Petrichor (Mafia Babes Book 1), page 1
Petrichor
MAFIA BABES
BOOK ONE
PAULINA IAN-KANE
“Copyright © 2025 by Paulina Ian-Kane Books
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Contents
Italian words and phrases
Before Reading
Foreword
Triggers
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Paulina Ian-Kane
Italian words and phrases
Il Capo - The Boss
Il capo dei capi - The Boss of all the bosses
Cascittuni - Informant to the authorities
Vendetta - Revenge
Cazzo - Fuck
Cazzo di tempo - Fucking horrible weather
Merda - Shit
Omertá - Humility, submission to the family
Cosa Nostra - literally “our thing,” used to refer to the Mafia
Perché a me? - Why me?
Cosa vuoi da me? - What do you want from me?
Nonno - Grandfather
Non me lo aspettavo da te - I didn't expect that from you
Stronzo - Piece of shit
Che cazzo vuoi dire? - What the fuck do you mean?
Vaffanculo, Fanculo - Fuck you.
Before Reading
This book and series started all thanks to one word.
Petrichor.
Shocking, right?
Petrichor is the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil, and it smells so damn good, doesn’t it? I just love it. I discovered there was a term for that particular scent only a few years back. And it kept going round and round inside my head like a carousel—especially during rainy season (I always get wet on my birthday…I should probably rephrase that.)
Anyway, one day it was drizzling outside, the Godfather was on TV, and bang! I connected the two things and couldn’t stop thinking about writing this story.
Marco and Fly utterly consumed me—I didn’t sleep for two months. I poured my heart into their love, and I hope you like their passionately explosive, sort of violent relationship dynamic just as I do.
Marco is very temperamental, rude, arrogant, and demanding, loyal to the family to a fault, filled with anger and determination, and Fly’s lightness, big heart, unafraid soul, persistence, sassiness, and feistiness just complement him in every way. His lingerie helps as well.
I lost myself in the Mafia world; it was mind-blowing, in-depth research, let me tell you. I’m certainly ready to write about it more, if you’d like. An idea for book two is already inside my head.
But first, please, please, please…please enjoy this one.
Cheers,
Paulina
Foreword
If anyone finds errors in my work, grammatical or otherwise, please don't post it in your reviews but reach out to me. I will be forever grateful for that.
hello@paulinaiankanebooks.com
Triggers
This story contains dark themes and potential triggers, including but not limited to:
On-page graphic violence. On-page gun use. On-page reference to a child kidnapping (prologue only).
References to drug use and drug paraphernalia.
On-page description of injuries resulting from an off-page assault of an MC (includes concerns over possible sexual assault, though there is no SA in the story).
Descriptions of past child abuse (physical, verbal, and emotional). CNC elements.
On-page assault of an MC. Kidnapping of an MC. On-page torture and murder. Minor reference to homophobia.
Sex content:
Rough, violent sex scenes (slapping, shoving, biting and clawing). Scenes that may contain dubious usage of proper lubricants. Explicit language.
Bi-awakening. Cock warming. Breeding kink. Somnophilia. Breeding and cum kink. Spanking. Biting and marking. Mild breath play (pressure on the neck, no asphyxiation).
MC engages in sexual acts with women (BJs, not cheating—occurs before a commitment is established between MCs)
Please keep these potential triggers in mind, as your mental health is of the utmost importance.
Some memories are unforgettable, remaining ever vivid.
Joseph B. Wirthlin
Prologue
Marco
Istep out of the car as rumbly thunder disturbs the quiet of the warm evening. My eyes move to the darkening sky while my fingers run roughly through my short black hair. Storm clouds are riding the gales blowing this way, announcing a summer storm. The air seems to hum with life.
A foreboding feeling overwhelms me, and I check my phone one more time. Still no call from Seb. I feel like I’m standing on burning coals. Hate the uncertainty.
“Cazzo di tempo!” Luca, another Leone enforcer cusses.
“No shit! The wind is howling like a banshee bitch, sir,” Carlo agrees with him. He’s new in the family, a lanky, eighteen-year-old kid eager to prove himself to us. Il capo, Don Massimo, ordered us to bring him along to show him the ropes.
Being an enforcer for the most ruthless family in New York is not an easy fucking job, but it’s the only life I know. Don Massimo found and welcomed me and Luca when we were kids and raised us for the sole purpose to protect Seb, his son—he vetted us at a very early age. We became brothers not in blood but by chance. Growing up together, sharing almost everything intertwined our lives so tightly. I can’t imagine being without them at my side.
And anyway, blood is just water, right? Otherwise, priests wouldn’t drink it every damn Sunday. We are about to spill a lot of red water in a few minutes. And after I get that phone call, am I going to spill more? I clench my fists as a wave of anger and nausea assaults me.
