Page 1 of Hot for Her Italian Mafia

CHAPTER 1

Josie

He’s here again.

Looming over the Sunken Sailor pub with a sinister sneer splashed across his rugged face. Nursing the same bourbon he ordered after stepping through the door. Sitting in the same booth he’s in every night with golden eyes scanning the bar like a lion on the hunt for its next meal.

If I play my cards right, maybe it’ll be me.

His massive boa constrictor arms wrapped around my body. Meaty hands exploring every inch of my delicate skin. His well-maintained beard—a perfect seat…

“Josie, stop daydreaming, will ya?” Oscar shouts from the kitchen window behind the bar. His interruption knocks the wind from my lungs, and my heart skips a panicked beat. “Your food’s ready to go out. Get a move on before it gets cold.” His chef’s apron is stained with tomato sauce, brown gravy, and other ingredients. Fat bullets of sweat drip from his forehead, and his eyes tell a story I’ve heard so many times before:

We’re in for another long one tonight.

Fighting back the urge to snicker at my own dirty thoughts, Oscar’s interruption is welcome. Where would my mind go if I gave it enough room to drift?

It would start with a date. Me and my monster, sitting opposite one another in some high-end restaurant, slurping down the finest pasta and sipping on the sweetest wine, giggling the night away. Then the bedroom, perhaps? A sordid affair with the beast leaving bites and scrapes across my body. But they aren’t for torture, no. They’ll be his mark. Taking my innocence and claiming me as his.

Only his.

Just like that, it happens again. Another wave of nervous heat explodes from my core and burns my cheeks red hot.

“Sorry, Oz. Won’t happen again.” I pack the plates of food onto my tray through the window.

“Better not,” Oscar grumbles, wagging a sausage finger in my direction.

I carry the food over to my table. It’s a group of guys from my college campus, opting for a meal before they start smashing one drink after another. They don’t recognize me, and that’s for the best. I wouldn’t know what to say to any of them if they did. My days are spent cramming whatever knowledge I can into my head, and my nights are full of drunkards and…

Him.

The monster at the end of the bar, watching from his hooded gaze.

Luca Palermo.

“Soon as these plates are cleared, do us a solid and bring six shots of tequila,” one says. The crowd of five surrounding the speaker cheers for his announcement. “And then you keep ‘em coming until one of us hits the floor.”

“Got it.” Not that I’ll be the one to serve them drinks.

Nineteen is an interesting age. Old enough to parade around in skimpy outfits and make money from lustful, gawking eyes, but too young to handle alcohol.

The hypocrisy is laughable.

But I can’t complain. It means I’m safe. Safe from the rude comments and more attempts to get in my pants. Safe from the wild animals these strapping gentlemen will soon become.

Then again, with every table in the bar packed, I won’t come away scot-free for long.

It’s Friday night, and the boys are out to play.

I set down their meals and head back to the bar counter, awaiting my next order. I throw my eyes back in Luca’s direction. In a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment, I see those golden orbs taking me in, with his tongue slithering over his lower lip. The moment he notices, his attention shifts to the other side of the room.

Could it be? Is he watching me? Or had I merely walked into his line of sight and caught him in the middle of a thought?

It’s…not impossible. Unlikely? Sure. But not impossible. He spends a lot of time here for a man who hates the food and has little interest in the booze. What if he’s harboring his own secret obsession?

I’ve finally lost it, haven’t I? Thinking a man of wealth and taste like Luca Palermo comes here to pine over a server girl who doesn’t have the courage to speak with him. So then, it has to be business. And from what I’ve heard, his business isn’t the sort a girl like me wants anything to do with.

Whatever his reasoning, mine isn’t nearly as subtle. If my dad didn’t know Oscar, I’d probably be bumming it on the streets or working my ass off for much worse pay, with much worse employers. Oscar’s been good to me, and I do what I can to give him my best.

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