Hateful Promise – Costa Crime Family Read Online B.B. Hamel

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Billionaire, Erotic, Mafia, MC Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)

He prefers women in handcuffs, not cocktail dresses.And I’m his new obsession.When my father steals money from three powerful casino bosses, I’m taken captive by the worst of them Erick Costa, notorious gangster and vicious criminal with violent tastes and sickening delights.But it turns out, he’s a big fan of my art, and he wants more than his money back.He cuts me a deal. Create forged paintings for him to sell on the black market, and he’ll let me work off my father’s debt.Except that’ll take forever, and in the meantime, I’m stuck at his pleasure.Erick Costa’s big, gorgeous, reserved, and intelligent. I want to pretend like I’m not attracted to him, but the man isn’t shy about flaunting his stacked abs and tattoos.Soon it becomes clear he needs more than my skills.He wants all of me, every single inch, and he won’t stop until he gets it.And when he finds the secret paintings I’ve been making of him?He’ll know exactly how I feel, and he’ll never let me go.

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

Chapter 1


It’s raining outside and Dad’s been missing for three weeks. I finish putting away the last of the paints, wipe down spilled wine, and toss the easels left behind by guests who didn’t really care about what they were making right into the trash. This paint and sip place specializes in bland landscapes and holiday themes, and tonight’s waterfall is basically burned into my skull from making some version of it every night for the last year. Most folks don’t come to Picasso’s Drinking Problem to make a masterpiece, and that’s fine by me.

As I continue the clean-up phase of closing, I remember the last thing Dad said to me before he went on the run. Heloise, don’t you ever give it up, girl. You’ve got a gift. And hey, lend me a few bucks, I need to grab some smokes. That was my old man, the only person in the world that used my real name, quick with a compliment and never shy about asking for a loan. He took my ten bucks and never looked back.

Now he’s gone after pulling off the biggest job of his life. If he ever comes back, someone will put a bullet between his eyes.

Good old Dad. I throw the last of the used paint in the big trash can in the back and stare down at my hands, covered in blue and purple and shaking. Good old Dad, gone now, and left behind a big target on my back. Good old Dad.

“Hey, Hellie, you okay?” Nicky sticks her head in the back room, squinting at me. I jump at her voice, look back over my shoulder, and stifle a yelp.

“All good, just finishing up.”

“You’ve been standing there looking at the floor for, like, a minute. You sure you’re fine?”

“I’m totally good, just tired is all.” I turn up the dial on my fake smile and that makes Nicky pat the doorframe, her lips pushed together.

“Alright, well, we’re all set out here. Is it cool if I head home? I gotta get changed before Molls comes and picks me up.”

“Sure, get out of here, I’ll close up.”

“You positive you don’t want to come meet us out at the Palm? Her cousin’s bartending and we’re getting free drinks.”

“Nah, I’m not in the mood for a casino tonight.” And I’m pretty sure my dad robbed one, which means I need to lie low, but I don’t add that part. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Text me if you change your mind.” She waves and leaves. I pause for a minute, gathering myself together, before I get everything locked up.

It’s not like this is the first time Dad’s fucked up. I should be used to it by now.

The Great and Wonderful Daniel Accardi’s been running around Las Vegas for the last fifty years causing mayhem, conning locals and tourists alike, and generally being an all-around sleazeball. Most people know him as Danny, but I call him Dad, and he’s been an intermittent light in my life since I was a little girl. I remember following him down the Strip as he pointed out all the different schemes going on, from pickpockets to fake beggars, and he grabbed me by the shoulders outside of a huge casino, and he made me look up at the top floor, and he told me something I haven’t been able to get out of my head since: sweetie, they don’t let people like me and you up at the top, but they also can’t lock all the doors even if they wanted to.

My grandmother raised me. I never knew my mom—Dad told me half a dozen stories about her, most of them conflicting, probably none of them true—and I barely have any family.

Which is why Dad always mattered so much.

Now he’s gone, and I don’t think he’s ever coming back.

At least if he’s smart.

I finish closing up Picasso’s Drinking Problem while ruminating on my con-man father’s latest fuck-up and how it’s going to ripple into my life. The night’s dark and quiet, dry as the desert, the parking lot slow and still. I hurry toward my car, cutting across a couple rows of SUVs and minivans, until I slow and nearly stop when I spot a man leaning up against my ancient Ford Focus’s rear bumper.

I nearly scream.

He’s tall. Broad, muscular. Scruffy beard. Dark brown hair, light tan skin bordering on olive colored. His eyes are dark, his form-fitting suit is pure black, and he’s one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen in my life.

I also know exactly who he is, and this is very, very bad.

“Hello, Heloise,” he says, not smiling. His voice is low and soft-spoken. I move closer to him without thinking about it before I force myself to stop again. We’re completely alone.

My heart’s racing into my throat.