Taken: A Mafia Romance

by Logan Chance

  And I will.

  Her wide eyes don't leave mine. There’s about zero inches between us, and I breathe in her scent as my heart beats an edgy rhythm. “You should get to bed. We leave early tomorrow,” I say, pushing my arms off the table to stand back.

  She doesn’t say a word, just rushes out the door, swaying that ass like a swinging watch to hypnotize me. I don’t think she realizes how sexy she walks. I shouldn't realize how sexy she walks.

  And I sure as hell shouldn't be hard.

  But I am.

  17

  Rhiannon

  Sometimes we find an unlikely ally in places we least expect. I've found one in Krista. After giving her a card with two wildflowers growing in a pile of poop, with the inside reading: ‘Friends are like wildflowers, often found in the most unlikely places,’ the barriers came down. While she helps gather my things, in hushed whispers, she fills me in on our destination: Los Angeles.

  Apparently Xavier has homes in many cities, but LA is the primary residence. She doesn't stop there, finally revealing these men who never speak to me are Xavier’s security detail, the best and brightest money can buy: geniuses, ex-military men, men who are all, without an inkling of doubt, loyal to Xavier. Not that Krista isn't loyal to him. I mean, she’s not setting me free. For all I know, he approved this info. But, I’ll take what I can get.

  Like the prisoner I am, I'm hustled into a waiting black SUV with tinted windows. After a long flight, late in the night, we arrive at a gated mansion that causes my jaw to drop. The two story stone structure beams with light from it’s glass filled front. I’m not sure exactly what Xavier does, but this compound far exceeds even what my father owns.

  “Very nice,” I say to a tired looking Xavier. For once, he's not in a suit. The soft jeans and t-shirt he's wearing make him less formidable.

  The driver stops at the entrance and Xavier takes my hand, helping me out and leading me into my new cage. Albeit, a very beautiful cage. The inside is spacious and modern. Abstract art lines the walls as he crosses through the living area filled with high tech gadgets, warm leathers, and soft rugs. This is his world, and it’s very...him. Dark, classy, a hint of mystery—just like its master.

  He continues down a hallway that leads to two doors opposite each other.

  “This is the guest wing,” he finally speaks.

  Guest. His choice of words reminds me that I'm a temporary prisoner he plans on returning like an unwanted suit, and I need to figure a way out of here fast.

  “How very civilized of you to call your captives guests,” I say as he opens the door to a room the size of a small apartment. A majestic canopy bed, all in white, looks very inviting right now. It's like a fluffy cloud amidst the varying shades of sky blue and sunshine yellow pillows in the deep window seats on each side of it.

  “I think you’ll be very comfortable here. Same rules apply here as they did in Chicago. You can roam the house and the land,” he says, as if this is a hotel stay. “I have a function to attend, so tomorrow we go shopping to get you some things.”

  “What’s wrong with the clothes I have?”

  He drops my small leather duffle onto a navy overstuffed chair. “Are you actually putting up a fight to let me buy you pretty things?”

  Yes, why am I questioning frivolous purchases? Out is out. “Well, when you put it that way.”

  He half smiles. Obviously, I couldn’t care less what I'm wearing, but this outing, hopefully, might be an enormous miscalculation on his part. A crowded store could be the perfect opportunity to slip away.

  The moment we stepped foot into Lanvin, on Rodeo Drive, I knew attempting to get away would be futile.

  Dress after dress I’ve tried on waiting for an opportunity that is virtually impossible with the store attendants fawning all over me.

  “That dress is exquisite on you,” Hilary, the saleswoman says. I’ll take her word for it, because with her jagged short blonde hair style, and boobs popping out of her pink button-down, she oozes sexuality.

  Xavier, looking like a dark angel in his Brioni tailored suit, is oblivious, sitting in a plush, white armchair, tapping rapidly on his phone.

  “What do you think?” I ask, stepping up to him. The tight bodice, which leaves half my breasts exposed, probably has over a million shiny flashes of sparkles sewn in. He stops his tapping and glances up. “You’re a fucking masterpiece in that dress.”

