The Power of a Woman: A Mafia Erotic Romance

by Gina Whitney

  Yeah…otherwise, you would’ve never let me handle them.

  “Well, there has to be money somewhere. We aren’t poor.”

  “You’re right. We aren’t. But to pull that kind of money out of our asses will raise red flags all over the place.” He was right. Suddenly pulling together close to a million dollars would have the feds at our front door in a heartbeat.

  I closed my eyes, knowing he needed my help, but he’d never ask. It would cross the line. I couldn’t help him move money around safely without seeing the real books—the illegal ones. And he’d never offer those up.

  “Let me see them.” I held my hand out, and he knew exactly what I meant by it.

  He shook his head, at war with himself over family versus la familia. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Why? Because I’m a woman? If I were your son you’d have no problem handing it over. This is life or death, Daddy. Are you really going to keep me from doing what I do best—move money around—just because you don’t want to show me the family business ends of things? Even if that means Matteo’s life? Admit it…no one knows numbers more than I do.”

  With an exhausted huff, he pulled a Bible from the bottom drawer of his desk. He hesitated for a moment before handing it over to me. I’d never seen it before, but I’d always known of its existence. It was the Holy Grail. And he kept it in a Bible.

  I flipped it open, finding the thin pages filled with small print—my father’s tiny lettering. Nothing made sense, everything written in code. I would never be able to decipher any of it without his help.

  “Only look at the numbers. You don’t need to pay any attention to anything else,” he ordered, his voice stiff and cold as if it tortured him to his core knowing my eyes were on his book. Not just my eyes…but the eyes of a female. He probably thought of it as disgraceful.

  “Without knowing what these codes mean, how am I supposed to figure out where it’s coming from?”

  “Black is in, red is out.”

  My hands gripped the worn edges of the book as anger took over, my pulse pounding in my ears. “You think I don’t know how to read a check and balance sheet? I do this for all your clubs. I’m well aware of color coding, but I need to know what accounts these are, not what’s coming or going. Would it kill you to give me a little credit?”

  My father ran his weathered hands down his face, took a deep breath, and then hung his head. “Dammit, Jordana. The numbers starting with ‘KA’ are bank accounts. Those are the only ones you need to worry about.”

  I stared at the numbers in front of me. Pages and pages of codes. Money going in multiple accounts, and money coming out. “You have the money here. It’s right here in all these lines that start with ‘KA.’ I’m not understanding what the issue is.”

  “The banks, Jordana. You’re a smart enough girl.” The man finally gave me the credit I’d asked for, yet it was some sort of backhanded compliment—not exactly what I’d sought.

  “You’re right. I am. I understand money, I understand banks. What I don’t understand is this fucking code you won’t explain to me. If I can’t read it, how the hell am I supposed to fix it?”

  His face turned red as he reached across the desk and snatched the book out of my hands. I knew I’d gone too far with my language, but I wasn’t able to control it. He had a way of talking down to me, and I couldn’t stand anything more than to be spoken to like an ingrate. I wouldn’t put up with it no matter who it was, father or not.

  The tone of his voice dropped to dangerous levels as he said, “The only thing you need to know is that they’re not all the same bank. You don’t need to understand which banks, or what accounts they’re in.”

  And that I understood. You could transfer money all day long from one account to the next within the same bank, but you couldn’t move money fast enough from one country to the next without the wrong attention being brought to you. And you never keep all your money in one location. Many different banks in many different countries, all of which had to be offshore accounts where the funds couldn’t be traced. That way, if one account was flagged and frozen, you weren’t fucked. Except now, having the funds but not all together fucked us. Dammed if you do…dammed if you don’t.

  “I didn’t ask you here to dig through my business. I’ve already done that. I only called you here to tell you that this is serious and possibly dangerous. I need you to go to the shore house for the week. Just until I’ve gotten it figured out.”

  I could feel my eyebrows pinch together and my spine straighten. I could only imagine what I looked like to him. Angry? Defiant? “I don’t understand why I can’t just stay here. I mean, you’ll have your goons watching my every move as it is. Why can’t they watch me here instead of shipping me away for them to watch me there?”

