Seduced By the Mafia Boss by Shayla Black

 

 

March 6

Las Vegas

10 p.m.

Ridge

This Saturday night in Vegas is shaping up to be anything but the usual. Sure, the casino is hopping. People happily toss their money on the tables, hoping Lady Luck will smile on them. I scoff. As if mobster Marco Donzelli would ever let the house lose its ass.

But the big boss is up to something. Shit is going down. I feel it. So it’s a fucking bad time for this call.

“What do you mean ‘she’s gone’?” I hiss into the phone, locking myself in the john so no one can hear my business.

Ryan, my old pal doing me a big favor back in Big D, sighs. “That redhead you’ve had me watching? She ran a few errands this morning, came back to her apartment, then headed out a while later, rolling a suitcase.”

“What?” Kristi Knolls had nothing important on her calendar today. I should know. I hacked into her phone and started tracking it—and her—months ago.

She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m coming for her. I have plans. Soon.

No way she’s escaping me.

“Yeah. She was rolling a suitcase, then she climbed into an Uber. I followed her to the airport, but I lost her at security.”

Because Ryan wasn’t getting on a plane, and she was.

Shit.

“Any idea where she was heading?”

“Dude, it’s DFW. She could be flying anywhere. The only thing I know is, the terminal where the driver dropped her isn’t usually one used for international flights.”

That’s not super helpful. But Kristi’s sudden itch to travel is only one of my problems tonight. “Thanks. Keep your eyes open.”

“Sure. Anything else you want me to do from here?”

“Hang by the phone.” If I can’t get a bead on Kristi in the next few hours, I’ll have Ryan break into her place and search it.

“You got it. Talk to you soon.”

I hang up, swear, then flush the toilet and wash my hands for the sound effects. Donzelli, along with a couple of his capos, Sal and Rudy, are hanging out in his suite overlooking the casino floor, eyes peeled like they’re waiting for something to happen.

I’ve got a bad feeling…

Dragging in a steadying breath, I let myself out of the can.

“Everything come out okay, Rafael?” Sal snickers.

I hate answering to that name almost as much as I hate Sal Barone. I shoot him a withering glare, wishing I could dust the son of a bitch. But Donzelli would see that as a personal affront since the old-timer has worked for him—and the organization—for a few decades.

Instead, I sneer. “You asking because you need help these days, old man?”

Sal loathes me, and it shows on his face. Not that I have a fuck to spare him.

“Marco, your new consigliere needs to learn a little respect.” Sal punches his fist into his palm, demonstrating how he’d like to teach me.

His usually silent sidekick, Rudy Pomelli, nods like the hulking, brainless yes-man he is.

It takes effort not to laugh. “You’ve never shown me any respect, asshole.”

“Because you didn’t earn your position. You had it handed to you by your late uncle, who was a good man, God rest him. You’re just a shit stain trying to live up to his reputation.”

Before I can tell Sal that he doesn’t have a bite hard enough or a dick big enough to pull off the shit I can, Donzelli steps in. “Are you questioning my judgement, Sal?”

The old-timer finally has the brains to look nervous. “No. I wouldn’t do that, boss. I’m just saying I think his uncle Luca oversold him.”

And Sal thinks Donzelli elevated me from capo to consigliere out of guilt. He’s probably right, but whatever. It works to my advantage.

“Shut the fuck up. Too bad the feds didn’t use you for target practice instead of him.” I take a swipe at Sal, more because it’s expected than because I think it will shut him up.

“Gentlemen…” Donzelli warns, rising from his leather throne, wearing another one of his custom suits. Since he dropped five grand on it, I’m not shocked he looks way more distinguished than the average CEO. Probably why he gets a lot of ass. Well, his suit and intimidation. He’s damn good at that, along with his old-fashioned mobster shtick. His slicked-back hair with equally greasy manners annoy me. I’m half expecting he’ll call the next cocktail waitress who offers him a refill dame.

“I’m zipping it,” I tell him.

“Ass kisser,” Sal sneers.

He’s a fine one to talk, but I don’t say a word, just raise a brow. The asshole’s day is coming. He deserves a bullet in his brain, and I hope I’m the guy pulling the trigger.

“That’s enough,” Donzelli growls loudly enough to convince Sal that he’s been as lenient as he intends to be.

“Sorry, boss.”

Marco gives him an absent nod, then makes his way across the darkened room to the decked-out wet bar below the mirrored wall. He plucks up a glass and turns to me. “Scotch?”

