Taken: A Dark Italian Mafia Romance (Men of Mayhem Book 3)

by Kristen Luciani

  They’re happy and focused and their futures are bright.

  Argh!

  I hate them, too.

  I take a few steps toward the door and grab the handle, twisting slightly in their direction with a wink. “Don’t be too long. It’s almost time to cut the cake!”

  They exchange a look of pity, but I refuse to let the tears pool in my eyes until that door is safely closed behind me. I’ve moved on from the sudden end of my soccer career…kind of.

  But Tommy’s rejection just tore open old wounds…and then he dumped a bowl of salt onto them for good measure.

  The sadistic bastard that he is.

  I press my fingertips to my temples, refusing to think about that game and what happened afterward. When all hope had been lost, Tommy sprinkled some of it back. I clung to it with everything I had in me, praying that things would turn around. I didn’t realize how much I’d clung to that memory…and that delusion…until right now.

  With my spine straight and my head held high, I walk back to the reception, plastering a bright smile on my face when I see my parents.

  They’ve given me absolutely everything,

  Except the one thing I want most.

  The one thing I’ve just been assured I will never have.

  A chill rushes over me as I cross the room, passing an air conditioning vent. The air pumps through the grates to cool off the partygoers who are bumping, grinding, and swaying on the dance floor. That has to be the reason for the shudder that runs through me. It can’t have anything to do with seeing Tommy huddled with my father at an empty table.

  Right?

  Yeah, sure it doesn’t.

  I keep an eye on them as I approach my beaming mother. She looks radiant in her floor-length black beaded gown, and her blue eyes pop against her raven-colored hair. She opens her arms as I close the distance between us. I rush into her perfumed embrace and squeeze her tight. “Thank you so much for this. Everything is just perfect,” I lie in a choked whisper.

  Let her think it’s only happiness turning me into a hot mess before her eyes.

  Only I know the real truth.

  Well, me and one other person.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell there’s a problem. Papa’s eyes flash, and Tommy moves closer, his hands going a mile a minute along with his mouth. His hands normally don’t stop moving when he talks, and they go at light speed when he’s really bothered about something.

  Or nervous…

  But why would he be nervous?

  “You deserve it, mi amore.” Mama kisses my cheek, stroking the side of my face, bringing me back to my reality. She’s has always been my rock, always encouraging me and supporting me and giving me hope when all was lost.

  But as much as I adore my mother, I’ve always been my father’s girl. The apple of his eye. The cream to his cannoli. He’s the reason why I got into soccer in the first place. He’d always take me to games and teach me new tricks since he was quite the player when he was younger.

  Before the life sucked him in.

  We never did the traditional father-daughter bonding activities. Papa was always on a quest to make me tough…the tougher, the better, he always said. I think that’s why he was so hell-bent on me becoming a champion athlete and he drilled me incessantly to get me into the best shape possible for whatever challenges I might encounter on the soccer field.

  Because I’ve learned over time that your body needs to be as sharp and as prepared as your mind.

  Unfortunately, his training wasn’t enough to prevent the injury that ultimately killed my career.

  Papa’s face is a deep shade of red, his face twisted into a sneer as he shoves back the chair and walks over to me and Mama, leaving Tommy staring after him. I try to ignore the tingles deep in my belly when his gaze assaults me right before he leaves the party room, turning toward my father who places a hand on the small of my back. His face pales slightly, his lips curling into a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes like it normally does. It’s tight, tense, and completely forced.

  Mama disappears to share a cocktail with a nearby friend, and my skin prickles.

  “Papa, what is it?” I say in a low voice.

  His face is drawn, jaw tight. “Nothing that you need to worry about, bella. Tonight is your night, and I want you to enjoy every minute of it.”

  “I can’t if you flat-out lie to me like that.” I narrow my eyes. “I know something is wrong. It’s written all over your face. Tell me. I saw you talking to Tommy. Is it Gio?” I try to calm my racing heart. It has to be Gio. It’s Gio ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time.

  Please let it be Gio!

  “No, mi amore.” He forces a chuckle. “For once, it’s not.”

  “You have to tell me,” I plead, taking his hands in mine. “I can help, you know I’m ready.”

  He shakes his head. “Not for this,” he responds in a defeated voice.

  With that, my heart screeches to a halt. My father is the strongest man I know. I’ve never heard him use this tone before, and panic rises in my chest. I look around the room, tiny beads of perspiration popping up along the back of my neck despite the frigid temperature in the room. My eyes lock with Tommy’s, and a rush of anger charges through my insides as my eyes slice through him like a machete. He knows, and he didn’t tell me.

  Fury coils in my belly because I realize how truly powerless I am in this second.

  Someone else always seems to be holding the cards.

  For once, I’d like to play my own damn hand!

  A familiar song echoes through the speakers and the deejay croons into the microphone, calling me and my father to the center of the dance floor. Papa’s lips graze my forehead. “May I have this dance?”

  My lips quiver, but I will them to lift even though I’m fighting a sob.

  Our song.

