by Bree Porter
Table of Contents
The Rocchetti Queen
COPYRIGHT
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Bonus Scene
Coming Soon
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Connect with Bree
Bree Porter
THE ROCCHETTI QUEEN COPYRIGHT © 2020 BREE PORTER ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by Dar Albert at Wicked Smart Designs
Edited by Sheri at Light Hand Proofreading
Inside graphics and formatting by AJ Wolf Graphics
To my little sisters
You’re too young to read this! Put it down! Go play Minecraft or something
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Bonus Scene
Coming Soon
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Connect with Bree
A lessandro found us first.
He skidded into the room, banking on the wall. His eyes took in the room, widening in shock. But he didn’t go for his grandfather or the window shards or his family. He came straight to me, hands cupping my cheeks.
“Sophia,” he whispered. “Sophia, Sophia, my Sophia.”
The funeral was a sea of black.
Dark coats and umbrellas stretched over the cemetery, hundreds of people all clumping together over the grass and graves. From Rocchettis to politicians to rival mob bosses, everyone had come to pay their respects. On the edge, pressed against the fence, paparazzi waited with their cameras, both excited and wary of the infamous don’s funeral.
I stood with my family, holding my precious son to my chest. Days old and already attending his first funeral. Unfortunately, there would be many more funerals in his lifetime.
My husband stood beside me, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. But I knew from the tightness in his shoulders, the pressure of his hand on my lower back, that Alessandro was not happy and the sooner the funeral ended, the better.
Beside my husband stood Salvatore Sr and Enrico. The children of the Don. Neither of their mistresses was present—both Aisling and Saison were not permitted to stand with the family at such an event. Though, I’m sure neither of them was upset about such an arrangement.
My brother-in-law stood behind his father, empty eyes roaming the mourners with disinterest. Every now and then his stare would rest on Dante in my arms and a strange expression would take hold of his face.
So many other powerful men stood at this funeral. From Patrick McDermott, Don of the McDermott Mob, to Mitsuzo Ishida, Yakuza King of New Jersey. The Lombardis, the Chens, the Ó Fiaichs; from New York to Los Angeles, everybody had come to pay their respects, to mourn the Don of Chicago.
Their presence was one reason why my husband was so tense. As I arranged the flowers and catering, Alessandro had handled the security. For days, I had watched as he’d worked to figure out every issue, every danger, before they came to pass. After all, a mafia boss was nothing to scoff at, and having over a dozen of them all together? A recipe for disaster.
But so far, the crime kings had behaved themselves.
I wasn’t worried about the foreign mafioso. Instead, my attention was trained solely on my fellow Rocchettis.
The priest stepped back from the grave, finishing his psalm. He had evoked God with such a passion that I knew the poor man was begging—begging—for the Heavenly Father to let in Don Piero. Because let’s face it, Don Piero went straight down and was now probably smoking cigars with the Devil.
In my arms, Dante made a soft mewling sound. I glanced down and was rewarded with the sight of my son waking up. His little eyes struggled to peek open, the blue of them alarming but temporary. I could see him struggling to take in my face, which was hidden behind a black lace veil.
I softly stroked his forehead with my finger. “Hush, darling,” I whispered, “it is almost over.”
Alessandro leaned down. “Is he hungry?” His hot breath tickled along my ear, causing shivers down my spine.
“He is due for a feed in half an hour.” I pressed a kiss to our son’s soft skin. Dante scrunched up his face but didn’t seem displeased. He was figuring out his muscles, playing with them until he made funny faces that had me snorting with laughter.
I smiled up at Alessandro, who was already peering down at me. His dark stare burned straight through the lace veil, warming up my cheeks.
On instinct, I reached out and smoothed down his tie. I had probably adjusted his hair and suit over a dozen times, and yet they kept getting rumpled or moved, either from my husband's general irritation at having to dress up for appearances or because of the elements.
Another old friend of Don Piero’s got up to give a mellow speech, his deep voice encouraging tears out of the crowd. I had already cried—it would’ve been rude not to.
I cast my eyes up to the sky. October in Chicago was enjoyable, even if the threat of rain loomed. Hopefully, Mother Nature would hold out for us today. I wasn’t in the mood to trudge through mud.
Finally, the speeches came to a close. The family shifted, lining up, ready to individually pay our respects.
Don Piero’s sons and brother went first. Toto tossed the dirt onto the coffin with little care, looking almost irritated with this whole ordeal. Enrico and Carlos Sr showed more restraint, murmuring quiet words that disappeared into the wind.
Alessandro and I were after his big brother. I watched as my husband swept up the dirt, gripping it in his hand. Together we stood on the edge of the hole, peering down at the shining casket, where Piergiorgio Rocchetti was finally resting.
