BWWM Dark Mafia Romance | Long Island Executioner (Long Island Mafia Romance #1)
It’s officially time for a brand NEW excerpt from my upcoming release. I love posting these monthly chapters to share with readers and give you a chance to preview the novel before my upcoming book. This is Book #1 in an entirely new series from my previously completed series The Amalfi Coast Brotherhood.
This time, we’re going to Long Island, baby! I teased some information about the Vicari family in my previous series, but if you go in blind, you won’t be lost — these characters and plot lines stand completely independently of my previous mafia romance stories.
So you want to know more about this book?
The sex scenes are 🤯🤯🤯🤯 and the tiniest teasers I share with my readers on Patreon drives everyone NUTS.
It’s a steamy second chance romance with a briefly kept “secret” baby. If you enjoyed Pretty Little Monster and the hot dynamic between Seb/Angie in that book, you will enjoy the insane chemistry between Lucky and Althea.
This is a dark romance story which will definitely push boundaries at some points. I understand this content and racially charged language might be offensive to some readers.
Okay, you aren’t here for a lecture, you want the GOODS — the dirty, dirty goods. Keep reading for that first chapter and uh… turn off notifications so you can focus.
Romance Novel Excerpts: Long Island Executioner (bwwm dark mafia romance) - Long Island Mafia Romance Book #1
Chapter #1
10 YEARS AGO…
ALTHEA LITTLE
18-years-old
Doesn’t it always seem like every fucking bill comes at once when you’re least prepared to deal with it? You can’t catch a break these days. Rent comes on the first, car payment on the second, insurance on the third, then you need to come up with some new money for even more bullshit. It’s the worst…
My mama helps when she can, but if she had the money to stay helping me out, I wouldn’t have to work this job and I wouldn’t have had to move out when I turned eighteen. Mama tries her best, but there’s only so much she can do.
I push open the door to the kitchen after dropping off another stack of plates and head to the table of fifteen customers to check out the tips. I need those tips tonight so I can pay the back rent my stupid left roommate left me with when she dipped and moved to Los Angeles with a guy she met off some stupid dating app. Instead of paying $1,200 for my room in our two bedroom apartment, I have to come up with $2,000. Yeah, she had the bigger room too so I found out her ass was scamming me. Bullshit. It’s all bullshit.
I hurry over to the table I just cleared, gleefully searching for the tip. Fifteen customers sat here for hours ordering glasses of wine, entire bottles, entrees, dessert, the whole works. I search for the tip and then I finally see it. I snatch the bill. Five dollars.
I want to scream. These people left a fucking five dollar tip on a dinner they spent over $1,856.78 on. There were fifteen people and they could only come up with five dollars for the tip? I want to scream and punch the fucking wall in this place. There’s no way I’ll make enough in tips the rest of the night to cover rent. I’m so screwed.
I hate this job. I hate this job so fucking badly and I don’t know what could make this job any worse.
The bell at the front of Il Pappa’s rings and a man stumbles into the restaurant. I hope Mike’s ass doesn’t expect me to wait another damn table tonight because I swear to God… I’m done waiting tables. I’m sick of people treating me like dirt and even when they don’t treat you like dirt, they don’t tip. You can’t pay the bills with fake ass politeness.
I don’t care if the man stumbling into the restaurant is the fucking mayor of New York, I’m not doing shit for the rest of the night. My manager can take it up with me if he wants to but I just worked my ass off for hours, carting bottles of wine, entrees and desserts back to this bullshit table to only get $5. I’m hot. Upset. Livid.
I glance at the man who walks in and quickly avert my eyes. When I catch sight of a neck tattoo, I know it’s in my best interest to look away. The thug life ain’t for me. Once I save up enough money, I’m headed to beauty school.
The man glances at me and his eyes linger. Damn, they’re really green. He’s not bad looking either, except for the next tattoo.Too bad he looks like the typical guido scumbag you see around here, like he would crack someone’s face in for looking at him wrong. I’d better stop fucking looking at him. I avert my eyes and continue wiping down the tables in my section, which doesn’t stop the man from staring at me intently. It’s not like he’s waiting for me to take his order or anything. He’s just staring. Hmph. His ass can stare all he wants— I’m not going over there.
I might clean my tables, but I’m not fucking serving anyone.
