Rotten Men (A Rotten Love Duet Book 2)

by Ivy Fox

  By

  Ivy Fox

  Copyright

  Rotten Men – Rotten Love Duet Copyright © 2019 Ivy Fox

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of all word marks, products, brands, TV shows, movies, music, bands and celebrities mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Editing by Heather Clark

  Cover image, formatting, and edit courtesy of:

  X-Factory Designs

  For more information, visit:

  Ivy Fox - Facebook

  Ivy Fox - Official Website

  ISBN: 9781097657483

  Dedication

  To the readers and romance lovers who have made this journey of mine a possibility:

  My Sassy Foxes

  You humble me every day, and I am so grateful to have your love and support.

  Words can never express the gratitude I feel.

  I cherish you all.

  Caution

  Dear Reader,

  Although I feel this book does not fall under the dark romance category, and more under suspense—as it is a mafia based book—there are some elements to it, such as violent scenarios and abusive behavior, where more sensitive readers might feel uncomfortable.

  Therefore, I thought it best to bring to light that Rotten Men may contain scenes, where impressionable audiences may struggle with its content.

  This book, in its whole, is still very much a love story, however unconventional it may be, so if you’re still on the fence, read reviews, and get feedback before giving it a go.

  I truly hope you enjoy this Rotten Love Story.

  Sincerely,

  Ivy

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Caution

  Table of Contents

  Glossary

  Prologue

  Chapter 01

  Chapter 02

  Chapter 03

  Chapter 04

  Chapter 05

  Chapter 06

  Chapter 07

  Chapter 08

  Chapter 09

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Ivy Fox Novels

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Glossary of Terms and Definitions

  Amore — Love.

  Anziano — Senior.

  Bambinos — Children.

  Bastardo (plural bastardi) — Bastard.

  Bella — Beautiful.

  Bratva (Russian organized crime or Russian mafia) — A collective of various organized crime elements originating in the former Soviet Union.

  Capo (short for caporegime or capodecina) — Rank used in the Mafia for a made member of the crime family who heads a “crew” of soldiers and has major social status and influence in the organization. Caporegime is an Italian word, which is used to signify the head of a family in Sicily, but has now come to mean a ranking member, similar to captain or senior sergeant in a military unit. In general, the term indicates the head of a branch of an organized crime syndicate who commands a crew of soldiers and reports directly to the Don (Boss) or an Underboss or Streetboss.

  Capo dei capi — Captain of captains.

  Cara mia — My dear.

  Cazzo — Dick.

  Ciao — Bye.

  Commilitoni — Fellow soldiers; brothers-in-arms.

  Consigliere — A position within the leadership structure of the Sicilian, Calabrian, and American Mafia. He is an advisor or counselor to the boss, with the additional responsibility of representing the boss in important meetings both within the boss’ crime family and with other crime families. The consigliere is a close, trusted friend, and confidant—the mob’s version of an elder statesman. He is an advisor to the boss in a Mafia crime family and sometimes is his right-hand man. By the very nature of the job, a consigliere is one of the few in the family who can argue with the boss and is often tasked with challenging the boss when needed, to ensure subsequent plans are foolproof.

  Consorte – Husband or wife, consort, spouse.

  Cosa Nostra — The Italian-American Mafia is a highly organized criminal society. The organization is often referred to by members as Cosa Nostra and by the government as La Cosa Nostra. The organization’s name is derived from the original Mafia or Cosa Nostra, the Sicilian Mafia.

  Cugina, cugino (plural cugine) — Cousin.

  Famiglia — Family.

  Figlia (figlio) — Daughter (son).

  Fratello (plural fratelli) — Brother.

  Goomahs (Italian-American slang) — The mistress of a Mafioso.

  Idioti — Idiots.

  Joie-de-vivre — A keen or buoyant enjoyment of life.

  Leccaculo — Kiss ass.

  Made Man — In the American Mafia and Sicilian Mafia, a made man is a fully initiated member of the Mafia. To become “made”, an associate first has to be sponsored by another made man. An inductee will be required to take the oath of Omertà, the mafia code of silence. After the induction ceremony, the associate becomes a “made man” and holds the rank of soldier in the Mafia hierarchy.

  Mafioso — A member of the Mafia.

  Mammà — Mom.

  Mastrolindo (Italian slang) — A big, bald guy.

  Non mi rompere i coglioni — Don’t break my balls.

  Omertà — Southern Italian code of silence that places importance on silence in the face of questioning by authorities or outsiders and willfully ignoring and generally avoiding interference with the illegal activities of others. It originated and remains common in Southern Italy, where banditry or brigandage and Mafia-type criminal organizations (like the Camorra, Cosa Nostra, 'Ndrangheta, and Sacra Corona Unita) are strong.

