Liar's Lullaby: A Dark Mafia Romance (Mazzeo Mafia Book 1)

by Nicole Fox

  “Come in,” I call.

  The door opens and Riccardo walks in. His massive frame just barely squeezes through the narrow doorway.

  “Boss,” he says to me. “I got something for you.”

  “What, and no present for me?” Adriano asks, craning his neck back to look at Riccardo instead of just turning around.

  Riccardo pointedly ignores him as he focuses on me. He’s a few watts short of a lightbulb, but he knows how to break things efficiently.

  That’s why I installed him as the muscle for the Italian restaurant I’d invested in a few years ago.

  In those two years, he’s never brought anything for me.

  So I’m intrigued now, to say the least.

  “What have you got?” I ask.

  “A girl.”

  “A girl?” Adriano repeats, swinging around with renewed interest. “Fucking hell. I know you’re the don and everything, but must you get all the good perks?”

  “I’m guessing there’s a backstory here?” I ask, fixing my gaze on Riccardo.

  “She stole from the restaurant,” Riccardo explains. “Dined and dashed, to be more specific.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “How much was her bill?”

  “That’s your question?” Adriano asks. “Jesus, you’re lucky you have me. The question you should be asking is, how attractive is she?”

  I sigh. Adriano never fucking quits. The man is fueled by whiskey and horniness, twenty-four-seven.

  “Bring her in.”

  Riccardo nods and disappears.

  When he returns, there’s a young woman trailing him. Her head is tilted down, a curtain of chocolate brown hair hiding her features from view.

  Riccardo pushes her forward towards me and she lifts her face.

  Fuck.

  She’s got the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. They set a striking contrast against her pale skin and dark hair. Her almond eyes are narrowed, angry.

  I see the spark of defiance in them and it sends carnal attraction surging through my body.

  “Leave us,” I say firmly.

  Riccardo bows and leaves immediately.

  Adriano, on the other hand, lingers long enough to shoot me a look that clearly tells me what he thinks of the girl standing in front of me.

  The message is clear: She’s a goddamn knockout.

  Then the door snaps shut. Adriano isn’t exactly delicate.

  The girl flinches just a little at the slam, but the defiance doesn’t leave her eyes. I notice the stubborn set of her jaw and the rigid line of her back.

  “I’m told you’ve stolen from me.”

  Her eyes glance towards the stocked bar in the corner of my office. “I don’t imagine someone like you would feel the loss of forty-six dollars.”

  “Not the point,” I growl, standing up.

  Her eyes go wide for a moment as she takes in my full height. At six foot three, I tower over her.

  She’s not exactly short, but she’s built small. Petite.

  She’s wearing what looks like a waitress’s uniform. The kind that clings to her body, squeezes in her breasts and pushes them up at the same time.

  “Do you know who I am?” I ask casually.

  “Someone I shouldn’t have crossed?” she mocks, matching my tone.

  “Smart girl.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  I raise my eyebrows, taken aback by the sharp tone and the lack of fear. It’s not the kind of response I’m used to getting.

  “Don’t call you smart?”

  “Don’t call me ‘girl,’” she explains icily. “I don’t need your fucking condescension.”

  I smile despite myself. Women never bite back.

  But I don’t mind when they do.

  It’s a rare but blissful pleasure to crack the fucking whip.

  “It’s not condescension,” I say calmly. “It’s the truth, as far as I can see. How old are you: seventeen, eighteen?”

  She grits her teeth, grinding them down so hard I can almost hear the crackle.

  “Twenty-one,” she says.

  That does surprise me. But maybe it’s just the uniform she has on. The ‘slutty maid’ vibe softens her edges. Makes her look younger.

  “Listen, I can get you the money, okay?” she adds. “I’m good for it.”

  I’ve been in the business a long fucking time. I can sniff out a lie from a mile away.

  “Oh, is that right?”

  “Yeah, I just—I didn’t have cash on me tonight and I was fucking starving, alright?” she says defensively.

  I nod as if I’m empathizing with her. “How was the food?”

  She stops short, confused. “Um, what?”

  “The food,” I repeat patiently. “How was it?”

  Her mouth pops open for a moment. “I… it was good.”

  “That’s good to know,” I say gently. “Good food doesn’t come cheap. Especially not when you steal from Lucio Mazzeo.”

  “Mazzeo…” she repeats numbly.

  And for the first time, I see the fight in her eyes fade just a little.

  She recognizes my name.

  Good.

  That’ll make this a lot more fun.

  “That’s right,” I say. “You know me?”

  She doesn’t take the bait.

  “What do you want?” she asks bluntly.

  “I haven’t decided yet. But make no mistake—I do want something.”

  “Yeah, you and every other man I’ve ever met,” she sneers at me.

  Her blue eyes are piercingly bright. Riddled with little mysteries I want to unravel.

  I can tell she wants to end the eye contact. I frighten her—that’s obvious.

  But she won’t show it to me. I admire the bravery.

  Even if it won’t end well for her.

  I raise one eyebrow. “You think I want to fuck you. Is that it?”

  “Men like you always do.”

