Model for the Mob (Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance)

“Franco may target you,” Vito said. “Please.”

Confusion whelmed in me at the polite tone he used, even deferent, his head bowed and his voice imploring. It was like he was forgetting he’s a mafia guy and I’m just an orphan who works in a rundown diner in a bad part of town, an orphan who is late on her rent and has no family and few friends to look out for her…

Heck, not few friends. I don’t have any real friends.

So they could’ve taken me without anybody causing a fuss. I’m sure the vulture in charge of the models would’ve gladly helped them. But instead, they were asking.

I went with them.

And I’ve spent every moment since I got here wondering if I’ve made the worst mistake of my life.

The room is plush and luxurious, with thick rugs and a tall ceiling. The bed is king size and a four poster, the sheets silk. The ensuite has a marble bathtub and a brick sauna and a steam room. Clean comfortable clothes were waiting for me on the bed, a simple T-shirt and some jogging bottoms. They’re a little baggy, but at least it’s better than the clown suit they dressed me up in.

I’ve already wiped off that ridiculous makeup.

The room is nice, but it’s still a prison.

The door is locked. And even if the door was open, I wouldn’t be able to get out of here. The estate is guarded and the walls are high.

It’s a fortress.

I wring my hands and let out a sigh, my body feeling weighted down, like any second I could collapse onto the bed and let my heavy eyelids fall closed. But I can’t do that.

I barely fell into a fitful sleep last night, and that was interrupted over and over by jagged spikes of fear moving through me. I jolted away, clawing at the sheets, confused by the tangled breathing that filled the air before I realized it was me.

I was the girl who sounded like she was about to have a panic attack.

I flinch when somebody pounds heavily on the door.

“Yes?” I call.

“It’s me. It’s Luca.”

It’s me, he said first, his instinct, like we’re friends.

But we don’t know each other.

My stomach swirls with confusing emotion, my mind dancing over the way his silhouette seemed to bulge in the semi-darkness. His voice was an animal’s growl when he forced Franco to apologize.

Something deep inside of me throbs as his gruff voice bounces around my head, my sex doing strange things, tingling and shivering as though this man isn’t my captor.

But he saved you, a voice screams from a deep place inside. He’ll always save you.

I push down the nonsensical thoughts. We don’t know each other.

“Lucy?” he growls.

“I’m here,” I call, my voice trembling. “How do you know my name?”

“Vito told me. I’m coming in.”

I almost tell him not to. As crazy as it is, part of me wants to fix my hair, free it from the clumsy bun I’ve tied it into. Strands have come loose and they spiral around my forehead. I can feel them whispering against my skin.

Part of me wants to feel sexy for him, this man I’ve never met, this six and a half foot tall giant who probably started a freaking mafia war over me.

Why, Luca? Why the heck did you do that?

The door opens and Luca strides in.

I stare at him, my mouth falling open, even as I feel like an idiot for the gesture.

In the morning sunlight that shafts through the tall wide windows, he makes my heart pound crazily, up my throat, closing it so I feel like I can barely breathe.

His silver hair shines in the sun. His large body looks huge in the steel-colored suit, and he wears an enigmatic smirk on his clean shaven face. His dark brown eyes, almost black, intense and dreamy and possessive and angry all at once.

He closes the door behind him. The click of the lock sends a shiver through me.

Why does he want us to be alone?

I have to scream at the sensations rioting through me, the misplaced lust quivering across my sex and into my belly. My skin breaks out in goosebumps and a tingle strokes up my spine, making me want to shiver it away, but somehow I remain still.

Except for my hands.

I can’t stop squeezing and pressing and fidgeting.

He strides across the room, bringing his musky scent with him, cologne and manliness mixed together.

He’d never be interested in me. He’d laugh if I told him about the confusing feelings rushing through me and captivate me with more and more certainty with each step he takes.

“Why did you come to my defense at the function hall?” I murmur, when he pauses, glaring down as though he’s furious for making him defend me. “I don’t know you. You don’t know me.”