Beg Me: A Billionaire Syndicate Romance
Penelope Woods
Copyright © 2020 by Penelope Woods
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Contents
About the Author
1. Madison Napolitano
2. Rocco Morelli
3. Madison
4. Rocco
5. Madison
6. Rocco
7. Madison
8. Rocco
9. Madison
10. Rocco
11. Madison
12. Madison
13. Rocco
14. Madison
15. Madison
16. Rocco
17. Madison
18. Rocco
19. Madison
20. Rocco
21. Madison
22. Rocco
23. Madison
24. Rocco
25. Madison
26. Rocco
27. Rocco
28. Madison
29. Rocco
Epilogue: Madison
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Penelope Woods is a top 100 Amazon author who writes dark sci-fi, horror, fantasy and uniquely gothic romance novels. When she learned about smut, it was like a light bulb clicked on in her head. She started writing in 2016 and has never looked back.
Madison Napolitano
I should have never looked into his eyes.
From across the bar, everything seemed so innocent. It was a simple hotel launch party, that’s it.
But I know that glance. I know he wants me.
I’m in his line of fire.
Great.
I leave before getting my drink, walking into the crowd of socialites and show-offs. Yes, another fundraiser for my late father’s company. Another money-bomb affair.
In my head, I can hear my father speaking. “We need this money to help people, Madison. We’re in the business of fixing things, not tearing the world apart.”
But I know better.
I know the kinds of dealings my father was into. When he was alive, he was corrupt. It’s hard to admit that sometimes, but it’s the truth.
This fundraising event is ridiculous. Since Dad’s death, bad people have hijacked the family business. His right-hand man, Byron Alfono, took over the estate.
I never trusted the guy, but that’s business, right? Still, I own a good chunk of the stock, so he’s sort of required to play nice. Once I lock eyes with him, I know I can’t run from a conversation I do not want to have.
Byron grabs my arm and forces me to talk to a group of billionaires from Russia and eastern Ukraine. “Enjoying the party, dear?”
“Oh, yes. Lovely party,” I whisper, throat parched.
I needed that drink earlier.
A waiter hands me a glass of champagne, and I take a sip. I glance over at the bar to find my mystery man. He’s gone. I scan the rest of the room, unable to find him.
One of the leading Russians leans forward, eyes on breasts. “What is it that you do, lovely? Or better yet, who do you do?”
A burst of laughter erupts from the crowd. It’s just another joke at my expense.
“My father was Gerard Napolitano. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make it in today,” I tell them.
I watch their smiles fade. They know how much power my father had. But they had no idea I was his daughter.
I gulp down the rest of my champagne and hand the empty glass to the baffled Byron. I walk away with haste.
As he scrambles to take engage in a new conversation, I walk toward some familiar faces. It’s a few classmates from business school. We’re all long past graduation, but we still support our old friendships as much as we can.
Still, to this day, Dasha is one of my best friends.
I take one of two glasses from her hands. “I’m so glad you made it,” I tell them.
“Hey,” she squeals. “That was mine.”
I take a big sip. “Not anymore,” I whisper.
Daniel, a shorter man with thick, rounded glasses, groans. “I came here to network, but it’s clear I’m not on their level.”
I smile. “They’re not the most accommodating,” I admit. “At least you’re putting in the effort. If you really need a job, I could always get you a position as a bell boy.”
“Great.” He sighs. “Sounds like the job of a lifetime.”
I shrug and grab a kabob as a caterer walks by. “I don’t know why you care so much about networking. You own your own business, and it’s doing great, Daniel.”
Dasha looks to my right, and I follow her eyes. “Madison, who is that guy who keeps glaring at you?” she asks. “My God, it’s almost like he’s trying to burn a hole through your head.”
I turn and feel my heart rate spike.
There he is. It’s that mystery man from the bar, the one who can’t keep his eyes to himself. He’s in the back corner now, taking small sips from his glass of brandy, alone.
I attempt to shrug the whole thing off. “Probably some guy my father did business with,” I say.
Deep down, I’m conflicted. Half of me wants to walk over to him, to demand he tell me who he is and why he won’t stop staring. The other half is begging me to leave the party entirely.
There are bad people here. I don’t need to get mixed up in something dangerous.
“He’s hot,” Dasha says. “You should talk to him.”
“I’m not talking to that guy,” I say, glancing over at him again. This time, he smiles, and I feel the blood rush to my face. “Oh Jesus, did he just see me look at him?”
She nods, smiling big. “Uh huh.”
I pull Dasha over to the catering section and pretend to look at the shrimp.
“What’s he doing now?” I ask. “Be careful. I don’t want him knowing something’s up.”
