Page 7 of Sinful Vow (Dark Mafia Sins 1)

“Now, be a good girl. I don’t want to have to come back to save you.” He starts to step backward, his eyes never leaving mine. They’re intimidating and intense; the whole time, I have to fight to keep his gaze. The need to shy away digs into me, but I refuse. When the darkness has erased his whole figure, I’m able to breathe a bit easier.

“Aly, what are you doing out here?” Coy asks, walking up to me. “Did Jonny leave you?”

His forehead pinches before he glances at me then around, as if expecting Jonny to appear any moment. There is a tightness in his eyes like he’s holding back from saying something. Or maybe he realizes he would be equally to blame from my father if something happened to me.

“He went in there with a gun,” I say, unsure if I want Coy to go in to back him up.

“Let me take you home. This isn’t your scene.” He smiles at me, and I become shy from his comment. He’s right; it’s not. But I still hate that people assume that. Or maybe it’s because they sound like they’re judging me for it. I can’t tell which one. But Coy is safe. He’s been around as long as Jonny. His father is one of my father’s top men.

“Thanks, Coy,” I say, checking behind me to see if I can spot Luca. He’s long gone, leaving me to wonder why he was here anyway. With each step I take away from the party, my heart slows to a regular beat.

Chapter 7

Aly Age 21

Finishingupmylastappointment of the day, I drag my fingers through my perfectly combed dark hair while sitting back. The girl I interviewed is younger than I normally take on, fresh-faced, pouty lips, but haunted eyes. Hearing her heart-wrenching story, I didn’t have it in me to turn her way. How could I, when she’s had a hundred times the life experience I have, and a year younger. Up until this time, I have always made sure the girls were twenty-one. That age makes everything easier. They can go anywhere with my clients, they’re mature enough with life experience, and I’m certain they understand what they’re getting into. If I thought for a second they couldn’t cut it or didn’t understand the full impact of what they were signing up for, I’d never accept them.

I’m not your typical madam. My whole business started innocently enough, as a matchmaker. But as I talked to people and started to crunch the numbers, being a badass female pimp seemed like a better fit. It gave me the whole “living on the edge” vibe. If I were to ask a professional, I bet they would say it’s an attention-seeking activity, to see what I can get away with under my father’s nose. The truth is, I needed money, and being a madam brought that in instantly. It wasn’t until after I realized I love what I do. I made a community thatIbecame important in.

My phone rings, drawing me from my thoughts. I answer in my usual pseudo yoga studio salutation, but like many times before, all I hear is static. I’ve had two girls come to me believing they’ve been followed, but nothing has happened. The whole thing is creepy, but no one has taken any action. It might be a scare tactic, but I don’t understand why. Discretion is mandatory, and I’m the best this city has. It’s why politicians use me, why married men come to me for help. All my girls’ identities are secret, keeping both parties void of risk. It helps that they have that girl-next-door look, with a hint of extravagance. It makes it harder to stereotype who might be in the business.

My clients are always satisfied, and this is one of the reasons I’ve become the top madam in Texas and the surrounding area. Hell, I sometimes have men asking me to fly my girls to them. My girls are all top-notch, and they get paid very well for it. They can afford to live in penthouses, buying expensive shit, because they’ve made a killing through me.

I have a growing empire at my fingertips. My father would be proud—if he knew about it. But then, like everyone else, I would have to pay my tribute.

My “yoga studio” is where I help train the girls in dancing, pole dancing, and any other skill they may require. Sometimes, it may be a piece of simple information on conversations that will be talked about, or to give them tips on how to fool the wives of my clients. I’ve seen everything, so I’m not shocked by any request. Casting my eyes over my studio, I ensure everything is in its place before I head out to lock up for the day.

I can sense him before he presses his chest to my back, his nose sliding down the side of my face. My so-called protector. “You need to be more careful. If I know what you’re up to, so do others.” My heart flutters like it always does when he’s nearby. As much as we fight, I love having him around.

“I’m not your concern,” I repeat for the thousandth time to him over the years.

“Little bird, you’re not ready to spread your wings yet.”

“I’m old enough to open my legs but not my wings?” I taunt him. He’s never made a move on me before, yet he won’t allow anyone else to either. I like getting him mad, reminding him that I’m all woman now. I’m no longer a young sixteen-year-old girl. It’s the irrational part of me that allows my heart to get hurt when he’s made it clear he doesn’t want me that way. Why would he? He’s part of a rival family. Our birthright is to hate each other, until death do us part. If I go down this rabbit hole, I’ll end up confusing myself.

“Do you remember what happened last time you did?” His hand wraps around my belly, pulling me closer, his erection sticking into my back. It’s sad it will go to waste, when it feels so strong.

“You beat him to a pulp. Jonny took credit for it after he found out who he was to me.” My body stiffens, reminding me that I don’t like him; I hate him. I have only ever had one boyfriend who was brave enough to seek me out. I couldn’t even get fully naked before Luca beat him up. No one has ever made an effort after that, leaving me untouched.

“Jonny is a pussy. He’s lucky I don’t kill him.” His lips graze my earlobe, but I refuse to melt into his hold.

“All talk, no action,” I say, teasing him.

“I can take everything you have away. I suggest you don’t piss me off, little bird.” His voice is low, cold, and dripping with hate. I’ve never understood why he keeps visiting me, when he can hardly stand to be in my presence.

“Why must you call me a bird?” I question, annoyed he’s bothering me.

“Because you’re too young to see the cage around you.”

“If you keep bothering me, I’ll go to my father,” I say sternly. I’ve never threatened this, but he’s never threatened my livelihood, my business.

“No, you won’t. You’ve waited too long. He’ll see it as you playing with the enemy.”

I spin around, but he still holds me. My breasts are rising and falling against his chest. A handful of people have seen my temper. I like to pretend to be meek, because I can get away with more. But he pushes me to my limits.

My eyes narrow on his bright blue ones. I’m no longer in awe of their color, because I’ve had to see them too many times. Pressing my hips impossibly close to him, I push against his dick. I want to prove my point that he’s all bark and no bite. It’s our weird telepathic way of having a silent conversation, all while having a different one out loud.

“There will come a day I’m more powerful than you. Then we will see who is really the bird,” I say sweetly, smiling at him.

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