Breaking Bones (Mariani Crime Family Book 3)

by Harley Stone

  “This family will collapse without me,” Carlo replied, drawing himself up to stand taller. “Everything I did, I did it for the family. I don’t expect any of you to understand that, though. You bunch of pussies. None of you have any idea what it really means to be a wiseguy.”

  “I think we know exactly what it means to be wiseguys,” Dominico replied. “Angel, get me the plastic. I’m not messing my floors up for this chooch. He’s not worth it.”

  Carlo’s face reddened as Angel retrieved a roll of plastic drop cloth material from the office closet and unrolled a length out on the floor beside Carlo. When he finished, he cut the plastic and returned the rest of the roll to the closet.

  Carlo watched the entire thing without saying a word.

  Dominico pulled a pistol out of his desk drawer and pointed it at Carlo. “Step onto the plastic like the piece of shit you are. You’re not worth the stains you’d leave behind without it.”

  For a moment, I didn’t think Carlo was going to comply, but Dominico waved the gun at him again, and he moved.

  “Now, you’ve wronged every man in this room,” Dominico said, standing as he plucked a switchblade from the top of his desk and flicked it open. “So, every one of us is gonna get a piece of your sorry ass. Starting with the one your betrayal crippled.” He handed the switchblade to Michael, handle first.

  Michael wheeled himself directly in front of Carlo. Then, in one fast swipe, he stabbed Carlo in the stomach. Carlo cried out, doubling over in pain. Michael gripped the handle and yanked the knife out. Blood bubbled around the wound.

  “You motherfucker,” Michael breathed. “You don’t know what the fuck strength is. You’ve spent your entire life hiding behind your desk like a goddamn coward, surrounding yourself with people who risk their necks for you. You say love makes people weak, but my wife and kids made me a hell of a lot stronger than you ever did.”

  “Bones,” Dominico said.

  Michael handed me the knife, and I took my turn, stabbing Carlo in the side. “You’re a goddamn disappointment,” I said. “Nothing but lies and manipulations. Too damn cowardly to be honest with anyone. You told me to trust no one, but all I learned was not to trust you. I trusted Angel, Nonna, and Dom, and they helped me bring your ass down. I want you to go to the grave knowing that trust made me a better man than you’ll ever be.”

  “Angel.” Dominico gestured him forward.

  Angel planted the knife in Carlo’s shoulder. “You think you did this shit for the family?” Angel asked. “You don’t even know what family means, asshole.” He pointed at me. “That’s family, and you would have thrown him away to save your own skin. You killed his father to cover your ass. You can tell yourself whatever you want, but your motives were always selfish. Go to hell, Carlo. You’re not part of this family any longer.”

  “Renzo,” Dominico said.

  We went around the room until everyone had taken their turn. Then Dominico slit Carlo’s throat, putting an end to both his life and his pain. As the last spark of life fled from Carlo’s eyes, Dominico muttered, “Quando finisce la partita il re ed il pedone finiscono nella stessa scatola.”

  When you finish the game, the king and pawn end up in the same box.

  They sure as fuck did. As I stared down at Carlo’s corpse, I couldn’t help but wonder if he thought of himself as a king or a pawn.

  But then again, it didn’t matter. We buried his ass in the dessert like he was nobody.

  EPILOGUE

  Bones

  Two years later

  ARIANA STOOD ON the stage, mic in her hand, her belly round with our son, fucking glowing as she belted out notes that made me so goddamn proud I could barely stand it. My woman had so much talent that she held the attention of the sold-out room. Nobody talked, nobody ate, everyone gave her their full attention.

  She was no longer the Tuesday night singer.

  No, the Acropolis had taken one look at the crowds Ariana started drawing and had moved her show to cover weekends. They’d increased her salary, and between wages and tips, she was making more in two days than she made in forty hours of waiting tables. Needless to say, she quit her damn waitressing job.

