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Authors: Mallory Monroe

ROMANCING THE MOB BOSS

ROMANCING
THE
MOB BOSS
MALLORY MONROE
c2011

All rights reserved. Any use of the materials

contained in this book without the expressed written

consent of the author and/or her affiliates, is strictly

prohibited.
***

AUSTIN BROOK PUBLISHING

America’s stomping ground for romantic ebooks

***

This novel is a work of fiction. All characters are

fictitious. Any similarities to anyone living or dead are

completely accidental. The specific mention of known

places or venues are not meant to be exact replicas of

those places, but are purposely embellished or imagined

for the story’s sake.

***

MORE
INTERRACIAL ROMANCE
FROM BESTSELLING AUTHOR
MALLORY MONROE

THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND

ROMANCING HER PROTECTOR
ROMANCING THE BULLDOG
IF YOU WANTED THE MOON
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FROM
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SOME CAME DESPERATE
KATHERINE CACHITORIE

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A SPECIAL RELATIONSHIP
YVONNE THOMAS

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WHEN WE GET MARRIED
KATHERINE CACHITORIE

***

BACK TO HONOR:

A REGGIE REYNOLDS MYSTERY
JT WATSON

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AFTER WHAT YOU DID

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INTERRACIAL ROMANCE

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FROM

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MALLORY MONROE

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ROMANCING THE RAIDER
AND

From fan favorite

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LOVING THE HEAD MAN

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ONE

“I’m stil waiting, Louie,” Trina yel ed to

the cook as she hurried into the kitchen at

Boyzie’s, a busy strip joint, to grab her next

orders.

“You stil waiting, she’s stil waiting, he’s

stil waiting.” Louie stood at the gril behind the

order pickup counter flipping burgers, tossing

spice into his fast-boiling sauce pot, mumbling

his complaints with a filthy towel flapped over

his broad shoulder. “Everybody’s waiting.

Everybody wants it yesterday. I only got two

hands here!”

“For real?” Trina said. “And here I was

thinking you couldn’t possibly be a mere mortal.

Just send it out, please. I should have been off

duty ten minutes ago!”

“Hey, girl,” Jazz said to Trina as she

hurried into the kitchen with her tray in hand,

too. “You’re slow tonight, Louie,” she yel ed with

a grin, knowing he hated to be rushed.

“I got yo’ slow right over here, Jazz,”

Louie said, brandishing the spatula.

Jazz looked at Trina. “What you stil

doing here? I thought you was off at ten.”

“I was. I am.” Then she raised her

voice. “I cal ed myself doing a certain person a

favor by helping out before I left, but that certain

person don’t appreciate it!”

“Ain’t it slammin’ tonight?” Jazz said. “I

love when it’s busy.”

“I hate it,” Trina said. “The gropers be

out in force when it’s crowded like this.”

“I know. They think everybody working in

a strip club gots to be a stripper, too, even the

serving staff. That’s why they be looking at my

fat black ass like I’m some sister from another

planet. They don’t even think about groping

me. Which is fine by me,” Jazz added with that

familiar, wonderful smile Trina loved. “My man

likes what he sees, and that’s al that matters to

me.” Then she yel ed. “But I’l take a groping

over this waiting any day of the week, dang,

Louie!”

“He’s only got two hands, or so he

claims,” Trina said with a smile, and then

claims,” Trina said with a smile, and then

added, excitedly, “Oh, Jazz, I forgot to tel you.

They cal ed me for an interview!”

“Who? The PaLargio? You lyin’!”

“They cal ed me, girl. I’m to meet with a

Mr. Amos Logan, the general manager, next

Monday.”

“You good, Tree. Gots to give you your

props. I don’t even have the nerve to walk up in

a bougie place like that, and here you are

applying to be a manager there.”

“I used to be one back home. Why the

hel not here?”

“Managing a club in Dale, Mississippi

and managing a club at the PaLargio Hotel and

Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada, ain’t nothing like

the same thing.”

“True that, but you can’t move up if you

don’t aim high enough.”

“Table four, table seven up,” Louie said

as he slung the plates onto the counter, the food

bouncing up and then plopping back down.

“It’s about time,” Trina said as she

grabbed the three plates, put them on her tray,

and hurried for the dining hal .

The room was wired with excitement

even though the exotic dancers didn’t take the

stage for another couple hours, and Trina

headed first for table four, the nice guy, before

she headed for table seven, the gruesome

twosome. Those two idiots had been bugging

her ever since they arrived, with al kinds of

sexual y-charged, juvenile jokes, and although

she ignored them the way she ignored al jerks,

they were beginning to grate on her nerves.

But the guy at table four was different.

