Claimed By The Mafia Boss Novels & Stories

“Penelope, this is crazy. You told a literal mafia guy about my shop?” “I didn’t know he was mafia!” she defends herself. “I just told him about what happened and asked if he knew someone who could handle it. Apparently, he decided to handle it himself.” I take a deep breath, trying to process everything. “So… you’re telling me that your fuck buddy is an actual mafia boss.” “Looks like it,” she mutters. “And now I feel like an idiot.” I shake my head. “This is insane. What if he wants something in return?”

Justice, Mafia Style ______ "Let me go, you bastards!" Monica thrashed against the ropes binding her wrists and ankles, her screams echoing through the warehouse. The moment I stepped in, every man in the room turned to acknowledge me. "Welcome, boss," one of them greeted. Monica's frantic gaze snapped to me. "Leo?" Her face twisted in shock, then instantly softened as she switched tactics. "Leo, these people kidnapped me on my way to your house! I was coming to see you!" she cried.

"Was that the way they worked?" "Excuse me?" I almost jumped out of my seat after hearing the driver talk. Had I asked that question out loud. Shit. Now, he probably thought I was crazy or some shit like that. Oh, brother. "Are people in the mafia bipolar or something?" I asked, not wanting to give in to the dumb passenger stereotype he might make for me. He shrugged, as if to say he didn't know either. "Most are, though. Horrible people. The only good one I've seen is the boss."

And then he froze on one of the name. "Dimitri Novikov," he said slowly. "I know that name." My gaze snapped to him. "You do?" He nodded. "Yeah, he is part of the Russian Mafia, he used to run weapons and drugs in the north. I know his son, his name is Pyotr. The guy is a ruthless bastard, we crossed paths in Milan four years ago, when I was away for business. All I can tell you is he doesn't like Italians much. But he hates the Bianchis even more."

I said it so casually, you’d think I was talking about clothes or makeup. They both stared at me in silence. “Wait—you’re not kidding?” Jean finally asked. I shook my head. “Why would I joke about something like this?” “Let me just get everything out at once,” I muttered, then went on to explain everything—every detail. Let’s just say their reactions were… a lot. “So yeah,” I finished, leaning back into the couch, drained. “He’s a goddamn mafia boss. And Angelo is alive—unlike what Conan said.”

“It's not like I'm asking you to do anything?” I raised my brow at her, She definitely got shit under their sleeves. “Lucy out with it ?”. “There's this Mafia…” I shook my head, “ Nuh uh, don't even bring anything related to Mafia's here” “It would benefit you, the man is the Italian Mafia boss direct link, he's definitely Jonah's brother boss” “Are you listening to yourself right now, Lucy “ “Yes, I'm just saying “. “What are you implying exactly, hit the nail”

I never expected that after all these years, Claire would look like this — tall, striking, nothing like the gentle, skinny neighbor boy I remembered. And judging by the way the casino security moved with him, he appeared to be the owner of this place. "You're causing trouble in my establishment?" His eyes were sharp and cold on the two men holding me. "No, that's not—" They were clearly afraid of him. "This bitch crossed our boss. We're dealing with her. Sending her to the district." "No!" I cut in, voice jumping. "That's not true! They forced me! What they're doing is illegal—"

He shrugged. “We have dinner everyday…” I trailed off, confused by what he was trying to say. I’m not dumb. I know that when a guy says that to a girl, he is most probably asking the girl out but Archer is not a normal guy. Archer is a fucking mafia boss. And yes, I believe him now… I did my thorough research about him… They’re apparently one of the most feared groups in the underworld. A hundred points to me for running into such people while I was completely shit-faced!

Declan, the mafia boss disguised as a priest, was standing in my kitchen, as he belonged there. He turned to face me fully, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. “Zoey—” “Save it,” I cut him off, crossing my arms to hide how my hands trembled. “Mafia? Really? You let me think you were some holy man, all tortured and forbidden, when you’re… what? Running guns? Laundering money? Kidnapping priests’ sons?” His jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “Rescuing, not kidnapping. Father Michaels’ boy got in over his head with the wrong crew. Rivals are trying to muscle in on our territory. I’m handling it because that’s what I do protect what’s mine.”