Wanted: A Dark Italian Mafia Romance (Men Of Mayhem Book 1)

by Kristen Luciani

  Wanted

  Men of Mayhem, Book One

  Kristen Luciani

  Wanted © 2020 by Kristen Luciani

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Except for the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles, and lyrics mentioned in this novel are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed, or used in any manner whatsoever, via the Internet, electronic, or print, without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For more information, or information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact Kristen Luciani at kluciani@gmail.com.

  Edited by: Elaine York of Allusion Graphics

  Cover Design by: Cosmic Letterz

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Serena

  2. Diego

  3. Serena

  4. Diego

  5. Diego

  6. Serena

  7. Diego

  8. Serena

  9. Diego

  10. Serena

  11. Diego

  12. Serena

  13. Diego

  14. Serena

  15. Diego

  16. Serena

  17. Diego

  18. Serena

  Epilogue

  Read The Series Prequel!

  Men of Mayhem Series

  Severinov Bratva Series

  Mob Lust Series

  Love Drunk Series

  Standalone Romance Titles

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Serena

  His dark eyes assault me from across the room — searching, questioning, accusing. A tightness in my chest makes it hard to pull in a breath under his heavy stare. I force a smile at the bartender and take the champagne flute from his outstretched hand. I raise the crystal flute to my lips and sip the bubbly liquid, trying to shake the feeling of dread that washes over me.

  Mama was nervous about me hosting this gala, but I told her it was worth the risk. The work I do for the foundation puts me in the limelight pretty often, and I knew when I established it six months ago that there would always be dangers lurking because of who my family is and what they’ve done.

  Allegedly.

  My eyes flicker back toward the man standing in a darkened corner clenching a glass in his hand. People seem to flock to him, whoever he is, but he turns them away, refusing to talk, rejecting their efforts to mingle. He ignores everyone.

  Except me.

  But yet, he hasn’t yet made a move to approach me. He only watches, tracking my every move through the crowded ballroom of Casale Cardini. And as unsettling as his actions are, I refuse to let him shake me. Not now, when I’m about to make the biggest speech of my life in front of nearly a thousand people with very deep pockets who are about to join me on a quest for hope founded for the young and innocent women of Italy who need it most.

  I was almost one of them.

  I blink fast and take another quick sip of the champagne. The bubbles tickle the inside of my nose, and I have the sudden urge to sneeze. The bartender grins at me and nods at my half-empty glass. “Looks like you can use a bottle of that instead of just a glass.”

  I manage a grin, my fingers clutching the stem of the glass. “You could say that. But I have to give a speech in a little while. I might need it afterward though.”

  The bartender holds up the bottle and gives me a wink. “It’s got your name on it. Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” I say, swallowing hard as the mystery man moves closer, clearly on his own quest. The feeling of unease weaving its way through my insides amplifies as the distance between us closes. I take a few steps away from the bar as other guests cross his very determined path. One such person, a man just as tall and just as broad, lays a hand on his arm and guides him out onto the veranda, speaking with a pinched expression on his face.

  Jackie Anzelone, my father’s underboss. And as much as I despise that slimy asshole, a two-faced prick whom my father refuses to eliminate, he just saved me.

  I let out a shaky breath.

  From what, I don’t know for certain. But I have a damn strong suspicion.

  And my neck is permanently cricked from constantly looking over my shoulder.

  A strong hand presses against the small of my back, and I jump, a yelp escaping my lips. “Papa!”

  “You’re a little on edge, huh?” He smiles at me. “Your mother and I just wanted to wish you luck before you blow all of these people away with your speech.”

  I glance around the ballroom draped in shades of blue and bite down on my lower lip. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over the sea of faces waiting to hear from the hostess of this event. I couldn’t have predicted this kind of a turnout, but I guess when you run a foundation on behalf of the Vitale family, a family who pretty much owns all of central and southern Italy, people take notice.

  Of course, they all want to be seen at the premier event of the year.

  Actually, it’s the event of the decade if you ask my parents.

  And on this Saturday evening in Naples, Casale Cardini is the place to be.

  It’s amazing to see the level of support the foundation has generated since it was founded months ago. And my father’s iron fist doesn’t hurt my crusade. I’m not naïve. I know people flocked to this event because of the threat of what might happen to them and their livelihoods if they didn’t, but that doesn’t bother me in the least. They showed up, and once I convince them why it’s so important for them to care, they’ll happily throw cash at me.

  The only hitch is, I can’t tell them the truth…the real truth behind my quest.

