Conquered by the Mafia Boss

Blood pounds in my head as I stare at him, conscious of the fact that if it weren’t for him, Mike would still be alive.

He smooths his hands over his pinstripe suit, looking as immaculate as the devil as cold eyes scan my appearance. He glances at the men watching me.

“Leave us.”

I dig my fingernails into my palms as Fran? ois and Tommy push themselves off the wall and exit the room. The door shuts with a sort of hollow finality and we stare at each other for a moment. Iciness grips my stomach as Johnny strides forward, close enough to do anything he wants to me. His nostrils flare.

Is he sniffing me?

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, you didn’t expect me to come here sober, did you?”

“Listen to me, you fucking moron. You’re either going to jail, or you marry one of them. End of fucking story.”

I might just rip my fist across Johnny’s face. “I’m not going to marry some biker cunt. They put my brother in the hospital, or did you forget that?”

The boss bares his teeth. “I forget nothing. We were at war, Jack. Now we’re not. It’s that simple.”

Piece of shit.

I want to scream at him that I know what he did. He’s the most ruthless boss in history-he could have silenced my brother. They found cotton fibers in his nose and lungs. He suffocated to death, and I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there. The grief still tears at me like a hundred tiny knives cutting deep inside me.

It should have been me. I was the fuck-up.

The hatred boiling inside me must be plain on my face, because Johnny’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“You have something you want to say to me?”

I would kill you if I had a shred of proof.

“Why the fuck don’t you just kill me?” It bursts out of my mouth before I can take it back, the question finally ripped from my throat.

He clenches his fists. “What?”

“I know your style, Johnny. You don’t give second chances. Why me? I’m Mike’s worthless, ex-junkie brother. Why the fuck are you doing this for me?”

“You’re my bargaining chip for this deal.”

I let that sink in for a moment.

“Jesus.”

Johnny approaches me, his face inches from mine. “I know you think I killed him. I didn’t.”

I cross my arms, shaking my head as a painful grin stretches my face. “Sure.”

I go flying as he shoves my chest. My back hits the wall and his fist slams into the space right beside my head.

“I had nothing to do with it!”

Earnest black eyes bore into mine. I study the creases in his face, feel his breath blowing hard over my face. I wish I could believe him.

“Fine.”

“Calisse de tabarnak.” He starts to turn away, then his snarling face screams at me again. “You’re going to marry one of those girls, or you’ll get your fucking death wish.”

The sound of his screaming vibrates in my ears, almost painful. The airport heist fucked everything up. The CSIS went ape shit, even though the MC screwed us over and took the cash. Everyone needed alibis-everyone had one. Except for me. Anyway, nothing really mattered once Mike died. My brother was everything. Dead and gone. I couldn’t deal with it. I expected Johnny to send someone to pop me, but he never did. I’m his only loose end. The only way to avoid jail is to marry the girl who’s giving me an alibi. Spousal privilege. She can’t testify against her husband.

Just kill me and get it over with.

It makes my stomach turn to think about marrying one of those fucking cunts. They beat my brother-hurt him so badly that he’d never walk again. They’re accessories to his murder.

“Why the fuck are we making peace with these dogs?”

“I want my money,” Johnny says baldly. “They’re giving back most of the money from the heist, and I want things to calm down.”

So that’s it? They get to beat the shit out of Mike and everything is fucking hunky-dory?Content is © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

“What about my brother?”

“They paid for hurting him. An eye for an eye.”

They did. I saw the biker’s body that Tommy tortured. It wasn’t enough for me. Call me sick, but I wanted more.

“The new president knows we have the means to wipe them out, if we wanted. He wants peace, and frankly, so do I.” Johnny runs a hand through his hair and steps away from me. “Let’s go. I don’t have all fucking day.”

Die or marry some biker bitch. It’s not really a choice, is it? If I go to jail, it won’t be long before someone shanks me in prison. Johnny’s willingness to do right by my brother would end the moment I posed a threat to him.

“This is fucking ridiculous.”

Resigned, I follow Johnny outside the room back into the clubhouse, where a dozen or so bikers are waiting for us. The bloody struggle that started after we killed their president ended up with a more moderate, less reactionary leadership.

“They’re just going to hand off one of their women to me?”

He gives me a look, warning me to silence. “They’re desperate.”

They must be to give one of their women to a guy who fucks around and gives no shits about it. The new president stands in the middle of the clubhouse, which looks significantly less shabby than the last time we came here. Gone are the stripper poles and the giant speakers blasting rock music. Thank fucking God. Behind their shoulders I see a row of women lined up like a cattle auction.

Sweet Jesus.

This is insane.

Johnny shakes the president’s hand, who turns his oily gaze toward me.

The new president is a short, stout man with a russet-colored beard, which lightens in his heavy sideburns. His leather cut is cracked with age, but he wears it proudly. The look he gives me makes my teeth crack. The last thing I want is to marry one of these people. It’s a fucking insult to my brother’s memory. A disgrace.

It’s temporary.