Coveted: Men of Mayhem: Book Two

by Luciani, Kristen

  “Julia! Talk to me! Tell me you’re—”

  A slew of gunshots ring out, ricocheting between the walls of my childhood home. The sound is muted, drowned out by the cinderblocks surrounding us.

  “Papa!” I screech, diving for the stairs, climbing them two at a time as one more shot explodes into the air, blowing off the lock on the basement door.

  I fly backward with a yelp, my head slamming hard against the concrete floor. My brain shudders in my skull. A searing pain sizzles the flesh on my left arm, my fingertips numbing more and more by the second.

  The tattooed man hovers over me, his face blurring as I struggle to focus. “You disappoint me, Julia. Didn’t I warn you what would happen if you disobeyed me?”

  My lips form words that my mouth can’t seem to utter, my head throbbing from the impact.

  “You’ll learn very quickly that I don’t like to repeat myself.” His lips curl into a devious smirk. “And that I always keep my word.”

  He stands up, creeping backward, away from me.

  And closer to my mother.

  “No, no, no!”

  But I can’t hear the screams.

  Can anyone?

  Is there anyone who can help us now?

  Footsteps scamper down the steps, thumping along the cold, hard floor, surrounding me. Angry voices fade to white noise, my tear-filled eyes fluttering closed as an icy sensation slithers down my spine, winding around my shattered heart.

  Mama is dead.

  And it’s my fault.

  I just killed my best friend.

  Chapter Four

  Antonio

  “Nice place you’ve got here, Antonio.” The way this slimy asshole eyes my girls as we walk through Vivere, my nightclub, makes my blood boil, and I’m tempted to gouge out his eyes before throwing him into my private elevator.

  Instead, I narrow my eyes at him, rising to my full height of six foot one. “Thanks,” I grunt. Ciro is only about five foot eight on a good day, and on those days it’s because he wears the shoes with the lifts.

  He doesn’t cower though. I’ll kill him for it later, but right now?

  I’ll show some respect.

  Because I always try to separate business and pleasure.

  The business is my nightclub.

  And the pleasure will be my fist crushing Ciro’s windpipe.

  But that kind of activity is reserved for after-hours since I don’t want to scare away patrons.

  Viviere is the hottest club in Catania, Sicily, right now, and for good reason.

  I pay a shit ton for my publicist and she works magic.

  It’s not just a nightclub.

  We’ve got something for everyone.

  You wanna fuck around in front of an audience?

  Red Room.

  You wanna drink and dance with your friends?

  We have the most sought-after deejays in Europe spinning in the Purple Room.

  You wanna drool over the hottest pussy in the world on display, women rubbing themselves up and down stripper poles for your viewing pleasure?

  Head into the Black Room and get ready to rub one out. Or more, if you’ve got a good rebound rate.

  Welcome to Vivere.

  It’s hedonism on steroids.

  Enter at your own risk.

  Or pleasure.

  There’s only one rule that I will not bend on. We don’t sell sex.

  I mean, we sell it, yeah, but there’s no exchange of money.

  My girls entice. That’s it. You can’t get a blow or a jerk or a fuck from one of my dancers. I’m not running a brothel.

  No hands in the cookie jar.

  And trust me, I’ve cut off plenty who’ve been stupid enough to violate my rule.

  The biggest reason why this place works is because everyone plays separately on their own nights and discretion is a top priority.

  It also comes with a hefty price tag.

  I wink at a couple of new girls who are heading out to the stage. They’re two of the biggest porn stars in the industry who are visiting Sicily and looking to make some extra cash for a live performance. The promise of some girl-on-girl action between these two has every table in the Black Room filled.

  Once they’re finished with the show, they’ll ask to do an encore back at my apartment to thank me for helping them get some free publicity.

  And a week ago, I’d have been very happy to oblige.

  For a long time, I thought I had the best job on the fucking planet.

  Then I met Julia, and my world hasn’t been right since.

  For that short amount of time we shared in the airport lounge, I morphed into a different person, someone I never thought I wanted to be, someone who wants different things out of life than I do. I won’t lie and say I didn’t want to see her naked, but getting her on her back never entered my mind. I knew immediately that she was a good girl, a rule-follower, and more innocent than any other woman I’d ever crossed paths with. Shockingly, that was actually a turn-on for me. She had an energy about her…I don’t know if it came along with the passion for her music and family, but I felt it zip through me like lightning and I wanted…no, needed to be close to her because I craved that sensation.

  It was nice to feel.

  For a long time, I’d forgotten what it was like.

  Being around Julia woke me up to that reality, and I was ready to follow her to the ends of the Earth if she’d have let me.

  But when she spoke, her words…justified as they were…cut deep.

  Because I’m exactly the guy she feared I was.

  She knew it. She saw right through me.

  Never in my life did I wish more that I was someone else in that moment.

  And since that night, I haven’t been able to think of much else. But our time, as incredible as it was, is long over and I need to get my head back in the game before someone takes a machete to it when I’m not paying attention.

  Case in point, Ciro.

