His Mafia Master (Toscano Doms Book 2), page 1
His Mafia Master
Leo Rivers
Copyright © 2023 by Leo Rivers.
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Contents
1. Joey
2. Marco
3. Joey
4. Joey
5. Joey
6. Joey
7. Joey
8. Joey
9. Marco
10. Joey
11. Joey
12. Joey
13. Joey
14. Marco
15. Joey
16. Joey
17. Joey
18. Marco
19. EPILOGUE
Chapter one
Joey
The steam hissed from the espresso machine as Joey, with practiced hands, swirled the milk into a perfect rosetta on the latte. He slid the cup across the counter to Mrs. Henderson, flashing her a smile.
"Here you go, Mrs. Henderson. Enjoy!"
"Thank you, hon," she replied, returning his smile. "You always make it so pretty."
Joey chuckled and turned back to the line of waiting customers, wiping his hands on his apron. He prided himself on his work ethic and ability to connect with the regulars at the cozy coffee shop that was the Java Jive.
As he scanned the line, he caught sight of a familiar face who came in every morning before work: Tom. Joey knew him well: he always ordered a black coffee, no sugar.
And unfortunately, Joey also knew that Tom always asked for something other than his order…
Joey's heart sank as Tom approached the counter. "Hey there, cutie," Tom said, leaning over the counter and giving Joey a sly smile. "You're looking good today."
Joey forced a smile, already uncomfortable. "Thanks, Tom. What can I get for you?"
"Just a black coffee for me…"
Oh, thank god.
But before Joey could relax, Tom continued. "But I'm hoping for a little extra on the side," he said. Just in case Joey didn't get what he was putting down, he followed it with a suggestive wink.
Joey's stomach churned. He took a deep breath. "One black coffee, coming up."
Tom shrugged, unfazed. "Suit yourself," he said, swiping his credit card to pay for his coffee. "But just so you know, I can make it worth your while." He looked at the nearly-empty tip jar, and grinned. "You could use the extra cash, right?"
God, this guy! He was shameless, he was sleazy, and…
And he was right.
Joey's face flushed with anger. "Here's your coffee," he said, keeping his voice even.
Tom was too shameless to care. "You always make it just right." He slid his business card across the counter, tapping his phone number with one finger. "See you tomorrow—or maybe tonight, if you wise up and give me a call."
As Joey watched Tom leave, he wanted to scream.
The worst part was that Tom was right. He was barely making ends meet.
A barista job didn't exactly pay well—and that was even without taking Joey's dad and his addiction into the equation…
As if he was watching from a distance, Joey watched his hand stretch forward to pick up Tom's business card.
With one little call, I might be able to keep the lights on, or fix my crapsack car, or help out Dad…
Joey picked up the card, and dropped it into the trash.
No.
Busting his ass making coffees and mopping floors all day was hard work for little reward, but there was a line he wouldn't cross.
Yet.
The bell at the door jingled again. As Joey turned to greet the next customer, the Java Jive's door swung open, and a gust of wind ushered in a man who seemed to command the attention of everyone in the room.
The man—tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered—entered with a confident stride, his tailored suit hugging his toned body perfectly. The low murmur of conversation in the coffee shop dwindled as heads turned to look.
The normal clientele of the Java Jive was soccer moms and harried workers trying to grab enough caffeine to stay awake as they headed to their soul-destroying jobs.
This man didn't look like either.
Joey couldn't help but feel a flutter in his stomach as he looked at the man. He had never been attracted to someone so dangerous-looking before, but there was something undeniably alluring about him.
If all his regulars looked like this, Joey's workday might be a little nicer.
The man's dark hair was slicked back, and his piercing blue eyes swept over the room, taking in every detail. Joey felt his cheeks flush as the man's gaze landed on him, and he quickly looked away, feeling self-conscious.
He shook off the feeling and forced a smile. "Hi there! What can I get for you today?"
"I'm looking for Joey Moore."
Hearing his name fall from the stranger's lips sent a jolt through Joey's chest, causing his heart to race. He tried to maintain a professional demeanor, but his hands trembled ever so slightly.
The hell? Why would this man be asking for him? It was impossible. They'd never met before—Joey would remember, that was for sure.
This wasn't the sort of man who came to the Java Jive.
But… this was the sort of man that Joey was used to seeing somewhere else.
When he hauled his dad out of gambling dens and shady casinos at night. When men came knocking at their door, with messages for his dad…
Yeah, that was one situation where he did see men like these.
Joey's eyes narrowed. "That's me," he responded, trying to keep his voice steady. "Can I help you with something?"
"I'm Marco. Marco King." The man—Marco—removed his sunglasses, revealing piercing gray eyes that seemed to see straight into Joey's soul. "We need to talk. Privately."
Crap. That wasn't good. "Is my dad okay?"
"Depends on what you mean by fine." Marco jerked his head to the side, out of the store. "Let's talk."
Somewhere private, Joey thought. Somewhere I can get shaken down—or worse.
