Carmine

by Coco Miller

  CARMINE

  A Mafia Romance

  Coco Miller

  Contents

  Introduction

  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

  Introduction

  Caution: the gangster in this love story is nobody’s hero.

  Carmine is a ruthless Italian mob boss who’s notorious for seeking deadly vengeance.

  It’s the motto he lives by.

  A life for a life.

  Jasmine is the beautiful daughter of the man who stole then ruined something that belonged to him.

  She’s a beautiful virgin caught up in a world of jaded criminals.

  The perfect target.

  Until Carmine does something really stupid.

  And falls for her.

  Andolini Crime Family Series

  Book One: Carmine

  Book Two: Giovanni

  Book Three: Umberto

  Chapter One

  Carmine

  There is a house that no one knows exists but me. It is built in the middle of chaos and ruin. Oh, don’t get me fucking wrong, the house is golden. It has everything a person’s tender little heart could ever desire. Flatscreen 4K televisions in every room, including the friggin’ bathrooms. A Bluetooth speaker in every shower to take calls or listen to a music playlist. Silk sheets wrap every bed and are topped with a bounty of goose-down filled pillows and blankets so fluffy and fuckin’ heavenly you’d think someone worthy of such good things lived in that secret house.

  Yeah, you’d think good people like a happily married husband and his wife with a brood of little bambinos running amuck would be inside, but no. That’s not what this house is for. This house is for something much richer. Something that makes my blood run hot.

  I want to taste screams of delicious torment in this house. I want to chase a girl in this house and have her heart racing so erratically from fear and lust that it just about rips outta her fucking chest. Why? I’ll tell you. I’m Carmine fuckin’ Volta. I’m a made man in the Andolini Crime Family, and I run New York and its biggest mob of Italian gangsters on this side of the world. I own this fuckin’ city and all its inhabitants. And by the end of today, I will own a dirty little whore named Jasmine Morris.

  This house is meant for her. I’ve made sure that it has the finest of everything. The perfect house inside and out. But no one has any clue to the things I’m going to do to Jasmine and her pretty little virgin pussy inside of these walls. No one will hear her scream my name as I pound the ever-living fuck out of her sweet ass or when I shove my cock in her mouth and come down her throat.

  Fuck, I’m getting hard just thinking about how her caramel eyes will look up at me as those sexy plump lips wrap around my stiff dick. I could almost come thinking about how she’ll gag on this thick Italian sausage between my legs, and I can damn near feel her velvety skin against my rugged chest as I fuck her senselessly on the deck built just for her.

  Then I’ll pick her juicy ass up and carry her back in the house. My hands will shove into her thick, dark ringlets as I fuck her doggy styled on the Italian imported dining room table—just a couple of unleashed animals grunting until we both come hard as fuck. I can’t wait to feel her cunt tighten around my cock as I explode inside of her dirty little virgin snatch, but first things first. I have to get her to the house.

  I park my car behind the club and hand the keys over to one of my soldiers named Vance. He’s built like a linebacker and no one would dare try to touch me with him out here. The club is called Pinkies. I hate the fuckin name. Even worse, I hate the fuckin owner Charles; a real piece of shit who tried to fuck me over on a deal. As luck would have it, the douchebag is under the protection of another crime organization that our family has a mutually beneficial relationship with, so I couldn’t kill him. Therefore I had to make a compromise.

  He now walks with a limp and has to endure the agony of something even worse than owning a strip joint named Pinkies. Our organizations made the debt agreement. He will owe me a huge sum of money, he has to watch me run my business out of his club and he and his father have to watch his old girls (now mine) rake in the cash he used to steal from them and get to pocket it. Well, most of it. I take my fair share, I can’t lie, but I let them keep more than that piece of shit ever did. And I don’t let them use on my watch either. My girls are as clean as a fuckin’ whistle. No meth, no smack, no pills.

