Four under the Mistletoe: A MFMM Menage Romance (Christmas Billionaire Menage Series Book 2)

by Tia Siren

  “What? No. Wait until her father gets here,” Christian said, trying to buy himself more time.

  “You don't know, do you? Her father isn't coming. He doesn't give a shit about her. In fact, he told me we should get rid of her.”

  Christian hadn’t expected that. Surely every man loved his daughter. “So what are you going to do?”

  “Kill her. Alberti should be doing that about now.” Fabio looked at his watch. “The delivery should have arrived.”

  Christian leaped over the desk and kicked Fabio in the chest. He fell back out of his chair and landed on the ground. Christian took him by the collar and punched him so hard he knocked his front teeth out. When Christian banged Fabio's head on the desk, Fabio fell into unconsciousness.

  *****

  Alberti's hand shook as he put the syringe into the pot of morphine. In his drunken haze, he couldn't remember whether he should inject her three or four times. What the fuck, he thought. He would pump the whole bottle into her. That would do it.

  He climbed the stairs to the bedroom where Amy was lying, asleep, and opened the door. When he saw her, he began to breathe more heavily. He looked at her breasts, which were still encased in the dress she'd worn at the wedding. He walked to her, lifted her dress, and looked inside.

  “Nice,” he said when he saw her smooth legs.

  She woke up and screamed. She thrashed around as never before but was still unable to break the rope.

  “Be quiet. I'll be very gentle,” he said. She was wild. She saw the needle in his hand and realized what he was going to do.

  Better give her a little bit to calm her down, he thought to himself. He couldn't have any pleasure with her in that state. He grabbed her arm, slipped it between his legs, and held it. He found the vein and injected her.

  Amy felt a sudden calm. All feeling in her body was gone, and she was floating without a care in the world. She was conscious of him, but he was insignificant. Alberti went to the foot end of the bed and lifted her dress again. This time he began to push the material up her legs.

  The sound of the metal bar hitting his skull made a hideous sound, a dull thud of death. Christian stepped over him and looked at Amy. Her eyes were glazed over, and she was smiling at nothing in particular. He untied the ropes, picked her up, and carried her downstairs.

  When he reached the hospital, he burst through the door with her in his arms. “Get a doctor,” he shouted.

  The waiting room smelled of stale sweat. It was one of those rooms that was constantly open to the public and always smelled a certain way. Amy had been in the emergency room for more than an hour. Surely they knew what was happening to her by now, he thought.

  He stood up and paced around anxiously. When a nurse arrived, he took her by the arm and asked her what was happening. “The doctor will be out in a while,” she said. Another hour went by before a tall man in a white coat arrived.

  “She's going to be all right. She's had a high dose of morphine, but not enough to bring any lasting damage.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “You can see her,” he said.

  Christian followed him through two double doors and into a large room full of frightening-looking appliances. “She's in the last room on the right,” the doctor said.

  When she saw him, she stiffened and sat up in bed. “Doctor!” she screamed. “Help!”

  The doctor came running into the room.

  “This man means me harm,” she said. “Call the police.”

  “But he was the man who brought you here,” the doctor said.

  She looked surprised. “Really?”

  “Yes. Without him, lord knows what would have happened to you.”

  “All right. I will talk to him, but only for a short time. I don't trust him.”

  Christian walked to her bed and stood next to it. She looked pale and drawn. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I was terrible to you. If you can ever forgive me, I would be very grateful, because I have fallen in love with you.” It wasn’t as bad as he'd thought, getting his feelings out.

  “You love me? You've got a very strange way of showing it.”

  “I killed him.”

  “Who?”

  “The man who injected you. He's dead, and I don't think Fabio is very well, either.”

  “What am I to think of you? When I first met you, I ignored the fact that you are arrogant and strut around the place as though you own it. When we made love, I was more turned on that I have ever been. But you put me in so much danger; I was almost killed.”

  He took her hand. She let him. “I know I have done wrong. You are the most wonderful woman, and I don't want to live without you.”

