Taken: A Mafia Romance Read online

  “I’d ask if you wanted to sit and chat,” I say, nodding to the two overstuffed club chairs, “but we’d need another seat for your ego.”

  He chuckles. “I can see why he wants to give you back.”

  His words sting, more than I care to admit, but remind me there is an end goal here which doesn't work out in my favor. Maybe Dean will unwittingly drop some useful info, if I can contain the sarcasm he always seems to bring out in me.

  “You must be pretty good to get all this done in such a short amount of time,” I try to compliment him.

  He perches his tall body on the chair arm. “What makes you think that?”

  “One book on all these shelves. Must have been a recent purchase.”

  “Pretty observant. Maybe I should hire you,” he says, dryly.

  “Maybe you should,” I challenge him. “I'm smart. Not like everybody says, like dumb.”

  He grins. “Did you just quote The Godfather?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Hey,” Krista, interrupts, “I was looking for you.” She stops just inside the door.

  I am observant, because I don't miss the shy dart of her eyes to Dean or the way he rises slowly, sliding his hands in his pockets, practically looking like he wants to pounce on her. Very interesting. Love in Captivity. Maybe I should write a novel to put on these shelves. “Xavier said to order more supplies for you,” she informs me, “and I just need to know if there's anything different you'd like?”

  Why does he insist on showing me the nice side of him? If he didn't care in some capacity, he wouldn't do this, right? Dean studies me, thoughtfully, and I try to shutter my reaction to her request. I don't want him to see my turmoil.

  “I'll leave you two alone,” Dean says, crossing to the door. “Always a pleasure, Rhiannon,” he calls out over his shoulder.

  Later in the afternoon, when I stand outside, deciding which is the best direction to run, when the time arises, Xavier walks up behind me.

  “What are you doing out here, Rhi?” his deep voice asks.

  “Feeling the sunshine on my skin.” I lift my face toward the cloudless sky.

  He steps beside me, both hands in his tailored-suit pockets. “There’s a plan in place,” he starts. “We’re…”

  But, I cut in, “Save it. I don’t want to hear anything about what you and Dean have planned.”

  He hisses, lowly. “You need to stop being so damn difficult.”

  I spin to face him. “Difficult?”

  “We’re leaving here tomorrow.”

  Well fuckity fuck fuck. All that note taking for nothing. I cross my arms. “You sure you don't want to leave me behind again?”

  His blue eyes flare. I struck a nerve.

  His eyes skim over my yoga pants and pink t-shirt, leaving an eruption of goosebumps in their wake. “You’re accompanying me to a function tonight before we leave. Krista will help you get ready.”

  A whirlwind of confusion swirls inside me. He's going to take me out in public?

  “What kind of function?” I ask with trepidation.

  He thumbs his lower lip before speaking again. “Something I'm required to attend.”

  “I'll check my calendar.”

  He smiles—a real Xavier smile—and it slams into me with such force, I nearly crumple. “Smartass,” he says. And his eyes twinkle and dance and I can’t turn away.

  “But it's a nice ass, I’ve been told,” I sass back.

  “Yes, it is,” he agrees in a husky voice that seeps through my skin and lights a fire in places that cause my face to heat.

  Something is very wrong with me, because in this moment, with the look in his eyes, I forget the situation I'm in and press my thighs together as if I can kill the attraction to him in my wet vagina.

  “Who has been telling you you have a nice ass?”

  “If you want information, you have to give to receive.”

  “I'm very good at giving.” He wets his lips.

  My nipples harden under his hooded gaze. Are we flirting? My nipples seem to think so. The stiff peaks strain against my bra. I've never sixty-nined, but that is the visual playing in my warped mind. “Maybe we should exchange at the same time.”

  He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “You're playing with fire, Rhiannon.”

  With that warning, he turns from me, and I watch him walk away. The tight muscles in his back and ass pull the material of his clothing tighter with each step. He's hot. Fire is right, and I'm not willing to be burned twice.