Another waiter takes the man who just walked in. He’s tall, well over six feet, and he has tattoos everywhere including a freaky ass neck tattoo with a demon face carved into the knife’s reflection. He has thick brown hair, tight black jeans and a white t-shirt underneath his leather jacket. There are patches all over his jacket, but I can’t read the language written on the patches. Italian? Probably.
This is a high end Italian restaurant and a lot people in this part of town are from the old country. I don’t know though. This guy looks American, just pretty fucked up. The man glances over at me and he’s still staring. I can feel his eyes on me, but I know better than to look twice at any white boy, especially one who walks in here covered in tattoos looking like that. He’s bad news and he looks drunk. It doesn’t matter if he has those pretty green eyes, a man like that is nothing but a whole lot of fucking trouble.
I finish cleaning up my table and head to the back kitchen. I don’t make it ten feet when my manager grabs my arm, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Damn, Mikey! What the fuck?”
“Hey. You see that guy out front?”
“What guy? I’m finishing up my table. Those fifteen assholes tipped me five dollars by the way so I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to keep my apartment. I’m not doing shit for the rest of the night.”
I don’t know how my boss puts up with managing a bunch of teenagers, but Mikey handles it well. I’m not the first person to have a mental breakdown this week. In the service industry, there’s always somebody having a fucking breakdown.
“Hey, hey, hey, Althea, relax. Okay? I need you to relax.”
“Relax? You’re asking me about bullshit and I don’t have any fucking money, Mikey. I’ve worked here for years and I can barely keep a roof over my head. You need to find a way to make these cheap ass guidos leave better tips.”
I know I shouldn’t call them guidos to Mikey’s face but I’m so pissed off I can’t control myself. My mom’s always telling me I need to get my temper under control, but I don’t know if I ever will. Mikey handles my insults well.
“Hey! Hey, no need to get personal,” Mikey grumbles. “And money? You need money? I’ve got a way for you to make some fucking money if you chill the fuck out.”
“How? I need the money tonight Mikey and I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to go home.”
“Althea, honey, you can’t go home. Wait here three minutes, I’ll talk to Lucky outside.”
“Lucky? Who the fuck is Lucky? I don’t want to wait for anything, Mikey—I—.”
Mikey doesn’t answer because he heads out of the kitchen. I’m desperate enough for money to do whatever the hell he asks as long as it’s not too crazy. I’m about to head out of the kitchen and give up on Mikey’s ass when he comes back in, a bright look on his face. He pats me on the back.
“You want that money, head into the employee restroom back there and just do whatever he asks you to do, okay? Whatever money you need, he’ll give you as long as you do what he says.”
“What? Mikey, who are you talking about. What are you talking about?”
“Christ, Althea. Do you want the fucking money or not? Lucky Vicari is in this fucking restaurant and he’s willing to pay big bucks, okay? The girl who I had to meet him bailed on me and I swear if you do this, you won’t regret it.”
“Do what?”
“Christ, Althea, what do you fucking think? Do you need the money or not?”
The realization of what Mikey’s asking me hits me like the LIRR. He wants me to sleep with this guy. Or this guy wants to sleep with me. Or something. Rage courses through me, rushing to my face. I might need money, but I don’t expect my boss to suggest I sleep with someone to get it. This is a restaurant, last time I checked, not a brothel.
“Mikey, I’m not a hooker.”
Mikey shrugs as if he’s not exactly sure. Bastard. He responds to the increasingly angered look on my face with unflinching calm, which makes the situation even more annoying.
“Althea, do you know who the fuck Lucky Vicari is?” Mikey asks as if this guy is on a teen show or something. I shake my head. How the hell would I know a guy like that? I mind my business, I keep my head down, I don’t get involved with gang shit. It’s not the life I want.
“No, and I don’t care,” I tell Mikey firmly, meaning it in the moment and desperately suppressing a million anxious thoughts rushing through my head. “I’m not having sex with some guy in the employee bathroom.”
I need the money. I need the money so badly that even if my stupid patrons had tipped properly, I would still be short. I just thought some money would be better than none while pleading with my landlord for mercy. The Italian landlords around here are ruthless, but you can always beg your way out of trouble if you try hard enough. I think.
“Look, how much money do you need?” Mikey responds like he can read my mind. I hate that about him. He’s managed so many teenagers that he can practically read our minds.
“$1,400,” I mutter, utterly embarrassed at my destitution even if Mikey clearly doesn’t give a crap.
My boss confidently responds, “Ask him for five grand.”
