Ranieri Andretti: A Second-Chance, Enemies-to-Lovers Mafia Romance Novella (The Five Syndicates Book 3)

by Parker S. Huntington

  My eyes flew open, and I whispered, “I love you, Ranieri Luca Andretti.”

  And then I came.

  My walls spasmed on his cock, and he followed soon after me, spilling himself inside me. When he pulled out, I lowered my legs, and his cum dripped down them. He used his pointer and middle fingers to wipe my inner thigh, pushed his cum back into me, and groaned at the sight.

  I felt his fingers massaging my walls. He was such a dirty tease.

  “Ranie—"

  “Shh,” he begged. “Let me enjoy the sight of my cum owning your pussy for another second.”

  He placed his fingers against my lips, effectively shushing me. His cum stained my lips, and I swiped my tongue out, brushing his fingers as I tasted him. The rain washed away the rest of his cum, but I still felt him on me. Around me. In me.

  He reached up and untied me, and we stood silently, taking each other in until the rain died down, but our feelings remained unwavering.

  Stepping forward, he used his body to trap me against the jungle gym wall. “I love you, Carina Amelia Gallo. You were made for me, and no matter where you are or how much time passes, I will always find you, because our love is fated, and Romeo needs his Juliet.”

  I slid out from under him, grabbed the wooden box, and opened it. I handed the note to him. “It’s nine years late, but I figure better late than never.” I pressed a kissed to his lips. “Juliet needs her Romeo, too.”

  * * *

  The bacteria of resentment bred:

  distance turned to distrust;

  distrust turned to bitterness;

  bitterness to hate, which is,

  after all, a kind of grievous love.

  Johnny Rich

  * * *

  * * *

  The resentment of a good man

  is the hardest thing to bear.

  Publilius Syrus

  * * *

  One year later

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  My eyes shot to Niccolaio, and I leveled him with a glare until I realized he was joking. I didn’t know him as well as I used to, but I would. Eventually.

  I was still getting used to having him around and not wanting to kill him, but that was more his story to tell than mine. Plus, it weirded me out that he’d dropped his accent to blend in up north.

  Beside us, Luigi snorted.

  “Laugh it up, old man.” I eyed his tux. “I might change my mind about having an eighty-year-old as one of my groom’s men.”

  “Fifty,” he corrected.

  Niccolaio grunted. “If you’re fifty, I haven’t been born yet.”

  “Makes sense. Your maturity level is about here.” Luigi lowered his hand until it hovered an inch above the floor, and I swore I heard his fucking back crack. “Don’t worry. It’ll develop once you reach puberty.”

  “I haven’t reached puberty yet,” Niccolaio mocked. “What’s your excuse?”

  I rose to my feet as Luigi opened his mouth, a retort surely on the tip of his tongue.

  He shifted his gaze to me. “Where are you going?”

  “To see my fiancée.”

  “But that’s bad luck!”

  “I don’t believe in bad luck.”

  The door slammed behind me, and when I reached the room where Gallo was getting ready for our wedding, I spied on her from behind the outstretched wall. A stylist was messing with her hair as she struggled to slide her garter belt up her leg.

  Aside from her dad, she had no bridal party. No matter how much Brody had tried, Gallo couldn’t forgive him, and I was one-hundred-fucking-percent okay with that. But since we had moved to South Beach, she’d opened herself to the world, and I couldn’t imagine a scenario where someone didn’t love her. She’d make new friends. Friends that didn’t manipulate and connive and weren’t secretly in love with my woman. And until then, I was happy being her only best friend.

  I stepped out of the shadows, and the stylist gasped.

  He touched his lips with the tips of his fingers. “No, no. Oh, no. You can’t be in here.” He stepped forward and tried to push me out. “This is bad luck.”

  I wasn’t paying him to irritate me, so I ducked under his arm and ignored his frantic waves, pushing my way to my soon-to-be wife. I shoved her hands to the side, took the garter, and slid my hands under her wedding dress.

  It was white and fluffy, and she looked beautiful in it, but so did everything else she wore. This lace garter, on the other hand, piqued my interest. I slid it slowly up her leg, and while I couldn’t see what I was doing under all the layers of wedding-dress fabric, I could feel her. She was soft, and smooth, and mine.

  So. Fucking. Mine.

  The stylist finally had the sense to leave us the fuck alone, and soon, the only sound in the room was Gallo’s labored breathing.

  “That was rude.” She groaned when I settled the garter on her upper thigh and slid my fingers to her wet pussy. She was always so, so wet for me.

  I moved her panties to the side and teased her clit with my fingers. “If anything, it’s your fault for distracting me.”

  She was staining her wedding lingerie with her arousal, and I wanted nothing more than to lick it clean. She leaned her head back and bucked her hips forward, trying to meet my hand. “You’re not even supposed to be here.”

  “I could leave.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “What do you say we get out of here and leave early for our honeymoon?” I pressed a kiss against her neck. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “We have guests.”

