Savage Beast: A Dark Mafia Enemies to Lovers Romance (Sinfully Savage)

by Kristen Luciani

  Frankie sinks down next to me. “Chell, we’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

  I roll my eyes, collapsing against the back of the couch. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. I’ve, ah, got some things in motion.” He scrubs a hand down the front of his face and I see his spine stiffen.

  I jerk upward. “Frankie,” I say slowly. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugs, still not meeting my suddenly panicked gaze. He’s almost thirty and hasn’t had a legitimate job in his freaking life. He worked with Papa as an enforcer and made plenty of cash over the years, but he’s been struggling to find work for the past six months now that Papa is behind bars. I’d hoped it would light a fire under him to get a real job, but that hasn’t happened. I love my brother to pieces, but he’s not at all the hard-working type. He’s more the avoid-hard-working type. And by avoiding hard work, I mean doing shady things that can get him hurt, arrested, or killed.

  It’s how we got into this mess in the first place.

  “Why aren’t you answering me?” I say. “Do you want to end up like Papa? Rotting in some minimum-security jail cell because he chose the life over his family? Because he was always after the money and never cared about consequences, which, by the way, is why we were chased out of Sicily years ago? He lives in that prison hell just waiting for someone to pop him! I mean, it’s only a matter of time!”

  His eyes blaze as he stares me down. “Don’t say that shit about Papa,” Frankie grunts darkly.

  “How can I not?” I yell. “I mean, look at us! Mama is gone and we have collection agents camped outside our door, breathing down our necks for hundreds of thousands of dollars we owe in medical care, legal fees, and an assortment of other bills that got pushed aside while we were trying to make ends meet?”

  “Papa did the best he could,” he retorts.

  “Well, I don’t really see things the way you do,” I mutter. “He could have gotten out. But he made a choice! A lot of choices. Really bad ones!”

  “He did what he felt was right for our family!”

  I let out a disbelieving laugh, waving my hands around me at the small, cluttered space we now call home. It’s a far cry from the penthouse apartment where we lived in Central Park East. Now we have an Inwood address, so far uptown, we’re practically in the Bronx. It’s clean-ish, and that’s probably the best it’ll ever be, regardless of how much I scrub and sanitize and disinfect. But it’s still in the city, the only home we’ve ever known other than Sicily. And even though it takes me almost an hour by subway to get to my job downtown, I can feel that connection to Mama just by being here. She always loved living in Manhattan and I inherited that same love. Living in Sicily was great, but the action and the energy here is something we both adored.

  So Frankie and I scrimp and pinch to get by until things get better. And good God, I hope they get better soon because I’m quickly running out of patience, almost as fast we’re running out of money.

  “Yes, well, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do right now and why I need to go to work at an actual job, to make real, legitimate money to pay our painfully real, legitimate bills.” I give my head a quick shake. “What the hell are you doing, Frankie?”

  We’ve had this argument so many times in the past six months. It gets super-heated when it comes time to sign away all of the hard-earned cash I’ve made for the monthly payments we’re now responsible for handling.

  Mama’s long battle with cancer came to a devastating end, but the bills keep coming. I didn’t realize how much financial trouble Papa was having when she was sick. But he’s not the kind of guy to ever admit defeat, so he stole from Peter to pay Paul and it finally caught up with him. I rub the back of my neck.

  Christ, did it ever.

  I keep waiting for the call from the prison that someone iced him in his sleep the night before. Whenever my phone rings with an unknown number, my chest tightens and I can’t squeeze out a breath until I hear that it isn’t the warden bearing horrible news.

  “Fucking-A, Chella!” Frankie jumps off the couch. “You think you know everything, but you don’t! You have no idea—” He stops, mid-shout, and I furrow my brow.

  “I have no idea about what?” I ask, my eyes narrowed. “I may have been young, but I know why we had to leave Sicily. I remember…” I suck in a quick breath. I remember the events so clearly. Another family. A business deal gone seriously bad. A falling out. A lot of threats made against us. The humiliation of having to leave our home because Papa had screwed over so many people to climb the proverbial ladder.

  I’ve never forgotten any of it, especially my brother’s best friend.

  Roman Villani.

  The guy I’d dream about, night after night, while I waited for the day when he’d see me as a woman and not only as Frankie’s little sister. Unfortunately, that day never came because Papa screwed over Roman’s father, Paolo, his own business partner. Papa didn’t like that Paolo was making moves with other families, and he wanted to take him out.

  Instead, we were the ones who suffered.

  “Papa never learned,” I say softly. “He made enemies everywhere, and if you’re not careful, you’re going to fall into the same trap.”

  “He isn’t some deadbeat, Chell. He saved…” Frankie’s voice trails off and once again, his gaze drops.

  “He saved what, Frankie? Who?” I say. “Because as far as I can see, there isn’t one single person in this family who isn’t struggling to put the pieces of their life back together right now after his latest mistake. Not one.”

  Frankie stomps into the kitchen, which is about five steps away, and pulls open the refrigerator door. He peers inside and grabs a can of Miller Lite, popping off the top and guzzling the beer before answering.

