Paul Vincenzio - Alpha Male - Chicago

Mafia Vows Book 3: An Enemies to

Lovers Mafia Romance Laura Peterson
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Copyright © 2023 by Laura Peterson

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Paul Vincenzio – Alpha Male is the third book in the Chicago Mafia Vows series.
This book can also be read as a stand-alone romance.
Author's Note: The book contains subject matter that may be sensitive to some readers. The book contains triggering content related to sex, abuse and violence. 18+ only.
Please read responsibly.
 Contents

1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
30. Chapter 30
31. Chapter 31
32. Chapter 32
33. Chapter 33
34. Chapter 34
35. Chapter 35
36. Epilogue 1
37. Epilogue 2
38. Epilogue 3
About the Author
Also By
 Chapter 1

Paul

“Y ou are a good-looking mother fucker.” I say this to my reflection in the steamy bathroom mirror. I like to look good. I’m
funny that way. My brothers tease me about being OCD about my looks, but I say you can never be too attractive.
I take out the small bottle of Visine from my suit pocket and put some drops in my baby blues to get rid of the redness
in my sleepless eyes from last night’s delightful but busy threesome. I step out of the en suite bathroom into bedroom, I reach in
my jacket pocket for my breath spray and give myself a few squirts in the mouth.
Holy fuck! Nice view! The two flight attendants I fucked last night are still naked and cuddling on the king-sized bed. I am
getting a boner just thinking about how much we fucked night! And the kink! Holy fuck! Handcuffs, spanking, anal, they fucking
loved it. I can still see my red handprint on one of the girl’s naked ass. What was her name?
In this cutthroat city where the Chicago Outfit reigns and mobsters play the game of ruthless betrayal—women—they’re a
different beast altogether. See, in my head, women fall neatly into three categories: Want to Fuck Me, Don’t Want to Fuck Me,
Hate Me.
The ‘Want to Fuck Me’ chicks? They leave lipstick stains on my collar, while their perfume mixed with the musky scent of
their wet pussies linger long after they’ve left the room. These women see the suit, the power, the danger, and, hell, they’re
attracted like moths to a flame. But it’s not just physical, it’s more—like they’re hooked on the thrill of being around a guy like
me. It’s intoxicating, really. The power I hold over them.
The ‘Don’t Want to Fuck Me’ ladies, well, they’re a breath of fresh air—sometimes. They’re the ones who look through me,
not fazed by the designer threads or the power and authority that I command. It’s like I’m a puzzle, but they don’t want to solve
it. Frankly, I don’t get it, but who am I to judge? Maybe they’re smarter than the rest, dodging a bullet they know will only bring
trouble.
And ah, the ‘Hate Me’ crowd—they’re the most interesting of all. These are the women with fire in their eyes, ready to
challenge me at every turn. Is it real hate or some twisted form of attraction? Hell, if I know. They keep me on my toes, though.
There’s a certain rush, a goddamn electrical charge in the air when we lock horns. They loathe what I represent but can’t ignore
me, and that? That’s a heady mix of tension and anger that I can’t help but find hot. Who doesn’t love a good hate fuck?
Yeah, love me or hate me, I leave an impression, and let me tell you—indifference is never in the cards when you’re Paul
Vincenzio.
I always bring my “dates” to this beautiful penthouse hotel suite. The suite is decorated in sleek modern lines and a few red
and white Italian silk pillows here and there. It is two rooms wide, with a spacious living room, master bedroom and full en
suite bathroom. The view of Chicago from the floor to ceiling windows is spectacular. This morning the bedroom is filled with
the musky scent of pussy. As I step into the living room, I hear the whirring of the hotel’s air-conditioning unit, and the soft
snoring of the flight attendants.
I moved into this hotel suite over two months ago in order to redecorate my downtown Chicago penthouse. My ex-wife had
decorated in frou frou pink mafia princess chic. Ugh! I had everything redone - greys, whites and blacks - no more fucking
pink! I should have never married that traitorous bitch! My penthouse is all finished and looks fucking great! The walls are all
painted in grey with black accents. The leather sofas are top of the line and feel like butter under my ass. My floors are made of
the finest oak and polished daily. The fifty-foot glass windows tower over the high-end kitchen, making my penthouse feel more
like a loft with the city and Lake Michigan as its background. I even added a special playroom/dungeon for some kinky fun.
I don’t bring any of my hook-ups to my bedroom in my penthouse - it’s my sanctuary. Plus, I like to keep my bedroom
smelling clean, so I use the suite at the Windsor Hotel instead. It’s free because it’s one of the legit businesses owned by The
Chicago Outfit. This way, I can fuck with whoever I want, whenever I want. I don’t even have to kick them out in the morning.
My bodyguards handle that. But, my new special playroom, yeah, I’ve got big plans for that.
Last night was a pleasant surprise, those flight attendants were hanging around in the hotel’s bar when I stopped in late for a
drink and the condensed version is I fucked them all night. I even got their phone numbers for the next time they are in Chicago.
I am tempted to go back to bed and restart the fuck-fest but I just washed them off of me in the shower. I am already dressed in
my expensive Versace suit so, until next time.
I sit down on the living room’s massive leather sectional. Shit it’s only 8:00 a.m., a little early for me to go into the office, I
think I will please my perfect brother Bobby and watch the news. He is always on my fucking case to know what is going on in
the world since I have taken over as sole Capo of the Outfit.
As I grab the remote and turn on the flat screen TV, I sit back on the sectional and cross my legs at the ankle. I turn down the
volume because I don’t want to wake up the girls. I am not into awkward good-byes. I told them last night to sleep in and order
breakfast on me this morning.
Life is pretty fucking good. After the shoot out in the church with fucking Alfonso we now have an alliance with Nikolai
Federov, Head of the Chicago Bratva. The drugs are flowing including Nikolai’s designer cocaine. The Outfit’s strip club, “On
All Fours,” is thriving. The casinos are going to make more money this year than ever. Our online gambling sites are racking in
millions.
The Chicago underworld is dead quiet. I miss the action — it’s been months since I killed somebody. But, everybody’s
happy: the Bratva, our soto capos, cops, politicians, and even the New York Mob Families.
The only bad thing is Bobby had to step down as co-capo so he could spend his time going to the hospital and running his
real estate empire, Fielding Enterprises. Gwen, his 20-year-old wife is still in the hospital in a fucking coma. I don’t know
how he does it. I know he has been keeping his dick in his pants the past two months, he is a way better man than me. I would
be fucking anything that moves, if I were him. Fidelity is not for me.
I start paying attention to the local news and what the fuck, our brand new mayor, Devin Cochran, is giving his inauguration
speech.
The reporter standing behind the huge crowd announces, “A significant event is unfolding that will shape the course of
Chicago’s future. The newly elected mayor, Devin Cochran, standing tall and confident, is addressing a diverse crowd gathered
in the heart of the city. He is giving his inauguration speech against the backdrop of towering skyscrapers and historical
landmarks, a reflection of the Chicago’s rich history and promising future.”
“The young mayor exudes an air of authority and cuts a distinguished figure with salt-and-pepper hair and a crisp suit. His
presence commands attention as he stands at the podium, microphone in hand, ready to address the eager crowd that has come
to witness this important moment. The mayor’s gaze sweeps across the crowd, faces encompassing the diverse tapestry of
Chicago’s population.
The media has been told Cochran plans to begin his speech with a powerful promise, one that resonates with the hopes of the
city’s residents. He is planning to clean up the streets of Chicago, rid them of drugs, and put an end to the grip of organized
crime that has plagued the city for far too long. Let’s cut to the mayor. He is about to begin his speech.”
“Ladies and gentlemen of Chicago, thank you for gathering here today as we embark on a new chapter for our beloved city. I
stand before you not just as your elected mayor, but as a fellow Chicagoan who is deeply committed to the betterment of our
community. A new era’s upon us, and I ain’t just wearin’ this fancy suit to look pretty.” Cochran jokes.
The crowd laughs at his dumb joke. I lean back on the couch, one eyebrow raised as the mayor’s voice oozes from the TV.
Promises flow like honey, sweet words meant to lull the masses into some dream of a crime-free city. I’m not fooled—not for a
second. Fucking new mayor. Who does he think he is?
Cochran continues. “Today, I make a solemn promise to each and every one of you. We will no longer tolerate the presence
of drugs that have torn families apart, and we will put an end to the organized crime that has cast a shadow over our city for far
too long.”
What a joke! Good luck with that. The Outfit has ruled Chicago for decades, and we always will, you smug bastard.
“Chicago was built on a foundation of strength and resilience, and that spirit still runs through our veins. It’s time for us to
come together, to reclaim our streets and neighborhoods from the grip of crime. We will invest in our police force, empower
our communities, and restore the safety that has been taken from us. This city was built on strength and grit, and that hasn’t
changed. We’ll stand firm, arm in arm, showing these criminals we are not afraid!” The mayor exclaims.
My lips curl into a half-smile as I listen to the crowd cheer. Arm in arm, huh? More like arm in arm with those lining their
pockets with Outfit money behind closed doors.
“But change begins with us. We will stand united against those who seek to tear us apart. We will forge a new path for
Chicago, one that is defined by progress, unity, and safety for all.” Cochran drones on.
“Blah, blah fucking blah!” I say out loud as I tap my fingers on an armrest. Do people really believe this shit? We criminals
won’t just vanish—we’ll adapt, evolve, and find new ways to exert our power. Cochran is too young and stupid to realize that
we have the cops and the local politicians on our payroll. Everyone in city hall does the Outfit’s bidding.
“Together, we will take back our streets, rid our neighborhoods of fear, and give our people the peace they deserve. I will
ensure that Chicago becomes a shining example of what a community can achieve when it stands united. I swear to you good
people of Chicago, we’re going wipe those drugs off our streets, sweep out the vermin, and bring back the good ol’ days.”
Cochran promises.
I chuckle. The good ol’ days, huh? When the streets were ruled by my father and the Outfit, when deals were made in back
rooms and a nod was all it took to put a bullet in somebody’s head? The mayor has balls to make such a promise, it’s time he
learns his place.
“Change starts with us, with unity. Together, we’ll make Chicago a beacon of progress, a city that won’t back down.”
Cochran pounds his fist on the podium.
I lean forward, my gaze fixed on the TV. “Dear Mr. Mayor, you’re fucking dreaming -- peace is an illusion. For every
criminal you take off the streets, another will rise. It is a a dance Chicago knows all too well.” I say out loud with a smirk on
my face. Unity, huh? Such a pretty word to throw around. This fuck has no idea the alliances and rivalries that run deep beneath
the streets of Chicago. Unity is a weapon the Chicago Outfit has wielded for our benefit over the years.
“We’ll rewrite the story of this city, a story of strength, hope, and triumph.” The crowd cheers at the mayor’s words.
I smirk. The story of the Outfit is one of survival, of adapting to the ever-changing landscape of power. The mayor is living
in a fucking fairy tale. I laugh as I watch the cheering crowd on the TV screen. I hate politicians. So, Mayor Cochran has grand
plans for the city. So do I. I have my own plans. In Chicago’s underworld, I hold the strings, and the new mayor will just be
another puppet dancing for the capo of the Chicago Outfit.
Fuck, the stupid reporter is yakking again, “As the mayor delivered his speech, his words carried the weight of his
commitment to making the city safe again. He spoke of revitalizing neighborhoods, supporting law enforcement, and fostering a
sense of community that would stand united against crime. The passion in his voice was palpable, and it seemed that his
dedication to this cause was unwavering…What, Oh my God!”
I hear the oh so familiar sound of a gunshot, I would know that sound anywhere. What the fuck! I watch the TV as the new
mayor’s head explodes!

