Marrying the Mobster: American Gangsters 1 (Leave Me Breathless)

by Victoria Vale

  I roll up the privacy screen, not wanting to discuss the matter further. Also, I need the rest of the drive home to think about what the hell I’m going to do with a twenty-something-year-old woman for an entire month. I’ll need to assure her security and squash any attempts at escape. If I’m lucky, that show of spirit in her father’s office was brought on by adrenaline and fear. I don’t have the patience to deal with a feisty chick who thinks she can fight her way out of this. I also don’t want to spare more manpower than necessary to keep her under control. Elena will be made to understand that failure to cooperate will result in the deaths of both herself and her father. If she values her life, she’ll do as she’s told.

  We aren’t stopped at the security gatehouse, as the island’s private police force know my cars on sight. The drive down the single, curving road is quick with it being so late and no other vehicles around. My eyes keep cutting toward Elena, and because of how she’s dressed I get an eyeful of bare skin every time I look at her.

  I don’t need this. Elena will be more a distraction and a nuisance than anything else, and I knew that when I decided to take her. But Father Moya’s voice overtook my own thoughts and persuaded me to stay my hand. That’ll be the last time I go to confession before handling cartel business.

  The privacy screen rolls down and Jovan says, “we’re home, jefe.”

  By the time he comes around to open my door, I have Elena across my lap with my arms hooked beneath her knees and shoulders. Her head rests against my shoulder as I stride toward the house with Jovan on my heels. The smell of chlorine wafts of my nostrils, reminding me that my prisoner will need fresh clothes and a shower when she wakes up. She’ll need more than that, considering the planned length of her stay. Yet another bothersome detail I didn’t consider when taking her.

  Sean and Nicolas—the two soldiers responsible for nighttime security—give me a puzzled look as I walk through the door. Mariana, one of my maids, looks on with a furrowed brow when I dump Elena into Sean’s arms.

  “Put her in one of the third-floor guest rooms,” I order. “Stay with her and send for me when she wakes up, no matter what time it is. Nicolas, pull Donny out of bed and have him join you on night watch. We’ll have a meeting with security in the morning to discuss our new guest. Miss Aguilar will be with us for the next month. I want her taken care of, unharmed, but kept under lock and key. She isn’t to step foot outside her room without my permission and isn’t allowed any contact with the outside world. Mari, she’s going to need a change of clothes and whatever else you think she should have to clean herself up … and a meal when she wakes up. Am I clear?”

  All three respond with variations of ‘yes, sir,’ then scramble off to carry out my orders. Jovan is already heading up to his private suite of rooms on the second floor, stripping off his suit jacket as he goes. He gives me a playful salute once we reach the landing, then we go our separate ways. Elena’s location on the third floor ensures she’ll be secure, but far enough from me not to be a distraction. If I can’t see those full, pouty lips, I’m less likely to fantasize getting her on her knees.

  It’s been too long since I’ve had a woman. Family business has held my attention over the past several weeks and I’m like a soda bottle shaken up and left to sit with the top sealed … ready to blow at any second.

  Half the men who answer to me have longtime girlfriends or wives and children. Those with families live in quiet, isolated suburbs, becoming husbands and fathers when they walk through their front doors and transforming into cartel soldiers once they cross back over the threshold. It’s exactly the kind of life I don’t want. Having a family means making myself vulnerable. Keeping a woman close means having a pressure point that my enemies can toy with anytime they want. I learned that lesson the hard way as a boy, and it’s one I’ve never forgotten. Casual arrangements with women who give me what I need before going off to live their own lives works for me. With a single phone call, I can have the woman of my choice on my doorstep within an hour.

  I’m so tired that even the thought of getting my dick wet does nothing for me.

