Hunted Fianceé: A dark Mafia Romance

by Frankie Love

  Hunted Fianceé

  A Dirty Kings of Vegas Mafia Dark Romance, Book 5

  Frankie Love

  Alice May Ball

  Hunted Fianceé

  A dark Mafia Romance

  * * *

  Whatever the job takes, I’ll do it. Fast and hard.

  When I’m sent after a runaway, I’ll find her. And I’ll bring her back.

  * * *

  Simple as that. If she wants to fight about it, that’s okay. I don’t mind a fight. It’s what I do for a living.

  This girl? She’s fire and ice. She’s sin, wrapped in curves.

  * * *

  I’m saying finders keepers on her. I don’t care what her crime family boss daddy has to say about it.

  I’m due a bonus. I’m going to have her.

  * * *

  Dear reader,

  It’s dark and hot and filthy. Finn takes what he wants and breaks all the rules over Mia. Nothing will stop him getting her, exactly where he sorely needs her. Fortunately, we’re ready for a hard, hot… romance. Just how you love it.

  Xo, Frankie and Alice

  * * *

  The Dirty Kings of Vegas is a mafia romance series with love at its core.

  We met the O’Malley clan back in the novel McQueen – but here they are again, ready to show everyone who’s boss!

  Frankie Love has teamed up with the sinfully sweet Alice May Ball and together they’re ready to spin the wheel for love.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue I

  Epilogue II

  About the Author

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Finn

  From the first instant I see her in the flesh, I’m obsessed by Mia Moretti. I want her so hard it’s like a rage. My gut tightens and my blood hammers. One look and I’m pumped.

  I watched videos of her, of course. And I saw photographs, but I had no idea she was this gorgeous. Her almond eyes sparkle with a glow of mischief and sin. Soft, curvaceous and womanly. She has a swagger and a no-shit attitude.

  I like that. A lot.

  I have a habit of putting women on pedestals. Imagining them like they’re fragile pieces of china or priceless works of art. I should shake it. See the woman inside.

  Not this one, though. It doesn’t matter what I think or feel about her or what I don't. All I need is to get the job done.

  She wasn't so hard to find. I've no idea why she's on the run. It’s not my business to know. Not my problem to solve. Somebody wants her found. Finding people is something I’m great at. Especially people who don’t want to be found.

  In a bright store on the top tier of an upscale mall, I watch her at the counter, talking to the sales guy. The store is stacked with fabrics. Silks and satins, cottons and lace. Rolls of white silk and satin. Big cuts of fine, delicate, and intricate white lace.

  Like she’s setting out to make her own wedding dress. Definitely an odd thing for a girl on the run. Even odder, when hers is the second biggest mob family in Vegas.

  A girl who’s in hiding from her own family planning a big wedding? I don’t see it. But it doesn’t matter what I see and what I don’t. I don’t need to understand.

  Mia Moretti is unusual, though, to say the least.

  The sales guy leans back. Cocks his hip as he shows her a catalogue. Turning it. Making her move closer. She has to prop her elbow on the counter. Rest her chin on her hand.

  A knot of rage snaps tight in my gut. I want to break the fucker’s neck.

  While I’m sure she hasn’t spotted me, I slip out of the store.

  My plan is simple and foolproof. There’s a food court table nearby. I wait with a coffee and an apple Danish.

  Two suspicious-looking overfilled suits lurk farther down the walkway. Those thugs are not even slightly convincing, pretending to window-shop for women's shoes.

  Ten minutes later, she strides out of the store. Dark cascades of hair waving wild and unruly, cool sunglasses in place. Her body moves like she's been choreographed. Like a dancer with shapes and moves so well practiced, they’re second nature.

  Like the creamy ingredients of all my filthy wet dreams when I was younger. And all the way up to now. I know she’ll be taking a starring role from here on. She won’t be on a pedestal there.

  She’s loaded with bags and rolls of fabrics. That’s going to slow her down and make her easier to take.

  I know the level and the spot where she parked.

  As she sashays down the walkway, headed for the elevator, the two suits lumber into motion.

  They’re going after her.

  She's totally unaware, as far as I can tell. Of me or of them. As I get up, they're closing on her. Big guys. Dark suits, dark glasses. Standard issue mobster uniform.

  She’s at the elevator. The bell dings.

  The goons speed up as they pass the door to the fire escape stairwell. They’re big. Not as big as me.

  I rush the one on the outside. I drive my shoulder hard into his upper arm. He slams into his partner. I reach for the door handle at the same time as the second man’s back bangs into the door.

  Another fast shove, while they’re both still wide-eyed in shock and trying to work out what's happening. The door swings shut behind me. It was so quick, I don’t think any of the civilians saw a thing.

  They stumble back, off balance, into the bare concrete stairwell. I drive my fist into the side of the neck of the one nearest. The other one is pulling a gun. I have a powerful loathing of guns.

