Big Bad Alpha: A Billionaire Romance

by Tia Siren

  But she wasn’t caring for her father’s house anymore. She was caring for her husband’s, a man she barely knew, even two and a half weeks in.

  “Oh dear,” she said loudly so that small listening ears would hear. “Oh, my! Andrew will be so unhappy about this. I can’t imagine who could have done it!” She silently picked up a small hard ball that was still rocking in place under a table near the smashed vase. She slipped the ball into her pocket. “Oh dear.” She shook her head. “Could this have been a ghost? Oh, how will I tell Andrew there is a ghost in this house!”

  She heard the sound of a small gasp from the other side of the open door into the foyer. It was followed by several muffled sounds of “shhh”.

  “What will I do? A ghost!” She said again, directing her words toward the doorway.

  “Oh! Oh, oh, is there really a ghost? Is there, Miss Ella?” Carl came running into the room and threw himself into Ella’s skirt, balling it up and pressing his face into it. She put one hand on his back and patted him.

  “Shut your bazoo, Carl!” Raymie said in an irritating voice, also coming into the room. “You know it wasn’t a ghost! She’s just trying to scare you.”

  Ella shook her head. “I wasn’t trying to scare him, Raymie. I was just trying to draw you, four boys, out. You did this, didn’t you? With this?” She pulled the ball out of her pocket and held it out for them to see. The other two boys were poking their heads around to see what she was doing. They came in the room, looking distraught and threw themselves on the couch. Peter hung his head, his small cheeks red. Freddie pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. Raymie was the one who appeared most upset, crossing his arms over his chest and plopping down on a big high-backed chair sitting next to the couch.

  “I get bored around here!” He said angrily.

  “I’m sure you do. You should be in school.”

  “We don’t need to go to school!” He said abruptly. “We won’t need that when we’re working here on this farm.”

  “Surely your papa will let you go to the schoolhouse if you want to.”

  “I don’t want to!” Raymie exclaimed, giving her a furious look.

  “You don’t?”

  “He does, too!” Peter said, quietly. Raymie glared at him. “Well, you do, Raymie. I heard you telling Freddie even just a couple of days ago. You said you wanted to learn to read, and you were mad because you don’t know how.”

  “I do know how to read!”

  “No, you don’t.” Peter shook his head.

  “You don’t know how to read, Raymie?” Ella was surprised and disappointed. She would have thought that at least the oldest one would have learned that by now. “It’s very important that you know how to read. Especially since you want to work on the farm.”

  “I don’t want to work on the farm!” Suddenly Raymie stood up; his small fists clenched and his eyes filled with tears. Ella’s heart broke looking up at him. She took a step closer and reached out to him, but he pulled away. “I want to work in a bank! It’s not fair!” He bolted out of the room and up the stairs. A few moments later, the door to his room was slammed shut.

  Ella was left in shock. He was so embarrassed. She hadn’t meant to embarrass him. Freddie gave her a smile and walked out without a word. Shortly afterward, Peter followed, never taking his eyes off the floor. Both boys went up the steps.

  Ella looked down at Carl, who was staring up at her. “He’s mad,” Carl said.

  Ella nodded and looked at the stairs. “Yes, I think he is mad.”

  She leaned down and picked the little boy up, resting him on her hip. He was too big to carry like a baby, but he held on to her as if he was one. She carried him up the stairs and opened Raymie’s door without knocking. She set Carl down and surveyed the scene. Peter and Freddie were simply sitting on Raymie’s bed while the young boy pressed his face into his pillow. Carl immediately went to the bed, climbed up on it and covered his oldest brother with a hug, resting his cheek on Raymie’s back and wrapping his small arms around his brother as much as he could.

  Raymie didn’t move, accepting his little brother’s love without a word. Again, Ella felt her heart melt for the boys and their obvious love for each other. She went to the bed and sat in an open area, placing one hand on Raymie’s shoulder.