“Any last words?” Alessandro said quietly to me.
I regarded the Don’s casket.
The exhaustion of having a newborn had not stopped my brain from mulling over the last minutes of Don Piero. I woke up with the scent of metallic blood in my nose, the sound of the gunshot ringing through my ears.
Together, you make a Don, a Boss. Together you will be the Rocchetti Dynasty.
“No,” I said, tongue heavy. “Do you?”
My husband flicked his wrist, the dirt falling into the hole. Darkness gripped his face, harsh and cruel. “Sleep well, bastardo.”
The reception was held in our home. Guests milled around, nursing flutes of champagne and blotting at their dry cheeks. The guestbook was signed furiously, and every available surface was taken up with a dish someone had brought us.
After feeding Dante and soothing him to sleep, I returned downstairs. As I went down, I nodded at Raul, who would make sure no one dared to approach my sleeping son. Alessandro had been very strict in his orders about Dante’s protection—to the point where I had pitied Raul.
Nina joined me first, her veil gone, revealing her brown curls. “You really must get a nanny, Sophia.”
“I haven’t had the time.” We kissed on both cheeks. “Have you eaten yet?”
She ignored the question, instead setting her lips tightly.
“What is the matter, Nina?” I asked, even though I already knew.
“You fired Elizabeth.”
I had. Elizabeth Speirs, Nicoletta’s round-the-clock nurse, had been dismissed. “I have moved Nicoletta to the gated community, Nina. You understand how vigilant we must be with security here. And she was such a loudmouth, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I hired her because I thought she was the best fit,” Nina said, trying to sound diplomatic and failing miserably.
I smiled lightly and led her around the house, greeting people as I went. “I hope you’re not taking this as a personal attack, Nina. I’m doing what’s best for the family.”
That seemed to soothe her slightly, or at least remind her not to show her emotions so readily. “Of course,” she said. “Whatever you feel is best. Who will replace her?”
“I’ve sent Nero to collect her as we speak.” I patted her arm. “Make sure you eat something. Grief makes people gluttonous.” I left Nina in the living room doorway.
To the untrained eye, this might look like just another reception. But I could see the bodyguards loitering around the shadows—all protecting their respective bosses. Each conversation was tense and strategic, each greeting had a purpose to it. Alliances and marriages were hinted at, paired with threats and challenges.
Eyes danced around the Rocchetti men, predicting who would be the next don—predicting who they should make their alliance with.
I smiled and entered the room.
Alessandro stood in the middle of the room, joined by an older dark-haired man and a young woman. I recognized him as the Don of the Lombardis, but the woman was unfamiliar.
My husband’s dark gaze settled on me and he stretched out his arm. “Sir,” he said, bringing me closer to him. The heat of his touch warmed my bones. “May I introduce my wife, Sophia? Sophia, meet Vitale Lombardi, head of the Lombardi Mafia, and his daughter, Isabella.”
New York was divided among five families, all of them ferociously fighting over borders and ports. The Lombardis were one of the Italian mafias, their territory stretching over Queens and Manhattan.
I couldn’t imagine brushing elbows with enemy families the way they did in New York. The closest family to the Outfit was the McDermotts, but they were up in Milwaukee.
“You are as beautiful as they say, Mrs Rocchetti,” purred the don, kissing my outstretched hand.
“You are too kind, sir,” I replied.
I caught a slight eyeroll from his daughter, and my attention moved to her. Isabella was a tall, slender young woman, with long dark hair and olive skin. However, pretty was too tame a word to describe her—her features were a collection of hard, sharp lines that created a striking beauty. One I had never been able to achieve.
She held up her shoulders at my attention, the fabric of her dress clinging to her. She looked much more comfortable in black than I.
Don Lombardi put a hand on his daughter’s back. If I was an idiot, I would have thought it was a reassuring paternal touch. But I knew it was a warning, and from the tightness of Isabella’s shoulders, so did she.
Isabella said, “My condolences for your loss.”
“Thank you. They are much appreciated.” I gave the girl a grateful look. No, not a girl, I reprimanded myself, she is the same age as yourself.
“It is a shame to lose such a strong mafioso, a member of the old guard,” Don Lombardi said. “Tradition is not as valued as it once was, but Piergiorgio always honored the old ways. Like we do in New York.”
My husband’s expression didn’t falter. “The Outfit will never fall prey to that New Age bullshit.”
Suddenly, voices rose. I turned my head, trying to distinguish the sudden source of excitement. I was greeted with the sight of Mayor Alphonse Ericson strolling into the room like he owned the place.
The Mayor wore a clean suit, with a little American flag pinned to the corner. His ever-present, arrogant grin made the hair on my neck stand up.
