Taken: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Vanessa Waltz

  Her head sank.

  “Crash is the reason you never gave me the time of day. Isn’t he?”

  Carmela burrowed into bed and pulled the quilt to her forehead. It only slightly muffled her crying, and her agony pained me more than my throbbing wound.

  I sat beside her, peeling the comforter to stroke her ebony tresses.

  “Do you want company?”

  She nodded.

  I stripped, sliding in next to her. Carmela flung her arm over my chest and snuggled close, her warmth burning me.

  I smoothed her sleeve. “So what’s with the shirt?”

  “It smelled like you.”

  She stared ahead, her expression blank.

  I pressed my lips to her cheek, and as we touched she made a desperate sound, a sharp inhale that sliced into my chest. I turned my head and caught her lips. The salt from her tears slid over my tongue. I kissed her harder, determined to stop that awful, gut-wrenching sound.

  She sighed, melting into the sheets. Her touch drifted to my face as she leaned into the kiss. Her arms coiled over me as she deepened it. She was so eager, sucking, biting, her delectable pout claiming every corner of my mouth.

  My hands skimmed her thighs. She ground into me. I ripped off her shirt in a whirl of black cotton and tangled hair. My cock stiffened as she wriggled into a position that squished her breasts against me. I kneaded her ass, following the curve to a waist, up her velvety skin. My thumbs brushed the side of her breast. I cupped her tits, and she crashed her mouth into mine. I grabbed her hip and switched our positions.

  Carmela’s brunette waves splayed over white satin. Her tongue slashed my lips, invading my senses with vanilla. My instincts screamed to answer her softness with bruising force, but I yanked the reins on my arousal.

  I liked rough sex.

  I tied girls in compromised positions. I spanked them and forced them to beg for orgasms. I loved it, and I made sure they did, too. When I was frustrated—when life got too stressful—I fucked women.

  But Carmela needed a gentle man right now.

  I was the furthest from that, but I could try. I counted to ten. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth. Carmela’s hand wandered below my midriff. She rolled over my cock and squeezed. Her passion stirred a primal urge that screamed one word—Dominate. It was more than a desire—an imperative to control snared my limbs and made my cock hard.

  I had to stop.

  I flipped onto my back, away from her. Carmela followed, her touch red-hot as she drifted to my briefs. I moved her hand to where my heart thundered. She shook from my grasp, raising my lust to a five-story fire.

  I pulled her off me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I stumbled out of bed. “I’m sorry. I can’t be what you need.”

  Hurt flashed across Carmela’s beautiful face.

  This is too intense.

  Fifteen

  Carmela

  I’d never love again.

  I’d barely survived my last relationship. Love was an indiscriminate killer of hearts, and mine was broken beyond repair. But Michael’s fight with Nick had thrown that into doubt.

  He’d stood up for me.

  He’d shoved glass down Nick’s throat without skipping a beat. Michael hadn’t wasted time with twenty questions. He’d believed me and acted swiftly.

  That meant everything to me.

  I told myself Michael was defending his pride, not me, but I couldn’t separate his actions from the safety they’d given me. And maybe I didn’t love him, but there was room in my heart for his children.

  I loved them.

  Matteo was such a sweet kid. He hugged me at every opportunity, said hilarious things, and hero-worshipped Michael. His daughter was more complicated. Her fierce independence challenged me. She was prone to slamming doors and I-hate-yous. She was guarded, like her father.

  The responsibility over both kids made me feel needed, but however much I lost myself in this new role, I couldn’t forget that Nick was out there.

  Giant oaks towered above us like giants as we strolled the deep green lawn toward the playground. Mariette raced ahead, hooting with pleasure as she hurled herself onto a swing. Matteo’s legs dashed for the plastic tree house. He beat the bongo drum and twisted the gear wheel.

  Michael’s hawk-like gaze zeroed in on his kids. Sleep lines etched his face, but other than that, he seemed normal. An untamed scruff covered his jaw and neck, and his mocha waves were half-tamed. When his amber eyes flicked at me, my heart jumped.

