The Mancini Saga (Book #1) I.O.U.

by April M. Reign

  Mia could not hear what he was saying, but she watched his body language and movements. She stopped eating because she sensed the news was not good.

  Carlo hung up the phone, and with furrowed eyebrows, he slowly walked back to the table. He appeared confused—disoriented. He tilted his head and looked at Mia, “Our honeymoon is over.”

  “Carlo, what is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.

  When he looked at her, she saw the bewilderment in his eyes, his voice almost trembling, and confusion written blatantly on his face. He stared through Mia and whispered, “It’s Antonio. . .”

  The End

  SNAP SHOT (BOOK #2)

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  To the Reader, from John C. Catlin

  This story centers around a hidden menace in modern society, a world that too few truly understand: cults. While the word brings to mind many preconceived notions of pathetically weak people or thoughts of “I’d never let that happen to me,” the reality is that we are surrounded by people caught in the web of cult psychology. It is the same psychology used in an abusive relationship between two people; we know how prolific those relationships are, sadly. Cults, or high-control environments, or abusive groups, or whatever you choose to call them, are destructive and very real.

  While not all cults are as dramatic as the one portrayed in this story, or Jonestown, or the Branch Davidians, they are nevertheless just as harmful to the members of these groups and the families of those members. They are manipulative and devious, even if they seem harmless to outsiders. Cult leadership uses coercive persuasion & peer pressure to separate the members from their families, tell them what to think and what to believe, and mold them into "Stepford wives."

  There is hope, however. Several psychologists, counselors, organizations, and individual experts on cults are able to help. One such individual is John C. Catlin, who says:

  I know the destructive power of an abusive group and of cult psychology . . . because I grew up in one. From the time I was 11 until shortly before my 33rd birthday, my life was all about that religious community, the founders, and our way of life. Even when I was away at college, I was as mentally, emotionally, and spiritually accountable as if I was there. "The Teaching" held sway over everything I felt, thought, or prayed. I felt as if it had total control over me. Over time, that changed . . . and thank God it did.

  There are four ways in which a member can leave a cult: the first is that you realize the place is destructive and you leave on your own; the second is that you get kicked out (like me); the third, sadly, is that you pass away from old age or illness, but are still a believer; the fourth is even sadder—suicide.

  I know how harmful these places can be. It has taken me years to reach my current place of healing and degree of wholeness. Learning and healing continues to this day. I have family and friends, who have left, and I have seen their struggles; but more importantly, I have seen them overcome the mental & emotional scars. It is never too late to find help and healing.

  Do you struggle with these issues? Are you a member, former member, or family of a member of a cult? I know your pain and your struggles. My life was filled with confusion and fear post-cult. Moreover, I still have family that lives in that place. My older family members may grow old and die there. My younger family members are constantly in my prayers; they are unwilling to listen and do not want to communicate. It is heart wrenching.

  Nevertheless, I do not give up on hope, either for my family or for myself—and neither should you.

  If you are on a journey to find answers and get some kind of understanding and healing, John C. Catlin can help. For more information, go to his web site at: www.spiritual-freedom.com

  THE MANCINI SAGA: SNAP SHOT

  Chapter One

  Antonio Mancini adjusted his body on an unfamiliar bed. He moved his arm up to his face and covered his eyes from the blinding light. While his eyes slowly adjusted to the lighting in the room, he knew something was wrong; he could sense it, but he wasn’t able to put his finger on it because of the throbbing headache pounding at his temples.

  Once his eyes had fully focused on his surroundings, he noticed the white sheet draped over his waist and legs, a tray with a pitcher of water to his right and a variety of flowers and balloons from fans, crowding the room.

  Antonio thrust his body forward and quickly glanced from one side of the room to the other. He suddenly remembered everything that happened. He grabbed the call light and pressed the button several times.

  A stocky white man with a military haircut and dressed in scrubs walked into Antonio’s hospital room. The male nurse immediately noticed that Antonio was trying to get out of bed, and he threw his body over Antonio’s body as he simultaneously yelled, “Sir, you can’t leave.” The nurse turned his head and yelled over his shoulder for assistance.

  Confused by the man’s aggressive behavior, Antonio fought off the male nurse as he yelled, “Get me out of here. I need to get my fiancée. They took her. They hit my car and then they took her. Please,” Antonio growled as two other male nurses helped to hold him down. Two nurses pinned down his arms, so that he wouldn’t pull out the intravenous tubes.

  “Mr. Mancini, you were in a car accident. You have to stay in the hospital until we can evaluate your injuries,” the burly male nurse said as he held down Antonio’s arms. “Do you want us to restrain you?”

  “You’re not listening to me, you idiot. My fiancée was in the car with me. There were men in the other car that took her. I saw them take her! Is she here? Is she in this hospital?”

  “Sir, you’ve had some head trauma. Please relax.” Two of the three nurses pressed their weight down on Antonio to keep him still. “Do you want me to give you something that will relax you?”

  “My head is fine. Get off of me.” After another attempt to fight them off, Antonio took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. He needed to think clearly; he needed the nurses to release him. He stopped fighting against the men and instead, he allowed them to continue to hold down his arms and legs. As he relaxed, each of the nurses did, too. He took another deep breath before he tried to address them calmly.

