War (Bratva and Mafia Chronicles Book 1)

by Melissa Silvey

  WAR

  A Novel by

  Melissa Silvey

  WAR

  Written by: Melissa Silvey

  Copyright 2017 Melissa Silvey

  All Rights Reserved

  Please do not copy or publish without the express written consent of author.

  This book is intended for mature audiences.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this and all authors.

  Any likeness to any person is purely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements

  My utmost thanks to Krystyn Stefanu for creating the gorgeous cover for War, and for all of her encouragement. You were truly a driving force in getting this book finished.

  Also, a special thanks to Kim Quick as always, for finding all of my typos and correcting all of my weird word usage!

  And last but not least, thanks to Jay Fuller, my life partner, my other (better) half, and the love of my life. Without you, none of this would be possible.

  Chapter One

  Chiara (Key-are-a) Rossi

  I stand outside the Visitation church, staring down at my left hand as I slide the engagement ring onto my finger. I’m dreading walking inside, where my fiancé is waiting. It’s our last pre-marital counseling session, and I’m more anxious than I imagined I would be. This means it’s really happening, that I am actually going to marry Frankie Moretti.

  I have to admit my fiancé has good taste. The ring really is gorgeous. It’s so big it probably cost more than my brownstone. That’s no huge feat, though. My dad helped me find the foreclosed property, and his construction company revived it and turned it into the gorgeous home it is now.

  I open the door, and walk into the vestibule. The natural stone church really is beautiful, and will make a lovely backdrop for a wedding. I just wish it wasn’t mine. That’s not true, I think, as I open the heavy door which leads into the sanctuary. I wish it wasn’t mine with my fiancé.

  I find Frankie sitting in the last pew, furiously tapping at his phone. Even at six o’clock on a Thursday night, he’s busy. I take a deep breath, and touch his shoulder.

  He turns toward me, his deep brown eyes full of anger and his lips in a snarl. When he notices it’s me, his expression softens and he smiles. He stands up, wraps one huge arm around my waist, and kisses my cheek before he murmurs, “Hello, amore, key to my heart.”

  I force a chuckle from my lips. I rolled my eyes the first time he said it, because of the play on my name, Chiara. But my mom and sisters awwwed when they heard it, and exclaimed, How adorable!

  “Hello, Frankie. Have you been waiting long?” I ask, as I pull away from his embrace. I’m right on time, but I know he’s always early. It is one of the many things that irks me about Francesco Moretti. Why does he have to be so darn tall, nearly dwarfing my five feet six frame, even when I’m wearing heels? Why does he have to be so good looking, making women stop and stare at him everywhere he goes? Why does he have to have all that thick, dark, wavy hair? But most importantly, why did he have to pick me, out of all the Italian-American, Catholic girls in New York?

  “Not long,” he says, but I don’t believe him. His voice is too smooth. “When will you allow me to provide you with a car and driver?” There should be a hint of irritation in his voice. I see it in his eyes. Why can’t I hear it in his tone?

  “When we’re finally married,” I reply. I try to match his smooth tone, but I hear my voice crack. Surely he knows how I feel. He must! We aren’t living in the 18th Century! A man can’t just approach a woman’s father, and arrange a marriage. But that’s exactly what happened. And in the Moretti family, the Don and his sons get what they want. And I have to act like I’m happy, for the sake of my little sister.

  “I know how you feel. I’m excited too.” He doesn’t sound excited. With his smooth, controlled tone I’m not sure if I believe him or not. “We only have to wait two more months. And then…” He grabs me around my hips again, and pulls me close, close enough that I can feel his excitement.

  It’s his idea to wait until the wedding to have sex, thank God. I don’t know how I’ll be able to do it. I mean he’s attractive, sure. But he’s also the devil. He’s the embodiment of everything I’ve tried to stay away from since I realized exactly what my dad does.

