Mafia Romance

by Aleatha Romig, Skye Warren, Annika Martin, Natasha Knight, Kaye Blue, Michelle St. James, Renee Rose, Parker S. Huntington, Alexis Abbott, Willow Winters

  Nolan heard Mick talking to someone on the other side of the curtain. It parted and Bridget walked in and headed for Seamus’s table.

  Nolan would have been proud if he hadn’t been so fucking scared for her. She’d been a mess when she’d called him after Seamus’s arrest and he’d immediately met her in Brookline to walk her through their next steps. She’d left him an hour later, gone to D4, and posted bail for Seamus exactly as he’d ordered.

  That was the name of the game now. Hunker down, play along until they could come up with a new strategy or until the Feds made their move, hope they all lived long enough to see it happen.

  She looked calm as she exchanged murmured words with Seamus.

  “Let’s talk at the bar,” Seamus said.

  She turned and headed past the table where Nolan and Will sat playing cards, waiting for their next orders. Her eyes met his and he had to force his expression to remain blank, had to stop himself from getting up and carrying her out of the Cat for good.

  “Burke!” Seamus barked.

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Go next door and get me some cigarettes, will you?”

  “Sure thing.” He stood and headed for the curtain, nodding at Mick as he stepped into the main room.

  Bridget was sitting at the bar, her back to him, as he headed for the door. He was halfway to it when it opened and a big man with gray hair and matching stubble stepped into the room. He was followed by several more, all of them wearing the hard, mean faces of soldiers who’d seen more than their share of battle.

  Nolan paused, dread seeping through his veins.

  “Where’s O’Brien?” the first man through the door asked, his Irish accent so thick Nolan wasn’t sure he would have been able to understand him if he’d said more than two words.

  Connor looked shaken as he debated whether to direct the visitors to the back but was saved from having to answer when the curtain parted and Seamus stepped into the main room, eyes narrowed as he took in the visitors.

  “There I was, minding my own business,” he said slowly, “when I said to myself, ‘Seamus, you old bastard, that sounds like Baren Maguire in your bar.’”

  The other man didn’t say anything, and Nolan gauged the distance between himself and Bridget at the bar, his chances of getting her to the ground and covering her with his body before the bullets started flying.

  The man burst out laughing, a string of guttural words emerging from his mouth as Seamus came toward the group with a smile, a rush of Gaelic sounding from his mouth.

  Motherfucker. Seamus spoke Gaelic.

  And from the looks of things, he’d called in the fucking IRA cavalry.

  The men embraced in a flurry of indecipherable language and Seamus led them toward the back room. He turned to look at Nolan as he passed.

  “Burke! Where’re my fecking cigarettes?”

  “Right away, boss.”

  Nolan looked at Bridget, her eyes wide and questioning. He tried to send her a message—don’t worry, everything will be okay, I’m going to make this okay.

  He’d always known he’d fight for her.

  Had always known he’d bleed for her, kill for her.

  But now he knew he’d die for her.

  He looked at the back room. Seamus met and held his eyes.

  He closed the curtain.

  * * *

  Thank you for reading! You can read the next book in the Boston Syndicate series, BLOOD IN THE WATER, now…

  Nolan Burke is in deep sh*t.

  After the failed attempt to end Seamus O’Brien’s rule over Boston’s criminal underworld, Nolan and the Syndicate are back to square one, trying to find a way to take control of the territory from Seamus and a cadre of former IRA fighters. Nolan is willing to help the Syndicate, but only to protect the love of his life, Bridget Monaghan, from the debt she owes Seamus, a task that becomes more difficult as the turf war becomes more perilous.

  Bridget Monaghan is walking a tightrope over a crocodile—and his name is Seamus O’ Brien.

  Bridget is trying to keep her head down and her sick brother alive while the Syndicate plots the takeover of South Boston’s criminal organization, a takeover that will eliminate her debt to Seamus O’ Brien. As if that’s not enough, her renewed relationship with Nolan Burke is built on a lie—or the truth she hasn’t told him about the reason she left him the first time around.