  She smiled at him. “You are an impossible man. You are dangerous, conceited, and aloof. I don't know whether to trust you or not. I'm attracted to you, but I don't like what you are.”

  *****

  “Have a word with your son. He's out of control. I can't handle him. I don't want him turning out like you.”

  “Okay. I will. But you know, I wasn't so bad.”

  “What? You killed people. You took money from poor innocent people. What do you mean you weren't so bad?”

  “I was young and wild then. I've provided for you and the kids with the proceeds of honest endeavors since we got married, haven't I?”

  “Yes, you have. But you were bad once. That's why I'm so scared our son will turn out like you were back then.”

  “Okay. I'll speak to him. Come here.”

  She leaned against him and put her head on his chest. “You know, you're still a good-looking chick, for your age. How about we go upstairs? The kids won't be home for ages.”

  “What do mean, 'for your age?' You cheeky swine. Look at yourself. You're gray.”

  “But you love me, don't you?” he said.

  “Come on. Let's go,” she said, taking his hand.

  When Christian finished and slumped on top of her, he kissed her forehead and cupped her face. “You will never know how glad I am that you gave me the benefit of the doubt after that kidnapping incident.”

  “You were very lucky. I had a lot of other offers from non-criminals at the time.”

  “Did you?” he said, slightly shocked.

  “Yes.”

  “So why did you choose me?”

  “Because you were tough and I knew you'd look after me. I believed in you, despite everything.”

  “But it was a year before you called me.”

  “It took me a long time to get things straight in my head. Or said another way, it took a year to realize that if I didn't marry you, you would never leave me alone.” She laughed.

  He put her nipple in his mouth and sucked. She gasped when he bit it gently. “You still like that, don't you? After all these years you still like having your nipples sucked.”

  “Yes, but be careful. If you keep doing that, I'll get turned on again and want more. You're not as young as you used to be.”

  “I can perform whenever you ask me to, whether I've just had sex or not.”

  Amy laughed. “You’re still so full of shit,” she said.

  “But that's why you love me.”

  “Maybe. But I don't love it in our son. I want him to be normal. I want whichever woman decides she wants to be with him to have a nice life—not have to worry about what he'll do next.”

  Christian rolled off her and played with his penis for a couple of minutes. “See, I'm not as full of shit as you think,” he said when he began to get hard again.

  *****

  THE END

  MAFIA Romance – Her Protection

  “Welcome back, Son,” Limonov said. He threw his arms around his son and hugged him. Milan Igorevich had just returned from college after graduating with a degree in economics.

  “Hi, Pa,” Milan said. He stepped back and looked at the Palm Breeze Casino. His father had made some alterations since Milan had last seen it. “Making money, I see,” he said.

  “Making a fortune, son
, and it's all gonna be yours one day. Come on, the guys are waiting for you,” Limonov said.

  Milan followed him up the steps and through the glass and chrome revolving door.

  “Welcome back, sir,” the doorman said when they arrived in the foyer. Milan noticed the whole interior had received a makeover. The carpet was maroon, and his shoes seemed to disappear in the deep pile of it. In the middle of the foyer, the logo of his father's business had been woven in yellow into the maroon material. Everywhere he looked, Milan saw gold chrome and members of staff in yellow and maroon uniforms.

  “Jeez, Dad, you've gutted the place,” Milan said.

  “It needed it, Son. As you know, this is the fourth casino in our portfolio, and we needed to have it looking as luxurious as the others.”

  “Well, you certainly succeeded in doing that,” Milan replied as they walked through a large hall full of slot machines. A group of well-dressed young women who were obviously in the casino on a hen night turned their heads and followed Milan as he moved past them. One of them let out a wolf whistle, which made him smile. He was used to it. Why some women were offended by being whistled at on the street, he had no idea; he loved it. It happened so often to him. He didn't know which sex was the worst perpetrator, men or women.

