Page 15 of Broken Mafia Prince (His to Break #1)

RAFFAELE

“I’m afraid that I’m no longer in the mood to negotiate,” I drawl, the words rolling off my tongue with ease. “My offer expired about the same time I heard about your plans to ambush me.”

The man on the other end of the phone line lets out a laugh that’s decidedly nervous. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gagliardi.”

I click my tongue. “Finn, if you’re going to do something as reckless as trying to double-cross me, the least you could do is own it. Don’t you agree?”

“Okay, look, what happened wasn’t my decision,” Finn says quickly, his voice edging on desperation. “The council decided it. You know how those old bastards are—always trying to play king.”

His excuses make me smile, though there’s no humor in it.

Predictable men like Finn are my favorite to deal with—they never fail to trip over their own arrogance.

Always diverts all the blame from his doorstep.

Among all of the stupid, predictable backstabbers and cowards I’ve encountered, Finn McGregor consistently ranks in the top five.

“Well,” I reply, keeping my voice deceptively soft, “I hope you resolve whatever issues you have with your council soon.”

“And why’s that?”

“So you can start looking for more men,” I inform him coolly. “The ones you had? I’m afraid they’ve met an unfortunate end.”

The line goes silent, stretching long enough for me to wonder if he’s hung up. Then, as expected, a string of curses erupts on the other end. If I have to guess, he must have received confirmation of my handiwork.

“You prick!” Finn snarls, his voice trembling with fury. “You think you’re untouchable because?—”

“Because I know better than to pull idiotic stunts like double-crossing people,” I cut in, my patience wearing thin. “And Finn, you’d do well to watch your tone when you speak to me.”

“You’re all talk over the phone,” he spits. “If you’ve got any guts, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and come back to Vegas and say it to my face?”

I chuckle. “I don’t gamble, Finn. Goodbye.”

Before he can respond, a wet, gurgling noise comes through the line. I let the call linger, listening as Finn chokes on his own blood and meets the same fate as the rest of his men. It doesn’t take long before silence reigns on the other end.

With a sharp nod to Tommaso, my right-hand man, I signal that the job in Vegas is complete. With the Irish presence here done, there’ll be a vacancy in the control of the city, leaving a power vacuum over the gaming tables and cash flow. I plan to fill it.

“Boss, we’ve got a problem,” Tommaso says, stepping forward. His face is tense, and his voice carries unease.

“What is it?”

“Your plane isn’t cleared for takeoff,” he informs me, sounding nervous.

“Well then, clear it,” I reply. “I pay you a boatload so I don’t have to worry about shit like this. And yet, here we are.”

Tommaso’s jaw tightens. “The engineers?—”

“Are not my problem,” I cut him off, my eyes narrowing. “I need a plane ready within the hour. If not, someone—or several someone’s necks—aren’t going to be attached to their spine. Starting with you.”

I’m itching to return to Chicago, and I know that every second longer I spend in Vegas makes me a sitting duck.

There’s a difference between being brave and being stupid, and hanging around in the aftermath of the blood bath that went down earlier today is most definitely the latter.

Someone with too much balls and not enough brain cells to rub together may just try to avenge the fallen men.

Tommaso swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “I’ll see about securing another plane.”

Ignoring him, I brush past and sink into a leather chair in the private waiting room, my men instinctively fanning out to cover all angles. They’re trained to stay alert, especially in moments like these.

Half an hour later, Tommaso returns, looking more composed. “I’ve got another plane secured. It’s ready as soon as you give the word.”

I rise to my feet and button up the jacket of my Armani suit, the fine fabric molding perfectly to my frame. “Good. Let’s go.”

Together, we make our way out of the building and into the hangar. The plane he leads me to is smaller than my usual jet, but its interior is no less luxurious. It’s a minor inconvenience, one I’m willing to overlook in the name of expediency.

“Tell the pilot to take off immediately,” I instruct Tommaso as we step aboard. “Make it clear that we’re not in the mood for delays.”

I’ve already wasted too much time in this godforsaken city. Vegas, with its gaudy lights and swarms of tourists dressed like fools, has never held much charm for me. The city reeks of desperation, and I’ve spent enough time here for one lifetime.

It’s just as seedy, corrupt, and sickening as the underbelly of Chicago, and you know what they say about the devil you know—it’s better than the one you don’t.

I settle into one of the cream-colored leather seats at the very back of the plane, stretching my legs out in front of me. My blood is thrumming with something I can’t put my finger on. It’s been the same way for over a week now, this curling anticipation inside me that just won’t go away.

I thought that coming out here and getting my hands bloody would be the solution, but here I still am, tension pulsing through me like poison in my bloodstream.

“Champagne?” The voice pulls me from my thoughts.

It’s husky, deliberate. I glance up to see a tall, leggy blonde hovering by my seat, her smile as polished as her appearance.

