His Captive_A Mafia Romance

by Nikki Chase

Marcus shrugs. He stares at the bottom of the note. “Hey, if you’re Uncle A and she’s Aunt Bee, are you going to call your kid Cee?”

  Earl bursts out laughing as I narrow my eyes at Marcus. Marcus and his parents are the only people who call Aubrey Bee, so I’ve never realized this before.

  “If it’s a girl, you can call her CeeCee, and that can be her name. If it’s a boy, you can go with anything that starts with the letter ‘c’ and just call him Cee.” He pauses to think, then with confidence, he says, “Carlos would be a good name.”

  I join Earl in laughter. What a random name. I shoot Earl a questioning look.

  “Carlos is his best friend in school,” Earl explains. To Marcus, he says, “When you see your mom, tell her I know her dress has pockets. I have about fifty pictures of it already on my phone, so she can stop sending them.” Earl pauses to think. “But also tell her she looks pretty so she doesn’t get mad.”

  “Okay, cool,” Marcus says as he saunters out of the hotel room, my note in his hand.

  Watching him walk away, I muse, “I get the feeling he thinks we’re just as lame as the girls.”

  “Oh, there’s no question about it. He does, for sure,” Earl says. He goes quiet for a few seconds. “Hey, what is it with women and pockets?”

  I shrug. I don't really care about that right now. I just hope Aubrey will like my sappy little note.

  Epilogue

  Aubrey

  “Princess,

  Out of the billions of men on Earth, you’ve chosen to be with me. That makes me feel like the luckiest guy in the world. You’re the most beautiful person I know, inside and out, and sometimes I still can’t believe you’re mine.

  Twelve years ago, when we first met, you were just a cute girl at work, but I knew I had to talk to you, even if it took me weeks to work up the courage to ask you out. And now, you're about to be my wife.

  Even though the road here has been long and winding, I don’t regret a single thing. You’re my best friend, and I can’t imagine going through life without you.

  In a few hours, I’ll be able to tell everyone you’re my wife. I can’t wait.

  See you at our wedding! I’ll be the guy standing next to the minister at the end of the aisle.

  Love,

  A

  Tears spring to my eyes as I read Aiden’s note. It’s so sweet. He’s so sweet, and I’m the lucky one for having him in my life.

  “Aww…” Hannah smiles as she snaps some pictures of me with her phone camera. I hear multiple clicks. “Seriously, you two are adorable.”

  “Those pictures had better not end up on Instagram,” I warn my sister, even though I’m sure I don’t sound threatening at all with my voice distorted by crying.

  “Okay. Facebook it is,” she says.

  Mom hands me the box of tissues. “You’re going to ruin your makeup if you keep crying like that.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I dab carefully at my eyes and cheeks.

  I’ve fantasized about my wedding day, of course. Which girl hasn’t?

  But just a couple of years ago, I never would’ve expected that I’d be getting married to Aiden. And even in my wildest imagination, I never would’ve dreamed of marrying Aiden and having my whole family attend the wedding.

  I still don’t know when it finally clicked for me that I’m supposed to be with Aiden, and there’s nothing I can do to change that—not that I ever wanted to.

  The clock seems to crawl until I finally walk through the open doors into the old stone church where we're about to get married.

  As he promised, Aiden’s at the end of the aisle, grinning at me with pride and love in his blue eyes. He’s absolutely striking in his tailored suit. And whenever Aiden looks good in something, I get the urge to take it off and jump his bones.

  Today, though, I have to wait all day and all night until we get some time alone.

  But at least, now, he’ll be by my side. Nobody can keep us apart anymore, not even just for one night because it’s “bad luck” for us to see each other before the wedding.

  I can’t believe how much I miss him. It’s not easy for me to maintain a slow pace to match the music, because all I want to do is run into Aiden’s arms. Aside from last night, we’ve always shared a bed ever since Aiden stole me away from Hannah’s home.

  Everything has just fallen into place easily for us. I realize now why it never worked with any other guy. I know now why they always seemed too clingy. It’s simple: none of them was Aiden, and I was never into anyone else.

  The wedding guests have stood up to their feet, and most of them are looking my way (although Marcus is stealing a little of my thunder with his cuteness). But I’ve got my eyes on Aiden.

  Because of my dad’s excessive need to control me, I used to want to be a lone wolf. I wanted to break free and do everything myself.

  Now, I see that it’s okay to depend on other people sometimes. I mean, if it weren’t for Hannah’s help, yes, Aiden and I would still be together, and we’d probably be doing fine.

  But as I walk down the aisle, holding on to my dad’s arm while gazing giddily at Aiden, I realize that going it ourselves wouldn’t have been as satisfying.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I say just before we reach the end of the aisle. I give him a light kiss on the cheek.

  My dad smiles sagely and pats my hand before I let go. He tends to be quiet at emotional moments like this. He always looks awkward too, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

  He hasn’t said much about Aiden ever since the intervention, but they’ve been warming up to each other. They greet each other and speak civilly when they meet at birthdays and holiday dinners.

