Say Daddy: A Mafia Billionaire Romance

by Shanna Handel

Knowing how I am, I’ll send her money, ensure she’s cared for. But I will probably never speak to her again. The woman’s done too much damage to my soul, and it’s time for healing.

  A wound that you allow to be reopened over and over again will never mend.

  Now I focus my love and attention on the women who love me. The Beauties swirl around me, just as I dreamed they would, only now, I know their names, their personalities. Each woman is so dear to me, already carving a forever place in my heart.

  They’ve helped me dress, done my makeup, my hair. Clasped my jewelry for me. The only finger I’ve lifted today was to sip from a mimosa Charlotte brought me.

  She sits beside me. “Do we have our something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?” she asks.

  “She has her something new. I put those stockings on her myself!”

  “And she’s wearing antique hairpins, so that’s her something old.”

  Charlotte slips the blue gemstone bracelet from her wrist. “Here’s something borrowed and something blue. My friend Emily gave it to me on my wedding day.”

  Just as they’re putting the final touches on my face, Charlie comes rushing into the room, a little red box in her hands. As soon as the girls recognize the Bachman’s box, they start squealing, rushing over to see what it is.

  She hands it to me, her smile wide. “It’s a gift. From Luke.”

  “Oh, how romantic!”

  “Open it, open it!”

  “Lucky girl. You got a good one.”

  “We’ve all got a good one.” I smile, flipping open the lid to find a thin gold band adorned with a tiny rose gold heart. “It’s precious.”

  Lifting the tiny ring from the box, I somehow know the real gift is within the band. Tilting it under the light, I read the inscription.

  Love always, Daddy

  Tears brim in my eyes threatening to fall and damage all their hours of careful makeup work.

  “There, don’t cry.”

  “Here, let me dab her with the corner of the tissue.”

  “No, let me do it. I’ve got the steadiest hand.”

  As they fuss over me, I slip the ring onto my finger, my heart warm knowing how much thought he’s put into this gift. He truly wants to make me happy. Always.

  Rockland is the head of the family, and his wife Tess often runs the schedule on the wedding days. When I see her appear in the doorframe, her red hair gleaming in waves, dressed in a sapphire blue gown, I know it’s time.

  “You ready?” Charlotte grabs my arm, helping me up from my chair. “Let’s get you hitched!”

  “Lock that boy down before he can escape!”

  “You’re halfway to the honeymoon.”

  “Are you ready to be a Bachman Beauty?”

  The comments swirl around me, punctuated with catcalls and jokes. They make me smile so hard, my cheeks hurt. It’s what I’ve always wanted.

  And more.

  Because not only do I have the love of the Beauties, I found the unexpected love of an amazing man.

  The ceremony is a whirlwind of emotions, parts of it a total blur, but I’ll never forget the feel of Luke’s hands clasping the sword around my neck. Those words that Rockland spoke, I heard so clearly, they will ring in my mind as long as I shall live.

  “The sword is a symbol of our creed, the way we live our lives, the care and protection of a man for a woman. The sword signifies your place in the hierarchy underneath Luke’s protection—the length he is willing to go to, the sacrifice he would willingly make. He will offer you his protection and care the remainder of his life.”

  That night when we make love, it’s the first time as husband and wife.

  Some say living together is no different from being married, but I disagree. The moment he pledged his love to me and slipped that band on my finger, my heart seemed to grow two sizes.

  Having a sacred vow tying us together gives me a sense of security and peace I’ve never known.

  A week later, Luke and I are stretched out together on the white sand beaches of the Parrish. Holding the pendant between my fingertips, I watch the diamonds as they glimmer in the golden light.

  A symbol of his dedication and devotion. Just touching it makes me wet.

  There’s no one else on the beach.

  I toss a little sand in his direction.

  It splays across his chest. He lifts his sunglasses, looking at me indignantly. “What did Daddy tell you about throwing sand, little girl?”

  Giggling, I toss another handful, watching the golden grains dance across his bare skin.