  It’s not braggadocio in her voice.

  It’s disgust.

  She thinks I’m a pig. A monster. A crude, cruel beast.

  Unfortunately for her… she’s right.

  I walk around the table and pause right in front of her. There’s only a foot or two between us. She has to crane her neck up, but she’s not meeting my eyes.

  “Look at me.”

  Her eyes snap to mine immediately, automatically. They’re shocked—at the tone of my voice, perhaps, or my physical presence.

  Or both.

  And then they soften with regret. I can tell she already regrets obeying me so easily.

  But it’s good that she did. It will make things easier for her.

  “Do you think I’m the type of man who has to coerce a woman to spread her legs for him?” I ask.

  Her eyelashes flicker. Her chest rises and falls with increasing trepidation.

  “I don’t know,” she replies at last.

  I reach out instinctively. My fingers dip under her chin and pull her face up. She clenches her jaw defiantly, but she doesn’t jerk away from me.

  Like she’s daring herself to stay put. To show no fear.

  I lean in until I can feel her exhale on my nose.

  Her breathing is getting heavier. Her eyes are dilated. She’s tremoring with fear—and something else, too.

  Desire.

  Curiosity.

  Lust.

  Then I step back so fast and so suddenly that she trips forward and releases a tiny, surprised gasp.

  I smile. “I’ve fucked a lot of different women,” I tell her as I lean back against my large desk. “And every single one has begged me to do it.”

  There’s color on her cheeks. A necessary anger to cover up her obvious embarrassment.

  “You’re no different than any of them,” I tell her, delivering the final blow.

  My voice is level and cool.

  If only I believed what I’m saying.

  “I’m not gonna beg you for shit,” she scowls. “You don’t know me.”
<
br />   “Yes, I do,” I assure her. “And I’m already fucking bored.”

  A split second of silence follows while she processes that.

  “Then let me go,” she says.

  “I’d love to,” I say. “But you owe me.”

  “I’ll pay you back.”

  I shake my head. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’d have to take your word on that,” I tell her. “And your word is simply not good enough.”

  “What are you gonna do then?” she demands. “Lock me up and use me in whatever way you please?”

  I can tell she’s trying to be bold. To confront the horrors of what might happen next head on. No fear. Or at least, none that she’s willing to show me.

  I admire the effort.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” I chuckle.

  Her blue eyes turn into frigid balls of ice. “I know what you’re trying to do,” she says. “I know you’re trying to scare me, intimidate me. But I don’t scare easily.”

  “I believe you. But I’m not like other men you’ve known.”

  She opens her mouth—ready to fire another insult at me, no doubt.

  But a sharp rap on the door interrupts our little sparring contest.

  Pity, too. I was actually enjoying myself.

  “What?” I bark at the closed door.

  “Hey,” Adriano’s voice comes through, loud and clear. And, for a change, it’s serious. “Hate to interrupt, but you’re gonna want to hear this.”

  My first thought is that something has happened with the Polish crew we’ve been monitoring for months now. If that is the case, I want to know immediately.

  “Come in,” I command.

  Adriano walks in. His eyes fall on the girl instantly. He’s always had an eye for beautiful women, which is not something that’s ever irritated me.

  Until just now.

  “Riccardo,” I call, knowing the man will be within hearing range. I hear his footsteps thumping closer.

  While I wait for him, I turn my attention back to the girl.

  “You never told me your name.”

  She eyes me warily. “You didn’t exactly ask.”

  “I’m asking now.”

  She hesitates for only a second. “Charlotte,” she says softly. “My name is Charlotte.”

  Charlotte.

  I like that. I like that a lot.

  The big man appears at my door. “Riccardo,” I say, “take Charlotte down to the cellar and keep her there.”

  “What?” she exclaims, looking frantically between me and Riccardo. “Wait! You can’t just keep me here. What do you want with me?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” I answer calmly.

  Then I gesture for Riccardo to get on with it.

  He moves forward and grabs hold of Charlotte.

  There’s something about his meaty fingers around her slender arm that makes me want to punch the pink right off his heavy cheeks.

  But I remind myself why he’s got his hands on her in the first place. The anger recedes.

  He frog-marches her out. She’s quivering and yelping, but I ignore her pleas for mercy.

  The moment the door shuts behind them, Adriano turns to me with a low whistle on his lips. “Fucking hell. She’s an eleven out of ten if I ever saw one.”

  “She’s a child.”

  “She’s legal,” Adriano replies.

  I narrow my eyes at him, irritated that he’d cut our conversation short. “What was so fucking important that you had to barge in here for?”

  He pauses for a moment to take in my impatient expression. “Someone just came to the door.”

  I growl and wave a dismissive hand. “Not now. Tell them to fuck off.”

  “Uh, yeah, I… couldn’t do that, Lucio.”

  “And why the fuck not?”

  “It was a kid,” he says softly. “A little girl.”

  I’m rippling with irritation now. “Even more reason to tell them to get lost. This is no place for little girls.”

  He’s shuffling back and forth in place. There’s a nervous energy radiating from him, too.