  His fist came down hard on the solid wood of his desk and the dark skin on his face lit up red like a burning flame. “Do not argue with me, Jordana Marie Albanese.” The full name. That meant business. “I need all my men here. I need their eyes on Matteo. I need them to make sure he’s safe until this is all sorted out. That’s why I need you at the shore house where I know you’ll be safe. No one knows about its location. It’s the only place I trust you when I can’t keep an eye on you myself.”

  I held back my smile, knowing I’d just won. “Fine, Daddy. Whatever you think is best.” I knew to keep my mouth closed and go along with whatever he had to say. He’d never see my point, or give in to me, no matter the solutions I could come up with. I could get the debt taken care of, but he’d never hear of it. So why waste my breath?

  Women were highly underestimated. Especially in the kind of life we came from. We were Daddy’s girls. We batted our lashes and gave puppy eyes and angelic smiles. We called our fathers “Daddy” and they viewed at us as innocent. With the right words, the right look, and a perfectly sweet tone, we got our way. It was something we learned very early on, usually before we could walk. Men never caught on. Yet they’re the brains.

  I had no intention of going to the shore house. Even as I agreed with him, I had my own plans. My own ways of saving this family. They could have their feet and brains and soul. I didn’t need them.

  I am a woman, and I have the one thing men never will—I have my pussy. And if there’s one thing men love to eat more than spaghetti, it’s pussy.

  Go ahead, Daddy, use your body parts to get Matty out of this one.

  I’ll use mine.

  And we’ll see who ends up the winner.

  The central members’ only hangout was above the A&S pork store and meat market—a local Italian butcher shop. The sign displayed “social club.” However, if you weren’t a member of the Giannottis’ crew, you were not welcomed. Duplicity at its finest. A heavy presence of gangsters mulled around the doorway, making it impossible for the average person to purchase any provisions at the adjacent pork store. Of course, if you were Italian, entrance to the butcher was much easier. However, most people just avoided it, not wanting to drag their children in for a piece of bologna. I smiled. Fond memories of my Nana bringing me into the pork store flooded me. That slice of bologna or Genoa salami was such a treat. My world seemed simpler then. Untainted from the ugliness I had yet to discover about the world around me. I hung a U-turn and double-parked right in front to piss them off. Fuck it. I needed to make a statement. A formidable one.

  I had one chance.

  And one chance only.

  With my father keeping me out of the loop and no way to handle this on his own, I had to step in. My understanding of money wouldn’t come in handy, but my understanding of the male mind would.

  I swung my legs out slowly and closed the door with a bang, leaving the keys in the ignition. No one would dare steal my car. That wasn’t an option. Not in this neighborhood. I shook out my hair and adjusted my sunglasses as I walked confidently to the group of wise guys loitering about on the sidewalk.

  One by one, each man stepped forward, sadistically eager to shame me. Shame
—an achingly familiar emotion to me now. I focused on the prize…goal. Two things happened in rapt succession: empowerment flooded my system due to the contemplation of forced humiliation, and then heated desire burned and singed my most sensitive parts. Well-hidden knowledge of my voyeuristic proclivities and the effect of forced degradation left me with a pair of soaked panties. I writhed under the glare of others, loving every second of it. I smirked in the face of my handlers. Their cheap suits and dollar-bathroom cologne had my eyes rolling—hard. Stopping short of showing how to really humiliate someone, I decided I’d roll through again and have some fun with the fuck-nuts at a later date. I filed that shit away with the others on my to-do list. Surely, I’d have the last laugh. Ah, the power of a woman. The thought had me laughing inwardly. Little did these fuckers know, they were dealing with a kaleidoscope of raw, sadistic need. Hell, I put the “S” in sadism.

  And when I plan to bring it, you better back the fuck up.

  “We done here?” I said, feigned disinterest dripping from my tongue.

  The wiry one with a chipped tooth stepped forward. “Hardly.” His smile was sardonic and caused me to cringe—not out of fear, but out of complete repulsion.