  The lust filled gaze directed at me causes an immediate reaction in my core. I've never had a man look at me like this. His eyes strip the dress from me, and I turn away to hide my blush.

  “It’s not too much?” I ask, stepping up to the mirror, turning around in a half-circle to check out the non-existent back. The material drapes just before the curve of my butt.

  “We’ll take it,” he tells the sales attendant, never taking his eyes off my ass. The way he looks at my body is like a starved lion ready to spring on its prey and rip it to shreds.

  I step back into the dressing room and sag against the wall. I have to remind myself not to get sucked into the vortex that is Xavier. It's hard—so hard. The effect he had on me as a girl pales in comparison to a woman. I've seen porn now, and those sexy little Tumblr clips, so when he gives me a look like he just did, my traitorous mind conjures up much more explicit things.

  “The Louis Vuitton store isn’t too far from here,” he calls out to the closed door.

  I won't lie, my heart flutters a little with excitement.

  After making the purchases, he places his large palm on the small of my back and guides me out the store. A man appears out of thin air to take the bags from him when we step outside into the warm air.

  “Aren’t you worried about my father finding us?” I ask as we amble down Rodeo Drive. It's hard not to get distracted by the beauty of the European style buildings and focus on the danger of the situation.

  He shrugs. “He won't.”

  The carefree attitude he has as we walk down the busy street is ludicrous to me. Any of these people could be someone sent by my father, and he really doesn’t care.

  I glance over my shoulder, making sure we aren’t being followed, and spot a black SUV down the road.

  “They’re mine; don’t worry.” He looks over at me. “I have my own army, and this is my city.”

  His words send a chill down my spine and I’m beginning to believe that my father is no match for Xavier.

  We enter the Louis Vuitton store, and even though I grew up with money, I never shopped at these types of places. Maybe it was because I didn't want to stand out more than I already did by flaunting my father’s wealth, or maybe it was from always being asked by my father to explain my credit card purchases if they were too extravagant. At any rate, my escape is going to have to wait a few minutes while I check out these shoes and handbags.

  A short, stout man with thick glasses, gelled-brown hair, and wearing a suit probably worth more than the shoes he’s selling, waddles over. “Hello, sir,” he says, shaking Xavier’s hand.

  “Get her whatever she wants,” he replies.

  “Yes, sir.” The man smiles at me, assessing just how much he can convince me to want. “I’m Harold. Let me know if anything catches your eye.”

  Oh, it all catches my eye, little guy. I glance over to Xavier, and an easy smile lights his face. My lips betray me and smile back.

  This is so not the time to be enamored with shoes and handbags. Or Xavier. But honestly, there is no way out of here, so I might as well look. And maybe I deserve a pair or hundred for all of this. So, I spend the next hour trying on almost every shoe in the store.

  “Those,” Xavier says, stepping up beside me. He wets his lips, eye fucking the black, strappy stilettos on my feet.

  “You like these?”

  “I fucking love them,” he answers in a husky voice that does nothing to ease the ache intensifying between my thighs. His phone rings, interrupting our shoe moment, and I close my eyes and count to calm myself while he steps aw
ay and speaks in clipped tones to whoever is on the other end.

  “We’re done,” he announces. “Something has come up.”

  Harold quickly rings the purchases, and in fifteen minutes, we’re on our way back to Xavier’s house. Thankfully, he's occupied the entire ride back with whatever is so important on his phone and I stare at nothing out the window, getting my head back together.

  “Everything ok?” I ask as he puts his phone away.

  “Yeah, just need to handle a few things.”

  “Things about my father?”

  “No. Just business stuff.”

  I let his answer roll off my shoulders. Maybe it is all just business and nothing to do with my father. You can’t have everything Xavier does without working hard.

  “We’re leaving in a few hours,” he informs me as the car pulls into the driveway. He opens the door. “Wear the fuck me shoes.”

  My first full on attempt at escaping failed miserably, but tonight, I’ll be smarter.

