by Shanna Bell
“You sure about this?” he asked. “’Cause if you’re serious about her, I’d only be dead weight in the end.”
“First of all, you should give yourself more credit. And second, we’ve talked about this. I’m never gonna put a woman through what my mother went through. At least, when she has two protectors, Carmen will always be safe. I know that, should anything happen, you’ll take care of her.”
There was a look in Vince’s eyes he hadn’t seen before. It was somewhere in between pissed-off determination and his badass master look getting a sub to drop to her knees.
“Tell me what you need.”
“I need you to help me break her.”
CHAPTER 3
CARMEN
She had literally hit rock bottom. As Carmen stared at the piece of paper on the bathroom floor, her thoughts went back to the night before. The blackmailer. The club. The dead body that had somehow been a sick tribute to her.
What was she to do? Once again, her life had turned into a nightmare. Someone else knew about her secret, her shame. It not only made her sick to her stomach, but it had her reliving her nightmares.
I’m still paying for my sins…
Someone had killed her blackmailer. That person couldn’t possibly have good intentions toward her. For one, he was a murderer. Even if he had killed Dwight for her, it didn’t make it right. She didn’t feel relieved. At least she knew what Dwight wanted. Well, she could make an educated guess. Money. Or perhaps the two remaining casinos she had left from Franco. Her husband had lost most of the Caruso family business before his death, but she was still stuck with the casinos. Two large, shiny places of fun and games that several families were after.
Another problem she couldn’t deal with right now. She pushed herself up from the floor and splashed some water on her face. Haunted eyes with bags underneath them stared back at her from the foggy mirror.
After her shower, she crashed onto the floor again, uncontrollable shivers racking through her body, forcing her to sit down for a second time. She had left the door closed for too long, turning the bathroom into a sauna. Carmen grabbed a bathrobe and put a towel around her damp curls. She had no idea how long she had been in here. Probably too long. There were a million things she needed to do.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Mrs. Caruso?”
Raul. Franco’s former bodyguard and the only decent human being in his entourage. The man who had set her bones and bandaged her wounds more times than she could remember.
She opened the door and he immediately averted his gaze. The man was in his late forties but had the manners of old. Looking at his deceased boss’s wife in a robe wasn’t considered proper.
“Raul, please don’t call me Mrs. Caruso anymore.” Hearing that name literally made her sick. “I no longer carry that name.”
Never wanted to in the first place.
He nodded, oddly looking relieved. Maybe she wasn’t the only one looking to change things.
A crease appeared between his brows. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
“Just tell me.”
His jaw locked. “Lorenzo Morelli is here.”
Of course. Last week, it had been the Irish, now it was someone from the Italian families. They were after the same thing—the last of Franco’s casinos or, as she called them, her curses. Even after his death, he managed to make her miserable.
“Did you tell him I’m indisposed?”
“I did. I told him to get the fuck out, but he wants to hear your official answer.”
And he wasn’t leaving before hearing it from her mouth. She knew how it worked. “Tell him I’ll be right there. Oh, and Raul? Please be polite to our guest.”
He ground his teeth, but his soft brown eyes told her he’d comply. They both knew she was in no position to make an enemy out of Morelli, just as she couldn’t make one of the Irish. Sadly, she had ended up between them, like a bone two dogs fought over.
She dried her hair and tied it in a bun. Next was her “armor”—a two-piece gray suit consisting of an over-the-knee skirt and blazer. Just to remind him she was a woman, no threat to them in any way, but at the same time businesslike and to show him she wasn’t interested in him. The only thing worse than a mobster after your assets was a mobster after your body.
When she walked down into the sitting room, she noticed Morelli had already helped himself to Franco’s brandy. He was studying the art on the wall, looking relaxed, as if he owned the place.
Raul was at his usual spot near the fireplace, keeping an eye on their “guest.” Judging by his scowl, he didn’t like his presence here any more than she did. Sadly, Raul had lost his previous status, just as she had. The only difference between them was that her “loss” was her way to freedom, while Raul’s was a downgrade. As Franco’s enforcer, he had ruled over a small army that followed his every lead. Most of those men left after Franco’s demise, refusing to follow a woman. One they expected to be swallowed whole by the other West Coast families any day now.
Carmen plastered a tranquil smile on her face as she went to greet her guest.
Lorenzo Morelli was classically tall, dark, and handsome. According to Franco, he was also the coldest son of a bitch he’d ever met. And that said a lot, coming from him.
“Mr. Morelli.”
He gave a curt nod as she sat on the couch across him. She put her hands in her lap, not sure where to go from here.
“Mrs. Caruso,” he said. “You look well.” It almost sounded like an accusation.
“You are too kind. Please, call me Carmen, or Ms. Rossi. I no longer carry the Caruso name.”
Something icy entered his eyes. “And yet here I am, because you own something of the late Franco Caruso.” It almost seemed as if he took it personal that she no longer used Franco’s name.
“You are here for the casinos.” It was no use beating around the bush. The sooner their talk was finished, the faster he could leave.
