Mafia War Read Online By L. Steele - Read Mafia War(38) Online free

Karma

Andy crawls onto my chest. He coils between my breasts and tips his head up. He must glare at Michael, who glowers back at him. "You and I need to have a talk, buddy. You don’t interrupt when your parents are in the middle of an important discussion."

"Is that what this was?"

He scowls at me over Andy’s head, "It was a very important discussion;" His gaze intensifies, "Come home with me, baby."

I swallow.

"I’ve been lonely without you. Andy has been lonely without you."

"Andy seems fine to me." I arch my eyebrow at him. "You, however," I tilt my hips forward so I push into the bulge between his legs.

Color smears his cheeks. "You still punishing me? Even after everything I said I’d do for you?"

"Not what I expected to hear from you, Don." I rake my gaze across his features, "You are the Don now, aren’t you?"

"Only if I can have you by my side. I need your sass, your shrewdness, your ability to think fast on your feet so you pick up anything that I may have missed. I need you, Beauty, only you."

He holds my gaze and in his blue eyes I see…love, lust…and sincerity. An honesty that had been missing before, a vulnerability which I’d never thought that I’d glimpse in my Don’s gaze.

"Okay," I blow out a breath, "okay."

Two days later, I rub Andy’s forehead as I glance out at the sea that stretches out in front of me. Michael had taken me from the park, straight to his private jet. He’d flown me to Palermo, and to a new home that he’d purchased on the island on the opposite side from where his home used to be.

A fresh start, he’d said. A new chapter in our lives. He’d also arranged for a doctor to come and remove the tracker from behind my ear. I had protested and told him that, in retrospect, it actually made me feel safe to know that no matter what happened he’d always be able to find me.

He’d told me that he’d feel better if he had it removed, especially since he wanted us to try for a child right away, and he didn’t want anything to interfere with that.

So I had agreed.

Truth is, I want to try to get pregnant straight away, too. Guess this is when I should have come clean to him about the doctor’s warning that it could be dangerous for me to get pregnant. On the other hand, the doc had also said that many women carried their babies to term without any problems, despite having a hole in the heart. And I know if I mention it to him, he won’t want to take the risk. And honestly, I feel it in my guts that everything will be fine. That things will work out. So, I haven’t said anything to him.

Yes, I know, I should be honest with him... But if I were...he'd never agree to my having a baby. He'd never allow me to get pregnant. He'd be willing to go without an heir, and that's something I will not allow.

Besides, I can do this. I can get pregnant and carry the baby to term and nothing will happen to me. I am confident of that.

Meanwhile, he’s already set up a full-fledged studio for me in the house, where I can start working on my masterpieces. All, in less than forty-eight hours. The man is relentless when it comes to making sure that all of my needs are taken care of.

And when I had suggested we have the long overdue Christmas party, combined with a New Year's Eve one—he had agreed to it.

I’d also messaged Summer to let her know that I was fine, but that I needed a little more time to figure things out. Summer was initially upset about it. She’d insisted that I return to London or she’d be on the next flight to Sicily and drag me home.

I’d told her not to do that. Begged her to give me a little more time. I’d told her that I am in love with this guy. I’d wanted to tell her that I’d already married the man. Honestly, it had been on the tip of my tongue to tell her, but then I had chickened out. Because I know that she’ll be upset to find out that I got married without telling her. And then she’ll want to know everything and …

I’m still not ready to share with her all that has happened. No, I want to tell her everything in person. And yes… I am also a little worried about her reaction. She’s never going to forgive me for embarking on this adventure on my own, and without keeping her completely in the loop… And I know, the more I put it off, the worse it’s going to get…so… Yeah, for the moment, at least, I am okay with her. But at some point, I am going to have to tell her everything. Soon. Just not today.

Footsteps sound behind me. The scent of fresh snow, of darkness, of edgy testosterone, washes over me a second before his arms come around my waist. Andy wriggles in my arms, then digs his claws into my shirt as he attempts to climb up my chest. He peers over my shoulder, growls at my husband. Michael growls right back. Andy stiffens, then hisses at him. He turns his head away, wriggles in my arms, then proceeds to jump out and onto the wall of the terrace.

"That cat is the most fickle creature I have ever met." His dark voice coils in my ear.

I shiver, then turn in the circle of his arms, "He’s my cat; of course, his loyalties lie with me. Speaking of," I frown, "did you just growl back at him?"

"He needs to learn that he can’t monopolize my wife’s attention."

"Are you jealous of a cat, Michael Byron Domenico Sovrano?"

"Uh, oh," he smirks, "do you know how much of a turn on it is when you say my complete name?"

I slide my hand between us and cup the bulge at his crotch, "I am beginning to guess."

He pushes into me and my hips touch the wall behind me. He tilts his hips so I can feel every single ridge of his length against my palm. Heat coils in my belly and moisture laces my panties.

"You’re so damn sexy, you know that?"

"I am, aren’t I?" He smirks.

I laugh, "And not modest at all."

"Can’t afford to be, in my line of work, baby."

My smile promptly vanishes. "How are the talks going with JJ and Nikolai? Are they agreeable to legitimizing the businesses?"

"Not completely," he raises a shoulder, "but I am sure I’ll win them over."

"Like I said, not modest at all."

"They’ll come around. They’ll have to, when they see that the figures make sense. This is an opportunity for them to carve out a future that is safer for their families too, after all."

"You think they’ll agree to that?"

"They will, once we’ve figured out the practicalities of how to manage the transition."

"Meanwhile," he lowers his head so his eyelashes entangle against mine, "where were we?"

He drags his palms up my hips and his fingertips brush against the bandage across my lower back.

I freeze; so does he.

"What's this?" He scowls, "Did you hurt yourself?"

"N...no," I tip up my chin, "I, ah, wanted to add something to what you marked on my back earlier.

"Can I see?"

I nod, then turn my back on him. He raises my shirt, stares down at the strip of clear plastic which covers my lower back.

His breath catches. "Beauty, you..." his voice cracks. "you wrote my name on your body?"

"I wanted to..." I glance at him over my shoulder again, "I wanted to find a way to ink your name into my skin and this seemed fitting.

"Mika's whore," he reads out aloud. "You shouldn’t have hurt yourself further, this way."

"It's a hurt that I gladly bear," I say softly. "I needed to show you that I meant it, that this time, I am not leaving you. That you are stuck with me, Don."

He swivels me around in the circle of his arms. "My whore," he kisses my forehead, "my slut," he kisses me on one eyelid, "my pussy," then the other. "My Beauty," he kisses me on the tip of my nose. "Mine." He presses his lips to mine. "Only mine."

