Taken: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Vanessa Waltz

  “I’ll destroy your limits, Carmela. All of them. If you’re not feeling that, you better march your ass out of here.”

  “I want you, too.”

  He narrowed his grip. “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”

  “I said yes—”

  “That’s enough out of you.”

  He kissed me.

  It was so brutal, he cut off my air. I tasted his earthy essence as he slashed my mouth open. He angled his head, the stroke crushing me. He pecked my cupid’s bow, and then my bottom lip.

  He looped the belt around my waist. It slid up my abdomen, tightening, cutting off my mobility. It slipped under my breasts, and stroked my nipples. He tightened it, flattening my tits.

  Weeks of watching his children hadn’t dulled the urge to have a baby. My heart burst with jealousy when his kids piled on his lap. I’d started to resent him, thinking there was no way he’d ever agree. There was nothing I wouldn’t give for that experience.

  I wanted this.

  I could do this.

  As he restrained me, my world got silent and dark. I drifted into a state of numbness. I sagged in his arms, giving up.

  Michael made a triumphant sound and leaned forward, his smile pressing into my cold lips. He pulled away.

  “No. You don’t get to disappear.”

  He hauled me upright. He thrust me backward, hands drifting to my ass. Then he lifted me.

  My legs hit the desk.

  He scooped under my thighs and pushed me onto the hard surface. Paperweights and folders scattered as he shoved everything off. Then he flattened me on the wood. He retreated and strolled to the curtains, yanking them aside. Light streamed into the room.

  I gasped.

  Patches of crimson had stained his sleeves. He ripped off his shirt, his lips curled into a feral smirk. There was no lightness in him. The monster had come out to play.

  He kneeled, shoving my knees apart as his head disappeared between them. His mouth seared my pussy, and he sucked. Delicious warmth stroked my clit. Back and forth, he licked. Intense heat seared my cheeks as I groaned. Convulsions down my leg as he puckered, dragging me into him.

  Sweet Jesus, it was hot.

  All of me smoldered. I wriggled on my stomach, desperate to clench and chase his teasing, but Michael’s grip never yielded.

  He struck my ass.

  I burned at the blow, but he soothed it with a pass of his hand. Then he hit me again.

  And again.

  Each time, harder. Not enough to make me scream—to test my boundaries to their limit. But even if he never relieved the raw skin, his tongue was there, licking and fucking me. I didn’t give a damn about being spanked if he kept using his mouth. So long as it swirled in my wetness, which coated my thighs. I shouted, unable to bear the sharp frustration, the agony of not being able to ride him.

  Suddenly, he ripped away.

  No!

  I cried out as he left, on the brink of self-destruction from the pounding ache that needed something to fill—

  Michael’s slacks crumpled to the floor. He pressed into my legs, as he took my waist. His cock rolled over my clit, slicked with my arousal. He yanked me by the tether, his voice seething with lust.

  “You love this. Don’t you?” He gripped my face and taunted me with a fierce tap. “I asked you a question.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to fuck you really hard.” His grip slid to my throat. “Remember what I said, Carmela.”

  Which part?

  He entered me with a brutal thrust. His cock rammed home, allowing me no time to adjust as he squeezed, cutting my oxygen. A buzzing emptiness filled my head as he rutted me. It was overwhelming, the gliding, slick length massaging my sparks into a roaring inferno. I fought to breathe, taking in less air, and yet I ground against him. I pushed back, not at all eager to numb out.

  He felt too damned good.

  A needy moan burst from my clenched lips.

  Michael rolled his hips and gave it to me harder. A blow cracked over my ass, the vibration tingling my pussy. Euphoria tingled my mouth. It glowed around the fingers slowing my air. It rode his cock, which knocked out what remained of my oxygen.

  More.

  My chest burned as I attempted to inhale. My orgasm was building, tightening. He settled into a frenzied rhythm. His palm moved between us as he rubbed circles into my clit, the gentle touch sparking electricity into my core.

