Mafia Daddy: A Cinderella Adult Fairy Tale

by Henry, Jane

  Mafia Daddy

  A Cinderella Adult Fairy Tale

  Jane Henry

  Contents

  Mafia Daddy

  Untitled

  Please note:

  Acknowledgments

  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

  A note from the author

  About the Author

  Mafia Daddy

  A Cinderella Adult Fairy Tale

  Jane Henry

  S YNOPSIS:

  * * *

  D ante: She’s Cinderella, but I’m no prince .

  I’m son to the richest bastard in Vegas. Heir to the throne under one condition: Find a wife, or I’ll do it for you .

  * * *

  A nd I found her. But every time she looks at me with those wide green eyes, her virgin body all curves and valleys, I know she is too good, too innocent .

  * * *

  I ’ll ruin her, but I can’t let her go. I lose my fucking mind when she calls me daddy .

  * * *

  W hen the clock strikes midnight, the party’s over. She better run, or my darkness will take over .

  * * *

  G abriella: Meet me at midnight, he says .

  * * *

  M y life is work. I promised my father I’d care for my stepmother and stepsisters. I don’t have time for anything else .

  * * *

  T hen I meet Dante. My Prince Charming. He brings my wildest, deepest fantasies to life. When he touches me, I forget the world. I forget everything but him .

  * * *

  W hen the clock strikes midnight, the party’s over. Dante is hiding the truth from me, and his dark past could destroy everything .

  Please note:

  T his is a work of fiction with adult themes. Please do not distribute without written consent from the author .

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to the team that helped me build this book: Shannon from Shanoff Designs for a fantastic cover, Tease Book Graphics for amazing promo, Miranda for everything you did, hard-working proofers Jane and Alina, Editor Extraordinaire K.R. Nadelson, BFF beta Maisy, super fan Clubbers, and my dedicated reviewers !

  Chapter One

  I smacked open the door to the expansive bathroom with my left hand, the right still aching as I curled it into a fist, careful not to let blood drip on the pristine floor. My shoes clicked on the tiles as I stalked to the sink and yanked the ivory handle. Every detail in this opulent room spoke of wealth and power, until I placed my hand under the running water, marring the perfection with splashes of blood .

  Who was I kidding? The blood spoke of wealth and power, too .

  I grabbed a towel, not caring that I ruined it with crimson stains as I wrapped it around my hand, until I’d staunched the flow of blood, gritting my teeth against the sting of fabric on raw wounds. With grim determination, in a routine that was sickeningly familiar, I opened the cabinet where we kept ample first aid supplies .

  A few moments later, I’d covered up the evidence that I’d pounded the shit out of Charlie Beauregard. With my left hand, I cupped cool water into my palm and sipped it, before running my hand over my face and neck. I stood to my full height, and stared at myself hard in the mirror, seeing my mother’s high cheekbones and my father’s cold, calculating eyes. The sandy-colored beard and tattoos that edged along my neck, the incongruity defying my family’s stature. I frowned at my dress shirt, expecting to see it stained with spattered blood, but to my surprise it was still clean .

  I’d really let the son of a bitch have it. With an arsenal of weapons at my disposal, I could’ve used something to help me punish him. But no… I’d wanted my fist to cause the pain .

  He hadn’t even denied that he’d used the money he owed my father to buy women, women he then roughed up .

  Bastard.

  I cracked my neck and shifted my shoulders, trying to loosen up the tension bound in my body like a coiled snake. This was my job. The irony was, my father didn’t even care that Beauregard beat up girls. I’d been sent to teach him a lesson because of his defiance against the family. He owed money. He didn’t pay up. Therefore, he was punished. A simple equation .

  Knowing he was a sick bastard only made my job easier. I breathed in, my chest expanding as I stared at myself in the mirror, then exhaled slowly, when my phone buzzed .

  Your father will see you now .

  I smirked. The hell he would .

  I’d go to his office to update him. But see me? He never truly did .

  I gazed out the window overlooking the Vegas Strip and took another pull from my beer, doing my best to ignore the man sitting beside me. I wanted to hurt him, and I couldn't. It didn't matter that he was my father. He was Antonio Villanova, mafia lord of Sin City, and he owned every single glittering detail below us... the casinos, the restaurants, all the surrounding shops .

  He fucking owned the air .

  "Are you listening to me?" he asked, in that tone I'd learned to obey since I was crawling on the floor eating Cheerios. The sharpness sent a shiver down my spine, my hand gripping my beer bottle more tightly as I fought to control conditioned anger .

  "Yeah, Dad. I heard you. You want me to find a wife ."

  "Dante, look at me." His voice had grown dangerously low. I inhaled before I turned to face him, steeling myself for the disapproval I was sure to see written in his stern features. When I turned to face him, a bit of the rage that burned within me softened. He didn't look disapproving, or even angry anymore .

  He looked afraid .

