My Mobster Page 20

  “When can we get started?”

  “Patience, my dear.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” He shifted the car back into drive. “First I’m going to make love to my bride.”

  Madison kissed his cheek and briefly rested her head against his shoulder as he pushed the car into drive. Minutes ticked by and they sat in contented silence. Madison rested her head against the headrest and Roman’s hand stayed firmly planted on her thigh. His occasional movement or rub made her hyper aware of him. The relationship had been fast, but she knew they were meant to be.

  In the distance, an immense gray stone compound was sprawled against a hilly backdrop. They were winding up a long drive to the top. ‘Castle of the Mountains Resort,’ the sign read. Roman pulled the car to the valet station.

  “Welcome.” A tall man layered in red addressed them. Roman tossed him his keys and came around Madison’s side of the car. Another valet was there to open her door, but Roman practically shoved him aside. He reached down and took Madison’s hand in his own.

  “Shall we, Mrs. Caponelli?”

  The smile that spread across his lips made her heart soar. Her feet had barely hit the pavement before he picked her up into his arms.

  “I can walk.” Madison laughed.

  “Not today. You are going to be pampered and taken care of like the wife of Roman Caponelli should be,” he informed her as he hurried straight past the check-in desk to the elevator.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You ask too many questions.” He silenced her with a kiss.

  The elevator doors slid open and Roman stepped in with Madison still cradled in his arms.

  “Press the top button.”

  “The penthouse?” Madison raised her eyebrows. “Very impressive.”

  “Only the best for my bride,” Roman replied. His lips never left hers until the door opened to their floor.

  His long legs had them in front of their suite in no time.

  “Reach into my pocket.” Madison slipped her hand inside his jacket and found a rectangular key card. He lowered her enough to slip it into the door mechanism and Madison pushed down, swinging the door open.

  A posh and opulent suite greeted them. Burgundy and gold accents were everywhere. It was fit for royalty, mafia royalty. The scent of flowers lingered in the air. Roman headed directly for a heavily carved set of double doors to the right. Inside, a huge bed complete with fluffy, thick pillows and a red down comforter lay before them. On a side table sat a vase of magnificent crimson roses and champagne chilled in a silver cooler.

  He tossed her down on the soft bed and she bounced, giggling. Roman reached for the champagne and the pop of the cork sounded in the room. He filled two glasses and sat beside her.

  “I don’t think I have ever been this happy.” He tapped his glass to hers. “To the beautiful, smart woman who agreed to be my wife.” Madison’s cheeks were rosy.

  “I’m happy too,” she said. “Ecstatic.”

  Roman finished his drink in one sip. Taking the glass from Madison, he set them both back on the side table.

  In one fast move, he climbed on the bed and took her in his arms. Their lips met. Roman kissed her hard, like he couldn’t get enough, and his new wife met him with just as much fervor. He slipped his hand inside her dress, cupping her breast, which was already pebbled with desire. His palm massaged it until he clasped only the tip and twisted gently. Madison’s fingers explored the warm muscles of his back. Each wanted to mark the other as their own, a kiss here, a squeeze, a caress like none ever before. Roman’s moans mingled with her own. Where one started, the other one would finish.

  Madison stripped him of his coat and made short work of his shirt buttons, exposing his dark skin. Between passionate kisses, her hands roamed his hair-roughened chest. Roman hovered above her and his eyes were glazed with fire. He quickly removed her gown, leaving her bare except for her ivory thigh-highs. “I think I’ll leave these on.” The admiration in his gaze needed no explanation.

  Madison lay with her eyes closed while his lips and hands roamed, caressing every inch of her flesh. His whisker roughened jaw added even more heat to her already flushed skin. He was fixated on her milky white breasts, the back of her knee, or some spot that needed attention and love. He stopped and reached behind him, taking a stemmed rose in his hand. Touching the delicate rose to her lips, Roman traced the soft petals along her neck, her collar bone, and across her breasts. She swallowed. The tenderness of the rose and the risk of a cut from a thorn kept her still. Her heartbeat pounded loudly in her ears, silent to the world. It was just the two of them.