  “Ah, my favorite engaged couple. Come with me,” Father Patrick calls out as he approaches. Frankie releases me, but not before placing a light kiss on my lips. When Father notices, he lets an awwwww escape. “You two are so sweet.” He leads us to his office, and Frankie weaves our fingers together and follows.

  I think I was spending the night at a friend’s house, and we were watching one of her favorite TV shows. The star of the show was a mob boss. As a girl, I was mostly shielded from my father’s business. But I remember the dinners with the Moretti family. I remember Christmas parties at the Moretti house. I remember Frankie as a teenager, the oldest son, with pimples and braces. He was never anything but polite to the younger kids. His younger brother, Matteo, was a terrorist in the making who bullied all the littler kids. And Dante, the youngest brother, was even worse, because Matteo was constantly egging him on. When Frankie was around, he kept his brothers in line. But when he went off to college, his brothers had free reign. They picked on everyone, except me and my siblings. I think Matteo had a crush on my oldest sister Angelina, even back then.

  But I saw enough of my family in the show that I realized my dad is in the mafia. And I didn’t like it. So I left New York, to go to college in Maine. Go Black Bears! But I returned to New York once I earned my Masters’ Degree in Education. I couldn’t live away from my family forever. My college boyfriend broke my heart when he came out as gay. My older sister needed help with her wedding. My maternal grandparents were getting up in years, and needed more assistance. My mom had her hands full with my two younger siblings. I was needed at home.

  What I wasn’t expecting was catching Francesco Moretti’s eye while helping my sister prepare for her wedding. She ended up marrying Matteo, which might be why we were spared his harsh treatment. Frankie was the best man, and as the maid of honor we ran into each other more and more often. He was extremely nice, and he complimented me every time he saw me. Your eyes are as blue as the ocean. Your hair is dark as night. Your hands are as soft as silk.

  Besides all that, Frankie is gorgeous and he knows it. Angelina asked me to help pick out the men’s tuxedos, and a few of the men were getting fitted at the same time. Frankie came out of the dressing room topless, and I swear I nearly drooled. His abs are so perfect they don’t look real. His shoulders are wide and toned, and his arms are muscular but not too big. His body is phenomenal.

  “What do you think of Frankie?” my sister asked, when she caught me staring. After I spent what felt like an hour gaping at his chest and stomach, I glanced up at his handsome face to find him watching me. I swear, my cheeks must have turned every shade of red.

  But he’s evil in a tempting package. I know what he does, what his soldiers do. I know about the prostitution rings in the strip clubs they own. I know about the human trafficking. I know about the people they kill. Not to mention the drugs they sell that poisons families, and the gambling. No matter how incredibly handsome he is, I was intent on telling him no. I would not allow myself to fall for the next Moretti Don. If he asked me out, I told myself, I would refuse politely.

  He didn’t ask me out though, probably because of my frigid responses to his advances. Did he think I was play
ing hard to get? He did what any modern man would do, and approached my parents.

  My mom demanded I come to dinner one evening, two weeks before Angelina’s wedding, supposedly to discuss the bachelorette party. But the dinner guests ended up being me, my parents, and Frankie Moretti, the crown prince of the family. When the dinner was over, my dad basically demanded I walk Frankie out to his car. He drives a brand new Ford GT, he answered proudly when I asked about the obviously expensive monstrosity sitting in front of my parents house.

  “I’m glad we got to spend this time together,” he said, as if we’d been out on a romantic date and not in my parents’ elegant but dated dining room. Then he placed his big hand on my cheek, leaned down, and kissed me gently on my cheek.

  I wanted to say it’s not what I want. I wanted to scream that I don’t want to be part of his family, that I ran off to college for that reason. But instead I said nothing, until I stomped into my dad’s home office.

  “I am not going to start dating Frankie Moretti!” I shrieked like a madwoman.

