Wrong Pawn. Right Capo. (Reign of Mafia Capos #2)

Prologue Elena

Present Day

The cold bites straight through my coat the second I step out of the studio, but it does nothing to soothe the lingering ache between my thighs.

Three nights ago, I was bouncing on a masked stranger’s cock, and my body still hasn't forgotten the wrecking he gave me.

Shutting my eyes against the freezing wind, I let the memory flood my senses. The guy was just massive—a complete, mind-numbing weapon. I can still feel the weight of him, and the way he thrust into me, hard and fast.

Those thick arms stretching his white shirt to the limit, those dark eyes locked on mine, the heat off his tan skin, the chestnut hair slicked back except for a stubborn strand that fell over his forehead. And fuck… the sheer size of him.

My clit pulses just thinking about it. That kind of cock could easily leave a girl completely ‘cocknotized.’ Long, girthy, and wrapped in thick veins… I mean, honestly, that size should require a federal permit just to carry it around.

One look at him at that masquerade party, and I knew he wasn’t like the rest of the rich fuckers showing off their old money.

He practically radiated power and looked seriously dangerous.

His name was Zeus... what a fitting name.

He looked exactly like a god who was used to getting whatever he wanted.

Focus, Elena. Daydreaming about a god’s size won’t pay the bills.

I open my eyes back to the reality of the dark parking lot. It’s 10:30 p.m., the kind of chilly New York night that feels like needles dragging across skin.

“Hey sexy, wanna come home with me tonight?”

My stepmother used to say that as a beautiful lady, you’re never alone. Sometimes I wish it weren’t true. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and tan skin are a recipe for attention.

The chapped, groggy voice makes me cringe, and I turn around to the sight of a strange man leering at me. He’s tall and pale with a neck as thin as my patience. Even in the dark, I can tell he’s eye-fucking me… but he’s the least of my worries right now.

You’d think that a girl can get a break after eight hours of posing, arching, stretching, and prancing. But no… there’s always some miserable bastard who thinks you only exist for pleasure and are worth nothing beyond your looks.

Choosing to ignore him, I dig into my pockets for my phone before dialing my driver. For the umpteenth time tonight, I’m met with the annoying robotic voice.

This is Peter. Leave a message.

“You know I could pay you real good,” the man continues, much to my displeasure. “I could even pay extra if you suck my dick,” he hoots again and, this time, starts toward me.

I shake my head but remain unmoving. He’s either really courageous, stupid, or blind because anyone can see the two hefty bodyguards standing a few feet behind me.

“Back off.” Both of my bodyguards say simultaneously and quickly step in front of me, and I release a sigh. Yet another inconvenience I have to deal with.

Being babysat by bodyguards is one of the most aggravating things in life. It’s something about the weight of their eyes… the feeling of being caged. They’d tell you where to stand, sit… hell, they could even tell you whom to fuck.

And as someone who has spent most of her life trying to keep the smallest pieces of freedom, I hate it. I sigh. Back in New Jersey, where I had moved about four years ago—after I took a business loan from my sister, Bella—I was free. But apparently, now I need these bodyguards for protection.

Unsurprisingly, the man hesitates but doesn’t back down immediately, despite looking like a malnourished lamppost compared to my two bodyguards.

A slow exhale pulls from my lips as I tune out of their shenanigans. That’s one thing about men, they’re persistent, narcissistic, and don’t care about anyone or anything except their selfish desires… just like my late father. I hope he is burning in hell.

It’s why I swore to never get involved with men in the first place. Well, until three nights ago when I’d thrown aside all morals and let a stranger wreck me completely. And a masked one at that!

My phone vibrates in my hands, snatching me back to reality. I look at the screen and let out a breath of relief. It’s Peter!

“I’m so sorry, ma’am, the car broke down. I’m on my way now,” he says once I pick up.

I let out a sigh. “Just hurry, please.”

Shuffling on my already sore heels, I end the call and glance at the time.

It’s a few minutes to eleven. Instinctively, I turn to see that the leering stranger has gone before whirling around to see the transparent glass of the studio.