Bobby

I’m tired. I sit next to Gwen as she lies in her hospital bed. She is still in a coma, hooked up to monitors, but she is breathing on
her own. It is soft and quiet, like a child’s breath, warm as a summer breeze.
Gwen is so pale, her skin almost luminescent. Her beautiful blonde hair is dull, and her lips are chapped. She has lost
weight. She looks so fragile.
 Her hospital room is boring and bland with white walls and a white ceiling. The fluorescent lights are always on, never
dimming. Her room is within sight of the nurses’ station; I can always see a nurse or doctor walking around, checking on
patients. I watch the monitors next to her bed. I listen to the steady pulse of a heart monitor, the blips and swishes of her vital
signs and the low hum of the lights.
The air around her smells stale, sterile, like rubbing alcohol and despair. It is bitter, and burns my nose.
I have barely touched Gwen in over two months. I can’t bring myself to. I can’t touch my wife, my love, my life. What the
fuck is wrong with me? So, I take her hand and hold it in mine. It has gotten colder. I rub my thumb over the back of her hand,
trying to warm it.
The doctors keep telling me that Gwen is healing. It’s a good sign that she can breathe on her own without a respirator. They
assure me that her brain scans have returned with no signs of trauma form the bullet that grazed her skull. So, they feel
confident that she has not suffered any brain damage. But I have my doubts. If nothing is wrong with my wife, then why hasn’t
she woken up? I feel like I have spent weeks hovering over her hospital bed, sitting with her, talking to her, and even reading to
her, but she never responds. Why the fuck won’t she wake up? I just want to shake her and scream,“wake up!”
I love my wife. I miss her. I miss the sound of her voice. I miss sex. I miss her sweet ass spooning my cock in bed while she
sleeps. I miss her pussy, her tits, her mouth, everything. I am losing my patience. I don’t know what to do anymore. I have
already flown in a famous neurologist from London to examine her. Of course he agrees with the opinions of her team of
neurologists at this hospital.
I am so angry. That fucking cockroach Alfonso not only betrayed me but almost killed my wife. I am happy Nikolai blew his
fucking brains out.
I replay that day over and over again in my mind. If only we hadn’t gone to that wedding, if only I had pushed Gwen to the
ground and covered her body, if only…it is my fault. I couldn’t protect her, the one thing I promised her I would do. The guilt is
eating me up inside. I failed her. She is the best thing in my life and I almost got her killed. What am I going to do if she never
wakes up? I don’t want to lose her. I love her. I need her. I would pray if I believed there were a God, but I don’t. How could a
benevolent God let this happen to my innocent wife? My father would kill me if he heard me ask that question. Thank fuck he is
in Italy enjoying his retirement. My brothers and I didn’t tell him about Gwen, because the last thing I needed was him flying
back to Chicago and throwing his weight around trying to be Capo again.
I gently put my hand on her wrist and feel her pulse. “C’mon Gwen. Don’t give up. Fight. Come back to me. I will do
anything if you come back to me.” I feel the tears rolling down my face.
I hear a commotion in the hospital’s hallway. People are screaming. What the fuck? What is happening. I stand up and open
the door—the hallway is filled with people running to the elevators. Some are crying, others have a look of fear on their faces.
Guards are posted at the far end of the hall and seem to be holding back a flood of people. My two bodyguards on either side
of the door look confused as they look at their phones.
“What happened?” I yell at a Doctor running past.
“The Mayor was just assassinated!”
I hurry over to Gwen’s hospital bed and turn on the TV with the white remote attached to her bed. I watch a replay of the
mayor’s head exploding from a gunshot. Gasps and screams rippled through the crowd as a commotion ensued at the front of
the stage. Security personnel sprang into action, surrounding the mayor protectively. But it was too late.
What the fuck? I am stunned. The new idealistic mayor, who was against organized crime and promised to clean up the
streets of Chicago, is dead. This is bad, very fucking bad.
Who? How? Why? I ask myself but I can’t even think straight. My mind is racing with possibilities. Is the mayor’s murder a
sign that the Outfit’s peaceful alliance with the Russian Bratva is over?
As police arrive and the scene continues to unfold on the screen, I can only think that a new game is starting and if so, I need
to play my part. The mayor’s death is just the beginning, and the city’s fate hangs in the balance—a reminder that the battle for
the Chicago’s underworld is far from over. I need to call my brothers.
As I pull my cellphone from my suit’s breast pocket, I glance at Gwen. She’s awake.
 Chapter 2

Two weeks later...