“He’s looking at you still. What do you expect?” she asks. “He’s practically drooling, hon.”
“Don’t call me that,” I say.
I glance over again. Fuck, he is hot. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s worth talking to. There are plenty of rich jerks who are hot.
“Wow. Look at that suit he’s wearing,” Dasha coos.
“Incredible,” I say with sarcasm. “Why don’t you talk to him if you like him so much?”
Dasha ignores my question and continues doting. “Italian fibers. Look at the stitching,” she says, eyes changing expression. “You know what? I will talk to him. You talked me into it.”
“I didn’t actually mean—”
But she’s already walking towards him, inching the bottom of her dress up her thighs.
I grab a shrimp and take a big bite. Daniel walks over and says, “So, she took the bait?”
Although it shouldn’t, the question catches me off guard. “I wouldn’t call it bait, since he wasn’t looking at her,” I say.
“It’s the oldest trick in the book,” he smiles. “Give the friend all the attention. It makes the girl you want jealous. A guy over at Club 37 told me that once.”
I laugh. “Daniel, tha
t’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say. “You’ve got to stop listening to strangers or you’ll be alone forever.”
“Fine by me,” he says. “More time to myself.”
I’m barely listening to Daniel. I can’t stop glancing back at them. Dasha and the stranger with the dark eyes. He has a perfect chin, masculine cheekbones, and the body the size of two Army commandos.
A smile forms across his lips, and that handsome mouth shows off a set of sparkling, white teeth.
Okay, he’s fucking hot. There, I’ve admitted it.
Again.
“Oh, give me a break,” I mutter.
“What?” Daniel asks. “What did I say?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, walking back to the bar. “I’ll take a double vodka on the rocks,” I tell the bartender.
He nods and pours a drink. “It’s on the house,” he winks.
“Yeah, yeah.” I turn and drain half the glass.
The house is my family. Byron owns most of the business. But it’s my father who started the damn thing. Without him, Byron would be nothing.
I can’t worry about Byron now.
The image of that strange man, smiling at Dasha’s jokes is burned into my mind.
She comes walking back with a big smile on her face. By the time she makes it over, he retreats into the lobby.
Dasha laughs so loud people are turning to look at us.
“What did you do?” I ask in between breaths. “Did you get his number or what?”
“No,” she smiles. “I gave him yours.”
Oh, no…
Heart pounding against my chest, I feel my cheeks heat. “Did you just say what I think you just said?”
She nods.
A few seconds later, my phone vibrates.
“Better answer that,” Dasha winks.
That bitch!
Rocco Morelli
That woman in the black dress. - I’ve seen her before. I can’t stop staring. I know it’s rude, but how can a guy stop when she’s that captivating?
She’s confident, that’s for sure. She’s young and full of hope. I wonder how much she’s worth. $4,000? $5,000? I’d settle on $10,000 if I had to…
When she spins around to pretend to look at food, her dress swivels around her thick thighs. Her tits are nearly falling out the top of her silky dress. She knows what she’s doing.
Just looking at her gets me off. Knowing that she can see me staring turns me on.
She’s drop-dead gorgeous. You think I’d let this one out of my sight. Fat fucking chance.
That woman is mine.
Every few seconds or so, she turns back to glance at me. The way her eyes dart toward mine, down to the zipper of my hand stitched pants, tells me she wants me. All she has to do is say the word.
Instead, her boring friend struts her way toward me. The way she’s holding her dress nearly makes me drop my drink. It’s not very charming, and she’s way too underdressed.
“Look, honey,” I say. “You’re not my type. Seriously, I’m not interested.”
“Oh blow it out your ass, I’m not here for you,” she tells me.
A smile creeps onto my face. At least she’s got some humor. “Then what do you want? Money? Are you here to get contacts, or whatever it is you business kids do?”
“I’m 31,” she says. “Not exactly a kid.”
I’m 45, going on 29. When you’ve lived as much as I have, you acquire certain tastes. You understand the world a little bit better too.
“You’re all children to me,” I say, glancing at that woman again.
“Even my friend?” she asks me.
“What’s her name?” I ask. I’m not about to waste my time chit chatting with this woman. I need the other one. The woman with chestnut hair and wide-set hips.
“Madison,” she mutters. “Napolitano.”
I sigh. “She’s one of the Napolitano girls? Oh, fuck,” I say.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “Her father passed away a month ago.”
“I, uh, heard,” I say.
The Napolitano family comes from dirty money. They’ve been siphoning it from the streets of Detroit for decades. I’ve heard they’re more legitimate now, but the rumors still abound.
I cough. “My apologies to the family. I have to run. Excuse me,” I say.
