by Rowena
A New Don
A Mafia Romance Novel
Rowena
Writing As
Lexi Gold
Stained Hands Press
Contents
Synopsis
Preface
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part 2
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Part 3
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
EXCERPT
About the Author
Also by Rowena
Copyright © 2016 by Lexi Gold
All rights reserved.
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted or circulated in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First Edition: September 2016
Created with Vellum
Synopsis
A deadly legacy. A forbidden attraction.
DONATELLO
Since I became head of the family, things haven't been the same. I want to limit bloodshed and take things in a different direction, but with an enemy like Emilio Baldini, that might just be impossible.
Saving a prisoner of Emilio’s from certain death probably won't exactly endear me to him, either...
ISABELLA
Bound, gagged, and kidnapped. Then, finally, saved by a man I have only heard of—Donnie Soriano.
But Donnie must never find out I’m Emilio Baldini's daughter. If he does, he’ll probably throw me out on the street—a fate worse than death, as my feelings for the young Don are blossoming into something deep and real.
And so is the new life in my belly…
A New Don is a bad boy pregnancy romance with lots of action & thrills. A hot, intense mob love story w/ no cliffhanger, no cheating, and a happy ending!
Preface
Dear Reader,
This is my first novel, and it is being published under a different author name due to it veering off from my usual fare a bit.
My romantic suspense novels will be published under Lexi Gold while my shorter erotic romance and super sexy tales will continue to be published under Rowena.
Sign up for my mailing list for updates on upcoming releases, giveaways and freebies regarding both!
Part I
Winds of Change
1
Donnie
The salt air brings back loaded memories.
In the distance, a buoy rocks on the waves.
Nostalgia tinges my thoughts, but I’ve never had use for nostalgia. The past is to be learned from, not yearned for.
Where I’m standing is basically where my father, Antonio, got his start—running muscle on the docks then working his way up until he owned them, on paper or not.
No one questioned him.
Antonio Soriano ran the lower east side. No one did anything that he didn’t get a piece of.
He’d often bring me to this warehouse when I was just a kid. He’d tell me the stories about how he started, how he fought his way into power.
My father was a ruthless man but also smart; brawn alone won’t get you by in this world. But it will certainly take you out.
Now that he’s gone, it’s mine—all of it, if I can hold on to it. That’s what tonight is all about; that’s what brings me back here.
“Donnie,” Francesca says crisply. “It’s clear.”
“Okay, let’s go,” I say.
My driver, Alex, gets out and opens the door.
I climb out and Francesca steps out behind me.
As I walk into the warehouse, she stays one step to my left.
I nod to the two men guarding the door as I approach.
“ Simon, Jerry,” I say as Simon opens the door for me.
“Mr. Soriano,” they both say, nodding.
Know your men—one of my father’s rules. A good one.
Tonight, the warehouse is empty.
A single light is on in the middle, casting a pool that pushes back the shadows.
A table with two chairs sits in the center of the light.
I take one of the chairs and wait.
Tonight will be historic, one way or another.
If my father was here… I don’t know what he would do.
No matter how smart he was, he could never bring that to bear against the man I’m sitting down with tonight: Emilio Baldini, Don of the Baldini family. My father’s rival.
No two men have ever hated each other more.
Their rivalry and hatred was as deep and true as any throughout history, and they were rivals to the bitter end.
Tonight, I will offer Emilio peace—an end to a long trail of blood.
War between our families profits no one.
I’m moving my family in a new direction, one which doesn’t rely on the old ways.
This warehouse serves no purpose for me any longer, and since it lies at the center of the hatred between our families, I hope it will be valuable enough for him to accept my offer.
The door creaks as it opens.
Francesca’s hand grips the gun under her jacket.
Two burly men enter and spread to either side then walk the perimeter.
Francesca and I watch them silently.
Once they’re satisfied we’re alone, they approach the two of us.
I stand and let them pat me down.
I’m unarmed and Francesca has her one gun, which was our agreement.
One of them pulls a cell, sends a text, then the two of them step back to stand just outside the pool of light.
A few minutes later, the door opens and Emilio Baldini walks in.