  He pinned me. The hold on my throat let go, and my orgasm crashed into me like a semi. A desperate cry launched from me. I gasped, throttled by a deep thrust as he finished inside me. Heat jetted my walls as his muscles spasmed, his hand still rubbing.

  He’d promised to destroy my limits and he had. My barriers lay in shambles, all of them obliterated by Michael.

  And I was beyond happy.

  An aphrodisiac like I’d never known blanketed me as Michael peeled me off the desk. He unbuckled me, and my arms went limp. Dragging me into his chest, he fell onto the couch. He tucked my head under his and held me, the madness purged from him, no more deadly than a teddy bear.

  I fingered my neck, in awe of the ache between my legs.

  Why did his domination feel so liberating?

  Why did I want him to do it again?

  Michael brushed my hair, wiping the tears tracking my cheeks. “Under my control will be your favorite place. I promise.”

  I would have a baby.

  I wasn’t pregnant, but it was only a matter of time. We’d made love three more times that day, Michael waking me up in the middle of the night, his erection pressing into my back. I’d already downloaded an app to track my cycle and had figured out when I was ovulating. I shared the calendar with Michael, who’d agreed to block out those days for us. His support was more than I’d hoped for.

  I was cautiously optimistic.

  I looked forward to Michael coming home, and not just for the amazing sex. I missed him. It happened after I woke up one morning to an empty bed. A void had gaped in my chest. I snuggled the pillow on his side for an hour before it dawned on me what the emptiness meant—I was catching feelings.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  With Nick, it was love-at-first-sight. I fell for him hard, and his obsession had dug into me with hooked barbs. We didn’t know how to treat each other well. We never had twenty-four hours without a blow-up argument, screaming, fighting, and angry sex. Tearing him off me had hurt me, deeply.

  Michael and I never really fought. He didn’t have annoying habits. His world sprawled over a vast landscape. He wasn’t an emotional basket case. The man wanted to fuck his wife, play with his children, and do repairs. In the weeks I’d been here, he’d repainted the fence, re-grouted the bathroom, fixed kitchen cabinets, and the list went on. He was always looking for something to mend, almost as though it calmed him.

  I liked that he was self-reliant and he tipped his staff generously, and that he wasn’t too good to check the rat traps in the crawlspace. His routine may have been predictable, but I’d been aching for stability.

  Maybe this would work.

  I smiled as I checked on the rack of lamb sizzling in the oven. The children played outside. Michael had invited his family over for Easter, and we’d spent the morning preparing an egg hunt in the backyard. Instead of drinking with the adults, Michael was playing babysitter. Children piled on his back, demanding his attention. He dyed eggs with his son and corralled the kids when it was time for a snack. Michael was never happier than when he was with Mariette and Matteo. It was sweet to watch, and it also stabbed at me somewhere deep.

  Only one thing was missing from the perfect picture—my family.

  Mia was gone. My parents—banned for life. We’d never celebrate a holiday together. I’d never hold my niece, and to top it all off, Matteo had developed a distressing habit of running away from me.

  I chased him into the granite kitchen, a stitch stabbing my side from chasing his little ass. He shrieked as he collided into Michae
l, whose wine spilled over the rim.

  He set it down and sucked his fingers. “Where are you going?”

  “Chase me!”

  “No. Dinner will be ready soon.” Michael kneeled, wiping grass off Matteo’s shirt. “Wash your hands before you eat.”

  “I was going to make him do that, but he keeps taking off.” I snatched at Matteo, who escaped between his father’s legs and shot into another room. “See?”

  Michael glanced over his shoulder, shrugging. “He does that.”

  “Am I doing something wrong? We were getting along, and now…it’s like he hates me.”

  Michael’s soft laugh dipped into my belly. “Definitely not.”

  “Do they like me?”

  “They’re crazy about you.”

  “They’ll always love you more. You’ve been there all their lives.”

  “Give it time, Carmela. Love isn’t earned overnight.”

  I knew I had unrealistic expectations, but it was hard to detach from children that I took care of every day. I sang them songs. Read them stories. We watched movies, played games, cuddled.