  I take the competition seriously and there is some major fuckin competition for tits and ass in my town. I refuse to be last in anything. They can suck my balls. And now that I’m in charge of Pinkie’s, my girls are the best there is. Best tit jobs. Best faces. Best cunts. And a wide variety too—shaved, power muffs, some even have jewelry and shit.

  Titty bars are a cash business and that’s very important when 99% of your income doesn’t come from legal gains. This is my 1%. And there’s no way for the feds to track the other ninety-nine. That’s the way I like it. It’s the best place for me to conduct my cash-only deals.

  You see, back in the day cash deals were left to the pasta dishes. We’d open up shop with our grandmas and wives and shit. They’d serve up good food and that was all very family-friendly and all, but times have changed. That game is over . . . for the most part.

  I still own a few traditional shops like pizzerias, etc., because anyone who’s someone will tell you rich people don’t work for money—they work for assets. Rich people work to not pay taxes. Rich people work for power, not the useless paper that the Fed prints every day. So it’s important that I own stuff. You know, build my portfolio, even though the titty bar is by far the easiest to manage. I’d rather secure my chances in staying out of prison on titties and asses over noodles and sauce, okay? I trust it more. And it’s a much better cover-up.

  As soon as I enter the club I am assaulted by the fragrance of cheap perfume, hair products, and whatever else the girls use to look like a million fuckin dollars and earn almost as much in a night’s work for teasing helpless bastards that can’t get it this good at home or fuckin elsewhere. They all stare as I slice my way through the dark room surrounded by bare tits and perfect asses, scantily clad in latex, lace and fantasy costumes that range from your everyday innocent girl with pigtails and a short-pleated skirt to fucking Wonder Woman in full dress, hair and make-up.

  This place is a land of dreams coming true. Quite fuckin’ literally. They all want to be me as I make my way toward the back where the real business is conducted. The men, that is. The women just want to be with me. Fuck me. Have me spend my money and power on them. Spill it across their big bouncy fake tits like a bottle of champagne. But I don’t drink the cheap shit and I don’t stick around for anyone. Love isn’t on my radar, let alone the girlfriend game. I can’t stand a clinger.

  I fuck.

  That’s all I do.

  Fuck, make money, and don’t take shit from anyone. Not a damn person. Not even her. Jasmine fuckin Morris. She’s in here tonight working as a cocktail waitress. A virgin who’s dressed almost as scantily as the dancers. My little prize. Those perfectly high tits and that round juicy ass bounce as she walks around the club taking orders from all the hard up patrons. They can look all they fuckin want. They can tip her as much as they’d like. But no one, no one is going to touch. No one but me and my big dick when the time comes. I’ve made sure of that.

  Remember I told you about that prick who tried to get one over on me? The owner? Well, he has a son w
ho is even worse than him—Charles Jr. also known as Chuckie. But get this...Chuckie is also Jasmine’s father and Chuckie is a motherfucker if I’ve ever seen one. A real piece of shit from the Bronx.

  He sold to one of my girls last month, and he sold her a little white baggy of the shit I told you I didn’t allow my girls to use. Except this fucker didn’t just sell her anything—he gave her some warped snow with rat poisoning as a filler. Even charged her full price. The cocksucker. She arrived to Bronx General dead on arrival. One of my biggest earners...dead...because of that dickhead. If this was any other circumstance, he’d already be six feet under. A life for a life. But this isn’t a normal circumstance. He’s the son of Charles Sr. and they are both off limits. Can’t kill ‘em. Can’t even think about killing them or it would break the peace between the two organizations and then I’d be dead.

  But guess what? Here’s how it works in Carmine Volta’s world—you fuck me, and I fuck you up ten times worse than your most feared nightmares. So this time, by me fucking him up, I mean, I’m going to kidnap their virgin little princess, take her to my house that no one knows exists, and fuck the holiest of shit outta that pussy. I’m gonna put my scent all over her. I’m going to mark her from head to fuckin’ toe in Volta. She won’t walk, talk, or ever be the same afterward and every time both of those cocksuckers look at me they’re gonna know that I did that to her. I took their precious little Jasmine and ruined her for life.

