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

by Victoria Vale

  “Now I have to make sure you know what you’d be getting yourself into,” he rasps, lips pressed to my ear. His breath tickles the sensitive skin of my neck, making me jerk and shudder against him. He bares his teeth and drags them along my shoulder, then gives me a stinging bite. “I’m not a gentle man, gatita. When I take you to bed, it won’t be to give you sweet kisses and make tender love. It will be to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. I’ll take your mouth until you choke on my cock. I’ll fuck this pussy until you beg me to stop.”

  I stiffen when he slips a hand between my legs, his middle finger sliding along my slit. He makes a low, growling sound when he finds me wet, and his finger lightly presses my clit, making me see stars.

  “When I’m done, I’ll turn you over and fuck your sexy little ass,” he says, catching and holding my gaze in the mirror. “I already own every inch of you, but I would take everything else. I’d spank you until your ass is red and throbbing, bind you so you can’t move while I lick you until you come … clamp your nipples and shove a plug up your ass to get you ready for me. I’ll use you every way I can think of, then I’ll invent new ones. I’ll tear you apart, gatita.”

  I slump against him, his threats and the slow circle of his finger over my clit drugging me into submission. I want to be afraid, regretful for thinking I could seduce Diego. I’m the one being seduced, and the threats he’s making don’t scare me. They make me pulse and ache, my pussy getting wetter as he tells me the filthy things he wants to do to me.

  I’ve been frustrated in the past by men who treat me like a piece of glass, who ask me what I want instead of taking charge and giving me what I really need. Diego’s words aren’t idle warnings—they’re promises of pleasure and pain that make my body sing, and he’s barely touched me.

  Diego pushes his erection against my ass, the thick rod pressing into my crack. He’s still stroking me, playing with me, pushing me closer to the edge.

  He watches me in the mirror, satisfaction and cocky arrogance coloring his features. “You’re close, aren’t you, Elena? You’re so fucking wet. I can feel you … I can smell you.”

  Embarrassed heat flushes me to the roots of my hair, and I let out a soft moan. I am close … so close I’m breathless with it, arching and straining into his hand.

  “Yes,” I croak, shaking and stiffening as I feel an orgasm building. “Oh, God.”

  Diego smiles—really smiles—for the first time since I met him, and snatches his hand from between my legs. The building spasms in my core vanish, and I’m left with fluttering pangs that make me double over and clutch the vanity.

  He grabs my hair and wrenches me back up, his smile wiped away. He glowers at me through the mirror, cruelty and dominance rolling off him in tangible waves.

  “I won’t tell you again. I’m in control here, gatita, not you. I decide when you can have my cock, and I decide when you get to come.”

  He lets me go, and I nearly drop to my knees. Diego stands back and says nothing as I run from the bathroom, shaken and turned inside out. Rifling through my meager clothes, I find pajamas and throw them on. Then, I dive into bed and try to steady my breathing.

  By the time Diego comes to bed, I’ve quieted myself enough that I can fake sleep. I feel the bed dip when he climbs in beside me. In the quiet darkness, I wait with bated breath for him to fall asleep.

  I lay there for what feels like hours, listening to Diego toss and turn. The pills don’t seem to be working, and I can hear him huffing and sighing in frustration.

  I’ve nearly nodded off when he leaves the bed, cursing under his breath. My eyes flare open, and I listen to him pad to the bathroom, clicking the light on.

  Heart in my throat, I turn over so I can see what he’s doing. He didn’t bother to close the door, probably thinking I fell asleep hours ago. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of pajama pants and staring at himself in the mirror. In the light of the bathroom, I can finally make out his back tattoos. It’s a battle scene of angels versus demons, flames rising up to engulf them from below, and beams of light shining from above. The Virgin Mary looms over it all, holding an infant Jesus in her arms as one tear rolls down her cheek. It’s a beautiful piece, and I can’t imagine how much time it took, how painful it must have been. It makes me curious over the depths of the man beneath the outward shell. His tattoos hint at a deep belief in Catholicism, but he obviously isn’t deeply religious. That would be in direct contradiction with his lifestyle of crime and dark deeds.

