The Boss

The Boss

My husband was the sort of man who believed the world owed him something. As an associate of the mob, he collected money for the higher-ranking members of the Mafia and did any other jobs they wanted him to.

He would never get any further because he was not of Italian descent and never would be. But that didn’t stop him from attempting to mimic them. He even adopted their accent and shelled out every last cent we had on the best suit he could buy, simply to look the part.

“Rosie, baby, make sure you look good tonight. The boss will be there, and he will be paying attention to me—which means you too.”

I sighed as I wriggled into my little black dress. Despite it being cheap, I knew I looked good in it.

My creamy pale skin contrasted against my dark hair, which I had curled so that it hung over my shoulder most elegantly. I emphasized my green eyes with soft black eyeshadow, lining them with black eyeliner and applying thick coats of mascara. My plump lips were nude, and my cheekbones were highlighted with shimmer.

Perfect.

Let’s just hope no one dies tonight.

“Yes, Rosie. Fuckin’ perfect. If we weren’t so late, I’d let you suck my dick until I came all over those massive titties of yours,” Rick leered, his pale brown eyes gazing at me hungrily. “Remember, you’ve gotta be by my side all night. Mafia wives are loyal, yeah?”

I resisted the urge to correct him and remind him that he wasn’t a member of the fucking mafia. He made a big deal about his job but ensured I did not know the intricate details. He kissed me roughly before we left, and I found myself gazing at him.

We had only been married for five years, but I had been madly in love with him for ten. He was a good guy with high ambitions, but he just didn’t want to work for it.

“So it’s a charity ball?” I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat of our Chrysler 300, in black, of course.

Rick nodded, starting the engine. He ran his hand over the steering wheel before dropping it on my thigh. “Yeah. It’s to raise money for the soup kitchen the boss opened up on fifty-fourth street last month. You know, the homeless kitchen?”

I nodded, wondering why the mob needed to raise money for anything. They had more money than anyone I could think of. Probably just another facade to hide behind.

“So just be pleasant. Don’t be rude or make any enemies with your smart mouth—which, by the way, belongs to me.”

He pulled into a space outside a luxury hotel in the center of New York and handed the keys to a young man waiting to park his car. Rick handed him a twenty before slipping his hand around my waist, his handsome face relaxing as he winked at me.

“You look hot, baby. Can’t wait till everyone sees you,” Rick said proudly as we walked into the foyer.

Glitz and glamour screamed from the fur stoles around the shoulders of the wealthy. The diamonds in their ears and around their throats dazzled me.

I suddenly felt nervous as I noticed a group of women eyeing me suspiciously. They were slightly older than me, but their beauty was unparalleled. I smiled politely as they continued to glare at me, and I felt Rick lace his fingers through mine.

“They’re like witches. You’re younger and more beautiful, so they hate you. You’ll be OK. Come, let’s find our seats.”

Once we were in the main ballroom, I started to feel better until I noticed a circular dance floor dominating the room. I couldn’t dance to save my life.

Rick guided me to a pristine white table, complete with golden goblets beside champagne on ice. I sat down, admiring the silver embossed place cards and feeling thankful that I could attend. Rick glugged down the champagne before waving at my glass.

“Do you mind driving home? Or did you want to drink? Oh, here’s Benji.”

We were joined at the table by one of the witches from earlier. She possessively clung to an enormous guy who looked like he lived off fried food. His eyes bulged as he glanced at my breasts. Licking his lips, he nodded at me briefly before turning his attention back to his wife.

I felt slightly nauseous as he continued to perve over me, so I shifted closer to Rick, who just squeezed my thigh.

“Boss is here,” Benji announced, standing up and nodding at Rick to join him. “The broads can stay here.”

The broads?

I noticed the woman in front of me narrow her eyes. She pulled out a sleek black compact mirror to inspect her immaculate face.

“You look lovely. My name is—”

“Did I ask you to speak?” she said, snapping her compact mirror shut with a loud click. Her hazel eyes were boring into me.

I was momentarily stunned. She tutted and resumed inspecting her face, while I excused myself to go to the bathroom, my cheeks flushed. I had no idea how to conduct myself in a place like this, but I needed to develop a thicker skin as soon as possible.

I walked down a thickly carpeted hallway; the walls were adorned with extravagant hangings of people whom I assumed were also hideously rich. I spotted the sign for the ladies’ restrooms and quickly took care of my business. I checked my reflection, pleased to see everything was as it should be.

Fuck that stuffy bitch.

I walked out to find a man leaning against the wall in front of me, speaking furiously in Italian. He was blocking my exit with his pacing, and every time I tried to move subtly around him, he changed direction.

His hair was slicked back, every strand perfectly in place above the olive skin peeking out from his shirt collar. His suit was a deep gray, and I knew from the quality of the material and his shoes that he was doing well for himself.

