Full House (Book 3): A Bet & Bought Mafia Romance, #3

By Nicole Fox

This is book 3 and the finale of the Bet & Bought Mafia Romance series!

I bought her just to take her the way she deserved.

Brutal. Savage. Filthy.

As the son of the mob's most powerful don, that's all I've ever known.

Alina is merely the latest girl in a long line of my family's possessions.

She's a gorgeous European refugee, desperate for my protection.

Now, it's my job to teach her how to fill her new role in the land of freedom…

On her knees.

At first, I thought she'd be just like the rest:

Forgettable. Disposable.

But something in her eyes tells me she is different.

Something in her trembling, innocent voice makes me want to wrap my arms around her and make all her troubles disappear.

So, somehow, I find myself in a new and unfamiliar role:

Her savior.

But protecting Alina means betraying my family.

And my father does not take kindly to treason.

He's determined to draw me back into the life of cruelty I abandoned.

Even if he has to kill my woman to do it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MBK Hanson Inc.
• Release date: Nov 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393522973

Nicole Fox

Nicole Fox writes smart, sexy mafia romance novels. She is a crazy cat lady in her late 30s with a coffee addiction, an overactive imagination, and a husband who somehow puts up with her impulsive need to keep buying new plants for their house. Sign up for her mailing list at http://bit.ly/NicoleFoxMailingList. 

Book preview

Full House: A Mafia Romance (Book 3)

By Nicole Fox

I BOUGHT HER JUST TO take her the way she deserved.

Brutal. Savage. Filthy.

As the son of the mob’s most powerful don, that’s all I’ve ever known.

Alina is merely the latest girl in a long line of my family’s possessions.

She’s a gorgeous European refugee, desperate for my protection.

Now, it’s my job to teach her how to fill her new role in the land of freedom...

On her knees.

At first, I thought she’d be just like the rest:

Forgettable. Disposable.

But something in her eyes tells me she is different.

Something in her trembling, innocent voice makes me want to wrap my arms around her and make all her troubles disappear.

So, somehow, I find myself in a new and unfamiliar role:

Her savior.

But protecting Alina means betraying my family.

And my father does not take kindly to treason.

He’s determined to draw me back into the life of cruelty I abandoned.

Even if he has to kill my woman to do it.

Chapter One

Iwan

Sitting at my desk at the office, the hour now late, I pour myself another two fingers of scotch. The day has been long and tedious, spent going over work that I would normally entrust to Michal. But with his schedule occupied with the Donahue situation, the mind-numbing but necessary work of checking up on lieutenants and making sure that the bi-monthly payments are in order has fallen to me. I find myself wishing that I had another subordinate to trust with such matters, but alas, I have only one son.

I sip the scotch slowly, rising from my desk and looking out of the window, my eyes moving from building to building. I think about how little I've heard from Michal since our talk. He's been away from the office mostly, focusing on his meetings with the Donahues. I've heard rumblings here and there about businesses getting shaken down and even a few closing their doors, allowing us to move into new territory. I know this is Michal's handiwork, but since having the Donahues not know that this is a large-scale operation overseen by myself, the head of the Nowaks, I can't stay in as close of contact with Michal as I would like. Should the Donahues find out that I've ordered these attacks in violation of the treaty, well, I'd have larger concerns than simply keeping tabs on my son.

But, in spite of this, I've heard rumblings from sources here and there about how the Donahues are beginning to suspect our involvement.

He's getting sloppy, I think, lolling the scotch in my glass. He's distracted; it's not like him to not have all of the angles covered.

Looking down at the glass, I see that it's already nearly empty. The buzz has me a little unsteady, but in spite of this, I feel like being around people. Andre's, the bar just down the road where I typically find myself drinking, sounds appealing. I drain the last few drops from my glass and grab my coat, ready to leave the office.

Arriving at street-level, I pull my coat tight against the cold, the neon lights of Andre's beckoning me in the distance. Soon, I arrive. Pushing the door open, I look around at the small, dimly-lit space, smiling as I look over the familiar, cozy décor and listen to the mellow jazz playing. There are only a handful of patrons there, and they all nod slowly as I walk in, giving their due signs of respect. I approach the bar, the man currently sitting in my usual seat hurrying away.

Evening, Iwan, says Andre, the bartender, a tall, trim man with a close-cropped silver beard and not a strand of hair on his head.

Andre, I say, pulling off my coat and wrapping it around the curved back of the barstool. Chilly evening.

He gives me a half smile in acknowledgment. For a bartender, Andre's never been one for idle chatter. I like this; I typically have no time for small-talk, and if I'm at a bar for pleasure, I tend to prefer to be alone with my thoughts.

Suddenly in the mood for something cheap and clear, I gesture with a limp finger to the bottle of Svedka. Within seconds, I have a small glass of vodka in front of me, neat and simple. I sit there for a time, thinking about my son and this young woman for whom he's putting so much on the line.

Well, if he ends up pulling this business off with the Donahues without getting exposed, he can marry her for all I care, I think.

But I think about how sloppy he's been and wonder if this girl has something to do with it. He's not the type to act this way, but I'm beginning to suspect that there's something about her besides her tight little body—something that's going to lead my son down a path that might be ...detrimental to the business interests of our family.

Putting these thoughts aside, I take a sip of my vodka, the warm liquor chasing away any last traces of cold. But before I can settle in too much, the door opens and someone steps in. One can never be too careful, so I glance at whoever it is as I take another sip.

And a small smile forms on my lips when I lay eyes upon the hefty, red-faced form of Eamon Donahue.

Spotting me, he shambles over, a light-gray, cable-knit sweat pulled over his massive bulk, his ruddy features shrouded beneath a short-brimmed cap.

You're not waiting for some company, are you? One of your little blonde lasses?

I shake my head, my drink inches away from my mouth.

Eamon, I say in acknowledgement, my eyes lingering on the small, black eyes set amongst the folds of his face.

You look like you could use some company, old man, he says, heaving himself onto the stool next to mine, the wood groaning under his bulk.

I scan the front door and see that a pair of young, well-dressed thugs have entered behind Eamon. I consider whether this is a hit, but toss the idea aside; there's no way Eamon would bother with something like that. Besides, Andre's is my territory; if he tried anything, Andre and the other patrons, all men on my payroll, would make sure that none of them walked out alive. No,