Coveted: An Alpha Male Romance

Jessica Watkins Presents

Coveted

NAOMI WYATT

Copyright © by Naomi Wyatt. Publisher: Jessica Watkins Presents. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be printed online, in a newspaper, or magazine.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be assumed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Prologue

Yanna E. Hill

♪
And this is our story from beginning to end

Baby, listen, you'll see how we became lovers

Turn it up, you'll hear how we became friend
s
♪

A dreamy smile swam across my face as our song played and he held me in his arms. Roc had held me many, many times through the years that we’d been together, and although every moment in his arms was more loving than the last, I had to admit that nothing –
absolutely nothing
– was better than this.

While we swayed back and forth, all I could focus on was the way that his smell captivated me as he hummed the words of our song. It was hypnotizing and unnerving. Erotic chills played a game of tag down my spine, and I had to fight the urge to turn such a loving and angelic moment into the porno that his smell evoked in my mind.

Suddenly, I was snatched from my naughty thoughts when I felt his big, strong hand on the back of my neck, summoning me to look up into his emerald eyes. The moment I did, those eyes seemingly sparkled with love and lust, as the sun bore directly into them.

“Ti amo tanto.”

I smiled as my heart melted. Roc never spoke Italian and his attempt to further blow my already–scrambled mind with additional notions of his love further convinced me that submitting to him, wholly, so many years ago was the best mistake I’d made in my life.

He was my beautiful mistake.

“I love you too,” I whispered, as I lay my head on his chest and fell into the rhythmic sway of our dance. As my favorite song played, I was reminded of our love story. I sank so far into my thoughts. The sound of others eating, laughing, and silverware clanking faded away and all I could hear was his heart’s beat in my ear.

It mirrored mine…hard and fast, and told me one thing: He was happy too.

♪
Love is a part of our story

Hate is a part of our story

Making up, breaking up

It's all in here if you just turn it up

It's our history to a beat

And, girl, here is our story
…
♪

Chapter 1

Yanna E. Hill

Two months before that beautiful song, dance and sweet nothings, I was struggling to get into the home in Chicago that I shared with Roc.

An absurd amount of grocery bags were assisting in the struggle. Roc loved for me to cook a hefty dinner for him every night. Though he was out of town and I was off kitchen duties for the night, I had taken this free time to stock up and planned to spend this Wednesday night with some homemade pasta, which I knew I shouldn’t have been eating if I didn’t want to gain another pound, a glass of wine and reruns of
Empire
.

I freakin’ loved that show. Jamal reminded me so much of my best friend, Courtney. The only difference was that Courtney was a much more feminine gay man than Jamal’s character.

It was a very hot day in July. Sweat was rolling down my thighs and landing in questionable places as I struggled to get the key in the door of our three–story home on the South Side of Chicago.

I would have preferred to live elsewhere.

Chicago had many beautiful neighborhoods and Roc could have afforded to stay in any one of them, but he was a city boy to his soul and would never think of living elsewhere. He wanted to be in the midst of the city, where he grew up, so here we were.

Though he grew up in “Little Italy,” he had a fondness for the city once he became an adult; a fondness that I was pretty sure had a lot to do with being closer to his crew and their shenanigans.

I, myself, felt some sort of way about it. I grew up on the South Side of Chicago in the projects, the Robert Taylor homes. Though my mother had a steady nine–to–five, at the time, she could not afford to live in the three–bedroom home in one of Chicago’s safer neighborhoods as she’d dreamed of since having me and my two older brothers. Thus, I grew up around violence and shootings.

The point is, I knew the “hood” like the back of my hand. Though our neighborhood was way more lavish than the hoods I’d lived in, I knew better than to trust these fools in the city, and you’re about to find out why.

Just as the metal key slid into the lock, my life changed.

“Argh!”

Suddenly, I was ambushed. There was a hand over my mouth with a grip so tight on it that even though I screamed, no one could hear me. His nails dug into my coffee–colored cheeks and I cringed, fighting the pain and the thought of how dirty those nails must be.

“Shut up, open the door and get your ass in the house!” he ordered, through gritted teeth.

I lost it when I felt the gun to my head.

I peed myself.

I was sure of it.

I did what the asshole told me to do. I opened the door and he forced me into the house.

I dropped the bags immediately, along with my purse, keys and iPhone. I looked up and even more fear consumed me as I made eye contact with evil.

His face was completely covered with a black hood and bandana. His grip was so tight on the trigger of his Glock that I imagined his knuckles turning red as he pointed it at my head.

I stood in our foyer with my hands shielding my head, as if that would help. My eyes were the size of golf balls. With a shaky breath full of tears, I asked, “Wh–what do you want?”

“Take me to the safe.”

I listened intently to his voice. This wasn’t just some random hood gangster. This neighborhood’s youth was predominantly black and white. But not this thug, pointing a Glock at me; no, this one had an Italian accent. I had learned to pick up on it with all the time I had spent with Roc’s family and friends.

I knew this shit would happen one day.

I did, so I began to say a prayer. I prayed to God for forgiveness. It was all I could do in that moment. I knew what I had gotten myself into when I committed myself to Rocco de Michele. I knew that there were violent parts to his life, yet I stayed because no matter who he was to the rest of the world, he was the man I loved. So, all I could do was ask God to forgive me for looking the other way.

But even as this hoodlum pointed this gun at me, and even though I was about to die, I did not for one second regret a day that I had spent with Roc.

That man loved every inch of me; every curve and every piece of my brown skin. And for those very reasons, I was not about to go down without a fight.

