Hold Me_A mafia romance Read online

  I frown at him. “Why?”

  “Because, my little warrior, it’s very poor business to cut a man’s eyes from his head at dinner.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m a sl—”

  “Don’t!”

  “No one is going to notice me.” The Master always wanted me to be the shiny object on his arm at social events. He wanted me to make him the envy of other men. I learned quickly to try and become a shadow. He never allowed it of course, but it served me well when he sold me. I can be virtually invisible if I want to be.

  “How desperately unaware you are, avecita.” He says nothing more, simply starts unbuttoning his shirt and then walks back inside before going into the bathroom. I hear the shower start and frown. Why is he showering in here?

  On a resigned sigh, I walk into the closet and pause. On one side are dresses and shelves of shoes—way more than I could ever possibly need or use—and on the other are shirts and suit jackets and racks of shiny brogues.

  Rafael’s clothes are in here. I shelf that little piece of information for a second and take the first dress I find off the hangar and change into it. Glancing at my reflection in the full-length mirror it takes me a split second to recognize myself. The pastel blue dress has a wide neck that sits just below my collarbone, with sleeves that cover my arms, concealing the tattoo on my wrist. The material clings to my now curvier body, stopping inches above my knees. Glancing back at the rail of dresses, I see that there are many more, just as nice.

  Returning to my reflection, I twist slightly, dragging my fingers through my hair. Golden waves tumble to the curve of my waist, shinier and bouncier than they have ever been before. My skin is tanned, my eyes brighter. I can’t correlate this girl with who I am. We’re as different as night and day. She’s the shiny exterior covering up the mess within, and I hate her for it. I hate her for looking so perfect. I hate her because I want to be her, and I never truly will be. She’s a lie.

  Taking a step back, I drop onto the small, upholstered stool in the middle of the closet. The girl in the mirror stares back at me with sad eyes, and I feel guilty for dulling the sparkle she had only moments ago. A door clicks open somewhere, and then Rafael steps into the closet, hesitating when he sees me. Our eyes meet in the mirror for a second before his slip over my full-bodied reflection.

  “You look beautiful,” he says.

  I sigh. “A lie.”

  “I don’t lie.”

  “No. Her.” I point at the reflection. “She’s a lie.” I turn around to face him. He’s frowning at me. “Pretty, shiny…clean. Strong.”

  He grabs my chin, tilting my head back roughly. His thumb drags over my bottom lip, his eyes tracking the movement. “She’s you. She’s your new truth. How quick you are to dismiss it in favor of a lie.” He tilts my head back even further. “Rise from the ashes, avecita, or remain in the burned-out shell of what you once were.”

  He drops his hand away, his cold, unforgiving eyes on my face. He offers no sympathy, no kind words, only this simple unyielding belief that I can be better and do better. He looks at me as though I were bulletproof. He turns his back on me, and for the first time, my eyes drop to the bare skin of his tattooed back. A white towel clings to his hips, and I blush at the overwhelming sight of so much muscle and ink.

  Pushing to my feet, I intend to move past him but pause when I see a simple red rose on his right shoulder blade, buried amongst a sea of black ink. Something about it draws my attention. The way the red petals are so detailed that I can almost feel their velvety texture under my fingertips. Or maybe it’s the little red blood droplets clinging to the thorns and the snags in his skin as though it were his blood. Before I register the movement, my fingers land on his hot skin. He freezes, and I jerk my hand away before he whirls around to face me.

  The temperature in the small closet seems to double as I’m faced with a wall of half-naked Rafael only inches away from me. He both intrigues me and makes me wholly uncomfortable.

  “Getting brave, little warrior.” He smirks.

  “I just… the rose. I like it.”

  “Of course you do.” He used to watch me in the gardens, as I smelled the roses. “It’s for my sister, Violet.”

  “Then why not a violet?”

