FAMILY TIES:
A MAFIA LOVE STORY
(21,000 words)
by Angela Jordan
Copyright 2014 by Angela Jordan. All rights reserved.
Reproduction expressly prohibited.
Contact Angela: [email protected]
Visit mafiaromance.com to get the latest news about all of Angela’s books!
MafiaRomance.com
CHAPTER ONE: ALANA
I woke up in a strange place, in a strange bed, next to an extremely hot – and gloriously naked – strange man.
…What happened last night? My mouth tasted like cotton and I had an icky sweet taste in my mouth that literally made me want to vomit. My stomach felt bloated, my head was pounding and I couldn’t hold my trembling hands still if I tried. There was light streaming in from the giant windows that surrounded the bed and it was doing nothing but making my head pound worse and darkening my already foul mood.
I sat up slowly, not wanting to wake the strange bedfellow next to me. I tried to shake out my hair, but it was a tangled mess. The motion of sitting up had made me nauseated and once again I had the feeling that I was going to throw up. I looked around me, wondering where the bathroom was. I was humiliated enough just waking up here, the last thing I wanted to do was hurl all over hot guy. I needed to get the hell out of here.
I slipped out of the bed and started to quietly tiptoe around the room, looking for my clothes. I felt panic rise in my chest and even a taste of bile at the back of my throat when I didn’t see them at first. I finally spotted them, tossed in a pile on the far side of the room. I was relieved to see that the new Coach purse and Manolo Blahnik heels that I’d spent my last bonus on were still there, sitting atop the skirt and blouse I had worn the night before. I deftly picked up the pile and continued on tip toe out the door that was set open a crack.
Once out of the bedroom, I felt like I could finally breathe. My head still hurt too badly to think, so trying to figure out who I’d spent the night with naked, what I’d done and why wasn’t an option at this point. Alana, Alana, I said to myself… what did you get up to last night? I was not normally the type to be hooking up with a random stranger, so there had to be more to this scene than met the eye. I’d have to think about that later, though. Right now, I looked around the room I was in and my feeble brain was able to at least discern that I was in a hotel. It was a nice hotel and this was a luxury suite, the nicest one I’d ever been in. The furniture was black leather and looked like it would be as soft as down to the touch. There was a glass coffee table and end tables that held expensive looking-vases with fresh flowers inside of them.
The walls of this room were glass, like the bedroom, and after slipping on my clothes I walked over and looked out one of them onto the sprawling city at least thirty stories below me. I was still in Manhattan, thank God. If I had my bearings right from the buildings that surrounded us, I’d have to guess I was in the Glass Towers. It was a new, posh and extravagantly expensive hotel that had only opened a few weeks before. I know this, not because I could ever afford to stay in a place like this, but because I had done a story on it for the paper I worked for.
Oh shit! I suddenly realized a story was what I’d been working on last night….one that had to do with this very hotel. Not long after the hotel opened, I had started getting emails from a guy whose handle was [email protected]. He told me that he’d gotten my email from my byline, which was totally believable. What he told me next was the part I wasn’t so sure of. He claimed to be a Capo for the Cosa Nostra. He said that he had information for me that if reported right, could blow the organization wide open. He indicated it had something to do with this hotel and the well-respected owners, Carla and Marco Ricci.
I didn’t know if this guy was legit or full of shit, but it would be a huge story if it was true – and I could be the one to break it. It was worth a meeting, at the very least. I’d been working for the New York Star for just over a year now, and I was tired of doing the community interest kinds of stories. I was ready for something big.
After a week of this guy “romancing” me over the internet however, he hadn’t given me anything that I could use even for a community interest story. I bluntly told him that I wouldn’t be answering his emails any longer…I didn’t have time for his games. He had written back:
“LOL, my Bella has a temper, I like that. Meet me Friday night at 230 Fifth at 8:00. I’ll be wearing a brown sport jacket and jeans.”
I had done a little internet dating in college and that’s what this felt like to me, but like I said before, it was worth a meet anyways. 230 Fifth was an upscale club on a rooftop in Manhattan. It would be crowded and not conducive to this guy raping or killing me, so I’d agreed to meet him.
Now, as I stood looking out on the early morning Manhattan skyline, I wondered how I’d gotten from there to here. The harder I tried to think about it, the more my head throbbed. I picked up my purse and fished out my phone and quietly called a cab.
I picked up my shoes once again enduring the pain that ripped through my alcohol-pickled brain and I tiptoed towards the door. I caught sight of my source’s brown linen jacket hanging over a chair next to the door and I had another flash of what had happened the night before.
I’d walked into that club on the roof, and God help me if I wasn’t met by the hottest Italian Stallion that I’d ever personally seen, onscreen or off. He had jet-black hair that stylishly hung to his shoulders, with huge, dark, almost obsidian eyes, perfectly clear olive colored skin, and a body that Adonis would have been jealous of. I’m not usually one to swoon over a pretty face. I pick my dates and my bed partners carefully, and usually more for their brains than their brawn. But this man….I had no words for the flood of hormones the sight of him sent raging through my body.