“Stop that, Marco!” Luca snaps as he unholsters his gun. “We have work to do.” He might look big as a two story house and fucking scary to the rest of the world with that scar marring his face, but to me he’s still the same kid I defended when the others called him the Frankenstein monster.
I nod at the lookout in the blue Toyota, signaling him to leave since we are here. I notice a couple walking on the other side of the street. As soon as they see us, they hurriedly move out of sight with their heads down. This neighborhood is ours. Most cops here work for Don Massimo, and the ones who won’t accept palm-greasing still turn a blind eye, knowing there’s no point in coming after us.
Our family operates according to a code of silence called omertá—literally humility. It comes from the very first Mafia families in Italy and refers to the code of submission of individuals to the group interest, the family. Cosa Nostra. It is an extreme form of loyalty and solidarity in the face of authority. The basic principle of omertá is that one must not seek aid from legally constituted authorities to settle personal grievances. A person who has been wronged is obligated to look out for their own interests by avenging the wrong themselves, or finding a patron—like Don Massimo—to avenge them. This is also called vendetta.
Breaking omertá is punishable by death. One of its absolute tenets is that it is deeply demeaning and shameful to betray even one's deadliest enemy to the authorities or to other families. For that reason, many Mafia-related crimes go unsolved. Because even only the suspicion of being a cascittuni—an informant—constitutes the blackest mark against manhood. And omertá is the reason we are out here on this fucking stormy night.
I grit my teeth and glance at my phone again. Nothing yet. I spit on the ground, trying to get rid of the bitter taste inside my mouth. Then I nod at Luca as I take off my suit jacket and throw it on the car seat of the Mercedes before closing the door.
We head toward the squalid building on the right. Heavy drops of rain start coming down as we get inside. I leave my gun in my holster and instead slide on my custom-made gold brass knuckles with little crosses carved on the top of each finger. I engage in my pre-fight ritual, giving the cross on the index knuckle a kiss for good luck while quickly reciting in my head the Angel of God prayer, asking them to protect us and guiding
A criminal with a religious mind. It can look like hypocrisy to some, but it’s just the way I was raised.
I flex my fingers. I always prefer to use my hands to feel the battle on my skin, the pain I inflict, the common sense I impart. Pistols are fine, in some cases necessary, but my gold knuckles are my weapon of choice. A present from Don Massimo the day I became a made man, an enforcer for the family. I grip the metal in a fist, breathing slightly easier at the familiar feel of it. I fucking love this.
“I can’t believe I’m going on a job with Marco ‘the Knuckle’ Moretti and Luca ‘Scarface’ Nero! I’m with legends!” Carlo whispers-yells, sounding all excited about it. I guess his reaction is fine-ish. The first time I was sent to kill someone I was so nervous, I puked afterward.
Luca growls with annoyance. He hates that nickname, while I’m kind of impartial about mine. “Just stay behind and do whatever the fuck we say,” he grumbles at Carlo.
The kid’s face goes deathly pale as he frantically bobs his head in agreement.
“Hey kid, if you don’t want to sport a similar scar on your skin, shut your trap,” I add, just because.
As we go up the flight of stairs, the usual thrill invades me. That payback thirst that makes my skin tingle with delight. Anybody who attempts to hurt my family will incur our wrath.
“That’s the door.” Luca points at the brown one on the left as we reach the second floor. The corridor is dimmed. The stench of piss and stale air overwhelms me for a moment. The carpet covering the floor is frayed, stained and discolored, a couple of pieces of wood are missing from the boarded-up window at the end of the hall showing the darkening sky. Not even Satan would waste his time in a shit hole like this.
An abrupt scream comes from inside the apartment, making me grit my teeth and Luca growl. It sounded like a kid’s scream.
We exchange an agreeing look as I signal Carlo to stay behind me a moment before Luca kicks in the door and rushes inside, keeping his gun high. I follow him, entering the cheap apartment. A woman in her forties is sitting tensely on a worn-out sofa; she’s sporting a large bruise on her face and track marks on both arms. A half-empty bottle of booze, pills, and more drugs are spread on the small table in front of her. The ashtray is overflowing with cigarette butts, and trash litters the floor. One of the light bulbs hanging from the ceiling keeps flashing, giving an even shittier atmosphere to the room. The place is a fucking dump.
There’s no kid around, though. A man who I recognize as Joseph Gordon is standing in the small kitchen, hands behind him grabbing the counter, his angular face contorted in fear and anger.
“What the hell is going on?” he has the nerve to ask. He’s an associate who works in our loan shark business. We send him to talk to the clients when seeking to compel the satisfaction of a debt. I never liked him, too cocky and power hungry.
