Model for the Mob (Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance)

“I’ve never betrayed the family,” he says.

“I understand. But Franco is unhinged. Have you heard what he’s trying to start in the slums?”

“That landlord stuff?”

I cough out a grim laugh. “Ottavio, if my biggest problem was Franco running some housing scam, I wouldn’t give a damn about any of this. No, he’s trying to get girls hooked on drugs and turn them into hookers. He hasn’t told you about this?”

Ottavio peers closely at me, as though trying to tell if I’m lying. I stare blankly back. I don’t have to bluff or convince him of anything, because I’m telling the complete truth.

“Shit,” Ottavio whispers. “That’s fucked up.”

“How many men would follow you?”

I appreciate the way he pauses and does some mental calculations. If I asked Franco a question like that, he’d immediately roar that all his men would follow him. It’s the way it goes with fake tough guys, with drink-addled bastards who presume to mock the future mother of my children.

“Half,” he says, nodding. “At least half, yes.”

“Then we will take those men and secure the docks. I will handle the families of the Union workers. We’ll split the rest of the assets between us. You’ll become a boss like you probably should’ve been all along. And we’ll deal with Franco.”

“Kill him?”

I nod. “If it comes to that. Or make him take a long, long holiday somewhere secure, with sedatives to calm the fucker down if he starts acting tough.”

“Prison? You’d send him to prison?”

“Yes, I would.”

He nods, taking this information onboard calmly. And then he laughs, bitter and low. “Why do I feel like I haven’t got much choice?”

I glance around the small room. A dusty office, disused for a long time. It’s just us. Our men are waiting outside… well, my men are waiting. His men are tied up and gagged and blindfolded, anticipating their fate.

“There’s always a choice. You’ll become my prisoner. If you’re telling the truth and Franco doesn’t care about your life, there’ll be no use keeping you.”

“So you’ll kill me.”

“Or get you locked up. Yes. Those are your choices. But it doesn’t have to be so fucking grim. You hate Franco. I saw that at the fashion show. You don’t want murders and rape and drugs and all the nastiness he brings.”

“No,” he whispers fiercely. “I don’t. I’ve never wanted that.”

“Then help me clean the city up,” I tell him.

He reaches into his shirt and pulls out a cross, wrapping his fist around it and muttering a few words in Italian. I lean back while he prays, fighting down a glimmer of anger… the anger is a hot tight ball, but I keep it buried. It’s been throbbing and swelling each time I think about my woman all alone at my estate.

I hope Aunt Maria is there now, keeping her company.

Ottavio opens his eyes and stares firmly at me, with the sort of steady conviction I respect in a fighting man.

“I will do it, Luca. I will join you. I will help you get rid of Franco.”

I stand and offer him my hand. He does the same, and we shake on it.

“Good,” I say, letting a smirk touch my lips. “Because I really didn’t want to kill you, Ottavio. My father always had good things to say about you.”

“He was a good man,” Ottavio says.

“Now let’s discuss logistics.”

“Wait.” Ottavio tilts his head at me. “Don’t you want proof that I’m going to be loyal to you?”

“I don’t need it. I trust my judgment.” I laugh dryly. “And I trust the recording device planted under this table.”

Ottavio smiles tightly. “Which proves that I have betrayed Franco, and which you will show him if I stray.”

I shrug, smirking wider. People think it’s all about brawn, but they’re wrong.

“Don’t be so paranoid, Ottavio. We’ve got business to take care of.”

Chapter Ten

Lucy

I lie in bed, curled into a contented ball with my face turned toward the wide tall sunny windows. My body is tired after all the commotion last night – and then the closeness with Luca – and finally with the morning and afternoon I spent with Maria.

After breakfast, we took Toto for a long walk around the grounds, letting him sprint through the park and leap bravely into the large pond, seemingly unaware that he’s a tiny little dog.

“He thinks he’s a giant,” Maria said, giggling as he clambered up onto the shore and came running over. “Don’t you, you silly little man? You think you’re a big scary Doberman.”

The walk was amazing, setting alight parts of me I daren’t indulge.

I can’t let myself think about how we’re already building the perfect family unit… complete with an aunt and a cute dog.

Can I?

My eyelids drift closed and the sunlight glows warmly against them, enclosing me into a world of red. I sink deeper into the sheets, stunned at the heavy exhaustion draping itself over my body.