Taken: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Vanessa Waltz

  He palmed my shoulder, shaking me.

  “Carmela—”

  I slapped him off and dove from the sheets, but they’d wrapped my torso. The gentle touch returned, and I slammed my elbow into his body.

  He grunted.

  I freed myself and spilled onto a pile of clothing. There must be a weapon somewhere. If I could gain the upper hand for a minute—

  The lights flared on.

  I whirled, looping a belt around my fist.

  Michael stood beside me, massaging his bare chest. A red mark glared on his left side. His heavy-lidded gaze flicked to my hand, and then his lips curved.

  “What are you going to do, flog me?”

  The panic from the dream lingered like a suffocating fog. “Stay away.”

  He grabbed his briefs and pulled them on. “Put down the belt, Carmela.”

  I tightened my grip on the leather. “Take a step toward me, and I’ll hurt you.”

  “Go ahead. Your ass will be raw after I’m done with you.”

  “I’ll fucking do it! Stay away from me!”

  “Well, that put me in my place.” Mischief gleamed in his eyes as he lurched forward.

  I loosed the belt and let the buckle fly. It missed his face and gouged the wall. Michael seized the leather, wrapping the strap around his arms. He yanked. I slammed into his chest. He gathered my wrists in one fist and knotted them behind me. A sharp pain jolted my elbow when I twisted. I couldn’t free myself.

  This was familiar. Way too familiar.

  “Stop—stop! Please!”

  “You stop.”

  “You have to let me go!”

  Michael cinched his arm around my waist and utterly immobilized me. “I will when you calm the fuck down.”

  I couldn’t.

  My senses were filled with Nick. I stomped his feet and sank my nails into his legs. He snapped my wrists, stopping me. I screamed. I couldn’t break free. I was trapped.

  “Let me go!”

  “Stop fighting me.”

  I jabbed my elbow into his abdomen, but it was like concrete. I shoved with my feet. His back hit the wall. His laughter vibrated through my body. I slipped from his loosened hold. He seized my arm and lazily yanked me into his embrace, which wrapped around me like ropes. He dragged me to the floor, one arm covering my torso, the other cinching my legs.

  No.

  A scream caught in my throat.

  “Breathe. I’m not going to hurt you.” Michael crushed me against his burning chest. “Breathe.”

  He tucked my head under his chin, and his earthy scent surrounded me in a cloud of intoxicating bergamot and spiced orange. Rough hands grazed my forehead. I flinched. My eyes screwed shut as he palmed my head. I expected pain—a stinging slap—but the soft pressure returned.

  Soothing. Gentle.

  What was he doing?

  I recoiled even though it wasn’t painful. My heart pounded as I anticipated pain. I dug my elbow in his ribs, wrenching left and right. My panic reached a crescendo, and the air vanished. I sagged into his arms, numbed, giving up.

  This was the part where I’d float above my body and disappear, but Michael pressed his mouth to my temple. I grimaced and shuddered, but after two more kisses, my body melted. The lump in my throat shrank as his metronome heart thudded into my back, and his scent enveloped me in a fog that embraced me like a tight hug. His knuckles grazed my hair. Warmth bloomed where he kissed me. Suddenly, there was nothing else, not his hands or his body, just the imprint of his lips.

  It felt so good.

  My breathing slowed. This was Michael. And he wasn’t restraining me.

  I slapped his arm away and dove to the opposite corner.

  Michael didn’t follow. He remained on the floor, back against the wall, his face flushed. He looked more alive than he had all week. He watched me with restless greed, head propped on his hand. His hair stuck up in all directions. He smoothed it back into a loose wave.

  “That was fun.”

  “Fun?” The word stuck to the back of my throat. “You almost gave me a panic attack.”

  “I was controlling the situation before it got out of hand.” Michael’s tone darkened, and the smile flattened. “I don’t tolerate violence in my home.”

  “Really? What the hell is all this?”

  “They’re toys, and there’s a huge difference.”

  A lump swelled in my throat. “You tie up women.”

  “Only those who want me to tie them up.”