  The Outfit (also known as The Chicago Outfit, the Chicago Mafia, the Chicago Mob, the South Side Gang, or The Organization) — Italian-American organized crime syndicate based in Chicago, Illinois, which dates back to the 1910s. It is part of the American Mafia originating in Chicago’s South Side.

  Papà — Dad.

  Porca miseria — Damn it.

  (Il) Porco — The pig, swine, or hog.

  Principessa (plural principesse) — Princess.

  Pronto — Ready (Italian way of answering the phone).

  Rosa — Rose.

  Sposo, sposa — Husband, wife.

  Soldato (plural soldati) — Soldier, which is the first official level of both the American Mafia and the Sicilian Mafia in the formal Mafia hierarchy or cadre. The promotion to the rank of soldier is an elevation in the chain of command from the associate level. The associate must prove himself to the family and take the oath of Ome
rtà.

  Stronzo — Asshole.

  Tesoro mio — My treasure.

  Ti amo cosi tanto, tu sei la mia vita — I love you so much, you are my life.

  Vaffanculo — Fuck off.

  Vera famiglia — Real family.

  PROLOGUE

  Vincent

  I’ve never been one to believe that everything happens for a reason.

  I don’t like the idea that our fate has been predetermined by some unknown deity—one who has rolled the dice with our destiny and laughs away at the hardship of such an existence he has created.

  Fuck that!

  I’m the master of my own fate! I alone make my future, and I dare any cazzo who thinks otherwise.

  Yet, as much as I believe this to my very core, too many times have I been a victim to catastrophic choices made by others, altering my reality completely.

  First, it was the loss of my parents. They were ripped away from my life before I had a chance to know them.

  To love them.

  Losing the two people that were supposed to love me unconditionally at such a tender age, cast a dark shadow on my willingness to feel. Their death turned my heart into the arctic thing it is today. Maybe most people who have suffered such traumatizing loss grew up to be more sympathetic to others’ anguish. As noble as that empathic sentiment is, I have never been conflicted with such inclination. Most call my cold demeanor an inherited genetic trait. I, however, feel that nurture played the composing key role in my development rather than nature.

  How could it not? With their deaths came the second event that molded my existence so completely. Being raised into a family that considers those sensibilities to be nothing but a weakness that could get you killed in the long run, was not only eye-opening but detrimental to any lingering sentimentality. It made sure to dry up any tears for the dead, and instead, garnish a steel heart as my own protective shield.

  Being one of the few survivors in the Romano line made it clear that life was too fleeting to waste on laments, and that vulnerability was a commodity too expensive a purchase to our way of life. My education taught me that if blood has to be shed, always to make sure I was the one wielding the razor-sharp knife. I was a quick study at being ruthless in cutting enemies down instead of giving them the opportunity to do the same to me. I became a scholar of the syndicate code, with the boss of the Outfit as my ruthless tutor and only guardian—the last parental figure I had, and the very one who deemed such silent callousness to be an asset.

  But at my side, unknowingly, I had my first chink in my well-placed, apathetic armor. Blind loyalty and reverence given without question to my accomplice in crime, who had the same heartless destiny laid out for him as I had.

  My cousin and brother.

  My leader and first ally.

  And the last one I thought capable to set in motion the events which would lead to my ruin.

  Feelings are traitorous in that way, though. Once you are distracted by them, the truth becomes a blurred line—making emotion the ultimate culprit of your short-sightedness. And once you let one person into your heart, it allows a precedent, welcoming others in to cause the same chaotic damage.

  Unaware of the lies and betrayals which were bound to fall at my feet, that one sliver of susceptibility cracked a large enough tear to enable three others to slither their way into my cold heart and anchor me to them in ways our world would never tolerate or condone. But it was in them I found my true, earnest desire, and what I had been denied from the very start—my own family.

  In Dominic and Giovanni, I found my true kin. The ones that would fearlessly defy me, yet strike down any other who would dare to attempt trying the same. The ones who kept me humble and raised me higher, all in the same breath. The fratelli who would walk into the pit of hell in the name of our friendship and brotherhood, always adamant I live up to their loyalty in return.

  In them, I learned the true meaning of family. Not the one we are born into, but the one we choose for ourselves. The vera famiglia, where allegiance and fidelity is a sincere choice, instead of a burdened obligation.

  But if brotherhood kept us tied to each other, then falling in love with the same girl fortified our bond even further. Like a puzzle craving its completion, Selene was the missing piece which linked us all together, creating a picturesque landscape of a life that most would weep at its miraculous sight.

  Because that was exactly what she was to us—a miracle. One that blew into our lives undetected by the powers that be, offering us all something no made man could conceive as a possibility—a soulmate in a world where only the soulless roamed free.

