Page 1 of I Would Die For You

Chapter 1 Kaya

“Bosswantstoseeyou.”

I nod at the guy who just issued the summons. Well, it sounded like summons. He spoke in Italian—we’re in Turin, after all—and though I can understand the language well enough by now, that’s how it sounded to my English-speaking American mind.

My lips twist a little. He and I both know what this order means. I’m to head to the big man’s office to be at his beck and call, literally. It’s what’s expected of a working girl, in the end. Who’d choose this life? Turns out, no one really chooses to become a prostitute—it’s foisted upon, and we make do with it, because that’s how far our control extends.

It had been a quiet evening at Club Demos. Most of the college students who haunt this sector of San Salvario in Torino are either doing summer exams or they’re off on vacation already. As such, we had a sparse clientele tonight. As the lead hostess whose job came with a postage-stamp-sized studio on the premises at the back of the building on the third floor, I came down and made sure the place was spick and span, welcoming the small van of girls when they were deposited for their shift.

Too bad the peace didn’t last. The boss hasn’t been here in the past few weeks, and we’d all liked it this way. He’s not a bad man—he looks after his employees, men and girls alike—but he is what he is, aka a Mafia kingpin on Italian soil. Scary is the nicest word to describe him.

Though few know him like I do. I get to see a side of him he doesn’t show usually, but that’s our secret. I don’t know what sort of relationship he had with my predecessor here at the club, but I am his protegee somewhat. To the world, it means I’m his current fuck toy, and in a way, I am.

I suppose that’s the reason why I’ve been summoned tonight.

My steps are heavy as I take the wide, cut-glass stairs leading to the mezzanine second floor where the main office opens onto a narrow balcony overlooking the lounge below. At the door, I knock and wait for the deep, sonorous voice to ask me in.

He doesn’t make me wait long. I enter and close the panel behind me, the sounds of the club dying as if by magic in this sound-proof interior. His massive back is to me as he stares out the floor-to-ceiling glass panes leading to the balcony, his shoulder-length black hair a stark contrast against the white of his suit jacket. Don Giacomo Rossi is a man no one can miss noticing, not just for his sheer size but for the almost palpable charisma he exudes. He must be in his late forties, maybe fifty at most, the mantle of maturity adding extra gravitas to his persona. When he turns my way, those magnetic dark eyes pin me in place.

I know the drill by now—we’ve done this every time he’s called me up. He’ll nod, and I’ll kneel on the fluffy rug in front of the leather couch. When he’ll sit down with a glass of whiskey in hand, he’ll tell me to lay down, open my legs slowly—he likes to watch the short leather skirt of my uniform ride up onto my hips—then to touch my pussy and make myself come. He likes me to take my time doing it, to close my eyes and imagine a lover getting me off.

The first time, he then laid himself over me and fucked me so roughly, I had the worst rug burn on my ass for a week. He got more gentle with each encounter, one time even softly running his hand over my hair like a lover or a husband would, I imagine. When I next came to see him, he didn’t fuck me, just requested a blowjob with me on my knees. And the last time, he let me leave after my solo pleasure opener.

I’m waiting for the nod tonight, except it doesn’t come.

“Kaya,” he says in that low, deep voice.

The sound takes me by surprise. “Don Rossi?”

He smiles. “Giacomo.”

One thing I do know, no one calls a Mafia Don by his Christian name. And you never cross one, either.

“Don Giacomo,” I say with a small nod.

He extends the hand holding his drink toward the couch.

“Sit down. Will you join me?” he asks in heavily accented English.

When he shakes the glass, I decline. Alcohol isn’t my thing. I perch on the edge of my seat as he settles his honed, muscular bulk next to me.

“There’s no need to worry,” he starts with a small laugh.

There isn’t, not really. He’s more a kill/torture/maim first and talk later kind of guy.

“Yes.”

He peers at me for long seconds. I want to squirm in my seat, but I can’t show vulnerability. I may be under his protection, but he’s still an apex predator.

“Your debt is almost settled.”

The words are so shocking, I rear back and stare at him, eyes wide and speechless. How? That can’t be possible. Don Giacomo Rossi always chooses his words clearly, though.

He chuckles at my bewilderment. “Ah, Kaya,cara.You wouldn’t know, but thanks to you, my men have been closing in on a lot of my competitor’s businesses these past few months. All their wins are also yours. You’ve almost repaid your debt in full.”

It’s notmydebt but my father’s. Back home, he got entangled with a loan shark. They came to collect, yet it also happened said shark was traveling to Piedmont for the summer and needed an au pair for his rambunctious children as his wife was about to have a baby. I was the sacrificial lamb, so to speak. In return for my services, my dad's debt would be forgiven. It was a pretty good deal, all things considered, since my dad owed much more money than it would cost for the loan shark to hire an au pair. It’s been my dad and me since my mom left when I was little; of course I was going to do what I had to do to save his life from this horrible man.

However, things took a different turn once we reached Turin. I soon discovered there was a catch to this tradeoff. That's because I got handed to a crime lord, an Albanian mob boss who dealt mainly in human and sex trafficking. My first night in their brothel, they got raided by Don Rossi’s men, who took over the operation.

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