Hit and Run: A Mafia Hitman Romance
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Authors: Natasha Tanner,Vesper Vaughn
HIT AND RUN
A BAD BOY MAFIA ROMANCE
By Natasha Tanner and Vesper Vaughn
© 2016 Natasha Tanner, Vesper Vaughn
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the authors’ imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
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Contents
TEMPTING ME BY NATASHA TANNER AND ROXY SINCLAIR
SHOTGUN WEDDING: A BAD BOY MAFIA ROMANCE BY NATASHA TANNER AND ALI PIEDMONT
BAD PATIENT: A BAD BOY ROMANCE BY NATASHA TANNER AND JB DUVANE
CHAPTER ONE
ELIZABETH
I smack and pop my gum, trying to blow bubbles through the thin, minty material.
“That’s not bubblegum, Lizzy, so if you’re trying to blow bubbles you’re out of luck,” Tina says to me. “And spit it out.” She holds out her hand, a stern look on her fake-tanned face.
“Ew,” I say. “I am
not
spitting my gum out into your hand.”
She bends down and picks up the small trashcan that rests in the hollow space of the hostess podium. “Fine, in here.”
I spit it out and sigh.
“And here’s a pile of menus for you to wipe down. They’re filthy.”
I take the stack from her hands but I’m not happy about it.
“Your father mentioned wanting to talk to you alone tonight,” Tina says.
I roll my eyes. “Ugh.”
“Put a smile on that pretty mouth of yours. Your scowl is scaring away the customers.”
“We
have
no customers,” I retort.
“
Exactly
,” Tina says, walking away in her miniskirt that is entirely too short for someone of her age.
I grab a rag and cleaning spray and set to work de-gunking the menus. I feel like my brain is dissolving into a puddle of mush as I do it. I’m bored and entirely under stimulated. I’m almost praying for a bomb to go off in front of me just to wake me up from the monotony of my existence.
The front door opens and the bells chime, bringing with it a gust of icy winter wind that sends goosebumps down my bare arms. I don’t even bother glancing up. I know it’ll be my father and his
associates
. They’re the only people who come into this restaurant as it is. And that’s because it’s not exactly a restaurant, or at least it’s not a restaurant interested in turning a profit.
“Table for one, please,” says a deep, sexy voice that I wasn’t expecting.
I look up from my wiping and nearly fall backwards. The man standing in front of me is tall. And muscular. And covered in tattoos, or at least the part of his arms I can see peeking out of his shirtsleeves are. He has dark eyes and dark hair that’s gelled back perfectly. I have this urge to run my hands through it.
“Hi,” I say like a fool.
He smiles and that’s when I realize I should have saved my weak-in-the-knees moment a little while longer. Because. God. That smile. It’s white and perfect and there’s even a dimple indenting his left cheek a little bit.
I resist the urge to twirl my hair and giggle.
“Table for one,” he says again. “Unless you want to join me.”
That’s when I giggle. It just slips out and it’s a real, pure, unabashed giggle. What is wrong with me? “I’m working. I can’t,” I say.
Mr. Handsome looks around the restaurant pointedly. “Yeah, seems like you’ve really got a long line of customers to attend to.”
I don’t really know how to respond to that. “Right this way, Mister-“
“Cain. You can call me Cain,” he says, still wearing that beautiful smile.
“Alright.
Cain
, right this way.” My hands are shaking as I hand him a menu.
He takes a seat and doesn’t stop staring at me. “You’re beautiful,” he says.
Okay. Now he’s doing the flirtatious thing, which strangely turns me off. I like being the chaser, not being the one chased. “Order the meatballs. It’s the only thing our shitty chef knows how to cook.”
Cain laughs. It’s deep and vibrates through the air. I try not to think about what else of mine he could vibrate with those lips and fail miserably. I bet this guy has a different woman in his bed every single night. “I’m guessing you don’t suggest meatballs to all the customers.”