  No longer able to stay still, Madison took the rose in his hand and tossed it across the room. “Don’t make me wait any longer to be yours.”

  “Patience, my love.” He placed a finger on her lips and cradled her face in his hands. “You were mine the first time I laid eyes on you.”

  The man meant it. There was no doubt in her mind. Crossing Roman was not an option.

  Roman shifted between her thighs. One hand stroked the lace edge of her stockings, the other now entwined in her hair. Locking eyes with her, he thrust inside and she was now his body and soul. The night burned with their love for one another. After all of the denial, danger, and obstacles, Madison and Roman were now one, bound together for life, for better or worse, and ’til death do they part—the way it was supposed to be all along.

  Epilogue

  “What do you mean, my money’s no good?” Mr. Gilman pushed the personalized check in her direction, but Madison shoved it back his way. It was reminiscent of their exchange not long ago when he refused to host her fashion show. A lot had happened since then, a whole lot.

  “I’m declining payment for your ad in the travel magazine.” She folded her arms across her chest. Not only had she taken over the town’s arts center, department of tourism, and the historical society, she’d also become the editor and chief of the new tourist guide for the area. Madison was extremely busy and loving every minute of it. Everyone was scampering to get choice advertising spots in the new magazine before the deadline and Mr. Gilman was no exception. Her wedding present from Roman was being rebuilt under her direction.

  “But I need to be in the publication. Everyone will see the ad,” he pleaded.

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t publish the ad, I just won’t take payment for it.” Madison pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

  “What? I don’t understand.” The guy was actually starting to sweat. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.

  “Mr. Gilman, I got Roman to admit that he, shall we say, persuaded you to not rent your venue to me earlier this year.” The man at least had the nerve to blush. “I don’t blame you and in fact, if it weren’t for you doing as he suggested, I wouldn’t be married to the man right now.” Madison crossed her legs and swung her foot. “So I figure I owe you.”

  His eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yes, so consider your ad free, and let me know if there is anything I, or the family, can do for you in the future.”

  “Ah, yes. Thank you.”

  “So, is an inside cover spot to your liking?”

  Mr. Gilman’s eyes just about bugged out of his head and he nodded vigorously. “Yes, that is very generous of you.” He rose to his feet and stuffed the new useless check in his pocket. “Thank you very much.” He nodded some more and she muffled to urge to giggle. “Have a good day, Madison, and we’ll be in touch.” Mr. Gilman shook her hand and said farewell.

  Madison smiled to herself. What a wonderful feeling it was to love one’s job. Sure, she liked designing dresses at one time, but her home town, its people, and its history was her real love—after Roman, of course.

  She spied her husband coming up the sidewalk with Dominic by his side. The two were heavy in conversation. It was hard to believe that not too long ago she’d just about given up hope of ever finding a man to settle down with.

  Gr
anted being a part of a mafia family wasn’t quite what she’d expected, but it was what she’d chosen. It was obviously written in the cards because her father was also in the mob. Madison had been so lonely for so long, and now she’d not only gained a husband but a sister and a father. Roman entered her office alone and drew her into a long, hot kiss.

  She’d found her dream…and her family man.

  Author’s Note

  I love to write stories that take place in my home state of Wisconsin. The inspiration for the setting of this story is the beautiful tourist town of Lake Geneva. I changed the name to Genoa for the story but forgot that there is a real town called Genoa in Wisconsin. Both are beautiful places to see so if you ever travel to Wisconsin make sure to visit both.

  About the Author

  Ginger Ring is an eclectic, Midwestern girl with a weakness for cheese, dark chocolate, and the Green Bay Packers. She loves reading, traveling, watching great movies, and has a quirky sense of humor. Publishing a book has been a lifelong dream of hers and she is excited to share her romantic stories with you. Her heroines are classy, sassy and in search of love and adventure. When Ginger isn’t tracking down old gangster haunts or stopping at historical landmarks, you can find her on the backwaters of the Mississippi River fishing with her husband.

  Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/romancewritergingerring

  Twitter:

  https://twitter.com/GingerRings

  Website:

  http://gingerring.com/

  CHAPTER ONE

  Evangeline

  I hate silk boxers.

  Oddly, this thought floated through my mind as I threw Kevin’s last pair of silky blue boxers out the front window onto the tree-lined street. You’d think when his clothes, shoes, and other personal effects tumbled out the window of the brownstone, somebody would stop and ask me what the hell I was doing. That’s what would have happened in my hometown—except I lived in Brooklyn now, and nobody cared enough to pull their ear away from their cell phone long enough to question me.

  I sat down on the couch and lifted the last sip of Bordeaux to my lips. Drunk, and vindictively happy, I had polished off two bottles of Kevin’s precious 2009 Chateau Lafite-Rothschild. I think it retailed for around two thousand dollars, and it probably wasn’t meant to be inhaled by one person over the span of an hour, but fuck it. I didn’t give a shit. When faced with the decision to throw them out with the rest of his crap or drink two bottles, I decided somebody might as well enjoy them. I had. There’s nothing like four thousand dollars of liquid courage to make me realize my seriously sad excuse for a life had to change.

  Picking up my phone, I contemplated Kevin’s tenth text message in the last two hours. The first one made me cry. This one made me giggle hysterically. It was the kind of laugh that could only be found at the bottom of a bottle of wine…or two.

  Kevin: Evie, please forgive me. It will never happen again. I love you, only you. Nobody can replace you. You’re my everything.

  I guess I preferred it to his initial excuse, when he tried to convince me the sex meant nothing, that it had been part of the creative process. Seriously, did he really think I was an idiot? Yes, he did, and I didn’t disagree. Somehow, over the last year, he had sucked the life out of me until I transformed into someone I didn’t recognize, a shell of my former self.

  With the last of my tears drying on my face, I considered throwing my phone out the window with the rest of his stuff. After all, he’d paid for the phone, the brownstone, my car, my clothes, my shoes, and my entire fucking life. Not one thing in this entire apartment belonged to me. I should probably throw myself out the window and leave the rest of the shit here because other than me, every last item belonged to him.

  I picked up one of his shiny white marble coasters, sitting on his perfectly polished espresso-stained coffee table. I rolled it between my fingers, contemplating my life. A few seconds later, I tossed it at the original artwork of Ana Ivanka, his latest conquest in the art world. Foolishly, I believed his little protégés were learning the ropes from the incredibly talented and renowned Kevin Ryder. Apparently, I had missed the mark by a cornfield-wide margin. Now I understood it clearly. For Kevin, the ropes meant painting and fucking. Mostly fucking.

  Dumb, right? No wonder none of his protégés were men. He claimed it had something to do with the creative synergies between men and women, which in reflection, really meant, “I like fucking random artists on the side.”

  Granted, I missed plenty of clues over the last year. No, missed didn’t adequately describe my behavior.

  Dismissed.

  Rationalized.

  Ignored.

  Overlooked.

  All four words more accurately described my behavior when the truth flashed in front of my face like a neon sign on a daily basis.

  While I could attribute my behavior to many things, it all came down to one defining event. Exactly one year ago, I’d ruptured my Achilles tendon while auditioning for what could have been my third role on Broadway. At the time, reviewers heralded me as the next big star. I was a shoo-in for a lead part, or so all my friends in the know told me.

  Regrettably, like all good things, my life had been ripped apart in a matter of seconds. One minute I leaped into the air, the next I landed and rolled my ankle. I heard a snap, and flames shot up my leg. I didn’t need to see a doctor to know it was more than a sprain.

