Mine
A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Citrione Crime Family)
Penelope Bloom
Contents
Also by Penelope Bloom
Prologue - Damian and Callie
1. Damian
2. Callie
3. Damian
4. Callie
5. Damian
6. Callie
7. Damian
8. Callie
9. Damian
10. Callie
11. Damian
12. Callie
13. Damian
14. Callie
15. Damian
16. Callie
17. Damian
18. Callie
19. Damian
20. Callie
21. Damian
22. Callie
23. Damian
24. Callie
25. Damian
26. Callie
27. Damian
Epilogue
Thank You!!!
28. Join My Dirty List
Copyright © 2016 by Penelope Bloom
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Created with Vellum
Also by Penelope Bloom
I’m wrong for her in all the right ways.
***
Everyone in the city knows who I am: Vincent Citrione, top capo of the most powerful crime family in the city. If you’ve got two brain cells to rub together, you’re scared sh*tless of me.
As for women, I given them the hardest, dirtiest f*ck of their lives before showing them the door. They know better than to expect more.
Commitments? F*ck ‘em.
At least, that was my motto until I caught her snooping in the wrong place at the wrong time. Aubriella. I wanted her to be like all the rest of the girls. I wanted to forget her.
But I can’t forget her lush curves… or the soft moans spilling from her lips.
She thinks she can say no to me and get away with it. She thinks she can walk away after what she’s seen. But one taste and I know she’s going to be mine. I don’t care what it takes.
I get what I want. And I want her.
This is a standalone, full-length mafia romance with a filthy-mouthed, possessive bad boy. Happily ever after guaranteed.
Get it on Amazon for $0.99 or on Kindle Unlimited for Free!
Prologue - Damian and Callie
She’s the first thing I see when we pull up to the gas station. I’ve been out of jail for a few months now, but fuck, I’ve never seen a woman like her. Not before jail or after. She’s leaning against a Mercedes and she’s exactly my type: not the kind of woman who blows over in a strong breeze. She’s curvy in the right places and has a sweet, full mouth that would look perfect wrapped around my cock. If it was another day, another time, I’d go make her mine. Not today though. Not now.
Benny gets out of the car first and I see the piece tucked into the back of his slacks. I get out after him, holstering a .44 below my left arm.
“You know the guy, right?” I ask.
Benny looks nervous, but he nods. “Balding, 40’s, name is—”
I hold up a finger to him in warning, cutting his words off like a knife. “No details. Not in public.”
He swallows hard, but finally nods his head. I clap him on the back of the neck. “Good. Follow my lead.”
I lean against my Mercedes while I wait for the tank to fill. My phone buzzes, and a quick glance confirms what I already knew. Another call from Greg. He has called fifteen times in thirty minutes, which is probably more than he has called me in the last six months. I distantly consider pouring a little gas on the phone—just a little—and lighting it on fire. Maybe I could answer the call before I do and let him listen to the flames. Okay, maybe not. That would be a little crazy, but I feel a little crazy right now.
Two men in suits are walking toward the gas station and something in the way they move catches my eye. One of them is shorter and stout, and the other is drop-dead gorgeous. He flicks the slack out of his sleeves with a quick pop of his arms and adjusts the cuff on the sleeve beneath his jacket. His face is all sharp, sculpted lines with heavy, dark eyebrows and full lips made for kissing. Except you would have to be crazy to kiss a guy like that. He has trouble written all over him, from the tattoos snaking up his neck and his wrists, to the black purpose in his eyes that says nothing stops him from getting what he wants. He’s bad news, so dangerous that I shouldn’t even be letting myself fantasize about him.
Benny follows me into the store. I tap him on the shoulder and point to the back coolers where the beer is. I give him the signal to wait for my lead, and he nods, moving casually through the store as if he’s browsing for something. I do the same, all the while conscious of the .44 at my side. It burns there, like a bloodthirsty animal begging to be released.
Tonight is the night, though. I spent the last seven years in prison planning this, to the very last detail. And it all starts tonight.
I move behind a rack of candy bars, glancing toward the back of the store where a tacky bead-curtain blocks off a room lit by a single dangling bulb. Four well-dressed men huddle around a small card table inside. One of them is smoking a cigar and the others are talking quietly.
I catch Benny’s eye, nodding my head toward the men and motioning for him to get ready.
I try to stop stealing glances through the store windows at the man in the suit, my dark stranger. I finish pumping and decide to run into the store for a Cosmic Brownie, not so that I can get a closer look at the guy in the suit. Definitely not. Cosmic Brownies are a weakness of mine. I had been trying to cut back on sweets, but brownies were made for days like today. Days when it feels like it can’t get any worse.