  I don’t think my dad is ever going to be as close to Aiden as he is to Earl, seeing as they’ve been working together for years. But I’m okay with that.

  I know now why my luck was so shit when I met Aiden again at the parking lot and at the slot machine. I think I used up all my luck meeting him. He’s been worth the trouble, though. I’m glad he showed up again, and I’m glad I never moved on after we parted the first time.

  As Aiden takes my hands, my surroundings turn into background blur. All I see is Aiden—his dark hair that makes me want to reach out and run my fingers through it, his strong jaw, and his sharp, blue, familiar eyes.

  The minister is probably saying something important, but Aiden and I are busy sharing our excitement.

  To everyone else, we may appear to just be staring and grinning at each other like idiots. But we’re having an entire conversation with our eyes right now. I’m telling him I loved his note, and I hated waking up to an empty bed. He’s telling me he was so excited he couldn’t sleep last night.

  In front of everyone we know and love, we share a private, wordless conversation in our secret language.

  And when the minister gives the prompt, we make a public vow. To love and to cherish each other for as long as we both shall live.

  “Before you kiss the bride,” the minister says, “let me end with a quote from the Bible. “Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”

  I hope my dad hears that, I think to myself. Aiden smirks and gives me a look that says he knows exactly what I’m thinking about, and he agrees . . . but it’s time for our wedding kiss now.

  He pulls me close and I let my eyelids flutter shut. These lips . . . No matter how many times I’ve kissed them, it never feels like enough.

  Aiden pulls away. Amidst the cheers of our wedding guests, he says, in a low voice only I can hear, “You’d better not get tired of doing that. Because you’re stuck with me now. For better or worse. You heard what the minister said.”

  I giggle. It’s scary how well Aiden reads my thoughts, but it’s even scarier how comfortable I am having him in my head.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you, too, princess.” He pauses and turns to look at me. “I mean . . . I love you too, wifey.”

  Thank you for reading! Hope you en
joyed Aubrey and Aiden’s story.

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  Preview: Protecting His Baby

  Prologue

  What did you say?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay, you can . . . fuck me.” The way she pauses before saying a curse word is adorable.

  Harper is shaking. Unfortunately for her, that’s exactly the kind of thing that turns me on.

  My grip on her hair tightens as my other hand yanks her flush against me. She gasps, and I shut her up by crushing her lips with mine.

  These lips . . . They’re so hot. So soft. So full.

  Ever since she got here yesterday, I’ve been salivating over the prospect of taking them again, and now I am.

  My hand on her back pulls on her towel, hard. I hear it fall softly on the tiled floor and pull away just enough to look down at her naked body.

  Fuck, she’s an angel with the body of a succubus.

  Harper

  Am I in trouble?

  My heels click-clack across the shiny, tiled floor toward the conference room. They sound way too loud. They echo.

  It’s not every day that Mr. Robert Foster himself, the founder of the company, wants to see me—alone. And I’m terrified.

  Even though the man is already wrinkled and gray, he’s no frail, old senior.

  From the stories I hear through the grapevine, he runs the city. He worked his way up from a poor “delivery boy”—no doubt transporting some questionable substances—into the kingpin he is today.

  The hotel I work for is completely legit, of course.

  Mr. Foster is cleaning up his act and is apparently letting go of his shadier businesses. Now that he’s got enough money to last generations, there’s no longer any reason to deal with something that dangerous.

  I grab the handle and push the door open, then scan the oversized room.

  Strange.

  A large, rectangular table stands in the middle of the enormous space. Floor-to-ceiling glass panels line one wall. Normally, they would allow me to see the skyscrapers outside and some tiny, little cars, too.

  But today, the conference room is dark. The blinds are drawn.

  It’s quiet, too. Other than the sound of my footsteps as I enter the room, I hear nothing.

  No Mr. Foster.

  All of a sudden, there’s a click behind me. The lights switch on all around me.

  “Surprise!” a chorus of voices shout, all at once.

  Out of nowhere, heads spring up from behind and under the conference table. I see grinning faces staring at me with twinkles in their eyes.

  Damn it. It’s a trap.

  “Happy birthday!”

  I force a smile as my colleagues sing the all-too-familiar birthday song. Tracy from HR holds up a chocolate cake on both her hands, the candles casting a warm, flickering yellow glow onto her face.

  It wouldn’t be polite to run out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind me, even though that’s exactly what my instincts tell me to do.

  Melinda from Legal puts her hand on my shoulder and gently pushes me closer to the table.

  “Blow out the candles,” Tracy says with an excited grin as the song ends, and she puts the cake on the side of the table closest to me.

  I do as they want, keeping a smile pasted on my face and looking down at the cake, letting my straight, red hair cover my face like a veil.

  Tears prick my eyes, and I hope they don’t notice any outward signs of me wanting to cry. That would be a total buzzkill.

  They’re being nice. I should appreciate their effort. They have no idea they’re only reminding me of the worst day of my life. The day when I lost everything.

  It’s not their fault. I’ve never told them. I don’t talk about it anymore. It’s not like anyone can help me.