  Running a hand over the stubble on my jaw, I push open my bedroom door and start undressing. All the things weighing on my mind can wait until morning. I’m down to my briefs by the time I reach the bed, my eyes already growing unfocused. Mariana has left my customary sleeping pill on the nightstand, so I chase the tablet with half the glass of water sitting beside it. In recent years, sleepless nights became too frequent for me to keep my edge, so I had my personal doctor prescribe something to put me down for the night and keep me down until morning. The downside is that once the dreams start, I can’t pull myself away from them. It’s a double-edge sword, the ability to sleep through the night without waking. It means my demons follow me into the darkness of my mind, holding me captive until the sun rises.

  4

  Elena

  It takes a minute for me to realize where I am when I come back to consciousness. Blinking my blurry eyes, I stare at an intricately carved white ceiling, framed by massive bedposts reaching several feet above me. Sheer white fabric cascades down each post and bright, stinging sunlight filters through them, giving the room a hazy glow. Or maybe the glow is a side-effect of whatever I was drugged with. I’m still incredibly drowsy and my mouth is as dry as stale bread. My limbs feel heavy and disconnected from my body, and every time I try to close my eyes the room starts to spin.

  I raise a hand to my face, finding my skin clammy and cool. I groan at the pounding between my eyes.

  The sound of scuffling startles me, and I sit upright so fast that I grow dizzy and fall back onto the pillows. Swallowing past a wave of nausea, I search my peripheral vision for the source of the sound. A man stands at the side of the bed, looking down at me. He’s short, but with a jacked figure. His shoulders and chest are broad and his arms bulge at the sleeves of a white t-shirt. He’s wearing a pistol on his hip.

  There’s an empty chair against the wall behind him, so I assume he’s been here watching me sleep.

  Anxiety makes my hands shake as I cover myself with the comforter. For some reason, being alone with this stranger scares me far more than being in the presence of Diego Pérez. The cartel boss promised not to hurt me. This man—whoever he is—has made me no such promises.

  “Where … where am I?” I slur, my dry tongue making it difficult to form words.

  “Now that you’re awake, Mr. Pérez will want to see you.”

  I try again to sit up, taking it slow this time. “Wh-what … who …”

  “Mr. Pérez will answer all your questions,” he says, an impatient edge in his voice.

  Frowning, I watch the man go. The click of a lock rings through the room and I roll my eyes. “Just where do you think I’m going to go?”

  I fight the panic welling up from the pit of my stomach. Mixing with fear is anger and betrayal at my father’s actions last night. There I stood bargaining for his life, and he was all too happy to trade me to save his own ass. I let the anger swell until it smothers the worry over what will happen to me in the clutches of a notorious mafia boss. If I know my dad, he’s currently planning to leave the country without making Pérez and his outfit aware of his movements. He’ll never come up with half the money in time. Like the coward he is, he’ll leave me to my fate while he finds his own escape route.

  I’m on my own. I realized that last night—just before a needle was jabbed into my neck—but it’s become real now, on the first day of my captivity. Sitting around and waiting for Diego to execute me isn’t an option, but neither is going off half-cocked and doing something stupid.

  Running my fingers through my hair, I cringe at the smell of chlorine coming off me. I find an open door leading into a bathroom on my left. Relief propels me from the bed, and I stumble on unsteady legs onto white stone floors. The bathroom is small but luxurious, with a massive shower that has nozzles pointing from every direction. A claw-foot tub sits in one corner, with a thick
, white rug laid in front of it. I go to the double vanity and stare at myself in the mirror. The harsh lighting of the bathroom shows that I feel as shitty as I look. My hair is a tangled, frizzy mess and my skin is pale with a grayish tint. There are dark circles under my bloodshot eyes.

  With slow, careful movements, I turn on the tap and splash cold water on my face. The cold jolt makes me more alert. I then drink the water by the handful, slurping greedily from my palm and groaning at how good it feels going down my throat.

  Diego’s voice comes at me from the doorway and I snap to attention, swiping at my damp chin with the back of my hand. “I take it you slept well.”

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I yank my cover-up closed over my body. “I didn’t really have a choice, did I?”