  “Because, like a rose, she was beautiful but delicate, and she made me bleed when I tried to hold her too tight.” My heart stammers over itself. God, that’s beautiful and so tragic.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shifts closer to me, and I force myself to stand still. I will not be scared of this man. “As heartwarming as this is, I need to get dressed.” He smiles, breaking through the thickness in the air. His hand goes to his towel, and for a second, just a second, I debate standing there and letting him drop it. I know he would. A strange warmth spreads through me, probing fingers reaching, caressing, teasing at something so foreign to me that I can’t identify it. Curiosity and possibilities flit through my mind like the flashing images of an old film reel. Rafael is not some experiment though. I cannot test the boundaries of my fear and curiosity on him. I hurry from the closet, avoiding his gaze. The sound of his deep laughter rumbles behind me, and I hate myself for running away from him, but I have to know my limitations. Rafael is always both my limit and my exception.

  2

  Rafael

  I can feel Anna’s nails digging into my arm even through my jacket. She remains close to me, her steps even and rhythmical beside mine. I lead her up to the front door of Ricardo Rosi’s house, and she takes an audible breath as the door opens in front of us. A maid beckons us inside and leads us to a formal living room. Samuel glances up from his spot on one of the couches, a charming smile on his face. He, along with Carlos and some men arrived ahead of me to scout the security, as is the way with these meetings.

  “Ricardo,” I say. The man across from Sam pushes to his feet and turns to face me. The woman next to him also stands but doesn’t approach. I assume that’s his latest wife. He likes them young and…buoyant. The dinner, the wives…it’s all a pretense of civil business, but we’re not civil men.

  “Rafael.” He’s a big guy, almost as big as me. The suit jacket he wears doesn’t quite fit him, as though the material is desperately trying to contain all that mass and failing. He clasps a glass of brandy in front of him. His other hand shoved casually in his pocket. Murky brown eyes slip from me to Anna, who shifts a little closer.

  “And who is this?”

  She takes a deep breath and forces herself away from me a little. “Anna,” she says, her voice stronger and clearer than I was expecting.

  His lips twitch, and he brings the glass halfway to his lips. “Ricardo Rosi. Pleasure.” His eyes slip over her body as he sips his drink. My fists tighten at my sides. Anna’s small hand glides over my palm, forcing me to release my clenched fingers as she threads her fingers through mine. Ricardo tracks the movement. “Is she yours, Rafael?”

  “I am no one’s,” Anna snaps. He smirks before his eyes meet mine. I tug her closer to my side and stare him down. She is mine.

  Samuel clears his throat, and Rosi turns away with a throaty chuckle. Fuck, I’m losing my cool. Maybe having Anna here wasn’t a good idea.

  “Shall we do dinner?” Ricardo asks, changing the subject.

  Nodding, I follow Ricardo out of the room and into the dining room next door. Several men stand silently against the walls, both Ricardo’s and mine. Such is the way of business. Carlos stands near the door, and for once his ball cap and hoody are missing, much to his disgust. He’s still wearing a t-shirt and jeans. It was the best I could do.

  I pull out Anna’s chair, and her eyes lock with mine for a second before I take the seat next to her. I’m supposed to be lending her support. Instead, she’s keeping me grounded in the way that only she possibly can.

  Ricardo sits across from us, his woman sitting beside him. Ricardo is a middle-aged guy, but he’s every inch the cartel boss, with that hard, implacable edge to him. I may run Juare
z, but he runs Tijuana. Juarez is a wild animal, but Tijuana is a concrete beast, hard to hold, requiring sacrifices of blood on a weekly basis. Ricardo rules because he is ruthless, but we have always had a very mutual understanding, an alliance of sorts. Alliances are the foundations of all great empires after all.

  The woman next to him is his predictable type. Long dark hair, tits bursting out of her too-tight red dress, face full of makeup. Ricardo has been known to dabble in slaves, so she may even be bought, but she looks well taken care of. A whore and a slave are not the same things.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” Anna says to the woman.

  She looks at Anna, then Ricardo, then back to Anna. “Rosa.” She makes it sound like a question.

  Anna smiles, and that little thrum flitters through my chest. It’s that fucking purity that radiates from her. The simple need to ask a girl her name because she cares. She doesn’t belong here in this room with sordid criminals and cheap whores.

