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  The Mob Boss: Mob Boss Part One

  Blurb

  The Mob Boss: Mob Boss Part One

  Kaye’s Hot Stories

  Copyright

  The Mob Boss: Mob Boss Part One

  By

  Kaye Blue

  Blurb

  Watch as vengeance and lust collide when a black BBW crosses paths with a white mob boss…

  She’s a not so happily married black BBW, but duty has compelled her to pay her husband’s debts, so she sets off in search of the local gangster that her husband owes. But when the Mob Boss reveals her husband’s betrayal, will she go along with his deviously sexy plan for revenge?

  The Mob Boss: Mob Boss Part One

  “Come on, baby. I need you to do this for me.”

  I looked at my husband, a man I’d never been foolish enough to believe I loved but whom I’d decided would be a good enough companion, and couldn’t stop the wave of disappointment that hit me.

  “How could you even ask me to go there?”

  “I wouldn’t if I had any other choice; you know that, baby.”

  I shuddered at his use of that hated nickname. I didn’t object to the endearment itself, just the insincerity with which he said it. I could feel my face dropping into a scowl.

  “So just to be clear, you want me to go to one of the most dangerous parts of the city and give money to a some lowlife that you stiffed?” I asked, my voice dripping with scorn.

  He nodded, his loosening jowl flapping with the movement. He’d always been plump—one of the few things we actually had in common—so I didn’t usually begrudge him the excess flesh, but today that soft, squishy brown lump around his neck seemed the perfect representation of who he was as a man. Weak, spineless. What other reason could there be for sending me, his wife, the person he was supposed to protect, to clean up his mess?

  Still, I had no choice but relent. He was a gutless jellyfish, but he was my gutless jellyfish, and I would, as I always did, do what it took to keep him out of trouble. I wish I could say I do so out of pure nobility, but that isn’t the case. Sure, we had some good times, and when I’m not in the middle of trying to fix whatever he’s broken, I think of him somewhat fondly. But I have no illusions about my motives. In all honesty, I stay because I know he’s the best I can do. Other than my height—ridiculously tall—my cup size—comically large—and the size of my ass—let’s not even discuss it—I’m average in every way, dull as dishwater like my husband sometimes likes to say. It’d be harsh if it wasn’t true, but it doesn’t take a genius, which he is certainly not, to see the fact of it. I’m just a big black woman with nothing to offer beyond pleasant conversation and the occasional good home-cooked meal. Someone who’d only catch the eye of a man like my husband. So I keep the house and he keeps me from confronting the fact that without him I’d die alone.

  A fair trade, really, except on days like this.

  I left the living room and headed to our bathroom, peeling off my clothes as I got into the shower. He knew I’d take care of this just as well as I did, but my pride wouldn’t let me say yes without making him twist in the wind a little. As I showered, I fleetingly considered giving myself a little relief and grabbing the little clit stimulator I kept stashed in my bathroom cabinet, but decided against it. I could make myself come, but I knew from experience I’d only end up more frustrated in the long run. We didn’t have the most exciting love life, which was just as much my fault as it was his. I was inhibited, uncertain, and he preferred me that way. Said if he wanted a whore in bed, he could pay for one, and get one that was better-looking than me.

  So I mostly stayed to myself, played with my pussy when the tension got to be too much, and tried to pretend that I didn’t want the real thing, didn’t want a fat cock that could fill me up as I’d always desired, didn’t want a man who wouldn’t complain that I was too tight one night and then the next say he couldn’t stay hard and inside me because I was too big to mount and my pussy was too loose to hold him the next.

  I sighed and stepped out of the shower. I’d never been with anyone but him, so I couldn’t say for sure that he was right. But it didn’t matter, I supposed. I’d chosen him, and sexual dissatisfaction was just a part of the deal. I sighed as I dressed and went back to the living room, where he now sat, relaxed as you please, like he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “You’re going to wear that to see them?” he asked when he glanced over at me idly, and my annoyance rose.

  “Who said I was going anywhere, and what’s wrong with my clothes?” I responded, looking down at my jeans and simple crewneck sweater. It had seemed appropriate, but what did I know about the etiquette of meeting a mob boss?

  “I know you’ll come through for me, baby.” He smiled, his voice so certain I wanted to punch him. “And, I mean, your clothes are fine, I suppose. None of them will even look at you twice, but it wouldn’t hurt to show a little something. Maybe.”

  I rolled my eyes. “But, honey, if I did that, they might be so turned off by the sight of my hideous body that they might turn me away before I can pay.”

  He looked to the left, shrugging, and then nodded. “You’re right. It’s not worth the risk.”

  Then he stood and walked over and hugged me and then stood on his tiptoes to kiss me—he’d never gotten over the fact that I’m taller than him—and said, “Thank you. I can always count on you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said grudgingly. “How much?”

  “Two thousand,” he mumbled.

  “Two thousand dollars!” I exclaimed. “How much gambling did you do?”

  He looked away guilty, and I fumed.

  “You know what, don’t even say anything,” I said.

