Screwing the Mob (The Mob Lust Series Book 1)

by Kristen Luciani

  “And that’s why you brought Rocco back after Grandpa died. You made everyone think it was because Grandpa wasn’t around to enforce his punishment, but the reality is you’d gotten what you needed from him. And that’s why you wanted me to give him a job so badly. To keep him close and under my thumb.” The legs of the chair scrape against the polished hardwood as I push it back and jump up. “How the hell could you keep this from me?”

  “You didn’t need to know any of this before.”

  “That’s bullshit!”

  “It’s not. I needed you to grow to trust him without knowing any of the details. I wanted you to see for yourself what he brings to the table without knowing what he’s done for the family. And you did. He took a bullet for you, Nico. He may be a greedy bastard, but he’s loyal. He didn’t want you to know anything until he’d proven himself to you personally. He did the job for Grandpa because his life was threatened. He did the job for you because he wanted you to trust him.”

  “And you let him get away with what he did to Max and deVincenzo.”

  “He put himself in a hell of a lot of danger for us, Nico. I think he paid his debt.”

  I rake a hand through my hair and pace the floor. “What if Viktor had asked me for details about these people? What the hell would have happened then? He’d have blown off my head if he knew I was full of shit!”

  “You never told him you knew specifics. You only said you’d put your weight behind his search. Period. You were never in danger with that offer.” Dad stands up and walks around the desk. “Nico, I didn’t want to keep you in the dark on this, but I had my reasons. Now you’re in a power position that requires a need to know everything.”

  “Power position, my ass! You’ve been keeping me in the dark for years! How the hell am I supposed to manage shit without having the full story? You knew when I killed Cappodamo what would happen, but you never thought it was important enough for me to know it until now?” Rage courses through me, and I struggle to keep my voice even. “How much more do I need to know, Dad? What else have you been keeping from me?”

  “This is it. You know everything now. And you’ll make the right decisions with this information.”

  I rake a hand through my hair, my pulse throbbing. As pissed off as I am, I can still read between the lines. And I don’t like what I see at all. “Why are you talking like you’re bowing out? You’re still the head of this family.”

  Dad’s shoulders sag as he lets out a deep sigh. “I never know what will happen from day to day. You’re my second in command, but you have to be ready to step into that top spot at any time. I’ve given you all of the tools you need to rule. We’ll run things together, until it’s just you.”

  “But, Dad,” My voice shakes with anticipation, but I can’t stop the words. Keeping them buried is killing me, and dammit, they need to be said. Christ only knows how many other people are saying it behind our backs anyway. “That’s the problem! We’re not running anything! We’re floundering, and people are getting fucking killed because of it!” I clench my fists. “Grandpa wouldn’t have sat back and let Luca Cappodamo pull this shit. He would have faced it head-on. We’re not doing anything about this! We look…” I fist my hair. “Weak.” Max was right. My dad doesn’t have the same cunning instinct that Grandpa did, he doesn’t have the same strength. He doesn’t act; he analyzes.

  Fuck. Don’t I do the same thing?

  I could have gone after Luca, but I didn’t. I made excuses, reasons not to take action, and who the fuck knows what this asshole will pull next?

  I force my eyes to my father’s face, and a pang assaults my insides when I see the expression of disappointment. He knows what I said was true. He can’t argue it.

  And I’m just as screwed as he is because I didn’t get that killer gene, either.

  My spine stiffens. “I don’t want to run an organization that doesn’t have faith in its leaders. There’s too much doubt, too much distrust. It needs to change, Dad. We need to change.” I grab my keys. I know what to do. I just need to figure out the how.

  I walk over toward the front door and look toward the kitchen. I wave to my mom. “I’ll call you later. I’ve got to run.”

  I slam the front door shut behind me and get into my car. I grab a Jolly Rancher from the center console and pop it into my mouth. I let the watermelon flavor consume my taste buds as I consider what I’ve just berated my father for. Anyone could say the same things about me. I haven’t done dick about Luca, other than let him haunt my subconscious. I’ve let him get inside of my head and I’ve done nothing to stop him.