  But it’s hard to keep secrets when everyone has something to lose, and soon Nolan and Bridget are on the run as everything is revealed. When a hideaway meant to offer protection becomes the site of a deadly game of cat and mouse, Bridget is forced to defend herself and her family while Nolan races the clock to save their lives—and their love.

  ONE CLICK BLOOD IN THE WATER NOW >

  MAFIA DADDY

  RENEE ROSE

  Don G gave me an order—find his daughter.

  Straighten her out. Bring her home.

  Sure—taking the mafia princess in hand will be my pleasure.

  But she’s not going home—she’s staying with me.

  Because despite the marriage contract to another family,

  Jenna Pachino has always been mine.

  Chapter One

  Jenna

  The pounding music might be the only thing keeping me on my feet at the moment. I bounce and spin on the dance floor to the beats of DJ Sunshine, the coolest female DJ on Ibiza. I may or may not have one too many cosmos in me. The room tilts and spins alarmingly every time I slow down.

  I guess I ought to thank mobster Nico Tacone for footing the bill on this party lifestyle, but I spent my entire life hating him, so gratitude would be an adjustment. Still, he released me from our marriage contract and gave me the money to run away until he worked things out with our families, so I have nothing to complain about.

  I turn and run into a wall of fine Italian suit. Pleasure overtakes me at a familiar masculine scent, and I throw my arms around the man’s neck before my brain registers what this means.

  I’ve been found. Caught.

  “Alex!” I breathe.

  My father’s right-hand man. His soldier, bodyguard, protégé—whatever you want to call him.

  I don’t mean to fling myself at him, but my body control isn’t the best. Oh, who am I kidding? I totally want to plaster myself all over this man.

  He’s been the subject of my schoolgirl crushes since I was fifteen.

  Strong, handsome, powerful, sexy. Italian. He’s everything I love in a man. And he’s off limits. Or rather, as a mafia princess with a marriage contract to another family, I’ve been off limits to him.

  Which meant no matter how much I flirted or attempted to provoke him, he never showed any interest beyond the smolder of desire I swore burned in his gaze. But then, he might give every girl those sizzling looks, because I’m pretty sure he’s a huge player.

  His iron arm bands around my waist, presumably to hold me up, since I’m not doing a great job of it myself, but I take it as an invitation and lift my legs to wrap around his waist.

  “That’s it, bambina.” He’s never called me baby before and the pleasure of it ripples through me as he shifts his forearm under my ass, turns and walks swiftly toward the door.

  By the time my brain catches on to what’s happening, we’re off the dance floor and almost out of the nightclub. “Wait!” I try to get down. I guess when I attached myself to him in greeting, I was angling for some sexy dancing out on the floor. But Alex is all business, and if he thinks he’s dragging me back to Chicago to face my father, he’s going to have a fight on his hands.

  I kick and thrash and suddenly Yuri, the huge, tattooed Russian who sits and watches the DJ, Lucy, every night with a moon face, steps in front of us, blocking Alex.

  “Put girl down.” His accent is as thick as his meaty arms.

  You gotta love Yuri. I’m ninety-nine point nine percent sure he’s ex-mafia, too. Or bratva—whatever they call Russian mafiya. His tattoos read like a rap sheet and when
he’s not looking moony at Lucy, his expression promises death to anyone who gets in his way or looks too long at his girl.

  Alex’s body, already rigid, goes even tighter. He lowers me slowly to my feet, I suppose so he has his hands free to fight.

  I thrust my body between them, but Alex effortlessly pushes me behind him.

  “It’s okay, Yuri.” Damn, I’m slurring a bit. I pat Alex’s well-dressed arm. “He’s mine. I mean—he’s with me. I’m with him. He can take me now.”

  Yuri cracks his knuckles. “You know this guy? He’s not safe.”

  I actually hear Alex growl beside me.

  “He’s safe for me,” I say quickly. “Not for other people.” Definitely not for you. I take Alex’s arm, anxious to get out of there without any bloodshed. “Let us pass, Yuri.”

  Yuri’s eyes narrow, but after two beats, he steps aside.

  Alex doesn’t take his menacing glare off the guy until we’re long past, then he swoops me back up, carrying me toddler style on his hip.