“You haven’t gotten back to me about my offer, Mrs. Caruso.” His shark-like eyes dared her to deny her last name again.
To him, she would always be the wife of Franco “The Bull” Caruso, a man so vile and evil they just assumed it had rubbed off on her. No one ever questioned her reason for staying with Franco for a decade. They all assumed it had been for the cushy lifestyle. A golden cage was too good a term for her life with him.
“I apologize.” Not really. “I’m still mourning Franco’s death.” If by mourning, you mean celebrating. “I haven’t been able to make the time yet to—”
“You should.” His words were like a whip. “He has taken care of you your whole life. It’s a woman’s job to enhance her husband’s legacy, even after his death. A woman not taking care of her husband’s needs, is no woman. She’s just a piece of furniture. Replaceable.”
Every fiber of her being wanted to jump at his throat and choke the life out of him. She’d be doing his wife a favor, if he had one.
Instead, she plastered a smile on her face. “Oddly, I always thought of myself as more than just a table lamp or coffee table.”
His lips thinned. “I don’t appreciate your sarcasm. It’s unbecoming of a woman. Dangerous, even. Surely you don’t want to end up like your husband.”
This time, there was no denying the threat. Her eyes shot to Raul, pleading for him to stand down. Judging by his red face, he was about to send Morelli after Franco.
Franco’s body had been found at the edge of a dirt road. According to official police records, it was qualified as a mafia hit. If Morelli knew she had been the one to put a knife in his back, and a Detta the one to finish the job, he might take her more seriously instead of viewing her as a weak woman. Then again, he might also kill her.
The rebellious part of her wanted to tell him where to stick it. But she knew she didn’t have the means to pull through. Ever since Franco’s death, she was balancing on the edge of a sword, terrified she might fall and cut herself irreparably.
&
nbsp; “I am still considering your offer,” she said, which was true. She was thinking about handing over the casinos to either him or the Irish. She had just hoped that in a year’s time, only one of them would still be standing, making her choice an easy one.
“My patience is running thin.” As were his pressed lips. “Take the offer and get out of the business before you get hurt.”
“An offer that could get me killed,” she reminded him.
Morelli put down his empty glass. “You don’t need to worry about the Irish. Keegan is being taking care of.”
Except, that was exactly what Keegan had said about Morelli.
“I need more time.” Even to her own ears, this sounded weak. But what other choice did she have? Selling the casinos to either party would put a target on her back. These men didn’t care that she was a widow. The only thing they cared about was money and the power that came with it. The second she chose one over the other, she’d get killed. Not only her, but it would put others in jeopardy as well. It was the way the mafia worked. They never went after a man or woman alone; they targeted their whole family. She couldn’t bring Jazzy into this. She’d suggested to give one casino to Morelli and the other to Keegan, but they wouldn’t go for it.
Morelli jumped up. “You have twenty-four hours,” he said, before leaving the room. The same timeframe Keegan had given her on the phone this morning.
The message was clear. Either she accepted his offer, or he would come and take the casinos from her. It was tempting to just wait it out, but the moment she stuck her head in the sand, Keegan would show on her doorstep.
She wasn’t aware she’d put her head into her hands, until Raul took a hold of them. A blush spread on his cheeks when she pulled them away.
“Sorry.” She wasn’t sure why she apologized, but she didn’t like to be touched. Not even by Raul, the man who—in a way—knew her body more intimately than Franco ever had. After all, he knew every cut, bruise, and broken bone.
“We can’t go on like this,” he reminded her. “There’s a war brewing. You don’t want to get caught up in the middle.”
“Don’t remind me,” she groaned.
“Neither Morelli nor Keegan feel any love for Franco. He’s had run-ins with both of them. You have to make a choice.”
How was it that she was still paying for Franco’s crimes? For a second, her mind went back to the night she had lost everything, and she put a hand on her stomach. Nausea crept up her dry throat and she felt her palms getting sweaty.
“I can’t think of this right now.”
“You know there’s another option.”
Leave everything behind and just disappear.
“You know I can’t do that,” she said softly. Being around her sister, her friends, was the only thing that kept her sane. Knowing she was about to become an aunt had fueled her with a renewed hope and energy.
No, running away was not an option. Neither was sticking around and keeping her head in the sand. The clock had started ticking.
She needed help.
Now.
CHAPTER 4
VINCE
Vince stared out the big windows of Detta Tower. The street below was buzzing with the evening crowd heading home. He imagined them going to a warm bed, with a soft body to curl up to as they drifted into sleep. Ideally without having a worry in the world. And even if they did, their biggest concern would be if their job was satisfying enough, or would they make the mortgage this month. That would probably sum up the scope of their lives.
In his world? Well, in his world, war was brewing. The underbelly of San Fran was swarming with new, hungry dogs, wanting to overthrow the current top dog. Kristoff Romanov, the uncrowned king to whom he and Sy had sworn allegiance. Sy more so than him, since Vince preferred to stay on the shady gray, but still legal, side of business. Mostly. Sometimes, like the other night when he had to dispose of a body, he crossed over to the dark side.