  He keeps his weapon on the back of his right hip. Amateur. I swing wide and slam the side of my fist into the outside of his elbow.

  He keeps hold of the gun, but his arm buckles behind him. I grab his wrist and twist the arm out. The sinew in his shoulder starts to tear while I drive my other fist into his kidney.

  I shove hard, and he tumbles down the first flight of concrete steps. Twelve bumps on concrete. He'll be feeling that for a while. His little automatic still dangles off his loose finger, though. He’s lucky he hasn’t shot his balls off with the thing.

  The other one is twisting to get up. I haul him by his ankle and sling him after his pal. He rolls awkwardly down the steps, and cannons into his partner.

  I grab a fire extinguisher to jam the door closed before I leave. They should be grateful I didn’t lob it at them.

  Naturally, by the time I get back to the walkway, the fragrant and lovely Mia Moretti has slipped into the elevator and away.

  She probably didn’t even see me save her ass back there. Not that she would be appreciative. Not if she knew what I was saving her for.

  The elevator doors slide open into the hard, dim light of the parking level. Right away, I see her manhandling her over-sized purchases into the back of her sleek SUV. Instinct makes me want to rush up and help her.

  My instincts are taking way too much interest in her. She’s a job, I tell myself.

  Quietly, in no hurry, I move along the aisle. My black van is next to her car.

  Quietly, softly, I’m closing on her.

  An orange slice of light splits open across the shining automobiles and the black cement floor. I duck so the light doesn’t catch me and show her a big, dumb silhouette. The elevator door opening again. Could be a problem. More likely
, whoever they are, they won’t be going anywhere near the part of the level where we’re headed.

  I’m sliding open the side door of the van. She fumbles as she juggles the fabrics and pops the rear door. I’m about to step around the van. I hear her voice.

  “Oh, thank you, Nick.”

  I duck back. The guy from the store has followed her down. He’s brought more fabrics. He sounds breathless and eager.

  “This is all of it now, ma’am.”

  I slip into the van and slide the door silently shut. The tinted glass should be enough to hide me. Even so, I get a thrill when she looks up. I’m looking straight at her.

  Nick stacks the purchases in the back of the SUV. He slams the door smartly. Stands tall. Chest out. Poor puppy.

  Still, he saved her bacon for now. If he knew it, he’d be wetting himself.

  Now what? Always be ready to improvise. Adapt.

  Now I wish I brought the rest of that Danish.

  Waiting, keeping still inside the van while she gets herself ready to go. I’m making new plans, moment by moment.

  Now I can't make a move on her without a witness. Or without wasting a shop assistant. That would not suit my plans. This is not the kind of job to leave a trail of crumpled civilians.

  If I have to, I'll postpone. I found her this morning, I can find her again. I’m not giving up yet, though I'm down to Plan B already.

  But I have to let her drive out first. I can't risk letting her see me now.

  She starts the car and pulls away smartly. Reversing out, turning, then gunning her engine. Girl knows how to drive. I have to give her that.

  As I'm slipping into the van’s driving seat, two black SUVs follow her, tracking her path.

  I didn’t expect to be in a crowded competition. People are after this girl everywhere she goes. I’m not ready to admit that this is going to be difficult. Not yet. But it's nowhere near as simple as it should be.

  She should be in the back of the van by now, with her hands zip-tied behind her back, and a neat gag, looking puppy eyes at me and wondering what the fuck happened to her. Shame. I was looking forward to seeing her all trussed up.

  Ah well. Adapt. Improvise.

  The two black cars follow her out. She makes a wide turn on to the Strip and they are exactly forty feet behind her. Attack distance.

  This is not my usual line of work. It’s not my town, either. Vegas is loud and bright, it’s big and brash, twenty-four hours in the day.

  I’m an enforcer and an underboss. I work in Boston for Liam O’Malley, taking care of certain interests the O’Malley family still have there. Before he came out to the desert and took over glitter city, Liam O’Malley was a top dog in Beantown.

  Now he’s the top dog in Vegas, and I still work directly for him. Liam invited me to Vegas for his wedding. Then, he asked me for this job as a favor before I headed back.

  He gave me a place to use as a base here in Vegas. Naturally, being Liam, it’s an enormous luxury suite in the Kingpin casino. One of the top bridal suites. I told him it isn’t really my style, but when Liam has an idea in his head, it takes a lot to shake it loose.

  He told me, “I need you to do the job as an outsider. It can’t be seen as having anything to do with the O’Malleys.”

  That can work. Nobody knows me here.

  I follow the two cars following her.

  One moves into the inner lane. They’re going to box her in. An intersection is coming up. They’ll wait for her to turn off. Whether they’re trying to snatch her or kill her, nobody wants a traffic jam by their attack. Too messy.

  They speed up as she moves for a turnoff. I swing a wide arc at the car on the outside. Contact the nearside corner. Soft contact. Then I accelerate hard. Shove the one car into the path of the other.

