The Mafia's Property: A Why Choose Romance

By Piper Knox

By signing this document The Property agrees to surrender herself to the Owners and do their bidding...

Niccolo
By signing the contract she has agreed to be my toy. Her only purpose is to do what she's told and help me gain what I have lost. Even though she's enigmatic and alluring, she's only my property, nothing more. Love does not factor into it.

Enrico
I don't care if she signs the contract or not. She is not, and never will be the kind of woman I want. Nico can have her. Her sweet smile is captivating but not to me. Her big eyes betray an innocence she tries to hide. One I want to take. But no, she's not mine. She's my brother's. And these feelings I have for her? It's not love. Love does not factor into it.

Freya
By signing the contract I've agreed to become the possession of one of the most feared mob families in the country. I'm just a toy to them. And while they play with me, I'm slowly working to destroy their empire. Love doesn't factor into it, it's more than just a game to me. This is my life.

The Mafia's Property is an enemies to lovers mmf romance that is part of a series but can be read as a standalone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Letter B Press
• Release date: Oct 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9791222463612

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The Mafia's Property by Piper Knox

Copyright © 2023 Piper Knox

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: Piper Knox

Printed in the United States of America

Freya

I’VE NEVER SEEN so many women want to be someone else’s property so bad. The room was abuzz and packed with barely dressed women, all in a frenzy to make themselves look pretty. Well, if we want to be concise; sexy. They were preening and pruning themselves, hoping to attract the attention of two of the most cruel and violent men I’ve ever known. And I was one of those girls.

We were all vying to become one of the most coveted women in town. Property of the Morelli brothers. A woman who gets that badge gets to date one of the wealthiest men in the world. And if she played her cards right, she would be set for life.

When I learned the Morellis were hosting their annual property auction, yeah, that’s what they call it, a property auction, I knew I had to get an invitation. My stupid ass thought that part would be simple. A matter of walking into one of their clubs and putting your name in a register. Holy fuck, was I wrong. The hostess I approached literally laughed at me. But when I blinked back, clueless, she took pity on me and informed me of the entire process. After I learned what I had to go through, she was right to laugh. You don’t just walk in, present your body, and announce yourself as a candidate. There was an entire process to it. An excruciating, drawn-out process. And you needed an in. You didn’t just write your name on a sheet and get a callback.

Luckily, I had one, and I got that precious invite. Turns out that was the easy part. After leaving my details and a picture, I later got a call and was told to go to a hotel for a meeting. It was hardly a meeting. It was an interview. I had to do a personality interview, as they called it, in front of two women and one man in a cavernous hotel conference room. The man looked familiar but was quiet. He never said anything but let the two women conduct the interview. They asked me what I liked. Languages I spoke. Places I’ve been to. My current job, if I had any, and what I liked to do in my spare time. You know, stuff they would ask you if you wanted a job except they wanted to know more about you. I thought they would throw me out after they learned I was a stripper. The hostess had said the brothers weren’t into ‘sluts,’ but no, they barely batted an eyelash.

Then came the audition portion. Or at least that’s what I called it. It felt like I was auditioning to be a Rockette if they were more risqué. I had to do a few acrobatics for them. Splits, cartwheels, start jumps, and some pole dancing. It was the pole dancing part that made me realize why they didn’t say anything about my stripper profession. They were probably looking for one. So when I was invited to the final portion, I thought I might have this in the bag. Becoming the property of the Morelli brothers would not be so hard after all. Until I saw my competition.

The last audition, which was the one being held at this moment, was the first time I’ve seen all the other candidates and all of them were beautiful sexy women who would not look out of place on the cover of a magazine or next to a movie star. I counted at least twenty. All model thin, all nothing like my petite, big hips, big boobs body. And that wasn’t all. They were smart as hell. Definitely smarter than me if the girl next to me was anything to go by. We had gotten to chatting when I sat next to her on the bus earlier. Did I mention they bussed us to an undisclosed, country-club-looking location? Yeah. My somewhat new friend’s name was Blake, and Blake can speak multiple languages, four to be exact, has a private education, and was currently working as a flight attendant. When I asked her what a rich girl like her was doing here, she told me it was because her father gambled all of their money in some crypto venture and had made their family penniless… and fatherless. Her dad killed himself, and she was now the sole breadwinner of her siblings. Blake had to get a spot, I thought, and was likely to get it. She’s hotter and smarter than anyone I know.

