Model for the Mob: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  It’s a caricature of a fashion show. They’re trotting us out first as the comedy routine. We’re not dressed even remotely fashionably.

  I stand third in line as soft music starts playing and the curtains withdraw, revealing a cavernous room that seems all shadows. The spotlights make it too difficult to see the crowd, and my nerves make it impossible to look up for longer than a moment.

  The first woman walks out and then the vulture in charge waves her hand.

  The second woman walks out and I approach the edge of the curtain, my heart pounding up my throat, threatening to close it as I try to summon some courage.

  All I find is fear and the need to get away as fast as I can.

  But if I run the Russos will chase me down and do evil things to me for disrespecting them. That’s how they’ll frame it. I’ve done something wrong to them because I don’t want to prance around like an idiot for their amusement.

  Crap, crap, crap.

  She’s waving at me now, glaring when I stand there, barely upright in the too-tall heels.

  “Move, girl,” she hisses.

  She darts forward and grabs my bare arm with her cold hand, making my skin shiver and goosebumps move over me like slimy slugs.

  “Move.”

  She pushes me.

  The momentum carries me around the edge of the curtain and I just about catch myself, feeling as though I’m sitting very high above myself, looking down on this moment rather than living it.

  I hold my head high and resist the urge to close my eyes against the blinding lights.

  Somewhere on the balcony, a man makes a whooshing noise. I hope it’s not aimed at me. With every shaky footstep down the runway, I feel my calves quiver and threaten to buckle under me. I feel a joke coming from every angle.

  I know I’m not strutting or swaying or doing anything I’m supposed to do.

  I’m simply walking, trying to get to the end of the runway as fast as possible.

  Crap.

  I’ve walked too quickly and the last girl is still standing there, twisting and turning for the crowd as some of them jeer up at her. I can’t tell if their catcalls are genuine or if they’re mocking her.

  I stand awkwardly, with no idea what to do now.

  I’ve ruined it.

  “A bit too keen, eh, hot stuff?” a vicious voice growls from above me, from the balcony.

  I glance up but the lights are blinding. All I can make out is a series of silhouettes vaguely outlined.

  “The fuck you looking at me for?” the man cackles. “Stupid fucking—”

  “Finish that sentence and I put a bullet in your head.”

  This man’s voice is steady and deep, booming over the function hall, causing everybody to suddenly fall silent. The soft jazz music continues to play incongruously as I stand there, hands clasped in front of me, wondering why the heck this man has come to my defense.

  “Don’t be stupid, Luca,” the first man snarls.

  Luca – the man with the steady voice – lets out a humorless laugh. “You will not fucking insult her, Franco.”

  Franco.

  The man insulting me is Franco, the leader of the Russo family. And the man defending me is Luca, the leader of the Lioni family.

  What the heck? Why would he defend me?

  “Do you know her or something? Is she family?”

  “No,” Luca growls.

  “Then I can talk to her any damn way I want. I can strip her naked and give her to my men to take turns if they can stomach—”

  A loud crash sounds and then men are yelling, voices raised.

  I peer up into the light, stunned at the sight of a massive silhouette holding a smaller silhouette up against the wall, lifting him clear off his feet.

  Luca is tall and muscled and I think his hair glints silver, but it’s difficult to tell.

  “Tell her you’re fucking sorry.”

  “You can’t do this,” Franco wheezes.

  “I am,” Luca snaps. “Now apologize or I’m going to throw you off this fucking balcony. Now.”

  My mind spins crazily as I try to work out why Luca Lioni is doing this. Beneath the confusion gratitude swells, but it’s tinged with suspicion.

  Is this about me or is this about mafia business, and am I going to get caught in the middle of it all?

  “Let me go,” Franco whines, his voice ringing out like a little boy’s across the hall.

  Several men let out instinctive chuckles before killing them a moment later, as though they’re afraid to laugh.

  “I said let me go.”

  “Tell. Her. You’re. Sorry.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” he cries, his voice quivering. “Okay? I’m sorry, lady. Fuck. Just let me go. You’re hurting my neck.”

  “Fucking coward.”

  Luca drops him and straightens his frame, a massive shadowed outline, his eyes gleaming in the semidarkness.

  I want to see what happens next, even if I sense it won’t be anything good, but then somebody is dragging me back toward the curtains. It’s the girl who was in front of me, twisting and posing for the crowd.

  “We have to get out of here,” she hisses in my ear. “They might start shooting.”

  I hurry toward the curtain, my mind spinning too fast for me to catch my thoughts, confused and grateful and terrified all at once.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Luca

  Franco glares at me, his face burning red and his jowls quivering. He looks around at his men – at the room in general – as though expecting time to reverse and reveal that he just hallucinated what happened.

  But he didn’t.

  I snapped.

  For her. For my woman.

  Whoever she is, she’s the woman I’ve been waiting my whole damn life for.

  She belongs to me. She’s mine. She’s going to give me a family.

  And this bastard mocked her.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Franco growls after a long pause.

  “Not here,” I snap. “Remember the cops.”

  “Not here? I should put a bullet in your head.”

