Dad's Italian Mafia Friend (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 109)

by Flora Ferrari

  Reputation, I remind myself. He has an image to uphold. If one guy thinks he can get away with something, even if it’s Stefano’s friend, then the floodgates will open and everyone will try.

  Speaking of floodgates, I feel more than a few beads of sweat run down my back as I try and uphold the carefully crafted image of confidence I practiced all night long.

  It’s not working though, because right now I’m a mess, clearly in deep water and I can feel the sharks circling.

  “Here,” the big man says, pointing to a thick door that looks like it belongs on a big bank vault more than it does inside someone’s home.

  Before I can even ask him what I’m supposed to do, how I’m supposed to pull that thing open, or if he’s going to do it himself, the doors automatically begin folding out toward us.

  And as they part, the first thing I see is Stefano sitting there on the other side at his thick, wood desk with his elbows on the top and his fingers steepled.

  “Miss Smith,” he says, with a smirk that makes me want to both wipe it right off his face with a slap and bend over the edge of his desk and let him take me from the back at the same time.

  What the…?

  My arm twitches as I rub my hand down my pant leg, avoiding eye contact.

  Rocco is big, but Stefano is even bigger.

  It was one thing to be upstairs looking down at him last night. I knew he was big and broad then, but to stand here in front of him and realize he’s taller than me despite the fact that he’s sitting down, is completely another.

  My breath quickens as my foot taps the floor.

  “Miss Smith?”

  My shoulders tighten and I jump slightly. This nervousness, this fear that he’s putting in me has me on edge.

  I want to turn around and run for the exits, but I’m sure Rocco, and Stefano, would have something to say about that now. I don’t think the alpha wolf just lets you stroll in and out of his lair as you please.

  “Uh huh,” I finally answer, my voice failing me and surely making me sound even younger than I look. Then again, I’m not completely sure. I can’t hear anything right now, as witnessed by the fact he had to call my name twice. I feel like I’m in one of those war movies where a bomb goes off and everything goes silent. I’m waiting for the ringing in my ears next.

  “Please, have a seat,” he says, motioning toward the couch which lines the wall.

  “Okay,” I say, but my feet don’t move. Suddenly I start laughing uncontrollably for no reason whatsoever.

  “Find something amusing…Miss Smith?”

  “No, sir,” I say, suddenly finding my legs and moving briskly to the couch like it’s a life raft in the middle of the open sea. If I can just sit down, and stop my legs from wobbling, I can start to calm down.

  My butt finds the couch cushion and immediately the fluttering feeling in my stomach lessens.

  My twitching arm stills and some saliva comes back into my mouth.

  I’m still a long way from where I want to, and need to, be, but just knowing I’m not about to fall flat on my face is definitely a good start.

  I just wish time would speed up and this would all be over with.

  “What can I do for you?” he begins, his voice gravelly and matter of fact.

  My eyes rake over his suit and the first thought that pops into my mind is what can’t he do for me.

  He pivots in his chair so his feet are pointed in my direction, giving me a view of exactly how wide his body really is.

  As my eyes skate across his shoulders, along the thin fabric of his white button down, and across his abs I can’t help but wonder what he looks like with that shirt off. I saw him yesterday in a white tank top, but I was too far above him. I had the wrong angle. But right now I have a completely different angle, especially with his legs spread wide and…is that?

  Oh my god. His need is visible, the steel pipe in his suit pants pointing straight at me as if it’s calling me out to play.

  I’ve heard Italian tailors are the best, but I doubt there’s any clothing craftsman on the planet who can sew a pair of trousers strong enough that the seams can take the strain the steel pipe in his pants is giving that fine Italian fabric right now.

  I try and pull my eyes from his groin despite the fact that I find my own legs opening slightly right now.

  My feet move to point toward him, my body subconsciously squaring up to his…probably to see just how perfectly we fit together.

  I’ve heard stories of people who have pet anacondas waking up to find their snake lying next to them, sizing them up to see if they can eat their ‘owner’. Well, it’s clear from his size, and the look on his face, that he could absolutely devour me.

  What isn’t clear is if I could fit that snake of his in any of my orifices.

  His steepled fingers come apart slightly, before his thick digits cascade in succession, starting with his small finger and rolling right on up to his index.

  Can I even fit that thing inside me?

  Where have those fingers been and what have they done?

  Wrapped around the grip of a Beretta, or curled around the throat of a man, squeezing the life out of him?

  My guess is on both, not to mention inside a whole host of women who surely must line up to throw themselves at him.

