Dark Heart Volume 1: A Star-Crossed Mafia Romance (Dark Heart Duet)

by Ella James

  We’ve only been able to be together twice since prom, and one time was here at school. Fucking crazy, but I guess we’re fucking crazy now. I accepted the scholarship I got from Columbia and told Elise I’ll find a way. I don’t have to live on campus, even though the scholarship includes a dorm. I guess I could still commute each night.

  “Don’t do that,” Elise murmurs. Her hand squeezes mine, and I blink.

  “Sorry.”

  “No…not sorry. Just don’t think right now. Look around. Stay with me.” Her fingers rub mine, and I focus on that.

  “Yeah. You’re right.” I’m trying to practice what Elise calls “mindfulness.”

  I stop her beside some lockers, leaning down to kiss her. She wraps her arms around my waist and grins up at me.

  “I don’t want tomorrow to be a half day and the next day to be graduation.” She makes a pouty face.

  “Don’t worry. We’re doing yoga, right?” At Rockefeller Park on Monday mornings. It’s whoa expensive, but it’s worth it to be in the same swatch of grass as her. “And remember, I think I can meet you Thursdays after your tennis lesson. We could maybe even play, if you aren’t being driven.”

  She nods.

  “Fridays after you and Dani do Italian lessons, we’ll get lunch after. And Sundays when your parents go to meditation…”

  “We’ll meet on the roof.” She smiles—because we’ve discussed this a million times.

  “It’s just a few months, and then college.”

  She nods slowly. “I guess.”

  Still, we stop in front of the school’s doorway and hug like it’s the last time we’ll ever see each other. Then we kiss until we can’t breathe, and I watch as she walks down some stairs. I go through the bridge and out beside our tennis courts, then start the old, familiar walk to Chambers Street.

  I haven’t thought about the wedding reception in a long time, but I’m thinking about it now as I walk toward the shoe store. What was it he said to me? “Don’t do things that might close doors that you want open?” What did it mean? Almost a year later and I still don’t get it.

  Was it a threat? If it was, would he really have sent me to help his father make panettone? And why take an interest in me at all? And what doors?

  I walk past the donut shop, inhaling the sweet scent wafting through the screen on one of the half-open windows.

  Roberto Arnoldi is the top guy. He runs lower Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, Long Beach, and Staten Island. Maybe even all of The Bronx.

  Cross state lines into Jersey, and it’s the Bellinis. Frank Bellini, but he’s getting old, so I heard his son Vincent might take over. Except I also heard that Vincent is a sophomore at NYU, so that seems like a stretch. I don’t know much about the Bellinis. I also don’t know who’s in charge of Yonkers, New Rochelle, or White Plains. New Haven and all that shit up there—it’s make-believe land to me. I’ve never been there.

  My research since the party at Isa Arnoldi’s house has centered on her father’s kingdom. And his army. Four lieutenants, one floater who doesn’t really fall within the typical hierarchy; it’s this guy that’s in charge of Tony.

  My dad told me once that the Arnoldis have a hand in everything in Red Hook. All the shops, including Dad’s.

  I’ve been trying to fit it all together into something that can buy Arnoldi that huge fucking house, make it possible for him to ensconce his daughter within the upper crust of Manhattan society.

  Is it wrong, what he does? Or is it what Tony says it is: a system that exists parallel to Uncle Sam. The Arnoldi empire is like its own small country, policing its territory and providing for everyone all on its own.

  I know for sure that’s bullshit. But I want to chew it over. Mostly so I can decide whether I think my father was really “wronged”—or if maybe he made a shitty deal with the mob. I mean, it’s not like he didn’t know who Roberto was.

  The more I think about it, the more I think he knew what he was getting into, and he chose to do it anyway. So when they came calling for their money, is that really evil, like I used to think? Maybe my dad is just a dumbass.

  I look up at the shoe store’s ragged awning, and the sight of it aims my thoughts elsewhere. Lately, Dad’s been worse than ever. The other night, he came home smelling like another woman, and when my mom’s eyes welled, he slapped her in the mouth.

