MOAN: The Cantonneli Mafia

by Sophia Gray

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

  MOAN: The Cantonneli Mafia copyright 2017 by Sophia Gray. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

  ***

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  Contents

  MOAN: The Cantonneli Mafia

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  CONSUME ME: The Bleeding Prophets MC

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Also by Sophia Gray

  CONSUME ME: The Bleeding Prophets MC

  DEVOUR ME: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (The Wicked Angels MC)

  One More Ride: Carnage Warriors MC

  ONE MORE NIGHT: Jungle’s Thorns MC

  ONE MORE TASTE: A Dark Bad Boy Mafia Romance

  SUBMISSION: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (The Marauders MC)

  DADDY’S ANGEL: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Crowns of Satan MC)

  DADDY’S PRINCESS: The Horsemen MC

  FILLED: Berserkers MC

  BOUNTY: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Giustini Family Mafia)

  Prize: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance

  MINE: Fury Riders MC

  SINS: Devil’s Horns MC

  OBEY: A Dark Romance

  DENY: A Dark Romance

  HEAT: A Dark Romance

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  MOAN: The Cantonneli Mafia

  By Sophia Gray

  I won’t stop until I hear her moan.

  As a mobster’s daughter, she thinks she’s a bad girl.

  But if she wants to survive a night with me, she’d better be on her best behavior.

  Good girls get rewarded. Bad girls get punished.

  And Melinda’s about to get both.

  It’s my job to keep her safe from danger.

  But I’m the biggest threat of all.

  She thinks she’s above it all.

  A little princess, spoiled rotten.

  Given everything she’s wanted since the day she was born.

  But I’m about to give her more than she’s ever gotten before.

  She’s never had a man like me.

  Hell, no one has.

  I’m big.

  Tattooed.

  Equipped, if you catch my drift.

  And I know damn well how to use it.

  I’m breaking every rule to make her mine.

  But rules are for suckers…

  And this prize is too tasty to pass up.

  Her moans will be music to my ears.

  Chapter 1

  Melinda

  It started like a normal Friday night. I was sitting at home, browsing my favorite online shopping sites and social media, when I started thinking about how bored I’d been lately. My best friend, Cassandra, had just come back from vacation. Her pictures were stunning – she’d gone to Florence and Rome with another friend, Gloria.

  I’d wanted to go, too, but my father had said no.

  With a sigh, I clicked on the Florence album once more and started flipping through the pictures. Most of them were so beautiful that it took my breath away, but there were some silly candid snaps of Gloria and Cassandra together that made me giggle.

  “These are great,” I commented, typing beneath a photo of Cassandra posing goofily in front of the Duomo. “Miss you so much, girl!”

  Ten seconds later, my phone buzzed. Frowning, I picked it up and saw Cassandra was calling.

  “Hey, girl,” Cassandra squealed into the phone. “I miss you so much!” Her voice was loud and boisterous – typical Cassandra.

  “Hey,” I greeted her, making sure to speak loudly. Wherever she was, there was a ton of background noise.

  “Can you come out?” Cassandra practically shouted into the phone. “We’re downtown – at that new club!”

  I bit my lip and glanced at the digital clock on my bedside table. “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s getting really late. I don’t know if Dad will like me going out.”

  For a moment, Cassandra was quiet. All I could hear was the thumping of bass and the cheering of people.

  “Hey!” I said loudly. “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Cassandra said. The background was quieter now. “I have to go outside, have a smoke, you know.”

  I nodded. “Anyway, I don’t know if it would be a good idea for me to leave,” I said. “Dad would probably be really pissed at me, and I don’t really feel like fighting with him right now.”

  “Oh,” Cassandra said. She sighed. “Well, okay,” she said. “But if you change your mind, text me. This place is so new it’s not even online yet.”

  I rolled my eyes – I knew full well that was code for “illegal.” “Okay,” I said, already regretting my decision to stay in. “Have fun. Look, we should get lunch tomorrow or something. Dad’s got business meetings most of the day. He won’t care if I go out as long as the dishes are done by the Samuele he gets home.”

  “Hey, that sounds good,” Cassandra said. “Love you, girl. See you soon!”

  Before I could reply, she’d hung up the phone.

