Taken: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Vanessa Waltz

  That was fair game.

  Ten

  Carmela

  Don’t come back.

  I hovered over the send button. Was that line too ominous? I gave my email another read-through.

  Dear Mia,

  This will be my last message. I can’t go into detail. I know that’s vague, but it’s not safe for us to communicate. You’re better off wherever you are than here. Boston’s streets are flooded with violence. It’s only a matter of time before this city implodes. I’m only staying for Mom and Dad’s sakes.

  If I’m happy about anything, it’s that you and Alessio escaped. I’m proud of you for making that leap of faith. It can’t have been easy.

  Please live life to the fullest.

  I wish you, Alessio, and baby Lexy all the health and happiness. I love you.

  Don’t tell me where you are.

  Don’t come back.

  C

  She’d hop on the first flight to Boston if I used that. I selected the block of text, hit Delete, and began anew.

  Dear Mia,

  I’m sorry that Lexy is teething! Hopefully, she grows out of it fast. Poor thing! That video of her tantrum was adorbs. I have so many pics of Lexy on my phone that people ask if she’s my baby.

  As much as I adore updates, don’t send any photos. Vinn asks about Alessio whenever he sees me. They’re obsessed with finding you guys, and I know you’re taking precautions, but it’s not worth the risk.

  Everybody’s great! Mom and Dad are homebodies. Dad’s into gardening. He’s overzealous with the shears. Our rhododendrons are bare. Drives Mom nuts.

  I’m doing well. I don’t live in Boston-proper anymore, but guess what? I’m working full-time at Sanctum as a bartender.

  Isn’t that crazy? Michael gave me the job. And you’re right. He is such a sweetheart! <3 <3 <3

  Give kisses to baby Lexy from me!

  Love,

  C

  The entire email was a crock of shit. I sent it anyway.

  It got the point across without raising her suspicions, and I even laid the groundwork for a romance between Michael and me. She’d hate missing my wedding, but at least she wouldn’t be blindsided if the news spread to their hideout. My sister would lose her mind if she knew what really happened.

  I was sandwiched between twenty-something-year-olds tapping on laptops. I was getting used to my new routine, which was waking up early enough to make the kids breakfast under the watchful nannies. People followed me all day. Having a member of the staff hang over my shoulder as I made tuna salad sandwiches was off-putting.

  I hated Michael, but his children were adorable.

  It was impossible to frown when Matteo flung his arms around my neck every morning, or when Mariette declared me her best friend after a few days of giving her my undivided attention. They were a welcome distraction, but I was restless.

  So I’d walked to the closest café during my time off with an escort, a surly, tall whip of a man named Vitale. He smoked outside despite the stink-eyes from customers. Rain sluiced the coffee shop’s windows as I drank my tea, distracted by a video playing on a man’s screen.

  “Boston mayor calls state of emergency as gang violence terrorizes citizens. Up next in an hour: the Commission of Inquiry of Public Contracts in Construction exposes corruption in city hall—”

  The voice cut off as he inserted a headphone into the laptop.

  Movement behind the glass caught my eye. A man slid into view. I recognized Michael’s blazer and stowed my cell. He approached Vitale, who tapped the storefront and pointed at me. Vitale snubbed the cigarette on his shoe and strolled away. Michael bent his head, met my gaze, and waved.

  Hello, asshole.

  He beamed as he entered the store. Female heads turned as he weaved through tables. His soft apology brushed my ears like silk when he bumped into a young woman, who blushed as he stepped around her. He was excellent at appearing harmless.

  I stopped that train of thought.

  I didn’t need to think about his other talents.

  He pulled out a chair and sat. “Is the tea at home not good enough?”

  “I wanted a minute alone without you hovering over me like a gargoyle.”

  “Privacy must be hard to find in a nine-bedroom mansion sitting on a three-acre property.” Michael cocked his head. “Anything you want to tell me?”