  Dressed in a simple, slinky black cocktail dress and black heels, courtesy of Xavier,

  we slide into a silver Mercedes. He doesn’t even need to tell the driver where we’re going. He just knows. Everyone knows, except me. All I know is no one at this dinner party will ask questions. Poor little Rhiannon. But, don’t worry, you don’t have a one-way ticket to Pityville and we won’t fall down together during my temper tantrum, because I’ve got my own plans. Maybe I can steal a phone and make contact with Delilah. She's got to be wondering what happened since I didn't make contact. In our planning, we came up with a code to make sure it was safe to talk. If she says ‘dragonfruit’ then I know my father found out my plans.

  Before long, we arrive at a sprawling mansion nestled between a throng of trees.

  “Stella,” Xavier says after the door opens.

  “Xavier, so good to see you,” a leggy blonde, in a sparkling silver top and jeans that are a second skin, greets us as we step inside the foyer. It’s pretty standard, well standard for mansions: marble floors, enough space to make your voice echo, a round table in the center of the room with a whole garden of exotic plants, and a tiny white poodle that comes yapping when we enter.

  “Don’t mind Fifi,” she says, scooping the little thing up. “My husband is through there.” She gestures her hand to an arched entryway. A portly man appears on cue, wearing a smile as big as a watermelon across his face. “Xavier, there you are.”

  He’s right, no one asks questions. Neither Mr. Happy Pants or Cruella Deville have even glanced in my direction.

  After small talk between them, we enter into a dining room, and Xavier seats me at a large table filled with crystal and china.

  “Sorry we’re late,” a feminine voice shrills, and I turn in my seat.

  My eyes crash into a mustached man I have definitely seen before. But where?

  My memory data bank is working overtime as I try to remember where I’ve seen him before. Years ago. Think.

  Everyone is introduced, and Xavier doesn’t bother mentioning me, but it’s as if everyone here knows me anyways.

  Ken Gordon and his wife, and Mr. and Mrs. Davenshire who own the place.

  The salads are served, and I fork around my spring greens as my brain pushes out steam with working so hard.

  “So, I didn’t care what anyone said. I wasn’t taking no for an answer,” Mr. Gordon says and the table erupts into feigned laughter.

  And that’s it. When he smiles, I see it. My hand stills. He’s a friend of my father’s. The chief of police.

  16

  Xavier

  Rhiannon is obviously nervous, and I think she’s already realized why I have her here. She pushes her food around on her plate, forcing a smile every now and then. She squirms in her seat, and I place my hand on her thigh under the table to calm her. Or stop her. Stella and Hank Davenshire probably think I’m crazy for bringing the daughter of DeLaurio here, but Hank owes his company to me so they won't say a word. And maybe I do have a death wish. Maybe I just give absolutely no fucks.

  There’s a method to my madness here. Waltz into a dinner party with DeLaurio’s daughter on my arm with the chief of police sitting across from us making fucking small talk. It’s almost comical. Yes, I want him to let DeLaurio know I’ve got her, and yes I know they can’t do a damn thing about it.

  I don’t think Gordon has even recognized either of us yet. Probably just thinks we’re business associates of Hank’s. But, rest assured, h
e’ll definitely know who we are when we leave. And I’m sure the rat bastard will personally be the one to tell DeLaurio I’ve got his daughter.

  We work through an assortment of pecan-crusted salmon with asparagus and potatoes, and before I can finish off another bite, Rhiannon leans over.

  “Can I go to the restroom?”

  We’re in a house, what harm can she do?

  “Come right back.”

  She excuses herself from the table, and I continue discussing menial bullshit with Hank and Ken. Once dinner is over, and the wives aren’t around, is when I plan to make exactly who I am known, and then, he’ll go run along like the crooked cop he is.

  “A toast,” we all raise our wine glasses, so they’re good and drunk later, “to keeping the streets safe,” I toast Ken.

  Everyone cheers, and I smile at him over the rim of my glass before checking my watch.