  Ariana could quit this job, too, as far as I was concerned, but she loved it. And she was fucking good at it. Even eight months pregnant and referring to herself as an island, all of her shows kept right on selling out. Her voice had a way of drawing people in and holding them captive. People came to Vegas for an escape, and Ariana provided them with one. Listening to her was like taking a vacation in a sea of emotions.

  Hell, she even choked me up sometimes.

  And, she was a fucking knockout. She was the most beautiful sight this stage had ever seen, and every eye in the room was fixated on her. I tried not to worry too much about that, but goddammit, I sure did. Despite the big-ass diamond I’d slid on her finger when she took my last name and her pregnant belly, some assholes still tried to make a play for her. She should have a bodyguard twenty-four seven to protect her, but I knew I couldn’t let anyone that close to her.

  I’d protect her. It was my duty. My honor.

  Angel and Markie sat beside me, watching Ariana perform. Angel had his arm draped over the back of Markie’s chair, his attention split between Ariana’s performance and the newborn baby sleeping in Markie’s arms. Luca, born only weeks ago, was the next Mariani family heir. He had his father’s dark hair and features, but his mother’s blue eyes. And Dominico’s lungs, because that kid could fucking yell.

  Soon Ariana and I would have our own little curtain climber, probably yelling at Luca through the wall that separated our condo from Angel and Markie’s.

  The lovebirds had their own space now. I’d moved in with Ariana shortly after all the shit with Carlo went down. Having a family underboss trying to kill me had opened my eyes about how short life really is. I loved Ariana and wanted to spend all the time I could with her, so moving into her place seemed like the logical thing to do.

  Besides, Markie was on the mend, and I was getting sick of hearing her and Angel fuck like rabbits.

  Angel and Markie were married a few months later, and Ariana and I got hitched shortly after that. Now Angel and I were just a couple of family men, protecting our families and our Borgata.

  “Her voice is amazing, Bones,” Natalia said, leaning toward me as she watched Ariana.

  “I know,” I replied, smiling proudly.

  Joey and Noah sat on the other side of Natalia. Noah had fully recovered from his bullet wound, and all three of them were now working for the family. Never thought I’d see the day when the Durantes and Marianis teamed up, but so far shit was going well. And judging by the guilty looks Natalia kept flashing Angel’s younger brother, Dante, a family alliance might even be in the works.

  Dante sat with Nonna, Dominico, Annetta, and his four younger siblings at the next table. The seven-year-old twins, Georgio and Luicana, had been acting up and were separated by their teenage sisters, Sonia and Sofia, who didn’t look happy about being sandwiched between the littles. Annetta kept glancing at Markie, and I knew she was seconds away from waltzing over to snatch Luca from his mom. Actually, I was surprised Markie still had possession of the baby with all the family surrounding her.

  Nothing made family closer than the birth of a child.

  I’d seen this firsthand with the way Ma and Natalia kept stopping by to check on Ariana and bring her food. Surprisingly enough, Ma had taken to Natalia, inviting her over for holidays and family dinners, insisting that it wasn’t my sister’s fault that Pops was a cheating bastard.

  Our family was growing and strengthening.

  Ariana’s last song ended, and she was escorted offstage. Hurrying to join her, I took her back to her personal dressing room, locking the door behind us. Seeing Ariana in her element always got me worked up, and I’d made a habit of fucking her in her dressing room after each and every performance.

  A habit she very much enjoyed.

  I don’t kn
ow why we did it, but most likely it had something to do with the way all those men were lusting after her while she was onstage. Something inside of me needed to fuck her and remind us both that she was mine. All mine.

  Her gaze cut to the locked door before she smiled up at me. “Franco Leone, we talked about this. You said no dressing room sex, because we have family waiting for us today. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

  “I have no memory of that conversation,” I replied.

  She cracked a smile. “Convenient.”

  “Very.”

  Closing the distance between us, I scooped her up in my arms and kissed her hesitations away, making my intentions clear as my erection pressed against her lower stomach. I pulled back far enough to rest my hands on either side of her face and look into her gorgeous brown eyes. They say pregnant women glow, but Ariana was the fucking sun. With her eyes bright and her lips swollen from my kisses, she had my dick so hard I could have used it to pound nails.

