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Bought By The Italian Mafia
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An Alpha Older Man, Younger Curvy Woman Italian Mafia Lite Romance
You don’t get to where I am in the Italian mafia without knowing exactly what you want…and taking it by any means necessary.
The first moment I see her, I devise a plan so her degenerate dad will fall into debt with me, so I can get his daughter to fall head over heels in love with this older man.
But when things go sideways I’m forced to buy her at auction, her father thinking I’m doing him a favor…that I’m bringing this younger woman home.
I’m bringing her home all right…my home. It’s the first time I’ve ever bought a woman, but she’s not “a woman”, she’s my woman…and you can’t put a price on what’s priceless. Her.
Now that she’s mine I’m going to claim every last one of her curves. Her innocence, and everything about her belongs to me now…forever.
*Bought By The Italian Mafia is a short, standalone romance with an HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.
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“Stop!” I command, and the distraught father who thought he could show up at the front gate of an Italian mafia boss’s home unannounced, without getting a bullet to the head before being tied to cinder blocks and thrown over the side of an unmarked boat into the Hudson River on a foggy night, finally stops running his frantic mouth.
“Now,” I say calmly. “Take your right hand, the same one you use to swear on the bible like a good Roman Catholic…the hand that means something, and put it between your legs.”
“Take my hand and…?”
“Do exactly what I just told you if you want to have even the slightest chance of ever seeing a sunrise again.”
With a completely confused look on his face he wisely does what he’s told.
“Good. Now grab and squeeze and tell me what you feel.”
He opens his mouth to protest and a smirk immediately covers my face, reminding him that his life hangs in the balance for showing up here at my home tonight, and he will do exactly what he’s told or I’ll tell my men to dispose of him before the top of the hour…if I don’t do it myself for wasting my fucking time and acting like a complete limp-wristed bitch.
“Balls,” he says, almost as if he’s not entirely sure of himself. That certainly makes two of us when it comes to questions regarding his anatomy.
“Good. So they’re still there…somehow. Now, take a deep breath, quit acting like a little bitch, and tell me your inconsequential problem in under ten seconds or I’m going to plant my fist so hard against the side of your face that I swear to god your jaw will be wired shut for six months, if you even wake up from the coma that I guaran-fucking-tee I’ll put you in.”
“They took Taylor and she’s about to be auctioned off. They’re selling her body, her virginity…my little angel’s innocence, to the highest bigger.”
I extend my hand forward and up into the air, my wrist peeking out from underneath the sleeve of my crisp white Zegna dress shirt and the custom made Brioni suit which rests atop it, before slowly bringing my elbow back and looking at the silver second hand sweep across the black face of my Panerai Luminor 1950 Tourbillon. There’s nothing that impresses me more in this world than the beauty of Italian design.
Except one thing, and this estrogen-filled excuse of a man has it.
I know because I’ve been watching his daughter, the object of my obsession, since I ran across her picture online after graduating near the top of her class at the high school not far from where I live.
“Who the fuck is Taylor, and why do I give a shit?” I play along, feigning ignorance.
“My daughter. She’s only eighteen and…I got in over my head with the wrong guys.”
“What guys and what happened?”
“I own a construction company and we specialize in luxury homes,” he says, his hands shaking as he knows the clock is ticking until his daughter’s childlike exuberance and innocence is absolutely shattered by a vicious beast like me. What he doesn’t know is that that beast was always going to be me. I set up the trap and like a fool, he walked right into my blazing inferno.
“What does that have to do with your daughter?” I continue playing along, but this little fuck surprises me with his callous arrogance and his cunning double-dipping backstabbing ways, although I should have seen it coming from a weasel like him.
“I overextended my line of credit and they took her. They took my girl and now they plan on selling her.”
“Who took her?”
“The…mafia,” he says, whispering the last word as if there’s someone other than the two of us standing here, three including my gate guard five feet away with his thick fingers wrapped around the grip of his Beretta, and soon to be this guy’s throat if he doesn’t just say what he wants to say like a man, and quit wasting my time…not that I need any extra muscle when it comes to demolishing this guy with the posture of a slug. I could crush this worm with my bare hands without so much as my heartbeat raising a single beat per minute.
“I don’t know anything about the mafia,” I lie out of necessity. For all I know this guy could be working with the feds, despite the fact that his body language and the fear that permeates every part of his body is completely congruent with his words.
“The Lucchese family.” And that is the double cross that I didn’t think he was capable of or foolish enough to even consider attempting.
Everyone knows who the Lucchese are, especially me. They’ve been a thorn in my side for years, trying to slide into my line of business for years despite the agreement that they do their thing and I do mine…exclusively.