“Thanks.” I’ll nurse it, but I need to keep a clear head. Not only does Sal look like he’s planning revenge, I don’t like Donzelli’s vibe.

Whatever’s going down, Donzelli is behind it.

He pours me three fingers of the really expensive stuff, then turns to me, eyes bright with speculation. “You know, Rafael, the product we move through our trusted network is the nuts and bolts of our operation. It keeps the cash flowing and the lights on.”

He means the drugs they cook up and package in labs and safe houses in the seedier parts of town where they own the cops. “Sure. I’ve been getting familiar with that since I came on board. I’ve got a good handle on it now.”

“So I hear. Your dear, departed uncle… We were good friends.” Donzelli claps me on the back and smiles my way with the perfect hint of sympathy in his eyes.

“So he always said.”

“Just like he told me you had a real head for business. With a Harvard MBA, you should.”

I just smile. Where the fuck is he going with this? “I’m doing my best to be an asset. It’s what Uncle Luca would have wanted.”

“True. I think it’s time you and I chat about our growing side hustle. After all, this organization may be yours someday. Eventually.”

The only person standing between me and the top is Paul Carboni, Marco’s underboss—a fucking fat slob of a minion. What Paulie lacks in brains, he makes up for in ruthlessness.

“I appreciate that. If there’s a way I can help grow the business, fill me in. I’ll make it happen.”

Marco holds up his glass in toast and smiles. “You always do. Salute!”

I lift mine in kind, but my heart is fucking rattling against my ribs. Is he finally—after three fucking long years—going to cough up some useful information? I’ve been trying to pry shit out of the secretive bastard since I walked through the door. Of course, I know the basics of his growing secondary income—not that he has any clue. But the details of this hush-hush operation? No. And I need that info, like, yesterday.

“Walk with me,” he invites, setting his empty glass aside.

I leave mine untouched. “Sure.”

Sal looks ready to spit nails. I’ll definitely need to watch my back.

Donzelli leads me to his personal elevator and punches in a security code. Instead of heading up to his penthouse or down to his personal garage, we descend even farther, to the bowels of the hotel.

As the car plunges deeper into his concrete kingdom than I’ve ever gone, I shift into high alert and mentally catalog the weapons I’m carrying. Mobsters are a dangerous bunch, and there’s always a chance Donzelli has seen through me and lured me down to dust me.

Finally we reach a third-level basement. I’ve studied the schematics of the hotel, so I know the boilers and such are located on this level. But what else?

“You look surprised,” he observes as the doors whoosh open and he steps out into a shadowy, hot-as-balls area of utility and humidity.

“Yeah.”

His thin mouth lifts in a superior smile. He loves having the upper hand, so I let him enjoy it—for now.

“A few years ago, some overseas businessmen visited the property. They requested specific…escorts. They had cash and a lot of it, so I happily found exactly what they sought on the casino floor and ensured they enjoyed their evening to the fullest.”

I play dumb. “So you got them hookers?”

His laugh drips condescension. “No. Something far more coveted. Follow me. I’ll show you.”

Marco leads, and I stay on his ass. “Like what? If they paid you to provide sex partners—”

“Companions,” he corrects. “Temporary companions.”

Sure. That’s why girls disappear from this place all the time and are never seen or heard from again.

“Understood.”

He continues down a narrow hallway, past a video camera, to a door with a numbered combination. On the other side of the portal, the air is slightly cooler. But it’s still dark, and the smell of sweat and fear is so thick it’s palpable.

“Those businessmen went home and told their like-minded friends that they could find whatever diversion they desire here. As new guests arrived, we accommodated their requests. Of course, some have been more complicated than others, but we have yet to fail at providing a VIP with sublime satisfaction.”

That’s one way to describe abducting unsuspecting women and selling them to strangers for sexual pleasure.

“So now it’s a healthy line of business?”

“Thriving. I have nearly a dozen such guests arriving here tonight. I’ve already heard from one or two who would prefer to work off his jet lag in a more…active way.”

Rape must get the old blood pumping.

What fucking assholes. But I keep my opinion to myself and play nice. “How much does this sort of…entertainment cost? And what happens to the companion at the end of the arrangement?”

I’m curious how he’ll make murder sound banal.

“The price varies, but our level of service is distinguished. Some wish to end the connection at the end of a single evening. Others…well, they’re not ready to say goodbye yet, so their new acquaintance travels with them.”