Less than a decade ago, he and his brother Gio had been on the frontlines of the murky gray sides of the law. It was his brother’s immense struggle that turned them into reputable businessmen, instead of a new generation of made men. They had to crawl, inch by inch, to get to that point. People were not forgiving, nor did they ever forget, that their father had been an enforcer who had gotten himself and his wife killed. Such was the life when you were the right-hand man of a crime boss. That stench got stuck on your name forever.
He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the pounding that had started up again. Knowing who would be walking through those doors any minute made his body hum with anticipation.
He couldn’t change the past, but he sure as hell could determine his future. And Carmen’s, even if she didn’t want him to. Everyone knew of the predicament she was in as Franco’s widow. Those casinos were like a noose around her neck. Of course, he could’ve helped her out from the sidelines, but then she would’ve just disappeared out of his life. Call him a selfish asshole, but her casino trouble was exactly the leverage he needed over her. He just needed the right time and place to wield its power.
This time, he was a man, no longer a teenager. And he had the power to amass a damn army if that was what it took to protect her.
To make her forgive you, you mean.
There’s no forgiveness for what I’ve done.
A knock sounded on the door. Then Gio’s secretary let in Carmen. She looked pretty shaken up, but as beautiful as ever in a gray pencil skirt and button-up blouse.
She tensed when she spotted him. Her reaction hurt. It hadn’t always been like that between them. Once, he had been the one she ran to.
“I came for Gio,” she said, still standing in the doorway.
He gestured for her to enter. When she hesitated, he asked, “You planning on letting Gayle stand behind you all day?”
A blush covered her cheeks, but she did finally step inside. Gayle shut the door behind her and for the first time in over a decade, they were alone.
Vince sat on the corner of the desk and studied her. She was petite compared to her sister, Jazzy, who was more curvy. They both had dark curls, though Carmen’s were much longer, as her glossy hair reached her lower back. It wasn’t just their looks that were different. Carmen was more of an introvert. But she hadn’t always been that way. There had been a time she’d been just as brash and outspoken as her sister. And then she’d been given to a sadist who had slowly snuffed the life and joy out of her.
He’d known Caruso’s reputation as a cruel bastard. Everyone did. What he hadn’t taken into account was that Caruso would be one to his own wife. High-profile made men with a taste for BDSM usually lived two lives: a tranquil one with his wife, to paint the world a pretty picture, and one with his mistress. It wasn’t until the night Carmen had stabbed Franco, and Vince himself had finished the fucker, that he’d truly learned the extent of her abuse.
“What can I do for you, Carmen?”
“Nothing. I’m here for Gio.”
“He’s not here. Perhaps I can help you.” He cleared his throat. “Just like I did last night. You don’t have to worry about any man wanting to hurt you.”
“I just need to speak to Gio.”
He’d forgotten how stubborn she could be. It was like Sy had predicted; no way in hell was she going to tell him anything. And why would she? She believed he had betrayed her.
Patience, Vincenzo. Patience.
“You’ve already said that. Jazzy and him went to the hospital today for an ultrasound, so he won’t be in for a while.”
“Oh, that’s today. I didn’t know…”
The silence between them stretched and he saw her mind had wandered off. It was eerie how she sometimes got a spacey look in her eyes. He could only imagine what had triggered it this time.
“Jazzy hadn’t told you about her appointment today,” he guessed.
Her eyes regained their focus. “No, she didn’t.” She shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I guess she didn’t want to…”
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br /> “Share her joy with you, because she was afraid it would remind you of your loss,” he finished her trail of thought.
The pain in her eyes was immediate. Someone needed to say it though. The way Carmen shoveled her miscarriage away as if it never happened wasn’t healthy.
“I wish she wouldn’t feel that way,” she rebuked from her chair.
“Where are you going?” He knew why she was here. Gio was her last option in her casino crisis. He just needed her to acknowledge that.
“Home.” She clutched her bag as if it was a lifeline. “My thing can wait.”
No, it couldn’t. When was she going to admit that? The stubborn woman would rather go home and pretend there wasn't an issue to deal with, than bother her brother-in-law.
“Time’s up, Carmen,” he said. “Morelli and Keegan aren’t going to wait any longer.”
She slowly turned back toward him. “How do you—?”
He got up and walked up to her. “It’s what I do, beautiful.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.
“I not only speculate in bonds, but in information,” he continued, ignoring her outburst. “It’s part of my job. The question isn’t how I know what I know, but what are you going to do about it?”
“I had been planning to ask Gio for help.”
“Wrong answer. Gio can’t help you without becoming a target himself. Also, my brother has a million other things on his plate, with becoming a dad and all.”
Her spine stiffened. “I know that. That’s why I said I had been planning it.”
“You no longer are.”
“No,” she bit out.
There was fire in her words now. Heat he intended to harness and put to better use. “I bet you have no idea what your next step is, do you?”
Her chin raised a slight nudge. “What I do or don’t is none of your business.”
When he reached out to her, she backed away. “Don’t.” Her voice was hoarse. “Don’t ever touch me.”
Dammit, if those words didn’t sting.