  Sam clears his throat and instantly starts talking business. My attention is split between the conversation and Anna’s small hand on my thigh.

  “You have something I want,” Ricardo says.

  I snort. “No, I have something you need; the use of my port in La Paz. And you have nothing I want in return.”

  Ricardo leans back in his seat, his eyes narrowed even as a small smile covers his face. “Every man wants something, Rafael.”

  Samuel laughs. “He has everything he wants.”

  I lean forward, bracing my elbows on the table. “This is where you offer me something, a baited hook if you will.”

  He grins. “I may have something…”

  The wait staff brings plates of food to the table, and all talk of business pauses for a moment. Courses come and go. Liquor flows, though I only have two glasses. Ricardo has considerably more.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” Anna whispers in my ear, pressing her lips to my cheek before she stands. I catch Carlos’ eye and nod at him to follow her. I don’t fucking trust Rosi’s men. I don’t particularly want to be in this house, but his offer to trade was not something I could pass up. Truthfully, he does have something I want, but it’s not something I think he’ll willingly give up. I need him desperate, ready to give me anything.

  “Where did you buy that one from?” Ricardo leers, his eyes on Anna’s ass as she walks from the room.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I crack my neck to either side. “I’m starting to think you have a death wish, Ricardo.”

  He throws his head back on a deep rumbling laugh. “Careful, Rafael. You’ll show a weakness.”

  My pulse is pounding against my temples. One flick of my finger and his men will be dead. I could put a bullet between his eyes before he even registers the carnage. The hard outline of my gun presses against my back, begging me to pull the trigger—to watch him bleed all over the pristine white tablecloth.

  “There are three things a man should always respect: his God, his business, and his woman.” I stare at him. “And if another man disrespects this… well, such things are fatal.”

  He stares back at me for long moments. “Let’s talk business.”

  The tension in my spine eases somewhat, dissipating further when Anna retakes her seat beside me. I don’t like not having eyes on her with this many strangers in the house. I start to stand immediately. “We’ve established that you really have nothing to offer me. You want to run shipments through my port, which always carries great risk. The more blow I run through it, the more the DEA try to fuck me, as you know.”

  He tips his head back. “What do you want? We both know you want something or you wouldn’t have accepted my invitation and wasted your time. Cut the bullshit.” I lift my glass to my lips and take a slow sip, enjoying his bristling impatience. The brandy burns my throat and warms my stomach instantly before I set the glass back down.

  “Twenty percent.”

  He lifts a brow. “You want twenty percent of the shipments. That’s ridiculous.”

  “No, I want twenty percent of your entire business.”

  He laughs. “You’ve gone loco, my friend.”

  “Use of my port would see your business grow by forty percent in the next five years. So, even if you lose twenty, you’re still gaining more than you currently have. That’s a huge growth rate.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. Ricardo may be violent and bloodthirsty, but he’s just a glorified soldier. To control his city he needs only fear. I have learned to be a businessman. Violence is not enough to hold a cartel because no matter how strong you are, there will always be someone more ruthless, with more men, more guns. I choose to have most of my battles like this, over a table with hard numbers and strategic deals.

  He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “You want twenty percent of all my revenue.”

  A smile pulls at the corners of my lips. “No. I want one client who makes up twenty percent of your cocaine trade.” We both know that cocaine is not his entire business, but this isn’t about business. This is fucking personal.

  His eyes narrow suspiciously. “Which client?”

  My smile breaks loose. “The Sinaloa.” Anna stiffens beside me, and I shift my arm along the back of her chair, threading my fingers through her hair at the base of her skull.

  Ricardo’s expression morphs into an icy mask, and he shifts in his chair uncomfortably. “You want to take over their supply?”