  I take a small step forward, tilting my head at him, staring hard so he can see the fearlessness in my eyes. Men like Franco operate on terror. Without it, they flounder, no idea how to force those around them into submission.

  “Put a bullet in my head, Franco,” I snarl. “Go ahead. See how that goes for you.”

  All around us our capos are bristling, their fingers itching for their weapons. In the crowd below men’s voices are raised, arguments breaking out, but nobody will make a move without Franco or me giving the order first.

  “This isn’t over,” he says, unable to keep the whimper out of his voice as he ducks his head and shuffles past me.

  His men follow after him and I turn to find Aldo glaring at me.

  He doesn’t understand what just happened. He can’t understand.

  How the fuck can I explain it to him?

  The second I laid eyes on her – looking through that stupid makeup – I knew she was mine, and mine alone.

  A primal war song rose up inside of me, roaring at me to claim her right there. I was going to wait until after this fucked-up show was done and then send for her.

  But that motherfucker forced my hand.

  Nobody mocks my woman. I don’t give a shit who he is.

  “Everybody out,” I roar over the function hall.

  Immediately they follow my command, snapping into action, dozens of footsteps rushing for the doors.

  Voices rise into the air, murmurings of war and revenge and respect, and even if I know I’ve made a tactical error, I can’t bring myself to regret it.

  What was I supposed to do, just sit there and let him bully her?

  I had to defend her. He had to apologize.

  “Boss,” Aldo murmurs, once it’s just me and my men standing on the balcony. “I don’t understand. Do you know the girl?”

  I turn to one of my capos. />
  “Bring her to my estate. And bring the right fucking girl. The one who walked too quickly. The one Franco insulted. And be respectful to her. Understand?”

  “Yes sir,” my man says, striding down the hallway with two men at his side for backup.

  That’s right. We’re at war now. Somebody might try and jump them.

  My cousin strides closer to me, pushing his glasses up his nose.

  “Luca,” he says quietly. “Please, you need to explain.”

  I grit my teeth, tension working its way through my body. Every instinct I have roars at me to claim my woman right now, to tear off those ridiculous clothes they put her in and explore her curvy body.

  Even with that jester’s outfit, she looked beautiful, with her dark chocolate-colored hair falling in waves to her shoulders, wide naive eyes, voluptuous body, and curves in all the right places, gorgeously thick, the sort of body a man needs to bury his hands in.

  “Luca,” Aldo snaps, with a rare flash of anger.

  I nod toward the exit. “Come on. We’ve got business to take care of. Defenses to sort. Problems to solve.”

  He swallows down another round of questions, then gives a curt nod.

  “Yeah. I guess shit’s really going to hit the fan now.”

  I can tell he wants to ask me why, why, fucking why, but he knows better than to press the issue. And we’ve got a busy night ahead of us.

  I can’t bring myself to regret what I did as I stride out of the building and across the parking lot. I climb into the passenger side of the sedan and one of my capos slips into the driver’s seat.

  “Not yet,” I tell him. “I need to make sure she’s safe first.”

  I stare at the building, eyes scanning the women who filter out amongst the men, my heartbeat thundering through me when I think about Franco storming backstage and taking out his petty rage on my woman.

  But then I see her, standing between my men. One of them has given her his jacket and she glances around as she walks, as though skittish and scared.

  I bite down and clench my hand into a fist, my balls surging and roaring at me. My seed tells me to claim her body right now, to bend her over and pull that skirt up and fuck her like a savage right here in the parking lot, like an animal, pump into her until my seed explodes inside and her womb has no choice but to give me a family.

  I never thought I’d find my woman.

  But she’s here. She’s right here.

  “I want two more men escorting her to the estate,” I say. “And if anybody even fucking looks at her disrespectfully, I will bury them myself.”

  The sun is rising as we leave the city and head into the surrounding countryside, where my estate resides. I have apartments in the city too, but there’s no way I’m going to risk leaving my woman in one of those, prey to Franco’s revenge.

  Aldo drives and I sit back, letting out a sigh, as the hills roll past and the sun makes the air hazy on the horizon.

  “It’s been a long night,” I say.

  “Luca,” Aldo says, using the friendly tone of voice he reserves for when we’re alone. “Everything’s sorted now. We’ve got guards posted on all our important business. We’ve called up hundreds of troops. We’ve moved all our cash and our assets to the safes. But I still don’t know why. Why her? Who is she?”

  I laugh gruffly. “Cousin, I don’t even know her damn name.”

  “What?”

  I nod, tracking a flock of birds across the sky, the way they dart this way and that. Maybe I should be in a bad mood, but now that business is sorted I finally get to meet my woman, properly meet her, and tell her who the fuck she belongs to.

  “I don’t understand.”

  I smirk. “Neither do I.”

  “So tonight is the first time you saw her?”

  “Yep.”

  “So why…” He trails off. “Just why?”

  I glance over at him. He’s leaning against the steering wheel, eyes narrowed on the road.

  “Aldo, you drive like an old lady.”

  He chuckles, shooting me a look. “Go fuck yourself.”

  I laugh and then he grows somber again.

