Mafia Puppet: A French Mafia Romance

by Bella King

  “Maybe,” he says. “Do you smoke?”

  “Hardly ever,” I reply.

  “Do you want to?” he asks, holding the joint out to me.

  I hold up my hand. “No, thanks. Aren’t we supposed to talk?”

  “Yeah,” he says, taking another drag. The paper crackles as it turns bright orange and then grey. Pierre loops the smoke around from his mouth to his nose, a circular breathing technique known as the French Inhale.

  Fitting.

  I shouldn’t be letting this man smoke in my flat, especially not something with such a strong smell, but I’d rather him be relaxed than jumping around like a madman. When he’s calm, he seems almost innocent.

  “So,” he says with a long pause. “Plan C.”

  “I hope it’s nothing too wild.”

  “It is.”

  “I really don’t want to get fired,” I say, shaking my head.

  “If we pull this off, then it won’t matter,” he says.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because if you help me with this, I will help you,” he says, his eyes sparkling like diamonds.

  I frown. “How?”

  “Everyone needs cash, and I’m assuming that the only reason you’re working is to make money,” he says.

  “Not just that.”

  “But mainly.”

  “Sure,” I reply, not seeing his point yet.

  “I can give you money,” he says.

  I laugh. “I could steal a painting myself and sell it. You can’t offer me anything I wouldn’t already be able to get myself. Besides, I’m not in the mafia anymore.”

  “How about ten million euros?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “Cash.”

  I frown. “You’re telling me you had enough money to just walk in and buy the Red Door all this time, and you dragged me into this for no reason?”

  “No, and the Red Door is worth more than you think,” he replies, leaning forward and letting the smoke leak from his mouth as he talks. “You could be rich.”

  “Ten million?” I ask. “I doubt it.”

  “It’s worth more than ten million,” he says.

  “Now I know you’re fucking with me. Are you forgetting who you’re talking to?”

  “I know exactly who I’m talking to. You think you know everything because you’re a snooty little art appraiser, but there’s a secret in that painting, and I’m the only one who knows what it is.”

  “Sounds like bullshit,” I say, crossing my arms and pursing my lips.

  “It’s not,” he replies simply. “It’s the truth, and it’s the reason I’m so desperate to get my hands on it. I shouldn’t even be telling you about it, but I see that I don’t have much of a choice anymore.”

  “So, what are we going to do?”

  “Steal it,” he says.

  “I’m not stealing it,” I reply, standing firm to my values.

  “Not even for ten million euros?”

  I shake my head. “I have no guarantee that the money even exists. You’re being purposefully vague because you don’t actually have it.”

  “It’s in the painting,” he insists.

  “You can’t fit ten million into a painting.”

  He sighs. “Shaye, you’re really not getting it.”

  I throw my hands up. “Then explain it clearly, because speaking in riddles isn’t getting your message across very well.”

  My cheeks are pink with frustration, and I’m seething because of Pierre’s inability to speak clearly, but he seems merely amused by my annoyance. He wears a thin smirk on his lips, and he’s now gently petting the cat as he looks at me.

  “What?” I ask after a moment. “Didn’t you hear me?”

  His smile widens. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” I snap.

  He picks up the cat and places her on the floor beside the bed. Then, he crawls toward me on all fours, getting frighteningly close to my face. “I’ll do whatever I damn well please,” he whispers while looking me dead in the eyes.

  I visibly shiver, trying to reclaim some heat to my body when all of it has rushed to my face.

  “Are you ready for the truth?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

  I nod, but it’s a weak nod. I’m not sure what he’s talking about, and I’m getting the feeling this has nothing to do with the painting and everything to do with the bulge in his pants. It’s back, and it’s fucking huge.

  Chapter 27

  Pierre

  I’ve already decided that I’m going to fuck Shaye, but I’m also going to wait until the time is right. I still have to explain my master plan, and that involves keeping my cool for a while.

  I bring myself back to a sitting position, this time much closer to Shaye than before. Her eyes are as big as golf balls, and her little mouth is hanging open like she wants me to put something inside of it.

  All in good time, Shaye. All in good time…

  “You’re going to let me into the King-Smith Gallery, and I’m going to take what I need from the Red Door,” I state, watching Shaye’s pretty face for a reaction.

  She blinks out of her look of shock but returns to it once she realizes what I just said. “You want me to let you in after-hours?”

  I nod. “Yes, once everyone leaves, you’ll open the door for me.”

  “But I’ll be on camera,” she says.

  I shrug. “You can find a way to turn off the cameras, or not. I don’t really care.”

  “And what if I don’t want to help you?”

  “Then there will be no money for you,” I reply coolly.

  “You’re going to get me into so much trouble, Pierre. This is crazy,” she says, clutching her blanket to her chest. “Why can’t you just find some other museum to rob?”

  “I already told you,” I reply, leaning in close again. “The painting holds a secret.”

  “What secret?”

  “A code,” I say. “But I’m not going to tell you about it unless you agree to help me.”

  “Do I have a choice?” she asks dryly.

  “No.”

  “Okay, then just tell me about the fucking code. Get on with it,” she growls.

