Ricardo

by Marita A. Hansen

  RICARDO

  The Santini Brothers #1

  Marita A. Hansen

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  US English Note

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by Marita A. Hansen

  The 5 Mafia Families

  Glossary

  Copyright

  RICARDO

  (The Santini Brothers #1)

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2014 © Marita A. Hansen

  Editor: John Hudspith

  Cover design © Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs

  Cover photograph from Yuri Arcurs Photography

  and sourced from http://peopleimages.com/

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means whatsoever without the written permission of the author, nor circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. For subsidiary rights inquiries email: marita.a.hansen@hotmail.com

  All characters, names, places, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to everyone who has helped me in getting this book published, especially my long suffering family for having to put up with all the time I spend on trying to make my writing career a success.

  In addition, I would like to say a special thanks to:

  John Hudspith – He’s edited many of my books, and is absolutely great to work with. I always feel that I’m putting my best work forward after he’s been through the manuscript.

  D Kristin, Christine Mpande, Kelleanne Miles, and Charmaine Butler – my beta readers, who did a fantastic job with helping me to get the best out of the story.

  And an extra thanks to D Kristin for advising me on Ricardo’s psychological condition.

  PLEASE NOTE:

  US English is used throughout the text, which differs slightly from UK/Commonwealth spelling.

  For example, US English uses story instead of storey in regards to building levels, color instead of colour, and so forth. So, if you see slight variations, they are not errors.

  Any other differences may be due to the book being set in Italy.

  A glossary has been provided to help with some of the words and sayings mentioned.

  Lastly, thank you for choosing to read RICARDO.

  I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, so I hope you enjoy the story.

  All the best, Marita.

  1

  Valentino watched the group of women dancing provocatively in front of his table, the five scantily clad females trying to get his attention. He was in H20, the hottest nightclub on his island, a place where inhibitions were left at the door. It was overflowing with beautiful women, many giving him the impression they wanted to jump his cock. It was because he looked like his half-brother, Alessandro, a man-whore who did porn for kicks.

  He knocked back another grappa, the strong taste of the brandy burning his throat, the way he preferred it. He wasn’t interested in riding Alessandro’s panty trail. He was a killer, not a lover, even more so after the mafia war had sent his wife to an early grave.

  “You should be in hiding,” his best friend said over the techno music, “not walking around as though you don’t have a hit on your head. Pedro Landi won’t take kindly to you killing his men.”

  The Landi were one of the five main mafia families on his island. Pedro Landi was their Don, and the man who’d ordered his wife’s murder. Pedro thought Maria’s family had a hand in his youngest daughters’ gruesome deaths, but even if they did, Maria had no part in what had happened. She’d been a gentle soul, someone who didn’t deserve to be riddled with bullets all because she was born into the wrong family.

  Valentino slammed his empty glass down on the table, not interested in Niko’s advice. “Those men murdered my wife,” he snapped.

  Niko threw worried glances around the nightclub. He wasn’t just Valentino’s friend; he was his bodyguard. He was a monstrous man, a six-foot-five wall of muscle, with receding brown hair and a burn scar that made his right eye droop, the latter courtesy of Iraq.

  Niko returned his focus to Valentino. “Keep your voice down. You’re going to get yourself killed, you crazy figlio di puttana.”

  “If I wasn’t a son of a whore, I wouldn’t have been born,” he retorted. His father was the Santini Don, while his mother had been a common prostitute.

  Niko exhaled. “It’s an expression, and you’re still crazy.”

  “I’m not crazy; I’m here to save my daughters’ lives.” Valentino indicated for the waitress to bring him another drink. “And no one’s crazier than my oldest brother,” someone he didn’t share a surname with. His father didn’t acknowledge him since he was an embarrassment to the family. Because of it, he’d grown up in a bordello, where men had paid for his mother’s affections—until one of them murdered her. It was what had turned him into a killer. He’d taken retribution on his mother’s murderer at the age of sixteen, tracking him down and placing a gun to his head. He’d pulled the trigger without an ounce of guilt, the man’s cries of innocence all lies. From then onwards, people hired him to take care of their ‘problems’, most of them mafia related.

  Niko leaned back in his chair. His white button-down shirt pulled across his chest, revealing a glimpse of his bulletproof vest. “Ricardo may be a crazy bastardo,” he said, “but you’re going for his title by being here. The Landi are after your blood.”

  “They wouldn’t dare set foot on Santini premises.”

  Niko frowned. “H20 doesn’t belong to the Santini.”

  “It does now. They’ve taken it, like they take everything they want. The twins needed a place for their band to play, so their mother bought it for them.” He sneered, hating the troia. Concetta Santini did everything for her sons, and everything against him.

  “You’re still not safe. My source says that Don Landi has hired the Black Vipers to kill you. They’re female assassins—”

  “I know who the Black Vipers are.”

