Driving the Mob: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  So I’m sitting here with my body still screaming from all the things I did with Murphy, but I have to pretend to be Dad’s daughter, Murphy’s driver, nothing more. It’s like I suddenly have to be an actress and I hate it.

  But what’s the alternative, just blurt it out, tell him what we did… what we’re planning to do?

  Murphy wants to start a family with me. He wants to claim me. He wants to own me.

  I want a family. I want to be claimed.

  I want him to make me his.

  The late afternoon sun stretches across the city, winking in windows, as clouds drifty across the sky in the distance. I stare at it because it’s easier than looking at my Dad, at that glint in his eyes… he wants to get better.

  He wants to prove to me he can improve.

  But trusting him is difficult, and there’s a horrible part of me, an evil part that wants to use what Murphy and I did as a weapon. And I hate it, because I want Murphy for what he’s promised, for our closeness and our heat, not as an insult.

  I sigh, grinding my teeth.

  I’m going crazy with worry not knowing if Murphy is safe.

  It’s making my thoughts fuzzy.

  “Are you okay, Mols?” Dad says.

  I nod, still staring at the city, knowing Murphy is out there somewhere and bad things could be happening.

  “Dad.”

  “Yeah?” I can feel him looking at me, but my eyes remain fixed ahead. “What exactly is the Irish mob?” I ask.

  He chuckles, drawing my eye, and I see the real Dad come out, the one he was before Mom died and his world shattered.

  I forget when I’ve got a bet on, he told me once, months after her death when I was only a child. I don’t have to think… And then he trailed off, and I was left wondering about what.

  But I know now. Mom, he didn’t have to think about losing her.

  “That’s a broad question,” he says.

  “Well?”

  He shrugs. “It was a gang like any other, like the Italians and the Yakuza and the Cartel and the bikers… for years it was that way. That’s where we grew up, me and Murph, what we grew up around. It was crime on every damn corner in our neighborhood.

  “We looked out for each other. I went legit. I met your mother… she would’ve killed me if I ever got involved in crime. God, she was a fierce woman.”

  I nod, my heart brimming, desperate wishes flurrying through me that I can be a fierce woman for Murphy, that I can inspire the same love in our children my mother inspired within me.

  “Murphy entered the life and he fought his way to the top. He took control and he was smart. He is smart. He pursued legitimate businesses. He made the right connections. And now… He’s built the mob into something new, something this city’s never seen before. Murphy’s men do what’s necessary to keep the streets clean, but crime? Fuck no. Pardon my language, Mols.”

  I giggle, shaking my head. “It’s fine.”

  “Now Murphy is a – I don’t know – a businessman, a protector, a quasi-politician. Whatever he is, this city’s a hell of a lot safer with him than without him.”

  “Because if he wasn’t there, more dangerous men would take over?”

  Dad stares at me for a moment, his eyes hard. “More dangerous men? No, Molly, no. Murphy is the most dangerous man. That’s why he’s on top. He’s just learned to – what would you say – tame his instincts, I guess. He’s learned to hold back that violent part of him. But if he has to be, he’ll be ruthless. But only to those who deserve it.”

  My thoughts shiver between glowing belonging at the thought of Murphy being savage enough to protect us, and hateful regret that he’s had to unleash that part of himself.

  “Who deserves it?” I say, glancing around the break room, but it’s empty now apart from us. I don’t want to get caught talking about Murphy at work.

  “Evil people, Molly. People who do things to children. Murderers.”

  “And you can still be his friend?” I murmur. “Even knowing he’s killed, people?”

  Now it’s Dad who looks around, his face hardening when he sees we’re alone. He meets my eye again, slowly, and then gives a stiff nod.

  “Of course I can. I know Murphy better than anyone. He’s the most decent man I’ve ever met, even if he’s had to live outside the rules to make this world a better place.”

  I stare out of the window again, at the glittering city. I must be tired – or maybe it’s nerves making my eyes go crazy – because the lights seem to dance across my vision, making images.

