MAFIA ROMANCE
Table of Contents
Secrets
by Aleatha Romig
The King
by Skye Warren
Dark Mafia Prince
by Annika Martin
Taken
by Natasha Knight
Ultimate Surrender
by Kaye Blue
Thicker Than Water
by Michelle St. James
Mafia Daddy
by Renee Rose
Renata Vitali
by Parker S. Huntington
Captive of the Hitman
by Alexis Abbott
A Kiss to Tell
by Willow Winters
Prologue
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SECRETS
ALEATHA ROMIG
I’m Sterling Sparrow. You’ve no doubt heard my name or read it on the top of tall buildings. There’s more to my business—my realm—than what is seen aboveground.
Within the underbelly of one of America’s largest cities lives a world where a man’s word is either his most valuable tool or his most respected weapon. When my father ruled that world and that city, he promised me someone who would one day make my reign complete.
Since that day, long ago, Araneae McCrie has been mine.
She just didn’t know.
My father is now gone.
The city and the underbelly are now mine.
The time has come for me to collect who was promised to me, to shred her life of secrets and make her who she’s always been—mine.
Prologue
Araneae
My mother’s fingers blanched as she gripped the steering wheel tighter with each turn. The traffic on the interstate seemed to barely move, yet we continued to swerve in, out, and around other cars. From my angle I couldn’t read the speedometer, though I knew we were bordering on reckless driving. I jumped, holding my breath as we pulled in front of the monstrous semi, the blare of a truck’s horn filling our ears. Tons of metal and sixteen wheels screeched as brakes locked behind us, yet my mother’s erratic driving continued.
“Listen very carefully,” she said, her words muffled by the quagmire of whatever she was about to say, the weight pulling them down as she fluttered her gaze between the road ahead and the rearview mirror.
“Mom, you’re scaring me.”
I reached for the handle of the car door and held on as if the seat belt couldn’t keep me safe while she continued to weave from lane to lane.
“Your father,” she began, “made mistakes, deadly mistakes.”
My head shook side to side. “No, Dad was a good man. Why would you say that?”
My father, the man I called Dad for as long as I could remember, was the epitome of everything good: honest and hardworking, a faithful husband, and an omnipresent father.
He was.
He died less than a week ago.
“Listen, child. Don’t interrupt me.” She reached into her purse with one hand while the other gripped tighter to the wheel. Removing an envelope from the depths of the bag, she handed it my direction. “Take this. Inside are your plane tickets. God knows if I could afford to send you away farther than Colorado, I would.”
My fingers began to tremble as I looked down at the envelope in my grasp. “You’re sending me away?” The words were barely audible as my throat tightened and heaviness weighed down upon my chest. “Mom—”
Her chin lifted in the way it did when her mind was set. I had a million visions of the times I’d seen her stand up for what she believed. At only five feet three, she was a pit bull in a toy poodle body. That didn’t mean her bark was worse than her bite. No, my mother always followed through. In all things she was a great example of survival and fortitude.
“When I say your father,” she went on, “I don’t mean my husband—may the Lord rest his soul. Byron was a good man who gave his…everything…for you, for us. He and I have always been honest with you. We wanted you to know that we loved you as our own. God knows that I wanted to give birth. I tried to get pregnant for years. When you were presented to us, we knew you were a gift from heaven.” Her bloodshot eyes—those from crying through the past week since the death of my dad—briefly turned my direction and then back to the highway. “Renee, never doubt that you’re our angel. However, the reality is somewhere darker. The devil has been searching for you. And my greatest fear has always been that he’d find you.”
The devil?
My skin peppered with goose bumps as I imagined the biblical creature: male-like with red skin, pointed teeth, and a pitchfork. Surely that wasn’t what she meant?
Her next words brought me back to reality.
“I used to wake in a cold sweat, fearing the day had arrived. It’s no longer a nightmare. You’ve been found.”
“Found? I don’t understand.”
“Your biological father made a deal against the devil. He thought if he did what was right, he could… well, he could survive. The woman who gave birth to you was my best friend—a long time ago. We hadn’t been in contact for years. She hoped that would secure your safety and keep you hidden. That deal…it didn’t work the way he hoped. Saving themselves was a long shot. Their hope was to save you. That’s how you became our child.”
It was more information than I’d ever been told. I have always known I was adopted but nothing more. There was a promise of one day. I used to hope for that time to come. With the lead weight in the pit of my stomach, I knew that now that one day had arrived, and I wasn’t ready. I wanted more time.
The only woman I knew as my mother shook her head just before wiping a tear from her cheek. “I prayed you’d be older before we had this talk, that you would be able to comprehend the gravity of this information. But as I said, things have changed.”
The writing on the envelope blurred as tears filled my sixteen-year-old eyes. The man I knew as my dad was gone, and now the woman who had raised me was sending me away. “Where are you sending me?”