  Niko’s eyes flicked to the women dancing provocatively in front of their table. He leaned in closer to Valentino. “Any one of those donne could be a Viper.”

  Valentino sneered. “I don’t give a merda about dying.”

  “Don’t speak like that, your daughters need you.”

  “It’s only a matter of time before I’m six feet under. That’s why I need Ricardo to take them in.”

  “You can’t leave the girls with him, he’s evil.”

  “He’s also loyal to famiglia.” Valentino wanted Ricardo to take them under his wing, rather than their mother’s family, who were on the run from the Landi. He was afraid the Landi would use his daughters as payback, crucifying them in retaliation for what had happened to Pedro’s daughters.

  The waitress placed more grappa in front of Valentino. He picked up the glass, swirling the pomace brandy around before taking a gulp. He swallowed it down, his next words hoarse from the drink’s bite. “Ricardo won’t stop until every
last Landi is in the ground. Only then will my bambine be safe.”

  “Slaughtering a whole famiglia is the work of a monster, not a protector. He’s a madman.”

  “The mad ones make the best rulers, and with this war, I’m hoping he’ll finally take over his household. He deserves to be Don, not that senile old man who’s too weak to stand up to his wife. That troia is responsible for my mother’s death.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “People saw one of her hitmen leaving the bordello—now he’s paying for it in Hell.”

  “You said he denied killing her.”

  “People lie to save their necks; it just didn’t work for him.”

  One of the women dancing for his attention broke away from the pack, shimmying between a few people to get to him. She was wearing too much eye-makeup and a black dress that barely covered her ass. She leaned her tits towards Valentino, giving him a show of her wares, which were plentiful. “Hello, Alessandro,” she said.

  “My name’s Valentino,” he muttered, running his hands over her body, making sure she wasn’t concealing weapons.

  Instead of slapping him, she giggled, looking ecstatic with what he was doing. “You look just like the porn actor Alessandro Santini.”

  “He’s my brother.” Valentino leaned back in his chair, satisfied she was unarmed. She was probably one of Alessandro’s legions of fans.

  Her whole face lit up as though he’d made her day. She leaned closer, almost shoving her tits in his face, the things overflowing her brassiere. “You want to leave with me?”

  “I have no interest.”

  She straightened, looking aggrieved. “But you touched me.”

  “I’m Mafioso. I always check for weapons.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re mafia?” she squeaked.

  “You’re not a local, are you?”

  She shook her head, appearing shell-shocked. People always reacted in three different ways when they were scared: fight, flight, or freeze—the woman taking the latter option.

  He leaned towards her, not feeling an ounce of guilt for scaring her; if anything, he was doing her a favor. “Word of advice: stay away from anyone who looks like me. Now, leave.”

  As though he’d said the magic word, she took off, tottering to her friends on her six-inch stilettos. The women surrounded her like the pack of cougars they were. A second later, they pushed through the crowd, looking like they couldn’t get out of the club fast enough.

  He turned back to his friend. “As I was saying, Ricardo will protect my girls.”

  “No, you need to get them off the island,” Niko replied.

  “The Landi will still hunt them down unless my brother takes them under his wing.”

  “The Santini are in this war too.”

  “The Landi will only attack them if provoked—unlike the Rossos. They’re going after all of them, even defenseless children.” He picked up his glass of grappa and tipped it back, swallowing the rest down. He prayed that Ricardo would agree to help him; otherwise, his children would be hunted down like their mother. If they hadn’t been at a friend’s house that fateful day, they would’ve been killed too. The memory of his wife’s bullet-ridden body clung to his mind, torturing him.

  Niko sighed. “Ricardo’s not the type of man you should have looking after girls. Females are terrified of him. He’s a violent bastardo.”

  “His violence is only directed at men.”

  Niko leaned across the table, his large biceps flexing from the movement. “I still think it’s a bad idea. Send the girls to America; I’ll go with them. I’ll protect your ragazze with my life.”

  “I know you would, but Ricardo will guarantee their safety. He may be evil, but he’s also very powerful.”

  “True, especially the evil part. Thank Dio he’s one of a kind.”

  “I think it’s the Devil you should thank instead.”

  The crowd suddenly surged, scared voices mixing in with the techno music. Like the red sea, they parted, their faces panicked. A group of large men dressed in dark suits appeared, heading for Valentino’s table. They were Santini soldiers, cutthroat bastards who wouldn’t think twice about killing the people surrounding them.

  The two men at the front parted. Ricardo Santini stepped forward, surprising Valentino. He hadn’t expected his brother to come in person. Instead, he’d thought Ricardo would’ve sent his consigliere, the man who often represented the Don at meetings. Sí, Ricardo wasn’t a Don yet, but everyone was treating him as one.