  I slammed out of the room and retrieved the cash that I kept hidden in the house—I’d learned to hide cash the hard way. He’d found my emergency money once and cleaned it out, so I kept my money tucked out of sight.

  “I’m getting real tired of this,” I yelled as I approached the front door.

  “I know, baby. I’ll—”

  I slammed the door before he finished. I knew what he was going to say before he said it, so there was no need to waste the time it would take to listen. I walked toward my car, but then turned and went the other direction.

  I was so mad the fresh air would do me good. I know, it seemed foolish to walk, especially since I’d yelled at him about the neighborhood, but that was a little exaggeration. It’s true that the area can be dangerous and some unseemly stuff can happen, but I had lived there my whole life prior to my marriage, and while things had changed, there were still good folks over there. I’d be perfectly safe. Assuming no one wanted to murder me for the money I carried. That thought had the twin result of making me move a little faster and making me more angry with my husband for having me out here in the first pace, and between the two trains of thought speeding my steps, I made it to my destination in no time.

  The low bass thrum of techno music poured out of the seedy-looking club, but if the crowd out front was any indication, this was a very popular spot. I couldn’t have been more out of place if I’d shown up dressed as Santa, but next to the beautiful women that surrounded me, I may as well have been. But that didn’t matter. I’d come here for a reason, so I squared my shoulders and walked over to the door, paid my cover, pointedly ignoring the curious look on the doorman’s face, and entered. My husband had said the dancing out front was just for show, that the real action happened in back, so I searched the room until I spotted a huge, scary-looking man standing in front of a steel door. I walked over to him, and he didn’t even glance in my direction.

  “Excuse me,” I said, voice squeaky. “Excuse me,” I repeated. “I need to see the boss. I have something that belongs to him.”

  That got the man’s attention, and he turned to face me, giving me a once-over and then dismissing me without a word.

  “Please,” I said, “I need to deliver it personally. My husband owes, and I’m here to pay.”

  He extended his hand.

  “No. I need to give it to him personally,” I said with a firmness in my voice that surprised even me.

  It probably wasn’t smart to give the hulking man in front of me any trouble, but I needed to see that my husband’s problem was handled, and the only way to do that was to speak to the boss. He gave me the once-over again and then nodded. After two quick bangs on the door, he opened it and pointed at the long, dimly lit hall.

  “Go this way,” he said gruffly. “And good luck.”

  I stepped across the threshold and almost jumped out of my skin when the door closed behind me. Anxious to get this over with, I walked down the hall quickly and entered another room. It seemed to be part office, part game room with couches and chairs and a metal desk off to one side. But my attention was riveted to the middle of the room, where four men sat around a sturdy-looking table, two of them playing chess.

  One man in particular stood out from the others. I mean, all four of them were imposing, large, but he was a different thing altogether. Even while he sat, I could tell that he was tall, and his body was broad, thick, his arms and legs like tree trunks, hanging loose as if he relaxed, but I had no doubt that he could unleash their power in an instant if confronted with prey. He had light brown hair, and his profile was harsh, his features rough and unrefined, not attractive by any conventional means certainly, but such simple classifications seemed quaint and totally not applicable to this man. And his physical presence, powerful as it was, didn’t compa re to his aura of strength he exuded. He hadn’t moved when I entered, hadn’t looked my way even once, but I knew that he’d assessed me, and continued to do so as I stood there. Nothing escaped this man’s notice.

  He wasn’t what I’d pictured, but the merest hints of the physical prowess and intellectual sharpness that I’d seen in these short seconds left me with no illusions. This man had what it took to run a criminal organization. He looked every bit the mob boss that he was.

  “I need to speak with you,” I said, surprised that my voice didn’t tremble.

  “Fuck off, bitch,” one of the other men at the table yelled, but I ignored him, kept my gaze trained on the boss, who no doubt saw me staring at him.

  “I need to speak with you,” I said again, making it clear who the “you” was.

  “Bitch, didn’t I tell you—”

  The mob boss lifted a hand, cutting off his associate’s words. And then he looked at me.

  My heart skidded, and my gut clenched. His green eyes were arctic, cold as ice and hard as glass, and at his first glance, I cursed my husband all over again. He saw my panic, was probably used to such a thing, but something in me made me hold his gaze. I’m many things, fat, not especially pretty or smart, but I’m not a coward. Being here was proof of that, but more to the point, my pride wouldn’t let yield before this man, be just one of the thousands who no doubt screamed and begged for his mercy. It might cost me, but I’d pay the price to keep at least shred of my dignity.

  He stared at me, looked me up and down, for I don’t know how long, and I again thought of my husband’s stupidity. Imagine if I’d painted myself up like some trollop, tried to entice him with my body… It was a laughable idea, and not based on looks alone, though mine certainly would have been no help. How many others had tried the same thing? How many had been foolish enough think they could sway him with something so common? My gut told me that this man had seen it all and would have been insulted if I’d stooped to such a ploy; at least dressed this way, in my jeans and discount-store sweater, coming to him as I was without the aid of any facade, I might have a shot of avoiding his scorn if not earning his respect.