As soon as I open the door, his head turns toward me.
He’s wearing a dark gray suit, but not like most men I know wear suits. Normal guys wear suits to weddings and look uncomfortable, stiff, and awkward. This man wears the suit like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like every line and seam of the clothes are made to accentuate his body.
The heat of his glare melts the cold ball of anger I’ve been holding in my chest since I caught Greg with that woman. I’ve never felt so transfixed; like a rabbit staring into the eyes of a lion, I know I’m at his mercy in that moment. He stands in front of the blinding white light of cold drink display, his stunning black form cutting sharp lines against the brightness. One look and I know it’s not just his clothes and eyes that are dark.
He doesn’t hesitate to look directly into my eyes for as long as he likes. He bites his full bottom lip, sweeping his gaze down my body before flicking his long eyelashes up to meet my eyes once more. With a smirk, he looks away, walkin
g out of sight behind a display case.
Instead of giving Benny the signal to move, I’m thinking about her, thinking about the things I would do to her. Fuck. I’ve seen some beautiful women—I live in New York for crying out loud—but this girl is coming dangerously close to making me scrap months of planning. I’m ready to tell Benny to fuck off so I can go get her number and show her how a real man pleases a woman. She’s never been fucked like I would fuck her. I could curl her toes with a whisper, weaken her knees with a touch, and shatter her world with a kiss. She deserves me, and I’m going to make sure she gets what she deserves.
But not today. It can’t be today. I’ve waited too long for this and sacrificed too much. It all starts tonight. And it has to be tonight. All the pieces are in place. One wrong move now and it all comes crashing down.
I swallow hard, wondering if this man is only getting to me so much because of what I just went through, or he’s really just that alluring. With my legs feeling a little bit weak, I finally get moving. I grab my Cosmic Brownie, take two steps toward the register and then turn, giving the entire box a long, hard look. I glare at it. If those brownies didn’t want to be eaten, they should have worn something less revealing than a transparent cellophane wrapper. Those brightly colored spheres of gorgeous sugar on top of each brownie beckons me. My hand hovers over a second one. I grab it, smiling a little to myself. The thought that puts me over the top was knowing that Greg would’ve told me to ‘be careful with the sweets’ or he would’ve said something obnoxious like, ‘you know those go straight to your ass’.
Well, ass, this is Callie calling. Get ready for a delivery of two Cosmic Brownies. A few seconds later I replay the thought in my head and laugh at how gross it actually sounds. It feels good to laugh after the last hour, but the sound is too loud in the quiet store, and a few heads turn to look at me. I palm the brownies and hurry toward the register, adding embarrassment to the list of today’s tragedies.
In my hurry, I bump into a wall. A buff, gorgeous wall with tattoos.
I turn and instinctively grab the woman who bumps into me. My hands are on her shoulders and she’s close enough that I can smell her perfume, close enough that I could kiss her.
“Excuse me,” she says, standing motionless in my grasp.
I’m about to sabotage over a year of plans to do whatever it takes to get between her legs when Benny catches my eye from the other end of the store. He tilts his head toward the back room and I see a fifth man with sunglasses setting a suitcase in front of the four men.
Damn. If we don’t make our move soon, it will be too late. I didn’t spend seven years planning to throw it all away for a woman, no matter how fucking sexy she is.
The guy in the suit lets me go and walks toward his friend. I bend down to pick up the brownies I dropped, feeling light-headed. I must have forgotten to breathe while his hands were on me. It’s an effort not to gasp for air and embarrass myself even more. I’m not normally a mess around guys, but I guess the last hour really rattled me. I pay for the brownies and hurry out of the store. I look back over my shoulder once when I reach my car, but can’t see him anymore.
I get in my car and turn the radio on, trying to wrap my head around what just happened. The strange part is I find myself thinking more about my dark stranger than about my cheating fiancé. I flip through the radio stations until I find a sad song. I feel confused, angry, betrayed, stupid, and more emotions I can’t even identify. So I crank up the volume on the sad song and try my best to just feel one emotion for a little while. It’s time for a mobile pity party.
Callie - Chapter 1
I check my mascara in the rearview before getting out of the car. It looks about as bad as I’d expect after all the crying I did on the short drive to Aubriella’s house. Some quick tissue work with a little bit of spit clears up the worst of it. I grab my one suitcase from the backseat of the Mercedes Greg bought me as an engagement present and slam the door. I set the suitcase down and open the door one more time, slamming it even harder. I dust my hands and smile.
Greg always scolded me when I closed the door too hard.
