Claiming The Don’s Daughter Read online

  The culture of La Famiglia was old-fashioned. The woman you marry isn’t the one you fuck like a whore. You keep the depravity out of the family house. He supposed that idea had been bred into him, and yet discovering that the pure, wholesome angel he’d set his sights on marrying was also willing to submit to his depravity had sent his worlds colliding. But not in a bad way. He didn’t really objectify women the way the guys around him did. To him, Summer was everything—all he could see, all he ever needed.

  He wanted to claim her for real—not in his bed, but as his wife, as his forever-girl. But it was far too soon. She was still mixed up and on the rebound. And he hadn’t figured out how to play things with her parents. It had been less than two weeks since he found her stripping at The Candy Store. This situation required patience, which had never been his strong suit.

  He eyed Joey, Al’s younger brother. These poker nights were his way of staying connected to the family, even though he officially wasn’t a player anymore. He served as a resource—an investment broker, an advisor. He might have some advice about how to handle this situation with Summer.

  He hung around late, even though the thought of Summer at home in his bed made him crazy. The guys all got up around the same time to go and he walked out to the foyer with them, hanging back without being obvious about it.

  “Hey I gotta show you something if you can stay for a sec,” Joey said, smacking his chest with the back of his hand.

  “Sure thing.” Lucky break. He wandered back to the den and waited for Joey. When the guy came in, he said, “What’s up?”

  “Nothing, I got the feeling you wanted to talk to me.”

  Smart fuck. And he thought he’d been perfectly subtle.

  “You were hanging back at the end there. What’s up?”

  Well, he had no choice but to come out with it now. “Summer’s the girl I’m dating.”

  Joey’s brows shot up. “Summer, my niece?”

  “Yeah.” Damn, his heart was hammering. Jesus. The La Torre’s were the only family he had now. He hadn’t realized how afraid he really was of losing his place here.

  Joey folded his arms across his chest. “Do you think that’s wise?”

  A flare of irritation ran through him. No he didn’t think it was wise, but he’d jumped in with both feet and he couldn’t back out now. He pursed his lips. “What do you think Al will say?”

  Joey blew out his breath. “He’ll kill you.”

  His throat tightened. His hands had turned cold. “Literally?” His voice almost cracked.

  Joey tipped his head to the side, considering. “Nah. At least, I don’t think so. Not unless you hurt her. But Christ, why’d you have to pick her?”

  The misery on his face must’ve been apparent because Joey’s eyes widened and he walked forward and dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Wow, you got it bad, don’t you?”

  The words opened up some crack that had always been inside him. Or at least since the day he’d landed in the La Torre house eight years ago. Emotion poured out, gushed over him, fogged his brain. For some stupid reason, the memory of standing outside his great-uncle’s house eight years ago, stripped of his family, at a loss for how to move forward flashed through his mind, making the scar on his ear burn.

  He reached up and rubbed it. “Yeah,” he managed to answer.

  Joey paced around the room, rubbing his forehead. “Al loves you like a son. Or a brother.” His smile was rueful as if he regretted letting Al down by backing out of the organization. “Honestly, I think he’d be pissed at first, but get over it—if she really wanted this.”

  The suggestion that she might not grated, but only because he wasn’t sure himself. Did she want this or had he just foisted it on her when she was at her weakest? Would she wake up in three weeks or a month and say she’d had enough?

  “If you’re not sure yet if this is a real thing, I wouldn’t say anything. Not when things are new and tenuous. You’d want to present it as a united front, I would think. He loves you both, he’s going to want what makes you both happy, and if that’s each other, so be it.”

  Some of the tension in his stomach eased hearing Joey shared the same views he did on holding off.

  “As much as Carmen loves you, I think she’ll fight it. She’s like Sophie’s ma—doesn’t necessarily want her daughter to make the same choice she did about marrying into the Family. I think she wants some nice WASPy boy for Summer, something as far from you and me as it gets.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried not to scowl. He supposed he’d known this obstacle existed, too. In some ways, it was a harder problem to overcome than Al’s wrath.

