Conquered by the Mafia Boss

No.

“You should. This is the best thing that could happen to someone like you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re out of the MC.”

“Assuming we don’t get divorced or this alliance blows up in our faces.”

“Yeah. In that case, you’d be fucked.”

Hating him, I slide down the seat to get away from his touch. How can Johnny expect me to have any sort of influence on this man? He doesn’t fucking care about me. At all. I might as well be a piece of furniture in his house.

I can’t stand him, and he hates me. What a promising start to our marriage.

The car stops and I take his hand as he helps me up, a fake, beaming smile on his face.

Fuck you.

The reception hall is just a giant, windowless room. I’m grateful that we have a sweetheart table to ourselves so that we can hate each other privately, but it’s still awful.

I sit down next to him. He’s the picture of what the perfect husband should look like. His brown hair is rolled back into gentle waves, exposing his face. He’s rough and angular, but he has a heart-stopping smile that makes butterflies flutter in my stomach. There might’ve been joy in those brown eyes once, but it’s long gone by now. He’s a beautiful, bitter shell. In pain. He grabs his glass of wine and drinks and drinks, surrounded by people he despises. The guilt surfaces again, and this time it’s worse because we’re married.

I know who killed his brother.

He smiles when everyone clinks their forks to their glasses and then he turns to take my face in his hands. Gentle lips touch mine and a fiery jolt hits my core. It would steal my breath away if I didn’t know that it was pissing him off. We break away and sit back in our seats.

“Look at that fucking jerk.” He points to Johnny, who gives him a wide grin as he joins in with the heckling.

“You have to stop talking like that! He’s the boss.”

Jack looks like he wants to say something, but he holds back, tipping a larger gulp of wine down his throat. Then he grabs me again to kiss me, and they shut up.

It’s a fucking nightmare of an evening.

I smile until my teeth hurt, picking up my dress to dance with Jack on the floor. He looks completely checked out. The alcohol makes him fluid, but I’m still a nervous wreck. When we return to our seats, the clinking and hooting starts again and I’m about three seconds away from losing it. My face stretches and I’m trying to smile. Smile, damn it.

A heavy arm suddenly lies on my shoulders, and Jack grasps my hand under the table, giving me a squeeze.

“Just think of it as a party.”

“This is worse than I imagined.”

Jack gives me a grim sort of smile, which grates when the clinking starts again.

“That’s fucking it!” he roars.

He stands up, looking like he’s out for blood.

“Get up.”

“Where are we going?”

I stand up with him and he grabs me hand, and I’m surprised at how purposely he strides forward, given how fucked up he must be. We walk right past all the clinking glasses and silverware, and right out of the reception hall.

Jack cranes his neck, looking down the halls for an escape. “Here.”

“We can’t just leave.”

“It’s my wedding. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

He tugs me along and I follow him, my heels noisy on the marble floor.

“In here.”This content belongs to Nô/velDra/ma.Org .

He pulls me through a set of double doors, leading us straight into the busy kitchen. Cooks wheel their heads around to see the bride and groom standing in the middle of the stainless steel room.

“What the hell are we doing here?” I don’t trust the wicked grin that flashes on his face as he reaches in a tall jar and grabs a long wooden spoon.

The head chef approaches Jack, who takes a few hundred-dollar bills and slips them quietly in his hand. “If anyone disturbs us, I’ll shove a gravy boat up your ass.”

Then he opens a door to the pantry and tugs me inside, closing the door in the chef’s bewildered face.

“What the fuck are we doing here?”

Jack taps his side with the wooden spoon, which I eye warily. “You ask too many questions.”

He’s in a weird mood. I back up, passing rows of dried pasta and cans of vegetables until my back hits the wall.

“Give me your body, sweetheart. I’m going to take you right now.”

He closes the space between us, and my heart jumps into overdrive as he slides his arm around the back of my neck and draws me into his body. I lift my head up, unable to resist the authority ringing from his voice-the cologne he wears, so male and aquatic, rolls over me like the alcohol we drank. Then I kiss him, sealing my lips against his. He reaches behind me, undoing the laced-up back as his tongue slides inside my mouth. His fingers burn my skin when the back peels away.

“Fuck. Look at you.”

But I’m looking at him, and my mouth waters at the raised bump in his slacks. I reach for it, my palm flattening against his rock-hard cock as he pulls my dress down. It slides over my breasts, which he gives a quick kiss, then down my stomach and to the lacey panties I bought. His fingers scratch me slightly as he drags over my bony hips, and then I gasp as I feel the warmth of his tongue briefly on my pussy.

I’m completely naked.

He straightens as I bend down, stepping out of my wedding dress and carefully folding it on cans of soup.

“You’re really going to fuck me in a pantry?”

His slightly damp hand grabs the back of my neck as lust invigorates his movements. “I’ll fuck you wherever and whenever I want.”