Page 5 of Caught By the Kingpin
She’s tiny and pure, sweet and innocent. I’m amoral, scarred, and probably going to destroy her family.
She’s also strong and clever. The only reason a girl like her says she doesn’t need any help when she’s obviously in a shitty situation is because she’s cooking up a way out. I hope there are no men involved, because they’ll have an untimely death if they touch my girl.
I’ll be watching every moment, protecting her. Life has dealt her a poor hand so far, but from this point onwards, that changes. She’s about to become very lucky. I’ll discover all the things she wants most in the world, and give them to her along with all the love and orgasms she can take. That sadness I saw in her grey eyes? I’ll remove every cause, including her father.
I won’t stop until Felicity is happy.
From today, I have a new job. The whole of Brent’s considerable forces will be focused on one person. Felicity. And one task.
OperationWife.
3
FELICITY
Since Marco, I’ve been living in a mirror. It all looks the same, but feels totally different.
Narrowing it down, the change is three things.
First, my whole body has decided to vibrate. Not literally, I’m not having a stroke. But my nipples tingle and my pussy gets warm whenever the vision of Marco’s face appears in my mind. That’s honestly, like eighty per cent of the time, because cooking, cleaning, and planning escape aren’t particularly exciting.
Along with that, the dull fear that has accompanied me for years, probably since my mother “disappeared” when I was eleven after a particularly angry argument with my father, has lifted. I’ve been scheming this latest escape for months, and if I’m honest with myself, putting it off to avoid another disappointment and punishment.
But since Marco’s visit, I’m confident. I can do this. A big scary creature saw something compelling in me, and that knowledge makes me believe I’ll succeed.
The third invisible change is how it feels to be watched.
Anyone involved with the mafia is always being observed. Suspicion is the stock in trade, and I’m used to all the little ways of hiding myself and what I’m doing. And that’s still present, don’t get me wrong. But there’s another layer now, a warm protection.
I guess it’s just the satisfaction of having outwitted my father—he thought I was just showing off my baking skills. For once, the punishment burn on my arm doesn’t hurt that much. I run my finger down the pale scars from previous infractions, and I think of that scar on Marco’s cheek. The similarity is a line of connection, a pale link. The same feeling as being watched over, guarded.
I’m probably imagining things.
It’s been four days and it seems like a dream when I remember him. His pale blue eyes. That grey suit. The scent of the ocean when I stood next to him.
Every night, I think of Marco and, dream or not, the wetness between my legs and the squirming need that makes me shift in my narrow bed is real. I touch myself and come to a silent, shuddering release, my body washed with relief after a whole day of turning myself inside out with wanting him. I stroke myself in the dark of night in my bedroom and think of his deep voice and his words.
I’ll be back to claim everything.
What will he claim?
I guess it doesn’t matter. I finally counted the cash I’ve been saving up and allowed myself to believe I could get away. Less than a month and I’ll have enough money to leave and I won’t see Marco again, even if he did return to claim… me.
I’d be far away, starting my new life in Scotland.
I chose Scotland for three reasons. One, it’s as far from London as you can go and still be in the same country. Important consideration, since I don’t have a passport.
Two. The best strawberries come from Scotland. Raspberries too. The sweetest, plumpest, best fruit that I use to decorate my cupcakes, arrives from the north. They’re always gorgeously red on the inside, like the lipstick Mum used to wear. Got to be a good place if they have strawberry farms, right? At a pinch, I could always work on one if I can’t make my bakery work.
I will, though.
And three is a bit silly. Romantic, especially for the daughter of a… But in my favourite historical romance book the handsome hero sweeps the heroine off to Gretna Green, just over the border into Scotland, to marry her against her father’s wishes.
Obviously I don’t have any illusions about anyone wanting to marry me. Nah, not going to happen. I’ll be on my own, as I always am, but… I dunno. I want to run to Scotland so I can imagine I’m going to Gretna Green with a man so passionately in love with me he’s defying family and convention to marry me. I’m going to Scotland because it’s a place to build the life your heart desires.
It’s all planned out and the bank notes hidden, rolled into the seams of my favourite old hoody. It will be a long road to my dreams, and even then, I’ll still be alone. No scandalously flirting with a Regency duke, marriage at Gretna Green, orgasms, babies, and a husband to love me.
The love bit is probably the most unlikely part of all that, including a duke from the Regency. I’m not very lovable. People like my cupcakes, even if everyone here has an opinion about whether they’re too sweet, moist, dry, or have too little decoration or too much. However hard I try, I’m not lovable.