  Michael fanned his flushed chest and gave me a look as though I’d made him too hot, and it replaced my fear with a dark thrill.

  “You attacked me, Carmela. That’s not okay.”

  “Are you lecturing me?”

  “I’m telling you the rules.”

  I ground my fingers into the carpet. “You backed me into a corner.”

  “I’ll let it slide because you were scared, but you can’t do that again. I am not your punching bag.”

  “All right.”

  My stomach roiled as I imagined what might’ve happened if I’d landed a hit on Michael. I had never thrown a punch before my ex. My lack of control brought home the fact that I was damaged.

  Michael sat beside me. “Bad dream?”

  I looked away from him.

  “Seemed pretty intense.”

  I’d rather drink battery acid than tell him. “Drop it, Michael.”

  An awkward silence settled between us. Evidence from last night throbbed between my legs. Blemishes marked my chest that I covered, buttoning the shirt. Michael stretched out his legs, pissing me off with his casual elegance. He didn’t deserve his good looks.

  He dipped, kissing the shell of my ear.

  I moved away from him. “Don’t.”

  “What?” He sounded genuinely shocked.

  “Kiss me. Touch me. Act like you give a shit. Ever again.” My anger boiled over when his eyebrow lifted even further. “You owe me honesty, not manipulation.”

  “I’m completely lost.”

  Liar.

  He knew what he was doing.

  God, I was tired of being used.

  He seized my hand as I stormed away.

  “I had you floating on cloud nine last night. Don’t pretend you hated it.”

  I didn’t hate it, and that was the problem.

  I couldn’t be that vulnerable again. “Never again.”

  Nine

  Michael

  Yes, I was a monster.

  I spent my youth in petty pursuits—sleeping with high-class escorts, married women, anyone who caught my eye—and I didn’t care about the fallout. I robbed businesses. I killed. I helped lesser men cheat their way to the top, and no matter how many people I destroyed, there were always more idiots waiting in the wings. If a man had the money to buy them all, he could conquer the world.

  At twenty-three, I became the youngest captain in the Costa Family. I led a crew of six men that helped me move cocaine from Montreal. My part-time gig involved managing Sanctum, an underground sex club filled with beautiful women. I was young, the girls were hot, and I snorted anything that wasn’t nailed down.

  Then I got a girl pregnant.

  Suddenly, I was responsible for a life other than my own. I sold my penthouse apartment, moved to the burbs, and cleaned up my shit. Serena was a disaster, but if it weren’t for my children, I’d be dead.

  I owed them everything.

  That single-minded devotion had crashed headlong into Carmela Ricci, the woman I’d married on a fucking whim.

  My head pounded. I’d finished half a bottle of wine. I needed to fuck my wife, but she loathed me, and I hated being around her. Those weighted glares. Her sullen presence. With my kids, Carmela was pleasant, but her incongruous smiles dug at me. Her contempt burned into my sheets every night.

  I couldn’t stand being at home, so I stayed away as much as possible.

  In the five days of my new marriage, Boston had seen a spree of grisly murders, attempte
d assassinations, and car bombings. I was in charge of damage control. The violence wasn’t our doing, but a sock-puppet MC club called Rage Machine.

  I took phone calls all day. My role as advisor to the acting boss meant I handled a lot of the diplomacy. Considering Vinn was piss-poor at dealing with people, most of the kowtowing fell to me. Everybody was outraged over a civilian’s recent death—a missionary and father of three, which meant on top of everything, an entire Baptist congregation was out for blood.

  Not good.

  Civilian deaths meant a lockdown on business. Police cracked down hard, raiding Irish and Legion drug operations, which threatened our alliance with them because we no longer had Alessio’s connections.

  A chime echoed through my home, the persistent ringing hinting at my visitor’s animosity. I glanced through the leaded windows. The glimmer of blonde hair and a tell-tale khaki wool coat set my alarms on high-alert.

  Oh shit.

  Brooke.