“Colorado. There’s a boarding school in the mountains, St. Mary of the Forest. It’s private and elite. They’ll protect you.”
I couldn’t comprehend. “For how long? What about you? What about my friends? When will I be able to come home?”
“You’ll stay until you’re eighteen and graduated. And then it will be up to you. There’s no coming back here…ever. This city isn’t home, not anymore. I’m leaving Chicago, too, as soon as I get you out.” Her neck stiffened as she swallowed her tears. “We both have to be brave. I thought at first Byron’s accident was just that—an accident. But then this morning…I knew. Our time is up. They’ll kill me if they find me, just as they did Byron. And Renee…” She looked my way, her gray eyes swirling with emotion. While I’d expect sadness, it was fear that dominated. “…my fate would be easy compared to yours.”
She cleared her throat, pretending that tears weren’t cascading down her pale cheeks.
“Honey, these people are dangerous. They don’t mess around, and they don’t play fair. We don’t know how, but they found you, and your dad paid the price. I will forever believe that he died to protect you. That’s why we have this small window of time. I want you to know that if necessary, I’ll do the same. The thing is, my death won’t stop them. And no matter what, I won’t hand you over.”
“Hand me over?”
We swerved again, barr
eling down an exit until Mom slammed on her brakes, leaving us in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Her gaze again went to the rearview mirror.
“Are we being followed?” I asked.
Instead of answering, she continued her instructions. “In that envelope is information for your new identity, a trust fund, and where you’ll be living. Your dad and I had this backup plan waiting. We hoped we’d never have to use it, but he insisted on being prepared.” Her gaze went upward. “Thank you, Byron. You’re still watching over us from heaven.”
Slowly, I peeled back the envelope’s flap and pulled out two Colorado driver’s licenses. They both contained my picture—that was the only recognizable part. The name, address, and even birth dates were different. “Kennedy Hawkins,” I said, the fictitious name thick on my tongue.
“Why are there two?”
“Look at the dates. Use the one that makes you eighteen years old for this flight. It’s to ensure the airline will allow you to fly unaccompanied. Once you’re in Colorado, destroy the one with the added two years. The school needs your real age for your grade in school.”
I stared down at one and then the other. The name was the same. I repeated it again, “Kennedy Hawkins.”
“Learn it. Live it. Become Kennedy.”
A never-before-thought-of question came to my mind. “Did I have a different name before I came to you?”
My mother’s eyes widened as her pallid complexion changed from white to gray. “It’s better if you don’t know.”
I sat taller in the seat, mimicking the strength she’d shown me all of my life. “You’re sending me away. You’re saying we may never see one another again. This is my only chance. I think I deserve to be told everything.”
“Not everything.” She blinked rapidly. “About your name, your dad and I decided to alter your birth name, not change it completely. You were very young, and we hoped having a derivation of what you’d heard would help make the transition easier. Of course, we gave you our last name.”
“My real name isn’t Renee? What is it?”
“Araneae.”
The syllables played on repeat in my head, bringing back memories I couldn’t catch. “I’ve heard that before, but not as a name.”
She nodded. “I always thought it was ironic how you loved insects. Your name means spider. Your birth mother thought it gave you strength, a hard outer shell, and the ability to spin silk, beautiful and strong.”
“Araneae,” I repeated aloud.
Her stern stare turned my way. “Forget that name. Forget Araneae and Renee. We were wrong to allow you any connection. Embrace Kennedy.”
My heart beat rapidly in my chest as I examined all of the paperwork. My parents, the ones I knew, were thorough in their plan B. I had a birth certificate, a Social Security card, a passport matching the more accurate age, and the driver’s license that I’d seen earlier, all with my most recent school picture. According to the documentation, my parents’ names were Phillip and Debbie Hawkins. The perfect boring family. Boring or exciting, family was something I would never have again.
“And what happened to Phillip and Debbie?” I asked as if any of this made sense.
“They died in an automobile accident. Their life insurance funded your trust fund. You are an only child.”
The car crept forward in the line of traffic near the departure terminal of O’Hare Airport. A million questions swirled through my head, and yet I struggled to voice even one. I reached out to my mother’s arm. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“I’ll always be with you, always.”
“How will we talk?”
She lifted her fist to her chest. “In here. Listen to your heart.”
Pulling to the curb and placing the car in park, she leaned my direction and wrapped me in her arms. The familiar scent of lotions and perfumes comforted me as much as her hug. “Know you’re loved. Never forget that, Kennedy.”
I swallowed back the tears brought on by her calling me by the unfamiliar name.
She reached for her wrist and unclasped the bracelet she always wore. “I want you to have this.”
I shook my head. “Mom, I never remember seeing you without it.”