  "Well? What’s on your mind ?"

  He sat, as thin and fragile as I'd ever seen him. The deep-set dark eyes that once burned with power now lacked fire, his jowls hiding his strong, clean-shaven jaw. My eyes drifted down to his signature black dress shirt, unfastened at the collar, the tie hanging loose about his neck like a noose. "I'm old, Dante. And I won't be here forever. You know how this works. If you don't find a wife, your cousin Emilio will get everything, and it will kill me to see my legacy handed over to my brother's family. Do you hear me? Kill me, not to mention what it would do to your mother ."

  He'd survived shoot-outs, car chases, three stints in jail, and more attempts on his life than I could keep track of. And now he was telling me it would kill him if I didn't marry? Hell .

  "Yeah, I know. I get it. I know what you want me to do." I turned away from my father, hardly able to stomach looking at him anymore, and found myself gazing back out the window at the flashing lights and hordes of people far, far below. I spotted a woman with her hand outstretched, gesturing wildly to a man twice her size, and I wondered what her story was. Had he looked at another girl? Forgotten her birthday? Acted like an asshole ?

  How did normal people live their lives ?

  "What you don't get is that you don't find wives the way you find, say, your favorite bottle of Merlot or an unblemished Lamborghini. You can't just go shopping and buy one for God's sake ."

  His low, sadistic chuckle startled me. It was the same sound I heard before he ordered a hit, and it indicated anything but humor .

  "My son, you are naïve. So goddamned naïve ."

  I clenched my fist around my bottle and took another swig. The beer had grown wa
rm, but I gulped it down to swallow the bile in my throat .

  He was right. It had been a naïve comment. Antonio Villanova bought whatever he fucking wanted. Women were no exception .

  "You see, son," he continued, and I could hear his chair creak back and knew without looking at him that he was sitting with his fingertips pressed together, assuming the role of patriarch, the wise, all-knowing King of Vegas. "You may have forgotten that in our family, we value tradition. We are, after all, the longest line of Villanovas on the West Coast. One of the reasons I've worked so hard at upholding my legacy is so that our family traditions don't become diluted. So we don't allow paupers, loafers, or ingrates into our stock. You know this, son ."

  He spoke with such warmth, it was hard to fathom that he spewed hatred and venom in his words, but I knew this mantra well .

  Traditional values .

  Family loyalty .

  Longstanding traditions .

  "Yeah. I get it. I do." I ran a finger along the length of the side of the bottle and watched in amusement as the guy being publicly lectured by his woman reached for her, pulling her close to him in a hug, and she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand .

  I shook my head. If she were mine, I'd blister her ass for yelling at me in public .

  My father's words rang in the quiet of the room as I stared down at the strangers .

  "Do you, Dante ?"

  I turned to look at him again, and as I had suspected, he sat with his fingertips pressed together, his eyes fixed on me. "Do you really know what’s at stake here, son ?"

  I swallowed. I had a mother, still, to look out for. My dad commanded an army, and though our public persona as legitimate Vegas real estate magnates was well-known, everyone knew who we really were. The line of Villanovas populated the streets of our city like stars in the night sky. We were large, we were powerful, and we were unstoppable .

  My father continued. "So what will it be, Dante? Will you find a wife, or will I do it for you ?"

  I swallowed the last dregs of my beer before I stood, clenching the bottle in my hand .

  Hating myself for what I was about to say, I threw the bottle into the trashcan by the door so hard it shattered into shards on impact .

  "I'll do it," I said, slamming the door behind me before he had a chance to reply .

  I twisted off my tie, and tossed it in a pile with my suit jacket and dress shirt, shoving them all in a duffel bag. Yeah, my mother paid five grand for this suit, and it was custom-made, but I didn't give a shit. I'd have it cleaned or pressed or whatever the fuck I needed to do. I needed to be someone I wasn't, for just a little while... Or maybe the truth was, I needed to shrug off the facade and be who I really was. I locked the car. I wouldn’t be driving it tonight .

  I’d skimmed down to my worn Levi’s and a threadbare Guns N’ Roses t-shirt I'd had for years, and felt my adrenaline surge as I took out the keys to my bike. I needed to ride, feel the wind at my back, to shake off the hold my father had on me. Spread my wings a bit, even if it was just for the night .

  God, it felt good to swing my leg over the side of my bike and lean into it, feeling that heady rush of impending freedom as I gripped the familiar handlebars. I revved the engine, and the power rumbled beneath me. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew it had to be to a place that really did sleep, that had streetlights that went on and off, and stars that twinkled in a real nighttime sky. A place where I could breathe in fresh air and see green grass for miles .

  I rode for a full hour, until the sun began to set and the wind picked up, though the air was still as oppressive as ever. May in Vegas was hot as fucking Hades, no matter what time of day. But the breeze felt nice .

  Maybe I'd find a place to stay for the night, where no one knew who I was or who my father was. Maybe I'd stay for a week .

