Mafia Boss #4

She’s the sheltered princess of the Irish Mafia. He makes a deal with the devil and vows to keep her safe. Safe from everything – including himself.


Dana

My family are Mafia

A truth I still can't accept.

A secret I want no part in, one that could get me killed.

My father placed me in Cillian's hands for protection, or so I'm told.

But his protection feels like prison bars, and I refuse to be his captive.

My Life is unraveling.

My father's words feel like lies.

And the longer I stay hidden with my bodyguard, the more I see the truth.

Cillian is everything I shouldn't want, a threat no one saw coming.

I'm in the hands of my father's enemy, hands that make me ache.

Now I have a choice to make.

A deadly choice.

Cillian

She's the daughter of Liam O'Reagan: the sheltered Princess of the Irish Mafia.

When her life is put in danger, I make a deal with the devil.

He offers something I want, and I vow to keep his daughter safe.

Safe from the men who would use her to wound her father.

Safe from the secrets she keeps trying to uncover.

Safe from everything—including me.

Until she runs and I have to chase her.

The thrill of the hunt mixed with the scent of her fear and panic is a deadly combination.

I couldn't resist one small taste.

The King of the Irish Mafia might take my head for touching his daughter, but not before I have his.

IT'S TIME FOR THE KING TO FALL!

“Mafia Boss” the final book in the Young Irish Rebel Series. It is a Dark Mafia Romance, complete with HEA and no cliffhangers.
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Ice cold water hits my face. The sting wakes me up, sending sharp pain across my naked body. Everything inside me trembles as I become more alert. My wet hair weighs my head down. I focus on my fingers, which shake in small pools of water that surround me. My naked flesh is screaming for warmth. Large feet appear in front of me, and my shoulders hunch closer to my ears as a second bucket of water is splashed across my frame. A short, broken scream is dragged from my lips before the sound of my chattering teeth takes over. The chains on my wrists rattle as I manage to raise my head through the pain and dizziness.

“Are you ready to talk?” The large Russian man drops the steel bucket, and the sound bounces around the wide space. The empty outhouse has been my cage for days now. I keep waiting for someone to come and find me, someone like Cillian. His name has me wincing, and I push the image of his face away. His memory is too painful.

A roar rolls from me. My fingers rebel and try to wriggle under the weight of the boot that is slowly crushing them. I continue to scream in pain, even as the Russian steps away—air stalls in my lungs as I stare at my hand, not daring to move a finger. The pain intensifies, and I’m burning up inside. Bile claws up my throat as I rock my body like I can extract the pain from my broken fingers.

“Just tell us about your father and all this goes away.”

My breaths are shallow and fast as I continue to stare at my crushed fingers. My vision blinks in and out.

The Russian’s footsteps come closer, and I quickly look up at him. I swallow the dryness in my mouth. I swallow the scream. I swallow the pain. “I never knew,” I say when I see the disbelief in the man’s blue eyes. “I swear.” I cry out as he kneels down with a smile that sends waves of dread coursing through me.

“You are naked, beaten, and chained to the floor. He will not expect this level of loyalty.”

His large hand touches my face, and I shrivel away from him, sending fresh pain into my fingers. “You have been strong.” The man’s smile remains.

I sob. The truth is, if I knew anything, I would have given up the information the moment they chained me to the floor. The moment they stripped me of my dignity. The moment they put their hands on me. The moment they took me. But I didn’t know anything about my father’s dealings.

“I swear, I don’t know.”

His smile leaves his face, and he rises on a long exhale.

I try to brace myself, but it doesn’t matter; nothing could prepare me for the pain. His foot connects with my naked torso, which is already covered in bruises. Something snaps inside me, and I’m lifted off the concrete floor before I’m slammed back down onto the ground. The chains restrict me, and the heavy metal burns my wrists. The pain’s forgotten as a large hand tightens around my hair and yanks my head back. I’m staring up into his face, begging him to stop this. I already know the answer before he hits me hard across the face. My head swings back, my mouth fills with blood, and I hit the concrete floor again, the small pools of water splashing up across my damaged flesh.

I can’t see through the pain and fear. I curl up and cry, waiting for the next kick or hit, but his footsteps move away from me, and I start to cry some more. My body trembles as I lie there on the cold floor.

I try to tell myself that I’ll be fine, but the truth is, I’m hurting. The pain is so deep, and I’m close to giving in to the demands of my body. My body wants me to let go. It would be so easy to just let go and slip away from all the pain.

Another sob sends ripples across the small pool of water that I lie in. Seeing my dark tendrils brings me back. Back to a moment when I was sailing through the air, my hair whipping in my face. I was so young—maybe ten—and I was with my best friend, Maeve, as she pushed me on my swing in my backyard. The day was hot, my mother was smiling, and I felt happy.

I’d laugh if I had anything in me. I’d laugh that Maeve’s secret led me to this dark place.

My body shakes and my tears stop, and all I feel is pain. So much pain.

I return to the memory of that day on the swing. I had been free, just like Maeve always appeared. She had a freedom in her life that my parents never allowed me to have. I always felt suffocated, so I spent most of my teens traveling, trying to escape their smothering tendencies. They allowed me to travel, but something deep in the back of my mind told me I was never truly free or alone. I shook it off as paranoia at the time, but now I see that my father had men watch over me my whole life.

I can’t stop the sob that rocks my body, sending fresh waves of pain down my side. Coldness seeps deeper into my bones, and I don’t believe the cold will ever leave me. I don’t think any form of heat could banish this level of coldness or pain. Time moves in shadows across the floor. My fingers reach out to the last stream of light like I can hold it hostage here with me, but like everything else, the light disappears, and I’m plunged deep into the shadows and the terror of what will happen next.

I don’t sleep, but I’m not fully alert either. The tremors and agony keep me in a half-awake state. That is, until the door opens. I look up, unable to move as the Russian man enters the room again. The bucket in his hand swings, and I close my eyes and brace myself, but no water hits me. I look back up and notice something lumpy under his arm. He takes the material out from under his arm, and a blanket is spread across my body. I cry with relief.

It’s a trick, my mind whispers, and I hush the pessimism inside me.

The large Russian man kneels and brushes long strands of hair off my face. His finger grazes a cut, and my body curls in on itself.

“You are resilient.” He sounds impressed. “But that has no value here.” His smile drips off his face, and unease skitters across my skin.

“If I knew anything, I would tell you.” My chains rattle, and the blanket slips as I try to rise. His fingers press against my lips.

“Shh. It will be okay.”

My vision blurs, and I know it won’t be okay. I’m going to die.

My heart takes on a new beat. The pounding jumps to the point that I think my heart is ready to come out of my chest; the sensation feels like my heart is in my throat, choking me, cutting off the air from my lungs, and without the Russian lifting a finger, I can’t breathe.

I crane my neck back and gasp in quick short breaths that do nothing to fill my lungs, and they aren’t enough. The blanket slips completely from my battered body as I continue to gasp. I’m staring into blue eyes that laugh at me, but I can’t look away. My body is shutting down, and I’m dying.

Loving life has me clinging to the man before me. I sway on my knees, and I know I won’t recover if I hit the ground.

His eyes are blue. His hair is brown. I keep repeating this in my mind as tears cascade down my face. Another wave of dizziness hits me, and my body trembles violently.

I have no regrets. I wouldn’t have lived my life any other way.

With this knowledge, I want to scream, because I don’t want this to be my end.

Not like this.

Not like this.