Translation: If the asshole who paid for some terrified and unwilling woman to spend the night with him is fortunate, he’ll turn her back over to Marco…who probably gives her to Paulie or Sal to use before he feeds her a bullet. But if the rich asshole isn’t done with his new toy yet, he’ll take her with him to wherever the fuck he’s going…and God help her then.

The entire scheme is sickening and inhumane. But I keep my opinion to myself.

“I see.” I smile blandly. “And you’d like me to…”

“Take over this line of business. It’s incredibly lucrative, so I’m looking to franchise in other locations and set up a more steady supply of merchandise. We’re getting by now. But this could be far more profitable, I think, with your touch.”

Not if I can help it. “Sure.”

He beams and pats my face as if I’m a beloved nephew. “Excellent. While I’m saddened Luca isn’t with us anymore, I’m grateful he led you to us. Sal gives you a hard time, but you’ve been indispensable.”

Glad Donzelli sees it that way. It makes my life easier. “Thank you.”

“Not at all. I know you’ll do great things with my ‘pet’ project,” he chortles, then leads me around a corner, past a side door, between a pair of armed guards, and down another long hall—filled with cage after cage of people locked up like animals.

“See for yourself.” He gestures.

I swallow as I pace up the walkway between the two sets of enclosures. I’m going to fucking be sick.

The shadows obscure details, but I turn to stare into the terrified face of a woman who looks about twenty-two, another belonging to a girl who’s maybe all of fifteen, then—oh, shit—a little boy who appears about five or six. That’s a new low for these animals. I can’t fucking look at the rest.

I swallow back the violent urge to kill Marco Donzelli here and now. Drugs are one thing. If people want to pollute their bodies, that’s their issue. But abducting bystanders for a buck so entitled pricks can violate them? Even for someone with his history and reputation, this is depraved.

“You’re awfully quiet.” He sounds displeased.

“Taking it in. Honestly, I had no idea…” How horrible it was. On paper was bad enough. I’m a tough son of a bitch, but seeing these people shreds my guts. No one deserves this abuse.

My admission that he put one over on me perks Donzelli up. “We’ve done a very good job of being discreet. Of course, we’ve paid off the right people. Detectives, judges, even some local FBI. I think we’re nearly poised to become a premiere provider in the region, maybe the whole West Coast. But this needs to be…what’s that phrase you’re always using to describe making a line of business better?”

“Optimized,” I recite automatically.

“That’s it. Paulie has been trying to help me, but he lacks your expertise. And he tends to play a bit too roughly with the product.” He nods at a young blonde who sports a giant bruise on her face. She’s a trembling, shell-shocked wreck whose tears stained her pale cheeks. In the next cage over, a barely legal brunette clutches her hand, offering silent comfort.

“Doesn’t Paulie understand that’s bad for business?”

The boss sighs. “He gets carried away. You’ve proven to be far more…measured. You haven’t availed yourself of any available female companionship in months.”

That he knows of. And I intend to keep it that way. “Haven’t seen anyone interesting.”

Donzelli nods. “Discerning. I like that. Since you’ve shown restraint, you’re welcome to sample the merchandise as long as you don’t damage it.”

That’s never going to happen. “Thank you, sir.”

“Of course.”

The guard from the nearby desk rises suddenly and makes his way to the boss, skewering me with a glance, then whispers something in his ear.

Marco raises a brow. “Really? Thank you.” He turns to me. “I’ve just been advised that Paulie has returned from an outing with exceptionally good news.”

Anything that’s good news for Paul Carboni is probably shitty news for me. “Oh?”

“Let’s go hear it. Afterward, you can look around, gather ideas how to improve…um, what’s the right phrase?”

“Output and profitability?”

“Exactly.”

I resist the urge to swear under my breath. “Let’s go.”

It takes all my balls and fortitude to turn my back on Donzelli’s “pets” in cages and retrace my steps toward the elevators. But whatever’s going on with the boss and his underlings may well affect my next move.

Because, unbeknownst to any of them, I’m not just here to take over the organization someday. I’m here to burn it to the ground.

Beyond the narrow hall and the guards behind, Marco tries the door, only to find it locked. He sighs. “This has been Paul’s ‘command center’ for the operation. There’s almost nothing in there, but he likes to feel important. I’ll get you a key later so you can study what he’s done and implement…what’s the term?”

“Process improvements,” I mumble absently.

I’ve got to get into that room ASAP. I need hard evidence so I can free these people and get out of this shithole.

“Precisely. Thoughts so far?” Marco asks as he steps back into the elevator and presses the button to return to the observation suite above the casino.