  The only true girly thing he’s ever really done with me is practice this dance for tonight. He guides me to the center of the dance floor, one arm snaked around my waist and one arm in the air. I lace my fingers with his, and together we move to the melodic notes floating into the air around us. Camera flashes snap as the photographers track our every movement. Guests oooh and ahhh as we move in unison around the black-lacquered floor.

  We’re both in separate worlds, plagued by our thoughts and fears. And yet, ironically, this is probably the best performance we’ve had since we began taking lessons a few months ago. I fight with everything in me to keep the smile on my face, but some battles are just too intense, too draining.

  Papa whisks me around a corner, but not before I am merely centimeters away from Tommy, who has approached the edge of the dance floor. His cologne blankets my senses, once again igniting my pent-up desire.

  Did I mention how much I despise myself for that?

  Good God, I’m a glutton for punishment.

  I drag my eyes away from his stoic ones, gritting my teeth and silencing the sullen roar that threatens to erupt from my chest. Instead, I focus on my father’s face. I can see how he’s struggling to keep himself shielded, to prevent me from seeing straight through him.

  But that’s the problem with being Papa’s girl.

  I see everything.

  Chapter Three

  Tommaso

  Jesus Christ, could he be any more of a stubborn ass?

  I replay the terse conversation from moments earlier in my mind as I watch Freddie stalk over to his wife and Gemma on the edge of the dance floor.

  “Marco is dead,” I say again in a terse voice. “Do you understand what that means?”

  But Freddie just glares at me.

  “How could you let him do it?” he seethes. “You had one job to do!”

  I recoil. “Are you serious? Do you really think—?”

  He narrows his eyes. “What I know is you were told to keep tabs on Marco and Gio. So how the fuck did this happen?”

  I grit my teeth. “Gio got a bug up his ass about something, grabbed hold of Marco,
and dragged him outside to beat the shit out of him. Marco was being his typical prick self and it pissed Gio off.”

  “And you didn’t think you should step in to stop him?” Freddie growls.

  “I didn’t know he was gonna shoot him!” I whisper-shout.

  “So what now, Tommy?” Freddie lifts an eyebrow. “What the hell happens now?”

  “Well, I can’t exactly ask Marco who he was working with now that he’s dead in the trunk of some car!”

  “Don’t you fucking mouth off to me, Tommy. I brought you in to keep an eye on Marco and to find out which one of my enemies he’s working with to bring down my organization. I trusted you, and you let this happen! You opened the door for whoever Marco was working with! Without him alive, we can’t stop whatever they have planned!”

  “I’m not a goddamn babysitter, Freddie! How many times have I put my own ass on the line for Gio? I’ve been shot at plenty because of him! Because of you! You need more proof that I didn’t just let this happen?”

  “All I know is the one person who had information that might save me and my family is dead. Conveniently killed while you watched from the sidelines.”

  My jaw drops. Is he fucking accusing me of being in bed with his enemies? He’s not saying it, but his meaning is pretty damn clear.

  “How the hell can you even say that?” I mutter. “After everything I’ve done for you?”

  Freddie pushes back his chair, his eyes piercing me with anger. “If you want to restore my faith in you, you’d better figure out how to make this right and to get the names we need. You know what’s at risk, Tommy. I’d hate to find out that you had anything to do with what comes next.”

  “Freddie, think whatever you want but we need to get you out of here!” I grab for his arm, but he shakes it off.

  “I have plenty of security here in case anything happens. I feel comfortable that they can take out any attacker who’s stupid enough to crash this event. Unless,” he says with a lifted eyebrow. “There are others on my payroll I need to worry about besides Marco.”

  My jaw drops. He did not just fucking say that!

  “I’m not going to miss the dance with my daughter,” he continues, his voice gruff. “I will not ruin her night.” Freddie grimaces. “And at this point, I’m not sure exactly what side you’re even on, Tommy.”

  My pulse throbs, blood rushing between my ears as I head back outside. I’m just as fucked as the Cassarellas. I watched Marco get his chest blown open. I didn’t stop it. Whoever he was working with will find out I was there. They’ll find out I’m ‘with’ Freddie.

  That’s when they’ll attack.

  Unless I stop them first.

  I scrub a hand down the front of my face, my chest tight as I storm over to Gio’s dipshit crew. “Who took care of Marco?” I grunt, my eyes darting in all directions.

  Devo looks at the others. “I did. I put him in my trunk. Figured I’d handle it later.”

  I close my eyes for a brief second. Of course, he didn’t dump the body yet. There’s too much pussy waiting to be tapped here at the party. But by thinking with his cock, he might have actually saved Freddie’s life.

  “Give me your keys,” I say, holding out my hand.

  Devo pulls them out and drops them in my hand. “You know the one?”

  I give a quick nod and rush out of the room and out of the venue.

  The balmy night air is thick and I feel pebbles of sweat form on my chest and back as I run toward the car. Devo didn’t have to tell me which one was his. He’s the only asshole with the vanity plate that reads DD-MOBBB.

  I shake my head every time I see it. He’s like a fucking cop magnet.