  To me, she was a treasure I wanted to preserve and keep safe from thieving hands. She was my precious, hidden tesoro. The only one who held gifts which could placate my heart far better than any reward the syndicate provided.

  She was my reason in all things.

  Vita mia.

  Every decision I made and every chance I took was with her in mind. Not once did my resolve blink or hesitate in the pursuit of a life where she and my brothers would be at my side permanently, where we could be true to our love and give in to its splendor without fear of discovery.

  However, crossroads sprung out of nowhere, without a single inkling that our love’s demise was just around the corner. Choices made by the powerful, by the envious, and by the greedy, turned the tides to our fortune, tarnishing any remaining hope that somehow our young love could flourish. Disheartening actions and damaging decisions tilted our world on its axis, creating a myriad of tragedies, stripping us all from our naive dream that, in this wretched life, our love could overcome any obstacle.

  Instead, we were confronted with one truth we had been too unwilling to address—all is fair in love and war.

  Pietro’s betrayal put into motion the spiraling of my well-crafted plans to marry my love when he cut them with surgeon-like precision at their very root. But it was his untimely death that caused real destruction in my life.

  Grief led me to seek comfort in the arms of the one person I promised to honor above all; and in this selfish turn, I—the betrayed—became the betrayer. The trust that was bound by brotherhood, which was forged in blood between myself and my true brethren, suffered its first rift by my own hand. My shame and guilt increased tenfold, ultimately blinding me to my surroundings, making emotion, once again, responsible for my downfall.

  The final bullet to my heart had been shot by the very girl I would have given my life for.

  With my parents’ death and my young introduction to the syndicate way of life, my heart had frozen over. Pietro’s betrayal and death took the ice-sculptured organ and sliced it into thin pieces. But it took the love of my life’s planned-out disappearance to burn the malignant thing to ash, leaving me hollow and lifeless.

  Death changes us all. Especially our own.

  So I never gave much weight or credence to fate or destiny. Experience has shown me, time and time again, that it’s men’s choices that hold the true power in life. Other people’s decisions have given shape to my own, after all. Turned it to the cruel, cold, unfeeling thing that it resembles today.

  Yet, all these calamities and upheavals have made me that much stronger. These misfortunes have made me the one to be feared—a leverage that I intend to keep and use unceremoniously. When it comes to me, everyone knows how to keep a safe distance or, better yet, run away in haste if they value their life.

  Because a man without a soul has no fear of damnation.

  And I’d rather be damned than let love play me for a fool.

  Love is fickle. Love destroys. Love makes you weak and corrupts wholeheartedly.

  My destiny is my own, and my choices will be the only ones that will dictate my future.

  I will never be love’s pawn again.

  The soulless are incapable of love anyway.

  One rotten girl’s parting choice made sure of it.

  ONE

 
Vincent

  Another day, another funeral.

  Call me a heartless bastard, but I quite prefer funerals to other famiglia obligations.

  Engagements, weddings, baptisms; those are the ones I would rather avoid like the plague. Those are the type of events that would fucking gnaw at my good humor—if I had any, that is. But as the boss of the Outfit, I’m required to at least show my face at such distasteful celebrations. Elaborate affairs to ensure the joyous couple broadcasts their happiness to every person in attendance, while I stew in my seat, wishing my hosts the same misery I live each day and cursing them under my breath for making me bear witness to their bliss.

  Funerals though, I don’t mind one bit. Watching people cry for their loss, while on their knees, begging to an absentee god to give them a cause for such a departure. Hearing their grieving prayers, while trying to reason with themselves why a beloved life has been cut short and taken away from them so soon. Those tears and wails are my symphonies. I understand it. Welcome it even, as they are the only ones that ring true to my own losses.

  Still, this particular funeral isn’t as comforting as I usually feel in such a melancholic ambiance. For the first time in years, I find myself wanting to be anywhere else but here.

  Standing in the cold, looking down at the coffin that will soon meet its final resting place, and knowing the woman inside merited a better end than this, is unsettling. But then again, Anna Maria deserved far better than the life she got, so the manner in which she leaves it should probably be the least of my laments.

  A true saint to the very end. But, for all her altruism and generosity, what happiness had ever been bestowed upon her deplorable life? All she was given was a sadistic, vindictive husband that made her every day a nightmare to trudge on through. An ungrateful daughter that fled at the first opportunity, leaving Anna Maria alone and in the hands of a man who would take his vengeance out on her. And then, as a cruel joke, cancer unexpectedly knocked at her door and stole her light as swiftly as it came.

  I have always known life to be unjust. I have lived through its harsh and tangled webs to know nothing in this world is ever fair. Still, if anyone had been worthy of such mercy, it was the woman who lies still inside the oak wood coffin in front of me.