Captured By The Mafia Don With A Kiss

{STEPHANIE}

I stared at the three idiots in front of me, giggling like kids, and wondered how on earth I got myself into such a situation.

I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be sitting in one of the imperial leather sofas that beautified the VIPs lounge. I shouldn't be drinking scotch which cost more than double my usual monthly paycheck. And I shouldn't be wearing that stupid, goddamn glittering pink veil on my head, looking like a fucking Barbie bride.

"Your turn to spin, Becky," Trish gestured at my half-sister with her drink, spilling drops of the crystal clear golden liquid.

"God save me," I murmured, tilting the glass, filling my mouth with the fizzy drink.

With a devilish grin tugging on the corners of her lips, Becky placed the bottle on the table and spun it.

I exhaled slowly and leaned into my seat.

I still couldn't believe my dad made me come here and pretend to be happy for her, and pretend to be grateful that she chose me to be one of the members of her bridal train. As if it didn't matter that she was getting married to my ex-boyfriend, a man I had dreamt my whole adult life of marrying and having kids with.

The bottle stopped slowly, pointing at Rhea.

The girl cackled and bounced in her seat, causing her blonde hair to jump.

"Truth!" she squealed.

Becky adjusted in her seat, a smirk playing on her lips as her hazel eyes locked on her bestie's.

"Did you or did you not sleep with the captain of the college basketball team during our sophomore year?"

Surely, I had not even the slightest idea who that guy was, but apparently, Rhea knew him and perhaps knew him all too well. She clasped her hand over her mouth.

"You did, you little slut!" Alexa, another of my sister's pompous friends snorted.

"I didn't," she defended. "We didn't sleep..."

I rolled my eyes and got on my feet. Becky's eyes suddenly flew to my direction.

"Where are you going?" she demanded. "Get your tiny ass back in that chair."

Her friends snickered.

I shot her a hard glare, half considering throwing my drink in her sweet disgusting face. Ladies room," I replied. "I want to use the ladies room."

She dismissively waved her hand. "You have five minutes."

My violent urges rose but I suppressed them and said through clenched teeth, "Thank you."

I didn't waste any more time, knowing my cheeky younger sister would just increase the level of her bitchiness.

I stepped out of the booth and walked through the narrow dimly lit corridor illuminated by blue-green lights. I maneuvered through about a dozen drunken revellers, reeking of alcohol and a distinct tinge of expensive perfume.

When I reached the door, I breathed a deep sigh of relief, relieved to find that no one was in. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, grateful for a moment of peace, a moment away from Becky and her pompous friends.

The ladies room was far from soundproof but it was better here away from the loud thumping of the bass outside. Outside, the music was so loud I could feel the bass in my bones.

I stepped towards the sink and turned the faucet on with a creak, cupping my palms to take some water. Then I splashed it on my face, not caring if it ruined my make up. I didn't want to come here anyway. But I had to.

Dad made sure I came to show my support for my sister.

"You can do this, Stephanie," I told myself quietly. "It's just a stupid bachelorette party."

I peered at the mirror, examining myself. Luckily, the strands of my hair were still in place despite that stupid, pink flashy veil.

And, thanks to my friend, Jade, who had helped with my make up, out of her expensive makeup kit, my lashes were longer than usual and accentuated my pretty, large, round, green eyes, making them seem almost twice as large.

I took out a tiny box and applied a little tint of red to my lips.

I didn't look bad. Despite that I was wearing a thrashy red gown I had bought nearly three years ago, I can still say, and quite correctly, that I looked more attractive than my spoilt younger sister and her chic friends looked in their sparkling pink dresses with see through tops, flashy, bling bling jewelry and heavy make up.

The gown was still fine. I had only worn it four or five times. I wasn't so lady-like and chic and girly. I loved to wear denim pants and leather jackets and cowgirl boots – nothing fancy.

Jade often teased me that I dressed like some archaic country girl.

Presently, I closed my eyes and heaved another sigh.

"Stephanie McMahon," I muttered to myself. "You need to calm the fuck down."

I just had to play my role till about three a.m. when the girls would have drunk themselves to stupor, drive them back to their houses and then bounce.

Mission accomplished!

I would never have taken my father's offer if I had not been so desperate. I needed as much money as possible to buy another batch of my mom's ludicrously expensive medication, the current one running out at such a dangerous speed. And I also had to pay for her surgery.

Her sickness had taken its toll on me.

The insurance money had finished first. Then a few months later, I had to sell our apartment and move up to the room above my workshop.