  Maybe I wouldn't go back .

  I only entertained the idea briefly, though. I knew I had to go back .

  Just as I was about to pull over to look at my phone and find a place to stay, I saw her .

  Jesus Christ, she was beautiful .

  Long, blonde hair, so light it was nearly white, hung to her waist in waves, and when she turned her face toward me, I could see her high cheekbones, perfect, full lips the color of strawberries, a willowy figure of grace and gentility. She held a purse in one hand, and her phone in the other, and as I pulled over toward her, she smiled at me, a full-on smile revealing a pair of gorgeous dimples. I was close enough to see her eyes now, a pretty green framed with long, dark lashes, set beneath delicately arched brows. I cut the engine .

  "Oh, thank goodness," she said, in a sweet, clear voice that stirred something primal inside of me. "I was afraid I'd have to walk the whole way practically barefoot, and my phone is dead. Do you have a phone, mister?" She blinked at me with those fetching green eyes and I wanted to kiss her .

  I'd never wanted to kiss a woman. I'd only ever wanted to fuck them senseless. This girl was... different .

  "Of course," I said, but as I put the kickstand of my bike down, I felt a twinge of protective anger surge within me. "But before I give you my phone, you need to tell me why a young girl like you is all alone this far from civilization. What the hell happened to you ?"

  She looked down bashfully and twisted her toe in the loose gravel by the side of the road. "Well..." she began. "I was here with my sisters. You see, they're not really my sisters but step-sisters, and we had plans tonight to go to a concert. Only problem was, Violet had a boyfriend and Elenora had a date, and we could barely squeeze into the car. We made it work, but then they decided they needed more room because one of their friends could come after all .”

  “So... they kicked you out ?”

  “Ummm… yes… pretty much. And, well, I missed the bus I was planning to take, and it appears my charger never did charge my phone like it was supposed to." She shrugged. "And then my flip-flop broke." She gestured to the cheap, broken flip-flop and sighed. “And that's about it. I'm stranded because I'm stupid and naïve and ill-prepared ."

  I shook my head, handing her the phone. If she were mine, she wouldn't be allowed to call herself stupid. And she sure as hell never would've been out here alone with an unreliable phone and no method of getting home, wearing cheap flip-flops no less. Who was I kidding? If she were mine, I wouldn't let her out of my fucking sight .

  I grunted as she looked in surprise at my phone. It was showy, crazy expensive, and big. Whatever. People had snazzy phones in Vegas, and I wouldn't make any excuses .

  "Not sure how to use this," she murmured. I took it from her, and my hand brushed hers, just the barest of touches that sent a bolt of electricity through me. I blinked, momentarily taken aback. She smelled so fucking good too, like caramel and vanilla .

  "Here," I grumbled. "Push this and dial ."

  "Thank you, Mister..." she halted, not knowing my name .

  "Dante. You can call me Dante." Dante Villanova. Would she know my name? I waited, looking for signs that she knew me, recognized my identity .

  "Thank you, Mister Dante ."

  I chuckled. Cute . "No, just Dante," I said .

  She nodded her head eagerly. "I am so grateful, you have no idea ."

  I warmed at that, shoving my hands in my pockets, and covered up my pleasure by being gruff with her. "Make the call ."

  Her hands trembled a bit as she dialed, then held the phone up to her ear. Leaning in, she put her hand over the mouthpiece. "I'm just calling my stepmother," she whispered, her wide green eyes looking into mine .

  "Of course," I said, suddenly feeling magnanimous. "Whatever you need ."

  She smiled widely and mouthed thank you , then spoke into the phone .

  "Oh, hello, Mabel. How are you? How
is little Ellie faring ?"

  What the fuck? She was making small talk? I frowned at her, but she ignored me and kept jabbering. "Oh, I'm so glad. I was afraid she'd caught that nasty flu that was going around. Yes, I wasn't working tonight. The girls and I were going to a concert, but we ran into a bit of trouble, you see. Oh, yes. I know. Yes, you're right! Ah-ha. Mmm. Well, that's true," she said .

  I touched her arm, and she jumped as if she just remembered I was there. Covering the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand, she leaned over to me. "Just a minute. I'm so sorry, but it's important I engage her in conversation and not just ignore the fact that she had a little girl ill last evening. Am I using up your cell phone minutes, or taking up your time?" Her green eyes blinked up at me, and I almost smiled at her .

  People still had phones with minutes on them? "Well, no," I grumbled. It wasn't about my minutes or my time. The girl needed help .

  She nodded. "Good. Thank you!" She removed her hand from the mouthpiece and spoke into the phone. "Oh, that's so true. I understand. I believe in good, old-fashioned remedies, too !"

  Old-fashioned remedies, my ass. I'd give her a good, old-fashioned remedy right over my knee if she didn't hurry it up already. I crossed my arms and gave her the sternest look I could muster .