Run Posy Run (Underboss Insurrection, #1)

by Cate C. Wells

I’m not doing a damn thing for Dario Volpe ever again.

I miscalculated. I never miscalculate. Posy Santoro was always a risk, but that’s what I do. I manage risk. I excel at it. Low risk equals low reward. I make big bets.

I should have fucked Posy Santoro a few times to get her out of my system and then dropped her. That was my intent. It would have made sense. Everyone knows she’s loose. Her family name is garbage, and it’s not like she’s a mafia princess. No one would bat an eye if I had hit it and quit it.

She doesn’t bother me when I’m working, and she’s hot. Better looking than any of my associates’ wives or girlfriends. Their horny side-glances amuse me.

I didn’t get enough. I want her back. I want to break her again and watch her cry. Hear her beg for mercy.

She wasn’t sorry at all. She feigned innocence and played the victim. So predictable. You’d think someone as skilled at strategy would be a better liar.

Everyone has seen another man taking what’s mine. It’s good I sent her away. If she were here, I’d kill her. After him. Frankie’s already fucking dead; he’s breathing on borrowed time.

I need to go downstairs to the gym. Expel this rage on a punching bag before I do something stupid. Like call Ray to bring her back.

She had the nerve to narrow her eyes at me when I asked for the watch. As if she was disappointed in me. White ...

I let her get too comfortable. Kept my mask too firmly in place. She doesn’t like to play when she’s cranky or hormonal, so I bail when she irritates me. I should have let her taste the back of my hand once...

If I’d treated her like everyone else, she’d know to be afraid. Then I wouldn’t be here with this goddamn deafening roar in m...

It was satisfying to break her heart—torch those dreams she’s been spinning in her head—but it wasn’t nearly enough. She’ll just fall in love with the next man who pays her any attention. As easy as transferring funds. Like she did when she went from Frankie Bianco to me.

But some things never change. We don’t let whores come between brothers, eh?” He waits, piercing me with his rheumy, hooded eyes. He wants an answer. So that’s what this is. He’s forbidding retaliation. My skin heats. Fuck that. Frankie Bianco disrespected me. I don’t let that shit pass.

You won’t see her again.” He deftly changes the subject as my blood runs cold.

You won’t see her again. It was an assurance. He’s sent men after her.

He dares go after what’s mine?

The buzz in my head becomes a wild roar. No. I’m not done playing yet. Is she dead already? If she’s dead, so are they. Every motherfucker lounging in this room

I decide when the game’s over. If they take Posy from me, I’ll burn it all down and throw their limp corpses on the fire for fuel.

“How long before you get there?” “I’m still parked out front.” “I told you to dump her and leave.” “I was reading the paper,” he grumbles. “Don’t bust my chops.”

He’ll bring her back to me. Within the hour, she’ll be here. No one takes what’s mine without my permission. I decide when I’m done with that bitch. And by the time I am, she’s going to be very, very sorry for all the trouble she’s caused.

There’s no doubt in her voice. Hurt bubbles up through the fear and anger. Nevaeh doesn’t even know me that well, and she can see I’d never do something like that. I’m crazy for Dario— Correction. I was crazy for Dario. But even if I wasn’t—even if it was a casual thing with him—I don’t mess around.

I can pretend the bastard I fell in love with doesn’t even exist. I’m starting to understand that maybe he never actually did.

I served Renelli’s men for years at L’Alba besides dating my way through a decent portion of the crew. They know me well.

And he was very comfortable in the dark. I think he likes being in the shadows. He likes watching people without them noticing.

I saw. I knew this. But I was different. Special. He moved me into his house. He treated me like a princess. Until he decided to strike. Dirty, lying whore. I don’t want to hear another word from your whore mouth. If I see you again, you’re not walking away. Capisce?

The series of guys after? Honest mistakes. Long shots that didn’t pan out. Good times gone bad.

Dario Volpe. What’s my excuse for him? A rebound? Youth? I can’t claim inexperience. I knew better. A face like a dark angel, and none of the girls crushed on him. That first night at Il Destino when he asked me to dance for him, and I did while he assessed me with that icy stare, his bodyguards impassive at his sides, gazes averted. I thought it was hot.

He was auditioning me, testing whether I valued myself cheaply enough to go along with whatever he wanted. And I did. With a smile.

All of this did not come out of left field. He’s a bad man. It was only a matter of time before he did something bad to me.

If my father were here, he wouldn’t be surprised in the least. Wherever she is, though, I know I’m breaking my mom’s heart.

She never did better for herself, but she wanted so much more for me. Nothing material. Only love. Happiness. Kindness. Peace. She had no idea how to get it for herself, and I have to face facts—neither do I.

Maybe Dario did me a favor, ripping the veil from my eyes now. I would have quite happily tripped down the aisle to him. Carried his babies. Settled into life as Mrs. Volpe, blessing my good fortune every day. Sleeping blithely next to a bastard, growing more dependent year after year until a single blow would break me.

Fuck that. I’m going to Stonecut County. I’m starting over, and I’m never going to ache like this again. Never.

Yes. No. It doesn’t matter right now. She’s mine. I decide if she lives or dies.

Posy’s smart. She’ll figure out the risk, and she’ll leave town.

I imagine Posy cross legged, playing with the old guys as the pigeons peck the ground. An unfamiliar tightness grips my chest.

She was wearing a lot of makeup, but she did not quite look like she does now. It could be the—duress—for lack of a better word, but she seemed young. And—the realization crashes on me. I made a mistake.

That video wasn’t from December. She was telling the truth. The time stamp is a fake. Frankie’s fucking with me. Now why would he do that?

And all the way across the room, leaning on my desk, Frankie Bianco, contender for the crown. I’m a piece in play. And they dare to use Posy to get to me. I need her back now.

Still, it makes my skin crawl that she’s out there because of my misjudgment. All my efforts for the past eight months blown in minutes. She saw only what she wanted to see, and I had exactly what I wanted. I knocked over my own tower of blocks.

How hard will it be to lull her back into her happy fantasy? Not hard. Posy’s a good tactician, but she’s also soft. Emotional. Weak. She cries easily. A splinter in her palm. A commercial with a kitten.

Frankie and the others said she was easy. Daddy issues. The kind that’ll suck your dick for a kind word. It’s true as far as it goes. They think that makes her worth less, but then again, they don’t use their own brains, so what use would they have for a woman’s? Posy is the only person who’s ever been a...

I want her ba...

I push up from my desk. This is pointless. I can’t focus. Posy is not where she’s supposed to be. She’s always asleep upstairs when the London Stock Exchange opens. Always. Fuck.

I’m going to have a little chat with the director of Posy’s movie, and then I’m going to stab him in the throat so he sprays blood like a hose as he dies.

On the drive back, I’ll call Carolyn. She’ll need to make Posy fall back in love with me. It shouldn’t be hard. She falls in love at the drop of a hat.

But I do miss the games, the hours of just the two of us, his brown eyes glinting, dark eyebrow quirked, lips turned up, almost smiling. He loved winning. He loved it even more when I beat him.

No one ever paid more attention to me than Dario Volpe when we were in the middle of a game. I was the center of the universe, and this exquisitely beautiful, powerful man was desperate to know what I was thinking.

I hate him. I hate him more than all my exes combined. I was his toy. He didn’t love me. He doesn’t even know me. How could he? We neve...

He sure figured I was bought and paid for, though. When he thought someone had touched his plaything, he didn’t want it anymore. I was the new sneakers that never came out of the closet a...