Dax: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Mob Daddies Book 4)

by Alexa Hart

  At first, I couldn’t believe Dax Hardin owned The Spotted Owl. The Dax Hardin. I’ve heard about him, obviously. He’s some sort of successful venture capital hotshot and billionaire real estate developer who donated tons of money to the Boston Ballet, along with about a million other charities. Whenever he came to see a show there was always such crazy buzz, after all, one check from Dax could make or break the whole repertoire. I was never invited to the swanky afterparties where Dax was known to parade around models or A-list actresses, but I know enough to know that men as rich as Dax Hardin don’t usually come from places like this. They are usually trust funders with Ivy League pedigrees and boarding school childhoods. I would know. I grew up with my fair share of them.

  This place is nothing like that. Like the man on the motorcycle. The people here are gritty. The sirens wake me up nearly every night when they pass by outside my window. I know I’m lucky to have found an apartment at all with so little money, but I can’t help but feel like I don’t belong here. Like I am way, way out of my depth.

  Kiki told me her brother went to high school with Dax and she says he ran with the worst of the South Boston crowd in his youth, but he had brains and muscle, which helped him get out. But not before he earned his nickname and his reputation. The Bastard of Boston.

  Listening to the conversations about Dax have taught me two things. First, you can take the man out of South Boston, but not the South Boston out of the man. In other words, never cross Dax Hardin or you will pay, and pay handsomely. Apparently, he holds a grudge and values loyalty above all else.

  And second, never date Dax Hardin. The second one is more an inference based on how much the men at the bar like to boast about the numerous women he dates these days. According to the local gossip magazines, this week alone he’s been out with some Victoria Secret model and an actress I saw in a horror movie with Kiki. But even when I only knew Dax as a businessman and billionaire, I knew to stay away. Men like him are dangerous, maybe even more dangerous than the streets of South Boston.

  Kiki has a grand plan to meet and marry some rich guy who’ll take care of her. She always jokes that she knows she will be nothing more than a trophy wife, but she only needs it to last long enough to start her own cosmetics company or land a reality television show deal, and then she’ll be nobody’s trophy but her own. I’ll leave that kind of ambition to Kiki. Men like that are never faithful. They aren’t looking for love or commitment. To them, women are just objects they use to prove their worth. Just look at how my dad treated my mom. No thank you.

  Not that I am currently being chased by tons of billionaires, but I have an idea of the kind of man I want. Actually, I know exactly who he is. Armand Philippe. He’s the only one who’s kept in touch since I left the company and I’ve had a crush on him forever. I feel my face blush a little at the thought of Armand, but even more when my mind navigates away from my long-time crush and returns to the muscular, sexy body of my unknown motorcycle man. I imagine him wrapping those taut arms around my body, the luxurious feel of his heavy body thrusting into mine. Get it together Hannah.

  One of the grizzled old regulars catches me mid-fantasy and calls out to Joey, “Head’s up, Joey, I think she’s been tasting the merchandise, she looks a little peaked!”

  “Okay, okay,” I blush. Joey looks at me suspiciously. “It’s just warm in here, that’s all.”

  “Leave her alone,” Kiki calls out as she saunters over to the bar looking as beautiful and curvy as ever. Kiki has a habit of showing up to the bar on her night off, and thank God, because I could really use someone to talk to right about now. “Nobody hassles my friend, or they answer to me.”

  Kiki takes a seat at the bar and winks at me. Joey, who’s been in the back half the night playing Solitaire on his computer, suddenly appears next to me as if he’s always ready to lend me a hand.

  “But seriously, where was your head a minute ago?” Kiki laughs. “You were basically radiating sex.”

  “Shut up,” I reply in a whisper.

  “Were you thinking about what’s his name, Arnold?”

  “Armand,” I sigh. “And yes.” And then, because I hate lying, I add a “sort of.” Truth is, daydreaming about Armand never got me that hot.

  Joey pours Kiki a glass of beer and she sips it while she looks me over. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, totally,” I say.

  “She’s only cost half her salary tonight,” Joey adds.