  “This is fun.” I sit even taller and kick my feet like a happy tot. It’s a ridiculous position, but I love it.

  “I would throw you over my fucking shoulder, but I’m afraid you’d puke on my heels,” Alex grumbles.

  I giggle and tangle my fingers in his thick, dark hair. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I already know I’m going to be embarrassed about my behavior tomorrow, but in this moment, it’s too pleasurable to be this close to Alex with my inhibitions down.

  Apparently he’s cased me out, because he walks the block back to my hotel and goes straight to my suite, where he waits for me to fumble in the tiny cross-shoulder purse for the key. I accidentally drop it and only then does he put me down.

  I’m drunk, so I’m probably making stuff up, but I like to think he enjoyed carrying me as much as I loved straddling his waist. Of course, I’d like to straddle his waist in a whole different configuration, but that probably won’t happen.

  “Please tell me my dad isn’t here,” I slur as he unlocks the door to the luxury suite I’ve been staying in and pushes it open.

  “Nope, just me.” His voice is tight. He takes off his suit jacket with an impatient jerk.

  “Why are you pissed?”

  He cocks a brow, which is an extremely sexy look on him. I definitely have a thing for pissed-off Italian hot shots. Casualty of living in La Cosa Nostra, I guess. His eyes rake over me, taking in my short mini-skirt and cropped spaghetti top.

  Okay, I’m showing way more skin than I would back home, but I’m on a Spanish island.

  “You were dancing at a nightclub, dressed like that—drunk. Anything could’ve happened to you, piccolina!”

  I shake my head, which has the effect of making the room spin. “I was safe,” I slur. “You saw how Yuri act—”

  I’m cut off when Alex grabs my forearm, spins me around, and pushes my torso down over the bed. I giggle when his hand smacks down on my ass, even though it smarts like hell.

  “Don’t say that fucking name again.”

  “What? Yuri—ow! Okay! Ouch.” I dance right and left as he smacks my ass five more times. “Jesus, Alex. What—are you jealous?” Again, it’s something I wouldn’t have said sober. But I’ve also never been bent over and spanked by my father’s soldier either.

  And I have to say, it’s thrilling, albeit a bit stingy.

  I’m not afraid of Alex. I meant what I said to Yuri—he’s safe for me. His loyalty to my father goes bone deep. Until this moment, I would’ve sworn he wouldn’t hurt a hair on my head, but the spanking doesn’t worry me. In fact, I take it as a sign that I might actually get somewhere with Alex for once.

  “Jealous?” Alex is breathing hard, which doesn’t make sense because he’s in great shape. Unless… he’s as excited as I am. He yanks up my mini-skirt.

  I squeal and reach back with both hands to hold it down, but he grabs my wrists and pins them behind my back. Then he lifts my skirt up to my waist and smacks my ass. I’m wearing a G-string, so his palm connects with bare skin and makes a crack that I’m sure the people in the room next door can hear. My pussy clenches at the intimacy of the act. His hand is so close to my tingling lady bits.

  “Yeah, maybe.” He smacks me again. “Some stronzo Russian tries to stop me from leaving with you? He’s lucky I didn’t shove his balls down his throat.” He’s spanking me hard, first one cheek, then the other.

  I choke on my breath. I didn’t expect Alex to put a claim on me. Of course, it might not mean anything. He probably thinks he owns me because he’s acting as my father’s agent. And Lord knows my father thinks he owns me.

  He keeps spanking. “Tell me you haven’t been down there every fucking night like this.”

  I don’t answer because I’m not going to lie, and the truth is going to make him more mad. And I’m not sure I can handle more spanking, even though my pussy is wet, clit throbbing.

  He takes my silence as a yes and spanks harder, his hand falling in swift, punctuating movements. “Tell me—” His voice goes rough, almost broken. “Tell me you didn’t let those bastards take advantage of you. Tell me!” he roars.

  Uh… what bastards?

  He stops spanking me. “Jenna?” Yes, his voice sounds broken.

  “No—never.”