I had thought that would be all and was prepared to give myself back to my job to raise the money to return us back to our usual life. But I was shocked.

Fate had other unpleasant surprises in place for me.

My mom had a stroke one night in her bed and then slipped into a coma.

That was when I put a call through to the rich asshole who called himself my father and requested for help.

And in return for his help, he told me I had to give up my lover to my crazy half-sister who had always wanted him to herself.

I was in quicksand. Barely thinking straight because of the quagmire I was in, I agreed to his sham proposal.

I breathed deeply again as I took in my reflection on the mirror. Then I stood straight and rolled out of the restroom, my head high as I headed for the fancy booth.

I slid into my seat with a ghost of a smile.

"It took you longer than five minutes," Becky said crossly, her arms crossed over her sparkling chest.

"I needed to fix my makeup," I said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes and took the bottle.

Then she spun.

I watched nonchalantly as the bottle spun on the table. Then I suddenly felt a strange twist in my stomach as the bottle slowed and its neck rolled towards me and...

Stopped.

It stopped on me.

"Shit," I cursed under my breath.

Rhea and Trish sniggered while Becky clasped her hands together, her lips forming a devilish grin.

"Truth or Dare?" she purred.

I thought.

I was certain that if I chose dare, then she would ask me something that would spite my mom.

Becky and her mom, Rousey, always found ways to humiliate my mom. And I didn't like it.

I wouldn't let them insult my mom.

They could mock me all they wanted but I was not going to

"Dare," I strained through my teeth.

Becky laughed and her friends howled.

"Be fast. Just tell me what to do," I said.

"Tell her to lick the toilet seat," Rhea suggested and I shot her my coldest glare.

Becky was not listening to them.

Her lips spread into a cold smirk as she looked around the room.

"I want you to..." she hummed slowly. "Kiss the hottest guy in this club."

A chill ran down my spine.

I was dressed like a party girl but I knew I wasn't one. I had never even as much as initiated a flirt and now I was supposed to walk over and kiss someone I didn't know from Adam?!

"Go on," Becky urged. "There's plenty to choose from."

"I'd pick the guy over there," Rhea said, pointing at the brawny guy with tattoos in red and green ink riddling his over muscular arms.

"Not my type," I said uninterestedly.

"How about the ones at the bar?" Trish suggested, flicking a glance at two men

I followed her glance.

Damn.

The guy in the black tuxedo was fine, cute. But the blonde haired woman beside him

"Guess we have a winner!" Becky squealed, noticing me stare so longingly at the man in the tuxedo.

I held my breath.

I was aware that the club we were in was filled with stinking rich assholes – pompous assholes.

What if this guy turned out to be one of them?

What if he demanded an apology for tainting his precious lips?

Or even worse, if he took the kiss as a sexual assault and filed a lawsuit?

"What are you waiting for?" Rhea nudged me. "Go and kiss him!"

I clenched my teeth, wishing I could just tell them to go fuck themselves. But I had to play nice and pretend I was having a swell time.

I straightened and my eyes locked on the target as I walked to the bar.

He was so good looking.

I drew a shaky breath as he suddenly turned to his friend, a smirk playing on his lips.

I was only three steps away from the bar and about five away from him. My heart was hammering already in my chest.

"Don't be a coward, Steph," I muttered to myself. "It's just a kiss."

I took another step forward and tapped his shoulder.

He was even taller than he looked.

A lump formed in my throat as he turned towards me, his face curious.

"Yes?"

I didn't answer.

I just grabbed his tie, forcing him to lower his head about an inch or two. Then I stood on my toes and pressed my lips against his.

His gentle perfume filled my nostrils.

The real aura of a...

Engulfed in his aura, I brushed the seam of my lips slowly against his.

I barely noticed his hands snaking its way around my waist, pulling me closer to himself so my breast crushed into his chest. A smug smirk stained his lips as he pulled a little way back.

"Naughty, aren't we?" he asked.

I stopped breathing. That stillness between us lasted a fleeting moment before his lips suddenly collided with mine.

All the fear and shyness and restraint inside of me evaporated.

My reason was gone too.

The only thing that was left was him, this stranger, his tongue dancing along with mine to a sweet symphony, his adventurous hands roving around my body, his fingers squeezing my ass.

My fingers slid over his broad chest as my hands moved up his broad shoulders and circled his neck on their own.