  She was a working girl at Sanctum that I’d fucked around with last year after Serena’s death. Brooke had big fake tits, a model-thin body, and loved kink. The perfect submissive. She dropped to her knees when I pointed at the floor, but she had one huge drawback.

  Insanity.

  I hurried downstairs and froze as my unsuspecting wife unlatched the door, having already buzzed Brooke in. It was like stopping to check out a car crash. I had to watch.

  Sunshine spilled over Carmela’s bronzed skin. Her lips pulled into a bright smile that faltered with Brooke’s accusing glare.

  “Hello, I’m Brooke.” Her nasal, West Coast accent shot into my house. “So you’re the wife.”

  “Carmela.” She hesitated before shaking Brooke’s hand. “Can I help you?”

  “You can step aside. I need to talk to your husband.”

  Carmela didn’t budge. She took up more space between Brooke and the threshold. I expected her to call for me, but Carmela didn’t tear her gaze from the blonde.

  “Who are you?”

  “His girlfriend,” Brooke said, lowering her shades. “Didn’t he tell you?”

  That crazy bitch.

  Carmela crossed her arms, not taking the bait. “He wouldn’t invite you to our place.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Carmela frowned. “What do you want?”

  To wreck my home, obviously.

  “To speak with Michael.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  I renewed my descent, amused by the whip-like crack in Carmela’s voice. She was keeping a remarkably calm head. Her lack of giving a fuck made me swell with pride.

  Brooke tapped her heel. “Honey, Michael and I—”

  “Mrs. Costa.”

  “Mrs. Costa. Michael and I go way back.”

  “I don’t care,” she deadpanned, closing the door. “This is my house. He’s my husband. Get your own.”

  Brooke wedged her fist into the frame. “He’ll be upset when he finds out you did this.”

  “I don’t give a damn. March your fake Louboutins off my porch, or I’m calling the police.”

  Time to intervene.

  I strode across the room. The snap of my soles on the wood echoed, and they glanced at me. My rage must’ve been obvious because Brooke staggered before I slammed the door shut.

  “Daddy? Who’s there?”

  Shit.

  Mariette stood several feet away, gaping at us. “Why was she so mad?”

  “Nobody, hon. Just a crazy person.” I caught Carmela’s waist, her body folding into mine with zero resistance. “Sweetheart, why don’t you fix the children a snack?”

  Carmela may have played it cool in front of Brooke, but when the door closed, her eyes flashed at me.

  “Why don’t you?”

  “I’ll take care of the nutcase. Go on.”

  I grasped her chin and kissed her frown lines, then her cheek, and then her angry pout. A shock jumped into me with the slightest pressure of her lips.

  Jesus, it was electric between us.

  Jaded women like Brooke didn’t hold a candle to my wife. Carmela’s buttery-soft mouth melted into mine, tasting like vanilla, like the girls I’d chased in my early twenties, her purity as refreshing as iced tea. I angled my head and met her tentative kiss with a harsh stroke.

  Carmela sank her nails into my side.

  I pulled away, my heart thundering.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen.” Carmela detached from me, red-faced and feral. She looked like she wanted to clock me.

  I’d get shanked in my sleep.

  Where the hell was my self-control?

  I watched Carmela sweep Mariette from the foyer, zeroing in on my wife’s ass. It took a moment to remember the psycho standing outside. I wrenched open the door.

  Unsurprisingly, Brooke hadn’t left.

  “A nutcase? You’ll take care of me?” she exploded as soon as I stepped out. “Who do you think you are?”

  “A powerful man who can make your life miserable.” I seized her arm and shoved her backward. “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard you were married!”

  So she’d decided to show up at my home like a lunatic. No fucking boundaries. I’d ghosted her after she wouldn’t stop texting me. I’d blocked her number, twice. She’d bought another line just to harass me.

  What was it with me and crazy chicks?

  Did I have a sign embedded on my forehead?

  Brooke’s tearful gaze slid to my living room window, where Carmela observed, arms folded. “How could you marry her?”

  “Watch your tone.”

  Her voice broke. “Are you in love with her?”

  “Is that any of your business?”

