Page 1 of Mafia Rules

1

EVE

"Ican't believe you're doing this, Eve! You know what kind of reputation they have," Macy yells into the phone as I stumble along the pavement in her high heels and clothes I "borrowed" from her closet this morning.

"It doesn't mean I have to be like that. I need this job. I'm one pay away from having to call my parents for money again." I moan. Macy was born into money and didn't have to work if she didn't want to. She didn't understand what it was like to fail as an adult and have to crawl home to parents who “knew it would happen, eventually.”

"I'll pay for whatever you need." Her voice shakes in the overly dramatic way only Macy can be. "You can stay here for as long as you need. You know I'd never throw you out," she pleads.

Macy is my best friend, well heck, my only friend really. The one I called when I escaped from my ex four nights ago. She dropped whatever she was doing and picked me up in the alley I was hiding in, in the sketchiest part of town, without a question.I'd been sleeping on her couch since then, barely able to put two thoughts together on the future until reality hit. The ad for this job popped up in my news feed, like it was meant to be—minus the part where I had no experience, but everyone lied on their resume,right?

I stop in front of the largest building in the city, fifty-four stories tall, owned by the McKenzie brothers for their various businesses. "I'll call you after my interview." I push end on my cell phone before she can keep protesting.

I'd heard rumors the brothers were connected to the Mafia, but people like to talk. Rumors were rumors. It didn't make them true, but it made for exciting party talk. My closest encounter with one of the brothers was when I served his table at an event before I was fired from my bartending job at one of their hotels. But not before his generous tip, the biggest tip I’ve ever received, of seven thousand dollars. I'd still be working there if it wasn't for my stupid ex.

I push the conversation with Macy out of my mind and enter the building, walking to the elevator with my game face on. I'll need it if I’m going to fake my way into getting this job.

The foyer's walls are lined with an impressive collection of paintings, each more captivating than the last. Walking down the hallway, I was drawn to the enormous sculpture that stood proudly in the center, taking a second to admire it before pushing the elevator button. The door slides open, revealing a sleek, modern interior, and I step in, greeted by the faint scent of cleaning supplies.

I reach the twenty-fifth floor within moments, and the elevator doors open into a large reception area. The room is bright, courtesy of the wall of windows, white marble floor, and white leather couches. I squint, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

My stomach flip-flops as I take in the office's grandeur. Much fancier than any other place I'd ever been, and I stood out likea sore thumb here. "I'm Evelyn Stone. Here for Mr. Ashton McKenzie."Seriously, what was I thinking about applying for this job?I know nothing about marketing.

"You’re early.” The receptionist smiles one of those ear-to-ear fake smiles. “Go right in, dear.” She points to a large gold door.

I nod, following her directions. My heels click loudly on the white marble floor, and my cheeks flush. I hesitate once I reach the door, unsure if I should knock. I look back at the receptionist, whose smile has turned into a smirk. She waves her hand at me to open the door.

I look down at the dress I chose. It’s a loud pink ensemble. The only jacket and skirt that were in Macy’s closet that I could squeeze into, and I immediately regretted them. I didn’t look the part to be in this space. I glance back at the muted dress the receptionist wears.

“He won’t bite, honey, unless you want him to.” She laughs and gets back to what she was doing.

It takes all my weight to push open the large door. “Mr. McKenzie?” I call out as I enter the lounge area of his office. It’s large enough to house another company, and it’s empty. I see another door to my right, ajar, with muffled sounds behind it.

I cautiously approach, making sure to walk confidently and loudly in case he hadn’t heard me call out his name.

I peek in to see a young blonde woman naked on the top of his desk, her legs up in the air, and him—Mr. McKenzie—fucking her—no, pounding her into the desk. Her blond curls tumble over the edge of the desk as her back arches in pleasure. Now, the receptionist's smirk makes sense.

He lets out a low groan just as he gives her another hard thrust, his fingers wrapping around her neck, holding her right where he wants her. I look away. I don’t think they’ve heard me. My legs are frozen in place, making it impossible to move out of his view. I glance back. Mr. McKenzie's eyes meet mine, his faceis curious and… something else, then the corners of his lips curl into a grin. He doesn’t look away.He wants me to watch them?He’s more handsome than I expected. His luscious brown eyes sparkle with a bad-boy aura. His dark-brown hair is cut short at the sides and longer on top, and he’s very fit. His tatted muscles visible through his open dress shirt and rolled-up sleeves make it hard to tear my eyes away.

The blonde is oblivious to anything but his cock deep in her pussy, her moans louder now with the pressure of his hand on her neck. His other hand is firmly planted on her leg against his chest. “Good girl,” he practically purrs, staring at me.

I break free and move to the side out of view. Oh my God.What do I do?I should leave, right?But was he calling me a good girl for watching? Maybe it had nothing to do with me at all. I take a seat—the seat just outside his office door. I sit motionless when I see a mirror on the opposite wall, captivated by its reflection. Not that I could hide from them. The door is open, and I hear everything.

“That’s my good girl. Take it all,” he says between hard, quick thrusts.

“Yes, sir.” Her moans and whimpers intertwine, and I subconsciously lean toward the door, listening to each word and groan.

The intensity of his fucking seems to increase once my gaze falls to the ground, as if he wants my eyes back on them. I want to watch, my cheeks flushing and the desire in my gut betraying me. I squeeze my thighs together, wanting to be the one on the desk under him. I glance up, but am disappointed when his focus is back on the blonde.

The palm of his hand is planted on the desk, and his white shirt has slipped off further, revealing more of the sleeve of tattoos on his arm. His bulging muscles on his shoulder and arm visibly strain to support his position.

I look back at the floor. Not wanting to share another glance with him.How on earth could I sit through an interview with him?

Her moans grow loud and strong, the ones that come from deep inside that you can’t stop, when you don’t care if you sound stupid, as pleasure washes over every inch of your body.

I wipe the beads of sweat forming on my forehead with the sleeve of my jacket. Then I hear distinct sounds, indicating they’ve finished. My eyes remain down on my paper as I imagine them putting their clothes back on.

“He’s all yours.” The blonde winks as she passes me and sits at the reception desk a few feet from me.

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