  “Excuse me, everyone,” I say, rising from my seat.

  I quicken my steps down the hall and round the corner to the first-floor bathroom.

  “Rhi.” I knock.

  No answer.

  Shit.

  I jimmie the knob and bust the door open.

  And with the sight I see, I don’t know if I should laugh or be furious.

  I lean against the door frame. “I can see right up your skirt.”

  She freezes in her attempt at crawling through the tiny window above the whirlpool tub. It’s like damn Winnie the Pooh getting stuck in his tree trunk from the cartoon Rhiannon and I watched as kids. For fucks sake.

  “I don’t care. Enjoy the view; I’m leaving. That man out there will have my father here in ten seconds once he realizes who I am.”

  “I doubt that.” I move further into the bathroom. “Seriously, Rhi? You’re never going to get your hips through that window.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  The sight is a ridiculous one: her black dress pushed up and a peek of the soft-blue lace of her panties underneath as her legs dangle before me.

  She loses a shoe. Those sexy as fuck red shoes that make her legs look endless.

  “Oh, that’s gonna suck when you need to run,” I call out.

  She wiggles a bit, twisting and turning, and then her body slumps against the window. “I’m stuck,” she says with defeat.

  “Shocker, didn’t see that one coming.” I move closer and reach out to touch her leg. It’s silky smooth. “What were you thinking? Do you know how far out in the woods we are?”

  “I don’t care. I need to get away. I’m not going back. I’d rather take my chances with the coyotes than be forced into that marriage.”

  “Ah, you underestimate me.”

  “Just help me down.”

  “You know, on second thought, I might just leave you here. Let Hank and Stella deal with you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare leave me here, Xavier.”

  “Are you going to be a good little girl and promise not to run away?” My mind fills with images of her being a good girl just for me. I run my hands up her toned legs and grip her waist.

  “Scouts honor,” she says.

  “You were never a girl scout, sweetheart.” I yank on her waist just enough to free her as she shimmies back through the pane of the window. She slides like water down my body, and her delicious ass runs over my cock. It pulses, wanting to sink between her cheeks, and I try to steady my hands on her hips.

  This is not the time to have my dick go rogue and pop up for any ass that comes within a two-foot radius of it. This isn’t high school, and I should be able to control the big fella. But, no, my body wants no part of what my mind’s got to say. And I have a semi as she turns in my arms and wets her lips.

  “We should get back out there,” I breathe out, huskier than I mean it to sound.

  She arranges her dress back into place and smoothes her wild mane of auburn hair. “Ok.”

  I grab her elbow on the way out. “Promise me you won’t try anything like that again.”

  “Promise me you’ll let me go,” she counters.

  “Ah, I see you still haven’t mastered those bargaining skills.”

  “You don't really know what I've mastered,” she says as we step out of the bathroom to rejoin the party.

  She walks in front of me, and I take a second to appreciate the view of her fine ass in motion as it walks away from me.

  After dessert, I grab Rhiannon’s hand. “Sorry, we have to get going.” She steps closer to me, as if she's afraid he's going to snatch her away from me. “Rhiannon, you remember Ken Gordon, right?” Her eyes dart to me, silently asking how to answer. “He works for your father.”

  Recognition dawns on Mr. Gordon’s face, and he shakes his head. “No, I don’t work for DeLaurio.”

  I step closer. “Of course, you do. Hiding murders, turning the other cheek to hidden deals.” His pathetic excuses, that he’s on the up and up and not in cohorts with a known mafia boss, are useless.

  “Let him know his daughter had a great time,” I brush past him, “and Xavier sends his regards.”

  After dinner tonight, I need a stiff drink. I head into my study, pour a glass of scotch and grab a cue stick. I move over to the billiard table and rack a few balls for a few shots. What was Rhiannon thinking tonight?

  It’ll be nice to be back in LA tomorrow, in my city.

  Rhiannon walks past the cracked door. I hit a ball into the pocket. She walks past again.

