Mafia Daddy: A Bad Boy Romance

by Rose, Renee

  And she definitely doesn’t want to be touched. She skitters away from me every time I lay a hand on her waist or touch her hand.

  My stomach churns on the flight home, trying to figure out what I missed. Is Jenna really afraid of her father? I don’t think so. But what, then?

  We finally land in O’Hare and Don G, himself, picks us up. He acts like he didn’t just bust my balls and slaps me on the back, thanking me for bringing his baby home.

  I’m relieved to see Jenna’s affectionate with him, and he with her, so nothing seems amiss there.

  “Well, I’ll just get a cab,” I tell Don G.

  “You sure? I got no problem taking you home.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” I cut my glance to Jenna. She’s sick of me trailing her by now, and could probably use some space.

  Oddly, she doesn’t looked relieved.

  In fact, she looks like she wants to cry. I touch her elbow. “Hey. Take care of yourself, okay?”

  She blinks rapidly on her way in for a hug. “You too.” She sounds choked up.

  Her dad takes her bag and puts his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him as they walk away. For some reason, I feel like I’m bleeding out of a giant, gutting wound.

  And that’s when it hits me like a bullet between the eyes—Jenna’s heart was in play.

  And I fucking crushed it.

  I’m so sick I want to throw up. Somehow my feet still move me to the line of cabs and I make it home, where I throw myself on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

  I’m tired and jet-lagged and I can’t even trust my own head. All I know is what’s in my gut, which feels like a knife twisting and spinning.

  Did I read the signs right? Does Jenna care about me? If so, what I did was unconscionable. I took the girl’s virginity and walked away, for Christ’s sake. What must she think about me?

  But what fucking choice did I have? Don Giuseppe told me to keep my hands off her. If he finds out what I’ve done, there’ll be hell to pay.

  Since sleep seems impossible, I get up and stagger to the bathroom to splash water on my face. I can’t stand the guy I see looking back at me in the mirror. The guy who hurt Jenna Pachino.

  How could I?

  And I have no fucking clue how to fix this. Truthfully, she’s better off without me. I don’t want her to live a life like my mom, always afraid of losing the man she loves. It’s not fair to her. She should have her chance to get out of La Cosa Nostra.

  So just letting the cards lie seems like the best option, if I truly care for her.

  Why then, do I still feel like someone’s screwing a giant bolt right through the center of me?

  * * *

  Jenna

  Three days and I still can’t stop moping around the house. I won’t even let my mom coax me out for retail therapy. She’s in my bedroom for the umpteenth time, trying to get me to talk.

  “Baby, please. Tell me what’s wrong. Did something happen to you in Spain? Something bad?”

  I shake my head. “No, Mom. I just didn’t want to come back. I want some time alone.”

  Downstairs I hear the sound of masculine voices. I don’t even realize my instantaneous reaction of going still, listening for the deep familiar baritone. But it’s not him. It’s not Alex.

  Unfortunately, my interest wasn’t missed. My mom gives me a penetrating look. “Something happened with Alex.” She says it like a statement, not a question.

  My flush gives me away.

  She scoots closer to me on the bed. “Did you and he…?”

  I swallow and nod.

  Her mouth drops open. Then she draws herself up, squares her shoulders. “Well, where is he, then? He hasn’t called or stopped by—”

  “Dad forbade him to touch me.” I don’t know why I’m defending him. I had all the same thoughts as my mother. I just can’t stand to have anyone think anything bad about—Christ, it’s true—the man I love.

  My mother’s lips press together. “That’s ridiculous,” she says primly.

  “And he’s just Dad’s puppet, I guess. So that’s that.”

  My mother mutters something in Italian, then stands up and folds her arms across her chest. “No,” she says. “Your father doesn’t get to decide this for you. Not after he hamstrung you all these years with that farce of a marriage contract. No, he gets absolutely no say in who his daughter dates or doesn’t date.”