But what option did he have?
"Alright," Joey agreed reluctantly, casting a nervous glance at his coworkers, who were watching the exchange with concern. If this man was trouble, he didn't want him around the regulars. "Just give me a moment."
He stepped away from the counter and led Marco out the coffee shop, and into the alley around the corner. With every step, Joey tried to ignore the pounding of his heart and the creeping dread that filled his mind. Marco followed his steps like a big, looming shadow.
"Look," Joey started as soon as they'd turned the corner, swallowing hard, "is my dad… is he hurt or not?"
His dad was a mess. He'd driven Joey's Mom away, and spent every penny that he ever got his hands on, and he could never say no to a bet…
…But he was still Joey's dad. That had to mean something.
Marco looked him up and down. "Right now, you're more concerned about your dad than yourself?"
Joey glared up at him. "Answer me."
"He's not hurt. He's just made… certain choices." Marco's eyes narrowed for a moment, studying Joey intently. "I work for the Toscano mafia family. I've been sent here to collect you."
"Collect me?" Joey's voice wavered, his pulse quickening. "For what?"
"Your father," Marco said, his tone now somber, "has accumulated quite the gambling debt with our organization. And now, the collateral that he's offered… is you. You're coming with me."
A mixture of disbelief, anger, and fear washed over Joey. Memories of his father, always hidden away behind closed doors, whispering into the phone at all hours of the night...
Yeah, he'd always known that his dad had a problem with gambling. All his life, they'd moved from place to place, living large on windfalls and then eking it out during the lean times.
But how could his own father put him in such danger?
"Wait," Joey stammered, struggling to process the information. "Collateral? You can't just... take me. I'm not a thing!"
"Doesn't matter. Your dear old dad signed you away, so you're coming with me."
"I didn't sign anything, though! That's not fair!"
"Life isn't fair," Marco replied, his gaze never leaving Joey's.
Joey clenched his fists, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.
What the hell was this?
What had his dad done?
He wanted to tell this thug that he'd got it all wrong…
But he couldn't. Joey's heart sank. It was all too easy to picture: his dad on a hot streak, reaching for anything he could use to keep betting…
As the gravity of the situation weighed on him, Joey tried to steady his breathing, desperate to maintain control over his emotions.
But deep down, a part of him was already crumbling.
"Listen, Joey." Marco's voice softened, but his eyes remained intense. "If you don't come with me, your father's going to have to pay his debt in another way—and one he might not walk away from. It's not a choice I'd wish on anyone, but it's the one you've been given."
The words hung heavy in the air between them, the hum of the street seeming to fade into the background. Joey felt the blood drain from his face as the ultimatum settled upon his shoulders.
"What's it going to be?" Marco's voice pulled him back to the present, demanding an answer.
"Let me think," Joey wh
Joey's mind raced. How could his father have gotten so deep into trouble? The anger he felt toward him for putting both of them in this situation was palpable, but that paled in comparison to the fear that was growing within him. He knew he couldn't let anything happen to his father, even if it meant sacrificing his own safety and independence.
"Let me just… let me just tell my coworkers I'm leaving," Joey said quietly.
"Make it quick," Marco said. For a moment, it looked like his expression softened ever so slightly—but then it was gone again, just a trick of the light.
Joey walked back inside the Java Jive, his legs feeling like they might give way beneath him. "Sorry, guys," he managed, taking off his apron. "I'm going to have to leave early."
His coworker, Joan, wore a face lined with worry. "Are you okay, Jo?"
"I'm fine." Joey forced a smile. "Don't worry. Just call in Samatha to take my shifts. She wants more hours."
Joan gave his hand a squeeze. Her eyes flickered to somewhere over Joey's shoulder, and Joey knew exactly who she was looking at. "Well, whatever's going on... you come back as soon as you can, all right?"
"I will."
Finally, with one last glance at the life he was leaving behind, Joey returned to Marco, steeling himself for the unknown journey ahead. "I'll go with you," he whispered, determined not to let his emotions get the better of him.
"Good." Marco's gaze remained unreadable behind his dark glasses. "Get in the car."
As they walked away from the coffee shop, the sinking feeling in Joey's chest intensified.
Was he a lamb being led to slaughter?
Chapter two
Marco
God, Marco hated runs like these. Brawling, kicking the ass of some punk who thought he could pull one over on the Toscanos? That was what got his motor revving.
But this shit was different. Picking up some poor sap who got in over his head with the Family? Christ, he hated being a babysitter.
Marco pulled the sleek black car away from the curb, the engine purring softly as he merged onto the highway. He glanced over at the kid in the passenger seat.
The kid was young. His dear old dad had said he was twenty one, but he'd frowned and paused when he'd been saying it. It didn't take a psychic to know that the old man was guessing. Shit, Marco wasn't sure that the old man even knew what year it was, spending all his time inside the city's web of underground gambling dens.