  Frowning, I turned back to my computer and set my phone down on my desk. The pictures of Florence were prettier than ever, but I didn’t feel like staying at home anymore. It was a beautiful night outside – cloudless and studded with stars – and I wished I was outside, even just standing on the front lawn. I wanted fresh air.

  I wanted my freedom.

  For most of my twenty-one years, Dad had always been incredibly protective. I used to think it had something to do with my mom. She died when I was
a little kid, and I don’t really remember her. I’ve got her picture hanging in my room, though. When I was little, I thought she was the most beautiful and elegant woman I’d ever seen. Now, I still think that, but some of the similarities between us are almost creepy. We have the same big round blue eyes, long brown hair, and curvy build.

  Not that I think I’m gorgeous, or even elegant. I’ve always felt gawky and very average looking. Dad never really let me date, even though I begged him for permission. Eventually, I just started lying and saying I had debate team or play rehearsal. It’s not like I was much of a rebel, though, even back then. I was pretty tame. The worst I ever did was sneak out to the school football field in the middle of the night and make out with a guy I had a crush on. Afterwards, I’d felt edgy and cool – I’d practically floated home instead of walking. I was so sure that come the next day, everyone would know Cory and I were going steady.

  Instead, everyone just called me a slut…even Cory! It didn’t make any sense – I’d fought a war between my crotch and my brain, and it had taken courage to push his hands away from my panties. He was the one who’d wanted it, so why was I getting the blame? It didn’t make any sense, but, then again, few things about high school did.

  I didn’t really get to go to college, either. I desperately wanted to study at the local university, but Dad was so uncomfortable with me being around “those kind” of people that I eventually just gave up and started a semester of community college. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. I was in huge classes with professors who didn’t care enough to remember my name. And the general education classes were so boring that I wound up dropping out after just a few weeks.

  Part of me felt like I missed out by not going to college, but I guess I wouldn’t really know.

  When I looked at the clock, I saw only five minutes had passed since I’d hung up with Cassandra. I puffed out my cheeks and loudly blew out a stream of air, feeling childish. Sneaking a glance at my closet, my gaze landed on a dress I’d just bought the week before…and still hadn’t worn. It would be perfect for clubbing – it was tight, short, and made of shiny dark green satin. I’d found it in a secondhand shop where I often went looking for outrageous eighties clothes. Not that I couldn’t afford to shop elsewhere, just because I thought older clothes were fun…and they had the added bonus of pissing Dad off.

  Smirking, I stood up and walked over to the closet. I grabbed the dress and held it against my body, posing in the full-length mirror and making a face. The dim lighting of my room reflected off the shiny folds of the dress, and I grinned.

  I dropped the dress on the floor and ran over to my phone. Texting Cassandra, I wrote: “Hey! I’m coming out after all. Give me an address and I should be there in an hour!”

  Now all I had to do was sneak out of the house. I know it’s ridiculous. I’m twenty-one. I shouldn’t have to ask for permission.

  But I guess not every Italian-American girl has a father like mine.

  Holding my breath, I snuck down the hall and into my lavish bathroom, locking the door behind me. I’d thrown a fit when I was a teenager because it didn’t connect to my room. But Dad had laughed in my face and told me I was a little kid with no need for privacy. He’d always been oddly invasive about those kinds of things, but I didn’t really care until I hit puberty.

  I flipped my head over and backcombed my brown hair until it was big and full of volume then pinned the loose pieces away from my face. Leaning into the mirror, I rubbed a finger over my teeth. My makeup was scattered all over the counter: lots of tubes of bright lipstick and dark eye shadow. By the Samuele I was finished getting ready, I thought I looked pretty good.

  The dress fit even better than it had when I’d first tried it on. I paired it with a sexy lace thong and a push-up bra that made my cleavage stand out enticingly.

  From downstairs, I could hear Dad watching a game. The television was cranked to full volume, and every Samuele the crowd on screen cheered, Dad would either yell or start clapping and whooping. I rolled my eyes as I paused, listening to him for a few minutes. Dad was in his late fifties, but whenever football was on, he got hyper like a little kid. It never escaped me how he’d always wanted me to act like a “little lady,” but as he got older, he seemed to grow less mature with each year.

  Peeping out the window, I saw a giant silver car looming in the driveway and realized Dad’s best friend, Marty, was over. Great, I thought. Now it’ll be even easier to sneak out.