Bobby

W etable
are sitting in the conference room in Fielding Enterprises. The room is large, with a long polished mahogany conference
that can seat 20 or more people. The walls are made of beautiful and expensive light gray stones stacked in rows
and columns. There are no windows, and the room feels cold.
It is too risky to meet in the offices that the Outfit uses to conduct business. The feds may be listening. After the Mayor’s
assassination, the Outfit is public enemy number one. I sit at the head of the table. My two brothers, Vinnie and Paul, sit on
either side of me. Nikolai Fedorov, Pakhan of the Chicago Bratva, his right-hand man, Misha Pavlov, and Tatyana Borisova—
Nikolai’s fixer/assistant, sits next to Paul. Ramone Moya, head of the Moya Cartel and Fraco Balderas, leader of the Razors
Chicago street gang, sit next to Vinnie. Detective John “Murph” Murphy, the Outfit’s paid informant in the Chicago Police
Department, sits opposite me at the other end of the conference table. Renato “Reno” Pierro, the Outfit’s Enforcer, sits to the
left of him.
Fraco Balderas is a tall man, wide of frame and thick of neck. He looks strong enough to wrestle a bull to the mat. His thick,
dark hair is slicked back, exposing the scar that runs across his forehead. He has dark, deep-set eyes.
Ramone Moya is a big muscular man, with dark skin, jet-black hair, and a toothpick he always sucks on. He always dresses
in black. Sleeve tattoos cover his arms. Callouses cover his hands from shooting a lot of guns during his career as a cartel
member.
The room is silent, with no bodyguards in sight. The bodyguards were told to stay outside of the conference for security. All
eyes are on me, although I haven’t been Capo of the Chicago Outfit for a few weeks. Paul is more than happy to let me lead this
meeting. He also knows that the mayor’s murder has become a fucking circus. I interlock my fingers and place them on the
conference table in front of me. It's time to begin.
“I’m sure you all know why we are here today,” the room fills with silent nods. “Two weeks ago, Mayor Devin Cochran was
gunned down after his inaugural speech. And with him being a vocal opponent of organized crime, the heat is on the Outfit and
the Bratva. The authorities have been crawling up our asses since then and our illegal activities must remain low key until this
is resolved. My question is: does anyone have any intel on who murdered the mayor?”
“I can assure you it wasn’t the Bratva.” Nikolai states as he brushes invisible lint off of his Brioni suit.
“You could have ordered a hit,” Paul suggests.
“Why would we do that? Everything has been going so smoothly. The demand for my designer cocaine has been increasing
every day, and the profits are pouring in. Besides, a professional sniper clearly fired the shot. I had my hacker conduct some
research on the dark web. If it was a hit, he would have found out, and no snipers were hired by anyone in Chicago.”
The tension in the room is palpable. The last thing I want is a knock down drag out between Paul and Nikolai.
Murph jumps in. “I got a video from my pal at the FBI.”
He plays the video on his phone and holds the phone up so everyone can see.
Murphy explains, “The footage was taken by a nearby security camera. As you can see, this shot came from a rifle that was
mounted onto a drone — a sniper-mounted drone, which then exploded after the kill shot. So instead of a sniper, this was
actually a ghost—there was no evidence left except for the damaged bullet casing. Who was controlling the drone? That’s what
we need to figure out.”
Everybody is speechless after watching the video.
Paul breaks the silence by exclaiming, “What the fuck?”
“Actually, it is an excellent way to kill someone,” Reno interjects.
“My bet is on the military or CIA. They use drones, don’t they?” Ramone says in his distinct Spanish accent.
“Mayor Cochran was probably not important enough to be assassinated like President Kennedy was,” Paul smirks. “What
about your genius computer hacker, Nikolai? He could have hacked a drone and done everything from his secret hidey hole.”
Nikolai merely rolls his eyes in response.
“Maybe the Outfit is responsible.” Misha accuses Paul.
“Enough,” I state firmly. “The Bratva didn’t do it and neither did we; we have too much to gain from our partnership, so who
assassinated the mayor?”
Nobody says anything.
“Come on, let’s try to think out of the box. Has anything out of the ordinary happened over the past few months?” I ask.
“I can’t say if it has anything to do with the mayor’s murder, but a new gang is pushing their weight around in Chicago. They
aren’t that big. My crew has warned them off our turf while they tried to sell drugs. We captured one and tortured him. He
confessed he worked for Basilio Camarena, the leader of the Camarena Cartel just outside of Columbia.” Fraco announces.
“What type of drugs were they selling?” Nikolai probes further.
“Oh, the usual: heroin, cocaine - not the best quality, really. We aren’t too concerned; they’re idiots if you ask me.”
“I’m familiar with Basilio Camarena and the Camarena cartel—he’s trying to compete with the Moya Cartel and smuggle
drugs into the United States. I didn’t know his drugs were already in Chicago,” Ramone offers.
“Ramone, should we be concerned about this new gang? Could they have organized the attack on the mayor?” I ask.
“No. Basilio and his two brothers are too stupid, too small, and don’t have enough money for an operation like that. They
cannot threaten our actions here. I’ll take care of them when I get back home to South America.”
Of course, we all know what “take care of them” means.
“Any other ideas?” I ask the group.
“Maybe it’s someone who would benefit from the Mayor’s death. Does he have any enemies or an unhappy wife or partner?”
Vinnie asks.
Vinnie is the middle child of the Vincenzio family. He is intelligent and even-tempered, as well as practical—he manages
“On All Fours,” and serves as our consigliere. Vinnie is married to a sweet girl whose father is one of our Soto capos, and she
just gave birth to their first baby. Vinnie isn’t as attractive or charismatic as Paul or me; his slender physique and average
appearance make him look like your typical Italian boy next door.
Paul used to joke that his good looks make chicks’ panties wet, while my looks make chicks’ drop their panties and bend
over! I digress.
“The Feds already looked at the mayor and his wife but found nothing. Squeaky clean. Unfortunately, they will not rest until
they take down the Outfit and the Bratva since you share an alliance. And since the mayor made it clear he wanted to end
organized crime.” Murphy explains.
Vinnie speculates, “the only people that benefits from the mayor’s death is us.”
“Fuck! We can barely run our businesses with them breathing down our fucking necks,” Paul yells as he slams his fist onto
the table.
 “You guys need to lie low for a while. Stay off the streets. Stop dealing drugs. No loan sharking. No fighting. No killing.
Become upstanding law-abiding citizens.” Murphy advises.
“How fucking long?” Paul asks.
“I don’t know, but the FBI is like a dog with a bone — they are determined to prove their theory that you guys were behind
the Mayor’s hit. Everyone is scared — the city alderman, politicians, and the cops. We are all worried about being connected
to you and ending up losing our jobs or in prison. Stop the bribes and the payoffs. The feds are looking at everyone. We can’t
associate with you for a while. We need to protect ourselves, or we’ll all go down.”
“Do they have any other theories about the assassination? I ask. This is bad.
“Nope. They are going to take both the Outfit and the Bratva down for this.”
“But we didn’t do it,” Vinnie declares.
“It doesn’t make a difference. They need someone for the mayor’s assassination in order to satisfy the people, and you’re it.”
“Fuck!” Paul pounds his fist on the table again.
“I can try calling Travis Beckman, the District Attorney - maybe he knows something that could help us.” I offer.
“Don’t count on it. He won’t want anything to do with you; the feds probably have their eyes on him since you two went to
school together.” Murphy says.
I let out a long sigh.
“Well, there is only one solution to this problem.” Nikolai declares.
“And what might that be, Oh Wise One?” Paul asks with a smirk on his face. He always gets irritated and sarcastic when
things don’t go according to plan.
“We must investigate the mayor’s assassination. We have to provide our own suspect for the FBI, complete with hard
evidence. The question is, who benefited from the mayor’s death? If it wasn’t the Bratva or the Outfit, it may be someone else
that wants us to take the blame for the mayor’s murder. Meanwhile, we need to maintain a low profile and keep our soldiers off
the streets, as suggested by the lieutenant.”
“Our sotto capos will not agree with this,” Paul says as he glares at me.
“We’ll take care of them; offer them larger portions of earnings from casinos and online gambling temporarily. They will be
happy with that rather than going to prison. So, how do we find this killer, Nikolai?” I ask.
“I will have my computer expert in London, Alexei Petrov, look into everything related to the former mayor. Bobby, it’d be
best if your expert works closely with Alexei.”
“Go on, Reno. Give Nikolai your contact information and reach out to his hacker; you’re perfect for the job. Murph, can you
help at all?”
“Not sure Bobby. I took a big risk getting that video for you. Best I can do is let you know what the feds are doing. Can’t do
much more without raising eyebrows and causing trouble for us both.” Murphy says as he rises from his chair.
“I understand. Just keep us updated and stay safe, okay?”
“Will do, Bobby. See ya later.” With that, Murphy leaves the room.
“The Razors will keep their eyes and ears open for any news about the mayor’s murder,” Fraco suggests.
Ramone stands up and says, “I’ll talk to my contacts in other cartels as soon as I finish my business in the Estados Unidos.
Keep me updated. Adios!”
Once he is gone, Nikolai wonders aloud, “What about our enemies or other criminal organizations?”
“I can’t think of a single group that would dare take on the Bratva and The Outfit. The Japanese prefer to stay within their
own circles, and Liam Murtaugh, head of the Irish Mob, already controls the southern Chicago suburbs and part of Indiana. I
have met him a few times. The Irish Mafia does their own thing…weapons dealing, drugs, and even an underground fight club.
They have never been interested in our territories. We can ask around. But I am doubtful anyone would make that big a play
against the Bratva and the Outfit.” I explain.
Nikolai, Misha, and Tatyana stand at the same time.
“Always a pleasure, gentlemen.” Nikolai shakes my hand before he walks out of the conference room with Misha and
Tatyana trailing behind.
Paul, Vinnie, and I are the only ones left in the conference room. I run my fingers through my hair as I wrestle with frustration
over both this issue and what is happening with Gwen.
“Can you stay for five more minutes? I need to talk about something with you both.” I ask my brothers.
“Sorry Bobby, I have an employee meeting at On All Fours that I can’t miss,” Vinnie replies.
“Of Course, Vinnie, you are probably in a hurry to fuck a stripper!” Paul smirks.
“No. I am a happily married man, unlike you, Paulie.”
“Don’t fucking call me that, asshole!”
Vinnie stands up and walks around the conference table. He beelines for Paul and messes up his perfectly styled hair with
one hand before he runs out of the room. The two of them act like kids sometimes.
“Fuck you!” Paul screams as he tries to fix his hair.
 “Paul…”
“How’s Gwen?” Paul asks, interrupting me.
“It’s been two weeks since she came out of her coma, yet she still won’t talk. She eats and drinks though, and the Physical
Therapist has her walking around for most of the day. The Speech Therapist is going to see if they can get her talking again. The
doctors think maybe it could be PTSD from the shooting—they want her to have a psych evaluation just to make sure.”
“She’ll come around. She loves you, Bobby. Hey, do you want to hear about the two flight attendants I spanked and fucked?”
He wiggles his eyebrows.
“No. I don’t want to hear about your kinky fuck fest.”
“Why not? I am trying to be nice. Let you live vicariously through me, since you aren’t getting any.”
“Fuck you. I’m a happily married man.”
“Oh, I forgot, Saint Bobby and Saint Vinnie. Well, enjoy your hand while your wife is in the hospital!”
“Listen, Paul, now that Gwen is awake, I am going to need to spend more time with her. Plus, Zach needs me to completely
take over Fielding Enterprises because he wants to retire.”
“What’s that got to do with me, bro?”
“Given the feds are investigating the mayor’s death, you need to stay away from the Outfit office; Someone probably bugged
the place. We’ll just leave enough staff to handle the legal businesses. Paul, don’t go near anyone in the Outfit or the office
anymore.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do all day?”
“I need you to take over as acting CEO of Fielding Enterprises until I have time to run things again.”
“What? Are you fucking crazy? I don’t know how to be a CEO!” Paul takes his breath spray out of his pocket and sprays his
mouth. I notice his eyebrow twitching, a sign that he is stressed.
“It won’t be hard. All you have to do is come into the office every day and act as the boss. You can use my office, go to
meetings, answer the phone. I need someone trustworthy that I can rely on, so no one takes advantage of me while I’m gone.
This place needs a firm leader; Zach was too lenient with his staff. I want them to fear crossing you or getting on your bad side.
My secretary will do all the heavy lifting and help guide you through everything. You can call me any time you have questions.
The President runs the business so you will just be a figurehead.”
“So, you want me to scare people? Threaten people?”
“No. Paul. This isn’t the Outfit. It is a legitimate company with actual employees, not a criminal enterprise. You just need to
represent me and not take any shit from anybody.”
“How many hours a day do I have to be here? You know I don’t roll out of bed until 8 in the morning!”
“9:00 - 5:00 will do.”
“No way. I am not working a fucking 8-hour day. How about 9:00 - 3:00?”
“First it won’t be work. You just need to pretend to run the place. How about 9:00 – 4:00?”
“Fine, brother. How much will I get paid? CEOs make big bucks.”
I roll my eyes. Only Paul would think about being paid for a pretend job.
“We can save that discussion for later. For now, since you are here already, I need to introduce you to the people on this
floor—the colleagues you will work with.”
“Fuck that, bro. I don’t want to meet anyone. Just shoot them an email before my first day of work. When do I start this
bullshit job?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow? What the fuck! I am fucking Tiffany tonight, and I mean all night.” Paul winks at me. “Tonight is her night off
from ‘On All Fours.’” Paul leans back in his chair and puts his feet on the conference table.
That reminds me, I need to talk to Paul about Lev Volkov.
“You can fuck your stripper girlfriend some other time. The men would respect you more if you had a respectable woman in
your life, Paul. Maybe an arranged marriage is something to think about.”
“Fuck no! I’m not going down that road again. If I want people to respect me, then I’ll do it with my fists.” Paul clenches his
fists in determination.
“Paul, it’s about the New York Russian Bratva—”
“I swear to God, if Lev Volkov’s trying to muscle into our territory—”
I hold up my hand, silencing Paul. “No, it’s not that. Lev wants an alliance, a marriage alliance.”
Paul’s eyes narrow skeptically. “I hope you’re not suggesting—”
“Yes, that is exactly what I’m suggesting.”
A moment of silence stretches between us. Paul is watching me like a hawk.
“Bobby, I’ve been through a divorce. You know how that fucking marriage sucked the life out of me. And now you want me
to marry some mafia princess I’ve never even met?” Paul asks, his defenses rising like walls going up brick by brick.
I lean forward. “Paul, listen to me. We can’t afford to turn Lev down. Not only does this alliance solidify our relationship
with the Bratva, but it also gives us a foothold in the East. This isn’t just business; this is a strategy for survival.” I straighten
my tie. “Her name is Karina Volkov, Lev Volkov’s 18-year-old daughter.”
Paul combs his finger through his hair in agitation. “An 18-year-old, Bobby? I’m 35, damn near old enough to be her father!”
“Don’t you think I know that? But we don’t get to choose Paul. We play the cards we’re dealt. That’s how we’ve survived.
That’s how we’ll continue to survive. Besides, as Capo of the Chicago Outfit, you need an heir.”
Paul doesn’t understand. This isn’t just a marriage; it’s a lifeline, a new chapter in the book of the Chicago Outfit.
“Great! Just fucking great! Another arranged marriage with a spoiled mafia princess, another prison sentence! What if this
alliance blows up in our faces?”
He sighs, and for the first time, I see the weight of his responsibilities as Capo of the Chicago Outfit dawning on him.
Sometimes we've got to make sacrifices and tough choices to create our own destiny even if it isn't what we want.
“Then we deal with it, Paul, just like we’ve dealt with everything else. Together.”
Finally, he nods, a mixture of reluctance and acceptance in his eyes. “Alright, Bobby. I’ll marry her, but only after all this shit
with feds is over.”
“C’mon, get off your ass so I can introduce you.”
Paul rolls his eyes at me as I stand up and walk out of the conference room.
The 90th floor of Fielding Enterprises is alive with energy. Everywhere I look, people are bustling about, typing away on
their laptops or talking excitedly in small groups. The floor is arranged in an open plan with workstations placed in cubicles
that are divided by glass walls. The cubicles are arranged in a grid pattern with aisles that provide access to each workstation.
Along the walls, there are conference rooms and a large reception area with comfortable seating. Splashes of bright colors
from expensive artwork cover the walls and add a warm touch.
As soon as I introduce Paul, I need to go to the hospital to look in on Gwen.

