Owned By My Ex's Mafia Uncle

Chapter 8

[Noah's POV]

Maybe trying to save face, Jake shoved the blonde forward. "Seriously, Caroline, show my uncle the video you took."

The woman smiled sweetly, all fake charm, and pulled out her phone. "Mr. Marlowe, it was her. She's the one who broke your Romanée-Conti."

I watched the video.

The girl soaked in dirty water, trembling under the jeers of those assholes.

My fingers curled into a fist. I wanted to step into that video and blow their worthless heads off.

But then she fought back, smacking the camera with a pizza box, shattering a bottle in her hand like a damn warrior.

That spark in her caught me off guard. I didn't expect it. But I liked this brave thing.

I turned to the blonde still standing there with her fake smile. "You. Get the f**k out."

She froze for a beat, then left, sulking.

Jake looked nervous now. "Uncle Noah, I know you're pissed. But look, that crazy chick? Her name's Elena Campbell. She's got issues."

He didn't treat Elena as his girlfriend?

I kept staring at him. Maybe the silence got to him, because he panicked.

"I can give you her address! Make her pay for the wine! Honestly, her face and body are great. Bad kisser, though. Still, if we train her up, she could make a killing at the bar or club, "

"Jake Marlowe," I snapped. "From now on, you're banned from Velgrave and the family business. For two years."

He went pale, but who cared?

I walked into the house and told Caleb to send him back to his mother Giselle's.

Caleb raised a brow. "Boss... how do you plan to deal with the... lady? Doesn't seem like she's Jake's girlfriend."

I knew what he was hinting at, if she wasn't involved with Jake, I had no reason to interfere.

I told him to process Elena like any other.

Sure, her body intrigued me. But the moment I found out she was Jake's girl and still a virgin, any interest I had vanished.

I'd made myself two rules in life:

Never f**k virgins.

Never touch anyone my family's been with.

The next morning, I woke with a splitting headache. The family doctor blamed it on stress and insomnia. He suggested I take a break. Maybe go on a date.

Right. And who the hell would handle the mountain of work if I went on vacation?

All I really needed was an espresso. No, three.

But Daniel, my butler, said the new beans hadn't arrived due to weather delays. Jake had used up the last batch entertaining his i***t friends.

Of course it was Jake.

I should've snapped his neck and used his skull as a mug.

Terrible start to the day.

"There's a small café not far from our meeting spot. They make a great espresso. Different flavor profile, you might like it." On the drive to a business meeting, Caleb offered a solution.

Then he added, casually, "That's where Elena Campbell works."

"Drive there."

If she was there, Caleb wouldn't need to send people to her apartment.

I put on my mask and stepped into a café smaller than my wine cellar. Besides a bulky man squeezing out of the kitchen, she wasn't there.

The owner came over, overly enthusiastic, recommending their signature blends.

I ordered three espressos, then glanced toward the wall beside the register.

A watercolor painting hung there. Price tag: $20.

Sunset. A grassy field. A wooden cabin. Orange-gold skies. Not the blue I loved.

And yet, I reached for it.

"That was painted by the most beautiful girl in this shop. She's talented, sir," the owner beamed. "That poor thing works all the time to pay for her mother's medical bills. If you buy that painting, your coffee is on the house."

I said nothing. Just pulled out two hundred-dollar bills, dropped them on the counter, and left with the coffee and the painting.

I didn't know why I bought it.

Maybe to shut him up. Maybe because it reminded me of that little drunk.

Funny thing, Caleb later hung it on the wall of my office at the casino.

One of our business partners thought it was a lost Monet or something. Offered me $200,000 to impress his wife.

I told him to take it.

And then I had a f*cking good idea. If Elena Campbell really was that talented, I could buy her art for $20 a piece and make more money than I ever did moving contraband.

Now that would be clean money.

I'd been trying to push the organization toward more legitimate income streams for years.

So I told Caleb to update Elena Campbell's status and decided I'd deal with my little artist in person.

We needed to talk business.

But I didn't expect my two i***t members to toss her into the car like a stray puppy.

Her face crashed right into my lap. And of course, I reacted.

Fuck!

I was going to toss the two idiots into a crate and feed them to the sharks.

