Her Outlaw Protector (Halo City Protectors #7)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Olive

“I’m absolutely not going to marry any of these old men, Father.

” Miss Aurelia stands with her hands on her hips, glaring at her so-called father, Don Farelli.

She knows better than to cross the dangerous mafia boss, but the consequences of speaking against him are nothing compared to the fire burning inside her.

To be fair, the Syndicate kingpin is a total monster. And this time, he’s gone too far.

Don Farelli glares at her, anger burning in his eyes, as he raises a hand. She stumbles onto the couch in her lavish bedroom with a cry, but it doesn’t stop him from backhanding her across the face.

An angry red print blossoms across her cheek, and I file it away. Miss Kat will want to know about his transgression. I’m not sure exactly what she has planned, but it’s my job to report any and all physical aggression against her sister or me. My gut tells me Miss Kat is much more than she seems.

“I won’t be questioned. Daughters are meant to be obedient.

Especially bastard ones,” he snarls, pointing a beefy finger at her nose.

His beady eyes scour the room before landing on me, and a shiver wracks my body, knowing this is going to be bad.

When I was hired as a maid to the mafia, I never expected things would be like this.

The job was supposed to provide my mother and me protection from the evils in the city.

I wish I’d known that the truest evil lives within these walls.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Aurelia cries, long blond hair flying as she leaps from the couch to stand in front of me. My fierce protector.

If only I were as strong; instead, my knees tremble, and a fearful squeak catches in my throat. Peeking over her shoulder, I stare at the man, the monster: the Don. He smirks at me, but it holds no mirth, sending a tremor down my spine.

“I see you’re in a difficult mood today,” he admonishes, pressing a button on his watch.

The door to Aurelia’s room snicks open, inviting two large goons into her space without so much as a casual knock of recognition.

His snickering foot soldiers stop just inside the threshold and wait for their orders.

“Aurelia needs some help listening. Keep her steady and make her watch.” The Don rubs his hands together, then reaches for his belt buckle.

No. Please. Not the belt.

“Don’t you do it!” Aurelia protests, maintaining her ground.

She screams and scratches at the goons, but ultimately they grab her by the arms and drag her to the wall.

Aurelia is shoved against it and held there, unable to wriggle free.

The petite blond woman fights hard, drawing a dark chuckle from her evil father.

My eyes snap back to him. Tall, dark, and evil.

Don Farrelli’s lip curls, and leather whispers as his belt opens with a jangle. My mouth goes dry. Aurelia caterwauls on the other side of the room, but the guards remain vigilant.

No one’s going to save me.

“You know how this goes, sweet little Olive.” He yanks his belt from its loops with a crack that makes me flinch, then takes a seat across from the couch. A seat I know well. Then the Don pats his knee.

No. No. No.

The words reverberate in my mind, but I press my lips together, keeping them inside. We’ve been through this before. I gulp hard, knowing it’s best to get it over with. Fighting the inevitable lashing only leads to more pain.

“Please, sir, I haven’t done anything wrong.” I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t help myself, hoping, perhaps, this time, it will work.

Mercy, please.

There’s none to be found. There never is.

Don Farelli grins and crooks his finger, beckoning me forward. The man is a sadist. He thrives on pain. It doesn’t matter who’s.

“No. But Aurelia has. She needs to learn.” He reaches for me impatiently, grabbing my wrist and hauling me toward him. “Take her punishment, or I might decide I don’t need you anymore.”

The threat in his tone stills my body. We all know what happens when the Don gets rid of someone...

After drawing me deliberately forward, he grabs my hips, squeezing them roughly in his palms until I let out a pained whimper.

Once he gets what he wants, his hands move to the bottom of my skirt, yanking it up to view my plain white panties underneath.

Embarrassment flushes my cheeks; this is about to get even worse.

Don Farelli has done this before, but seldom. He is going to make a point of lashing me today, leaving me with painful marks. I won’t be able to sit for a week.

“Olive, that pretty little pussy better be clean, the way I like it,” he snaps, yanking my underwear down and letting them fall to my ankles.

I stand before him, frozen, my hands balled tightly in a fist. Still holding my skirt with one hand, he uses the other to probe painfully at my pussy.

It’s worse than being at the Ob, as he inspects me for any sign of hair.

He won’t find any. After he used tweezers to pluck my pubic hairs last time, I’ve kept myself carefully groomed.

The wicked jerk doesn’t need another reason to punish me.

“Not bad, not bad.” Don Farelli sounds disappointed as he pulls my lower lips apart, then snaps his finger against my clit.

“Ahhh,” the scream peels from my throat, and I jump sky high.

“Sensitive, little Olive?” He does it again, and a big fat tear falls down my cheek. The sight makes him grin with glee. Then he tugs at my skirt, yanking me off balance. Don Farrelli pulls until I flop forward, falling ungracefully across his lap.

“Now, Aurelia, how many strokes did you earn for your poor maid today?” He flips my skirt up, baring my bottom to the room, while Aurelia glares at him with daggers in her eyes. My mistress refuses to say a word, unwilling to participate in the brutal punishment.

Sometimes, I wish she weren’t so strong.

