Model for the Mob (Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance)

He’s going to ride away and die on some mafia business and then what… what the heck happens to me? Will his men keep me around? Will they even believe me when I tell them what we shared?

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” I say, holding back a sob of pure emotion.

But then the sob breaks through and tears sting my eyes. I’ve never fallen so fast, so fully before, like a switch has been flicked inside of me, turning on aspects of me I never dreamed of.

“It means the union bosses are stirring up trouble. I have to go, Lucy. It could mean deaths if I don’t. Innocent deaths. I started a war for you.”

Another sob threatens to crack and more tears slid down my cheeks.

“No.” He kisses my cheek, catching the sadness. “It had to happen. Nothing could’ve stopped me from claiming you.”

“Please be safe.”

I grip his face, holding his cheeks.

I bring my face close to his and stare firmly into his eyes, and wonder if this is what it means to be a Mafioso’s woman. I have to be strong. I have to inspire ferocity in my man.

“Come back to me, Luca.”

“Always.”

He crushes his lips against mine and I sigh in pleasure, and then there’s another knock-knock-knock.

“Soon,” Luca whispers, climbing from the bed and turning for the door.

Chapter Seven

Luca

Big Bobby slams his hand on the table, causing his cigar to throw hazy orange dust all over his money.

He’s a big man with a big belly and a massive bushy white beard. He was a leader before my old man passed, and he’ll be a leader for a long time coming.

He’s never disagreed with me before.

“Our families are in danger.” He sucks on his cigar and blows a big cloud of smoke. “My guys can’t risk that.”

I sit back with my hands in my lap, looking over the dock. The water glistens in the rising sun and the huge machines move shipping containers from one pile to the other.

Nobody can search all those containers. That’s how the family operates.

But the docks don’t mean shit without the union.

“So we wouldn’t know the shipping schedules,” Aldo snaps, struggling to get his words out without shivering in anger. “We wouldn’t control strikes. We wouldn’t control the fucking manifest. Do you have any idea what you’re doing if you cut us out, Robert?”

“Is that a threat?” Bobby yells, waving his hand.

“We wouldn’t do that,” Aldo hisses. “Hurting civilians is for cowards. And it brings too many problems. The cops look the other way if a two-bit motherfucker in a cheap Italian suit gets dropped. But you kill a kid, a wife, a girlfriend… you’re fucked.”

“So what?” Bobby snaps. “It’ll be easier to catch their killers? They’ll still be dead.”

He wheels on me, waving his cigar in my face. Ash spits across at me, falling just short. Aldo moves to intervene – nobody disrespects me – but I raise a hand, stopping him.

“What do you think, Luca? You’re fucking quiet over there.”

“I think we need to take control of these docks.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Bobby grunts. “You think I prefer working with Franco? But he’s got a reputation.”

“I know.” I nod. “And it’s well-earned. But I’ve got a reputation too, Bobby. Don’t forget that.”

Bobby nods rapidly, a glint of fear flickering in his eyes. He masks it a moment later, but I see it.

“I know, Luca. Hell. You know me. I worked with your old man. I’m a Lioni man through and through.”

“Good.”

I lean forward and lay my forearms on the table, staring hard at him. He needs to know how seriously I’m taking this. This bullshit interrupted the closeness with my queen, her willing lips pouting up at me, her persuadable virgin eyes screaming to be seduced.

“Because you’re going to help me send him a very fucking clear message.”

Big Bobby swallows, scratching at his beard. “Of course, Luca. Whatever you need.”

“I’m not sure about this,” Bobby whispers from beside me, his voice hoarse with cigar smoke. “If they start shooting…”

“Nobody is going to start shooting,” I tell him. “And not because they’re polite motherfuckers. I train my men well, Bobby. We run like the military when we need to. There are a lot of companies that train people how to fight like soldiers. I should know.”

“You own them,” Bobby says, with a passing smile. “I remember when you were a little kid doing jumps on your bike, Luca.”

I let myself smirk, seeing as it’s just the two of us in the car. “I always jumped the highest.”

“Yes you did,” the old man says. “Your father would’ve been proud of you.”

I look across from where we’re parked.

We’re inside a shipping container on the very edge of the docks, near a disused warehouse. My men are hiding within the warehouse, crouched down behind walls, rifles trained from the roof.