  He growls, lunging for me.

  I try to get away, but he’s too fast. Sitting up on his lounge chair, he pulls me over his lap. My legs are kicking, my words protesting, “No, Daddy, don’t spank me!”

  He scolds, “Too late. You should have listened to me earlier when we were down at the water and I told you what would happen if you threw sand on Daddy.”

  His skin is warm, baked by the sun. His muscled thighs are hard and my soft belly presses against them. His fingertips dip into the waistband of my bikini bottoms, tugging the fabric down over my sun-kissed curves.

  “Such a pretty tan line,” he says, running his finger over the flesh that the suit covered.

  I complain, “Only because Daddy wouldn’t let me sunbathe naked, like I wanted to.”

  He gives a chuckle, patting my bare bottom. “Some things are for Daddy’s eyes only.”

  “Like what?” I ask, wriggling my rump, hoping for a spank.

  “Like this ass.” His hand comes down in a stinging smack.

  “What else?” I ask, my pussy pulsing, waiting for his hand to come down on my bottom in another hard spank.

  His hand finds my thighs, pushing apart my legs and running his fingers over my crotch. “This pussy.”

  I frown. “But I want to be naked in the sun, no tan lines at all.”

  “Then we will take the yacht to a private beach tomorrow, and you’ll have your wish. But until then, this suit stays on, unless we’re alone, or a time like this when Daddy has to spank your naughty little bottom.” His hand comes down again, spanking lightly over my bare curves.

  My pussy starts to get that hot, melty feeling that it gets whenever he spanks me.

  Moaning, I wiggle over his lap. “But I’ve been such a good girl. Don’t you think you could touch me a little?”

  “Good? Throwing sand? Trying to take off your top earlier this afternoon when we were laying out? Drinking too many margaritas in the sun until Daddy had to put you down for a nap? I don’t know if I’d call that being a good girl.” He spanks me again, a little harder this time, alternating cheeks.

  The sting spreads, only serving to add to the pulsing in my pussy. “But what about when I took you in my mouth after my nap? Was that being a good girl?”

  I feel his cock harden beneath my belly.

  One point for Tori.

  “I guess that makes up for your naughtiness. You did take very good care of me.” His fingers slide into my pussy, and he plays with me.

  I’m wiggling, wanting more of his touches. He does that thing I love where he alternates penetrating me with his fingers and stimulating my clit with the pad of his thumb.

  Soon, I’m gyrating all over the place, not even caring if someone were to come down to the beach and see me like this; laid out over my man’s lap, my bikini bottoms down while he fingers me.

  He pushes me from his lap, sending me down to the ground on all fours. I’m kneeling on a towel, my hands pressed into the warm sand. He pulls my bikini bottoms down further, over my feet, ridding me of them. His hands go to my hips and I give a gentle sigh as I spread my legs.

  The head of his cock presses against my slick entrance.

  I see the beautiful turquoise ocean—almost as beautiful as my eyes, Luke says—the white sandy beach, the endless blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds, and as his cock enters me, I know I’m in heaven.

  Arching my back,
I press my ass toward him, letting him deeper inside me. His fingers reach around, stimulating my swollen clit as he thrusts.

  Soon, we’re rocking in a steady rhythm with him plunging forward, me pushing back, his fingers massaging my clit. The orgasm building inside me like the rising waves. I hear them crash on the shore and I long for my own foaming release.

  Finally, I cry out, the crest of my wave of pleasure rising to great heights, then splashing on the shore. I’m full of light, of love, a happiness I’ve never known washing over me like the waves of the ocean.

  His own wave peaks, crashing in a foamy burst inside of me.

  We untangle and lie together on the shore.

  Completely content, I lean back in my husband’s arms. He wraps his love around me, warming me like the sun. In this moment, I feel so close to him, it’s hard to remember that we weren’t always an ‘us.’

  I think back to my first days at Gotcha’s.

  When I swore to myself I’d not fall in love.