  I see a blazing silhouette of Murphy with his powerful arms wrapped around me, holding me so tight nothing can ever hurt me.

  Our children shimmer around us, leaning into the group hug… And in the back, a sun-made Dad smiles over us all.

  But no. He wouldn’t.

  If I told him now, he’d hate me. He’d hate Murphy.

  Wouldn’t he?

  “Dad,” I say, turning back to him.

  He nods, running a hand through his thinning hair and twisting in his seat to look at the door. He’s clearly consumed with the job interview and half paying attention to this conversation.

  “Yes, Mols?” he says, in the same tone he used to use when I was a kid and would ask why over and over.

  “Why isn’t Murphy married?”

  I expect him to spin on me, eyes narrowed, saying, Why do you want to know? Do you want to marry him? What the fuck’s wrong with you? He’s my best friend. We were just talking about how much he means to me and now you’re going to fuck him.

  My heart pumps treacherously in my chest, but Dad chuckles.

  “Who would he marry?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m just curious. Most billionaires are married, aren’t they?”

  I don’t know if this is true, but I watch Dad to see if he corrects the b in billionaire, but he just nods.

  Whirring sizzling heat moves through my chest, my womb infusing my body with a homemaker’s essence, as I think about our family being provided for, never having to worry about rent and eviction and debt the way I did with Dad. And yet he’d never take all the help Murphy offered.

  I’m not as proud as Dad.

  I love Murphy.

  Holy shit.

  I love him.

  It flutters around my mind, battering wings of impossibility. I can’t love so thunderously, so quickly, can I? But it feels like the truth, a warm balm over my aching heart.

  It’s him. It was always him.

  I crushed and now I love.

  “Molly.” Dad narrows his eyes at me. “Are you listening?”

  No, I want to tell him. I’m too busy thinking about how crazily in love I am with his best friend.

  “What did you say?” I ask.

  “You asked me about Murphy being married and then stared off into space. Are you okay, Mols? Driving in the city getting to you?”

  I shake my head, even if it’s partly true. “I was just making conversation. I swear. And then I was thinking about what I want for dinner.”

  “Hmm,” he says, making me wonder if he believes my white lie. “Well, Murphy never wanted to marry. He never wanted to date, really. He said to me a long time ago he’d know the woman of his dreams when he saw her. He’d know instantly, he said.”

  Dad chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t know how he would know, but that’s Murphy.”

  “And he never found her?” I whisper, my eyes pricking with tears I pray Dad doesn’t notice.

  I’m the woman he’d know, at first sight, the luckiest woman alive. I never dreamed this older, more experienced, handsome, funny, smirking man would even look at me.

  But I’ve changed his world. He’s changed mine.

  I love him so much.

  Does that make me crazy?

  “No,” Dad says. “I think he stopped looking.”

  I’m about to say something else when Dad swiftly stands, putting his hands behind his back and trying to look as professiona
l as possible. He reminds me of the way he’d stand at parent-teacher meetings, trying to present an upstanding façade, even as his cheeks were hollow and his eyes haggard from days-long gambling binges.

  I turn to see a tall woman standing there, her red hair tied in a tight bun. Her shirt is bright red and she wears sleek heels. “Mr. Davis? Henry?”

  Dad clears his throat. “Yes, that’s me.”

  “We’re ready for you in the interview room now. Thank you so much for waiting. You really didn’t have to.”

  Dad chuckles ironically, even as nerves glint in his eyes. It’s like the pre-Mom and post-Mom Dad are waging a battle across his face, “I guess you could say I’m too punctual.”

  She giggles and I laugh in delight.

  “Actually,” she says, lowering her voice, “I shouldn’t say this, but it’s good news, Henry. Very good news.”

  “I got it?” Dad whispers.

