Surrender: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Read online

  Now I’m whispering her name. “Hannah. Sweet, sweet Hannah.” Her sheath tightens around my shaft and I know she’s entering her climax. I grab her ass. Thrust slow and deep and hard until she’s screaming my name again. Her nails clawing my skin. Leaving marks to prove her pleasure.

  I come with a burst. My hot seed filling her. Overflowing and spilling down her thighs.

  Marking her as mine.

  But not really.

  Because when I wake in the morning—after the best night of sleep in my life—stretching and reaching for her soft body...

  I find myself alone.

  She’s gone.

  * * *

  Hannah

  What the hell was I thinking?

  I never, ever sleep with strangers.

  And I certainly would never let a man take me over his knee and spank me like a naughty little girl. A naughty little girl whose pussy started melting at the first tiny bit of attention his open palm showed my ass.

  I’m a wreck.

  Last night, I waited till he fell asleep. His face looked like the statue of an angel’s—beautiful but hard and strong. He was so stunning... I wanted to reach out and touch him. To kiss his perfectly formed lips once more. To wake him and re-experience every moment of passion. No one had ever made me feel such intense pleasure. It was as if he knew my desires inside and out.

  I found it unnerving.

  I was feeling too much for this man, so quickly after meeting him. I was confused, overwhelmed and exhausted. I needed to leave the Village, immediately.

  I dressed as quietly as possible, fumbling about the dark room. Luckily, Nick was a heavy sleeper and didn’t move an inch as I gathered my belongings. I zipped my bag, threw it over my shoulder, and snuck down the stairs.

  When I reached the front door, my stomach turned to ice. I had no idea if there was an alarm that would be triggered by my opening it. But what could I do? I had to try to get out of there. With my breath held in my chest, I turned the knob, waiting for the blaring of sirens. There was no noise other than the singing of the early morning birds as the door gently swung open. I released my breath, quietly shut the door behind me, and crept off in the direction of Adrianna’s house. I took a few wrong turns but I found it.

  I texted her—told her I had an emergency back at school. That I needed to leave immediately. Sat down on her stoop and waited for her to come down.

  Now I hear the door open. I stand to greet her. Her eyes are bleary with sleep. Her expression tells me she’s not convinced of my excuses. She doesn’t ask me why I’d left the party with Nick, or what happened afterwards. She just gives me a tight embrace. A moment later a sleek black town car pulls up to the curb; Adrianna’s personal chauffeur to escort me from the Village and drive me back to Columbia.

  We say our goodbyes and I climb inside.

  I sit, holding my breath, my eyes searching out the window for Nick, as we make our way down the cobblestone streets. The big black gate opens automatically, sensing the car’s presence. Then the second. Revealing the streets of the city.

  The car pulls onto the road and out of the Village.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  I belong in the library. In my lab. Studying DNA. Not going to fancy parties, rubbing elbows with billionaires and fucking strangers. I certainly don’t belong with a man who wants to dominate a woman and treat her like a vulnerable little girl.

  But if I don’t want a guy like than in my life, why are the fresh pair of panties I just put on already damp? And why do I already miss him?

  I fall asleep, my head pressed against the window. My eyelids as heavy as my heart.

  Chapter Four

  Present day

  Nicholas

  Follow the rules. Don’t get hurt.

  Three years ago I broke one of my life rules. Don’t get attached. And I’ve regretted it every day since.

  I’ve never let a girl get to me the way Hannah did. That one night...

  I’ve not forgotten it.

  In the past, they called me a player. A serial dater. King of the one-night stand.

  Not since Hannah.

  I haven’t even kissed a girl since she left.

  At first the Beauties teased me. Told me I was like a lost puppy with her gone. Then a few more days went by. They realized the hold she had on me was deep. The comments stopped. The casseroles started. Because that’s the way these gorgeous women show their love—through food.

  I ate my weight in chicken parm and eggplant. Walked through a fog for a few weeks. Then I let it go. Got back to business.