“Why do you say that?”
He leans in conspiratorially. “Because if you did, and they’re actually good, this place might actually have paying customers in it.”
I laugh darkly. “Yeah, well. The owners aren’t too concerned about customers.”
I’ve said too much.
Cain leans back. “Why is that?”
I blush and shake my head, gathering up his menu. “This place is just a hobby for my dad, really.”
“Your dad?” His face has gone dark for some reason that I can’t fathom. “Your dad owns this place?”
The front door opens, and in blows my father and his associates. “Elizabeth! Get us a round of bellinis.”
I shuffle away from Cain back towards the bar. I count heads. There’s nine of them today. They take their booth in the back corner of the restaurant, where my dad will hold court for the next few hours like he always does.
I emerge from the bar ten minutes later with a tray full of the sweet drinks. In one glass identical to the rest, I’ve put fizzy water. My father is an alcoholic. A
recovering
alcoholic, but an alcoholic all the same. “Here you go, Daddy,” I say. He looks annoyed at the lack of alcohol in his glass, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Give me a kiss, Lizzy,” he says.
I bend down and kiss him on the cheek.
He rubs my shoulder affectionately. “I don’t know what I did to get such a wonderful daughter, but I’m not complaining.”
“How about a kiss for me?” grunts Vinny, one of my father’s cohorts. I’m not particularly fond of any of my father’s business partners, but Vinny takes the cake for my hatred.
I ignore him and walk past his chair at the open edge of the booth. Vinny puts his hand on my ass for what must be the dozenth time in as many days.
That’s
why I hate him.
I have to just take it. My father doesn’t want to think badly of any of his men. And I’m not going to be the one to tell him. Sometimes I fantasize about taking one of the multitude of loaded guns out from under the bar top and just unloading into his head.
That’s really dark.
But that’s how much I hate Vinny.
I wander back to the kitchen. Our chef, Gino, is smoking a cigarette. I rush over, my heels clicking, and snap the cigarette from between his lips. “You could at least
pretend
this place is a restaurant, Gino,” I say with an attitude.
“Eh, you sound like Tina,” Gino says. I put out the cigarette before he can bat his ham hands at me and take it back. “Lighten up.”
“Sometimes I think I’m the only person who wants this place to look legit.” I put my hand on my waist. “We’ve got a customer.”
Gino laughs. “Right, you’re funny.”
“No, we
really
have a paying customer. I told him to order the meatballs. You made them fresh this morning, right?”
He nods. “Like always.”
I rap the counter with my knuckles. “Then I need those ASAP.”
Gino heaves his heavy body up out of the chair and wipes his hands on his pristine chef’s jacket. It’s only clean because the only cooking he does all day is the dinner he makes for my dad and his goons. It’s meatballs every single night. Sometimes I wonder if they get tired of them. I mean, the meatballs are good, but they’re not
that
good.
My father is so set in his ways he’s eaten the same breakfast for the last forty years of his life, maybe longer. A hunk of cheddar cheese, a lightly toasted English muffin, and a glass of orange juice. His routine never varies. Ever.
I should know.
I’m the one who makes it for him.
“And Dad and the crew are here,” I yell at Gino. “So get ready to make your usual boatload.”
Gino waves me away. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get out of here so I can cook. I can’t think with you yelling at me.”
I wander into the restaurant where my father waves me over once more. I cringe at the thought of walking past Vinny again. “Yes, Daddy?” I ask, steering clear of Vinny’s hands.
My dad points at Cain. “Who’s that?”
I look over. “A customer. An actual customer.”
He shakes his head. “Bring him over here,” he says. “I want to talk to him.”
I groan inwardly. As if I needed yet another thing to make me feel embarrassed today. I walk over to Cain. “My father wants to talk to you.”
Cain smiles. “Of course. No problem.” He stands up and brushes past me, which is totally unnecessary. There’s plenty of room in this restaurant for him to not bump into me. But he does.