Page 3 of Caged Captain

I open my briefcase and pull out a few contracts I need to review from businesses in my territory. I read over the first several lines, already absorbed in the paperwork that comes with being a mafia Captain. More than I originally thought, that’s for sure.

“Miss! Excuse me, you can’t–”

I look up at Ronaldo's familiar voice, who left a few moments ago. The curtain is yanked back, revealing a curvy brunette with fire in her sky-blue eyes.It can’t be her. The woman from the shitty motel room last night. But those eyes…

“I’m terribly sorry, Marco,” Ronaldo apologizes. “She just walked right in, and–”

“It’s alright.” I hold up a hand to stop him from tripping all over himself. Ronaldo is a good man. He’s been in our employ for fourteen years and has proven himself a loyal friend of the family. “I must have forgotten about our appointment,” I say, turning my gaze to the woman storming toward me.

She has on a black pencil skirt that stretches tight against her thick thighs and wide hips. Why do I get the sudden urge to grip her waist and dig my fingers into her soft curves? Jesus, I didn’t know I had a type, but as my eyes trail up her frame, I’m realizing this is it.

Snap out of it, I scold myself.

Her red faux silk blouse and black skirt undoubtedly came from a second-hand store, but I give her credit for showing up in professional business attire. Aside from her shoes. She’s wearing black Converse, but at least they’re clean. Coupled with the determined look in her eyes, my curiosity is piqued.

Glancing over at Ronaldo, I give him a single nod, silently telling him to go back to his post and keep everyone else out.

I can’t say I’m not intrigued by this woman’s presence. Last night, she was cowering in the bathroom of one of the seediest rent-by-the-week motels I’ve been to in a while. I was about to break her father’s wrist and nose, but then he alerted me to her presence like a desperate idiot.

Those crystal blue eyes peered at me through a crack in the door, begging me to use my power for good. I can’t explain it, and I thought I was going crazy for most of the night, but I swear I could feel her gaze follow me outside, into my car, and all the way back to my house at the Caparelli compound.

I stand as she approaches the table, pulling out a chair for her. She stops abruptly, staring at the velvet upholstered dining chair and then at me. I barely suppress a grin, knowing I caught her off-guard.

The feisty woman takes a seat, pulling the chair closer to the table before I get the chance to push it in for her. She grins to herself like she won this round. Truthfully, the thought of going toe to toe with her… does something to me.

I shove that thought aside and sit across from her, gathering the papers into my briefcase and setting them aside. Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms over my chest and wait for her to speak first. It’s a classic negotiation tactic, though I’m not even sure what or if we’re negotiating.

“My name is Imogine Mansfield, and I’m here about my father’s debt,” she says, playing right into my hand.

I stare at her, not saying a word. My gaze wanders over her round cheeks, slightly upturned nose, full lips, and exposed neck, where I can see her pulse pounding.

Imogine swallows thickly, then continues. “I came up with a weekly payment plan that will start in small increments and grow larger over time as I get a second job with better tips. Or a third job if necessary.”

She pulls a notebook out of her purse and flips to a page with neat handwriting and a chart with payment dates and amounts. As much as I admire the work she put into her plan, it doesn’t matter.

“No,” I simply say. “That’s not how the mafia works.”

Imogine nods to herself, a bit shaken. The mysterious, curvy, captivating woman slowly closes her notebook and slips it back into her purse, obviously stalling for time.

I lean forward slightly, curious as to what she’s going to do next. It takes a lot of courage mixed with a bit of naivety to walk into a family-owned bistro and storm into the back room to talk to the Captain of the territory.

Her cheeks turn from pale to pink to red as she regains her footing in our conversation. I watch in fascination as she straightens her spine, lifts her chin, and meets my gaze. Goddamn, the fierce look in her eyes has me nearly gasping for breath. Countless men much tougher and more brutal than this five-and-a-half-foot, twenty-something woman have sat across from me and cowered in my presence. Yet here she is, standing her ground.

“I thought that might be the case,” Imogine says curtly. “I’ve come up with an alternative solution. I’ll work for the Caparellis. One year, five years, whatever it takes.”

“Why would you put yourself on the line for your father’s debts? He’s only going to bury himself under more unpaid loans again.”

Imogine clenches her jaw, that spark of a fight back in her gaze. “I would think you, of all people, would understand family loyalty.”

Well, shit. She’s got me dead to rights. “What kind of work?” I ask, though I have no intention of taking her up on the offer.

Without missing a beat, Imogine produces a resumé from her purse, sliding it across the table. I glance at the well-organized and neatly typed sheet of paper, though I still don’t comment further.

“As you can see,” she starts, nodding to her resumé, “I have experience in all kinds of fields of work, including child care, bartending, waitressing, and a few odd jobs here and there. I can work in one of your restaurants or casinos or look after any kids you or… your… uh, mistresses might have. I’ll be discreet, of course.”

I’m rarely surprised, but hearing her talk about me having mistresses and children has my head spinning.

“I have no need for a nanny. I don’t waste time with relationships, and I’m certainly not a father.”

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