The Mafia King’s Doll

Samantha

After I cried my heart out, I made myself a cup of coffee, which I’m sipping on while I sit next to my mystery man on the couch.

He has his arm wrapped around my shoulder, and it makes me feel safe. “I had a bad day at the office,” I whisper over the rim of my cup.

That’s the understatement of the century.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks, his tone gentle and caring.

Not wanting to put him in any danger by telling him about Mr. Vitale being a mafia boss, I shake my head. “I can’t.”

I can’t tell anyone about what happened.

It’s something I’ll have to stay quiet about until the day I die.

Feeling exhausted and emotionally drained, I let out a miserable sigh and mutter, “I need to do something that will take my mind off what happened today.”

My mystery man pulls his arm away from my shoulders and says, “I’ll be back in a few seconds.”

He gets up and walks into the restroom.

I rise to my feet and take the cup to the kitchen. Placing my hands on the side of the sink, I stare at nothing in particular as the past day’s events hang over my head like a dark cloud.

Jesus, I can’t believe what happened today.

Mr. Vitale is one of the heads of the Cosa Nostra.

After I got home, I took a quick shower before Googling the Sicilian mafia. Everything I read about the mafia group increased my fear tenfold.

Mr. Vitale made it clear he won’t let me resign, and I get a feeling if I try to run, he’ll come after me. Not because I’m an excellent PA, but to silence me.

Shit.

What do I do?

When the restroom door opens, I turn around and look at my mystery man, who’s quickly becoming one of the most important people in my life.

I could’ve called Jenny or caught an early flight to Seattle, but instead, I messaged him.

“We can leave in fifteen minutes,” he informs me. “Leave? Where are we going?”

“To get the tattoo you want.”

For a moment, I’m overwhelmed because I’ve wanted to get the tattoo done for a while now. Every time I see Todd’s name carved into my skin, it’s a reminder of what he did to me.

Closing the distance between me and my mystery man, I wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his chest.

It feels amazing to touch a man after not being able for so long. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until now.

And it’s all because of him – my mystery man. “Thank you,” I whisper.

When he engulfs me in a hug, a sense of safety calms the storm of emotions in my heart. “You’re welcome, baby.”

He’s called me that more than once, and it has me tilting my head back so I can look up at him. My voice is shaky as I ask, “What’s happening between us?”

“Whatever you want,” he murmurs. “What if I want a relationship?”

He lifts his hand to my face and brushes his fingers along the curve of my jaw. “Is that what you want?”

My heartbeat speeds up and pulling my arms from around his waist, I reach a hand up to the ski mask. He allows me to trail my finger over the skull, and I wish I could see his face.

“Yes. I’d like to try with you,” I admit. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Our eyes lock, and his soft brown irises make a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter in my stomach.

Slowly, he lowers his head but stops an inch from my face. “Is this okay?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

He closes the last of the distance and presses his mouth to mine. I can feel the heat of his breath through the mask before he lifts his head.

Again, we stare at each other, but when I try to take hold of the fabric so I can lift the ski mask, he grabs me by my wrist and shakes his head.

“Not yet.”

“When?” I whisper.

“Soon. I just need a little more time.”

Franco

I called Marcello and told him to have a car waiting outside with the keys in the ignition so I can take Samantha to the tattoo place. They’ll follow us in the G-Wagon.

I should be meeting with Renzo and the others, but I can’t make myself leave Samantha. Not until I’m sure she’ll be okay.

As I look at the woman who’s making me feel things I’ve never felt before, I pray to all that’s holy she falls in love with me.

If I can make her love me, then she might accept it when she learns I’m her mystery man. I don’t know what I’ll do if she rejects me.

I’ll probably kidnap her so she can’t leave me.

I feel my phone vibrate and know it’s a signal from Marcello that everything is ready.

“Let’s go, baby,” I say as I take her hand.

When I pull her toward the window, she tugs against my hold. “I’m leaving through the front door. I’ll meet you outside.”

Right.

Not even thinking about what I’m doing, I wrap my other hand around the back of her neck and press a kiss to her mouth. Even though the balaclava is in the way, I can still feel her lips.

Christ, I want this woman so bad I’ll do anything to make her mine.