When Elena looked up at me, I caught a glimpse of her pure blue eyes through my mask.

"Are you the murderer?"

She recognized me and called me the murderer.

Murderer? That word's a joke in the Mafia world.

I told her who I was and my fake name. Then she reached into her bra.

She was about to offer her body in exchange for freedom?

A part of me felt disappointed. She didn't seem any different from those women who flattered me out of fear.

Fuck a nice virgin doesn't need $100,000 dollars in my family's club. But I had misunderstood her.

She looked furious, stood up abruptly like she forgot she was still in my car.

Then a soft thing stumbled into my chest.

I caught a whiff of her scent - clean, like the air in the woods after rain.

She pulled away and looked me straight in the eye when I was lost in her warmth and softness.

"I'm not going to sell my body," she said firmly and offered me $200 and wanted to buy her freedom. With my money.

What a funny girl! My interest in her returned, slightly rekindled.

Unluckily, her bastard father sold her to Velgrave. It meant she said goodbye to freedom the second he did.

Here's my Grandfather's rule besides the code of silence when he founded Velgrave:

Once you enter Velgrave, there are only two ways out, betrayal... or death.

After I warned Jake not to call me again to try to change my mind, I sensed the fear in her eyes. It killed a little of the curiosity I'd felt for her.

I'd seen that look too many times from the others since I was a child. I thought she'd be different.

Good. Then she would be a good talented pet, creating more painting to earn more clean money for me. I persuaded myself to keep her.

I ran my hand slowly along her sides, checking for weapons as protocol demanded.

The moment my palm brushed beneath her uniform, her entire body reacted - tense, breath hitched, eyes wide like a startled animal. And when my fingers traced the line of her ribs, her thighs clenched involuntarily.

Interesting. Most women in her position either froze or trembled. But she... felt too much, just like what she reacted last night.

Her pulse beat frantically beneath my touch. Her skin was hot-fevered, almost. I didn't need to look to know she was wet. I could smell it, like something sweet and a bit raw.

I kept my pace controlled, detached. She was trembling on my lap, barely breathing, as my fingers slid into the wet heat between her thighs.

Was she really a virgin? Why was she reacting like this?

My fingers pushed toward that wet entrance, trying to check if she was hiding anything - poison, perhaps. There was a female spy tried something like that.

But damn...she was tight... too tight. My finger barely got past the first knuckle before her body squeezed me out.

I confirmed she was clean and no doubt about it - she was a virgin.

Every instinct in me wanted to press her back against the seat and see just how far that trembling would go.

No virgins, buddy!

I looked down to reminded my excited buddy between my legs of our rules.

Virgins were trouble!

Too many expectations. Too many complications. And the last thing I needed was to ruin something I hadn't even decided to keep.

I slid my hand out from under her shirt and leaned back, pulling a silk handkerchief from my pocket to wipe my fingers, slow and deliberate. Like a surgeon after a clean incision.

She wouldn't understand what I'd just spared her from.

That little thing looked away, cheeks flushed, chest rising with every shallow breath.

I glanced at the used handkerchief then asked to Caleb to take us to my mall.

"We've arrived, sir," Caleb said after 10 minutes of silence.

I pulled out a black card from my wallet and handed it to Elena. "Take this. After you pick out something to wear, buy whatever else you like."

"I have money." She pushed the card back and clutched the two crumpled hundred-dollar bills like they were a lifeline, her eyes flicking toward the window.

I chuckled under my breath. No woman had ever refused my money before. "That little cash of yours won't even buy you a sleeve in this place."

"Then thank you," she said flatly, her eyes glued to the mall ahead, not even bothering to hide the desire to bolt.

I slipped the black card into the pocket of her uniform and gripped the back of her neck, forcing her to look at me.

"Mr. N..." Her blue eyes blinked up at me, confused.

"Listen carefully, little thing," I said, my voice low. "If I don't see you back here in thirty minutes, I'll pay a visit to J&M Cafe and St. Mary Medical Center. Let's see what your boss and your sick mother have to say. Got it?"

The light in her eyes dimmed. Fear started to creep in. I hated that look.

"Now get out," I snapped. "Before I change my mind and send you straight to a s*x club instead."