Page 12 of Mafia Captor

I slink into the crowd, gone before they can even look over to see who’s ruined her pretty party dress. I pass guests. Give a pat on a shoulder, shake a hand, and make my way to the front of the room as quickly as possible.

She’ll need to find the restroom to clean up. The nearest one is off the ballroom, down this hall. I pass under the arched doorway and hang a right. The Persian runner muffles my footsteps as I make my way. At the end of this hall there’s a door for the restroom and a wall of Sullivan family photos and portraits going back to the early 1700s. Give a tug on the upper right corner of the black frame holding Great Uncle Leon’s photo and a secret door is revealed, leading to a hidden room. A special nook that I’ve kept to myself, unbeknownst to my family.

The eldest of this many brothers deserves a privilege or two, don’t you think?

This room is mine. My next conquest? The thing I’ve been begging Ma for? The title to my dad’s silver 1964 Aston Martin DB5.

Damn, I love that car.

Ashely, she’d look good in that car. I can picture her sitting beside me as we cruise down Market Street, her wearing a black minidress, the hem rising higher and higher as I slip my fingers between her soft thighs. God, I’ve got to focus or I’m going to come before I even lay hands on the girl.

I’m halfway down the hall. Here she comes. I can feel her behind me, sense her presence before I even hear her speak. She gives a sigh, whispering under her breath about the dress being ruined for resale. I can buy her a thousand dresses. If she was my girl, she’d never shop secondhand again.

Madness.

What are you doing, Boss? You idiot. Didn’t you decide to stay single? You could have asked her out at the wedding, but you knew it was best to let her go.

So why am I pouring drinks on the poor girl, stalking her, stealing her from my brother?

Because ever since the first moment I laid eyes on her, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.

I’m obsessed.

Hiding my face, I stand with my back to her, hands clasped behind me as I pretend to study the pictures in the black frames that I already have memorized. Growing up, when my dad needed my youngest brother, Booker (conceived in my father’s library), out of his hair, I used to entertain him playing our own version of Guess Who on this wall, using family photos for the cards. Ashely murmurs something reassuring to herself about a magic stain stick she has at home. I can’t help but think of my own magic stick—one I’d love to stain her innocent little body with—and then I hear the bathroom door open.

She’s quick. Precise. She’ll have her dress fixed up in no time. I’ve only got a few minutes.

“Here we go, Uncle Leon. Don’t let me down.” I wrap my fingers around the corner of the frame. One good tug and the door will slip open, running quietly on its tracks as the wall moves to the right. My timing has to be perfect. The moment that bathroom door opens, I’ll pull the trigger. I wait, hoping no one else meanders down this hallway—

A too-familiar voice interrupts me. “Aye-oh, Boss Man! How’s it hanging?”

Fuck.

The air leaves my lungs as my plan crumbles before my eyes. My hand drops to my side. I turn on my heel, greeting my brother. “Lor. What’s the word?”

He shoots me a curious look. “Why are you manhandling Great Uncle Leon? What’s he ever done to you?”

“He gave me this damn Adam’s apple. Sticks out too far. I always cut it when I’m shaving.”

“You’ve got a screw loose, man.” He glances over at the bathroom door. “Have you seen my date? I think she went this way. Some asshole spilled her drink on her dress.”

“Fucker. Are there no gentlemen left out there?”

“Certainly not in this family. Other than me, that is,” he says.

“I saw a lady rushing off to the bathroom. Must be yours. She’s in there.” I give the door a nod. Then it comes to me, a vision of Ashely stepping out of that restroom, linking her arm into my brother’s, and walking off into the night. My stomach twists in icy knots. I love my little brother. I’d do anything for him. This, however, I can’t do. I stare into his trusting blue eyes. “But while I have you, let me run something by you.”

“Okay.” His arms cross over his chest as he sizes me up. After the shenanigans I pulled on him when we were younger, he’s leery of my deals. “Shoot.”

A bolt of raw adrenaline shoots through my veins. I push past my guilt, focus on my brother’s heart, and squeeze the trigger. Die, you bastard. “Give me the girl.”

“What?” His brow folds. “What are you talking about?”

“Your girl. I want her.”

He lowers his voice, looking toward the door. “Ashely? I’ve only just met her.”

“Then you’re not attached,” I say. “Give me the girl.”

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