  I’ve seen this man face down enemies outnumbered ten-to-one without so much as batting an eye. He’s fucking fearless.

  But something has him chilled to the bone.

  “What is it?” I demand.

  “She had a note.”

  I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to continue.

  Slowly, laboriously, like it’s hard as hell for him to do, Adriano drags his eyes up to meet mine.

  “A little girl with a note addressed to you.”

  “What kind of note?” I say in a hoarse whisper.

  My skin is crawling with anticipation.

  “The girl is about six,” he tells me. “And the note—well, the note claims that she’s your…”

  “She’s my what?”

  Adriano looks at me as though he’s not quite sure how to break the news.

  “Daughter,” he finishes at last. “The note says she’s your daughter.”

  3

  Lucio

  Daughter.

  The word feels big.

  Heavy.

  It’s not a word that belongs to me. To my world.

  “Daughter?” I repeat numbly. “That’s not possible.”

  “Yeah,” Adriano says cautiously. “That’s what I thought, too. But Lucio, brother… she has your eyes.”

  My eyes.

  The eyes I’d inherited from my mother.

  “Lots of people have gray eyes,” I reject.

  Adriano is clearly unconvinced. He shakes his head. “Not like yours. It’s fucking uncanny.”

  I turn from him to stare out of the massive bay window that sits behind my desk.

  It’s late at night. Way past a child’s bedtime.

  “Who did she show up with?” I ask.

  “No one.”

  I whip back around. “She was standing outside the compound alone?”

  Adriano nods. “I checked the camera footage myself. It shows her walking toward the compound gate at eleven-sixteen. Whoever dropped her off knew enough to stay out of sight of the cameras, I guess.”

  “Fuck,” I breathe. “Where is she?”

  “Out in the common area,” Adriano replies. “Franco’s with her now.”

  I understand why Franco’s been left with the child. My lieutenant has five of his own, and despite his massive stature and wild tattoos, he’s got a calming presence.

  A tense moment passes.

  I don’t know what to think.

  What to do.

  How to feel.

  “Do you… wanna see her?” Adriano asks eventually.

  I have to.

  Not because I want to.

  But because I need to know if she’s really mine.

  I nod. “Bring her in.”

  Adriano heads immediately for the door. “Also, just an F.Y.I…. she’s a little skittish.”

  “I’d be suspicious if she wasn’t.”

  He grunts and disappears. I take the opportunity to try and process what the fuck is happening.

  Nothing about it this feels like a coincidence.

  First Charlotte, then a mysterious little gray-eyed girl?

  My first instinct is wariness. Something is at play here.

  I need to be alert.

  But my attention is diverted by the blue-eyed spitfire that I’ve just relegated to the cellar.

  I’m used to being pulled in a dozen different directions. It’s all part of running the most feared mafia in the city.

  But these are not the problems I’m used to dealing with.

  The door swings wide open as Adriano returns. He stops at the threshold and looks back over his shoulder.

  “Come on,” he says, his voice gentler than I’ve ever heard before. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be scared.”

  I’m not sure that’s the right thing to say to anyone, let alone a child.


  Mostly because it’s a lie.

  If my physical presence wasn’t already imposing enough, I’m also tattooed across both arms, my chest, and the front of my neck.

  Most of my scars are easy to overlook, including the one that snakes down my right arm.

  But the scar on my face is less subtle. It cuts across my eye, slashing through my eyebrow and down along my cheek like a crescent moon.

  I hear the shuffling of little feet.

  A second later, I see little white sneakers with bright pink laces.

  And then she’s there.

  Whole and real and twisting into herself like she wishes she could disappear from my sight.

  She steps up next to Adriano, her head tilted down toward her feet.

  A curtain of sunshine-blonde hair hides her face from view. Just how she wants it, I’m sure.

  She’s wearing soft blue trousers and a white jumper with a picture of a monkey on the front. Her tiny body is tense, but as I look closer, I realize it’s because she’s trembling.

  “Come here,” I order.

  Unlike Adriano, my tone is not gentle.

  It’s not a conscious choice. Over a decade of command has made me who I am. There’s not an ounce of tenderness left in me.

  If there was even any there to begin with.

  Despite all that, the girl doesn’t move.

  I glance at Adriano and give him a brusque nod. He puts his hand on her back and gives her a little push in my direction.

  She shuffles forward, her feet dragging against the carpeted floor.

  But she still refuses to look up.

  There’s something about the hunch of her shoulders and the barely noticeable trembling that makes me kneel down in front of her.

  I can see the little stub of a nose, rosy cheeks, and the bow-and-arrow shape of her lips.

  Then, as though she can’t keep her curiosity at bay any longer, she lifts her face. Her eyes go wide as she studies my features in the same way I study hers.

  I can understand now what Adriano meant about the eyes.

  I see myself when I look into them.

  I see my mother.

  The gray borders on silver, bright and pure and untarnished. The only other time I’ve ever seen such a clear shade of gray is when I’m staring at my reflection in the mirror.

  It’s disconcerting as hell.

  Once I’ve gotten over the shock of her eyes, I focus on her expression. She’s caught between fear and uncertainty.