The Mafia’s Obsession

Alessio

Present day

My pistol is in my hand before the debris is finished falling. Car alarms ring out through the parking lot, flames now flickering lazily from the burned-out shell of my vehicle. All around us, bits of ash waft down from the sky like snow.

Next to me, Dominguez has his gun out as well, shielding Belle-Ann with one arm as he looks around for a threat. “Are you okay?” he calls through the cacophony.

I verify that Ayla is also unhurt. “Yeah, we’re fine. You andBelle-Ann?”

“We’re okay. Fuck. Car bomb?”

I nod grimly, a familiar sense of dread coming over me. Memories start punching into my brain, memories I’ve tried very hard to escape.

My father’s Mercedes, reduced to a charred skeleton just like this. I only ever saw it in the news reports, which means I never had to endure the image of my parents’ incinerated corpses in the front seats. But I imagined it. So many times.

A crowd gathers in the parking lot as people come out of the bar and surrounding buildings to check on the commotion. Dominguez and I put our guns away, saying nothing. The authorities will be here soon, and this time, they won’t all be on my payroll.

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Dominguez drives us home in his car. I stew next to him in the passenger seat, staring out the window. Behind us, the two women sit in silence.

“Who do you think did it?” Dominguez finally asks, breaking the quiet. “Maroney?”

I stroke my bruised knuckles, the result of sending a message to one of Colin Maroney’s enforcers. “Maybe. Probably. I didn’t think we were done with him.”

Ayla pipes up. “Who’s Maroney?”

“Colin Maroney,” says Dominguez. “Irish mob. His crew’s been trying to muscle onto our turf in South Bover. We had a little problem with them recently.”

“And you think he planted the bomb?”

“It makes the most sense. Who else is gunning for us right now?”

Ayla hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “Could it be… do you think it could be my father?”

Dominguez doesn’t answer that one, instead glancing in my direction.

My voice is hoarse. “I doubt it. It’s possible that he has ways of getting word to the outside, but no one on the street is taking orders from him anymore.”

I’m present, but I’m not. Half my brain is still in that memory where I’m 15 years old, obsessively looking up every news report, every bit of information I can find on my parents’ murder.

I still don’t know who killed them. But I know how it felt to lose them. I don’t ever want that pain again. And I can’t let Ayla feel that pain aboutme.

If I die in a fiery wreck or a hail of bullets, will it leave her just as broken?

My most important purpose is to protect her. Even if that means adding stones and mortar to the wall around my heart.

***

Ayla

My hands are still trembling when Dominguez drops us off at the penthouse. I cling to Alessio as we ride the elevator to the top, needing the security of his closeness. The explosion rings in my ears. I can still feel the heat on my skin, the smoke in my nostrils, the pulse-pounding fear of what might come next.

Alessio holds me, but I feel a distance in his actions. And even though I’m feeling the distance too, ever since the conversation with my father, I don’t want that right now. I want to feel close. To feel safe. For us to be a team, like we were when we threatened Jacob Talbot.

“What are we going to do?” I ask as soon as we enter the apartment. “You think it’s the Irish mob who are after you?”

He barely looks at me. “California or Oregon? What’s your preference?”

I frown. “What?”

“Could be anywhere, really. I was just thinking West Coast. Are there any states you’ve always wanted to live in?”

“What are you talking about? Are you saying you want to leave Bover City?”

“You’releaving Bover City. I’m staying here and handling business.”

My face falls. “I’m not leaving. I’m staying with you.” I reach for his hand, but he pulls it away.

“It isn’t safe for you here. I’m a target in my own fucking territory. You’re getting on a plane tomorrow and leaving the state.”

“Fuck that. If it isn’t safe for me, it isn’t safe for you.”

His face twitches, but he keeps his expression blank. “I… can’t.”

“Can’t what?” I demand.

“I can’t have you here. I can’t lose you. I can’t have-” He cuts himself off. “I can’t put you in danger.”

“If it’s really so dangerous, why don’t you seem scared?”

“I don’t get scared. Not anymore. Not for myself.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, Mr. Edgy.”

His voice hardens. “I didn’t choose this, Ayla. I was made this way. You grow up the way I did, the softness gets beaten out of you pretty quick.”

I take a step closer to him, and he doesn’t step back. “So let me stay with you. You can be hard with everyone else, and soft with me.”

His face twitches again, and he can’t hide the pain behind his eyes. “You think I don’t already do that? You are my soft spot, Ave. The only soft spot that I have. That’s why I can’t have you here.”

I step forward again, into arms’ reach, and Alessio reaches out to hold me as though he can’t help himself. I breathe against his chest, listening to his heart thump.

“Is the apartment safe?” I ask.

He nods. “It’s a rich neighborhood with a solid police presence, and building security is top-notch. They won’t be able to hit me at home.”

“So I’ll stay in the apartment. You can handle what you need to handle, and I’ll be your little toy waiting for you at home.”