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  Dividing Destiny

  (SAMPLE)

  Prologue

  It was doubtful that, after eight years, this cold case could even be solved. Destiny Parks spread out the contents of the case file on her desk in Century City. The jumble of evidence, reduced to messy stacks of papers, raised more questions than it answered. Leads were dead ends. Pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit. The trail was so stale that she should have boxed up the file and moved it to long-term storage, where it would gather dust, waiting for some hot-shot private investigator to take on the case and get public recognition for solving it. As it turned out, she was that hot-shot private investigator. But she didn’t want public recognition. She wasn’t working the case for money either. With one trembling finger, Destiny touched the cheek of the man in the morgue photo and said softly, “Daddy.”

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  Enticing the Moon

  (SAMPLE)

  Chapter One

  Rebecca Thompson stood alone in her attorney’s office. She gazed out the window at the view of Frankfort, Kentucky, which sprawled as far as the eye could see. Like an iPod set on repeat, the past twenty-two years of her own life replayed over and over in her mind: songs of losses and gains, sorrows and joys. Just two weeks ago, her life had quickly changed with one incident—one incident that was powerful enough to alter her life path, forever.

  Dave Mitchell entered his office for his 9:00 a.m. appointment. A young woman stood still, mesmerized at the bank of windows that overlooked the metropolis, a faraway expression on her beautiful face.

  “Ms. Thompson? Rebecca Thompson?” Mr. Mitchell asked, gently touching her shoulder, as if he was afraid he would star
tle her.

  Rebecca slowly came out of her reverie, turning to look into the eyes of an older man when she felt him touch her shoulder. He had an easy gentleness about him that made her feel comfortable, a sense of ease that made this entire situation bearable.

  Once he knew he had her attention, he continued, “Hi, Rebecca, I’m Dave Mitchell.” He extended his hand to her and she obliged, yet said nothing. “I’m your father’s attorney and I’ll be reading his will to you today.” He motioned for her to take a seat across the desk from him.

  Rebecca walked slowly away from the window and sat down in the plush chair that was placed on the other side of a huge mahogany desk. She assumed the outer self mask of confidence that she knew presented herself as a woman with no fear, someone ready to take on the world. However, she hid the inner self from Dave Mitchell; she veiled that woman who was plagued with fright, uncertainty, and confusion about her present and her future.

  She no longer had control of her own life. What was worse; she knew the man in front of her held her cards in his hands. She was anxious to find out what hand had been dealt to her. She had decided that she would hold her head high, no matter what the cards revealed.

  Rebecca now regretted that she did not keep up on her father’s financial affairs. She knew that he was a wealthy man. He was a self-made millionaire who lived like a middle-class person, a man who thought of others before he thought of himself. He was a philanthropist, a man who believed in doing for others, a man who would be remembered for his generosity and social consciousness in the big city that lay before her.

  That lifestyle did not fit into Rebecca’s mentality that the world owed her for the loss of her mother. She discovered at a young age that caring about people or loving someone meant someday losing them and she never wanted to endure that pain again. Therefore, she closed her heart to the world and her mind to the possibilities of ever loving another person. She was alone, and she intended to stay that way.

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  The Turning – Bound to Darkness

  By April M. Reign and E. Arellano

  (SAMPLE)

  Prologue

  Am I dead? Nicholas thought. His mind faded in and out of consciousness. One minute he could see the chaos around him, and the next minute everything was dark. Like a strobe of flickering light, the world around him moved in slow motion. Nicholas closed his eyes tight before he slowly opened them again.

  Briefly, he was able to focus long enough to become aware of his surroundings. What did he notice first? Was it the lights or was it the pain screeching through his body?

  It all became clear slowly. Noise, confusion, people yelling orders to each other, and sirens blaring, all surrounded him. But, it was the consistent thudding in his head that sped up and then slowed down. That consistent inner pounding threatened to consume him. He knew it was his heart, but the labored beating sounded odd. It felt wrong. Nicholas tried desperately to remember what had happened to him. He tried to, but the insistent beating of his heart echoed louder than his thoughts.

  He knew he was lying down. His body was shaking violently, but even that felt strange. His arms and legs felt heavily weighted down like an anchor. He could move his fingers and toes beneath the restraints that were confining his limbs, which in turn eased his mind that he was not paralyzed.

  The sounds around him were deafening and the pain was unbearable. His blood-tinted eyes distinguished the bright interior surroundings. As the siren blared, he realized he was in an ambulance. Suddenly, the pain, the noise, and the horror that had broken open like a busted dam became secondary to what was more important—his wife.

  "VICTORIA!" he tried to scream past the blood and saliva spurting from his mouth. The exposed artery on the side of his torn neck pulsated. He could not breathe, could not talk to the paramedics, could not stop shaking, could not stop bleeding—and he could not stop the pain.

  He was unaware that his badly bruised, beaten, and bleeding wife lay in the ambulance following behind his. While he was fighting for his life, Victoria was fighting for three: hers, and their unborn twins.

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  About the Author

  April M. Reign started writing poetry at the age of fifteen. She is the oldest of three girls and was lucky enough to witness the true romance of her happily married parents.

  April was born and raised in Southern California. She is a single mother of two wonderful boys, and enjoys spending time with her family. Sitting on the beach during a simple sunset is where she finds her most creative place to write. Please visit her at: www.aprilmreign.com or become a friend on facebook at www.facebook.com/aprilmreign