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

by Victoria Vale

  Turns out I don’t have to worry my footsteps will alert the whole house. The man I injured is screaming into the intercom behind me. Just as I reach the stairs, an alarm starts blaring, piercing through my eardrum like a knife.

  I take the stairs two at a time to the second floor. Various male voices echo off the walls, and the cadence of running feet spurs me faster. Clearing the second floor without being apprehended, I let out a little huff of surprise. The foyer is in my sights now, the front doors so close I can almost taste the free and open air.

  A dark form appears from out of nowhere, blocking my path. Skidding to a stop, I raise the pistol and level it at Diego. He’s dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a white t-shirt, his arm tattoos on full display. His menacing glare pins me to the spot, one hand coming up as if to will me not to shoot him.

  Others appear from the two hallways feeding into the foyer, and I hear more pounding down the stairs behind me. All other escape routes are blocked, and now my only way out is through Diego. Since I don’t stand a chance of that without the help of a weapon, I use a shaky, unsteady thumb to cock the hammer of my stolen pistol. I’ve never fired a gun before and this one is a man’s weapon—big and heavy, and awkward in my hand. But it’s all I have, so I grit my teeth and lay my finger on the trigger.

  “Move,” I snap, never taking my gaze from his.

  “Elena,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly and filled with threats of violence. “Lower the gun.”

  A tear rolls down my cheek as I see my one—and probably final—chance at escape slipping away. “I will shoot you, you son of a bitch. Do you understand? I will pull this trigger!”

  You could hear a pin drop and the tension is thick in the air, as if Diego’s are men are holding their breaths waiting for him to let them tear me to shreds.

  Diego remains calm, but there’s an undertow of malice under the surface. He isn’t the least bit afraid, but he’s furious, staring me down like a predator sighting its prey.

  “I’m in control of your life, Elena,” he reminds me. “Once I’m gone, there’s no one here to say whether you should be allowed to live. You will have killed the head of an entire cartel, and I can promise every last one of them is going to want you dead for it. If I die, you die.”

  “I’m going to die anyway! If I can’t change that, I’d rather go down fighting!”

  Diego gives me a sad look, almost as if he pities me. “You can’t win, so put the gun down. There’s no use making this harder than it has to be.”

  Fuck that. If I have to die, I’m going to make this as difficult for him as I can. Diego realizes I’m about to pull the trigger, his eyes widening and his nostrils flaring. The violent kick of the gun is more than I expected, jerking my wrist upward and sending a rattling pain down my arm. I stumble backward, but before I can fall onto my ass, a hand grips my wrist and wrenches me upward. Diego’s furious face fills my vision, the gun firing again as he yanks me toward him.

  Diego curses in Spanish as he twists my wrist, forcing me to release the gun with a sharp cry. It clatters to the floor, and he spins me and twists my arm behind my back before sharply wrenching it up. My eyes water, the agony of it forcing me to my knees. Keeping tight hold of me, Diego crouches to pick up the gun. He then forces me to my feet and propels me toward the stairs. His men part like the Red Sea to let us pass, their solemn eyes boring into me. Jovan stands halfway up, a pistol in one hand. He gives me a pitying look before averting his eyes, and that tells me everything I need to know.

  I won’t live to see the sunrise.

  When we reach the second floor, Marcella appears from the shadows wearing a short silk robe over a matching nightgown. She must have seen the entire thing. It’s written all over her face as she throws herself in our direction, pleading hands held out.

  “Diego, don’t,” she begs. “You know you’ll regret this!”

  “She almost shot me!” Diego roars, pushing me ahead of him. “Get out of the way, Marcella! Go back to bed.”

  She stands firm, forcing us to stop. “No. I’m not a little kid anymore, and I know exactly who and what you are. If you want to kill her, do it right here where I can see.”

  “Goddamn it, Marcie!”

  “No!” she screams, face reddening and eyes filling with tears. “You won’t hide this from me like you do everything else. Kill her where I can see. Shoot this innocent woman in front of me!”