I move forward to leave. The Napolitano Family is competing business for me. I’m simply here because their hotel chain bid more on the land. I came to scope things out, not to make a whole ordeal out of this.
Her friend stops me in my tracks. “She wanted me to give you her number,” she says. “You do want that, don’t you?”
Fuck.
I swallow down hard, feeling that thick click in my throat. “Sure,” I mutter. “I’ll take her number and put it in my Rolodex.”
“So old fashioned,” she says with enough sarcasm to annoy the hell out of me.
She pulls out a card and scribbles a number on it. I grab and tuck it into my coat pocket. I glance over at the Napolitano woman again and eye her up and down. When she smiles at the boy she’s talking to, I know I need her. She grabs her iced drink and wraps those thick lips around the straw, pulling back ever so slightly.
She makes my cock hard. So hard, that I’m forced to turn away and enter the lobby.
I can get any woman I want. That’s the truth. Everyone’s got a price attached to their name. Some know their worth, others don’t. This woman knows who she is. She knows she’s worth millions, and she’s going to be a hard sell.
I’ve never backed down from a challenge.
I close the door and lean against the back wall of the gold and glittery lobby, of the new Napolitano Hotel. It’s a grand spectacle of shit, built at a fraction of what they’ll make in the first month. It’s a good scam. I’ll give them that.
I scan the eggshell-colored card and bite my tongue. “Fuck,” I whisper.
Within seconds, I’m calling. I can’t hold back. I don’t care if she holds the Napolitano name. Maybe she’s different. Besides, I’m okay with risk.
I type in the numbers and hold my finger above the send button. There’s no hesitation. I know what I want, and it’s that woman. Even if it’s only for one night.
The phone rings three times. It’s just enough to get me excited. I love the anticipation. I practically live for it.
She answers with a whisper. “Um, hello?”
My cock rises in my pants.
Standing against the gold staircase in the hallway, I respond. “I’m headed to a bar down the road. Care to join me?”
“Who is this?” she asks, playing dumb.
“Rocco Morelli. Who am I speaking to?”
“Someone way too young for you,” she replies.
Her response forces me to laugh. This woman has some humor in her.
I pace around the lobby, walking up the gold stairs. “Do you even know my age?” I ask. “Come to the bar. You won’t regret it.”
She laughs. “You know, whenever somebody says that, I almost always regret it.”
“That’s a good point,” I tell her. “But your friend said you were up for anything. Was that not correct?”
“I shouldn’t even be on the phone at this function,” she says. “You know it’s my father who set this up, right?”
“Why do you think I’m calling you? I need an in,” I admit.
“You can’t be serious,” she mutters.
“No, I’m actually kidding. The real reason I called is to get you in bed with me.”
There’s a short silence, and I think I hear her choke on her food. I wait for her to settle down and face what I just told her. After all, it’s true. There’s nothing I want more than to take her home with me. No business deal could top that.
“Excuse me?” she replies.
“Are you really going to make me repeat myself?” I ask. “I said, I’d like to take you home and fuck your brains out.”
I can hear her walking fast into another room
. The door of the lobby opens and she walks into the center, standing where I was before. I duck behind a corner, on the above floor, and eye her. She’s flustered, face has turning dark red. Either she’s flattered, embarrassed, or she hates my guts. Both reactions work for me, if I’m being honest.
A bit of anger is very sexy.
“What makes you think you can talk to a woman like that?” she hisses, cupping her hand around the receiver of the phone.
I grin when I see her fiddling with her silver necklace.
“Every woman has a price, right?” I ask.
“No, not every woman,” she says. “My father is—”
“I know very well who your father was,” I interrupt. “I’ve done plenty of business with the man. I’m not asking about him. I want to get to know you.”
“Fat chance,” she says.
I keep the game going. “And why is that?” I ask.
She begins to lay it on thick. “Because you’re kind of a prick. And it’s like I said, I’m too young for you.”
“You really want to get with a younger guy? Someone like that boy you were talking to earlier? Go right ahead,” I say. “I can show you things you could never dream of. I would make you quake.”
She swallows hard. I can hear it through the phone. “That’s what I thought,” I tell her.
“You’re married, aren’t you?” she asks. “That’s your thing, isn’t it? You go to highbrow business functions and prey on younger women. Then you go back home to your loving wife and tell her how much she means to you. I’ve seen that before. I’ve met guys like you.”
“Wrong again,” I say.
I walk up to the top of the stairs and watch her. That elegant sway of hers gets me every time I see it. The way she runs her fingers across her collarbone drives me crazy. I want to kiss her neck, to taste her sweetness as I shake the foundations of her world.
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