  “And what might you and I have to talk about?” he asked, his deep voice rumbling out, a faint accent that I couldn’t place coloring the words.

  I smiled, a nervous habit I’ve never been able to conquer, and said, “Well, we don’t have anything to talk about, at least not directly. I’m here on someone else’s behalf.”

  My voice was low, breathy, but I thought I’d sounded coherent.

  “On whose behalf?” he asked, a spark of curiosity lighting his eye for a split second before he extinguished it. “I don’t imagine we’d have too many acquaintances in common.”

  His associates had stopping playing and looked at us, avidly watching the exchange.

  “I’m here to pay a debt,” I said. “My husband lost some money gambling, and I’m here to make that right.”

  “What’s the name of this husband,” he practically spat the word, “who sent his wife into the lion’s den?”

  A good wife would have been offended on her husband’s behalf, but I couldn’t pretend I didn’t agree. But the dynamics of my marriage were of no consequence here. I’d give him his money and then go home. I told him my husband’s name, and his companions laughed heartily until he silenced them with a glare. Then he said something in another language, low and hard, and the three men stood and left immediately. I was alarmed at being left alone with him, though in reality there was no difference. If I’d needed help, not one of those men would have lifted a finger. Still, the others have given some balance, made me feel less exposed with their presence, illusory though that feeling was. But their absence meant that I was now the sole focus of the mob boss’s attention.

  I hate being the center of attention.

  He leaned back in his chair and stared at me. When I thought I could explode from the tense silence in the room, he asked, “That’s what he told you? That he lost money gambling?”

  I nodded.

  “And you believed him?”

  I nodded again. And then said unnecessarily, “Yes. I believe him.”

  And I did. I didn’t have a reason not to. Don’t misunderstand, I know my husband lies to me, and he knows that I know. But I also know that he lacks the sophistication to come up with a credible story, no matter how simple it might be. Making up a lie about an unpaid gambling debt is probably beyond his capabilities.

  “And if I told you that his story wasn’t true…?”

  “What? Are you asking if I’d believe you?” I asked.

  “Would you?” he responded.

  “Why would I?” I asked. “You’re a criminal. Why would I believe anything you say?”

  “I am indeed,” he said, appearing completely nonplussed by the insult, “but I’m not a liar.”

  Silence fell, but after a moment, curiosity got the better of me, so I asked, “Are you saying he lied?”

  “Would you want to know if he had?”

  “Of course!” I said testily, and then snapped my mouth closed at the faint lift of his brow. Words tend to get away from when I’m upset, but I needed to remember who I was talking to.

  “Of course.” I started again, keeping my voice level. “I’d want to know. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

  “You’d be surprised how many people prefer staying in the dark.”

  Not as surprised as he thought. Sure, I preferred to be aware, but was my life with my husband anything other than a mirage constructed almost entirely of staying in the dark, pretending that everything was as it should be?

  “So tell me,” I said.

  “He fucked one of my whores without a condom and then didn’t have the money to pay her. I told him to bring back triple or I’d cut his heart out, but he sent you instead,” he said nonchalantly, as if he discussed such things on a regular basis. Which he probably did, given his occupation.

  “And are you going to cut my heart out instead?” I responded, the words springing from the shock that clouded my mind.

  And he immediately added to that shock by laughing, the sound as rich and deep as his voice.

  “I haven’t decided,” he said, “but you amuse me, so that’s a point in your favor.”

  “Why did you tell me?” I asked.

  “I hate weakness, and your husband is bitch for sending you here in the first place, but to do so with a lie is unconscionable.”

  The mob boss had morals. Who’d have thought?

  “A better question is, why don’t you seemed surprised?”

  I wasn’t, and that made me sadder than anything. The insult should have burned me, considering that on those occasions we did make love, he always insisted on wearing a condom, said he couldn’t trust me to use birth control, and he didn’t want to risk it; it didn’t seem to matter that he knew I wanted a baby more than anything in the world. But, despite all that, I felt nothing other than a vague sense of disgust.

  Still, this wasn’t the place to consider my martial grievances, so I squared my shoulders and reached into my bag to retrieve the money. I then extended the hand holding the money toward him, taking several slow, cautious steps in his direction.

  “Thank you the information,” I said. “I believe this is what he owed you. He debt should now be paid in full.”

  That cold green gaze swept over me, and then he stood with the grace and quickness men half his size could never dream of. I swallowed and licked my lips, the sheer magnitude of his physical presence making speech impossible. He was tall enough that I had to look up at him and wide enough that I felt dainty in comparison. For instant I wondered what it would be like to rest my head against that massive chest, feel his arms around me. I immediately shook my head to clear the thought. It was pure insanity to even consider such a thing for even an instant, though I knew he would play a prominent role in my fantasies, probably until I died. It didn’t matter that he was a mob boss, one who’d insinuated he might harm me. All of that faded in the face of his masculine power.

  “That’s it?” he asked when I again thrust the bills toward him. “You’ll just pay his debt and leave. And then what? Try to forget it happened?”

 

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