His Captive_A Mafia Romance Read online

  I take a closer look. The sight makes my heart pound. That’s certainly one of the common effects of the drug, but I’m not dumb enough to indulge in my own goods.

  It definitely looks like Ramón’s keeping his word.

  “That’s beautiful,” I say as I keep my eyes on the bags of white powder.

  “Only the best for you, my friend,” Ramón says. He snaps his fingers.

  A bald guy wearing a black jacket pulls out a small knife from his pocket and pierces through the plastic, just enough to pick up a tiny amount with the blade. He holds it up for me to inspect.

  “Antonio,” I call the kid who fucked up Enzo’s transaction earlier this week and gesture at the sample.

  “My pleasure, boss man,” he says, chuckling to himself. The kid seems eager to destroy what little brain cells he has left.

  Antonio inhales the stuff as everyone watches, breaths held as he pauses for a second. In the background, sea water laps at concrete.

  What Antonio says next could lead to a smooth transaction and a long-lasting partnership, or it could result in multiple corpses lying by the dock before the end of the night.

  “Shit,” Antonio curses. “This is the best I’ve had in years.”

  Ramón’s lips curl up as his men start chuckling. He says, “You heard the man. The best.”

  I extend my hand to Ramón and smile as we shake hands. “I knew you were the right man for the job.”

  “Thank you,” he says. “I look forward to doing more business with you.”

  I give Ramón a nod as Giovanni gives his men the money, and we take his suitcase full of top-notch cocaine.

  Ramón knows he has a solid reputation. Everybody knows he makes the best shit in the city. Junkies talk. Give references. It’s the same in any business, really.

  Most people also know Ramón ruthlessly destroys any competition, but that’s the stuff they only whisper about.

  After all, nobody wants to get a home visit from him. The last guy to tried to show him up lost a couple of fingers and had a few bones broken.

  Unlike Ramón, I don’t have a reputation. Not yet, anyway. What I have is hunger. Ambition. Street smarts. Anger—I can thank Enzo Guerriero for that one.

  Without this lust for vengeance, I’d still be some small-time criminal, not a budding entrepreneur with a stockroom full of inventory.

  Of course, Enzo has also unwittingly given me a huge business loan to start me up. Wait. Not business “loan.” I mean business gift. Ha.

  The two million dollars I was supposed to give the Russians the other night? I pooled that together with my money and gave everything to Ramón in exchange for the suitcase Giovanni is handing over to me right now.

  As I carefully put the suitcase in the hard compartment on the back of my bike, I tell Antonio and Giovanni to meet me at my apartment.

  I’d rather shoot myself in the foot than leave them alone with the coke. They’re not smart enough to do anything behind my back, but they’d probably use the stuff themselves or even lose the entire suitcase out of sheer idiocy.

  Once I get all this product distributed, I’ll have five million dollars in cash. That’s twice what I invested. Not a bad rate of return at all. High risk, high return—that’s just the kind of game I play.

  And to hedge my bets? I have a lovely angel by the name of Elena.

  I tap my fingers on the arm of my old couch.

  A thin coating of white powder covers my coffee table. I’ve never had drugs in my apartment before—not even weed—but now it’s necessary for my business.

  Despite the football game playing on TV, I glance at my phone again.

  Still nothing.

  It’s been almost a week and I haven’t heard anything from Elena.

  Damn it. I’m acting like a fucking teenage girl waiting for her quarterback crush to return her text message.

  Have I inhaled some of that fucking coke by accident? Has it muddled my brain? Made me anxious and restless?

  If Elena doesn’t get back to me . . . If she ignores me . . . Or worse, if she ghosts me . . . then everything’s finished. All the plans I prepared over the past two years.

  Of course, there’s still Aria. Enzo’s secretary. She probably knows a lot of information Enzo doesn’t want leaking out. She’s not useless.

  Still, as far as hostages go, there’s no better option than Elena. Not even Rosa, her sister—everybody knows she’s trouble.

  Elena, on the other hand . . . Sweet, innocent, pure, angelic Elena. She’s perfect. And just thinking about her makes my pants feel too tight.

  “Fuck!” I curse to the empty living room as I glance at the phone again.

  Jesus fucking Christ. I need to stop obsessing. What is wrong with me?

  I’ve never lost my cool over a girl before. But then again, I’ve never had my life—and the lives of my men, as well as millions of dollars—hanging on the whims of a girl either.

  Yeah. It’s probably not about Elena. I’m just nervous because I’m playing a high-stakes game.

  I focus my attention on the game.

  The worst thing about a life of crime? It’s not the lying, or the sneaking around, or the threat of getting caught. It’s the fact that there’s just too much fucking time spent waiting around with nothing to do.

  If I were negotiating a drug deal or actually selling on the street, my mind wouldn’t be idle. But right now, when I’ve got nothing to do but wait for Elena to reach out to me, I’m going crazy.

  There’s nothing else for me to focus on, since Giovanni and Antonio are at the clubs right now, moving the product. I could join them, of course. But I’m more useful here. I have to be here in case Elena decides to come here today.

  She’s coming. I know she is.

  The way she looked at me that night after I kissed her? I’ve got her right where I want her.

