The Boss's Temptation: An Age Gap Mafia Romance

by Jagger Cole

  I sit back in my office chair. I drum my fingers on the armrests. I try and wrestle my thoughts onto work. This is never a problem for me, because my work is my life, happily so. Except right now, trying to think about work isn’t coming easily. And there’s a fairly obvious reason why: Katrina.

  My mind wanders to the gorgeous, tempting little redhead staying under my very roof. I do my damndest not to, but my thoughts instantly go back to her dropping her dress yesterday. I replay every single curve of her almost totally naked body. I groan, letting the memory play out. My cock hardens.

  Fuck, it’s like I’ve been hard ever since she walked into that goddamn conference room.

  But it also isn’t just a physical craving. Yes, I want her. Christ, I want her in every fucking way a man can want a woman. But there’s something more to it. I’ve looked at plenty of beautiful women before. I’ve felt the physical pull of lust. But no woman has ever beguiled me like this before. No woman has ever lingered in my head like this.

  There’s mystery surrounding Katrina. Part of it I’m sure is the fucked-up arrangement we find ourselves in. But another part of it is that she’s clearly been hurt before. There’s a delicateness to her that brings something fierce out in me. It makes me want to protect her. It makes me want to keep her away from the world that made her so afraid.

  The mix of wanting to protect her and wanting to fuck her senseless has my head spinning. It has my cock hard in a very, very confusing way as well.

  She’s been a ghost, avoiding me ever since what played out this morning. But then, I’ve been avoiding her too. Because I don’t trust myself. I keep telling myself that I have no interest in her—that this is a business decision that’s been forced on me. And maybe it is, but that doesn’t mean having no interest in her is true. In fact, that’s a bold fucking lie.

  I have a lot of interest in her. Too much, really.

  I drum my fingers on the chair again. I shake my head. This is absurd. I’m letting this whole situation get into my fucking head. I’ve made it to where I am today by being decisive, not by dwelling. It isn’t like me to let things go unaddressed like this.

  With a grunt, I stand abruptly. I’m not doing this anymore. I’m not going to play this game with her. Avoiding this situation does nothing. At some point in the future, sooner than later and like it or not, Katrina is going to be my wife.

  It’s clear this is nothing either of us expected. But it’s time we both come to terms with it. I push back my desk chair. I have every intention of striding to her room and settling this. We’re both being forced into this. She doesn’t owe me anything, including her body.

  But just then, my phone rings. Damnit. I pull it out with a scowl. It softens when I see it’s Vincent.

  “You’re supposed to be off your phone and enjoying the beach,” I growl.

  My new son-in-law chuckles. “Just wanted to check in, Micheal.”

  “We’re good here. Go back to your vacation.”

  He pauses. I know Vincent well enough from the years to know he’s not just “checking in.” Especially at this hour. I sigh. “You heard then; I assume?”

  “Dominic,” he grunts. “Don’t get mad at the guy. I told him to keep tabs on you for me while I was away.”

  I think about my upstart captain who mouthed off to Anton back in the meeting. I smile. Vincent is good, and he’s good at who he picks to work with. I’m only now realizing that Dominic has been spending a bit more time than usual being closer to me.

  “So, I guess congratulations are in order?”

  I grunt. “Something like that.”

  “A Korolyov, huh?”

  “Salvestro,” I mutter back.

  Vincent groans. “I figured that was the driving force.” He sighs heavily. “So, I guess marrying his niece ties us to Anton from here on out.”

  I grunt in response.

  “I hear she’s pretty young.”

  I scowl. “Would you really like to go down that road, Vincent?” My second in command is eleven years older than my daughter Bellamy. My tone conveys the warning it’s intended too. Vincent eases back.

  “No, sir,” he says with a quiet chuckle.

  “It’s not as if I was looking for this,” I growl. “It’s an arrangement for the organization. That’s it.”

  “Oh, is that it?”

  My frown deepens across my brow. “Yes, Vincent. That’s it.”

  “I heard she’s pretty.”

  “And I’m twenty fucking years her senior,” I mutter. “It’s unseemly.”

