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

by Victoria Vale

  It was him.

  “Ethan!”

  He paused and looked up, a slow grin spreading across his beautiful features. I hurried across the street, trying not to appear too terribly obvious.

  Just play it cool. You can do this.

  “Hey,” he greeted as I approached.

  “Hey,” I repeated like a freaking parrot. This was going to be harder than I thought. “So, um… I feel like I owe you for what happened back there. What do you say? Want to grab a cup of coffee sometime?”

  Ethan’s sexy grin widened, although he didn’t answer right away. The grin was a good sign, despite the fact his hesitation made my insides twist with apprehension. I was practically bouncing on my toes waiting for him to answer. After what felt like forever, but was probably more like three seconds, he responded.

  “Okay, I’ll go for coffee, but only on one condition.”

  “What’s the condition?” My brow furrowed in confusion.

  “I get to call you Gia.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Ethan

  I watched her walk back into Teddy’s Tavern, carefully balancing the door with her delicate little hand so it didn’t slam closed. She tossed me a quick smile before disappearing inside, giving me one last look at her perfectly shaped ass when she turned.

  Her body was tight and compact, like my very own Scarlett Johansson. Their likeness was uncanny; she could easily pass as the actress’s double. Still, I couldn’t help but notice no panty lines were visible through Gianna’s black pants. I wondered if she was wearing a thong. Or maybe she wasn’t wearing underwear at all. I hoped it was the latter.

  Then again, maybe I didn’t want that.

  I chewed my lower lip as I started the car and pulled away from the curb. I wondered if Scarlett Johansson went completely without. As soon as the idea popped into my mind, I chuckled. How stupid of me? Of course a refined beauty like her would choose a thong over nothing at all. A woman who went commando would definitely classify as sexually immoral, sinning against her own body.

  And it was dirty.

  Did I want my girl to be dirty?

  No.

  Hopefully, Gianna had class like Scarlett. I thought she did, but I’d need to make sure. If she didn’t, I could adjust to the changes if needed. Intelligent men like me adapted. Hadn’t I proved as much tonight? My original plan had been to stage a run-in with my girl. It would have been brilliant and romantic—a love at first sight sort of thing.

  But love was hard work and it was never predictable.

  So, when a different opportunity presented itself, I took advantage. Casually mentioning the pretty bartender who worked at Teddy’s to the drunk loitering outside of the music festival had been all too easy. He took the bait—and the fifty-dollar bill I slipped him—allowing me to become her knight in shining armor. And the rest, as they say, was history.

  Or at least it will be.

  A few minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of a run-down apartment building in Avondale. I grabbed the duffle bag I’d hidden away under a flannel blanket in the backseat and climbed out of the car. I grimaced as the smell of urine from the nearby alley assaulted my nose. The area, in general, was the definition of urban decay. With the rising crime rate and deteriorating housing, the absentee landlords neglected their properties, and tenants often abused the buildings. I scowled at the surrounding rot.

  Why would anyone actually choose to live here?

  The only reason I rented this particular flat was so I could have a safe place to stash my earnings. It was cheap, and it worked. I never planned to spend any amount of time there. I much preferred the pristine and orderly space of my inherited condo over on West 4th Street.

  Then I wandered into Teddy’s Tavern two years and seventeen days ago. From that moment on, everything changed—that’s when I saw my girl for the first time.

  In an instant, I knew I could love her. We were meant to be together. She didn’t have to smile or be polite as I sat at a table all alone that day at Teddy’s. Sure, she may have acted like I was any other customer as she jotted down my order for a bowl of baked potato soup and a craft beer, but it was obvious we were experiencing our first date.

  She knew it.

  I knew it.

  I remembered the special day as if it had happened only yesterday. A nearby customer had spent a small fortune on eighties tunes at the jukebox. I hadn’t minded because Sade was piping through the speakers.

  And it was our song—mine and my girls.

  And that was me.

  I was a smooth operator.

  We’d been so close, I could have reached out and touched her, but had refrained. It wasn’t the right time, even if I knew the truth. She couldn’t hide it from me. I could see it in her eyes.

  She wanted me as much as I wanted her.

  What we had right from our very first moment together was real. True. Authentic.

  She changed my life.

  She was the reason I didn’t find an alternate, less putrid location for what had come to be the home for my most sacred belongings. Instead, I continued to renew the lease every six months to stay close to my girl—my Gia—at all times.

  “My Gia,” I whispered as I inserted the key into the doorknob of the flat. She was different from the others. She was special. After more than two years of watching, learning, and biding my time, I had finally moved to ‘friend’ zone. If all went as planned, it wouldn’t be long before she was officially mine.

  All mine.

  No more fucking my mattress. No more watching her through a telephoto lens. She would be with me always.

  I flipped on the overhead light and closed the door behind me. Pausing at the small table next to the door, I looked down upon the statue of the Virgin Mother, surrounded by seven unlit votive candles inside little red glass jars. Pride, greed, wrath, envy, lust, gluttony, and sloth were artfully etched into the glass of each jar. A framed photo of my own mother sat beside the Virgin, their presence here giving life to an otherwise lifeless room.