  My attention diverts from the body art when I realize he’s not just standing there anymore. He’s hunched over, his pants pushed down to reveal his incredible ass. In the mirror I can see he’s using one hand to pump his cock and the other to fondle his balls. Soft pants slip through his lips, and then a low groan. I’m frozen to the spot and unable to look away, hypnotized by the sight of him pleasuring himself. He starts slow but eventually increases his rhythm, until he’s jerking his cock with a furrowed brow and parted lips.

  Biting my lip, I let my hand slip along my belly, over the smooth silk of my camisole. Past the waistband of my shorts, I let my fingers tease downward. I’m wet, hot, and needy, my clit throbbing at the slightest touch. Shame tries to intrude on the moment, but I push it aside. That asshole got me all worked up and then left me hanging. He believes he can control when I get to come.

  I don’t think so.

  I pinch my lips around sounds of pleasure as I rub myself toward climax, watching Diego fuck his hand. He looks different when he thinks no one can see him—tortured and vulnerable, the mask slipping just enough for me to see the truth.

  Diego isn’t the one in control here. I know he’s thinking of me while jerking off, remembering how he had me naked with his cock pressed against my ass. I know he’s imagining fucking me from behind, pulling my hair and sinking his teeth into my neck.

  I’m imagining those things too, but in my mind Diego isn’t fucking me, I’m fucking him—pushing my hips back into each of his thrusts and driving him wild, making him want me enough to give me anything I want.

  I throw my head back and come with a shudder, realizing I wasn’t the one who lost the battle tonight. The defeated Diego comes when I do, doubling over and muttering ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ under his breath as he comes in the bowl of the sink.

  Feeling steadier and calmer, I roll back to my side and listen while he cleans himself up and comes back to bed. I fall asleep feeling like I’m on top of the world.

  Diego Pérez might be the most powerful man in this house, in Miami, in Florida, and maybe even the entire southeast coast … but he’s just met his match.

  16

  Diego

  “Oleg isn’t buying it.”

  Jaime’s face is grim as he looks up at me, turning away from his computer screens. Bracing a hand against the back of his chair, I lean in as if being closer will help me understand the jumble of Russian coming through the speaker.

  Despite his status as one of my most useful men, Jaime asks for very little in the way of perks. Jovan’s suite on the second floor takes up four rooms and a bathroom with a jacuzzi tub, and a space for ‘entertainment,’ complete with stripper pole and fully stocked bar. I don’t mind allowing luxuries for the man who has always had my back and has saved my life on more than one occasion. For his skill set, Jaime could have asked me for anything, and I would have paid it.

  Instead, all he wanted was this dark, soundproofed attic room attached to the smaller space where he sleeps. The place is a mess, but Jaime knows where everything is and even I’m not stupid enough to touch any of it. He once broke someone’s hand for tilting one of his monitors.

  “What are they saying?” I ask, my Russian nowhere near good enough to make out fluent sentences.

  Spying on a potential ally isn’t usually my style, but I have to know how effective mine and Elena’s performance was.

  Jaime narrows his eyes and listens before translating. “Oleg says you suddenly being in a serious rela
tionship is suspicious. Galina agrees with him. Apparently, Nataly cried after we left. She’s devastated.”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head. “She doesn’t even know me.”

  “You know that doesn’t matter,” Jaime reminds me. “Her entire life has been built around this. If it wasn’t you, she’d be crying over some other suitor.”

  I hold one hand up as the rapid-fire Russian continues over the line. I recognize the voices of Oleg, Galina, and … maybe Viktor? I haven’t spent enough time around the Yezhov sons to be able to distinguish their voices.

  “What are they saying now?” I ask during a lull in the conversation.

  “Viktor says Oleg is being ridiculous, suspecting you. He says if he’d met a woman like Elena, he would make her his without hesitation.”

  My knuckles crack when I clench my fist, and heat creeps up my neck and face. “What else?”