I’d been working in here with my make-up artist and photographers to take pictures for my beauty brand, and as usual, I was the last to leave.

But you can’t fault a girl for trying to push her newest setting spray… for working so hard to beat the odds and achieve her goals.

The wind picks up, blowing strands of hair into my face. My attention drifts back to Zeus, but before I can conjure images of his dick in my head, I hear a loud bang. A gasp lodges in my throat when I turn around to the sight of a guard falling limply to the concrete.

My blood runs cold. And suddenly, I’m brutally reminded of the one thing that, after four years of staying away from my family’s mafia, brought me back to Manhattan to live at the Rossi mansion again—the death threats.

“L-Luis?” My voice comes out as a staggering breath as I dart my eyes around in search of the second guard. He’s nowhere to be found, and that heightens the dread in my stomach.

Moving shakily, I cautiously lower myself and turn the limp guard face-up. Bile rises in my throat at the sight of blood dripping from a hole in his eye. But then I hear another gunshot, and that’s when I’m in full-on panic mode.

Do I run? Hide?

I open my mouth to scream when a hand clasps it shut from behind, smothering the sound. “If you stay quiet, I’ll make your death painless,” he mutters into my ear, voice cold and deadly.

The hair on my nape rises, and I feel goosebumps all over my skin as he trails the barrel of the gun down my neck to my arm.

“Maybe we can have some fun with you before we send you to hell. What d’ya think, pretty?” he snarls.

A sob almost rips my throat, but I chug it down. No… I can’t die like this. There’s still so much I want to achieve.

I shake my head and instantly begin thrashing around in his hold. His grip around my torso tightens, stealing air from my lungs, but I don’t stop. My teeth clamp down hard against his flesh, and I taste blood just as he releases me.

Then I bolt, heading out of the parking lot. The headlights of a taxi briefly blur my vision as my heart pounds in my ears, my feet thumping against the concrete. Adrenaline surges in my veins when I hear footsteps closing in, behind me.

Almost there…

As I try to run faster, suddenly, a figure appears and tackles me to the ground. My forehead hits the concrete as he cusses in Italian. Releasing a grunt, he flips me over and smirks, lips peeling back into a sick grin as he roughly pulls me up.

The face in front of me is a nightmare.

Silver teeth gleam between muddy, brown gums. His bald skull is a map of horrid tattoos. Spiders, skulls, serpents, unrecognizable symbols swirling in chaotic loops. His breath reeks of rot and something foul, making my stomach twist with disgust.

My head is pounding like a war drum. I writhe in his hold while I release the loudest scream I can muster. But that only makes him smile more.

“Don’t scream, pretty,” he says in my face. “I swear you’ll enjoy it.”

Then I hear a sharp crack, and his hold loosens. It sounds like a wet, meaty impact.

The bastard drops me like a sack of discarded clothes when another fist slams against the side of his head.

I crash onto the pavement once again, the impact jarring through every bone. Droplets of spit and blood splatter across my cheek. I blink hard through tears, pushing myself up on trembling elbows to take another look at my assaulter’s ugly face.

One of his silver teeth lies on the ground, glinting under the street lamp. The hooded figure who hit him doesn’t look at me, not even once. He’s too busy pounding his fists into the monster’s face with pure rage.

Each blow is vicious enough to shake the ground beneath me, and as I watch, I catch the first assailant whom I bit, disappearing into the first taxi that drives by. What a fucking night.

My savior doesn’t run after him; he simply focuses on the assailant at hand until his body grows limp. Then he rises slowly, fists dripping with blood and knuckles a shredded, crimson mess.

He turns to me, and my heart skips a beat at the familiarity in his eyes. His hood has now fallen off his face. Am I hallucinating?

Before I can let anything out, the familiar black Porsche drives into the parking lot. Peter!

I watch as Peter hurriedly climbs out, eyes widening in horror when he takes in my form.

Pain ricochets in my cranium as I turn my head back to the hooded figure to thank him, but he’s staring at Peter.

Peter mutters something to him, maybe thanking him, and it’s like they’re conversing, but I can barely hear a thing amidst the ringing in my head.

