TEMPTED BY THE MAFIA LORD

NATASHA

"Ayoo Natasha! Where you goin'?"

Phil's voice was loud over the club song. That was no surprise, he was a whopping seven-foot Jamaican male who weighed nothing less than three hundred pounds. One look at those hulking eyes and no one in their right senses would mess up.

But this was a nightclub. Half the crowd here were definitely not in their right senses, they were either drunk or high on shit.

"It's twelve, Phil," I yelled back. "My shift ended."

"Nuh-uh, not if I say so, missy," He tsked, a playful glint in his eyes. "Get your pretty ass back here. I've got some special guests comin"

"They can serve themselves! I'm not doing shit!" I blew him a kiss and as quickly as I could, moved out of the door.

Working as a waitress in a nightclub wasn't exactly every girl's dream. And perhaps if I was the average American, I would share the same sentiment.

But I sure as hell did not.

I looked like the typical American bimbo. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and tall enough for a twenty-four-year-old. As a little girl, though, I never had dreams. I was never raised to have dreams. I was brought up to do one thing and one thing only - Not dream.

I shivered as a cool breeze whipped against my exposed arms. I suppose wearing a single-strap top and ripped jeans wasn't fit for the cold autumn night, but it was all I had that seemed good enough for a club. I wasn't a fan of luxury, and I made sure to have only the essentials.

I suppose it was a habit I had picked up. My past didn't allow for hoarding clothes and fancy shit like Jewelry.

I walked down the road, moving as quickly as possible. People teemed like flies on either side of the road, yelling, hollering, and helping drunk friends into cabs, while I weaved through them, eager to get home and get some sleep.

My phone vibrated in my pocket and I whipped it out, grinning when Alisa's name popped up on my screen. I swiped to receive the call.

"Hey Ali,"

"Ve... Nat, hi," She said sweetly. I could imagine her toying with her Chestnut brown hair between her fingers while sitting next to her husband.

Of us two sisters, only Alisa was allowed to dream. Everything I did, every mark, every cut, every single drop of blood was to ensure Alisa got the life she had today. A happy family and a stable job.

Perhaps that had been my dream. The only one I had been allowed to keep. But of course, I would never tell Alisa that.

"What's up?"

"I... I was wondering if you wanted to pick up some groceries tomorrow. We got a little extra, and I'm sure Mathew and I can spare-"

"No," I said, stopping in my tracks. I didn't need her money. I hadn't crossed the ocean to rely on Alisa. Hell, it should be the opposite!

"Natasha," She hissed. "Don't be stubborn!"

"I didn't want your money, Ali," I snapped and resumed walking home. "I'm fine, and can manage on my own."

"But I want to help," She whined.

A chuckle slipped from my lips. She sounded so much like a twelve-year-old. At least she got to keep her innocence.

"You can help me by staying pretty and living your best life ever. How's that?"

I turned the corner that led to my one-room apartment and froze still.

Someone had broken into my home, and they had been quite subtle about it. Hell, to anyone who passed by my door, it looked locked, but I could see the spaces in between and the reflection of the light.

"Ali?" I called, cutting off her ramblings. "I'll call you later,"

I ended the call and shoved the device into my pocket, approaching my door swiftly yet quietly. Why would anyone break into a shabby one-room apartment in the shady downtown part of New York? What the hell were they hoping to find? Gold? A pile of rubies?

I peeked through the space to see if anyone remained inside, and groaned low in my throat when I couldn't make out a single thing. Taking a deep breath, I tried to pry the door wider. A sound I recognized all too well, the sound of a cocked gun filled the air and I felt the cool metallic surface of the barrel of a gun against the side of my head.

I stiffened at the feeling, trying to even my breathing. "Who are you?"

"I ask the questions here," A deep male voice heavy with an Italian accent reached my ears. "Vera,"

I laughed, shaking my head slightly. "I think you have the wrong person, Mister,"

The gun pressed harder against my temple and I winced. It had been quite long since I had a gun against my head. So fucking long ago.

"You might want to reconsider," He rasped. "I wouldn't want to kill the world's deadliest assassin. Now open that door and don't try anything funny!"

I followed his orders, pushed the door wider, and stepped into my home. It wasn't much. There was a ratty old mattress in a corner. Paper and clothes were strewn everywhere. There was a chair and desk that I used for dining in another corner, and shards of a plate I had broken the day before occupied them.

I wasn't swimming in money or shit like that, but I was living just fine. I worked hard, I had enough money for booze and food, and I was fine.

Until this bastard showed up.