  “You look nice,” Xavier says to me in the back of the luxury sedan which takes us to our next ‘event.’

  Nice is not what his hooded eyes say as they skim over the tiny material of my red cocktail dress. My wardrobe usually consists of dresses that rest a little bit above the knee, and this dress hits mid thigh, right where Xavier’s eyes rest.

  “I like you in red. Makes your hair look more wild.” His voice is low and husky, and I give a little tug at the bodice which barely contains my breasts before they jump into his sexy mouth.

  “I’ve always had a bit of a wild streak.”

  He cocks a brow at me. “I’ve known you your whole life, and I’ll say that isn’t accurate.”

  “Not my whole life Xavier,” I throw back at him. “We don't really know each other anymore.”

  “Yes, you keep reminding me.” He turns to glance out the window as the driver pulls up to a long line at an art gallery. “Tell me something I don't know then.”

  I'm not sure if he means that metaphorically, but I decide to go with literal. “My friend, Delilah, found a private investor for my cards.” He looks back at me, and I sigh. “I could've been the next Hallmark if you didn't ruin it.”

  “Why can't you still do it?”

  “Come on, Xavier,” I say, “you know the best way to control someone is through their bank account.”

  He studies me so intently, I feel stripped bare, all my faults on display. “Maybe you need to put up as much fight as you do with me. Tell your father to fuck off.”

  He’s right. But I don’t plan on going back.

  The car inches closer to the entrance, and a light illuminates the anger in his clenched jaw. “Or better yet, I'll tell him to fuck off.”

  The coldness in his stare tells me he’d have no problem at doing that. “Now you tell me something,” I urge, not really expecting anything in return.

  “I found my father,” he shocks the hell out of me by saying.

  “And?” I whisper, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him.

  “And nothing,” he says. “It’s a high that crashed as soon as I met him.”

  “Trade ya?” I offer, softly, as we finally make it to our drop off.

  He smirks, and for a beat, when the door is opened, I see a spark of warmth in his eyes.

  Curiosity about why he’d bring me here rattles in my brain. He's clearly giving the finger to my father, and although I don't understand his thinking, it works to my benefit. I'm not going to be the docile doormat anymore.

  With Xavier’s large hand on the small of my back, we glide past two security guards, who wave us through at the front entrance, and head straight into a party filled with no individuality. Clone after clone of women in designer gowns and men with three-piece suits.

  With powerful strides, he slices through the small crowd, leading me over to a lanky man with a dark hunk of hair combed into a mohawk.

  “This is Jean-Pierre, the artist,” Xavier introduces us.

  “Call me JP,” he says.

  I shake his soft hand, admiring the unconventional art. “It’s all so… interesting.”

  Rabbits line the concrete walls of the gallery. His brushstrokes are genius, but I’m not much into rabbits getting it on… And then, like I've been plowed down by gunfire, it hits me. I realize why I'm here. This isn't just about shoving a giant fuck you down my father’s throat until he chokes—it’s about me. For me.

  This guy, JP, is pretty much responsible for my leap into the arts thanks to his instructional tutorials on his website. Wanting to keep my hobby secret, I scoured the Internet, looking for how-to’s. One day, I stumbled across a wacky guy, obsessed with furry animals. But he was so thorough and so knowledgeable. Xavier used to tease me relentlessly about it, saying that one day he was going to find this guy for me. It's why he gave me the stuffed rabbit so long ago.

  Jean-Pierre launches into a long soliloquy of how his pictures of rabbits screwing in the woods inspire tranquility or something asinine while I lock eyes with Xavier.

  This is so thoughtful and so very confusing. I smile, unsure how to handle the emotions rolling through me. “You were a big inspiration to me,” I tell Jean-Pierre. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to hop over to the restroom.”

  That earns me an unexpected chuckle from Xavier. And the sound, deep and husky, nearly erases my desire to free myself.

  I spot the restroom sign and the far entrance to the streets of LA in the distance. The unguarded entrance.