The other girls weren’t that dissimilar in terms of qualifications. They were all either college-educated or fashion models or both. There was even a pre-med student and a former Olympic gymnast. The high-quality breed I am amongst made me regret blurting out my extremely humble profession to Blake when she asked. If I had known I would be surrounded by Ivy League students who moonlit as high fashion models, I would not have told her I was a goddamn stripper.

They will like you, she said later as we were getting ready for the final audition and I finally got nervous enough to divulge my insecurities to her. Otherwise, why have a pole dancing section, and why make us dress like this? She pointed at her black bikini. I look down at mine and adjust the strap. What if they made a mistake? Maybe I’m in someone else’s spot? My bikini was a tad too small, even though it was their biggest one. Another thing that was making me wonder. The Morelli brothers have a type; tall, thin, blonde, and I am not it. Look around us, I said.

Blake’s huge green doe-eye gaze darted around the half-naked girls and came back to me. She doesn’t say anything but I could hear her thoughts. You don’t fit. I’m about to embarrass myself, I thought. And as that singular doubt creeps in, more flood through. What if I’m not chosen? Statistically, I have a one-in-ten chance. Extremely low odds. I need to outshine this group. Unlike most, I’m not here to have fun dating a mob guy with peculiar tastes or set myself up for a cushy life. My motives run deeper than that and if I fail, there’s no other way for me to get close to them again, ever. This is it. My dramatic makeup might help. But was it dramatic or trashy? Blake’s was more natural and understated and made her high cheekbones pop. Even the other girl sitting on my other side has a more natural look. I was going to fail; I thought. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

A loud voice called out a name and cut into my insecure thoughts. Peering through the door, a woman scanned the area, eyes searching for the person she called. A waif-looking skinny woman with platinum hair and fair skin, small enough that even I could lift her, stood up. The woman who called out beckons the girl to come over. My heart skips a beat. The auditions had started. There were only two doors in the dressing room. The one we came through, and the other door they were now going through. The waif girl was the pre-med student. Great. She was probably going to knock it out of the park and make the rest of us irrelevant. But after five minutes, another girl got called. She’s used to model for… Blake named a famous fashion brand as the girl glided across the room.

My chances went from one in ten to one in a hundred, I said to Blake.

One in ten?

There’s twenty of us and only two will get chosen.

Two? I’m pretty sure they choose one, Blake said.

I thought it was two brothers or something, I said as if I was casually familiar with the details. However, I had done a little background research into them. Nicolo and Enrico were at the center of the Morelli mafia family. They owned and controlled a majority of the clubs in this city, as well as the ones in Chicago. Their empire was not just clubs but the entire nightlife scene. They also owned casinos, hotels, and some real estate in New York. While the twins weren’t the head of the organization, the head was their older brother, Dante. They still held considerable influence in the business.

Yeah, but they like to share, so it’s only going to be one of us that gets chosen.

Sorry. Share? I knew nothing about that part. 

Blake frowned. Weren’t you aware? 

No. I shook my head. Clearly, I hadn’t done enough research into them. Great. Just great. I don’t know what worried me more. The lowered odds or that if I ‘get chosen’ I would be ‘shared’. Heat crept up my loins as an image of two men kissing me flashed through my mind. Instead of being disgusted, I found it hot. 

Another girl got called. And another. And another. They were all disappearing in five-minute intervals. Sometimes one. What do you think is happening in there? I ask Blake. She shrugs. They don’t seem satisfied if you ask me. She leans in and whispers, Apparently they’re in there. Since this is the final stage, they get to decide, or at least that’s what I heard. 

Within a brief space of time, it was only Blake, and I left. Blake got called. Good luck, I said to her. Maybe this time they won’t share. 

She chuckled and blew me a kiss as she made her way out of the room, leaving me alone. After two minutes, the woman pops her head out. Freya. You’re next.

My legs wobble as I get up from my seat. My hands were clammy and I flexed them to keep from shaking. She leads me through a fabric-walled dark corridor. The air con was cooler in this part of the building and made my tits stiffen from the cold. A couple of minutes later, she opens a door, stands aside, and motions for me to walk through.

The immediate banging of the door startled me, as I was sure she was coming in. Instead, I entered the room alone. It took me a while to get my bearings straight. The room looked like a small twenty-seat theater. Empty but for two men sitting on a couch in front of the makeshift stage I’ve just walked onto. The harsh light on the stage, contrasted with the low light of the rest of the theater, made it difficult to see their faces, but I’m sure it was Niccolo and Enrico. They were of similar build. One sitting casually with an arm extended lazily on the couch and the other was leaning forward.