  “Hello, Mother.” I lit the candle that represented lust, then leaned down to kiss my mother’s portrait. “I had a very interesting day today. I can’t wait to tell you all about it.”

  I smiled when I thought about how pleased she would be to hear my news, then stepped away from the table. Walking passed the threadbare couch and large fish tank that covered the far wall, I headed to the kitchen pantry. Opening the door, I slid open the fake wooden wall hidden behind a few boxes of dried pasta to reveal a combination lock safe. I spun the dial until the cams aligned and I could open the latch. Removing the duffel bag from my shoulder, I unzipped it and removed my take from the day’s bust.

  The department seized fifty-two thousand in cash and sixty-eight pounds of cocaine in a raid today—or at least that’s what they bragged about to the local newspapers. Little did they know, I skimmed fifteen grand and a brick off the top.

  I didn’t sniff the stuff personally—drugs clouded the mind, and intoxication led to sin. However, the street value for one brick was over thirty thousand. I never knew when I might need a bunch of cash in a pinch, and I just happened to have the connections to move it.

  Did that make me a dirty cop? I didn’t think so. As far as I was concerned, it was my right. If the other cops in my unit didn’t think to do the same, that was their loss. We put our lives in jeopardy every day because of the scum who roamed the street—and the paychecks we received to do it were a joke. For me, it was a matter of survival, whereas the dealers and the traffickers were driven by greed. It was the deadliest of all cardinal sins but I had faith in Him. He would not let them go unpunished if they didn’t repent.

  “Be assured, an evil person will not go unpunished, but the offspring of the righteous will be delivered,” I recited, having committed Proverbs 11:21 to memory years ago while still under my mother’s teachings in the White Room.

  After the cash and plastic-wrapped brick were placed neatly inside, I locked the
safe and put everything back to the way it had been. Walking to the corkboard hanging on the wall above the rickety kitchen table, I smiled and pulled a pin from one of the pictures I’d placed there a few months back. It was one of my favorite pictures of Gianna and I didn’t even have to use the zoom on my Nikon D850. I’d caught this one with my cell phone.

  The sun and slight breeze had caught her blonde hair just right. When she raised a hand to push a wisp of it from her forehead, a shadow cast in a such a way that she appeared to have a halo. That was the moment I’d captured the photo. Who knew the iPhone camera could be so good?

  She had been heading to work fifteen minutes before the start of her shift. I recalled thinking she’d be getting to work much too early, but that was just her way—always punctual and hard working.

  I scowled. She was too good for a place like Teddy’s Tavern and all the drunks who harassed her every night. The asshole who bothered her tonight should be thanking his lucky stars. It didn’t matter if I’d set him up to do it, he’d gone too far.

  I should have killed him for what he did to my girl.

  I sighed and shook my head, knowing I’d have to repent for even thinking about going against one of His most important teachings, “Thou shall not kill.”

  Be steadfast. It won’t be long now.

  She’d officially be my girl soon enough, and I would no longer have to bear the burden of coveting what wasn’t mine. When that happened, she wouldn’t have to work at Teddy’s anymore. I would take care of her. She would be all mine, and my sins shall be forgiven.

  I pinned the picture back on the corkboard alongside the rest. My gaze scanned the many images of her covering the board. I knew every single one of them by heart. She was so beautiful and she didn’t even know it, but it wasn’t because she was insecure.

  No, not my girl.

  She didn’t know it because she was unassuming. She was even beautiful when she was sad, as she had been when her mother died. Others didn’t see it, but I did. She looked so tired in the pictures taken during that time. The sparkle in her eyes had been absent.

  I raised a hand to one of the sadder pictures and ran a finger over the outline of her cheek. The skies above her were gloomy as she stood over her mother’s grave. I knew how upset she had been. I’d read about it on her Instagram account—long, descriptive captions underneath picture after picture of my girl with her mother. It was a tragedy, really.

  “I wish I could have helped you then but I will soon. You won’t have to worry about those medical bills for much longer. I’ll take care of everything. I know it’s hard, but you’ll see. I’ve been in your shoes. Your mother’s death was for the best.” I paused and glanced at the picture of my mother before looking back to Gianna’s image. “Mothers complicate things and I don’t want any complications for us.”

  Cancer was a horrific disease but I understood He worked in mysterious ways. Everything happened for a reason. My mother was gone as well. To me, the death of Gianna’s mother only strengthened the connection between me and my girl. We were both motherless souls, too old to be young and had nobody to love us as we once did. It was another a sign of how she and I were meant to be together—a sign she was meant to be my girl.

  I glanced down at my watch and noted the time.

  My girl would be returning home soon.

  Killing the lights, I walked to the folding chair near the window, picking up my Nikon and a pair of binoculars. Then I waited as I had that morning.

  Gianna always left the blinds for the balcony door open, giving me the ability to see most of her apartment. I didn’t like that. It made me nervous. I mean, didn’t she watch the news? Anybody could have climbed the fire escape up four stories and snatched her. Still, her lack of precautions worked to my benefit, so I didn’t want to complain. It’s how I’d come to know her routine so well.