I excused myself from the Lombardis and graced Ericson with my presence.
“Alphonse,” I greeted. “I fail to recall sending you an invitation.”
“Don Piero was an important member of our community. I mourn him just as much as anybody else,” was his diplomatic response.
“Is that so?” Alessandro came up behind me, voice deep. He wrapped an arm around my side, tucking me to him.
I smiled at my husband. “This must be a new opinion of his, my love.” I cut my eyes back to Ericson. “Only a fool would dare step into this house believing anything else.”
A flicker of unease crossed over the politician’s face. From the tightening of my husband’s arm, he had caught it, and he was delighted to see it.
"At ease," came a familiar voice. We turned to see Salvatore Jr heading toward us, his dark eyes gleaming. "I invited him."
"And you forgot to mention it to anyone?" Alessandro asked shortly.
Salvatore Jr nodded his head to Mayor Ericson in greeting. "Thank you for coming, Alphonse. Please, make yourself at home."
An interesting offer on my brother-in-law’s behalf, considering this was not his home and he had no right to make such a statement. But I smiled graciously, hiding my annoyance, and gestured an arm to the tables of food.
Alessandro narrowed his eyes at me. I met his.
Salvatore Jr was making his first move. Inviting an enemy into someone else's territory. Hopefully, Salvatore Jr was smart enough to protect himself from said enemy.
Like he could read my thoughts, Alessandro smiled slightly—though there was nothing kind or friendly about it.
Slowly, Alessandro turned back to Mayor Ericson. "My brother will show you to the guestbook."
My husband and I left the mayor and Salvatore Jr.
"I do not like how that went," I told Alessandro quietly as we moved through the crowds.
"Neither did I," he admitted. "Salvatore seems to think he has an actual chance of being the next don."
"Does he?"
Alessandro thinned his lips, which gave me my answer.
I hid my uncertainty behind a pretty mask, greeting a few people as my husband and I glided past. It was a shame I wasn't drinking at the moment—I could do with some champagne.
"I think his attempt at building a relationship with Ericson will end poorly. Perhaps we should let that one handle itself," I said, unable to leave the topic alone. Salvatore Jr was my least favorite Rocchetti (with Alessandro, Beppe and Santino taking the leading positions) and he made his dislike for me clear.
Alessandro had not forgiven his brother for his several attempts on my life. Though I convinced him to play it smart, to let his brother relax, I couldn’t help my slight desire to see my husband tear his throat out. The only comforting thought was that Alessandro had completely taken over security, slowly pushing his brother out.
We reached the buffet. Alessandro passed me a plate, keeping his head bowed down to mine so we could continue to converse in private.
"Why do you think that?"
"Er
icson does not like the Outfit. In fact, I believe he is working with the FBI... Well, Agent Dupont, at the very least."
My husband lifted his head, eyeing the other side of the room where Ericson and Salvatore Jr were politely chatting over a glass of bourbon. "That relationship could prove to be trouble. My brother will do anything to anyone to get what he wants."
Adelasia was proof of that, he didn’t have to say.
I nodded, piling up my plate. "I've been thinking of ways to get rid of him and replace him with Salisbury. Unfortunately, I never paid attention in Social Studies, so I've come up with nothing."
"We could always kill him," Alessandro said casually.
"No. Then his deputy would take over. She doesn't seem to be sympathetic to our cause either." I passed Alessandro a small loaf of bread and we left the buffet table.
Alessandro found us a spot on the couch to sit—well, by 'found', I mean, he gave the previous guests a foul look and they quickly scurried away. My husband balanced his plate on his knee, even making such a domestic act look threatening...and sexy.
I cringed at my rising lust. Sex was off the table for six weeks—doctor's orders! But the countdown had caused a few small anxieties to rise up in me. I knew, in the sane part of my mind, that Alessandro wouldn't be bothered by the stretch marks that Dante had left. Yet still...the nagging thought refused to leave me.
Pregnancy and childbirth had struck a major blow to my vanity. And though Dante was the beacon of my life, my body felt...as if it wasn't my own anymore. My hips and stomach and breasts were unrecognizable. No longer belonging solely to me.
Perhaps it never had been. But I had been happy living under the fantasy that it was.
"What's with the strange look?" Alessandro asked me, his rough voice cutting through my self-pity.
"Nothing." I smiled at him. "Just tired."
Before Alessandro could say anything else, his father came stomping over. Beautiful Aisling followed, her eyes meeting mine and brightening in greeting. The redness of her hair was striking against the black dress she wore, making her stand out among the brunettes and blondes.
Toto the Terrible looked mad. His eyebrows were scrunched together, and his lips pressed into a tight line.
