Convicted: A Mafia Romance

by Macguire, Jacee

  ConvicteD

  By Jacee Macguire

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.

  Convicted © August 2015, Jacee Macguire

  Cover Image © Can Stock Photo Inc. / konradbak

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations used in articles or reviews.

  Chapter One - Sebastian

  “Prison robs me of my dignity, my pride; it robs me of my privacy and of my freedom. Prison robs me of anything a man can enjoy in life.”

  - California prison offender

  The high-security transport chains binding my wrists and ankles clanked as the white bus sped down the highway heading for Huntsville. Transporting prisoners at various times of the night had long been a custom law enforcement officers had deemed safe. They made sure to keep dates and times hush-hush in an effort to thwart any possible rescue missions criminals might have in place if they wanted to save their buddies from a long stint in prison. That would not be happening. Not yet anyway.

  Outside, it was pitch-black. Thunder rolled, crackling in the distance, as lightning arced across the blackened sky like white-hot daggers. The metal coverings on the windows blocked visibility to the outside world, further removing the occupants within from society. The silence surrounding me was deafening. The smells were much worse, though. We’d been traveling for hours now and the smell of sweat and urine had long since began to agitate my senses.

  From the visible conditions in the poorly lit intestines of the bus, I could tell it hadn’t been cleaned in ages, if ever. No surprise, really. A prisoner’s comfort was pretty damn low on the list of important things in the eyes of the State of Texas. No matter what the officials said in the media, they didn’t give a rat’s ass about the convicts in their care. This bus ride was just a small part of a much larger picture that was stained with blood, sweat, and tears.

  As bad as the long ride from Austin was, I was in no hurry to get where we were going. Who the hell would look forward to bunking in a small cell with another man, anyway? A woman sure, but not a man. Not me; that’s for damn sure. I too had heard the bubba jokes about becoming some large man’s bitch… but I was not going to be that guy. Not that that was even a possibility of that happening for a man like me. I’d walk out of that damnable prison with a virgin ass, same as I walked in. Just the mere thought of someone being stupid enough to try had me clenching my fucking ass cheeks tight enough to hold a penny.

  The other men on the bus were sleeping. They might seem to be at peace with their surroundings and where they were headed, but that was a fucking lie. I couldn’t sleep. My mind was in overdrive. Don’t get the idea in your head that I was afraid, because I’m not. Men like me didn’t fear anyone or anything, but I couldn’t help but rehash everything that had happened over the last six months; from the night my life spiraled out of control to the court case that followed, solidifying my fate and ultimately putting me on this fucking bus with a bunch of damn idiots too stupid not to get caught for whatever their crime was.

  I’ve broken a shit-ton of laws over the years. I’m a bad man. There is no question about that. Some would say I’m the devil in an Armani suit. I wouldn’t disagree with them.

  But the reason I was sitting here shackled to the floor, bound in chains, was not of my own doing. I’m guilty of much, but I’m innocent of the crime I’ve been convicted of. Some men look at prison as a vacation, but I do not. I see it for what it is. This wasn’t the average road trip to visit a relative. No. It was a forced vacation of sorts, one I had zero fucking control over. Control was – and still is – my thing. I need it. I love it. I have to have it.

  Murmurs from the front of the bus, just beyond the caged door, caught my attention as the bus began to slow in preparation for taking an upcoming exit. The whispered conversation between the driver and the armed guard standing watch over us was grating on my nerves. I wanted to know what was happening. I wanted to know which unit would be my home. There were so many cages around here for a man like me, and I had connections in all of them. Men that would do my bidding men that owed me favors. I had always known what was happening so this new life would take some getting used to. But no matter where I ended up, I would be feared by all.

  My name is Sebastian Christakos. I’m the boss of the Greek mafia. I’m a god among men. I am the darkness, the very air that you breathe. I am a dealer of death and a giver of pain to those that oppose me. I am a murderer and this is my story.

  Chapter Two - Sebastian

  “Nobody can give you freedom. Nobody can give you equality or justice or anything. If you’re a man, you take it.”

  - Malcolm X

  The bus came to a screeching, grinding halt at the front gate of the prison. I watched the uniformed officers go through their routines, the gate clanking along its track as it slowly opened like the mouth of the devil swallowing me whole as the bus crept through the entrance. Bright lights lit the area, leaving little to no shadows to hide in. The door to the bus opened with a sharp snap and a short, chunky, balding man waddled up the few short steps, pushing past the armed guard. His cold eyes skipped from one prisoner to the next, as if he was having his own personal pissing contest. I had wanted to laugh – to challenge him – but now wasn’t the time. Within minutes, I, along with my fellow occupants, filed out of the rickety old bus in a single file line, chains rattling with each shuffle of our feet.

  For the next several hours, I was put through the ringer. We were led into a small crowded room, paint peeling from every wall, and commanded to strip butt-ass naked. I had nothing to be ashamed of, but having to follow someone else’s orders really pissed me off. I removed my clothes, tossing them into a pile before me as the guard demanded. The young man next to me did so slowly with shaky hands and tears in his eyes. He wouldn’t survive without becoming someone’s plaything. Poor guy.