  Joey shrugged. “So you just persist.”

  “Is that how you won over Sophie?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “You gotta fight for the woman you love, even if she isn’t sure.”

  Carlo extended his hand and Joey grasped it, pulling him into a man-hug, thumping his back. “Grazie molte.”

  “Yeah, anytime.” He pulled away and led him to the door. “But you know, if you did hurt that little girl, I’d kill you, too.”

  He smiled. “I have no doubt of that. I’ll show myself out. ‘Night, Joey.”

  Walking to the door, he considered Joey’s advice. Fighting for Summer made sense in theory, but in reality, the girl was fragile right now. He’d already come on way too strong. If he were a better man, he’d give her a lot more space right now.

  But hell. He shoved his hands back in his pocket. He wasn’t a better man, was he?

  Summer sat in her car in front of Ana’s Ballet Academy, her childhood dance studio. Little girls in buns and pink tights walked in holding their mothers’ hands and carrying their net bags with ballet and tap shoes. That had been Summer at age three. She had trained there in ballet, tap and jazz up through high school.

  Ms. Ana had been her first employer, hiring her at age 13 to help as a student assistant with the tiny tots. She’d left on bad terms, though. At age 17, she’d won an apprenticeship with River East and started driving into the city for lessons instead of taking them with Ms. Ana. Instead of being proud of her accomplishments, her teacher and mentor had felt threatened. She realized now Ms. Ana had been grooming her to stay there for life.

  “You don’t need to go to college for a career. You can teach here and make a really good living,” she used to tell her. And she had paid well back then, not that Summer ever needed money.

  That had been the year Carlo arrived. She remembered acting like such a big shot for making apprentice with River East. When she’d left Ms. Ana’s, she hadn’t looked back at all—never stopped in for a visit, or sent a Christmas card, nothing.

  She’d thought about going in to ask Ms. Ana about taking her on as a teacher, but now, as she sat there watching the rush of students, she realized it was a bad time. Ms. Ana would be busy in the office if she wasn’t in one of the studios and Summer wouldn’t have time to... well, she supposed she’d have to eat a little crow. She probably owed her an apology for leaving and never coming back until now. And for her arrogance in just writing off everything Ms. Ana had taught her. In retrospect, the technique and discipline she’d learned there had served her very well. She hadn’t had to unlearn any bad habits, the way some dancers did. Hell, she never would’ve made it into the apprenticeship program if it hadn’t been for Ms. Ana.

  Putting the car into drive, she pulled out and headed back to Carlo’s place. She could start with an email to Ms. Ana. It was a chicken-shit approach, but at least she’d have time to think about what to say and how to say it. She’d never been good at dealing with people on the fly.

  It was too bad—she’d had this little fantasy about telling Carlo she’d followed his advice and started teaching. About basking in his approval for being brave. But she hadn’t been brave, had she? Of course telling Carlo would mean confessing she’d gone somewhere besides class without his permission. Not that she minded a little punishment at his hands.

&nbs
p; She’d never had so much attention from a man in her life. He noted what she ate, what she didn’t eat. How much she studied, how much she slept. Wednesday, when she woke up after him being out late playing poker, she found a dozen pink roses in a vase with a note that just said, “Make sure you eat breakfast, cara.”

  So she had eaten breakfast. In fact, she’d eased back on her obsessive monitoring of food. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she used food in the past year or two—or the withholding of food—as punishment. Punishment for not being able to keep John’s attention. Or for ruining her dance career. Or not being perfect.

  Maybe now that Carlo took over her punishments, she could let herself eat. But Carlo didn’t make her feel bad about herself. On the contrary, she was starting to feel alive again. Sexy. He made her feel beautiful when he devoured her with his gaze, or demanded sex from her at all times of the day. Or devoted hours to the delicious torture of her body. But he also demanded something deeper of herself. A part of her she hadn’t known had existed. Or she had, but had hated it. Her real self, complete with fears and insecurities.

  That morning, he’d pulled her over his lap to examine how her ass had survived the belting he’d given her the night before.