  Vincent chuckles deeply. “Micheal, I think you might be putting too much weight with this. You’re not exactly collecting social security yet, old man.”

  “Watch it,” I mutter. My son-in-law laughs.

  “Hey, you’re not pulling a Bernardo. That shit is unseemly.”

  I smile and sigh.

  “When are you going to tell Bellamy?”

  My smile evaporates. “That her new step-mother and her could have gone to school together?” I groan “Soon. It has to be soon.” I frown. “Vincent, I’d rather…”

  He laughs loudly. “Oh I’m not cracking that box open. That’s all you, Micheal.”

  “There’s that unflinching loyalty I was looking for in my second in command,” I say dryly.

  Vincent chuckles again. “Michael, I’d get between you and a bullet. You know that. But I’m dead serious that I would rather be shot for you than tell Bellamy about your new twenty-three-year-old Korolyov bride.”

  I ignore his laughter and shake my head. “Go have another margarita or something, asshole.”

  Vincent pauses in his chuckling. “You sure you don’t need me for this? I mean I’ve had my fill of beach and sun. I can be there in a few hours.”

  “And have my daughter looking to put my head on a spike?” I grunt. “Yeah, no thanks.”

  Vincent chuckles. “Well, say the word and I’m on the next plane.”

  “I’ll be fine, Vincent.”

  “I’ll have Dominic keep a closer watch too. Use him, Micheal. He’s good.”

  I nod. “I will.”

  We both pause. Vincent breaks the silence first.

  “Something else?”

  “No,” I grunt. “Forget it.”

  “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Micheal.”

  It’s his favorite thing to say to me when I’m in a dark mood like this. And he’s right. Vincent isn’t just my second in command because he’s married to my daughter. He’s earned his place there. I’ve known the man since he was a kid, practically. Like me, he’s not a Scaliami by blood. But he’s damn well bled for the family. And he’s an excellent right-hand man.

  I sigh. “I’m not confident she’s not a spy.”

  “For Anton?” Vincent grunts. “Seems a little too obvious a move. But it would make sense.” He sighs. “Anything tip you off that she might be?”

  “Aside from being a fucking Korolyov herself?” I frown. “She was in my room this morning.”

  “Oh?” There’s a hint of humor in Vincent’s voice. “And what was she doing in your room this morning, Micheal?” He chuckles under his breath

  “Not like that,” I snap. “She came in while I was sleeping. She was snooping around.”

  “Where?”

  “Under my sheets.”

  Vincent laughs. Loudly. “Looking for Scaliami business secrets under your balls or something?” He laughs some more. I stay silent and glare into my empty glass.

  “Are you done?” I finally snap.

  Vincent clears his throat and drops the laughter. “Yes, sir,” he grunts. Vincent and I are close. We’re family. But business is business to him. He knows when it’s time to play it serious.

  “Rough day,” I grunt as an explanation for my mood.

  He sighs. “Michael, can I offer some advice?”

  “Please do.”

  “If it’s just a business thing, make that clear. I mean this is an arrangement. And it’s one
neither of you asked for. Take out the ambiguity. I mean who the fuck knows what Anton told her? She might be terrified of you and think that she needs to be your fucking sex slave or some shit.”

  “For Christs sake, Vincent…” I growl, scowling at the thought.

  “I’m just saying out loud what Anton may very well have filled her head with. You want my advice? Make it clear. Put it all on the table.” He snickers. “And maybe lock your bedroom door.”

  I smile thinly.

  “You sure you don’t need me there? I’m serious, I’ll get on a plane in—”

  “I’m fine. I’ll tap Dominic if I need more eyes.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Enjoy the beach, Vincent. Love to Bellamy.”

  “Take care, Micheal.”

  When I hang up, I lean back in my chair. I start to reach for the scotch again. But I stop myself. I don’t need to cloud my thoughts tonight. I need clarity. And Vincent is right. Clarity will come from putting this all on the table with Katrina.

  I won’t spend my days wondering about her or being suspicious. I take a deep breath. No more bullshit. No more avoiding each other. She’s young, but she’s a grown woman. She didn’t ask for this. Neither did I. But we’re here, and this is happening.