Paul

Fucking Bobby and his tailor-made bespoke suits. He's a billionaire now because he married Gwen and got his hands on Zach
Fielding’s real estate business. As I leave the conference room, the complexity of what I’ve just agreed to starts sinking in.
Pretend CEO? And a fucking arranged marriage! An alliance with a whole new world of responsibilities and uncertainties.
Another marriage of convenience for the Outfit—fucking inconvenient for me. This is an unexpected plot twist I never saw
coming.
After all, even a marriage of convenience needs a touch of the inconvenient—like compassion, like understanding, like love.
And who knows? Maybe I’ll find love this time around. Fuck! Who am I kidding? Never gonna happen.
As I follow Bobby into the open office, I see employees running around like fucking rats. I can’t believe I agreed to this! I am
not a CEO. I am a mobster. I may wear expensive designer suits, but that doesn’t hide the fact that I am a criminal. Oh, well, I
guess I need to do something while the feds crawl up our asses. This has to be better than sitting on my ass at home streaming
Netflix. I straighten my tie as I stand next to Bobby.
“People, may I have your attention.” Bobby announces.
I can’t help but notice all the female employees looking at Bobby like he is some sort of God. Fucking Bobby always was
popular with chicks. I am just as good looking as he is. What has he got that I don’t? Never could figure that shit out.
“I want to introduce you to my brother, Paul Vincenzio. He will be acting CEO in my absence for…”
I stop listening to Bobby’s speech when I notice a very young red-haired girl out of the corner of my eye. The red-haired girl
has a petite figure and wide eyes that dart around the room, drinking in every word Bobby says. She has an obvious crush on
him. She wears thick-rimmed glasses that make her eyes appear larger, and a frumpy outfit that does nothing to flatter her
figure. Her skin is pale and dotted with freckles. Wow, she is young! I wonder what she does here?
“Paul,” Bobby says, interrupting my thoughts. Do you have anything to add?”
“See you tomorrow.” I stride over to the elevator as the doors slide open. I step inside and the doors close behind me.
Aisling

I can barely take my eyes off of Bobby Vincenzio. He has that kind of charisma that commands everyone’s attention when he
walks into a room. He is the reason I wanted to intern at Fielding Enterprises. He is so handsome, with deep brown eyes and a
strong jawline. His skin is lightly tanned and his hair looks like decadent dark, almost black, chocolate. His tailored suit
accentuates his physique, without being flashy. Bobby is polite, well-mannered and smart. All the women in the office love
Bobby, he is swoon worthy.
His brother, Paul Vincenzio, on the other hand, seems crude, rude and belligerent. He looks like an Italian mob boss. He is
just as handsome as Bobby but his face has a sinister edge to it. His entire persona exudes power and danger. His blue eyes are
bright with a dark gleam in their depths, they look as if they could see right through you. They remind me of a shark’s eyes. His
expensive suit clings to his muscular body accentuating his physique in a way that is almost seductive. His hands look
calloused, probably from strangling people.
I am so disappointed that Paul, and not Bobby, will be running Fielding Enterprises.
 Chapter 3

10:00 a.m.

Paul

“F uck I overslept. I didn’t listen to Bobby. I spent the night in my hotel suite fucking Tiffany. God, she has an impressive
body—big tits (even though they are fake) and a round ass. My cock just couldn’t get enough of her wet pussy last night. I
lost count of how many times I fucked her.
As I reach the 90th floor of my new office building, Fielding Enterprises, I quickly adjust my tie and spritz some minty breath
spray into my mouth. How many floors do they own? It can’t be the entire building!
Ignoring the corporate assholes as I walk through the glass cubicles, I make my way to what used to be Bobby’s office—now
mine. Before I can open the door, Bobby’s very pregnant secretary stops me with a big smile. Erica is a petite woman with
long, wavy brown hair and hazel eyes. Her belly is huge and swollen, protruding out from her small body. She is wearing a
bright yellow dress that stresses the curve of her big bump. That baby must be so cramped in her womb that she will not need
to push when she goes into labor—the baby will simply slide straight out and down, head first! Shit, she must be
uncomfortable.
“Mr. Vincenzio.”
“Call me Paul, Erica.” Fuck. Not in the mood to do anything today; just want to plop down on Bobby’s leather chair and take
a nap.
“Okay Paul. Can I get you anything?”
I shake my head “no” and attempt to sidestep her. But she stands right in front of me, blocking my path!
“I have arranged a meeting for you at 10:30 with the President of Fielding Enterprises, Reed Morgan-”
 As she drones on and on, I don’t pay attention. Leave me the fuck alone. Then I notice the redhead again, with two young men
and another woman who look like they are still in college. The men wear suits with ties, while the woman has on a designer
dress. The men are tall and broad, with strong jawlines and square shoulders. Their hair is neatly styled, and they have an air
of sophistication about them. Fuck them. The woman is also tall but slender with long, wavy hair and striking features. The
three of them ignore Red as she stands near them wearing a simple white shirt that hides her boobs, a loose black skirt, and flat
cheap shoes. Her outfit probably came from Target. Her glasses have slipped down her nose and her hair is in a loose bun. She
just stands there clutching the file folders close to her chest. She is a tiny little thing. A lovely little mouth. The woman scoffs at
her while I hear the other two giggle. Little Red remains oblivious to their mocking laughter. Poor little fool. I almost feel sorry
for her. Nope. Not when I recall her mooning over Bobby yesterday.
I interrupt Erica and ask, “Who are those four in the corner? They look like they’re still in college.”
“Oh, they are interns, and they are still in college — seniors.”
“Hmm.” So little red is a college co-ed. I bet she would fuck Bobby if he were interested. I duck past Erica and walk into
my office. I slam the door before she can follow me. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the faint scent of Bobby’s
custom cologne wafts through the room. I sit behind Bobby’s oversized desk and lean back in the ergonomically correct leather
chair that probably cost a fucking fortune. I put my feet up and close my eyes. Maybe I can take a short nap before I have to
meet Reed, whatever the fuck his name is.

Bobby

I hate coming here. Every time I close my eyes, I see Gwen’s private hospital room with its single bed with thin white sheets.
The walls are a sterile shade of white, bright fluorescent lights illuminate the room without providing any warmth. Antiseptic
fills the air — a smell that permeates all areas of the hospital. There is a small window, with a view of the surrounding gray
buildings. So fucking depressing.
When I enter Gwen’s room, she’s not here. She must be in a therapy session. I had promised her I would come and visit her
last night, but I didn’t feel like watching her silently stare out the window.
I sit down in the chair next to the bed and listen to the low murmur of voices from the hallway, and the occasional squeak of
rubber-soled nurses’ shoes on tile floors.
I unbutton for my suit coat buttons, dreading the calls I have to make. Murphy, Reno, and Nikolai could know more about the
mayor’s assassination, but I am not in the mood for bad news. As I run my fingers through my hair, Gwen slowly pushes open
the door. Her blue hospital gown makes her look like a stranger; something is wrong. Trying to forget the bad feeling, I smile at
her.
Surprised, she freezes momentarily, her eyes widening as she notices me. Our gazes lock.
“Hi, Bobby.” She whispers, catching me off guard. Her voice is as soft as a feather’s touch, vulnerable and filled with so
many unsaid emotions.
I pull Gwen into a tight hug, so relieved to have my beautiful wife back in my arms. She feels fragile as she lays her hands on
my shoulders. I run my fingers through her ponytail and fight the tears of joy that are welling up in my eyes.
"Oh baby, I have missed you so much! Don't ever leave me again!" I step away from our embrace and look at her beautiful
face. Her sapphire blue eyes are filled with tears.
"What is it, Baby? What's wrong?" I softly brush her chin with my right hand.
"It's just too much for me right now. I'm sorry," she says, looking downcast. "I don't know what to say to anyone."
"How are you feeling?" I ask gently.
"I'm okay...just a bit weak."
"Why couldn't you talk?"
"I don't know, Bobby. Everything is just overwhelming, and I feel so frightened," Gwen sobs.
I pull her to me and wrap my arms around her again. "Don't worry baby, I've got you. Everything is going to be fine now. We
will get through this together. You know I would do anything for you?" I feel Gwen nod her head in response. "I love you," I
confess. And I do love her.
 As a nurse walks into Gwen's room, she scolds, "Now Gwen, you need to get back in bed. You need to rest."
The nurse stands tall and imposing in her green surgical scrubs, with a stethoscope hanging around her neck. Her face is
kind, but determined, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, making her features look sharp.
Gwen pulls out of my arms and crawls on the bed. As the nurse pulls the thin covers over her, she announces, "The
psychiatrist will be here any moment to perform a psych eval. So, Mr. Vincenzio, please leave. You are welcome to wait in the
lobby, but I don't know how long it will take."
I sigh heavily at being dismissed by a fucking nurse. I will take my anger out later when I can beat the shit out of someone
when I spar at the gym. Right now, I need to be on my best behavior and charming self until Gwen is released from this
hospital.
"Of course. Gwen, I am going to run some errands, but I will be back later."
Gwen nods her head.
I say goodbye to Gwen without having to be told what to do again by that rude nurse and step out of her hospital room.
I head down the hall, past the nurse's station, which is at the center of Gwen’s hospital floor. The station has a long white
desk with several filing cabinets behind it, along with computers and other equipment. There's a low hum coming from the
equipment at the desk, along with the sound of hushed voices as nurses talk to doctors.
As I approach the bank of elevations, I realize that when I told Gwen I loved her; she didn't say it back.

Paul

I had to spend a fucking hour listing to Reed lecture me about fucking Fielding Enterprises. Like I give a shit.
Reed paced as he droned on about the company. His lips were pursed in a thin line as he tried to drill his words into my
subconscious. Reed’s voice is low, and he spoke slowly like he was passing judgement on each syllable. I can still hear his
fucking voice echoing around my office, filling every corner. That meeting with Reed was like having my hand slowly eaten by
a cluster of fire ants!
Right on cue, my stomach growls. Lunchtime! I need something to eat. I am in the mood for pasta. Maybe I can convince
Erica to waddle over to the Italian restaurant on the corner. Sounds like a plan. With that in mind, I open my office door and see
Erica planted at her desk, typing away on her laptop.
“Erica, could you run down to the Italian Restaurant on the corner and get me an order of linguine with clam sauce?” I ask as
I pull a $100 bill out of my pocket.
“Unfortunately, Paul, that’s against company policy. Perhaps Uber Eats could deliver it for you. Is there anything else I can
help you with?” She glances at me with raised eyebrows.
Shit. I walk over to Erica’s desk. “What about an intern? They’re like volunteers, right? Surely that policy doesn’t apply to
them.”
Erica shakes her head as she raises her voice, “Hey Aisling, can you come over here?”
The red-headed girl pops her head up from a cubicle a few feet away. Never met a chick named Aisling before.
“Okay,” she mumbles in a mousey little voice.
She quietly walks over to Erica and me. Her clothing is even frumpier up close. She comes to a stop in front of Erica’s desk,
her head facing away from me, not even acknowledging my presence. I’m obviously intimidating this little mouse. This should
be fun.
Before Erica can get a word out, I order, “Go get me an order of linguine with clam sauce from the Italian place around the
corner.” I wave a crisp $100 bill in her face. “Keep the change.”
Right before I turn around to go back into my office, I see Red open her little mouth. “I normally use an app on my phone to
order lunch for staff and have it delivered here. Would that work?”
“Yes, but it better not be fucking cold!” I grab a hold of her wrist and stuff the money into her palm. Her face turns bright red;
whether from my foul language or my touching her, I can’t tell. Trying not to laugh, I pivot on my heel and disappear back into
my office, slamming the door behind me.
Aisling

What just happened? Paul, the mobster, Vincenzio, just ordered me to get his lunch for him. And he touched me! Ugh! He
smirked after he grabbed my wrist. That man is a male chauvinist pig. He obviously treats women like objects. I had hoped to
avoid him. He is scary, and nothing like his brother Bobby.
“Um, Erica, $100 is too much to pay for a lunch at that restaurant. I feel uncomfortable keeping the change like he suggested.”
“Then why don’t you leave a large tip?” Erica says without lifting her gaze from her laptop. She is trying to dismiss me.
What is with this place? Everyone who works here is unpleasant and impolite. If I didn’t need this internship for college credit,
I would walk straight out the door.
I’ve always been uncomfortable in social settings, having an ongoing problem with social anxiety. A therapist I used to see
back in high school told me I will always struggle with social distress because of being much younger than my classmates.
Having an advanced brain can be such a burden! I graduated from High School at 15, and now I am18 years old and finishing
college. Haven’t even been on a date yet! Maybe the corporate world isn’t for me; perhaps it’s time to look for grad programs
in Information Technology. That would make more sense. I think I would fit in better in an IT department.
I head back to my desk, clutching a brand-new $100 bill in my hand. I’ve never held a $100 bill before—it feels crisp and
clean. I open the app on my phone, find the restaurant, and order Paul Vincenzio’s linguine with clam sauce. Should I order him
a salad too? No, he didn’t ask for one. I tip generously on the app, hoping the food will get here while it’s still hot. I don’t
know how he will react if it’s cold. I smooth the wrinkles on my skirt with my hands as I sit down behind my temporary desk.
The other interns, who don’t like me, are all at a meeting that I wasn’t invited to.
All morning, I have been typing numbers into an Excel spreadsheet for a manager. Boring. My other duties so far include
filing and ordering lunch for people. Also, boring. I doubt I will learn anything about real estate here. As usual, I don’t fit in.
I’d rather be at home playing the Sims on my computer, reading romance novels, or doing homework. Bobby Vincenzio would
make a great hero in a romance novel. Whenever I read a romance novel now, I pretend the main character is Bobby.