I share his breath, drag his scent into my lungs, and my entire core clenches. I lean in to deepen the kiss when.

"Get a room, you guys!"

Seb’s voice sounds behind us.

Michael groans. "Ignore him," he murmurs as he presses his lips to mine. I open my mouth and his tongue sweeps in. He deepens the kiss and my belly trembles. He hauls me up against him, and I pull my hand out from between us and wind it about his shoulders. He pushes his hips forward and the thickness between his legs stabs into my core.

A whine bleeds from my lips and he swallows it down. He grabs my arse, squeezes, and heat jolts up my spine. I press myself into him and my breasts flatten against his chest. He nibbles on my lips and I can’t stop the moan the spills from my lips.

"Michael," I gasp, "we need to stop. Your brothers... Your family will be here soon."

"The fuck I care?"

"Michelangelo!" Nonna calls out, and both of us freeze.

Michael steps back, peers into my face. "To be continued," he smirks.

Then, as if he can’t stop himself, he leans down and presses a hard kiss to my lips. He slides around to stand behind me, then places his hands on my shoulders. I glance toward the entrance where Nonna stands, a knowing look on her face. Seb and Massimo flank her. Seb smirks. Massimo looks like he’s about to say something, then seems to change his mind.

Nonna walks toward us and I stiffen. Not that I am afraid of her, but I am definitely wary of her. Despite the fact that the last time we met, she seemed almost friendly. And of course, I am the Don’s wife now… But she’s the Don’s grandmother, so in that sense, she still has influence over my husband. Still, I know Michael’s too smart to let his grandmother manipulate him into anything, but Nonna’s w-a-a-y too astute. It’s why I am not sure what to make of her yet.

Michael wraps an arm around my waist, still keeping the lower part of his body hidden behind mine.

"What are you doing?" I hiss. "Why don’t you walk forward and meet her?"

"Because if I did that, everyone would know just how aroused I still am from kissing my wife."

"Oh." Heat flushes my cheeks.

"Exactly," he chuckles and the sound pulls at my nerve endings. My toes curl and I have to glance away. Damn it, I am turned on and his Nonna is watching us with a curious gaze as she approaches us.

She pauses in front of us, then takes my hand in hers, "Thank you for organizing this delayed Christmas get together." Her lips tilt in a smile that is—dare I say, quite genuine?

"Thank you for coming, Nonna." I step forward. Michael removes his hand from around me and I kiss Nonna’s cheek. Her skin is papery thin, and she seems more fragile than when I last saw her.

Guess burying a son can do that to you? Michael had decided to bury his father with full honors. I hadn’t been in Sicily to attend it, but I’d heard that the funeral itself had been attended by all the clan leaders. Cassandra had mentioned to me that Nonna had been pale-faced and ashen throughout the funeral, but she had managed to stay dry-eyed until the end. Maybe she had shed her tears in private. She seems genuinely pleased to be here though, so that’s something.

"You don't think that this was too soon after what happened with Xander do you?"

She pauses, a considering look on her face, "Perhaps for a more traditional person it might seem that way," she murmurs. "And it's not that I don't mourn him," she swallows, "but I also know that Xander would not have wanted us to dwell on the past. He was an artist, a dreamer, a visionary, even. He would have wanted us to celebrate his life and look to the future."

I peer into her features, take in the intent expression on her face, "You mean it, don't you?"

"I never say anything I don't mean, Karma." She smiles. "In fact, I am going to follow your example." Her eyes gleam with that devilish glint that is so familiar. Something I have seen in Michael's eyes, too.

"You are?" I frown.

"Absolutely." She glances between us, "This family has been through so much, we need a fresh start. A chance to know each other all over again."

Oh, hell, do I even want to know where this is going?

"What are you thinking of, Nonna?" Michael asks.

"A Christmas getaway."

"Christmas is over," Michael points out, "and we’re already having this delayed Christmas get together to make up for not being able to celebrate Christmas."

"It's not enough." Her lips firm. "It will take more than a few hours to mend the fractures left behind by your father. It's time we came together and found a way to heal, don't you think?"

Michael blows out a breath, "Are you sure about this?"

"Are you questioning me, Michael?" she asks in a deceptively soft tone that mirrors the one Michael often uses to get his way.

Michael stiffens, then a reluctant chuckle rumbles up his chest. "You are one hell of a woman, Nonna." He reaches around me to take her hand, "If it will make you happy..."

"It will." The older woman nods her head as a smile forms on her face. "Now that you are married," she glances between us, "it's time for me to focus on getting the rest of your brothers hitched, too."

Michael groans, "I’m glad I am no longer in the line of fire."

"You were smart enough to snap up your soulmate when you met her. Now, I need to make sure your brothers follow your lead. Also," that same wicked gleam reappears in her eyes, "I’m hoping that spending a few days in each other's company will help us strengthen our familial ties... If we don’t kill each other first, that is."

I chuckle, Michael laughs, and Nonna's face lights up with a proper smile. "Now, where's my drink?"

As if summoned, Cassandra walks toward us with a tray of prosecco flutes. I take a glass and hand it to Nonna. She accepts it, sniffs it, then raises her eyebrows at me. "Is this—?"

I nod, "It’s your favorite."

I take a glass for myself, then smile my thanks at Cassandra. She turns, then stops when Adrian walks onto the terrace. She seems to steel herself, then walks past him. He turns and his gaze tracks her until she disappears from sight. He turns, catches me staring and a small smile tugs at his lips. He walks over to the bar just as Luca steps onto the terrace. He glances around and his gaze collides with Michael’s. The tension in the air ratchets up. I glance over my shoulder to find Michael scowling.

"Be nice, Don," I murmur.

He blows out a breath. "It’s going to take some getting used to, but family is family after all, eh?" He walks past me and meets Luca half-way on the terrace. The two men murmur in low voices, then Michael jerks his chin. "Get us some Macallan," he calls out to Massimo, who’s behind the bar. Massimo raises his thumb in a 'will do' gesture, then goes back to pouring.

"Good to see Michael making an effort," I remark.

Nonna turns to me, "You’re good for him."

"Oh?" I meet her gaze, "Are you being sarcastic?"

"Do I look like I am being sarcastic?" She tilts her head. Her faded blue eyes twinkle, and again, I see so much of Michael in her that I can’t stop the smile that curves my lips.

"No," I chuckle, "that sounds like a real compliment."

