A fitted gray T-shirt with a deep V-neck wrapped his muscled chest, which was sprinkled with fine hair. A soft widow’s peak gave way to a thick, neatly combed, black mane. It was shortened at the sides, and sideburns swooped to a beard that covered his jaw and upper lip. Gorgeous from all angles.
Alessio Salvatore was a drink of a man.
He was also my late sister’s fiancé.
I admired him from a distance because he terrified me up close.
I’d heard so many ugly things about Alessio. Horrible rumors. Graphic anecdotes whispered from one spouse to another until they penetrated our gossip circle. The Costa underboss had an instinct for brutality, and whenever I’d felt a twinge of jealousy, I’d remember the sordid details. It didn’t matter anyway; his gaze had always seemed to slide past me. Around him, I was invisible.
It made it easier to try to pretend he didn’t exist. A fool’s errand, considering the world disappeared to a distant murmur with him in the room. Until recently, every interaction with him left me feeling helpless. Now he looked at me like a hunter through his scope.
Please leave me alone.
Men like him didn’t answer prayers. Men like him were the reason we needed them.
The gravel cracked as Alessio loped toward me. Before I shoved the bag into the recycling bin, he lifted it from my hands and trashed it.
“Thanks.”
I stepped around him, but he stopped me.
“How are you?”
I shrugged, hoping he’d disappear.
His hardened eyes told me he wasn’t budging. I couldn’t escape without touching him.
“Aren’t you going to ask how I am?”
I allowed my gaze to travel up his leather shoes to the collar of his blazer. “You seem okay. Excuse me.”
Alessio grabbed the gate post before I moved, his white-knuckled grip blocking my way. “We should talk.”
“About what?”
“Avoiding me won’t change what our families have planned.” A thin mist swirled in the air as the sun hid behind clouds. Drops collected on Alessio’s ebony waves as he leaned in, mouth set in a grim line. “This self-denial makes it harder for everyone.”
“I’m not in denial.”
“Then look at me.”
I couldn’t.
I’d feel something, and I didn’t want to.
The rain fell, darkening spots on my T-shirt. A drop smacked my forehead. I fingered the latch and pulled, but he refused to give.
“I just buried my sister.” Metaphorically, at least. “Leave me alone.”
“We don’t have time for this.”
Fuck him for talking about my grief like it was a head cold. “Carmela wasn’t a pet fish.”
“Life goes on, stellina. Whether or not you want it to.”
I seized the gate and yanked. He released it, allowing us through. I returned to the house, Alessio quick on my heels. Wiping my feet, I drifted to where a handful of Ricci and Costa soldiers mingled.
Alessio followed me past my parents’ bedroom that stayed locked because Mom had barricaded herself inside, and shot into my room. Alessio caught the door on his elbow, shutting it.
The lock slid home.
A thrill rode my spine. “What are you doing? You can’t be in here.”
Dad was uncompromising about men with his daughter. One reason I never brought them over.
Alessio acted as if he had nothing to fear. “Yes, I can.”
Crazy asshole. “My father will shit a brick, and I’d rather not deal with the drama.”
“Sweetheart, you need to wake up.” He smoothed his wet hair and wiped the moisture on his blazer. “Do you not realize what’s at stake? Do you want more family members to die? They will if you don’t—”
“Shut up. Just stop.”
Agony pricked my chest as I turned from him. I couldn’t fight it much longer. My future had rewritten itself the moment my sister’s had ended, but accepting her death was impossible. I grabbed a photo of us from my nightstand and stared at our happy faces. The emotional release wouldn’t come. Tension clenched my guts. It was a hell like I’d never experienced.
“She’s gone.”
“I know.”
His touch rolled over my shoulder and squeezed, which through the damp T-shirt felt insanely intimate. It was as though he’d caressed my skin, and jolts zapped across my body. I leaned away, hating how his decade-older gaze absorbed every detail in my room. He was such a predator. There was no subtlety in how he smirked at my Aerosmith poster or the accounting textbooks stacked on the bookshelf. Then his attention landed on the save-the-date pinned to my corkboard, and the arrogance wiped from his face.