Marco steered the car through the streets, but eyed Joey from behind his glasses. Joey senior was a rough piece of shit, but his son was delicate. He had pretty eyelashes—and a prettier mouth. Marco ignored the way his body reacted to the sight of him, and focused on the task at hand.
Joey's eyes were glued to the rear view mirror, watching the coffee shop fall away into the distance. "Start talking," he said, but no matter how gruff he tried to sound, the kid couldn't disguise the unease in his voice. "What's going to happen to me?"
Marco clenched the steering wheel tight, trying to focus on the job and not on the temptation in the seat next to him. "Your father owes the Family a lot of money," Marco explained. "And since he can't pay, you're going to work off dear old Dad's debt for him."
Until that point, anger had been sparkling in Joey's sea-green eyes. Anger at his father, at Marco, or just at the world in general, Marco didn't know. At Marco's reply, though, that anger turned to fear. Joey's already pale face went even more bloodless. "W-what the hell does that mean?"
"It means," Marco replied, running a hand through his slicked-back hair, "that until you work off your Daddy's debt, you're ours."
"How much does he owe? I could just get some extra shifts—"
"Sixty grand."
"Sixty…!" Joey jerked in surprise, staring at Marco. "No way…"
"That's a lot of coffees to make," Marco drawled. He turned the wheel, sending his car purring along the highway.
There was a long moment of silence, and then Joey looked up again. When he spoke, his voice was steady. "I can find a way to get you your money. Just don't hurt us, and I'll find a way to pay it off."
What the hell was with this kid? Anyone else might have raged at their deadbeat dad, or tried to plead that they weren't involved, trying to slip away and save their own skins…
But all that Joey did was bite down on his pretty little lip of his and try to sound brave. There was determination somewhere under that unassuming look.
It was brave.
And stupid. "Yeah, no shit you're going to pay it off. That's the whole reason you're here with me, kid."
Joey clenched his fists, knuckles turning white. Marco could see the emotions that were boiling behind those stunning green eyes. "Are you going to…?"
Joey trailed off, his words choking off. Whatever he was getting at, it had missed Marco entirely. He raised an eyebrow. "To… what, kid?"
"Well, if I can't pay you back in latte art, it doesn't take a genius to realize what a piece of shit like you wants."
It took a moment for Marco to realize what the kid meant. "You think I'm going to fuck your debt away?" Marco snorted. "You think I need to force someone? Me? Kid, people beg for a piece of me."
"A thug into human trafficking? Yeah, I bet you're real popular."
Despite himself, Marco couldn't help but let out a bark of laughter. "Hey, don't knock it until you try it." He dropped a hand to his crotch and squeezed. "And when you do try it, you'll be coming back for more again and again…"
Joey was still visibly scared of his situation, but at that, he looked Marco straight in the eye. "I'll pass, thanks," he drawled, dry as the Sahara. "I'm into men who aren't complete scum."
He was into men, huh? That probably wasn't the main thing that Marco should focus on, but it caught his attention. His gaze lingered on that pretty mouth. Joey turned away, frowning.
The silence in the car was almost tangible as Marco drove. His mind raced with images of what it would be like to take the kid up on his offer.
He imagined how Joey's body would feel beneath him, his cries of pleasure filling the air. He pictured those eyes, wide with shock, but then darkening with pleasure as Marco pressed into him, making Joey take his cock.
His skin burned at that thought, desire coursing through his veins. He wanted to make Joey moan with pleasure until he was begging for more—
Yeah, Angelo Toscano would kick Marco's ass if he traded a source of money for a fuck…
Even if it might be worth it.
"I'm not the one that got you into this mess," Marco said, looking away. He shifted gears as they sped down the highway. "I'm just cleaning up your daddy's mess. Don't blame the messenger. For now, just sit back and enjoy the ride."
As the cityscape faded into darkness, Marco couldn't help but steal another glance at Joey. He knew he shouldn't be attracted to him—after all, this kid was just a gear in the Family's machine. But there was something about him that drew Marco in.
He'd just found out that his father had used him as a gambling chip. He'd just been torn from the life he knew and told that he was to pay off a debt that he hadn't even heard of.
And yet, Joey wasn't acting like anyone else that Marco had dealt with. He wasn't begging, or crying, or pleading for mercy.
Instead, that pretty mouth was set in an unreadable line, those green eyes giving nothing away.
Interesting. Marco drummed his fingers on the wheel.
In not too long, they pulled up to a nondescript club in a shady part of town. Marco turned off the engine and turned to face Joey, an arrogant smirk playing on his lips. "Welcome to your new home," Marco announced.
Chapter three
Joey
Joey's jaw tightened as he stared out the window, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling in his stomach. The club they'd pulled up loomed ominously over them, and he knew that whatever awaited him inside couldn't be good.
Swallowing hard, he forced himself to focus on the problem at hand: paying off his father's debt.
When Marco had told Joey that he was going to pay it off, his first thought had been with his body. It wasn't like the Mafia needed baristas, after all.