  Unable to work and lacking resources, I desperately clung to all the remaining pieces of my life. At the time, that meant investing my energy in my relationship with Kevin. In retrospect, I should have packed my meager belongings and caught the first flight home.

  Now, I found myself in the same situation, only amplified one hundred times. I didn’t have any money, aside from the three hundred dollars in my wallet and the joint bank account I shared with Kevin, which I refused to touch. I hadn’t contributed any money to the account.

  Dropping my head into my lap, I screamed a slightly unhinged and utterly unbalanced cry. It didn’t begin to relieve the stress building inside of me with every passing second. What could I do? I was jobless, moneyless, and homeless, or would be when I rallied enough courage to walk out the door.

  When I left my mom’s house two and a half years ago, she warned me New York would eat at my soul until I became a hollow shell. I laughed in her face because I didn’t think history would repeat itself. Unlike her, I wouldn’t settle for being a second-rate dance and acting teacher in a little-known town in Nebraska. I refused to give up until I had the world in the palm of my hand.

  In my mind, I had more discipline and talent than my mom, and that was all I needed. Unfortunately, neither of those things meant much in New York. It might open a door or two, but to keep that door open, I needed connections, lots of connections, more than a girl from Nebraska could ever dream of having, and a really good string of luck.

  The buzzer rang. I opened the door to find Carmela Trassato’s hopefully cautious face on the other side. I’d met Carmela in a coffee shop a few days after I moved to New York. Hopelessly lost, I’d asked her for directions to an audition, and she’d escorted me there. We exchanged phone numbers, and slowly, she became a permanent fixture in my life.

  “Hi, Evie.”

  “Hey, Carmela,” I responded, opening the door wider, welcoming her into my soon-to-be ex-apartment owned by my soon-to-be ex-fiancé.

  “I guess I’m a little late to stop the shit storm.” Carmela pushed her not quite black hair away from her face as she looked around my normally meticulous apartment.

  “Yep, and I already drank his precious bottles of Bordeaux, so I can’t even offer you a really good glass of wine.” I kicked the door shut with my foot, enjoying the black smudge my lace-up pale pink flats made on the pristine white paint. Kevin would freak when he saw it.

  Carmela flopped down on the sofa, propping her feet on the coffee table, another thing that would drive Kevin crazy. He never liked Carmela. He said she
was too aggressive. Most likely, because she always called him on his lies and pretentious behavior. She saw through everyone. She had to. She came from a huge Italian family that I suspected had more than a few unsavory connections. She never admitted anything, and anytime I questioned her, she changed the subject so skillfully I barely noticed until a few hours later.

  “Do you think he’ll let you stay here when he sees the debacle on the sidewalk?” Carmela picked up the empty bottle of wine and inspected the label.

  “He says it won’t happen again.”

  “And you believe him?” Carmela asked, raising her beautifully sculpted eyebrows, the kind you can only find in a salon.

  I sighed. “No. I’m not that dumb.”

  “Thank God.” She raised one hand into the air. “Finally. You’ve seen the light. Are you telling me I won’t have to endure another moment in his company?” She never referred to Kevin by his name. She called him the prick, the art douche, or scecco, which I think loosely translated to jackass.

  I shoved her shoulder lightly. “About time, huh?”

  “No comment.” She tossed the empty wine bottle on the floor. A few deep burgundy drops splattered on the white and black cowhide rug. “So what’s the plan?”

  “I don’t have one. I’m done with Kevin, though.”

  A disbelieving look flashed across Carmela’s face, and while I hated that she doubted my conviction, I understood. I had overlooked so much of Kevin’s crap in the past six months that I barely believed myself.

  “For good this time. I promise.”

  Carmela shifted toward me and pointed at my ankle. “How’s physical therapy going? Do you think you can start auditioning again?”

  My stomach bottomed out, mirroring the trajectory of my life. My gaze bouncing around the room, I considered my words. I settled on the truth. “I’ve been lying to you. I haven’t gone in a really long time.”