He had introduced himself to me as Sammy Romaletti and he said that he was “Sicilian Son” and he had been the one sending me the emails. He led me back to a private table in the corner, a prime spot in the club that was marked with a “reserved” placard. I’d sat down with him and he’d ordered us a drink. He called me “Bella” and told me how beautiful I was. I kept trying to direct him back around to why we were there….to the information he had for me, but he kept ordering more drinks and for some reason…I kept drinking them. From what I can remember now, that went on for hours. I don’t think I ever got any real information. If I did, I was drunk enough to have forgotten it.
I can remember now that we danced….I remember the feel of his full, hot lips on my neck and his strong, sexy hand running along from underneath my breast line to the small of my back and then over the curves of my ass….I remember the feel of his erection on my hip…..Damn it!
I’ve never slept with a guy for a story….ever….and I had never planned on it. But something about this guy had silenced every warning signal and swept away every moral that I thought I ever had. I didn’t do one night stands, I didn’t sleep with strangers….but I did and I had….Damn!
I took hold of the gold door knob and as I began to twist it open I heard, “Good morning, Bella,” behind me. Hands and knees shaking, I turned around slowly and what I saw could have been sculpted in stone. It was the most perfect specimen of a male that I had ever laid eyes on and quite possibly that had ever lived standing nude in the doorway. I forgot that I was Alana Blankenship, respected journalist all over again. Now I was just Alana Blankenship, girl with raging hormones and wet panties. The sight of him made my body quiver, and the night we’d spent together suddenly came rushing back.
CHAPTER TWO: SAMMIE
I woke up
to an empty bed. When I sat up and saw that her clothes and her purse were missing, I thought she was gone and I doubted seriously that she’d ever agree to see me again. I was surprised at the way that made my chest ache. I didn’t get attached easily…for good reason. Then I heard her moving around in the front room and not even considering the fact that I was naked, I rushed out to catch her before she left. I found her with one hand on the doorknob and her things in the other.
“You weren’t going to say good-bye Bella?” I said. She froze and stood that way with her back towards me for what seemed like a long time. Then finally, reluctantly she turned to face me. She left the one hand clutching the doorknob, no doubt in case she needed to run. Regret floated in her beautiful green eyes and I felt a twinge of guilt. I knew enough about her to know that the only reason I’d had the trip to heaven she’d given me last night was because I’d gotten her drunk. I hadn’t planned on that, but I doubted she’d believe me if I told her.
“You were sleeping,” she said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
I started towards her, and the wrist attached to the hand that clutched the doorknob began to twitch. She was going to rabbit on me.
“Please don’t go, Bella. Let me get dressed and we’ll have some breakfast and talk.”
She narrowed her eyes and gave me a suspicious look as she said, “Do you really even have anything to tell me?”
“I do, Bella,” I told her, and I did. I had a lot tell her – I had just choked when I tried. “Please, stay for an hour, have breakfast and talk…that’s all.”
Her eyes burned into my nakedness and for the first time since I was twelve years old I felt ashamed of my body.
“With clothes on,” she said.
I laughed and said, “Yes, I’m going right now to get dressed, then I’ll order breakfast.”
She only nodded, but she hadn’t let go of the doorknob. I half expected her to be gone when I got back, but to my delight and relief, she wasn’t.
I found her sitting on the sofa looking out the window. I sat down in the chair across from her and smiled. She shot me a look that should by all rights have set me on fire.
“Was this all some big pick-up game to you?” she asked.
“A pick-up game? No, Bella. We both had too much to drink. I’m not normally a heavy drinker and last night I was looking for some liquid courage. Once you report what I have to tell you, life as I know it is going to implode. I wouldn’t have had the audacity to expect that a woman like you would ever want to be with a man like me.”
She raised an eyebrow, obviously not convinced. I wish she could see inside of my head because I meant every word. I know what I am. I’ve known since I was twelve and running my first package for Sal Ricci from one side of Brooklyn to the other, what kind of life I was destined to lead. I may as well have signed my name to a contract in blood that day.
“So what is it that you have to tell me?” she asked. Before I could say anything there was a knock on the door,
“Room Service,” said the voice on the other side.
“Hold that thought,” I told her as I went to get our breakfast. I opened the door and saw Carlo. He’s a kid from my neighborhood, a good kid. I hated to see that he was working here. It likely meant that he was working on becoming a soldier….signing away the rest of his life.
“Mr. Rossalini!” Carlo said with a wide smile as he pushed in the table with two silver covered plates and a carafe of coffee and one of juice.
“Hi Carlo. How are you?”
“I’m well, and how are you sir?”
“I’m well too, Carlo,” I said, slipping him a fifty. “Thank you.”
Carlo looked at the money in his hand and his face beamed. “Thank you sir,” he said. Then he looked over at Alana and said, “Ma’am.” Alana was apparently not one of those young women who were upset by being called “Ma’am.” Instead, she looked amused and gave him a nod in return.
