Mafia Games #3

I’ve been taken from my home and woke up in a glass cage. She’s my new obsession, my toy, my pathway to revenge until one taste threatens to shatter us.

Richard

My father needs a pawn as he plays King with the Irish Mafia.

Releasing me from the asylum walls that kept me from my revenge, I'm free to play a few games of my own.

Games I plan on winning.

The taste of revenge sits sweetly on my tongue as I watch her, Claire, my new obsession.

I keep her safe in a cage made of glass.

Safe from the cravings she stirs in me.

I watch her, my hunger growing with every move she makes.

Claire

He keeps me safe in a cage made of glass.

Yet, I never feel safe.

The heat in his gaze burns my flesh.

His hunger stirs a craving deep inside of me.

But craving a man like him is dangerous.

He's everything dark and wrong in my world.

He’s everything I shouldn’t want.

The only thing keeping his touch from my skin is this glass cage he holds the key to.

Until his control snaps and one touch threatens to shatter us both.

“Mafia Games” is the third book in the Young Irish Rebel Series. It is a Dark Mafia Kidnapping Romance, complete with HEA and no cliffhangers.

One-Click Mafia Games Today if you love Dark Irish Mafia Romance!

“I have this recurring dream.”

I lie down on the leather couch, placing my hands over my stomach that tightens and squirms beneath my fingertips. I’m afraid each time I speak of the fire. But I know how important it is to talk about it, or so my therapist, Rose, tells me. My lashes flutter closed as I continue to speak.

″I’m back in my bedroom. I’m lying on my bed. The canopy that floats above me hangs down. The small ballerinas that my mother stitched into the fabric are gone, and the rest is going fast with each lick of the flames.”

I shift on the couch, hoping to cool down my burning skin and slow my racing heart.

″You are safe, Claire. This is your safe place.” Rose’s voice is gentle.

I don’t open my eyes but nod and exhale a shaky breath. “I’m frozen, yet I know I should move, but I’m transfixed on the destruction before me. I’m entranced by how the red waves move. It’s not until heat sears me and my nose twitches that I look away from the flames. It’s the smell of burning hair that has my stomach roiling.”

I swallow a lungful of fresh air.

″You’re doing great.” Rose’s voice is closer to me now, and I don’t like that she moved, and I hadn’t even noticed. “This is your safe place, Claire.” Her voice is soft as she speaks, and I picture her wearing her half-smile with her head tilted to the side; it’s her encouraging look.

I should open my eyes and remind myself that I’m not there anymore. That I am safe. That I am not back in my bed. That I am not fifteen again.

″I keep telling myself that I need to move. I need to get out of bed, but my broken legs won’t permit it, and the room is growing hotter.” My eyes snap open. My mind has taken enough for one day. I sit upright on the couch.

Rose is disappointed that I stopped. She tries to recover quickly, but I see how her eyes tighten in the corners, creating lines that showcase her fifty years of age. She taps her pen three times on the page. “You did great.”

I run my tongue along my teeth, trying to find my balance as I reach for the glass of water that sits alone on a small white table. Rose doesn’t speak as I take a large swallow. Then placing the glass back down, I run my hands down my yellow sundress until my fingers glide across my knees.

″Why did you stop?” Rose speaks again while dipping her head so she can see me as I try to hide from her questioning gaze.

″I’m tired.” I won’t meet her stare; instead, I glance behind her at the rows of white bookshelves that coat the wall from ceiling to floor.

″Tired, how?”

My gaze snaps to Rose, and I want to tell her to mind her own business. My sharp thoughts have guilt turning my cheeks pink, and I look away from her before she can read the anger on my face.

″I had a late night,” I lie.

Her pen glides across the page. I have often wondered what she is writing, but no matter what angle I tilt my head, I can’t read what’s on the paper.

The diamond-shaped clock on the wall ticks slowly, like the batteries are dying or time is about to stop altogether.

″In your dream, do you get out of bed?” Rose asks.

I wrap my arms around my waist. My belly aches. “No.”

Rose nods and scribbles more words.

I still have thirty minutes left in this session. I know holding back won’t benefit me. I focus on the scar on my knee. My fingertips trail along the puckered skin as I speak.

″He comes for me.” I don’t peer at Rose but focus straight ahead. “He walks through the flames. They don’t even burn him. They actually part for him.” A smile haunts my lips. I have no idea why. The image is terrifying.

I take a peek at Rose, who gives me an encouraging nod.

″He sits on my bed that is burning, and all the flames go away.” I grind my teeth to try to keep my emotions in check. “He leans in close to me, and I think for a moment he’s going to say something.” My heart starts to race. Fear tightens my throat, cutting off any further words.

Rose waits a beat. Maybe she sees the fear in my eyes; maybe she doesn’t want this to stop. It’s the most I’ve ever willingly said. I want to say it all, but it’s too much.

Silence swallows us, and the clock ticks louder for a while.

″And does Leonard say anything?”

″No.” I sputter out. “No, he laughs.”

He laughs while my parents burn in the next room. While they scream as the flesh falls from their bones.

″He laughs,” I repeat.