"It is." Nonna raises her glass, and so do I. We clink, and I take a sip. Notes of cherry and vanilla pop on my palate as the crisp taste of the Prosecco slides down my throat.

"Mmm," I lick my lips, "that’s so good."

"My husband used to get me a bottle for every celebration." She stares at her flute with a soft look in her eyes. "Roberto was a typical Mafioso, as macho as they come, but he always remembered what I liked."

"He loved you?"

"He did," she raises her glass to her lips, "in his own way." She glances past me and frowns. "Who is that with Christian?"

I turn to find Christian walking into the family gathering, Aurora’s arm tucked into his, his hand on hers. Either in a soothing gesture...or in one meant to control her, maybe?

He pauses a little way inside of the entrance. When Cassandra walks over with a full tray of Prosecco, he picks up a flute and hands it to Aurora, who accepts it. She's also wearing a beautiful silk dress that clings to her curves and flows to below her knees. On her feet are six-inch heels which are very different from the sensible wedges I normally see her in. She seems...different... Like a mafioso's woman. She glances at me, then away.

Huh? What’s happening here?

Aurora downs the prosecco in one go. She places the glass back on Cassandra's tray, reaches for another, but Christian wraps his fingers around her wrist and stops her. He leans in, whispers something in her ear as Cassandra walks away.

Aurora shoots him a glance full of hatred; Christian chuckles.

What the hell? What's happening between these two?

Christian straightens, then he turns and walks toward us.

"Christian Roberto Domenico Sovrano," Nonna narrows her gaze on him, "just the person I am looking for."

Christian frowns, "I am?" He comes to a stop in front of us, Aurora in tow.

Nonna's eyes gleam, "I am an old woman, Christian, I don't know how long I have left on this earth."

"Nonna, please," Christian holds up his hand, "you are going to outlive us all and you know it. So why don't you come to the point, hmm? What's on your mind?"

"What's on my mind is that I am worried about you Christian."

"You are?"

She nods, "It's high time you got married and settled down."

"Michael just got married," Christian points out.

"And now I can't wait for you to settle down."

"What about Massimo?" Christian scowls, "he's older than me. Shouldn't he get married before I do."

"Massimo didn't lose his twin, you did."

Christian pales, "Nonna, what are you trying to say?"

Nonna narrows her gaze on him, "Since before you were born you had Xander by your side. Now he's gone and you are on your own."

Christian's jaw tics, "your point being?" He finally says through gritted teeth.

"I don't want you to be alone. In fact I have someone who would make you the perfect wife, I—"

Christian holds up his hand, "Let me stop you right there, Nonna."

Nonna scowls, "Let me complete what I am going to say."

"I know what you are going to say, and I am a step ahead of you." His lips curl.

Uh-oh! I am not sure I like the expression on his face. He seems too confident, too sure of himself. He releases his hold on Aurora only to wrap his arm around her and pull her close.

"Nonna," He tilts his head, before he locks his gaze with Michael's. "Don Sovrano," his smile widens, "meet the woman who is going to be my wife."

To find out what happens next read Christian & Aurora's story HERE. Karma and Michael's story too continues in this book, and will be told from their point of view. Click HERE

Read an excerpt

Two months later

Karma

I bend over the ceramic bowl of the commode and throw up the breakfast that I have just eaten. I puke until there’s nothing left, then manage to flush away the disgusting mess before I sink back onto the floor. I push my head back into the wall. Holy shit, this is the third morning in a row this has happened. That, combined with my tender breasts, and the period that I have missed, confirms that I am pregnant. Oh, yeah. Also, the pregnancy test with the two pink lines that I took yesterday is an indicator of what my current status is. I stay there for a few more seconds as I will my head to stop spinning. Close my eyes, take in a breath, then another. A few more breaths and I feel slightly better. I push up to my feet, and my knees don’t buckle under me. Score!

I walk over to the sink, rinse out my mouth, splash some water on my face and wrists. By the time I leave my room, I feel much better. I walk over to my studio, which is just down the hallway from my bedroom, and push open the door. Andy glances up from his cat cave bed in the corner of the room. He stares at me as I cross over to where I have been drawing my latest creation. It’s for a bride in London.

Since the day I had sold my first creations in Camden Market, the orders have kept flooding in. They are growing at such a fast rate, I have had to both hike up my price and turn down a few because I couldn’t meet the demand.

Michael suggested it’s time I expand. He told me he’ll build me a separate studio on the grounds surrounding the house, and I should hire a couple of seamstresses to help me.

I’ve thought about it, and decided that’s not for me.

The Karma label is my first baby, and I want to keep the creativity, the quality, and the attention to detail that it has come to embody as consistent as possible. Which means, I need to be hands-on, for now. Maybe later down the line, I might think of expanding and getting help. For now, I’d rather work on it myself.

It’s a good thing Michael has been away on business the last few days, else my morning sickness would have sent him into a tizzy. It’d also have revealed my secret… Something I plan to tell him when he returns. For now though, it feels right that I can hold onto this part of me—this feeling, this sensation of being a mother again—to myself. I flatten my palm against my stomach as I stare at the finished design on the drafting board.

I pull off the paper and carefully place it aside. Just need a little break, before I begin translating that into fabric. Meanwhile… I pick up a pencil and begin to draw again… Something different. Something unlike the designs I have created so far. Something softer, more fragile, smaller in size…

A Peter Pan collar, simple long sleeves, slight gathering at the waist, opening at the back so it’s easy to put on and pull off… I step back and glance at what I have drawn. It’s a bodysuit for a baby…a new born. Tears prick the backs of my eyes and I wipe them away. Shit, I am not even, like, fully pregnant—is that even a concept? I mean, I just found out I am pregnant, and already, the pregnancy hormones seem to be taking affect.

If Michael were here, he’d probably just wrap me in wool, scoop me up, place me on the bed, and order me not to move until the baby is born. I scowl at the drawing. Not likely.

I intend to work until my last week. I intend to continue to design and sew and ensure that all the orders I have taken are fulfilled with Karma originals. No bride who orders a dress from me is going to be empty-handed. No, siree. I only need to convince my husband of that.

Speaking of—I place my pencil on the table—there’s a much bigger discussion I need to broach with my husband. I wince. I’ve been putting it off for so long, and now, I really need to tell him. And if I don’t…

No.I shake my head. I can’t do this to him. It’s bad enough I haven’t brought it up with him so far. He deserves to know. It’s his right to know.

