Ravaged by Passion: A Dark Mafia Romance

  Ravaged by Passion

  A Dark Mafia Romance

  BB Hamel

  Copyright © 2022 by B. B. Hamel

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Coverluv Book Designs

  Contents

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  Trigger Warning

  Important Note

  1. Jeanie

  2. Jeanie

  3. Jeanie

  4. Gavino

  5. Jeanie

  6. Gavino

  7. Jeanie

  8. Gavino

  9. Jeanie

  10. Gavino

  11. Gavino

  12. Jeanie

  13. Jeanie

  14. Gavino

  15. Jeanie

  16. Gavino

  17. Gavino

  18. Jeanie

  19. Gavino

  20. Jeanie

  21. Gavino

  22. Jeanie

  23. Jeanie

  24. Jeanie

  25. Jeanie

  26. Gavino

  27. Jeanie

  28. Gavino

  29. Jeanie

  30. Jeanie

  31. Gavino

  32. Jeanie

  33. Gavino

  34. Jeanie

  35. Jeanie

  36. Jeanie

  Preview: Brutal Kiss

  Also by BB Hamel

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  Trigger Warning

  This book contains graphic descriptions of sexual content, explicit violence, drug use, and past trauma. These scenes were written to create a more vivid, in-depth experience, but may be triggering for some readers.

  Read at your own risk.

  Important Note

  Ravaged by Passion takes place fifteen years after the end of Shattered by Control. All of the characters from the original trilogy are still here, plus their children and a brand-new crop of hardened mafia criminals.

  If you’re new to the Iron and Lace series, this is a great place to dive in!

  Chapter 1

  Jeanie

  My life is over if Malcolm Strafford catches me going through his desk.

  It’s a huge risk. I mean, Malcolm is not the kind of man to suffer minor slights, let alone his employees entering his office and rifling through his drawers. My hands sweat as I sit down behind the massive wooden monstrosity and wiggle my ass on his enormous leather chair. For one moment, I look out at the glass-and-wood crystal palace he calls an office and wonder what it must feel like to run one of the most powerful real estate investment firms in the world.

  It must feel great, because Malcolm walks around like he owns the sun itself.

  I rip open the top right drawer and start going through it. Pens, pencils, crap like that. I move on to the next one, find a bunch of worthless documents and receipts, and move on, going down until I reach the bottom. I kneel and dig around, searching for anything worthwhile—bank statements, handwritten notes, anything that might reveal a weakness—but there’s nothing.

  My heart’s pounding and my hands are shaking. Sweat beads down my back. The office is quiet today because most people took off early or opted to work from home. Summer Fridays have a much more flexible attendance policy. I can’t imagine that was cooked up in Malcolm’s brain—he’s the kind of man that would rather whip his employees, work them until they bleed, and leave their corpses strewn across the desert. The idea of work-life balance must sound like a foreign concept to his ear.

  “Nothing,” I whisper to myself and curse as I get up and turn to the filing cabinet on my right. The top is locked, but the next drawer slides out easily. I page through and recognize a few names. This must be where he keeps the papers related to his various current investment projects. I’m only the mail girl, but my job comes with some perks. I get to snoop without much oversight and I can move around the office without anyone noticing. I’m unimportant, which means I’m invisible and nobody thinks twice about handing over firm-sensitive documents.

  But it hasn’t been enough and I’m out of patience.

  A sound outside makes me pause. I frown, straining to hear anything. Malcolm and his crony Benedict are both in today, but there’s a big meeting happening one floor down, and I thought they’d be in there all afternoon. The executive level is a ghost town, all the offices empty, and I figured it would be the perfect moment to find something I can use against the bastard Malcolm Strafford.

  Maybe it’s the cleaning staff. I frown and keep going despite my shaking hands. I came this far and I’ve got nothing to show for it after months working here. I’m not about to leave this office until I make this trip worth the risk.

  Nothing interesting leaps out, nothing I can use to hurt Malcolm, and the documents I have in mind are nowhere in sight. As I reach down to yank open the next drawer, I hear another sound—

  The door handle turning.

  I freeze, completely unable to move my arms or my legs, and stare with a throat-pounding heart as the door swings open. I’m about to explain—I’m looking for something, I’m delivering something, oh, god, please don’t hurt me—when a man steps into the room.

  I don’t recognize him, and he doesn’t notice me at first. He silently shuts the door behind him, waits a beat, makes sure the blinds are closed, and finally turns.

  He pauses, startled, and I stare back at him. Neither of us moves. He’s tall, over six feet, and his muscular body is stuffed into a sleek black suit. He’s got gray on the fringes of his perfectly styled hair, and his dark eyes stare into mine like they’re trying to break through my skull. He’s handsome, shockingly handsome, almost beautiful. I’d guess he’s in his forties, but he’s got the body of a man ten years younger and the face of a supermodel.