Emilio is old, well into his seventies. His swarthy skin is wrinkled, his thin hair is slicked back to his head, his rheumy eyes shift side to side as he walks over to the table.
He stops just inside the light, adjusting his tailored suit.
“Little Donnie,” he wheezes, his eyes narrowing.
I stand and hold my hand out to him, ignoring the insult in his words. Words like that cost me nothing.
He stares at my hand before meeting my eyes.
Ignoring my outstretched hand, he goes to the chair opposite mine.
“Your father killed my brother, right there,” he says, pointing to a spot some twenty yards distant. “My cousin was there, three more of my boys were with them.”
He doesn’t sit as he
talks and points.
If nothing else, he’s blunt. And stuck in the past.
What he’s referring to happened thirty years ago.
The Dock Side Massacre, the papers called it; nine men gunned down execution style. The move that wrested control of the docks from the Baldini family and solidified my father in his position as a Don. A move that has since been paid for tenfold over in gallons of blood.
All my childhood friends died in the war between our families. There hasn’t been a lasting peace since that night.
A year—maybe two—would pass, then something would happen and the blood would flow.
It’s bad business. Murder attracts too much attention.
I want this peace.
I never dreamed it would be me sitting here with this man.
“The past weighs heavy,” I say, taking my seat again. “We can learn from it or we can be the victim of it.”
“Victim, huh?” he snorts. “Fancy words, boy. A man never forgets his debts. He doesn’t forget where he came from, either.”
“Of course,” I say. “And I mean no disrespect.”
Boy. The word makes me bristle and I have to reign in my reaction.
Emilio might not respect me, but I can’t let him get under my skin; tonight is too important.
“Respect,” he spits. “What does your generation know of respect?”
I smile but don’t take the bait.
“Well, what is this about, Donnie?” he asks, sounding irritated.
“How many men have you lost in the past year?” I reply.
“What, you think I’m going to discuss this with you?”
“Yes,” I say firmly.
“And why would I talk to you of such a thing, Donnie?”
He inflects my name, emphasizing the ‘don’ to mock me.
“Because it’s time, Don Baldini,” I answer.
“Time for what? Your men are on the ropes,” he says.
“Perhaps,” I say. “Perhaps not. How many times, over all these years, have you thought that before?”
“Bah, that was with your father. A snake in the grass. Truio, call the car around; we’re done here.”
“Don, sit. Please,” I say. “Perhaps a drink? Let us talk as men.”
“Then bring me a man to deal with,” he says and the two men with him struggle to suppress their laughter while I work to control my reaction again.
Francesca shifts behind me. She’s ready. A signal is all it would take. Any sign from me and the three men before me would be dead.
As a woman, she’s often underestimated, to the regret of those who go against her. She has proven herself in the field more than a few times.
I shake my head—not for Emilio, though I’m sure he thinks so—but to keep her from losing her temper.
We will remain civil.
Emilio doesn’t respect me and thinks I’m weak, fine—let him underestimate me.
In the meantime, I am moving this family into the future, Emilio and his adherence to the ‘old’ ways be damned.
My father built our fortune the same way that Emilio did—through gambling, prostitution, and drugs, but it’s a thug game that comes with too much scrutiny and harsh sentences.
It’s also a game of machismo with goombas mouthing off to each other and everyone a hair’s breadth from pulling a trigger.
It’s not a matter of if, but when you will get caught or killed. Too many of my friends have died to this adherence to the way it has always been.
No more.
I see a new frontier and a new future.
I’m taking my family there first, and I’ll leave old men like the one in front of me behind.
Emilio guffaws from his joke and the men behind him laugh openly, no longer trying to hide their amusement. If they are actually amused, that is—their boss could tell them he fucked their mothers and they’d laugh if he told them to.
“Unfortunately, there is only me,” I say with false humor.
He stops laughing and looks at me through narrowed eyes.
“Yes, there is only you,” he says. “Then speak, Donnie, why are we here?”
“A sit-down,” I say. “A ceasefire.”
“You running out of men, boy?”
I smile again, still refusing the bait.
“Our families have been at war for years. Open or cold, the fact remains—war is bad for business. There is no profit. Instead of making money, our men are busy shooting each other.”
“Your father should have thought of that before he started it,” he says through gritted teeth.