  I’m not sure whether to throw up or hug her. “What do you mean, farce of a marriage contract?” Because it sure as hell felt real to me.

  My mother makes a scoffing sound. “I knew he would never make you go through with it in the end. It was to keep pressure on the Tacones—it wasn’t real.”

  The stone in my stomach grows heavier. “It was real. My whole life you told me I had to marry him. Why would you say that if it wasn’t real?”

  Suddenly, unexpectedly, my mother bursts into tears.

  I stand up, bewildered. She throws her arms around my neck and hugs me tight. “Oh, Jenna. I’m so sorry. It was so wrong, so unfair. I couldn’t get your father to end it. He let it go way too far. Until we lost you.”

  I pat her back, holding back my own tears. Of course my mother suffered as much as I did. She’s dedicated her life to me. I’m her only child.

  “Jenna!” Alex’s voice booms from downstairs. “Jenna?” He repeats my name, but it’s closer now, like he’s coming up here.

  My mom hurriedly pulls away from me and we stare at each other.

  “What the fuck is going on?” My dad sounds pissed.

  “I need to talk to Jenna.” Alex is right outside my door now.

  I throw it open. Alex looks terrible—dark circles under his eyes, his hair unkempt, like he’s been shoving his fingers through it.

  “Anything you need to say to her, you can say to me first.” My dad’s right behind Alex.

  Alex’s lips tighten. He stops and pivots to face my father. “Okay.” He drags out the second syllable. “Don Giuseppe. I love your daughter—always have. And I think she cares about me, too.”

  My dad’s eyes narrow.

  I’m frozen, my legs rooted where I stand.

  “My daughter’s not dating a soldier,” my father says flatly.

  “I agree,” Alex says.

  I can’t breathe.

  “That’s why I’m going into investing. See, there’s this great fashion styling plan your daughter came up with, and I’d like to fund it.”

  “Alex,” I croak, forcing my body to move forward. I fall into his arms, my cheek pressing up against his hard muscled chest.

  “You let them go,” my mother demands, poking my father in the chest. “Both of them. Set them free from La Cosa Nostra. I don’t want my grandchildren living this way.”

  My father’s breathing hard through his nose, so heavy I start to worry he’s having a heart attack. I wouldn’t be surprised if the cigars and bourbon finally did him in. He lifts a finger and points it at Alex.

  Alex doesn’t flinch. I’m not surprised, because he is a badass in his own right now, too, but it still takes palle.

  “You ever hurt her, you cheat on her, I’ll cut your motherfucking balls off.” My dad sounds so mean, it takes us all a moment to realize he’s just conceded.

  “Dad,” I choke, tears spearing my eyes. I leave Alex’s arms to hug him. “I love you,” I say to his collar as he squeezes me tight.

  “Go on,” he grouches, pushing me back in Alex’s direction.

  “Lo prometto,” Alex vows, his face as serious as I’ve ever seen it. He and my father shake hands and my father pulls him in for double cheek kisses.

  “Go on,” he repeats, slapping Alex’s back.

  Alex takes my hand. “Come on, baby.” He leads me down the stairs.

  I’m wearing yoga pants and a thin t-shirt, and no makeup. “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. Anywhere you wanna go,” he says, leading me out the front door. We get to his car and he pushes me up agai
nst the door, slamming his lips down on mine. The kiss has traces of desperation—desire so demanding I’m sure he’ll devour me.

  When he breaks it off, his eyes are haunted. “Is this what you want? Or did you just get pushed into another future you didn’t choose for yourself?”

  My lashes moisten. “It’s what I want, stupid.”

  Alex captures the back of my head, his tongue sweeping into my mouth. “Careful, bambina,” he says when he pulls back. “Or Daddy’s going to spank that delicious ass of yours.” He claims my mouth again, lips twisting over mine.

  “I’m counting on it,” I murmur.