  Because I’m afraid.

  Dad walks out of the house a minute later and grabs the handle of his car door. But before he opens it, his eyes meet mine. It’s a quick look, and it slices through me. I’m just as much at fault, and yet I’ve done nothing to fix things. He gave me the power to act, and I folded it up and stuffed it into my damn back pocket, endangering everyone I love in the process.

  My phone pings with an incoming text, and I pick it up to see if it’s worth a response.

  One of our Russian terriers escaped from the house. Can’t find him anywhere. He won’t be home for dinner.

  I slam both hands on the steering wheel. “Fuck!” Duke is telling me one of our trucks was hijacked…one of our drug shipments from the Russians. That bastard Luca is behind the heist. I’d bet my fucking life on it. He’s not just out for blood; he’s looking to squeeze the life out of my businesses too.

  I throw my car into drive and follow my dad’s Escalade. Rage courses through me, but I can’t deal with this truck bullshit right now. It’ll have to wait. I have something more important to take care of first. I need to meet Dad at the construction site and apologize for unloading on him. This Luca thing is fucking with me hard, and I feel like all I do these days is alienate people who are closest to me.

  Maybe it’s because I’m afraid they’ll see right through me.

  They’ll see my fear.

  And if that happens, I’ll crumble.

  I furrow my brow as Dad turns a corner onto a side service road. Why the hell is he going this way? Route 3 is a straight shot up to Bergen. I frown at the clock on the dashboard. Traffic shouldn’t be that bad now. I grip the steering wheel tight. He must be using Waze, and that app knows a shit ton more about traffic patterns than I do.

  He slows to a stop when the next traffic light turns red. I tap my fingers, anxious to get there before Tony so I can talk to my father without that cocksucker lurking. I don’t need him hearing any of this. He’s still a slimy, conniving bastard as far as I’m concerned, and I don’t trust myself not to tell him that to his face, regardless of the fact that he’s my girlfriend’s father. She’s the only reason I bite back those caustic words.

  The light finally turns green, and Dad’s Escalade accelerates through it. I tap on the gas, and stomp on the brake just as quickly when a dark blue minivan jerks across lanes and cuts me off. I veer right, narrowly missing the bastard. He’s not even making a turn. He jumped lanes to slow me the fuck down.

  Asshole.

  I lean on my horn, my eyes willing death on the driver in front of me. This jackass is going to hold me up and I’ll miss my chance to—

  The sound of crushing metal and screeching tires grabs my focus, and the images in front of me blur to the point of incomprehension. Flashes of blue, white, and black streak my vision. I can’t make out shapes; everything gels together as the noxious smell of burning rubber fills my nostrils.

  My heart hammers in my chest, my throat tight. A sea of memories rushes forth, temporarily blinding me to the chaos in my direct line of sight.

  Grandpa Vito clapping me on the shoulder right before leaving my house on Christmas night. It was the night he’d died.

  You have a lot of responsibilities now, Nico.

  Walking along South Beach, talking to my dad on the phone.

  He’s back, Nico. It’s not safe for you. Not safe for any of us.


  The look of disappointment and shame on Dad’s face only minutes earlier.

  You’re in a power position now.

  I’ve given you the tools to rule.

  We’ll run it together until it’s just you.

  Just you.

  Just you.

  Those words echo in the depths of my mind, clanging between my temples like clashing cymbals.

  It’s just me.

  Blaring sirens in the distance jolt me from my thoughts. I blink fast, but the scene in front of me remains. My legs are tight, my hands trembling.

  Dad. My father. The head of the Salesi family.

  Trapped. Crushed. Immobile.

  I push open my door and step out of the car, gripping the door.

  Suddenly, I’m looking at my own car when it was destroyed by Frank Cappodamo’s crew last year. I’d narrowly escaped death because of one factor.