  “She’s learning,” Kiki says.

  “Listen,” I lower my voice after Joey walks away to help someone at the end of the bar. “That whole black rose tattoo. Is that really a thing? I mean…”

  Kiki is about to respond when a man walks into the bar and the whole place instantly falls silent.

  “What’s happening?” I ask.

  The man slinks up to the bar. He’s thin and rangy, with a scar across his chin that looks like it should have healed better than it did. He looks me up and down in a way that makes my skin crawl as he takes a seat next to Kiki. He is the epitome of sleaze.

  “You’re new,” he says.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Nico,” Kiki hisses under her breath. “Unless you really do have a death wish.”

  “Free country. And Dax and I go way back. You know that.”

  “That’s how you remember it now?” Kiki asks.

  The man looks at me. “I’ll take a Jameson.”

  “Um…” I nod. I start to pour a drink, but Joey comes over and takes it before I can hand it to the man.

  “We’re all out of whiskey,” Joey says, coldly.

  “Too bad. You seen your boss lately?” Nico asks with a raised brow.

  “Why?” Joey asks. “You lonely since you got out of prison? They have dolls you can order online these days.”

  Nico sneers. “Hey, man, we’re all friends here. I’m just trying to enjoy my newfound freedom.”

  “Bullshit,” Joey says. “Now get the hell outta here before I call Dax.”

  Nico raises his hands in surrender. “Man, you sure make it hard to enjoy a drink in this town.” He winks at me. “Town’s gotten prettier. Tell Dax I stopped by to say hi.” He gets up and slithers out of the bar.

  “What was that?” I exhale after he’s gone.

  Kiki shakes her head. “The rose tattoo you were asking about. That’s Sunny’s gang. And Nico’s such a fan of blood and torture he even managed to be too awful for them. Got kicked out. Rumor is he works for Charles Finch, the guy who owns Systems Industries.”

  “Did you say Charles Finch?” My blood runs cold.

  “Yeah. He and Dax have had a feud for fucking EVER. Word on the street is he’s the one who hired Nico to mess with Dax’s brakes and caused his wife’s death. You get why I warned you about them, right? They are bad news.”

  I’m too distracted with what Kiki has just said to notice that I overpoured the whiskey I am refilling.

  “Watch it!” Joey yells.

  Kiki looks at me and cocks her head. “I know you like to look for the best in people, but those guys are wolves,” she smiles. She thinks she understands why I am upset, but she has no idea.

  “They can’t all be as bad as that guy,” I say, thinking of motorcycle man.

  Kiki sighs and rolls her eyes. I know she’s thinking that I’m a hopeless case. “Have you ever met a wolf that won’t eat a lamb when it’s hungry?”

  “Are you saying I’m the lamb in this analogy?” I chuckle. “Because I can land a punch. My mom was really adamant about me taking self-defense courses.”

  Kiki shakes her head. “You might be able to land a punch, but you definitely can’t handle anyone with that tattoo, and you don’t want to.” She squeezes my hand. “Promise me, Hannah. You don’t want to get involved with this place. Just save your money and get the hell out of here the first chance you get.”

  I squeeze her hand back. The last thing I want is trouble. But if the owner of this bar, a.k.a. the Bastard of Boston, is a sworn enemy of
Charles Finch and Systems Industries then I am already accidentally knee-deep in a pile of shit.

  Despite the distractions, I manage to make it through the rest of my shift without breaking anything; though at least two customers who ordered whiskey got a glass of vermouth and I got a few choice words from Joey. I want to explain that being a ballet dancer since I was a child meant a strict diet, zero social life, and basically no alcohol. This bar, and this whole neighborhood is like a foreign planet to me. I’m not snobby about it, hell, it feels good to be with people who aren’t also secretly trying to compete with you, but it doesn’t mean that overnight I know how to handle it all.

  Honestly, I think tonight is going so much better because Samson is here, tucked under the bar, keeping his wise little dog eyes on me. My biggest complaint about my dog is that he seems to think he’s the grown-up in our relationship, and honestly, sometimes I think he isn’t all wrong.

