Hot nanny next door, p.1
Heartless Sinner, page 1
HEARTLESS SINNER
ERIKA WILDE
Copyright © Erika Wilde, January 2022
* * *
eBook Cover design: Maria at Steamy Designs
Cover Photo by Wander Aguiar with Wander Photography
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the Author.
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CONTENTS
Heartless Sinner
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
HEARTLESS SINNER
She was the one woman I couldn’t resist . . .
* * *
Half past thirty and still single, my father rode my ass daily about getting married, starting a family, and looking the part. I needed to soften my enforcer image and have the outward appearance that I was on the straight and narrow.
* * *
When I argued that I wasn't ready to settle down, he explained that no one ever was, and none of them ever did...with a wink. I laughed, until I thought about my mother. I might be a tough guy in a dangerous world, but I wanted a woman who could handle me at my worst and positively adore me at my best. Was that so much to ask of a wife?
* * *
There'd only ever been one girl who came close to that: Marla. She was plenty tough herself. She had to be. She grew up in the world, as well. And when she came to me asking for help to avenge her brother’s death, I was more than happy to help . . . for a price.
* * *
Marriage. To me. A mafia capo . . . the very thing she swore she’d never do.
CHAPTER 1
Vincent
* * *
I was the kind of man who was used to getting what he wanted.
Unfortunately, so was my father.
When I received the summons for lunch, I figured it was just to give me a new assignment or update me on issues we were currently having with any of our operations. However, Carlo Russo was the kind of man who liked to combine business and pleasure. Between myself, Marco, and Dante, we weren’t just a capo, an enforcer, and an associate to the family. We were also his sons. So he insisted on taking us out to lunch when he gave us a new job or needed to discuss something important—just to make sure it felt personal.
I’d always suspected it was our mother’s idea—God bless her soul. Mom had always found a way to bring out the best in Dad, to make sure he put forth some effort to bond with his sons, but he’d never admit to anyone when a suggestion was hers. Couldn’t have any other families talking about how the head of the Russo family was led around by his dick, or thinking he was soft.
No, my father was hard, ruthless, and even sometimes cruel when the situation warranted. But when it came to his sons, he at least tried to compromise on certain things, even if he disapproved of our choices. Other matters, however, were non-negotiable.
Dad wanted us to meet at the Italian place he preferred, where he had his own private table in the back, the manager treated him like royalty, and the staff catered to his every whim—a sign that this meeting was important. Dad only conducted meetings at that place when he wanted us to remember how rich and powerful he was, when he wanted us to be on our best behavior so that we didn’t embarrass him with any loud arguments or disagreements.
Not that I’d ever acted out like an arrogant or patronizing asshole—not in public and never to my father’s face. I was considered the loyal, trustworthy son, and had become a capo through my own hard work. Dad wasn’t one to give into nepotism. Nepotism was how families fell apart from the inside, too weak to maintain their hold in the world because they’d had everything handed to them and never faced any real adversity.
The two bodyguards sitting at the little table by the door nodded at me as I entered. I nodded back. Jack was fairly new, fresh off the boat so to speak, but Paulie had been with the family for years. He didn’t wink at me as I walked past—not a good sign. Paulie always winked to let us know everything was a-okay.
Dad had already ordered the wine but politely waited to get his meal until I arrived. I took it for the sign of respect that it was.
“Father.” Unfastening the button on my suit jacket, I nodded at him as I sat down. Dad didn’t go for the whole ring-kissing or bowing schtick. He felt it was the sign of an insecure man, to demand a show of fealty every time one of his underlings spoke to him.
A true leader needs no reminders of his place, he’d say. And he doesn’t need to remind his men, either.
I always took Dad’s advice in stride. After all, I was going to be in his place one day, if everything went how I planned. I knew Marco had his eye on the damn prize too but he was a soldier, and way too reckless, so there was no way Dad was going to let Marco take over everything. Especially when the idiot couldn’t stop chasing after strippers.
When the time came, I was confident dad was going to choose me, not just because I was the oldest, but because he knew out of his three sons, I was the one who always listened to him. I was the one he could always count on to get shit done. I was the good kid.
Okay, well, technically Dante was the good kid, at least in the eyes of the law. But I was the good mafioso. I was the one who understood the importance of family, of tradition, of our way of life and what needed to be done to protect our empire. It was only a matter of time until Dad officially said I was next in line.
Could that be why he’d called me in today, I wondered. Was that why Paulie had been so serious—to keep from giving the game away? Was Dad about to finally tell me that I’d earned the title of heir?
