Seized by the Mafia King (London Mafia Bosses #9)

15. Willow

15

WILLOW

I grip his arm as he guides me, one big hand over my eyes, one at my back. We turn, and sunshine falls onto my bare legs.

“Ready?” he rumbles from behind me. Zane insisted on covering my eyes as we entered, and while allowing a mafia boss to blind you sounds like a bad thing, I’m throwing all my preconceptions out. Zane isn’t like my family. He brought me my favourite cake, after all.

“Born ready,” I lie, and he huffs at my poor joke then lifts his hand.

It takes my sight a second to adjust.

We’re in a big, open room, lined with empty wooden bookshelves on three sides, and a large window that’s obscured. There’s a high ceiling with an old, round skylight, and fancy borders and flower patterns in the white plaster. The floor is dark, shiny wood boards.

“Do you like it?” Zane asks from behind me, and I swear there’s apprehension in his voice.

“I love it,” I breathe. And I do. It’s got so much potential. “What is it?”

“It’s your bookshop.”

I spin around and gape at him.

“There are still a few things needed,” he adds. “A counter, more shelves. Tables, I think?”

My mind fills in the blanks, and I imagine the room with book displays, and colourful banners.

“And stock of books, of course. That leads to Bethnal high street.” He gestures to where the windows are obscured with opaque film. “You could have a reading nook there, with cosy chairs?”

This is amazing. Better than I could ever have imagined, and I have been daydreaming about my bookshop since I was old enough to love books.

Disappointment twists in me. “How can I fund it?”

“Shops make money, no?” he replies dryly.

I want to make my bookshop outstanding. The place of my dreams, that would do this building justice, and that needs investment before any customers step inside. “Yes, but?—”

“All the setup will be paid for by me,” Zane cuts me off.

“A debt.” My stomach dips. I know about mafia debts.

“A gift,” he corrects softly, then the corner of his mouth tugs up. “Though if you want to give me something in return, I won’t complain.”

“You won’t complain, huh?” I can’t help but smile back. “What were you thinking of?” My mind goes to the feel of his cock at the back of my throat and him losing control. I wouldn’t mind that again. I enjoyed seeing him overcome, helpless with pleasure that I gave him.

He steps forward and draws me gently into his arms, hands at my waist. I look up into his handsome face, and remember his expression as he came without even any direct contact between us this morning. He looks as intense now as he did coming apart as he moved me over his cock.

“What about a baby?” he says, low and dark.

I’m shocked all over again, and a frisson of arousal flicks to my core. I didn’t really think he was serious when he said yesterday he wanted children.

“Is that one of the firsts you’re claiming?” I’m not sure if I want it to be, or not. Maybe I want him to say it’s non-negotiable. Or would it be sweeter if this was just a gift between us, no deals?

He’s unreadable as he tilts his head. “It could be.”

“Why?”

“Why do I want to breed you?” His eyes go soft and intent at the same time. “I should think that’s obvious.”

Oh. My mouth goes dry, and my body is suddenly brittle. Just a mafia thing, after all. “An heir.”

He laughs. “No, not that.”

Raising his hands, he sweeps my hair back as though he’s going to make a ponytail, then tugs. My chin tilts up. I’m his puppet.

“I want to give you a baby because I want to have you entirely, without limits,” he rumbles, looking down with those white-blue-heat eyes and I melt like he’s a blowtorch. “Taking you raw, and filling you up would be ecstasy. I’d like to fuck you bareback, nothing between us, until you’re overflowing.”

I can’t breathe. But not in a bad way. More like, if I move at all, maybe he’ll stop saying these things and I couldn’t bear that.

“My fertile little bunny, I want us to have a dozen kids. I want to plant my seed deep inside you and watch it grow. I’d love to see you swollen and fertile.”

“And the bookshop?” I say. “Why the bookshop? Just to trade for a baby?” The doubt is instinctive. There’s a voice in my head from my family that says a mafia princess doesn’t do anything as lowering as work in a bookshop. And nothing good in my life has ever been without a cost I wasn’t willing to pay. An offer of two things that I want—a baby and a bookshop—must have a catch.

“No,” he says harshly. “Never that.”

Taking my face between his palms he looks into my eyes, and despite everything, I think there’s honesty in the kingpin’s severe expression.

“Because I believe in you, and your vision for what a bookshop can be. I think this will be a fantastic resource for Bethnal. You’ll fill it with joy and knowledge and escapism.”

It’s a good thing he’s holding my head, because otherwise it might just fall off. He doesn’t think it would be a bad thing for me to do. He sounds not just accepting of my idea, but proud. Supportive.

My heart squeezes. “Really?”

“Of course.” He nods seriously. “And I want to make you happy.”

That steals my breath. No one has ever said that to me before. In fact, I don’t think anyone has ever cared in the slightest about my happiness, or my opinions, or anything but what I could do for them.

“Zane…” I don’t know who moves—him towards me or me backwards drawing him with me—but my bottom hits the desk. Then he has bumped me onto it, and his fist is in my hair, and he forces his way between my knees.

“Willow,” he murmurs. “Say something. Because if you don’t, and you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to take it as an invitation.”

Do I want him to? I can’t stop staring at him, that’s for sure. The big scary kingpin who listened to me, and gave me cake and a bookshop.

His tattoos aren’t visible right now, but the recollection of them echoes through me. All the years of experience and work and hardship that they represent. And that space on his chest, as though his heart has never been given away. I can’t help but wonder if I could snuggle into that gap on his chest, as he said.

This one day has changed my life. I’m comfortable in a way that I never have been before. I don’t have a gap in my tattoos, but I did have an emptiness. It’s only now Zane has filled it with affection and trust that I’ve noticed how it’s not painful anymore. It’s not an open wound.

Anyone who cared for me would say I was being reckless by trusting a London Mafia Boss. But that’s the point, isn’t it? None of my family really cares, and the restrictive life of a mafia princess has meant I don’t have friends.

And the thing is, I think Zane’s right. We belong together. It’s some bone-deep primal recognition.

He runs his hand up my arm and over my shoulder to my neck, lightly clasping me there, but the power it holds rocks me.

Would it be so bad to give in?

“Tell me,” he says hoarsely. “I need to hear you say?—”

A harsh knock on the door reverberates through the room.

We both freeze.

“Our first customer?” I joke, but something about this isn’t right. Zane’s brow goes dark.

“Bethnal,” comes a man’s voice. It’s posh and authoritative.

Zane closes his eyes and grits his teeth. “Not now, Westminster.”

Westminster. He’s the leader of the London Mafia Syndicate. It’s a big, powerful organisation, and the Essex Cartel’s enemy.

Dread crawls down my spine. This cannot be anything good.

“We’re here to negotiate the return of your captive.”