The Bossman

by Renee Rose

  Riverdale Avenue Books LLC

  5676 Riverdale Avenue, Suite 101

  Riverdale, New York 1047 www.riverdaleavebooks.com

  The Bossman

  Copyright © 2014 By Renee Rose

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-62601-080-2

  Print ISBN: 978-1-62601-081-9

  Cover by Insatiable Fantasy Designs

  Formatting by www.formatting4U.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the Publisher.

  Chapter One

  Joey La Torre, mafia big-wig and brother to the boss, lay face down on Sophie’s massage table, his powerful presence making it impossible to slow her heart rate. He’d shown up without an appointment, stepping into her tiny massage studio as if he owned the place while reminding her he’d been a friend of her father’s.

  “Would you like to listen to music?” she asked, although it was hard to imagine him enjoying her meditative flute and chant fare.

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever you usually do.” His voice reverberated around the small room, the rich tones over-filling it the same way his presence had been too large for her waiting room. She averted her eyes from the sight of his sculpted, naked torso, turning on the music and dispensing lavender-scented jojoba oil into her hands.

  He flinched when she touched his back, his muscles only growing tenser as she ran her thumbs up the taut ropes of his erector spinae. Getting him to relax might be an impossibility. He’d explained his physical therapist had recommended massage for the residual pain after a knee replacement. He didn’t like strangers touching him, he’d said, but his ma had remembered Artie Palazzo’s daughter was a “masseuse.”

  “Massage therapist,” Sophie had corrected.

  “Oh yeah? What’s the difference?”

  “A masseuse isn’t licensed, and may be the type that offers happy endings...” she’d trailed off, wishing she hadn’t opened that door.

  He’d chuckled, but fortunately refrained from making a lewd comment.

  She could feel his tension now. She guessed he was the sort of man like her father, who never let his guard down. She leaned her weight into him, using her forearms and even elbows to stroke arcs over his musculature. Joey was all thoroughbred male--wide shoulders, well-defined muscles, olive skin. Though macho men normally turned her off, his physical and charismatic presence combined with the apprehension his unexpected appearance inspired made her panties dampen, even as she cursed his mother for sending him to her.

  She’d followed her mother’s lead in putting distance between that side of the family and herself since her father’s death fifteen years ago. Still, you didn’t give offense to Joey La Torre by refusing him service. Besides, she needed the money--her car was on the verge of being repossessed.

  She continued her work, surprised when he began to settle in, responding to her touch and softening. She moved to his lower half, tucking the sheet between his legs to expose one buttock and leg. As she began to rub his glutes, she noticed one of his hips was higher than the other. She moved her fingers to the side of his low back to investigate if the pulling came from the Quadratus lumborum and then froze, realizing the cause of his distortion.

  Joey had a hard-on.

  Well, shit. Usually when it happened with a client, she ignored it, but with him it felt personal. Though she believed his reason for showing up was legit, she hadn’t missed the appreciative once-over he’d given her when he came in and considering how he had laughed when she’d stammered and called him Mr. La Torre, this felt like an opportunity for payback. She smirked and slid her fingers dangerously close to his crack, massaging the inside of his exposed bun, teasing him with her fingers as she worked the insertion of the muscles on the inside of his sit bone. His breath turned ragged and the muscles in his back hardened again. She took her time, slowing torturing him, savoring the feel of his oiled skin, the heady sensation of wielding sexual power. Moving to the other side, she dished out the same intimate treatment, using most of the hour on his buttocks alone.

  “It’s important to work the hips when the knee hurts,” she murmured softly in his ear. “They can get twisted and tightened from the pain.”

  He gave an unintelligible grunt.

  She did have some mercy on him, finishing by placing both hands around the knee, sending energy through her palms until she felt an answering pulse as the energy in the injured joint came alive. “Thank you, Joey,” she murmured, touching his shoulder to signal it was over.

  He gave a half groan.

  She left the treatment room to wait for him, satisfied she’d made him suffer. Just as he emerged, though, she looked out the front window and all gloating vanished. A tow truck lined up next to her car, and the operator got out with a hook.

  “Shit!” She opened the door and ran out toward the street. She could not afford to have her car repossessed. “Wait!” she yelled, dashing up to the tow truck. “Please. I’m going to make my payment today.”

  “Sorry, lady,” the guy said without even looking at her.

  “Wait--please? Can’t you just say you couldn’t find it?”

  She heard footsteps behind her and cursed, utterly humiliated that Joey La Torre witnessed this degrading scene. The footsteps did not slow, though. Before she understood what was happening, Joey gripped the tow operator by the collar of his coveralls and pointed a pistol at his head.

  “No,” he snarled. “You heard the lady. You couldn’t find it.”

  The tow guy held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, man, I don’t want no trouble, but she hasn’t paid her car loan, so this car belongs to the bank. I’ve got the papers right here,” he said, reaching for his pocket. Joey growled in warning, causing the operator to hold his hands up again.

  “I’m just gonna get the papers, man.”

  “Slowly,” Joey warned.

  The guy reached into his pocket, producing several papers folded together, which he held out with a trembling hand.