“About this venture?” I shrug. “If you want max profitability, we need to clean it up. If I had money and I was in the market for specific…companionship, I wouldn’t want anyone who looked mistreated and unwashed. Torn clothes and bruises should be a hard fucking no.”

“You have a fair point. The merchandise should come in pristine condition. What the buyer decides to do with it…”

“Should be up to them.” If I can convince Donzelli to treat his captives more like people than animals until I can deal directly with the situation, I’ll call that a temporary win.

“Their current accommodations were slapped together simply because we grew faster than planned and had nothing else prepared. I’ve been toying with the notion that we need better. This facility is secure, but…”

“But it smells like body odor and shit. You can’t get top dollar that way. It might have worked for a small-time operation, but you want to go big. So you’ve got to do better.”

“You’re right.”

“We have that old wing of the hotel shut down for upgrades. They’re not scheduled to start work on the west hallway of the eighth floor until the end of summer. Put the merch there. That will buy you a few months to find an alternate location. Move guards into position so that anyone who wanders that way can be redirected. Hell, put a passcode on the southern-most elevator so that anyone who gets on can’t stop at that floor.”

And if Donzelli agrees, all those people in cages now will have a bed, a toilet, a shower, and a few creature comforts. It’s not freedom yet, but it’s a step up.

“To be honest, I haven’t been down there in a few weeks. I’m displeased Paulie hasn’t improved his setup. I’ll have the product moved to that abandoned wing tonight. Those rooms haven’t been renovated in a few decades, so the doors still have old-fashioned locks with keys. Jimmy in Maintenance can flip the knobs around so they lock from the outside. The windows don’t vent out. We sold off the old phones for parts months ago. We can wire some video surveillance in each room quickly and tie that into the rest of the casino’s security. That way, we can monitor every piece of merchandise from my suite. We have the equipment. And you’ll be around to keep an eye on things while you study the business. It’s a great plan.” He claps me on the shoulder, clearly pleased.

And Paul Carboni will consider my involvement as welcome as me pissing in his Corn Flakes. “Like I said, I’m happy to help.”

We reach the level just above the casino. When Donzelli and I step into his suite, a glance out the wall of windows tells me the crowd on the floor has swelled again. Shoulders bump and bodies rub as people dash from one diversion to another, looking for empty, temporary amusement.

But that’s not the shock. Paulie standing in the middle of the room, rain-soaked and shaking up a bottle of champagne in his beefy hands as blood stains his shirt, is.

What the fuck has he been up to?

Instinct kicks me in the teeth again. Whatever it is, I’m not going to like it.

“What are we celebrating?” Donzelli asks.

“Boss!” Paulie uncorks the bubbly and turns toward Sal and Rudy. Yeah, he knows better than to spew all over the boss’s fancy duds. He celebrates over the duo’s sputtering with a laugh. “Boss, that thorn in your side? That annoying ‘competitor’ in the flesh biz, Ransom?” He barks out a low, ugly laugh. “I got him.”

My blood runs cold. I work like a motherfucker to keep all hint of reaction, especially dread, off my face. “What do you mean?”

“Shut up, you little puke,” he snarls. “I’m talking to the boss.”

“We’re family,” Donzelli growls. “We’re supposed to get along, Paul.”

But Carboni has already made it clear I’m like the pesky younger cousin he’d rather do without. The feeling is more than mutual. And I don’t need more family, thanks very much. I’ve got three older brothers.

Ransom just happens to be my oldest.

Paul sneers. “Then the little fuck shouldn’t interrupt me when I’m trying to tell you that I eliminated the competition—for good. I dusted Ransom in a strip mall about an hour ago.”

* * *

I suffer through a long fucking hour of their celebration, trying to tamp down my panic. There’s no way Ransom would allow himself to be offed in some shitty, crime-ridden part of town, right? He’s the assassin. He’s too smart. He’s always been the hunter, not the hunted…unless whatever’s distracted him for the past few weeks—and I suspect she must have two shapely legs and a great pair of tits—got the best of him.

Finally, I dash back to the john. I’ll suffer Sal’s jokes about having to pee too often. Whatever. Or maybe I’ll just tell him I have diarrhea and offer to shit down his throat. Bastard.

The minute I close the door behind me, I quickly sweep the bathroom. Still no surveillance equipment, thank fuck. Nice to know there’s some honor among thugs and criminals. Then I yank out my phone and dial Ransom with shaking hands.

Collectively, my brothers and I do some dangerous fucking jobs, but I’ve never come close to losing one of them. We’re tight, and I don’t know how the fuck I’ll cope if Ransom really is gone.