  Michael grabbed my arm when I headed for Matteo. “Speaking as an overprotective asshole, you’re taking your role a little too seriously. The house is packed with adults. Nothing will happen to him.”

  “I walked in here and picked up your kid without anyone noticing.”

  “I noticed.” He raised a brow. “Everyone will think you like my kids more than me.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “How can I change that?” His touch glided to my hand, the gentleness filling me with steam.

  “You can’t compete with Matteo.”

  “I know, and I’m not even going to try, but at least tell me you’re breaking down.” Michael’s tone made me feel plunged in liquid heat. “Because you’re sure growing on me.”

  “Your kids are happier, and you’re getting your dick wet. Isn’t that all you wanted?”

  “I want so many things from you, Carmela. It’s impossible to boil them down to just a couple.” Michael’s fingers brushed my cheek, and then my neck. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I told you a million times, yes.”

  I’d slipped under Michael’s spell.

  The commands delivered in that voice. His possession over my body. The passion.

  I’d loved it all.

  The belts, ropes, and toys that baffled me in the beginning now seemed laughably harmless. I saw them for what they were—bits of nylon and cowhide. Only the person who wielded them could hurt me.

  That wasn’t Michael.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, facing him.

  “I don’t know. All this fucking is wearing me out.”

  He winked.

  I rolled my eyes, but didn’t fight when he gathered me in his arms. I sank into his impossibly warm embrace and tried not to smile at all the happiness bursting from inside me.

  “I’m just checking in, Michael. Marriage is a two-way street, or so they say.”

  “I could do with a blowjob.” He laughed as I dug into his back. “All right, fine. There is something I want.”

  “What?”

  Warmth slid around my waist as he pulled me close. His mouth grazed my jaw. Several more kisses seared my face and ear before his ragged whisper cut through my muddled feelings.

  “Go on a date with me.”

  Seventeen

  Michael

  Happiness was a fickle thing.

  In my twenties, I chased it with a series of ridiculous goalposts. I’ll be happy when I make two million dollars a year. I’ll be satisfied when I bang three girls at the same time. I’ll be content when I’m not trapped in a dead marriage with a woman I hate.

  You get the picture.

  It set me up for disappointment because the goalposts never stopped moving further away. It wasn’t until I destroyed them that I found joy in everyday things—a cup of coffee, rain washing the pavement, fucking Carmela.

  It had been a perfect morning.

  Perfect, like Carmela’s lingering kiss when I tried to say goodbye. Sweet and hot. She didn’t want to let go of me, and leaving her felt wrong. She’d given me everything I’d wanted, and it’d made me optimistic.

  Maybe this could work.

  Maybe we’d be like those obnoxiously cheerful couples I usually hated.

  I was riding high after she’d ridden me all night, and I’d never been so exhausted. My face cracked with a ridiculous grin as I strolled into Sanctum, my underground sex club.

  The club was all black accented with gold, and everywhere was jammed with beautiful women and guys thirsty for high-class ass. Girls wearing animal silk masks and designer lingerie hung like ornaments beside their male companions. A naked woman sat on all fours, balancing a tray of drinks on her back as two men chatted. Others did a striptease. People fucked on chaises and sofas, in rooms with doors opened.

  Pure hedonism. Madness.

  I’d been known to indulge, but those days were over. Familiar faces smiled at me, but I ignored them. I’d never been so indifferent to naked women. I made a beeline for the round entrance. The doors yawned into a room flickering with orange light from a glass wall fireplace. Obsidian furniture packed the space, the barely visible silhouettes shimmering. Silver grout around brick shimmered. This area was invitation-only. It was where we kept our A-listers, Saudi princes, British royalty, anybody who needed more privacy.

  I spotted a stoic man standing outside a booth along with Julian’s flash of blond hair. His expression said he was bored out of his mind. He tapped on his smartphone, his pale gaze meeting mine when I approached.

  “Hey, Michael.”

