Bound By Blood To The Mafia King

sidian, Empire City's mo

d shoulders. He made absolutely no effort to conceal the jagged, red scar slashing across his face. Among the p

ves against the walls, lowe

s. Alex stepped into the private VIP room. The air was thick with the s

ate, sat at the head of the table. He rolled a cigar between his thic

rmour, a top-tier socialite. She wore a haute

ng. This was a test. Dempsey was trying to chain his

He grabbed a chair, dragged it back with a loud screech against the floor, and dropped

ed to the horrific scar on his face, then down to his crud

ng that her family's banking connections could provide excellent money-laund

s suit pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cheap,

d, he pulled out a scratched, oil-stained metal Zippo. He flicked it open with a loud cla

ensive perfume. She pulled a lace handkerchief from her purse, press

Ashlyn-shivering in the freezing rain, soaked to the bone, yet staring at him with

a forced a tight smile. She tried to engage Alex,

of footwear that entirely broke the dress code of the elite establishment-and

ght. Cora gasped, her body jer

gray ash fell directly onto t

slang of the slums. "It's just overpriced pap

rately lewd and insulting. "You want to talk business with me, princ

ken to like a whore. Her pale face instantly flushed a violent

in bag. She glared at Dempsey. "How dare you

ously against the floor, and stormed out. The

fell de

. "Are you out of your fucking mind, Alex?

d, resting his forearms on his knees. He stared Demp

ng his scarred face. "I don't play house with porcelain do

do marriage. I don't do leashes. If you don't

or any sign of deception, any hint of a deeper agenda.

k and laughed. He reached over and

psey chuckled. The lethal tension in th

s suit jacket, gave a curt no

doorknob when his burner phone-tucked into

he emerg

he phone out. The caller ID flashed

his knuckles turning w