  She ought to stop him. If she were a better person, she would call him off, or at least attempt to. But the fact was she needed her car, so she kept her mouth shut.

  Joey snatched up the papers. “All right, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to leave this car here. You’re going to tell the bank the loan will be paid off this afternoon. And you--” he put his face right up to the other man’s, “--you stay away from Joey La Torre’s girl. If I ever see you hassling her again, you’re a dead man, got it?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it. I’m sorry, Mr. La Torre. I didn’t know she was your girl.”

  “Don’t forget it,” Joey growled, releasing the man. “Now get your hook off the car and get the hell out of here.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. La Torre,” he said, scrambling to comply.

  Joey stood supervising until the tow truck pulled away, then he turned to her and lifted his chin. “Get inside.”

  She spread her hands. “Your girl? What the hell?”

  He slid his pistol into the holster at his low back.

  With the immediate fear of having her car repossessed gone, a new one took hold. She’d be forever beholden to the La Torre mafia now. Why she ever thought she’d be free from the Family was beyond her. “Look, I appreciate your help, but--”

  With a hand at her back, he guided her back to her door. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, he said, “Don’t give me grief, Sophie. Go on--do as you’re told. Get inside.”

  She stared at him, her heart pounding a wild rhythm in her chest. She was outraged and humbled and turned on all at the same time. Considering she couldn’t do anything with the other two, she opted for humility. “Joey, I can’t pay
the bank by tomorrow. And I can’t pay you back if you meant you were going to pay off the car.”

  There was no way she was getting into debt with the Mob.

  He shrugged. “I’m going to pay off the car.” He opened the packet of papers from the tow truck driver and scanned the information.

  She rubbed her forehead. She figured she owed over $4,500 with all the late charges and fees tacked on. Tears burned behind her eyes. She didn’t want to owe him any favors. If there was one thing she’d learned from her mother, it was once you owed the Family, you belonged to them. “No, I can’t allow you to--”

  “Shut up. It’s not up to you.”

  Chapter Two

  Sophie put her hands on her hips, looking even hotter when she was mad. Her long legs jutted out of her short khaki skirt at impudent angle. She gave her thick, glossy brown hair a toss, sending the layers fanning out over her shoulders.

  “But it is--it’s my car and it’s my life. What favor are you going to demand in return?”

  He hadn’t planned on asking anything in return and her question offended, but then he smiled as an idea occurred to him. “One date.”

  “What?” Her eyes widened.

  “I pay off your car, you go out on one date with me.” He gave her a challenging look. He knew, from his frosty reception when he’d showed up and from her long absence from family events, Sophie had a beef with the Family, which was no surprise, because her mother, who was not Sicilian, had always hated the mafia. Sophie had been afraid when he showed up, and like any good Sicilian (or half Sicilian in her case), she covered fear with piss and vinegar. But he loved a spitfire, especially one with a little complexity. The challenge of winning her held a lot of appeal.

  Her mouth opened and shut once without sound. “I don’t date clients.”

  “Make an exception.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t? Come on,” he coaxed. “Your car paid in full for one date with me. I’m not that bad, am I? Besides, I’m hardly a client. I’m a family friend.”

  She exhaled. “I’m sure you can buy sex from someone else for a lot cheaper than that,” she said.

  Smiling a wicked grin, he inched closer, invading her personal space and loving that she didn’t step back. “Well, I didn’t say anything about sex, but if it’s on the table, I am absolutely interested in that, too.” He resisted the urge to give her the up and down sweep of his eye and instead enjoyed watching the pink flush bloom under her golden skin. “The bargain was for a date, though.”

  “One date, no sex?” she asked, her voice wavering. She looked at him under long lashes, her eyes pale green, the color of cash.

  He gave her a wink. “Tomorrow night?”

  “Okay,” she said weakly.

  “Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up.” He pulled out a hundred dollar bill for the massage and handed it to her, planting a kiss on her cheek, Sicilian style.

  He heard her mumble, “Thank you,” as he shut the door, strutting out to his BMW like he’d just scored a date with the prom queen. Little Sophie Palazzo was all grown up. He remembered thinking she was hot when she was teenager, but now, at thirty, she was the proverbial brick house. There was something about her that was exotic and exciting--and, despite the fact she was working a service job and almost had her car repossessed, he felt she outclassed him in every way.

  After Alessia, that was a nice change.

  His cell phone rang and he glanced at the caller: Al--his brother and boss. “Hey, Al.”

  “Where are you?” his brother demanded.

  “Just running an errand. What’s up?”

  “Meet me at Angelo’s,” he ordered, referring to their favorite coffee shop.

  He sighed. “Be right there.”

  Being his brother’s bitch was okay most of the time, but over the last few years, he’d experienced a significant drop in personal fulfillment, which had been part of the break up with Alessia. He drove to Angelo’s and plopped down across from his brother at a patio table.

  Al had been his boss since about the day he was born. He was eight years older, which had been a lifetime when they were kids, and he had been the one who had ridden Joey hardest--harder than their father, even.