Freya, the one leaning forward said, Step onto the spotlight won’t you.

I did as he said, hoping I wouldn’t trip and fall. With the light on me and them in the shadows, it’s even harder to see them.

All I heard was a voice saying, Show us what you got.

There’s a pole and a chair on stage. Show us what you got, could only mean one thing. Dance. 

Do I get music? I asked into the dark void.

No, a voice replied. It sounded different from the other one. More curt and bored.

Being a stripper, they probably expect me to get onto the pole and grind it up and down. It would be obvious. Being obvious was probably all those other women lasted less than a minute. I went to the chair. I don’t have a chair routine and have never done one before, but I try to do the best, sexiest routine I could think of. Starting slow, I grind against the chair like I am giving it a lap dance before sliding off, shimming back up flipping it back, and sliding back down. I danced as if I was the only person in the room and I was doing it for myself. That’s how you get their attention. Make it seem like you aren’t aware they’re even there. Only after some time do you cast a glance at them, holding their gaze as if they mean the world to you. That part’s hard to do when you can barely make out your audience, but I try staring at the direction of the voice. My confidence grew as I went into an improvised routine of opening my legs only slightly, then closing them quickly and bending down, turning around and getting up on the chair, riding the back before—

Stop, the bored and curt voice said. It was so abrupt I paused mid-grind. That’s enough, he added.

What. Why? the other voice said, less to me but to the other one.

Not my type, curt and bored replied.

I’ve made it less than thirty seconds and I’m being rejected. Was it like this for the others? No wonder it took little time. But I cannot get rejected. Not when I am this close. I’m in the same room as them. I have staked everything I have on this. Used my one connection to them to get this opportunity. My eyes strain against the blaring spotlight as they search into the room. The two men were arguing with each other. I could only hear harsh whispers, but what they were saying exactly, I could not tell. For a few minutes, I just stand there as they argue. Not right, one phrase popped out, and too much was another.

They couldn’t dismiss me, a rash thought said. I had to show them what they would get if they got me. I will never get another chance like this. You only live once, I think as I make my way down the stage and over to the couch. The closer I got, the clearer their faces became. Handsome faces. They were better looking up close and in real life, than they were in images. Theirs is an unnerving beauty and I try to not let it phase me. One chance. My steps towards them grow more confident until I finally stop right in front of the casual one. They call themselves twins, but they look nothing alike. The one who was leaning forward had softer, more boyish features, while the casual one had more angular features. The latter was staring hard at me as if I had committed some grievous error. His features became harsh with anger. He doesn’t look too pleased with my brazen attitude. Well fuck it, what’s done is done. At least the man seems surprised but curious. That’s promising.

I don’t like doing my act with chairs, I said to the angry one. It’s better when done on the real thing.

I’ve never done a lap dance before. I’m strictly a no-customer-interaction girl, but they don’t need to know that.

He glared at me. I hold the stare.

Come on Rico, the other said, let her.

‘Rico,’ that must be Enrico’s nickname. He looked like he was about to get up and bodily throw me out, but he instead gave an imperceptible nod. Good. Now I have to impress him with a skill I don’t have. I start with a slow dance while facing him. My hands went up and down my body, lingering on my breasts, my best asset, and drifting down to my center. He looked unimpressed. I turn around out of embarrassment but make it part of my routine as I lower my ass onto his lap. He was hard. The jolt of confidence I get from the knowledge emboldens me. Was he hard for me or for other women before me? Does it matter? What mattered was he wasn’t as immune as he was pretending to be. I ground my ass against his length, riding it forward and backward, leaning against his chest and lifting my chest the same way I had seen it done so many times at the club I worked at. 

Rico had an impressive body, from what I could tell. His chest was hard and tight and his thighs feel strong beneath my hands as when I use them for balance. Rico, for all my work, made zero movement. He sat still as a statue and if it wasn’t for his hard cock, I would have thought my act was having no effect on him. Meanwhile, I am getting into the mood and getting hotter as a result. The little black bikini bottom I have on does little to contain my wetness. I’m pretty sure I was leaving juices all over his crotch. Could he feel it? If he does, he doesn’t show it. His body was unresponsive.