  I start to stand, with every intention of going to her. But my phone rings again. I grunt and glare at the screen. Shit. It’s Sal.

  “Don Salvestro, how are you?”

  “Micheal,” the older Italian man says with his velvety voice. “How are things?”

  “Things are good,” I shrug. Sal doesn’t usually need business reports from me outside of our quarterly meetings. But I assume he’s making the most of his still being here in the states on his visit. “We’re about to close on that laundromat chain. All cash business, so that’s going to be great for…”

  “I meant at home, Micheal,” Salvestro grunts. “With your soon-to-be-bride.”

  My jaw tightens. “Fine.”

  “Fine? Just fine?”

  “Just fine.”

  He sighs. “Does fine mean you are enjoying her, or no?”

  My brow darkens. “She’s twenty-fucking-three, Don Salvestro.”

  “Si, and?”

  “It’s unseemly,” I mutter.

  He chuckles deeply. “Unseemly? Micheal, Bernardo and his women are unseemly. Anton’s niece is a grown woman. You are a grown man. I do not see what the problem is.”

  “All due respect, Sal,” I growl. “This is not how things are done in this day and age.”

  There’s a long pause. I frown.

  “Are you refusing this deal?” Salvestro says quietly.

  I’m not afraid of Sal or Bernardo. But I’m smart enough to not underestimate either of them, Salvestro especially. The kindly little Italian man with the smile and the hat is an act. It’s a costume. Behind it lies a man capable of doing anything to attain and retain power. I have no illusions about that, or the strength he wields.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  He chuckles quietly. “Non, Micheal,” he says with a thin laugh. “Not on this.” He sighs. “She is beautiful, no?”

  “She is.”

  “Do you care for her?”

  I frown. “Sal, I don’t know her.”

  “Is that a no, then?”

  “Where are you going with this, Don Salvestro?” I growl.

  “Ahh, Michael,” he chuckles. “You know me all too well. I am merely asking if you care for her. If you don’t, well…”

  I frown. “What?”

  “There are other interested parties.”

  Something snaps in me. I clench my hands into fists. Fury and anger boil up deep inside. An emotion I’ve long forgotten about swells and rears its head. A green, swirling emotion.

  “Who,” I snarl. The anger in my voice takes me by surprise.

  Salvestro chuckles quietly. “So, perhaps you do care?”

  “Who,” I snap again.

  “Bernardo is, how do you say…” Salvestro sighs. “Irrequieto.”

  My jaw tightens. My eyes are hard. “Restless,” I growl under my breath. “Restless how.”

  “With his current wife.” Salvestro sighs deeply. “You know how my cousin is, Micheal. He bores so easily with his playthings. Always on the lookout for a new…” he chuckles. “A new toy.”

  “And what does this have to do with me?”

  Salvestro chuckles. “You? Nothing. Nothing at all. But it does concern her.”

  Fury throbs in my very veins. “You mean Katrina.”

  “Si, Micheal. Bernardo…” he laughs. “Well, he does love redheads, you know. He’s been made aware of your… reluctance to this deal.” Sal makes a tut-tutting sound. Perhaps another way to settle this matter with the Korolyovs is simply another man to take their gift…”

  I’ve rarely felt the feelings of rage and fury I feel at this moment. I want to roar. I want to smash something irreplaceable. Hell, I want to smash Bernardo. Maybe even Sal too. I seethe, my jaw grinding painfully. My free hand grips the edge of my desk so tight that marks appear.

  “I sense anger, Micheal,” Sal says quietly.

  I say nothing.

  “Perhaps you should go take what is yours, before other parties do.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying claim your woman, Micheal,” he says. The smiling little old Italian grandpa routine is gone. Now, there’s a very serious edge to his voice. “Your wedding is tomorrow, by the way.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Tomorrow, Micheal. Or Bernardo will take your gift as his own.”

  “Sal—”

  “This is not a discussion,” he snaps. “Katrina Korolyov will become your wife domani. Tomorrow, Micheal. This is not a request. This is an order. Capisci?”