“C’mon,” I mutter under my breath. “Answer.”

Then, like a miracle, he does. “Ridge? Talk to me.”

Relief blindsides me. For a moment, all I can do is breathe. “You’re alive?”

“What made you think I wasn’t? And if you thought I’d kicked it, why are you calling me?”

I drop my voice. “Paul Carboni came tearing in here about an hour ago, whooping like an idiot.”

Ransom snorts. “He is an idiot.”

“I can’t argue with that. But he gave Donzelli the thumbs-up and started popping champagne. When I asked why the fuck we’re partying, Paulie announced that he iced you tonight in the parking lot of some ratty-ass strip mall.”

“Carboni tried. He tagged me twice. But I got some stitches and meds. I’m good as new.”

Thank God. “Donzelli thinks you’re dead.”

“So he’ll get brazen. One less competitor, right? See if you can get him to move on the next part of his operation so we can figure out what the fuck is happening.”

“Actually, I should have a lot of new information soon.” I’d say more…but here and now aren’t good. “You lie low until then, ’k? And hey, thanks for not making me mourn you yet.”

“Nah. I wouldn’t let a punk like Paul Carboni off me.”

I’m so fucking grateful for that. “I gotta go. I’ll call when I can.”

“Stay safe.”

I would have liked to ask more questions about where he’s at, who patched him up, and how he’s watching his six. But I can’t risk it. It’s enough to know he’s alive and taking care of himself. “You, too, man.”

This time, I really do piss, then wash up, my thoughts racing.

Donzelli and Carboni both think their competition is dead. This presents an opportunity, and if I’ve just been put in charge of this skeevy operation, then I need to act like I intend to take advantage of this moment to expand our market share.

But when I emerge from the bathroom, Donzelli doesn’t look in the mood to party. Sure, Paulie and Sal are passing around the champagne and pouring it over their faces like water. Half-witted Rudy chortles like a middle-school mean girl reveling in another’s misfortune. But the boss? He’s on his phone, looking grim.

“Shut the fuck up,” I bark at the other three morons, gesturing to Marco.

He probably thinks I’m showing him deference, but I’m really fucking worried that somehow, someway he’s already figured out that Ransom isn’t dead and will contract someone way better to do the job.

Finally, Donzelli nods. “Of course.”

I can’t follow the conversation because Paulie gets in my face. “Stay the fuck out of my operation. I run the sex biz around here.”

“Not anymore, according to the boss.”

Carboni ignores me. “You fill his head with stupid shit. Now the people we’re keeping alive simply because they have tits and a pussy or an asshole someone wants to poke are going to fill up the fucking empty wing of the hotel. Do you know how much harder they’ll be to keep an eye on up there?”

“Marco agrees with me that the merchandise should be kept in better shape. You don’t like it? Take it up with him.”

“I hate you, you pansy-ass, Ivy League, brown-nosing motherfucker. I’m coming for you.”

I smile Paulie’s way. “Please do.”

Donzelli slashes a glare at both of us as he continues to speak into the phone. “I understand. Thank you for the heads-up. I’ll have it taken care of.”

With a curse, the mafia don stabs his phone to end the call, then looks up with a snarl. “We have a…situation.”

“What? Tell me how I can help.” Maybe I can use it to destroy this fucking organization.

Suddenly, his phone lights up, then he glances at the picture with a grim smile. “Gotcha.”

What the fuck is he talking about? “Boss?”

Now that Paulie, Sal, and Rudy are finally paying attention, Donzelli gives us a tight smile. “Last night we grabbed a girl off the floor for one of our VIP guests. He paid a pretty penny for her, and he’s planning to…introduce himself after he finishes at the craps tables this evening. It hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet since her disappearance, so the police won’t get involved until later tonight. But it appears she has friends and family who aren’t waiting. One of them is down there, stirring up trouble. I want you to find this woman and shut her up quickly.”

Sal and Rudy glance at her image on Donzelli’s phone. The big lug whistles. A dirty smile flits across the short man’s face. “She’s a looker. I’d fuck her. In fact, I think I will. C’mon, Rudy.”

Together they head out, taking the elevator with them.

Finally, the boss turns his phone around to show me a picture of a gorgeous redhead who flips every one of my switches at the same time the blood in my veins freezes.

Unfortunately, I don’t have to guess where Kristi Knolls is anymore. She came to Vegas—and fell pretty ass first into danger.

Fuck.

I go running.