I had never been so thoughtless, so insane, so in a lack of control of my body. I was faintly aware that we were in the club, that other revellers were watching us curiously. But I couldn't make myself care. Not with the pleasant feeling that accompanied the smooth touch of his hand as his fingers traced down my spine, as his tongue stroked all the right nerves with perfect precision.

No one had ever kissed me that way.

The kiss was already enough to make me get a little wet below, making my panties moist.

I moaned against his lips and he responded with a breathy chuckle. My toes curled despite the uncomfortable stilettos my feet triumphed in. I didn't want this to end. I wanted more. I needed more...

A sudden wave of realization hit me.

This had to stop.

I had to defy my body desires and stop this.

I pressed my palms, with a good measure of reluctance, against his chest, instantly awed by its firmness. Then I pushed slightly and was free from his embrace.

My breath was uneven, shallow and fast as I stepped back away from him. Then I mustered the courage to look into his eyes to see what he felt about me ending the kiss.

Big mistake.

He was looking at me like he owned me.

And I felt, for some senseless reason, that I would love it if I was his.

That was when I knew I had to get away from him.

I had to say something. But what?

Was there a guide book that told you what to say to walk away from a stranger who had just kissed you? And it was not just any kiss, it was like the best kiss of my entire life!

My lips parted and I was shocked by what escaped them.

"Thank you."

He smiled, noticing my nervousness.

"Anytime, baby," he said, his tongue gliding over his lower lip. "I'll gladly taste you again."

My stomach tightened.

Run! My brain screamed.

I wanted to obey that still voice and take to my heels but my legs were adamant to move.

The hot black haired guy looked at me while I remained there feeling stupid.

Finally, I gave a slight nod as a way of goodbye and walked with numb legs back to Becky's booth. My heart kept thundering and my feet trembled as I walked .

I heard his faint breathy chuckle behind me but I wisely contained the urge to turn and look back at him.

I planned to walk in head high and give no reaction to the spiteful remarks that her and her equally bumptious friends were sure to greet me with.

I braced myself for all sort of jeers and spiteful words, but I met the opposite as I walked into their booth– silence.

My sister and her besties were deathly pale.

Becky's chest heaved, her fingers balled into fists, her eyes gleaming with anger.

I stopped in front of her and stared at her.

She had surely been expecting my dare to go south, expecting me to blow the whole thing up.

Too bad she had to swallow her disappointment.

"No insults this time?" I asked with a sneer and waited for a few heartbeats for a reaction.

There was nothing.

She only worked her jaw and said nothing. And neither did her dumb friends.

A small victory.

I slid back into my seat and grabbed the ridiculously pricey drink. I sure as hell needed one.

A dark chuckle punctuated the silence and when I turned to the source, my eyes met Becky's.

She let out a cold chuckle again and sipped from her drink. I was sure she was thinking of what to say, words to humiliate me.

Her lips parted, ready to spill out whatever she had been cooking in her head, when Rhea interrupted.

"That guy's hot though," she said, studying the man I had kissed through seducing eyes.

"Yeah," Becky sighed in agreement and flicked a glance at me. "Too bad he has such a crappy taste."

I ground my teeth and lowered my eyes to my drink.

Then, for a reason I don't know, my gaze went again to the bar, drifting to my hot stranger. And our eyes met. I gulped and returned to my drink, consciously looking anywhere but at the bar.

"The hottie is looking our way!" Trish gasped out loud, excited.

Becky instantly sat straight in her seat and pushed out her chest.

"Maybe he wants a kiss from someone better," Rhea said, playfully nudging Becky's side.

Somehow, as they squealed like senseless idiots, I couldn't resist looking back at the bar. My hot stranger was talking to his friend again.

I definitely shouldn't be staring but some insanely uncontrollable part of me wanted nothing more than to saunter up to the bar, pull his tie again and kiss him.

"Hey!" Trish suddenly interjected, snatching everyone's attention. "I know who he is! That's goddamn Francesco Giacomo!"

"No way!" Rhea gasped. "The Italian billionaire?!"

"I heard he's looking for a wife," Trish added with a whisper, her eyes still fixed on the man.

Becky pouted. "Too bad for me," she said. "Maybe one of you should give it a shot then."

"I will," Rhea said and rose from the seat. "Watch and learn, sucker," she sneered at me and smoothed her pink dress.

I suddenly felt jealous.

But why should I be jealous? I didn't even know the damn guy!

Shoving away the irrational feelings, I gulped down my drink, watching through the transparent rim of the glass as Rhea walked like a master seductress toward the bar.

She prowled forward, her eyes on the target.

I held my breath as she stopped and placed her hand on her hip.

