Born in Blood Collection Volume 1: Collection of books 1-4
Page 1
BORN IN BLOOD COLLECTION: VOLUME 1
Including
Bound By Honor
Bound By Duty
Bound By Hatred
Bound By Temptation
CORA REILLY
Copyright ©2020 Cora Reilly
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, businesses, events and places are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Subscribe to Cora’s newsletter to find out about her next books, bonus content and giveaways!
Cover design by Romantic Book Affairs Design
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
BOUND BY HONOR
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BOUND BY DUTY
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
BOUND BY HATRED
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
BOUND BY TEMPTATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
MORE BOOKS BY CORA REILLY
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BOUND BY HONOR
(Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles, #1)
PROLOGUE
My fingers shook like leaves in the breeze as I raised them, my heartbeat hummingbird quick. Luca’s strong hand was firm and steady as he took mine and slipped the ring onto my finger.
White gold with twenty small diamonds.
What was meant as a sign of love and devotion for other couples was nothing but a testament of his ownership of me. A daily reminder of the golden cage I’d be trapped in for the rest of my life. Until death do us part wasn’t an empty promise, as with so many other couples that entered the holy bond of marriage. There was no way out of this union for me. I was Luca’s until the bitter end. The last few words of the oath men swore when they were inducted into the mafia could just as well have been the closing of my wedding vow:
“I enter alive and I will have to get out dead.”
I should have run when I still had the chance. Now, as hundreds of faces from the Chicago and New York Famiglias stared back at us, flight was no longer an option. Nor was divorce. Death was the only acceptable end to a marriage in our world. Even if I still managed to escape Luca’s watchful eyes and those of his henchmen, my breach of our agreement would mean war. Nothing my father could say would prevent Luca’s Famiglia from exercising vengeance for making them lose face.
My feelings didn’t matter, never had. I’d grown up in a world where no choices were given, especially to women.
This wedding wasn’t about love or trust or choice. It was about duty and honor, about doing what was expected.
A bond to ensure peace.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what else this was about: money and power. Both were dwindling since the Russian mob—“the Bratva”—, and other crime organizations had been trying to expand their influence into our territories. The Italian Famiglias across the US needed to lay their feuds to rest and work together to beat down their enemies. I should be honored to marry the oldest son of the New York Famiglia. That’s what my father and every other male relative had tried to tell me since my betrothal to Luca. I knew that, and it wasn’t as if I hadn’t had time to prepare for this exact moment, yet fear still corseted my body in a relentless grip.
“You may kiss the bride,” the priest said.
I raised my head. Every pair of eyes in the pavilion scrutinized me, waiting for a flicker of weakness. Father would be furious if I let my terror show, and Luca’s Famiglia would use it against us. But I had grown up in a world where a perfect mask was the only protection afforded to women and had no trouble forcing my face into a placid expression. Nobody would know how much I wanted to escape. Nobody but Luca. I couldn’t hide from him, no matter how much I tried. My body wouldn’t stop shaking. As my gaze met Luca’s cold gray eyes, I could tell that he knew. How often had he instilled fear in others? Recognizing it was probably second nature to him.
He bent down to bridge the ten inches he towered over me. There was no sign of hesitation, fear or doubt on his face. My lips trembled against his mouth as his eyes bored into me. Their message was clear: You are mine.
CHAPTER ONE
Three years earlier
I was curled up on the chaise lounge in our library, reading, when a knock sounded. Liliana’s head rested in my lap, and she didn’t even stir when the dark wooden door opened and our mother stepped in, her dark blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun at the back of her head. Mother was pale, her face drawn with worry.
“Did something happen?” I asked.
She smiled, but it was her fake smile. “Your father wants to talk to you in his office.”
I carefully moved out from under Lily’s head and put it down on the chaise. She drew her legs up against her body. She was small for an eleven-year-old, but I wasn’t exactly tall either at five foot four. None of the women in our family were. Mother avoided my eyes as I walked toward her.
“Am I in trouble?” I didn’t know what I could have d
one wrong. Usually Lily and I were the obedient ones; Gianna was the one who always broke the rules and got punished.
“Hurry. Don’t let your father wait,” Mother said simply.
My stomach was in knots when I arrived in front of Father’s office. After a moment to stifle my nerves, I knocked.