  As I’m pulling away, I look back, trying to see if they’re the same goons who were after her in the mall. But I can’t get a look. All I can see is two cars, tangling and mangling off the side of the carriageway, headed with their noses down into a grassy verge.

  Not much damage. No injuries.

  And when I look back, she’s very, very gone.

  Not a trace.

  She’s good.

  Chapter Two

  Mia

  Somebody has been watching me. Following me, even. Have I acquired an admirer, or a stalker?

  No, it’s more likely that my daddy has hired some thug to track me down.

  I tell Poppy, “I saw a guy in the store.”

  “You mean Nick? He is hot, don’t you think?”

  Poppy has a breathless, bouncy look and a high, soft voice. She’s blonde and bubbly and she looks like a bimbo. That’s so not what she is. There’s a rock-solid business brain in her head. She deals with brides to be and their mothers with all the charm of a senator’s wife.

  I say, “You mean Nick the assistant?”

  Her eyes glisten. “He’s the buyer. And he’s like a regional manager.”

  I smile. “You like him.”

  “Well, maybe a bit. He is pretty gorgeous, though. Don’t you think?”

  “He’s nice. Not my type, though.”

  “No? What’s your type, Mia?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell her, truthfully, “Mainly, the type I never meet and I haven’t met yet.”

  “Nobody?”

  “Nobody in real life.” Certainly not the animal my daddy wants me to marry. I wouldn’t want to be too superficial or judgmental, but to say he has the manners of a pig would be unkind to pigs. Being as ugly as a gargoyle must be close to the oaf’s most attractive asset.

  “No, there was a guy in the fabric store. I think he was watching me.” Recalling it makes the tips of my fingers prickle.

  “You don’t think your daddy has sent somebody after you, do you?”

  I nod. “I knew he would, sooner or later.” Poppy’s eyes widen. “Honestly. I’m not even kidding. Somebody is sure to be on my trail. I just wonder if this guy is him. Because if it is, I guess it means I’ve been blown.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t mean you’re going to leave me, does it?”

  “I don’t know. There will be people looking for me, and they’re bound to find me, eventually. And I like it here.” But I tell her, “You’ve been good to me. I wouldn’t want you put at risk or mixed up in anything.”

  “Anything like what? They’re not going to come busting in here with guns blazing, are they?”

  Poppy is a close friend of my sister’s, so I’m sure she knows the score. “It’s not unheard of. I’m worried now.”

  “You know, Mia, you always surprise me with that stuff. I forget that you’re from one of the premier crime families in this town.” She slaps her hand to her mouth. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that.”

  I laugh. “Don’t worry about it. Actually, I prefer it said said straight out like that. Anybody else in the family would freak. They all insist on saying things like, ‘family,’ and, ‘Corporation.’ Daddy slapped me across the face once for saying ‘mafia.’ He was so upset about it afterwards. I think it was a stressful moment for him already when I blurted it out. Some stuff with the business. But, yeah. They like everybody to kind of dance around it.”

  “But that all seems so, I don’t know, so not you.”

  “It’s me, Poppy.” I’m serious now. “It’s not my favorite part of me, but I can’t pretend it’s not there. That’s not how I want to think of myself, but it’s my roots. My heritage. For better or worse.”

  “For richer, for poorer?” Poppy picked up the line. I hadn’t even thought about it that way.

  “Don’t. That’s why I had to run away.”

  It’s ironic that I’m risking my neck and my reputation to avoid a wedding, and here I am helping Poppy in a bridal store. She was so nice to take me in. It bothers me how much trouble I could bring to her door.

  “Don’t worry too much about me,” she lays a hand on mine. “I can look after myself. And I’m sure they’
re not as bad as you think.” I get uncomfortable when she says that. “So, what did he look like?”

  “Who?”

  Poppy grins, “Your guy in the fabric store?”

  “I couldn’t really get a look at him. That was what alerted me and made me suspicious. If you’re being followed by a pro, he will never let you see enough of him to recognize.”

  “And yet, somehow he made an impression on you.”

  “Poppy, the guy could walk in here right now, I wouldn’t recognize him,” my cheeks are getting hot, though. “I hardly saw him in the shadows around the store. He was so inconspicuous.”

  “You have spidey sense!”

  “I did get a ‘vibe’ or something from him.” My breath catches in my throat, remembering. “Men are not usually trying to avoid being noticed.”

  She says, “Around you, I bet they’re not.” We share a laugh.

  “He hung at the back of the room, making like he was interested in the fabrics. But he didn’t ask any questions. And he left without buying anything or talking to anyone. Just came in after I did, left again before me.”

  Daddy taught me all those tricks and dodges. Made it a game when I was little and we were out together. He would pick someone at random and follow them without their ever knowing. I know he taught my brothers a whole lot more. I was much older before I realized, what he was teaching me was surveillance and countersurveillance, so I would know how to spot somebody tailing me, and what to do if I saw someone.