  Fuck. Do I need to download some app and do some fucking meditation or something?

  I do have a back-up plan. Aria. I’ll probably be fine even if Elena doesn’t get back to me.

  But I want her to be the one. I want to keep her locked up in my apartment. I want to see the fear and the desire in her eyes when I have my way with her—not just because fucking his daughter is going to hurt Enzo Guerriero way more than fucking his secretary.

  It’s because I want her.

  Aria’s an attractive woman, but Elena . . . She’s irresistible.

  Since our little date, I haven’t stopped thinking about pulling her hair while I smack her ass and plunge my cock all the way inside her pussy. I can’t fucking fall asleep without jerking myself off to thoughts of her.

  I jump when my phone beeps.

  One new message.

  Could it be her?

  I grab my phone and check my screen.

  It’s her.

  It’s her. I don’t know if I’m more relieved or excited to hear from her. Don’t get me started on why I care this much about her.

  Elena: Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?

  The corners of my lips tug up into a smile as I start typing my response.

  Elena

  I stare at my phone screen, reading and re-reading Damon’s reply multiple times. It’s only three letters, but . . . what does he mean?

  Damon: You

  Is he saying . . . he’s doing me tomorrow? As in . . . sex?

  If that’s the case, that’s really presumptuous of him. Never mind the fact that I want it, too.

  But is it presumptuous of me to presume that’s what he meant?

  Maybe he just means that he’ll be spending the day with me if I want to? That would be a pretty sweet answer . . .

  Or could it be that he just hasn’t finished typing yet?

  Perhaps he typed the three letters, then he got distracted by something. He could be at the check-out counter with the cashier demanding him to pay now and the other people lined up behind him just glaring at him.

  My heart races in my chest.

  What
do I say?

  It had been hell, holding myself back from texting him the past couple of days. Even right after the date, I was tempted to send him a quick, good-night message.

  But Damon doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who likes texting. And he did tell me to get in touch with him whenever I’m ready to sneak out to his place—not sooner.

  I was worried I’d say something to turn him off or change his mind about it. If we were in the midst of an online conversation and he told me to forget about his invite, I’d never forgive myself.

  It took me ages to come up with the perfectly casual opening message. But now . . . Now, what do I do? I can’t take days crafting a response like I did before.

  I need to write something now. He can see on his screen that I’m online right now, for God’s sake.

  Okay. Think. I only have one goal: go to his place for another—hopefully hotter—date.

  So I’d better get right to the point.

  Elena: So I can come over tomorrow then?

  I hold my breath as I wait for Damon to respond. It shouldn’t take long now. He’s online. And . . . he’s typing now.

  Damon: You can come over anytime, princess.

  I squeal out loud. If I didn’t have to continue this chat, I’d be jumping on my bed to celebrate.

  Oh, wait. He’s typing again.

  Damon: You can stay for as long as you want too.

  Oh, God . . . Is he saying . . . Does he want me to stay the night?

  Of course he does. That’s what people do when they date, right? When they like each other and they want to . . . go all the way, they spend the night together.

  My original plan was to leave work early, spend a few hours at Damon’s, and then go back to the office, where I’ll be picked up as usual. I was going to tell them I’d work overtime to buy myself a couple of extra hours.

  But staying overnight . . . That’s . . . I won’t lie, that sounds tempting.

  Sleeping in Damon’s bed, with Damon lying next to me all night? I mean, yes. Nothing could be better than that.

  And if we have sex, then he’ll be naked, too. I can finally see his six-pack abs and find out what he’s packing in his jeans. So far, I’ve had to rely on my powers of observation and imagination.

  And now . . . Now, there’s a chance my dream might come true.

  More than anything in the world, I want to spend the night with Damon.

  I don’t know how I’ll pull that off, but I’ll make it happen. I don’t care if my dad kills me afterward. I’ll die happy.

  I can’t make any promises to Damon, though. I don’t want him to think I’m flaky.

  At the very least, I can skip work and spend the day with him.

  Elena: See you tomorrow then

  “What? Why is it so sudden?” Mom asks, following me as I walk across the house toward the front door.

  It’s still early in the morning but she’s already wearing a pink, sleeveless blouse and a white pencil skirt, ready for another brunch with her socialite friends and the wives of my dad’s associates.

  Socializing is super important for my dad’s business so that’s what my mom does when she’s not shopping for the latest designer clothes.

  I wonder if my dad writes off the costs of throwing their social events on his taxes. As a tax consultant, things like that intrigue me.

  In fact, there are a lot of things concerning my dad’s business I wonder about but he keeps his lips tightly sealed. That’s just another thing that makes me feel like I’m being treated like a little girl in this house.

  “Is it sudden, though? I told you we were having problems with our foreign accounts and I’d have to work overtime tonight,” I say without slowing down.

  A piece of French toast dangles between my teeth to make my act seem more convincing. I’m playing the role of the overworked office drone who’s late for a business flight today.

  “Yes. You said ‘work overtime.’ You didn’t say ‘fly to the other side of the world.’”

  “Mom. It’s Canada. It’s hardly the other side of the world.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I know she’d hate that.