  “What are you doing, Rhiannon?”

  She pops her head in. “Nothing, just thinking.”

  “Get in here.”

  She slowly enters with both hands behind her back. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Wanna play?”

  She takes a few more steps closer and smiles. “Sure, I should tell you, I’m really good.”

  “Oh, yeah, ok.” I laugh a little.

  Is it odd that being around her slips me back into the boy who walked away so many years ago? Like it’s easy to just be with her.

  I rack the balls, and she grabs a cue stick from the wall.

  “Isn’t there some captor handbook that says you shouldn’t interact with your prisoners?” She moves over, and I step back so she can break.

  “I don’t like to follow the rules.”

  She leans over the table, glancing back at me. “Yeah, you weren’t really much for rules growing up.”

  She breaks and a stripe lands in the corner side pocket. Her jeans hug her ass, tight, as she leans across the table again, lining up her shot.

  I divert my eyes back to the green felt. “Yeah rules are meant to be broken.”

  She hits the cue ball and all the balls just roll along the table. “I agree completely.”

  I shake my head, knowing full well she’s referring to earlier when she tried to escape from me. “Do as I say, not as I do.” I knock a few solids in one shot.

  “Show off,” she says, sashaying around the table to give me more room for my next shot.

  “Corner pocket,” I call, tapping my stick in that direction. “You never used to hang out with me in my prime.” I make the shot and move around the table, studying my next move.

  “Oh, when was your prime?”

  I laugh. “High school. Friends and I would hang out and play pool all the time.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t leave the castle much.” She takes a seat while I knock in a few more shots.

  On my next attempt, I miss, and she heads back over to the table.

  “No,” I say to her. “Go for this one.” I point at the twelve ball.

  “Oh.” She leans across the table, the angle all off, and I step closer.

  “Like this.” I lean slightly over, trying my hardest not to smell her sweet fragrance as I teach her how to line her shot up correctly. “It’s all about the angles.”

  I stand up in a rush when she turns her head slightly to catch a glance of my face.

  She makes the shot. “High school was rough for me,” she says, her eyes catch
ing mine.

  “How so?”

  I move to the table, grab my drink and take a long swallow. I raise my glass to her, silently asking if she wants one. She nods, and as she takes her shot, I pour her a scotch neat.

  “Well, not many friends. You remember, I couldn’t even pick my own prom date.” She leans her ass against the pool table, and I stalk closer to hand her the drink in my hand.

  Our eyes lock. “Who’d you have in mind?”

  She brushes her fingers against mine as she takes the glass from me. “Who do you think?” she asks before taking a sip.

  “Me?” My heart stalls, waiting to see if I guessed right.

  She pushes her hand against my chest, laughing slightly. “Maybe.” She steps away. “It’s your turn.”

  I line my shot up, shoot with just enough force, and another ball goes into the far pocket. “Maybe? Or am I right?” I lean over the table, aiming, and then sink another ball.

  “Yes.” She takes another sip, and I stand straight, my eyes catching hers.

  “I’m sure your dad would have loved that.”

  She blows out a breath. “Oh, I know.”

  As intriguing as this conversation is, I don’t like talking about the night of her prom. It was a bad time for me. And I change the subject. “Listen, Rhiannon, what happened tonight…”

  She cuts in, “I still can’t believe you did that.”

  I shrug. “Didn’t seem like a big deal to me.” I move closer. “But, what was a big deal was your little stunt.”

  She holds up a hand. “Yeah, I get it.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.” She places her cue stick down and takes another sip of her drink.

  “Well, I’m sure your dad has the news I’ve got you by now.”

  She visibly shakes a bit. “I expect him here any minute.”

  I laugh. “I don’t.”

  She cocks a brow. “What game are you playing, Xavier?”

  I step closer. “Billiards?”

  “No, really.”

  I set my stick on the table, caging her in with my arms against the table. “I’m playing don’t fuck with me.” She sucks in a breath. “And anyone who does I’ll make sure they get theirs.”