Exposed to the CEO Behind the Mafia Mask

Caleb’s POV

Discovering that Ivy had shared lunch with Parker sent molten rage coursing through my veins. Every fiber of my being screamed to hunt them down, put a bullet through that smooth-talking casino owner’s skull, and drag Ivy back to my territory where she belonged. But I forced myself to maintain control. The day we met at Xavier’s safehouse, Parker had been brutally transparent about his intentions. He swore to keep his distance from what was mine, but made it crystal clear that if Ivy and I went up in flames, he would move in without hesitation. True to his word, the bastard wasn’t wasting a single second.

Just as the women maintained their weekly book club gatherings every Tuesday at Heidi’s mansion, my inner circle held our own sacred tradition of meeting to discuss family business, drink premium whiskey, and relieve stress through high-stakes gambling. Tonight, we had chosen the Crimson Lounge because Xavier insisted the electric atmosphere would help shake off the murderous mood that had been consuming me for days.

Walking straight to the private gaming room upon arrival, I joined my capos for our usual poker tournament. The familiar rhythm of cards being shuffled and chips clicking managed to ease the tension in my shoulders somewhat. For the first time in days, I found myself genuinely laughing at one of my men’s crude jokes, engaging in strategic banter with my lieutenants, and sipping club soda while maintaining my commitment to sobriety after the catastrophic incident at Heidi’s charity gala.

Then my personal vision of hell materialized. A suffocating cloud of sickly sweet perfume invaded my space before manicured claws wrapped around my neck like a python preparing to strike. I froze in shock as glossy lips crashed against mine in a revolting assault that contaminated my mouth with saliva and sticky red lipstick. This was my worst nightmare incarnate.

"Darling, there you are!" Yara Rossi’s voice cut through the room like fingernails scraping concrete, her excitement at cornering me absolutely repulsive.

"Remove your filthy hands from me, you deranged psychopath!" I snarled, desperately attempting to pry her talons from around my throat.

"Oh sweetheart, you’re so adorable when you play hard to get like that."

"This isn’t playing games. Step back immediately." My voice carried across the gaming room, drawing curious stares from nearby family soldiers and associates.

Yara finally released her stranglehold, but her face flushed crimson with fury. She jabbed her finger inches from my nose and shrieked in an even more unbearable, glass-shattering pitch:

"Listen very carefully, Caleb Thorne. I am carrying your heir and will become your wife. I suggest you start treating me with the respect and devotion befitting your future donna."

Perfect. Just what this evening needed - a public spectacle in front of my own men. I dragged my hands down my face and summoned every last ounce of restraint from my rapidly depleting reserves.

"Yara, we are not marrying for love because frankly, I find you repulsive. We are only discussing this arrangement because you and your manipulative father have attempted to blackmail me with your pregnancy claims. But do not mistake this situation for romance. I will never become the devoted husband you are delusional enough to fantasize about."

"Baby, think rationally about this. Our union is inevitable, so why not embrace it and allow me to prove how perfect we are together? I promise you will develop feelings for me much faster than you imagine."

"You have completely lost your mind. You have failed to accomplish that goal for decades. What makes you believe you can achieve it now?" Xavier interjected with cutting sarcasm, prompting explosive laughter from the rest of our crew. Yara glared at him with murderous intent.

"The real problem, darling, is that you surround yourself with toxic influences," Yara hissed, shooting venomous looks at my capos.

"I actually agree with that assessment, but not regarding them. I should have eliminated your father’s business partnership with my organization and removed you from my life years ago," I replied, rising from my chair.

"Caleb!" she screamed in outrage.

"Now do everyone in this establishment a favor and disappear immediately," I concluded with finality.

"Whether you accept it or not, you will become my husband. We have crucial matters to discuss and arrangements to finalize," she persisted with delusional stubbornness.

"Discuss what exactly, you unhinged woman?" I asked, genuinely amazed by her psychological instability.

"The wedding reception, our living arrangements, honeymoon destination, the nursery preparations..." she rattled off as if these were logical priorities.

"There will be no reception and definitely no honeymoon. I have already arranged separate living quarters for you. Is there anything else requiring my immediate attention?" My patience was completely exhausted.

"That is absolutely unacceptable. I am going to inform daddy about your disrespectful behavior," she whined like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum.

"You know what, gentlemen? I have grown tired of this establishment’s atmosphere. I have a much superior suggestion," Dominic announced, standing abruptly. "Shall we relocate?"

We all followed Dominic’s lead toward the exit. Yara remained behind, stamping her designer heels and screaming like a toddler denied candy. After departing the Crimson Lounge, Dominic sent a coded text message containing the address of our new destination - a location I knew intimately from previous stress-relief visits.

Upon our arrival, the establishment’s manager personally greeted our crew and escorted us to one of the exclusive VIP suites. This was the most sophisticated gentleman’s club in the entire territory, catering exclusively to made men and their associates. Before we had even settled into the leather seating, two stunning hostesses wearing barely-there scarlet dresses and matching stiletto heels appeared with crystal tumblers and bottles of premium aged whiskey and cognac. Finn and I requested mineral water instead.

"At least in this sanctuary, gentlemen, that insufferable harpy has never managed to track us down!" Dominic declared triumphantly, raising his glass in celebration.

The venue radiated class and sophistication, filled with breathtaking women working as both servers and entertainers. We drank, discussed family business freely, and appreciated the stunning feminine beauty surrounding us without interference. As the evening progressed, the strangling tension that had been consuming me for weeks finally began to loosen its grip on my throat. When closing time approached, I departed with one of the dancers who had provided exceptional service during my previous visits to this establishment. I desperately needed a distraction from the chaos threatening to destroy everything I had worked to build.