  “Well, Chiara Maria Rossi, he’s asked for your hand in marriage, and I as your father and head of the household accepted. He will wait three months until he asks you to marry him. Then, he’ll wait nine months for the marriage to take place.” He spoke so matter-of-factly, I almost couldn’t believe he was talking about arranging a marriage as if it was a contract.

  “No!” I answered, with every bit of willpower I have inside me. “I will not marry the next head of the Family!”

  “You will, because he wants it,” Nicola Rossi replied calmly. “You don’t want to tell the head of the family no, Chi.”

  “I do and I will!” I exclaimed loudly.

  “Our family will prosper with your marriage, Chi.”

  “Damn it, Papa, Angelina is marrying a Moretti. I shouldn’t have to! Angelina is in love with Matteo, but she loves the power and money more. She loves the idea of being married to the second in line in the most powerful crime family in New York. I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it. Please, Papa, you have to understand!”

  “I want this, but more important, Frankie Moretti wants it. There will be no one to carry on the Rossi name. Your brother won’t ever get married, won’t ever have kids. My grandchildren will be Morettis.”

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest stubbornly. He brought up my little brother to guilt me into a marriage I don’t want. Nicola Junior has cerebral palsy, and he’s the main reason my mom needed me to come home to help out. I don’t resent it at all, I’ve always taken care of my younger siblings.

  “No, I won’t allow you to give me away to a mob boss because no one will carry on your name. That’s not a reason to get married, Papa.”

  “You’re almost thirty and you don’t even have a boyfriend. What else are you going to do with your life?” he argued. Who am I going to date? Everyone I know is in the mob! I don’t think I’ve ever been angrier than I was at my father at that moment. Until he continued, “Dante is interested in Guilia.”

  Guilia is the most beautiful, sweet, innocent woman ever. My parents should have named her Chiara, because she is the lights up everyone’s life she meets. She is pure, and untouched by the evils of society. We suspected she might have Down Syndrome, but the doctors all said she was only slightly autistic, and developmentally challenged. She is not like other girls, though, or other people. She is twenty-one years old, but has the mentality of a teenager. She has a huge crush on her favorite singer, and insists that she will marry him. She’s unique, and must be protected from men like Dante, even if I’m the one who has to do it.

  “Stop, Papa,” I demanded. Dante Moretti would want a girl like Guilia, someone he could manipulate and command, someone who would do whatever his demented little mind wanted.

  “I will decide if she is allowed to date, or marry. I can keep her innocent, Chiara, or I can give her to Dante.” He was so uncaring, so unfeeling in his manipulation of his daughters. He knew exactly what to say to get me to capitulate to his demand. Like he said, I’m not dating. I don’t have any prospects. I’m going to die an old maid.

  “You have to swear to me, give me your word, that you will never allow anyone to marry her, especially not Dante Moretti that disgusting piece of trash.”

  “I swear, Chiara. I give you my word. I will protect Guilia’s womanhood, I will keep her safe, if you do this for me. Marry Francesco Moretti, and I give you my word your sister will be protected.”

  So that’s what he meant by his grandchildren being Morettis. Nicola Junior will not have children, and now he’s swearing to me that Guilia won’t either. I can live with this arrangement, if it’s to protect my little sister.

  “Chiara,” my fiancé says, and squeezes my hand to bring me back to the present. “Father Patrick asked how you feel about my business.”

  I stare at Frankie blankly, then I glance at Father. Surely he doesn’t condone what the Morettis do. Surely he isn’t asking me if I’m okay with marrying a mob boss?

  I look toward Father, and I interrogate him with my eyes. What am I supposed to say to that? I am not okay. I am definitely not okay with the Moretti business. The last thing I want is to marry into the business. But I’m doing this to protect my sister. I look down where our fingers are laced together, and the huge ring sparkles.

  I can’t do this.

