Just Business
- Reads 45
- Votes 6
- Parts 3
"You won't shoot me, micetta," the low whisper of his masculine voice filled the void between us.
"Don't try me Zayn." I spat his name through my gritted teeth.
Simply smirking, he pushed the gun away; without resisting, my arm fell by my side. I felt my soul being pulled into the grey abyss of his eyes while I watched them run down my face.
Taking steps towards me, I moved back against the wall. While I processed the distance from my chest to his, he tilted his head, watching me amused.
Unexpectedly, his hands grabbed my waist, pulling me in.
Embracing myself, I closed my eyes, however his face moved past mine. The steady rhythm of his chilling breath tickled my ear, as his lips grazed my cheeks.
His hands put pressure on my waist when he pulled my torso closer against his.
"Fucking hell." I felt his throat vibrate with his words. "You do things to me, I can't explain Nikita."
His hand caressed my waist and hips, before sliding them underneath my oversized t-shirt.
The cold sensation of his fingers on my skin forced a shiver through my legs, allowing me to stumble deeper into his chest.
The drowning feeling of lust washed me, as I felt his fingers fiddle with the lining of my underwear.
--
A growing gang, empowered by mostly women, founded and leaded by Nikita Warner works among the shadows, silently rule their global kingdom. Until, the day of a major operation, her mafia crosses paths with the more publicly known and feared Italian mafia. The mafia boss, Zayn Martinez, who holds a powerful terrorising reputation, takes it upon himself to deal, with what he believes to be a minor "thorn" in his multi billion business of guns and drugs. However, he is unaware Warner has made her way into his mafia in attempt to bring it down. During their multiple encounters, Warner and Martinez grow a relationship of knives against throats and holding each other at gunpoint. The air is filled with a tension they can't describe; it is itching for something more.
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𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐚 I downed a shot of tequila, allowing the burning liquid to slide down my throat and settle in my stomach. I deserved to have some fun without boundaries. I poured a second glass and it disappeared as quickly as the first. Then came the third, fourth and fifth. Still I wasn't satisfied. My landlady was a bitch, I was fired and my boyfriend cheated on me. My nerves were shot to hell! My eyes lazily scanned the nightclub as I consecutively downed my sixth shot for the evening. Life's a bitch. 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐨 𝐆𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐨 I sat in the VIP section of the club, a glass of vodka in my hand as I watched the woman several yards away drowning herself in tequila. My lips curled in amusement. The red dress she wore showed a generous amount of cleavage, her ass was ripe and full, begging to be groped. She looked to be eighteen. I wondered what a pretty thing like her was doing in a place like this, drinking like there was no tomorrow. Not that it was any of my business. Women came, got laid and wasted in this nightclub every night. Nothing special to see here. "Muori figlio di puttana." I pulled the trigger on my gun and shot the Mexican in the head after he was caught stealing coke from my warehouse. Blood splattered everywhere, staining the walls and my designer suit. I tucked my gun back in my pocket and left the ally. "He killed a guy!" I shrieked as I turned to run away from there as fast as possible. Just as I was about to run back inside, a large hand clamped around my neck and I was pressed up against a rock solid chest. My jaw was caressed by - a gun!? "Going somewhere piccola?" a deep voice whispered in my ear. "Let me go, you sick twisted bastard!" I growled. "Feisty and a foul mouth. I like it," he chuckled. "You killed someone! I'm calling the cops!" I shouted. "Princess I own the cops," he said, stroking my face, "and now I own you. Say goodbye to your ol
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