My smile spreads; I’ve got him.
“I agree,” I say. “Be that as it may, it should not color a brighter future for our two families.”
“What is it you’re offering?”
There it is. I have him exactly where I want him.
Emilio has wanted the docks for thirty years. My father and he warred over them for a long time until my father solidified his control with the massacre. This is the carrot that will appease his need for revenge.
“This,” I say, motioning around us.
His rheumy eyes widen and he lets out a whistle.
“You’re kidding. What’s the catch?”
“No catch. You give me a ceasefire, we work out a peace deal between our families. I give you control of the docks. Full and complete.”
“What’s your cut?”
“No cut, no percentage. Yours. Like I said, full and complete.”
He shakes his head.
I’m guessing he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of no strings. He still sees the world through the framework of the old, and normally in a deal like this among the families, there would be percentages kept and other terms attached. But that would run counter to my goal.
Emilio’s probably trying to work out what he’s not seeing—some hidden trap, perhaps—but he won’t figure it out; there’s nothing to figure out.
My family is moving into white-collar crime, so I have no need for this place.
It’s an information age, and nothing is more valuable than information. Information I certainly won’t be sharing with him. We already make more money in a day than our old operations would earn in a month.
“Always a string, right, boys?” Emilio says to the men behind him.
“Always, boss,” one of the gorillas says.
“The string is, I want peace,” I say. “No more violence. No more shootings in the streets. It brings attention neither of us wants. It cuts into profits. We can both make more money in peace than by continuing this war.”
“I think he’s afraid, boss,” the talking gorilla throws in.
“That it, Donnie? You afraid?”
I smile and shake my head.
“Fear clouds the mind. I’m not afraid; I’m rational. I’m looking at a bigger picture.”
Emilio leans over the table, his fingers drumming on it as we stare each other down.
“Why don’t I just take what I want?” he says at last.
I nod and act as if I’m considering the idea.
Francesca shifts her weight behind me from one foot to the other, ready for anything.
“You could,” I say. “It would cost you. It would cost me, but yes, you could, eventually.”
Silence sits heavy between us while I wait patiently.
My father is rolling in his grave. Patience was not a virtue he possessed.
Don Baldini’s fingers keep drumming.
Any minute now, he’ll agree. It’s a waiting game.
The gorillas with him shuffle, the sound of their leather shoes on the concrete accenting the sound of his fingers.
“You got some balls, kid,” he says.
“I’ve been told as much,” I agree.
“Peace, huh?”
“A ceasefire,” I say. “An end to this war. What is it that matters? Money.”
“Money,” he snorts.
“Do you do this for some other reason?”
&
nbsp; “The problem with your generation right there,” he says. “No honor. No adherence to a code.”
Code. Honor.
I resist the urge to snort at his use of the words.
His idea of honor and a code is outdated. He’s living in the beginnings of the twentieth century. The world has moved on without him.
His adherence to old ways will be his downfall, and I won’t have to do a thing to make it happen. The Feds will catch him sooner or later.
“Do we have a deal?”
His frown deepens, then he straightens up.
Everything stops as he does.
We’re standing at a fork, and everything now hinges on his next words.
“All right, kid,” he says.
I stand and hold out my hand.
This time, he takes it, gripping mine firmly as he shakes.
His hand is a meaty paw covered with sweat.
“Good,” I say, matching his grip.
“You look just like your father, kid,” he says with a sneer. “You know—before he had that unfortunate accident with the matches.”
Anger hits me in the gut like a fist.
It takes all my willpower not to react this time, even though I know he’s still just baiting me.
“Thanks,” I reply.
“If anything goes wrong between our families,” he says, pulling me in close and clapping his free hand on my shoulder. “Anything at all, I will rain hell down on you. I won’t hold back anything. You understand me, Donnie?”
“Right, Emilio,” I say. “Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Good,” he says, releasing his grip. “Let’s go, boys.”
Francesca moves to my side and we watch them leave.
“That went better than I expected,” she says, her voice soft as always, belying the rest of her.
Francesca is tall for a woman, just shy of six feet. Dark hair reaches her shoulders outlining the sharp features of her face. She’s pretty but there’s an air of danger about her that either entices or drives you away.