The sound of footsteps reaches me a second before the edgy scent of testosterone—musky, like leather with a hint of woodsmoke—envelops me. I draw in the fragrance of his aftershave, like fresh snow on earth. The cold rush of a winter’s wind, followed by the snap and crackle of a fireplace. The images flow over me, just before his arms wrap around me. Goosebumps pop on my skin and my core trembles. I turn around, tip up my chin, and meet those brilliant blue eyes. Warmth flares in their depths, silver flashes riddled with sparks of gold. The look he only wears when he is around me, as I have learned.

"Don," I murmur, "I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow."

"I missed you, Beauty," his dark voice flows over me, coils in my chest, sinks into my blood. A cascade of warmth flares out from my core to my extremities. My toes curl. I bite down on my lower lip and he lowers his gaze to my mouth. "I missed my wife." He tilts his head and replaces my teeth with his own. He tugs on my lip and my pussy clenches. Moisture beads my center and my stomach flip-flops. My pulse rate ratchets up. Sweat beads my forehead and I tear my mouth from his. I tip up my chin watch him watch me with a curious gaze.

"Everything all right, baby?" He frowns as he pushes the hair back from my face. He pauses with his palm on my forehead, "Your skin is clammy." The lines in his forehead deepen. He peers into my face, no doubt, taking in my sudden pallor. My stomach ties itself in knots, the wave of sickness pushing up against my breastbone, my throat. Turning, I race to the bathroom.

To find out what happen next read A Very Mafia Christmas HERE

Read an excerpt from Aurora and Christian's story

Aurora

"Open the door!" The banging on the main door reaches me. I stare at the coffee-table wedged against it. It’ll hold the door, surely, won’t it? I glance around the living room space, but can’t see any means of escaping. Not that I haven’t checked every inch of this house in the last few weeks that I have been held here as a prisoner. Every window is barred and the door to the terrace on the first floor is sealed tight. The only way in or out of this house is through the front door. The door on which the man who is trying to enter is currently leaning his weight.

Shit!" The double doors creaks as he puts his shoulder to it.

"Open the fucking door, Aurora, or else I’m gonna break it down."

"Who—" My voice cracks, and I clear my throat, "Who’s there?"

"You know who it is. Who else comes to this house, except me?" Christian’s voice lowers to a growl, "When I get through, I am going to teach you such a lesson, you are not going to be able to sit down for days."

"Oh?" My stomach trembles. "OH!" I blink as the full meaning of his words sinks in. My heart rate ratchets up and moisture laces my core. I should not find that so hot. Why do I find that such a turn on?

"How can I be sure who it is, if you don’t tell me who you are? Not like I can recognize your voice or anything, you know."

"Is that right?" His tone is almost lazy now.

Like he’s realized I am playing a game and has decided to go along with it. My belly twists. I rub my damp hands on my thighs. Why the hell did I decide to stop him from coming in? I should have known it was going to be futile, that nothing I say or do would deter him.

The door creaks again, pushes against the coffee table, which moves forward by an inch.

"Oh, hell!" I race toward the coffee table, push against it to hold it in place. Something slams into the door from the other side, and again. The double doors shudder, the bolt across the door shivers, and the coffee table moves forward by another inch. I yelp, take a step back.

"Don't fucking make me wait, Aurora," Christian growls.

I shiver. Even through the heavy wood of the double doors, the menace rolls off of his voice. Goosebumps pop on my skin. My toes curl. Shit, this should not turn me on so much.

That…that mean edge to his tone, the promise of punishment when he finally gets through... I shouldn’t want it so much.

"Last chance, Aurora. Open the door or—"

"Or," I call out, "what are you going to do, eh?"

"Do you really want to find out?" He lowers his voice to a hush, but I can still hear him. "Do you, Aurora?"

Yes.

"No," I yell back, "I am tired of being kept a prisoner here. Tired of being held without anyone telling me how long I am going to be here."

There’s silence for a beat, then another.

"It’s why I’ve come here," he retorts, "to tell you what’s going to happen next."

"Do you think I am going to believe you?"

"I hope you are standing clear, Aurora," he says in a low pitched voice. "I am coming through."

I straighten, stare at the door. He’s joking. He’s not really going to batter down that door, is he?

"Get back, Aurora!" he growls. "Now!"

I jump, stumble back, just as he smashes into the door. The wood creaks, groans. The coffee table I’ve wedged against the door screeches forward. I yelp, slide back a few more steps. Just in time. For there’s another crash.

The entire door whines, then the doors fly off the hinges.

I scream, turn and race toward the bedroom, then close the door and bolt it. I sink down against it, and my shoulders shudder.

Shit, shit, shit. What is wrong with me? Why did I try to shut him out? I should have known I couldn’t win, that he’d find a way to come inside. But the truth is, I am tired of sitting here in this house, trying to figure out what is going to happen to me next. Tired of not knowing my fate. Tired of being punished for helping out my friend Karma. She’d wanted to escape her husband, the then Capo—now Don Michael Sovrano, and of course, I couldn’t say no to helping her.

I’d known how dangerous it was to do so. To go against the leader of the Cosa Nostra is to bring death to yourself and to your family… I’d known it, and yet, something in me had not been able to turn her down. I’d recognized another woman in need and something in me had snapped.

Maybe it’s all the time spent as a woman in the heart of the Mafia. Knowing that we are often seen as disposable. Interchangeable. Good only to procreate, as wives as mistresses, as objects to be lusted after, but never respected as individuals with our own minds, who could control our own destinies.

And you know what? I, sure as hell, am going to control my future… At least, that’s what I had thought… That’s what I had aimed for during all of my years growing up. And while the Capo had paid off my father’s debts and paid for me to go to medical school in London, and I had accepted it then...because it had seemed like the only way to find my way out of the situation that I had been born into—I don’t owe him anything. Right?

Clearly, he’d done it so he could indenture my family, ensure that he’d bought our loyalty and those of any future generations. Only I am not going to accept my fate.

It was this streak of defiance in me that had urged me to help Karma. I had treated her when she’d been brought into the hospital in Palermo. She’d been faking the illness, of course, as she’d warned me she would. I had examined her, nevertheless, so the situation would appear as genuine as possible—and discovered that she was pregnant.

I hadn’t been able to stop myself from revealing that to her husband. We had returned to her room and found her gone… And the Capo would have killed me on the spot except... His brother, Christian had intervened. He’d saved my life that day, and I suppose, I should be grateful for it.

Only, I am not sure about his intentions toward me. Since that day, he’s shadowed me wherever I go. Oh, he hasn’t made a move on me or anything like that… I wish he would. That way, I’d know what he wants from me. No, he simply watches me with that gray-blue gaze of his that seems to peer into my soul.