  “What is it?”

  I smiled. “Want coffee?”

  His attention slid to the children. “Sure, I like it with—”

  “Milk and enough sugar for a diabetic coma. I know.”

  He raised his brows as I wandered toward the espresso stand.

  Dew clung to the grass, slicking my ankles as sunshine broke through the murky sky. It was a beautiful spring morning. Cherry blossoms floated on the wind, clinging to my hair. The crisp air bit my cheeks. As I mixed Michael’s coffee, I examined the lightness in my chest—happiness.

  I joined Michael’s side, handing him the cup. “I put in four sugars.”

  “Perfect.” He frowned at it, as though he suspected poison, but he drank anyway. “Thanks.”

  “You have a sweet tooth,” I said when he shot me a probing look. “Peppermint candy in all your pockets. And I found your hidden stash in the walk-in closet.”

  “I didn’t realize you watched me.” He wasn’t angry. He looked flattered. “Are you after my heart, Carmela?”

  “With a lousy cup of joe?”

  “It’s not bad.” Michael’s smile widened behind the cardboard. “What else do you think you know?”

  “You’re eating all the children’s snacks. Don’t you have any shame?”

  “None.”

  “What a monster.”

  “I gave them life. The least they can do is give me their Snack Packs.” Michael’s fingers skimmed my leggings and pinched my ass. “Is that all you’ve got?”

  “Your favorite vegetable is broccoli. You have a thing for plaid suits. You use a butter knife to cut meat. I could go on and on, but it doesn’t matter. Your quirks don’t offer any insight to who you are as a person. And I want to know my husband.”

  Michael acted like he was half-listening, his gaze hyper-focused on the kids, but he stilled.

  “Tell me about your parents.”

  “Dad’s dead,” he said baldly. “Passed away when I was five. The guy you met at our wedding is my mom’s boyfriend.”

  “Sorry about your father.”

  “I don’t remember him. The funeral stuck in my mind, but other than that…he’s a stranger.”

  So he grew up without a dad. That pitted my stomach with sadness. “What happened after he died? Who helped raised you?”

  “Daniel.” All the light seemed to disappear within Michael. “My brother was fifteen.”

  “That’s a ton of pressure for a teenager.”

  “Yeah, but he did the best he could. He packed lunches and walked me to school. Bought all the candy I wanted. When I got older, he’d take me to arcades and slap a ten-dollar roll of quarters in my hand. That was a lot of money in those days. Especially for a kid. Daniel wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t even nice, but he was the closest thing I had to a dad.”

  Clouds rolled overhead, blocking the sun. He shook off his melancholy, the smile returning to his face.

  “Life with me isn’t so bad, is it?”

  “It’s not torture.”

  “Easy on the praise, honey. When you let loose those compliments, my knees knock together.”

  I took his shoulder and kissed his brow.

  He stared at me, toying with the empty cup.

  “Do I make you nervous?” I asked.

  He snorted. “No.”

  “Ever since I told you about Crash, you’ve been different.”

  “I’m trying to be gentle. I’m not making excuses or getting out of
anything. I’m telling you the truth.” He leaned in, his breath tickling my cheek. “I don’t have a pause button, sweetheart. When we’re hot and heavy, it’s tough to stop.”

  “I never asked you to change.”

  “I married you to build a better life. If I give in to my impulses, I will hurt you. And I can’t live with that.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “It’s a risk I’m not selfish enough to take. I want you to be happy.”

  He couldn’t mean that.

  My heart drank it in anyway. I’d waited for someone to appreciate me. Nobody had ever seen my worth. They never cared to look beyond my face and body.

  “You’re lying.”

  “Then why did I marry you?”

  I had no answer.

  Michael no longer resembled the monster I’d met in his mansion. Piece by piece fell, like a badly fitting costume over a beautiful man. He’d sucked me in like a black hole, pulling me into his dark orbit.