  “I don’t have all day, Miss Smith.”

  “Nor do I,” I say, steeling my nerves. “I came here to talk about my father’s debt.”

  He cocks an eyebrow at me and the sound of the plush leather chair moving underneath his weight is the only sound in the room.

  “What about it?”

  “I want to work out terms.”

  There’s a long pause before finally he leans forward a bit and says, “You’re kidding me.”

  “I’m not kidding you. I’m serious.”

  Another pause and then a booming laugh echoes off all four walls in this oversized fortress of his.

  “We don’t do…terms…in my line of work.”

  “He’s your friend. There has to be something you can do.”

  “He’s not my friend. No one’s my friend except the mighty dollar. The sooner you learn that the better off you’ll be in life.”

  “And the sooner you learn that life isn’t just about making money and these fancy things you have the better off you’ll be! Good bye.”

  I stand up, not scared of this jerk at all anymore. Something about yelling and letting out all my anger after what happened and what I’ve been thinking about all night is like a surge of energy and confidence.

  I walk across his office to the door.

  “Stop!” he says, like a cannon firing.

  I don’t.

  “I said…stop!”

  This time I have no choice. My body disobeys my brain and I freeze in my tracks. I’m pissed at myself, but there’s just something about his masculinity that I’m not used to…something that makes me fall right in line and I freeze.

  “Sit down.”

  I don’t turn. I don’t move. I don’t make eye contact.

  “You’re not getting through that door, Miss Smith, unless I open it. Now, I suggest you turn around and go back to your position on the couch and talk about this like adults. That is…if you are even an adult.”

  “You’re damn right I am,” I say, pivoting on my heel and marching right up to his desk. “And I won’t sit. I’ll stand, thank you very much. And speaking of being an adult, how childish is it of you to offer services to people that very obviously have problems? Huh? People with families. You don’t have some sort of system in place that stops someone with no track record on your website from betting fifty thousand dollars? There’s no way that’s legal. No way.”

  “You plan on going to the police?” he smirks at me. “I just want to know if that’s a threat or not, so I can laugh when you discover that part of every dollar that gets played on my website goes right into their pockets. You’re not going to find a bit of help from them, or any lawmakers either. My bu
siness is legitimate, and the only question I have right now is are you legitimate, or not.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “How old are you, Miss Smith?”

  “What does that matter? I’m an adult and I’m here to talk business.” I must sound like an idiot right now, but I don’t care. When you find yourself in the forest, trapped by a wolf, the last thing you want to do is half-step or show any kind of fear, even if that’s the only thing you feel.

  “Well, for starters, you can’t enter into contracts if you’re under the age of eighteen.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Well then that settles that I guess.”

  “Yes it does.” I stomp my foot.

  “Which is both good and bad.”

  I say nothing, not understanding.

  “It’s good, because it means you are in fact legal and we can be having a conversation such as this. And it’s bad because the conversation I’m more interested in, and the terms of your father’s debt, are more interesting to me if settled…shall we say around the parameters of the law.”

  He’s trying to guide me into deep water so he can drown me, no doubt. But I have to do something to help my dad. “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean, Miss Smith, is that you’re young, your feisty, and the way your ass looks in that skirt has me thinking of another way we can settle all this.”

  I swallow hard. The thought of Stefano taking me, and likely breaking me, has goosebumps forming on all parts of my body. The man’s a jerk, but he is big, hot, powerful, and absolutely everything boys my age aren’t. “I’m not for sale, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “Who said anything about a sale.”

  “You were implying it.”

  “I was implying, by the firmness of your nipples through that blouse and the way you look at me, both awestruck and like a deer in the headlights at the same time, that this would be mutually beneficial, and mutually agreeable. I’m not looking for any kind of dubious consent, in business or in pleasure.”

  “Is this how you get women? You get them between a rock and a hard place and then you grind that rock until they have no other options? Huh?”

  “Well, if you must know I’d normally let Rocco take care of matters like this for me. I’m not interested in people and their petty debts to my company to tell you the truth.”

  Fifty thousand is petty?

  “Well then what are you interested in?”

  “You.”

  “Me?” I laugh, but the nervousness in it is surely obvious. “You can’t afford me.”

  “This isn’t about payment, Miss Smith, although your father’s debt will be wiped from the books. He will be banned from ever using any of my services in the future, of course. But like I said, this isn’t about him. This is about you. This is about us.”

  “There is no us.”

  “Very well then. I expect payment in exactly one week.”