Would I feel disappointed if he found her attractive?

But then, why wouldn't he find her attractive? Rhea easily fit into the category of drop dead gorgeous.

Her lips moved as she spoke with him indistinctly. I didn't hear what she said but my stranger seemed to be uninterested. Indeed, he found her words unimpressive, not even sparing my sister's slender blonde friend a glance.

Clearly annoyed, Rhea inched closer but before she could reach my billionaire kisser, his friend stepped in front of her and pointed at some object under the lapel of his jacket.

Rhea stumbled back, her face turning a deathly pale colour. Then she spun back and walked, trembling, back to our booth.

The little devil inside me began to celebrate and cheer and whoop. I didn't know what the hell had happened but I was pleased by the outcome and savoured Rhea's humiliation like sweet wine.

"Was that a gun?" Trish muttered excitedly as Rhes returned to her seat.

"How dare he threaten my friend?" Becky hissed. "Does the bastard know who my father is? I'll show the son of a bitch–"

Rhea held her with a restraining hand as Becky stood up, spoiling for a fight she was not ready for. "Don't go there," she said. "Just leave it. It's nothing."

She nervously tugged her almost white hair behind her ears. "This club is getting boring. Let's go somewhere else."

Becky pursed her lips, muttering expletives to herself, before she tilted the glass and drowned the rest of the liquor.

"Fine, let's go," she said, setting the glass back onto the table.

She started towards the exit, her friends following suit.

"Stephanie McMahon, get over here!" she snapped,.her face a big frown as she looked at me over her shoulder.

I rolled my eyes and swallowed a long line of curses I would have loved to yell at her. I hoped she would get drunk quickly so we could end the dumb, pathetic night and I could return to my mattress. I darted quicky to the nearest exit.

My lips still tingled from the delicious kiss and I was still excited by the humiliation Rhea had faced.

The reckless part of me wanted to remain behind in the club, my lips on the stranger's, her snuands around my waist. But the rational part of me urged my legs forward, quickening my steps towards the exit.

Guys like Francesco Giacomo meant trouble, and I had enough problems in my life already.

It would be good if I could never meet him again.

{FRANCESCO}

My eyes drifted slowly to the booth and my lips spread in a thin smile.

Women had always been a way to dispel the tension and fear that often rose inside of me – just a pleasant and momentary distraction – like a kind of toy to calm a wailing child.

I didn't respect them.

I never cared for their names.

I never really remembered what they even looked like.

But not this petite, slender one with brown hair and a perfect, curvy body. Her image was already drafted in my mind.

A pleasing blend of fear and excitement was what I had seen in her sparkling eyes.

The taste of her had felt like some crazy addictive hard drug. If I could have an overdose of the taste of her lips and die, then I would have died an happy man.

"She left," Julio said, looking at the empty booth also. "You know if you didn't ignore the other one, perhaps she would still be here."

I turned to him and gave him a pointed look. I had been around dumb sluts and golddiggers for long enough to know one even from a distance. And the blonde in the pink dress who had come up to me with such cheeky confidence easily fit into both categories.

"You know if you really wanted to fuck her so badly then you could just–"

"Kidnap her?" I interjected with a smirk before grabbing my glass of whiskey from the bar. "Now, why the fuck would I do that?"

"Well," Julio shrugged. "You like her."

"I don't know if I like her," I said.

I knew I Iiked her. But I still had to maintain my status as a casanova who only tasted ladies once and then let them go for good.

"I'm not sure if I like her. There's just something about her that makes me...curious."

"Curious?" Julio echoed and laughed.

I knew it sounded strange that I was curious about a lady of all things in the world to be curious about.

He studied me for some extra seconds, then went on, "You being curious about a girl means progress, considering you need to marry soon."

A sinister smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I lowered my glass.

"Do a background check on her and give me a full report tomorrow morning," I gave the order.

"Wait a minute..." Julio said slowly, his eyes widening with surprise and a sort of anticipation. "You seriously consider her, don't you?"

I shrugged.

"And if you ask her, you think she would just agree?" Julio had his fair share of unbelief.

"It's all about finding the right leverage," I said with a knowing smile.

"And in her case?" he inquired.

"Don't know yet," I shrugged, placing my empty glass on the bar. "Just give me a full report on her tomorrow morning and I'll know which buttons to push."

"I begin to feel sorry for the girl," Julio said.

"I want the report by seven," I said, pushing my stool backwards and heading towards the exit.

"You realise it's damn nearly three already!" he called out.

