Claudio: A Dark Mafia Hate Story
Copyright 2019 by Ginger Talbot
This book is intended for readers 18 and older only, due to adult content. It is a work of fiction. All characters and locations in this book are products of the imagination of the author.
License Statement
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Claudio: A Dark Mafia Hate Story
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Also By Ginger Talbot
Heather: Claudio Abruzzi. His name is spoken in whispers, as if saying it aloud might summon the devil himself to appear.
He’s a cruel, sadistic enforcer. Ruthlessly loyal to his boss. And my new husband.
The last time I came to him for help, he laughed at me – and threw me out on the street. This time, he was the one who came to me, to make an offer I couldn’t refuse: marry him, or bury my only brother. Or rather, what’s left of him, after Claudio finishes with him. What Claudio asks of me every night is sick, and wrong – so why do I find myself starting to crave it? Why, when I have the chance to escape, do I find myself hesitating?
Claudio: I swore a blood oath to Diego, but what he’s asking of me might test that loyalty past its breaking point. He wants me to dial back on the crazy and show the Family that I’m stable enough to be his right hand man. And to prove it - I need to get married. Yeah, there’s one girl who’s been haunting my dreams from the day she came crawling to me. That’s exactly why I need to stay the f#@! away from her. My desires are dark and twisted. They’ll break her. Ruin her. And out of all the people I’ve met in my life, she’s the one I least want to destroy.
THIS IS BOOK 2 IN THE Chicago Crime series. It can be read as a stand-alone, and each book has an HEA!
Book 1, “Diego: A Dark Mafia Hate Story” can be purchased here:
https://www.amazon.com/Diego-Mafia-Story-Chicago-Family-ebook/dp/B07PVQC7BZ/
Chapter One
Heather Jenkins
He’s across the street again, sitting on a bench and watching me. Not even trying to hide it. It’s a daily thing now. Sometimes he’s there for hours. Apparently he’s got all the time in the world.
Time is the most precious gift we’re given. And it’s something I possess very little of these days. Claudio Abruzzi is there to make sure that I know that.
I lean on the iron railing that circles the patio of the café where I work, gulping down coffee on my lunch break. A shudder runs through my body. It’s Mid-March, and unseasonably warm for Chicago, but these days I feel cold all the time.
Cold as the grave. That’s where I’ll be soon. I’ve been marked for death by the mob.
The man who’s going to kill me is handsome as sin. The first time I saw him was last fall. I went to the bar owned by his boss, Diego Costa, to beg for a loan. Claudio was the one who came over to turn me down.
The bar was populated by the worst of the worst, men who brutalize and kill for a living, or sometimes just for fun. As he moved across the room, those psychos stumbled in their haste to get out of his way. Their reactions spoke of respect and fear in equal measure.
Claudio was enormous, a shadow blotting out the light, but he moved with a predator’s grace. He had the strong jawline of a warrior, and his custom-tailored suit barely contained the violence of his broad frame. His amber eyes seized mine and held me prisoner, and there was a cruel quirk to his mouth as I tipped my head back to stare up at him.
I’m ashamed to admit that hot arousal rushed through me when our gazes locked. He woke a strange pulsing awareness inside me that I’ve never experienced before.
Claudio walked up to me until he was standing uncomfortably close, and then stood there, staring down at me as the seconds stretched out into centuries. Then he crushed me with five words. “No. And don’t come back.” He seized me by the arm in a painfully tight grip and marched me out into the street.
These days all I feel when I see him is fear. Claudio Abruzzi is a debt collector and leg-breaker for the new Chicago underboss, Diego Costa. Diego’s scary, but the rumors I hear about Claudio are downright sickening. I’ve heard that he kills men and women with equal viciousness – anyone who crosses the Family, he makes an example of. Last week, it was a high-end escort who had leaked some information to the cops. Rumor has it that Claudio had hit that a couple of times, before it was discovered that she was a snitch.
It’s being whispered that she was found without her skin.
So, unlike some mob types who draw the line at murdering women, he’ll have no problem killing me.
I sip my coffee, which is strong and dark. The bitter taste mirrors the feelings that burn inside me. I haven’t done a thing to Claudio, or to the mob. It was my brother, James. Our father’s liver is failing, and we had no money to pay for the treatment, so James went to work for Diego’s crew. That was his first mistake.
My brother’s second mistake – the one that will be the death of me – was skimming money when he got paid for a drug delivery. Not just a little money; fifty grand. He used half the money to pay for dad’s medical bills. Then, to pile on the stupid, he used the other half of money to bet on a horse that was a sure thing. Except of course it wasn’t.
He lost every cent. And then he skipped town.
My brother’s been gone for three weeks now. Nobody knows where he is, not even me. He sent me an email before he left, begging for my forgiveness. Since then he hasn’t called, texted, or emailed again, which is the only smart thing he’s done in a long time.