  The woman nods, glancing behind her. “Just try to act surprised in there, okay? I don’t think assistants are supposed to give away the big reveal.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Dad says, a smile spreading across his cheeks. He looks at me, brimming with joy. “I’m going to be a writer again, Mols. Can you believe it?”

  “Of course I can,” I say, reaching over and squeezing his shoulder. “I’m so proud of you Dad.”

  Tell him, something yells inside of me. Tell him right now.

  But I don’t.

  Instead, I tell him I’m proud of him again and give him a hug.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Murphy

  I emerge from the basement of the club, popping my neck from side to side as I walk across the street to Cillian’s sedan. He strides at my side, and dozens of suited men line the street, leaning against cars, smoking cigarettes, and letting the Cartel know who this city belongs to.

  I climb into the passenger side, dropping down with a heavy sigh. The sun has started to set and it’s only now I get to return to my woman.

  After springing Juan’s trap we had to deal with the bastards we took, arranging an exchange with the Feds to run them up on international charges. And then we had to get back here and consolidate all our businesses, arranging more protection. We’re using a buddy system now. No man goes anywhere alone. We’ve hired mercenary companies we trust – ex-SEALs mostly – for extra manpower.

  Through it all, I thought of my woman, wondering what she’s thinking if she’s as hungry as I am to see her again.

  “Ready, boss?” Cillian asks, gesturing at the road.

  “Yeah,” I say. “And don’t get stuck in traffic. I’ve got important business to take care of at home.”

  I had my men escort Molly to my penthouse apartment under the pretext I needed her to drive for me. She must’ve got the hint because she’s there now.

  My home security system announced her presence, and when I pull out my phone I see her on the couch, her feet tucked beneath her beautiful round ass, her eyes fixed on a book.

  Cillian knows better than to ask about my business, especially after a day like today. It’s been a long time since he’s seen me like that, bursting with white-hot rage and ready to do serious damage. I’m supposed to be the civilized leader, but my woman has brought something out in me.

  Primal and hungry, it has to feed, on passion or on protective anger.

  Juan will regret challenging this new life we’re building together. If I have to turn into a fucking werewolf, my muscles tearing out of my skin as my beastly need to protect her takes over, then I will…

  Whatever it takes, for my woman, for our family.

  “Fucking Juan,” I snarl.

  Cillian nods. “Fucking Juan.”

  He guides us toward my apartment building.

  I return to my phone, angling it so Cillian can’t see. Even if he’s one of my oldest friends and an incredible second-in-command, if he glanced at my woman with her ass wrapped tightly in her black trousers like that, I’d lose control.

  Nobody gets to look at her like that.

  Except for me.

  “At least his family will be taken care of.”

  I scowl, thinking of the poor bastard they killed, one of my men. “Yeah, some fucking trade.”

  He nods with a dark sigh. “It’s like the old days, the days you turned this family around.”

  I study his firm-set face, his freckles that make him look younger. “We took this city, Cillian.”

  We came up together, meeting around the time Henry decided to step away from this life. We both saw right away there was a problem with the way things were done, and we fought like jackals to fix it, never giving up, using whatever means were necessary.

  “I can’t stand the thought of it,” he says quietly. “My wife, my kids, living in a city ruled by the Cartel. It makes me sick.”

  I nod somberly. I’ve always understood that Cillian loves his family, but I never felt it, not with the necessary impact.

  I do now.

  It slams into my chest like a meteor, the contact spreading through my chest.

  He’s threatening Cillian’s current family and my future one.

  I stare at the screen, my Molly’s wide attentive eyes, at all the love and warmth and sassy need for pleasure flurrying through her.

  Soon, I whisper in my mind, wishing she was here, in my arms, and my lips were pressed close to her hot skin.

  Soon.

  I ride the elevator up with a pounding in my chest.

  I clasp my hands in front of me to stop the volcanic need from making me shake, like any second I’m just going to explode. The door opens and I walk down the marble floor, my footsteps loud then quiet as I go from floor to rug.

