Book 1: The Mafia's Father-Daughter Duo
Book 2: When the Princess becomes a Queen
Kylie McKlee spent her entire life in the Mafia, ruling as the British Underboss, and now, The Russian Mafia Boss.
As she digs deeper into the Mafia life, she uncover...
You never know how far you've fallen, until you look up
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If I could, I would kill my mother.
She's given me, Luka and Lexi a punishment, and I'm not even allowed painkillers. I had a dislocated shoulder!
Adding the polish to the final car, I sigh in exhaustion. That took three hours. Only for the cars! It's as if the woman wants me to suffer.
Dropping the rag back in the bucket, having finished my section of the cars, I trudged my way back inside. I even finished before Lexi and Luka, the lazy shits.
I sped up my pace past the kitchen, knowing Grandma Isobel will rope me into having another slice of cake. Not that it isn't good, but I have things to do.
I climbed the stair case and made way to the offices. Passing through the corridors, the pale white walls flashing by, my feet treading across the dark oak hardwood, each step making a thud. The photos of all the fallen members, both Russian and British, hanging in the walls.
Knocking on the charcoal door, I waited for the 'come in', before making my way inside. Behind the desk sat my mother, typing away on her laptop. Her blonde hair was tied in a ponytail, black framed glasses resting on her nose. Her black blazer disregarded on the sofa at the side of the room, her heels kicked off by her feet.
"Mum." I said, gaining her attention.
"Ryan." She responded, her tone still annoyed. Guess she's sick of walking to the medical wing every week.
"I'm sorry." I told her. Immediately her head snapped up, shock written all over her face.
"Since when does my son apologise for anything?" She joked, a grin spreading across her lips.
"Since he learnt what it's like to wash ten cars in one afternoon." I responded, taking a seat on the other side of the desk.
"It's okay." She told me, beginning to type away on her keyboard once again. When she noticed I wasn't moving, she sighed and looked up. "What did you do this time?"
"What makes you think I did something?" I grinned back, loving her eye roll.
"When do you not do something." She muttered. "Come on then, I only have a certain amount of time to fix your mess."
"I may or may not have sent Uncle Sergio and Uncle Diego fart bombs that explode when you open the box." I tell her.
Her pale blue eyes bore into my identical ones, an emotion I can't identify in them. "Ryan James Vasiliev- McKlee, how dare you... not let me help out in that prank!"
We both sit there chuckling like a pair of psychopaths. Acting as if we didn't prank the Don of the Italian Mafia and Underboss of the Russian; with a fart bomb.