  I rolled my eyes, but not before stepping into him, slowly moving my hand to cup his dick. His erection was pronounced, and slightly impressive, so I allowed my hand to work it longer than initially planned. While fondling his balls in one hand, I reached between my thighs and made a show of grabbing myself—comparing.

  I pulled my glossy lips to his ear, taking in a heavy breath of his overpowering cologne, and said, “As intimidating as you are standing out here, my balls are still bigger.” I backed away, keeping my hand cupping my sex, and watched as he adjusted his obvious hard-on. Withdrawing my hand from myself, I flicked my wrist and flipped him off. A myriad of emotions played on his face—anger, gall, and dare I say…awe?

  With my work here done, I casually said, “I’ll see the boss now.” I gently slapped chipped tooth’s face while the other two looked on. He didn’t move, just blinked. “Oh, that was a directive. Not a question, love,” I corrected, walking past him into the building. Incompetence, I shuddered to myself.

  Game on…

  I was shocked to see that the place hadn’t been updated from the seventies’ wood paneling. Probably still talking about the Lufthansa heist, I thought, rolling my eyes. Guineas! Ugh. A few old wise guys drinking espresso gaped at me as I took the stairs. I pushed my dark sunglasses above my head and threw a wink their way. That’s right, you fuckers, the enemy is in the house.

  A long flight of stairs was another daunting task. My skirt—a second skin—wasn’t very practical for these steps. With my hand on the banister, I slowly, but confidently, made my way up. Upon reaching the top step, I heard a harsh voice yelling in Italian beyond the door in front of me. My heart thumped steadily against my ribcage like a drum, creating the soundtrack to my sudden nerves.

  I blew out a long breath. Should I knock? Nah.

  Strutting confidently into the office, I immediately noticed the modern theme it was decorated in. A tall, dark, suited man stood with his back to me, arguing over the phone in Italian. I let the door slam behind me and stood beside it, waiting for his attention to be drawn my way. The face that met mine wasn’t the one I had expected. I expected Stefan’s father, Mick. However, the man in front of me had a scar that ran from the outside of his left brow to the corner of his lip—Zeke, the infamous underboss.

  His lip curled into a cruel snarl of a smile as he hung up the phone. “Well. Well. Well,” he said, tsking as he tilted his head, taking me in with his devilish eyes.

  Every nerve in my body recoiled, but my face remained stoic. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me afraid. It quickly became apparent that everything about this man’s demeanor screamed coldness, aloofness, and self-absorption.

  My chin jutted forward in defiance as I threw my bag on the chair in front of his desk. It didn’t matter how many alarm bells sounded in my mind, because I had one goal to accomplish, and that was to save my brother. So I ignored my inner warnings and set about with a hardened attitude, not once letting on how I felt on the inside. With my spine straight and my shoulders squared, I said, “I’m sure you know why I’m here. So drop the sneer and let’s get to it. I don’t have all day.”

  His brow raised and his smile widened in calculation. “This sneer?” He leaned forward, arms bracing on his desk. His entire demeanor sent a roll of nausea through me.

  “Yeah, that one.” I couldn’t help but curl my lip in disgust. He was one ugly, hard-looking fucker. “I’m here to barter,” I said, finally taking a seat and throwing one leg over the other to punctuate my intent.

  “Oh, really.” He stood up, folding his arms, gazing at me with dark, cold eyes. “Do you even understand the meaning of bartering? And what makes you think you have anything I’d want?”

  “Let’s not play me for a fool. I happen to know how much you enjoy the company of a woman.” I shrugged, turning to plan B. This hadn’t been my original negotiating ploy, since I thought I’d be dealing with Stefan’s father. But this actually worked out better in my favor. Sick bastards like the one in front of me were easily played, and I was a fantastic player.

  “And what would you have in mind?”

  “You can have me for a week. Make me your…slave so to speak.”

  He laughed, but it wasn’t humorous. It was disgusting and made my skin crawl. The sight of his yellow teeth caused me to inwardly cringe, while keeping the alluring smile on my face. “I don’t need a maid or a cook. But nice try, little one.”