Sex for five grand? Does Mikey think I’m Rihanna-level-hot or something? I’m a plus-sized teenager working at a restaurant who last took a shower over sixteen hours ago. I’m not worth five grand. A guy who looks like Lucky wouldn’t pay five grand for a few minutes with me. This has to be some sort of scam.
“Mikey! I’m not doing that,” I tell him. Who knows what freak shit a guy like that would ask me to do. But five thousand dollars? Can I say no to that? My heart pounds and my palms feel really gross and wet. I can’t touch some guy with gross, clammy hands.
“Come on, Althea. I don’t give out these opportunities for free. I’m telling you, five minutes, it’ll be over, you’ll have all the money you need. I swear, this won’t get back to you. I promise.”
“Mikey…”
“Five grand, Althea. Five minutes for five grand. Think about it.”
I don’t need long to think.
I don’t know his name, but I know he’s waiting for me in the bathroom. I knock four times in a row on the door in rapid succession, just like Mikey told me to do. A thick Long Island accent slurs from the other side.
“Fucking hell, open the door.” That must be Lucky. Funny thing is, I don’t feel lucky at all.
I open the door and there’s a man bending over the sink. He’s large. He looks larger than he did when he came bustling through the restaurant door, but he’s even bigger up close. The man has to be at least 6’4” and he’s muscular. He could throw me across the room with two fingers. I try to hide the nervous gulp that struggles its way down my throat.
I shut the door behind me but he doesn’t stand up until he finishes those three lines of white powder on the mirror. Fuck. I’ve heard you see some shit when you start working the night shift, but watching a giant Italian man stuff his face full of cocaine isn’t exactly what I expected when I walked into the bathroom.
When he turns around to look at me, he grins. Those green eyes size me up again and make me feel very fucking nervous. He’s way older than eighteen, probably a whole decade older than me. That makes me nervous too. What the fuck is he doing here and why is he doing coke off a bathroom mirror and trying to get his rocks off in an Italian restaurant?
Lucky runs his tongue over his smooth lower lips. His lips aren’t grossly thin. They’re pretty full for a white boy and I hate myself for even looking at them and tell myself I only looked because he licked them.
“Fuck, you look good for a hooker,” he says after several minutes of sizing me up. It’s not a big romantic compliment, but then again, he tells me exactly who the fuck he thinks I am — a hooker. I’m not worth a better compliment. Shame courses through me, but I’m too far to turn back, stuck in the bathroom with a giant guy who could easily overpower me and damn, five thousand dollars could make a difference in my life.
“I’m not a hooker,” I say to him, trying to sound tough. I sound like a nervous toy poodle instead, which doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Tonight you are,” Lucky says. “Don’t matter. I don’t judge.”
He takes a black credit card out of his pocket and pours white powder onto the mirror. He divides the powder into three lines with precision. There are no words between us as Lucky cuts his lines until he finishes. Five minutes. This feels a hell of a lot longer than five fucking minutes.
Lucky finally makes me an offer. “Want a hit?”
He points to the mirror balanced precariously on the sink. I don’t do drugs and just because I’m here in this bathroom tonight doesn’t mean I have to lose all my morals. This is a one time thing. I’ll never be in this situation again, not like Lucky Vicari gives a crap. He hasn’t even asked my name. There’s a spot of white right under his nose and his pupils dilate so wide the man’s eyes look black.
He smiles at me and it has a handsome smile but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a monster for what he wants from me.
“No thanks,” I tell him. “I don’t do drugs.”
My desperate clinging to morality sounds pathetic out loud, but it’s the only dignity I have in this bathroom with Lucky where we both know exactly what I came here to do. I try not to act humiliated, but I already am.
“Bend over then,” he says. “Get against the sink and lift your dress.”
He says it matter-of-factly like he’s ordering a cheeseburger from the dollar menu. I want to be treated with a little more respect, but like Mikey said, if I do this in five minutes, I can get out of here. If he wants to treat this like business, so will I.
“You need to wear a condom,” I respond sharply, trying to be tough again and ignoring how fucking degraded I feel by the way he talks to me.
He grins. “No I don’t. They call me Lucky for a reason.”
“I don’t care,” I say as forcefully as I can muster.
“What’s your name?”
He doesn’t really care. He just doesn’t want to feel like an asshole while he pays to use a woman’s body.
“None of your damn business. Wear a condom or–
“Stop fucking with my high,” Lucky interrupts. “Bend over or leave the money on the fuckin’ table. I like fucking when I’m high and I’m getting some tonight.”