  Pretending I wasn’t still replaying every moment with Hannah in my mind.

  I’ve never gotten over her.

  And I don’t know that I will.

  Now I’m moving up the ranks. Tess has stepped down, deciding she wants ‘to be a housewife.’ We all know she’ll be just as active behind the scenes, being married to the leader of our family. But I’m not complaining because when her spot opened, it bumped Dante up to second in rank and made a place for me in the top tier.

  The title comes with additional responsibilities and longer hours. To say I needed the distraction would be an understatement.

  It’s been three years since meeting that curvy little angel. And I feel like I’m finally finding my footing once more. Maybe I’ll even join the unattached Brothers this Friday night and hit the clubs. Scout out the local talent. Buy a few girls a drink. Have some fun and start acting in a way that reflects my station in life...

  Single and ready to mingle.

  First, I’ve got to put in a week of work as the third in charge of the world’s most discreet mafia.

  My day starts as they all do. Fifty pushups. Fifty sit-ups. Fifty pullups. Repeat. Three times. Dripping with sweat, I climb into the shower. Shampoo, rinse, repeat. Shave my face. Comb my hair. Spray a little cologne in the air and step through the cloud.

  Dress in one of my perfectly starched button-down shirts—thanks, laundry service—and a pair of pressed trousers.

  A quick breakfast of a protein smoothie and I’m on my way. Micro, wireless earbuds in, playing my favorite songs from my watch, I make the trek to work. High-fiving Brothers as I go by. Nod to the Beauties as I pass. I’m feeling good today.

  I’m keeping it light. There’s some heavy shit about to go down.

  Being a billionaire comes at a price. You’ve got to collect the money that is owed to you. Even when people don’t want to pay. I’m the one who does the collecting—whether it be money... or blood.

  I may look friendly, but I’m lethal. People who cross us discover this too late. I disarm them with a grin. A flash of my dimples. Then I slash their throats.

  If there’s one thing I can’t tolerate, it’s greed. Which was what drew me to the Bachmans in the first place. Our family’s version of mafia has a twist.

  We rob from the rich and give to the poor. Call us Robin Hood if you will.

  When Dante found me, I was at the lowest point in my life. The small towns of Greece may be beautiful, but they afford little economic opportunity. People don’t understand that money isn’t the root of all evil—poverty is. No knowing where your next meal is coming from... it’s no way to live. Desperation causes crime.

  My father left our family when I was fifteen. I didn’t miss him for a moment. A drunk and a cheat, he’d never earned my respect. My mother needed my help to provide for my siblings. I’d be damned if I let them starve. I would take care of them best I could. Or die trying.

  One night I was prowling about the streets, looking for opportunities—as I liked to call them—and I saw an older man being attacked. Assuming it was someone taking advantage of the elderly, I stepped in. Did what needed doing.

  Turns out the man I saved was the leader of a local band of organized criminals. He showed his gratitude by giving me a place in his ranks.

  As his hitman.

  The job was dangerous, bloody, and it paid. My family was fe
d. My siblings had shoes. It left me wanting more power. Dante got wind of my name. Came to see me in my hometown. I still remember our conversation as if it were yesterday. We sat on the stoop of my mother’s dilapidated home. Dante was casually dressed but I could tell by the cut of his clothing and the watch he wore that the man had money. Yet he was completely comfortable in my poor neighborhood, not giving the trash blowing across the street a second glance.

  Part of a large black swirling tribal-like tattoo showed below the sleeve of his black tee shirt. The same tattoo I now wear on my own chest. His long legs stretched before him. His heavy boots crossed one over the other. His jade green eyes pierced mine and in them I read one word—power.

  “I’ve heard impressive things about you, Nicholas.”

  There had always been whispers on the street of a nearby place called the Parish—a secluded island of prestigious mobsters. But the Bachman clan wasn’t something you joined. You had to be invited. “What have you heard?”

  “That you’re fast. Discreet. And most important, lethal.”