  Those full lips tug into a smile and his head tilts to the side as he steps into the room.

  “You don’t belong here,” he says casually, his voice low and melodic. There’s a smile in that voice, like he knows he’s caught me doing something naughty and he’s ready to tease me for it.

  Fear knifes down my spine, but I have to keep it together. I don’t know this guy, and if I’m doing something wrong then he is too.

  “Are you lost?” I ask as casually as I can. My voice comes out squeakier than I’d like but at least it’s not trembling like my knees are. “Did Mr. Strafford send you to pick up the files?”

  His smile broadens. “Nice try, but I saw the mail cart out front and I spotted you earlier when I came in. You’re not his secretary.”

  I glare at him, racking my brain, and he’s right. I remember him walking past me, flanked by Benedict. He gave me a single glance, a quick once-over, and ignored me after that.

  “You’re the one Mr. Strafford is meeting with.”

  “That’s right.” He strolls into the room and leans against one of the chairs. “What’s the mail girl doing paging through the big boss’s filing cabinet, I wonder? Seems like something that would be frowned upon in this illustrious organization.”

  “It’s none of your business.” I shove the drawers shut. “I was asked to find something.”

  “None of my business, and yet you seem quick to make excuses.” He laughs gently. “Look, I don’t give a shit what you’re up to, so long as you
understand that you never saw me.” He walks over and rips open one of the drawers. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

  I stare at him in blatant shock. He winks at me and starts humming softly to himself as he goes through the files. His handsome lips remain locked in a smile but there’s an intense concentration in his eyes like he’s searching for something in particular. The man’s got a presence to him and part of me is screaming out for me to run, to get the heck out of here before this gets worse, but I can’t seem to make myself walk away.

  “You shouldn’t be doing that,” I say stupidly as if I weren’t doing the same thing a second ago.

  “And you shouldn’t still be here.” He glances up. “Why haven’t you left yet?”

  “You’re going through Mr. Strafford’s stuff.”

  “No kidding.” He sucks in a breath and pulls out a file. “And apparently, I’m a lucky bastard.” He flips it open and I lean forward to read the tab.

  “What do you care about luxury apartments?”

  “These luxury apartments are why I’m here.” He squints, frowning. “And your boss has been lying to me about them.”

  Another sound outside. This one’s further down the hall but it’s the distinct sound of a man talking loudly to someone like he’s on the phone. Footsteps stomp on the rug, getting closer.

  The man shoves the folder into the drawer and shuts it. The voice gets closer and I recognize the depth and tenor, and my spine turns to water. I want to cry, a stone in my throat, a sob lodged above my lungs, and the gorgeous asshole steps toward the door, listening.

  “He’s coming,” he says quietly and turns to look at me. His eyes dart around the room and I can almost see the calculations. “Do what I say if you want to get through this.”

  “I’m sorry, what—”

  He walks over, grabs my hand, and yanks me toward him.

  Chapter 2

  Jeanie

  I release a soft yelp. His palm comes up and covers my mouth hard and I grunt as he muffles my protests. I’m much smaller than him, barely five-foot-six in heels, and I probably weigh less than half of what he does. He easily manhandles me across the room and over toward the couch stuffed up against the same wall as the door in front of the main windows overlooking the office. The blinds are drawn, like they always are, but I can hear Malcolm Strafford’s voice getting closer.

  “What are you doing?” I try to say, but the man’s hand is over my mouth. He collapses back onto the couch and pulls me down with him. I release a yelp of shock as he forces me to straddle him, his one hand going down to grab my ass and shove it up against his crotch, and his other releasing my mouth to move back and grab a fist full of my curly dark hair.

  He pulls, hard, and I groan in shock and pain. His thighs are warm and I feel something long and thick between my legs, and my brain’s short-circuiting with fear, arousal, and pure rage. Who the hell is this guy, and why is he pulling me onto his lap?

  “Don’t talk,” he whispers as he pulls my face down toward his. “Follow my lead. You know what kind of man Malcolm is, don’t you?”

  I don’t have time to respond. Malcolm’s voice is on the other side of the door. “Hold on, I’ll call you back,” he says and the knob turns.

  The man acts fast. The hand gripping my ass moves down between my legs, flicks open the fastener keeping my dress slacks together, and shoves his palm down until his fingers graze over my pussy. I moan and struggle but the hand in my hair tightens and he jerks me forward, slamming his mouth against mine, not gently.

  His lips are firm and soft at the same time and his tongue floods my mouth. A heady, musky, masculine aroma fills my nostrils and the fucking asshole is kissing me, he’s kissing me, and his other hand is cupping my pussy. His fingers aren’t moving, he’s not stroking me, he’s not teasing me, but he’s right there and fuck, it feels good, it sends a sudden jolt down my spine and creates a massive tingling in my core, and I moan into his kiss, but I’m also trying to struggle because holy shit, I don’t know this guy, and now I’m straddling him, his hand’s pulling my hair, and he’s inches away from fingering me.