  Jovan comes into view, rounding me and Diego and reaching for Marcella. “Come on, Marcie. You need to go back to bed.”

  Marcella struggles against Jovan as he lifts her off her feet and moves her aside. Diego shoves me past them, ignoring Marcella’s screaming as we move farther down the hall.

  “You fucking coward! You pussy! Fucking face me!”

  Diego stops abruptly in front of a door, the nose of the pistol jabbing at my spine. “Open it.”

  I obey without thinking, my instincts shifting to self-preservation. There doesn’t seem to be any way out of this, but I won’t stop trying to find one.

  We enter what I assume is Diego’s bedroom. It’s decorated in stark black and white with gold embellishments. A massive fireplace takes up one wall, but it looks like it’s never been lit. A large bed sits in the middle of the room on a platform, and expensive-looking furniture in a modern design takes up the rest of the space. It smells like him in here—spicy and masculine, with a hint of cigar smoke.

  I back away from Diego while he slams the door and turns a key in the lock before shoving it into his pocket. Then, he charges toward me like a bull, huffing and raising the gun. I choke down a scream of terror, shaking from head to toe when he stops within inches of me. I can see down the barrel of the pistol, feel the murderous rage radiating off Diego.

  “I should blow your fucking brains out,” he growls. “You and your shit-head father have turned out to be far more trouble than you’re worth.”

  One of his words jump out at me, and I latch on to it with hope. “You should kill me? Does that mean you’re not going to?”

  Diego grabs hold of my shoulder. His fingers dig into the muscle as he pulls me toward him, pressing the gun under my jaw. “I’m sorely tempted. Aguilar left town, which means the chances of me recovering my money has just been reduced to none. At this point you’re just another mouth to feed and a pain in my ass.”

  I fight the impulse to struggle in his hold and blink blurry eyes. The tears are uncontrollable now, spilling down my cheeks and dropping onto my neck. “Please. If you just let me call him … I’m sure this is a misunderstanding. Let me talk to him, and I’ll get you the money.”

  Diego’s jaw tightens and his fingers flex around my shoulder. “And if you can’t get in touch with Daddy? What then?”

  I bite my lip and search for the answer … any answer that will keep me breathing for another minute, hour, or day. Despite risking my life to escape, I’m not ready to throw it away just yet. There are still so many things I haven’t experienced. So many years I had planned to fill with a happy future. This can’t be the end.

  “I’ll do anything,” I plead, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. “If you let me live, I’ll do whatever you want. Please, Diego.”

  Something sparks in his eyes, dark and primal. He inclines his head and studies me, using the pistol to push tangled hair back from my face. The cold steel strokes along my jaw, and a tendril of fear snakes through me … combined with something else. Something frightening.

  “Anything,” Diego murmurs, staring down at my mouth. “There’s a lot of room for interpretation there, gatita.”

  “I’m desperate,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to die for my father’s fuck-up.”

  His hand goes gentle, slipping up my neck. He lowers the gun and grips my jaw, forcing me to maintain his stare. “You don’t know what you’re agreeing to. For a man like me, ‘anything’ literally means … anything.”

  I gasp as the nose of the pistol slides along my thigh,
cold and menacing.

  “I’m a tough girl,” I say with more confidence than I feel. Inside I’m terrified and cowering. “I can handle anything you throw at me.”

  Diego flashes his teeth in a hard snarl. “If I agree to this, I won’t tolerate any more of your bullshit. I’m not fucking around here … if you give me grief or inconvenience me beyond my limits, I will end you. Do you understand?”

  I nod, the movement jerky and stiff.

  Diego wraps his fingers around my throat and narrows his eyes. “Speak.”

  “I … I understand.”

  He lets me go and steps back, shaking his head. “Not very convincing. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  His dismissive attitude sends humiliation washing through me and I bow my head, fingernails biting into my palms. It’s taking everything I have not to claw his eyes out.

  “Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it,” I whisper, revulsion filling my throat with bile.