He’s the person who accompanied me when I went to see Karma while she was pregnant.

She’d lost her child in an unfortunate incident when her car had been rigged with a bomb which, luckily for her, had turned out to be a defective. Although it had killed Xander, Christian’s twin. Turned out, it was their father who was behind it. Michael had ended up killing his father, and becoming Don, and Christian is now even more firmly entrenched in the inner circle of the leader of the Cosa Nostra. So the question is, why is this man, who can have any woman in the city—hell, on the continent, even—beating down the door to my bedroom?

"Go away," I yell as I slap my hands on my ears. "Get the hell away from me…you…you asshole!"

"Now, play nice, Flower," Christian drawls. I can hear him from the other side of the door. Hell, I can all but feel the heat of his body as it permeates through the wood, which is likely my imagination. But every time I’ve been near him, it’s as if I’ve stepped past a furnace. The man has so much vitality, he can probably light up an entire Christmas tree by his proximity. I snort.

That’s fanciful thinking. Probably because I spent Christmas Day shut up in here, feeling sorry for myself. Hell, even criminals in jails get to celebrate Christmas. I had spent it locked up here, and except for the brief time on Christmas Eve when Christian had come in to check on me and had lent me his phone so I could call Karma, I had been alone. At least, I hadn’t starved. The fridge had been full of food, as had the pantry, so there was more than enough to eat. Still, it didn’t fill the void left by being alone, on the one day of the year when every family is together.

Karma had wanted to organize a Christmas gathering, but Xander’s death, and then her losing her baby, had put paid to that. Christian had updated me that she was spending time in London, had even given me his phone so I could speak with her. A favor I hadn’t wanted to accept, but which I didn’t turn down, starved of company as I had been.

But everyone has a limit, and I have reached mine. No way, am I going to allow myself to be shut up inside here. I want to leave this prison, go see my family, lead a normal life…or else… I am willing to die. Yeah, not being dramatic here…

When you live in the heart of the Mafia community, death is as much a part of life as going out to dinner is. And I…like it or not, am one of them.

I grew up surrounded by macho guys who think they own the world. And you know what? I have spent enough time among them to be able to play them at their own game. I am not going to let one of them scare me, no matter that he happens to be big, brooding and growly, and sexy and…hot…and that he turns me on by just a glance. I am not going to let my attraction to him get in the way. No. I am going to tell him exactly where he can shove this awareness he seems to have for me, the one which has him pushing his shoulder into the door and applying his weight so the entire barrier shakes.

"Open the door, Flower," he rumbles, "or I am going to break this down and come inside and then you are going to regret shutting me out."

Is that right? I jump up to my feet, tuck my elbows into my side.

"Last chance," he warns. "Open. The. Door."

I spin around, unlock the door and yank it open. Just as he lunges forward.

Christian

I dive forward just as she pulls the door open. I careen through the doorway and toward her, managing to swerve at the last minute. Still I don’t avoid her completely, and my shoulder brushes hers. She yells out in surprise and her body hurtles toward the floor. I grab her, manage to get my body under hers as we hit the floor, with her on top of me.

The back of my head hits the floor and the breath rushes out of me. Or it may be because of the soft curves that tremble against my chest, her breath that shivers against my throat, her sweet scent like honeysuckle and crushed rose petals that teases my nostrils and goes straight to my head. The blood rushes to my groin, my cock thickens. She pushes off of me, or at least tries to, for I’ve thrown my arm around her waist and held her in place.

"Let me go," she snarls.

"No," I sit up wince when the bump on the back of my head protests. I ignore the pain, push myself up to standing, still holding her close."

"What the hell are you doing?" She hisses as I head further into the house with her in my arms.

"Let me the hell go," she slaps her palm against my chest, "Right now."

"Fine." I lower my arms and she hits the floor on her ass.

"Ow!" She grunts, then stares up at me, a shocked expression on her face. "You… you dropped me?" She stutters, "Like honest to god, you allowed me to crash to the floor?"

"You asked me to let you go," I remind her, "I was only obliging you."

"Asshole," She snaps, then pushes up to stand to her full height, which still means she hits somewhere below my breastbone.

Gesü Christo, but she’s tiny, and also very angry right now. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair awry about her features. She pushes a strand away from her face and scowls at me, "you’re a dick, you know that?"

"Glad you recognized that."

"Argh!" She makes a noise at the back of her throat, "and insufferable, not to mention you’re so full of yourself that if anyone were to prick your skin, you’d take off."

"Take off?"

"Yeah, all that hot air which you carry around would catapult you into the stratosphere, no doubt."

I glare at her, then can’t stop the surprised chuckle that rumbles up my chest, "You’re funny," I murmur.

"You’re annoying."

'You’re on my turf."

"You’re in my house," She shoots back.

"A house you’re in thanks to my having intervened on your behalf. If not you’d be dead by now."

Her features flush further, "should I be grateful to you for that? I bet you have your reasons for having stepped in."

"At least you are smart," I curl my lips, "So you’ll realize that I am being very serious when I said that I am going to punish you."

"Whatever," She huffs, "Why are you here anyway?"

"It’s my place remember? I can come and go as I want."

She seems like she is about to say something, then changes her mind. She pivots and walks into the room. I shut the door and follow her into the kitchen. She reaches the Bialetti - the espresso maker, tops it up with coffee powder and places it on the stove. She reaches for two cups and saucers, places them on the counter, then turns to me. "What do you want from me?"

"Marry me."

"What?" Her gaze widens, "What did you say?"

"Marry me," I allow my smile to widen, "not for real, of course."

"Of course," She nods, "So you want me to pretend to marry you?"

"For 30 days."

"What happens in thirty days?"

"I am able to convince my older brother and my Nonna that we are really serious about each other. After which time, you are free to go your own way."

"So if I leave after that how can you convince them that we are serious about each other."

"You’re right."

"I am?" She scowls.

"Sixty days," I cross my arms over my chest.

"What the--!" She gapes, "you added on an entire month?"

I raise a shoulder, "It's going to take that long for us to convince them that we are in love with each other."

"But we are not," she points out.

"Given that I am incapable of falling in love, that's a foregone conclusion."

"Is that right?" Her gaze narrows.

"Which is why when we decide to separate, no one will raise an eyebrow. In fact given that by the we'd have proved to be incompatible it will be all too believable that," I peer into her face, "our marriage was a complete mistake."

"And what’s the benefit of that?"

"That they won’t bother me about getting married to anyone else for a long time after that."

