Page 26 of Stolen By the Mafia King
“Mr Lambeth,” he says formally, his top lip sweaty. “My apologies for the unsolicited meeting. I would like to speak with you about a business matter.” His watery gaze slides to Jessa. “Alone.”
“Anything you want to say can be said in front of my fiancée.”
David Bree-Fogg’s mouth tightens. A child getting angry when his toy is taken away.
“Unless you’d rather she not know that you and her brother tried to have her murdered.” Jessa grips my shoulder and I stroke her waist. My sweet girl. She doesn’t deserve this.
“How offensive. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bree-Fogg splutters. It’s obvious he’s lying. He’s going red at the neck.
“You do. What is it you want?”
“Respectfully,” he gulps. “I don’t think you’re aware of the whole context here, Mr Lambeth. Her brother owes me a considerable debt, and his sister is part of the payment.”
Pompous arse. As though a flesh and blood woman can bepayment. “That’s no concern of mine.”
“Grant.” Jessa shifts on my knee. “Excuse me for a moment.”
Something isn’t right when our gazes meet. But I trust and don’t ask, just pulling her in for a long, dirty kiss. The sort of kiss that leads to filthy fucking on the table.
“I love you,” she whispers against my lips.
Then I release her. It’s better she doesn’t see me deal with this. Whether I pay the arsehole off or shoot him, either can be difficult to accept the first time.
“I am appealing to your sense of fair play, Mr Lambeth,” the corrupt hatstand says once Jessa has left the room. “I understand a man such as yourself feels the need tosully my propertybefore I have it. If you will return her to me once you are finished, in I suggest a week or so, I will be very happy to recompense you for any inconvenience in finding a new companion—”
“How much do you want for her?” My stomach roils and soul rebels at the idea of returning my sweetheart to him. I can’t listen to any more of this shit, and I’m reaching under the table for the gun I know is stashed there. Fuck agreements and mafia precedents about not killing unarmed men in your own house. He needs to cough up a figure quickly and get the fuck out before I shoot him for disrespecting my future wife. The money is irrelevant. Jessa is worth everything to me.
“Two—”
A shot rings out and before my head knows what’s happening, I’ve pulled the gun from its hiding place, put a second shot in the polluted Long Island iced tea’s brain. Bree-Fogg slumps in his chair, instantly dead, as I run out, my heart in my throat, to find Jessa.
I bolt from room to room, my team arriving, guns out and faces grim. Bile rises.
“Find her!” I yell and they all scatter.
Jessa. Where is she?
The sound came from downstairs, maybe outside? But wouldn’t she have gone back to our bedroom?
I don’t know and on instinct I run to the front door, then around to outside the dining hall we were in and I see her.
Jessa stands with the gun I gave her hanging loosely from her fingers, staring down at her brother’s body on the floor.
He’s bleeding from the chest and muttering vile obscenities to a frozen Jessa.
“Sweetheart.” She looks up and seeing me breaks the stasis. She flies into my arms and I catch her as she clings to me.
I kick the gun from her brother’s hand and move Jessa away. He’ll bleed out soon enough.
The group of my staff who have come running at the sound of gunfire spring into action, trussing up her brother and checking the perimeter. My second in command isn’t here. Not a surprise. But my softly spoken PA is.
“Ron.” My PA snaps to attention. “Do you want a job that doesn’t require buying women’s clothes?”
“Yes boss,” he replies promptly, a happy gleam in his eye.
“Good. Find my useless second in command, dispose of him, and as my new second in command deal with these two messes please. Ensure this sort of fuck up never happens again.”
My PA grins. He deserves a promotion, and clearly this is exactly what he enjoys.