Once we were in, I turned around to face him, narrowing my eyes into slits as I scrutinized him. I had expected some grabby older man in his fifties or something, but the man before me was a hell of a fine specimen.

He looked to be in his thirties, his eyes had enchanting black irises and his long brown hair was tied in a ponytail atop his head. His jaw was clenched as he held the gun pointed directly to my forehead.

One shot and I would be gone.

I held my hands up in the air defensively.

"Seriously, who are you? And if you want money, I certainly don't fucking have it."

The Italian man chuckled, tucked his gun into his waistband and gestured round the house.

"I would say that is very clear, Vera. I have never seen a poorer home. Not even in the slums of Italy."

"I am not Vera," I said simply, eyeing his movements. If I made a break for it while he was engrossed in talking shit about my house, I ought to get very far. He was slick, but there was no way he would be slicker than I was.

No one was.

"Oh please," He scoffed, directing his attention back to me. "Sure you dyed your hair and shit, but you look exactly like Vera. I'm not stupid, woman."

"You're sure about that?" I grinned, kicking up a piece of cloth onto his face. He got blinded, and I seized the opportunity to drive my knee into his belly and between his thighs. He groaned, let out a Yelp, and crumpled to the ground.

That was my chance. I sprinted towards the door and almost stepped out of it when a boot came from nowhere and slammed right into my chest. Pain shot through my ribs and I crashed to the floor. Before I had an opportunity to retaliate, two men grabbed my shoulders and arms on both sides and forced me to kneel.

Ah, shit. I hadn't counted on the bastard having back up and judging from the look on his face as he struggled to stand on his feet, he looked mighty pleased about that.

"Are you done being barbaric?" He spat, dark eyes flashing in anger.

"Oh trust me, you haven't seen barbarity!" I seethed, baring my teeth at him. "What do you want?!"

The Italian man sighed, rubbing a hand over his hair to smoothen the strands that had loosened. "I am Luca. And I have a mission for you."

"I am not Vera-"

"You just kicked me right between the balls, woman! I know you're Vera, quit denying it, or I'll have my boys here teach you a very bitter lesson,"

I glanced up at his 'boys' and shook my head mentally. They were giants. Fucking hulks! I had lived a life free of pain in the past few years, I didn't want a recap. So I turned back to Luca and smiled at him.

"I don't do missions anymore. I'm retired. If you want a hitwoman, you'll have to find-"

"I'm guessing that means you do not mind if I pay a visit to Alisa Ivanov Cooper?" Luca said with a cruel, menacing grin.

My heart fucking stopped. Then it pounded wildly and violently against my chest. I growled, trying to break out of his men's hold on me. "Stay away from my sister!"

"I will," He said, raising his hands in his defense. "If you cooperate with me."

"I don't do this job anymore!" I yelled. "I'm retired."

"Then get back in," He shrugged. "Fanculo, it's not that hard, is it? It's like riding a bicycle."

"You're sick!" I spat, disgusted with the look on his face.

"Si, I am," Luca replied, lowering himself to a stoop, so he could stare directly into my eyes. "I have a proposition for you, Vera Ivanov. I want you to kill someone for me. Just one person. And in return, I pay you a million dollars and your sister is safe. Pretty generous, isn't it?"

A million dollars? What in the world? Who on earth did this man want to get rid of so badly?

"You're out of your mind if you think I'll say yes to that."

"Oh I know you will," He chuckled, whipping out a phone. "All I need to do is place one phone call, and your sister goes kaboom! You will help me, Vera."

Alisa. I closed my eyes, trying to picture her in my mind. She didn't deserve to die. I wanted her to live. I needed her to. She was the only reason I could find the human inside me. The only reason I had fought tooth and nail to leave Russia.

Alisa was everything to me.

And Luca knew that.

I pressed my lips tightly in anger. I was cornered. I didn't have a choice. It was either this job or

Alisa's life, and I would protect Alisa with everything I had.

My eyes opened, staring blankly into his. "Who do you want dead?"

"The lord of the Italian Mafia," He replied. "Hell."

No fucking way!

NATASHA

"Have you gone mad?" I asked, staring at Luca in disbelief.

He glanced around him, then back at me. "I assure you, I am perfectly sane."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "No you're not. If you were, you would not ask me to do the impossible."

"Oh please," He sniffed haughtily. "You infiltrated the navy and killed off three commanders. Nothing is impossible for you."

"It was two commanders and a colonel!" I defended, my brows furrowed. "And they are nothing compared to Hell, and you know it! No one even knows who he is!"

Luca nodded, pursing his lips. "True. And that is precisely why I'd like to hire you."