  For a long time, I’d felt that my life had no purpose, no meaning. It was vacuous and superficial. And one night, six months ago, I told my parents I needed to be more than just Franco Vitale’s daughter, that I didn’t want that title to define me. I had a college degree and career aspirations as a fashion designer. I wanted to find my own success on my own merit.

  But Papa told me it wasn’t in the cards, that there was too much risk to letting me go out on my own, that he had to deal with some looming threats before that would be even the remotest of possibilities.

  And a very short time later, those threats became my reality, a reality that I’d been rescued from by a nameless, faceless stranger.

  Who saved my life.

  And I decided the very next day that I would continue that work and become someone else’s savior.

  I’m a victim, yes, but I’m one of the lucky ones. Too many suffer the opposite fate.

  Nobody knows, and Papa made sure that night that nobody ever will. Admitting to the world that his security had been compromised enough for the enemy to close in on his only daughter was not even a consideration.

  Not for the most notorious mobster in western Europe.

  People needed to believe we were invincible, impervious to threats.

  So I’ve done my part and kept my personal story buried, even though it tears me up each time to have to give one of these speeches. I was saved, but those threats are always lurking in the shadows, ready to strike.

  And if that happens, there’s no guarantee I’ll be saved again.

/>   “Serena,” Mama says, her fingertips grazing my arm. “Look around. You did all of this. These people have come such a distance tonight because you’ve made them believe that everyone deserves a future filled with hopes and dreams and happiness. Your tireless work with the foundation, the hospitals and orphanages you’ve supported, the women whose lives you’ve changed forever…it’s your passion that brought these people together, convinced them that they all have an important part to play in this world, my strong and beautiful girl. You’ve done such an amazing job of making people care, and I couldn’t be prouder of you, cuore mio.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” I give my mother a quick hug, breathing in her perfumed scent. I grasp her hand and then grab onto one of Papa’s hands, looking at them with a wide smile on my face. “You’re the most amazing parents. I can’t tell you enough how much I love you and how lucky I am to have you in my life.”

  We don’t talk about that night anymore. My parents respect my need to battle the demons that led me on my own personal crusade against sex trafficking, and it remains the huge elephant in every room.

  Never to be talked about.

  Always there as a reminder of what could have been lost.

  Namely me.

  Papa drops a kiss onto the top of my head. “Good luck with your speech, topolina.” Then he snickers. “Even though in those shoes, you’re the exact opposite of my little mouse.”

  I giggle. “Yeah. I’m about two heads taller than Mama right now.”

  A man in a tuxedo comes up next to Papa and nods his head in the direction of the podium set up at one corner of the room. “It’s time,” he murmurs to us.

  I force a smile even though my stomach is twisted like a pretzel at the thought of climbing onto the stage to speak to the crowd now filing into the room from all areas of the venue. Papa walks in front of us, his commanding presence and size forcing people to take a few steps back, clearing a path for me and Mama. I smile and nod and shake hands with donors who greet me and offer their congratulations.

  Being the daughter of Franco Vitale makes me Italian royalty.

  Mafia royalty.

  I’m constantly tailed by paparazzi, photographed every time I leave my house. My clothes, my shoes, my hair, my vacations…everything is scrutinized and becomes a topic for discussion. I’m known as a fashion icon, a trendsetter, and influencer, and the fact that my father is the head of one of the largest and most notorious crime families in Europe makes me that much more controversial.

  For as many followers as I have, there are plenty of haters out there who tear me and my work down every chance they get. They say I’m doing it to balance out all of the evil, that I’ll never be able to save enough people to scrub my father’s hands clean of the blood that stains them.

  They’re right.

  There’s way too much blood.

  And Papa’s soul likely won’t be saved. He knows it, too.

  But that’s not why I created the foundation. It’s not about redemption…for anyone.

  It’s about providing safety and security and protection for the women who have lost all hope for the future, the ones who weren’t lucky enough to be saved.

  I want to restore that hope.

  And dirty money spends exactly the same as clean money.

  I smooth the front of my gown, a deep-red sheath that hugs my curves just enough to not look borderline pornographic. Mama’s fingertips dance across my back as she nudges me forward. I look back and grin at the woman who has given up so much to make me into the person I am today. She nods her head toward the stage and I turn, gathering my skirt as I step up to the microphone. I dip my head the slightest bit since my shoes are much higher than the ones I wore when I did my test run yesterday. I raise my eyes to the expectant faces surrounding me and smile. As I do a quick sweep of the room, my gaze locks on another set of eyes and my heart stills.

  Holy hell.

  A delicious shiver slithers down my back when his full pink lips curl into the sexiest smile I’ve ever seen. He has to be around my age, and he’s flanked on all sides by three other guys who look very much like him. One is more delectable than the last.

