by Bella King
“I’ll take good care of it,” I say, nodding frantically as I step toward the door. “Let me just go to the car, and I’ll get the rest of the cash.”
Charles barely registers what I said, his nose buried in the money that spent ten years sitting deep under the streets of Paris. It still smells a bit like dust and bones to me, but I’m sure he won’t realize that’s what the smell is.
I race out of the King-Smith Gallery in my pink raincoat, despite there not being any rain in the forecast today. It’s the first thing that I bought with the money we got yesterday, and I’m just so excited to wear it out.
I wait for a car to pass, the I jump across the road to where Pierre is parked in his brand-new black Lincoln. His arm is dangling out of the side, and jazz music is flowing from his open window.
I clench the edge of the window, leaning into the car with an excited grin. “Hand me the suitcase.”
He lowers his sunglasses. “Everything is good?”
“It’s more than good. He doesn’t care about fuck-all except for money.”
“Maybe he’s not so bad after all,” Pierre says, reaching around to the back seat for the brown leather suitcase filled to the brim with cash. He hands it to me, but he grips it tightly when I go to take it. “Nah-ah. Not without a kiss,” he says, puckering his lips.
I lean into the car so far that I nearly topple into his lap, planting the biggest kiss ever on his soft lips. “There’s more where that came from,” I say as I take the suitcase from his loose hand and pull away.
“Give me another one,” Pierre says, patting his lap. “Right here.”
I laugh, dancing away from the car with the heavy suitcase. “You’ll get everything you want when we get out of here.”
He seems satisfied, blowing me a kiss as I run back into the gallery with the suitcase.
Coming back inside, I find Charles still standing there, his hand clutching the pile of cash that I gave him. He only turns his head to look at me when I slam the suitcase down on the smooth wooden floor.
“This is it,” I say, beaming up at him. “There’s a half-million euro in here.”
“Are you sure you want that painting?” he asks. “I think it might be a little overpriced, as you said.”
“I just have to have it,” I say, unclasping the suitcase and showing the money to him. “Do you want to count it?”
He shrugs. “I’ll get around to it.”
“Alright,” I reply, closing the suitcase and straitening up. “Thank you for having me, Mr. King-Smith. It’s been an honor to work for you.”
He nods, a sad look washing over his face. “I thought as much. You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
I sigh. “Well, I mean, I don’t really need a job anymore.”
His face softens. “Perhaps you’ll start your own gallery someday.”
“I might,” I reply, but I never really thought about that. Maybe I will, but I think I’m going to give art a break for a while while I spend some time with Pierre. Paintings are cool and all, but right now, I’d rather pour my passion into the love that I’ve found with Pierre DeRose, my own personal mafia boss.
Epilogue
Shaye
I step down from the bed, looking up at the painting with my hands on my hips. “It looks good up there,” I say, turning to Pierre.
He smiles, his eyes sparkling in the morning sunlight as it cascades over his large figure through the floor to ceiling window in the bedroom. “I’m glad we kept it.”
“Repairs we not cheap,” I say, waving a finger at him. “Because someone decided they wanted to put their foot through it when they got angry about the code not working.”
“Hey,” he says, tossing his hands up. “If it weren’t for me doing that, you wouldn’t have known that the code was flipped.”
I try to hide a smile, but it’s impossible to fuss at Pierre when he’s so goddamn charming. I just want to eat him up, but I think it’s his turn to eat me up, and now seems like a good a time as any for that.
I slink back onto the bed, lying back and throwing up the loose blue dress I’m wearing to show the small white silk panties I’m wearing underneath. I should’ve worn nothing at all, but I knew Pierre would make me wet, and it would be running down my legs by now.
“What are you doing?” Pierre asks, cocking his head to the side.
“You haven’t eaten breakfast yet,” I say, smiling as I slide my panties down and kick them off my pedicured feet.
“Oh,” he says, loosening his tie. “That’s right. I haven’t, and I’m in the mood for something sweet.”
“Come and get it,” I say, dropping my legs open and settling back into the fluffy arrangement of pillows behind me.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he growls, climbing onto the bed.
I toss my head back, closing my eyes and pressing his face into my pussy, allowing him to lap up my juices until I’m quivering under his skilled tongue. We’ve done this a hundred times already, in the car, on the rooftops of fine hotels, and even outside, but this is the first time that he’s eaten me out in the bed of our new house.
The feeling is even more divine here, and I find myself quickly swept up in sheer bliss as Pierre writes poetry on my clit, expressing his love in the best way possible.