She purses her lips, "Somehow I can’t see you being bothered by anyone about being married."

"Have you met my Nonna?" I tilt my head, "She’s been planning our weddings from the moment each of us were born, and now that Michael's married and with Xander’s passing…" I firm my lips.

"You were saying?" She prompts.

"Nothing," I straighten my spine, "fake marriage, you and I, that’s all you need to know."

"Hmm," She takes in my features, "and what’s in it for me?"

I glare at her, "Really?" I snap, "you dare ask me that?"

She pales, but doesn’t glance away, "yes," she says in a firm voice, "I need to know what’s in it for me."

I take a step toward her and she leans back, only there’s nowhere for her to go for she presses back and into the counter. I close the distance between us, plant my hands on the counter and cage her in.

"You were saying?"

"I was asking a question actually," she tips up her chin, "what’s in it for me, Christian?"

I peer into her features, and her pupils dilate. Her brown eyes lighten until they seem almost golden in this light. I lean in closer until my breath raises the hair other forehead. I run my finger down the side of her cheek and she shivers, "Don’t," She murmurs, "Don’t try to distract me."

"Oh, so I do distract you?"

"Don’t change the topic."

I step back and the breath rushes out of her, "your life, Aurora, you get a new lease of life."

"So," she furrows her forehead, "if I acted as your fake wife for sixty days, I’ll be free to leaves and live as I want."

No.

I nod, slowly. "If you fulfill all the conditions and if you put up enough of a performance that my Nonna and my brothers are convinced of the veracity of our relationship."

She bites down on her lower lip and hell if my gaze isn’t drawn to her glistening flesh. Why the hell does this woman affect me so? She’s only a convenience after all? Someone to use and discard. So I can go back to the life I prefer to lead. To be surrounded by enough pussy so I can forget the I lost my twin brother. The other half of my soul. The one who’s been with me since before we were born. Xander and I were so different yet so alike. He was the artist, and I was the numbers guy. It’s why steering the finances of the Cosa Nostra fell to me.

If there’s one thing I am good at, it’s getting the numbers to speak to me. Numbers don’t lie. They can’t hide. They can’t hurt you like our father had. After our oldest brother Michael had left to study in the States, my father had turned his anger on our mother, and onto us. Luca our second oldest brother got the brunt of it. Massimo our middle brother was already getting to the big and tall enough that our father didn’t dare hurt him. But me and Xander? We were still small and young enough, that he knew he could hurt us without fear of retaliation.

I had been older had tried to protect him from being physically beaten up by our father and I had mostly succeeded. I still had the scars to show for it too… I had saved him then, but when he was targeted by the car bomb that our own father had rigged his car with… I hadn’t been able to go to his rescue then. The car bomb had been faulty but a piece of metal had embedded in his chest and killed him on the spot. Michael’s wife Karma had been in the car and she had managed to escape, but she had been pregnant and lost her child. We had all suffered… but losing Xander, it was a trauma that haunted me, that stuck to me, that accompanied me day and night like a shadow which refused to peel away from me. I’d never be the same again, never be able to see myself in the mirror without seeing my twin brother. Never be able to experience life without thinking that he’d never be able to see, smell, taste life. It should have been me who died in that incident, not him.

Me who was buried under the earth, not him.

I didn’t deserve any happiness, not when Xander wouldn’t get to experience it.

I should turn away from life itself… except that’s not Xander would have wanted. It’s for him that I will continue living… didn’t mean I had to let myself feel though. It’s for him that I would support my family, help Michael consolidate his position as the new Don of the Cosa Nostra. Michael had killed our father… too bad I hadn’t had the opportunity to do so. I should have felt some level of satisfaction considering it was our father who had been behind rigging the car, the reason that Xander had died… but all I feel is a numbness. Like I am not in my body. Like nothing else matters except, trying to get through life. Trying to swallow down the grief the threatens to overwhelm my every waking moment. And her… how dare she try to infiltrate the nothingness that I have surrounded myself in since Xander died? Why is it that thoughts of her occupy my mind when I should have only space to mourn Xander?

"And if I don’t?" She tips up her chin. "What if I disagree?"

I move so fast that she flinches. I wrap my fingers around her throat and haul her up to her toes. "I don’t recall giving you a choice, Flower."

She swallows and I feel the movement against my fingers. Such a slender throat. How would it feel to have my cock sliding down it, hmm?

I tighten my grip and the color fades from her cheeks. A soft sound emerges from her mouth. She parts her lips and I take in her flushed features, the contours of her pouty lower lip and my balls throb. Fuck this, why the hell should I deny myself when I am going to marry her anyway… only temporarily of course. Still… soon she will be my wife and I am going to take full advantage of it. I pull her even closer until her breasts are flush against my chest, then I lower my mouth to her’s.

To find out what happens next read Christian and Aurora's story in A Very Mafia Christmas HERE

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Read an excerpt from Summer & Sinclair’s story in The Billionaire’s Fake Wife

Summer

"Slap, slap, kiss, kiss."

"Huh?" I stare up at the bartender.

"Aka, there's a thin line between love and hate." He shakes out the crimson liquid into my glass.

"Nah." I snort. "Why would she allow him to control her, and after he insulted her?"

"It’s the chemistry between them." He lowers his head, "You have to admit that when the man is arrogant and the woman resists, it’s a challenge to both of them, to see who blinks first, huh?"

"Why?" I wave my hand in the air, "Because they hate each other?"

"Because," he chuckles, "the girl in school whose braids I pulled and teased mercilessly, is the one who I—"

"Proposed to?" I huff.

His face lights up. "You get it now?"

Yeah. No.A headache begins to pound at my temples. This crash course in pop psychology is not why I came to my favorite bar in Islington, to meet my best friend, who is—I glance at the face of my phone—thirty minutes late.

I inhale the drink, and his eyebrows rise.

"What?" I glower up at the bartender. "I can barely taste the alcohol. Besides, it’s free drinks at happy hour for women, right?"

"Which ends in precisely" he holds up five fingers, "minutes."

"Oh! Yay!" I mock fist pump. "Time enough for one more, at least."

A hiccough swells my throat and I swallow it back, nod.

One has to do what one has to do… when everything else in the world is going to shit.

A hot sensation stabs behind my eyes; my chest tightens. Is this what people call growing up?

The bartender tips his mixing flask, strains out a fresh batch of the ruby red liquid onto the glass in front of me.

"Salut." I nod my thanks, then toss it back. It hits my stomach and tendrils of fire crawl up my spine, I cough.