He stiffens, and I can tell he’s thinking about it. I wait for his reply, hoping he’ll bite on the sexual offer even if my emotional plea falls flat. I don’t want to leave. I want to be at home with my husband. Not alone in some sad hotel room in Oregon.

“Okay,” Alessio says finally. “You’ll be my little toy at home. You will submit to me in every way that I expect. And you will not leave this penthouse until I say. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” I tell him, my body responding to our closeness, the adrenaline, the general concept of being his toy. “Sir.”

His eyes flash as his hands move lower, cupping my ass. “Good girl. When you’ve gotten settled, wait for me in the bedroom. I’m going to fuck all three of your holes tonight. And I’m not going to be gentle.”

***

Alessio

For a while, I’m able to lose myself in Ayla. I strip her naked, put her on her knees, fuck her perfect little mouth until I can’t bear it anymore. Then I climb on top of her on the bed, rail the fuck out of her cunt, and leave my cum dripping out of her ass.

She wants to cuddle after that, and reluctantly, I curl up next to her. All I can think about is thatbang, the exploding car. What if she’d been inside it? She looks so small snuggled up against me, so soft and delicate.

It would be so easy for someone to take her away from me.

The next day, I meet with my capos. All of them. That means Uncle Sal and the captains who pledged loyalty to my grandfather, as well as the captains who used to kick up to Anthony Gonzalez. It’s the first time I’ve gathered everyone together as the new boss of both families, and it feels significant. Not just because I was almost killed last night.

For a moment, I allow myself to rememberNonno. He would be so proud of me right now. This is exactly what he wanted for me, and what I never did. Not after my parents died.

Bravo, Nazio . You got your wish. You raised me better than my father, at least.

My parents. I think of them as little as I can, although for different reasons. My mother was a sweet, loving woman. She didn’t want this for me, but she never had a choice. She always knew what I was going to be. What my father was going to make me.

He got what he wanted, and what he deserved.

Sorry, mom. And fuck you, dad. I’m glad you never got the chance to be proud of the monster you created.

I turn my face to stone before addressing the group of men in front of me. “Last night, someone made an attempt on my life. A car bomb. I’m sure you’ve all seen the news reports.”

Angry murmuring fills the room in response.

“May they rest in shit when we find them,” scowls Uncle Sal next to me. Everyone hurries to agree.

“It must’ve been the Maroney crew,” says Vittorio Conti, Belle-Ann’s father. “Their dealers have been pushing into our territory in South Bover, giving us a lot of problems. It’s been hard to respond without escalating, but it seems like theywantto escalate. I was just talking to Gio about this last night.”

Gio the Butcher speaks up in agreement. “I know those Irish boys don’t push up on Razone territory much, so maybe they aren’t on your radar. But we’ve been having problems with them for a long time.”

“Hey, Colin Maroney and his brother have been a thorn in my side for years,” says Sal. “I’ve got South Side properties, too. If Colin’s getting too big for his britches, we gotta slap that little cunt down.”

“I don’t want anyone escalating tensions with Maroney’s crew until we have more information,” I say forcefully. “Sal, see if you can set up a meeting with him. No need to start bloodshed unnecessarily. But if he did it, we nail him to the fucking wall.”

***

I’m not looking forward to seeing Ayla at home.

That’s a lie.

Truthfully, it’sallI’m looking forward to, and that’s the problem.

When I didn’t have attachments, I didn’t have weak points. Now I’m wearing my weak point on my sleeve. Around my fucking finger.

I’m one big weak point.

She’s all I think about. Keeping her safe. Keeping her out of the darkness that surrounds me. Keeping the dangers of my world from ruining her the way they ruined me.

She’s my beacon of light in this darkness, and if I’m not careful, it’s going to get extinguished.

Ayla greets me wearing nothing but a red, see-through lingerie set, and I have my moment of release. I collar her, lead her roughly to the bedroom, have my way with her. Then I make her wear the ball gag and the remote control plug. I eat my dinner at the kitchen table, her tied to a chair next to me, vibrating the plug whenever I please. It’s fun, having that power, seeing the way she pouts at me even though she’s loving the loss of control.

When I’m dominating Ayla, everything else melts away.

***

Ayla

This is the only time I feel close to him. The only time I feel like myself.

Alessio puts the ball gag back in as soon as I’m finished eating, and it’s almost a relief. He doesn’t have his guard up when I’m like this, in the position of firmly submitting to him. Losingmyself in this role feels soright, so needed. To be used, reduced, owned, and valued all at the same time. Things are simple when I’m his toy. I follow his orders, or I get punished. Either way, I’m the center of his attention.

“Spread your legs for me,” my husband whispers, pushing me down onto the couch in the living room. “That’s it, good girl. Don’t close them.”

I obey, looking up at him as his eyes devour my naked body.

His voice is barely more than a rasp. “Fuck, I love your pussy. So perfect and pink and swollen for me. Does she want some attention?”