  Epilogue

  Alex

  “Angel?” I loosen my tie as I walk in the door of the apartment Jenna and I share.

  “In here, Daddy,” she calls from the bedroom.

  I’m not out of the family business. It’s never that easy. Once you’re in La Famiglia, the only way out is a box. That’s what they say, anyway. But Don G and I have an agreement. I got moved to peripheral operations. Nothing too dangerous. Nothing too risky. Following Nico Tacone’s example of taking things legal.

  In the meantime, I set up an office for Jenna and hired a marketing manager to help her grow her business. She already has three hundred clients from her Facebook ads, and we’re working on strategies to get more profit out of the business. Basically, her business model needs to be scaled for mass delivery. She’s going to put together set clothing wardrobes for each of the twelve waist placements in three different budgets for each season, and then we’ll mass market it that way.

  It’s a learning and growth process but always fun.

  I push open the bedroom door and my breath catches.

  Jenna’s naked, kneeling in the center of the bed, waiting for me—just like I instructed her.

  It’s almost too much.

  She’s so fucking beautiful. So receptive. So obedient.

  Which doesn’t mean I don’t find every excuse in the book to spank her ass cherry red. She loves it as much as I do.

  “Good girl,” I praise as I walk toward her, pulling the necktie off. “Have you been good all day?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Well, that deserves a reward.” I take her wrists and wind the tie around them, then climb over her, pushing her to her back. I secure the tie to the bedpost.

  For a moment I just look at the picture she makes—so beautiful, her chest moving up and down with her rapid breath, her naked body trussed up and ready for me.

  I’m definitely going to take care of her. She’s my girl. The only person in this world who really knows me. Who I can be myself with. Soon I’m going to ask her to marry me. I already bought the ring. But tonight—tonight is for pleasure.

  “Spread your knees, piccolina.” I tell her, letting every wicked thought I’m having show on my face. “Daddy’s going to make you scream.”

  The End

  Thank you for reading Mafia Daddy, a bonus book in the Vegas Underground series.

  I am so grateful to you! If you enjoyed this short story, I would so appreciate your review. They make a huge difference for indie authors like me.

  Please check out the first three books in the series, King of Diamonds, Jack of Spades, Ace of Hearts! Make sure you’re signed up for my newsletter to get word of the release of Joker’s Wild, Junior and Desiree’s story (coming February 2, 2019).

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  Want More? Joker’s Wild - Chapter One

  Desiree

  My instincts never warned me.

  Maybe they would’ve if I hadn’t just worked a twelve hour nursing shift in Trauma. Maybe I wouldn’t have just plodded out to my parking garage, brushing off the security guard’s offer to walk me to my car.

  But I barely notice my surroundings as I walk, keys in hand, to my newly repaired fourteen-year-old Honda Civic. I don’t see the shiny black Range Rover parked a few spaces down.

  Not until two big guys in trench coats get out of it and come right for me.

  Oh God. This is it. I’m about to be raped and killed.

  I freeze for one second, heart pounding, then dart forward, racing to jump in my car before they can reach me.

  “Hold it!” One of them yells and they both lunge, one blocking my driver’s side door, the other coming after me.

  I open my mouth to scream, but the guy claps a hand over my mouth. “Quiet.” His terse command comes out deep and scratchy. He smells of cigar smoke.

  Adrenaline pumps through my veins. I know what they say. If someone drags you to a car, you’re not going to come back alive, so fight for your life. I elbow my kidnapper, turn my head to bite his hand.

  But it’s useless. He mutters a curse in some other language and tightens his hold, but otherwise, all my weight thrown around, all my twisting and writhing is nothing to him. He picks me up and carries me forward.

  His buddy comes up behind us and presses a gun to my ribs. “Enough with the struggling. Get in the car.” They haul me into the back of the Range Rover, sandwiched between the two men and it takes off.