I’m sick with worry for him. He could be anywhere in the country, or overseas; he has a passport. I hope that he’s doing a good job of staying invisible, but my brother, despite the cruddy neighborhood we grew up in, is not what you’d call street-smart.
I guess in a way it’s my fault. I should have raised him to know better. After my mother left, it was left to me to take care of James while my father worked two jobs and drank away what free time he had.
Again and again, I told him to stay away from the Mob. Keep your head down, treat them with respect, and don’t ever, ever, go to work for them. It never ends well. Some time in his teens, he stopped listening to me. I turn this over in my head all the time, torturing myself. What could I have said or done differently?
After James ran, I was afraid that the Family would go after my father, but by sending Claudio to watch over me every day, they’ve made it very clear that I’m the one who will take the fall.
I guess they don’t see the point in killing a man
with a failing liver who’s got months to live at best.
The coffee cup is empty now. The cold iron of the railing seeps through my jeans and chills my skin. There’s a hedge on the other side of the railing, and I’m partially hiding behind it, but I’m sure Claudio knows I can see him.
My stomach growls, and I wince and glance around. The outdoor patio is bustling today, but my intestinal discomfort is apparently loud enough to be heard over the buzz of conversation. A Prada clad woman looks at me with disdain, and sniffs audibly, then returns her attention to her little Chihuahua, which is sitting on the table-top in front of her. She’s feeding it tiny pieces of her croissant and looking at me with contempt.
How dare I be hungry?
Well, excuse me for living. I can’t afford the twenty-dollar sandwiches that I serve to the customers. It takes me almost three weeks salary and tips to pay for the rent for my dad’s apartment, where I’m living now. The utilities were turned off last month and have little hope of being turned on again. My food budget is a few dollars a day.
My boss is the ultimate cheapskate. Staff doesn’t even get a discount. If we have any food left over at the end of the day, he’ll throw it away rather than give it to us.
But I’m starting to get dizzy. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. I’m going to have to run to the corner store to grab one of their cheap, stale sandwiches. That will tide me over until tomorrow.
I toss the cardboard coffee cup into the trash and hurry back into the café. I almost bump into Mary, one of the other servers and also one of my oldest friends.
“Heather,” she says, looking at me with worry. “You look sad today.” Mary, who has Down’s syndrome, has a slight lisp which I’ve always thought is adorable. Her brown hair is in pony-tails, and the pony-tail holders are adorned with smiling cat faces. She loves animals. She loves people, too, no matter how mean they treat her sometimes.
I manage to summon a smile, just for her.
“I’m not sad,” I lie. “Just a little hungry. I’m going to run down to the corner and grab some lunch.”
“You need money?” She reaches for her apron to grab some of her tips. I put my hand on her plump arm.
“Mary, no. What have I said about your money?”
“I worked hard for it, and it’s mine. Keep it,” she recites, proud of herself for remembering. “If someone is my friend, they won’t take my money.” Mary’s too nice for her own good, and if I wasn’t there to watch over her, she’d give away every cent that she earns.
A wave of sorrow washes over me, and I have to blink hard to keep tears from spilling on to my cheeks. Soon I won’t be here to watch over her. Then what will happen?
“Exactly! Hey, Table 11 is waving at you. I’ll be back in a few.” I hurry off before she can shove money into my apron, because she will if I don’t move fast enough.
I hurry out a side door, glancing around. If I’m lucky, Claudio won’t see me and follow me.
When I get to the deli, I pay quickly and start wolfing down the sandwich as I walk to the back door. The bread is hard and the mayo tastes a little off, but I force it down my throat as I walk through a narrow alley. These days, I’m always dodging and weaving behind shops in a fruitless attempt to shake off the Family, to snatch as many minutes for myself as I can without their cruel eyes on me. If I can’t see Claudio, sometimes I can almost convince myself that this nightmare isn’t real.
I stop walking for a minute so I can choke down the rest of the sandwich, and then I wipe my hands off on my black work apron. The alley smells like week old garbage, and I have to breathe through my mouth if I don’t want to get sick.
As I walk by a rusty green dumpster, an arm shoots out and grabs me.
I strangle on a cry of fright as I’m shoved up against a brick wall, with Claudio looming over me, fingers closing on my upper arm. My heart jackhammers against my rib cage, and I try to yank my arm from his grip. His hand tightens painfully, until I stop struggling, and then he relaxes his grip just a little.
I hold perfectly still, my muscles locked rigid with terror. I can feel every heartbeat, and I count them in my head. Is this the end? Am I going to die here in this dark, stinking alley, steps away from the bright sunlight of the street?
Claudio’s lip curls up in cruel amusement.
“You should be more careful,” he says.
I summon up the last dregs of my courage. “What, because the boogeyman might get me?” I say, and I’m proud that there’s not the slightest quiver to my voice.
He smirks at my defiance. “There’s worse things than the boogeyman.”
Then he leans down, and I go stiff with fear. What is he going to do to me?