***

The Rossi mansion glows in warm amber light, but nothing feels warm tonight. I limp inside with the help of Peter by my side, ignoring the guards bowing slightly as we walk past.

My head buzzes with pain, and all I want is to shut my eyes and go into a deep slumber. But Enzo’s voice cuts through the hallway before we reach the stairs.

“Elena.”

I close my eyes, turning toward the living room. Ugh.

Enzo Marcini. Though he’s not a Rossi, he’s my late father’s second-in-command and now the present Don of the Rossi family.

He sits on the couch like a king. His greying hair is combed back, suit jacket unbuttoned completely, revealing his slight potbelly.

A cigarette dangles between his fingers.

The ash at the tip glows as he lifts it to his lips and inhales.

For someone who barely shows emotion, I see the shift in his eyes when they settle on my face. “Peter called on your way here. The doctor is on his way,” he says, gesturing to the space beside him.

I unwind my arm from around Peter’s neck, much to his protest, then gently insist that he leave. I might need a few checkups for my head, but I can walk just fine.

In a few limps, I reach Enzo, but take the couch opposite him instead.

“With death threats hanging over your head, you can’t keep working late.”

“I have to push my newest collection,” I reply simply.

Enzo has grown into a father figure of sorts in my life.

I like to think of him as a better man than my father.

He shows genuine care even when my own father didn’t, despite the fact that we’re not biologically related.

I’ve been told I look like his late daughter, whom he lost to this ruthless world years ago, and that sometimes he still sees her in me.

But I already know where this conversation is heading, and I don’t think I’d like it.

“You have to limit unnecessary outings until this cup passes over, Elena. Non devi nemmeno fare tutto questo… sforzo (You don’t even need to go through all this…

effort).” He shakes his head like he feels all I’m doing is unnecessary.

“One call and I’ll make sure your business stays at the top for years…

Diavolo, ti farò persino entrare nella lista di Forbes (Hell, I’ll even get you into the Forbes list). ”

I don’t say anything because he knows I don’t want that. Getting my make-up and skincare business into the Forbes 30 Under 30 list is my life’s goal. And I’m going to achieve that solely by hard work. Without favors.

He sets his cigar into his ashtray, clears his throat, and exhales loudly before flicking two fingers forward.

Someone I hadn’t noticed steps out from the corner, and my breath seizes. Almost immediately, I stagger to my feet, my heart roaring in my ears.

It can’t possibly be.

He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that outlines his broad shoulders and rock-hard abs. I take in his familiar eyes and, as my gaze deliberately slides lower to his arm, I catch the familiar ink of a tattoo.

It’s him!

My throat tightens.

Enzo’s voice drifts through the thick air, bringing me back to reality. “This is Adrian Cole. Peter also mentioned that he saved you. So from now on, he will be your personal bodyguard. He’s good. Saved my life once. I believe he’ll protect you with his life just like he did tonight.”

My head spins briefly as I whip my neck toward Enzo, who seems unaware that we’ve met once before this moment.

Fuck. He works here?

I can’t have a man I’ve fucked before as a bodyguard. That doesn’t make any sense.

“What!? No! I don’t need h—”

“You will listen to me, Elena!” Enzo stands abruptly, his voice rising. “I will not let you risk your life any further.”

Swallowing thickly, I do a double-take on the man’s arm again. It’s undeniably the same tattoo my fingers once traced in breathless, reckless desperation. Same one I dragged my nails across as I rode him, drunk on pleasure and insane lust.

“If anyone will do the job that those foolish bodyguards couldn’t do tonight, it’s Adrian,” Enzo’s voice hits me.

“We don’t call him the silent precursor for nothing.

He’s swift, sees what others don’t, arrives before the threat and moves before anyone realizes.

He’ll protect you, Elena, from now on. You have no say in that. ”

It all hits me at once. The thick arms, the chestnut hair, that defiant strand…

Shit. The man I fucked so hard, so raw, so dirty, is the same man who just crushed a skull to save me. The man standing five feet away, silently towering over me in the dark, is… Zeus.