  Diego leans against the doorframe, staring at me with those piercing, dark eyes of his. He’s immaculately dressed and groomed just as he was last night. Black slacks hug his hips and show off the power of muscled thighs. A white dress shirt is stretched tight across his shoulders, the top two buttons undone. Through the opening, I can see a light smattering of dark chest hair, and the sparkle of a gold necklace. My eyes fixate on the things I missed last night—the chiseled hardness of his face, the way his five o’clock shadow frames a pair of shapely lips. I can make out black ink on his knuckles—letters spelling out different words on both hands, PRIDE on one and FAITH on the other.

  Damn it. Either I’m still high from being drugged, or this man is pushing every one of my buttons right now. If he hadn’t kidnapped me less than twelve hours ago, I would give in to the sudden and unwanted attraction that sparks at the sight of him. The man certainly has presence; I’ll give him that.

  “I’m sorry about the injection,” he says, actually sounding sincere. “But Jovan and I had to assure your compliance as well as your safety.”

  I scoff at that last bit. “How is sticking a needle in my neck keeping me safe?”

  He shrugs. “You seemed determined to fight, and might have hurt yourself in the process.”

  I grind my teeth at his gall. If given half the chance, I would have hurt him, not myself. I might not have won the battle, but I would have made him regret ever laying a hand on me.

  “So, what now?” I snap, leaning my hip against the vanity.

  “Now you’ll stay here, as agreed between me and your father.”

  “No one bothered to ask for my input.”

  Diego’s lips twitch as if he’s about to laugh, but the sound never comes. He doesn’t even crack a smile. “I’m sorry, gatita, but in my world this is how things work. It’s unfortunate that your father wasn’t up to the task of keeping you out of my grasp.”

  A shiver runs down my spine at the silken steel of his voice and the soft utterance of those words. He called me ‘kitten,’ and it’s as insulting as it is intriguing. “You would really kill me because of my father’s actions?”

  Diego straightens, slipping both hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Killing you doesn’t appeal to me, but I’m a man of my word. In the meantime, I want you to be comfortable here. This is one of the best guest rooms in the house and I’ll do my best to accommodate reasonable requests.”

  “Would you consider a knife to plunge into your eye ‘reasonable?’” I ask, rolling my eyes.

  I was only half joking, but Diego gets that look on his face again—as if he wants to laugh. “Absolutely not. Come into the bedroom and sit down. We have things to discuss.”

  He doesn’t even wait for me to move, going back into the room with confidence in his stride as if he knows without second thought that I will obey him. The asshole.

  It occurs to me to rebel, maybe lock him out of the bathroom. But my legs are shaky and I’m still weak. Reminding myself of my plan to be docile until the time is right for escape, I trail Diego into the bedroom.

  He’s in the chair vacated by his lackey, and he gestures for me to sit on the bed. I hesitate for a second, not sure I’m comfortable being in what feels like such a vulnerable situation. I’m half-naked and exposed, while he’s sitting there looking like the king of the castle. Slipping back onto the bed makes me feel like some kind of supplicant—a possession to be commanded at his whim.

  I don’t like how that makes me feel.

  I sit on top of the blankets and fight the urge to tug at my cover-up. Showing weakness—even by letting him see how uncomfortable I am—is the last thing I want. Giving Diego a pointed look, I wait for him to lay down his rules. Rules I intend to break at the first opportunity.

  “Don’t you want to know where you are?” he asks, raising a dark eyebrow.

  I shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He makes a low, humming sound in his throat, and it almost sounds like a laugh. Almost. “It does, actually. Understanding where you are is part of accepting your situation. This is one of my properties on Indian Creek Island. Are you familiar with it?”

  My heart sinks as I realize he was right. It does matter that I’m on an island removed from the city, in a place that’s locked down like a fortress.

  When I don’t answer, Diego goes on. “There are about twenty houses on the island, and only a single road—one way in, one way out. We have a private police patrol here, and every one of the officers is on my payroll. The entire island is secure, including the waterfront. If you try to run and happen to make it off my property—which is highly unlikely to begin with—you won’t get far. You’ll only piss me off, and you should know that’s the worst sin you can commit.”