Hire me? Oh yeah, he had definitely lost his mind. "This isn't hiring. You threatened me into working for you!"

The Italian brute shrugged and straightened. "Hiring, threatening, same shit, Vera. Look, I traveled down from Italy to find you. If anyone can uncover Hell's true identity and get rid of him while at it, it's you."

"I don't want to," I told him, shaking my head. I couldn't go after Hell. The man shook the mafia world by its foundations. Even the Russian Mafia quaked in their boots at his name. No one knew who he really was. He had a rather unique way of disgusting himself and his work.

And besides, if Hell found me before I found him, I'd be dead. And I could spend a million dollars buried six feet under, could I?

"I don't care about what you want, Vera. I care about what I want. And if I want Hell dead, Hell has to die." He gritted and tipped his head at his men.

"Why do you even want him dead!" I yelled. "Last I heard, he seems to be doing a fine job rubbing the mafia!"

Luca ignored my question and walked towards the door. His men let go of my arms, stopping only when their boss turned back to look at me.

"You have a week to prepare. You'll be transported to Italy in seven days. That's Hell's base, and it should be easier for you to find him there."

"I never agreed-"

"You cannot say no, Vera Ivanov. I'll come for you in seven days. If you do not comply or if you try pulling any stunts like trying to flee the country, I have eyes everywhere. Mess up, and I'm afraid your sister will have to join your parents."

And with that, he was gone. Leaving me in a fucking dilemma.

I resumed at the club the next midnight, my chest heavy as heck. What I had to do was clear. I had to protect Alisa. But she would not be happy. Not in the slightest. She had made me swear I would stop making money as a hit woman. Alisa had never liked my job and frankly, it wasn't a job to be liked.

But it had kept her safe all those years in Russia. And it seemed it was the only way to keep her safe now as well. She was all I had left as a family. I could not live with myself if anything were to happen to her.

"Natasha!" Phil boomed, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Quit daydreaming and go serve my men some drinks in the VIP! Three glasses of bourbon and one glass of brandy."

"Sure thing, boss," I yelled in return. I prepared the drinks and headed to the VIP section, trying to clear Luca's words out of my head.

I had a week. A week to think up a better plan or some way to save Alisa and not take up the mission as well.

"Here you go laddies," I climbed into the VIP section, placing the tray of drinks on their table. "Three bourbon and one brandy,"

Four men sat in the VIP section, getting their faces or other particular parts of their anatomy sucked off by strippers. I didn't stick around long enough to observe their faces, but just as I made to leave, my eyes locked with one of them.

He sat at the head of the table, huge and muscular. His bronze skin glowed under the silvery bulbs in the club, inked with several tattoos across an arm. He wore an armless top that revealed a light dusting of black hair across his upper chest that matched with the locks on his head.

Black wavy locks were slicked back, Italian style. His jaw was razor sharp, giving his face a harsh, sexy look. But the most striking of all the features he possessed were his eyes.

They were green. I could not decipher what shade, but they darkened as he held eyes with me. For a minute, my head felt heady with desire. I could picture humping those huge biceps, grinding against him, inhaling all that muscular musk until I was drunk on him.

I tore my gaze away and forced my legs to move away from him. What the hell was that? I had never felt such intensity from mere eye contact. A little shaken, I walked back to the bar.

I had barely arranged a new set of drinks on the tray when the hair on my neck prickled. I glanced up to see Mr. sexy face standing beside me, those haunting green eyes fixed on me. I had no idea how long he stayed there until I was forced to clear my throat.

"Do you need something?".

"Yes," He said stoically, folding his impressive arms. "How much do you charge?"

I frowned, confused. "You pay to the cashier, not me, mister."

"I see," He hummed. "I'll pay a hundred dollars. Strip."

"Excuse me?!"

Of all the dumbasses in the world, this jerk had to approach me! What the hell was he on? And what on earth gave him the damned thought that I was a stripper? I glanced down at my dress. It was a petite little thing that ended a few inches above my knees. It was short, yes, but it certainly wasn't stripper material.

"Two hundred then?" He shrugged, digging his hands into his pocket to bring out fat wads of cash.

"I am not a stripper," I snapped, feeling infuriated by the second.

And to think I had liked his face. Damn him!

"Every woman has a price," He said snobbishly, drawing closer to me. Good lord! My knees weakened as his scent teased my nose. "What is your price? Five hundred dollars?"

He slapped the fat wad of cash over my boobs. I drove my fist into his jaw reflexively, shoving him away from me.

