Filed to story: Sold to The Possessive Mafia Boss Book (Xavier & Jane) Free Online >>
I don’t care. I can’t leave her to those assholes, no matter what trouble it causes for me.
I get to the back door in time to find the three of them oblivious to the fact they’re about to die. Her shirt is ripped open, lacy bra on show, chest heaving.
The men have their hands on her, filthy fingers gripping on my angel’s body. The sight of her, so vulnerable and scared, ignites something primal within me, a protective instinct laced with pure possessive fury.
She is mine, even if she doesn’t know it yet, and the sight of another man touching her is intolerable. These three are dead.
I’m on the first man before he can even react, my hands finding his throat with practiced ease. He gasps for air, clawing at my hands, but my grip only tightens. I can’t control the tempest of rage within me, not when it comes to her safety.
I hurl him against the nearest wall, his body crumpling to the floor with a thud that echoes through the sparsely furnished room.
The poor security of the house, the thin walls, and the trash strewn all over—it fuels my anger. She deserves so much better than this.
The other two assholes freeze for a split second, their faces a mix of shock and recognition. They know who I am, what I’m capable of.
They run for it. I should catch both but my fury overwhelms my self control. I manage to get hold of one, choking the life from him as he pleads for her to save him from me.
My angel watches in silence, glad to see her attacker dying. A moment later, he’s a corpse at our feet.
I see the terror in her eyes, the way she flinches at my approach. It cuts deeper than any knife, the realization that she sees me as just another threat.
She pleads for more time, her voice laced with fear and confusion. She thinks I want money from her? I would give her every penny of my billions in a heartbeat.
I holster my gun to show her I mean no harm. “I’m not here for money,” I assure her, my voice softer, but the rage still simmering beneath the surface.
“Then what are you here for?”
“You.” The words are out before I can stop myself. I gather the torn sides of her shirt and cover her chest. The sight of her tits heaving in that bra is doing things to me that I can’t think about right now.
I look around, spying the note pinned to the cupboard. “Your father, right?” I ask, tapping the note. “How much did he owe?”
“Fifty thousand,” she replies, her voice as sweet as honey despite her fear. “He borrowed money from some mobster called Garibaldi.” She points at the dead men. “They came to collect.”
“Where’s your father now?”
She holds the torn fabric of her shirt closer, doing her best to cover her ample tits. “He’s gone. Run off. Left me here to deal with all of this.”
Her voice cracks with the weight of her abandonment. “Ran to save his own skin.” Her breath hitches. “They told me I’d have to whore myself out to clear the debt.”
Fury burns at my soul. Garibaldi’s men, saying that to my angel? How fucking dare they? I want to kill them again. The one who got away will be dead within the hour.
The confirmation of her father’s cowardice, his willingness to leave his daughter to fend for herself, only fuels my resolve. “You won’t have to worry about debt collectors anymore,” I promise her, my declaration as much for her as it is a vow to myself. “I’ll sort this out.”
But even as I’m speaking, my phone vibrates with a message from Tony.
Garibaldi is on the warpath. He just got a call that you killed two of his best collectors.
The escapee was fast to make that call. The delicate truce between the two biggest mafia families in New York now hangs by a thread. I step away from Jane to reply.
Set up a meet.
“I have to go,” I tell Jane, regret tingeing my words. “My driver will take you to one of my hotels. Stay there until I fix your place up.”
“I can’t afford a hotel. I’m broke. I lost my job this morning. Dad took the last of my savings with him.”
“While you’re under my protection, you don’t pay for a fucking thing.”
“Why?” she asks, tears making her eyes sparkle. “Why would you do all this for me?”
Looking into her eyes, I’m confronted with the innocence and goodness that’s drawn me to her from the start. I could tell her it’s because I’m a good person but that would be a lie.
I’m doing this because I’m obsessed with her, because I’ll do anything to keep her near me a little longer, despite the risks.
“Because you deserve it,” I say out loud.
I reach out, my hand extending towards hers, a bridge spanning the vast gulf that has separated us until now. The moment our fingers touch, a surge of electricity arcs between us, a current so powerful it threatens to undo the very fabric of my restraint.
For a year, I’ve watched her from a distance, a silent guardian wrestling with an obsession I dared not acknowledge.
But now, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine, the reality of her—tangible and within reach—solidifies everything I’ve felt from afar.
It’s an awakening, a seismic shift in the depths of my being. This isn’t just the thrill of a forbidden touch; it’s an affirmation of my relentless, consuming need for her.
A need that has lain beneath the surface, biding its time, growing stronger with each day that I denied myself this simplest of contacts.
I’m acutely aware of the strength she’s shown in the face of adversity. The physical contact, though brief, is enough to brand her onto my soul, to commit this moment to memory as the point of no return.