When he was gone I pushed the table into the middle of the room and brought over two chairs. Alana hadn’t moved.
“Please, Bella, eat with me.”
She stood up and allowed me to pull the chair out for her. Once she was seated she said, “Stop calling me that.”
Trying to suppress a smile, I said, “Bella offends you?”
“It’s too familiar. We hardly know each….” The poor girl seemed to have suddenly recalled our night together once again. Her face flushed red and she immediately said, “Yes, it offends me.”
“Okay, then I’ll stop,” I told her. I reached over and took the top off of her plate. She had poached eggs and toast with a cup of mixed fruit on the side. “Does it all look acceptable?”
“It’s fine,” she said. She poured herself a cup of coffee and practically chugged it down, black. I’m guessing that she had quite a headache from all the alcohol she had consumed the night before. She picked at her food for a bit and then she said, “I’d appreciate it if you would start talking soon. I really don’t have the time for all of this.”
I put down my fork, took a sip of my coffee and asked her, “Do you know what omertà means?”
She sighed, like it angered her that I would question her knowledge of the mob. “Of course I know what it means,” she said. “I’ve lived in New York my entire life; I grew up in the Bronx, probably not far from you. Everyone knows that you never utter a word about the family or you can expect retaliation. So my question for you here is why? Why would you risk whatever it is that they’re going to do to you?”
“I never wanted this life. I was born into it and I wasn’t given a choice. I did what I was told, I was a good soldier….I was made a Capo a few years ago, it was supposed to be a big honor because I was the youngest ever made. My father was proud and my uncles and brothers drank in celebration for three days. My mother cried for a week and my little sister stopped talking to me. All along, all I ever wanted was a normal life.”
“Yet here you live in a penthouse suite….”
I laughed, her spunk not only amused me, it excited me. I got so tired of being surrounded by “yes” people. I found Alana refreshing.
“True. I reap the rewards of a life that I despise.”
“So why all of a sudden decide to blow the whistle?” she asked.
“My father and my uncles were all Mustache Pete’s….”
With a blank look she said, “What is that?”
I smiled, but refrained from comment on her earlier tirade about how she had “grown up in the Bronx.” “It means old fashioned or older generation Mafiosi. My father and his five brothers came over from Sicily. They had all been made men before they got here and started their own families. My father was very well respected in New York….he died three weeks ago.”
She paused. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said – and she did look genuinely sorry. I had the feeling Alana had a good heart.
“Thank you. I know it might be hard for you to believe, but my father was basically a good man. He was like me, born into this life and never given a choice about what he would do or be. But despite all that, he did his job very well... So well, in fact, that he was promoted up the ranks very quickly.”
“Oh my God,” I could see the realization on her face. She was looking at me now with a look that I wasn’t sure was fear or disgust or both…. “Guido Romo was your father? That’s the man you’re saying was “basically good?” Jesus, how the hell would you define evil?”
“Like I said, he wasn’t given many choices, and my life is now imitating his.”
“They want to promote you to Capo di tutti capi? You’re going to be the “Boss of bosses” and you want to rat them out?”
“I don’t want to Bel….Alana, I have to.”
“Why do you HAVE to?”
“…Because I’m a father now,” I said slowly, after a pause. “I don’t want to leave my son with no choice.”
CHAPTER THREE: ALANA
I didn’t know what to make of this guy. This was Sammi
e fucking Romo. I felt like such an idiot – I couldn’t believe I didn’t put it together. But then again, who would ever guess the son of the Boss of Bosses of the Cosa Nostra would be contacting a journalist with information that would supposedly “blow the whole organization wide open.” Part of me wanted this story so badly that I’d be willing to carve my right arm off with a butter knife to get it, and the other part of me wanted to run like hell, right out the glass windows of his penthouse. There was also a little tiny part of me who wanted to kick my own ass for getting so drunk I had no idea who I was sleeping with.
“You haven’t said anything for a really long time,” he said.
“Um…yeah, sorry. It’s a lot of information to process all at once. I think we need to start over, from the beginning. I’ll need to record you….”
“No!” he blurted out, then put a finger to his upper lip. “…Sorry,” he said, a bit sheepishly. “No recordings.”
“Okay, so you’re going to make this difficult for me,” I smirked. “Am I allowed to write things down?”
“If you write it in a locked book and carry it in a locked briefcase,” he said. I laughed and then looking at his face I said, “Oh God, you’re serious.”
“I’m dead serious. My life won’t be the only one at stake if it gets out that I’m the one who gave up this information.”
“Why not go to the F.B.I. and turn state’s evidence. The U.S. Marshall’s can put you in the program….”
“No, that won’t work. No matter what I tell them, I’ll end up doing prison time. I need to be with my son. I want this to all be over with before he’s old enough to know what any of this was about, or that I was ever a part of it.”
“So how do you give me this information and I report it without anyone finding out it came from you? We’ve already been seen together at the club, and then today by that boy who brought our breakfast.”
FAMILY TIES: A Mafia Love Story (Erotic Mafia Romance) Page 1