Mafia Romance

by Aleatha Romig, Skye Warren, Annika Martin, Natasha Knight, Kaye Blue, Michelle St. James, Renee Rose, Parker S. Huntington, Alexis Abbott, Willow Winters

Blood, she finally realized, and in the next instant she heard him give out another throaty grunt, but this time she heard the soft puff of air that came immediately before it, and when she heard yet another, she looked toward the glass window, seeing the three holes that now pierced it.

  The next seconds unfolded as if from a movie, the window cracking and then shattering as Miller fell to his knees.

  He looked at her again, and Cassandra stared back, at a loss for what else to do. He started to speak, but there was another grunt, and then a bloom of red blossomed across his forehead.

  For a moment, Miller stayed surprisingly upright, still, and then he collapsed, his body falling to the left with a muffled thud.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “You all right, Cass?” Seth asked.

  She was back sitting on Lucian’s sofa, her legs unwilling to move. Cassandra looked up at Seth, ignoring the countless others that streamed in and out of the apartment, the wind that rushed into the room through the windowless patio.

  At least it was quiet. She’d heard some talk about them finally reopening the streets once they were certain all of Miller’s explosives had been recovered. At that thought, she looked over to the spot where Miller had died, now vacant except for glass and blood, something she’d seen far too often recently.

  She looked up at Seth. “I’m all right, Seth,” she finally said.

  And, strangely, that was true. She was alive. Lucian was alive. Nothing else mattered.

  “I sent Adam downstairs to wait with Sloan. I can have him take you home if you want,” Seth said.

  Cassandra shook her head. “No. I’m going to stay,” she said, looking at Lucian’s closed bedroom door.

  The feds and Homeland Security hadn’t even bothered to take Lucian elsewhere and instead now questioned him in his own home. A place Cassandra had loved, but one she couldn’t wait to leave.

  She wouldn’t, though. Not without Lucian.

  Seth nodded curtly. “Let me know if you need anything,” he said.

  She nodded faintly and then said, “I will.”

  All she needed was Lucian, and Seth’s expression told her he understood that. So he crossed Lucian’s living room, grabbed a bottle of water, handed it to her, and then leaned against the wall, clearly waiting with her.

  Cassandra didn’t know how long she sat there, the hum of activity fading to nothing. She didn’t really hear or see anything, just felt frozen as she waited. Then, Cassandra felt something, a thawing of the ice that seemed to enclose her. A moment later, his bedroom door opened, and Lucian emerged.

  His eyes settled on her, and with that single look, the ice around her was gone. Cassandra didn’t stop to think, consider the ramifications, she simply gave in to instinct and ran to him. Lucian met her halfway and when they met, he locked his eyes on hers and then, without pause, he kissed her.

  It took a few moments for Cassandra to realize that her feet were no longer on the ground, to realize that she was moving. She opened her eyes and looked at Lucian, whose face was set in a rigid expression that made Cassandra want him even more than she already did. Before they exited, the mangled apartment door reminding Cassandra of what had transpired just hours ago, she looked up at Seth, who gave her a knowing smile.

  And then, they were in the elevator.

  “You could put me down,” Cassandra finally said as the elevator began its descent.

  Lucian met her eyes. “No. I have you now, and I’m never letting you go.”

  “What about the authorities? Don’t they have questions?” she said, her hands on his shoulders.

  “They can wait. I’m taking you home,” he said.

  True to his word, Lucian carried her until he reached the SUV, where Adam stood waiting with Sloan on the opposite side of the vehicle.

  Sloan gave her a tentative smile that spoke deeply, one that Cassandra returned. A moment later, Lucian settled her in the vehicle, and then they were off.

  * * *

  “Where are we going?” Cassandra asked when Lucian’s home was no longer in sight.

  “Figured you wanted to go home,” he said, though he didn’t look at her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He didn’t respond, but Cassandra didn’t press. She could see Lucian was still wired, probably in no mood to talk, and she didn’t need to. Being with him was enough.

