Claimed by Her Mafia Man - Sam Crescent Page 0,3

and it’s not listening to you tell me just how little of a prize I am.”

She turned on her heel and left. What she really wanted to do was kill him, to hit out, to hurt, to annihilate. Her father had left her alone in a world she wanted nothing to do with. She’d rather burn it all to the ground, but now, she was going to have to play all their games.

Finding a husband would be at the top of the list, she had no doubt.

“Are you okay?” Randy asked.

“Yes.” Deep down inside, she was screaming at him to take her away, to stop her from feeling this. Her father was gone. She was all that was left of her family and she couldn’t break down. People were always watching, checking for weakness and she’d be damned if she let any of them take what was rightly hers.

****

Damon entered Drago’s insanely large mansion. The last time he’d seen the old man, he’d boasted of the place having twenty-five rooms, all with an en-suite, separate serving quarters, and several gardens, as well as a swimming pool, a gym, and of course a basement for all torturing needs.

His father, the desperate bastard, nodded toward him.

The Romano name was one to be feared, but like most men, his father craved power. Uniting the Drago and Romano Families would put them on top. Everyone here knew Philip Drago was the wealthiest, most respected man among the capos. He was the only one close to the Boss, and so was Isabella. Now with her being the only remaining heir, his father had begged him to speak with her father, which he had done.

He liked Philip Drago Sr. Always had. A fierce leader and fair.

Glancing around the room, he spotted Isabella and wasn’t surprised to see Randy there as well. The outcast soldier was like a loyal dog.

Philip had told him everything. Quite shocking for the elderly, dying man to entrust his plan with him, but also his desire to see his daughter married to him. It would seem Philip had been keeping a keen eye on him for the past ten years. When he’d refused to offer his hand in marriage to Isabella, he’d learned the truth about this woman.

Five women had died, two of whom committed suicide rather than be married to him, a monster or a beast. Both nicknames followed him everywhere, and he’d earned those titles. He’d decided against marriage. There were whores out there to satisfy his needs, and well, at the time he didn’t need to worry about an heir.

Of course, all his life, he’d been ordered to pay attention, to consider an heir, a male who would need to be trained. His father’s demands were increasing, day by day, driving him mad with it.

He watched Isabella now, her cold glare sending every single male off who dared try to talk to her. The ice queen. He smiled.

Her father had shown him the tapes of her training, of exactly what she was capable of. The men here had no idea of the killing machine standing in a simple black designer dress and killer heels.

She didn’t have his body count, but her father had put her on his radar. Isabella was a beautiful woman. Long raven hair, soft pale skin, ocean-blue eyes. Her nose wasn’t perfect, from being broken. He’d been made aware she had a nasty fall during training that had snapped it. He believed one of her sparring lessons had gotten out of hand.

Watching her now, those curves… Some might say she was fat, but not him. The black dress didn’t hide those hips, the shape of her ass, or the full tits. He wanted her.

In fact, ever since her father had shown him every little detail, he’d found his obsession with her rivaled everything else going on in his life.

He wanted her. Simple as that.

The only way to have her was to put a ring on her finger. The minutes ticked by, turning into hours. One by one, people left, and he allowed himself to walk through the shadows, going undetected.

Even though he was large and tall, he’d learned the trick of hiding. It had saved his neck so many times, it was like second nature.

With the door finally shut, he watched her shoulders slump. Randy took a step toward her.

“No,” she said. Her voice sounding a little broken.

“Bella … don’t cry, please.”

“I’m not going to cry. I just need some time alone. You know they won’t