I step forward, legs trembling. I don’t know what keeps me going forward, but I do it and I bend over the sink. I lean forward, my face far too close to Lucky’s white-powdered coated mirror.
“Fine,” I snap. “But if you knock me up, I’m coming for child support.”
Lucky snickers and my body responds with a strange spread of goosebumps. I don’t want to be here, but my body feels weird. Lucky eases his body behind mine and I know there’s no way out of this and absolutely no letting go. I bite my lip and look down as Lucky stands behind me. He runs his hand over me like he’s petting a horse from the base of my neck all the way down to the base of my spine. His hand wanders over my ass and he groans.
“I just love a black woman’s ass,” he whispers. “You fine ass black women never want to let a white boy fuck unless we pay.”
I want to punch this smart-mouthed Italian in the face, but I can’t if I want this money and I don’t just want it, I need it. He runs his hand between my ass cheeks and the strangest feeling swells inside me. I feel dirty and fucked up for letting this happen. If I don’t look at myself in the mirror, maybe I can pretend it’s happening to someone else. Unfortunately, Lucky has other plans.
He squeezes my ass and groans again. “It’s a nice, big chocolate colored ass, isn’t it?”
It’s like he’s talking to himself. I can’t believe I agreed to this. I’ve never had a guy talk to me like that before. I’ve never been with a white guy.
“Just fuck me…” I breathe, hoping it will encourage him to stop talking and put his dick inside me. I don’t want to hear anymore of his dirty talk. Lucky chuckles and lifts my dress high. He can see my entire ass and underwear. I’m gross from a whole day working the floor. He can probably tell that I’ve been sweating my butt off in this restaurant but if he can tell, he doesn’t care.
“What are you, eighteen?” He grunts. I doubt that he cares.
“Yeah.”
“Good,” he says. “Don’t plan on going to jail just to get a piece of black pussy…”
I squeeze my thighs together in silent protest, expecting Lucky to put his hand or fingers between my legs. Instead, Lucky drops to his knees. I wriggle my ass nervously, or in an attempt to get away from him. My body moves of its own accord, but Lucky stops me with his hands. It’s the first time I feel his bare hands on my skin and I suck in air sharply.
“Quiet,” he murmurs. “Let me lick your nice black pussy while I’m high…”
He peels my panties to the side and the struggle to move away. My underwear feels cold and wet. My wetness humiliates me but Lucky’s tongue sliding between my legs only makes it worse. OMG. I’m all sweaty and gross up there but Lucky doesn’t give a crap. His tongue slips all the way to my clit as he buries his nose between my legs. I make the situation even more embarrassing by moaning.
Lucky spreads my legs apart and pushes his tongue deeper. He keeps moving his mouth down there and I lose control of myself. I tell myself my body doesn’t want this, but there’s so much squishiness down there that I don’t feel like I’m in control.
There’s a sharp tightening in my core and I lose control of everything. I cum hard all over Lucky’s face.
Humiliation courses through me along with pleasure from climaxing and the confusing rush of emotions causes me to stumble forward slightly. Lucky chuckles and rises to his feet, wiping his face off. He’s so warm and his mouth moving away from me exposes me to the cold bathroom. I shudder and press my hips back against him.
He gives my ass an unceremonious slap.
“Good pussy,” Lucky grunts after smacking my ass. Holy shit, this man is like an animal. That slap sends a tingle through me.
Lucky unzips his pants and pulls his cock out. I really want him to use a condom, but I also have to check out what he’s working with. A guy who does coke and has sex like this has to have the world’s smallest dick. I glance behind me to make sure I’m right and nearly choke on my own spit.
“What the fuck is that?” I blurt out.
“It’s a cock, princess. You didn’t taste like a virgin. I think you’ve seen one before.”
He doesn’t care what I think. He doesn’t care how I feel. I have to tell myself that even as he slowly slides his fingers between my lower lips to get me ready.
“Tight pussy like that has gotta get real fuckin’ wet to take my dick,” he mutters incoherently. I grip the ceramic sides to the sink, closing my eyes to avoid bearing witness to my humiliation as I allow a strange Italian man to bend me over the bathroom sink I just cleaned puke off of last week and enter me. His body provides a warm cover as he hovers over mine and I wince as he rubs the head of his cock against my wet entrance.
Lucky growls authoritatively. “Look in the fucking mirror.”
