Insatiable Crimes: A Mafia Romance

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Parker's last words rang in my head on repeat, as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I had half a mind to resurrect him and peel his skin off, all over again.

My grey eyes were wide and manic, staring unflinchingly back at me; the corrupted adrenaline-pumping heavy in my veins.

There was something about those words that rubbed me the wrong way.

I had enemies all over the place, so it wasn't the death threat that unsettled me. After all, I was pretty popular in the hit lists, not to brag or anything.

But that title...

Fucking Parker, making me overthink his words, even lying motionless downstairs. My nails dug in my skin, drawing blood, while I tried not to focus on all the creative ways I could tear his rotting tissues clean off.

Four steady knocks disrupted my unhealthy musings, causing me to straighten immediately. My father's signature knocking style. Two swift knocks accompanied by two long drawn-out ones.

Time to go.

I ran my hand down my hair, smoothing them down, making sure there was no visible sign of my restlessness. "Enter."

"Are you ready?" My father asked as he walked into my suite. His three-piece Armani suit was crisp, with not a single crease to be found. The fucking black-tie event. One good reason why I shouldn't go back to the rat downstairs. I took a deep breath in, calming my nerves.

Raising a brow, I looked down at my all-black attire. The mini bodycon dress hugged my figure, accentuating my rear, before ending in a slit mid-thigh.

His gaze swept over me, before nodding, albeit in defeat at my fashion taste.

"I heard you took care of the rat," Brown eyes met mine in the mirror. I took after my father in most ways- the ruthlessness, the coldness. Killing someone without blinking twice. The usual. Well, we were similar in almost every way except for our features, which I received from my mother. Grey eyes, dark hair.

I chuckled lowly, remembering the refreshing time I spent with Parker. Quality time, indeed. The best part being, no doubt, his screams.

Of agony.

His pleas for mercy came a close second.

"I did." He was taken care of, alright. A fond smile adorned my lips. I've always loved the screamers.

He raised a brow at my enthusiasm. "Oh my, I have created a monster." But gave me a proud smile nonetheless.

Fucked up, family? Welcome to the fucking Mafia. I should start handing out pamphlets. At least then those dense authors would stop glamorizing our lives with Prince Charmings and their ridiculous notions of 'happily ever afters'.

Sign me up for an intense slow-burn romance with a morally grey villain instead, scars and all.

There were times when our father-daughter relationship got strained, with him being the head of the Mafia and the whole 'family business' ordeal. But he never let that deter him. Especially after my mother's death.