Taken: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Vanessa Waltz

  “I like your kids, but I do not like you.” Carmela seized a dishcloth from a drawer and wiped crumbs from the counter. “And I don’t think I ever will.”

  Not surprising. “Keep going.”

  “You’re a bully,” she boomed, throwing the rag in the sink. “A joyless asshole. You’re lonely. You’re hurting over your brother and Serena.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

  She cocked her head and smiled. “About her or the rest of it?”

  I’d kick her out if my children didn’t already love her. “How am I joyless?”

  “You dodge family events. You don’t want to join the band or the pajama dance party—”

  “Banging on pots and pans is not music.”

  She glared at me. “It’s fun.”

  “It’s rupturing my eardrums.”

  “I’m helping your ungrateful ass, which you’d notice if you stopped behaving like a jerk!”

  Carmela blew air in a steady stream, the only sign that she was distressed beyond the slight pink of her cheeks. I’d known no one with more grace. Beautiful, even when she gazed at me like slime under her heel.

  I pulled her close. “Do you hate me, Carmela?”

  Some of the fire in her eyes dimmed.

  “You’re giving me little reason not to.”

  “I’m trying to change that.”

  She glanced at the purse. “Why?”

  “Looking at you is torture, but not touching you is killing me.”

  Her hourglass curves filled my hands, triggering a dozen images of us tangled in the sheets. Carmela’s flush had spread to her neck and chest, and I dipped, kissing her cheek. Her lips parted, and she let out the smallest sigh.

  “Should I tell you what I think of you?”

  Her nostrils flared. “I’m good, thanks. I’ve had my fill of truth.”

  “I might surprise you.”

  “I don’t need to hear it.”

  “The man before me left a deep wound.” I traced an invisible scar over her heart. “You’re hurting. You’re lonely. And you’ll be eating from my hand soon...because only I can give what you want most in the world.”

  She lifted her head, bewildered.

  Nothing was more exciting than a strong woman surrendering control—that collapse of every layer of defense until all that remained was their true essence. The key to Carmela’s soul wasn’t hard—I’d discovered it within a few minutes of conversation.

  She had yet to figure me out.

  Twelve

  Michael

  I was a gangster, not a diplomat.

  But I was expected to fix our fraying relationship with Legion MC. The bikers didn’t understand why we couldn’t call off police raids anymore. They wanted a bigger cut. They demanded this and that while they terrorized Boston with their sock-puppet club, Rage Machine. The president of Legion had requested a meeting, so we booked an event venue where violence was unlikely to break out, a brick dining hall lined with elk tapestries.

  Rich people and their majestic animals.

  The Ivy League school, Bourton, was not the ideal place to discuss business, but it was neutral ground. Nobody would be tempted to open fire on a college campus. Nico had donated so much cash that all we had to do was mention him. Plus, the food wasn’t bad.

  My olive branch included free barbecue, which the biker scum would devour like rats. Steam spiraled from the heated trays that’d been picked through minutes before the president arrived. Carmela and I sat against the wall, surrounded by suits. She wore a pink dress with a plunging neckline, and I couldn’t look at her without imagining my mouth on her tits. Eventually, I’d have to find Vinn, but I had zero desire to detach from the brightest thing in the room.

  She was in a testy mood, probably because she kept catching me ogling her cleavage. She tapped my chin, forcing my gaze to crash into her deep browns for the third time.

  “Where’s your self-restraint?”

  Almost dead. “I’m restraining myself right now.”

  Carmela rolled her winged eyes, dismissing me. She drank her Prosecco, her neck tipped in a graceful arch.

  “You act like you never moaned my name during sex.”

  She choked, her lips shining with alcohol. I imagined claiming her pout and sucking it dry, or better yet, spilling more of that golden liquid between her breasts and licking them clean.

  Our wedding night was never far away. Every smoking-hot minute of handling Carmela was fresh in my mind. She had a gorgeous body. The taste of her invaded my senses when I jerked off. She’d infused my blood with reckless lust that wouldn’t shut up.

