Conquered by the Mafia Boss

CLAIRE

I tighten the slats on the window, staring into a bitterly cold street before the darkness swallows me.

I turn away and switch on the lamp that sits on the nightstand, picking up a dog-eared paperback by Abigail Graham. I sit back down and crack it open. It’s a steamy scene that makes me unconsciously touch my lips, remembering how Luc used to grind his mouth against mine as if he could never get enough. Every time he came home from work, every spare minute he could pull me away so that we were alone, he’d kiss me as though it were for the last time. I read the lines of passion as my body slowly heats up. My heart soars, remembering the same sensations, just as it breaks, too. I snap the book shut, fighting unexpected tears.

I loved him.

The heartbreak swells, and I try to push it away, but the bleak apartment serves as a constant reminder of everything I lost. He was the best and worst thing that happened to me. We were together for a year, and apart for another.

Fuck Luc. Forget about him.Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

I hate the little things that remind me of him-the BCBG dress in my closet that he bought for me, the sapphire earrings stowed away in my jewelry box, the smell of cologne as I walk through the men’s department. And every time, it’s like a fever rush of heat. I love him-I hate him. I wanted to get rid of all the things he bought me, but they were so beautiful, and I’ve never been able to buy myself anything nice.

If he knew where you were, he’d kill you.

I’m barely able to suppress a shudder as I stand up and insert my fingers through the blinds to check the road. A familiar car rolls over the slimy streets, giving my stomach an unpleasant lurch.

Him.

I walk past the nursery, feeling a small pang. Luc never knew. He’ll never know.

A large-fisted knock pounds my front door, and I descend the stairs, my guts clenching as I steel myself to answer it.

I slide the chain and flip the deadbolt, tugging it open to reveal a man wearing a long beige trench coat.

“Officer Boucher.”

The porch light finally flicks on, illuminating a middle-aged man’s face. His blond hair lies flat on his head, and blue eyes slide to mine, unmistakable longing shining through them.

What does he want now?

“I told you that you could call me Frank.”

I don’t want him to think we’re close.

“Sorry, Frank.”

I step aside to let him in, and I close the door without locking it, hoping he won’t stay long. With a long sigh, he shrugs the trench coat from his shoulders and I take it from him, hanging it in the closet.

“You want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

Stiffly I march past him into the kitchen where there’s a pot of cold coffee. I pour it into a cup and stick it in the microwave as Frank takes a seat at my kitchen table, looking troubled.

“What is it?”

“It’s about your ex.”

The ostentatious sound of the beeping microwave makes me jump. My heart gallops forward.

“What about him?”

“He’s out of prison.”

Luc’s out of prison.

My heart seizes painfully and I turn around, gripping the handle of the microwave. I yank the door, hardly noticing the scalding coffee cup.

“He’ll look for you.”

I grip the mug in both hands as I set it down in front of him, and then I take a seat, my hands gripping the edge of the table.

“I’m in the program. He can’t find me, right?”

He bows his head. “You know how corrupt the police department is in Montreal. Johnny has informants everywhere.”

“Then I’ll go. I’ll take-I won’t tell anyone where I’m going!”

He leans in, pleading me with his eyes. “I’ve told you a hundred times-you could always live with me. I’d take care of you, Claire-”

“No.”

That’s exactly what he wants, isn’t it? After a few months of being my handler, Officer Boucher made it quite clear how he felt about me. I didn’t feel the same-I never would. Why did he keep pushing me?

A wounded look crosses his face. “You would be safe with me-”

“In exchange for what?”

Frank’s face heats again, his lips slightly parted. Fuck, I used to see that look on Luc’s face. It drove me wild and made my panties wet. On Frank, it makes me feel ill.

“I don’t understand why you think I want something in return.”

“Because men always want something in return. You’re not just doing this because I’m in trouble.”

He slides his hand across the table and takes mine. I let him hold me even though my body breaks into a cold sweat.

“You testified against him.”

A flash of anger rises in my chest. “I testified against him because I was pregnant.”

And I didn’t want to be ripped away from my baby the moment he was born.

A shadow crosses Frank’s face. “Listen-”

“No, you listen. I know what you think about the Mafia, but Luc never hurt me. He was good to me. I didn’t want to do it. I testified against him because I had to.”

Because the alternative was to give birth in prison.

“Do you still have feelings for that bastard? After everything he’s done?”

I stand up from my chair, heart pounding against my chest. “Frank, please.”

The warning tone in my voice doesn’t dissuade him.

“You do,” he says, disgust curling his lips back.

“I don’t!”

Every day I fucking curse him. He ruined my goddamn life. I wish I could turn off my feelings, and not tremble with excitement when I imagine the heat of his mouth on my skin, his hips joining mine, that moment of ecstasy when he’d come inside me.

He grabs my arm, twisting me around. My stomach turns as his mouth hovers within inches of mine. I think of Luc-how he’d beat Frank’s face in if he saw this.

“You should give me a chance.”

Fuck.

“I told you, I’m not interested.”

The thought of dating anyone else resounds hollowly inside me.

“You’ve no idea how good I’d be to you.”

He slides his thumb over my wrist and I yank it out of his grasp.

“I don’t want you.”

For some reason, this fucking cop thinks he loves me even though I’ve turned him down every time. He still comes back like a dog begging for scraps. It repulses me.

Frank flinches, his arms dropping from my sides. Redness blooms on his cheeks, and then his footsteps echo in the kitchen. He turns around and heads for the closet, ripping the door open.

Goddamn it, I really don’t like this, but he left me no choice!

“Frank!”

He shrugs the trench coat back on, stuffing his arms through the sleeves as his cold glare hits me right in the chest. “You don’t deserve to be a mother.”

Wow.

It’s like a slap to the face, and before I can feel anything but stunned disbelief, he disappears into the night, slamming the door shut. The whole apartment vibrates.

Tears slip down my cheeks silently as I watch him storm to his car through the peephole.

It’s not true.

I don’t know how long I stand there, waiting for the well of hurt to come down. I just fed the baby and put him to sleep, so that’s done. Maybe I’ll read some more romance, or catch up on some TV. I can barely muster excitement to do anything else these days.

I back away from the door, and my back hits something rigid. Arms snake around me, a gloved hand smothering my scream as he yanks me into his chest. I already know him from the way his body fits against mine, and then his voice comes out, a guttural, inhuman sound: “Claire.”