  Diego backs toward a black leather chair and sits, the gun still in his hand. He rests it on his knee, raising an eyebrow.

  “Show me what a good, obedient girl you can be, gatita. Take off your clothes.”

  I flinch at the emotionless command, goosebumps breaking out over my skin. “What?”

  He grinds his teeth, flicking his gun in an impatient motion. “Show me you know how to do as you’re told, without giving me any of that lip. Strip. Now.”

  His eyes tell me I don’t have much time to comply before he changes his mind. I start moving as if someone else is controlling my body. I look at the corner of the room and pretend I’m somewhere else. Cool air caresses my belly as I start inching my shirt up with shaking hands. It’s followed by the heat of Diego’s stare as he trails the fabric upward. The yoga pants come next, and I let my hair fall over my face as I bend down to step out of them. I keep my eyes down once I straighten, left only in a sports bra and a pair of plain panties.

  “All of it,” Diego says, his voice low and husky. It whispers over me like stroking fingertips, making me shudder.

  I open my mouth to tell him he’s taken enough of my dignity, but his gun is still pointed at me, keeping the threat of death in the forefront of my mind. I push the panties down first, thinking it best to get the most invasive part over first. It only makes the shivers accelerate across my skin as I pull the bra over my head. My nipples harden when kissed by the open air, and I clench my thighs together on instinct.

  Some unseen force prompts me to lift my head, and I find Diego looking me over, his eyes taking a slow journey over every exposed bit of me. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see a vein pulsing in his temple. His hand on the gun slackens and the nose points down toward the floor.

  “Come closer,” he says, his gaze locked on the strip of dark hair running down my bikini area. The rest is waxed bare.

  Somehow, I manage to put one foot in front of the other. My body is being torn in several directions, embarrassment making me hot while anxiety makes me shiver. My nipples tingle and the abrasion of my thighs makes me pulse with every step.

  “Closer,” he prods. “And lift your head, gatita. Fuck, you’re stunning. Let me look at you.”

  My chin trembles as I meet his gaze. His eyes simmer like hot coals as he holds my gaze. My belly clenches and quivers, something else entangling with the fear deep inside me. No man has ever look at me like this—not even the ones who told me they loved me. This is something I’ve never seen up close. Desire, raw and visceral. Possessiveness, instant and powerful. He doesn’t have to say out loud that I am now his plaything, a toy he can amuse himself with or destroy as he sees fit. His eyes say it all.

  “Kneel.”

  I feel like I’ve been hypnotized or drugged, my limbs disconnected from my body. Somehow, I manage to get on my knees without collapsing or looking away. He’s testing me and I won’t fail. If Diego thinks he can scare me into taking back my offer, he has another thought coming.

  His lips curve on one side, and he reaches out to touch my chin. With the slightest motion, he’s urging me closer, until I’m between his parted legs. My eyes drop to the prominent bulge of his dick, hard and visible against the fabric of his sweats. The asshole is getting off on this. He’s hard at the sight of me, face wet with tears and naked, shamed at his feet.

  “Convince me to spare you,” he murmurs. “Beg for your life.”

  My throat burns with a string of profanities and my hands itch to slap him. But I have to play the long game here. This moment is about survival. I will do what I have to right now, and when the time is right, I’ll make Diego sorry he did this to me.

  “Please,” I whisper, letting a little whimper creep into my voice. Whatever it takes to make this believable. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t fight you, just … please don’t kill me.”

  Diego leans back, eying me thoughtfully. I avoid his gaze, studying the tattoos that were previously hidden by his clothes. One inner forearm is marked with a large cross, a crown of thorns hanging from one of the beams. The tattoo isn’t in color, but the drops of blood falling from the crown to pool underneath the cross are unmistakable. The other forearm has a pair of praying hands with a rosary hanging from them, and a Latin prayer scrawled in cursive beneath it. The rest of his art disappears beneath his short sleeves—Latin words and rose vines laced with thorns, drops of blood here and there.