  Carmela set the glass down. “Can we not talk about—”

  “I love the sound of you coming. I wonder what noise you’ll make when I fuck your mouth.”

  Carmela ground her teeth. “Not going to happen.”

  “Yeah, I guess finishing in your mouth is a waste of cum.”

  She threw me a suspicious look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I was dropping anvil-sized hints, hoping the pieces would click in her brain. All she had to do was ask—my answer would be yes.

  I leaned across the table, fighting to keep my voice even, to be patient. “You know what it means.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Perhaps she was that obtuse. “Jesus.”

  “Either explain or shut up.”

  “I can’t. That’s not doing you any favors.” My knuckles glided under her neck, pressing into her throbbing pulse. “Figure out what you want.”

  “My family.”

  This was a waste of time. If she wasn’t ready to accept it, forcing her down the path would inflict more damage.

  She flinched when I kissed her forehead and darkened as though clouds shifted overhead. “I’m owed your trust, but you won’t leave me alone with the kids.”

  “I will. Someday. Don’t I deserve points for that?”

  Apparently not.

  Her face crumpled as she ripped from my hands and stalked away, disappearing into the crowd. A stone sank in my stomach as heads turned to watch the blur of pink march across the marble floor.

  A couple of facts became apparent.

  One—Carmela had a mental block the size of Texas.

  Two—I wished I were on her good side.

  It was out of character for me. Carmela could assume whatever she wanted about me. I was trying to get laid. It’d be a win-win situation. She needed to snap out of her denial.

  Maybe that would never happen.

  I couldn’t trust her, and she’d never see past the bastard who had tortured her father. After Serena, I sure as hell wouldn’t invest myself in another relationship. Marrying Carmela was for my children, and maybe a little for my career. She wouldn’t love me, and that was fine—the hooker who loved me was insane.

  Carmela would love my kids.

  That was all that mattered.

  My mood nosedived as a broad shoulder nudged mine.

  Vinn scraped a seat and stole Carmela’s vacated spot. He settled into the chair, which groaned with his weight. His clean-shaven appearance and black suit channeled an Italian James Bond. I still wasn’t used to seeing my cousin in suits. He was more of a hoodie and jeans guy, but he had to dress the part.

  He flung an arm across my shoulders. “Trouble in paradise?”

  “We’re great.”

  “Oh, Mike. What did you expect? You kidnapped her dad. Everything she says and does is under duress.”

  “Did I ask your goddamned opinion?”

  “If you had, I would’ve told you not to marry a stranger. Why did you do it?”

  “She checks off the boxes on my list.”

  “So do a million other girls.”

  Vinn’s stare bored into me, but I had no interest in listening to him mock me for the next half hour when I gave him the real reason.

  “I don’t regret it.” I finished my drink, the heat hitting my throat. “She makes Mariette and Matteo happy, and t
hat’s all that matters.”

  “You almost sound like you believe that.”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “Fine. Have you asked about Alessio?”

  I dug into my glass. “She has no idea where he is.”

  “You think she’s telling the truth?”

  “Yeah, I’ve access to her emails.”

  Which was a lie, but I planned on hacking them eventually.

  Vinn rubbed his temples, his forehead rippling with an uncharacteristic show of strain.

  “Alessio will come back.” I pictured him in a Hawaiian button-up and board shorts, and snorted. “He’s too Italian to be content with grocery store cold cuts that taste like ass. He’ll miss his espressos, cannolis, prosciutto di parma, and he’ll come back.”

  “I swear to God—he lost his fucking marbles once that kid was born.”

  “Someday, it’ll happen to you, too.” I patted his bicep. “Then you’ll understand why I married Carmela.”

  “I’m not having kids, ever, and you marrying Carmela will always be crazy.” He gestured across the room. “Speaking of, you might want to save her.”

  “What?”

  He pointed at a drunk Anthony, who swayed as he chatted with my wife. Anthony was the son of Nico Costa, the actual boss of the family who was serving a five-year sentence in jail. Anthony was an alumnus of this ridiculous school. He’d graduated with a bachelor’s in psychology and had done nothing with his life but party and abuse drugs. We used to hang out all the time until I wised up and ditched the cocaine.