  “I am so sorry I embarrassed you, Raymie. Please don’t be upset anymore. I tell you, you can be happy about one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Raymie’s voice was muffled but sounded hopeful.

  “You can learn to read any time in your life. I have three younger brothers at home, and I taught them all to read. My papa thought that reading and having an education was very important, even for a girl! So he taught me and I taught them. I can teach you, too, if you want.”

  Raymie sat up but didn’t look at her. Carl transferred himself to Ella, draping himself over her back and wrapping his arms around her neck. She lifted one hand and patted his arms instinctively, feeling a great deal of affection for the little tyke.

  “I can learn to read?”

  “Of course, you have just as much…” Something behind Raymie on the wall caught her attention, and she focused on it. All four boys looked up at her face when she suddenly stopped talking. “What is this?” She mumbled to herself. She stood up, taking Carl with her as he wrapped his legs around her waist so she could piggy-back him. She carried him to the wall and bent down. There was a bit of wallpaper torn away. She lifted her fingers, grabbed it and pulled it so that it ripped some more. She heard a gasp behind her and Freddie spoke up.

  “That’s wallpaper Papa put up just for Raymie. It’s his favorite color. He’s gonna be mad.”

  Ella continued to rip the wallpaper off, feeling a bit of nervous excitement flow through her. She lowered Carl to the floor and ripped even more down. Behind the green wallpaper, there were pages and pages of newspaper. The section that had caught her eye read in big bold letters Jim Smiley and his Jumping Frog. Someone had covered the wall with an old New York Saturday Press from 1865. She was shocked that it was still readable after all the years that had passed.

  “We can start now if you like.” She looked back to smile at the four boys. Their eyes had widened, and they looked at the wall curiously. “I can read this story to you. It’s a very interesting story about a man and his jumping frog. Would you like for me to read it to you?”

  “Yes, yes, Miss Ella!” Freddie was the first one to respond, and his brothers followed suit quickly. Even Raymie had regained his composure and came over to look at the words on the wall.

  An hour later, Andrew came through the front door and stood still for a moment. The house was quiet. It was never quiet. He looked around suspiciously, noticing the broken vase that had been partially cleaned up. He glanced down the hallway and then up the stairs nervously.

  “Boys?” he called out and took the stairs up two at a time. The first door to the right was Raymie’s so he swung it open.

  He didn’t expect to see his four sons sitting on the floor surrounding Ella. Carl was once again on her back. She appeared to be reading from papers they had ripped down from the wall.

  “What is going on?”

  Freddie was the first one on his feet to run toward his father.

  “Papa!” he called out excitedly. “Mama Ella is teaching us to read! She says we don’t have to go to the schoolhouse if we don’t want to and that she’ll teach us right here. But I want to go to the schoolhouse, papa, that’s where other kids are! And Raymie wants to be a banker, papa! He does!”

  With that, the other three boys approached their father and started talking all at once.

  “Whoa, my sons!” Andrew laughed. He gestured for Ella to come to him, as well. She got to her feet and approached slowly. He noticed she looked nervous and shook his head, reaching out to touch her cheek and brush a loose strand of hair away from her face, gently pushing it behind her ear.

  “Is this true? You would like to teach my sons? You don’t mind being
here with them all the time?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all, Andrew. I would be proud to teach them. They are lovely boys, you know.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You are the first to say that, my dear. I am glad. I am very glad.” He pulled her into a hug that she didn’t expect. She put her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest with a sigh. Tingles covered her when he whispered in her ear. “Do you think you can take a grouchy old man and fall in love with him, too?”

  She looked up at his deep green eyes and had to admit it. “Yes,” she said. “I think I already have.”

  “I have been distant,” he said in a low voice.

  “I have been watching. You are a good father and a good man with plenty to be concerned about. You work hard for these boys. They know it and so do I. I am proud to be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’m so happy to hear that, Ella. I really am.”

  He lowered his head and gave her a kiss, which she returned. It was the warmest, best kiss she had ever had. And it was only the beginning.

