The Boss's Temptation: An Age Gap Mafia Romance

by Jagger Cole

Salvestro nods at Anton. The Russian beams and turns to grunt something at one of his men. The man leaves the room quietly. My heart thumps loudly. My jaw clenches. Sal and Bernardo have given me full autonomy to run the organization on this side of the Atlantic as I see fit. I’ve done them well in that regard. Very, very well. And my thanks is a goddamn marriage of convenience? I seethe. My fist is like iron on the table.

  The door behind Anton opens slowly. It’s dark, and the air is thick with cigar smoke. A figure steps in. The door closes behind her. Anton turns and beckons. Slowly, the figure steps forward. The dim lights illuminate her.

  My heart stops. Holy Christ.

  She’s gorgeous. She’s far beyond gorgeous, actually. She’s stunning. She’s beautiful beyond belief. Gingery red hair frames a beautiful, soft face. Her full, pouty lips quiver slightly. Her crystal blue eyes look scared as they scan the dim room. She’s dressed in a creamy, silk sleeveless dress that hugs dangerous curves I try to pull my eyes away from.

  “This,” Anton turns to smile at me. “This is your gift. Karina.”

  My eyes snap back to the girl. She trembles. I snarl.

  “No,” I growl.

  “Si,” Salvestro hisses next to me. “Si, Micheal.” He turns to me. His thick, bushy grey eyebrows raise, and he smirks. “She is beautiful, no?”

  “Sal…”

  “She will make a fine wife, Micheal,” he murmurs. His words aren’t a suggestion. They’re not an encouragement. They’re a final statement, and I know that. I grit my teeth and I meet my boss’s eyes. “It is settled, then. Yes?”

  My eyes slide back to the girl. Fuck, I almost can’t bring myself to say woman. She’s young. Christ is she young. I turn back to Sal.

  “Don Salvestro,” I say quietly.

  “The answer is yes, Micheal,” he says quietly, with finality.

  I turn back to the Russians across the table. I take a slow breath and then exhale. Finally, I nod. “It is settled.”

  The deal is done. And now, she’s mine.

  God help her.

  2

  Katrina

  I look into the mirror. The face that looks back is scared, her lower lip quivering. I tremble all over, actually. Down the dark hallway, I can hear men’s voices rumbling. It’s muffled through the heavy wooden door. But I know the basic idea of what they’re talking about: me.

  I swallow with a dry mouth. My nails press into my palms. I’m a pawn. A gift. Or if we’re being honest, a bargaining chip. I’m payment for another’s crimes. My cousin, Sasha, is the cause of all of this. I could try and be charitable and try to think of this as a family issue. But I’m not family to Sasha or my Uncle Anton. I’m property.

  To my uncle in particular, I might as well be a maid. A Russian Cinderella. But I’m old enough now to know there’s no such thing as fairy godmothers. There’s no pumpkin carriage coming to whisk me away. No talking, sewing mice. No glass slippers.

  I never knew my mother. When I lost my father young, back in St. Petersburg, the closest family I had left was Anton, my father’s brother. It didn’t matter that my father hated his brother and the rest of his family too. My mother had no family left. So, I was shipped off to the US to be raised by my uncle. My cruel, ill-tempered, criminal uncle.

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire, I believe is the saying.

  Since then, I’ve been kept in a proverbial tower. Barely any friends, certainly none that are boys. No boyfriends, no social life, nothing. And my uncle is not a nice man. In his eyes, I’ve been nothing but a burden. I’ve been an unwanted pest in his house for him to kick and slap around when he’s had a bad day.

  But now, at twenty-three, my uncle has finally found a use for me: payment for a wrongdoing I have nothing to do with.

  Sasha is the one with the alcohol problem. The drug problem too, actually. He’s the one with the temper who likes to see how far he can push the line before it gives. I know what my family is. And I know that my uncle is the power behind the entire Korolyov family. But this time, Sasha went too far. The men he hurt are connected to very, very powerful men—men and a family that is much larger and more powerful than my own.

  And now I’m the peace offering. I’m the prize to stop a war between the families. I’m being given to a man. Not just any, either. I’m being given to the man who runs the entire Scaliami family.