“Why did you keep this?”
A fist-sized lump lodged in my throat. “I’m her maid of honor. I picked the design.”
“Carmela and I are done.”
A pang struck my heart. “Forgive me for clinging to what’s left of her.”
Nothing about Alessio was soft, but he dropped his voice so there was less gravel. “I get that you’re in pain, but we have things to do. Together.”
“I won’t do anything with you.”
“Don’t make me be an asshole, Mia. It’s pointless. You know I could snap your spine like a wishbone. This posturing is a waste of time.”
“Fuck off.”
His mouth thinned as I blasted a shotgun to his peace offering. Alessio yanked the save-the-date from the pin and ripped it into quarters. Pieces of my soul drifted to the floor. “I’ve tried being patient. I’m not a patient man, but I’ve allowed you time. Time we don’t have.”
“Six months isn’t enough—”
“Sorry. That’s all I’ve got.”
I’d numbed my feelings since Carmela died, but his callousness hurt.
He was a prick.
“You never cared about her.”
“You know that’s not true. I liked her. I won’t pretend I loved her, but she was a nice girl.”
He converged on me like the clouds outside. I swallowed hard when he sank into the mattress, his body crowding mine. Harder than denying my sister’s death was rejecting him. Every time he kissed my cheek, said hello, touched me, a flight of butterflies took flight, and I burned from the inside out.
That didn’t mean I respected him.
A part of me hated him for not loving her.
Alessio’s calluses grazed my jaw as he turned me toward him, setting off a chain of electric impulses that didn’t care about loyalty.
Our gazes clashed.
“I’m going to say three things. They won’t be easy for you to accept, but you have to because there’s no way out of this. Number one. We are getting married in a month.”
A hot wave of fear bulldozed my steel walls.
“Yes, Mia. You’ll be my wife.”
My stomach clenched as I imagined walking down the aisle with him. I could barely handle his presence. How would I tolerate a marriage?
“Two. I know about David.” His voice hardened as he dropped the words like a hammer.
I sucked in a tight breath, prepared to deny, deny, deny. “Who?”
“Sorry to tell you, but it’s common knowledge. I’m amazed Ignacio hasn’t chopped off his head, because the bastard tells anyone who’ll listen he’s banging the boss’s daughter.” An apologetic smile flashed across his face. “Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t have much else to brag about.”
“We’re not a couple.”
“I don’t give a fuck. You’re not to see him anymore. If you do, I will find out. And if he touches you while you’re wearing my ring, I’ll kill him.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
He was horrible. I would never marry him.
Alessio didn’t speak for several moments, as if he wanted to brace me. “Three, I want kids. When we’re married, we’ll start trying.”
That nailed me with a gut-punch. My whole body went limp. The three bombshells exploded in a mas
sive wreck. Men like him didn’t want kids. They tolerated them.
“You want a baby. With me.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“No, I’m practical. In a few years, maybe less, I’ll be boss. My boys—or girls—will be the faces of my legitimate businesses when they’re in their twenties. Plus, I need to be able to play with my children. I’m thirty-three. Do the math. I can’t wait too long.”
Water plinked against the large windows as I stared at Alessio. He didn’t grin, laugh, or hint that he was joking. My stomach sank. It made sense, but there was no way in hell.
“You’re out of your damned mind. I’m not your baby machine. And I won’t marry you.”
Alessio smiled as though my protests amused him. “Tick-tock, Mia. It’s happening.”
“Leave!”
A polite man would’ve obeyed, but the smile carving his cheeks proved he was anything but decent.
“Get. Out!”
Dad’s voice boomed through the wall. “Everything okay in there?”
“We’re fine.” Alessio turned toward the sound. “No need to worry.”
“Are you staying for dinner?”
