Patrick: A Mafia Love Story (13 page)

She moved back to their bedroom three weeks later, and it had been three of the longest weeks of her life. Long before she was emotionally ready to resume their marriage, her body had been clamoring for his. It had gotten harder and harder to deny both their urges, and so she was back with him. She was feeling good about the decision, since they had moved slowly and gotten reacquainted the past three weeks.

There would always be a part of her that would hurt at the thought of what her father’s last few minutes must have been like, and she would always have moments where she would abruptly remember her husband had murdered her father, but she had come to accept Patrick had saved him from a worse fate. Her father had clearly understood the situation, and perhaps he’d even been grateful for Patrick’s intercession. Whatever he’d felt at the end, he must have still trusted his friend to make her Patrick’s ward.

She couldn’t help thinking maybe there’d been another way out for her father, but she also believe Patrick had not thought there was, and he had been doing the best thing he could in the circumstances. Since she hadn’t been there to witness it, she would never know for certain if there had been some other way to reason with Peretti, or if her father would have stood a chance if he’d just spoken up about his relationship with Alessandra.

It was in the past, and she couldn’t do anything to change the outcome. All she could do was try to accept what had happened and move on.

They wouldn’t have a perfect future together, but it was unrealistic if she’d ever believed in perfection. Even if she’d never found out about the events with her father, they still would have dealt with conflict. That was part of being married, and it was part of loving someone so intensely. Perhaps this had even made their marriage stronger, since they had survived what could only be one of the worst things ever, and now they were back together.

He was asleep beside her, his hand protectively over her stomach, where the tiniest bump was just starting to show. Only someone who knew her body well, like Patrick, would’ve noticed a slight thickening at her waist or the subtle increase of her breasts, but they were both very aware of her changing body, and what it meant.

He loved her, and he loved their baby. She knew he would die to protect them, and she was certain her father would have been happy for her, that he would’ve been happy to know she’d ended up with Patrick, under his care and the object of his love. She believed that strongly, even knowing how her father had died.

He would have wanted her to be happy and safe, and she was both those things with Patrick. He had a wicked temper, but he would keep it in check with her, and she knew he would never hurt her or their children.

If he hadn’t been the one to let her out of that room on his own, they wouldn’t be where they were now. If he had persisted down that path, the one urging him to keep her at any cost, it would have destroyed their fragile bond.

By opening the gilded cage, and inviting her to step outside of it, he had shown how much he genuinely loved her. That, more than anything, had given her the strength to try to move past the revelations of her father’s death, along with her hurt and anger at the situation.