  “You belong to me now,” Diego says suddenly, bringing my gaze back up to his face. “Let me be clear about what that means. You do what I say, when I say it, and without resistance. You will go out of your way to please me and obey. When you are a naughty girl, I will punish you. And if you ever try to harm me or anyone else in this house again, I’ll kill you. Are we clear?”

  “Yes,” I snarl, my teeth aching from how hard I’m clenching them.

  “Good. Now get in bed.”

  I’m halfway into my panties before I register what he says. “I’m sleeping in here … with you?”

  Diego stands, leaving the gun on the chair to approach me. He grins, and this time he really looks amused. He tweaks the tip of my nose with his finger and chuckles.

  “That mouth of yours, gatita … it’s going to get you into so much trouble with me. But, I think I’m going to enjoy punishing you for it.”

  I snap my teeth at his finger, which he pulls back with another laugh.

  “Careful,” he warns in a teasing tone. “I’m giving you until morning to come to terms with this arrangement. I expect you to smother any thoughts of rebellion you might have by breakfast tomorrow. Now, get your ass in the bed. I’m a light sleeper and there are guns hidden all over this room. I will hear you if you try to leave this bed.”

  Left with no other choice, I pull on my clothes, not bothering with the bra. I hesitate for only a few seconds before climbing into bed, seeing it for the trap it is. Diego seems determined to control my every move now, which means I’ll have less freedom of movement than I did in that cell of a room upstairs.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  After Diego gets in next to me, he swallows a handful of pills with some water before pressing a remote on the nightstand to kill the lights. I lay beside him and breathe. My every muscle is stiff, but my mind is racing as I wait for him to touch me, or force me to commit some sexual act. Why else strip me down and emphasize that he can do whatever he wants to me?

  To my surprise, Diego doesn’t move a muscle. Within half an hour, his breathing deepens and slows, and I can tell he’s asleep.

  I lay awake for another hour, wondering how the hell I’m going to get out of this hole I’ve dug for myself.

  12

  Elena

  The first two days of my new place as Diego’s minion pass in a blur. My routine doesn’t change much from what it was in my isolated room. I’m delivered my three meals each day, eating most of them alone. Marcella visited twice to join me, seeming relieved to find me alive and mostly
unscathed. I spend the rest of my time in solitude until Diego returns to his bedroom each night. He stays away until past midnight, always looking fatigued and strained when he walks through the door. We take turns using the shower, then get into bed. Every night, I wait for Diego to do something that will make me hate him more than I already do. It never happens. He always falls asleep once his cocktail of pills kicks in, turning his back and not moving until morning.

  That offers me no reassurance. The look in his eyes when he watched me undress spoke volumes, and I know he intends to take advantage of our deal.

  Will I refuse when the time comes? My first reaction to the thought is outright, vehement denial. Absolutely not. The man kidnapped me and will probably consider killing me every day for the foreseeable future. The idea of letting him fuck me is repulsive.

  Except, a voice in the back of my mind says otherwise. I can’t pretend not to find him attractive with those swarthy good looks, that deep voice, and the body art. I guess it’s true what they say about girls being attracted to bad boys, even when they know it’s no good for them. Letting him use my body might work in my favor. If I give him what he wants, he might lower his guard and allow me more freedom. He might loosen the reins just enough for me to slip away, for good this time.

  I tell myself it’ll never work. The way Marcella talked about her brother led me to believe he uses women like disposable toys. I won’t let myself think he wants me bad enough to soften, not even a little bit.

  My meticulous search of Diego’s bedroom turned up no avenues of escape. There’s no technology in a suite he seems to only use for sleeping and grooming. No phones or laptops, not even a TV. There are two guards on the door every day, which surprisingly remains unlocked. Apparently, Diego doesn’t think I’d be stupid enough to try fighting my way out again.

  The morning after that disaster, I was snatched out of sleep by loud pounding. Going to the window, I discovered a crew of men standing on ladders, hammering massive boards over it.