I run my fingers through his curly brown hair, gripping it and releasing it over and over as the pleasure builds between my thighs. He’s gotten so good at this that I last only a few minutes before ecstasy is ripping through me, making colors dancing across my vision and sizzling bursts of pleasure explode throughout my body.
I’m in another world, one where nobody can touch us. This is far better than the settling down that I had planned in Paris. As it turns out, my safety isn’t in laying low and trying to pretend to be someone who I’m not. It’s in embracing the way that I was raised and returning to my roots in the mafia.
I was born to be the wife of a mafia boss, and now, I am one.
The diamond ring on my finger shines in the morning sun as I climax, and Pierre moans at the taste of my pleasure in his mouth. Life is perfect now, and I’ll never worry about anything again because I have Pierre.
The End.
Preview of Devil’s Kingdom
Zella
He runs a set of short fingers through his thick brown beard, his fake eye drifting to the left of me as he studies my face. He knows I’m lying, but he hasn’t made a move to call my bluff yet. He’s making a game out of this, and he thinks he’s going to win.
He’s wrong.
“You’re telling me that you’ve never seen this before?” he asks, running his hand over a black brick of condensed powder, loosely wrapped in clear plastic.
I shrug. “I’ve seen others like it, but nothing this high quality so far from the original source.”
He leans forward, tilting his head down while looking into my eyes. “The original source is a lot closer than you think, Zella.”
I lean back, taking a sip of the amber liquid in my glass. “Then tell me about it.”
“I know that you didn’t come here to buy,” he says, shaking his bald head. “You’re making a mockery of me and wasting my time.”
“I’m just curious,” I reply without showing the least bit of a sign of fear at his rising aggression. Men like him think that because I’m a woman, they can intimidate me, but he isn’t aware of what I’ve been through to get here or how many people are waiting just outside the door. He’s making a huge mistake.
He’s not startled by my nonchalant attitude, but he does lean back a little, placing his hand on the package of black powder on the table between us. His face is more serious now that he’s called me out on my bluff.
He’s right. I didn’t come here to buy anything. I came for information.
I walk my fingers toward the hundred-thousand-dollar brick, just missing his fingers as I touch the plastic gently. I look up at him, making my eyes large and innocent. “I’d like to know where you got this.”
/> He chuckles. “You’re asking the wrong guy.”
“Who’s the right guy?”
He frowns, his face instantly turning a brighter shade of pink. “You’re pushing my limits, Zella. You know this isn’t something that I can talk about.”
“Why?”
His real eye shifts manically from left to right, as though someone could be in the room listening to us speak. He leans in again, this time so far that I can smell the oils clinging to his unwashed beard. “The mafia is one thing, but this is something you don’t want to get involved with,” he says in a voice barely more than a whisper.
I suppress an eye roll. Since I’ve gotten involved in the darker side of business, I’ve had people constantly telling me that I can’t handle what the world has to offer. I’ve seen slit throats, mangled bodies, and more drugs than even the biggest junkie could take, and I’ve not so much as batted an eyelash.
I have a reason for that, but I’ve kept it a secret since I was fifteen.
I take another sip of my drink and tilt my head to the side. “Well, I guess I’ll be going then,” I say, but I make no motion to stand up.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Buy something.”
“I don’t have the cash on me.”
“I’d strongly advise that you buy something, Zella, for your sake.”
“Is that a threat?” I ask calmly.
He shakes his head, his face void of anger. If anything, he seems concerned. “You don’t want to walk out of here without having bought something.”
“Why not?” I ask, beginning to think this has more to do with the bigger picture than just him wanting to make a sale.
“Trust me,” he says, flashing a crooked grin.
I shrug. “How about a gram.”
He laughs, pushing the entire brick toward me. “Take the kilo, and don’t ask any more questions. I’m not the one you should be afraid of angering.”
That confirms my suspicions. This has nothing to do with our deal and everything to do with protecting himself from whoever his supplier is. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I only know one man capable of instilling that amount of fear in his subordinates.
“I’m not buying,” I say, standing up suddenly and slamming my hands down on the table. “Have a nice day.”
He jumps up after me, but the damage has already been done. The second I walk out of here without making a purchase, his ass is going to be on the line. I doubt he’ll let me take another step before blowing my head off my shoulders.
Continue Reading Devil’s Kingdom Now…
More Mafia Books by Bella King
The Cartel King
The Captive Contract
Claimed For Life