  “Ok, fur real, I have to go to the restroom.” This time, JP catches on to my silly puns with a smile. “Nice meeting you. If you want to talk later, I'm all ears.”

  “I’d like that.”

  We say our goodbyes to JP, and before we reach the bathroom, I quickly pull Xavier into an alcove.

  “What is wrong with you?” he asks with a furrowed brow.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. There's no way I could bust out of here without thanking him.

  And then I do something I can't resist, something my arms need. I step closer and wrap them around his trim waist and hug. Tight. His lean body stiffens for a second, and then his dark head dips and he inhales.

  “Your hair always smelled so nice,” he whispers, sending a shiver through me. “What is that, peach?”

  “Yeah.”

  His hand eases down my back, and I hear the thump thump thump of his heart beating faster when I rest my cheek against his chest. I don't ever want to let him go. But we don't always get what we want.

  He drops his hands from me and steps away, and my body misses his touch.

  “I’ll be right here when you get out.” His eyes sear into me, and I turn slowly and walk away, focused on my goal.

  A few ladies huddle around the sink when I step inside the, ugh, windowless bathroom. Great. I stroll over next to them, pretending to fix my hair, while I think of my next move. What I really need is a decoy, a distraction.

  The woman next to me, with bright blue eyes and a mass of strawberry curls applies lip-gloss to her plump lips.

  “I love that brand.” I smile, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Looks great on you.”

  “Thanks,” she blots her lips together, slurring a bit. “I’ll tell you what looks great—that dress. Is that Valentino?”

  “Marchesa.” An idea forms. A wild, wild idea. She's about the same size as me, and, hallelujah, she's tipsy. “I like yours better.”

  She looks down at her gold gown and frowns. “It’s not me.”

  I nod, barely able to contain my excitement over my good luck. Five minutes later, I am now dressed in gold.

  “I love it,” she exclaims, preening in front of the mirror. “Back to the party.”

  But, not me, I let her exit first and then hustle down the hallway and out onto the streets.

  I debate on which way to go.

  Who cares. Just run girl.

  I glance back, checking to be sure the coast is clear, and then I bolt. How anyone can maintain speed, ra
cing over black asphalt in heels is beyond me. But I am doing it. I'm like the wind.

  I round the corner and run smack dab into a wall of muscle. Strong, hard muscle.

  Two arms wrap around my body.

  “Going somewhere?” Xavier’s rich voice asks.

  I push against his solid chest. “Well, I was before you blocked my path like a linebacker on steroids.” I glance up to his not amused eyes.

  “Don’t think I won’t put a leash on you.”

  He leans close. “I’m always ten steps ahead of you, Rhi. Remember that.”

  I swallow, but can’t get past the lump in my throat.

  “Let go,” I say, barely above a whisper, barely to be heard by him at all.

  “Don’t test me, because I promise you, I won’t fail.”

  I can’t think of a retort right now, because his lips are so close to mine. I remember what they felt like. I could raise on my tiptoes and kiss him just like that. He’d probably let go then. But I don’t.

  Instead I grit my teeth and admit my temporary defeat. “Fine. I’ll be a good little girl.”

  He licks his lips, eyes zeroed in on my mouth as he releases me. “Any other time I’d encourage you to be a bad girl, but not tonight. Let’s go home.”

  As we slide into his car, I'm not sure which is more concerning: the fact I liked the way he said bad girl or the delusional pang I got in my chest when he ‘let’s go home.’

  Probably the latter.

  And that's even more reason to get out of here.

  18

  Xavier

  “Rhiannon, come on.” I swear this girl will be the death of me. After the performance at the art gallery last week, I’m not letting this girl out of my damn sight. And that’s fine. I like the sight of her. She has one of those faces, you know? The kind you can’t turn away from no matter how hard you try. And I tried that night, when she looked at me as if I’d given her the moon. She's clawing her way in under my skin and fuck if I haven't thought twice about things. But then, I see my mother’s corpse and remember why I'm doing this. “Let’s go, Rhi,” I yell again to her closed door.