Mob Mistress. Sheri WhiteFeather

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      She took an audible breath, and Leo frowned.

      “If you’re itching for female companionship, we can get you a woman,” the security chief told Justin, not allowing the maid to answer.

      Damn it. Justin cursed his mistake. He hadn’t meant to be so obvious, so openly attracted to her. “I’m not itching for anything, I just want to know her name.”

      Leo gestured for her to respond.

      “It’s Maya,” she said, keeping her eyes downcast and fussing with a silver coffee service. “Maya Reyes.”

      Her voice didn’t trigger familiarity. But he couldn’t ask her to whisper, to talk in a softer tone, to mimic his angel. “That’s a pretty name.”

      “Thank you.” She finished her work and left the parlor without meeting his gaze.

      “She’s supposed to know her place,” Leo said. “All of our employees are.”

      Irritated, Justin glared at the Hulk. “What’s taking this meeting so long to happen?”

      Leo shrugged.

      But several minutes later he announced that Brian Halloway had just entered the room. Tall and trim with graying blond hair, Brian carried himself like a corporate billionaire, exhibiting a commanding sense of style.

      He extended his hand, but Justin refused to shake it, spurning him the way he’d spurned Leo.

      “What’s wrong?” Brian asked, a humorous glint in his eye. “Were you expecting Tony Soprano?”

      Justin remained silent. He knew the West Coast Family wasn’t an Italian outfit. They were equal-opportunity criminals.

      “My brother asked me to apologize for his absence. Richard intended to be here, but he got called away on a business trip.” Brian remained standing. “He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

      Justin snapped back. “I don’t care about your brother. And I don’t give a damn about you. I want to see my parents. And my sister, if she’s here.”

      Brian made a perplexed expression. “I don’t understand.”

      “Your security chief said my family was anxious to see me.”

      “Your family, yes. Your parents and sister, no. Leo misled you.” Brian frowned at the Hulk, but the big man kept his cool. He didn’t even blink.

      The boss returned his attention to Justin, playing the ultimate host. “Can I get you something? Crab canapés? Garlic and cheese bruschetta? Liver paté? You must be starving by now. This should hold you over until dinner.”

      Screw the food. Justin didn’t care if he hadn’t eaten in two days. “I want to know what the hell is going on.”

      “Then I’ll tell you, straight from the hip. I’m your family. Me, my brother.” The mobster held his gaze. “You’re not Justin Elk.” He paused for effect. “You’re Justin Halloway.”

      Chapter 2

      Justin glared at the other man. “What kind of game are you playing?”

      “No game. Your mother was my sister, Beverly. She died without telling us that she’d had a child.”

      His gut tightened, tying itself into ropey knots. “This has to be a mistake.”

      “It’s the truth. I’ve got the DNA test to prove it. We swabbed you while you were sedated.” Brian reached into his jacket pocket and removed a sealed envelope. “You’re welcome to review the results.”

      Justin took the envelope, but he didn’t open it. He wouldn’t give Brian the satisfaction. “If Beverly’s my mother, then who’s my father?”

      The boss made a distasteful face. “Reed Blackwood.”

      The man he’d been told was his uncle? He glanced at Leo. Reed was the once-upon-a-time friend the security chief had mentioned. “My parents wouldn’t have lied to me. They wouldn’t have let me think that I was their son.”

      “But they did, Justin. Look at the report.”

      “This could be a forgery.”

      “You’re right. It could be, but it isn’t.” The mobster poured a cup of coffee and took a sip. “Being a Halloway is your legacy, your birthright. Whether you like it or not.”

      “You drugged me. You kidnapped me.” Justin all but snarled. “What kind of legacy, what kind of birthright is that?”

      “We got your attention, didn’t we? And no matter how much you try to deny it, we added some excitement to your life.” Brian had the gall to smile. “We know you were restless. That your daily routine was getting mundane. Besides, if the test had been negative, we would have returned you to Texas and never revealed ourselves.” He glanced at Lester, and the pooch wagged his tail. “We would have sent the dog along, too.” He smiled again. “And the Remington.”

      Justin squinted. They would have given him a four-to-five-million-dollar statue for the inconvenience? Talk about having money to burn. “That sounds like a better deal to me.”

      “What does? Not being related to us and going home with a costly consolation prize? Your inheritance is worth far more than that, nephew. And the Remington is yours either way.”

      Nephew? “No harm? No foul?”

      “Exactly.”

      Except for his angel, Justin thought. The woman who’d already told him who they were. “I could press charges against you.”

      Brian tilted his head. “Yes, you could. Kidnapping is a federal offense.”

      How poised could the other man be? How calm? How sure of himself? “But you don’t think I will, do you?”

      “No. I think you need us. That there’s an emptiness inside of you we can fill. And we need you, too. You’re all that’s left of Beverly. I can’t tell you how much we loved your mother. How special she wastous.”

      Justin bent the corner of the envelope. He still hadn’t opened it, still hadn’t looked at the results. He nailed Brian’s gaze instead. “My mother’s name is Heather Elk.”

      “Heather raised you, but she isn’t your biological mother.” Brian tasted the pate. “Do you know how we figured out that you might be Beverly’s son? My father, your grandfather, came across a newspaper article in the prison library about a dead baby, and it triggered his memory. Something from the past.”

      Justin turned morbidly silent, as though he hadn’t heard about the infant before now.

      Brian continued, “The police were looking for the public’s help to identify the baby. They offered all sorts of details. They said it was a newborn that had been dead for thirty years. A boy with Native American genetics. They can tell a lot about a corpse by its bones.” He finished the appetizer. “Dad knew he’d stumbled СКАЧАТЬ