“Come in.”
I entered, forcing my face to remain carefully guarded. Father sat behind his mahogany desk in a wide black leather armchair; behind him rose the mahogany shelves filled with books that Father had never read, but they hid a secret entrance to the basement and a corridor leading off the premises.
He looked up from a pile of sheets, gray hair slicked back. “Sit.”
I sank down on one of the chairs across from his desk and folded my hands in my lap, trying not to gnaw on my lower lip. Father hated that. I waited for him to start talking. He had a strange expression on his face as he scrutinized me. “The Bratva and the Triad are trying to claim our territories. They are getting bolder by the day. We’re luckier than the Las Vegas Famiglia who also has to deal with the Mexicans, but we can’t ignore the threat the Russians and the Taiwanese pose any longer.”
Confusion filled me. Father never talked about practicalities to us. Girls didn’t need to know about the finer details of the mob business. I knew better than to interrupt him.
“We have to lay our feud with the New York Famiglia to rest and combine forces if we want to fight the Bratva.” Peace with the Famiglia? Father and every other member of the Chicago Outfit hated the Famiglia. They had been killing each other for decades and only recently decided to ignore each other in favor of killing off the members of other crime organizations, like the Bratva and the Triad. “There is no stronger bond than blood. At least the Famiglia got that right.”
I frowned.
“Born in blood. Sworn in blood. That’s their motto.”
I nodded, but my confusion only grew.
“I met with Salvatore Vitiello yesterday.” Father met with the Capo dei Capi, the head of the New York mob? A meeting between New York and Chicago hadn’t taken place in a decade, and the last time hadn’t ended well. It was still referred to as Bloody Thursday. And Father wasn’t even the Boss. He was only the Consigliere, the adviser to Fiore Cavallaro, who ruled over the Outfit and with it, organized crime in the Midwest.
“We agreed that for peace to be an option, we had to become family.” Father’s eyes bored into me, and suddenly I didn’t want to hear what else he had to say. “Cavallaro and I determined that you would marry his oldest son Luca, the future Capo dei Capi of the Famiglia.”
I felt like I was falling. “Why me?”
“Vitiello and Fiore have talked on the phone several times in the last few weeks, and Vitiello wanted the most beautiful girl for his son. Of course, we couldn’t give him the daughter of one of our soldiers. Fiore doesn’t have unmarried daughters, so he said you were the most beautiful girl available.” Gianna was just as beautiful, but she was younger. That probably saved her.
“There are so many beautiful girls,” I choked out. I couldn’t breathe. Father looked at me as if I were his most prized possession.
“There aren’t many Italian girls with hair like yours. Fiore described it as golden.” Father guffawed. “You are our door into the New York Famiglia.”
“But, Father, I’m fifteen. I can’t marry.”
Father made a dismissive gesture. “If I were to agree, you could. What do we care for laws?”
I gripped the armrests so tightly, my knuckles were turning white, but I didn’t feel pain. Instead, numbness was working its way through my body.
“But I told Salvatore that the wedding would have to wait until you turn eighteen. Your mother was adamant you be of age and finish school. Fiore let her begging get to him.”
So the Boss had told my father the wedding had to wait. My own father would have thrown me into the arms of my future husband at this very moment. My husband. A wave of sickness crashed over me. I knew only two things about Luca Vitiello: he would become the head of the New York mob once his father retired or died, and he got his nickname “The Vice” for crushing a man’s throat with his bare hands. I didn’t know how old he was. My cousin Bibiana had to marry a man thirty years her senior. Luca couldn’t be that old, if his father hadn’t retired yet. At least, that’s what I hoped. Was he cruel?
He’d crushed a man’s throat. He’ll be the head of the New York mob.
“Father,” I whispered. “Please don’t force me to marry that man.”
Father’s expression tightened. “You will marry Luca Vitiello. I shook hands on it with his father Salvatore. You will be a good wife to Luca, and when you meet him for the engagement celebrations, you’ll act like an obedient lady.”
“Engagement?” I echoed. My voice sounded distant, as if a veil of fog covered my ears.
“Of course. It’s a good way to establish bonds between our families, and it’ll give Luca the chance to see what he’s getting out of the deal. We don’t want to disappoint him.”
“When?” I cleared my throat but the lump remained. “When is the engagement party?”