  A bag drops over my head and I renew my struggle, but they control me easily, each one taking a wrist and pinning them down by my sides.

  “Yeah, we got her,” one of them says. At first I think he’s talking to the driver, stating the obvious, but then I realize he must be on a phone. “See you there.”

  “Wh-what’s going on?” I warble.

  No one answers me.

  The phone call gives me pause. They wouldn’t call someone to say they had me if their intent was to rape and kill, would they?

  They would if they’re devil worshippers who require a virgin sacrifice.

  Not that I’m a virgin. Or that my theory is likely.

  “I don’t know what you want, but, please. Please let me go.”

  Again, no one bothers answering me.

  The Range Rover drives fast--rolling through stops or red lights, making me plow into the men beside me on the turns.

  It goes on long enough for me to get good and scared. For my breath to shudder in and out on silent sobs. No tears, though. I must be too afraid to let go.

  And then we stop. The asshole on my right drags me out of the car, and I stumble for my footing in the blackness of the sack over my head.

  The surroundings are quieter--not a city street any more, but still a sidewalk under my feet.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” An angry male voice demands in a low voice, drawing closer with each word. “I told you not to hurt her.”

  “She’s not hurt, just scared.” The voice beside me is low, too. We’re someplace people would hear us if they raised their voices. A neighborhood?

  “Let her go.” The bag flies off my head.

  I open my mouth to scream, but the sound dies on my lips when I see a face I recognize. I blink up at the pair of sharp, dark eyes above the stubbled masculine line of a powerful jaw belonging to my former employer. Junior Tacone.

  Shit. Junior Tacone--acting head of the Tacone crime family.

  My galloping heart slows, reverses direction, takes off again.

  “Junior.”

  I call him by the name his mother used, forgetting the “Mr. Tacone,” forgetting to show respect.

  And then, because I had actually been attracted to this man last time I saw him, had thought maybe he had a thing for me, too, and I just had the shit scared out of me, I slap his face, hard.

  The men beside me growl and grasp my arms again.

  “Let her go.” He takes my forearms instead, pulling me into him. Through his long wool coat, the firmness of his large body presses back at me. His dark gaze is commanding. Intense. “I’ll let that stand
, this time. Because they scared you.”

  A shiver runs up my spine. He’ll let that stand.

  Like ordinarily, there would be consequences for slapping the mob boss. Of course there would be.

  “Now, come inside, I need your help.”

  I look up the sidewalk at the huge house illuminated by streetlights. It’s not his mother’s Victorian brick where I worked for three months as a home healthcare nurse after her hip surgery. Must be his?

  I try to pull my wrist from his grasp. “No. You can’t just, just… kidnap me and tell me to come inside because you need my help.”

  He shifts his grasp to hold my wrist and tips his head toward the house. “Let’s go.” He doesn’t even bother answering my argument. And I suppose that’s because I’m dead wrong. He can just kidnap me and demand my help. He’s Junior Tacone, of the Chicago underground. He and his men have guns. They can make me do whatever they damn well please.

  The relief that trickled in when I saw his handsome face ebbs back out. I may still never walk out of here. Because whatever awaits me in that house isn’t going to be pretty. Or legal.

  Someone’s hurt and they need a nurse. That’s my best guess.

  And now I’ll be a witness to whatever they’re trying to hide.

  Are they torturing someone? Need me to keep him alive so they can get something out of him? Or is one of their members hurt?

  I have no choice but to go in. I may be considered spunky, but I’m not willing to find out what happens if you defy the kingpin of Chicago.

  So I fall into step beside him, hurrying to match his long strides. He slides his grip from my wrist to my hand. His large hand warms my icy one and has a protective quality, like we’re on a date.

  Like I’m not his prisoner.

  Read all the Vegas Underground Books

  King of Diamonds (Book 1)

  "Dark, dirty, and perfect--Renee Rose has mastered this genre." ~USA Today Bestselling Author Alta Hensley