Paul

Well, the little redhead didn’t fuck up my lunch order. It even arrived hot. She didn’t have the guts to give it to me herself; she
gave it to Erica. Erica is the bane of my existence. I don’t know how Bobby can fucking stand that woman! She is too cheerful,
too professional, too perfect—she gets on my fucking nerves. I wish I could fire her ass. As I open the door to my office, I see
Erica kneeling on the floor by her desk, rifling through an open drawer. Then, as she tries to stand up, she struggles because of
her gigantic baby bump. Suddenly, a great idea occurs to me about how I can get rid of her! Not that I am a gentleman, but I
hurry over to Erica and help her stand up.
She looks like she is about to pop. I don’t want her popping that baby out near me.
“Thank you, Paul.”
As she smiles at me, I say, “Erica, have I told you how beautiful you look—You have that pregnancy glow!” She can barely
sit down in her chair because she is so fucking big. I notice her ankles are swollen—that can’t be healthy. “How far along are
you?”
“About seven months.”
 “Are you sure you should work?” I have to make it her idea or Bobby will kill me.
“I don’t have that much sick time left, and it is too early to go on maternity leave. Besides, my husband and I just bought a
new house and I need to work, at least until my due date.”
Fucking hell. I can’t deal with her for another two months.
“I think you should go on maternity leave right now. You shouldn’t be working in your condition. Since I am acting CEO, I
will make sure you get paid for the next two months while you stay home and take care of that baby.” I cross my arms over my
chest, hoping she doesn’t defy me.
“Paul! I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if Bobby would agree with that. He told me you need my help while you are
acting CEO.”
“Nonsense!” I lean against her desk and cross my ankles. “Bobby would want me to put your health first. I will be just fine. I
am sure Reed can help me if I have questions. But of course, it is your decision. Either come to work for the next two months,
be uncomfortable, and risk the baby’s health, or stay home with pay and take care of yourself. The choice is yours, Erica.” I
hold my palms up and give her a big smile.
“Well, Paul, when you put it that way, maybe I should go on leave a little early-”
“Great!” I grab Erica by the shoulders. “You can start your leave right now. Grab your purse. Do you need a ride home?”
“No, thank you. I can take the train. But I can work the rest of the day since I’m here.”
“Unnecessary. The sooner you get home, the sooner you can get off your feet and rest.” As Erica stands up, she opens a desk
drawer and reaches for her oversized ugly shoulder bag inside. I grab the purse in my hands and start heading for the elevators.
Erica chases me, probably worried I am going to steal her purse. As I push the elevator button and the door opens, I put the
handbag in Erica’s arms and gently shove her into the elevator.
“Good–bye Erica, take care of yourself.” I say as the elevator door closes. I hear a faint “bye” coming from the closed
elevator door. Yes! I want to pump my fist and jump for joy! Well played Paul. I stop myself from patting myself on the
shoulder.
Everyone on the floor is looking at me curiously, wondering why Erica has left in the middle of the day. Fuck them. Ignoring
them, I stroll over to Erica’s pristine desk that smells like fucking baby powder.
“You, Red. Come over here.” I shout. Let the fun begin.
Aisling’s eyes widen in fear as she warily makes her way to Erica’s desk.
I stand with my arms crossed and my feet set apart as Aisling stands about five feet away from me. She either looks angry or
scared, I can’t tell which one it is. I roll Erica’s chair slightly towards Aisling.
“Take a seat. You are my new secretary.”
“What?” she asks as I watch as her lower pouty lip trembling. She wipes her hands on her skirt.
“Sit at the fucking desk, Aisling.” As she slowly sits in the chair, I grab the back of it and push it under Erica’s desk. As I
turn to head back into my office, the little mouse speaks, “Um, I’m not a secretary. I don’t even know what a secretary does.”
She can barely look at me.
“Can you use a laptop?” She nods. “Can you answer a phone?” She nods again. “Great. You are a secretary.” I pull my
cellphone out of my pocket and hand it to her. “Put your contact information in my phone.” I order.
“But-"
“Do it.” And she does. As she hands my phone out to me, I take it and go back into my office, slamming the door behind me. I
am so excited — this is the first time my cock has been hard at this place. I am going to have fun torturing little Red. She has a
crush on Bobby. Hmm, I’ll make her regret the day she ever set foot in Fielding Enterprises. I love being a bully.

Aisling

I watch as Paul goes back into his office and slams the door. Yes, he is a door slammer. I think he must have a terrible temper,
possibly anger management problems.
I try to relax at Erica’s desk as everyone stares at me. Then the desk phone buzzes.
“Um hello, Mr. Vincenzio’s office.”
 “Get the fuck in here!”
OMG it’s him! My new boss! I almost drop the phone before I scurry into his office.
“Shut the door.” He yells.
I gently close the door as I hesitantly walk into his office. He is sitting behind the desk with his feet up and his hands behind
his head as he leans the chair back. His blue eyes don’t leave my face as I walk towards him.
“Yes, sir.” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Hmm. Sir. I like that. But call me Paul. Sit your pretty ass down. I have some orders for you, Red-“
“My name is-“ I quietly interrupt as I sit down in one of the black leather chairs in front of his desk.
He slams his palm on the desk, startling me. “Are you interrupting me?”
I jump.
“I don’t like being interrupted and I don’t like repeating myself. Is that clear?” He glares at me.
“Yes, sir.” What an asshole.
“Your hours are from 8 to 5 every day. I will let you know ahead of time when I am coming in so you can have my coffee
waiting. You need to pick it up at the coffee shop on the corner because I don’t drink the shit here. In addition, on the days I am
here, you will pick up lunch for me at Franco’s, the Italian restaurant down the street. Give me your cellphone I want to make
sure you have my number.”
I hand him my beat-up cellphone with the pink floral case. He raises his eyebrows and smirks as he makes sure his number in
my phone and sends himself a text message.
“That’s it for now, Red, unless I can think of anything else. Get the fuck out.”
I visibly flinch when he swears.
“What?” He asks. “You don’t like it when I swear? Does it hurt your sensitive ears? Too fucking bad—get used to it. Oh, and
by the way, wear something sexier tomorrow. You look like a nun in that outfit, and I can’t see what you got. Maybe wear some
tight pants tomorrow. I’m an ass man.”
“No, sir, this is what I always wear.” Now I am pissed. He may think he is an ass man, but he is an ass. I stand up and leave
his office as I hear him laugh. Who does he think he is? Unbelievable! If I didn’t need this internship, I would walk right out of
here. I should report him to HR for sexual harassment…right, again, I need this internship to graduate.
 Chapter 4

Paul

I sitbackin —myAisling
office, my hands clenched into fists on top of my desk. As I glare at my cellphone, a name and phone number stare
Drake. I can almost hear her panicked breathing as she moved away from me yesterday. How can she be so
stupid to accept a job with me? She has no idea of the hell that awaits her. With a few clicks of the mouse, I pull up her
employee file Human Resources sent me, noting her address near Chicago University—no doubt a shitty student room where
she lives alone. Only 18 and already a senior in college. She must be a brain. I smirk as I wonder what type of panties an 18-
year-old genius wears beneath her sensible skirts. White cotton briefs? Certainly not bikini panties or thongs. It's time to have
some fun. I quickly text: ‘Get your ass in here!’ Finally, something to do in this boring shit hole. I should have never agreed to
be acting CEO, but now I have a way to entertain myself — Aisling. There is something satisfying about bullying someone
smaller, especially when they are completely helpless. The power of tormenting Aisling is now mine to enjoy.
She doesn’t reply to my text, but I hear a hesitant knock on my office door. While I straighten my silk tie, I spritz my mouth
with breath spray. Let the games begin.
“Come in.” I shout.
The door slowly opens and there stands Aisling with a deer caught in the headlights look on her flushed face.
“Well, don’t just stand there, Red, get the fuck in here!”
“Umm. Yes sir.” She hurries into my office, trips on her feet and almost falls. I smirk. She is fucking clumsy too.
“Sit the fuck down!” Her face gets redder every time I say fuck.
I notice she isn’t wearing any make-up, and to be honest, she doesn’t need to. Aisling’s angelic face is sprinkled with
freckles. Her features are delicate, with a small nose, pouty pink lips and hazel eyes under thick lashes. Her creamy
complexion looks like it would be soft to the touch. There is something about her clean, youthful face that is so pure. Her
freckled face has an air of virginal modesty to it. I have never fucked a chick with freckles before. But no way will I ever fuck
little Aisling. Toying with her is satisfying enough.
As she sits down in one of the two leather chairs across from my desk, she pulls her already too long skirt down. I can smell
her fear mixed with a hint of lavender from here. She doesn’t make eye contact with me. I am starting to think she is either
autistic or on the spectrum. I pick up one of Bobby’s Mont Blanc pens from his expensive imported wood desk and start
tapping it against the top. The sound seems to annoy Aisling. Finally, she looks at me. Is he glaring at me? Does this mean little
Red has a backbone? I raise my eyebrows, silently commanding her to speak.
“Mr. Vincenzio-”
“Paul.”
“Paul. I don’t think I can be your secretary. I am just an intern. I’m not even getting paid.”
“I don’t want to hear any whiny negatives from you. You are my secretary and that is final. If you want to get paid, I will
arrange for a salary. Name a figure.”
“I don’t think interns get paid. My professor wouldn’t like that.” She wrings her tiny hands.
“Then we won’t tell him. Hmm. How about $75,000 a year? That is a nice round number. I will let HR know. Any other
complaints?”
“I don’t think the employees approve or you’re making me your secretary. They certainly won’t like it if I am getting a
salary.” Red speaks softly.
“I don’t give a fuck what anybody else thinks, and you shouldn’t either. That is your problem Red, you care what other
people think. You have got to cut that shit out if you work for me. Capice?”
“Umm. Okay, I guess.”
“Good. I need you to be at my beck and call 24/7. That means If I call or text you, you answer ASAP. If I need you to work
late, you stay. If I need you to come to work early, you will come early. If I need you to run personal errands for me, like
picking up my dry cleaning and dropping it off at my penthouse, you do it. If I ask you to get me a cup of coffee, you get it. I
don’t want any of that woke women’s lib shit. If I want you to wait on me, then you fucking wait on me.”
“I don’t think Bobby had Erica run his personal errands. In fact, I think it is against company policy to require an employee-”
I interrupt. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about company policy or what Erica did or didn’t do for my brother Bobby. You are not
working for my brother, Bobby. You are working for me. I know everyone around here thinks Bobby is some kind of fucking
superhero, but guess what? He isn’t here. I am, at least for the time being. So, I suggest you come to terms with the fact that
Saint Bobby isn’t in charge anymore. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes.”
“Now let’s practice, shall we?” I ask as Red rolls her eyes. What the fuck! This 18-year-old college student just rolled her
eyes at me! Okay, game on! “Go to the nearest coffee shop and buy me a large hot Caramel Macchiato. Use my credit card.” I
pull out my wallet and throw one of my gold credit cards at her. To my surprise, she catches it. Without saying a word, she
stands up and walks out of my office. I watch her ass as she walks away, but her ugly skirt is too loose for me to appreciate it.
“Oh, one more thing, Red. After you get me my coffee, take the rest of the day off and go shopping with that credit card at the
high-end stores on Michigan Avenue. Not Target. Make sure you mention my name — everybody knows who I am, and they’ll
be happy to help you find a new wardrobe. Look for designer clothing of good quality: shoes, purses, dresses, pants, shirts,
skirts. Don’t forget about sexy lingerie — lace panties and bras, too. I want you to look your best. And whatever I buy should
fit you well, nothing baggy! I don’t want you looking like a fucking school, Marm! You don’t have to worry about what it costs;
I don’t care how much you spend.” I resist telling her to wear her hair down. I need to take things one step at a time.
“Um, Paul, I really don’t feel comfortable having you pay for my clothes.”
“I don’t give a fuck. If you are not wearing a new designer outfit tomorrow. I will take you shopping myself and pick out
everything, including sexy bras and thongs. And I will sit in the dressing room and watch as you try on clothes for me. Am I
making myself clear, Aisling?”
“Yes.” Her eyes open wide in shock as she leaves my office.
I prop my feet on the desk. I can’t wait to see what she wears tomorrow. I love tormenting her—her face is so expressive,
and her skin always turns red. It’s cute. I haven’t seen a chick blush since I was in grade school. Strippers make my cock hard,
but they don’t blush, and they don’t have freckles. Even though I am tormenting her, she should be grateful. I am going to make
her over into a classy woman, so those other interns won’t laugh at her anymore. Seventy-five grand a year and a brand-new
wardrobe? She should thank me.