She’s dressed in a sleek flight attendant uniform, but she carries herself like she belongs onstage at one of the clubs on the Strip.

She knows her effect too; the coy curve of her lips gives it away.

“No,” I reply curtly.

“Whiskey?” she tries again, leaning forward until her cleavage practically grazes my face. “You look like a whiskey man.”

My gaze drops, not because I’m interested, but because I know she expects it. “Wrong guess.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m sure I could do better if you gave me time.”

“Not interested.” My tone should’ve been enough to send her packing, but she only pouts, undeterred.

“Not even in a little… preflight snack?” Her voice is low, suggestive. “A big, strong man like you must have a big appetite. Am I right?”

This time, I let my eyes roam over her—not just her cleavage but the rest of her, too.

She’s pretty in that generic, surgically enhanced way: a tight waist, impossibly long legs, and all the right curves in all the right places.

A perfect Barbie doll. Still, there’s no spark.

I try to recall the last time I had a woman who left me feeling anything other than bored, and it feels like a lifetime ago.

“Seems you are so eager to please me, I see,” I drawl.

Her smile widens as she drops to her knees without hesitation, staring up at me with eager eyes. Her tongue peeks out one side of her mouth and she drags it over her lips in a move that’s meant to be sexy, but only succeeds in pissing me off.

I smirk because I suddenly have the interest to indulge her foolishness a little. “I need a glass of bourbon first.”

Excitement makes her eyes shine, but before she can get up and go get the drink, I click my tongue. “Did I say you could stand up?”

Surprise flashes across her face before it melts into something darker, more eager. She grins, tilting her head just enough to let her hair fall into place. “I’ll go get you that drink, sir.”

She drops to all fours and crawls to the galley, her ass swaying in the tight little red skirt. I wait for her to disappear inside before rising to my feet and following her, that restless energy urging me forward.

I don’t even know if I should call it that. I guess it’s more of seeing just how far she’s willing to take it. I’m in no mood to fuck today.

When I step into the galley, she’s still on her knees, holding the bourbon. I waste no time. My hand fists in her ponytail, yanking her head back sharply. She gasps, a throaty sound that ends in a moan, her neck arching instinctively.

“I’m sure there’s a no-fraternization clause in your contract,” I tell her, my tone even. “You’re not supposed to proposition the guests. And yet, here you are, breaking the rules.”

Her breath hitches when I twist her hair tighter, forcing her to meet my gaze. Desire glimmers in her half-lidded eyes as she murmurs, “Guess I’ve always been bad at following rules.”

I smirk, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. Rules might not matter to her, but they’re the very foundation of men like me—rules of power and control. And right now, I’m in the mood to enforce them.

When I nudge her, she obediently turns around to face me.

“Look at you, all willing and obedient on your knees. I bet you’ll do just about anything I want you to. Good thing I’m in the mood to punish offenders.”

With a sultry smile and eager hands, she reaches for my belt and undoes the heavy buckle, the button and zipper following. My cock jerks when she cups it through the material of my briefs. Grinning like the cat who got the cream, she starts to pull the waistband of my underwear down.

Impatient, I grip her jaw silently and command her to open her mouth. As soon as she does, I stop. I don’t know why.

Most women will complain or try to pull away at the treatment, but the blonde on her knees, her eyes pools of desire shining up at me, just feels off. She is beautiful, no doubt, and it usually doesn’t take this long for me to have them screaming for me, but today I’m just not interested.

Plus, there seems to be a commotion outside the plane, and it is enough to kill this moment. Instinct takes over, and I tense, fastening my pants back up and reaching for the gun tucked into my waistband. Before I can grab it, the flight attendant places her hand over mine.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she says with an inviting smirk. “Let your men handle it. We have more important business to see to.”

Her fingers toy with the buttons of her shirt as she starts to undo the last few, revealing a black lace bra beneath, through which I can see her pierced nipples. My body doesn’t react to the sight at all, and instead, my gaze shifts over her shoulder to the glass window.

A young woman stands a few feet from the plane, arms crossed and chin thrust high in defiance.

She’s small—a little over five feet at best—and looks like she weighs as much as one of my suits, but her presence is anything but insignificant.

Even from here, I can see her barking something at one of my men, who towers over her by more than a foot and outweighs her by at least twice as much.

Intrigued, I push past the flight attendant without a second glance, ignoring her offended glare as I descend the stairs and step onto the hangar floor.

The woman’s voice grows sharper as I approach. Her eyes are furious, and she’s pacing now, gesturing wildly to the man standing before her.

“Well, I don’t see your asshole boss anywhere around here,” she snaps, jabbing a finger at my man’s chest. “Is he planning to join us anytime soon, or should we start sacrificing a virgin or two to summon him?”

Her tone is biting, and the challenge in her voice catches me off guard.

For a moment, I simply watch her, amused despite myself. The corners of my mouth twitch as I respond, “I think just one will suffice.”