  I laugh at her frustration, but I quickly grow serious so that she doesn’t blow a fuse. I need her to go along with this. It’s the only thing left, other than break in myself and risk tripping an alarm and ending up back in prison for the rest of my life.

  “The code is in the painting,” I say. “It’s printed under a layer of paint using a thin black plastic that’s undetectable under any x-ray or scanner. It can only be read by stripping the paint with a certain type of paint thinner. Anything else will destroy the code,” I explain.

  Shaye creases her forehead down in a frown, leaning in as she soaks up the information. “What’s the code for?”

  “A safe,” I reply.

  “And you can’t just break the safe open?” she asks.

  “It’s rigged to self-destruct if it’s tampered with or if someone puts in the wrong code more than three times.”

  “What’s inside?”

  “Money.”

  “Just money?”

  “Yes, Shaye. More money than you can wrap your head around. You’ll get ten million euros, and you’ll never have to see my handsome face again.”

  Her lips curl up into a smile. I don’t know if it’s from the money or the prospect of never seeing me again. I hope it’s the former.

  “Why don’t you already have the code to the safe?” she asks.

  “Only one person knew the code. I had them rig the safe, set the code, then place the only written copy into my favorite painting at my mafia headquarters and cover it with a fresh coat of paint.”

  Realization washes over her face. “The painting has been touched up,” she says.

  “Now you get it,” I say with a grin. “And the person who did all of this was executed immediately after. The secret was preserved only through the painting, a
nd once my mafia headquarters was raided, it was sold to the gallery for –”

  “You killed him?!” She seems more concerned with that than the numerous other people I’ve killed.

  “I’m in the mafia, sweetheart. It’s what I do. Surely, you’re familiar with that lifestyle.”

  “Yes, but I don’t want to be.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” I say. “You’re eager to get back into it. I can see it in your eyes.”

  She looks away from me, toward the crumpled sheets clenched tightly in her small fist. She’s been fighting so hard against the truth, but the truth always wins. You can’t suppress what’s inside of you forever without it greying out your life.

  Being a woman of the arts, I know that Shaye can’t be without color. What she’s been trying to do has been killing her slowly from the inside out. Me coming along was the push she needed to finally break out of this lie she’s been living.

  “Look at me,” I demand.

  She looks up, her eyes fierce with a new light. “I’ll do it,” she says, “But I need more than ten million.”

  A wave of admiration washes over me. “Fifteen is the highest I’ll go.”

  “Thirty.”

  I recoil, genuinely taken aback by her bold proposal. “Thirty is way too high.”

  “Oh, so you can’t afford me then,” she says, her voice thin and airy.

  My lids droop over my eyes. “It’s not that I can’t afford you, darling. It’s that you’re not worth that much.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Fifteen,” I say, putting emphasis on every letter in the word.

  She sighs. “Eighteen.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Fifteen!”

  “Fifteen and a half.”

  I laugh. “Jesus, okay. Fifteen and a half. I don’t even know why I’m giving you that much.”

  “How much is in the safe?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

  “If I told you that, you’d be angry about the fifteen and a half,” I say with a chuckle.

  “You know what? I think I don’t even want to know,” she says, trying to act like it’s her decision.

  “Good, because I’m not telling you,” I reply. “But let’s get one thing clear.” I lean forward. “If you fuck this up, even if I get the code, you’re not getting a dime.”

  She leans forward to meet me, her nose grazing mine. She stares into my eyes, insanity lurking beneath the beautiful blueness of her irises. “And let me get another thing clear. If you don’t deliver the money after this is over, I have no problem ratting you out to the cops.”

  “I’ll be long gone by then,” I counter.

  “Not if I spill your selfish guts,” she snarls.

  I lean back, but she follows me with her face, sticking her nose into mine with increasing force. She’s trying to be intimidating, and for some reason, it’s actually working. I’m uncomfortable.

  My pants tighten around my cock, a surge of arousal hitting me. I’ve never been so attracted to a woman. I’m just so engrossed in everything she is.

  I tilt my head to the side, allowing her to sink forward, falling toward my lips with such sudden velocity that she doesn’t have time to correct her posture. Her lips hit mine, and the explosion of excitement that results from her soft mouth against my lips is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

  Chapter 28

  Shaye

  I could’ve moved away, but I didn’t. I saw it coming just a fraction of a second before he moved his head, just a sliver of a moment before it happened, but I let myself fall into his lips.

  Maybe it was curiosity.

  Maybe it was pure lust.

  Or maybe it was something else entirely, but here I am, lips locked to the man I should hate, only seconds after selling my life back into the mafia. I should’ve learned from the horrors I endured ten years ago, but I didn’t. It’s all coming back, and with a vengeance so strong that it’s impossible for me to deny.

  I was made for this.

  I press further into Pierre’s smokey mouth, showing him very clearly that this is what I want. I give him permission to explore my mouth with his tongue by opening it. I move with him, in unison, as he pushes me back, and we fall onto the bed together.

  I wrap my arms around Pierre, feeling the muscles popping from his bare skin. The heat of his chest feeds me in a way that nothing else can, and the excitement that was stirring in my stomach turns to a flurry of butterflies as his erection throbs against my thigh.