“Nothing to add? Fine. An even ten it is.” Don Farrelli’s cock twitches against my belly, and I bite my lip to keep my nausea at bay. He hasn’t raped me yet, but I fear that’s coming. The other maids whisper he prefers his women unwilling. “Maybe twenty, if either of you acts up.”

His cruel fingers dig into my hair, holding my head steady before his other hand rubs lewdly over my upturned bottom.

Silent tears slip down my cheeks, but anything other than complying is futile.

I want to stay alive. The Don digs his fingers into my flesh before giving each side of my rump a slap with his palm.

Those don’t count, so I say nothing. He smooths over my cheeks a few times, pinching and prodding at them in an utterly mortifying way, especially with his goons looking on lustfully.

With my eyes trained on the dark spot in Aurelia’s white rug, I will my body to remain motionless.

“You know the drill, maid. No sounds other than crying. Aurelia, you’ll count and thank me after each strike.” Fuck you, asshole. Loathing fills my body through the fear as the whistle of his belt reaches my ears. This man is an abomination.

The thick leather hits me right above my thigh, with a loud sting. I hiss in a breath, but otherwise make no noise as tears leak from my eyes.

“One. Thank you, Don,” Aurelia intones, and I’m thankful she’s not defying him.

With each crack of the belt, her voice becomes more monotone as she dissociates.

I wish I could. The belt whistles again, landing with painful accuracy.

“Four. Thank you, Don.” The count climbs, and I try to find a happy thought, but none comes to mind, just the terrible strikes.

Matteo Farrelli is swift and efficient, reaching ten quickly without drawing out my pain. It’s a surprise. One my burning bottom is exceedingly thankful for. As soon as Aurelia finishes her recitation for the last strike, I move to stand, but his hand tightens forcefully, pinning me in place.

Oh. No.

Dread throbs behind my eyelids.

“Not so quick. Don’t move a muscle.” I freeze like a mouse before a cat.

He lets go of my hair, bringing both hands to my fiery bottom and pressing my ass cheeks together before pulling them apart. The Don stares at my bottom hole, and I can’t help but squirm.

“Not there, please don’t touch me there.” I clench my buttocks, but I know there’s nothing I can do to stop this man. I’m powerless, and he is all-powerful.

“Not another word.” The harsh tone makes me flinch. Holding me open, Don Farrelli suddenly spits between my cheeks. The warm liquid slides down my crack, resting on my little puckered hole. His finger slides down, poking and prodding me. And I cry out in alarm.

“Please, sir, don’t,” I sob, wondering for the first time if death would be better.

Amused by my outburst, Don Farrelli laughs, then forces the tip of his finger in.

Fiery pain burns up my spine. Clenching, I try to expel the digit, the searing agony almost too much to bear as he attempts to push more of his thick finger deep inside my butt.

“Don’t touch her, you psychopath!” Aurelia screams, fighting to get away from the men restraining her. My mistress goes after them like a wild cat, nails out, teeth clenched. Using her nails, Aurelia tears open one man’s face, then escapes while he’s distracted.

Not one to stand back, she hurtles across the room, rearing her hand back to slap her father across the cheek with a sound that echoes off the walls of her bedroom.

For a single moment, everything stops. Stunned into silence.

Everything happens at once. Don Farrelli leaps up, ripping his finger from my bottom and dumping me in a heap on the floor between them.

With a snarl of anger, he reaches for his gun at his hip. It’s pulled from its holster in a loud whoosh, the gleaming barrel glinting in the light before he smashes it into Aurelia’s cheek. She crumples to the floor. He steps over her, advancing on the bleeding man whom Aurelia incapacitated.

“You can’t control a measly girl?” The goon begins blubbering, but the words barely escape his lips before a loud boom silences him forever. “Useless.”

The guard’s body slumps on the couch, blood spilling in a crimson wave across the once-pristine carpet.

After quickly covering myself, I crawl toward Aurelia, hoping she’s all right, when the door slams open.

“Is that gunfire I hear?” Miss Kat walks into the room with feline-like grace. Her gaze flicks around, cataloging everything quickly: The dead guard. Her sister’s bruised face. Me huddled on the floor.

“A little target practice?” she jokes, drawing his attention. Katarina Farrelli acts unfazed, but the slight twitch in her eyelid makes me wonder if that’s reality.

“Pissed me off,” he grumps, tapping his cheek for a kiss. Katarina slinks toward him, brushing his cheek, the perfect picture of a mafia princess.

“I’ll order the cleanup crew to take care of the mess. Dante asked me to fetch you.” Don Farrelli’s eyes blaze with pride as his beloved daughter mentions the name of his heir.

“I was just about done here, anyway.” Linking arms with Katarina, he throws one final barb over his shoulder. “Now, instead of giving you a choice, I’m going to auction your hand in marriage to whoever promises to abuse you the most.”

For a split second, tears gather in Kat’s eyes before she raises her mask once more in a sneer.

“That’s more than she deserves.” They turn and walk out of the room, the remaining goon following in their wake, while Aurelia and I cluster together, shaken to our cores.

Unseeing eyes and a puddle of blood stare back at us.

Is there anyone who can save us?