  Tonight is the night I am going to set up our first game of cat and mouse. Oh sure, I could just grab her fuckin arm and in less than a minute talk so much shit into her ear that she’d basically suck me off right here and now, but that’s not very much fun. I like the game to be a little more elaborate than that. You see, the fun is in the ripples. In the mindfucking, not just the actual fucking.

  I want to live in her head before I ever shove my dick inside her pussy or mouth. That ass. I need to ruin her from the inside out. I need this to be a category five storm— cate-fuckin-strophic. That’s the only way this will be a satisfying solution for me.

  The neon lights show off her pretty umber skin under a blistering array of green, pinks and yellows. Jasmine is dressed like the whore she is, or rather will be, and I fuckin’ love it. She has on a strappy top that showcases her big tits and a micro miniskirt that barely covers her round ass.

  I start to imagine what else is under that skirt of hers. A hairy muff or is she perfectly smooth, and bald as a fuckin eagle between her legs? Bald is the way I love it. I don’t want to feel anything between myself and that pussy when I fuck her.

  Her hot pink elevator heels make it seem as if her legs go on for days, but she’s actually quite the petite little thing. I think on that for a moment as I pause in the shadows and watch her work the room. She slowly glides around the room, batting her eyelashes, and flirting with customers as she takes their orders. I bet you’re wondering how a girl like her stays a virgin in a place like this. Well actually you’d be surprised about titty bars. No one can touch the girls unless we give the go ahead. Since I now run the finances at the club, it’s Charles’s job to keep an eye on the girls and be the “face” of the club.

  I lick my lips and have to remind myself that I’m in a room full of people so stop myself from jacking off right here. She looks so damn edible. Those big Bambi-like eyes filled with molten caramel for irises. Her lips painted in glossy blue-red to match her sexy outfit. I have to shove my hands deep into my designer pants pockets just to hold firm to my dick as it twitches, watching her bend over and show a peep of her plump cheeks begging for a swift hand to smack her skin until she’s feverish with the need for a good fucking.

  Sweet virgin girl I’d love to just bury my face into, lapping at her clit until she comes. I have to breathe. I have to fuckin breathe. Take it slow, I remind myself. Don’t ruin the plan. Stay on course.

  I finally arrive at the back of the club where Charles’s old office (now my office) is and I close the door. I have to lock myself in here to collect myself or else I’ll request for her to come in here right fuckin now and have my way with her on my polished mahogany desk. The papers would scatter and then I’d rip that trashy excuse of an outfit off her limber body and fuck her ruthlessly. Ok, that can’t happen. That’s not the plan.

  Breathe, motherfucker. Breathe.

  I pace for a few minutes and then I call my assistant Tia. It’s unheard of to have a female working this high up in the chain, this close to the boss, but like I said times change. And in my little corner of the Andolini Family, I make the fuckin rules. Anyone gotta problem with it, too fuckin bad. My circus, my clowns.

  Tia appears just a few moments after my call. She’s dressed far differently from the whores in the main room but she is just as fuckable. Matter of fact, I have. I’m a big believer in not shitting where you eat, but sometimes rules...you just gotta break the fuckin rules. Thankfully Tia is like me—not looking for love, a no-strings kinda girl who just needs her pussy rocked every once and a while and knows whose top-notch dick can provide an epic orgasm or five.

  “Boss,” she greets me casually as she enters my office and closes the door.

  I wasted no time getting down to business. “Everything in order for tonight?”

  “Yes, sir. We are scheduled to go as planned.”

  “What’s up with grandpa?”

  “He’s busy trying to find a new deejay for the one who conveniently called out for tomorrow night.”

  “And Chuckie?”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Good, you have a car ready?”