  Ciro’s head twists so fast in the direction of the girls that for a second, I think it might just spin off his neck. But I don’t give him time to foam at the mouth at their perfect retreating asses. We’ve got business to handle, and then I want him the fuck out of my place.

  I don’t trust him or the other scumbags he brought as part of his entourage, a group that’s currently under my security surveillance because there’s no way in hell they get to be part of this exchange.

  Ciro likes to think that traveling with a big crew makes him look powerful and important.

  But really, it just proves to me and the rest of the world that he’s got a small dick and can’t command respect on his own.

  I give him a quick shove toward my private elevator and stick my key in the lock. The doors open and two of my security guards appear. I nod at them and Ciro gets in, dwarfed by all three of us.

  Cocky asshole doesn’t even blink, though. He takes it in stride, puffing out his meaty chest. He knows one false move will get him buried underneath my club, so he plays the game.

  He’s stupid, but not as big of an idiot as his predecessor.

  But that’s a story for another night.

  The elevator sails toward the basement and nobody speaks a word.

  I don’t conduct business in the company of my employees, a fact that Ciro was made painfully aware of when we did our first deal a year ago. But once I showed him how the game was played, we haven’t had any problems. The problem with guys like Ciro is that they’re always trying to prove themselves. They know they’re peons in their organizations, the buyers who handle the grunt work on behalf of their respective crews. They know nobody takes them seriously at their level, so they need to swing their dicks around to get people’s attention.

  On occasion, they take the swinging thing a little too far to prove themselves. But for some reason, the dipshits never seem to worry about someone coming along with a machete and chopping them off.

  The elevator doors open and we walk through the laby
rinth that is the basement. Nobody comes down here and knows exactly where they’re going, except me. I designed it like a maze with no escape because I stockpile a lot of shit down here and can’t risk anyone waltzing into my club and treating themselves to an unpaid shopping spree when I’m off-duty.

  Everything is locked down and there’s one key.

  On my ring.

  Some people think that makes me a control freak.

  Let them call me whatever the hell they want.

  I’m making money hand over fist running my own exchange, my way.

  “So how about a deal on these guns, Antonio? We’ve been doing business for a while now. How about you cut me a break?” Ciro says now that we’re out of security’s earshot.

  I stop short outside one of the doors lining the dark hallway. “Lemme ask you a question, Ciro. When you’re invited to someone’s house for dinner, do you ask for another meal in addition to what’s being served because you’re extra hungry?”

  He furrows his brow. “No.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “Exactly. Because that’d be fucking rude, right?”

  He nods. “Yeah.”

  I lean down over him, my forehead almost touching his. “So don’t come into my house looking for extra shit because you’re a greedy bastard. You feel me?” I poke a finger at his chest. “A deal by definition includes terms that both parties have agreed to. I agreed to sell you guns, you agreed to pay my set price. And my prices are non-negotiable,” I hiss at him, making him shake in his lifts. “Are we clear?”

  He nods, looking up at me with wide eyes. “Yes,” he mutters.

  I know what he’s thinking. If he was able to score a deal from me, his boss would be happy with him. Maybe give him some halfway decent jobs, things that would help him rise in his organization.

  I also know his boss, Alfonse DeVito, and that ain’t ever happening. Ciro is a liability because of his Napoleon complex and his days are numbered, career aspirations be damned. He clearly hasn’t gotten that memo, though.

  My lips stretch into a smile. I give him credit for trying, though.

  I unlock the door and we walk inside. I radio two of my security guys to escort Ciro and his guns out of the building. I have an entrance underground which is where I import and export my goods.

  Contraband, courtesy of my family’s multi-million-dollar shipping business.

  It had been on its way to being the biggest shipping company in the world, almost hitting revenues in the billions since we had controlling interest of most coastline ports across Europe and Asia. But then some French fuck named Alain LeClerq commissioned the death of my father and his business partner a few years ago because he’d lost the battle with them. Everyone wanted a piece of the pie, but nobody could get a hand in without the risk of it being sliced off. My father was a controlling bastard who’d made a lot of enemies over the years because he knew how to make a shit ton of cash and didn’t care to spread the wealth, so to speak. The traitors who sold him out felt that they were entitled to his money, that they’d done their part to earn it.

  Papa believed otherwise. He paid them for doing their jobs, but he was tight as a virgin’s pussy when it comes to money. Papa was a condescending prick who didn’t particularly like people and only put up with his business partner because they’d grown up together and was basically the only person outside of our immediate family whom he trusted.

  There was a lot of betrayal and deception that led up to Papa’s death. People we’d trusted, people who were family…blood.

  They’ve all been properly exterminated, thanks to a deadly standoff in Monaco where two of my brothers, Diego and Cristian, and brother-in-law Alek made sure that nobody in the opposing corner left with a single breath in his lungs, but the threats still linger.

  Yeah, we took out the bad guys…or rather, the worse guys. In our line of work, the lines are pretty much grayed out.

  Everyone’s bad.

  How bad? is always the twenty-thousand-dollar question.

  Years later, we’re still trying to answer it. Papa and his partner are gone and the shipping business is hanging on. Cristian and Alek took it over and are trying like hell to get it back to where it was before the Monaco massacre, but fuck, it’s been hard.