  The next order was the one that had me seeing red, though. Of all the things I had been through in the last six months, spreading my ass cheeks for another man would have to be the most humiliating of all. A low growl began in my chest, slowly scratching and clawing its way to the surface. I ground my teeth together, fighting like hell to control the dark side writhing within me. Thankfully I managed to control the wickedness residing inside me. But I knew it wouldn’t always be so easy; not in here.

  I received my dingy white uniform and rubber shoes, an emaciated mattress and pillow, and a few toiletry items I was certain were barely a step up from using nothing at all. The next week or so were medical checkups and shit that, from what I gathered, helped in placing each of the new arrivals in a permanent home.

  TWO WEEKS LATER...

  Every day is the same here. It doesn’t matter if you’re innocent or guilty, black or white, rich or poor. Everyone – and I do mean everyone – is treated the same. There were ways to get around the piss poor treatment, though. The guards walk around in their used grey uniforms, heads held high as they do whatever they can to make you feel lesser than them. I do not fall for their shit. Never will. Giving in to them only shows weakness, and that is not the kind of man that I am. Each day, I follow the same sad-ass routine: sleep, eat, work… and then I do it all over again, without complaint. I long for the freedom I lost, doing my best to hide the emotions toiling away inside me.

  During my first week at the Wayne Unit, located deep in the heart of a pine tre
e jungle, I had my first fight; my first prison fight, at least. The man had done nothing to me. He just happened to be big, so he was the one I used to show everyone I was a man to be feared. It had worked like a fucking charm.

  I knew there would be consequences for my actions, but I didn’t give a shit. The broken jaw I dealt out to that poor convict earned me a week in solitary, but once that week ended, my reign of power over my new cellblock wasn’t questioned. I met with my contacts and slipped into a routine, as all made men do.

  Today, I was to meet with my attorney and share my plan to prove my innocence. If all worked out according to plan, I’d earn my damn freedom back.

  While sitting in the confines of my cell in solitary confinement, I realized a fresh set of eyes on my case was needed. Now that didn’t mean I didn’t trust my pricey attorney because I do. He’s a loyal son of a bitch if ever there was one.

  But I knew we had missed something somehow, and whatever that something was, it had earned the District Attorney an epic win that sent me here, and even though I could easily run my operation from my tiny little cell, I preferred the life I had outside these prison walls.

  There aren’t many people in the world that can handle living a life like mine; a life smothered in blood, death, money, sex, and vengeance. And the money was damn good. I had more than I could spend in a fucking lifetime… but a great mafia boss always wanted more. And I was a fucking great mafia boss.

  The thunderous steps of a guard’s footfalls on the metal walkway outside my cell echoed against the concrete walls of my new jungle, catching my attention instantly. Smiling, I kept my eyes downcast, flipping through the pages of the month-old magazine in my hands. Sports Illustrated was as close as a man could get to seeing a near-naked woman, and I was starving for a hot wet pussy to feed my immense appetite.

  I didn’t want to alert the guard to my eagerness for my visit because that was never a good thing. Guards had their ways of torturing us by picking fights and removing what little rights or privileges we had during our stay here. Bastards.

  Sweat trailed down my back as I looked through the magazine, adhering the thick material of my shirt to my skin. I glanced up quickly to the air conditioning vents, wishing some dumb fuck would flip the switch and turn on the air, but that was wishful thinking. The state would save every damn dime they could, even refusing to turn on the AC during the hellishly hot summer months.

  I almost wanted to offer to pay their fucking electric bill myself just feel more comfortable. Lack of cool air in this humid Texas heat was insane. Men were dropping like flies from heat strokes all over the prison due to triple-digit temperatures. I wanted cool air almost as bad as I wanted my goddamned freedom, but I wasn’t a pussy so I’d stick it out. For a while, anyway.

  The guard stepped in front of my cell. “Christakos! You know the drill. Back to the gate and hands behind your back,” he growled, a smirk crossing his young face.

  The little bastard had a god complex that I was sure had been taught during his meager training. The look in the boy’s eyes showed me just how weak and scared he was… and he should be. In a different situation, I’d laugh in his face, but not here. The cocky prick didn’t know who the hell he was dealing with. Maybe he didn’t care. He should, though. If he knew what was good for him. My patience would only stretch so far.

  “Sure thing... boss,” I grumbled. As if any of the men around here was capable of being the boss of me.

  I slowly walked across my cell and turned my back to the bars, placing my hands behind my back just as he’d asked me to. I wasn’t looking for trouble today.

  The cold steel of the cuffs bit into the flesh of my wrists and I couldn’t help but smile. This insolent prick’s luck would run out sooner rather than later if he didn’t learn manners.

  A few seconds later, I was led out of my cellblock. Trading my crisp Armani suits for this stained dingy white prison uniform drove me nearly to insanity – the scratchy material was far from comfortable – but what really tested the limits of my sanity was the infuriating sameness of everything. All the guards wore grey. All the inmates wore white. And the building itself seemed to be a lifeless husk, with barely a hint of color anywhere to be seen.