  I’d been making a right turn.

  I wasn’t going straight.

  Dad was going straight.

  If he’d only been making a right…

  The Mack truck that plowed into Dad’s car doesn’t wait for the cops to show up. And the blue minivan follows close behind.

  I close the distance between my car and Dad’s, my pulse pounding harder and harder with each step I take.

  I never got a chance to tell him I’m sorry.

  I never got a chance to tell him I love him.

  I never got a chance to tell him a lot of things.

  His face is a twisted mask of blood and bruises, his glasses knocked off of his face in the collision. I grip the door handle, dropping my head, letting the tears finally flow.

  Maybe I never will.

  Luca

  “You’re a total disgrace to this family! You let them take what was yours, and you did nothing to stop them! I can’t fucking trust you at all!”

  “But, Dad, I—”

  My father Frank puts up a hand. “I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit excuses, Luca. I’m sick of watching you fuck up, over and over again. Salvatore would never have let this happen! He was the one I could count on!”

  “Sal is dead, Dad!” I pound my fist against the wall. “He’s fucking dead, goddammit, so stop comparing me to him!”

  “You’ll never be half the man he would have been,” my father hisses, stretching to his full height, pushing his chest into mine.

  I stand my ground, refusing to cower. My heart thumps, rage coursing through my veins because I know what comes next. It always does. He thinks he’s teaching me a lesson, showing me how to be stronger, more fierce, more deadly.

  More like him.

  But I know it runs deeper than that. He’s trying to turn me into the son he’d always wanted…the son he lost…the son he’ll never get back.

  The son he actually loved.

  He lost control, and as a result, he lost so much more than that.

  We all did. But he doesn’t care about what he has left. His focus is always on the one who is no longer here, his protégé, his shining star.

  I’m a disappointment, a liability, always living in Salvatore’s shadow. Even in death, he outshines me like the night sky on the fucking Fourth of July.

  “Tommy!” He bellows. “Get in here!”

  With a thick finger, Dad pokes me in the chest, backing me toward the fireplace. The logs crackle, spitting orange embers into the air.

  “You make me do this to you. Remember that, you little bastard! You bring this upon yourself.”

  Heavy footsteps crash on the hardwood floor behind me as Tommy, one of his faithful soldiers, approaches. Dad picks up a poker and hands it to Tommy before turning back to me.

  “Maybe next time you’ll remember who you work for, Luca.”

  I rub the back of my left shoulder, my fingertips sliding over the length of the scar. It’s only one tiny piece of my father’s legacy. He wanted to toughen me, to breathe the same hate into me that fueled him on a daily basis. It worked, but that hate…fuck, it poisoned me inside and out. Once it infiltrated my insides, it made me do things, sick things, things I should have been punished for. Shit, things I should have been put to death for.

  It was all a test to see if I’d finally become a lethal force, the role I’d been groomed to play in this sick and twisted life.

  I guess I passed.

  The image of Nico Salesi falling to his knees next to the pile of crushed metal that was once his father’s Escalade…I didn’t think I’d feel shit when I witnessed that scene. After all of this time, I figured my soul would be deadened to any emotion.

  But for a split second, an emotion flickered somewhere deep inside of me. It wasn’t sadness or remorse, though.

  It was envy.

  I was jealous, so fucking jealous I couldn’t think straight.

  He had something I’d never have, something I’d been after for years and years until I came to realize I’d never get it—no matter what I did, no matter what I said.

  His father’s love and respect.

  I fucking hate Nico for having that. But I don’t hate him for killing my father.

  Hell, I’m actually glad somebody had the balls to blow off Frank’s fucking head. I’d heard enough shit spewed from his mouth over the years, and I was glad someone finally shut him the hell up for good.

  Salesi finally pulled the trigger. After all of those years prancing around in Armani and HUGO BOSS letting his peons do the hard work for him, he steps up and fucking plugs the head of the Cappodamo crime family in cold blood.