  I blow out the candle and smile, keeping my gaze down as clicks and flashes from my colleagues’ phone cameras go off. I take a deep breath and blink away my tears before I lift my gaze and flash everyone the happy smile they expect.

  “Thank you so much, everyone,” I say. “You didn’t have to.”

  Seriously. You didn’t. You’d be doing me a favor if you pretended like this was just another day.

  “Aww . . . But, we had to, Harper,” Melinda says. “It’s your birthday and you’re stuck at work. It’s the least we can do.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry we couldn’t approve your leave today. I’m sure there are better things you could be doing than staying here in the office,” Tracy adds.

  I try my best to pretend it’s someone else’s birthday as Tracy, who has taken on the role of the person-in-charge for the cake, distributes paper plates with generous slices on them.

  “So, twenty-four, huh?” Tracy gives me a smile. Working in HR, she knows exactly how old I am.

  “Yup.” I cut my slice of the cake with the side of the fork and put it in my mouth. It’s creamy and sweet, and I’m sure it’s perfectly good, but I can’t taste anything. I never have much appetite on my birthday. Not since my nineteenth, anyway.

  “Must be nice to be young.” Melinda sighs as she shovels more cake into her mouth. “I’m telling you, twenty-five is when you start to age super quickly. Before you know it, you’re thirty-two and worrying about the lines forming under your eyes.”

  I laugh.

  “I’m sure you have a crazy party planned. I hope you’ll be able to postpone it until the weekend. I really feel bad about not being able to let you take the day off,” Tracy says.

  Ha. Party. As if I’d be in the mood for that on my birthday.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I can go . . . celebrate on the weekend.”

  “Do you have a hot date?” Melinda asks. “A boyfriend waiting for you at home?”

  I shake my head.

  “I never hear you mention spending your weekends with guys,” Tracy says.

  “Yeah. It’s been a while since I had a boyfriend,” I say through the lump in my throat.

  “Oh? How long?” Melinda asks.

  “Five years,” I say softly, hoping the murmur of conversation in the conference room will drown out my reply. I know they’re going to make a big deal out of it.

  “Five years?” Melinda widens her eyes. “That’s a long time to be single.”

  “Well, most of the guys in this office are married,” Tracy says. “And we do work her to the bone. It’s no wonder she doesn’t have time to date.”

  “Yeah. I just want to focus on my career right now,” I say, sticking to my usual line.

  Tracy and Melinda nod their heads.

  It’s an answer most people can understand. The kind that won’t invite more questions.

  “So, after all my hard work, does Mr. Foster even know I exist?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

  “Unfortunately, no. That was just a lie to get you to come here ASAP.” Tracy laughs. “Don’t worry, though. It’s not you. He doesn’t spend enough time in the office to know anybody, except for the staff members who have been here forever.”

  “I think he is in the building today, though. I saw him walking into his office just before I came in here.” Melinda pauses. Looking at me, she says, “You know what? There was a cute guy who went in with him. He looked like he’d be perfect for you.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me.” I give her a polite smile.

  Seriously. I don’t actually have a problem meeting guys. I meet guys, alright. I’ve just never met anyone who could take my mind off him.

  People think I’ll get over it quickly since I was so young when it happened. But, how can I? I hit the jackpot on my first try and nobody has even come close to making me feel the way he did.

  “I don’t worry about you.
It’s just that I’m married with kids now, and I want to live vicariously through you.” Melinda laughs and touches my shoulder. “But, Harper, you really should see this guy. He was gorgeous.”

  The guy could look like Chris Hemsworth, and it still wouldn’t matter.

  “Which guy was this?” Tracy asks.

  “I’ve never seen him before,” Melinda says. “Believe me, I’d remember a face like that. Not to mention . . . that ass.”

  “Melinda!” Tracy laughs.

  “If you saw him, you’d understand.” Melinda’s manicured fingernails part the slats of the dark wood blinds. “Oh, there he is now. He’s walking out of Mr. Foster’s office. Come quick!” She waves us closer, keeping her eyes glued to the target.

  Tracy steps toward the window and stands beside Melinda. “Ooh . . .” she says as she motions for me to join them.

  I don’t need to see this guy to know that I won’t be interested, but I play along.

  Since my nineteenth birthday, it seems like I only do things to play along with what people expect of me anyway. I haven’t done anything to enjoy myself in a long time.

  Everything I do has been a ruse to keep up appearances, to make it seem like I’m normal. Functioning.

  I slide up to the window and peek outside through the blinds.

  As usual, I see the spacious office floor that’s sparsely populated by chunky, wooden furniture and big, impressive paintings.

  Mr. Foster’s office door is ajar. He’s shaking the hand of a guy, who has his back to us.

  My heart skips a beat . . . but I ignore it. Over the years, I’ve learned to pay no attention to that clenching in my chest. I’ve had to.

  Because, even though the way the man’s leather jacket pulls snugly across his broad back reminds me of him, I know it’s not him.

  It can’t be him.

  I’ve had moments like this countless times before.

  It’s never him.

  Okay, breathe, I tell myself. Inhale for five counts. Hold it in for five counts. Exhale through the mouth for five counts. Repeat.