“It’s very important. I’ve protected it as I have you. Now, I’m giving it to you.” She forced a smile. “Maybe it will remind you of me.”
“Mom, I’d never forget you.” I looked down to the gold bracelet in the palm of my hand as my mom picked it up, the small charms dangling as she secured it around my wrist.
“Now, it’s time for you to go.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“You do. Go to the counter for the airlines. Hand them your ticket and the correct identification. Stay strong.”
“What about those people?” I asked. “Who are they? Will you be safe?”
“I’ll worry about me once I’m sure that you’re safe.”
“I don’t even know who they are.”
Her gaze moved from me to the world beyond the windshield. For what seemed like hours, she stared as the slight glint of sunshine reflected on the frost-covered January ground. Snow spit through the air, blowing in waves. Finally, she spoke, “Never repeat the name.”
“What name?”
“Swear it,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion.
It was almost too much. I nodded.
“No. I need to hear you promise me. This name can never be spoken aloud.”
“I swear,” I said.
“Sparrow, Allister Sparrow. He’s currently in charge, but one day it will be his son, Sterling.”
I wished for a pen to write the names down; however, from the way they sent a chill down my spine, I was most certain that I’d never forget.
Kennedy 1
Ten years later
I gripped the arms to the chair, refusing to allow a decade-old warning to affect me. I’d tried to forget it, to move on, as I’d been told to do. Yet forgetting the reason you lost your second set of parents at sixteen years of age was not easy.
“Kenni, you know I wouldn’t ask you if I had a choice,” Louisa, my business partner, cofounder of Sinful Threads, and best friend said. “You’ve been very straightforward about your aversion to Chicago. I’ve handled that market since we started this business. It’s the problem with our inventory. The distributor insists that it isn’t their problem. The warehouse has the records for the merchandise. Somewhere in between too many things are going missing. It’s getting out of hand.”
Sighing, I nodded. “And it has to be addressed—in person? Now? It can’t wait for next week when Jason can go?” Jason was Louisa’s husband. Sinful Threads wasn’t his baby, but he’d been known to help us when needed. I trusted him. He knew how important our company was to Louisa and because he loved her, it was important to him too. If he could help, he would.
Louisa’s lips pursed and pulled to one side. “If this were New York, would you let it fester?”
New York was my baby. I found the buildings to house our inventory. I even interviewed the managers and upper management personnel. I traveled to the warehouse and distribution center monthly to keep my eyes as well as my finger on the pulse of the operations. It was the same way Louisa felt about Chicago. “Maybe I could handle San Francisco for you?” I asked my suggestion more than stated. “Then you could take care of Chicago. I’m just thinking about the relationship you have with Franco. You can lay down the law with him. You can probably do it all from here.”
Here was Boulder, Colorado, outside of Denver. Being not too far from St. Mary of the Forest where Louisa and I had gone to high school, met, and become best friends, it had sentimental value. But there was more. There was economic value to our location. All of our manufacturing occurred here under our noses. It kept our merchandise to our strict standards. Yes, we could produce cheaper farther away.
Sinful Threads wasn’t about cheap—it was about quality.
“I hate to admit this,” she said, “but that’s part of w
hy I think you should go.”
My brown eyes narrowed. “Tell me what you mean.”
“I want fresh eyes. Chicago’s operations are my baby. I’m more emotional there, not that I’m not emotional everywhere, lately,” she said with a half scoff. “I hired Franco almost four years ago, long before we grew into what we are today. Sinful Threads is growing and outpacing our current infrastructure. The internet orders for our silk scarves have quadrupled in the last quarter. The advertising is killing us in expense, yet the resulting sales are phenomenal. Franco is determined that Chicago is ready for a storefront.”
I leaned back, letting that sink in. A storefront. It was our dream. At first, we considered starting with a few mom-and-pop-type stores. It was the exact opposite of what we ended up doing. Instead, with Jason’s encouragement, Louisa and I took our baby to the web. We started with a few smaller distribution centers in Midwestern cities. The labor and overhead there were less expensive. We were discovered. No longer direct internet orders by customers, we were approached by the biggest names in fashion.
The stores wanting our products were well established and located in the high-rent districts throughout the country. We had to move some of our operations closer to them. Chicago and New York were two of our top hubs. Lately, the numbers in Chicago weren’t adding up.
“Do you think he’s manipulating the numbers? Is that what you’re worried about?”
“I don’t think the problems are operational, but I’m afraid there’s something happening that he isn’t telling me. There’s no way that Chicago has suddenly started misplacing inventory when no other center is experiencing the same thing. I think your suspicious mind can get to the bottom of this faster than mine.”
“Louisa, with what you just said, you win the suspicion contest.”
“Kenni, you are great at reading people. I like Franco and trust him. It will be more difficult for him to fool you. And then there’s that dinner.”
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