“No, he’s not!” I stormed to the door and threw it open, snarling. “Dad, make him leave!”
“It’s all right, Ignacio.” Alessio cut off the words about to fall from my dad’s mouth. “I’ll go. I think she’s gotten the message.”
No, she hasn’t.
He said goodbye to Dad, who shook his hand. “I’ll have her ready for you tomorrow.”
“Good.” Alessio buttoned his jacket and caught my gaze. “See you.”
Fuck you. Fuck you both.
# # #
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High Stakes
Maria hogs the full-length mirror as she breaks in her new dress, a tight, pink number that hugs her curves. Her long, black hair cascades down her back.
I wince at my reflection partially hidden behind her. The wrinkled jeans and faded t-shirt aren’t doing my figure any favors. My wardrobe is hopelessly outdated. I haven't bought so much as a sock in years.
Her gaze meets mine in the mirror. “You’re wearing that?”
“I know.” My face burns. "I don't have anything else."
I look awful. There's no way they’ll let me into a high-stakes poker game.
"Fuck it. I'll stay here."
“Don’t be stupid,” she says. “Just pick something from my closet.”
She marches to her side and opens the doors to her collection sorted by color. Her thin arm rifles through its contents, picking out a black body-con dress with a lace peekaboo.
She grins at my reluctance. “Try this.”
I take it and feel the stretchy material before removing my clothes and wearing the dress. The fabric is thick, almost like a bandage. It’s tight around my chest and stomach. I can’t zip the back. Maria helps me, gasping when she steps back.
“Look at how gorgeous you are!”
A woman with messy, dark brown hair stands in front of the mirror in a black dress that accentuates her every curve. I turn, and the girl turns as well, exposing the lace diving to the small of my back. The sweetheart silhouette barely covers my boobs. The woman in the mirror blushes violently.
“Maria! This is way too much!”
“Are you kidding me? It’s perfect!” Maria retrieves a pair of strappy black pumps. “Put these on.”
“It’s so tight.” I spread my hands over my stomach. The dress is flattering; it smoothes out any bumps I would have. God, maybe I am attractive.
My feet slide into the pumps, and I wobble. It's lucky that we have the same shoe size. She squeals with delight.
“Maria, I don’t know if this is me.”
"You're right. It's not you. That's why it looks so amazing."
I throw dirty socks at her head but she avoids the collision, grinning.
“Please, Adriana. Let me take care of everything.”
Her brown eyes are sparkling with excitement. Giddiness rolls from her body. She likes this sort of thing. I like to linger in the background, but this dress demands attention. It is loud.
She flies to her vanity, making me sit as she applies makeup. Eyeliner. Lipstick. I ask her not to give me too much, but she ignores me. She attacks my hair with a brush and spritzes my hair with thermal protector. She takes out her straightener and goes through every strand.
Finally, she lets me get up to look at myself in the mirror. My jaw drops, because the girl in the mirror is not me. She’s the woman I've always admired, the girl who knows how to show off her beauty. I have flawless hair and skin. To my surprise, there's not much makeup, but what little there is makes a huge difference. My eyes pop.
Maria utters another squeal and grabs my hand.
My throat closes up. “Maria, you’re amazing. Thank you.”
"I wonder if we should put your hair up. You have such delicate features. No, I don't want to overdo it." She glances at her phone and shrieks. “Shit! We were supposed to be downstairs ten minutes ago. I got so caught up in everything.”
I tear my eyes from the mirror and grab my clutch. Maria leaves the dorm, and I try to match Maria’s frantic pace. Jackie’s car waits by the curb. He steps out to open the door.
His dark eyes pass over me, not recognizing me at first. “Whoa.”
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Maria gushes. “Thanks to yours truly.”
Jackie’s face goes pink as he nods. I’ve never seen him so shy. I slide into the backseat with Maria as her crazed energy fills the car.
“I’m so pumped.”
