Irredeemable: Illicit Love

By Nichole Rose

Love isn't supposed to taste like betrayal. And they aren't supposed to like the way it hurts. But they'll risk everything for an obsession that might destroy them both. 

 

Coda
I was innocent once.
Until I watched my parents die by the hands of a man they trusted.
The streets swallowed me, and no one noticed.
I swore then that he'd paid.
I've spent the last twenty-five years covered in blood, biding my time.
I'm the thing monsters fear. I'm the last thing they see.
Until now. Until her.
I came for her father. I left with her.
I wasn't supposed to feel. I wasn't supposed to fall.
But now, I'll claim. And I'll kill.
She's mine. No one is taking her from me.

 

Karina
I was drowning once.
Until he held out his hand and pulled me into the dark.
I swore then that I'd follow him anywhere.
But I didn't know I was following him to hell.
He has secrets. And sins.
And somehow, I'm caught in the middle, a pawn in a game I don't understand.
But still, I feel. Still, I fall.
And when the truth comes out, I break.
Love isn't supposed to taste like betrayal.
And I'm not supposed to miss the way it hurts.
And yet…I want it back. Even if it destroys everything.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nichole Rose
• Release date: May 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223753643

Book preview

Chapter One

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Coda

Everyone says cops are observant, but it's a lie. No one watches more intently than a predator stalking prey. I know because it's what I do. It's why I'm here.

Everywhere I look, my eyes land on one of Chicago's finest. It's a goddamn sea of blue from one side of the ballroom to another. Quite frankly, it's enough to make my skin crawl.

I don't fit in. I don't belong. In this room, I'm the predator, here for one of their own. And they don't spare me more than a cursory glance as I skirt along the edges of the throng.

Like usual, they're fucking clueless.

Typical.

I keep my gaze fixated on the man of honor…biding my time. Hunting.

Miles Alessepo hasn't changed much in the last twenty-five years. His blond hair is shot through with gray, and fine lines crease his eyes now. He's older and harder, but he's still a stone-cold son of a bitch.

Icy anger slides through my veins at the sight of the smug smile stretched across his face. The prick has less business in this room than I do.

I know who and what I am. I've got enough blood on my hands to drown this city. But I've never pretended to be anything other than a hitman for the mafia.

I swore an oath to put La Cosa Nostra above all else. Alessepo, though? He swore to serve and protect.

He's a goddamn liar. The only one he serves is himself. The only things he protects are his secrets.

Twenty-five years ago, he murdered my parents in cold blood with his shiny fucking police badge glinting on his chest. I know because I was there, hiding in the closet…a terrified nine-year-old boy convinced I was going to die next. Had he known I was there, I probably would have.

He took everything from me—leaving me an orphan with no home, no family, and nowhere to turn except the streets. I spent years on my own—freezing, starving, and alone.

I survived by doing what I had to do. When Rafe Valentino's father—the head of the Valentino family at the time—caught me stealing from him, he could have turned me in or killed me. Any other capo would have.

He didn't.

He put a gun in my hand and told me where to aim it.

I was fifteen.

By the time he died four years later, I was already deep into the life. Anything to get me closer to destroying Alessepo. Swearing my allegiance to Rafe at nineteen was easy. At least he has a conscience. He has a soul.

His father? I'm not sure that motherfucker ever had one.

I'm not sure I do, either.

I've waited twenty-five years to destroy Alessepo, watching him slowly rise through the ranks. Waiting until he was perched as high on his pedestal as he could sit. He's officially there…perched so high everyone else looks like peons.

They actually made the motherfucker the Superintendent of Police. The last one—Alexander Santorum killed himself. Guess he didn't like kissing Rafe's ring once we learned about the evil deeds he did when no one was watching.

Alessepo is no better.

He was a fucking dirty cop twenty-five years ago, and he's dirty now.

Not for much longer.

My fingers itch with the urge to reach inside my jacket for my gun. But patience is the creed by which I operate. It's kept me alive since Alessepo destroyed my world.

The glint of the chandeliers cast a golden hue over the sea of dress blues, the opulence of the gala bleeding into every corner like spilled wine. Their chatter rolls over me like white noise as I navigate through the throng, each step measured, each breath controlled.

As I edge past a column near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a curvy blonde in a red dress collides with me, her soft body crashing into my chest. I hook an arm around her waist to steady her before she lands on her ass. The heat of her bare skin sears me, turning my cock to stone.