  I’m still a virgin, as ridiculous as that may sound. All those years, promised to Nico Tacone—I don’t know, I guess I was afraid he’d do something horrible to me if I wasn’t a virgin on our wedding night. And since he set me free a few months ago, well… no one here was Alex.

  So that’s that.

  Alex abruptly pulls me up and turns me to face him. “Never?” he croaks.

  I shake my head. “Never, ever.”

  His mouth descends on mine in a punishing kiss.

  I swoon. All this time, I’ve been hoping I wasn’t reading an attraction that wasn’t there. Praying he wouldn’t reject me yet again. And now—praise the virgin Madonna—he’s kissing me!

  He palms my bare ass with both hands, squeezing and kneading the smarting flesh as his lips twist over mine, his tongue invades.

  It’s a wicked kiss. A demanding one.

  I push my pelvis forward, stand on my tiptoes to rub higher. His cock presses into my belly with hard insistence.

  Oh, God—this is it. I’m going to lose my virginity to the guy I always dreamed of giving it to.

  * * *

  Alex

  I somehow force myself to pull back from Jenna. She tastes like cranberry and vodka and I want to fucking devour her, but I can’t.

  She’s the don’s daughter.

  Except who am I kidding? I just bent her over and spanked her ass like a naughty girl. If that’s not claiming her, what is? And seriously, if I don’t claim her now, the spanking would be a humiliating insult to her.

  She’s not tied to Nico Tacone anymore.

  That means she’s free.

  Right?

  I capture the back of her head and go in for more kissing. Her lips are soft and giving, her body molds to mine.

  I don’t know why, but I have to know more about the men. I’m jealous as fuck just knowing guys have seen her dressed like this.

  I press her back on the bed, falling over her, still fucking her mouth with my tongue. I pin her wrists above her head and come up for air. “How many men, Jenna? Just tell me.”

  She frowns, her forehead wrinkling up in an adorable scowl. “I told you—none.”

  I can’t quite breathe. “None here? Or none… ever?”

  She gets smaller before my eyes and I feel like the biggest stronzo on Earth for diminishing her. As much as it inspires my dominant, protective instincts, I like seeing her in her sexual power. “None, ever,” she mutters.

  My chest tightens. Cazzo. Despite her oozing sexuality, Jenna Pachino is an innocent.

  I kiss her again, tender this time.

  And then I force myself off her. Because I’m sure as hell going to make her first time good, not some drunken ho
okup that she might regret tomorrow. I scoop my arms under her shoulders and knees and slide her up on the bed and under the covers.

  She smiles up at me, but when I pull the covers up to her chin, she frowns. “What are you doing?”

  “Putting you to bed, tesoro mio.”

  She sits up and reaches for me. “Aren’t you coming?”

  I step out of her reach, because, fuck, if I let her touch me, I’m going to be in that bed in a half-second. “Believe me, bambi, there’s nothing more I want than to be pounding between those legs until you can’t walk straight tomorrow, but I’m not going to.” Her eyes rounded when I spoke crudely, but the way her lips part is an invitation. “I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’ve been drinking.”

  She climbs out of the bed and holds my gaze, pulling her tiny top—essentially a handkerchief held on with two threads—over her head. She isn’t wearing a bra, and her breasts bounce invitingly.

  Fuck. I’ve had a lot of women, but I’ve never seen a body that compares to Jenna Pachino’s. But she’s always done it for me, hasn’t she? Of course I have to have a hard-on for the don’s only daughter. I stumble back, out of reaching distance.

  She climbs out of the bed and sheds the rumpled skirt next.

  “Enough!” I snap when she hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her G-string. “Don’t fucking cock-tease me, baby. Not when I’ve been shouting your name while I beat off since before you were out of your dad’s house.” I give my cock a hard squeeze over my pants. “Not when I’m trying to be a gentleman. You get that gorgeous ass of yours back in bed before I paint it red again.”

  Excitement flares in her eyes at my threat, which comes as a relief, because I’ve been feeling like an asshole for taking liberties punishing her already.

  She doesn’t stop, though. She steps forward and loops her arms around my neck, rubbing those hard nipples against my chest.