  They walked through another room, which housed the serious gambling tables for roulette and blackjack, and walked down a small corridor to the offices.

  “Welcome home,” they all shouted when Milan and his father entered the office.

  “Hi, guys. Nice reception,” Milan said. He looked at them, his father's warriors: Vladimir, Dima, Valentin, and Toni. They'd worked for his dad for more years than he could remember. Each of them had his own task in Limonov's business. Vladimir was in charge of narcotics, Dima protection, Valentin money laundering, and Toni, who was Italian, saw to it that the Russians and Italians didn't come to blows by trespassing on each other's territories. Each of them was dressed in a sharp suit with a pressed shirt and blue tie. Limonov didn’t tolerate scruffy employees. The only person who was missing was Dmitri, who'd been shot two months earlier. He’d been in charge of the casinos, and one evening when he was ejecting a rowdy gambler the man had pulled a gun on him and shot him dead. While Limonov bemoaned the loss of any of his men, Dmitri's death had solved a problem for him. It had created an instant opening for his son, who was just about to graduate.

  “Congratulations on your triumphs,” Vladimir said. “An economics degree and a US college boxing champion. Not bad for a snotty kid from St. Petersburg,” he joked.

  “Hey, watch it,” Milan said. “You're not too big to put over my knee.”

  “Toni, get Jessie to bring us some champagne,” Limonov said. “Sit down, Son, in the chair behind the desk. This is your office now. You're the boss here.”

  Milan sat down in the leather office chair and looked at the men around him. Now, at last, he felt like part of the team. As a young boy he'd watched these men meeting at the house he lived in with his mom and dad, and they'd become his heroes. They were guys he wanted to emulate, because they commanded respect wherever they went. They were tough and took no prisoners in their approach to business.

  When someone knocked at the door, Vladimir opened it. Milan's jaw dropped when he saw her. She was tall and dark, her hair so shiny it reflected the light above her. Her eyes were oval and more sensual than any female eyes he'd ever looked into. He took in her body, her large breasts and the curve of her hips as they pushed against her skirt. Farther down he noticed how smooth and bronzed her legs were.

  “Champagne, sir,” she said to Limonov.

  “Yes. Put it on the desk in front of my son,” he replied.

  She walked to the desk and set the tray on it. As she bent forward, Milan smiled at the sight of the tops of her breasts through the gap in her blouse. “Congratulations on your graduation and your boxing title,” she said as she began to open the bottle.

  “Thank you. I'm Milan,” he said.

  “Jessie,” she replied. “Shit,” she exclaimed as she cut herself on the wire around the bottle top. It was the first time that had ever happened. She'd opened thousands of bottles and not once had she ever had an accident. She knew why it had happened, though. She'd been concentrating on Milan and not on what she was doing. How could she concentrate when six-foot-four of solid muscle was looking at her breasts? she thought.

  “Here, let me help,” Milan said. He stood up and took her hand in his. He felt inside his jacket and found a clean handkerchief, which he wrapped around the cut finger. “There. That should keep it clean for a while.”

  She looked into his eyes. They were Mediterranean blue. The scent that drifted from him made her want him in her bed. She felt the warmth rising from her neck to her cheeks. “Thanks,” she said.

  When she was gone, Milan was unable to concentrate on the conversation. “Milan's miles away,” Dima said. “I think Jessie's charmed him.”

  “She charms us all,” Limonov said. “So beautiful,” he added, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Who is she, Pop?” Milan asked.

  “Remember Ronnie, the butcher?”

  “Yes. The guy who saved your life when you'd been shot and were lying in the street.”

  “Yes. It's his daughter. He died, and I promised him I would look after her.”

  “Jesus. He was short and fat. How could he have a daughter like her?” Milan asked.

  “His wife was an Italian bombshell. Jessie's the spitting image of her.”

  While Milan poured the champagne, his thoughts wandered to the beautiful butcher's daughter.