  “Are you still sore from your spanking last night?”

  “Only my pride.”

  “Baby girl, you don’t have any pride. At least, not with me. I require you to be fully bared. Completely vulnerable.”

  She’d gone still.

  As if he knew the fear his words inspired, he said, “I promise I won’t let you fall.” He started spanking her with hard, deliberate slaps. “But you will be utterly humbled to me in every way, and that, my sweet, is what will allow you to be your most sexual self. You’ll give me everything because I demand it, and you’ll have no choice.”

  She’d almost come just from those words, her core turning molten. Carlo had folded her over the kitchen table and fucked her from behind until she screamed her release. Afterward, he’d kissed her with such passion, she’d been ready to hop on his cock all over again.

  She pressed the gas pedal down, suddenly in a hurry to get to his place, hoping he’d be there.

  He was.

  She pushed the door open to find him on the sofa, a sexy smirk on his face as if he’d been waiting for her. Mother of God, he took her breath away. Those dark-lashed green eyes, the curling dark locks falling over his forehead, the shadow of stubble on his jaw. He was debonair and drop-dead gorgeous. He carried a gun and engaged in dangerous unknown business affairs that probably fell outside the law, and that only heightened his dangerous appeal.

  “I have something for you, bambina.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. A present. It’s in the bedroom. Go and see.”

  She giggled, thinking for sure it was some kind of sex toy or lingerie. Something kinky so he could do more freaky things to her body. She ran to the bedroom and pushed open the closed door. Nothing was on the bed. Nor the dresser.

  She looked around.

  A little sound came from under the bed and a tiny, fluffy black and white kitten emerged, stretching and trotting toward her, already purring.

  “Oh my God,” she squealed, dropping to her knees to catch the little thing.

  A second one emerged from the bed. She laughed. “Another one! How many are there?”

  “Just the two, cara. Do you like them?”

  She scooped them both up and held them against her chest, rubbing her face in their soft fur. One was black with a white nose and paws, the second was all black except for the tip of his tail. “They’re adorable.” She rushed back into the living room. “I can’t believe you bought me kittens.”

  He smiled indulgently. “They’re almost as cute as you are. But not quite.”

  She walked around the sofa and dropping into his lap, nuzzling into him as she held the purring kittens. He bought her kittens. It wasn’t a big gift. Or showy. But so freakin’ thoughtful. He listened to her. He heard when she said she’d always wanted a cat. He paid attention.

  If she could purr, she would have right then. “Thank you, Carlo.” The words I love you rose to her lips, but she bit them back in time. Crap, she couldn’t be falling in love. This was just sex. Just. Sex. Except it wasn’t. It was so much more than sex. Hell, it was more than most people’s marriages.

  Carlo was her keeper, her master. And that scared the hell out of her because she wanted this forever.

  * * *

  The warehouse for Friday’s game sat near the lake shore, an old meatpacking plant in the 20s, now a chop shop for stolen vehicles. The space had been transformed, as usual, with the addition of Christmas lights twinkling from the rafters—Sonny’s idea.

  The Russian showed up at Carlo’s game again smelling of vodka and sex. His designer shirt was wrinkled as if he’d slept or fucked in it.

  Carlo didn’t usually get into his customers’ business, but finding out the guy was a sex trafficker got under his skin. He supposed he should’ve known. The Russian mafiya ran the majority of the drug business in Chicago, particularly the ecstasy trade, but there had been rumors of sex slaves. While he had no problem with prostitution, slavery was something altogether different. You don’t force women to have sex. Not unless they like that sort of thing, of course—and he’d met a few of those. No, the idea of women or girls being kidnapped and sold into sexual slavery made his blood boil. It kinda made him want to put a cap in the Russian bastard’s cruel face.

  So he wouldn’t mind helping the undercover detective with his investigation. But he couldn’t let him into his game. If word got out a cop had sat at his table, he’d lose every customer he had, not to mention all his street cred. No, he wouldn’t be the way Detective Bailey got an introduction to Alexei, but he would keep his eyes and ears open to see if another opportunity arose.