I whimper as he slides the head past my entrance. Holy fuck, it hurts. He doesn’t even have more than the head in but his big cock hurts like hell. I whimper, but I can’t bring myself to obey his instructions. Lucky won’t take no for an answer. He wraps his hands around my braids and tilts my head so I can see myself in the mirror and more impressively, his tattooed, muscular frame hulking over mine. His chest heaves with lust as our eyes connect in the mirror. Holy fuck, his eyes are green.
There’s a tattoo of a pair of dice on his torso and the image contorts as Lucky slides forward, pushing more of his dick inside me. I gasp desperately for breath because Lucky’s dick is wine-bottle-thick and I might not be the smallest girl, but his big Italian cock could still break me in half. Tears pierce the edge of my eyes and Lucky grunts as he pushes his dick forward.
“You’re tight,” he grunts. “I’ll be quick. Black girls always get me off quick.”
I don’t dignify his racially charged comment with a response. Lucky’s big dick feels like it’s going to break me in half. He pushes his hips forward and the pressure builds up into pleasure, forcing me to moan. Lucky groans and moves forward again, bending over me and reaching between my legs to touch my clit. He whispers, “fuck”, in my ear as he finds my clit.
“You have a pretty little clit down there,” he whispers. “Soft…”
Lucky rubs my pussy in slow circles as he eases the rest of his dick between my legs. It hurts so much that I wriggle and push my hips back because it’s the only way my body can find to get away from him. It doesn’t work. Lucky pumps his hips into me, forcing me against the bathroom sink and keeping me gazing at our bodies as he enters me from behind.
He’s hot and he has a lot of tattoos. They’re all random, like they tell a story. Probably a fucking serial killer thriller.
When our hips join together, the worst mix of shame and pleasure surges through me. I’m not a hooker. I’m not a hooker. I bite my lower lip as Lucky massages my clit, as if I have a chance in hell of holding back the orgasm about to burst out of me.
His dick hurt like hell at first but with his thumb on my clit and the slow movements from Lucky’s hips, pleasure replaces the pain.
“I want you to cum,” he growls. “Fuck, I want the cum from your black pussy.”
Why does he keep talking like that? I hate that his gross words get me really wet and it doesn’t help that Lucky knows exactly how to turn me on with his thumb and his big dick. He moves behind me in slow strokes and when I can’t bear to look at myself in the mirror, I gaze at him instead. He must be crazy as fuck to look this good but pay five grand to have sex with a waitress in a bathroom.
Lucky kisses my shoulder as he fucks me from behind and his steady rhythm and slow massages around my clit threaten to push me to an orgasm. I struggle to resist the mounting pleasure, grasping the sink tightly to steady myself. I can’t help it. Lucky’s dick is too big and he’s too fucking good at what he does with his fingers. I cum hard and my breasts press into the sink as Lucky’s weight presses into me and he pushes his dick even deeper to make me cum harder.
Juices explode from between my legs over Lucky’s dick and dribble down my thighs. He makes an animalistic growl and pumps between my legs a few more minutes before I feel his cock stiffening.
“Please… I don’t want a baby. I don’t…”
“I’m gonna cum,” He growls, ignoring me entirely. “You know what you signed up for.”
Lucky pushes his hips forward and empties his seed inside me. I freeze as the reality of the situation hits me. He’s doing it. He’s cumming inside me and he doesn’t even know my last name. Lucky swears enthusiastically as he finishes. His body pulses and tenses against mine. His chest leans against my body and I get an intense feel of his muscles. My stomach tightens and I climax again as my body has this involuntary pleasurable response to Lucky filling me with his seed.
“You are fucking good,” he whispers. “My white cum looks so good dripping down those sweet brown thighs.”
I shudder, too ashamed and terrified to respond. Money. I need to think about getting my money. Lucky pulls his dick out of me and I turn around quickly, smoothing down my dress and ignoring the degrading sensation of his thick cum slipping out of my pussy and sliding down my leg.
“I need my money.”
“Sure thing. Wanna do this again?”
“I’d rather die.”
“Whatever. Need coke?”
“I don’t do drugs.”
Lucky chuckles. “You would if you were me, princess. Here’s your fucking money.”
He throws his wallet at me like he expects me to take out however much I need. I pull out the cash and ignore how much more he has left in there. I just need to get out of here. My heart races like crazy as I race for the door the second I have the money. This guy could follow me and kill me if he wanted to. He could do anything to me because he already has.
As I run to my car with the money burning a hole in my handbag, I make myself one promise – to never go back to that stupid fucking job again.
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