I watch the bright streets of Manhattan, my heart flying with happiness. I feel young and alive, for the first time in a long while.
Tonight will be great.
Jackie presses the button for the twelfth floor. His quiet voice cuts through our chatter.
“So, I probably should mention that this card game we’re going to is not exactly—ah—legal.”
Maria looks shocked, but I shrug.
"Don't mention this to anyone else, okay? My brother said we could come, but he doesn't want any other outsiders."
His brother? I didn’t know much about Jackie’s brother, other than the fact that he was older than Jackie.
“Uh, ok.”
Maria and I exchange looks. Illegal card games? What am I getting myself into?
It’s too late to turn back now. The elevator pings and the doors slide open. We can already hear it before we see it. Somewhere down this hall is a party. Dozens of people's muffled voices and laughter reach us.
“They bought the rooms down the hallway so there wouldn’t be complaints.”
A well-dressed couple approaches the bouncer guarding a door. He checks their IDs before letting them in. The door opens, and I catch a glimpse of people dressed to the nines.
The bouncer is intimidating. He’s fat than muscle, but one swipe of his ham-like fists could knock us back to last month.
“Name,” he barks.
“Jackie Rizzuto. Brother of Frank Rizzuto.”
He looks at the ridiculously small notepad in his hands and nods. His eyes rove over Maria and I. Boulder-man gives me a small smile as he backs up and opens the door for us.
It’s a massive suite with tables of appetizers, alcohol, and desserts. I can see two rooms in the suite, and the one we’re currently standing in is packed with men in suits and women in cocktail dresses. Everyone is much older than us, but that doesn’t stop Maria from bouncing to the nearest table.
“Look!”
It's a kleptomaniac's paradise. There's a three-level tier filled with chocolate truffles and petit fours. I want to scoop it all into my purse. She grabs a few and bites into one of them, making an ecstatic moan. There's little baked tarts, smoked salmon, glasses, and glasses of champagne. A man standing in front of a white booth makes drinks. Around all of the tables laden with food are guards standing around
the perimeter. A tiny sting of fear bites at my skin as I look at them. There's something about them that's downright ominous.
Don’t steal anything.
My palms sweaty, I lean my neck and gaze into the next room, which is significantly quieter. There must be at least five felt tables set up. Old men that I recognize as dealers are settled behind them, except for one. Men smoke and drink as they occasionally look back into the room. The poker tables draw me in, but I feel another tiny prick of fear as I watch them. There are small heaps of chips on the tables, and I feel a desperate pull to snatch one and add it to my pile of memorabilia: another trophy.
I've no desire for the drinks and food. I want to watch a game.
The players are older than us by a few decades. A man whose skin hangs off his neck looks at me.
“Come inside, sweetheart. Don’t be shy.”
I step into the room, leaving Jackie to search for his brother. Maria joins me, and I sigh with relief. The old man's smile is encouraging. I graze the felt tables and smile at the mounds of chips.
“What are you doing in here?” Maria whispers.
Like me, she feels the need to keep quiet.
“I’m going to watch their games. You can go back if you like.”
“I think I’ll mingle for a bit. See you later.”
I swallow hard when her warmth disappears from my side. The men in the gambling room ignore me as I browse the tables.
“I don’t understand,” a man wearing a three-piece suit booms. “Cesare said there would be five dealers.”
“Hey. Brought this for you.”
Jackie returns with a glass of champagne.
“Thanks.” I take it, trying not to ruin my makeup as I down the bubbly liquid.
I migrate toward the group of men, studying the rows of chips and cards, itching to get my hands on them.
Don’t!
A man in a charcoal suit blows out his cheeks, disappointed. “One of them called in sick.”
“Well, that’s fucking perfect,” says a second, irritated voice. “I invested a lot of money in this thing.”
I can deal.
I'm about to speak up, but something about them seems utterly forbidding. I want to hang in the background and watch.
Taken: A Dark Mafia Romance Page 23