He had some class about him, some style.

He’d been coming in for the past few weeks

regular-like, in his expensive Armani suits, and

one time even Boyzie himself, the club’s owner,

sat at his table talking with him. Which

automatical y made clear that he wasn’t the run-

of-the-mil customer they were used to.

And besides, Trina thought as she

arrived at his table, he was what any female

would cal good looking. Nice height, athletical y

built, silky brown hair slicked back off of a face

with the most intense, the most beautiful sky-

blue eyes Trina had ever seen. And he had

such a strong jaw line, with just a hint of five

o’clock shadow, that made her see why al of

the waitresses would jockey to seat him in their

stations whenever he entered the club. Tonight,

however, was Trina’s lucky night.

Dominic Gabrini, known far and wide as

Reno, felt lucky, too, when the cute waitress with

the tight ass made her way to his table. He’d

been eyeing her al night, had, in fact, been

eyeing her al those other nights he came into

the place. She was a looker, with those big,

hazel eyes and that velvety smooth dark skin,

but she didn’t play it up like the rest of them,

didn’t flaunt her beauty, didn’t have that eye-

batting, hip-shaking,
look at me
narcissism he

hated in a woman.

“One royal crown coming up,” Trina said

as she sat his plate of steak and potatoes on

the tabletop.

“Royal crown, hun?” Reno said with a

grin that made him look even sexier to Trina.

And his soft, melodic, straight up romantic

voice, have mercy. He could have been an

Italian singer, an opera star, with a voice that

rich and soft and sweet, she thought.

“That’s what we like to cal it, anyway,”

Trina said. “Instead of plain old meat and

potatoes. Royal crown, we cal it. Give this joint

a little class, know what I’m saying?”

Reno laughed. “I hear ya, sister.”

“Wel , have a good night,” Trina said as

she was about to head over to that dreaded

table seven.

“Good night?” Reno asked, stopping her

progression. “What, you leaving or something?”

“My shift been over. I drop these plates

at table seven and I’m outta here. Good night.”

“But what about your tip?” Reno asked,

stopping her from leaving again. For some

crazy reason her just leaving like this, without

giving him sufficient notice, was disturbing to

him. “You aren’t going to wait for your tip?”

“It’l go in the general pot. I’l get my

share.” This time she didn’t say good night, but

just walked away, determined to get away from

him.

There was no denying the guy had

There was no denying the guy had

charm, she thought with a smile as she headed

for table seven. And talk about that extra

something. He had it. Had the kind of sex

appeal that made even her, a woman who

avoided any il usions about finding Mr. Right in

a joint like this, wonder if he was as kind, as

considerate, as
good in bed
, as he appeared to

be.

Her smile and wonderment, however,

completely left when she arrived at table seven.

“The goddess is back,” joked one of the

guys, an acne-faced frat boy with an eternal grin

on his mug. He was the leader. “What did we

ever do to deserve this pleasure?”

“Burger and fries, cheeseburger and

fries coming up,” Trina said as she began

placing their plates onto the table.

“You gon’ strip for us tonight, honey?”

the other guy, who seemed more serious, more

lust-fil ed, asked.

“I’m not a stripper.”

“Quit lying,” Acne-face said. “You know

you work that pole. I seen you the other night

flying around it, rubbing al up against it.

Worked the living daylights out of it!” This

caused acne-face to grin like a hyena.

Reno, whose table wasn’t ten feet away,

watched the gruesome twosome work the

waitress over. Both were tal , blonde, surfer-

dude types who probably could use a good ass-

kicking. But Reno watched.

“So what you say?” the other guy asked.

“Gonna give us a lap dance afterwards.” He

looked down the length of her. “Shake that

wonderful ass in our faces?’

“Yeah,” Acne-face said, “you going to

shake that ass for us? That apple-shaped

ass?” Then he glanced at his friend, pointing

toward Trina’s rear. “How about them apples,

hun? How about them apples on that apple-

shaped ass? How about them apples?” He

annoyingly kept repeating this. Then he did

something that even his obnoxious friend would

not have thought advisable. He squeezed her

ass. “How about them apples?” he said as he

squeezed.

Before Trina could take that tray and

clobber him, which was absolutely what she

planned to do, Reno was by her side, grabbing

the glass of beer from the table and tossing it in

Acne’s face. Then he grabbed Acne’s blonde

hair and slammed his face over and over into

the tabletop, violently slamming it down, with

blood immediately spewing from Acne’s nose

as soon as Reno lifted his head al the way back

up.

“How about
them
apples?” Reno angrily

said to the kid, and then slung the kid’s hair

from his grasp as if it was a contaminant. That

entire section of the club, not to mention Trina,

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