  *****

  THE END

  Mafia Romance Collection

  MAFIA Romance – Bought by the Hitman

  1

  It was Saturday, and it was my first off day on a weekend in a really long time. I couldn’t remember having a Saturday off since I started working for Mr. Black. That wasn’t his real name, of course; I was pretty sure there wasn’t anyone in Russia with the last name of Black, and my boss was as Russian as they got. His accent was so thick it was hard to understand him sometimes.

  I was Russian in the sense that my great-grandfather came over and built a life for himself. His name had been Pitor Anismov. He did pretty well for himself, the old guy. My own grandfather told me a lot of stories about him. Grandpa was Alan Anismov. Alan was as American a name old Pitor could come up with. He wanted his son to be American. He hated Russia. It was cold; it was hard living. America represented something to him: an opportunity.

  Grandpa had two daughters. My mom he named Rebecca, and her sister was Rose. I never met Rose; she died when she was only five. My mom married a guy named Mike Jones, and they had me, Peter Jones. Doesn’t sound very Russian, and it took me a while to convince Mr. Black that my family came from there. Having Russians, it was important to him.

  I was named after Pitor, but with the American spelling. When he came over, he made money any way he could. I’ve taken that up too. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, and a lot of things that could land me in jail, but hey, a job is a job. I keep my head down, steer clear of cops, and make sure the guys I rough up really have it coming to them.

  Mr. Black is a fair guy, believe it or not. He’s big and round, with a bald head and a fat stomach, but he calls it like he sees it, and he plays everyone straight. There’s something honorable about that, really: a criminal who tries to do right by his own ethics and moral code. I’m the same way. I won’t knock over some mom-and-pop shop unless they’re laundering money for another guy or something like that. My boss is the same way.

  But he works us a lot. I do this, I do that. I’m on call twenty-four seven. That’s why I was looking forward to that Saturday.

  I slept in. I didn’t wake up until after noon. I lounged in bed for a bit until my stomach told me I needed food, and then I got up. I was halfway through my second bowl of Frosted Flakes when my cell rang. I grabbed it and sighed. It was Mr. Black.

  “Peter, my boy,” the old man grumbled, “I need you.”

  I knew better than to argue. “What can I do for you, Mr. Black?” I asked.

  He gave me an address and told me I was working security at nine that evening. I hung up and finished my cereal. Nine wasn’t so bad. Of course, if Mr. Black told me nine, he expected me there by eight thirty. But I at least had the day. I went back to bed.

  At six I climbed out of bed and slowly got ready after wolfing down a sandwich. By eight twenty I was parking across from the address I had been given. It was a place downtown, in a seedy-looking neighborhood. The building was squat and wide, just one story, with no windows that I could see. It was all gray and closed off. The door was large and metal, and a man in a suit was loitering outside it.

  I locked my car and made my way across the street. I realized I knew the man standing by the heavy door, and he nodded to me as I got closer. His name was Marco, and he worked for David Zinga, a Mexican arms dealer Mr. Black was friendly with.

  “Marco,” I said, stopping for a minute to chat with the guy. He was smoking, and he took a long drag on the cigarette he held between two fingers before answering.

  “How goes it, Peter?” he asked, his voice low, like a tiger’s growl. He was a big guy, muscles upon muscles, with a scar running down one cheek.

  “All right. It was my day off,” I complained, and Marco laughed, but his eyes were sympathetic.

  “What’s a day off?” he asked, and it was my turn to laugh. I slapped him on the back and stepped inside. I expected the building to be dark, but it was well lit. There was a small hallway right at the entrance, a door propped open at the end, and beyond that was a large open room. Lights hung from the ceiling, buzzing softly as I passed underneath them. At the far end of the room was a small stage of sorts, a raised section of flooring that came up to my waist. There was a door there, built into the wall on the rear of the stage. A friend of mine stood there, another guy who worked for my boss, someone I had pulled a few jobs with. His name was Vlad, and he was about ten years older than my twenty-five. His last name was Nikitin, and he was like Mr. Black, right from the mother country. His accent wasn’t as pronounced, however. He had apparently moved to America with his family when he was only three. He was tall and angular, with a long crooked nose that had been broken more than once.