  The trunk pops once I stick the key into the hole and I don’t waste time checking out the mess Devo is gonna have to clean up later. I feel around Marco’s pockets until my fingers hit something hard.

  Bingo.

  Cell phone.

  I grab it, slam the trunk shut, and run back to the venue. Panting, I finally pull open the door to the room and the deejay has just asked Gemma and Freddie to come to the center of the floor for their traditional father-daughter dance.

  I rake a hand through my hair and push through the crowd to get as close as I can. I haven’t allowed myself to think about what just happened in the coat closet, how I deserve the malice her eyes fire at me from across the floor. For months, I let her in further and further. I let her believe her age was the reason we couldn’t be together, that her father wouldn’t allow it. I was just buying myself time.

  But those weren’t the real reasons.

  It’s because she’s the enemy.

  My family is still struggling to put the pieces back together after all of the devastation we’ve dealt with over the past few years. We buried one parent and came damn close to burying two of my brothers all because our enemies don’t like the way we do business.

  And for as broken as we are, we’ve managed to defend our empire against some pretty fucking lethal groups.

  The problem is, there’s always another threat lurking.

  I just never thought I’d fall in love with it.

  So I tried to keep my distance, obsessing about Gemma behind closed doors, but knowing I’d have to walk away when my work was done and the threat was finally exposed.

  I just didn’t think my whole world would implode tonight.

  I watch as Freddie and Gemma move across the floor. A smile is plastered across her beautiful face, but there is nothing happy about it. I can see the heartbreak scrawled across her features.

  All because of me.

  Marco’s phone vibrates in my hand and I stare down at it, backing away from the floor. I swipe to accept the call, thanking God I don’t need a password to find out who the hell is trying to get to him. “Allo?” I say into the phone as I huddle next to the bar.

  “Are we all clear?” A deep voice asks.

  “No,” I say, scouting the room for anything suspicious, but everyone is focused on the dance floor. “Not yet.”

  “Well, when? You were supposed to call twenty minutes ago. If you don’t make this happen, you’re fucking done, Marco!”

  Spoiler alert, dick. He’s already done!

  “The boss is gonna be pissed. He wants this to happen now. He’s been waiting on your call.”

  Wants fucking what to happen?

  I need time…time to get the Casserellas out of here. Freddie will have to believe me when I tell him about this call.

  “Now it’s too late. You’d better get out of there while you have the chance.”

  I walk away from the bar, still holding the phone to my ear. “I know, but just wait, okay? Just tell him—”

  Crack! Pop! Bang!

  “What’d I tell you?” the voice asks. “Too late.”

  Click.

  I run to the dance floor, screams deafening me with each step I take closer to the crowd of people gathered around Gemma and Freddie. I push through the frantic guests, looking around for Gio until I see him collapsed next to Freddie, his mother hysterical next to him. A dark puddle spreads under Freddie’s limp body and I shove my way next to Gemma who is kneeling next to him.

  “Gem,” I say as she turns her tear-streaked face up toward me.

  “He’s…he’s…” Her voice trails off, her face pale as the white pieces of her gown.

  My eyes fall to her hands as I clutch them.

  They’re stained a deep red.

  Just like the one spreading over the front of her dress.

  She sways on her knees, losing balance as I reach out to steady her. Her gaze clouds over as she presses her bloody hands to her stomach. I swallow hard as blood rushes over her fingers…her blood.

  My heart stops.

  What the fuck was Marco trying to tell me?

  I’ll never save him?

  Or her?

  “Tommy?” she whispers, her lips a scary bluish tint. “Tommy…”

  Sirens and panicked voices and cries for help are
muted in that second, making those words the last sounds I hear before she falls into my arms, her body limp and lifeless, her violet eyes, the ones I could lose myself in forever, closed.

  Chapter Four

  Tommaso

  I jump up from the bench right outside of the Emergency Room when Gio slams through the glass revolving doors. He storms over to the side of the building and pulls out a cigarette to light. Cops have been in and out of the hospital since we arrived, interviewing anyone who showed up, anyone who could give a statement about what happened at the party venue. Pretty much everyone has left by now. It’s almost dawn, and only I’m left with the family now. I’m sure the cops will show up again in a few hours to see if they can get something out of Gemma when she wakes up.

  If she wakes up.

  I walk over to Gio, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him backward. He runs a hand through his tousled hair as he turns to look at me, his eyes heavy and bloodshot, his tuxedo wrinkled like it’s been sitting in the bottom of a laundry bin for a week. The white shirt hangs out of the front of his pants and it looks like he’s been wandering around in a drugged and drunken stupor for the past hour.

  Which he has.

  He stumbles toward me, hunched over and collapses onto a nearby bench. “He’s dead.”

  I stare down at him as he drums his fingers on the arm. “I’m sorry,” I croak when what I really want to say is, “It’s your fucking fault that he’s dead, Gio!”

  His shoulders quake, and I place a hand on my shoulder as his head falls into his hands. I swallow hard. “How’s Gemma?”

  “Critical,” he mumbles. “Bullet punctured some internals and caused a ton of damage. She’s in surgery now.”