Owned by the Italian Mafia Don: A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Possessive Mafia Kings Book 2)
Owned by the Italian Mafia Don: Chapter 4

I came to Amor to tell Bianchi that I hadn’t heard anything in the small amount of time that had gone by since I had seen him. I wanted him to know I was taking this seriously when I wasn’t. I wasn’t going to waste my energy unless this gem fell into my lap, but it’s good to keep enemies close and all that other bullshit.

“I appreciate you coming to tell me.” He glances at his watch. “I have to go. I have a drop I need to be at. Enjoy the club tonight. On me, Mr. Milazzo. I appreciate your alliance with me.”

“Glad I can help,” I lie, lifting my glass of scotch as he and his guards leave me alone.

My interest is peaked in this gem. I want to see what the fuss is about. I want to know why he wants it so badly. A man of Bianchi’s status should be able to get gems at a snap of a finger. Black market gems, the kind that are forbidden to have, are the best to own and for some reason, he is fixated on this one.

Why?

I am going to replace out, even if it means playing friends with my own worst enemy.

“Another drink, Sir?” the waitress asks, holding a tray full of empty glasses.

She’s wearing nothing but nipple pasties and a thong. Any other day, I might be interested, but my mind is focused on too many other things to be interested in sex.

“Please,” I tell her, handing her my glass. “Make it a double.” It’s been a day.

One of the businesses that had an agreement to pay in monthly installments for the loan they borrowed tried to ghost us today.

Unfortunately, it didn’t end well for them and now I’m a proud business owner.

Again.

When will people realize they can’t fuck me over? I always replace a way to get what is mine, no matter the cost to others.

The door opens and the woman who enters has me leaning forward. She’s beautiful. Her curls bounce with every step she takes. She assesses her surroundings, and something tells me she isn’t here for a good time. It’s how she’s presenting herself. If she isn’t careful, this place will eat her alive because men like us feed off curious, questionable, and all too eager people.

It’s our job.

And she just became prey.

I’m all too curious about her though and I replace myself watching her from the darkened corner. She turns around, brows drawn as her eyes skirt across the room trying to replace the source of her discomfort.

Can she really feel my gaze from over here?

“Here you are, Mr. Milazzo.” The waitress hands me my drink and even as she saunters away, her hips swaying back and forth more than necessary, showcasing her round ass, my attention still isn’t on her but on the mess of curls sitting at the bar.

It’s dark in here and only the strobes of light give me glimpses when the purple hues land on her. I can’t see her eye color from here, but I can see the elegant curve of her jaw and the fake pout on her lips as she tries to play one of the Bianchi men.

She’s really bad at this and I’m amused.

Even with my lighthearted nature, when I love to tease and joke, being genuinely amused takes effort these days.

“Oh, Tesoro,” I say to myself while I watch her. “What are you up to?” She tosses her head back and laughs at something. I know it’s a fake laugh, something she’s forcing herself to do. I want to hear the real thing. I want to know if her curls bounce as real, stomach-aching chuckles grip her.

I appreciate her bravery. Perhaps that’s why I’m so intrigued by her. She waltzed in here as if she owned the place but it’s clear she has no idea what she’s doing. When she stands, the light hits her just right and I’m able to see the smile fade from her face, the actress vanishing, and the unamused, annoyed expression takes over.

Taking a sip of my scotch, she stares into the corner where I’m sitting and I know she can’t see me, but my fingers grip the glass in my hand the longer our eyes are connected. Bianchi’s brother places his hand on her lower back, and I have to take a larger swallow of my drink to wash down my envy.

I want to grip those curls while I lift that tight dress to her hips and fuck her wildly on any surface she’d allow. My cock stirs at the thought. I’ve always had a thing for daring brunettes and, right now, she’s checking every single one of my boxes.

The fake smile is back and as they walk down the hall, I stand, tossing a large tip on the table. I’m going to take a stroll, that’s all. I keep to myself, my drink in hand, mastering the pissed-off look I’m sporting right now so no one talks to me.

When I get to the other side of the room, I catch a glimpse of a door shutting, and I wait a few minutes, throwing a hundred-dollar bill on the stage as the dancer begins to strip. I’m not interested. My focus is on the woman behind the door.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Milazzo?” my waitress replaces me, a bright smile on her face, but her eyes are dilated. She is high.

“No, thank you.” I tuck one hand in my pockets while I lean against the wall, finishing off my scotch. “I’m done for the night.”

“Hope to see you again.” She stumbles away in her too-high heels but giggles when a man catches her, and she falls into his lap.

I take a step into the darkened hallway, then another, leaning just outside the door when I hear the pop of gunshots. No one else can hear them. The music is too loud. I try the door handle, but it’s locked.

“It’s always fucking locked, isn’t it?” I mumble to myself, thinking of all the movies I’ve seen where the door has to be broken down. “I’m a cliché,” I grumble, shoving my shoulder into the door, once, twice, and it finally gives.