I look at Aubriella’s house and raise my eyebrows. She has done well for herself. It’s nestled in a sprawling gated community in upstate New York full of McMansions and full-blown mansions. Greg and I had just finished a month long house hunting stint, so I notice all the selling points: great lot with trees blocking the view of any roads or other houses, recessed driveway tucked below the house, custom glass walls that make for a breathtaking view and probably give the entire house spectacular natural lighting. I don’t know the market in this particular area, but the house easily cost somewhere in the double digit millions. You go girl.
I step beneath the huge square overhang. The front door is huge and made of clear glass, giving me a clear view into the living room. I ring the doorbell, fidgeting a little with my suitcase and taking a deep breath. I haven’t seen her in years. Not since high school. We were inseparable, but calling her up after years without more than a happy birthday over facebook was terrifying. Asking her for a place to stay while I try to put the pieces of my life back together? That was worse.
A little boy runs into view behind the glass, tearing through the house and disappearing behind a wall. A few seconds later, I see Aubriella, who is trailed by a little girl who can’t be any older than two. Aubriella hasn’t changed a bit. In fact, she looks even better. Great, even. She still has the dark hair I remember and those powerful eyes that hold you and don’t seem to let you go. She was always so strong, not like me. Greg wouldn’t have dared cheat on a woman like her.
An unwelcome, vivid memory flashes in my mind:
His car driving by the restaurant. The blonde hair in the passenger seat.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to picture something else, anything else, but all I see is his laughing face, his lying eyes.
The door opens. Aubriella smiles wide. Without thinking, I rush forward and hug her. I swallow hard, trying not to break down, again. Be strong. I pull back, kneeling to smile at the little girl. She holds a small hand up and rushes toward me and I give her the high-five she seems to be asking for. She claps her hands together once with a silly little grin and then her face goes blank. She backs away and clutches Aubriella’s leg, looking at me with a frightened expression.
She knows you’re broken. Damaged. Used. I mentally scold myself. Stop feeling so sorry for yourself. The two-year-old definitely doesn’t know any of that. Every little kid gets taught to be careful around strangers.
The little boy comes running back into view with a tiny dinosaur in his hands. He looks a little older than the girl, but not by much. He sees me, does a high-pitched roar, and then runs back off.
“Come in!” says Aubriella.
Her voice startles me, as if waking me from a trance. I force a smile and follow her inside. Aubriella picks up a little red toy truck and hands it to the little girl, who snatches it from her and hugs it protectively.
“Honey, can you go give this to daddy?”
The little girl rushes toward the stairs. My eyes follow the large, winding staircase up and lock on a tall, darkly handsome man. He’s breathtaking. He wears a dress shirt and makes it look as casual as a t-shirt and as elegant as a suit at the same time. Almost every exposed inch of his skin is tattooed. He’s having a hushed conversation on the phone and I can barely catch any of it, but it sounds like he’s threatening someone. Still, when he sees the little girl, his face splits into a gorgeous smile as he kneels to take the truck from her and scoop her into his arms, interrupting his call to blow a raspberry on her stomach.
I feel a jealous pang in my stomach. Greg’s words float up from my memory, unbidden and unwelcome. “When are we going to try for kids? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
A hot tear rolls down my cheek without warning and I quickly wipe it away. Bastard.
Aubriella smiles up at him, so caught up in admiring her husband t
hat she doesn’t notice my emotion. “That’s Vince. My husband.” She says the words slowly, almost as if she’s taking the time to savor how they feel passing over her lips, like they’re still newlyweds.
When we talked over the phone she said she got married six years ago. Six years together and she still loves him that much? I feel an ache in my gut that has nothing to do with Greg. It’s a pain that tells me I’ll never find that. That kind of love is for people who are complete.
Vince comes downstairs and smiles politely at me, but seems to be almost oblivious of anything else in the room but Aubriella. He gives her a look so steamy that I feel like blushing. He wraps her in a tight hug, lifting her and spinning her. He smiles into her eyes, kissing her.
“I can’t wait,” he says.
“Vince,” says Aubriella, laughing. “You’re being rude.”
He sets her down and pulls her possessively to his side, finally giving me his attention. “Sorry. Aubriella told me you were coming. Callie, right?”
I nod.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and his features turn dark. I see a hint of the danger in him and want to take a step back, but I stand still. He smooths his features quickly and holds a hand up to me. “This will just be a minute.”
Vince turns his back and starts having a hushed conversation over the phone while the babies chase each other in circles around the house.
Aubriella gives me a meaningful look. “I get the impression that you had to leave in a hurry. Do you need anything?” she lowers her voice. “Money? I can help you, whatever you need.”
I shake my head. “I can’t take your money. You’re already doing so much by letting me stay here.”
Vince’s voice surprises me. “Do you know anything about bartending?” he asks.
Mine (Citrione Crime Family #2) Page 1