  I know almost nothing about him. All I do know, though, is that he’s powerful. I’ve been told by my uncle that he’s cruel and wicked. I’ve been told his temper is on a hair-trigger; that he’s decisive and cold. And he’s much, much older than I.

  But I have no say in this. Bargaining chips seldom do. I might now be privy to much of the goings on of my uncle’s business. But I know enough to know that war with the Scaliami family would mean annihilation. Sasha bit off more than he could chew, and now my freedom is forfeit.

  Down the hall, the door creeks open. Dim light floods into the dark hallway before he closes it. I don’t know his name, but I know he’s a soldier for my uncle.

  “Come,” the man growls. He beckons. “Your uncle needs you now. Wait by the door, here.”

  The man steps back inside. I take a trembling breath. I walk over to wait where he’s pointed. Inside, I hear voices rising in volume. A deep, booming one sounds angry. I try and swallow again, but my mouth is still dry.

  “Remember, devochka…”

  The voice behind me makes me tremble. It makes my stomach knot and sour, too. Pavel, my uncle’s top advisor, steps around me. He smiles at me lecherously, his eyes undressing me as they always do.

  “You play nice now, yes?” He hisses like a snake. “You make him a happy man. I know you will. Or there will be trouble.”

  I nod softly. “I know,” I say quietly.

  Pavel grins. “You know how to please a man, devochka?”

  I blush and I look down at my feet. He chuckles deeply.

  “No, I suppose you do not. Your uncle has had you locked away like a little doll. No boys to teach you about these things.” He sighs. “A pity. I would be a very good teacher…”

  My stomach wrenches nauseously.

  “But we are out of time. Now you belong to Don Genovese. And you will make him happy, the way a good girl is supposed to make a man happy,” Pavel growls. “Any way he asks, yes?”

  I say nothing. Pavel’s face darkens. “Yes?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. I’m terrified. I can barely think. But just then, the door opens. The same foot soldier steps out.

  “You, now,” he grunts. I nod.

  “Make him happy, devochka,” Pavel hisses behind me.

  I take a deep breath. I try and stop my hands from shaking by gripping them tight together. I step into the low light of the room.

  The room is dark, low lit. The men in suits sit around a gorgeous, round wood conference table. My uncle’s back is to me. But he turns and leers at me. He turns back to look at a man cloaked in shadow across the table. I know in my gut that this is him. This is the man I’m being given to. Fear clutches at me.

  “This,” Anton nods at the shadowy man. “This is your gift.”

  “No.” A deep, confidant, masculine voice growls back from the shadows.

  Hope blooms in me. Perhaps he doesn’t want me? I know it could mean war if he doesn’t accept me as a peace offering. But it would mean not being given to a man I don’t know like a door prize.

  Next to the man I can’t quite make out, an older man with a cigar between his lips leans close. He says something to the man in shadow. I see them lean closer. The man cloaked in shadow shakes his head angrily. But then the man with a cigar says one more thing. The shadow man goes silent. His shoulders tighten and he turns back to my uncle.

  “It is settled.”

  The hope inside of me snuffs out like a match. My uncle grins and rubs his hands together.

  “Good. Good, Don Genovese. I know she will be good to you. She can cook, she cleans—”

  “The deal is made,” th
e man snarls. He leans forward into the light with his hands clasped in front of him. “Stop selling me.”

  My eyes stop cold. For a second, a shameful part of me hopes to God that this really is the man I’m being given to. He’s beyond handsome. He’s gorgeous, actually. Dark hair, silvering at the temples. A confident, chiseled, clean-shaven jaw. His eyes are hooded in shadow. He’s dressed head-to-toe in black—black suit, black dress shirt open at the chest. His jaw clenches tight. His broad shoulders do too. He’s much older than me. But he looks younger than a lot of the other men in power in the room.

  He looks up. For the first time, I see his eyes—blue like icy jewels. They burn through the smoke and land right on me. I gasp sharply. My heart seems to skip a whole beat.

  They’re the eyes of the man who owns me.

  I feel lost. On one hand, I feel sick inside. But on the other, I feel excited. It’s an agonizing, twisted excitement. It might even be mostly fear. But there’s something in his gaze that sets my core ablaze.