  “I deserve to know, Luca.”

  “I don’t fucking understand it myself,” I tell him. “One minute I’m sitting there, convinced I’ll never find the woman of my dreams. More than that… Convinced the woman of my dreams, as a concept, is a lie. And then she walks out from behind the stage, looking shy and beautiful and—and I don’t know, Aldo. She captivated me. She’s going to be the mother of my children. We belong together.”

  Aldo’s jaw goes tight and his fingers twitch, as though he wants more than anything to clean his already-clean glasses.

  “What?” I growl. “You’ve clearly got something you want to say.”

  “I’m just processing it.”

  “You think I’m insane. It’s alright. You can say it. It’s just us.”

  “I’ve never heard you talk like this before,” he says. “I never even imagined you could. You sound like a hopeless romantic. And that isn’t you. It’s never been you.”

  “You’re not telling me anything new. Like I said, I can’t explain it. I just know it, more certainly than I’ve ever known anything. What fucking right did that drunk prick have to talk to her like that?”

  “If she’s going to be the mother of your children, no right.”

  “No right,” I growl. “Fucking exactly. He’s lucky I didn’t beat him to death.”

  Aldo sighs. “We need to play this right with Franco.”

  “Something tells me his consigliere, Octavio, wouldn’t care too much if Franco suddenly disappeared and he had to take control. Octavio has always been more reasonable this that bastard.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Instinct.”

  But even as I say the word instinct, it feels phony and half-true.

  The word has taken on a new meaning ever since I laid eyes on my woman. Since I felt what true instinct is. When I grabbed and throttled Franco before I had time to think about what I was doing and the war I was starting.

  Instinct means claiming my woman like the predator I am, pounding her into a quivering orgasming heap, her body sending me shivering signals about how desperately she needs to give me children.

  “I guess we just have to hope she feels the same now, eh?” Aldo jokes.

  I smirk as my estate comes into view, the tall brick walls and the sentry turrets, the long gravel pathway leading to a fountain, and my massive mansion sitting in the middle.

  “She will,” I tell him firmly.

  But even a man like me experiences doubts, and there’s a small voice inside that whispers she might not.

  I may have started this war for nothing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lucy

  I sit on the plush silk bed, worrying my hands at each other. It’s been a long night and I haven’t gotten much sleep. I didn’t think I’d get any after the craziness of being escorted here by Luca’s men.

  “Ma’am, please, you have to come with us,” the leader said, a tall man with close-cropped hair called Vito. “Mr. Lioni wants to make sure you’re safe.”

  “Safe?” I asked. No idea what the heck was going on.

  As I stood in the back room with the other girls – the air loud with their confused voices, everyone chattering in confusion – I searched my mind for any connection I might have to Luca Lioni. I tried to work out if my dead parents knew him somehow, or if I’m his cousin… something, anything to explain why he’d come to my defense like a ferocious beast marking his territory.

  “Franco may target you,” Vito said. “Please.”

  Confusion whelmed in me at the polite tone he used, even deferent, his head bowed and his voice imploring. It was like he was forgetting he’s a mafia guy and I’m just an orphan who works in a rundown diner in a bad part of town, an orphan who is late on her rent and has no family and few friends to look out for her…

  He
ck, not few friends. I don’t have any real friends.

  So they could’ve taken me without anybody causing a fuss. I’m sure the vulture in charge of the models would’ve gladly helped them. But instead, they were asking.

  I went with them.

  And I’ve spent every moment since I got here wondering if I’ve made the worst mistake of my life.

  The room is plush and luxurious, with thick rugs and a tall ceiling. The bed is king size and a four poster, the sheets silk. The ensuite has a marble bathtub and a brick sauna and a steam room. Clean comfortable clothes were waiting for me on the bed, a simple T-shirt and some jogging bottoms. They’re a little baggy, but at least it’s better than the clown suit they dressed me up in.

  I’ve already wiped off that ridiculous makeup.

  The room is nice, but it’s still a prison.

  The door is locked. And even if the door was open, I wouldn’t be able to get out of here. The estate is guarded and the walls are high.

  It’s a fortress.

  I wring my hands and let out a sigh, my body feeling weighted down, like any second I could collapse onto the bed and let my heavy eyelids fall closed. But I can’t do that.

  I barely fell into a fitful sleep last night, and that was interrupted over and over by jagged spikes of fear moving through me. I jolted away, clawing at the sheets, confused by the tangled breathing that filled the air before I realized it was me.

  I was the girl who sounded like she was about to have a panic attack.

  I flinch when somebody pounds heavily on the door.

  “Yes?” I call.

  “It’s me. It’s Luca.”

  It’s me, he said first, his instinct, like we’re friends.

  But we don’t know each other.

  My stomach swirls with confusing emotion, my mind dancing over the way his silhouette seemed to bulge in the semi-darkness. His voice was an animal’s growl when he forced Franco to apologize.

  Something deep inside of me throbs as his gruff voice bounces around my head, my sex doing strange things, tingling and shivering as though this man isn’t my captor.

  But he saved you, a voice screams from a deep place inside. He’ll always save you.