  All I’d needed was the right motivator—fatherhood.

  I had hoped he’d have a come-to-Jesus moment, but the man was thirty-four.

  My chair pushed back before I realized I’d stood. Bodies blocked my way to Carmela, whose smile widened as Anthony leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. He wore a Bourton blazer over slacks and looked surprisingly put together, given his state. That was the danger with Anthony. At first glance, it was hard to tell he was so troubled.

  He caught my eye and toasted the air.

  “Mikey!”

  I groaned at the nickname. “Hey, Anthony.”

  “Tony, man. It’s Tony. How many times do I have to remind you?”

  “At least a few more.”

  I buried my grin and grabbed Carmela’s waist, distracted by the skintight fabric hugging her hips. I cinched her to my side. Then I pressed my mouth under her chin, kissing that delectable spot.

  Carmela beamed, sliding her arms in my jacket.

  “You two are so cute.” Anthony jostled his drink, the ice clinking the glass. “Makes me want to vomit.”

  Pissant. “Pretty sure that’s the Jägerbomb.”

  Anthony drank, frowning. “What do you see in him?”

  Your jealousy’s showing, you snide little fuck.

  I held in the comment because I was eager to hear what she’d say.

  “Plenty.” Carmela placed a hand on my chest and stared at me. “Michael has a great sense of humor. He respects me. He’s loyal—he lays everything on the line for family.”

  “Any plans for children?”

  I peeked at Carmela, who seemed unwilling to answer. She swallowed hard and glanced at me.

  “Carmela’s dying for a baby.” I smirked at my wife, whose face registered naked shock. “We’ll get to that soon, won’t we?”

  Anthony sipped his cocktail. “I’ve never met a guy who wanted kids.”

  “Nonsense. What about Alessio?”

  “He’s a weirdo—doesn’t count.” Anthony shrugged, slurring his words. “Seems to be something men put up with to keep a woman.”

  “Not for me.”

  Anthony shot me a black look.

  “That’s what I love about you,” Carmela gushed in a sweet tone she reserved for Mariette. “You are an amazing father.”

  Did she mean it?

  She’d said it before, but never with a caress in her voice. It hit me in the only place I was vulnerable. I had to know if she was messing with me, but I couldn’t read anything in her expression.

  Carmela’s hands glided up my throat. She stopped, her mouth centimeters away.

  I leaned in, my heart hammering—

  Anthony made a juvenile noise, cleaving through our energy. He murmured a goodbye before stomping off.

  I could’ve hurled my glass at his head.

  Carmela slipped out of my jacket and stepped back, her cheeks pink. “He’s a character.”

  “He’s a pain in my fucking ass.” I growled, checking my watch. “Damn. I have a meeting I couldn’t care less about, but when I return you’re sitting in my lap all night.”

  “Won’t that give you an erection?”

  Probably. “Try not to break too many hearts.”

  Thirteen

  Carmela

  I hated wiseguy parties.

  My dad couldn’t stand that I was twenty-seven and unmarried, so every few months he’d invite all the single mafiosos for a barbecue. Mom bore the brunt of the cooking, so I’d helped roll the dough for the tomato pie and kept the liquor flowing for the greedy sons of bitches.

  They’d packed my parents’ home like vermin—fat, power-hungry, cheese-eating rats. Some were old enough to be my father. Men with pot bellies. Guys who talked too loud and leered at me with disgusting grins.

  I felt like I was reliving the past at this party with all the Costa soldiers and their wives. There were no families. It was mind-numbingly boring, and I didn’t have Matteo and Mariette to keep me company.

  I nursed my Prosecco, unable to shake Michael and the things he’d said. Carmela’s dying for a baby. I’d never so much as hinted at that, despite it being one hundred percent true.

  What the hell was he playing at?

  Men wearing leather drifted through the crowd, heading for the buffet. My pulse galloped as six-foot giant with a ginger beard loaded his plate with steak. Tattoos decorated his arms, and a Legion MC patch covered his chest.