  “That I am.” I’m not cocky but I’d yet to meet someone who had the knack I did for what I called the quiet killing—making someone disappear without a trace. “But I don’t kill for sport.”

  “And that, my friend, is why I am here. Only a few men with blood on their hands truly respect the weight of their deeds. From what I’ve heard, you’re one of them.”

  “I only kill when necessary. And I do my job quickly. Discreetly.” I detested the gloaters out there. Wielding their power, taunting their victims. It made my stomach turn. “Do what needs doing and move on.”

  “We share the same philosophy. Our operation is clean. Many of our earnings are completely legal. But we’re not a band of thugs, committing desperate crimes to keep food on the table. We’re much more. And we follow codes, laws. We pledge our lives to the family when we join. Once you’re in, there’s no out. We’re willing to lay down our lives for the good of the family. To protect one another.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  His green eyes glint. “And... we make a fuck-ton of money.”

  “I like the sound of that even more. Must be nice.” I hold in a joyous laugh. I’ve only just met the man but he reeks of opportunity. And I more than anyone could use a fuck-ton of money. The veins in his neck strain as he looks around, taking in my home. “The place I came from wasn’t much different than this. A lack of... opportunity.”

  He’d read my mind. “You could say that.”

  “You’re young. You’re bright. I may have a position for you. Away from this place.”

  “I care for my mother. My siblings. I can’t leave.”

  “You can’t leave, or you can’t leave them behind without finances and protection?”

  “The second.” I’d never been more than a few mere miles from my current home. Of course I longed to see the world, to travel. But I had responsibilities.

  “What if I told you they would have the protection of the Brotherhood? And all the money you make would be yours to keep. Most everyone that works for me is sending home their earnings. Even a quarter of what they make is enough to completely change the lives of their younger sisters and brothers. Many support their aunts, uncles, cousins. It’s why I joined in the first place. We are taking the wealth back from the rich and giving it those who need it most.”

  I was hooked.

  That was years ago.

  Tonight, my target is a very powerful local politician. This mission is near and dear to my heart. A man who got his seat running a campaign funded by the Bachman dollar. One that pledged to protect our way of life. Put laws in place to keep our businesses and our Village running smoothly and keep us under the government radar.

  Unfortunately, he’s proven himself untrustworthy. Our funds will have to be recovered. His lack of loyalty could threaten our way of life. And so, he must be removed.

  I keep it simple: a sharp blade across the throat. The only sound of death will be a small splash as his lifeless body enters the river.

  * * *

  I’ve accomplished my missions for the week. It’s Friday and I’ve decided to join the Brothers on their night out. I climb into the shower. Let the hot water wash away my sins. I dry. Dress. Put a little product in my hair to keep it tame in the humidity of the club. All those sweaty bodies pressed together. Grinding one another’s pelvises. Bodies committing foreplay on the dancefloor.

  Hopefully tonight, one of them will be mine.

  I go down to my kitchen. Pour a few shots of bourbon. There’s a knock on my door. “Right on time, fellas.”

  I open the door and my home is instantly flooded with testosterone and cologne. We gather around the island. Laughing and drinking liquor. Not talking about work. Razzing one another about girls.

  Boys will be boys.

  It’s past ten. We leave the house and head to the club. We only fraternize at certain spots that we don’t own ourselves. And Gotcha’s is one of those places. It’s a Bachman favorite. The owners and employees know us well. They know our lifestyle.

  They’ve even seen a woman or two get pulled over a knee and have her bottom bared. With the eyes of the public on her ass. The club employees know better than to intervene.

  Half the Bachman women get spanked for one reason or the other after going to the club. I swear some of them know they’ll get themselves into trouble and just want to test their men. The others get lost in the wine or champagne and forget the kind of men that they’ve got at home—ones who hold them accountable for their drunken escapades.

  But tonight is strictly bachelors. There won’t be a single Beauty at Gotcha’s. They’re off on a Girls’ Night Out—they have at least one a week—tonight to see a Broadway play. Of course, a couple of the married Brothers will be tailing them to ensure their safety on the city streets.