He was worth fighting for, even if it meant fighting herself. Now, lying beside him after their first time making love in weeks, she was hopeful for the future and convinced they would go the distance. Patrick belonged to her, and no one was going to take her from him, not even him or herself.

~~~

As captain of an Irish mafia crew, Shane has everything he wants. Money, women, and power. He can have anything, except the one woman with whom he’s obsessed. Mia Kasilli, daughter of a Russian kingpin, wants nothing to do with that lifestyle. When he can no longer be without her, he orchestrates a series of actions that leave her father in his debt and Mia in his power. He’s dark and dangerous, the embodiment of everything she doesn’t want in a man, so why does she crave him so much? She’ll fight him every step of the way, but how will she fight herself?

This story contains violence, rough sex, and sexual situations some readers might find objectionable. If a hot mafia man driven to any lengths to possess the woman he wants isn’t your thing, you probably wouldn’t enjoy this book. However, if you like a dark, Alpha, possessive man with a tender core deep down, who will do anything for the woman he loves, including kidnapping, going to war with rival mafia, protecting her from her enemies, and fighting through her resistance to change her perceptions, get ready to meet “Shane.”

She was several steps into the room before she stopped walking. The hardwood floor under her feet formed a star-like pattern, and the black walls were striking. So were the black-and-white nude photographs on canvas adorning the walls. Finally, she could find no further distraction from the man seated at the desk in the center of the room.

Swallowing thickly, Mia examined the man who had sent for her. He was a handsome devil, with thick black hair, a light tan, and green eyes the shade of sea foam. Those eyes were regarding her intently, and she abruptly recognized him. He was an occasional visitor to
Lovelle’s
, always with a beautiful woman in tow. Usually tall, blonde, and leggy. Everything petite Mia wasn’t. She couldn’t fathom why he had sent for her.

He pushed back from his desk to stand, and she caught her breath at his broad-shouldered build. As he stalked closer to her with the air of a hunting panther, she finally exhaled raggedly, her spine stiffening of its own accord in reaction to the look in his eyes.

His gaze skipped briefly to Bruno, and he frowned. “What happened to you?” His voice was smooth and deep, like polished onyx, but with a note that disconcerted her.

“She maced me.”

O’Mara laughed. “Did you really?”

She lifted a shoulder. “He was chasing me. I don’t like being kidnapped.” To her dismay, he didn’t deny the allegation, or seek to reassure her that she wasn’t there under duress.

Pointing toward the door, he told his goons, “Leave.”

“You sure, boss?” asked Wallace.

With a roll of his strange green eyes, he gestured them to leave again. “I think I can handle her.”

Mia should have felt better to have the numbers more even, back to one-on-one, once the other two had departed, but she found herself even more on-edge. “Why am I here?”

“Have a seat?” He made the offer, but there was a hint of command underneath it.

She squared her shoulders. “No, thank you.”

He arched a dark brow. “I’d think your feet would hurt after a night at the restaurant.”

Mia pursed her lips. “My feet aren’t your concern. Tell me why your goons dragged me here.”

“I’m Shane O’Mara.” He extended her hand, seeming amused when she didn’t take it. With a small shrug, he dropped it back to his side. “Very well. We’ll skip the niceties.”

“There isn’t room for niceties when you abduct someone.” She shifted slightly, suddenly aware of the acute ache from her overworked feet. Damn him for drawing it to her attention.

He laughed again. “Fine.” Shane walked back to his desk, propping his hip on the corner.

After a moment of him staring at her in challenge, she finally walked over to the desk, but still refused to sit. “What do you want from me?”

“You’re aware of your father’s…profession?”

Mia sighed deeply. “I know he’s the
Avtoritet
under the
Pakhan
of the Varnakov
bratva
, which makes him about number-three in their hierarchy, but I don’t know specifics. If you’ve brought me here to gain some kind of advantage, or obtain information, you’re out of luck. I want nothing to do with him or the
russkaya mafiya
.”

“Hmm.” Shane gestured to a wet bar. “Drink?”

She shook her head. As the silence lengthened, she asked, “What is your profession, Mr. O’Mara?”

“Shane will do.” He made her wait as he walked to the wet bar to pour a glass of something amber. “Your father and I are in the same line of work, but for different companies, I guess you could say.”

She didn’t bother to hide her disdain. “You’re a violent thug too?”

He took a sip of his drink, seeming unbothered by her appraisal. “I wouldn’t call myself a thug, honey. That denotes a different lifestyle from mine.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you really think you’re any different from the typical gun-toting, drug-selling pimp in the gutter?”

His lips tightened. “I have something most of them would kill for.”

“What?” When would this posturing end, so she could go home? Her cat needed to be fed, and she was losing the precious opportunity to have the apartment all to herself.

“Power. I can have anything I want.”

“Good for you.” She gritted her teeth. “Now, tell me why the hell I’m here.”

He finished his drink, but didn’t pour another one as he returned to his perch against the desk, though nearer to her this time. “That requires a bit of background explanation. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit?”

She shook her head, aware of strands of dark hair spilling from her knot and falling around her shoulders in an irritating fashion. “Just get this over with so I can go home.”

“Indeed.” His expression sharpened. “What do you know of the mafia, Mia?”

“As little as possible.” When she had first realized exactly what her father did, Mia had made a deliberate choice to avoid it at all costs. Her stepmother had helped shield her the best she could, and she had remained mostly ignorant toward the evil her father committed.

“There are varying groups who oversee criminal activity in our fair city, but the three most powerful are the Irish, Italians, and Russians.” He lifted a brow. “The Russians were a bit late to the party, but they’ve debuted with a splash.”

She shrugged. “Why should I care?”

He ignored the question. “As you can imagine, there was a great deal of violence as each group protected its territory and sought to expand. About ten years ago, things got particularly violent. Even the feds in our pockets couldn’t turn a blind eye, so the heads of each family decided a truce was in order.”

She shifted again, resisting the urge to sit down in the comfy-looking chair just a few feet to her left. Ten years ago was about the time her father had started dating her stepmother, and she wondered if it was a coincidence that a Russian
Avtoritet
had married the daughter of an Italian don.

“They each carved out their territories and divvied up various lucrative markets.”

She didn’t really want to know the answer, but felt compelled to ask, “What does my father oversee?”

“Drugs. Particularly heroin, which is making a comeback among yuppies.”

She shuddered, hating the idea of her father putting drugs onto the streets, especially since that same poison had stolen her mother’s life. “And your group?”

He smiled, and it was a chilling sight. “The Irish have always had a special affinity with weapons, honey. That’s our main business.”

She scowled. “You’re the one to thank for that thirteen-year-old who murdered the convenience store clerk last week?”

He blinked. “Not personally, but it’s possible he got the weapon from one of our distributors.” That fact didn’t seem to bother him.

“And the Italians?”

“Sex trade, forgery, money laundering…they’re a multitasking sort.” He smiled slightly, and she refused to acknowledge how devastatingly handsome that made him. “Our little experiment is working quite well. Other branches of our families are starting to emulate our model of cooperation.”

“Isn’t that terrific?” She glanced pointedly at her watch. “You still haven’t told me why I’m here.” If he thought she could be some kind of leverage with her father, he was mistaken. Vadim cared as little for her as she did for him.

“You can imagine how disastrous it would be if our truce fell apart. There is a lot of pressure from others higher up in our families to maintain this peace, so when something goes wrong, we have incentive to fix it.”

“I don’t care,” she bit out.

He shrugged. “We’ll see. Last month, a group of thugs stole a major shipment from your father. My people intercepted it before Varnakov found out Kasilli had a problem. Your father owes me a debt.”

She closed her eyes for a second. With a deep breath, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “My father owes you, so why am I here?”

“You’re the price he’s paid, my sweet.” He made no attempt to disguise the blaze of desire in his gaze. “And I’m going to get full value.”

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R.E. Saxton is the pen name Kit Tunstall uses when writing dark erotic romance  romance. It’s simply a way to separate the myriad types of stories she writes so readers know what to expect with each “author.”

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