  He stands. The men around him do to, as does my uncle. Anton chuckles and walks around the table towards the mafia kingpin. They shake hands formerly. It’s like they’re setting a real estate deal. I just stare in shock. I know this is reality, but my brain is still racing to catch up.

  My heart beats quicker. This is happening too fast. Much faster than I really thought it would. My uncle turns and smiles at me. He crosses the room to where I stand and comes to a stop in front of me.

  He smiles cruelly. “You are his now.”

  “Uncle…” I whisper hoarsely. My eyes dart across the table to the cold, hard, ruthless king of a mafia empire. Fear grips me.

  Anton keeps smiling. “Be a good girl, Katrina,” he growls. “Be dutiful. Do not bring shame on this family or ruin this for us.”

  “Uncle...”

  “You will please him. You will keep him happy. Remember what I told you,” he hisses. “Remember what happened to his first wife. Don’t make her mistake. Make him happy before he has to ask it of you.”

  “Please,” I whisper. “Please, uncle…”

  My uncle scowls. “Do not make me slap you in front of your new husband.”

  I stare at him. “Husband?!” For some reason, I’ve never made this connection in my head. I’ve assumed this was a… a mistress situation or something. But husband?

  Anton frowns. “Did you think I was renting you out?” He chuckles deeply. “You are his now, Katrina. His and his alone. And you will please him.”

  I blink rapidly, holding back angry tears. My heart races “Because of Sasha.”

  “Well, Sasha isn’t going to be sucking his dick as an apology, now is he?” my uncle growls. I blush deeply, feeling a little sick. “But yes, for Sasha.”

  The favorite, I think. But Anton would never bother denying that. I could say no. I think I could. But what then? I make a scene, and Anton takes me away and beats me like he frequently does?

  “Uncle—”

  His hand darts out and grabs my wrist. His grip is painfully hard, and I gasp.

  “Do not embarrass me, you little bitch,” he growls under his breath.

  “Please…”

  “Do not.”

  “Please, uncle!”

  Anton’s other hand winds back. I wince, bracing for the hit. But then a voice booms through the dark room.

  “Enough!”

  The room goes quiet. Anton freezes. My eyes look past my uncle’s frozen face. It’s Micheal. The man with the icy blue eyes, handsome jaw, and dominating presence. My new husband-to-be.

  “Release her,” he snarls viciously.

  Anton’s frown fades. He smiles warmly and lowers his hand. “Of course, Don Genovese,” he says good-naturedly. “Sometimes, these girls, they need…”

  “Hold your fucking tongue,” Micheal hisses.

  The elderly man with the cigar chuckles. He pats Micheal on the shoulder. “Good boy,” he grunts in what sounds like an Italian accent. He starts to walk towards the door. Half of the assembled Scaliamis follow him.

  “Signorina,” he nods at me and tips his hat. I say nothing as he and his men filter from the dark room.

  “Leave us,” Micheal grows from across the table. Anton smiles at me as his own guards start to leave.

  “Do not disappoint me,” he growls quietly. “Do not embarrass me.”

  He follows his men out. The rest of the men in the room follow. I look up at Don Micheal Genovese. Now we’re alone. It’s just me and the older, powerful, handsome, and terrifying man who owns me.

  3

  Micheal

  The car is utterly silent. We drive through the city and then onto the highway back to my estate. I cut my teeth on these city streets. But now that I’m at the top, I prefer to spend as little time here as possible. I like my silence. I like my solitude.

  But that solitude is gone. Now, I’ve got… well, her. And this current silence isn’t the kind I crave. I turn to steel a glance at her. Inside, I groan deeply. Fuck, she’s beautiful. I mean stunningly, innocently beautiful. Soft skin. Deep blue eyes, and stunning red hair that tumbles down over one shoulder. She’s young, too. Far, far younger than me, that’s for sure.

  Christ, how old is she? I frown slightly. She looks older than Bellamy, my daughter. I silently thank God for that. This is a mess as it is. If she were younger than Bellamy, it would be a travesty. An embarrassment, even.