  “But, I can’t—“

  He raises his palm and shoos me away. “Good bye, Miss Smith. Rocco will show you out.”

  He presses a button underneath his desk and the door starts to swing open and Rocco enters.

  I say nothing, nor does Rocco. My car is parked outside, and it looks like it’s been washed and vacuumed. It even smells good. What the…? One minute later and I’m exiting Stefano’s property, and I’m not the only thing that’s leaving. So is the hope that my dad’s not going to get his kneecaps broken by some wiseguys and wind up being pulled from a river ten years from now by some fisherman.

  I pull over and tap my foot nervously on the floorboard. Should I turn around? Should I go home? Should I go for a drive and think about this?

  I’m too emotional and I realize I shouldn’t be making any decisions right now. Wisely, I drive home, park my car and grab the mail.

  One is from Eastern Mortgage Professionals with a big, red ‘Overdue’ stamp on the front.

  I close my eyes, my head falling, and I breathe out hard.

  Today started out rough and is only getting rougher.

  CHAPTER 6

  Stefano

  I slam the baseball bat into the heavy bag, sweat dripping from every pore.

  I toss the bat to the side and knee the bag. I’ve taken a bag that’s meant for boxing and spent the last five minutes beating the crap out of it with a baseball bat and now my shins.

  What’s gotten into me?

  Her, that’s what.

  This damn girl has penetrated every fiber of my brain. She’s all I can think about and my dick goes rock hard every time I think about that feistiness of hers that was on full display in my office just now.

  Doesn’t she know who the fuck I am? Of course she does. Everyone does, but nobody, and I repeat nobody, talks to me that way.

  Except her.

  Finally, a woman with a backbone and not one that just wants me to put her on her back. But oh would I ever lay that little Sloane Smith down on her back and take exactly what I want from her, which I know is exactly what she wants too.

  Fuck, has she even been had before? Has she been tasted?

  My abdominals cinch at the thought and my pelvic floor tightens, sending blood right to the head of my cock.

  How in the hell can I work out when all I can think about is working out the pain in my damn balls?

  “She’s gone, boss,” Rocco says.

  “She’ll be back,” I say, as I continue to give the punching bag the ass beating of a lifetime.

  “You made a deal with her?”

  “What goes on between the two of us is none of your fucking business.”

  Rocco raises his hands and takes a step back. “Want me to send her away when she comes back?

  “No. I want you to send her straight to me when she comes, and I’ll take care of her.”

  Rocco nods and leaves my in-house gym.

  I’m going to take care of her all right…for life.

  Because I’m gonna make her mine.

  CHAPTER 7

  Sloane

  Six days later

  I’ve spent nearly all week thinking of how I can pay off my dad’s debt, and that includes the mortgage to his house. Apparently he took out a home equity line of credit, but I have no idea where that money went.

  Despite hours on the phone pleading with Visa, they arrive at the decision that they’re not going to reverse the charges. What I do need to reverse is the spiral my dad’s in right now. Watching him downstairs in the living room, drinking booze as he yells at some poor customer service rep is a sorry sight.

  I’ve thought of everything, even trying to rob a bank in some small backwoods town.

  Not happening.

  But what also isn’t happening is the thoughts I have of Stefano going away anytime soon.

  I watched Goodfellas, re-watched some of the best episodes of The Sopranos, including the highest rated ever…season three, episode four called, “Employee of the Month.” Am I really going to be Stefano’s employee? His sex worker on demand.

  The thought both revolts me and thrills me at the same time.

  Paying off my dad’s debt with my…body. How could I ever say yes to that? But how could I ever say no to Stefano?

  I even watched some documentary online about girls who go to Dubai to sell their virginity for up to a million dollars. Those were Romanian cam girls who these rich guys had already fallen for. Me? No way I’m getting that much, but still…maybe I could get the fifty thousand and not have to give Stefano the power of accepting his offer.

  The biggest problem is…I want to.

  It’s almost like the debt gives me an excuse to live out the fantasies I’ve read about on my Kindle, but in real life. And have I ever been reading a lot of mafia romances these past six days.

  The power these guys hold…their connections to the old country…the fascinating Italian lifestyle and how these guys are literally above the law. I want to experience it first hand, and doing so while Stefano
puts his hands all over me is exactly my ticket to that life.

  But how is it going to feel when he discards me after however much time? What kind of possible psychological trauma might I have if he uses and abuses me in ways I can’t even fathom and then tosses me aside like a bag of garbage?