I glanced at Niccolo. He seemed to enjoy it more, even though he was only watching. I held his gaze as I ground against his brother. His gaze traveled down my body, from the top of my head down to my crotch. He looked like he wanted to touch it. A bold thought entered my mind. I took his hand and placed it on my pussy. Niccolo gladly accepted the invitation and rubbed his hand against my clit. The thin material of the bikini bottom felt like a concrete barrier. I wanted to feel his hand inside me. I moaned when he increased the pressure, driving me wild, my movements increasing. That sweet peak was getting close until—

That’s enough. Enrico practically pushed me off of him. The sudden shift in the mood was disorienting, and it made my legs wobble as I got up.

You can go, he said, hands crossed against his chest. He wasn’t even embarrassed to hide the tent in his pants as he gestured his head to the door on the other end. 

Niccolo screamed in protest. Come on! he exclaimed. She’s the one!

If I wanted a stripper, I could’ve just gotten one from the club, he said to Niccolo, but his gaze held mine. His upper lip curls. I disgusted him. He certainly looked at me like I was a stinky piece of garbage. He turned to his brother. We need someone who can hold a conversation at a dinner party full of diplomats, not some whore.

I’m not a whore, I blurted out defensively. It’s not like I have anything against the profession. Most of my friends are sex workers, but the way he says it, the venom in his words. It made me want to disprove his opinion of me.

Whatever you call yourself, your type is not what we want.

I’m sure she knows how to talk to some snotty dude with a silver spoon shoved up his ass, Niccolo said. Right Freya? he added, smiling. His defense was heartening. It gave me hope, but Enrico was adamant. He grabbed an iPad on the small table beside him and said, It says here you currently work at The Den. That’s Saccone’s club. An automatic disqualification in my books.

And now that club is yours. I don’t see why it would matter, I replied. I tried to sound as confident as I could, but that flicker of hope was dulling faster. Anyone who knows anything about the criminal underworld of this city knows Saccone was their most hated enemy. And every kid and cop would tell you that The Morelli Family had recently taken out Saccone and his entire operation. 

Come on Rico, Niccolo said, It’s not like she was directly working for him. He turns to me, Right?

Barely knew he owned the place, I said. It was a lie, but most dancers at the club had no idea who truly owned it. Enrico glares back like he doesn’t believe me. Why did you let me go through all those excruciating steps if you thought I wasn’t worthy of the air you breathed? I said to him. 

I didn’t, Enrico replied, And the little of what I saw of you was poor.

That hard cock says otherwise, I retorted.

You failed the test. He smirked. You were supposed to sit on the chair. Not dance with it.

Rico

WHAT CAN I SAY, Freya is fucking hot. Striking, mesmerizing, and naturally beautiful. She can grab any man’s attention by simply walking into the room. She grabbed mine, that’s for sure. Beautiful face, nice tits, and a juicy ass to drive any man wild. But she was not the right fit. She should not have even made it this far. A stripper? Why Nico thought a stripper would be a suitable candidate still baffled me. We passed over a med student, for crying out loud. One girl speaks four languages from three different continents and we let her go. But no, this woman who could barely string a sentence in English would be the woman I would have to go on official business with. Freya, if that was even her real name, was good for one thing only; fucking.

Every part of her body was made for fucking. Those big lips look like they knew how to suck a cock dry. Her breasts would be wonderful to look at as they bounced while she rode you. And that warm center between her legs? I had to stop myself from letting my hand wander to see how wet she was when she was giving me that sinful lap dance. Holding myself back was a chore. Her body felt supple against mine. When she took Nico’s hand and placed it there, an uncontrollable wave of jealousy came over me. I wanted to whip his hand away and—and do what? Fuck her? That was where my mind was going until I realized what I was contemplating. I had been that close to lifting her up, unzipping my pants, and impaling her on my cock until I stopped myself and got her off me. Any second slower and she would have proven that I was full of shit. And that was why I didn’t want her.

She is dangerous. A potent dynamite that would blow in our faces if we weren’t too careful. And yet, Nico found her enamoring. All the candidates disinterested him until she came along. That’s when he sat up and took notice. I would have sworn she wasn’t his type. He’s into skinny blonds with a brain that keeps up with his own. Petite and curvy Miss high school diploma over here was the last person I thought he would want to spend an entire year with. She was so sex-focused that she failed the one test most women who came through that door passed. The pole or the chair. Few