My head spins. Warmth sears my chest, spreads to my extremities. I can’t feel my fingers or toes. Good. Almost there. "Top me up."

"You sure?"

"Yes." I square my shoulders and reach for the drink.

"No. She’s had enough."

"What the—?" I pivot on the bar stool.

Indigo eyes bore into me.

Fathomless. Black at the bottom, the intensity in their depths grips me. He swoops out his arm, grabs the glass and holds it up. Thick fingers dwarf the glass. Tapered at the edges. The nails short and buff. All the better to grab you with. I gulp.

"Like what you see?"

I flush, peer up into his face.

Hard cheekbones, hollows under them, and a tiny scar that slashes at his left eyebrow. How did he get that? Not that I care. My gaze slides to his mouth. Thin upper lip, a lower lip that is full and cushioned. Pouty with a hint of bad boy. Oh! My toes curl. My thighs clench.

The corner of his mouth kicks up. Asshole.

Bet he thinks life is one big smug-fest. I glower, reach for my glass, and he holds it up and out of my reach.

I scowl, "Gimme that."

He shakes his head.

"That’s my drink."

"Not anymore." He shoves my glass at the bartender. "Water for her. Get me a whiskey, neat."

I splutter, then reach for my drink again. The barstool tips, in his direction. This is when I fall against him, and my breasts slam into his hard chest, sculpted planes with layers upon layers of muscle that ripple and writhe as he turns aside, flattens himself against the bar. The floor rises up to meet me.

What the actual hell?

I twist my torso at the last second and my butt connects with the surface. Ow!

The breath rushes out of me. My hair swirls around my face. I scrabble for purchase, and my knee connects with his leg.

"Watch it." He steps around, stands in front of me.

"You stepped aside?" I splutter. "You let me fall?"

"Hmph."

I tilt my chin back, all the way back, look up the expanse of muscled thigh that stretches the silken material of his suit. What is he wearing? Could any suit fit a man with such precision? Hand crafted on Saville Row, no doubt. I glance at the bulge that tents the fabric between his legs. Oh! I blink.

Look away, look away.I hold out my arm. He'll help me up at least, won't he?

He glances at my palm, then turns away. No, he didn't do that, no way.

A glass of amber liquid appears in front of him. He lifts the tumbler to his sculpted mouth.

His throat moves, strong tendons flexing. He tilts his head back, and the column of his neck moves as he swallows. Dark hair covers his chin—it's a discordant chord in that clean-cut profile, I shiver. He would scrape that rough skin down my core. He'd mark my inner thigh, lick my core, thrust his tongue inside my melting channel and drink from my pussy. Oh! God. Goosebumps rise on my skin.

No one has the right to look this beautiful, this achingly gorgeous. Too magnificent for his own good. Anger coils in my chest.

"Arrogant wanker."

"I’ll take that under advisement."

"You’re a jerk, you know that?"

He presses his lips together. The grooves on either side of his mouth deepen. Jesus, clearly the man has never laughed a single day in his life. Bet that stick up his arse is uncomfortable. I chuckle.

He runs his gaze down my features, my chest, down to my toes, then yawns.

The hell!I will not let him provoke me. Will not. "Like what you see?" I jut out my chin.

"Sorry, you’re not my type." He slides a hand into the pocket of those perfectly cut pants, stretching it across that heavy bulge.

Heat curls low in my belly.

Not fair, that he could afford a wardrobe that clearly shouts his status and what amounts to the economy of a small third-world country. A hot feeling stabs in my chest.

He reeks of privilege, of taking his status in life for granted.

While I’ve had to fight every inch of the way. Hell, I am still battling to hold onto the last of my equilibrium.

"Last chance—" I wiggle my fingers, from where I am sprawled out on the floor at his feet, "—to redeem yourself…"

"You have me there." He places the glass on the counter, then bends and holds out his hand. The hint of discolored steel at his wrist catches my attention. Huh?

He wears a cheap-ass watch?

That's got to bring down the net worth of his presence by more than 1000% percent. Weird.

I reach up and he straightens.

I lurch back.

"Oops, I changed my mind." His lips curl.

A hot burning sensation claws at my stomach. I am not a violent person, honestly. But Smirky Pants here, he needs to be taught a lesson.

I swipe out my legs, kicking his out from under him.

Sinclair

My knees give way, and I hurtle toward the ground.

What the—? I twist around, thrust out my arms. My palms hit the floor. The impact jostles up my elbows. I firm my biceps and come to a halt planked above her.

A huffing sound fills my ear.

I turn to find my whippet, Max, panting with his mouth open. I scowl and he flattens his ears.

All of my businesses are dog-friendly. Before you draw conclusions about me being the caring sort or some such shit—it attracts footfall.

Max scrutinizes the girl, then glances at me. Huh? He hates women, but not her, apparently.

I straighten and my nose grazes hers.

My arms are on either side of her head. Her chest heaves. The fabric of her dress stretches across her gorgeous breasts. My fingers tingle; my palms ache to cup those tits, squeeze those hard nipples outlined against the—hold on, what is she wearing? A tunic shirt in a sparkly pink... and are those shoulder pads she has on?

I glance up, and a squeak escapes her lips.

Pink hair surrounds her face. Pink? Who dyes their hair that color past the age of eighteen?

I stare at her face. How old is she? Un-furrowed forehead, dark eyelashes that flutter against pale cheeks. Tiny nose, and that mouth—luscious, tempting. A whiff of her scent, cherries and caramel, assails my senses. My mouth waters. What the hell?

She opens her eyes and our eyelashes brush. Her gaze widens. Green, like the leaves of the evergreens, flickers of gold sparkling in their depths. "What?" She glowers. "You're demonstrating the plank position?"

"Actually," I lower my weight onto her, the ridge of my hardness thrusting into the softness between her legs, "I was thinking of something else, altogether."

She gulps and her pupils dilate. Ah, so she feels it, too?

I drop my head toward her, closer, closer.

Color floods the creamy expanse of her neck. Her eyelids flutter down. She tilts her chin up.

I push up and off of her.

"That… Sweetheart, is an emphatic ‘no thank you’ to whatever you are offering."

Her eyelids spring open and pink stains her cheeks. Adorable. Such a range of emotions across those gorgeous features in a few seconds? What else is hidden under that exquisite exterior of hers?

She scrambles up, eyes blazing.

Ah!The little bird is trying to spread her wings? My dick twitches. My groin hardens, Why does her anger turn me on so, huh?

She steps forward, thrusts a finger in my chest.

My heart begins to thud.