  I let out a deep sigh. I really didn’t want to get into this with him tonight but the pile of bills staring at me on the kitchen counter got my mind and mood in a serious twist. I walk over to him and place a hand on his tensed shoulder. “Look,” I say in a quiet voice. “I don’t want to fight. We’re all we have, and I love you, okay?”

  He slams the empty can on the counter and turns to look at me. “I love you, too, sis.”

  “We’ll figure things out,” I say. “Hey, maybe we can go for a run in the park tomorrow if you’re around? Get some fresh air, maybe scrounge some money together for a dirty water dog or five.” I grin, nudging his shoulder. “It would be fun.”

  He pauses, then gives a stiff nod. “Yeah, it would be.”

  I force a smile. There’s a strange look in his dark eyes that I don’t like, but I decide not to press him on it. I know he’s sensitive about Papa, and I don’t have the energy to argue about it right now. I have a long night ahead of me and I can’t be worried about what glimmers in the depths of my brother’s gaze. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I say, squeezing his arm. “Please be careful.”

  “You say that to me every time you leave,” he grumbles.

  “It’s because I worry.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that,” I say, picking up my handbag and jacket. “’Night.”

  “’Night,” he replies, and there it is again. That damn look.

  It makes my stomach twist because it always—without fail—means trouble.

  And we really can’t afford any more of that.

  Literally.

  We can’t afford anything.

  I carefully pull the apartment door closed since the landlord who goes by the name Mr. Raynor lives on our floor, and I don’t want to alert him since I won’t be able to cover the rent for this month and last month for another week. Yes, I’m behind. Yes, I want to choke my brother for putting me in this position because he insists that he’s going to be making good money soon with his new-ish job. And I use the word ‘job’ lightly. I know he’s gotten himself tangled up with some mafia thugs here in Manhattan, not that he’s admitted as much. He’s probably beating
the shit out of people for his bosses and collecting money owed, not that he’s the one doing any of the actual collecting, as far as I can tell.

  Jesus, who knew the mafia offered unpaid internships and that my stupid brother was qualified?

  A chill slithers through me as I take the stairs as lightly as possible so as not to make any unnecessary sounds. Mr. Raynor has ears like an elephant, and the only way I know to keep him off our backs is to flash him a glimpse of boob every now and again when he confronts me.

  I really don’t feel like watching the lecherous look on his face tonight as his eyes drop down the front of my shirt.

  Blech.

  But hey, it is what it is. I have to work with what I’ve got.

  Who knew that six months ago our entire world would come crumbling down around us the way it has? I mean, I thought being forced out of Sicily ten years ago was bad, but this? This is complete decimation.

  Regardless of the reason, Papa killed someone. I’m not naïve enough to believe he’s never done that before, but at least he’d never been caught red-handed. I could have convinced myself that he was innocent if it wasn’t for the fact that he quite literally had the man’s blood on his hands when the cops arrived at the scene.

  Second-degree murder. That verdict just about blew my whole life out of the water.

  He claimed it was self-defense, but if you saw my dad and the guy he popped, it doesn’t really add up. Luckily for my father, the jury bought it and that’s the only reason he wasn’t sentenced to death.

  Unluckily for me and Frankie, all of the money we had that wasn’t already seized by collections for my mother’s medical bills was sucked up by exorbitant court fees and defense lawyers who couldn’t seem to get out of their own way enough to win a ‘not guilty’ verdict.

  But the reality is, Papa killed a member of the Volkov Bratva, a vicious organization out of Brooklyn, and his own lawyers didn’t have death wishes.

  The bank took our house and our cars, and we had to sell any possessions with value just to cover necessary living expenses.

  Talk about seeing your future get swallowed up by a black hole.

  And at twenty-four, I’d just barely began my career in bilingual childhood education before my job was yanked away from me halfway through the year. Seems as though New York State wasn’t a fan of hiring teachers whose parents are convicted murderers.

  Some people can be so prickly.

  Insert eye roll.

  I was fortunate enough to have kept up a good relationship with the owner of the bar I’d worked at through my years at New York University, and even more fortunate that he re-hired me after being dishonorably discharged by the New York State Board of Education.

  The pay is shit, but hey, it’s still pay, and I normally work about eighty hours a week just to make ends meet.

  I tell myself that someday we’re not going to have to live paycheck to paycheck anymore.

  Someday we’ll catch a break.

  That is, if nobody breaks Frankie first.

  I really don’t think my reputation can handle another mob crime blackmark.

  Those will sink you faster than an anchor chained to your ankle.

  I walk outside of the apartment building, hoisting my bag over my shoulder as I head toward the subway station. By the time I get down to the platform, a crowd of people has gathered. Tiny beads of sweat slide down my back as the minutes pass. It’s always so oppressively hot down here, even in the winter, and I say a silent prayer that the next train flashing its lights is the A train.

  I check my phone for the time.

  Ugh! Forget the heat. If it’s not the A train, I’m going to be late.

  And my boss Jimmy is only so forgiving.

  I let out a sigh of relief when I see the train screech to a stop at the platform. The doors slide open with a loud double ding and I practically leap into the car. I lean against the pole since I refuse to ever touch it. If I can’t get a seat, I find a place to rest my ass or my arm, preferably not on a fellow passenger, although it has happened in the past.