  My hips allow him to fall further between my legs, meeting my pussy with his cock. Even through the fabric, the sensation is strong enough to make me moan. My voice is muffled by Pierre’s mouth, but the meaning behind it isn’t.

  I want him.

  So.

  Fucking.

  Bad.

  Pierre pulls away from my lips, licking his and staring deep into my eyes. The grey color of his irises is warm now, like a swirling pool of molten silver. I’d be tempted to believe he was a good man if I didn’t know any better.

  For now, I’ll let myself forget about both of our pasts and enjoy the moment. It’s been so long since I’ve had a man, and my body aches for him inside of me. I’m not going to turn away from Pierre now. I need him.

  Pierre’s eyes trail down to my robe, which is now hanging open and revealing most of my breasts. I smile, pulling it away with my hand so that he can see me. His pupils widen at the sight of my bare skin, and I revel in the admiration. When was the last time anyone looked at me like that? There’s such intense desire written on his expression.

  He runs one of his hands up my waist, landing on my breast and cupping it. My body stiffens at his touch, anticipating the moment his fingers brush my nipples, but I’m unprepared for the sensation at the same time.

  I feel like a virgin, like it’s the first time a man has touched me this way. Maybe it is because I’ve never felt so intensely about anyone in my life before. Sex has always been so casual and unnecessary. Now, it’s essential.

  I wrap my legs around Pierre’s hips, pulling him down harder into my groin as he starts to rub my nipple to an even harder peak. Pleasure rolls through both my chest and my pelvis as I experience the wonders of his body against mine. There’s fabric in the way, and all of a sudden, I need it off.

  It’s like Pierre can read my mind because the second my brain concocts a plan to get us both naked, he’s tearing my clothes off like they’re the world’s greatest sin. His face is contorted with seriousness, deep wrinkles creasing his forehead as he undresses me.

  A rush of cold overwhelms me, but it’s quickly satiated by the warmth of Pierre’s hands all over me, touching, squeezing, and fondling me as he explores my naked body.

  I let out a squeak as he tears my panties from my hips, ripping the fabric and leaving marks on my skin from the force. His hand cups my pussy, fingers pressing into my labia and feeling the wetness that he created.

  “You’re soaked for me,” he says with a smirk.

  Guilty as charged.

  “You’re going to give me this pussy,” he says, rubbing his fingers in my juices. “It belongs to me now.”

  I push my hips up, my face as hot and flushed as it’s ever been, and my heart pumping in my chest like it wants to explode. I can’t be still. Pierre’s words are like a song that I have to dance to, and his touch is like hot coals on my body, making me squirm.

  Pierre places his free hand on my throat, holding me against the bed as he toys with my pussy. I thought he would pull his cock out and fuck me straight away, but he wants to play with me first. I should’ve known that he would take this chance to torture me, even if it is in agonizing pleasure.

  I close my eyes, waves of color lighting up the backs of my eyelids as Pierre strokes me. I can barely breathe under his grip, but I would gladly lose all my air if it means climaxing under his skilled touch.

  The colors that I’m seeing turn from a steady pulsating mix
ture to flashing yellow and red as pleasure rides up my body and encapsulates me in bliss. Whatever Pierre is doing to my pussy, I don’t want him to stop.

  My mouth comes open, and Pierre releases my throat, moving his hand up to my face and pushing his fingers onto my tongue. I close my mouth around his hand, sucking the smokey taste off his fingers as I struggle to stay still with the ever-increasing pleasure between my legs.

  I moan into his fingers, sucking them like I was sucking his cock. I use my tongue against his knuckles, showing him what I could do if I got the chance to pleasure him in the way that he’s pleasuring me. I may not have done this in a long time, but I was never a quitter. I could rock his world.

  Pierre yanks his fingers out of my mouth as I bite them, but I can’t help myself. I need to bite down on something. He’s unlocking emotions in me that have been buried for a decade, and I need to let them out. Maybe he should be more careful.

  Pierre’s hand taps against my cheek, and I open my eyes to find him staring down at me, his eyes flashing with devilish intent. “You like it rough, don’t you?” he says.

  “Yes,” I reply in a whimper.

  “I’ll show you rough, then,” he says, grabbing one of my breasts in his hand and squeezing it hard. He takes my nipple, pinching and pulling it as he rubs my clit with his other hand.

  I cry out in delight at the powerful sensations that run through me at his actions. I’m getting chills throughout my body even though I’m sweating, and my skin is prickled up with goosebumps.

  Pierre slaps my cheek, gauging my reactions, and then he slaps it harder. “You like that, you filthy whore,” he growls.

  God, yes, I do, and I’m not at all ashamed of it.

  “Slap me again,” I demand.

  He obliges without hesitation.

  “Harder.”

  He does it again.

  “Harder!”

  Pierre hesitates this time, but I don’t need the final slap to start orgasming.

  I explode in his hand, rolling in ecstasy as pleasure shoots through every vein in my body. Pierre’s face is blurry and multiplied as my vision goes in and out, and I have to close my eyes again to keep from feeling dizzy.