  I deliberately picked Canada because it’s the least dangerous, least threatening country out there for me to fly to on a business trip. It’s completely believable, too, because my company does a lot of business with our neighbor to the north.

  “It’s still an international flight.”

  “Honestly, Mom. Vancouver is way closer than New York from here. I’ll still be on the same coast.”

  My mom taps me on my back. “Stop for a minute. I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m running late.” I turn around, terrified that she’ll see signs of me lying.

  “I know.” Mom puts her hands on my shoulders. “I know you’re a busy career woman on the go. You’re climbing up the corporate ladder, yadda yadda . . . Look. I may have never worked in an office my whole life. But I know what it’s like to be young.

  “I know I’m old fashioned. Back in my day, women stayed home until they got married and moved into their husbands’ homes.” Mom lets out a deep breath. “I’m trying to understand.”

  “Wow, Mom . . .” I’m so touched by her speech I have to stop myself from blurting out the truth.

  “I listen.” Mom smiles. “When you told me your friends’ parents weren’t treating their kids this way, I listened.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate that,” I say sincerely.

  “I’m realizing that maybe our way isn’t the best way. Look at your sister,” Mom says, gesturing upstairs, where Rosa is probably still asleep. “She hasn’t turned into a model citizen.”

  I want to tell her that she shouldn’t blame herself for the mistakes that Rosa has made, that maybe Rosa is to blame for her own mistakes.

  But, I mean, look at me, sneaking out to meet a guy I know is dangerous. I’m hardly a model citizen myself. And my brothers are in the mafia, just like my dad.

  So, I don’t know . . . maybe it is somewhat my parents’ fault.

  “You’re doing your best, Mom. I know that. Don’t worry,” I say finally. I put my hand on her shoulder and look into her eyes. “I’ll text you, okay? I’ll let you know when I get to the airport, when I board the plane, and when I land in Vancouver.”

  As my mom nods, I suddenly notice how old she’s become. There are more lines on her face than I remember, especially around her green eyes. Her skin sags despite annual trips to the cosmetic surgeon and random areas of her body seem hollow.

  She’s a beautiful woman for her age, for sure. I used to hate bringing my male friends home because they’d always check her out, and I’d be all grossed out.

  Secretly though, despite her faults, I’ve always been proud to have her as my mom. I feel the same way about my dad.

  I walk past the front door, down the marble steps, and get into the car.

  As usual, Dad’s men are driving me. But instead of taking me to my office, they’re taking me to the airport. There’s even a small, yellow, carry-on bag in the trunk.

  Sorry, Mom and Dad. I know what Rosa did hurt you. But she’s not the only one who needs to break the rules to stay sane. It’s my turn now.

  My luggage is safely stowed in a locker.

  I can bring it along with me, of course, but I feel like that’s going to send the wrong message to Damon. It’ll make it seem like I’ll definitely stay over at his place.

  I mean, maybe it won’t be the wrong message . . . In fact, it’ll be a little too honest than I’d like.

  I really like Damon, but I can’t seem too eager, can I? All the dating tips I’ve read online tell me I should play it cool and not rush into bed.

  If Damon does invite me, though, I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist . . .

  But regardless of whether I’ll sleep in Damon’s bed tonight, my chauffeur and bodyguard will pick me up here, from the airport, so it seems like a bad idea to drag the suitcase all over the city.

  Bes
ides, even though it’s just a small, carry-on bag, it probably won’t fit on Damon’s bike. What if I have to take a separate cab just to be able to take my bag with me?

  Imagine me in a yellow taxi, telling the driver to follow a mean-looking, big guy on a Harley. I resist the urge to giggle to myself as people walk past me in the bright, crowded airport. The driver would think I’m on some kind of a crime-solving quest . . . which wouldn’t be all that inaccurate because Damon is a criminal.

  I pull out my phone and send Damon a message.

  Elena: Hey, are you ready?

  As my heart races, I wonder . . . Can I really trust Damon? Does Dad actually have a good reason why I should stay away from him?

  Yes, we’ve known each other since childhood, but how much do I really know him? I don’t even know what he does for my dad.

  The women in my family aren’t involved at all in my dad’s business operations.

  Somehow my mom seems okay with not knowing, content to enjoy the big house, the luxury cars, and the European shopping trips.

  Rosa seems less content than our mom is, but she knows full well she’d have to get her own job if our dad were in any other line of work. Instead, she spends her time getting high on drugs her bodyguards procure for her.

  She also flirts a little too much with my dad’s employees and business partners, often embarrassing herself in the process when she gets rejected or dumped.

  Doubt creeps into my heart. Am I doing the right thing? Am I essentially doing the same, embarrassing thing that Rosa has been doing?

  But Rosa flirts indiscriminately, sometimes with men our dad’s age and sometimes with junkies who have obviously lost their sanity.

  Damon is the furthest thing away from those men. He’s tall, strong, clear-headed, and intelligent. Maybe he’s not book-smart, but he used to win every little argument he had with Matteo just because of his superior power of reasoning.

  He’s got a good head on his shoulders. Had he been born into a wealthier family, he would’ve accomplished big things, like starting a successful company or making a killing in the stock market.