  “Galina agrees with him,” Jaime replies. “She says it isn’t uncommon for young people to fall in love on first sight. Oleg still isn’t happy. He thinks you haven’t given Nataly a fair chance and … your feelings for Elena aren’t deep enough to be concerning. He says you’ll grow bored of her eventually, and when you do, Nataly will be ready to step in and seal the deal.”

  I pace away from Jaime’s workstation and back again, wrestling with irritation at Oleg and rage at Viktor for the way he spoke about Elena. It doesn’t matter that me and Elena’s relationship is only a ruse; I’ve never taken well to someone else sniffing around what’s mine.

  “They’re buying the relationship itself, at least,” I murmur, thinking out loud. “They just need to be convinced it isn’t a fling.”

  Jaime makes a sound low in his throat, drawing my attention back to him. He’s watching me with wary eyes. We aren’t close like me and Jovan, but I can tell Jaime’s dying to say something.

  “What?” I snap.

  Jaime shrugs and turns back to his computers. His fingers click rhythmically over the keys as Oleg and his family continue talking. “It’s nothing. The last time I suggested it, you bit my head off.”

  I grit my teeth and contemplate revisiting that idea. “For fuck’s sake, I already told you, I’m not marrying Nataly!”

  Jamie’s shoulders shake with laughter, but he doesn’t turn around. “Didn’t say anything about the Yezhov girl, jefe.”

  The words to tear him a new asshole are on the tip of my tongue, but I choke on them once I realize what Jaime means. “Elena? You think I should marry Elena?”

  For some reason, that makes me angrier than the thought of marrying Nataly. To have to spend the rest of my life being driven insane by that hellcat … no, it’s out of the question. I’m barely hanging on to my sanity as it is. After her stunt in the bathroom, I’ve started thinking about moving her to another room. It would mean a more aggressive security detail, but it would also allow me to breathe again.

  That night, I tiptoed into the bathroom and jacked off like a horny teenager—something I haven’t had to do since I discovered how easy it was to have whatever woman I wanted. Elena showing me every bare inch of her sinful body nearly snapped what was left of my control.

  It isn’t that I don’t intend to fuck her. What I want is to have Elena on my own terms; not because she seduced me into thinking with the head between my legs instead of the one between my ears.

  Jaime swivels his chair to face me and rocks back, hands folded behind his head. “The way I see it, you won’t let her go anytime soon. She can serve an actual purpose beyond pissing off Oleg and putting the merger at risk. You know how old-school Oleg is. If you commit to a marriage, he’ll see it as a true sign that you’re in love. He won’t have a choice in the matter; the alliance will go forward without Nataly’s involvement.”

  It makes so much sense, but I refuse to admit that to Jaime. My teeth are in danger of shattering from how hard I’m clenching them, and my vision is hazy with anger. Jaime’s expensive equipment is in serious danger of being smashed to bits.

  “And just what the fuck am I supposed to do with a wife I don’t want after the wedding?”

  Jaime grins. “Hell if I know. What you do with your own wife will be none of anyone’s business.”

  I clench and open my fists while staring Jaime down, wondering if he’ll fight back if I hit him. A good fight might help me clear my head just now.

  But violence against my own men has never been my way—not for those who are loyal, anyway. My mother taught me to rule with fear, but I prefer to save that for my enemies.

  “Keep listening and tell me if you hear anything important,” I bark on my way out.

  Slamming Jaime’s door, I make my way to the stairs. My head is spinning and my thoughts firing in a dozen different directions. Apparently, the forces controlling my life seem determined to push me toward the altar. The question of whether I’ll let myself be forced in either direction settles in my mind. It isn’t as easy to shrug off as I would have thought.

  The more I think about it, the more I realize I didn’t actually mistake Jaime’s words the first time. On some level I understood that ‘just marry the bitch’ referred to Elena and not Nataly. It’s why I spared her life and why I’m now keeping her close. I don’t want to admit it, even to myself, but if push comes to shove, I won’t be able to bring myself to kill her. It has nothing to do with her innocence in the face of her father’s bonehead decisions.