Aisling
As I step into the elegant boutique on Michigan Avenue, I feel my stomach churn with anxiety. The boutique is elegantly
decorated with white marble floors and soft light streaming in from the windows. Chrome accents on furniture and around
clothing racks sparkle throughout the room. I see luxurious clothing hanging everywhere. The boutique smells of expensive
perfume and new clothes. Soft classical music drifts through the air, helping me to relax. The click-clack of high heels echoes
throughout the boutique as customers browse through racks of clothing. I hand the approaching saleswoman Paul’s credit card.
She is wearing a crisp white blouse and a navy pencil skirt. Her brown hair is pinned back in a neat chignon, and her makeup
is perfectly applied. Her blue eyes are bright and welcoming, and her posture is professional. She immediately recognizes
Paul’s name and ushers me towards racks of clothing.
The woman seems to know exactly what I need, and her hands move quickly as she pulls out different clothing - dresses,
skirts, pants, blouses, coats - everything made by famous designers - and drape them carefully over my arm. She adds soft lacy
lingerie to the pile with a mischievous wink. As we enter a large dressing room, a seamstress appears to make sure everything
fits perfectly.
When it comes time for payment, my eyes widen in surprise at the amount—several thousand dollars—but the saleswoman
simply smiles knowingly and says, “Don’t worry, Mr. Vincenzio can afford it.”
I tell her I need an outfit to wear to work tomorrow, so she quickly packs a few new clothes in several shopping bags, while
assuring me that the rest of my new wardrobe will be delivered to my studio apartment. She even calls and prepays a cab to
take me home.
I have to admit the clothes are beautiful, unlike anything I have ever worn before. My family didn’t have a lot of money while
I was growing up. My Mom worked as a teacher’s aide and my dad was a firefighter with the Chicago Fire Department.
Buying designer clothes feels like a dream, but the reality comes crashing down when I remember what tomorrow morning
holds: working for my mobster boss. I hate him. My stomach twists in knots as I think about facing the source of my torment.
Anger burns in my chest. No matter how much I want to avoid Paul Vincenzio, I still need to work at Fielding Enterprises until
the end of the semester. I will have to grin and bear it as I continue to be the jerk’s (my nickname for him) secretary, ignoring
his nasty words and doing whatever he wants — even if it means compromising my principles. I can’t let him get to me; no way
am I going to let him mess with my grade.
 Chapter 5

Bobby

M ypunch
driver pulls up to the neon-lit entrance of “On All Fours”—the Outfit’s strip club. With my heart pounding in my chest, I
out a text to Reno, the Outfit’s ruthless enforcer, to meet me at the club for a meeting about the mayor’s
assassination.
Glancing around for any signs of FBI surveillance, I enter the club and am immediately surrounded by blaring music and
screaming men, their eyes fixed on the nude women dancing onstage. My head pounds with each bass beat that penetrates my
skull, threatening to give me a migraine if I don’t find my brother Vinnie’s office fast. I make my way past the writhing bodies
and down the dimly lit hallway towards Vinnie’s office.
I open the door to find my brother seated behind his desk, illuminated by the blue light of his laptop screen. Doesn’t anyone
use paper and pencil anymore? He looks up upon seeing me, but before either of us can speak, there is a knock at the door and
Reno steps into the room.
Reno is tall and muscular, with a presence that fills a room. His black suit clings to his body like a second skin, tailored to
perfection. He has calloused hands from years of fighting and training. His eyes are a light shade of blue, like the winter sky,
and they are unyielding and cold as ice. He moves with a grace that hints at danger; he is a predator ready to strike. Reno
smells like leather and gunpowder, the distinct odors that follow him wherever he goes, just another reminder of how
dangerous he can be. His expression is unreadable but intimidating as he takes the chair next to me.
“Any news?” I ask Reno.
“Nothing about the mayor yet, but that street gang that belongs to Basilio Camarena and the Camarena Cartel is more
dangerous than Fraco and Ramone told us. They are trying to take over the streets of Chicago. The gang is loud. They are often
heard before they are seen, from loud engine revs to rap music blaring out of car windows. Gunfire can be heard in the
alleyways at night, warning everyone of their presence.”
“Fuck!” Vinnie exclaims.
“Bobby, the Camarena Cartel is making a move on Chicago, and they are wiping out the Razors and taking their drug
territories.” Reno explains.
“We’d better get an audience with Basilio himself and see what he’s after.” I suggest.
“Nikolai has already gone to South America. Basilio agreed to talk with him in a public place. He will let you know how it
goes.” Reno assures me.
“At least it’s something. The feds are crawling up our asses, pulling bank records, tapping phones, and bugging offices. The
Bratva and the Outfit have stopped every illegal business activity.” I massage my forehead, trying to hold off a migraine.
Reno continues, “Camarena’s street gang is exploiting our weakness and supplying our customers with product. The police
and feds couldn’t care less about a small-time gang dealing drugs. They’re ignoring them while they try to make a case against
us.”
“Have you reached out to Alexei?” I ask Reno.
“Yes. Fascinating guy. He’s been going through the sales records of all businesses that make sniper-mounted drones,
checking the purchasers over the last two years to see if anyone pops out as an anomaly. It appears most buyers are
governments and government contractors so far, but we’ve got plenty of data to go through.”
“If whoever shot the mayor was smart, they’d have used a front company to purchase the drone and picked out a name
military contractors might use. You’re looking for a needle in a haystack.” Vinnie interjects.
“Maybe, but Alexei is really intelligent—he created this program that both of us have been using to sort through the
information. The program will even hack into all the buyers’ financial data, shell corporations, officer names, employee names,
and more. I’m positive we’ll find something, eventually; it just needs time to do its job with all the data we have.”
“Keep trying, Reno. Maybe our luck will change. Have Nikolai call me as soon as his meeting with Camarena ends.” Reno
nods and leaves.
I glance at Vinnie, who has unbuttoned his suit coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves.
“So, how was the staff meeting?” I ask.
“The usual whining and bitching from the girls. Some customers have been coming in saying they can’t get cocaine anywhere
and asking to buy it here. Obviously, I told them no way.”
I exhale sharply. “What a fucking mess. We just need to get the Feds off our back so we can go back to business as usual.”
“Bobby, you look like you could use a drink.” Before I can respond, Vinnie sends a text message.
“How is Gwen doing?”
“Better; I am going to the hospital after I leave here. How are Sophia and the baby?”
“They are both good! Nereo seems to grow bigger every day!”
The door to Vinnie’s office opens and in saunters Tiffany, Paul’s fuck buddy. She is wearing only a skimpy lacy bra, matching
G-string, and very high “fuck me” heels. Her make up is an inch thick—which makes it hard to tell her age. I am guessing early
thirties. She is carrying a bottle of top shelf scotch and two glasses. She brushes by me as she sets the bottle and glasses on
Vinnie’s desk while swaying her hips provocatively. The smell of sex and cheap perfume wafts over me. I have to admit she is
attractive, even with her breast and butt implants, but I have never wanted to fuck whores.
“Hi, Bobby.” Tiffany opens the bottle and pours two glasses of scotch. She leans over me and gives me a close-up view of
her fake tits and then does the same to Vinnie while she hands us our glasses of scotch.
“Thanks, Tiff.” Vinnie says while ignoring her.
I down my glass of scotch as I watch Tiffany leave the office with a pout on her face. What was she expecting? A fucking
threesome?
Vinnie takes a sip of his scotch and says, “I’m lucky Sophia hasn’t asked to visit me at work. As far as she knows, I am the
consigliere and manage a bar for the Outfit.”
“I don’t envy you. I’m sorry, Vin, but you are the best person for the job. I can trust you around strippers. Dom and Paul
couldn’t keep their hands out of the cookie jar.”
“Dom and Paul are still helping themselves to cookies.” Vinnie laughs.
“Yes, but now it is the girl’s choice whether they accept Dom’s threats or Paul’s offers.”
I’m done here. I walk out of On All Fours, my anger over the mayor’s assassination and the feds blaming us, seethes inside
me. My two bodyguards, Gino and Frankie, jump to attention as I climb into the black SUV, barking orders for them to get us to
the hospital.
As we drive towards our destination, a sense of dread coils in my stomach. Something is wrong with Gwen. We’ve been
apart for too long and now I’m determined to set things right. I’m going to call her doctor and arrange for her release; she can
do all the therapy she needs from home as an outpatient. But first I need to talk to Gwen. I need to make it clear that I want my
wife back in my bed and willingly opening her legs for me the way a good wife should—obedient and compliant. No more of
this shit.
I stride into Gwen’s hospital room and realize Gwen doesn’t smell like Gwen anymore. They have replaced her sweet floral
scent with a harsh, acrid odor of antiseptics and alcohol. The smell clings to her like an invisible cloud of poison, erasing all
traces of the woman I used to know. Inhaling her fragrance was always my drug of choice, but now I’m left addicted and
suffering without it.
I stoop down in front of her, sitting in the chair. I look into her beautiful blue eyes that now seem empty. As she rises from the
chair, I clasp her hands.
“Hey, why so quiet?” My voice cracks with emotion as I try to figure out what’s wrong.
Tears well up in her lifeless eyes and she looks away. “Oh, Bobby. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, babe. You were hit by a bullet. You’ve been through Hell.” I pull her close, but she remains
stiff and unresponsive. Something’s not right.
Gwen suddenly breaks away from me and walks over to the window, staring out into the darkness without really seeing
anything.
“Gwen, talk to me,” I plead. “Tell me what’s going on.”
But she doesn’t respond, lost in some dark place beyond my reach.
As unease creeps through every nerve in my body, I realize that whatever Gwen needs to tell me won’t be good news. So, I
stand behind her, waiting for the inevitable shit storm to hit us both. “Gwen. Tell me what’s wrong. I can’t help you if you
won’t talk to me.” I want to wrap my arms around her, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s intuition or fear or both.
I loosen my tie, waiting for Gwen to talk to me.
Gwen covers her face with her hands and starts sobbing. Part of me wants to comfort her, but another part of me wants to yell
at her to snap the fuck out of it. Silently, I look at her. Finally, she gains control of herself and drops her hands by her sides. She
turns and faces me, cheeks wet from tears. Even though we are only two feet apart, it feels like miles.
“I can’t do this anymore, Bobby. I’m sorry.” She looks at the floor.
My heart lurches in my chest like a boat on rough seas.
“Can’t do what anymore!” I exclaim as I grab her by the shoulders. I want to shake some sense into her, but I just hold her in
place. “What do you mean?”
I sense my phone vibrating in my pocket. Although I know the call is important, I choose to ignore it.
“Bobby, I can’t live like this anymore! This wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t sign up for a life filled with bodyguards and
surveillance! All I wanted was to go to college and have a peaceful life. After the wedding, I was so alone. We never spent any
time together and when we did, an entourage of your men surrounded us.” I clench my fists as I hear nurses outside Gwen’s
room laughing, and I imagine they are laughing at me. “What kind of family can we possibly have? How can I even think of
bringing a child into this world with the danger that hangs above us? It’s not safe, Bobby! I’m not safe. No one is safe!”
My hands burn white hot from anger as I grasp her shoulders, trying to avoid hurting her.
“Gwen, when you were in your coma, I stepped down as co capo of the Outfit and Paul took over. Now all my time and
energy go towards Fielding Enterprises. Everything has changed. I am not a mobster anymore. I am the CEO of a legitimate
company now. You don’t need to be afraid any longer. We can build a family and it will be safe, I promise you.”
“Bobby, do you still have bodyguards?”
“Yes, of course, we will always have bodyguards, Gwen. All billionaires have bodyguards.”
“My father never needed them.”
I sigh as I let go of her upper arms.
“What do you want, Gwen? What are you trying to tell me?”
Gwen crosses her arms over her chest and answers with obvious distress, “I want a divorce. I can’t live like this anymore.
You will never be safe, no matter how hard you try to distance yourself from the Outfit. Your family has too many dangerous
ties and enemies. I saw what happened to the new mayor. Did you have anything to do with that?”
“What? No. Of course not. A divorce? Gwen, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“I want my life back. I know it’s against the rules, but you’re not the Capo of the Outfit anymore. I want to be free to come
and go as I please; I’m tired of living in fear. Every time you don’t come home, I worry about you being hurt or dead. Bobby, I
love you, but this isn’t how I want to live anymore.”
I push a hand through my hair as I listen to her words before saying, “No divorce. It was my fault that they shot you—I have
to live with that every day. But I promise I’ll come home every night and keep in touch with you. I’ll call ten times a day, if
that’s what you want! Gwen, you love me!”
“I do love you, but…you’re a billionaire now. Just take Fielding Enterprises. I will sign everything over to you; I don’t want
the company. All I want is freedom; please Bobby, let me go. This isn’t the life I want any longer.” She pleads with tears in her
eyes.
“I don’t care about Fielding Enterprises. Baby, I want you. I want you as my wife. I want to spend the rest of my life with
you. Have a family with you. Grow old with you. I love you; don’t you understand that? I have never been in love with any
woman before you. I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you!”
Gwen wraps her arms around my waist. “Please Bobby. Let me go. I am not happy. I will never be happy or safe married to
you. Please let me go. You can have everything.”
I am fucking furious! I have had enough. I pull away from Gwen and storm out of her hospital room before I say or do
something I will regret. I could just strangle her. Divorce? Fuck no! Who does she think she is? She is my wife, and she will be
my wife forever. I will never divorce her. And if she leaves me, I will hunt her down to the ends of the earth until I find her.
Then I will bring her back and chain her to my bed if I have to.
With my bodyguards trailing behind me, I walk to the elevators and step into the first one that opens, not caring if it is going
up or down. As soon as the door closes, I punch the wall over and over again. Gino and Frankie try to stop me, but I am out of
control with rage, so they just let me keep punching the wall until my fists bleed.
 Chapter 6