I took off running!

“Arrrgh!” I yelled, as I ran through the house, screaming along the way. I could hear the sound of his sticky boots running along the tile floor behind me.

I was gunning it for the kitchen. As I ran frantically, I was expecting him to start shooting at me at any moment, and wondered why he never did.

In the kitchen was one of the many guns that Roc had in the house for emergencies such as this. Though we assumed that no one would ever be bold enough to threaten us, our nightmares had come true and everything that Roc had taught me was running through my mind.

The asshole was hot on my heels, but I was able to throw the drawer of the island open and snatch out the .22.

“Get back! Go away, motherfucker!”

The sight of the gun had stopped his pursuit. He didn’t even bother to point his gun at me. I was of no threat to him. He looked at me as if I was some weakling with a gun, like I was too scared to use it. Though the bandana covered his face, I could see the twinkle in his eye caused from a taunting smile.

I could see how he would peg me differently. There I was; a woman who appeared meek, humble and scared on the outside. Though I was taller and bigger than him, 5’6” with enough weight that would give this short, scrawny asshole a run for his money if he tried to fight me physically, I knew that the reluctance in my slanted eyes could be seen a mile away.

Pow!

But Roc taught me differently.

“Arrrrgh!” The asshole yelled, nearly falling to his knees as he grabbed his left leg where I’d shot him.

“I said get back! Go away, motherfucker!”

Pow!

I shot again, this time a warning into the ceiling, and it encouraged him to scatter for the door. I followed with the gun still drawn, one flip flop on and one lost somewhere amongst the struggle.

I guess my adrenaline was on an all–time high, because I’ll admit that I was shocked that I was dashing after this guy.

But by the time that I was back in the foyer, I could only see his image as he ran out of the front door.

“Uh!” Finally, I was able to breathe as I ran to secure the door, stepping over pasta, vegetables and seafood that spilled out of the plastic bags.

****

“Call him, Yanna!
Now
! Before I do!”

I cringed at the high–pitched squeal of Courtney’s voice.

“I agree; you need to call him, ASAP.”

I peered at Tanisha, my other best friend, from beneath the covers as she agreed with Courtney. She continued to give me a telling look and I groaned, saying, “He’s going to lose it.”

I was okay and unharmed, but the entire ordeal had raised my blood pressure to stroke–level. I called Tanisha and Courtney as soon as I found my purse and cell phone, flung among the bags of groceries. I couldn’t call the police. That was a no–no. As soon as my besties of over ten years heard my cry, they rushed right over.

“Oh, losing it is not the word, honey.
Sooomebody
is going to die
today
,” Courtney said, with a chuckle. “He’s going to murder some goddamn body. And it won’t be my Black behind because I didn’t tell him that some crazy lunatic tried to kill his pride and joy,
so call him
… before
I do
.”

“I can’t. He’s conducting business. The moment he hears this–”

“That big motherfucker is going to fly home,” Courtney remarked, cutting me off and adding, “And he should!” with his arms flailing.

I would have laughed but he was right. Big was an understatement. Roc’s green eyes stood six feet and four inches above the ground. At nearly three hundred pounds of cut, chiseled muscles he should have been a football player instead of such a damn gangster. No matter the amount of tattoos that covered his dark olive skin, his stunning, rugged, rich, good looks, chiseled jaw line, and high cheeks bones that soared beyond his full chin strap beard and goatee, gave him so much sex appeal. His full, slick, somewhat curly, black hair was cut short on the sides and long on the top and gave his face such a modelesque look, but the scars from a street fight when he was younger made you beg to differ. With dimples as deep as craters, he had a heavenly presence; a body architecturally designed by the gods, perfect skin, and was the envy of any Guess model. Beyond a presence that stopped any human being in his path, he was a man’s man, pretty but so rough that it was sexy instead of intimidating. An adorable smile that he let few people see, illuminated a perfectly sculpted face that was the canvas for his godlike features and full tempting lips. He was the type of sexy that we dreamed of, that we watched on lifetime movies, or fantasized about in steamy erotica.

Yep…. That was my man, my love, my Daddy…
Whew
.

“Yanna, seriously,” Tanisha said, bringing me back to my stressful reality. “You’ll add insult to injury if he doesn’t find out until he gets home–”

“Or add insult to
my
injury when he tries to lay hands on my pretty face because I was a witness to your secrecy!”

My hand ran through my curly hair with frustration. “Gosh, you’re so fucking dramatic.”

“Whatever, heffa!” Courtney even had the nerve to growl while he threatened me. But his threats were of no use. I feared Roc’s explosive response way more than the asshole that tried to rob him… or kill me… whatever the hell he was going to do. What I feared more than Roc ending somebody’s life was the drama that would ensue afterwards. Roc lived a life different from the next man. That was obvious. It was dangerous. Roc’s crew was mixed up in a lot of things that I stayed out of and away from in order not to be a defendant in case the Feds ever came knocking. I couldn’t imagine how well a voluptuous, Black, normally non–violent woman would do in prison. Though that would never happen because of Roc’s heavy ties with politicians and the police, I still stayed out of it. At any rate though, dangerous things ran accordingly. Roc’s crew handled the few snafus that did occur with maturity, like men, in order to keep business going and keep the Feds away.

But
this
, my life being in danger, Roc would not take well. His response would be nothing nice. His reaction would have consequences that could land him in prison, and I feared his imprisonment more than my own death because without him, I would die.

He was my everything.

However, before I could even decide whether to start World War Three, I could hear Courtney’s voice. “Hey Roc.”