Page 8 of Mafia King: Matteo (Borrelli Mafia #1)

Today, I realize too late that I should have taken more notes growing up with my father as the don’s advisor.

I spent my time rebelling through men. I should have been sharpening my wits about how the mafia men finesse and manipulate others to get what they want.

Those are the skills I need to compete in the business world.

Art, music, and modeling are all cutthroat businesses. I’m used to being taken care of and took it for granted. Now, I realize how fierce the competition will be. I feel inadequate and ill-prepared for the quest I’m about to undertake.

Sex has made me insanely hungry, and I have no problem finishing everything on my plate. Izzy insists on picking up the check. I thank her and toss back the last of my mimosa before we leave.

“Izzy, what did it feel like when you were being followed?”

“Creepy.” She pulls her fur-trimmed hood over her fluffy jacket that looks like a white shag rug, and I love it.

I shrug into my long coat.

“I’ll drive you home,” Izzy says as her driver approaches the curb.

“There’s no need. It’s just my imagination and nothing to worry about,” I argue.

“Get in the car. This is not negotiable. If we learned anything this past year, it’s to trust our instincts,” she says in a maternal tone that I can’t argue with. Damn, she already has her mothering voice down, and the baby girl hasn’t even arrived!

She gets in first and slides over. Then I get in next to her.

“Kirill, I didn’t know you drove,” I say, surprised to see him.

“It seems it’s the only way I get to see you now that you have the condo to yourself.”

He’s not kidding. It’s so true. I feel vulnerable inviting a man into my condo, so I choose to meet people out.

Besides, it gives me an excuse to get out.

Without school or a job, I get bored staring at four walls.

It gets so bad that I exercise to pass the time.

I do lunges, combine Pilates and yoga during TV commercials, and throw in a few sit-ups.

I have a membership at the yoga studio around the corner from me.

I just need to walk there and use it. I tend to work out harder if I have someone to compete with.

“What’s up, Kirill? I’m sorry. I’ve been preoccupied with the marriage that has been put on hold. And now, I’ve been told to get a job.”

He laughs. “You’re kidding.”

“No, it’s not funny. Besides, I find it empowering,” I reply, defending my right to work. I never thought it would happen, but who knows? Maybe I’ll like it and make new friends.

“Sure, you do. All this from the woman who’s centered her life around making daddy happy,” he teases.

“Seeing as how you are here, what do you know? Anything going on?”

“Nothing I can talk about, and you know that,” he quips as he maneuvers the G-Wagon through bumper-to-bumper traffic.

“Right. You know what, Kirill? I need a suit for interviews. Can you drop me at the Chanel store?”

“Is that okay with you, Mrs. Volkov?” Kirill asks, glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

“You know it’s Izzy to you,” she replies as she reaches out and tussles his hair like he’s a teenager and not a man approaching thirty.

“Yes, it’s fine. But I have to get home after that. I’m sure I’ll be ready for a nap. Growing a human inside requires tons of sleep.”

I can’t wait to find out about that personally. However, I have no inclination to give my body to a tiny human just yet. I need to use my education and start a career.

“I would have never finished school without you,” I tap Izzy’s leg affectionately. “You made me stick it out.”

Kirill pulls up in front of Chanel and turns to say, “Call me, Alena. I mean it. We can get drinks at the club.”

Yeah, and have a panic attack over the bar where Dmitry stabbed a hitman? Maybe it will help to erase the traumas if I face them head-on and see if I can exercise the demons.

I leave the store and realize I forgot to call my driver.

Shit.

Just then, a limousine stops in front of me. A tinted window in the back glides down.

“Do you need a lift?”

Even though I can’t see him, I know that voice. Chills run up my spine. I lean down, and of course, it’s the man from last night.

“If it’s not an imposition,” I answer casually.

I mean, we’ve already had sex. How dangerous could it be?

Besides, we’re not alone. He has a driver, like everyone with money here.

I can’t blame them. It’s the easiest way to navigate the city traffic, allowing passengers time to multitask.

When you’re making hundreds of dollars an hour, every minute adds another zero to the bank account.

The driver, a handsome middle-aged man in his forties, collects my bags and the zippered cloth travel bag. He opens the door for me, and I slide in as Mr. Grey slides over to make room.

“You’re shocked,” he says. His whiskey voice makes me wet with the warmth, and it resonates long after he finishes speaking.

“Surprised. It’s difficult to shock me,” I state. I’m self-conscious that I might be oversharing.

“I find that difficult to believe. You seem quite competent.”

I’m blushing as if I’ve had too much alcohol. I feel the warmth on my face. I hate it when that happens.

“What are you doing here?”

“I have to shop, don’t I?”

He wasn’t in the store. Has he been following me? I would have felt his presence if he were that close. I wonder how he found me. Judging from his impeccable suit, which looks far more expensive than anything my father wears, he has enough money to pay for information.

“Have you spoken to Madame M?”

“No, the fact we’re both here is pure coincidence. Where can my driver take you?”

“Are you not coming?” My eyes beg the question.

“Relax, I won’t leave you alone with him. I’m a possessive man, and I don’t share.”

I don’t even know where to begin with that declaration. But what I do know is that I want him to fuck me, and now.

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