  We had her dad, my brother, Luigi, and Spaghetti. I doubted any of them would mind.

  I removed my hand from under her dress and straightened up, ignoring her protests. “Come on.” I reached for her hand and pulled her up.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, but she followed me anyway.

  I’d never been the sappy type, but I had to admit that I loved how much she trusted me. “To our wedding.”

  “It doesn’t start for another hour!”

  I shrugged. “Everyone’s here.”

  “Ranie!”

  I swiveled and faced her. I realized that I’d love her as much in an empty hallway as a filled wedding chapel, and I wanted nothing more than for her to be my wife. Now. She stared at me with a bewildered look pasted on her innocent face, yet I knew my naughty fiancée was still wet between her legs, and as far as I was concerned, that was the best condition to give her my vows.

  “Carina Amelia Andretti, I promise to love you through time and adversity.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Saying my vows.” I pinched her ass. “Stop interrupting. It’s rude.” I dodged her gut punch. “I promise to love you even when you burn the bread at dinner, and you will, because no matter how great a chef you are, you can never get bread right.” A rumbling laugh tore through my lips when she huffed. “I promise to love you even when you refuse to wear The Red Dress—”

  “It was in the trash!”

  “—and especially on Spaghetti Sundays. I loved you when we were young, and I’ll love you when we’re old. I promise to love you even when all hope is lost, and you think there’s no way this will work, because it will, Gallo. You’re it for me.”

  “I won’t be Gallo soon.”

  I leaned down and kissed her nose. “You’ll always be Gallo to me. But you’re right, and I like you wearing my name better.”

  “Well, I promise to love you through time and adversity, even when you burn water like only you could, even when you come before me—”

  “That was once!”

  She cocked a brow.

  I shook my head. “You were wearing that blue wig the second time. It doesn’t count.”

  Niccolaio stepped into the hallway. “Are you guys getting married right now?”

  “No one invited you,” I joked at the same time she groaned out, “Shut up, Nick!”

  Gallo smirked. “I was just finishing up m
y vows.” She leaned in and whispered in my ear as her dad, Spaghetti, Niccolaio, and Luigi gathered around us. “I promise to love you, whether you’re on the other side of the world or balls deep in me.” She straightened up. “I promise to love you, whether you’re happy or sad. But when you’re sad, I’ll make it my mission to put a smile on your face. I promise to always be your soliloquy- and sappy-shit-loving Juliet, and whether you still love me or not, I will always love you, and you will never be Lonely Romeo again. Just Romeo. My Romeo.”

  Carina’s dad, who’d gotten ordained online, cleared his throat. “You may now kiss the bride?” He said it like it was a question, like being in the hallway confused him.

  She grabbed my face and kissed me, pressing her lips hard against mine. “We just got married in the hallway an hour before our wedding.”

  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  I reached under her back and knees and lifted her fireman style. “Honeymoon. Now.”

  We’d never been normal anyway.

  * * *

  * * *

  One year later

  He had blindfolded me.

  I heard Spaghetti’s heavy panting as she ran back to us, and I could almost picture her vivid blue eyes shining in the daylight. Cerulean-warbler-blue eyes that reminded my husband of mine. Eyes, he’d admitted, that were the deciding factor of adopting Spaghetti because he had missed staring into mine.

  I reached out for Ranie’s arm. “I’ve had this blindfold on for an hour! I know we’ve taken a flight, and unless this trip ends with kinky sex, I’m going to be disappointed.”

  He smacked my ass. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Always,” I answered honestly.

  “Then, you’ll love it.” He took off the blindfold. “Open your eyes.”

  And he was right.

  I did love it.

  I covered my mouth with my hand, awestruck. Since we had last been here, he had gated the entire Rylafax park and built a house at the edge. It was a classic farmhouse, a super-sized version of the ranch house Dad had retired to last year, except mine sat in our park. A plane flew overhead, reminding me just how special this place was to me.

  I laughed and spun around in a circle, so happy and giddy, like I had been since Ranie and I made up that day on the jungle gym. Spaghetti joined my celebration, running circles around me, barking at my laughter, and the planes, and her own damned tail.

  Ranie wrapped an arm around me and pulled me to his chest. “You know, people normally complain about living near airports.”

  I took in the acres and acres of green grass and hills. “What’s there to complain about?”

  “The noise.”

  “I married a boss man.” I pressed a kiss to his throat and smirked against his skin. “I’m sure you found a solution?”

  “And if I hadn’t?”

  “I love you enough that you won’t notice the decline.”

  He narrowed his eyes and pinched my ass. “You’re such a smart ass.” He reached behind me and opened the door to the house. “For your information, I did find a solution.” He winced. “A ten-million-dollar soundproofing solution. Imagine a recording studio’s sound insulation, but on a ten-thousand square feet house.”

  “There’s my boss man.”

  He led me into the house, past the grand foyer, and into the massive living room. The home was gorgeous, but it could have been in ruins, and I would have loved it. Over the past two years, this man had given me everything. His heart. The beachfront restaurant. The baby growing in my belly.