  I wish Kiki could have stayed for my entire shift. It sure makes it easier having her nearby, but I’m just relieved the night is almost over. After the last few regulars leave a little after 2 a.m. Joey counts the till while I take out the trash, wipe down the counters and sweep the floor. I stand on the sidewalk outside The Spotted Owl, breathing in the crisp, fresh air as Joey locks up. Another shift down. What a relief.

  Joey lives in the opposite direction of me. He tells me I shouldn’t be walking home alone but I only live a few blocks away and I have Samson with me. Plus, taking an Uber four blocks is wasting money I don’t have. I’m not exactly killing it in the tips department, courtesy of all my bartending blunders. Joey doesn’t take much convincing and just nods and takes a call on his phone as he walks away. Samson and I head off toward home and I think that if I can just keep out of trouble and stay invisible long enough to pay off my debts, I might end up okay after all.

  Chapter 4

  Dax

  I finish my south-side business around midnight and head back towards Bennie’s Garage. These streets will never fully relinquish their hold on me. Some of the messes in South Boston can only be cleaned up by one person, and that person is me.

  When I get to the garage Bennie is nowhere in sight, and the place is eerily quiet and empty. Usually, Bennie and his rowdy crew are here working on cars until all hours of the night, causing a ruckus. The garage is a staple of the old neighborhood and the one place where, as a kid, I found a respite from the hellish reality that was South Boston… that is South Boston. With an alcoholic mom and an asshole of a stepdad who loved to knock me and my kid brother around, I figured out pretty early on that it was better to steer clear of the chaos at home too. I spent most of my time on the streets, doing odd jobs for local gangsters, running errands, anything to keep me occupied. I wanted to belong, I wanted to feel like somebody… anybody gave a shit about me. Eventually I earned my place. I was smart, strong, and most importantly, I could keep a secret. It didn’t take long for Sunny Bianchi to notice me and bring me into his gang. I was only fourteen when I got the rose tattoo. I was so young and so fucking stupid, but I finally felt like I had a family.

  I did what I had to do, I got the job done no matter what, but I didn’t have a thirst for the violence like the other guys. I didn’t fucking get off on it like some of the psychopaths Sunny employed to do his dirty work. Like my old neighbor Nico, twisted motherfucker. Sunny may be tough, but Nico was too sick, even for him. Now Nico has ties to Charles Finch. Sounds like a match made in heaven to me, those two dirty bags deserve each other. If I ever lay eyes on Nico again… he’s done, and Charles Finch… I’ve already got him right where I want him.

  My eye for business and even keener eye for human weakness is what got me off the streets and into the backrooms, holding court with some of the richest men in South Boston and running the gambling rings. And it was fucking easy to smell out their weaknesses, to see where Sunny could take them sideways. I made that man a lot of money. I made all of us a lot of money. And then I met Angelina.

  It was Bennie that got me and Angelina out. I had actually managed to fall in love, cold-hearted bastard that I am, and I wanted a better life for her. I needed to keep her safe. Bennie convinced Sunny that I was capable of more than even he was interested in and that it would be good to have a man out past Dorchester Heights with connections and wealth to keep an eye on the neighborhood. I got out, and I took my little brother with me. He’ll never know the hell I endured to get us where we are today, to keep him off of those streets. When our mother died I never shed a tear, I knew he was better off without her, we both were. I may have built a real estate empire, but I’m still loyal to the grimy streets that raised me. For a long time, they were all I had.

  This scene at the garage isn’t what I expected though. The text saying that he wanted talk in person was a little out of character, but I never worry much about Bennie, he’s proven that he can take care of himself. He always jokes he has nine lives like a cat, and he’s got plenty to go.

  As I walk in the darkness of the empty garage, I feel a foreboding of danger. I should have alerted my security team that I was coming here, but even they don’t know the full extent of my relations with the Bianchi gang, and I would prefer to keep it that way. Once someone is in my inner circle, they become a vulnerability. I won’t let what happened to Angelina ever happen to anyone again. Ever.