  I grunted. “How long has he been here?”

  “All night.”

  I glanced inside the booth. Anthony’s hair spilled over the leather, his eyes closed and his lips curled in lazy contentment. “Is he high?”

  “Probably.”

  Fucking Anthony.

  The dad in me wanted to fix him, to guide him by the hand and teach him things. Mostly, I wished I could strangle him. He was a pain in the ass, like my four-year-old could sometimes be, except I didn’t love Anthony unconditionally.

  The booth was a mess. Empty bottles, glassware, mounds of powder littered the marble table. The idiot thought he was Scarface. The girls helped themselves to lines of coke as I stomped inside.

  “There are no drugs allowed in this club.”

  Leticia straightened, rubbing her nose. “Wha—Michael? Oh shit.” She elbowed the other woman, a new hire. “Michael, we’re so sorry. We didn’t—he offered.”

  “Get out.”

  They scampered.

  “Michael. What a surprise.” Anthony pushed himself upright. “Have a seat—join me. Want a hit?”

  He knew damned well I was off cocaine.

  “I have two kids at home.”

  “You’re just as boring as Alessio.” Anthony patted his jacket, recovering a pack of cigarettes. He stuck one between his lips and searched for a lighter. “Never mind. How’ve you been?”

  “Pissed off.”

  “Why?”

  “For starters? I’m here instead of knocking up my wife.”

  Anthony grimaced. “Jesus Christ, man.”

  “I have enough on my plate without you. I spent the day talking to our partners. Trying to convince them you’ll stay out of trouble. You’re killing me, Anthony. You really are. What are you doing?”

  “Having a cigarette.”

  “There’s no smoking in here.” I plucked it out of his mouth and crushed it. “And I don’t allow drugs at Sanctum. Not now—not ever.”

  Anthony grinned as he gave me a heavy-lidded stare. “You’re the boss.”

  I cuffed him across the face, and the gleam in Anthony’s eyes burned brighter. “Don’t talk back to me.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are—my dad? We’re the same age.”

  “Act like a child, and I’ll treat you like one.”<
br />
  Anthony raked his hair, behaving as though he was on the verge of a meltdown. “Fuck you, Michael. I have an addiction.”

  “How many trips to rehab do you need?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Why do you keep doing this? Is it a cry for help? A drawn-out suicide attempt? Do you want to die?”

  His voice darkened. “No.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “No,” he sulked. “I don’t want to die.”

  “Then prove it. Stop doing this shit to yourself.” I grabbed his arm, marveling at how much weight he’d lost. “Go home and lay low.”

  “Give me something to do, and I swear I’ll dump the coke and—and the clubs.”

  I was all for giving the dipshit some responsibility, but Nico was adamant about keeping his son out of the mafia.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I’m the next in line! I should be acting boss, not Vinn.”

  “One, you’re a train wreck. Nobody will follow your orders. Two, this isn’t England. You don’t just inherit the throne. Three, you get killed if you hang out in public. Every gangster in Boston is gunning for you.”

  Anthony seized the bottle of vodka and brought the neck to his lips. I yanked it from his grip and resisted the urge to crack him over the head. I pulled him out of the booth and shoved him into a bodyguard’s arms.

  “I promised your father I’d keep you alive, but you seem hell-bent on killing yourself, so I’m cutting you off. No more visits to Sanctum.”

  “Fine. I’ll freeload somewhere else.”

  Talking to him was a waste of time.

  I faced his bodyguard, who had bags hanging under his eyes. “I’m hiring more guys to help you. I want him surrounded day and night. No drugs. No alcohol. No fucking clubs.”

  “You got it.”

  I waved my hand, indicating they should go.

  Anthony shot me a look filled with poison as they dragged him to the exit, and then I turned to Julian. He watched Anthony leave, laughing when he tried to grab a hooker on his way out.

  “Useless junkie.”

  That bothered me, coming from him. “When you see Anthony with drugs, you call me immediately. Not after he’s snorted a felony’s worth of cocaine.”