Page 4 of Accidentally Kidnapping the Mafia Boss
Feck. A partnership with Richmond will bring money and power to Kilburn and all who live here, and cement my place in the London Mafia Syndicate. I need him on-side.
But my cock is still tingling in a way it hasn’t for a long time.
I might need that girl more.
“Everyone has their vices, Richmond,” I say, leaning back in a deliberately arrogant and dismissive gesture. As though my action was incidental. It’s better if Richmond isn’t aware of this girl’s significance to me. We’re allies now, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t danger with any mafia interaction.
This girl is different, I feel it in my bones. But no one can know that.
Richmond narrows his eyes. “The goods we talked about. What’s your best price?”
Jesus. So, he’s going to insult me by crassly starting with money talk before we’ve finished our drinks. “Are you enjoying the whiskey? It’s good stuff.”
My gaze returns to the girl at the bar. Ronan is talking to her, but it doesn’t seem it’s going well. My heart thuds.
“You know it’s very nice, Kilburn, what do you want for it?” Richmond’s accent is posh, and irritated.
“Well, it depends on how much you take, and how much you like it.” I reluctantly drag my eyes back to Richmond. “And if we’re friends on a continuing basis, I can do you a better…”
Like the girl is a magnet and I’m base metal, I glance across at her and promptly lose my train of thought when I see that she’s still there and Ronan isn’t.
What?
“Deal?” Richmond growls.
“What fecking happened?” I demand as Ronan approaches.
“She uh.” My fixer looks terrified. “She said no, Boss.”
No?!
She said, no? To me? The dark creature in my chest roars.
“Excuse me.” I’m on my feet in a second.
Despite the music and the people, my little prey spots me out of the corner of her eye, the whites showing stark even in the low light.
“Is this seat taken?” It’s not quite a question to the man in the barstool next to my girl, and the bloke scrambles to vacate it.
The girl opens her mouth, as though to protest.
I take the angel in from head to toe. She’s wearing jeans under a shapeless coat, and her hair is in a messy fall over her shoulder. Her cheeks are dotted with freckles I want to kiss.
“Will you let me buy you a drink, pet?” The endearment is out before I can think better of it.
Pet. An Irish word for a loved one.
I’ve never used it before for a woman. Or anyone. I’m known as a player and a rogue, charming, but not a man who uses cute nicknames. I’ve always felt that would be insincere.
She shakes her head, but her gaze takes me in like she can’t look away. Her little plump lips are a perfect “o”. “I’m just waiting for someone.”
“A boyfriend?” I snarl.
I hope not, for everyone’s sake. I’d break the neck of a man who was between her and me.
But she flushes, her cheeks pinkening.
So pretty. So fecking pretty.