  He came to a stop in front of her house and then got out of the vehicle and led her out.

  “I had the place checked out, and it’s clear. Thought you’d want to be here,” he said as he unlocked the door and led her inside.

  “Thank you,” she said again.

  Again he didn’t respond directly and instead said, “I’ll get you something to eat while you shower.”

  “You gonna make me some orange juice?” she said.

  That got a tentative smile from him, but one that didn’t reach his eyes or do anything to slacken the intense atmosphere around him. Cassandra knew him well enough to know what he was thinking, what he was doing to himself, and she wouldn’t let that happen.

  Cassandra walked to him where he stood still strong, confident, but not her Lucian. When she reached him, she stood on her tiptoes and held his face in her hands.

  “I’m here, Lucian. I’m here, and I’m safe,” she said, wanting to chase away the clouds that darkened his eyes, wanting to smooth away the lines of worry that wrinkled his forehead.

  She moved forward and pressed her lips against his, and then wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him as tight as she could.

  He did the same, locking his arms around her waist and lifting her so that her body was crushed against his.

  In his rigid muscles, she felt the nervous energy that had been there since she’d first seen him, the pent-up emotion that he hadn’t expressed but that had vibrated off him.

  “I’m fine,” she said again, her breath a whisper against his ear.

  “I—”

  She felt more than heard the word grumbling from his chest.

  “I’m fine, I’m here in your arms,” she repeated, holding him a little bit tighter.

  He loosened his arm, but only to lower her feet to the floor, and then he pulled her closer, grasped the side of her face with one hand and began to stroke his thumb across her cheek.

  “I thought…”

  He trailed off again and locked his gaze with hers, his eyes seeking, his expression suggesting that he wasn’t quite sure that he could believe his eyes, that he wasn’t sure she was there.

  She nodded. “I know,” she said.

  He shook his head, his eyes still on hers. “You don’t,” he replied.

  She said nothing and instead gripped his arm and waited, knowing he needed to do this in his own time.

  “You could’ve died, Cassandra,” he said.

  His voice cracked on the word “died,” and his features twisted as if he could not even contemplate the thought.

  “I was supposed to protect you, and you could have died,” he said.

  “But I didn’t. Because you protected me. You saved me.” He had, he’d saved her, and she’d never doubted he would for a single moment.

  “But you could have—and I never would’ve had the chance to tell you…”

  She frowned, shaking her head slightly. “Tell me what?” she asked.

  His eyes, which had gone heavy-lidded for a moment, lifted again and he locked eyes with her.

  “Tell you that I love you,” he said, his voice not wavering.

  In some ways, Cassandra suspected she had known that all along, but hearing the words, seeing the truth of them in his eyes, was unlike anything she had ever experienced.

  “I love you too, Lucian,” she said.

  “You don’t have to say that,” he said. “I just needed you to know. I will never take the chance of you not knowing again,” he said.

  He leaned toward her and kissed her, his touch rough, urgent, but so tender it made her heart melt. She returned the kiss,
trying to comfort him, show him how much she loved him with her touch. In that sea of kisses and touches, they made their way to her bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake, and when they reached her bedroom, Lucian stood in front of her, eyes shining as he pushed her back.

  She lay on the bed, and when he stretched out atop her, she widened her thighs to accommodate him, and he slowly worked his hands up her body, moved them down her arms, and then entwined their fingers. He pulled her arms tight over her head until she was completely stretched out, and then he lay against her, his cock heavy against her thigh, barely brushing her wet sex.

  He pushed himself inside her and she came instantly, the intensity of him touching her everywhere at once too much. Lucian flashed her a quick smile, but his face soon set in the expression of determined focus that was everything she knew Lucian to be. Everything she loved.