  He’s lying.

  I didn’t care. I needed this.

  I dragged him by his lapels, kissing him hard.

  Michael let a shocked laugh into my mouth. A rumble vibrated in his throat, the sound deepening as I crushed him against a tree. His growl settled between my thighs as he flipped me around.

  He palmed my back before I hit the wood. Our bodies molded together. His lip caught mine with a flash of teeth that nipped before a liquid heat swiped me. He devoured me in a slow, agonizing stroke while he glided down in silky caresses.

  I pulled away, just enough to be warmed by his lazy smile. “Is this what you’re like when you don’t hate me?”

  “I never hated you, Carmela.”

  “I don’t hate you, either.”

  “Thank fuck.”

  He tipped forward, claiming me again. He was softer than last time, his tongue flicking my lip in such a wanton display we were seconds from being called out.

  “I want you. The real you.” I brushed his hair, fingers tangled in his hair. “Not the man you pretended to be.”

  Sixteen

  Carmela

  I belted out an Italian ballad. The high notes strained my voice because the singer was a soprano, and I was a first alto. I’d lowered the key two half-steps but it was still too much, so I switched to a Patsy Cline song.

  As the last lyrics of “She’s Got You” faded, clapping burst from a room. My stomach tightened as I followed the sound into the office, where my husband lounged in the darkness. A sliver of light slashed his face into a diagonal slice, illuminating the faint outline of his silhouette. He sat on the couch, feet raised on the coffee table. He brought his hands together.

  “Bravissimo.”

  Patches of heat burned my cheeks. I had no problem singing in front of strangers. Michael was another story. “You’re home early.”

  “I had a complication.”

  He was nothing more than a shape, which gave me no insight into his mood. He seemed to guess mine from the silence.

  “Everything’s fine. Keep singing.”

  “I can’t when you’re here.”

  “You think I’ll laugh?”

  My anxiety had more to do with his presence, which rippled toward me like dark tendrils, snaring me no matter where I hid. He’d always been overwhelming in a similar way to Nick. Michael was a different flavor of monster. I wanted to know how far he could be pushed.

  “It’s okay. I’m finished with practice.”

  Michael cocked his head. “How come I never hear you?”

  “I do it when you’re gone.”

  “We’re married. You don’t have to hide from me anymore.”

  He wouldn’t let this go.

  “I’m not hiding. I sing to Matteo sometimes.”

  “That kid has you wrapped around his pinkie.” Not that Michael minded, judging from the softness in his voice. “Now he has me reading him five stories a night.”

  “I can’t help it. I love him.”

  It slipped out before I could swallow the confession.

  Love was a dangerous word. Nick had done unspeakable things in its name, and men like Michael considered their sons extensions of themselves. Zero degrees of separation existed between him and Matteo. He’d assume I loved him. He would use it against me.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  “Are you telling the truth?” Suspicion laced Michael’s tone. “Or are you flattering me?”

  “I don’t care about flattering you.”

  “I believe that.”

  That hung between us, heating the air. Then Michael interrupted the silence with a whip-like command.

  “Come.”

  I crossed my arms. “Ask nicely.”

  Michael drummed the couch before conceding. “Please.”

  I was surprised he caved so easily. I approached him, sinking into the space beside him. Michael’s head turned.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  Michael went rigid, as though guarding himself from a strike. “Why do you love them?”

  “I-I don’t know. I just do.” I stared at Michael, who was impossible to read in the dark. “They’re cute children, and I bond quickly.”

  “I could never feel that way about somebody else’s kids. I’m indifferent to everyone but me and mine.”

  “I’m not that heartless.”

  “Because you don’t have one of your own.”

  That dug into me like acid. “Thanks for the reminder, asshole.”

  “Carmela, I’m okay with trying.”

  My stomach tensed.

  A baby.

  He couldn’t have meant that.