  Shit. “Not really.”

  “Carmela. You’re up to something.”

  “I must have nothing to do besides watch your kids and suck your cock.”

  A smile ticked across his cheek. “If only.”

  “Go to hell, Michael. I have a life.”

  “And who have you shared it with?”

  Nobody.

  I’d managed my dad’s legitimate business since my early twenties. It was unorthodox, a don allowing his daughter so much control, but I liked managing the restaurant and casino. I’d always assumed Dad was grooming me. Then he set me straight. My husband would handle all that. My duty was to tie the knot with a stranger, Alessio Salvatore. It’d been arranged that we’d be married.

  I was scared.

  Then a predator swooped in while I was vulnerable.

  “I had my family until you took them away.”

  “Yes, that murdering alcoholic you call a father, your mom, and Mia. Where is Mia, by the way?” Michael leaned over, his brows knitted in mock concern. “Did you file a missing persons report?”

  “I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

  “Interesting. How long have they been gone? Three months?”

  Give or take. “They’re probably having the time of their lives in the Amazon where there’s no cell phone reception.”

  He stared. “That’s what you’re going with?”

  I drummed the table, wishing my husband and his inconvenient questions would disappear. “It’s a possibility.”

  “Alessio in the jungle, with the snakes, spiders, and bugs,” he mused, laughing. “Have you met your brother-in-law? He’s a guido, through and through. He’s not hunkering down without an Italian deli in walking distance.”

  “It was a freaking joke. I have no idea where they are.”

  “I’m relieved that you still have a sense of humor, what with your sister being missing and all. I can’t imagine. If it were me, I wouldn’t rest until she was found. I’d lose my fucking mind. You must be worried sick.”

  Message received.

  I kept my mouth shut and pried my mug from Michael. “I’m fine.”

  “Oh, honey. I wonder about you sometimes.” Michael patted my hand. “You may fold under questioning.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I stood, cramming the phone into my bag. I flung my purse over my shoulder, nearly hitting Michael’s face. I bulldozed past the queue of caffeine addicts and almost crashed into a woman balancing four coffees on a tray.

  Michael caught up, catching the door on his elbow. “Hit a nerve?”

  “Don’t.”

  Michael pinched my wrist, dragging me to a halt. “I’m not an idiot, Carmela. The moment he stopped checking in, I knew. Everybody knows.”

  “What do you want me to say? I have no clue where they are.”

  “I want the same thing as you—for Alessio to stay gone.”

  Like I believed that. “Whatever.”

  “I’m just saying, you don’t have to lie.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  He grabbed my bicep and steered me to his side. “This is important. Vinn won’t forget Alessio. The longer he stays away, the worse Vinn’s retribution gets.”

  Gooseflesh puckered where he held my arm. “What are you suggesting?”

  “If Vinn discovers my wife hid Alessio’s location this whole time, he’ll assume I helped you. That would be very bad for both of us.”

  Vinn was yet another Nick. What could he do to me that hadn’t been done already?

  “I’m not afraid of Vinn. He’s a gangster with a chip on his shoulder.
I’ve met his type. They’re all the same.”

  “Maybe your spine is made of steel, but I doubt you want orphaning my two kids on your conscience.”

  I bit my lip. “Vinn wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “There’s nothing my cousin wouldn’t do.”

  Michael had to be bluffing. The Costa boss wouldn’t kill Michael, a made man, without good reason. Then again, I’d heard things about Vinn. Alessio called him Mussolini, among other degrading names.

  “Either I bring you home and tie you up, or you tell me the truth.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to challenge him, but it wouldn’t make a difference.

  Michael knew.

  I had to tell him something. “They asked me to come with them.”

  “When?”

  “Before they left. I decided to stay, and we said our goodbyes. I have no idea where they are, Michael. I swear to God.”

  Michael took my face, his hands gliding over my cheeks. He searched me, eyes dancing over my features. “Are you in contact with them?”

