Secrets and Lies
A Forbidden Mafia Romance
Rebecca Norinne
Contents
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
What would you do for a million dollars?
Meet the men of Dublin Rugby
Also by Rebecca Norinne
About the Author
About This Book
As the enforcer for my family’s crime syndicate, I’m no stranger to revenge.
Until the only woman I've ever loved becomes my twin brother’s next target.
He's made himself clear: either I kill the daughter of our greatest rival or he kills me.
And since this isn’t the way my story ends, I know what I have to do.
So long brother.
Don't miss this sexy forbidden mafia romance based on Romeo & Juliet. You've never seen Shakespeare quite like this.
To everyone who’s ever loved someone they weren’t supposed to, this is for you.
Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
William Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet
There were perks to being second in line to inherit the expansive St. John family fortune—things like access to vast quantities of cash, fast cars, fancy houses, and beautiful women.
But there were downsides to that coveted accident of birth as well. Things like dealing with my twin brother, Jayce Marlowe St. John, heir to the family fortune. He was also the CEO of the many St. John family businesses (most of them not entirely legal).
But Jayce wasn’t just my brother. He was also my boss, and he was out for blood.
Specifically—and quite literally—Wilson blood.
Which was where I came in.
The St. John and Wilson families had been at each other’s throats for so long I couldn’t tell you how the feud had begun.
Actually, that wasn’t true. You weren’t born into either family without learning from a very young age why the other was your mortal enemy. I just couldn’t bring myself to care anymore—which probably meant I was going soft in my old age.
And that was a huge problem for Jayce since, as his enforcer, he needed me honed to a razor-sharp edge. Especially now that things had begun to escalate between the lesser factions of each family.
Jayce slid a plain black folder across his desk, and I picked it up and flipped through the contents, my eyes flying over the information. I’d hoped Royce Wilson would have called off his goons after our last run-in with them, but from what I was seeing, he’d upped his efforts instead.
“I can’t believe that motherfucker hasn’t learned his lesson,” Jayce seethed, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Teagan’s still laid up in the hospital with two broken legs and a shattered cheekbone. You’d figure Royce would be a bit more circumspect.”
While Jayce may have been an efficient and ruthless businessman, he didn’t fully comprehend the revenge business. After all, he’d never had to carry it out himself. That’s what he had me for, and I was getting tired of explaining how things worked.
I lifted my shoulder in a careless shrug, one eyebrow raised, but didn’t offer additional comment.
With a grunt, he pushed his chair back and stood, marching around the large mahogany desk. “Don’t you fucking give me that bullshit,” he spat, lording over me. “You need to show me the respect I deserve. Don’t make me remind you who’s in charge here.”
His theatrics were another thing I’d grown weary of. Still, it wasn’t a good idea to poke the bear (too much) lest he actually turn his wrath on me. Resignedly, I gave him my full attention, careful to keep my face blank of emotion.
“That’s better,” he pronounced with smug satisfaction.
Straightening his cuffs, he dropped down into the leather chair next to me and reached for the folder. Shuffling through the photographs, he pulled one out and handed it my way. “This can’t stand.”
I studied the image, scrutinizing the details. One of our warehouses had gone up in flames the month before, the fire destroying a cache of weapons Jayce had been brokering a deal for. Everyone knew Royce’s guys had set the fire, but they’d been so good at covering their tracks that we hadn’t been able to determine how.
Which meant we couldn’t keep it from happening again.
The grainy black and white image showed two men slinking along the side of the building, keeping to the shadows to avoid detection. Something about the photo looked off to me, but I couldn’t place what it was. That wasn’t my area of expertise. Jayce paid people with a background in spy shit to figure out that sort of thing. My job was to make people pay once we knew who they were, what they’d done, and how.
“I need you to take care of this.” He pointed at the photo.
The only time Jayce spoke to me anymore was when he needed me to “take care of” something. I might have been his brother, younger by only a handful of seconds, but as far as he was concerned, I was just another minion to order around.
“It needs to be big,” he continued. “That deal had been in the works for months, and now I’m left holding the bag on the delivery. I can clean up this mess with the buyer, but I need you to make sure Royce doesn’t step to us again.”
“Consider it done,” I answered, my mind already zeroing in on the logistics as I rose from my seat.
Jayce laid his hand on my forearm. “I’m not finished, Xander.”
No, of course, he isn’t, I thought with an inward sigh. Jayce always had to have the last word in any conversation, no matter the topic.
I eased back into my chair and waited for him to continue.
“I thought roughing up his nephew would send the right message—you know, hit at the heart of the family—but it seems I underestimated the old goat’s feelings for the cocksucker.”