  I should have felt something.

  But I didn’t.

  It wasn’t a loss as far as I was concerned.

  Salesi, the one who crushed my MMA career into fucking sand, the one who started my downward spiral into the core of the fucking Earth, the one who yanked away my livelihood because I had something he could never get…

  Ironic how things come full circle.

  No, I don’t give a flying fuck about him killing my dad. I don’t feel anything for that sack of shit. I hope he’s rotting in that fucking crypt.

  But I give a fuck that he came after me and tore me down.

  My father would call me weak, a disappointment, a pathetic excuse for a man.

  That’s why I’m here. I don’t give a shit about the family. I don’t care about anything except for what I’ve lost.

  What I will never get back.

  I want revenge, plain and simple. Nico knows it, too. And he’s scared. That’s why he hasn’t made his move. He doesn’t know which one to make. He knows I’m out for his blood, and I’ll get to him in my own time. I’ve already proven it twice, with his security guy and his father.

  And now I’ve shown him I can grab his businesses by the balls too.

  He’s fucking shitting bricks right now.

  Good.

  He has no idea what’s coming next. I pick up my iPhone and scroll through some screens.

  Dad would be proud.

  Rest in hell, motherfucker.

  Shaye

  “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  Sirens blare through the phone lines, and my pulse picks up speed with each passing second that Nico doesn’t respond.

  “Nico, what—?”

  “It’s my dad.” His voice shakes like I’ve never before heard it. “He’s..he’s been hit.”

  “Hit? Hit by who? Where are you?” I tug on the ends of my hair. “Babe, just calm down for a second and talk to me.” But I’ve already realized there is nothing I can do to soothe him, at least not from my parents’ kitchen.

  After a pause that knots my stomach like a pretzel, he finally speaks. “I went to the house this morning to talk to him. He’s been holding out on me for years, and today he decided to fill me in on everything after all this time. He knew something was happening. He must have. And we argued. I lost my shit with him. Shaye, I told him things, things I never should have said. I was angry and I…I…”

  “Take your time,” I whisper, tears spring
ing to my eyes. His words are tumbling out faster than I can process them, and all I want to do right now is wrap my arms around him and squeeze, to tell him everything will be okay.

  But I don’t know if that’s true.

  Maybe nothing will be okay again.

  I try to follow Nico’s jumbled thoughts and then just wait for him to finish. I’ll piece it all together soon enough. I furrow my brow as his voice grows more and more faint. The line cuts in and out, and his words are drowned by the sirens.

  “…red light…truck…smashed…internal bleeding…coma…”

  An icy hand squeezes my heart. “Oh my God, Nico,” I gasp, my fingertips gripping the back of a counter stool. “Is he…is he—?”

  Footsteps clomp down the stairs, and I clap a hand over my mouth, tears spilling from my eyes when my father appears in the doorway. I expect him to mouth something to me, to ask what’s wrong, who I’m talking to. But his eyes just narrow and he grabs his cell phone, charging into his office and slamming the door shut.

  I swallow hard and wipe away the tears. “I’m so sorry, baby. Tell me what you need. I can go to your house and talk to your mom…”

  His voice is clear now. “No, I have to tell her.”

  A lump lodges itself in my throat, and I can barely take in enough breath to speak. “Of course.”

  “I fucked up, Shaye. I keep fucking up, and people keep getting hurt. Or killed.” His voice cracks again, muffled by background noise.

  “Stop. You can’t do this to yourself. You have to stay positive right now.”

  “Everything I’ve done…or haven’t done…is to blame for this. I let this happen. I told my dad he was weak, but I’m no better,” he says, his voice hollow. “I’ll never forgive myself if he doesn’t make it.”

  “Don’t even say that!” I snap. “Never, ever say those words. They won’t help anyone.”

  “I didn’t take care of what I needed to. I should have done something.”

  “Nico,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even. “You did what you thought was best. Please don’t blame yourself. You can’t—"