  “Yes, Mr. Volta.”

  “And the care-package?”

  Tia nods her pretty little head of straight platinum blonde hair. Such a vast contrast to Jasmine. They are like yin-yang, dark to light, harmonious in beauty but opposite ends of creation. Tia has light greyish blue eyes and thin but nice lips. I’ve shoved my dick in that mouth. She sucks a dick so damn good, but I have a feeling it will be nothing compared to the feeling of Jasmine’s supple juicy lips wrapped around my dick.

  Tia has a nice body, but she’s narrow and twiggy like those thin, waif models you see on high-end fashion runways. Jasmine is a fine twist of curves and hills with a little extra meat in all the right places. Her tits are full and round, compared to Tia’s that are fair peaks on her slim chest. I did love sucking her puffy cherry nipples, but I can’t wait to wrap my lips around Jasmine’s dark areolas.

  I want to taste her so badly I can hardly keep myself from growling at the thought of tracing my tongue across her buttery-soft skin. I’ve been carefully orchestrating this revenge for a long time and I suppose the anticipation is getting the best of me.

  As soon as I get her in my clutches I will show her the house that she’ll never want to leave. When my fine ass prize strips down to her sexy-as-fuck naked body she’ll have nothing but the best surrounding her day and night. I’ve made sure there are heated marble tiles under her bare feet, a sunk-in spa with amazing jets that massage her aches and cares away, and no shortage of hot water or bubbles.

  This secret place will be nothing like the rat-infested apartment in the Bronx that she lives in. A shitty place that her father or grandfather won’t move her out of, despite the money I know that they make in their organization. Just their cut in the club alone should be enough to move her to a better situation, but they haven’t done it, and she’s supposedly their pride and joy. Those pricks need to lose her just based on that alone.

  My home is decked out with all the lavish and luxury touches a woman of her caliber is deserving of and there is no fucking way she’ll ever want a damn thing to do with those jackasses after I’ve treated her to all I am capable of, including my dick stealing away her virginity. It will be too good for her to ever say no or want to flee from. But getting her to leave isn’t the point. Throwing her out like trash and ruining her epic prick of a father after I’ve disposed of his most garnered prize is the point entirely.

  After
my meeting with Tia, I make my way back out to the dance floor and watch as the late hours begin to creep in, inviting in a totally different caliber of clientele. A bit more low rent and even more desperate for some TLC from a beautiful goddess like Jasmine and the rest of my girls.

  I watch and imagine what my life will be like in a few hours as I slip away from here and begin the game I have planned for myself and Jasmine. I’ve never formally introduced myself to my girls, never had the need to, but tonight I am going to make an exception. Except the way it happens is not a part of my plan at all.

  It’s even better.

  Chapter Two

  Carmine

  A drunk fucker wobbles too damn close to the stage as Jasmine tries to squeeze by him with her tray of drinks. Then he starts hollering at her about his bitch ex-wife and how she looks just like her. I know that’s a lie. No good looking girl would fuck a miserable ogre like this buffoon. Not a chance in hell.

  Security is on the move, but I am willing to use this as an advantage point to earn some trust from my poor unsuspecting victim. I mean . . . Jasmine. The tall, poorly dressed, dude is already falling toward the stage when I yank him by the collar. Yeah, he’s tall but I’m fuckin taller, standing at six-five, born and raised to beat a shithead into the ground when deserving and this fuck is more than deserving.

  Jasmine shrieks as he lunges for her, dropping her tray of drinks, and holding her hands over her big tits poorly. I kind of laugh at her attempt to hide what everyone has already been looking at all night, but it also makes me want her more. Once in a while she reminds me that even working in a place like this, with a family like she’s got, she’s still a bit innocent. There’s still some shyness and naiveness in her. Don’t know how that’s possible, but I’ll be more than happy to pound it out of her. I’ll be her rude awakening, for sure. She may even thank me for it later.