![]() Their positions at their jobs aren’t contingent on their strength. Those are the kind of men who get massages. I’ve got no intention of going legit any time soon, like the pale, pencil-pushing stool pigeons I see waiting at bus stops when I pass by in my Bugatti. My business practices are illegal, immoral-and they make me a lot of money. There wasn’t a hiccup when I took over, tightening up the operation and bringing the family into the twenty-first century. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t being groomed to step into his shoes and run the Boston underworld in which I was brought up. ![]() I’ve been the head of the McManus family for five years, ever since my hardnosed bastard of a father dropped dead on the tennis court of his estate, probably to avoid losing the match. In my world, weakness is the kiss of death. Getting one implies that I’m overworked and stressed-both of which suggest weakness. And he’s not accustomed to hearing the word no… Because Walker isn’t satisfied with one session. Nor did I expect the dangerously attractive criminal to offer fifty thousand dollars to give me the massage, instead. When I woke up this morning, I never expected my first massage client of the day to be notorious Boston mob boss Walker McManus. ![]()
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