  “No.”

  He sighed, not looking convinced. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, but you better not be lying, Carmela.”

  My insides still boiled from his threat, and I wanted to strike back. “You’re lucky your kids don’t take after you.”

  He raised his brow. “Matteo is practically my clone.”

  “In looks, maybe. You couldn’t be more different in personality.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s sweet. You’re horrible. He’s sensitive. You’re a cold bastard. He cares about people. You don’t.”

  Michael smiled. “He’s just more adept at manipulating you.”

  “He’s four.”

  “That’s old enough to know how to get you on his side. He knows you have a soft heart, and he’s taking advantage.”

  “Don’t project your motives onto your son.”

  “Everything is black and white with you, isn’t it? Good or bad. He’s innocent. I’m corrupt. That’s not the way the world works.” Michael palmed my shoulders, leading me across the parking lot. “Stop thinking of me as a villain. I’m your husband.”

  “Like being forced to sign papers in a church means anything.”

  “It does to me.”

  A darkness had slivered into his voice—a hint of the monster.

  My spirits plummeted as he showed me to the car. “This marriage will never work.”

  “We got along fine on our wedding night.” He opened the door, gesturing inside with his head. “Get in.”

  “You used me to prove a point.”

  “You’re right. I proved that you want me just as much as I want you, and it’s eating you up.”

  A raindrop smacked my cheek. Michael flicked it off before it rolled down, the gesture making my insides somersault.

  “What were you doing here, Carmela? Planning your escape?”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Your kids need help with you as their role model.”

  “Couldn’t agree more.”

  Eleven

  Michael

  Some women wanted children.

  Others liked the idea of them.

  Serena was the latter. She didn’t realize how much she hated motherhood until the responsibility dropped in her lap. She was decent for a while, and then it got too hard. She stopped trying. My children paid the price for her coldhearted approach to parenting.

  Carmela woke when she said she would. She took the kids to the park, made sure Mariette finished her homework, and helped my daughter prepare a memory box of Serena’s things. When Mariette missed her mom, she opened it. Simple, and it worked. Mariette kept it under her bed.

  After a couple of weeks with zero hiccups from Carmela, I relaxed. I checked in on her through the camera system, but not that often. She was nothing like Serena, and I frequently found new qualities to appreciate, like Carmela’s utter lack of drama.

  Several days ago, Mariette broke into our walk-in closet and found Carmela’s makeup. She’d accidentally defaced one of Carmela’s expensive purses. I’d spent hours dreading her meltdown, but when Carmela returned from her salon appointment, she shrugged off the damage. Mariette’s confusion when Carmela hugged her stood out in my mind because I’d remembered feeling the same bewilderment.

  Maybe I’d gotten used to crazy.

  I never realized we could handle problems without a screaming match that took down the walls. Fucking and fighting—it was all I knew. Carmela showed me that there were more sane ways of existing.

  I stepped outside.

  A warm front had left us with mild weather. Dew clung to the grass, but it was drying in the vibrant sunshine. Yellow finches jumped from branches as I walked under the dogwood. The garden was turning green. Life ran through the dead-looking vines that snarled the property, blooming with thick leaves.

  My gorgeous brunette sprawled on a blanket under the growing rosebushes. Her caramel-streaked hair gleamed where the dappled light stroked her. She lay on her side, wearing a bright pink cut-off over black leggings, whispering to my son in a sweet voice as she tried to coax him with tubs of Play-Doh.

  My four-year-old shook his head and disappeared behind a tree. Smiling, Carmela rose to her feet and chased Matteo, who shrieked when her arms wrapped his middle. She tickled his chest and kissed his cheek. My son was beside himself with all the attention. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  Neither could I.

  Carmela had rolled her ebony mane into a messy bun. Still, it didn’t distract from her pillowy lips, the arching eyebrows, and her irresistible curves. I imagined her in heels and a swimsuit, posing next to a vintage car. Honestly, there wasn’t much she could do without making my jaw drop.