  I close my eyes. I’m shaking with rage as I slowly nod. “Si, capico. I understand, Don Salvestro.”

  “Grazie, Micheal.” His voice is back to his normal smiling, charming old grandpa tone. “And congratulations on your wedding.”

  The line goes dead. I’m shaking. I’m fuming, actually. But it’s the reason for the fury that truly shakes me. I’m not mad that Sal is giving me an order. I understand that’s how this entire organization works.

  It’s the snarling jealousy that has me shaking though. It’s possessive, and all-consuming. The idea of anyone, least of all Bernardo fucking Scaliami, putting their hands on Katrina? It makes me blind with rage. It makes me see red.

  I stand. I stagger across the office to the door and whip it open. My mind is set. My convictions are firm. This might be wrong. But I’ve moved past caring now. This isn’t about following orders. This is about wanting what I shouldn’t.

  It’s about an animal need to claim what is mine. To make what belongs to me. She was given to me. I didn’t ask for this, but she’s mine, and mine alone. I’ll be damned if I let any other man on earth lay hands on what is mine.

  I thunder down the hallway towards her wing of the house. I don’t knock, I simply open the door to her quarters and slam it open. I hear her gasp through the closed door to her bedroom. But that door doesn’t stop me either.

  I slam it open violently. Katrina whirls, gasping. She quickly closes the silk robe tight around herself. But it doesn’t matter. It could be a suit of armor, or bullet-proof Kevlar ensconcing her. And it still wouldn’t stop me.

  “Micheal…”

  Her face turns pink. Her eyes are wide and full of something. Fear, perhaps. But it’s mixed with something as wild as what I feel inside. She trembles as I growl lowly. I storm across the room, and she gasps. She backs into the vanity beside her bed. I don’t slow or stop until I press right against her.

  I pin her to the vanity, a growl rumbling in my throat. My hand grips her waist tightly. She whimpers. My other hand slides up an arm. I’m barely containing myself. I’m barely able to stop myself from shredding this robe from her smooth body and fucking her senseless right here. Fucking her until all she knows
is my thick cock and my hot cum marking her as mine.

  My hand tightens on her hip. My other hand grips her jaw.

  “I—”

  “Mine,” I groan. “You are mine.” My mouth descends to hers, and I kiss her savagely. I kiss her hard enough to bruise. Katrina moans into my lips, and it’s my undoing.

  God help me.

  I kiss her harder. I grip her tighter, probably bruising her skin. I can feel her nipples harden to little beads beneath her robe. They’re hard against my chest, but the rest of her is so soft and supple. My hand slides into her hair. I grab it in a fist. God help me, she moans when I do.

  I want to spread her legs wide. I want to pull my cock free of my slacks and bury it between her thighs. I want to fuck her like a man claims what is his. I want to watch her when she comes screaming my name.

  My hands clench tight on her. It’s possessive. It’s a claim. But then, reason hits me. I pause. The red mist lifts just enough from my eyes for me to see clearly for a moment.

  What the fuck am I doing? She might be gasping. Her body might be arching into me. But I can’t just take her like this. Not when she’s so young. Not when she’s being forced to be here. I groan quietly. My eyes squeeze shut, and I pull my lip from hers. I grind my teeth and take a breath.

  I want her. I want to consume her. But I’m not a monster. I’m not that kind of monster, at least. If I have her—when I have her—it won’t be with me holding all the power like this. When I take Katrina, she’ll be begging me to do so.

  Painfully, regretfully, I pull away from her. I take a step back, and my hands leave her. I’m shaking. My muscles are clenched all over. My jaw is so tight I can barely speak words. Katrina looks at me with big blue eyes, trembling. Her lower lip quivers. Her cheeks are flushed and pink.

  “We’re getting married tomorrow,” I growl.

  Her eyes widen. But she says nothing. She just nods, looking like she’s in shock.

  “That’s all.”

  I let my eyes drag over her once more. I almost crack. I almost go back to her with no intention of stopping myself this time. But the man in me quells the monster. I take a breath. I back away from her. Then I turn, and I storm away.