  Ricardo stopped in front of Valentino, their resemblance sealing their brotherhood. Like Valentino, Ricardo had olive skin and brown hair, though Ricardo was taller. He was six-foot-four inches of violence dressed in Armani, the man having impeccable taste in suits. And his face ... it was both terrifying yet stunning, his violet eyes almost glowing under the lights. Ricardo was the picture of raw masculinity, only his violent reputation stopping him from being swarmed by women. They feared him, as they should, because he was a bloodthirsty bastardo who would rather kill than take a woman to bed.

  Valentino breathed out, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake in choosing Ricardo to look after his daughters.

  2

  Bianca D’Angelo hid behind the dilapidated stone building, praying she’d lost her attackers. The men who’d been chasing her were part of the most hated mafia family on her island, their Don responsible for numerous atrocities, including the murder of Pedro Landi’s daughters. And now he was after her for accidentally killing his nephew, the man having drunk the poisoned wine meant for her sadistic husband.

  She peered around the corner, the night shrouding the cityscape. She was in one of the worst neighborhoods on the island, where the streetlights were few and far between. The shadows hid the homeless and criminals alike, everyone a possible threat. She hadn’t thought about where she was running to, more concerned with getting away from her attackers. They had shot out the tires of her car, sending it spinning out of control. It had careened down a hill, flipping over a couple of times. Another passenger, Alessandro Santini, had pulled her from the wreckage, then had gone back for his girlfriend. Seeing the Donatelli coming, Bianca had panicked and ran, only looking back at the sound of yelling. Alessandro had been holding his girlfriend in his arms, with the Donatelli pointing their guns at his head.

  Bianca breathed out, praying he was still alive. A noise behind her made her jump. A cat shot out of the shadows, the scrawny creature disappearing into the night. She peered around the corner again, knowing she couldn’t hide behind the building forever. Willing herself to be strong, she stepped out, prepared to run at any sign of the Donatelli. Luckily, she’d gotten a good head start on them, giving her a fighting chance of getting away.

  She rushed down the quiet street, heading for the neon sign in the distance. It probably belonged to a nightclub or strip joint. This part of town had a reputation for puttane, whores who sold their bodies and souls for crack and cash. It had once been a thriving business district until the Rosso famiglia had taken it over. They’d filled it with grime and sex, the family only interested in making money, not the lives they were ruining.

  Something moved in the shadows, causing her to jump again. This time it was a stray dog, the creature nothing but skin and bones. She picked up pace, needing to get out of the dark as soon as possible. After what felt like forever, she finally reached the building with the neon lights. It was the only place open for a couple hundred meters. Unfortunately, it was a Rosso strip joint, but as long as they allowed her to use their phone, she didn’t care.

  The bouncer looked her up and down, probably wondering why she was a mess. Her skirt had a tear up the side, while her blouse and blonde hair were damp with sweat. His eyes settled on her face, which had a Band-Aid over her nose from an old injury.

  “My car was attacked, can I please use a phone?” she asked.

  He crossed his arms over his wide chest. “The only females permitted in here are strippers
.”

  She indicated to her clothes. “Can’t you see I need help?”

  “You’re in the wrong part of town for that—everyone here needs help.”

  Angry at his callousness, she raised her chin. “I’m Bianca D’Angelo. I demand that you allow me to use a phone.”

  He shook his head. “We all know the D’Angelos are under house arrest.”

  “I was given permission to leave. My car was attacked on the way to the Santini compound. If they knew you weren’t helping me, after they fought to protect your bosses, it won’t just be your job at stake,” she said, the threat barely veiled.

  “I need proof you’re not lying. Show me ID.”

  “I lost my purse during the attack.”

  “How convenient.”

  “Why won’t you help me?! You can obviously see I’ve been attacked.”

  “Women cause trouble. Disgruntled wives and girlfriends tend to take their anger out on their wayward partners, disrupting business. So, it’s a blanket rule: no women unless they’re strippers.” He pointed down the road. “Go ask at the fast food place.”

  She glanced at the distant light, worried about how dark it was between the two establishments. She’d been fortunate to get this far, she didn’t want to push her luck. She refocused on the man, ready to promise him money in exchange for help, but froze instead. He was staring at her breasts, the lust on his face scaring her.

  He slowly raised his gaze, a slight smile pulling at his lips. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said, lowering a hand to his pants. “You can use my phone,” he unzipped his fly, “as long as you work for it.” He made a grab for her arm.

  Bianca screamed and hit out at him, then took off down the road. She wished she were back with her parents on the neighboring island, away from all of this madness. She had nothing left here. Her violent husband was dead, while her lover had forsaken her. The last cut her the deepest, especially since she still loved Jagger, but after he chose another woman, she had no choice but to walk away.

  After a minute, she glanced back, relieved to find she’d lost the bouncer. Tired, she slowed down, happy to see she was almost at the fast food place. She jogged over to it, letting out an upset cry. The lights were on, but the shop was closed! She banged on the glass door and yelled out, hoping someone was still inside.