  Considering how strongly I was opposed to the notion of love, falling as hard as I did for Luke was almost a miracle.

  A miracle that was made possible because of a daddy.

  Epilogue

  Lulu

  Victoria is married. I’ve got her old apartment, and basically her old life. I’m a working girl, living in the city, just trying to keep up.

  The only real difference between us?

  She was a jewelry store clerk turned bartender, and I’m now a shameful writer for The Spread, the magazine that spreads celebrity gossip as fast as the wildfires that threaten to devour their lavish homes.

  My only consolation in being a bathroom-read magazine writer instead of a serious journalist?

  Though juicy and titillating, we do pride ourselves on one thing; we tell the truth. No matter how salacious or unbelievable the print may seem, if you read it in our mag, it’s true.

  My first assignment? To write a smear piece on the Bachmans.

  Do I feel like a phony, crappy, backstabbing friend?

  Absolutely.

  But do I crave success as strongly as breath in my lungs? Am I willing to go to any length to realize my dreams of having an Upper East Side zip code one day?

  Most definitely.

  And wouldn’t Victoria want the best for me?

  I think so.

  Still, I can’t shake this skeezy feeling I’m getting from not telling her.

  I know I should grow a pair of balls, pick up the phone, and admit to the dear friend who’s given me her apartment, her bed, and her mini fridge that I’m doing a piece on her new family. I can just imagine my intro: “Hello, dear. I’m doing a tell-all number on your highly secretive family and their kinky ways in the bedroom. Do you mind?”

  I can’t.

  Instead of focusing on my disloyalty, I think about my first conquest: Jet Bachman.

  He’s a handsome, dark-haired, ex-federal agent and about to be an initiated member of the Brotherhood. Seeing as he’s a new fish in a huge pond, he should be the easiest to seduce.

  I may have also picked him because the man is so damn easy on the eyes. He has this slow smile that can melt the panties off any girl, and a dry, ironic sense of humor that stimulates my brain as much as his muscles pulse my core.

  Bedding him is a sacrifice I’m willing to make in order to find out the ways of the family for my juicy tell-all article.

  I’ve just got to convince my boss to let my name be anonymous. Or come clean with Victoria.

  Sitting at my small desk looking out my one tiny office window, I bite my nails thinking of Victoria. She’s been such a good friend to me, giving me her lease, hanging out with me while I get used to the city, bringing takeout to my apartment.

  And what am I going to do in exchange?

  Stab her in the back.

  Despite the drive that burns inside me, the all-consuming desire to succeed, the fact that my dreams are right within my grasp—I just can’t do it. I’d do almost anything for a good story, but I can’t screw a friend.

  I won’t write the article. Not without her knowing.

  Texting Victoria, we make plans to meet up at Café Fresca, her treat of course. Since she’s become a billionaire Bachman Beauty, she won’t let me pay for anything when we go out.

  An hour later, we’re seated outdoors at a little table for two. She’s dressed head to toe in cream couture, making my colorful bohemian garb look like curtains. Her smile is bright, her hello warm and genuine, reminding me that though she’s now divine and expensive on the outside, she’s still the same old good friend in the center.

  Spreading a napkin over her lap, she asks, “How’s the job going?”

  I hadn’t expected the topic to come up so quickly. Anxiety bubbles up in my stomach. My mouth opens and I vomit out, “That’s why I wanted to talk to you today. I’m doing this... article. It’s pretty big and it’s my chance at making a name for myself as a journalist but...”

  Her aqua eyes glow. “But what? I’m so excited for you and you haven’t even told me what the project is yet!”

  I say, “You aren’t going to like it.”

  She asks, “What is it?”

  Suddenly, my resolve turns to dust, blowing away in the gentle breeze that ruffles my napkin. “You know what, just forget it.”

  She leans in, using a tone I imagine she’s picked up from her daddy dom. “Just tell me, Lulu.”

