Page 7 of Owned By the Mob Boss
Guys think beinga mob boss is “cool.” All they see on TV is the glitz and the glam, the girls and the glory. What they don’t see is the blood and battles it took to get to the top.
They call me The Ice Man, and that’s a nickname I deserve.
It all began when I was a kid. My father beat me, and my mother—well, let’s just say I’d rather have been raised by a pack of wolves than her. She left when I was twelve, and I was stuck with that bastard.
Until I killed him.
He was my first. He was a drunk and got so hammered one night that he thought I was his friend, Jimmy, and came at me with a broken bottle. I knew it was him or me, so I grabbed a knife and ended him.
I left before the cops could question me. Found my own way on the streets, and before kids my age were graduating high-school, I was running my own illegal betting operation.
I was big for my age, and the streets didn’t know how to handle me. Like a wild animal, I started going after the gangs. Why the hell not? I had nothing to lose.
By the time I was twenty, the whole city knew not to fuck with me. Everyone owed and everyone paid. I was the new kingpin, and I have been ever since.
I rule New York with my one rule. I may be a criminal, but I leave the innocents out of it. If you’re in the game, you’re in the game. If you’re not, you’ve got nothing to fear.
Now at thirty-eight, I thought I had it all figured out. Thought I knew how I had to live my life to keep things going. But yesterday, when my angel walked in, my world turned upside down.
Standing at the sink, I stare out the window as dawn breaks over the city. A gorgeous view, but all I can see are Isabella’s terrified eyes.
Craig is dead by now—cinder blocks dragging him to the bottom of the Hudson. I saved her, but I also fucked up.
You never should have let that happen.
My hands tighten around the stone countertop until my knuckles ache. I also never should have let her see that side of me. What’s she going to think now? She’s going to be terrified.
I’m supposed to be showing her she can trust me, not scaring her away.
With a sigh, I roll up my sleeves and start cracking eggs. I toss some bacon into a hot pan, and it starts sizzling. The delicious smell fills the cold space I’ve grown accustomed to.
I’m used to the scent of blood, not breakfast.
And that’s when I hear them—footsteps behind me, soft and fairylike. My heart skips a beat, and I turn.
There she is…
My beauty. My angel. My possession.
Isabella stands in the doorway, wearing one of the dresses I had delivered this morning. Coffee-colored and sexy as hell. I’m hard in an instant.
Her delicate shoulders are bare, and the fabric clings to her curves like it was tailored to her fit. My heart pounds against my ribs as blood rushes to my cock.
I may have bought that for her, but I never could have imagined just how incredible she’d look in it.
I clear my throat. “You found the kitchen.”
Shealmostsmiles. “You give good directions.”
“Come in,” I say, motioning with my hand. “I already started.”
Her cheeks are rosy as she steps cautiously across the black marble floor. And like the first time I saw her, my heartbeat changes like I’ve come to life.
She’s a ray of light in the dark void of my existence. Her eyes hold a truth I’m desperate to unearth. All I want is to prove myself to her…
Never in my life have I felt this way about anyone.
She looks so innocent, but her hips sway with such femininity that it’s almost unfair.