  Still, despite everything, I often only truly feel at home when I trade in my tailored suits and security detail for jeans and my motorcycle, to come back home to the streets that made me. It feels good to leave the façade of Dax Hardin, billionaire, behind and just be me.

  I think again about the woman with the bulldog. It was obvious she’d had no idea who I was—either of my identities. When was the last time someone looked at me like that? Like I was just a man? It had been refreshing to see her eyes take me in without any preconceived ideas. She’d radiated an innocence and sincerity that was beyond endearing, all while hypnotizing me with a body that made a man think anything but innocent thoughts. She felt something too. I’m sure of it. I’m used to women wanting me, but she was different. Shy. A woman clearly out of place in South Boston and far too vulnerable, too sweet for turf like this. I smile at the thought of her. For a brief moment, I consider heading over to The Spotted Owl and taking her up on that drink offer after all. But how fast would she change when she learned who I was? She’d either turn greedy or run scared. Either way, the warmth in her eyes would turn cold, calculating. I’d seen the change a hundred times.

  I pick up my phone and dial Bennie’s number but it goes straight to voicemail. It’s getting late, and I need to get back home. I freeze, phone to my ear, as I hear shuffling behind me. It only takes me a moment to realize that I’ve been set up. I look for the closest object to serve as a weapon, a lead pipe on a nearby workbench. I pretend to casually leave a message for Bennie as I inch over to the pipe. I hear the sound again behind me and the lights cut out. Darkness doesn’t matter. I’ve had plenty of practice. I grab the lead pipe and swing around, making contact. I hear someone grunt and stumble hard in the darkness. I quickly head for the back door, swinging it open as I feel the knife cut through my side. The pipe drops from my hand and clatters to the ground. I feel a hard blow to the back of my head and find myself half-falling, half-stumbling to the ground of the guttered back alley of Bennie’s Garage before I blackout.

  Chapter 5

  Hannah

  Samson and I are about a block from my apartment, just crossing the dark, deserted street near a local garage, when Samson starts acting up. He lifts his head, sniffing the air and starts barking loudly. Shit Samson! Here we go again! I don’t even have a leash with me, since I had no idea he’d be with me tonight. It’s 2 a.m. and I really don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to myself, so I try to pick him up and quiet him down. The little bugger scurries away before I can grab a hold of him, trotting away from me now, barking even louder. This is so not like Samson. He never passes up the chance to be carried around like
the spoiled old pooch that he is. I try to pick him up again and to my horror, he takes off running across the street toward the alley next to the garage.

  I hear a siren wailing somewhere in the distance and wrap my arms tightly around myself. I have a feeling poking around some garage in a back alley at 2 in the morning would be on Kiki’s long list of things NOT to do in South Boston. Thanks a lot Samson!

  I hurry across the deserted street after Samson, calling out his name in an angry whisper. This dumb dog is going to get me killed! First the motorcycle incident and now this. All my affection and love for the little guy disappears rapidly as I enter the dark alley and completely lose Samson to the darkness.

  The alley is strewn with discarded, smashed up metal, hubcaps, and broken fenders. The metal shines eerily in the light of the one flickering streetlight that manages to cut into the alley. Ahead of me, I hear Samson panting loudly. At least he’s stopped barking. I step gingerly through the alley after him. If this little detour into the danger zone was all for a stray cat or a tossed-out, moldy hamburger I am definitely going to stop buying him pig’s ears as a treat.

  The alley is pitch black and the streetlights don’t reach this far, so I turn on my cell phone flashlight and walk, extremely carefully, toward the shadow of what I pray is Samson, and not a giant rat moving through the trash. I catch sight of him ahead of me and I can see him sniffing at something on the ground. I call out his name in my best angry, tough-mom whisper, but my rage is apparently doing nothing to pull him away from whatever he’s found. I swing my cell phone light around. The small area behind the garage is heaped high with old car parts, tires, tarps, and God only knows what else. This looks like the perfect setting for a horror movie, and I feel like the idiotic character that walks right into the trap of a lurking murderer.