  Then Frankie smiles at me. How can evil be so beautiful? But Frankie isn’t nearly as evil as Dante. And I see the way he looks at Guilia, the way he gazed at her in her pretty blue dress at Angelina’s wedding, the dress that matched her eyes almost perfectly. She was so happy to be in the wedding party, to be a bridesmaid, she smiled the entire time and lit up the room. Dante was mesmerized. No, I can’t let him have her.

  “I don’t mind,” I reply, and shrug my shoulders.

  “I believe you two will be the happiest married couple I’ve ever counseled. I couldn’t be more proud,” Father says brightly. “You two give me hope for the future, and for the Church. I hope you have a dozen children.”

  That’s right, I’m expected to have babies, lots of them, with a man I don’t love. It’s not the priest’s fault. He doesn’t know my father is blackmailing me. Or does he?

  “I’ll be happy with as many as God gives us,” Frankie answers. I finally hear some emotion in his voice. He sounds hopeful. He sounds happy. And he sounds like he’s in love.

  I gaze into his dark chocolate eyes, and I wish he was anyone but Frankie Moretti, the mob boss. I might be able to love him then.

  Chapter Two

  Mikhail (Misha) Ivanovich

  I’ve been watching her for three months, since I pissed my father off. Apparently going on a five day bender and losing a hundred thousand dollars in an Italian owned casino in Atlantic City is enough to get put on shit duty. I tried to tell him that the gorgeous Ukrainian hostess gave the best blow job I’ve ever had, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t think that was worth losing that kind of money over. I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. That is, until three months ago.

  I’ve been watching a woman more beautiful, more desirable, every day for three months. When she’s going to see Frankie Moretti she puts the huge rock on her finger, and as soon as they part ways, she takes it off. They don’t sleep together. They barely spend any time together. They go out to dinner once a week. They meet at the church sometimes. And they are always together at family outings, church functions, anywhere they will be seen. They put on a good show, they hold hands, and he kisses her like he wants to. But I think it’s all an act. I think he’s gay. There’s no other reason they’re not having sex. She’s so fucking hot there’s no way possible a straight man could keep his hands off her. If she were my fiancée, I would keep her tied to my bed spread eagle for days.

  Her hair is so thick and dark I want to bury my face in it. Her eyes are so blue I want to drown in them. Her lips are so luscious I want to eat them. Her tits are so big and round I want her to smother me with
them. If she took my last breath in our first kiss I would die a happy man.

  I watch her fiancé kiss her more chastely than a five year old kissing his kindergarten teacher. If she were mine, I would own her gorgeous mouth and make sure she knew it every minute of every day. Then he climbs into his car that is too expensive even for the son of a mob boss. She waves at him, and as soon as he turns the corner she removes her huge ring and tucks it into her purse.

  She taps her phone, I assume to arrange for a ride back to her brownstone. It’s not in the nicest of neighborhoods, but it really is a pretty, feminine home. I’ve broken in, once or twice, while she was sleeping. It’s not like I watched her sleep, I just went through her things. Well, once I watched her sleep, but I didn’t masturbate or anything, until I was in my own bed anyway.

  She must be returning to her house, because there are only a handful of places she goes, which are her brownstone, the school where she teaches, her humble Roman Catholic Church, her parents’ house, and her grandparents’ place in Flatbush.

  So I climb onto my motorcycle, and when she’s inside the rideshare car, I follow. When she doesn’t travel toward her brownstone, or her parents’ place, I’m a little surprised. When she drives toward Crown Heights, I’m confused. Then my sweet, innocent fantasy enters a bar. It’s a nice bar, but it’s not under Ivanovich family protection. I don’t know if it’s under Moretti protection or not. I could get myself killed just stepping inside. But it might be worth it, to get a closer look at her.

  I could talk to her, and she could tell me to get lost, and it would make me want her even more. I park the bike, and now I have to decide between being out in the chilly April air, or to risk death and rejection. My father says that the winters in New York are like a spring day compared to Siberia. It’s just another reason I am glad I was born in America.