  I understand how Salvestro, Bernardo, and the other higher-ups back in Sicily think. They’re old school. They’re still living in an ancient time where this was done. It is not done here. But I can’t say shit. So here I am, being “gifted” a bride. You’d think I was a King of an ancient land. Not effectively the CEO of a modern business empire.

  This deal doesn’t sit well with me at all. It makes me feel dirty. It makes me feel like a sex offender, even being in the car with her. I mean how goddamn young is she? My jaw clenches. It makes me feel older, in a lecherous way. It makes me feel like Don Bernardo. The man is pushing eighty-five, and he’s on his fourth wife. This one is about twenty-eight. True love, I’m sure, I think sardonically.

  But men like that, from an older generation? They see an arrangement like that as a mark of pride. To a man like Bernardo, a fourth trophy wife a third his age is like buying a new Maserati. It’s like acquiring a new summer home on the Riviera, or a yacht.

  The thought makes my jaw clench even tighter. No, this deal does not sit well with me. It’s made worse ten-fold by it coming from Anton.

  I’ve always had a distaste for the Russians and their way of doing business. That includes the women they traffic and the drugs they sell. The Scaliami family has never dealt in women. But when I was crowned king of operations stateside for the Scaliami family, I put a stop to the drugs. I made it clear to Salvestro and Bernardo that if they wanted me in charge, we’d be out of the drug game. Given what I brought to the table, they agreed.

  But now, here we are. I’m making deals like this shit with the likes of Anton Korolyov. I have a goddamn Russian bride who looks half my age. I frown and turn to look at her in the quiet, dark backseat of the car. Christ, she does speak English, doesn’t she?

  My eyes drink her in. She looks scared. She’s huddled to one side of the backseat. Her hand are clenched tight on the lap of her cream dress. Her legs are ridged, knees together. Her eyes look out the window at the passing night as the city fades behind us. The glimmer of streetlights sends shimmers down her long red hair.

  Fuck, she’s mesmerizingly gorgeous. It makes me frown. Not because I don’t like looking at her. I do, and I like the thoughts that looking at her bring to my head. But I don’t like that I like it. I shouldn’t like it.

  Katrina turns her head. She gasps when she sees me staring at her, startled by me. But I don’t look away. Neither does she. She just peers into my eyes. It’s like she wants to say something but doesn’t have the words.

  “Do you speak English?”

  She blushes. She smiles a s
hy, quiet smile and nods. “Yes,” she says in perfect English with only the faintest hint of an accent. “I’ve been here since I was seven.”

  “Which was how many years ago, exactly?” I growl.

  Her blush deepens, and I know she understands what I’m asking her.

  “Sixteen years ago.”

  I groan inside. Christ, she’s twenty-three. Good God, I’m twenty fucking years older than her.

  “You’re really Anton’s niece?”

  She nods.

  “Bad luck.”

  She smiles shyly, understanding the joke. I grin to myself. Well, there’s some common ground. At least it seems we can both agree that her uncle is a piece of shit. I turn back to my own window. She looks out of hers. The car drives through the night in silence, back to my estate. My eyes keep steeling glances at her thighs beneath the edge of the dress. When I try to look away from that, it’s the rest of her I’m drinking in.

  Eventually, we pull through the front gates. Katrina’s jaw drops a little. A hint of smile plays across my jaw. I like that she’s impressed.

  “This is your house?” she whispers.

  “It is.”

  “You live here alone?”

  Alone with two cooks, three maids, a butler, two drivers, a head of security and about fifteen armed men. But very much alone.

  “I do. It’s a lot of house for one person.”

  “Or two.” She immediately looks like she’s said something wrong. Her face reddens. Her eyes widen. “I’m… I’m so sorry, sir.”

  I frown. “It’s fine.”

  Sir? I groan inside. Fuck, her saying it shouldn’t make my dick hard. It shouldn’t make my desire swell inside. But I temper those thoughts down. I can’t look at her like this. I can’t let myself think these kind of thoughts about her. She’s twenty-fucking-three years old; twenty years my junior.

  She’s supposed to be mine. She’s supposed to be my fucking wife soon. The twisting of desire and self-loathing inside makes my jaw clench tight as the car pulls to a stop.