Conquered by the Mafia Boss

My face burns as I stare at the street, and we walk in silence all the way back to his house. He slides his arms around my waist the moment we’re alone. I freeze in as the image of him swinging the bat burns in my mind. I hate the way my skin pricks with heat the moment I feel his hands on me. I’m supposed to tame him, and I’m doing a pretty shitty job of it so far. He turns me around so that we’re facing each other and then gently backs me against a wall, sliding a thigh between my legs.

Holy crap.

The hardness of his thigh rides my pussy and for a moment all I can think about is how amazing he always makes me feel.

“Jack, you’re risking your life,” I whisper when he bends his head. “It’s way too reckless.”

“That wasn’t a risk. The people in this neighborhood know who I am.”

Didn’t work out so well for your brother, did it? Then I feel a stab of shame at that thought, because every time I think of his brother I feel a fresh wave of hot, bubbling guilt.

“One of these days, Beatrice, you’re going to have to stand up for yourself.”

“Like you?” I quip before I can stop myself.

He thumbs my mouth as his eyes fuck me. Then a smirk pulls at his lips. “Maybe.”

My stomach shivers as he flattens his hand and moves down my waist, parting the waistband of my jeans to curve over my mound and gently stroke my throbbing nub. He laughs in my mouth, centimeters from a kiss. The air billowing over my lips makes my heart jackknife into my chest.

“No panties. That must be really uncomfortable.”

Yes, it is, you crazy asshole.

A wet heat slides across my lips, and then he presses his whole body against me. His mouth descends over mine and my cheeks flame as desire makes my flesh ache. Then he slips his hand out of my pants. His body disappears from my side and he walks away from me, throwing a grin over his shoulder as he enters the kitchen and grabs a tall, skinny bottle.

Fucking bastard.

My head pounds as he sits down at the kitchen table and pours himself a drink. “We’re going to a party downtown tonight. Johnny will expect you to be there.”

I exhale a huge breath and walk closer to him, pulling out a chair to sit next to him.

“Are you going to be a good girl and behave, or am I going to have to bend you over my knee?”

“I don’t like him, Jack.” A cold feeling spreads through my limbs whenever I think about his lifeless stare.

“Your cousin will be there.”

Maya?

I fidget in my chair with an excited squirm. “And the baby?”

He gives me a strange look. “I don’t know. Probably.”

Happy thoughts of that beautiful baby burst as Jack pours himself a drink and inhales it. The table trembles as he slams it down. He shoots me an angry look. “What?”

I tentatively reach for his arm, but he pulls it away. “You look upset.”

Jack’s brows furrow as he violently grabs the glass, nearly spilling the bottle’s contents on the table. He slams it back and swallows, screwing up his face.

“Is it your brother?”

“The fuck do you care?”

The sting hits my face, thrown by the contempt in his voice. I picture the moment his brother died in my mind. I was there. I want to tell him that I saw three men wearing leather cuts through the darkened window. The desire swells up inside me. I look at his face, slightly red with alcohol.

And I can’t tell him.

The pain weighs down his shoulders. Fuck, I never thought I’d feel bad for one of them until I married him. My gut wrenches as I imagine it over and over-the pillow over his face and their smooth, indifferent expressions.

He raises the drink to his lips and throws his head back. Seething eyes cut me as he lets the glass drop on the table. It shudders in his hand when he swallows the drink.

I look around the apartment, trying to seize on something that will distract him. “Jack, why are there boxes everywhere?”

I noticed them the first time I stepped in his apartment. Did he just move in?

He shuts his eyes as if in pain. “They’re Mike’s stuff.”

“Oh.”

Good fucking job.

The guilt eats at my insides like a plague and I stand up to get away from it. It’s not my problem. What the hell do I care about some dead Mafia asshole?

Jack buries his face in his hands, his elbows sitting on the table.This is from NôvelDrama.Org.

A dagger hits my chest.

“He was the only family I had,” he says in a heavy voice.

He uncovers his face and that wound still throbs in a big, shining lump. I walk over to the discarded frozen peas. They’re still cold. My footsteps echo hollowly as I return to the kitchen and grab a couple paper towels. I use the sink to wet them slightly and then I stand in front of him. My hand trembles with the towels as I place them over his face. He jerks his head to the side and pushes my waist.

“Stop.”

“Let me help.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I can deal with this. Alone.”

“Well, you’re not alone.”

I sit down on his lap and he lets out a frustrated sigh as I raise the sodden paper towels to that nasty gash on his forehead. I blot it gently, the dried blood smearing over the towel.

I’m close enough to see the small flecks of emerald in his eyes. They slide over to me and hold my gaze, and I forget what I’m doing. I’m just caught in his heavy stare as my heart becomes suddenly aware of how close we are.

“Does it hurt?”