"Which means you have less than four hours," I said, ignoring the cuss words he muttered in response to the ridiculous time I had given. "I'd hurry if I were you."

..........

I probably should have cancelled all of today's meetings or rescheduled them, to afford myself extra time for rest or sleep.

Choosing the sofa in my office instead of my cosy bed wasn't a wise idea either.

I was used to sleeping less than four hours a day but with the recent attacks and the insane amount of work I had on my hands, I was thoroughly exhausted. I needed one peaceful day to recover but I had a biting feeling that it wouldn't come soon.

My muscles protested as I forced myself up from the sofa and staggered to the bathroom for a quick shower.

I pulled off my yesterday's suit and my tank top and stepped out of my boxer shorts, hoping that a cool stream of water would help me.

I needed to secure my position as head of the Italian cartel in Manhattan soon. For all those Italian suckers, the status meant everything. And all I had was nothing. My wealth and manpower was only worth shit to them.

Of course I should have known there was bound to be a catch, a condition in my grandfather's will. The great Massimo Giacomo wouldn't leave the entire empire to his half-blooded grandson without putting some fucked up rules which would be difficult for a rebellious blood like me to adhere to.

But, surprisingly, so far I had met all of his requirements.

All, except one.

I had to marry.

To sit behind the throne, I had to walk in a tuxedo or navy suit with a pretty damsel in sparkling, sequined white wedding gown.

According to the will, I would get the title and the other assets on my thirtieth birthday, which I should celebrate with a wife by my side.

Sometimes I wondered if Massimo hadn't written that stipulation so that my uncle, Lentini, could get the chance to screw me over.

Assassinating me could have been easier, but

I wouldn't be surprised if I found out he was the one behind all the recent coordinated attacks on my clubs. They would surely be part of his plan to keep me occupied and too distracted from finding a wife.

I turned the faucet and the water stopped pouring. Then I grabbed a towel, hurriedly moping my wet body before entering into my walk-in closet. I had finished buttoning my shirt when I heard the door to my office open and close. I grabbed a tie and stepped out just in time to see Julio striding towards me, a folder in hand.

He tossed the folder over.

"There!" he said. "Your goddamn report."

I glanced at the picture in front and a thin smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

"Get yourself an espresso," I said, motioning at the machine. "For a job well done."

"Screw you, Francesco," he grunted and I chuckled.

He was the only one who had the nerve to talk to me this way. We had been friends for over two decades and he was one of the very few I trusted. He was the only one I deemed worthy to occupy the enviable position of my second.

As he walked over to the machine, I slumped lazily into my chair behind my desk.

"Stephanie McMahon," I said out loud to myself, as if hoping that her name would drip onto my tongue and fill it with sweetness. My dick twitched in response.

"She's an outsider," Julio said, waiting for his glass to fill with the refreshing liquid. "She's not part of our world."

I shot him a look that could curdle milk. "I can read."

"Just saying," he said with a shrug. "Doubt if she'll live long enough if we drag her into a whole new world."

I turned another page slowly and let out a chuckle. "She will. I know that."

Julio scratched his chin. "She's not from a mafia family."

"I told you I don't want another fucking princess!"

"You're aware that by 'marrying', your grandfather meant marriage to someone of pure Italian blood, right?"

"Too bad he didn't mention it expressly in his will," I said. "If he wanted so bad for me to marry an Italian, he should have stated it clearly in his will. He didn't, which means I am free to marry whoever I choose."

"You won't form any alliances if you choose her,"

"I went down that road once, remember," I reminded him. "And you remember how that 'alliance' went."

He stared at me for a moment and sighed.

I was so hard to convince.

He walked towards the sofa, his head tilted backwards as he held the cup to his mouth, filling his mouth and lubricating his throat with the black coffee. When he got to the sofa, he had drained the cup so he slumped idly into the sofa, an empty cup in hand.

"Oh, and lest I forget," he said. "Her family's business, the Ol' McMahon is on the verge of bankruptcy.

"Oh, I have no intention of dealing with Mr," I said, smiling. "I'll make her come to me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's your plan?"

I didn't answer him.

Instead, my lips stretched into an evil grin as I pulled up my phone and dialled my secretary.

I put her on speaker for Julio to hear.

"You said something the other day about a wedding in the McMahon's mansion?"

"Yes, Mr Giacomo," her voice sounded. "You received an invite to come for a wedding. The ceremony will be held this Saturday."

"Call them and confirm my presence," I said with an even wider grin.