  It has more to do with my aversion to snuffing out that spark in Elena, the elemental thing that makes me want to throttle her and fuck her at the same time. The thing that makes me think I could be content keeping her around indefinitely.

  If my place in the cartel requires me to marry someone, then my current captive is the best option. It would be more of a business arrangement than anything else—a sacrifice Elena owes me in lieu of the punishment due for her father’s sins. She will be allowed to live, and in return she’ll act as a shield against the designs of men like Oleg, who think my youth and eligibility make me the perfect pawn in their games.

  By the time I reach my office, my thoughts are reeling with plans and ideas. This has to be orchestrated perfectly, where Oleg can see and have no doubt. It must be believable, and it needs to happen fast.

  I jerk off my tie and loosen my top button before snatching up my phone and dialing Jovan. “Get your ass to my office. Now.”

  My skin breaks out in a cold sweat as I let myself come to terms with what my life will be now. Elena won’t make this easy, but in time I imagine we’ll find our way toward some kind of normal life. As normal as a life can be for a mob boss and his wife.

  There can’t be children. It’s one point I won’t budge on. Whatever the ‘new normal’ will be I, it won’t include the cycle of death and rage and pain that colored my childhood years. There will be no kids who can be used to bring me to my knees, no son to mold in my own image. No laughter or smiles in a violent world.

  It will work. It has to work. This pact with the Yezhovs is about more than strength in numbers, or the use of their dark net contacts. It’s now about making sure one of my most reliable friends doesn’t become an enemy. If our relationship sours over this, the Russians will be added to the list of people who want my blood, including the Armenians. The influence of the Yezhov family will bring others to their side, and the Irish are particularly ripe for the picking. I can’t afford Oleg as an enemy, but I can’t bring myself to choose Nataly, either. Convincing him I’m too in love to settle for an arranged marriage is the only way.

  I close my eyes and take a few deep, slow breaths. The dizziness subsides and I find myself feeling cooler and more levelheaded. Solidifying the idea of Elena as my wife mentally makes it real, and surprisingly doesn’t make me sick to my stomach—which is how I feel when she’s replaced in my mind with Nataly.

  I hope it counts as a sign that I won’t come to regret this decision.

  17

  Elena

  The next few weeks of are filled with outings and e
vents designed to parade me in front of Oleg. A few days after that first dinner, Diego returns the favor by hosting the Yezhovs at his own house. It seemed easier to perform while under a familiar roof—my own territory so to speak. Becoming comfortable here pushes me toward accepting that my imprisonment might be permanent—something I refuse to believe. A convenient avenue of escape hasn’t opened up yet, but I’m always watching and waiting for the right time.

  Meanwhile, I play my role without complaint or resistance. Things are tenser than ever between me and Diego after the night I came on to him. I catch him staring at me sometimes with a pensive look in his eyes, and I can’t figure out what he’s thinking. Other times I feel heat radiating off him—palpable lust that makes my insides go hot. Occasionally I feel something else … something itchy and uncomfortable that feels a lot like flattery. The fact that my captor can’t seem to take his eyes off me shouldn’t make me feel desirable and powerful, but it does.

  After the dinner parties, there’s an evening at the theater with Oleg, Galina, Nataly and Viktor. Oleg’s eldest son stares at me just like Diego does, but Viktor’s perusal leaves me feeling uncomfortable and exposed. Diego notices but doesn’t say anything, choosing to show his displeasure with scowls and narrowed eyes.

  A few days later find us at the Indian Creek Country Club for brunch with Galina and Oleg. We were told Nataly wasn’t feeling well, but it’s obvious the Yezhovs are starting to get the message. After brunch, the men took to the golf course, leaving Galina and I to talk. The woman’s icy demeanor slowly melts as we discuss our common interest in fashion and art. By the end of the afternoon, we’re both a little tipsy off mimosas and making plans for a private fitting at my boutique for herself and her daughters.