  In my room, I shoved my phone and ID into a black satin clutch that matched my black platform pump heels. Like many Italian-American girls, I’m cursed with being short. I flipped my hair one more Samuele, digging my fingers in at the roots and tousling it as big as I possibly could, then smirked at my reflection in the mirror. I grabbed a coat and wrapped it carefully around my tight dress.

  The TV blared more loudly than before as I crept down the plush carpeted stairs. When Dad had our house built, he had it modeled after an Italian villa. At least, that’s what he’d always told me. Personally, I liked it…but I couldn’t deny that it was one of the most ostentatious buildings I’d ever seen. The downstairs floors were all marble and Turkish rugs, and there were even columns in the foyer. Large statues of Roman gods filled the backyard, and the living room was a man’s paradise with hulking black leather couches and a television so large it took up the nearly whole wall.

  “Your house looks like an Italian restaurant,” Gloria said once when she and Cassandra came over for a movie night. “But a really nice one,” she’d added quickly.

  Cassandra and I had rolled our eyes together. Cassandra’s Italian, like me, and she understands what it’s like to come from such a family. It’s like part of being Italian-American is trying to show off how much money you have at all Samueles. When I was little, I’d thought it was embarrassing. But now it was almost comforting – it was all I knew, after all.

  Holding my heels in one hand, I managed to sneak down the stairs without catching Dad’s attention then tiptoed across the marble foyer. The front door was locked. I held my breath as I slid the deadbolt out of the lock and eased the door open. It squeaked on the hinges and I winced. Suddenly, there was a loud boom! from the living room. Dad and Marty burst out into raucous applause, and I took my chance and snuck out the door.

  I grinned when I reached the driveway. Sneaking out always made me feel like this – exuberant and confident and ready to conquer the world. In the darkness of the night, my house stood like a monolith against a starry background.

  The cab I called arrived in no Samuele at all and, soon, I was being whisked through the streets of Wilmington. The cab driver surveyed me, my house, and my hair with a knowing smirk.

  “Goin’ to the club, girlie?”

  I grinned and nodded happily. Now that I was free (at least for a few hours), I couldn’t help but feel joyful.

  The music pulsing from Hurricanes could be heard at least three blocks away. When the cab finally pulled over and let me out on the curb, I tossed my hair and bobbed my head happily to the beat. It had been ages since I’d been dancing; I was really looking forward to tonight.

  Inside, it was so dark that all I could see was a writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor. Everything was done in black and dark purple velvet – the walls, the furniture, and the ceiling matte and dark. The atmosphere was sexy, almost kind of secretive. Hurricanes hadn’t been open for too long and, judging by the clientele, I wasn’t sure it would stay open for much longer. But I was determined to have a good night – whatever that entailed.

  Squinting, I looked around the club and tried to spot Cassandra. She tended to stand out – she had a shock of white-blonde hair sprouting from dark roots, pale skin, and bright blue eyes that were exactly four shades lighter than my own. But even her platinum hair didn’t help her in this crowd – everyone was moving so quickly and so closely that I couldn’t even make out individual bodies dancing on the floor.

  The infectious beat of
the music was tempting, but I decided to get a drink and sit at the bar for a little while until I spotted Cassandra and Gloria. Then, after I was a little tipsy, we would dance until our feet fell off.

  Purple neon lights deDebrated the bar, making it glow from all the way across the room. As I walked closer, the music shifted into some sexy, slow hip-hop that made me want to stay on the floor. But I was thirsty, and besides, dancing was always way more fun when I was tipsy than when I was sober.

  Hopping onto a stool, I threw the bartender a coy grin and wink. He was sexy – a black man with biceps bulging against a skintight white t-shirt. He flashed a gleaming white smile at me, and his big soft eyes took me in.

  “Hey there,” the bartender crooned in a low voice. “What can I do for you, honey?”

  I giggled. There was always something about that first bit of male attention – even though I knew it was only so he would get a good tip – that really made me feel like a woman. Outside of Dad’s house, I wasn’t Melinda Cantonneli anymore. I was a single woman, on the prowl, ready to kick ass, take numbers, and make men think of me in all the wrong ways.

  “Orange cosmopolitan, please,” I said, practically shouting over the din of the room.

  When the bartender handed me my drink, he winked at me and a shiver of desire ran through my body. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him – he was strong and tall, and I had no doubt that he could easily lift me into the air and press me against a wall.