  As he moved inside her, she clung to him, arms and legs entangled with his, hands roaming his body as she again climbed toward climax. She opened heavy, drowsy eyes to meet his, and when he reached forward to press his lips against hers, she returned the embrace.

  Then, wrapped in the arms of the man she knew she would love forever, she let pleasure take her away.

  Epilogue

  Eleven Months Later

  “Do you think we’re moving too fast?” Cassandra asked.

  Lucian looked at her as if she were insane. “Not moving fast enough,” he replied.

  The three-karat solitaire that weighed down her finger suggested otherwise, but Cassandra chose to keep that observation to herself.

  Instead, she smiled up at her new fiancé, the feeling of love and affection growing ever more intense as it did every time she looked at him.

  “Well, Mr. Silver, if you insist,” she said.

  “You letting me have my way? What’s in it for you?” he asked.

  “Not much, I guess,” she said with a shrug. “Just that I get to be your wife.”

  “I like the way that sounds,” he said.

  Then he leaned forward, kissed her deeply. Passionately.

  He broke away and looked down at her.

  “I’m glad you came to the office. Can I convince you to stay a little longer?” he asked.

  As he spoke, he grabbed a handful of her ass and pulled her hips in until she was resting against his burgeoning erection.

  “I might be able to be convinced,” Cassandra said.

  “Let’s see what I come up with, then,” Lucian responded, his breath warm against her neck as he began to kiss her, rock slowly against her.

  Cassandra had quit Silver Industries, conflict of interest and all that, but she still tried to come down a couple times a week as she figured out what, besides being hopelessly in love with Lucian, she would do for the rest of her life.

  She missed being at the company every day, but this kind of afternoon treat was a nice diversion.

  “Well,” she said, wrapping her arm around his shoulders, “I think you’re more than—”

  There was a sharp knock at the door, and barely a second passed before it was thrown open.

  Sloan walked in, moving as fast as her wedge heels would take her.

  Cassandra glanced at Lucian and saw his expression shift from irritation to concern, concern that was reflected in Sloan’s face.

  Lucian dropped his arms and Cassandra stood and followed him as he walked toward Sloan.

  Sloan never entered without a response, and if this was a regular day and she’d caught them in that kind of position, Cassandra would have expected at least a knowing smile.

  But there was none of that. Sloan was all business.

  “What?” Lucian said.

  “It’s Damien,” Sloan said. “He’s downstairs. And I think he’s in trouble.”

  * * *

  Thank you so much for reading! You should read UTLIMATE ENGAGEMENT, the next book about a dangerous mercenary hero.

  When the lines between make-believe and reality blur, danger moves in…

  Mercenary Adam Reins needs a woman—and fast. The only way to get the intel he needs on a dangerous criminal is to go undercover—on a couples’ retreat. But pretending to be engaged to the sweet and sexy Sloan Wakefield might be too much for bad boy Adam to handle.

  Sloan has always been drawn to Adam, but he never noticed she existed. Playing his fiancée is just a game, and Sloan knows she can’t forget that. Still between Adam’s intense gaze and his increasingly heated caresses, the boundaries begin to blur.

  But danger is looming, and if Adam and Sloan don’t work together, their fairy-tale forever might be over before it starts.

  ONE CLICK ULTIMATE ENGAGEMENT NOW >

  THICKER THAN WATER

  MICHELLE ST. JAMES

  Nolan Burke was never really a criminal.

  He’d joined the Syndicate to learn how to be a man. Pissing off his socialite mother was just a bonus, as was hanging around South Boston with Bridget Mongahan and his best friend Will. But that was before Bridget dumped him without explanation. Forced to pick up the pieces, Nolan returned to law school and set about fulfilling the real purpose of someone of his station—making money.

  Bridget Monaghan has never been ashamed of her working class upbringing. She loves everything about Southie, loves living with her parents and brother in their small row house and knowing everyone she passes on the sidewalk. Going to night school to become a lawyer was a way to do something meaningful with her life, a way to make the world a better place. Then her brother was diagnosed with ALS and she was forced to make the most painful decision of her life—let Nolan Burke go to save her brother.

