Claimed By My Ex’s Dad (Ruthless Mafia Daddies #1)

Joy

The jeweler eyes me as I hand over my engagement ring. “He cheated on you, didn’t he?”

“God, I wish.” I take the five thousand dollars in cash from her, not entirely sure what to do with myself. This is a lot of money, the most I’ve ever held in my hand.

And this is what my ex-fiancé gets for taking me as a fool.

Two days ago, I found out he was framing me.

Cheating would be easier to deal with, and definitely a lot less fucked up than Igor forging my signature. Apparently, I have millions of dollars sitting in an offshore account over in Dubai.

I’ve never seen that kind of money before. And I’ve never been to Dubai.

… I have a lot to figure out.

“Damn.” The jeweler raises her brows at me. “Whatever he did, he’ll regret it. He won’t find another face and ass like yours around here.”

I force out a light laugh. “You’re too kind.”

“Speaking of kind,” she says. “That diamond ring is one hell of one.”

“Which is why I thought I’d pay you a visit.” I wink, zip up the bag and bid her goodbye.

The smirk disappears from my face as soon as I’m back outside on the streets of Malibu.

I take a deep breath to ease the nerves in my stomach, but as I turn onto Igor’s street and they pull even tighter, I just get nauseous.

Phase two is about to begin. I need to retrieve the forged documents from his apartment, otherwise I’m screwed and could end up spending the rest of my life behind bars for something I didn’t even do.

I glance at my watch. It’s almost eleven o’clock—not quite lunch time. He should be out.

Igor proposed to me two weeks ago. I had said ‘yes’ without hesitation because I thought he was perfect in every way. Attentive. Respectful. A real Prince Charming. Until he started sticking his nose into my finances. Asking way too many questions about my work when he doesn’t care about fashion.

If he did, he’d experiment more with his outfits instead of wearing the same three-piece suits every day.

Looking back, we really weren’t that compatible.

I buzz into his apartment, no problem at all. It helps to know some of the staff.

Wendy unlocks the door for me. “Here to grab the rest of your belongings?”

“Yep.”

She reaches out and grabs my hand. “I’m so sorry, by the way. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through.”

“Don’t stress it. I’ll live.” I flash her a smile.

“The dress was perfect, by the way,” Wendy adds. “Thanks for helping me pick it out.”

“I’m glad to help. You should wear peach more. It really compliments your skin tone.” I give her a smile, and then call for an elevator and head up to Igor’s floor.

The views from the top are spectacular. Igor lives in a penthouse apartment, overlooking Malibu beach. His dad got him into real estate when he was eighteen, which is why he can afford to live in luxury.

So he said, anyway.

As it turns out, he was lying about the real estate thing. That was the final straw for me. I visited his work two days ago with champagne to surprise him. He was nowhere to be found in the office—just a conference table full of men telling me they’d never heard of the man I was searching for.

The elevator dings, arriving at the correct floor. I shuffle out, anger starting to course through my veins as I remember him throwing me out of his apartment two days ago.

“You should really start wearing clothes that make you look more professional,” his voice plays in my head. “Nobody’s gonna take you seriously wearing ripped jeans. You’re not a teenager anymore.”

“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.

Grief sinks its familiar claws into my heart as I stride down the corridor, approaching his apartment door.

I stand outside of his door and take a sharp breath. This is it. The final time I ever step inside of the bastard’s apartment.

I try the door. It’s locked, which means I was right about him being out. But what the hell does he do all day if he’s not selling houses?

The forged documents…

Him lying about working in real estate...

Something isn’t adding up.

I glance over my shoulder before taking two bobby pins out of my bag. I don’t know the first thing about picking locks, but people in the online forums told me this was the easiest way.

I stick both devices into the lock. Now for the fun part—pull until the lock loosens.

A minute later, I’m working up a sweat, no closer to unlocking anything. The only thing loosening is my grip. One of the clips falls to the ground and I jump even though it’s silent.

And then I feel a pair of eyes on me.

I turn to the side.

Please don’t be Igor.

