Is north gay?” Elio cocks his head. “Sure,” Alessio says, managing a completely serious expression. “North is gay, south is straight, east is bisexual, and west is Ace.” “That… makes a weird amount of sense, actually.”

“On you, my Sparrow, dark and twisted is absolutely beautiful.”