Steel Promise – Rossi Crime Family Read Online B.B. Hamel

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Forbidden, Mafia Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)

I stole his watch. He got me pregnant. I met Saul Rossi at my lowest. Desperate to pay for my brother’s medicine, I followed Saul home thinking I could rob the spoiled mafia prince and make a quick buck. Turns out, I was right, except he left me with one more ’m pregnant. And Saul’s not walking away. He’s a dangerous beast with a jawline straight out of a Marvel movie and the physique to match. The second I tell him what happened, he gets all possessive and controlling. He thinks he can storm into my life and start making demands, but I’m not here for that. I don’t need this stress. I have a Nana and a sick brother to take care of—Saul Rossi’s just a gorgeous distraction. Except he grabs me by the waist and I’m going to take care of you, whether you like it or not. I’m about to find out how far he’ll go to keep what’s his.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter 1


I’m going to rob the first guy who tries to take me home.

It’s nothing personal. Just a fact of life. I’m on a mission at this seedy dive in a bad neighborhood, and I’m determined to follow through. The guys in this place won’t be rich, but they’re not exactly saints, either. That makes it morally acceptable somehow. Flickering lights, a sticky floor, guys smoking cigars inside even though that was banned years ago. The bartender has more tattoos than a prison yard. The Sterling Duck isn’t the kind of bar I’d ever go into on a normal Thursday night, but I’m out of options. Which means I’m going home with someone tonight.

But I won’t have sex with him. No, I’m going to rifle through his wallet, his underwear drawer, under his mattress, behind his dresser. I’m going to take everything: cash, wallets, jewelry, phones, anything I might be able to sell.

I cross my legs and feel sick. My stomach’s on the verge of emptying. Bile fills my throat. I wash it down with a big glass of wine, hand shaking.

I’m going to do it. The first guy who sits down next to me and tries some lame pick-up attempt, I’m going home with him, and I’m going to steal everything he has.

The thought makes my stomach twist.

My feet are numb.

I’m going to do it.

I’ve been here for half an hour and so far, nobody’s tried. I’m not sure if I’m insulted or relieved. A little bit of both. I want to get up and run the hell out of here, forget about this awful plan, pretend like my life hasn’t smashed right through rock bottom and plummeted down into the lowest recesses of hell, but I can’t. Nana’s still at home. Jason’s still with her. If I walk now, nothing will change.

Maybe I could skip all this crap and start an OnlyFans. Except I don’t see why anyone would want to pay good money to see my boobs when there are like a hundred thousand pretty girls with nice boobs charging less than I’d need. Plus, I’m not very good at online stuff. Maybe I could quit kidding myself and charge for sex directly—but there’s still a voice in the back of my head that wants to avoid the worst of the worst. I’m desperate, but at least I’m not a hooker. Not yet, anyway, because if this doesn’t work⁠—

It’s going to work. I’m going to do it.

The clientele tonight is subdued. The Philadelphia 76ers are playing on TV and most of the people around me are watching. I like basketball better than other sports. I can relate to how much they love shoes. There’s an older couple in their fifties, a few guys clustered in a booth in their forties, a few loners sipping drinks, but nobody comes near me. Like they know I’m trouble.

I expected a certain kind of guy when I came here tonight. Rugged, angry, dangerous, the sort of guy who spends a lot of time out on the corners getting into trouble, the kind of guy who works at the docks but doesn’t actually have a job. There are a lot of guys like that in deep South Philly where the Irish clans control most of the streets. I’d know because I’m related to a couple of them. My cousin Mickey sells pot to college kids and gets in fights outside the stadiums. My uncle Seamus is serving a life sentence for murdering the head of a rival crew.

Being a lowlife piece of shit runs in my family.

Which is why I can pull this off.

But the place is empty. There are only normal people tonight. No assholes flashing gang signs, sitting around with gold chains, showing a peek of the gun they have stashed in their waistband. Just normal working folks. Not the people I want to rob.

I take another shaky sip of wine and steady my breathing. I wish I had beer, but that’s not the image I’m going for right now. I want to scream classy and available. Also a little fuckable. Like I’m a great meal just waiting to be scooped up. I want to look like the kind of girl who’ll be excited to get into some lowlife asshole’s stolen Lexus.

This is who I am. Or at least it’s who I’m meant to be. I spent all my life avoiding these people, pretending like I’m not them, like I’m better. I waitressed all over town, at diners, strip clubs, fancy bars. It was never enough. Now I’m twenty-four and what do I have? Debt, a Nana on disability, and a sick brother. My two years of community college to get a cute certificate in hospitality don’t look great right about now.

Because I’m going to do this.

I finish my first glass of wine and start on my second. I’m wearing a tight black dress and every time I move, the hem pulls up my thighs. I catch a few guys looking and think, don’t do it, please don’t do it, but none of them approach. The top is cut low and I’ve got the cross necklace Nana gave me for my sixteenth birthday sparkling between my tits like a honeypot. Go ahead and stare, it’s practically screaming. I want to rip it off.