Please don’t be—

This is worse than Igor catching me.

There’s a man watching me from the other side of the corridor. He’s four times my size. And I wish that was an exaggeration.

My breath falters as we lock eyes. He could eat me for dinner in one single bite.

I drop my eyes, scanning his body as he continues staring at me. It shouldn’t be legal to have this much muscle. It’s unfair on the rest of us. I go to Pilates, keep myself looking toned, but I don’t know the first thing about winning a fight.

The same way this guy probably doesn’t know anything about losing one.

Fuck. I’m totally screwed. His presence shakes me to my very core. He hasn’t said a single word and we’ve been holding eye contact for at least a minute.

A shiver runs up my spine. He looks cruel. Like an apex predator.

And he’s caught me breaking into a very expensive apartment.

I look homeless in these low-rise ripped jeans.

Especially compared to him. That is one very expensive suit.

I’m pretty sure I wrote a commentary about it last month in one of the men’s fashion magazines my company collaborates with.

Alexander Amosu—The Vanquish. Each button is made of eighteen-karat gold.

My breath hitches, heart stammering in my throat. “Um,” I stutter. “I promise I have a very good explanation.”

What the hell am I even saying? I can’t even speak in full sentences.

The buttons are almost as blinding as his eyes. His face really brings the outfit together. You can be wearing great clothes, representing a great fashion designer. But it really all comes down to the face.

And this man is one of a kind. I’m over the suit, the eighteen-karat gold. His face is the most interesting part about him, how his cheekbones pop like they were sculpted personally by God…if he even believes in religion.

He could create one of his own.

I’d bow down and worship on my hands and knees.

I might have to, actually, to beg for his mercy.

Each step he takes is slow and methodological, his shoes clacking on the polished floor as he approaches me.

Okay. Was it really necessary for him to get this close?

His hot breath bristles my neck as he bends down, holding eye contact, to retrieve the little pin I dropped.

“Here,” he says, the sound husky and dark, like it’s coming from the deepest part of his chest. “You’ll be needing this.”

He brushes his hands against mine, handing the wrench back.

Then, he steps back and keeps watching me.

“Um,” I mutter again. “Thanks.”

I return to the door, fixing both pins in my hands. I’m shaking like a leaf. This time, I’m close to dropping both pins. I’m acting like a mess. He’s so intimidatingly handsome that it’s making me nervous.

Get yourself together, Joy.

I won’t let a man be the reason I get arrested. Igor has already done too much damage. This second man isn’t gonna stop me from cleaning up the damage.

I bet he wants me to be scared. He’s probably used to people acting this way.

I’ll be the first to put him in his place. Show him he’s not as intimidating as he thinks he is.

I return my attention to the lock, tugging again. Thanks to the adrenaline, I’m able to get somewhere. The lock snags.

Finally, progress.

I channel more adrenaline into each pull.

One… Two…

An impossible force slams me up against the wall before I have time to count to three.

The man has other plans as he sizes me up and down. His eyes really are that blue. But there’s no warmth in them.

They’re colder than the coldest day of the year. Which makes no fucking sense, as a hot bead of sweat drips down my back.

I can feel his breath charring my neck again.

Heat rushes between my legs, causing my clit to swell.

Fuck.

Those dark eyes really do speak for themselves as he takes his time drinking me in, igniting a fire in my belly just from looking at me.

I try to shove the man off, even if it’s useless. “Get your hands off me.”

“You’re Igor’s fiancée, aren’t you?”

“Ex-fiancée,” I correct. “Which is why I’m trying to get into his apartment—to grab the rest of my stuff.”

“Hm,” grunts the man, tilting his enormous head in assessment. “You were breaking in.”

“Call it what you want.”

“I’m Igor’s father. And I call it breaking in.”

I stiffen under his grasp as he closes in. Well, that would explain why he’s pissed.

Multiple lines appear between his brow as he continues staring at me, like he’s trying to work out my punishment.

He yanks me toward him. “You’re coming with me.”

And that’s when the lights go out.