  When I tried to make him apologize, he said he didn’t hit her, and when I called him a fucking liar, he shoved me. I didn’t give a shit—I was getting ready to shove him back—but then Soren rushed into it, and my dad called him a dumb fuck, and that’s when I lost my shit.

  I’m not that kind of guy. I don’t even have a temper like Leo and some of my other friends. But I can’t let a bully live in my house, breaking my mom’s heart and calling my brother names. This shit can’t keep going how it is. I’m not sure what to change, though.

  I hear the bell ding as the door to the shoe store swings open. Roberto Arnoldi steps out in a crisp white button-up and dark slacks. I’m so shocked I freeze in place, so it takes him a second to notice me.

  When he does, he freezes too, but for just a second, and just his face. There’s something in his eyes and mouth. Like he almost winced.

  The next second he swings the shoe store bag he’s holding, pulling my attention to his hand, where I notice a big, square gold ring.

  He stops, nodding at me as his dark eyes hold mine. “Luca Galante,” he says. “I understand we entertained you on prom night. Did you enjoy our party?”

  I nod. “Yeah. The food was really good. Thanks.”

  “I hear you’re attending Columbia University. On scholarship.” He smiles, and although the smile is tight, I feel like his eyes are sincere.

  “That’s true,” I hear myself say.

  He gives me a shoulder clap. “No closing doors,” he says, and it’s a fatherly tone. “A young person’s education is very important. My daughter’s going to NYU, but I heard Elise O’Hara will be going to Columbia.” He taps his forehead. “Smart girl. They’re good people.” He says it in passing, but there’s a tenor to his voice as if he’s trying to sell me.

  “I agree.”

  He nods once more at me, his eyes holding mine a millisecond too long.

  “Watch out for your mother,” he says.

  Then we’re off, moving in opposite directions. I hear a car door slam a half second before I pull the store’s door open and the bell tolls again.

  I step inside. I’m pulling the scent of leather, rubber, polish into my nostrils, replaying Roberto Arnoldi’s words. When someone jumps me from behind, I’m on the floor before I know what hit me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Elise

  We’re leaving for the Hamptons Monday. I’m not sure why I’m so surprised. We go every year after school lets out, and we pretty much always stay for at least two months. Dad stays the first few weeks, then only comes some weekends. Mom helps organize a charity speedboat race that happens on the Fourth of July.

  A few months ago, Becca was so sick that I didn’t think we’d do it this year, but she’s a lot better now. We’ll take some extra nurse staff, but besides that, I think it’ll be the same as always. I’ll spend time with Dani, Jace, Franco, Lorenzo, Isa, and Max. Dani’s parents own a home a few doors down from ours, so she and I will be inseparable.

  When Mom sprung it on me earlier this afternoon, she promised Ree could visit for a week—which means she’ll be with me one week and Dani the next, so the three of us can be together two weeks.

  I love Southampton more than almost anything, but I’m fighting tears as I slip into a hot bath. I don’t want to be away from Luca. Not for a day, and definitely not for more than a month. I don’t know how I’ll do it. Maybe I should sign on for a camp or special lessons of some kind—to keep me in the city. I mentioned my plans for tennis and Italian to my mom, and she looked at me like I must have lost my mind.

  “You’ll do it when you get back,” she said simply.r />
  I could sign on for some summer classes at Columbia. Unless it’s too late. Is it too late?

  I lean back against my sunken tub’s pillow and put a hand over my eyes. I’m so tired of sneaking around, tired of leaving Luca out of all my conversations with my parents. And it’s unfair. I know life’s not fair—boy, do I know that—but he is such a good guy. I wipe my eyes again and sit up, dumping more bath salts into the water.

  I feel better when I realize that when I tell him I’ll be in Southampton, he’ll find a way to come and visit.

  I’m aware of some sound then, and for a moment, I don’t know what. Then I realize—it’s my cellular phone. I hop out of the tub and dash into my bedroom wet and naked. Usually I don’t lunge for it, but it’s late, and all my friends call our home line…

  I answer quickly with my damp fingers and bring the thing to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Elise?”