  And it feels good.

  That’s the worst part, the craziest part.

  His kiss is like heaven, his lips like candy, his taste like fresh grass and wind-blown wheat. The hand down my pants is big and callused and I’m tempted to start rolling my hips to get some friction going. I’m wet, dripping, and I know he can feel my heat radiating into his palm. I moan, but I also struggle, and my stupid brain is caught between an insane fight-and-fuck response, and I’m not sure if I want to punch this guy in the throat or if I want to let him have his way with me right here on Malcolm’s couch.

  I don’t have to make the choice, because the door opens again, and Malcolm steps into the room.

  I open my eyes and my boss stares at me in this stranger’s lap. He looks surprised for one split second, but quickly that surprise turns to a smirk. He clears his throat and the guy finally releases me, and I leap up like I’m shot out of a cannon, stumbling backwards.

  I nearly fall over one of the chairs, but manage to right myself. That would only make my humiliation that much more complete. My pants are open, my fly undone, and I hurry with fumbling fingers to fasten it again. I’m blushing like crazy, my face beet red.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” I say quickly before anyone can speak.

  The man’s sitting there with his legs crossed, grinning. “I thought it was exactly what it looks like. Now you’ve hurt my feelings,” he says.

  “No, please, it’s not—”

  But Malcolm interrupts me. He’s not even looking in my direction, only laughing and shaking his head. “Mr. Bruno, I have to admit, I’ve heard of your reputation, but I didn’t take it seriously. I left you alone for, what, ten minutes? And you’ve already pulled—” He glances at me, still grinning. “This girl into my office. Who are you again?”

  “Jeanie Gray,” I say, face the color of watermelon flesh. The fake name rolls off my tongue, because that’s who I am now, my old self buried and gone.

  “Right, Jeanie Gray.” He turns back to Mr. Bruno. “Really, Gavino, in my office?”

  Gavino shrugs and starts licking the tips of his fingers like he’s cleaning me off them. I nearly gag with humiliation. “I know, Malcolm, it’s tasteless, but I saw her wandering around and thought, why not? We were on a break and I thought we’d have some time alone in here.”

  “You’re insane,” Malcolm says, laughing and grinning, and I stand there like a forgotten puppy feeling so utterly small. “But I am impressed.”

  But something’s bothering me. Something in that name. Gavino Bruno. I know that name, but I’m too terrified and embarrassed, and my adrenaline’s running too hot for my brain to work right.

  “Impressed enough to finance another ten million? Or maybe drop the interest down to four-point-three?”

  “Not that impressed, unfortunately.”

  Gavino laughs and stands. “Worth a try. Shall we return to the conference room and finish up this deal?”

  Malcolm nods and slaps Gavino on the shoulder. Both men turn to the door, but Malcolm hesitates and looks back.

  “Ah, Jeanie, dear, by the way, you’re fired.”

  I stagger back as if punched in the face.

  Gavino’s face twists. It’s only an instant, but I notice it because I can’t stop staring at him. He looks angry, utterly outraged, but he quickly gets control of himself.

  “Come on, Malcolm, no need to punish the girl. It’s not her fault I’m irresistible.”

  “Be that as it may, she’s my employee and she should know better than to engage in physical liaisons on the couch in her boss’s office.”

  “I’m going to be racked with guilt over this, you know.” Gavino sounds like he’s kidding, but his fingers twitch slightly, like he wants to ball them into fists. “You shouldn’t punish her for my moral failings.”

  Malcolm glances at him and frowns. “You want me t
o spare her? How about I raise the interest to four-point-nine? You can pay for her if you want to use her like a whore.”

  I cover my mouth in shock and Gavino’s control slips. He stares hard at Malcolm, an interesting and intense glint in his eye, measuring the man. The silence is so heavy it hurts my chest, and my lips are tingling from that kiss, buzzing like they’re numb and bee-stung. I hate this, hate being called a fucking whore by that man, and I want to kill him so badly it hurts.

  But finally, Gavino shakes his head. “Fire her then.”

  “You heard him.” Malcolm doesn’t glance at me. “You’re fired. See yourself out, please. Now, Gavino, the conference room is this way. Don’t get lost and end up sleeping with any of my employees, please.”

  “No promises,” Gavino says, glancing back as he follows Malcolm into the hallway.

  There’s anger in his eyes. Anger and pity and—an apology somewhere in there? I stare back at him, hatred swelling in my chest.

  That bastard got me fired.

  But once they’re gone and I’m alone again, and my brain starts to work, I realize something more important: that bastard saved my butt.