  Sonny took the guy’s money and pushed a pile of chips over to him. Only five players had shown up tonight—the Russian and his cohort, two Japanese businessmen, and the Cuban. The low turnout didn’t bother him. Sometimes more money was to be had with small games, anyway. Guys felt luckier, were less likely to fold.

  They gave it another five minutes, and then he signaled to Sonny to start dealing. He didn’t play himself, just observed, along with Vince. Using four decks to prevent any card counting, Sonny dealt the first hand. One of the Japanese guys took the pot. The Russian took the next hand. Then the Japanese guy again. By the end of the night, the Russian had been cleaned out of chips. He turned to Carlo. “Spot me another three thousand. You know I’m good for it.”

  Spotting money and collecting with interest was an easy gig, and one the Family had been involved with for as long as there had been organized crime. But collecting from another mobster, particularly a Russian could be problematic. Maybe he just wanted to see the guy lose again, or maybe he wanted him beholden, but for whatever reason, against his better judgment, he nodded at Sonny, who pushed the chips across the table.

  And of course, as always happens when a man is desperate and pushed beyond his means, Alexei lost it all in the very next round.

  He shoved back from the table, his pale face flushed.

  When he started to stalk out without a word, Carlo called him back, his tone cool and professional. “We need to discuss the terms of repayment, Mr. Kaloshov.” He went extra polite, not trusting the man’s rage. His fingertips rested lightly on the Glock at his waist.

  Alexei let out a flurry of Russian, which sounded mostly like swearing. “I have payment for you right here,” he said, his accent thicker with anger. “It’s in my trunk. A woman. Sex slave. Worth more than $3000 on the black market.”

  Mr. Uchida, the Japanese man who had taken most of the winnings looked up, cool and calculating. “Where is she? Let me see her—is she Russian? Blond?”

  Alexei turned to him and lifted his chin in a gangster nod. “Blue-eyed blond. Big tits. Very pretty. You’ll like her.”

  “Bring h
er in.”

  He didn’t know when the fuck he’d lost control of arrangements, but he sure as shit wasn’t going to let this exchange go down. He trailed Alexei to the door and ordered two of his soldiers to follow him to the car as he watched from the door.

  Alexei popped the trunk to the car and pulled out a girl in nothing but a teddy and thong. Her feet were bare. She wasn’t tied up, but when he set her on her feet, she wobbled, as if she’d been drugged. Alexei half-led, half-dragged her back to the warehouse.

  She was naturally fair, but her hair had been bleached platinum blond. She smelled like cheap, fruity perfume.

  “Here she is,” The Russian presented her to Mr. Uchida. He lifted the hem of her teddy up to expose her tits, not that much had been left to the imagination to begin with. “See? Very sexy. She’s yours to keep. You can do anything you like with her. A lifetime of satisfaction.”

  “I’ll take the girl.” He ignored the looks of surprise on Sonny and Vince’s faces. No girl was getting sold into slavery on his watch—he didn’t care if it cost him three grand.

  “No, I will take her,” the Japanese man said, stepping forward and gripping her arm possessively.

  Carlo thinned his lips and deadened his eyes, looking as lethal as the Russian. “She’s mine. Vinny, pay him out.”

  Vince had already been packing bundles of cash into a briefcase for the guy, and he resumed his work, asking Sonny to double-check the count before rotating the case for Mr. Uchida.

  Uchida looked burned up over Carlo claiming the girl, but he couldn’t well do anything about it. It was Carlo’s show. The players’ weapons had been confiscated. Only Carlo and his men were armed.

  He counted his cash and walked out, still looking back at the girl as if he couldn’t stand letting her go.

  Alexei turned to the girl and said something to her in Russian.

  Her eyes were glazed and unfocused but she still cringed at the sound of his voice. He slapped her on the ass and the girl jumped. The backs of her legs were lined with brutal belt-marks. Her forearms were tracked with needle-marks. They’d beaten her and kept her high on drugs to ensure her cooperation.