  But I’d rather pound her instead.

  “You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” I said, kissing her lips again as I unbuttoned my pants and pulled out my cock. “I’ll be quick. They won’t even notice our absence. Please tell me you’re not wearing any panties.”

  “I know how worked up my performances get you,” she breathed against my neck, peppering it with kisses. “Of course, I’m not wearing panties.”

  Her heavy breathing told me she was just as worked up as me. My hand went up her dress to confirm. Nope, no panties. And she was soaking wet. I dipped two fingers inside her, and she let out a moan, throwing her head back. I thought my heart and dick would explode with love and longing as I watched her fuck my fingers. I twisted and turned, curling my fingers to get them in that spot she loved so damn much. She came on my hand. I waited for her to ride out the wave of ecstasy before pulling my fingers out of her pussy and licking them clean.

  She watched me, her eyes hooded, as she grabbed my cock and stroked it.

  Time was running short. I knew the family would be looking for us soon, and I needed to hurry and get us both off, so we could get back to them. “Bend over the dressing table,” I said.

  Grinning, she turned around and did what she was told. I lifted the hem of her dress, taking a moment to admire her ass. Our son had widened her hips, plumped up her breasts, and thickened her ass, giving her the most perfect curves I’d ever laid eyes on.

  And she was mine.

  I gave her ass a little smack before lining myself up at her soaking wet entrance. I thrust into her, feeling her tight pussy expand to take me in, to take me home. Because that’s what Ariana felt like: Home. Grabbing her hips, I settled in to a nice steady rhythm, fucking her at a pace I could have kept up all night.

  There was no place on earth I loved being more than inside her.

  My beautiful, pregnant wife had other plans, though. Gripping the sides of the dressing table, she moaned. “Fuck me, Franco. Fuck me hard.”

  I could have taken all night, but I’d learned long ago to give the lady what she wanted. So, I reached around to massage her clit as I picked up the pace, riding her until she unraveled around me.

  When we finished, we cleaned up and fixed our clothes. Ariana straightened her hair, but there was nothing she could do about the just-fucked flush of her cheeks. I loved that goddamn look on her so much. Raising my eyebrows, I silently asked her for round two, but she laughed, pushing me away.

  “You’re insatiable,” she said.

  “Only for you,” I said as I led her out to our waiting family, who’d no doubt know exactly what had taken us so long to come out of the dressing room. “I love you, babe, and I just can’t get enough.” I kissed her neck, her jaw. “Let’s hurry and get through this so we can go home, and I can get my face between your thighs.”

  Her cheeks reddened as she smiled up at me. “I like the way you think, Mr. Leone.”

  “I like the way your dirty little thoughts make you blush, Mrs. Leone.”

  Putting a hand possessively, protectively on the small of her back, we rejoined the family. The space was crowded, and I didn’t let Ariana get out of my sight once. I trusted the family, but she was mine.

  And I protected what was mine.

  Thank you so much for reading Breaking Bones. I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey, and will check out some of my other books listed below. Please take a moment to write a review. They only require twenty words and help me tremendously. I appreciate your support!

  Visit my website and sign up to be included on news about future releases: http://harleystoneauthor.website/

  Come stalk me!

  Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/HarleyStoneAuthor/

  Twitter - https://twitter.com/HarleyStoneAuth

  Also from Harley Stone:

  Link’d Up: #1 in the Dead Presidents MC

  Wreaking Havoc: #2 in the Dead Presidents MC

  Trapping Wasp: #3 in the Dead Presidents MC (coming soon)

  Dom’s Ascension: Mariani Crime Family Book 1

  Making Angel: Mariani Crime Family Book 2

  Dial A for Addison: S.A.F.E. Detective Agency #1

  Throw Dylan from the Train: S.A.F.E. Detective Agency #2

  Harley Stone is a lover of animals, books, dark chocolate, and red wine. She's always up for a good adventure (real or fictional), and when she's not building imaginary worlds, she's dipping her toes into reality in southwest Washington with her husband and their boys.