  He grabbed my wrist, pulling me down before I’d risen from the sofa. “I could give you a baby.”

  “Are you fucking with me?”

  “No, but I’d like to be fucking you.”

  “Don’t joke. Not about this.”

  “I’m not. I tried to tell you weeks ago. I’ve hinted at it heavily, but your skull is thicker than my cousin’s. You can’t believe anything good about me.”

  “You want a baby.” I was still stuck on that bombshell. “With me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Well, for starters, you already have two. What would you do with another?”

  “There are perks to having kids with you, Carmela. Besides the obvious.” Michael’s thigh pressed into mine. “Matteo is half-Italian. He’ll never follow in my footsteps, but our sons will.”

  Oh my God. “What if we have girls?”

  “Then you’ll braid their hair and I’ll build them dollhouses.”

  “And if we have a son?”

  “I’ll groom him into this life. I need somebody to take over when I’m old.” Michael leaned over, softening. “You have to be okay with that.”

  I expected nothing less from a man like him, though it stung my heart. “What about Teo?”

  “What about him?”

  “Are you planning the same for him?”

  Michael shook his head. “The kid is too sensitive.”

  “He’s perfect!”

  “I know. It’s not a criticism. I love how nice he is, but I have to face facts. You were right. We’re not alike. Plus, as only half guido, he’ll never be made. I can’t ask him to join something that’ll never accept him.”

  This conversation was crazy.

  “We are not even pregnant.”

  “I’d rather clear the air now. It’s up to you. I’m happy either way.”

  This was insanity. “You’re fine with doctor’s appointments and changing diapers and—”

  “Do you want a baby or not?”

  Was that a serious question?

  “Of course. I’ve always wanted to be a mom.” I gasped as Michael’s attention drifted to the zipper at my neck. “What are you—”

  “Let’s make a baby.”

  Michael unzipped my dress, his hand slipping down my back. As the cotton peeled from my body, he pulled my bra stra
ps down, chasing them with hot kisses. His mouth was ecstasy. He palmed my breast, his tongue following his thumb’s movements. Michael stroked up my leg, the swell of pleasure knocking me off balance.

  I threaded my fingers through his soft hair, and Michael rewarded me with a sharp nip. He dragged me onto his lap. My thighs splayed over his as he cradled me like a doll.

  I ripped into his shirt, trailing his chest, sliding over the slabs of muscle. Desire lodged in my throat like a fist. I undressed him, wetness soaking the fabric.

  “What is this?”

  “Blood,” he murmured. “But it’s mine, don’t worry.”

  “Shit. I’ll grab bandages.”

  “I have all the healing I need right here.” He kissed me, and then he brushed the seam of my panties. “And here.”

  Oh God. “What do you get out of this?”

  “I fuck you however I want.”

  A dark thrill shot through my veins at his clipped tone.

  It was a warning.

  One I should heed, because he was covered in blood. Something deadly stirred in him, but he wouldn’t unleash it until I consented. A heavy silence stole the air as I considered surrendering control.

  “Anything for a baby.”

  He took my wrists, his grip biting. “Carmela.”

  “I’m willing to meet you halfway.”

  “That doesn’t exist. There is all the way or nothing.”

  “Keep going.” I grabbed his hand and guided it lower. “It’s my choice.”

  Michael seized my chin and gave me a hard kiss. He slipped from my grasp and ripped off my bra. Then he pushed my dress, sliding the thong off, his strokes roughened. A fire bloomed where his lips pressed into me, and his tongue stroked with liquid heat.

  With every stitch of clothing shoved off my feet, Michael cradled me in his arms. Slowly, he unbuckled himself. Leather slapped his slacks as he pulled his belt free. He held it taut and brushed my jaw.

  “I can’t be gentle. When I fuck, it’s rough. It’s intense. It’s the opposite of your needs. You have to know that this isn’t malice. I just can’t hold back. I’m trying to be a good husband.”

  “It’s all right. I can handle you.”