I see her standing over a dead body, a bloody knife in her hand, and she’s completely dazed. Her entire body is trembling, and her breathing is fast, reminding me of someone having a panic attack.

“Oh, what a mess you’ve made, Tesoro.” I close what is left of the door and stand in front of it.

She spins around, holding the bloody knife in front of her. Her bright blue eyes are round with fear and tears stream down her face.

“Woah. I’m innocent. I’m not going to hurt you,” I state calmly and as softly as I can muster. I take a step forward, but she swings the knife in front of her.

“Don’t come any closer.” Her voice breaks, absolute terror, hanging on her words.

I lift my brows, replaceing her comical. While afraid, she has fire in her eyes that makes them burn a brighter blue, more vivid and eccentric than I’ve ever seen. Her lips are pink and full. Her face, while delicate, is round.

She’s stunning even when she’s quivering in fear, and I have to replace a way to make her mine. After the conversation I’ve had with my brothers today, which is another reason why I’m here to drown out my sorrows, I’ve been reminded of an obligation I have to the throne.

Just like Carmine did ten years ago.

It’s been so many fucking years. Why can’t they let this tradition go? Carmine was adamant when we spoke on the phone. Many things can change, but this rule cannot. It shows power.

As if I need more of that.

“I’m going to assume you have a little less than five minutes to decide what you want to do before your life is over,” I tell her, the reality crashing slowly down on her. Her big blue eyes water and the hand holding the knife is still quaking.

While brave, she shows her humanity.

Killing someone, taking a life, isn’t easy; but to do it more than once, it does get easier. I’m assuming this man deserved it, not that it makes it right in anyone’s eyes.

Except mine.

I believe you have to do what you need to in order to survive and make it in this world or it will kill you first.

Taking another step forward, my Tesoro slashes the knife in the air, still fighting for her life.

“You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name? I only want to help you. That’s it.”

“I’m not telling you anything about me,” she spits. “You’re with them. You’re probably one of them. One of the people who want to hurt my—” She stops speaking, rolling her pouty pink lips together that I want to ruin.

The urge to pin her against the wall, force her to drop the knife from her hand, and kiss her over the dead body still bleeding on the floor is intense.

“I promise, I won’t hurt you,” I try to reassure her but I know it isn’t going to work. She’s too nervous, too high-strung from the situation.

She tries to stab me instead of swiping it in the air; she lunges. I move out of the way with grace, dodging her poor attempt to hurt me. She stumbles in her heels, and I catch her, holding her in a tight grip against me. Her entire body is lined with mine, her skin hot to the touch, sweaty from fighting and killing.

“Let me go.”

“As soon as you promise not to attack me, Tesoro.”

“That’s not my name,” she seethes, trying to wiggle out of my grasp.

I keep a hand locked around her wrist so the hand holding the knife can’t get any ideas. It’s still dripping with the other man’s blood. We don’t have much time before someone comes in here, and if Bianchi catches one of his men dead by her hand, she won’t see tomorrow morning.

“Stop fighting me,” I warn, squeezing her tighter.

My Tesoro stomps on my foot, elbows me in the gut, then kicks me in the fucking balls. “Fuck,” I groan, holding my hands over my cock while leaning against the wall.

Damn it, I think I’m in love with this woman. She’s fire and I want to douse her in kerosene to watch her explode into the wild blaze she deserves to be.

I somehow point my gun at her, through the pain and haze of my balls aching from her kick. “I’m trying to help you,” I say. “But kick my balls again and I’ll put a bullet between your pretty eyes.”

She holds up the gem, the one Bianchi wants, and I freeze. “Go ahead. It will keep the ones I love safe if you kill me now and the gem goes back to Bianchi. It’s the perfect setup.” She bends down and places the gem on the dead man’s back. “Go ahead,” she urges me, readying herself to die.

I’m not going to kill her. I’m too intrigued by her. I want to know more. Who is she protecting and how can I help?

“Leave the gem there and I’ll tell Bianchi his guy had it the entire time. I’ll make up a story he’ll believe.”

She snorts, shaking her head as she wipes the knife on her black dress.

She ruined the gorgeous clothing. I’ll have to buy her a new one. “Who the hell are you to convince Bianchi?”

I realize then she has no idea who I am, and I’d rather keep it that way. “I’m one of the higher-ups,” I lie, slowly tucking away my gun to show her I’m not going to kill her. “Leave the gem. I’ll take the rest from here.”

She doesn’t believe me and quicker than I can blink, she throws the knife and it lands right in my left shoulder to the hilt.

“Damn it!”

She runs out of the emergency exit in the room, and I groan when I pull the knife free, noticing the stone is gone and I’m left to explain the dead body.

Fucking perfect. I’m going to replace that woman.

And I’m going to make an offer she can’t refuse.