  “Hey, kid,” he said to me as I found the steps to the stage and moved up to greet my friend. He always called me kid.

  “Hey, Vlad,” I said. “Mr. Black coming?”

  Vlad shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows,” he said. “I think a lot of big hitters will be here, though.”

  “What is this?” I asked. “Arms deal?”

  Vlad laughed and shook his head. “Not quite, kid,” he said. Then he nodded to the door that stood off to the side, leading from the stage. “Go check it out.”

  I looked at him, wondering if he was trying to get me in trouble. I was just working security. Mr. Black, and the others like him, they didn’t like us small-timers getting our noses where they didn’t belong. I was muscle, plain and simple, with my gun in a shoulder holster under my suit jacket. Mr. Black always had us in shirts and ties.

  I made my way to the door at the back of the stage and then looked over my shoulder, back at Vlad. He laughed and waved me on. “It’s fine; just us grunts here so far.”

  I nodded and opened the door. It was dark in the back room, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. There were fewer lights here, their bulbs orange and slight instead of bright and yellow. In front of me was a cage, big enough for a man, but it was empty. I moved on.

  I found another cage, but this one wasn’t empty. It was six feet high and four feet wide, and two women stood in it, holding one another and crying. They looked young, both of them no older than twenty. They had fair skin and dark hair, and their eyes were dark and hard to see in the low light. They looked at me and shrank away. It made me feel terrible. I was a bad guy—I did bad things, I knew that—but these two women, as scared as they obviously were, seeing me and reacting physically like that, it made my head swim with shame.

  “I won’t hurt you,” I said as I walked by. Beyond that cage were others, each with one or two or sometimes three young women inside. I felt nauseous, and I hurriedly turned back to the door, rushing out onto the stage.

  Vlad saw me and laughed. I felt a wave of anger roll through me. “First rodeo?” he asked.

  “What is this?”

  “What do you think, kid? Come on, you’ve done too
many bad things to be naive.”

  I knew what it was of course. Those women were going to be sold—sold to rich weapons dealers and drug kingpins for their beds. They were sex slaves. Young women, twenty, nineteen. God, one had looked fifteen. I shook my head. I wanted to leave then and there, just walk out the door. I would have if I hadn’t stopped and thought about what Mr. Black would do if I did. If I walked out on a job, there was a chance my legs would be broken. And broken legs was the best-case scenario. I could also wake up at the bottom of a river, cement blocks strapped to my legs.

  I didn’t say anything to Vlad. I didn’t know what to say. I moved to the edge of the stage and sat for a moment. My adrenalin was pumping, my heart beating a thousand miles a minute. I had been calmer in gun fights. Something about those cages, those women, it really got me. I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat.

  Half an hour passed and men started streaming in. Not grunts like me, but rich guys. Mobsters, crime lords, all in expensive suits. Old guys, fat guys, one guy with a giant scar running from eye to chin that made Vlad’s look like a scrape a kid got falling off his tricycle. These guys were big time, though I noticed none of them were good looking. They were the kind of guys who had to throw their money around to get chicks. And what was an easier way than just buying a woman outright? I tried not to think about what was about to happen around me as I stood off to the side of the stage. Vlad was at the other end, and a few guys from different crews were dotted around the room. I didn’t expect trouble. In all it would be an easy job, if not for the fact that I was about to see women sold into sexual slavery.

  Mr. Black wasn’t there, and I was thankful for that. Though if I was there, I knew he had his fat fingers in the pie somewhere and was profiting off the night. I tried to push it from my mind as the first woman was brought out.

  I was expecting them to pull the cages out, but they didn’t. A man walked a woman out, bound at the wrists with thick rope. She was beautiful, wearing a short dress with a plunging neckline. I guessed she was thirty or a bit older, and then the bidding started.