  I know something’s wrong because his voice is weird and off-key.

  “Hey—what’s the matter?”

  There’s a long pause, during which my poor heart starts to hammer so hard, I feel weak with fear. I don’t know how I know, but I just know. Even before I hear him exhale and he rasps, “Can I come to the roof?”

  “Of course.” My pulse surges. “Where are you right now?”

  “Payphone.” I think the word sounds groaned, but he’s too quiet for me to be sure.

  “Can you come up now? I’ll call the doorman.”

  “I don’t want…to get you in trouble.”

  Something is so wrong. I can feel the blood drain from my cheeks as I say, “No, it’s not going to be trouble. I’ll meet you upstairs right now?”

  There’s another little pause, and then he says, “Okay.”

  My mind spins as I call the lobby, find my shoes, say “bye” to Becca and Maura, and sprint toward the elevator. My parents are out to dinner and a show.

  I feel like I can’t breathe by the time the elevator lets me out beside the rooftop garden. No Luca. I pace, hearing sirens, feeling the breeze, seeing the bleary flowers and cement walls and the city lights all around. And then he’s walking out onto the rooftop.

  His head is down. When he looks up, his eyes find me—they’re a fraction too wide. Then he shuts them, and my heart sinks.

  I feel like I’m floating as I move toward him. “Hey…what happened?”

  He doesn’t look up for a long second. Then he does, and I can see his face is strained. “Just wanted to see you.” The words tremble from his lips. I realize he’s holding his arm at the elbow.

  “What happened?”

  He shuts his eyes again. “Nothing,” he says thickly.

  A line of something dark is on the left side of his face. I move in closer, and I realize it can only be blood.

  I start to put my arm around his back, to pull him to me, but he makes a groan-like sound before I get to that.

  “No, don’t. Sorry.” He just stands there breathing in these shallow breaths, and tears fill my eyes.

  I look him over, from the bleeding spot by his brow to the way he’s holding his arm. His face is slack and tense at once, the way that people look when they’re in pain, and I can tell he really is because of how he’s panting.

  “My parents aren’t home. Let’s go down to my room. Okay?”

  He shuts his eyes again, wincing, almost groaning I think.

  “It’ll be fine. Come on.” I rest my fingers lightly at his hip, urging him to turn around and come with me to the elevator. He’s definitely shaken up. In the warm yellow glow of the elevator, I see sweat along his hairline. His face is pale, and there’s a bleeding gash between his temple and his eyebrow on the left side.

  When we step out of the elevator and move toward my door, a hoarse sound comes from him. I wait for his eyes to find mine, for him to tell me he’s okay—the way he always tries to, even if he isn’t—but he doesn’t even look at me. I hurry with the door and hold it for him, and he steps inside.

  “Come with me, il mio cuore.”

  His eyes lift up to mine and his lips twitch at the corners.

  I put my hand lightly at his lower back again. I want to hug him so badly, but I don’t know where he’s hurt. My heart pounds as we walk toward my room.

  I open the door and he steps inside, but just one step and then he stops.

  “You want to lie on the bed?”

  He nods. He looks at the bed and then at me, and I realize there’s blood on his shirt.

  “The sheets don’t matter.” When he doesn’t move, just stands there with his eyes closed and his teeth clenched, holding his arm, I peel the duvet back and set a pillow under where his hurt arm might fall.

  “Come here.”

  He stretches out on the bed without my help, panting as he gets onto his back.

  “You want some more pillows?”

  “No.” His left arm is on the pillow I put down before. I think I’ll get another one anyway, but he rasps, “Beside me.”

  I’m not sure at first, but then his eyes open and I can tell—he wants me to lie down beside him.

  I do, and he leans his head toward me. His right arm goes behind my neck, and I ask, “Where can I touch?”

  “Anywhere but the shoulder.”

  I run my fingers over his abs, and he nods once, so I wrap a light and careful arm around him.

  He lets a breath out, and I can feel him relax. He sort of pants, “Please,” and my stomach flip-flops. “Please what, sweetheart?”