  I hear the club before the building comes into view. I let the others go in first, holding the door for the group. I take a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of being off the clock, even though we technically never are. I have a good feeling about this night.

  I enter the club and the beat is thumping. The lights spin around the room.

  The place reeks of booze.

  The music is too loud.

  I’m suddenly in a mood. I look around. Beautiful girls everywhere. To me, they all look the same. Cookie cutter. Plastic. Trolling for gold.

  I wanted to have fun tonight. To let loose. Maybe even to meet someone. But the exact thing I was afraid of happening, the thing that’s kept me from going out for so long... is now happening.

  I find myself scanning the room for a curvy girl with dirty blonde hair who’s as sharp and sweet as she is smart.

  She’s not here. She’s at university.

  I try to forget her. Go to the bar and order a shot of bourbon. Pat a Brother on the back and laugh at his joke. Nod my head in agreement to his comment. Try to look interested. The shot I’ve ordered slides across the bar and I down it. It burns.

  I scan the room once more, hoping the liquor will improve my mood. It doesn’t. I’m ready to leave.

  I’m trying to decide between ordering another bourbon and sneaking out the door when I hear a familiar laugh. It’s high and soft and sweet.

  It sounds like her.

  She’s had such a hold on me, this happens sometimes. I’ll catch a glimpse of a woman with a similar figure running down the road and think it’s her. I’ll hear a British accent on the streets, knowing it’s not Hannah, but crane my neck all the same. I order another drink, tell myself I’ve got to cut out the crazy.

  Then I hear the laugh again.

  My heart thumps hard in my chest. I feel sweat prickling at my temples. My head feels dizzy but I still down the shot that’s been put in front of me. I’m pissed that my mind is playing tricks on me like this. I know for a fact she’s not here. I’ve got to get a fucking grip.

  But I’ll be damned if I don’t hear that sweet laugh...
one... more... fucking time.

  It’s got to be her. Or I really am going crazy.

  I twirl the empty shot glass between my fingers. Take a deep breath. Turn to my right and stare down to the far end of the bar.

  Where I find Hannah sitting on a barstool.

  Or maybe a lookalike. Her hair is shorter, different. Same color, but straight and sleek, brushing the tops of her shoulders. She’s dressed elegantly in a gray sheath dress, dainty heels on her feet instead of Doc Martens. Her lips are glossed, a touch of mascara on her lashes. She’s taking a sip of champagne, her short manicured nails painted a deep blood red. She’s covering her mouth with her hand and laughing once more at something the bartender has said to her. He flashes her a hopeful smile and his simple gesture has my blood boiling.

  If anyone is going to make her laugh like that, it’s going to be me.

  But I’m not even sure if it’s really Hannah. I would have heard if she was coming to the Village.

  As if sensing me staring, the woman turns toward me. Those big brown eyes lock on mine and I know for certain it’s her. That familiar rush pulses through my body. The one I only get when I think of Hannah. Her mouth opens as if to say something. Her brow crinkles adorably. Then her lips move, forming the words, It’s you.

  I smile. She smiles back. That beautiful grin that lights up my world. The one that makes the bartender stare at her with open admiration.

  I close the space between us. Take her in my arms, lifting her from the stool. The soft scent of her perfumed lotion reaches me and I’m instantly taken back to the night I met her. My cock stiffens in my trousers, just at the feel of her in my arms.

  My hands want to go to her ass, to grab it in greeting as well.

  I resist.

  “Nicholas? Is that really you? After all this time.” She holds me at arm’s length, studying my face. “You look... different.”

  “How so?”

  Her brow knits again. “I’m not sure. Harder, maybe? More of an edge?” She goes to take a seat on her stool and loses her footing.

  I grab her arm, steadying her. She giggles as she sits down. She’s tipsy. My protective instincts immediately kick in. I want to throw her over my shoulder. Carry her home and put her to bed. Hell, I want to take her to bed. My bed. Just like I did three years ago. “You alright?”