  Nick’s gang.

  My stomach filled with ice.

  Michael had mentioned it was a get-together with his partners, but I had no idea that meant Legion. Nick could be here.

  I had to leave. I opened my phone and called him, but it went straight to voicemail. My thoughts raced. I was better off at the house than here. Staying put me at risk of bumping into Nick, who likely still lived in a fantasy land where I was his loving girlfriend and he didn’t repulse me.

  I pushed people aside in my haste, bursting from the service exit behind the kitchens.

  Frigid air stung my feet and legs. Men lounged against the brick, smoking. Leather cuts flashed into view as I hurried past.

  A wolf whistle cut me to the bone.

  “Lift up your dress. Show us that pussy.”

  “Want a ride, baby?”

  The familiar baritone poured gasoline on the flames. The universe couldn’t be that cruel.

  “What’s your name, beautiful?” A man peeled from the wall, flicking his cigarette. “Hold up.”

  I picked up my pace, my heels cracking the pavement. A lightbox glowed ahead. If I reached it, I could call campus security—

  “Hey, I’m talking to you.” Heavy footsteps thumped the concrete with a jingle of metal. “Baby, hold on.”

  He pawed my shoulder as something drifted into my nose.

  Cloves.

  I used to connect the scent with home, but now it reminded me of death. The smell came from Nick’s ebony cigarettes. So many times, I’d watched him light up. Before our love story turned into Fatal Attraction, I’d bought boxes and slipped them in places for him to find.

  “I said, hold the fuck on.” His playfulness evaporated as he dug into my forearm. His mouth twisted into a scowl that smoothed over when I spun around. “Beauty.”

  He looked the same as he did months ago, still wearing his golden hair in a messy California wave. A snarl of one-percenter imagery wrapped his sleeves in vivid, black ink. A dark shadow covered hi
s jaw and cheeks. He kept his beard short because it grew in patchy chunks. Nick cupped my face, his eyes glazed with lust.

  “Hi, Nick.”

  “Hi, Nick. That’s all I get?”

  Nick’s broad hand settled over my chest as he pushed, with way too much force. When he’d hurt me, he fed me a line of bullshit. I don’t know my strength, babe. Michael’s imperial frame was just as strong, and he’d never injured me.

  I had the feeling he’d scoff at a man who used that excuse.

  “Nick, it hurts.”

  Nick hissed, crushing me against the wall. His fingers glided up my neck, and squeezed my artery. I slumped, my heart pounding, my lungs struggling. He loved keeping me on the edge of suffocation.

  “Nick, stop.”

  “Where have you been? I’ve searched everywhere.”

  He pinched, cutting off my tether to life. Nick watched me gulp for air, his lips curled in sadistic greed. His mouth caught mine, hungry, devouring. A tide of vomit threatened as his tongue slashed my lips open. He tasted like his disgusting cigarettes, the clove spice invading my senses. He kissed me as black spots ate my vision. He released me, the rush of oxygen flooding my body with vigor.

  I yanked to the side. “Get off me.”

  “I’m not done with you, Beauty.”

  “Back away.”

  “You want to talk?” He retreated several inches. He sighed, zeroing in on my cleavage. “Start by explaining yourself.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Doing what, running out on me?”

  Nick had no idea I was married. If he found out, he’d crush my throat. A faint tingle shot down my spine. I’d been prepared to die for a long time. I wished he’d just do it.

  At least I’d be free of him.

  Suspicion darkened his gaze. “Carmela.”

  “I’m here with someone else.”

  “You’re messing with me.” His finger stabbed my neck. He drew a line as though mimicking a blade, his nail scoring my flesh. “You must be. I’m a jealous man. You know I take no prisoners.”

  “We broke up.”

  “I never agreed to that. You walked out on me, and ever since then we’ve been playing this cat-and-mouse game.” He slipped under my dress, sliding up my thighs to cup my ass. “I find you. We fight. We fuck. Then you run. I’ll admit, it was fun for a while, but now I need you back.”