She glances up at me, her pretty gray eyes full of shock, her sweet smile carving itself into my consciousness. She's a bright light cutting through the darkest parts of my heart.

For the first time in years, the damn thing jolts, rattling in my chest as if only just remembering it was made to beat.

Cazzo.

Sorry, she breathes, a pretty pink blush staining her cheeks. Even flustered and unsteady in her ridiculously high stilettos, she's breathtaking.

A stray curl falls from her updo to brush against her bare neck. Wayward, untamable pieces frame her heart-shaped face, highlighting the blush on her cheeks. Her red ballgown dips between her full breasts and clings to her round, curvy body.

I've never seen a body so sweet. Or felt skin so soft. Every inch of her begs to be explored—the fullness of her breasts, the roundness of her waist, her thick thighs, and her plump ass. Every fucking inch makes my cock ache.

The thought of running my lips across that soft skin sends a bolt of heat straight through me.

Cristo. She's a work of art.

It's fine, I reply, my voice a low rumble.

For a moment, we're statues amongst the revelry, her smile a fucking siren's song rooting me in place. She's sunlight, casting her warm rays over the pitch black of my soul without even flinching.

Watch your step, I caution, more to myself than to her, a whisper of warning that this world—and men like me—weren't meant for angels like her.

Her gray eyes widen as they skirt down my body, taking me in. I know what people see when they look at me. I'm nearly seven feet tall and built like a brick wall. I'm imposing. Precisely the way I like it.

People respect what they fear. They fear me on sight—though most can't say why. It's survival instinct, whispering from the deepest parts of their subconscious. They recognize a monster when they see one. They know death when it stares back.

But does this sweet little thing see the monster—the one who kills without remorse or empathy? Or does she see the man—the one I've almost forgotten how to be?

I want it to be the latter.

It's a foreign desire, bubbling up from some soft place inside that I didn't know existed. I thought that place died long ago.

I'm glad I'm not the only rebel here tonight, she finally says, a sweet smile tugging at her lips. I was beginning to worry I'd overplayed my hand.

Rebel? I raise an eyebrow at her comment, the word hanging heavy in the air between us. It's almost laughable coming from her—this sweet, innocent little thing with no idea how deep into rebellion I am and how far past redemption I've traveled.

Not even the deepest pits of hell were designed for men like me.

Her blush deepens. She's clearly unaware of how fucking hard it makes me, or she'd stop immediately. She'd flee into the night, screaming in terror.

I want to trace the edge of it with my tongue. Preferably while she's riding my cock.

Yes, she whispers, nervously tugging at the fabric of her dress as if willing it to cover more of her skin. My fingers itch to trace every exposed inch before they wrap themselves around Alessepo's throat. We're the only two not in blue.

I glance down at my black suit, confirming her assessment. Rebels, indeed. I know why I'm not in blue—I'm not a fucking cop. I doubt she is, either. She doesn't look much older than nineteen or twenty…too young to be in uniform.

So, who is she? And why did she decide on siren red instead of boring blue? What authority is she rebelling against?

I suddenly want to know.

Dance with me. I don't ask. I demand, knowing damn well that if I give her an option, it might not be me. I don't want that, so I don't allow it.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip before she smiles up at me. Gladly.

I lead her onto the dance floor, not speaking. Her body molds against mine as I pull her into my arms and begin to move to the rhythm, keeping her close to me.

My erection presses against her belly. There's no hiding it as her intoxicating vanilla scent swirls around me, clouding my head. Cazzo. She smells incredible. The pulse beneath her ear flutters, letting me know she feels how hard I am.

Good. Let her.

She's the reason I'm in this state.

I fight the urge to bend my head and taste her fluttering pulse.

What's your name? she asks, her voice shaking.

Coda Passero.

Coda, she repeats, licking her lips as she stares up at me. I'm Karina Alessepo.

Fucking hell. She's his daughter. I knew he had a kid, but I've never seen her before. I made a point not to go looking. The less I knew about the kid, the better. It's a lot harder to kill a man when you know who they're leaving behind.

Those are the people who haunt you if you let them. Not the dead, but the living. They're the ones who plague your mind. The dead are easy to forget. A single bullet and they cease to exist. But the living? They're still out there, still walking around, still trying to pick up the pieces you shattered.

I never let myself think about them. As far as I'm concerned, they don't exist. Except one of them is in my arms right now, smiling