Conquered by the Mafia Boss

“Then you make them understand how it’s done.”

I grit my teeth from the rumble in his voice. “I tried leaning on the boss a little, but I think they’re just going to leave Montreal. They just don’t want to deal with us. I’m sorry, John.”

There’s nothing but the sound of people talking, the clatter of silverware, and John’s frozen stare boring into my skull. He opens his mouth.

“I’m really disappointed with you, Tony. I thought you were a better negotiator.”

I clench my hands over the table, feeling a surge of anger.

Don’t get angry at the boss.

“There was nothing else I could do. Americans don’t do business with the mob. It’s just that simple.”

“Do you think I got to where I am now because I gave up that easily?”

Quiet resentment builds inside my chest as he stares at me.

I never wanted this life for myself.RêAd lat𝙚St chapters at Novel(D)ra/ma.Org Only

“There’s something else I need you to do.”

He reaches in his jacket and I tense for a moment, because he could easily be reaching for a gun. Johnny smiles at me as he takes a photograph from his inner jacket and shows it to me.

It’s a family photo of Jack Vittorio, the former New York boss, and his wife and-the girl I met yesterday. Holy shit, she’s Jack Vittorio’s daughter?

“This girl showed up in my restaurant yesterday, trying to contract a hit on a made guy.”

“Yeah, I met her in Tommy’s bar. She asked me for the same thing.”

Johnny smirks at me. “You’re fucking kidding me?”

“Nope. I told her no, of course.”

“Anyway, I need you to watch her. I don’t want anyone fucking up my relationship with New York or Les Diables. She might try going to them next. Do not let her.”

An unpleasant twist leaves me feeling gutted as I stare into the photograph. She’s beautiful, really-the type of girl my Ma would love. Dark hair and innocent, big eyes. Italian.

“And Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Try to keep your dick in your pants.”

“I can’t promise that,” I respond, grinning at the photo.

He sighs loudly. “Go. Get the fuck out of here and start your collections.”

The cold, dismissive tone freezes my jaw shut. I somehow manage to grunt out a good-bye and then I stand from the table. He’s looking somewhere else. It’s as if I’m already gone.

Fucking hell, I need to get a new job.

But that’s it, isn’t it? I can’t just quit-not after becoming a made member. It’s not just a job. It’s a way of life.

I gather my wool coat and shrug it over my shoulders, eager to get out of there. At first it was great. All the pussy I could want and more money than I’d ever had, but after a while you start to notice that all the girls kind of look the same. They act the same, and they want the same things from you. Namely, your money. But I still want something to fill the gaping hole that girl nailed into my chest the other night.

The warmth slowly unfreezes my fingers as I flex them, pain prickling all over my skin as they thaw. I clench my jaw, thinking of the sickening sound of cracking bone. It replays over and over in my head. The image of the lead pipe in my hand repeats in my head as I smash it against his knees, producing a thick, meaty sound. His face contorts with pain as his knees explode into fragments. The gag I shove down his mouth only partially muffles his screams.

Fuck, the sounds.

I take my seat at the bar, and Genevieve, the curly-haired bartender, slides me my drink almost immediately, knowing that I’m in one of my moods. She doesn’t even meet my gaze. I slam back the drink, that awful burn reminding me of gasoline, but I swallow it down. It’s like adding mulch over fire. Drinking drowns it out for a little while, but it’s still burning underneath. The flames lick through, and my head starts to pound, and I keep drinking. I don’t remember if I’m drinking to numbness, or whether I’m drinking to feel something, or whether I’m drinking just to drink.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. It always ends up the same.

I take a look around, trying to get my mind off of it-trying to find something sweet to alleviate the bitterness in my mouth-and then I see her.

It’s her again.

I freeze as she whisks by me, a citrus breeze wafting across my nose. I turn around to watch a slim waist, her shirt riding over her hips, giving me a nice view of her perfectly round ass, which bounces in her black leggings. She slides right over the stool next to me without realizing that I’m looking at her, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

Try to keep your dick in your pants.

If Johnny really cared about that, he would have been more clear.

She’s involved with a made guy. You could get killed if you touch her.

Dying for fucking a girl seems like a good way to go. Actually, I’d prefer to die while fucking a girl, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Johnny could kill you.

I don’t give a fuck.

She’s the daughter of a boss. You don’t fuck daughters of bosses. You don’t look at them. You don’t talk to them except to say, “Hello, how are you?” and, “Good-bye.” She’s the forbidden fruit. A conquest.

I have to bang this broad.

My first instinct is to touch her shoulder, her waist, to overwhelm her with my presence. I’m a master at getting girls to come home with me. Before long, I’ll have her begging to suck my cock.

I lean in slightly, and I let my hand grasp the head of her chair. “Hey, beautiful. What’s got you down?”

She doesn’t even look at me. “Fuck off.”

So the Mafia princess has a mouth, doesn’t she? Intriguing. Genevieve hears the exchange and grins at me behind that bar counter.

The energy burning from her body is completely different from last time. Last time, she was scared. Defeated. Today, she’s pissed. Did Johnny turn her down again?

I give Genevieve a nod, and she pours a drink for the girl.

“What’s this?”