“No,” I said, grabbing the photo off the desk. Raising it between us, I continued, “I think Royce heard you loud and clear. This fire wasn’t a minor retaliation, Jayce. We’re lucky we aren’t burying Nicolette’s boy instead.”
“He wouldn’t dare.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. After all, we did.”
“That’s different,” Jayce answered, waving away my concern. “Claude’s just a boy. Royce may be many things, but he’s not a baby killer.”
“Claude’s hardly a baby,” I reminded him. “He’ll be ten next month. Think about what you were doing at that age.”
Jayce rolled his eyes. “That was different. I was being groomed to take over the business. If something happens to me, this all goes to you. Claude’s a non-entity.”
Sometimes my brother’s shortsightedness could be startling given how successfully he ran St. John Enterprises. His unwillingness to see reason, or to look beyond his own nose, made me wonder if he was actually the person making day-to-day decisions for the family’s many holdings.
Then again, I couldn’t imagine him taking anyone’s advice, so that wasn’t a likely scenario either.
How, then, did he manage not to completely fuck everything up?
I stifled a sigh and tempered my tone. I’d been literally and figuratively biting my tongue so often around Jayce this last year that it was a miracle I had one left to bite at all.
“If something happens to you or me, this
all goes to Nicolette, who will pass it on to Claude. And Claude’s father isn’t exactly a nobody. Shit, the kid probably has more targets on his back than you and me combined. The Russians do not fuck around.”
The Russians being Claude’s other family.
When Nicolette was just seventeen, our father had betrothed her to Sergei Konstantinov, a “business associate” of his. The wedding was scheduled for the day after her eighteenth birthday, but things went to hell in a hand basket when Nicolette fell in love with Sergei’s son, Maksim.
Regardless, our father tried to force her to marry Sergei to solidify a deal with the other kingpin, but Nic and Max managed to get one over on both our parents by disappearing.
When they re-emerged following Sergei’s suspicious death two years later, they were the proud parents of a bouncing baby boy.
Max took over the Konstantinov family business and eventually went legit, but I didn’t trust things to stay that way. More than even the Wilsons or the St. Johns, the Konstantinovs had long memories, and if anyone decided to challenge Maksim for control, the first thing they’d do was target Nic and Claude.
We might fuck around with warehouse fires and broken kneecaps to settle our squabbles, but the Russians went straight for the jugular. Jayce would do well to remember that.
“The Russians can suck my cock,” he proclaimed with no small amount of arrogance.
“If one of them gets wind of you saying that, they might shove a cock down your throat.”
For Jayce, that was an option worse than death. The asshole feared gay men more than a bullet to the head. Not only was he an idiot, but he was also a notorious homophobe. A fact that had been used against him more than once.
“Or Aleksei,” I continued with a pointed glare.
Personally, that was my greatest fear. Then again, I’d seen first-hand what he was capable of.
One of Sergei’s former henchmen, Aleksei had turned mercenary when Maksim took the family straight, and he was the scariest motherfucker I’d ever come across. His contract included a “spoils of war” stipulation that made my stomach turn.
While my job was to protect Jayce, some jobs weren’t worth going up against that crazy fuck. I might have been a cold-blooded killer, but Aleksei was a lunatic. While I could turn off my emotions to get the job done, Aleksei took joy in the kill—the more gruesome, the better.
“They wouldn’t dare,” Jayce responded.
I shrugged. Far be it from me to try and convince him otherwise.
“Besides, this isn’t about the Russians,” he continued airily.
That was the other thing about Jayce. He never could see the bigger picture.
“This is about Royce Wilson, and how we’re going to put a stop to him once and for all.”
“I’m happy to take the old man out, so long as you understand this isn’t something that’ll be done by the time you wake up tomorrow afternoon. This sort of shit requires planning and finesse, and I know how impatient you can get.”
His impatience was the reason Teagan Wilson was laid up in a hospital bed instead of buried six feet under. I’d had one plan while Jayce had had another. Instead of going with my guys, he’d contracted out the hit and his crew had fucked up.
“You’ll do what I tell you and when,” he growled.
I leveled a glare at my twin. “Goddamnit, Jayce. You know fuck all about how this works. How many times do I have to tell you? You call a hit and I’ll execute it, but it’s done when and how I say. I don’t tell you how to launder money; you don’t get to tell me how to put a bullet in our enemies.”
Jayce stood and, buttoning his suit jacket, stepped around the other side of the desk—his position of comfort and power. “That’s where you’re wrong, Xander. I’m in charge, and you’d be wise not to forget it. You do what I say, when I say, or I’ll have someone put a bullet in you. How does that sound little brother?”
