Page 13 of Mafia King: Matteo (Borrelli Mafia #1)

ALENA

Some drunk practically falls in my lap, and after he’s gone, I realize he passed me a note. I cautiously open the napkin under the table.

My heart pounds in my ears. Mr. Grey is here. I’m immediately soaking at the mere thought of seeing him. I can’t wear panties with this dress, which is a problem.

I’m convinced Mr. Grey knows more than he should about me. I’m thrilled to hear from him and unsurprised when the note implies he doesn’t want me to be followed.

I excused myself, telling Kirill I needed to pee.

What does Grey want? My heart is filled with anticipation, which leaves me slick between my thighs. I ball the napkin into my fist before tossing it under a table as I pass.

I reach the stairs, glance over the railing, and see Kirill chatting up the waitress. I sigh in relief. Good. He has no idea what I’m up to.

The line waiting for the bathroom is long and can’t just be girls needing to use the toilet.

I’m aware that cocaine is still the drug of choice for those who can afford it.

Those who can’t wait any longer can be seen snorting white powder off the back of their hand.

Others are blatantly popping pills or smoking legalized marijuana.

These people remind me of a bunch of junkies outside a methadone clinic.

I walk down the corridor to the bathrooms lined with A-listers who frequent the posh place. This is the hottest place to be, but it doesn’t look so pretty right now.

Without warning, someone grabs my wrist and pulls me into the darkness.

As soon as I smell the familiar cologne, I know it’s Grey.

I part my lips to say something, but his lips cover mine, and a cold liquor fills my mouth and slides down my throat.

The alcohol relaxes me, and I melt into his strong arms.

I’m lost in the darkness I see in his dark eyes. I parted my lips to say something, but his lips covered mine. The kiss is soft, and my knees grow weak. His arms pull me safely into his chest.

He puts his empty glass on a nearby table and takes me by the hand.

He pulls away from our kiss, which has intensified.

“This way,” he says as he leads me back through the crowd, and we enter a dimly lit hallway. “Who are you with?” His voice is hostile and accusing.

“A friend.”

“I suggest you don’t go out with other men. You’re mine.”

“You don’t own me,” I snap back.

“We’ll see about that, Il Mio piccolo angelo,” he replies, pinning me against the wall.

I’m sure that last word is angel. One can’t live in New York City and not pick up some words in another language.

“You’re sexy as fuck in high heels. I can’t wait to make your toes curl when you come on my cock.”

I’m breathless with my need for his cock to be inside me. I’ve wanted him to thrust himself into my wet pussy from the second I received his note.

“You are mine,” he mutters against my ear.

His warm breath brushes the tiny hair on my neck, causing goosebumps to spread like fire up my back.

“From now on, you can only wear this dress when I’m with you,” he says as his hand slides under my dress and his fingers slip inside me.

He fingerfucks me until the noise of the club fades into the background. “You’re dripping for me,” he murmurs.

His teeth nip at my neck, and his hand grabs my breast, and he massages it through the fabric. I writhe under his attention. My nipple betrays me as it forms into a hard nub when he rubs his thumb over it. My knees buckle in submission.

He grabs the back of my thighs and lifts me off the floor. Grinding his pelvis into mine, I feel his hard cock between my legs and cling to his shoulders, bracing myself to be fucked.

I’m helpless, pinned against the wall. It’s exhilarating to give myself to him when he forces his porn star-sized cock into me. I moan and bite my lower lip to keep the noise muffled.

He moves in and out of me, faster and faster, until he’s pounding my pussy into a tantric state that makes my toes clench inside my shoes. Fuck him for being right about that.

His hands are under my butt cheeks, holding me as he continues to thrust inside me.

My back is riding the wall, and my dress is shoved to my waist. With all the friction he creates, I wouldn’t be surprised to have my back torn up from riding the wall.

I’ve had carpet burns before; wall burns—no.

A cold draft caresses my naked ass. It’s exhilarating and liberating.

What if we’re caught?