Aisling

A sagainst
I step into the opulent executive offices of Fielding Enterprises, each step on the plush carpet feels like an act of betrayal
my dreams. I had always wanted to intern under Bobby Vincenzio, the man who’s practically a legend in the
Chicago business world. The guy looks like a chiseled Greek god, but what’s more appealing is his genius for making money.
He’s got a Midas touch for investments and acquisitions, and just being near that kind of brilliance is exciting.
That’s what I wanted, what I’d aimed for. But here I am, working for his brother, Paul Vincenzio, Chicago mob boss. The
resemblance between Bobby and Paul is uncanny, but that’s where the similarities end. Paul’s work ethic is well, nonexistent,
and his temperament? Let’s just say it swings from hot-headed to crude without warning.
So here I am at 8:00 a.m., sitting at Erica’s desk, my desk now, clock-watching like it’s an Olympic sport, counting down the
minutes until this internship, my self-imposed purgatory, is over. I have absolutely nothing to do. I tried to work on the
spreadsheet I was working on before my “promotion”, but the manager told me not to since I am now the CEO’s secretary.
Fortunately for me, the jerk is a late riser. I doubt he will roll in here until nine or ten. I open Google and try to look busy as I
wait for whatever circle of Hell this day will bring.
8:30 a.m.
I receive a text message: The Jerk: Have a hot macchiato on my desk at 9
I am tempted to reply with a middle finger emoji.
Instead of using my food delivery app, I run over to the coffee shop on the corner. I use Paul’s credit that I saved on my
iPhone, because he can afford designer coffee and I cannot.
After I set Paul’s coffee and credit card on his desk, I open my company email and see a message from HR marked urgent.
When I open the email and read, “Congratulation on your new position with an annual salary of $75,000,” I almost tip over in
my chair. I didn’t take the jerk seriously when he told me I was getting a salary. OMG! I can really use the money; I open the
email attachments and complete the new employee forms.
I am sure there is a catch to the new clothes and salary. I just don’t know what it is yet.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 ISSOLVE Royal Cherry Gelatin in boiling water; add cold water.

D When it just begins to thicken, pour small amount in large

mould. Allow to set. Arrange pieces of fruit and nuts in desired
position, to form a design. Add more gelatin mixture to cover and
chill until firm. Mix remaining fruit and nuts with rest of thickened
gelatin and pour into mould. Chill until firm. Serves 6.

Prunes in Jelly
⅓ lb. prunes
1 cup boiling water
1 package Royal Cherry Gelatin

W ASH prunes; soak in 1½ to 2 cups water overnight or for

several hours and boil in same water until tender. Cut in
halves; remove pits. Dissolve Royal Cherry Gelatin in boiling water.
Measure prune liquid, and add water to make 1 cup. Add this and
prunes to gelatin mixture. Pour into mould and chill until firm. Stir
occasionally while thickening to prevent prunes from settling. Serves
6.
 Royal
Raspberry
And here is the deservedly popular
raspberry. Your selection is bound to be
Royal Raspberry, if you wish to serve a
rich and distinctive dessert.

Raspberry Concord Parfait

1 package Royal Raspberry Gelatin
1 cup boiling water
½ cup grape juice
½ cup cold water

D ISSOLVE Royal Raspberry Gelatin in boiling water; add grape

juice and cold water. Set in pan of ice or very cold water and
when almost set, whip with rotary egg beater until very light and
thick. Pile into parfait glasses or turn into moulds and chill until ready
to serve. Serves 10.
This gelatin is also attractive if moulded plain, without whipping. If
preferred, mould a layer of plain gelatin and when set add a layer of
whipped gelatin and continue until all is used or mould in parfait
glasses, half plain with top layers of the whipped gelatin.

Spiced Raisins in Jelly

1 package Royal Raspberry Gelatin
2 cups boiling water
1 tablespoon vinegar
1½ cups raisins
¼ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
¼ teaspoon mace
1/ teaspoon cloves
16
ISSOLVE Royal Raspberry Gelatin in 1 cup boiling water. Add

D
vinegar. Cook raisins with spices in 1 cup boiling water until soft
and puffed up. Add to gelatin mixture. Pour into moulds and
chill. Stir occasionally while thickening to prevent raisins from
settling. Serve plain as a relish. Serves 8.

Raspberry Bavarian Cream

1 package Royal Raspberry Gelatin
1 cup boiling water
¼ teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1 cup cold water
½ cup cream, whipped

D ISSOLVE Royal Raspberry Gelatin in boiling water; add salt;

cold water and lemon juice. Set in pan of cracked ice or very
cold water to cool. When it begins to thicken, beat in whipped cream
until well blended. Turn into moulds or glasses and chill until firm.
Serve with or without cream and crushed raspberries. Serves 8.

Raspberry Surprise
(Especially good for children)
1 package Royal Raspberry Gelatin
1 cup boiling water
1 cup cold water
3 sticks cinnamon candy (4-inch sticks)

D ISSOLVE the candy in the boiling water and add to Royal

Raspberry Gelatin. Stir until dissolved; add the cold water and
cool. Line a mould with macaroons or arrowroot crackers and pour in
gelatin as soon as it begins to thicken. Chill until firm. Serve with
plain or whipped cream. Serves 6.

Raspberry Cinnamon “Oranges”

1 package Royal Raspberry Gelatin
4 sticks cinnamon candy (4-inch sticks)
1 cup boiling water
1 cup cold water
6 orange-peel cups

C UT oranges in half and with a teaspoon scoop out the pulp,

being careful not to break the peel. Keep the cups in cold water
until ready to use. Dissolve the candy in the boiling water and pour
over the Royal Raspberry Gelatin. When gelatin has dissolved add
the cold water. Pour into the orange cups which have been drained
well and chill until firm. Cinnamon “Oranges” may also be moulded in
small plain moulds if preferred. Serves 6.

Raspberry Bavarian Cream

R OYAL Fruit Flavored Gelatins are so adaptable that in nearly

every case the flavor available at the time can be substituted in
any of the foregoing recipes, for the flavor specified. However,
selection of the flavor in each case has been made with an idea of its
appropriateness to that combination of fruits or vegetables.
 Perhaps the Royal Lemon is more suited to the making of salads
than any of the other flavors. For this reason, some especially good
salads and other recipes are added here for your selection.

Superior Salad
1 package Royal Lemon Gelatin
1 cup boiling water
1 cup cold water or canned pear juice
1 tablespoon vinegar or lemon juice
¼ teaspoon salt
3 to 4 halves canned pears cut in cubes
1 pimiento cut in small pieces
1 cream cheese

D ISSOLVE Royal Lemon Gelatin in boiling water; add pear juice,

salt and vinegar or lemon juice and cool. When mixture begins
to thicken, add pears and pimiento. Soften cheese with a little milk or
cream; season with salt and paprika. Fold into Gelatin mixture small
pieces of cheese (about ½ teaspoon each). Turn into moulds and
chill until firm. Serve on crisp lettuce with mayonnaise or French
dressing. Pineapple used instead of pears, also makes a delicious
salad. Serves 8.