  Before me was a long institutional white hallway, sectioned off with barred gates. Up ahead, several inmates were lined against the wall, their uniforms in piles on the floor as the guards strip-searched them all. Averting my eyes, I kept my mind on my meeting. A small part of me felt sorry for the guys spreading their ass cheeks for a couple of jackass guards fresh out of training. Sometimes it was the luck of the draw – or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time and gaining unwanted attention from the pricks. Either way, it sucked.

  “Sebastian. Good to see you, my friend,” my attorney, Davis Jackson, said as we entered the small visitation room. He wrestled with the locks on his briefcase as I sat at the table across from him.

  “Good to see you, Davis,” I responded, glancing towards the guard, who had yet to remove himself from the room. Davis eyed the guard, too, obviously catching my desire for him to disappear.

  “This is a privileged conversation, officer. You’ll need to leave,” Davis drawled in his Southern accent. I smiled as the officer stepped out of the room, a pissed-off look marring his young face.

  “I have a plan,” I said. “I’ll need your assistance to pull it off.”

  “Alright.”

  For an hour, I laid out my plan to acquire a fresh set of eyes. My legal team needed a woman’s view, and her ability to assist in getting information with her feminine wiles wouldn’t hurt. My preference was a fresh young lawyer new to the scene that people would underestimate. I didn’t have anyone in mind, as my access to the Internet was terribly limited and my usage tracked. I needed Davis to do a little research and provide me with a few choices to pick from. Choosing the right women was important for this to work.

  “Can you make that happen?” I asked.

  “Sure thing, boss. I’ll get right on it. I think a fresh set of eyes would be good. I’ve gone over the evidence dozens of times already. Nothing is standing out. No red flags.”

  A loud knock sounded on the door. “Times up, Christakos,” a voice yelled from the hall.

  “Get this done. Be back here on Friday with options.”

  “Yes, sir,” Davis said, just as the door slammed open. Two beefy guards pulled me from my chair – roughly, I might add – and pushed me into the hall.

  Chapter Three - Haven

  “The price of success is hard work, dedication to the job at hand, and the determination that whether we win or lose, we have applied the best of ourselves to the task at hand.”

  - Vince Lombardi

  Three months ago, I’d passed the Texas bar exam. I’d always been fascinated by court cases, wanting to know what made people do the things they did. But my curiosity didn’t end there. That was only frosting for me. My passion for law really began to thrive when I heard about a case involving a man sitting behind bars on death row for murdering his friend.

  He’d never met with a single soul or screamed from the mountaintops that he was innocent. Nope. He’d died on death row, and after his execution was carried out, proof of his innocence was discovered, rocking the penal system. Because of that case, I knew I wanted to make sure that men and women who were innocent had a voice and a fighting chance of earning the freedom that had been snatched from them.

  “Welcome to The Innocence Project. I’m Haven. How can I help you?” I chirped in my most professional voice to the man standing in front of me.

  The man smiled. “Hi. I’m Davis Jackson. Would you have a moment free to speak with me about a case?”

  The man before me was so short of breath his words came out choppy, like a broken speaker at a drive-thru window. I smiled at him, noticing his splotchy red face and sweaty brow. “Sure. Would you care for a soda or bottled water?”

  “That would be quite nice. Water, please.”

&nb
sp; I grabbed a bottled water from the tiny fridge in the lobby, handing it over as we walked to a quiet little meeting room. The Innocence Project didn’t have a lot of space to work with, but we made do. With over two hundred active cases and a team of a dozen or so lawyers, we had a hell of a load. I waved a hand at an empty chair and watched the chunky man take a seat, cracking the seal of his drink and downing almost half in one swallow. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he sat the bottle on the table.

  “Miss Foster. I have a case that I think you would find appealing. Before we get into that, I want you to know I did everything I could to win the case… but something just doesn’t add up.”

  “I see. I know who you are, Mr. Jackson. I’ve followed your career for years.”

  “May I ask you a question?” he asked.

  I nodded, wondering what this was about.

  “My client isn’t guilty of the crime he’s been charged with.” He flashed me a weak smile. “But that doesn’t mean he’s innocent of other things. Would it interfere with your fighting for his innocence if a man was a known criminal?”

  “It most certainly would not. Where are you going with this, Mr. Jackson?” I asked, arching a brow.

  “My client is in need of a fresh set of eyes to look at his case. His hope is that this new person will see whatever it was I missed during his trial. Would that interest you?” he asked as he rooted through his briefcase.

  “I’d have to see the case in order to make a decision. A good lawyer doesn’t just jump in without checking the water. I’m sure you understand.”

  Jackson nodded as he pulled a folder from his briefcase. “I do. Here’s the case in question. Feel free to peruse at your leisure. If you are interested please let me know as soon as possible. Time is of the essence.” He slid a thin file across the desk towards me, his business card on top of the folder. He pulled himself up from the chair, thanked me for my time, and waddled out the door. Watching him go, I had to contain a giggle as an image of Danny DeVito in Batman Returns popped into my head.