  I raise my chin, unable to resist this tiny act of rebellion. “You gave your word not to hurt me.”

  “I did. At least, not in any permanent or scarring way. There are other ways I could punish you, Elena.”

  His voice drops when he issues that threat, growing huskier. His timbre slides down my spine in a cold shiver.

  “Now,” he says, lightening his tone. “In a little while my maid, Mariana, will bring your breakfast. She’ll provide you with a change of clothes and the toiletries you’ll need to freshen up. Any requests you have will come through me. You’ll be provided with more clothes, three meals a day, and any entertainment that doesn’t involve an Internet connection. The door will remain locked at all times, and my security team will take shifts guarding this hallway. If they catch even a hint of trouble out of you, there will be repercussions.”

  “You mean repercussions worse than locking me in this room and keeping me from communicating with my friends and family?”

  “Your father can tell your family whatever he likes about where you are. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “And what about my work? I have a business to run and employees who will wonder what’s going on when I don’t show up today.”

  Diego frowns as if he hadn’t considered this. “Give me the name and address of your boutique. I’ll send one of my men to inform your staff you’re going out of town for a while.”

  Horror washes over me at the idea of Diego’s thugs going anywhere near my boutique. The last thing I want is to endanger my livelihood or the safety of the people who work for me. “I don’t think so. They’ll get suspicious if they hear from anyone but me. If you let me make just one phone call—”

  “No.”

  I heave a frustrated sigh. “A text message then, or an email. You have to let me contact someone, somehow.”

  “I don’t have to do anything.”

  Throwing my hands up, I let out a laugh of disbelief. “Then prepare to find the cops on your doorstep in the next couple of days. My people aren’t going to just ignore that I’ve gone missing without contacting anyone.”

  “The police,” he says slowly, eyes glimmering with humor. “That’s cute.”

  Of course he isn’t intimidated by threats of the police. If he can buy a small squad of private island security, he can certainly pay off Miami PD.

  “Please,” I beg, not too proud to change tactics. If threats don’t work, pleading might. “I built my business from the grou
nd up. The people who work for me … I need them to take care of the place until I’m free again.”

  Diego studies me in silence, considering what I’ve said. After a while, he gives a small nod. “Fine. I’ll let you send a message to one person … after you’ve proven you can abide by my rules.”

  It isn’t exactly what I wanted to hear, but it’s enough. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be back this evening. If I’m pleased with your behavior, you may send a text using my phone.”

  He stands and leaves the room without a look back. The lock clicks before his footsteps fade down the hall. Leaning against the headboard, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. The panic is starting up again, but I have to fight it. I calm myself down by running through the steps of my missions for the day—shower, fresh clothes, food, and maybe a little yoga if I’m up for it later. Rest. Tonight, I’ll send out my message.

  Tomorrow, I find a way out of here.

  5

  Diego

  “A toast … to our partnership, and the eventual alliance between two families.”

  I raise my bourbon and clink it against the glass presented to me from across the table. My brunch companion prefers vodka—but then, his family name is synonymous with the finest that money can buy. Yezhov Vodka is only one of several businesses and shell corporations owned by the man sitting across from me—most of them shelters for money laundering, or cover-ups for hacking and illegal online gambling rings. If there’s a single cartel who can claim to equal the Pérez Family in power and wealth, it would be the Yezhov Bratva. It feels odd, at thirty-two years old, to sit across from a man who occupies the same position of power that I do. Oleg Yezhov—the pakhan of his bratva family—is now the age my father would be if he were still alive. His prestige was earned after decades of scheming, plotting, and ruthless violence. What does it say about me that at my age, I’ve climbed as many rungs on the ladder as this old-world boss in a pin-striped suit and hair turned white? Was this what my parents wanted for me? To be as hardened and jaded as a man twice my age—so cold and heartless that I’d stoop to kidnapping a woman for thirty days, only to prolong the inevitability that I will have to kill her.