  “That’s good because I have no interest in cleaning your toilets or frying you an egg. I had something else in mind.” I waited until I knew I had his attention before continuing. Once he lifted an eyebrow, I knew I had him intrigued enough to finish hearing me out. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that you have a bit of a…fetish, if that’s what you want to call it.”

  His lips pursed as he gave me a lazy shrug. “I’m not sure I’d call it that. Let’s just say I have singular tastes.” He perused my body from head to toe, making sure I knew it. “I’m not sure you can handle that, little one.”

  Everyone knew he was a sadistic prick of a lover. I didn’t relish the thought of laying myself bare for Scarface—however, in the interest of my brother and family, I’d do anything to put this to bed. Even if that meant letting this disgusting human being defile me for a week. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, Mr. Russo. I just might be able to fulfill one or two of those…tastes.”

  He walked around the desk to his humidor, reaching for a cigar. “Let’s just say I’m not the kind of man that will go buy a car without a test drive first.” He twirled the cigar in his meaty fingers. “I’d hate to get you home, only to find out you’re too weak to handle me.” The need to humiliate me came off him like stink of a skunk, and it only served to flame my fire. His perception of weakness was clearly different from mine…mine was my brother, not my abilities in the bedroom. “And what exactly are you searching for out of this…barter?”

  “I want my brother’s debt to be erased.”

  He tilted his head back dramatically and released an evil laughed. It was loud and covered my skin, crawling on my flesh like the cockroach he was. “Matteo has racked up quite a debt. Half a million. I don’t even pay the professionals that kind of money to make me come. What makes you think you’re worth that much?”

  I stood and waited for his cackles to end, stepping closer to him until I knew I had his attention. “The moment my pussy is wrapped around your cock, you’ll forget what a dollar sign looks like. The moment your balls pull tight with the need to come, you’ll have forgotten how to count. And the moment my cunt milks you, taking every last drop, you won’t even know the value of a dollar anymore. You will no longer remember the scent of a Benjamin…because the only thing you’ll crave is the scent of me.”

  That seemed to catc
h his attention. The corners of his mouth curved up as he slowly licked his lips, eyes directed at the small amount of cleavage peeking out over my neckline.

  “Before I consider your ‘barter,’ as you call it, I’m going to need something from you—a guarantee if you will. Why don’t you to hike that skirt up so I can see what I’m dealing with. Better yet, come sit on my desk…spread those legs, and make yourself come with this.” He held out the cigar he’d pulled from his humidor while his salacious smirk grew into a full, stomach-churning smile. His yellowed teeth reminded me of urinal slime and nearly caused me to gag, but I held it in and stoned my expression to keep him from recognizing my disinterest. My stomach lurched forward, but I proceeded to his desk as instructed, chanting to myself with every step that this was all for the sake of my brother.

  I sucked in the tiniest of breaths and briefly closed my eyes before grabbing the cigar from his meaty hand. In one fell swoop, I slid the items off his desk in defiance, hoping it portrayed a fearless attitude. I needed him to believe that I could handle anything he gave me if I ever expected him to take me up on my offer. But my display only made him laugh. I wanted to fucking scream, and then make him choke on his cigar as I rammed it down his throat. I shrugged my skirt up to my hips and inched my ass across his desk. Opening my legs wide, I carefully balanced myself on the heels of my pumps, making sure he had a decent view.

  He hastily snatched a chair and sat between my legs, his pants already tented. He began to unzip, the familiar sound echoing around me and dancing on my frayed nerves.

  This is for your brother, Jordana. I needed one last reminder of my purpose before going through with this degrading act, because without it, I would’ve taken off out that door and never looked back. I may have indulged in sexual freedom prior to meeting Stefan, but I’d never been the kind to juggle more than one man at a time. Even thinking about going behind Stefan’s back for this filthy man soured my stomach, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter. Not to mention, Stefan and I hadn’t really had the “exclusive” talk. The closest we came to it was last night when he told me I was his. And although I knew in my heart that those words were his claim on me, I had to ignore it and use the loophole in my favor. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to follow through with this. And without this, things would get very ugly for my family.