“Vince,” Dad greeted, then nodded towards a waiter, who came forward to show us the menu.
We ordered and Dad asked for the entrée that he always did. I never understood why he would make a show of looking at the menu when he always ended up ordering the carbonara.
Dad swirled the red liquid in his glass before taking a few sips of his wine. I sat back in my seat and didn’t say anything. I’d learned very early in my life that Dad appreciated patience. Today he wore a navy blue fitted suit, with his dark hair—graying at the temples—slicked back from his face in an old school style. Even nearing his sixties, Carlo Russo was still an extremely good-looking and fit man.
“How are things?” he asked at last.
“Good.” I filled him in on the latest until our food arrived. Our businesses were running smoothly, no late payments that needed to be addressed, nobody squeezed to the point of running dry, shipments were on time… frankly, things were quieter than they’d been in years.
Dad shook his head, his dark brows furrowed. “Never trust that lull. There’s always something.”
“There isn’t anything that I can foresee,” I said honestly, though I wasn’t an idiot. I always kept one ear to the ground, watching and listening for even the slightest shift in what was going on within our various operations, and with our rival gangs.
Dad nodded his thanks at the waiter as our food was set in front of us, then sipped at his wine again. “If it’s too quiet, then mark my words, a big storm’s brewing. That’s how it is. How it’s always been. If things are good for you and bad for others, that’s just business. If things are good for you and good for everyone… something’s about to collapse.” He gave me a grim smile. “Or explode.”
I knew he wasn’t talking figuratively.
“I’ll keep our guard up,” I told him.
“You’ll be doing something else, too.” Dad dug into his heap of pasta. “You’ll be finding a damn wife already.”
I’d taken a sip of wine at just the wrong moment and nearly spit it all over my Linguine di Mare. I grabbed my napkin to wipe my mouth and swallowed the first words I wanted to say, which were what the fuck, Dad, and said instead, “Not sure that’s a priority right now.”
Dad fixed me with a look colder than a glacier. “You’re half past thirty, Vincent. Do I really need to tell you how important it is that you find yourself a wife?”
My liaisons with women were brief and discreet, for a reason—because none interested me beyond a few nights in their company. I had no time or inclination for a clingy or demanding wife, and I’d yet to come across a strong, capable woman who could handle our dangerous world with aplomb. Someone who was more my equal and understood and accepted the criminal elements of mafia life.
Someone confident and reliable, like my mother had been.
I swallowed a bite of my own pasta and shrugged.
“Make room for it,” my father said in that strict tone of voice that brooked no argument. “I’m not getting any younger and I need grandchildren, for starters, and you need to produce an heir. I need to see my sons settled down.”
“Maybe you should talk to Marco about it,” I said, with a little more smart-ass rebelliousness than I should have. “He’s probably given you five grandkids already that you don’t even know about.”
“Marco knows better than to knock up one of his women.”
That was fair. Marco was what you’d find if you opened the dictionary and looked under the definition of ‘manwhore’ but he wasn’t fucking stupid. Nothing caused problems in a mob family like a bastard with a random sugar baby for a mom.
Dad took a few bites of his carbonara and calmed himself. “Look, I know it’s a lot to ask. But I’m not expecting you to fall in love here. I’m not looking for you to star in one of those dramatic, unrealistic soap operas your mom loved so much. But you need to soften your image. How we present ourselves to the outside world is everything. You look strong, people think you’re strong. And people are going to start talking if my son’s a capo and thirty-five and he hasn’t ever had a long term girlfriend. You get what I’m saying?”
Yeah, I got it, loud and clear, but that didn’t soothe the annoyance coursing through me. People would spread rumors that there was something wrong with me, that I was gay or hurt women or couldn’t get a hard on. That there had to be a sordid reason why women never lasted more than a few dates.
God forbid it just be that I was focused on my damn job, and doing whatever necessary to keep my family’s place solidified in the underworld. I didn’t need any distractions, and that included adding a wife to my pile of other obligations.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I said, careful to leave the irritation out of my voice. “For the record, getting married isn’t something I’ve really thought about. I’m not ready to settle down, or commit to one woman, you know?”
Dad snorted with amusement. “Nobody’s ever ready to settle down, son. And nobody ever does.” He winked at me.