My hand clenches the hair on the back of his head. The other hand grabs his suit lapel like a vice grip.

His cock strokes the walls of my pussy, and I moan and groan with each thrust. My clit is shredded by the sheer size of him, and I wonder if I’ll bleed afterward, like the last time.

One of his hands moves to my lower back as I arch and climax. I bite his neck to keep my screams from entering the stale air encapsulating us. He groans into my neck as he fills me with his cum. His forehead briefly rests on my shoulder.

He pulls out and gently eases me to the floor.

I’m unsteady on my heels as I try to stand.

I’m dizzy from the head rush. My leg muscles are fatigued.

He holds me to him, sensing my predicament.

I’m still getting my balance and recovering from the head rush when I hear him zip up his pants. I guess we’re done.

“I’m very possessive. If you value your friend, keep him at a safe distance from you. I protect what’s mine,” he threatens, then he’s gone.

Fuck!

That was hot, and all my senses were reeling. I make my way to the women’s room and enter a stall where I ball up toilet paper and clean up all his denied children running down my leg. I toss it into the toilet and press the flush button. I pull my dress down and walk like I’ve just been fucked.

After I splash cold water on my face, I grab a paper towel and dry my face, blotting it so my makeup won’t run. I use my fingers to fluff my hair into place and hope Kirill doesn’t notice.

Dammit. I should have insisted Mr. Grey give me his real name tonight. Next time he wants me, I’ll demand information first. It’s unfair that he knows more about me than I do about him.

Maybe Izzy is right. I need a guard. Mr. Grey is a dangerous man.

He’s not the type to show emotion, judging from his detached style of fucking me at will and then leaving as if it was nothing.

He’s not one for cuddles or handholding.

I know that much. His hands are strong but smooth. I wonder what he does for a living.

I quickly return to the table to make up for the time I’ve been gone and find Kirill pouring me another vodka.

“There was such a line,” I lie my ass off.

“I would have sent a search party, but I know you can hold your own.”

“Yes, I can,” I say as I sit and promptly down the vodka.

His gaze lingers on my face longer than usual, watching me.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You seem distracted.”

“I’m fine. Just a bit nervous about a job interview tomorrow. I’m sure that’s all it is. I can’t stay out too late.”

“Okay.” He finishes the bottle.

“The noise is getting to me. I’m ready to go,” I say. It’s true. The noise is making my ears ring.

“No problem,” he says, holding two hundred dollars and tossing them on the table.

“Did you get her number?” I tease.

“Wouldn’t you love to know,” he replies as he escorts me to his Lamborghini, which the valet has brought to the front door for us. He helps me get in.

Kirill drives me home as we chit-chat, and then he waits for me to enter my building before leaving.

Inside my condo, I slump against the door, dropping my purse and taking off my heels.

More cum trickles out of me. I slip my dress off and use it to wipe away the cum as I walk naked into the bathroom.

I take a long, hot shower to wash off the smoke and smells of the nightclub. Once I’m dried off and in my pajamas, I turn off the light in my room and look at the city below.

Where are you, Mr. Grey?

* * *

I take a cab to my interview. There’s no way I’m walking ten city blocks in heels. I’m wearing my new outfit and hope I’m not overdressed. I was surprised to find the address is a huge building. I make my way to the security man standing at the front desk. It’s not unusual after 9/11.

I look at the electronic screen on the marble counter, which displays company names.

The guard at the desk asks what floor and lifts the phone.

He nods to me, saying twelfth floor, and I step toward the metal detectors—the man in uniform motions for me to walk through.

I put my purse in the container to my left and walked through the scanner.

He looks in my purse to check for weapons and hands it back.

I make my way to the elevator. When I step off the twelfth floor, I discover that Elementi Decor takes up the entire floor.

That costs a fortune in rent. I wonder what else this company does.

I give my name to the receptionist, who instructs me to take a seat.

She’s pretty and answers the phone in Italian.

