The Mafia Contract Series

I have an hour to kill, and, despite my better judgment, I need to spend it with Jasmine. Don’t ask me why, the pull is too great, and I am curious. I can’t help myself and argued with myself with every step I took to her room, passing Mrs. Bourne on the staircase. She lowered her eyes, and I know she’s concerned about me. I saw it in her expression and as hard as she tries to make things homier; I don’t give a fuck because how can you want what you’ve never had?

I tell myself it’s just one minute to tell her I’m leaving. That should be enough to set the tone for our relationship. Our business relationship, but the minute I saw her relaxing in the tub, I wanted more.

Her furious expression made me laugh inside and when I approached, the red tinge to her cheeks wasn’t from the steam. She tried desperately to cover up, and yet the yearning in her eyes told me she wasn’t as immune to me as she likes to think, and I wonder about her. A freshly bloomed flower who is perfect and in her prime and I’m guessing she’s a virgin. She must be curious, just the expression in her eyes tells me that and so I couldn’t resist testing that theory a little.

Her skin is soft against my fingers and knowing I am the first to touch her this way causes a fierce protective streak to rise inside me. She trembles under my touch and her low moans of desire tell me she’s so ready for this.

When I kiss her, it’s like tasting forbidden fruit because I’m the bastard who set the rules in place and it’s ironic I’m the one breaking them on the first day. Can we introduce sex into the arrangement?

It may solve a few problems.

Perhaps my visit to Miss. English will be a quicker one than expected because why eat chicken when you have steak at home? Scrub that, the finest oyster. An aphrodisiac of the most potent kind. A virgin who has yet to learn how great sex can be. It may pass the time being the teacher for once and not the student.

Her low moan is captured in my mouth, and I love how it makes me feel. As if I’m the king of the world and she is my queen. This is new for me because I’m not one for emotion. I fuck a girl once and move on, never to be repeated. Miss. English never counted because she knew the score. A casual fuck between classes with no repercussions. But this-this is new.

I should pull away. Turn and leave immediately, but now I’ve started something I can’t stop. It’s my fucking wedding day and I’m planning on leaving my bride to go to another woman. What sort of bastard does that? A mafia bastard born and raised.

The shutters come down as I remember who I am. I can’t afford the luxury of emotion. It will destroy me. My love for my sister is doing a good enough job of that already, so I pull back abruptly and stand, hating the flush to her face and the confusion in her gorgeous eyes. As I stare down at her, I have an overwhelming urge to pluck her from the tub and carry her to bed. To explore her body leisurely and explore it deep.

Raking my fingers through my hair, I’m hesitating again, and I don’t recognize myself. It’s as if someone else is in control of me and I don’t like-at all.

Inhaling a deep breath, I try to fix an expression of disinterest on my face. Instead, the only fucking thing that makes it out of my mouth is a soft, “By the way, I kind of like your lavender hair. It complements your blue eyes.”

Those same eyes blink at me in surprise and before I can make a further fool of myself, I turn and head for the door.

‘I like your fucking hair!’ When did I become such a weak pussy?

Groaning to myself, I don’t look back and leave the room for my own sanity. She lets me. There is no call for an explanation, no angry retort for invading her personal space. I just feel those eyes burning into my back as I leave, and I wish like hell I know what she is thinking right now because, for some reason, it matters.

As I head down the staircase two stairs at a time, I meet Roberto in the entrance and say curtly, “Is my plane on standby?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we’ll leave now. Has Burton arranged my bag?”

“Yes, sir, safely in the trunk.”

“And the guys?”

“Ready.”

“Then let’s go.”

By the time I’m in the middle car with Roberto up front, I breathe a sigh of relief. Business. This will get me through whatever that was back there.

As we set off, I consider my feelings for Jasmine. Perhaps it’s because I’ve never had to care for another human before other than my sister and she wasn’t my sole responsibility. I never had any say in her life, not like Jasmine. When I saw her father strike her, it caused a protective instinct to flare up deep inside. When Franco gave me a choice, there was no question it was Jasmine. It was from the moment she walked into the room, wearing a proud gesture of defiance. The fact she never answered back and took her punishment showed me she had learned that the hard way. Now it’s up to me to make things good for her, and I never expected to feel like that.

When I instructed the designer to make a room fit for a princess, I just believed it was the right thing to do. Mrs. Bourne was given an endless credit limit to equip the closet with everything a woman needs. I suppose I thought that would be enough. Lock her in the gilded cage and carry on with my day. But this-yearning I’ve developed is surprising me.

It’s a good thing I’m leaving for my sake and so I reach for my phone and call the one man I need right now.

He answers immediately.

“Malik. What have you got on Miss. English?”

A low chuckle is my answer. “I wondered when you’d ask.”

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I’m curious about that comment and he rasps, “She’s subsidizing her teacher’s salary by providing young men for our favorite bastard.”

“And you’re only telling me now.” I’m furious. This is the first he’s telling me of this, even though I heard it from Baron already.

He snaps, “Y ou asked, my friend and just for your information, I heard back only this morning from a valuable source. Excuse the fact I was rather tied up in family business.”

A piercing scream interrupts the call, and Malik says something in Arabic that sounds a lot like a curse. The scream turns into a pitiful cry, and he sighs heavily. “As I said, family business. Anyway, to the reason you called. Miss. English works at Rockwell Academy for a reason. An endless supply of fresh-faced teenagers for her sugar daddy, and I mean that in the monetary sense only. Our bastard likes them young and male, which raises the question of why he married your sister?”

“That’s what I want to know.”

“It could be a front, a smokescreen, so he can carry out his perverted pleasure under the radar, or he married her for another reason. Perhaps he likes to use her in a different way. It’s difficult to find out because she is kept behind closed doors and only brought out when he needs a companion.”

“Are you saying she’s a prisoner?”

My gut wrenches and Malik snarls, “Aren’t we all my friend.”

Another loud scream reminds us he’s got work to do, and he sighs. “Please forgive me. I may be some time. I’ll see what else I can discover, but not until I’ve dealt with this, um, problem.”

He cuts the call and I sigh heavily. Fuck this life and fuck our families for molding us into the bastards we became. I don’t want this for any kids of mine, so I decided not to have any. Why would I, when this is all I can offer them? No, the Sontauro line ends with me, which is why I negotiated a wife in a business deal. Now she knows, it should be easy to make it happen, which reminds me, I really need to book that vasectomy, and fast.