  Al had made sure Joey beat the shit out of any neighborhood kid who stood up to him before he even started kindergarten. Al taught him the rules of the street. The rules of vengeance. The rules of crime. The rules of death and honor. Al had been his capo when their father was still alive, had ordered his first hit and sponsored him to be “made” when he was only twenty-two.

  “Stan Matranga bought a house here in Oakbrook,” Al informed him.

  The Matrangas were the other organization in Chicago and the two families were in a constant state of chess with each other. Strategizing about the game was, actually, one part of his job he enjoyed. Al listened to him first, over Vito, his underboss or Carlo, his consigliere.

  “Oh yeah? You paid a visit yet?”

  “No, I was going to send you.”

  Joey kept his face blank and nodded. Of course Al would send him--because Al’s life goal was to make sure Joey wasn’t a pussy, a suspicion he’d held ever since he realized Joey preferred sharing his toys to fighting over them.

  “What do you think? You want to bring back up?”

  He considered. He’d be visiting as an emissary, which meant it was doubtful he’d get whacked. He might get beat up, but knocking off the boss’s brother would start a war. Of course, moving into Oakbrook was a shot across the bow, so maybe they wanted war. “I’ll go alone.”

  Al considered him and he held steady under the gaze. Now that he’d accepted the job without flinching, Al was worried about him, he could tell. This was always the way with him--he’d throw Joey to the lions, then pace beside the pit until he came out safe and sound.

  Joey shrugged. “I’ll go now. I’ll text you when it’s done.”

  He drove to the address Al gave him, checking and rechecking his gun.

  Stan opened the door himself, blocking the entrance aggressively. He was not the boss of the Matrangas, but he was a capo, and his showing up in their neighborhood did not bode well.

  “Stan,” he said with false friendliness. “Heard you moved in over here.”

  Stan’s eyes darted right and left, verifying he was alone. “Yeah, just getting settled,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind if I don’t invite you in--boxes are still getting unpacked, you know.”

  “Of course, of course. What brings you to our side of town?”

  He jerked his thumb in the direction of the interior. “Wife liked the neighborhood here. Said the schools were better, for the kids.”

  He sincerely doubted Stan’s kids went to public school, but he didn’t pursue it. “You know, Al wouldn’t like it if he thought you were doing business on our side of town, do you hear what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, sure. I know what you’re saying. But don’t worry--I’m just living here. Not doing any business.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Just living here.”

  Joey gave him a long look, letting him know he doubted every word of it, then he nodded slowly. “Make sure you don’t.”

  Sophie tossed the sheet from the massage table into her laundry bag and put on a fresh one. She gave the floor a sweep, which only took thirty seconds, considering her entire studio was the size of a small bedroom. Stepping into the lobby, she reached for her cell phone to turn on the ringer.

  There was a message from Bruce, the guy she was sort of seeing, asking to take her on a date next weekend. She should have used Bruce as an excuse for why she couldn’t go out with Joey. Why hadn’t she? It seemed a sign of just how little space Bruce occupied in her brain.

  She sighed. Did it say something that she preferred to text him so they didn’t have to actually talk? Their relationship was as about as exciting as the rocks she collected for her windowsills. Even so, she texted him back a yes. She neede
d to have someone to throw at Joey if he came on too strong.

  She dialed her Aunt Marie, the only person from her father’s side of the family with whom she kept in touch. “You’ll never believe who showed up in my studio today.”

  “Who?”

  “Joey La Torre.”

  “What? Really? What for?”

  “A massage! His PT recommended it and Doña Teresa remembered I’m a therapist.”

  “Did he like it?”

  “I have no idea. Right when I finished, a tow truck showed up to repossess my car and Joey ran out and put a gun to the operator’s head.”

  Since Marie was married into the Family, that part didn’t faze her. “Do you need money, honey?” she asked with concern.

  “No, no. I’m fine. Thanks, Aunt Marie. I just forgot to make my payment, you know.”

  “So you can make it now?”

  “Uh, yeah.” She didn’t exactly want to tell her aunt Joey had paid it off for her.

  “Did you get Joey to book another appointment with you? He could be good money, you know. Send you new clients and all.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  “No, but uh...he asked me out on a date.”

  Marie gave an exaggerated gasp. “That’s wonderful! Oh he’s perfect for you, don’t you think?”

  “Um…”

  “He broke up with Alessia last Christmas. They were engaged, you know. She was just devastated--thought they were going to start a family and everything. But I don’t think she was smart enough for him. He’s the brains of the family. They say he’s more of consigliere than Carlo. Don Alberto gets his advice on things first.”

  “Yeah, well…” She realized she couldn’t tell Marie her reservations--that she could never be in a relationship with a mobster--without insulting Marie and her choice in her husband, Sammy. “I just don’t know if he’s my type.”

  “Of course he’s your type! He’s every girl’s type. Do you think he’s too old? He can’t be more than 10 years older than you.”

  Her heart rate increased inexplicably. Why would his seniority in age be titillating? Somehow it added to his authority and power, making him far more exciting as a date than any guy she’d gone out with in recent years. Hell, he was more exciting than any guy she’d ever gone out with.