  I walk into the open-plan living room and glance at the couch, but there’s just a Kindle and a crumpled blanket.

  Then I hear it.

  “Ah,” she cries, and my blood flares hotly. “Ah, ah, ah.”

  My men were guarding the damn building, the elevator.

  How is somebody else up here? Who’s hurting her?

  “Ah, ah.”

  I stride toward the noise, rounding the corner, silently reaching into my jacket and taking my gun out. I keep it aimed at a forty-five degree angle, ready to snap up and execute the bastard who’s dared to force his way in here.

  “Ah, ah, ah.”

  The crazed thought strikes me there’s another man in there with her, and the noises aren’t of pain.

  They’re of pleasure.

  But then I have to bite down on savage laughter.

  No fucking way.

  Molly and I are committed to each other.

  For life.

  I move forward, heart pounding heavier now, but willing myself to be ice-cold. I’ll have to do this quick and clean, take him out at the first chance I get.

  “Ah, ah, ah, ah.”

  The door to the gym is half-open, and I lift the gun and use the barrel to nudge it the rest of the way.

  Molly turns to me with boxing gloves on her hands, her hair all messy and sexy around her face. Her bun has come loose and strands stream over her shoulders, wisps dancing around her face. Her cheeks have a gorgeous red color.

  The punching bag rocks back and forth from her most recent punch.

  She grins, and then her eyes flit down to the gun.

  “What’s happening?” she says, her voice dropping.

  I shake my head, holstering my gun quickly, laughing in relief.

  “Nothing,” I grunt. “I just—”

  I break off, laughing again.

  “What?” She walks over to me, lifting her boxing gloves with a heart-stopping smile, her sweaty workout scent drifting over to me, tempting to smell and taste other parts of her. “You better tell me, tough guy, or there’s going to be a problem.”

  I smirk. “Oh really?” I hold my hands up, shifting from side to side. “Give it your best shot.”

  She giggles. “Don’t tempt me.”

  “Go for it.”

 
; “I’ll hurt you.” She hesitates. “You’re not wearing gloves.”

  I laugh again, and it feels so good, so perfect to be laughing with my woman instead of going to war with sadists. I’ll always remember my responsibility, but I can’t feel guilty about sinking into the welcoming contentment of mine and Molly’s private world.

  “You really won’t hurt me, Molly. I promise.”

  She shrugs and throws a half-hearted jab, and I slide around her and loop my arms around her hips, placing my hands on her thighs and squeezing, pulling her right up against me.

  She gasps as she shifts her ass against me, lust taking over banter, her body primed for desire.

  I wedge one hand up between her thighs and pull back with the other, gripping her hip so I can guide her body into the right positions, my rock hard manhood pressing against my pants, pushing against her ass cheeks.

  They feel like heaven wrapped around my shaft, even with our pants separating us. My engorged helm throbs against the zipper, straining hungrily to slip inside of her and explode into her needy womb right now.

  “Who said you could come in here?” I smirk, grinding against her.

  “I was bored.” She moans as I slide my hand up her back and bend her forward, gazing down in fascinated obsession at her round juicy ass cheeks. “Oh, God… Murphy. I can’t—not here, in the gym.”

  “You can’t come in a gym?” I chuckle deeply. “I think I can prove you wrong there.”

  She turns, biting her lip, the boxing gloves propped up against the wall as she pushes her ass against me.

  There’s a flicker of anxiety in her eyes, and then she bites her lip, shivering against me.

  “But you might want more.”

  I do want more, always, but I have to remind the feral parts of myself that she’s a virgin and she’s going to need some time to convince herself she’s ready to take the full force of our lust.

  “I want to see you shiver and come for me, so be a good fucking girl and do it.”

  I tear her pants down like a beast, hardly aware of what I’m doing. I just need to rip away the fabric and see her round juicy ass cheeks, with the scent of her pussy whispering to me from between them.

  “I need to taste your wet hole,” I growl, falling to my knees and grabbing onto her ass.