“August. We haven’t set a date yet.”
That was in two months. I nodded numbly. I loved reading romance novels and whenever the couples in them married, I’d pictured how my wedding would be. I’d always imagined it would be filled with excitement and love. Empty dreams of a stupid girl.
“So I’m allowed to keep attending school?” What did it even matter if I graduated? I would never go to college, never work. All I’d be allowed to do was to warm my husband’s bed. My throat tightened further and tears prickled in my eyes, but I willed them not to fall. Father hated it when we lost control.
“Yes. I told Vitiello that you attend an all-girls Catholic school, which seemed to please him.” Of course, it did. Couldn’t risk my getting anywhere near boys.
“Is that all?”
“For now.”
I walked out of the office as if in a trance. I’d turned fifteen four months ago. My birthday had felt like a huge step toward my future, and I’d been excited. Silly me. My life was already over before it even began. Everything was decided for me.
* * *
I couldn’t stop crying. Gianna stroked my hair as my head lay in her lap. She was thirteen, only eighteen months younger than me, but today those eighteen months meant the difference between freedom and a life in a loveless prison. I tried very hard not to resent her for it. It wasn’t her fault.
“You could try to talk to Father again. Maybe he’ll change his mind,” Gianna said in a soft voice.
“He won’t.”
“Maybe Mama will be able to convince him.”
As if Father would ever let a woman make a decision for him. “Nothing anyone could say or do will make a difference,” I said miserably. I hadn’t seen Mother since she’d sent me into Father’s office. She probably couldn’t face me, knowing what she’d condemned me to.
“But Aria—”
I lifted my head and wiped the tears from my face. Gianna stared at me with pitiful blue eyes, the same cloudless summer-sky blue as my own. But where my hair was blonde, hers was red. Father sometimes called her “witch;” it wasn’t an endearment. “He shook hands on it with Luca’s father.”
“They met?”
That’s what I’d wondered as well. Why had he found time to meet with the head of the New York Famiglia, but not to tell me about his plans to sell me off like a high-class whore? I shook off the frustration and despair trying to claw their way out of my body.
“That’s what Father told me.”
“There has to be something we can do,” Gianna said.
“There isn’t.”
“But you haven’t even met the guy. You don’t even know how he looks! He could be ugly, fat and old.”
Ugly, fat and old. I wished those were the only features of Luca I had to worry about. “Let’s google him. There have to be photos of him on the Intern
et.”
Gianna jumped up and took my laptop from my desk, then she sat down beside me, our sides pressed against each other.
We found several photos and articles about Luca. He had the coldest gray eyes I’d ever seen. I could imagine only too well how those eyes looked down at his victims before he put a bullet in their heads.
“He’s taller than everyone,” Gianna said in amazement. He was; in all the photos he was several inches taller than whoever stood beside him, and he was muscled. That probably explained why some people called him the Bull behind his back. That was the nickname the articles used, and they identified him as the heir of businessman and club owner Salvatore Vitiello. Businessman. Maybe on the outside. Everybody knew what Salvatore Vitiello really was, but of course nobody was stupid enough to write about it.
“He’s with a new girl in every photo.”
I stared down at the emotionless face of my future husband. The newspaper called him the most sought-after bachelor in New York, heir to hundreds of millions of dollars. Heir to an imperium of death and blood, that was what it should say.
Gianna huffed. “God, girls are throwing themselves at him. I suppose he’s good-looking.”
“They can have him,” I said bitterly. In our world a handsome exterior often hid the monster within. The society girls saw his good looks and wealth. They thought the bad-boy aura was a game. They fawned over his predator-like charisma because it radiated power. But what they didn’t know was that blood and death lurked beneath the arrogant smile.
I stood abruptly. “I need to talk to Umberto.”
Umberto was almost fifty and my father’s loyal soldier. He was also Gianna’s and my bodyguard. He knew everything about everyone. Mother called him a scandalmonger. But if anyone knew more about Luca, it was Umberto.
* * *
“He became a Made Man at eleven,” Umberto said, sharpening his knife on a grinder as he did every day. The smell of tomato and oregano filled the kitchen, but it didn’t give me a sense of comfort as it usually did.
“At eleven?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even. Most people didn’t become fully initiated members of the mafia until they were sixteen. “Because of his father?”