"I said I am not a stripper, you bastard!" I yelled, grabbed the tray of drinks and stormed off to deliver them. Some men were just batshit crazy. They pissed you off and then made it seem as if you were a crazy bitch.

I spent the rest of my shift stewing in anger at Luca and the handsome jackass that had demanded I stripped. Why did it seem that all the men I met recently felt they could tell me what to do?!

Perhaps if Mr. Sexy face had asked nicely, I would have considered him. I hadn't been tossed between the sheets in a long while, and he was gorgeous. His manners, however, were like that of a pig. Thankfully, I didn't see him throughout the rest of my shift.

Unfortunately, that meant I had to think about Luca and his threats. Aside from him threatening to kill Alisa, a million dollars was a lot of money. If I lived the same way I did right now, I wouldn't have to work for years.

But at what cost? I wasn't going after an army commander or some politician. It was Hell. If he had so much as a whiff of what I was being sent to do, I'd be dead in an instant.

My shift passed by rather quickly and uneventfully. I almost missed Mr. Sexy face. Almost. When it was six in the morning, I stepped into the bathroom to change into my usual jeans and top. I had walked only a few steps out of the club however, when a hand grabbed my waist and in a flash I was pinned against the wall.

I glanced up to see familiar green eyes glare down at me, a stupid sexy grin on his face.

"Hello, Natasha."

LORENZO

"Guess she really wasn't a stripper Boss," Alejandro, one of my men, said as I slipped back into the VIP booth. They all had amusement scrawled all over their faces. Clearly they had enjoyed the spectacle I had caused with the vixen.

The blonde-haired vixen.

I settled into my seat, rubbing my jaw as I watched her serve drinks to other customers. I had no idea why she enthralled me. When she had brought our drinks earlier, dressed sexy in that fucking short dress, the first thought I had was to bury my face in those pert breasts. They looked perky in her dress, bouncing slightly when she moved with rigor.

I was not made of fucking wood. Of course, I got attracted. We'd just rounded up a damned case of greedy bastards on her trail in the past few days. I hadn't had a willing woman to slake my lust on in almost a week, and she had presented herself.

Stripper or not, she was a woman and all women had their prices.

Except her, it would seem. She hadn't considered my offer at all. Not even when I slapped a thousand dollars on those pretty boobs. I wanted them to be mine. To belong to me only.

A low growl resounded in my throat as I watched her bend over the counter to retrieve something. She had the perfect ass too. I'd love to tie her up and bury my face right in that peach shaped booty.

Judging from the way her eyes flashed in anger at me, I was fairly certain she would hack off my head if I tried to. And that fucking pleased me. She was the first woman to look me right in the eye and defy me. Hell, there wasn't even an ounce of fear in her eyes. All the women I had met were terrified of me.

But not her.

"Oh oh, see that look on the boss's face?" Alejandro quipped again, his head lolling from side to side. "He's getting some ideas-"

In a blink, I reached for his neck, pressing lightly on the jugular vein. "What did I tell you about calling me boss in public?"

Alejandro sputtered, pulling at the hand I had wrapped around his throat. He coughed and choked, and I narrowed my eyes at him, pressing a little harder on his neck.

"Wrong answer,"

"Your name," He gasped, and I let him go. He coughed over and over, beating his chest to calm down.

"And what the hell is my name?"

"Lorenzo," My men chorused, and I tipped my head in a nod. Fuck, I missed Vincent. He was my best buddy, and would certainly know how to handle Alejandro. But someone had to run things in Italy in the absence or shit would go down.

"Right Here, right now, I'm Lorenzo, got it?"

Marco grunted, Alejandro made a small whining sound in his throat like a wounded puppy and I fixed him a glare, while Martino gave a curt nod. They were men that I held closer to me than the rest of the mafia.

Men I trusted.

Well, perhaps except Alejandro. He was skillful with a rifle, but he was such a blabbermouth.

I reached for my brandy and chugged down whatever was left. The urge to raise my hands to order another was strong. But I had a lot of shit to do, and I couldn't do them properly with the alcohol messing with my brain.

The door to the club was thrown open and the man we had been waiting for had arrived. Some fucker named Tony who thought he could boss us around all fucking day. I wanted to beat the shit out of him or at least put a bullet in his head, but he had a whole shipment of smuggled berries at his disposal.

I couldn't get rid of him until I got my hands on them.

"He's here," Martino announced, rising to his feet.

I nodded and stood up, pinning Alejandro with a glare. "Marco and Martino come with me. We'll interrogate Tony."