Royal Ginger Fruit Salad

1 package Royal Lemon Gelatin
½ cup boiling water
1⅓ cup ginger ale
⅓ cup diced apples
⅓ cup chopped celery
3 slices canned pineapple cut in small pieces
⅓ cup chopped nut meats
¼ cup chopped crystallized ginger

A DD boiling water to Royal Lemon Gelatin. Stir until entirely

dissolved. Add ginger ale; chill until mixture begins to thicken.
Then add other ingredients. Turn into a large or individual moulds;
chill until firm. Serve on crisp lettuce leaves with mayonnaise. Serves
6. (The ginger and nuts may be omitted if preferred.)
 Frozen Tomato Salad
1 package Royal Lemon Gelatin
4 cups tomato juice
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1½ teaspoons salt
⅛ teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon onion juice
⅛ teaspoon cloves

H EAT 1 cup tomato juice to boiling with salt and seasonings.

Dissolve Royal Lemon Gelatin in hot tomato juice. Add
remainder of juice and chill. Place in freezer. Turn crank about 8-10
minutes. Place in moulds and pack in ice and salt about ½ hour.
Serve sliced on lettuce or water cress. Serves 8-10.

Blackberry Spread
1 package Royal Lemon Gelatin
1 cup boiling water
1¼ cups blackberry juice

S TEW 2 cups blackberries with ½ cup cold water and ⅓ cup

sugar until juice runs readily (8 to 10 minutes). Put through
strainer to extract juice. Measure and add cold water, if necessary, to
make 1¼ cups juice. Dissolve Royal Lemon Gelatin in boiling water;
add blackberry juice. Pour into moulds or jelly glasses and chill until
firm. Keep in cold place until ready to use. Serves 6.

Crème Orient
1 package Royal Lemon Gelatin
1 cup boiling water
1 cup canned pineapple juice
1 cup cream, whipped
¾ cup pineapple, diced
¼ cup preserved ginger chopped fine
ISSOLVE Royal Lemon Gelatin in boiling water; add pineapple juice
and chill until thick but not set. Whip with egg beater until frothy.
D Add cream and fruit. Pile into sherbet glasses or large mould.
Serve very cold. Serves 10.

Royal Plum Pudding

1 package Royal Lemon or Orange Gelatin
¼ teaspoon salt
1 cup boiling water
1⅓ cups cold water
¾ cup spice cake crumbs
¾ cup chopped walnuts
½ cup raisins
½ cup chopped prunes
¼ cup finely shredded citron
1 teaspoon grated orange peel

D ISSOLVE Royal Gelatin and salt in boiling water. Add cake

crumbs and cold water; mix thoroughly. Add remainder of
ingredients and pour into pudding or fancy jelly moulds. Chill until
firm. Serve with sweetened whipped cream, a marshmallow sauce or
a soft custard, flavored with grated orange rind. This makes an
excellent Christmas pudding. Serves 12.
Plain Raspberry Gelatin
 ENTERTAINMENTS

B ELINDA is that lovely lucky creature, the young matron of to-day,

setting up housekeeping, not as a daily task, but as a comradely
affair. Gone are the walls that used to separate the generations.
Belinda is firm friends with her grandmother, and her mother is her
clever contemporary. Together they face the world with a friendly
affectionate dignity, a reasonable freedom and a healthy ease, that
banishes boredom,—lengthens life.
Gone, too, are the cumbrous clumsy methods of housekeeping—
basement kitchens, hods of coal, oil lamps and 24-hour bread....
Vanished with the high bicycles and Waspwaists of the “Gay
Nineties.”
But the spirit of home-making, the desire to build a pleasant place,
and welcome those you love within its walls—remains the same to-
day as it has been forever.
That welcoming hearth-warming spirit of unflustered hospitality!
Beginning with the dolls’ tea-party, and flowering to graceful
perfection in the charming hostess. Belinda knows that no
entertainment can be a success, unless the hostess enjoys it herself.
So with the deft adjustment made possible by modern methods,
she combines Martha-Service with Mary-Serenity, in a manner
 entirely her own.

When Belinda
Bridges
or plays Mahjong, she arranges her tea-party to the taste of her
guests. If she is a maidless mistress, she excels in those little
intimate parties—“just one or two tables,” where tea is an interlude
rather than an interval.
Bright and early Belinda makes her most successful cake and a
delectable dish of Turkish delight. Sandwiches filled with some clever
paste and rolls of wafer bread and butter are trimmed with their
attendant sprigs of parsley, celery, or radish roses. Covered lightly
with an inverted bowl, and set in the ice-box till the tea hour, they will
be crisp, fresh and dainty at 5 o’clock. The tea table, gay with
Belinda’s most attractive tea cups, is set by the fireside, or the open
window, to suit the season; and tea can be made in a minute.

For a More Formal Occasion

Belinda sets her table in the dining room, with a non-playing friend
or two to pour the tea and coffee. Bright with flowers and attractive
with delicious dainties, it has an allure that is never gainsaid. The
menu may be—
Tea ... at one end of the table with coffee, chocolate or fruit cup as an
alternative at the other end
 Toasted cheese rolls
Sandwiches
Hot biscuits
Cakes big and little
Compote of fruits
Cherry Cream Parfait Whip or Lemon Snow Pudding in individual glasses
Candies and salted nuts

Such a lovely note of color gleams in these delicate gelatins. The

rich glowing raspberry, just the color of the ripe fruit ... strawberry, a
ruby in sunlight ... the delicate iridescence of the pure lemon.
Moulded fruits gleam through that delicate sparkle. Whipped and
piled high in individual glasses, served in any one of a dozen
different ways, they give a fairy flavor to Belinda’s party.
Eight for Luncheon
may mean an afternoon party to follow, or merely a pleasant hour of
friendly intercourse. It taxes Belinda’s talents as a hostess more,
perhaps, than any other entertainment. She is so entirely the builder
of the surroundings, the mainspring of the welcome she provides. It
is her individual occasion!
The luncheon table demands special attention. The doilies and
lunch cloths must be laundered to especial perfection, the silver
spotless, the glass and china shining. The decorations of the table
should harmonize with the dining room. There must be a distinction
about it that can face the daylight.
Belinda Chooses the Menu
with equal care. No two-hour lunches with drawn blinds and lighted
candles for the slim smart maids and matrons of to-day! Any of the
following menus can be prepared and served with an ease that
leaves the hostess free to enjoy the occasion with her guests.

1. Royal Fruit Frozen Cup

Clear Soup in cups
Lamb Chops—Peas—Chip Potatoes
Pineapple Salad and Cheese Straws
Coffee

2. Tomato Soup with whipped cream and paprika

Jellied Chicken—Vegetable Salad and Mayonnaise
Finger Sandwiches of Minced Ham
Ice Cream and Wafers
Coffee

3. Creamed Fish in shells

Fried Chicken—Bacon—Potatoes baked
in their skins with cheese
Compote of winter fruits
Coffee
 Belinda loves these gelatin desserts, because they always arrive
at her table cool, interesting, tender, gleaming with color and
distinguished in taste, with an endless variety to add to their
charm.... Doesn’t that sound like a description of Favorite Friends?
Belinda looks on them as F.F’s ... and loves them also for their
priceless power of satisfying her taste for sweets, without adding an
inch to her figure. Because—blessed thought—they are not fattening
at all!

The Little Dinners

that delight the hearts of men and make the perfect setting for a
charming woman ... these are the acid test for the clever hostess.
Belinda has a flair for these intimate occasions. She gives them an
atmosphere.
 Belinda chooses guests that harmonize, with the same care that
she gives to choosing flowers that blend with the gown she wears.
Decorative touches on the dinner table perhaps ... gay little place
cards or favors, a scented leaf or blossom floating in each finger
bowl, tall glasses on twisted stems that give a touch of dignity ...
candle light ... comfort.
Whether Belinda cooks and serves the dinner single handed, or
has a staff of servants, she follows the rule of good breeding that
serves only what can be perfectly cooked and served, without
confusion.
The hot things hot—the cold things cold—sounds an obvious rule.
But more meals than can be counted have been wrecked by neglect
of it.
Belinda has carefully chosen menus for a little dinner that can be
served to perfection by a single maid, whose mistress helps with the
preparation.

I
Hors d’oeuvres
Cream Soup in cups with whipped cream on top
Individual moulds of jellied fish with
 mayonnaise and cucumbers
Broiled filets of beef—peas—
French fried potatoes
Salad—Green peppers stuffed with cream cheese
Crème Orient—Wafers
Fruit—Coffee

II
Clear Tomato Bouillon
Ramekins of Lobster or Salmon
Crown of Lamb—Potato Croquettes
Gravy—Mint Sauce
String Beans
Compote of Fruits
with whipped cream
Cheese cream on pastry biscuits
Coffee

completed by a table for cards, and a conversational circle by the

open fire!
Belinda thinks that gelatin, with its countless combinations and
variations, makes the perfect dessert. Delicious, delicate ... an aid to
the digestion rather than a tax upon it. Perfectly prepared, dished,
garnished, before the last minute cookery begins.

The Children’s Hour

Gelatin seems to have been invented by some Fairy Godmother
who studied children’s tastes and parents’ dietetic duties. And
merged them into the delicate fruity crystals that bring protein and
growth-promoting elements, to the active little bodies, while actually
helping the digestive process.
How the children love them too, these desserts that look like
jewels ... fairy bubbles that melt in the mouth ... delectable as the
fresh fruit from which their flavors are made!
They “make a party” of the simplest meal ... whipped or plain, with
custard or with cream. Raspberry, Strawberry, Orange, Lemon, or
Cherry ripe—their very names carry the fragrance of a sunlit garden.
 99½% emphasize
its
“fruity flavor and
fragrance”——
Here are some comments from
enthusiastic users
From Pennsylvania—“Royal Fruit Gelatin
has the good fruit taste that other gelatins
lack. I think it is much better for the children.”
From Connecticut—“After trying Royal
Fruit Gelatin I am convinced.... Here is a
gelatin that has the exact fruit flavor! I liked
the orange particularly well. The children
thought I had added fresh orange juice to it.
And it jellied far quicker than any gelatin I
have ever used.”
New York State women write with
enthusiasm—“It has a pure fruit flavor that is
unsurpassed.”
“I am delighted with Royal Fruit Gelatin.
The fruity fragrance is delicious. The flavor
like fresh fruit itself.”
From Pennsylvania again—“My family
enjoyed the fresh fruit flavor—more pure
than other prepared gelatins.”
 A Maryland woman writes—“Fresh fruit
taste, fruity fragrance—it’s the best I ever
had!”
From Massachusetts—“As I always use
Royal Baking Powder, I knew that the Royal
Fruit Gelatin would surely be perfect. It is all
and more than I expected it to be.”
5 Delicious
Fruit Flavors

NET WT. 3¼ OZS.

ROYAL
 Fruit Flavored
GELATIN
FLAVORED WITH PURE FRUIT JUICE
NATURAL FRUIT ACID AND ADDED COLOR
ROYAL BAKING POWDER CO. NEW YORK
STRAWBERRY

PRINTED IN U.S.A.

Absolutely
Pure

made·by·the·makers·of·ROYAL·BAKING·POWDER·new·york