Despite sharing a womb, we’d never been very close. Still, I never thought he’d outright threaten me. Honestly, I’d always assumed if Jayce ever did decided to come for me, it’d be with a knife to the back while I slept. It was one of the many reasons I rarely slept, and when I did, it was generally with one eye open.
“It sounds painful. And since I try to avoid unnecessary pain, by all means, please tell me what you have in mind.” I gestured for him to continue.
I would play my part, but it was becoming increasingly clear that I’d need to step away from this world soon. But until I could formulate a fool-proof plan, I had to sit tight. And that meant continuing to take orders from him.
For now.
Jayce pulled an additional folder from his drawer and slid it my way. When I opened it, my blood ran cold. Staring back at me was a black and white photo of Arabella Wilson, Royce’s only daughter … and the only person in the world who held any power over me.
“I want her dead,” I heard Jayce say through the ringing in my ears. “Royce might not give a damn about what happens to that shit-head nephew of his, but burying his precious daughter will make him think twice about fucking with me again.”
I looked up at my brother, careful to keep my mask in place. We were twins, but there were stark differences between us if you knew what to look for. The biggest difference was below the surface, however. Something you couldn’t see no matter how long or how hard you looked.
Jayce hated women, whereas I adored them. I could kill a man with my bare hands, but when I touched a woman’s body it was with reverence.
And there was one woman who I worshipped above all others: Arabella Fucking Wilson.
Chapter Two
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;
Being vexed a sea nourish’d with loving tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
William Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with Arabella. Fuck, we weren’t even supposed to ever be in the same room as one another, but life had a funny way of fucking up even the best laid plans.
The first time I saw her, I was ten years old to her eight. It was at Lucrezia Bonaccorso’s funeral, the matriarch of the of the Italian ruling family. Having outlived four husbands and uniting many of the lesser Italian families through marriage, she’d finally succumbed to cancer at the advanced age of one hundred. As a mark of respect for all Lucrezia had achieved during her long life, the various families that made up Chicago’s underworld came together for a summit where they agreed to table their grievances for a period of one hundred days.
Not to say there wasn’t tension at the funeral. At only ten, I wasn’t privy to the machinations of my father’s world, but even I could feel the open hostility rolling off the gathered throng. But for us kids, it was a chance to meet and play with new people. While the other girls clung to their mother’s skirts, Arabella threw caution to the wind and joined in on the rough-housing. At first, the other boys wanted nothing to do with her, but she won them over by showing she could run just as fast as they could, jump just as high, and kick just as hard. For two hours, she was part of our little gang of hellions. By the time her mother came to collect her, Arabella’s dress was streaked with mud, and her knees were bloody with scrapes and cuts.
Being pulled away by her ear, Arabella twisted around to face me, and hollered, “See ya around, X!”
When I was fourteen, my father pulled me out of school, cutting off any and all ties I had to the outside world. While Jayce was being groomed to take over St. John Enterprises, I was being groomed to become a cold-blooded killer. By the time I was sixteen, I’d already put two bullets in the back of a Wilson goon. To say that I was well acquainted with the battle raging between the Wilsons and the St. Johns would be an understatement.
While I could look back fondly on that afternoon of the funeral, the little boy I’d been was long gone, and that littl
e girl with the skinned knees was nothing more than a pleasant, fading memory. Now and then Arabella’s name would pop up in conversation, but I didn’t pay too much attention to what was said. As far as I was concerned, she was the daughter of my father’s enemy, and that made her my enemy too.
But then I saw her … and everything changed.
On the day that changed the course of my life forever, I was at the mall with Jayce and a group of friends. As we walked from one end of the building to the next, we came across some girls we didn’t know and, liking the looks of them, began flirting shamelessly with them. There was one girl though—a take-your-breath-away, stop-you-dead-in-your-tracks beauty—whose shyness and obvious discomfort intrigued me. I must have stared, wordlessly, for a good minute before I came to my senses and introduced myself.
“Hey,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets. “I’m Xander.”
Her teeth nervously worked lips painted a shimmery pink that reminded me of cotton candy. “I know who you are,” she finally answered, her eyes scanning the area.
While my pride enjoyed the fact that this she knew who I was, I was also suspicious. The only women I got to interact with regularly were either related to me or on my father’s payroll. Sad to say, but at eighteen, I’d never fucked a girl who hadn’t been picked out for me by someone looking to ingratiate themselves with my family.
“Oh yeah? How’s that?” I asked, my eyes raking her over.
“We met once, a long, long time ago,” she replied, her eyes shifting this way and that.
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