  “You can’t be.” She seemed tortured by the idea, which struck me as hilarious. “You wouldn’t have fooled around with me.”

  “She wasn’t in my life then, and blowing me on a semi-regular basis hardly gives you the right to be jealous. I never promised you anything.”

  Brooke’s knees hit the ground. “Please.”

  A pretty girl on her knees was my weakness. It should’ve filled my cock with heat, but I was as limp as a rag doll.

  “Get up.”

  “Make me,” she purred.

  “This isn’t a scene. I was done with you months ago. You’re lucky I don’t kill you for ambushing me at my house and harassing my wife. Leave my property.”

  “You said you weren’t over Serena!” She shot upright and nudged my chest. “Why would you say that?”

  “I lied to get rid of you.”

  “You’re a fucking bastard, Michael!”

  This was what I deserved for letting down a woman easy. I’m never sticking my dick in crazy, ever again.

  She resisted the pressure as I wheeled her toward the gate. “I’ll tell everybody the truth about you!”

  “You going to tell them the size, shape, and taste of my cock? Feel free to shout it from the rooftops.”

  “You traffic women into Sanctum. You’re a monster.”

  What a ridiculous lie.

  I pushed her onto the sidewalk. “Goodbye, Brooke.”

  “I know about Serena! She used to be a Sanctum girl. You met her there and got her pregnant.”

  Why was she digging into my past?

  “Careful, Brooke. Remember who you’re talking to.”

  I clearly needed the same reminder.

  Brooke was a danger whore. Me strangling her would probably be the highlight of her miserable life.

  “You know what the girls think of you?” She clung to my arm, and I shook her off. “Some of them love you. Others believe you murdered your wife.”

  I slammed the wrought-iron gate and stalked to the house. Brooke’s threats followed me in high-pitched screams.

  She would reveal my crimes. She hated me. She’d take me down.

  Get in line.

  Serena overdosed in rehab. Everybody knew that.

  Didn’t they?

  Brooke
was lying. She’d thrown that in my face to rattle me, and it worked. The thought that I’d mistreated Serena for a single second during our dumpster-fire of a relationship left me so agitated that I charged into a pink and black blur.

  I steadied Carmela with a hand on her waist. The sight of her froze my anger. She was stunning in the kimono. A wide sleeve fell when she clutched her chestnut waves, exposing a length of her slender, olive-skinned arm. My mouth went dry as I took in her curves filling the silk, the tempting shadow of her collarbone, the peaks of her breasts, the hollow at the base of her throat begging for a kiss.

  “Carmela, she’s nothing to me.”

  She tucked a strand behind her ear. “I don’t care.”

  “You threatened to call the police.”

  Her brows pinched as she breezed from my side, heading to the living room. “That was for your benefit, not mine.”

  I yanked her into my arms.

  She turned, red patches burning high on her cheeks. “Michael. Stop it.”

  “Not until you admit that you’re pissed.”

  “Fine. I’m angry.” She elbowed out of my grip, dropping her deadpan. “I’m trapped in this house with a man I loathe, who has mistresses and invites them over.”

  “Did you miss the part where I threw her ass out?”

  Suspicion and fury darkened her gaze. “I will not tolerate another woman, Michael. I have my pride. If you’re unfaithful, I’ll leave you.”

  She thought I’d let her go?

  Cute. “I’m not a cheater.”

  “Does it matter if I believe you?”

  Yes, it fucking matters. “If you’re going to hate me, I’d like to know I’ve earned it.”

  “You kidnapped my father. Stole my freedom and happiness. Trust me, it’s earned.”

  She stepped around me.

  I blocked her path. “The same applies to you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I demand loyalty.” I leaned in, her vanilla scent triggering a dozen memories from that night. “Like it or not, I’m your only option.”

  “You may be my husband, but you don’t own me.”

  Carmela shoved me, much harder than Brooke’s pathetic tap on my chest. The force sent me back a step.

  The first real smile in days carved into my face. If she was this upset over cheating, she’d already bought into this marriage. I had no intention of messing with our life together, but Carmela’s head?