  Her gaze searches mine and I find myself spilling the news. “It’s an undercover piece. I’d be infiltrating the Bachman family, dating one of the Brothers to get to the bottom of all the kinky sex rumors out there. You know—investigating and figuring out what is truth and what’s just people’s imaginations running wild.” My body tenses and I take a deep breath, awaiting her reaction.

  Her lips purse, her eyes narrow. “Let me get this straight. You would date a Brother, under the guise of liking him, then write a tell-all article about your sexy time with him?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t know. It sounds...” Her words trail off and she bites her bottom lip.

  “What?” I wait for her to tell me my plan is silly or mean.

  I’m not prepared for the fear in her eyes, the warning in her tone. Or the word she says next.

  Her gaze locks on mine as she says, “Dangerous.”

  Dangerous? That’s silly! I’m a free woman, living in a free country. I scoff, “How would it be dangerous? I’d just be dating a guy for a few weeks. Break up with him, publish the article under a pseudonym, and be done with it. Job well done, I’ll move up the ranks at work and eventually be respected enough to get a job at a real paper.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that in this family.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  She holds my gaze, her eyes begging me to listen. “First off, there’s no such thing as remaining anonymous. These men have technology and connections that you even can’t imagine. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is off limits for them. They can find out any information they want.”

  A hint of apprehension settles into my chest. “So what? They find out it’s me, they can’t touch me.”

  Leaning in, she says, “Yes. They can. The Brothers aren’t to be messed with. I respect your drive, but as your friend and someone who cares about your safety, I have to beg you to reconsider.”

  Surely she can get me off the hook with these guys, if it came to that. I say, “Can’t you put in a good word for me? Offer me some kind of protection?”

  She shakes her head again. “I’m afraid not.”

  Wait a minute—wife to one of these mafia hotties, she has to have some power. She can pull some strings, I’m sure of it. Maybe she just doesn’t want to. Searching her gaze for my answer, I ask, “You can’t, or you won’t?”

  Her eyes flash back at me. “Lulu! How could you say that? I’d do anything for you. Just please, stay away from the Bachmans.”

  She wants me to stay
away from her new fancy family. That must be it. She’s all glam and goddess now and doesn’t want to mix with the riffraff from back home. I ask, “Are you afraid I’ll embarrass you? Don’t want me mixing in with your high society?”

  She gives a defeated sigh. “That’s not it. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Sure it is,” I retort.

  Victoria is slow to anger, but now, I see fury rising in her. She snaps, “You know what? You’re being unreasonable. And selfish. And rude. Luke was right.”

  Here we go again. Last time we were on the phone together she told me all kinds of theories her man had about me. Things that had my blood boiling and my panties damp. I sniff, “About what?”

  “About you needing a daddy to spank some sense into you. If there was a Bachman here now, listening to your inane plan, he’d flip you over his knee and spank you until you learned your lesson to stay out of other people’s business.”

  “That’s crazy. How can you say such crap? Maybe that flies in your little caveman world, but here in the twenty-first century—”

  Cutting off my words, she huffs, “You’re so obstinate, you’d probably need two daddies to keep you in line.”

  The thought of two strong men, pinning me to the bed and having their way with me—I’m lightheaded, my knees weak, and my pussy gushing out of control. In my flushed state of arousal, I feign anger I do not feel.

  I shout, “How dare you! It’s my job. A job, I’ll remind you, you were excited for me to have, for a magazine you love.”

  “I am proud of you and your job. I’m just telling you to write about someone else. Anyone else.”

  Despite her warnings, I can’t give up the story. Twisting my napkin between my fingers, I mumble, “It’ll be fine.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. It’s not what you want to hear, and you’re being a brat about it. Not to mention putting your life in danger.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” I argue. Though I’ve never known Victoria to be one to embellish the truth.

  She reaches out for my hand. “No. I don’t. I’m begging you, Lulu, drop this idea.”

  Victoria is one to tell the truth and put others before herself. So, why am I reacting in this mean, irrational way?