Plus, he was Italian, so he was already higher up than my poor husband.

Suddenly, he ended his conversation. Cursing under his breath, he turned, and the breath left my body as he did. He must have been no older than thirty, judging by the stupidly smooth skin on his face. His eyes, warm brown and tinted with hints of amber, reminded me of autumn leaves. His nose was slender, leading to full, slightly parted lips.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice sending shivers through my entire body. Goosebumps appeared on my arms as his gaze dropped to my lips. He tilted his head slightly as he stroked his jawline, seeming interested.

“Rosie Gallay. I’m Rick’s wife,” I stammered, wondering who the hell I was talking to. For some reason, I didn’t dare ask. His eyes narrowed as he glanced down the corridor before walking closer to me. His cologne was heavenly—a mixture of pure masculinity and power, along with whatever on earth was in that bottle he was wearing.

“Who the fuck is Rick, and why did you marry him?” he demanded suddenly.

I blinked rapidly. I wasn’t used to such directness, especially not from a stranger. “Rick Gallay. And I married him because I love him,” I retorted.

The man raised his eyebrows and let out a low chuckle. “Nah, you married him because he asked you. What a fucking mistake that was.”

I cannot believe the audacity of this...fucking God. He was so attractive he was making my legs feel weak.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, um—”

“Angelo.”

Of course, he would have a name that sounded like it had the right to bend you over and fuck you senseless.

“Angelo. Right, it was nice to meet you.”

“I’m confused. Have you got somewhere to be?” he smirked, putting his hand out to prevent me from moving.

I looked at it pointedly and he dropped it but moved closer to me. His smile was addictive, and I struggled to remember my own name. Rosie?

“I was going to go back to my husband—”

“Your husband is busy. Come and have a drink in my private bar.”

He turned, not waiting for me to answer. Then, he pressed the elevator call button and looked at me expectantly. I remembered what Rick had said—don’t be rude or make enemies.

Fuck.

I stood beside Angelo as we waited in silence for the elevator to arrive. A soft ping announced its arrival, and Angelo held his hand out for me to go first. At least he was a gentleman.

The ride up to the third floor was silent, and Angelo barely looked at me as we exited it. The carpet was the same as downstairs, but the bar was not. It was pure gold, with heavy chairs that I could barely move to sit down on.

As Angelo began to order two glasses of champagne, I explained that I would be driving home.

“Oh, I don’t think you will be.”

“Angelo, this is incredibly kind of you, buying me a drink and all, but if my husband finds me sitting up here with another man, he won’t be overly happy,” I admit, wincing as I sip the champagne.

“First of all, your husband won’t say fuck all. I’ll shoot him between the eyes for ever having you. Secondly, don’t you like champagne?”

His voice was calm and soft, the sexy accent making my nipples harden beneath my dress.

But wait, what did he just say?!

“I’d rather you didn’t shoot the man I love,” I say with a smile as his eyes darken. “Champagne is fine; it’s just not my favorite. I’m a vodka girl.”

Angelo requested vodka and removed the champagne from the coaster before me. His chiseled jaw was stupidly attractive, and I could not help but notice his bare wedding finger.

“Rosie. I can barely watch your lips touch that glass because it makes me alight with jealousy. Hurry up and drink it so I can try them.”

I gulped my drink down in shock before he tugged me down from my chair with surprising ease. His hands circled my waist, resting on my hips as he slowly shook his head.

“Cazzo sei bellissima,” he murmured before placing his right hand on the back of my neck, pulling me toward him as our lips met. He tasted amazing—a mixture of mint and cigarettes—as his tongue explored my mouth urgently.

His hand swiped the bar clear. As the glasses smashed on the floor, I heard the bar staff scurry out, closing the door behind them. He then placed me on the bar, pulled my underwear to one side, and plunged his fingers inside of me without breaking our kiss once.

Suddenly, I was aware of his mouth on my nipple. He slowly bit and nibbled it while his fingers thrust in and out of my soaking core as I moaned uncontrollably. He then dragged my dress down and tore it in two before my very eyes.

“Economico shit,” he cursed before standing back to admire my now nearly naked form.

“My d-dress…”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Isn’t worthy of holding such beauty. I’ll get you a million dresses made from the finest material in the world, Rosie.”

Barely aware of what was going on, I suddenly heard his fingers playing with his belt buckle. Before I could stop myself, I was on my knees in front of him.

I grabbed his cock eagerly and wrapped my lips around it as he cursed again in Italian, turning me on even more as he fucked my mouth. I began to rub my pussy at the same time, feeling my orgasm build within me.

“Stop,” he commanded, and I instantly obeyed.

As I looked up at him in surprise, he lifted me and carried me through a door that led to a four-poster bed in a room the size of the ballroom downstairs. He laid me down on the bed before lining his cock up with my entrance.