To my surprise, he buries his face in my hair and inhales. I used honeysuckle shampoo this morning, rinsing the last bit of it from the bottle. He seems to like it, because he makes a low “mmm” of appreciation, his hot breath warming my ear.
Then he straightens up again. His eyes rove over me, his hand on my arm, firmly holding me in place. He doesn’t say a word, just watches for my reaction.
“Why did you do that?” I demand.
“Because I can,” he says, his eyes gleaming. “Because until you pay us back, I own you.”
“It’s ridiculous that you expect me to pay you back for what my brother owes you!” I tug at my arm, and his fingers squeeze again, clamping down like a vice. “It’s not fair, and it’s not legal.”
He nods in agreement. “Not fair, not legal. Yep, that sums up the Family perfectly. And he knew that when he stole from us.” He strokes my cheek with his finger, with a feather light touch, and the nerve endings in my body glow with a strange heat. My body apparently hasn’t gotten the message that my mind has; that he’s going to end me.
“You know what I do for a living. You know what’s going to happen. Why haven’t you run?” he muses.
“You know why,” I say bitterly.
“Ah, yes. Your father and your little friend. You don’t want to leave them behind, to my tender mercies. So loyal of you. Too bad you’re the only one in the family with any balls.”
He knows about Mary, then. Fucking bastard.
He drops his hand from my arm, leans in, and presses his lips against my ear. “Find a way to pay us back. Time’s running out.”
My mouth goes dry. “How much time do I have left, exactly?”
“Privileged information, sweetheart.” Again, that’s hardly fair, but these people don’t deal in “fair”. They deal in blood, and pain, and fear.
I try to shove my way past him, but he blocks me and shoves me up against the gritty wall.
“You can’t pass without paying the price. Today, it’s a kiss.”
Kiss the man who’s going to carve out my heart? That’s a level of submission I can’t even imagine. It’s like tipping my executioner to make sure that he sharpens the blade and delivers a quick death.
I glare at him resentfully, but his cool, amused expression never wavers. He means it. He won’t let me go until I do what he wants, and I have to get back to work. I tip my head back and stand on my tiptoes to kiss him. My lips part to accept his tongue, warm and dominant, swirling in my mouth in an intimate duet. He tastes like sweet coffee and mint gum. My eyes close and a wave of sensual heat washes over me. He kisses like a lover, a protector, and I could happily sink under the surface of this wave and drown in him. And then he pulls away and my eyes fly open, in shock.
He smirks at me. “Wow, you really did pay me. With interest.”
Furious, I storm off, stomping back to work with the taste of his mouth warming my lips. I run into the bathroom and scoop water into my mouth, desperately trying to rinse away the memory.
Someone taps me from behind, and I stifle a shriek and spin around, dribbling water down my chin. It’s just Mary, holding out an envelope to me. "For you," she says, with a beautiful smile.
I look in the envelope. There must be $200 in there.
"What is that?" I say to M
ary.
"I told you, silly. It’s for you. I know you need money, here it is." She overheard me talking to my father on the phone once. I wish she hadn’t, because I don’t want her to have to worry about me. "Now you don't have to feel sad.”
“You need that for rent!” I protest.
“No, it’s my birthday money. From last week. My aunt sent it.” I gave Mary one of my old purses for her birthday, and I wrapped it up in a scarf, because I couldn’t afford to buy her anything.
"Oh Mary, I couldn't."
She looks puzzled. "Why not?"
I force a big, bright smile as I lie. "Oh, because I actually got the money that I needed, and I don't need it anymore. Put that away, before somebody sees it. That is so sweet of you Mary, thank you so much."
"Oh good!" she says happily, her lovely face lighting up. "Now you don't have to look sad anymore."
I managed to keep the smile on my face until she leaves, and then tears fill my eyes.
Since I was a little girl, I let everyone in this neighborhood know that if they messed with Mary, I would kick their ass.
And when I'm gone, there will be nobody to protect her.
Of course I could run. Leave my father behind, leave Mary behind. Then Claudio would take one of them instead. But even if I could live with myself, which I couldn’t, it’s not an option for me. The last few dollars in my bank account are dying of loneliness right now. I can’t even afford a bus ticket out of town.
As for going to the cops, half the police force is in the Family’s pocket. And even if I found someone who wasn’t on the take, I have no proof of anything.
So I just go back to work, with that dull sense of mingled dread and disbelief pressing down on my shoulders. This can’t be happening. It just can’t be. I’m twenty-two; I can’t be living the last days of my life.
When I go out on the patio to take orders, I glance across the street. Claudio is sitting on his park bench again, and staring at me with his cold, calculating gaze.
Anger swells up inside me. I extend my hand, and give Claudio the middle finger. To my surprise, he throws back his head and laughs. I wasn't even aware that he was capable of doing that. I’ve seen plenty of cruel smiles, but I’ve never once seen him laugh.
Claudio: A Dark Mafia Hate Story (Chicago Crime Family Book 2) Page 1