  She started her day with yoga and granola. While many people strived to be better, most took the cheater way out.

  But not my girl.

  She took care of herself, which was more than I could say for the vast majority of the delusional, over-medicated, take-a-pill-to-fix-my-problems people of America. My girl only took vitamin C when she felt the onset of a head cold. As far as I was concerned, that didn’t count as medication since its effectiveness was only a myth, anyway.

  After she finished with my favorite yoga stretch, the downward dog, she’d sit on the tan sofa and read a book. A bit of time would pass, her body cooling down from the yoga routine, and I’d see her nipples pebble beneath her tank top right before she’d cover herself with the pink-and-yellow afghan her mother knitted for her when she was just a child. She never read on a Kindle. No, my girl refused to cheapen literary brilliance by reading on an electronic device. She read paperbacks like smart people—but none of those trashy Harlequin things. Classics were much more preferable like The Catcher in the Rye or The Great Gatsby.

  The stereo would go on after about an hour of reading time. Her taste in music left much to be desired, but we would fix that once we were officially a couple. In time, my girl would come to appreciate the works of Johannes Brahms and Ludwig van Beethoven. I just needed to show her the way.

  After she picked a song, she’d disappear into the bathroom. That was the only time I couldn’t see her. As much as it annoyed me, I realized using my imagination was probably for the best. My mother used to say, “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free, my boy?”

  She was right—just as she almost always was—but the mere thought of my girl showering and rubbing soapy hands over naked breasts made my dick twitch. I would need to be punished for lusting, but at that moment, that was of little concern. I unzipped my pants at the exact moment the lights for Gianna’s fourth-floor apartment across the street came on.

  She was right on time.

  “Gianna Valentini,” I said in a hushed tone, her name rolling off my tongue like a damn poem. “Now, let’s solve the mystery of whether you’re wearing panties, shall we? Are you or are you not a dirty girl?”

  Raising the binoculars, I watched as she launched into her nightly routine. It always began with the removal of her shoes, and tonight was no different. After placing them neatly by the door, my girl placed her hands on the small of her back and gave in to a good stretch. When she bent over to rub her toes, I knew her feet were aching after working a long shift. Even though she loved wearing those useless, non-athletic sneakers, I wished she would wear shoes with more support.

  She walked through the family room into her bedroom. I watched her through the open bedroom door as she unbuttoned her black trousers and let them fall to the floor. Pulling her shirt over her head, she dropped it on the floor as well. I never liked to see her display such sloth. However, this time, I couldn’t help but smile when I saw the strappy lines of a red thong wrapping around her hips.

  “I knew you weren’t a dirty girl, Gia,” I murmured, pleased to see she was, in fact, wearing underwear. Scarlett Johansson would be proud. “I guess I can forgive you just this once for leaving your clothes on the floor. Besides, I know you’ll pick them up later.”

  I began to stroke myself, anticipating what I knew would come next. She would disappear into the bathroom, then reappear wearing pink shorts and a tank top. If it was winter, she’d be wearing purple flannel pants with the same tank top.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t winter.

  Pajama shorts hugging my girls’ hips was always a treat—especially when she sat on the couch with her legs bent and ankles crossed as she watched reruns of Friends. What did kids call that sitting position nowadays? Apparently, it was no longer PC to say someone was sitting Indian style. All I knew was, whenever my girl sat that way, I was able to justify the cost of the Nikon. Just as I predicted, she went into the bathroom and reemerged a few minutes later, wearing my favorite little pink shorts.

  “That’s it, Gia. Now sit down on the couch. Go ahead and bite the sparkly polish off your fingernails. Yes, it’s a gross
habit, but we can work on that later as long as you cross your legs just the way I like. Go on now…”

  Through the binoculars, I watched as she picked up the television remote. The pinky finger on her left hand went to her mouth while the thumb on her right hand pressed down on the remote-control buttons. She channel surfed for what seemed like eons.

  Click, click, click.

  “I don’t know why you bother, Gia. Let’s get real. We both know Ross & Rachel always win.”

  After a few minutes of futile searching, Friends appeared on the television. I was right again. I saw her smile, and I smiled, too. I knew she was probably giggling that adorable little giggle over something Chandler had said. I knew her so well, it was almost scary.

  Pulling her knees up, she let them fall to the side and crossed her ankles. The shorts naturally parted to the side, giving me a small peek at naked lips and light brown curls.

  “Criss-cross applesauce! That’s what it is!” It was a stupid fucking name, but I didn’t dwell on it, too busy wondering how loud my girl would scream when she orgasmed for me for the first time. Picking up the Nikon, I zoomed in on the area between her legs. “Good girl. Stay sitting just like that.”

  I snapped a few pictures, then went back to using the binoculars. Leaning back in the chair, I squeezed my cock tighter and imagined it was my girl’s mouth, sucking me dry.

  CONTINUE READING

  FORBIDDEN LOVE

  A Black Rose Collection Novel

  by Elizabeth Knox

  PROLOGUE

  “My heart is so tired.”