I move closer to him with a smirk on my face. “Joseph, I’m pretty sure you know.”
I see terror flashing in his eyes before he hides it under his pathetic bravado.
“Haven’t the slightest clue.” His voice trembles. He swallows hard.
“Too many wrongs to think about?” Luca mutters, pushing the drugs on the table around with the muzzle of his gun. We put a tail on Joseph after a loan client came gun in hand to the restaurant where Don Massimo was having dinner with Seb, screaming about his daughter and how we kidnapped her. We are a crime family, but taking children away from their own family is something Don Massimo would never condone. After a little digging, we found out who was behind the kidnapping and more.
“Il Capo asked us to have a chat with you,” I say as I notice a door on the right that probably leads to a bedroom. With a tilt of my head, I signal Carlo to go check it out.
The woman’s terrified eyes follow him as he disappears inside the room. A couple of seconds later he comes out shaking his head, and her body relaxes against the sofa. Interesting. There must be something in there she doesn’t want us to find. More drugs? Money? As soon as we are done here, I’ll get Carlo on it.
“We-we paid for those,” the woman suddenly stutters. She means the drugs on the table. But did they?
“Shut the fuck up, Elise!” Joseph barks at her, his voice filled with rage.
“Coke, ice, heroine… There’s at least four hundred dollars on this table,” Luca states.
“Where did you get the money?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at her. My patience tonight is equal to none.
Joseph is the one to answer. “From some extra jobs.”
“Extra jobs,” I deadpan, before landing two fast, hard punches to his guts. I grab his hair in a tight fist, push my forearm against his throat, and pull his head back as I utter darkly, “Brutto idiota. We know everything about your extra jobs, raising the loan interests when you went to collect and threatening clients to keep their mouths shut. Doing whatever the fuck you want in our territory while sullying Don Massimo’s reputation. That’s fucking suicidal. Maybe I’ll let Luca have a go at your face before ending you.”
Joseph tenses as I feel Luca’s glare turn on me. But that’s his thing, slicing people until they talk, while I prefer to use my fists.
In the corner of my eye, I see Carlo standing near the front door again. Eyes wide, body stiff, the chatty kid is finally silent.
“What did you do with the girl?” Luca growls at the woman.
“G-girl?” The woman looks down, avoiding his eyes, a clear sign of deceit.
“If you think we won’t hurt you, you are wrong,” I snarl. I prefer to end women quickly, but there’s a poor little girl’s life on the line, as well as Don Massimo’s name. We need to remind people what happens when they disrespect il capo of the Leone family, remind them how he became il capo dei capi.
“Joseph took a client’s daughter, letting people think that Don Massimo needed her as collateral until her father repaid his debt.”
“Lies!” he gasps.
“Then why does it look like you’re about to shit yourself?” Luca raises his thick brow at him.
“The-the client, he-he’s the one lying. He’s upset…because Joseph roughed him up a little last time he saw him,” the woman rapidly says.
“A little.” I let out a deep grunt, sending a glower her way. She seems to shrink under my severe look. “You mean when he broke the shop window and sent the clerk to the hospital? How will the client be able to repay us if you give him more expenses?” I hiss in his face. “You know the rules, and you broke all of them and some more. Now the first to tell me where the girl is will die quickly, while the other will wish they were never born.”
When neither says a word, I take a step back, and keeping my forearm against Joseph’ neck I turn to Carlo. “Shoot his leg.”
He seems taken aback by my order at first, but then he extracts his pistol from the back of his pants and points it in Joseph’s direction.
The woman starts screaming as Joseph tries to elbow me to free himself. I land two fast blows to his side and one to his face. The gold knuckles hit hard bone as the cracking sound reaches my ears. I grab his hair once again and force him up as a gunshot reverberates through the room. It’s quickly followed by another.
I turn around in time to see Carlo leaning heavily against the wall, a red stain forming on his arm while Luca is lowering his gun after he used it on the woman, whose dead eyes are staring blankly ahead.
“Fuck!” Carlo mutters, his voice is filled with shock and pain. “She shot me!” I lower my gaze to the gun still in her hand—she must have hidden it among the sofa cushions.
Luca is quickly on the phone. He answers Doc’s questions as he helps the whimpering kid up and takes him out of the apartment. I guess I’ll finish this up by myself, then. Fuck!
I turn my attention to Joseph. The sneaky fucker has opened a kitchen drawer while I was distracted and grabbed a small kitchen knife. I stop his swinging hand and wrap my fingers around it as the tip of the blade touches my chest—without piercing the skin but ruining my shirt. It makes me royally pissed.