  “Something like that.” Dominges is a lazy fuck. He chooses to buy his blow and make a reasonable profit rather than make it for potentially twice as much gain. His main business is women. Cocaine is an obligatory sideline, though he still supplies most of California. Rosi will sell to him because it’s easy money. He doesn’t have to get it out of the country, and he doesn’t supply Cali, so it’s a win-win. Outsourcing his blow is about to become a costly mistake for Dominges. I can see the wheels turning in Ricardo’s mind. Processing it. Really, it’s a good business move. He’ll have all that extra blow to sell at street value rather than the cut-rate he’s undoubtedly giving the Sinaloa.

  He releases a long breath. “I’ll need to discuss it with Dominges.”

  I take a cigar from my inside pocket and place it to my lips, clicking my lighter open. There’s a beat of silence as the flame kisses the end of the cigar, and I inhale a stream of thick smoke. The lighter snaps shut with finality. “No. Speak to him, and the deal is off the table.” Smoke slips from my lips in a steady stream.

  His expression pinches, the lines at the corner of his eyes sinking deep. “What the fuck are you trying to get me into, Rafael?”

  “That’s none of your concern.” I flick ash into my empty glass. “You are at a crossroads, Ricardo. You can make your business bigger, better. You can cut some ties while solidifying others. Alliances…” I shake my head. “So important in our line of work.”

  “You know Dominges also owns a port.” He cocks a brow, and I laugh.

  “So do you, but San Juanico, like Tijuana, is the main shipping route between Mexico and California, as you well know. He loses more drugs than he gets through each month.” I shake my head. “Sloppy business. You and I know better.”

  “There are always risks. You’re running to Miami for fuck’s sake.” I only smile. I never lose shipments because I fucking own everyone, and I certainly don’t sail my shit right up to Miami. What is it they say—go in the back door?

  “Naturally.” We stare at each other, and I can see him buckling, grasping at straws under the desperate drive of pure greed. This business gets you like that. No matter how much money you make, you always want more. No matter how big the empire, they want it bigger, and that is a mistake. Spread yourself too far, and you get thin. Security is not what it once was. It’s harder to get people in your pocket. Yes, greed and power go hand in hand. And Ricardo Rosi wants more, more, more. Enough to give me what I want. He knows it, and I know it.

  He huffs out a breath. “I need a few days.”

  I lift the cigar to my l
ips and inhale until my lungs ache. “You have twenty-four hours. And remember, you are not the only one who wants that port.”

  I stand, offering Anna my hand. She takes it, and I pull her to her feet.

  “Why do you want to supply Dominges?” she asks once we’re in the car.

  “Because I owe him a debt of retribution, and nothing wounds a man more than losing control.”

  “So you intend to pay that debt by controlling his drugs?” I smirk, and realization crosses her face. “If you then don’t supply him, someone else will.”

  “I intend to do nothing. For now. I will bide my time until the opportune moment. He’ll be completely unaware that it’s me supplying him until the moment I cut his legs out from under him. Could he get another supplier? Of course. But that much cocaine takes time to get a hold of. It will come too late, and he will lose his California clients.”

  “Don’t go starting a war.” She chastises me like an errant child.

  I laugh and grab her waist, pulling her into my lap. She no longer tenses when my hips press the insides of her thighs. Trust: so tentative, like a fledgling bird getting ready to take flight. The breeze has caught young Anna’s wings, and soon she’ll jump, I can feel it. The material of her dress creeps up her legs, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Dominges started a war the second he came for you, avecita.”

  She grips the front of my jacket with both hands and closes her eyes on a long breath. “Don’t start a fight for me. Please.”

  I reach out, trailing my fingertips over the soft skin of her cheek, her jaw, and then the elegant column of her throat. “This isn’t about you.” It’s all about her. “It’s the principle that he broke into my house and took something of mine.”

  She lifts one delicate brow at me. “Something of yours?”

  Pressing closer to her, I wrap my hand around the back of her neck. “Mine, avecita.” I bring my lips to her ear, and she trembles in my hold. “You are mine.” I press my lips to the spot just below her ear, and a shaky breath leaves her as she tilts her head to the side, granting me more access. Smiling against her skin, I graze my teeth over her throat. The scent of her hits me hard, fogging my mind, distracting me from anything that isn’t her. So innocent, so pure, and yet so very dangerous: my little warrior.