I chuckled, because he expected me to, but inside I felt just kind of… hollow. Dad joked a lot in that way—it was just how you were with the guys, making it sound like you were a ladies’ man who kept a few mistresses. But I knew he’d been loyal to Mom. You went behind Mom’s back at your own peril. She was the kind of woman who would have cut his dick off in his sleep if he’d dared to dip it elsewhere.
The jokes had gotten a lot more frequent since she’d died, and I’d always thought that it was a defense mechanism so he didn’t have to show how much her death had truly wrecked him. Dante had tried talking to Dad about it because my brother was that kind of guy—all in touch with his feelings and shit—but Dad would always shut him down.
I figured, hey, let the guy cope however he needed to cope.
My point was, the reason Dad had been loyal to Mom was because she’d stood up to him. She’d had high standards for her husband and she hadn’t been shy about putting him in his place. But she’d also thought the sun rose and set on him. Mom would’ve done anything for Dad.
You’re just like your father, Vinnie, she’d say, and she’d sound so proud and happy about it, as if me being like her husband was the best possible way to be.
That was what I wanted. A woman who could handle me at my worst but also adored me at my best. I wanted someone who made me be the best version of myself.
Finding that was a lot harder than it looked, though, especially when I was busy running around putting out fires and dealing with the family business. It wasn’t like I had an easy nine to five job. And given the nature of our business, my options were limited. I couldn’t just pick up a girl at a bar and hope she’d be understanding when I told her I was the heir apparent to the Russo crime family.
Non-mafia women were out of the question, and that narrowed down the field quite a bit. And I wasn’t comfortable marrying within the family ranks. Who knew if a soldier’s daughter was saying yes to me because she wanted me, and not because she felt she couldn’t say no? I refused to marry a woman against her will. That just wasn’t my style.
Dad didn’t want to hear about any of this, though. He wanted results. And I’d always been good at getting him those results. Clearly, he expected nothing less when it came to me finding a wife.
Resigned to fulfill his request, I nodded. “I understand, Father.”
“Thought you would.” Dad finished off his meal. “My compliments to the chef, as always,” he said to the waiter.
The waiter bowed slightly and Dad turned back to me. “If something’s brewing, then it’s especially important we get you looking like you’re on the straight and narrow. A wife will go a long way with that. You need to look like a respectable, upstanding family man.”
I refrained, just barely, from rolling my eyes at my father. “The other families don’t care about that kind of thing.”
“No, but the public does. And when this storm hits, whatever it is, the outside world’s going to get involved.” Dad’s tone was ominous. “It always does.”
Well, shit.
CHAPTER 2
Marla
* * *
I focused on the paperwork and ignored my mother as she paced back and forth in front of me.
“I just want you to find a good man,” she was saying.
Alina Preston had expressed some variation of this sentence every day to me for the past five years. Like my life had ended the moment I hit twenty-five. Now I was almost thirty and according to my mother I had one foot in the grave, romantically speaking.
“Mom.” The one word came out more sharply than I’d intended, and I reigned in my impatience as I pulled another list of reports closer to read through. “Can’t you see I’m a little busy working?”
Mom made a tssch noise of dismissal. “I’d already given birth to both your brothers by the time I was your age!”
“It’s the 21st century, Mom,” I pointed out, not for the first time. “Pretty sure I’m okay if I haven’t had a baby yet. And Papa needs these reports turned in, so can you let me finish reviewing them without you belaboring my lack of a spouse?”
My brothers were both busy handling other aspects of the family business, so I dealt with things like expense reports, spreadsheets, and profit and loss statements. Working for my father wasn’t ideal but it was a way to put my accounting degree to work while I figured out how to have my own life free of the mafia.
Papa wasn’t happy about my desire to leave what he believed was family traditions, but I’d grown up seeing the violence, and the high price we all paid by being a part of the mob. Even though it was the only life I’d known, I didn’t want any of that for myself, my marriage, or the children I might have one day.
And while I’d never tell my mom this because she’d just go on a rant about how spoiled I was… I didn’t want just some random mafioso to be my husband so I’d end up under his thumb, my every move monitored and controlled. I wanted a man I fell in love with who actually worshipped me, who thought I was amazing and smart, who would be sweet and caring—even if it was only for me in private.
But I also wanted a man who was confident and strong, a man who would treat me with respect despite my own mind and independence, a man who was, well, man enough to handle me. . .in the bedroom and out of it, without breaking my spirit.
Where the hell was I going to find a guy like that? Certainly not in our inner circle where all the men seemed to be dominant, arrogant, (and sometimes) abusive assholes when it came to their wives.