  And there are still sharks circling the waters, looking to sink their giant teeth into what’s left.

  Of course, when you get rid of one enemy, it’s like cutting the head off a hydra. Two more grow in its place, and then boom. They have double the power to destroy.

  But that’s life as a Marcone.

  I had to do serious work to get these guns for DeVito, and if you haven’t already guessed it, I’m not much for negotiation. I wanna pay what I wanna pay and that’s the end of it.

  Unfortunately, my suppliers feel differently.

  At this point, I don’t have much to bargain with, so I paid what they wanted.

  Cursing them the whole fucking time.

  I don’t like being out of control.

  Guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.

  “I guess I’ll take what I can get.” Ciro quirks an eyebrow. “You know, just a little advice from one enforcer to another.”

  I have to choke back a laugh because those words alone are funny as fucking hell.

  Ciro couldn’t get a whore laid, he’s so fucking ineffective.

  But I let him continue because I’m damn curious about what he’s going to say next.

  His beady eyes dart left and right, like we’re standing in a crowded room instead of alone in the basement of my nightclub surrounded by crates of gun parts. “If it were my family under fire, I’d want to keep my customers happy, capice?” He smirks and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Loyalty is fleeting, brother.”

  My eyes narrow to slits as I lean over him, casting a shadow around him with my height and girth. Did that prick just insinuate something that is going to make me put him through one of these cinderblock walls?

  Ciro clearly sees the fatal error he just made by letting his gums flap one time too many and he recoils, shrinking away from my harsh glare.

  “Why would my family be under fire, Ciro?’ I ask, my teeth clenched.

  And then the cocksucker has the nerve to pass it off as a flip comment. He forces a laugh and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Antonio, don’t be so sensitive. It’s the life. Everyone is always under fire for something, no?”

  Maybe he’s bluffing, trying another one of his bullshit tactics to build himself up. Floating something in the air to see if it rattles me so he can say he’s got control.

  He doesn’t.

  A tight smile lifts my lips even though my mind is screaming expletives. “Only one thing comes to mind right now. What I did to the last person who tried to negotiate with me.”

  Ciro’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets and he backs away from me. I guess he’s suddenly feeling very isolated since it’s just the two of us in the underbelly of my club.

  Without his security.

  And with plenty of my guns.

  The look on his face is priceless, and while I want a few more seconds to enjoy his panic, I need to wrap up this deal and get my oldest brother Vince on the phone.

  Something is happening. Ciro didn’t just make that shit up to scare me. He knows it. He’s heard it.

  And I’m left completely in the dark.

  This desperate need for control can be a real pain in my ass.

  I force a chuckle. “Don’t be so sensitive, Ciro. If I were gonna kill you, I’d have done it already.”

  That’s a fucking lie. I’m famous for my brutish torture techniques. He’d be alive for a damn long time as I stretched out the agony and drained every last drop of blood from his veins.

  A nervous laugh escapes his trembling lips. Ah, seems like my reputation precedes me after all. “Right, right. Well, ah, let me just give you this and I’ll take these boxes off your hands.”

  Yep, now he’s in a hurry. I roll my
eyes. He’s not worth the effort or time it would take me to kill him the way I’d want to anyway.

  He hands me a thick envelope and I stick it into the interior pocket of my jacket. I shake his hand and back out of the room, signaling my security guys to escort the crates to the back exit as I make my way back toward my private elevator.

  I step into the enclosed space and pull out my phone, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Ciro’s words ring between my ears.

  If it were my family under fire…

  It wouldn’t be the first time Vince had kept us in the dark about some looming threat. He says it’s for our protection, but I know he just doesn’t want to deal with a mess of bloodshed right now. He’s been trying to fill some really big shoes since Pop’s murder, and he doesn’t want his head to end up on a spit if his brothers lash out.

  Which we fucking will if it turns out that this threat is real.

  I stab Vince’s number onto the screen, but an incoming text stops me just as I’m ready to hit the Call button.

  My brow furrows.

  Alek. My Russian brother-in-law and the head of the Severinov family. He currently reigns in Monaco with my sister, Gianna, and their daughter, Ava.

  How quickly can you and Tommy get to the airport?

  I quickly type a response, a shiver running through me.

  What’s wrong? Are Gianna and Ava okay?

  The seconds it takes for him to answer drag on for what feels like hours. Goddammit, doesn’t he know my stomach is in my throat right now?

  If my family were under fire…

  What the hell is happening?

  I slam my fist against the wall as the elevator door creaks open to my private office. I pace in front of my desk, cursing those three little gray dots each step of the way. I walk over to my safe, hidden behind a bookcase, and stab in the code. The safe bleeps and the heavy metal door swings open. I feel around under some papers until my fingers clasp around my burner phone. I lock the safe and drop the phone into my pocket, pacing in front of my desk.

  Something is happening. Ciro meant every word he said, and I know it because he’s the type of guy who always has to one-up you. I wouldn’t cut him a deal so he decided to spew some shit to rattle me.