  Matteo’s head turned. “Daddy!”

  He ran, a blur of rainbow tie-dye, until he crashed into my knees. My chest tightened as he locked my legs in a vise grip. When I bent over, he threw his arms around me. I hoisted him to my hip, lamenting the day he’d be too big to hold. Tears misted his lashes.

  “You okay, buddy?”

  “He was a second ago.” Carmela joined my side in a breeze of floral scents, rubbing Matteo’s back. “Maybe he needs a nap.”

  “Nah. He has preschool soon.”

  Matteo disengaged from me, sobbing. His pain rammed into my stomach like a swift kick. It wasn’t the usual I-skinned-my-knee crying. Matteo probably had no idea what to make of Carmela’s undivided attention. My poor kid had never really had a mother.

  He looked on the verge of a meltdown, and Carmela’s affection seemed to do the trick. He bawled, hiding his face in my neck.

  “What happened?” Carmela smoothed his hair, looking stricken. “What’s the matter, honey?”

  Matteo shook his head.

  I patted his shoulder as my shirt collar became soaked. I sank onto the steps leading to my house as he curled on my lap, bawling. Every time Carmela touched Matteo, he howled louder.

  Carmela appeared to take it as a personal failure. She stepped away, her glow draining from her features. “What did I do wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I sagged with relief when a car rolled to the curb and honked. “Look, your ride to school is here!”

  Matteo faced it, hiccupping. He slid off me, his tears glistening. His crying stopped when he spotted the black Lexus.

  A bewildered Carmela handed over his things. We walked Matteo to the driver, who packed him inside. He waved at Carmela and me. She waved back, beaming. When the car disappeared down the block, her smile vanished.

  She hadn’t let go of my hand. “Why is he so upset?”

  “Four-year-olds cry about everything.”

  She still gazed in the car’s direction. “He gets overwhelmed easily.”

  “That’s courtesy of their dearly departed mother.”

  “What happened?” Carmela squeezed my fingers, her voice husky. “Did she hit them?”

  A white van in a parking lot burned in my mind. The echoes
of their screaming crashed through the birdsong, siphoning the warmth from the world until the coldness seeped into my chest.

  I pulled from her grip and strode inside.

  Carmela was clearly horrified. She was already assuming the worst, and I couldn’t bear her pity. I’d done what I could to minimize the damage Serena had caused, but nothing ever alleviated the guilt.

  “Michael?”

  I bristled. “Don’t push it.”

  “I’m not asking for the gory details. I just want the general idea of what they went through. If they’ve been abused—”

  “Unless you’re ready to spill the darkest moments of your life, leave it alone.” I seized the shopping tote I’d left on the kitchen table and pushed it in her arms. “I got you a present.”

  Carmela set it aside, glaring at me.

  “Open it.”

  Her lips flattened as she yanked the tissue paper, pulling out a Burberry bag.

  I’d found a store and searched for the bag my daughter had ruined, but they no longer carried that model, so I’d bought something similar. I had no fucking clue about purses. An employee picked it.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Mariette destroyed yours. I thought you’d like a replacement.”

  Carmela dropped it on the granite, softening. “You didn’t have to do this, Michael.”

  “I wanted to.”

  “I appreciate the gesture,” she said bracingly. “But I don’t care about the damned purse. You can’t throw gifts at me and expect your problems to disappear.”

  Well, it had worked for the last wife.

  “Don’t ask questions you can’t handle the answer to."

  “Who says I can’t?”

  Because she was as pure as the driven snow. “Life isn’t a fairytale. The answers aren’t always pretty.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  “How could you possibly understand?”

  Carmela shot me a look filled with poison.

  “Something you want to say?”

  She held up a hand. “Don’t tempt me.”

  “You’re dying to have a go, so do it. Get it out of your system.”