  Regrettably.

  That guy still gives me the creeps when I think about him.

  As if I meant to rub myself against his crotch. For Pete’s sake, the train was crowded! And touching the pole — good God, the germs! Just thinking about it makes bile rise in the back of my throat.

  Twenty minutes later, the train arrives at my stop. West 4th Street in Washington Square Park. The Grammercy Tap Room is only a few blocks away, and the weather is unseasonably warm for March, so the walk is actually refreshing.

  I try not to focus on Frankie and whatever scheme he’s running because he is definitely up to something. I just hope that whoever the target is doesn’t know he’s involved, otherwise, who the hell knows how I’ll find him in the morning?

  Or, if I’ll find him.

  People that Frankie associates with—hell, mobsters, in general—are magician-types, and their best trick is making others disappear.

  I just hope Frankie doesn’t do something stupid to prove himself to those thugs.

  I know from experience what they’ll do in retaliation.

  I let out a deep sigh as I walk past my old dorm. NYU doesn’t have a traditional campus, so the buildings are spread out in Greenwich Village. I remember long, raucous nights of bar crawls with friends, treks to Bleecker Street Pizza at two in the morning when pulling all-nighters, and parties with cute fraternity guys. I loved those times. I had no cares in the world other than getting good grades and having a freaking amazing time.

  Graduation came much too fast.

  And then Mama got sick.

  I trudge the remaining block to the bar, the heaviness in my gut weighing me down like there is a pile of bricks sitting on my shoulders.

  It’s hard to accept that she’s really gone.

  Walking these streets brings back such bittersweet memories of us embracing the little time we had left and basking in the sunshine of Washington Square Park. She always loved the Village and would often come for a visit when I was living here to take me shopping or to dinner.

  A pang assaults my chest.

  God, I miss her so much.

  I’d give anything to hold her hand again and to traipse through the foliage and brick pathways in the iconic landmarks of lower Manhattan.

  Tears sting my eyes and I blink them away before they have a chance to fall.

  She wouldn’t want me to cry. Lord knows, I’ve done enough of that over the past year. She’d want me to be strong, to find some sliver of light in the murky existence that’s become my life. And dammit, I’ve been searching for a while, coming up empty every time.

  There has to be a way out of this ominous maze that’s become my dismal life. There has to be a way to finally regain control over my future.

  The one bright spot that I look forward to each week is the two hours when I volunteer at the local community center and read to the young neighborhood children. I help them learn English, and they give me a little shred of happiness to cling to in return. I miss my students so much and this at least keeps me on top of my game.

  I swear to myself that one day I will get back to teaching. My father’s recent conviction won’t hang over my head like a toxic black cloud forever.

  I won’t let this break me.

  I can’t let the past rule me forever.

  I pull open the door to the bar and flash a smile at Michael, the big, broad bouncer. He gives me a wink and steps aside so I can pass. I run my eyes over the tables in the main dining room as I scurry toward the back room. I give Jimmy, the owner, a little wave as I hurry past the bar, stopping to scoop up a wrap on the floor behind a woman sitting on one of the stools.

  “Thank you so much,” she gushes when I hand it to her.

  I grin. “No problem.” I’m about to turn around when a hard force collides with my back. A cool drizzle slips down the back of my black shirt, soaking the fabric, and I gasp, jumping at the unwelcome, wet and
sticky sensation now assaulting my skin.

  When I turn around, I find myself staring into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. So deep, so penetrating…oh, crap. Why did I have to think of that word? Penetrating. It’s been a long time since that word had any applicability to my life.

  Chiseled jaw, rich olive skin, full lips curling into a sinfully seductive grin. A heavy fringe of thick, dark hair falls over his one quirked eyebrow. And when this man-god speaks, holy shit. The vibrations ripple through me like I’m a body of water, and he’s a smooth stone skipping over the surface.

  “Consider yourself lucky I didn’t order a double,” he murmurs. “I think you owe me one now, though.”

  Chapter Three

  Roman

  Dark lashes frame wide eyes that I can stare into for a lifetime and still not know exactly what color they are. Flecks of gold fire ignite in the depths of blue, green, and caramel swirls. In the dim lighting of the bar, the green is fighting for center stage, flashing with intensity as I lose myself in her shocked and slightly appalled gaze.

  Holy fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance to look into those eyes again.

  I remember them…the heat, the emotion, the desire flickering in the aquamarine pools.

  Yeah, I saw it. And I hated myself for ignoring it, but what the hell was I supposed to do?

  She was my best friend’s little sister.

  I could look, but I couldn’t touch, or Frankie would have cut off my balls.

  Besides, it’s not like our families parted ways as friends. My father and his associates chased them from their home, forcing them out of Sicily.

  The Amantes became our enemies and I never saw her again.

  I was actually surprised that Pop let her father live after he fucked us over. But I guess karma came back to bite him in the ass since he’s rotting in prison now, and my family has built a billion-dollar empire here in the States.

  But fuck me, Marchella Amante is standing right in front of me now after all of these years, and she clearly has no idea who I am.