  I caught sight of the wall behind the couch, and my eyes widened. “You framed them.”

  Dozens of emerald-green frames littered the wall, and in each of them, our love letters were proudly displayed. In the center, like a nucleus, rested my letter, surrounded by a stunning cerulean frame.

  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  He smirked. “I do.”

  I laughed as he tore my shirt in pieces, and my eyes caught on the letters again.

  Romeo wasn’t so lonely anymore, but Juliet still had a thing for soliloquies and sappy shit.

  * * *

  Chloe, thank you for giving me the best three years of my life. You were there from the start of this crazy journey, and every day, I wish you could be there until the end. I miss you, baby girl. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. Every second.

  * * *

  Thank you to Rose and Bauer for being the best puppies ever. You two, along with Chloe, teach me how to love and be loved every day. Wouldn’t forever be nice?

  * * *

  Thank you to L, for walking the pups when I have to write and being my other half. I’m probably the biggest handful of any girl on this planet, but you make me feel like a princess every day. You’re the Romeo to my Juliet.

  * * *

  Thank you, Heather, for always being my shoulder to laugh, lean on, cry on, and rant on. 99.99% sure I get annoying, but you deal with me with so much grace, I can’t believe I have a bad-ass like you as a friend.

  * * *

  Thank you, Odette, for being my BAFF—best author friend forever. You give me so many ideas with my story and the less fun part of writing—marketing (barf). You’re also always there for me, and it’s second nature to want to message you about EVERYTHING.

  * * *

  Thank you, Carla, for dealing with my sporadic messages and giving your utmost support. You know you’re my girl, and you’re stuck with me always.

  * * *

  Thank you, Heidi, for loving dogs, and me, and my books. You’re everything I want and need in a friend, and I promise I don’t take you for granted.

  * * *

  Thank you, Krista, for running my fan page on Facebook, being my sweet mama bear, and being a shoulder I can lean on. I love you, I love you, I love you.

  * * *

  And last but definitely not least, thank you readers, bloggers, and everyone who shares my work on Social Media. I LOVE YOU ALL!

  * * *

  XOXO,

  Parker S. Huntington is from Orange County, California, USA. She has a Bachelor’s of Arts in Creative Writing from the University of California, Riverside and is currently pursuing a Master's in Liberal Arts in Creative Writing and Literature from Harvard University.

  * * *

  She was the proud mom of Chloe and has two puppies, Bauer and Rose. She also lives with her boyfriend of five years--a real life alpha male, book-boyfriend-worthy hunk of a man.

  * * *

  She is the author of The Five Syndicates series. You can check out book one in the series, Asher Black, here.

  * * *

  Join her mailing list here!

  Join her Facebook Fan Group here!

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  SNEAK PEEK of ASHER BLACK

  It takes courage to

  grow up and become

  who you really are.

  E. E. Cummings

  * * *

  The only thing running through my mind as we make our way to the bar is: this place used to be a strip club. Now, it’s a trendy nightclub that caters to New York’s elite and whoever is lucky enough to be allowed entrance. Tonight, that includes Aimee and me. How we got in, I have no idea, though I suspect it has something to do with Aimee.

  At almost six feet tall, she has the body of a model and the looks to boot. She’s a small town girl from a rural part of America, but looking at her, you wouldn’t know. Dressed in a tiny sequined dress and sky high heels, she appears every bit the big city girl she pretends to be. With every step we take, I can see men eyeing her in lust and women staring at her in envy.

  “I heard this place used to be a strip club,” says Aimee, echoing my thoughts.

  Aimee and I just met today. We’re both juniors at Wilton University. She’s my new roommate in Vaserley Hall, one of the upperclassmen dorm buildings at Wilton. As far as I know, we’re also the only transfers
in our hall.

  Whereas I completed my breadth requirements online while volunteering internationally, Aimee went to the local community college in her hometown, eventually saving up enough money to pay the remainder of what her scholarship at Wilton doesn’t cover.

  We’re both new to the area, and not even minutes after meeting me, Aimee suggested that we go to Rogue, the hottest club in New York. Earlier, she told me that the small town she grew up in was too isolated, and she was excited to become a New Yorker as quickly as possible. I believe her. She already looks the part, and I could have sworn that earlier she asked me to “pass the watta bottle, dahling.”

  I slide a sidelong glance at her, wondering what she’s hiding behind her glamorous façade. I understand the desire to abandon roots better than most, but I usually do so by running from place to place, never settling down. I can already tell that Aimee, on the other hand, is choosing to become a different person entirely.

  It’s alarming to watch.

  “But, like, a high end one,” Aimee continues.

  A surprised laugh tears through my throat. “A high end strip club? Do those even exist?”

  I’ve always thought of strip clubs as seedy places, but as I look around, I can envision Rogue as a classy strip club. Even if those words together feel like an oxymoron.