  Four years later, Bridget is working as a lawyer for the Irish mob, trying to cover the expense of her brother’s medications and treatments, when she finds herself in the crosshairs of a war between the Syndicate and a former I.R.A. operative running the criminal organization in South Boston. When the Syndicate asks for Nolan’s help, he and Bridget are drawn into a deadly turf war that will force them to decide if they should save themselves—or risk everything for love.

  Prologue

  Christophe Marchand stepped out of the car and into the lobby of the steel and glass skyscraper in the Financial District.

  He missed Paris already.

  Still, New York was better than Boston, where he’d spent a majority of his time over the past months while Nico and Farrell had been preoccupied with other territories. Had there been any choice at all, he would have happily foisted the responsibility of the beleaguered city onto either of the other men, but alas, Vegas had taken longer than expected to get under control, and London was an increasingly complicated network of old-world criminal activity and modern revenue streams that involved everything from surveillance to cyber espionage for which the Syndicate was paid extraordinary sums by even companies deemed altruistic by society.

  “Good evening, Mr. Marchand.”

  Christophe looked up and nodded at the security guard seated behind the mirrored desk at one end of the lobby. The Syndicate had purchased the building after Raneiro Donati’s assassination, shortly after he and the other men had agreed to take over—and make over—the old infrastructure. It had been an enormous expense that had paid for itself many times over, both in property appreciation and in the privacy and security it provided by the opportunity to choose their tenants.

  But the building still felt like an empty vessel, lacking the history and finery he cherished in the city’s older buildings, off-limits to the Syndicate according to Nico, who said historical buildings were the subject of too much curiosity to be viable as Syndicate headquarters.

  Christophe stifled a sigh as he stepped into the elevator, his thoughts turning to Charlotte, as they always did when he missed home. He’d once believed home to be the apartment in Paris that had been in his family for generations, or perhaps their estate on the island of Corsica.

  Now he knew the truth: home was Charlotte.

  She was the find of the century, a gift
from the heavens. That she’d come to him only through a dangerous and horrifying series of events that had included the death of his brother was no matter.

  She belonged with him. She always had. The years he’d spent hunting down the antiques and art that had been sold over the years to satisfy his father’s many divorce settlements seemed like an exercise in futility, an attempt to fill a hole shaped like Charlotte, like her beauty and kindness, like her gentle laugh and delicate hands.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and saw her as she’d been when he’d left the house that morning, elegant even in fitted trousers and one of his old button-down shirts knotted at the waist, a sliver of porcelain skin showing when she lifted her arms to clean the top of a canvas she’d recently purchased at auction, a John William Waterhouse that had been in private collection for nearly fifty years.

  He’d stood watching her, taking in the concentration on her beautiful face, her chiseled cheekbones and full lips, her amber eyes turning on him only after a full minute had passed.

  She’d smiled, coming down from the stepladder to embrace him before he left for New York. Her body was soft in his arms, and he’d had to fight the urge to release her dark hair from the pins suspending it in a luxurious pile at the top of her head. She’d smelled of lavender and turpentine, of love and home.

  He opened his eyes as the elevator dinged, announcing his arrival at the Syndicate’s executive offices on the tenth floor. It was well after six p.m., the receptionist’s desk empty. He passed through the quiet lobby and continued toward a pair of open doors at the end of a long hall.

  “Jesus Christ,” Farrell Black said when Christophe stepped into the conference room. “Nice of you to fucking join us.”

  Christophe ignored him and continued to the long mahogany table dominating the room. The air was laced with the scent of fresh coffee and he sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Vanessa, the New York receptionist, for remembering that while Luca rarely drank, Farrell tossed back whiskey like it was water, and Nico enjoyed Scotch, more often than not, Christophe preferred strong black coffee.