Love me back, Samantha.Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

I let go of her and climb out the window so she can close it behind me.

Heading down the fire escape, I jump to the ground and rush to where the Mercedes is parked. I glance up the street and see the G-Wagon, then climb behind the steering wheel.

I don’t wait long before Samantha opens the passenger door and gets into the car.

Starting the engine, I guide the vehicle into traffic, and as we drive to Dante’s tattoo place, I ask, “Are you feeling better?”

Samatha shrugs and glances out the window. “It comes and goes.” She turns her gaze to me. “I don’t think it’s fully sunk in yet.”

Yeah, I don’t think so, either. She’s way too fucking calm. Either that or this woman is the strongest person I know.

When I park the car behind the building where the tattoo parlor is, we get out of the Mercedes. I take Samantha’s hand and lead her to the back entrance.

“Will you be okay with Dante touching you?” I ask. “Dante? Is he the tattoo artist?”

“Yes.”

“Only time will tell,” she murmurs before we go inside.

Dante’s busy getting everything ready, and when he sees us, a grin spreads over his face.

I informed him about Samantha and that he needs to be gentle with her. I also told him he can’t call me by my name around her, and I’ll be wearing a balaclava.

“Did you close the store?” I ask.

“Yes. No one will bother us.” He gets up from his stool and comes to shake my hand. “It’s been a while. How are you?”

“Good.” I gesture to my woman. “This is Samantha.”

He gives her a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you.” Pointing to the tattoo chair, he says, “Take a seat.”

Letting go of Samantha’s hand, I watch as she positions herself on the chair before I move closer so I can stand next to her.

“Great,” Dante murmurs. “I was told you want a tattoo of shaded bricks with a flower growing out of them.”

Samantha nods. “And I want the words ‘stronger than ever’ over the bricks as if it’s graffiti.”

Dante nods, then asks, “Where do you want the tattoo?”

Her features tighten, and she looks more nervous than usual as she gestures at her side.

When I realize it will be a couple of inches beneath her breast, there’s a burst of jealousy in my chest because Dante will be working close to what I consider mine.

Mine?

Christ, I’m falling too fucking fast for this woman.

“Okay.” He gives her a questioning look as he takes a seat on a stool. “Can you lift your shirt so I can clean the area?”

She hesitates, and I figure it’s because she’s nervous about Dante touching her, so I place my hand on her shoulder. “I’m right here.”

She nods and swallows hard before gripping the hem of her shirt, slowly pulling it up.

I notice haphazard scars on her skin as the fabric moves up, and a frown forms on my forehead.

Then I get to see more of the scars, and it spells out a name.

Todd.

The rage hits me so hard that I take a step back as if I’ve taken an actual punch to the gut. My lips part with shock, and my vision tunnels on the name carved into her skin.

The fucker branded her.

I’m going to check Samantha’s personnel file to see which hospital she used to work at in Houston. Then I’m going to find out which fucking neurosurgeon’s name is Todd.

And then I’ll kill the fucker.

Dante masks his reaction a hell of a lot better than I do. I’m just thankful I’m wearing the balaclava because the last thing Samantha needs to see right now is the anger on my face.

She tucks the fabric neatly beneath her breasts, then turns her head so she’s looking at me.

I grab the extra stool, and taking a seat near her head, I take her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles before I lock eyes with her.

“How are you holding up?” I ask.

She sucks in a deep breath, and instead of answering my question, she whispers, “Don’t let go of my hand.”

“I won’t,” I assure her before I nod at Dante to begin.

The moment he wipes the area clean, she jerks and her fingers tighten around mine.

I see panic flare in her eyes, and bracing my other arm at the top of her head, I move so close to her that I can feel her breath warming the balaclava.

“You’re doing great, baby.”

She nods, and I notice she’s holding her breath. “Breathe,” I murmur close to her mouth.

Dante pulls away from her, and she sucks in a deep breath. “I’m just going to prep the area,” Dante warns her.

This time Samantha doesn’t jerk when he touches her, and it makes me so fucking proud of her.

At this moment, I don’t think about the hell that broke loose today and the war I’ll have to fight in the coming weeks.

There’s only Samantha and how brave she is.