  Copyright © 2018 by Harley Stone

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States

  Back Cover:

  Fresh out of jail, Dead Presidents MC Sargent at Arms, Marcus “Havoc” Wilson, is trying to lay low and keep his PTSD-induced temper under control while helping other military veterans rejoin society. In search of relaxation techniques, Havoc stumbles upon an alluring bookstore owner with a violent past of her own who’s able to calm him down in ways he’s never experienced.

  Julia Edwards gave up her life of privilege the minute she tried to kill her ex-husband, and she doesn’t want it—or him—back. As a small Seattle bookstore owner, she’s determined to spend her days hidden between the covers of romance novels until her real-life fantasy appears and shakes up her entire existence.

  Can these two attempted murderers find peace together? Or will the loose ends from their past unravel their future?

  Havoc

  SEATTLE DRIVERS ARE assholes. Our traffic jams are legendary, and today, 5th Avenue is a parking lot. By five-thirty p.m. it was already getting dark and the normal January drizzle had started up again, screwing with visibility and slopping up the roads. Then, some narcissistic motherfucker in a Mercedes decided he was too important to wait, made an illegal turn, squeezed in front of a minivan, and almost clipped my bike.

  The asshole probably didn’t even see me since he was staring at his phone the entire time. Thankfully, I saw him and swerved my Fatboy out of the way, coming within inches of a parked car in the process.

  He had the gall to honk at me. At me! Like I’d almost run him over. Maybe he thought I didn’t deserve to be on the road because I was driving a Harley instead of a Mercedes? Who knew how the minds of rich, conceited motherfuckers worked? Since there wasn’t a damn place to go, he came to an abrupt stop. I squeezed my bike between him and the parked car and knocked on his window.

  Looking at me like I wasn’t worth the air I was breathing, he rolled his window down half an inch like a fucking coward.

  “Didn’t get very far, did you, asshole?” I asked.

  “Fuck you,” he said and rolled up his window.

  It would be so easy to rip my helmet off and use it to bash in the side of his car. Rewarding, even. At least for a couple of minutes. Then the guilt would set in as I remembered how goddamn hard I’d worked to not be the man who flew off the handle anymore. I’d gained a lot of ground over the past few years, and I wasn’t going to let some pansy-ass bitch-boy make me lose it.r />
  “He’s not worth it.”

  They weren’t my words, but they’d been drilled into my head by Sage, the Dead Presidents Motorcycle Club’s counselor. Most clubs didn’t have counselors, but when you shove a ragtag bunch of military vets with post-traumatic stress disorder together, a counselor is necessary. Believe that.

  Sage would also tell me to take a beat and chill the fuck out. That sounded like a good plan, so I parked my bike, fed the meter, and scanned the area for some place I could cool my heels. A bar named The Line sat in the middle of the next block. Determined to take five and not let some entitled asshole get the best of me, I hoofed it down the street and slipped inside the bar.

  Sports paraphernalia was plastered all over the walls and the basketball game was on. I got a couple of sideways looks, but nothing I wasn’t used to, especially while wearing my cut. Confident I’d found a watering hole I could somewhat relax in, I pulled up a barstool and ordered a stout.

  The game was a close one, stressing me out far more than it should have, but if the Blazers didn’t get their shit together, they’d be out of the playoffs again. Two free-throws were missed, and I shook my head and went out back to smoke.

  I was just about to light up when I heard the muffled cry of a girl.

  The city was loud, but I knew what I’d heard. Straining my ears, I put my smokes back in my pocket and ventured out into the covered picnic area.

  “Don’t you fuckin’ bite me, you little whore,” a male voice said.

  There was a slapping noise and the woman called out again. Grunting followed.

  I rounded the divider to find some wiry asshole plowing into a girl bent over a picnic table. He had his hand covering her mouth. She met my gaze, and her eyes begged me for help.