  *****

  “Get off me, you asshole,” Jessie screamed as Dritan pulled her from the sofa by her hair. “You're a bully. Leave me alone.” She tried to push him away, but he was far too powerful for her. He looked like the thug he was. His head was shaven, and his eyes pointed in slightly different directions.

  He pulled her onto the floor and knelt on top her, his kneecap pushing painfully into her stomach. “I've told you before, nobody finishes with me. Least of all a tramp like you. Now say sorry.”

  It was her evening off, and Jessie had told him once more that she didn't want to be his girlfriend. As usual, he'd exploded. She been trying to finish their volatile relationship for weeks, but each time she mentioned it, he flew into a rage, scaring her into silence.

  “No, I won't. It's over this time,” she hissed as his knee pushed farther into her soft belly. The slap that followed stung her face and caused blood to flow from her nose. The punch that followed that caused her eye to swell. She began to cry.

  “Stop your crying. Tell me you're sorry,” he said.

  “Sorry. Please don't hit me anymore,” she sobbed. He threatened to punch her again, and she turned her face away, but he'd had enough and stood up. He picked up his car keys from the coffee table and left the apartment.

  Jessie pulled herself up by the sofa and hobbled to the bathroom. Her stomach was on fire, and she got little relief when she threw up in the toilet. She ran the cold tap and dabbed the places on her face that hurt the most. When she looked in the mirror, she was black and blue.

  “You've got to finish it,” she said to herself. “He's gonna kill you.”

  An hour later Dritan phoned and cried through the line. “I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean it. Please forgive me. You know how wound up I get sometimes. Forget it. Let's carry on as normal.”

  She agreed because she was too tired to argue and she feared another wild beating.

  *****

  Dritan walked into the casino and changed a hundred thousand in cash for chips. It was a large amount, but it didn't concern security; they were used to him. Invariably, he blew the lot in an evening, and on the odd occasion he was able to beat the house, he lost it again another day.

  Since the argument with Jessie he'd drunk half a bottle of vodka and was now in the mood to gamble, a lot. After he lost twenty grand on the roulette table, he swore at the croupier who
ignored him. It wasn't the first time Dritan had sworn at him. Dritan walked to the blackjack table and sat down. After twenty minutes he was another twenty grand down.

  “I don't fucking believe it,” Dritan said as another hand, and three grand, was lost. “You're fucking cheating,” he said as he pulled the croupier to him by the collar of her blouse. Such was the strength of his grip that he tore two buttons from it, exposing her bra.

  “That's enough,” a security man behind him said. He placed his hand on Dritan's shoulder in an attempt to pull him from his seat. Dritan had other ideas, though, and flipped the man over onto his back and placed his foot on his neck. The security guard began to turn blue as he struggled to remove Dritan's foot.

  The punch to the side of Dritan's face knocked him five yards away and rendered him unconscious.

  “Who's this?” Milan asked.

  “Dritan Polyakov,” the security guard gasped. “Albanian.”

  “Let's get him out of here,” Milan said. They picked him up, carried him through the casino, and put him down in the flower bed opposite the casino. “He's banned. Put his name on the list,” Milan ordered the doorman when the reentered the casino.

  “He loses a hell of a lot of money here,” the doorman said.

  “I don't care. This is a casino, not a saloon bar in the Wild West,” Milan asserted.

  When Dritan woke up, his suit was covered in foliage and yellow dye from the plants he'd been lying on. He had a swollen face and a splitting headache. He picked himself up and walked to a taxi that was waiting outside the casino.

  “No. I'm not taking you anywhere. You'll get yellow stuff all over my car,” the taxi driver said.

  “Drive me or I'll rip your fucking head off,” Dritan threatened. When the taxi driver dropped Dritan off outside Jessie's apartment, Dritan paid him and got out.

  When Jessie didn't open the door, Dritan used the key he'd forced her to give him. When he slid under the covers behind her, she moved to the other side of the bed, out of his way.

  “Come on, I'm horny,” he said the next morning when they woke up. He put a hand across her and groped her breasts.