"Aww come on Lorenzo," The man who whined like a child was a three hundred pound, twenty five-year-old. If Alejandro wasn't quite skillful, I was sure he wouldn't last a week in the mafia house. "I want to be interrogated too. I've been reading these books on torture-"

"I need you to do something else,"

He shut up at that, a sober look on his face, and I continued. "Find out everything you can about that waitress."

His sober face broke into a grin. Dumbass couldn't stay serious for a damn minute.

"The woman who sucker punched you?"He teased, and I narrowed my eyes into slits. .

"Speak a word of this to anyone, and the last sunrise you'll see will be that of yesterday."

He chuckled, clearly immune to my threats, and mimicked zipping his mouth close. Satisfied, I gestured at Marco and Martino and we shuffled out of the booth towards Tony himself. He sat on one of the sofas in the club, smoking a cigarette when we approached him.

"You might want to step away," He grunted, without looking up. "You're blocking the light,"

"Right, you might want to take a good look at it," I nodded, stepping aside. "It will be the last thing you see, If you do not cooperate."

Tony's head whipped up quickly. He took in our faces, and his already white face seemed to whiten even further. "Who are you? Who sent you?!"

I grabbed the cigarette between his fingers, stubbed it on the table and gave him a small smile. "We're from Hell."

*****

Tony's body collapsed to the ground, unconscious and bloody. I had to give it to him, for a Yankee, he was a tough nut to crack. His interrogation had taken all morning. It was some minutes past five, and soon it would be daybreak.

"Marco, get rid of his body," I instructed. "Martino, go to the address he mentioned. Take a few men. I want the shipment transported back to base and ready to sail for Italy."

"Yes boss," They nodded and went off to perform their tasks. I walked to the sink in the interrogation room and washed my hands clean.

"Lorenzo," Alejandro called, barging into the room like the dumbass he was. "I found out a little about your waitress,"

"Speak," I ordered, reaching for a towel on the stand to dry my hand.

"Her name is Natasha Davies. She lives alone but has a sister somewhere, and her shift ends at six this morning."

Perfect. She would be done with work soon.

"Well done," I murmured and walked out of the room.

I drove back to the club, waiting in my car patiently, my eyes fixed on my wristwatch. I wanted to see her again. That cute stubborn nose turned up in anger. Or those pretty blue eyes. Her lips were the sort that could kill a man. A full bow, plump enough to make me want to lick it, to tease it with my tongue.

I liked her defiant spirit. I wanted to break it. It would be so much fun to drop those arrogant shoulders and make her beg me to fuck her. My pants tightened at the thought, and I dragged a hand down my face, trying to breathe easy.

At exactly six, I stepped out of the car and approached the door to the club, waiting patiently for her to leave. Five minutes later, the door to the club opened and out came my vixen. She no longer had her sexy dress on but had changed into a jeans and a top that teased draped softly against her skin.

Without thinking, I pulled her by the waist and pinned her against the wall.

"Hello Natasha,"

Those blue eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed into slits. "How on earth did you know my name? Get the fuck away from me."

"You see," I whispered, leaning closer to her face. I could feel her warm breathing pick up the pace. And her scent, fuckkk. I loved it. It was soft and feminine despite her defiant character. "I find that I cannot do that."

"Try fucking harder!" She hissed, ducked beneath my arms and tried to slip away. My hand caught her by the hair, wrapping them around my fist.

"Ow!" She gasped.

I chuckled and pulled her closer, turning her back to me. My hands still holding her hair tight, I slid my nose down her nape, growling at her maddening scent. A soft sigh slipped from her lips, and my vixen arched her back, leaning further into my touch.

"Let go," She protested weakly.

"The last thing I want to do is Let go," I growled, running my fingers down her spine and then grabbed her ass through the jeans. "I'll have fun breaking that stubborn spirit of yours, won't I? I'll bet if you're all tied up in my bed, that pussy all open for me to see, you wouldn't be so tough then, will you? I'll bet you taste sweeter after each struggle. I'm going to make you scream my name until all you can think about is me, buried balls deep in you."

"You're crazy if you think that's happening!" She hissed and I chuckled.

"I know it is happening, Natasha," I replied. "I will make you submit to me."

Her breathing grew erratic. She moaned, a fucking sexy sound that went straight to the tent in my pants. She shook her head as my hands traveled up her curvy body to grab a breast. Her nipple poked eagerly through the top, hard and aching. I wanted to give her relief. I wanted, so, fucking badly to rip that top open and see what color they were.

And just when I thought I had her, she broke away from my hold, landed a blow on

my stomach and made sure to flip me the middle finger before stomping off.

I grinned, watching her go. It would seem my stay in New York would be extended by a few more days.