When You Make A Deal With The Biker Mafia

Matteo

Adriana gasps and staggers backward, clutching her chest. Tears gather at the corners of her eyes as the truth hits.

The gun was damn empty.

Marco and Lorenzo exchange a glance before bursting into laughter. I don’t bother holding mine in.

She scrambles to her feet and bolts from the room like the air’s been sucked out.

Did she think I’d shoot her?

Of course not.

She might be Alessandro’s daughter, but in every way that matters… she’s mine and she knows it deep down.

“You need to stop screwing with her,” Marco mutters without looking up from his phone.

Marco was more than a brother to me. He and Lorenzo stood at my side when I tore this city from the hands of unworthy bastards.

As my consigliere, Marco was the voice of reason. The one man in my circle who preferred strategy over blood. Violence was never his way, but his loyalty was unshakable.

“I know what I’m doing, Marco. Hop off my dick.”

Her father owes me more than money—he owes me years of his life. Favors. Blood. And Adriana… she’s the last piece.

Two of my men come in and drag the body out. They nod to me, stepping around the pool of blood like it’s just another part of the décor.

The night’s still young. There’s a party starting soon. My people expect a show.

I head to my office, wash the blood off my hands, and pull on a clean black shirt. Lorenzo tosses me my lighter as we head upstairs.

Cigarette between my lips, the sharp burn hitting my lungs just as the bass from the club floor seeps through the walls steady, pulsing, like a heartbeat under my feet.

On the main floor, the air is thick with smoke, perfume, and sweat. The lights are low and red, turning everything into sin and shadow.

People are already drunk. Girls are moving on the floor, hips rolling to the beat. VIP booths are filling. Bottles are popping.

I scan the crowd and there she is. Adriana.

Her eyes are locked on me, no fear, no smile, just that unreadable look like she’s trying to solve me.

I wink.

She turns away instantly.

We head to our booth. The usual strippers are already waiting, heels high, smiles fake. One hand me a drink, careful not to brush my skin.

She's a smart girl with bright red hair. She strips to pay for school, and for extra money, she fucks some of our men. I didn't fancy the prostitution business, but if one of my girls wanted some extra cash, I never really gave a fuck.

She sits on my lap and I flex my arms against the sofa, widening my legs to give her better access. She adjusts, letting her middle sit properly on my crotch.

She shifts, the deliberate roll of her hips aligning her heat directly over me. A faint smirk tugs at her lips when she feels I’m already half-hard.

I grinned, but my smile quickly faded when I saw Adriana leading a man to the dance floor. He was tall, blonde, looking at her with nothing but lust while staggering behind her like a lost puppy.

I had never seen him here before, so he wouldn't know who any of us were or what we do.

Bastard.

Since when did Adriana dance?

She had changed from her normal uniform into a mini sequin dress with high matching pumps. Her dress was quickly riding up with each step she took. If she didn't pull it down, it would expose her backside and middle.

My jaw clenched with that realization. This girl was really testing my patience. Maybe it was why I was obsessed with her. She was the only person in this Godforsaken city, my city, that didn't give a fuck about what I had to say

And some twisted part of me loved it because I wanted to be the one to tame her to own her, and soon I will.

Adriana pulls the fucker close to her, whispering something in his ear, and he reaches for her waist.

Marco takes his eyes off the girl on top of him and looks straight at the dance floor, letting out a low chuckle.

“I'll give you something to laugh about real soon, Marco”, I rasp out, trying to control my breathing.

He shakes his head and places his hands on the stripper's waist, sitting on his lap.

I look back at the dance floor, and Adriana has her back turned to him. His hands are going up and down her hips as she moves her hips to the beat, letting the bastard rub himself against her ass and sniff her hair.

Why did I care? Why did I give a fuck? a fucking stripper was on top of me

The redhead on my lap sways her hips, pressing harder into me, trying to pull my attention back. But my eyes are locked on Adriana.

She dipped low, not breaking eye contact with the fucker, putting her hands up in the air as she faced him and swayed down, meeting his crotch, and slowly she looked at me.

Because she knew I was watching, I was always watching.

I've been watching since her mama left this fucking earth.

She knew it, her Papa knew it.

The stripper on top of me stood up, knowing what was about to happen, and Lorenzo put a hand on my shoulder, stopping me from standing.

“Boss, let me go. I would sort this out,” Lorenzo sighed, already growing annoyed with the back and forth of this situation between me and Adriana

“He's right, Matteo. It might cause more distress if you deal with the man; let Lorenzo handle it,” Marco added, looking up at me with the stripper still in his lap.

Adriana’s voice slices through the bass. “Let me go, you asshole!”

The Fucker has his hands in her hair, shoving her down toward his open zipper.

“Fuck,” I growl, shoving Lorenzo’s arm off me.

I released myself from Lorenzo's hold and strutted down to the dance floor, increasing my pace with every step.

“You have refused to let me go, and now He will kill you,” Adriana yelled at him, looking at me with a small frown.

“Shut up, whor—”

I don’t let him finish. My fist drives into his back with a crack that tells me bones just broke. He collapses, gasping, then reaches for a knife.

I kick it out of his hand, his wrist snapping under the force.

“You’re going to kill me over some club slut?” he spits through the pain.

My hand wraps around his throat. I slam his head into the floor hard enough to rattle teeth. Screams erupt. People scatter. My gun’s out before anyone can blink.

I shoot him in the head, and his blood sprays hot across my face and shirt.

When I look up, Adriana’s splattered too. Her eyes are wide, but there’s something else in them, a glint of admiration she’s too drunk to hide.

I pulled her into my arms, and she sank into my chest. Her body was shaking, and I was unable to tell if it was because of the alcohol or fear.

I shove her into my car it was a sleek, matte-black Ferrari. Blood money on wheels.

And she lands harder than I expected against the seat. “Ow. That hurt, she mutters under her breath.

I slam the door, and the car rocks.

She leans toward me and kisses my cheek. “Thank you, Matteo.”

I go still. Struggling to process the heat I felt in my chest.

I don't reply to her, and she sits back and closes her eyes.

Sleep pulls her under, and from her heavy breathing, I can tell she’s asleep.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, princess,” I mutter finally, hands clenched on the wheel. “And I won’t always be there to save you.”

She doesn’t wake when I lift her into my arms. Her head rests against my chest like she belongs there.

I hate how right it feels.

The stairs groan under my feet as I climb. The building smells like mildew and regret. The front door’s wide open. No lock or any sort of security. Of course.

I push it open with my shoulder.

He’s there, Alessandro. The old bastard.

He stares like he’s seen a ghost. A half-empty bottle slips from his hand and shatters on the floor. His mouth moves, but nothing comes out.

How the hell is this man her father?

I don’t even look at him. I carry Adriana to her room, lay her gently on the bed that creaks under her weight.

She mumbles something, half-asleep. I unzip her dress slowly, carefully, and she lifts her arms. I slide it off and I see that she's only wearing a black thong, nothing else.

My cock strains against my trousers, and I shake my head.

She’s beautiful when she’s quiet. When she’s mine.

I brush a strand of hair from her cheek and step out.

Alessandro is still standing in the hallway, face pale, shirt stained, reeking of booze.

“I’m bringing the money, Matteo,” he sputters. “I swear it. Adriana and I….we’re working hard. We’ll pay….”

I look at him, shaking my head.

“I want to marry your daughter, Alessandro.”