It’s such a pretty language. I wish I knew how to speak it, but that will only happen if I have someone to speak it with.

Izzy is half-Italian, but she knows more Russian words than Italian ones.

I fire her a quick text to keep her updated and tell her my guard’s name is Dima. I know him. He’s in the family, so to speak. Izzy wishes me luck and types Stay safe.

A woman enters the waiting room I’ve been relegated to.

She introduces herself as Doris. She’s here to collect me and leads me to an interview room.

Then, I sit in a blue plastic chair like the ones found in a school.

She asks me about my degree and experience as she types, and she’s all business.

When she asks about job references, I’m ready with a reply.

“I haven’t been working because my future was up in the air until recently,” I state. My hands are folded on my lap, and my ankles are crossed and tucked under the chair.

She pushes the large-rimmed glasses up her nose. She’s wearing a matching plaid wool suit, and her silver hair is coiffed perfectly atop her head. She’s so striking that I look at her longer than what would be considered polite.

“Your records appear to be in order. Do you have ID with you?”

“Yes, why? Is something wrong?”

“No, in fact, we’re short on staffing, and we need you to start tomorrow,” she says, typing into her computer.

I’m speechless.

“Is that too soon?” she asks when I don’t respond.

“Oh. No, that’s fine,” I reply.

“Your driver’s license, please.”

“Oh, right.” I pull my purse to my lap and, with apprehension, dig into my wallet before I hand it to her.

“You will have full medical and dental insurance after thirty days. You have two weeks of vacation after a year. I can give you the salary as posted.”

“That’s fine.” The money is extra income for me, as Dad gives me an allowance.

I spend time answering questions, signing forms, and am given an address for the Palazzo Romano Hotel.

It’s downtown. I don’t remember it, but considering the fact that I secured a job, it is reassuring.

The address makes it real. I push the paperwork she gave me into my purse.

It’s information on the company’s website and a list of benefits.

Everything is so impersonal today. I’m impressed the interview wasn’t a Zoom call.

When Doris finishes the process, she stands, putting her hand out.

I mimic her as it must be my cue to leave. I take her outstretched hand in mine as we shake like a business deal has been concluded. She gives me a quick smile.

I guess, in a way, it is a business arrangement. She congratulates me and walks me to the front door.

By the time I reach the street, I recognize the SUV that stopped in front of me as one in my dad’s fleet. Dima has the window down so I can see him. He’s here to collect me. I am stunned to see him, but that’s on me. I forgot my life changed last night when I asked Kirill for help.

Dima is doing his job. I forgot he was tailing me this morning. I’m perplexed by the interview as I found it too perfect. There was no drug test, and I expected it to take months to be vetted. It’s as if Doris was expecting me.

Dima makes casual conversation and asks where I need to go. I tell him home. He complains about the traffic the entire drive. I swear the man uses his horn more than the gas pedal. Finally, he rolls up to my building’s parking garage.

“I’ll be down here checking things out. Just text me if you’re going anywhere. I’ll drive you.”

“Thank you, Dima,” I say as he pulls up to the secure door to the building.

There is no cell phone reception in the elevator. Before walking to my condo, I check the hallway to see if anyone is in it. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by recent events. I have a job. I have responsibilities. My days are no longer my own.

I drop my purse on the counter and look up the hotel on my phone.

Indigo Holdings owns the hotel. The address is in the city.

It’s a nondescript name. There are no details available regarding the ownership of this company.

It has to be legit if they are renting out floors inside buildings.

A design company hired me to work on the hotel project.

With my luck, the place is owned by some asshole with lots of money.

I have no clue if the hotel is privately owned, so I decide it doesn’t matter.

I am employed. I might be the first mob daughter ever to work a day in her life.

I text Izzy. She must be busy as she doesn’t respond.

I’m relieved Dima is downstairs. I don’t want Mr. Grey to know where I live. A shiver runs up my spine.

What if he already knows?

Is he a lover or a stalker?

What game are you playing, Mr. Grey?

* * *