She peers up from under those hooded eyelashes. "Wake up and taste the wasabi, asshole."

"What does that even mean?"

She makes a sound deep in her throat. My dick twitches. My pulse speeds up.

She pivots, grabs a half-full beer mug sitting on the bar counter.

I growl, "Oh, no, you don’t."

She turns, swings it at me. The smell of hops envelops the space.

I stare down at the beer-splattered shirt, the lapels of my camel colored jacket deepening to a dull brown. Anger squeezes my guts.

I fist my fingers at my side, broaden my stance.

She snickers.

I tip my chin up. "You're going to regret that."

The smile fades from her face. "Umm." She places the now empty mug on the bar.

I take a step forward and she skitters back. "It’s only clothes." She gulps, "They'll wash."

I glare at her and she swallows, wiggles her fingers in the air, "I should have known that you wouldn’t have a sense of humor."

I thrust out my jaw, "That’s a ten-thousand-pound suit you destroyed."

She blanches, then straightens her shoulders, "Must have been some hot date you were trying to impress, huh?"

"Actually," I flick some of the offending liquid from my lapels, "it’s you I was after."

"Me?" She frowns.

"We need to speak."

She glances toward the bartender who's on the other side of the bar. "I don’t know you." She chews on her lower lip, biting off some of the hot pink. How would she look, with that pouty mouth fastened on my cock?

The blood rushes to my groin so quickly that my head spins. My pulse rate ratchets up. Focus, focus on the task you came here for.

"This will take only a few seconds." I take a step forward.

She moves aside.

I frown, "You want to hear this, I promise."

"Go to hell." She pivots and darts forward.

I let her go, a step, another, because... I can? Besides it's fun to create the illusion of freedom first; makes the hunt so much more entertaining, huh?

I swoop forward, loop an arm around her waist, and yank her toward me.

She yelps. "Release me."

Good thing the bar is not yet full. It's too early for the usual officegoers to stop by. And the staff...? Well they are well aware of who cuts their paychecks.

I spin her around and against the bar, then release her. "You will listen to me."

She swallows; she glances left to right.

Not letting you go yet, little Bird.I move into her space, crowd her.

She tips her chin up. "Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested."

I allow my lips to curl, "You don't fool me."

A flush steals up her throat, sears her cheeks. So tiny, so innocent. Such a good little liar. I narrow my gaze, "Every action has its consequences."

"Are you daft?" She blinks.

"This pretense of yours?" I thrust my face into hers, "It’s not working."

She blinks, then color suffuses her cheeks, "You’re certifiably mad—"

"Getting tired of your insults."

"It's true, everything I said." She scrapes back the hair from her face.

Her fingernails are painted... You guessed it, pink.

"And here’s something else. You are a selfish, egotistical jackass."

I smirk. "You're beginning to repeat your insults and I haven't even kissed you yet."

"Don't you dare." She gulps.

I tilt my head, "Is that a challenge?"

"It's a..." she scans the crowded space, then turns to me. Her lips firm, "...a warning. You're delusional, you jackass." She inhales a deep breath, "Your ego is bigger than the size of a black hole." She snickers, "Bet it's to compensate for your lack of balls."

A-n-d, that’s it. I’ve had enough of her mouth that threatens to never stop spewing words. How many insults can one tiny woman hurl my way? Answer: too many to count.

"You—"

I lower my chin, touch my lips to hers.

Heat, sweetness, the honey of her essence explodes on my palate. My dick twitches. I tilt my head, deepen the kiss, reaching for that something more… more… of whatever scent she’s wearing on her skin, infused with that breath of hers that crowds my senses, rushes down my spine. My groin hardens; my cock lengthens. I thrust my tongue between those infuriating lips.

She makes a sound deep in her throat and my heart begins to pound.

So innocent, yet so crafty. Beautiful and feisty. The kind of complication I don’t need in my life.

I prefer the straight and narrow. Gray and black, that’s how I choose to define my world. She, with her flashes of color—pink hair and lips that threaten to drive me to the edge of distraction—is exactly what I hate.

Give me a female who has her priorities set in life. To pleasure me, get me off, then walk away before her emotions engage. Yeah. That’s what I prefer.

Not this… this bundle of craziness who flings her arms around my shoulders, thrusts her breasts up and into my chest, tips up her chin, opens her mouth, and invites me to take and take.

Does she have no self-preservation? Does she think I am going to fall for her wide-eyed appeal? She has another thing coming.

I tear my mouth away and she protests.

She twines her leg with mine, pushes up her hips, so that melting softness between her thighs cradles my aching hardness.

I glare into her face and she holds my gaze.

Trains her green eyes on me. Her cheeks flush a bright red. Her lips fall open and a moan bleeds into the air. The blood rushes to my dick, which instantly thickens. Fuck.

Time to put distance between myself and the situation.

It’s how I prefer to manage things. Stay in control, always. Cut out anything that threatens to impinge on my equilibrium. Shut it down or buy them off. Reduce it to a transaction. That I understand.

The power of money, to be able to buy and sell—numbers, logic. That’s what’s worked for me so far.

"How much?"

Her forehead furrows.

"Whatever it is, I can afford it."

Her jaw slackens. "You think… you—"

"A million?"

"What?"

"Pounds, dollars… You name the currency, and it will be in your account."

Her jaw slackens, "You're offering me money?"

"For your time, and for you to fall in line with my plan."

She reddens, "You think I am for sale?"

"Everyone is."

"Not me."

Here we go again. "Is that a challenge?"

Color fades from her face, "Get away from me."

"Are you shy, is that what this is?" I frown. "You can write your price down on a piece of paper if you prefer," I glance up, notice the bartender watching us. I jerk my chin toward the napkins. He grabs one, then offers it to her.

She glowers at him, "Did you buy him too?"

"What do you think?"

She glances around, "I think everyone here is ignoring us."

"It’s what I’d expect."

"Why is that?"

I wave the tissue in front of her face, "Why do you think?"

"You own the place?"

"As I am going to own you."

She sets her jaw, "Let me leave and you won't regret this."

A chuckle bubbles up. I swallow it away. This is no laughing matter. I never smile during a transaction. Especially not when I am negotiating a new acquisition. And that’s all she is. The final piece in the puzzle I am building.

"No one threatens me."

"You’re right."

"Huh?"

"I’d rather act on my instinct."

Her lips twist, her gaze narrows. All of my senses scream a warning.

No, she wouldn’t, no way—pain slices through my middle and sparks explode behind my eyes.

Mafia War by L. Steele

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