Chapter 1 - The Mobster
“I found what you’ve been looking for, Boss.”
My eyes flicked up from the stack of papers in my lap. I was sitting behind my office desk at my favorite hotel. I owned five, and this one had a special quality the others couldn’t touch. This is where everything started, and one day, I expected it would be where everything would end.
I eyed my second-in-command briefly, not bothering to give him a verbal response. My eyes dropped back down to the architectural designs. I had a meeting in fifteen minutes, which left no time for fruitless distractions.
I hadn’t been able to find the object of my desire in a decade. I highly doubted my second would be able to find her.
He walked across the rug to my desk and slid a black folder across the clean glass top toward me. From my peripheral view, I noticed the shit-eating grin illuminating his face.
“The best part?” he added triumphantly. “She’s right here.”
I hummed a response but made no move to touch the folder. My imminent meeting was with the mayor and other city officials. I needed my wits about me to make sure I got what I wanted from this deal. My focus would be challenged if I let my hopes up only to be crushed by furious disappointment.
Again.
My second swore and grabbed the folder back. He sank into one of the chairs across my deck and emptied the contents of the folder into his hands. A glossy 8x10 photo was on top. He slid it toward me, but I didn’t spare it a glance.
Not interested.
He cleared his throat and read from the file:
“This applicant is an 18-year-old virgin. She has not been penetrated orally, vaginally, or anally -- not even during routine medical examinations. According to her application, she expressed a small curiosity in sexual intercourse during The Masquerade.
“However, from insight gained during her interview, our staff believe her interest is suppressed. She is naturally shy, easily coerced, adverse to confrontation, and placatingly sweet.
“She is healthy, fertile, and alone. Father is absent and unknown. Mother is deceased. No siblings or extended family relations.
“After a diligent and thorough review of your client’s demands and preferences, Tropes and Triggers Matchmaking Media rate this applicant to be an 84% match.”
I sighed heavily. Just when she was beginning to sound promising too.
I slammed my stack of papers on my desk, half-covering the photograph I still had not looked at. I was sufficiently distracted now. I was pissed off rather than disappointed, which didn’t bode well for anyone in my vicinity.
“84-fucking-percent? You barge into here for 84-FUCKING-PERCENT?”
My second held up a hand, not intimidated by my outrage. He knew how to weather my storms, which was a blessing and a curse. I needed a second who would rise to the occasion. Not someone who withered under duress. He was that and more.
But in this moment?
I wanted him to cower, damn it. I wanted him to realize he made a grievous mistake. I had longed for a female companion for years now. I was ready for children, for my family, and for my empire to expand. There are over 8 billion people living on this planet, and I had yet to find one woman worthy of being my wife and the mother of my children.
I was hungry, but I wasn’t desperate. 84% could eat shit. My second could too for his audacity.
He didn’t spare me a glance. He kept reading:
“Although 84% compatibility is lower than the standard set by your client, the experts at Tropes and Triggers Matchmaking Media are presenting this applicant for the following reasons:
“First, the DNA compatibility is in the 99th percentile, meaning the client will have the advantage when it comes to creating offspring with his physical, emotional, and intellectual attributes. His traits will be dominant while hers will be supportive.”
That didn’t sound too bad.
“Second, the applicant is wholly untouched. There is limited evidence of her presence on social media or in print. She will be easy to make disappear, and no one can claim any sort of ownership. There are no nudes. There are no videos. She is pure. Her breasts are untouched and unseen. Her neck has never been blemished, and her lips are unkissed. She will belong wholly and completely to whoever possesses her.”
My cock stirred to life. I dealt in the rare and difficult-to-obtain. To think that I could have someone that no one had even seen intimately made my blood roar. I wanted to be the first and the only.
Why couldn’t she be a 95% match? Hell, between points one and two I might settle for a 90.
But 84? I needed more.
“Finally, due to the applicant’s age, inexperience, and personality, it is the opinion of Tropes and Triggers Matchmaking Media that she is moldable. With the right pressure, touch, incentive and warning, reward and punishment, your client should be able to fashion and guide this match into an appropriate mate. If your client proves skillful and successful, this pairing has potential to become 98% compatible for life.”
My eyes shot to my second’s gaze, and I stared him down. I heard the challenge in the report.
I “should” be able. . .
“If” I was successful. . .
I’d be a fool to let the bastards goad me into accepting an 84% match . . . but . . .
The possibility of 98%?
My job required examining opportunities for risks and payoffs, then massaging the circumstances to create an outcome in my favor. My skillset was successfully molding life to what I wanted.
During my consultation with TTMM, my demands were so high, tight, and strict that they warned me anything above a 95% was impossible.
Not just improbable – impossible.
So, I compromised and agreed to allow a small variance up to 5%.
Now they’re telling me I could take this young woman, impress my will upon her, make her fully mine and have a 98% match for my effort?
My second was smartly quiet as I considered the information he presented.
My finger tapped on the desk before me. My eyes dropped down to the half-hidden headshot of her. I slid the photo free, staring down at the well-lit and expertly captured image of her face.
Exceptional.
This beautiful, raw diamond was untouched and unclaimed? She had been hidden, waiting for the right man to find her, form her and polish her?
I slid my finger down her cheek and traced her jawline and her lips. In the wrong hands, the results would be devastating.
I felt worthy to handle her.
My imagination ran wild with ideas for our future. Fiery, wild sex. Strong, obedient children.
Her devotion.
My loyalty.
Her love.
My possession.
My eyes snapped to my second as I gave the command: “Do it.”