  “Don’t let go.”

  Tears spill down his cheeks, and I’m so stunned, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the chest.

  His bicep, behind my neck, flexes a little, and I feel him try to hug me with that arm. I turn myself toward him, wrap my arm around his lower abs, and press myself against his unhurt side.

  There’s a little tremor, followed by more deep breaths. I want desperately to know what happened, but I can tell he’s trying to get a hold of himself. I hug him a little tighter and kiss his chest beside his pec.

  “It’s okay, sweet baby. I’ll take care of you.”

  His body trembles and he’s breathing harder for a second. Then he makes a noise that’s half groan and rasps, “I think my shoulder’s…broken.” He inhales. “Don’t look at me.” His voice is raw, and I can hear more tears there.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  He breathes in big gulps for a minute, then some longer, slower breaths. Finally he whispers, “I love you more, la mia rosa. Ti amo più di tutte le stele nel cielo.”

  “Can I kiss your cheek?” I whisper.

  He inhales again and lets the breath out. “Okay.”

  I kiss his damp cheek, kiss his temple. When I see the cut up close, my eyes well, and he looks away. I kiss his hair and rub my fingers lightly over his head.

  “What happened,” I whisper.

  He shuts his eyes. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter,” I say. “You know you can trust me.”

  “I don’t have to tell you.” His words are so soft, they’re barely audible. “You already know.”

  “Does he…know?” If his dad hurt him this bad… I can’t comprehend, except to think that maybe he was blackout drunk.

  “He knows.” His voice is soft but hard.

  “So are you saying he—”

  “He’s an asshole and it doesn’t matter.” But I know it does because his voice cracks on the last word.

  “Baby. I’m so sorry.” I kiss his cool, damp forehead, press my cheek against his.

  “Usually I’m ready but…I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Tears spill down my cheeks as my chest aches so badly I can’t breathe. “You shouldn’t have to.”

  “I know.”

  I wait for him to say more. I want him to tell me everything, but he just lies there with his eyes closed, looking pale and hurt, not moving as I kiss his eyes and cheeks and jaw. Not one tear rolls down his temple.

&nb
sp; “Where are you hurt, sweetness?”

  His hand, wrapped loosely around my shoulder, moves a little, and I scoot away so he can move it without shifting his body. He brings his hand so that his palm hovers over his shoulder—or the spot between his chin and shoulder.

  “Right there.” His face tenses as he pulls on his shirt collar, revealing a swatch of bruised and swollen skin.

  He inhales, blows the breath out. “Sorry I came.” I think he’s trying to keep that flat tone, but his words tremble again.

  “Why would you be sorry? I’m your family now, and you’re my family. Do you know how devastated I would be if you hadn’t come to me?”

  He sucks air in through his nose. Then he wipes his eyes with his free hand. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Everything about you is a big deal to me. And it always will be.”

  He reaches around with his good arm so he’s got his hand behind me. Then he tugs on my shirt, urging me back down beside him. When we’re snuggled up, our legs intertwined and his warm arm locked around me, I can feel him exhale.

  I kiss his throat. “In a second, I can get a towel for your face. And then we’ll figure out the rest. I think you should see a doctor.”

  I lift my head so I can see him, finding his eyes on me. Such sad eyes. Tears well in them, and I want to die from hurting for him.

  “You’re going to be okay. I promise. I will help you find a way to be okay. You and me, all right? Forever.”

  He nods, leaning his head toward mine.

  “In a little while, I can sneak out with you to go to the doctor.”

  “I can go…by myself. I feel…bad for coming here.” The words are forced through clenched teeth.

  I kiss his cheek. “No, don’t feel bad.” I stroke his hair back, noticing it’s damp. “How about I go grab you some Advil?”

  He nods, closing his eyes again.

  I kiss him one last time and gently disentangle my limbs from his. “I’ve got some in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

  I cast one last look at him, my heart bursting with love and sorrow at the sight of him on my bed. Then I grab the first aid kit. When I step back into the room, I find my father in the doorway.