Breaking the Heartless Capo

Her Brother Her Boy

Syrene scoffed, rolling her eyes as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She snatched her dress off the floor and slid it over her head, scooping up her shoes and bra in one hand. Grabbing her black clutch from the kitchen counter, she slipped out the door, shutting it so quietly it was as if she had never been there at all.

"What a f*****g asshole," she muttered under her breath, turning back toward the closed door to flip it off with both hands. It didn't matter that he couldn't see her—it made her feel better anyway.

Stepping out into the crisp morning air outside Orlando’s, Syrene raised a hand to hail a passing taxi.

"Syrene! Get in, I'll give you a ride home," a man's voice called out from a sleek black sedan idling near the curb.

She turned, resting her hands on her hips with a sarcastic smirk. "No thanks. I'll catch a cab," she said, turning on her heel to walk away.

"Syrene, wait," the driver called out, rolling down the window. "If you don't get in, I have to call my boss, and trust me, neither of us wants that."

Syrene didn't even pause. "Tell your boss to shove it," she threw over her shoulder, stepping up to the curb just as an yellow taxi pulled up. She slid into the back seat and watched the black sedan vanish in her rearview mirror.

Inside the private suite, Roman’s phone buzzed on the glass coffee table. He picked it up on the second ring, resting his arm over the back of the leather sofa.

"Boss, she wouldn't get in," his driver reported nervously over the line. "She took a cab instead."

"Follow her," Roman commanded coldly, cutting the call before his man could reply.

A slow, dangerous grin spread across Roman’s face as he tossed the phone aside. He leaned back into the plush leather, striking a match to light a thick Cuban cigar. "Feisty little brat," he mused aloud, blowing a ring of white smoke toward the ceiling. "Pretending she’s never heard my name... let's see how long you can play that game, Syrene."

Roman sat there in absolute disbelief, his mind reeling as the weight of everything he had done finally hit him.

I f*****g kissed her, he thought, running a frustrated hand through his dark hair. I broke rule number one. What the hell is it with this girl?

In the back of the cab, Syrene stared out the window, her mind racing. Who the f**k does he think he is, ordering me around like he owns me? She crossed her arms, letting out a frustrated huff. God... as much of an arrogant, controlling narcissist as he is, that was hands-down the hottest man I've ever seen. And that cock... She shook her head violently, cutting off her own train of thought. No. Absolutely not. He's a mob boss, and you have enough problems.

When the cab pulled up in front of her rundown apartment building, Syrene paid the driver and stepped onto the pavement. Instantly, her eyes caught the black sedan parked directly across the street—the same car from the club.

"So he had me followed. Fantastic," she muttered to herself. "I sleep with Roman Morelli once, and now I have a mob escort."

She raised her hand, giving the tinted driver's side window a dramatic wave and a hard eye-roll before turning to enter her building.

When she unlocked her apartment door, she found thirteen-year-old Chris sitting at the small kitchen table, staring at his hands.

"Syrene? Where did you go?" Chris asked, his voice small and trembling as he looked up. "It’s six in the morning. I woke up from a bad dream and you weren't here, and you didn't answer your phone..."

Syrene’s heart sank, her annoyance instantly evaporating into heavy guilt. "Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry," she said softly, kneeling down in front of his chair. "I got called in for a last-minute work shift, and I'm not allowed to have my phone on me while I'm on the clock. I left a note on the counter for you... Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?"

Chris shook his head quietly. "No, it's okay now," he mumbled, pushing himself off the chair and moping over to the couch, slumping down to turn on the TV.

Syrene watched him, her chest aching with a mixture of fatigue and heartbreak. "Chris, look at me... I'm so sorry, buddy. I have to work these hours so I can keep food on the table and pay the rent. I'm trying the best way I know how, I promise. Please believe me."

Chris kept his eyes glued to the bright colors of the morning cartoons, giving her a small, silent nod, but saying nothing.

Syrene stood up with a heavy sigh, running a hand over her exhausted face. Leaving him to watch his show, she headed into the bathroom to turn on the shower, letting the hot steam fill the room as she prepared to wash away the scent of Roman Morelli and face whatever mess the rest of the day was going to bring.

Two days later, at eleven in the evening, Syrene's phone buzzed on her nightstand. She reached over, squinting at the bright screen to read a text from her boss at the agency:

There's a high-profile client here who explicitly requested your services. He's paying triple. Be here in twenty minutes.

Syrene rolled her eyes, letting out a heavy scoff. Twenty minutes? What a joke. Taking a deep breath to settle her irritation, she typed back a quick response:

Can't someone else handle him? I can't possibly make it across town in twenty minutes.

Her boss didn't hesitate with his reply: No. He asked for you and only you. Get here as fast as you can. Now.

Fine, she replied, tossing the phone onto her mattress with a sigh.

After a lightning-fast shower, Syrene stood in front of her closet, pulling out a vibrant, hot-pink bandage dress that hugged every curve and barely covered the bottom of her ass. She checked her reflection, deciding to forgo a bra—her breasts were perky enough without one, and the dress held everything up firmly. And f**k the panties, she thought, tossing a matching pair back into her drawer. They never stay on long enough anyway.

She slipped into a pair of matching hot-pink open-toe stilettos, tossed her dark hair up into an effortlessly messy bun, and pulled a few loose strands down to frame her face. She swept a shimmering hot-pink shadow across her eyelids, applied dark eyeliner and mascara to make her eyes pop, and finished with a thick coat of high-shine pink lip gloss.

After two squirts of her signature perfume, she grabbed her black clutch, tossed her phone inside, and crept down the hallway to check on Chris. Seeing her brother fast asleep, she left a brief note on the kitchen counter, locked the apartment door behind her, and headed down the elevator.

Stepping out onto the street into the cool New York night breeze, Syrene instantly spotted the sleek black sedan parked right at the curb—the exact same car from two nights ago.

The moment the driver saw her emerge from the building lobby, he jumped out of the driver's seat, walked swiftly around to the back, and opened the rear passenger door for her.

Syrene rested a hand on her hip, a knowing smirk spreading across her glossy lips. "Can I help you?" she asked coolly.

"I'm here to pick you up and bring you to meet my boss," the driver replied smoothly, holding his hand out toward the open door.

"I'm actually on my way to work," she said with a sweet, patronizing smile, making a move to step past him toward the main street to hail a cab.

The driver stepped lightly into her path, his voice quiet but firm. "Syrene, who do you think hired you tonight? Your boss didn't tell you because my boss instructed him not to. Roman is waiting for you at the private lounge, and trust me... he doesn't like being kept waiting."

Syrene froze, her pulse taking a sudden spike as the name echoed in her head. Roman.

She looked at the open door of the black sedan, then at the driver, her mind racing. He had tracked down her agency, paid triple her rate, and brought her straight back into his orbit within forty-eight hours.

Realizing she was trapped between a massive payday to cover her debts and an impossibly dangerous, intoxicating man, Syrene let out a sharp breath. "Fine," she muttered, sliding gracefully into the plush leather back seat. "Let's see what the big Capo wants this time."