Married to the Mobster
Leighton Greene
This is a work of fiction.
Product names, logos, brands, and other trademarks referred to herein are the property of their respective trademark holders. All trademarks remain the property of their respective holders.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
© 2020 Leighton Greene. All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author.
Cover Design: Cosmic Letterz
This book would not have been possible without the generous support, genius suggestions, and calming influences of
Scarlett P. & Alexa S.
Thank you!
Married to the Mobster
The mob sent him to kill me, but he owed me a debt…
Years ago I saved his life, and we spent one hot night together before he disappeared. Now this bad boy's all grown up, and living a dangerous life. But when his Family decides to send a message to my father, it’s my life on the line.
Only he can’t bring himself to do it when he realizes who I am.
He bargains for my life.
He argues to keep me as a hostage instead of killing me.
He even agrees to marry me, but not for love.
Marrying me is the only way he can repay the debt he owes me.
He tells me he'll keep me alive only as long as his Boss allows it.
What he doesn't know is that I've loved him since the first moment I laid eyes on him. I'll take him any way I can get him. Sleeping with the enemy never felt so good...
But is there someone else who wants me dead?
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Dear truly treasured reader…
Also by the Author
About the Author
Chapter One
FINCH
Sometimes I feel like the luckiest little bitch in New York City.
Times like tonight, when I’m waved past the waiting crowd into the club. No one knows my name, but they know my face. And more importantly, I’m young, I’m hot, and the bouncers know that letting me into the club just makes all the losers standing outside want in even more. They’d never dare to card me, because they need me.
But even if they did, I’ve got that covered, too. A respectably legal twenty-two according to my fake ID, but I’ve never had to use it.
My blood starts heating up as I go down the stairs, my heart picking up the thumping rhythm of the music. I like this place because it’s a mixed crowed despite the Manhattan setting, but every song is six months past being cool, and the kids in here are trying so hard.
Howard Fincher Donovan the Third never has to try hard. Not at anything in my whole life. I’ve been blessed with beauty as well as brains, with a mouth made for sucking dick as much as talking smack. That mouth has got me into trouble before, and it will again, no doubt.
Probably right about now, because there’s a big gay bear hulking towards me. “Hey, pretty boy,” he says, leaning over me. I can smell his sweaty underarm.
“Gross,” I say, bored instantly. The molly I dropped has finally kicked in and I’m starting to roll, and I could not give one single sweet shit about this fat fuck.
“I love your look,” the bear bellows.
“How in the hell do you think you have a shot here?”
“What?” the guy shouts back.
“Fuck off,” I holler. “You’ve got no chance.”
The guy grins and nods. “Me too!” he shouts.
I wait until the lights start strobing and when Bear Man glances the other way, I slip off and make my way around the rails that surround the sunken dance floor. I look over the crowd, wondering which lucky guy I’ll allow to have me tonight. When I see him, I’ll know him. I do this every Saturday night: go out and find the one guy glowing among the crowd. That’s the sign that he’s the one for me, for that night anyway.
Only tonight there’s this guy who’s not glowing. He’s on fucking fire.
It’s like he has a spotlight on him. Even when the lights go dark for the drop, or strobe to make the crowd bounce, I can see him lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree. I’ve been staring at him as I wander up and down the outside of the dance floor, but I can’t see his face clearly with all the lights and the crowd throwing their fucking hands in the air or waving glow sticks around.
What does he look like up close?
Out of the corner of my eye I see the hairy, hopeful bear approaching me again, and I slip down the nearest stairs into the throng of people, moving with them, the rhythm carrying me along on the current that leads towards my fiery devil. He’s somewhere in the middle of the crowd, but I have to go in a spiral to get there, circling around and through so many hot, sweaty men. It’s like Dante’s Inferno, and if I fight my way to the seventh circle of this hell, I’ll find him.
Nothing in life is ever easy, is it?
I’m laughing already, the euphoria coming on in a wave, when the crowd parts and I see him, or rather, the back of his head, his black hair shaggy and hanging over his black turtleneck collar, like he’s a refugee from the seventies, or that shitty early-naughts revival of seventies’ fashion.
He’s sexy enough to pull it off, though. The way his hips move in