  But the one who is eyeing me right now, the devilish glint in his eye making me tingle in places that have yet to be explored…my, oh my.

  The guy is Swoon City, and my God, do I want to take a road trip.

  I flash a bright smile at him and his own grin deepens, revealing a dimple in his right cheek.

  My mind glitches for a split second, and I drag my gaze away before I drown in the deep pools of chocolate brown melting me from the inside out.

  Bad freaking timing!

  I turn my attention to another part of the room, resisting the urge to take a peek at my newfound eye candy.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you so much for joining me here for such an important event. We’re gathered here tonight to celebrate all of the good that the Rizierio Vitale foundation has done for women in need over the past year and to look forward to expanding our reach so that we can touch the lives of women across the country and across the world.” I pause with a smile. “I’m a dreamer. An eternal optimist. I believe that with faith, hard work, and dedication, anything is possible. And with the support so many of you have shown since the foundation was established, we’ve been able to make the dreams of so many others come true.”

  I take a deep breath before continuing. “We’re all aware of the dangers faced by so many young orphaned women in our country, women who have nothing — no families, no jobs, no money, no hope. They become targets for organizations that want to exploit them, stripping them of their every last freedom. They lure in these young, impressionable women by promising them better lives. And then they addict them to drugs. They force them into slavery. They sell them to the highest bidders.” A shudder runs through me as I speak the words. “I’ve seen how these organizations work. I’ve heard firsthand accounts of the atrocities committed against these girls. And it sickens me,” I say, my voice quivering.

  Taking a deep breath, I pause before continuing my speech. I swallow past the lump in my throat, forcing the memories down deep yet again so they can’t consume me. “But that’s why we’re gathered here tonight. To join forces against these trafficking organizations and to save the lives of orphaned girls who feel lost, hopeless, and alone. Because everyone deserves a chance.”

  Chapter Two

  Diego

  I’ve seen her picture about a million times. Hell, I’ve even jacked off to some of her bikini shots, not something I’d readily admit to anyone. I’ve watched her interviews on YouTube and heard her speak out against sex trafficking and all the work she’s doing to stop its spread throughout Italy and western Europe. The mere mention of her name gets my dick in a twist.

  Yeah, Serena Vitale has made my hand go numb plenty of times.

  But seeing her in person, feeling the energy she brings to a room, and witnessing the passion she has for this issue and for life in general…let’s just say I never expected her to have this effect on me.

  I’d always thought she was gorgeous. If you’re a guy and don’t share that view, you’re either blind or dead. About five-foot-nine, with piercing green eyes, long dark hair, porn star body with curves that can have my cock hard in a hot second, the principessa of the Vitale crime family can command the attention of a room without uttering a single word.

  But this speech tells me there’s more to this girl than I’d thought. Anyone who can memorize words can deliver an interview. A monkey can do volunteer work. But you can’t fake the kind of emotion that’s clouding Serena’s face right at this second and making her voice tremble when she speaks of the victims she’s been able to help and the pasts they’ve been able to escape.

  This isn’t a pet project of hers. She’s not doing this as a hobby or because she needs some kind of humanitarian cause that can be linked back to her family.

  She’s doing it because she cares, because it means
something to her, and because she actually wants to help those who can’t help themselves.

  The crusader role is an interesting one for her to play, considering the fact that her father is a merciless and sadistic bastard. I mean, I respect what he does for the most part because it’s the life and you do what you need to do to survive and thrive.

  But Franco Vitale is more brutal than most. And if you get on his wrong side? You won’t get the chance to right yourself before he crushes your fucking throat and then stabs you in the eye with a pick axe.

  Yeah, that’s no urban legend.

  I’m really curious to know what the hell kind of shit the guy pulled to deserve that punishment.

  I watch Serena smile at the audience and silently will her to look back at me. She gave me a half-hard on before when she flashed that smile. I rub the back of my neck. Good Christ. I’m twenty-seven years old, not a goddamn teenager who’s never even gotten a blow job. If she doesn’t look, she doesn’t look.

  I let out a deep sigh, leaning back against the bar, trying to look in any direction but hers. But my eyes won’t cooperate, traitorous bastards. They keep landing on the principessa, and damn if I don’t love my view.

  That red gown covers her like a glove, hugging the entire length of her body. I’d say I’m shocked Franco let her out of the house wearing it, but let’s be real. Anyone who looks a little bit too long is gonna lose both eyes. I don’t know if he’s carrying a pick axe, but I’m sure a guy like him can find a suitable substitute weapon to make his point.

  Hell, maybe he’d just poke out the eyeballs with his own fingers.