Bound to the Mafia (Bound to the Bad Boy Book 2)

by Alexis Abbott

  Well, can’t say I didn’t warn him.

  I reach up and catch the first punch he throws. He’s stopped mid-lunge, and my arm doesn’t budge a hair. He brings his other fist in for a shot to my gut, but I twist his wrist around and thrust him back against the wall. He hits it hard, and I hear his head hit the back of the tile wall. He gives his head and wrist a shake, and I turn to face him as he recovers.

  “Don Abruzzi’s got a price on your head, Bruno Lomaglio,” the guy says, rolling his shoulders back like he’s getting ready for the fight of his life. “Didja know that? And man, the Cleaners are payin’ good for anyone who can fuck you up.”

  This is news to me. My brow furrows, but when he comes in again, I can see his moves coming from a mile away. He tries to tackle me, and I move in with a quick shot to his gut, then another, and I hurl him to the ground, but he manages to keep his footing. He’s a big guy who clearly works out, but he’s got no finesse. Probably an enforcer.

  He comes in swinging, and I put up my fists to parry and dodge the onslaught before I give him a quick jab to the nose that surprises him for a second. That’s all I need. I seize his wrist and twist it around him, shoving him up against the wall and holding him there.

  “Tell me some more,” I order him.

  “Get fucked!” he barks.

  “Wrong answer,” I say, twisting his arm a little more, and he grunts in pain and throws his free arm back, getting a hold of my ear.

  He wants to fight dirty.

  I don’t give him the chance to do any damage. I spin him around and slam his face into the white ceramic sink, hard, and there’s red on it after he cries out in pain and crumples to the ground.

  He doesn’t get back up. I hear him groaning in pain, but it’s muffled. He’s holding his mouth as blood trickles out, and when he moves it, I hear the clatter of a few teeth falling to the ground.

  As he starts coughing, I move to a different sink and turn on the hot water, calmly washing my hands off with soap and drying them off on my clothes.

  “Tell the guards you fell,” I say as he writhes on the ground. “Ratting and getting thrown in the hole after a botched fight isn’t a good look.”

  But I hear the sounds of boots running outside, and I give the kid on the ground an almost pitying look. “Tough luck, kid,” I say, moments before guards burst into the bathroom, and I don’t resist as I’m wrestled to the ground by two guards while two more handle the blonde.

  I ’m marching back to my cell with the rest of the inmates, and it’s a thoughtful walk. I narrowly avoided getting put in seg, though I have no idea how. These guards are the kind to throw anyone in there, if they have any excuse. I got lucky.

  Though how lucky can I feel? I knew the Cleaners had it out for me, and I’ve been waiting for one of their soldiers to try something on me, but if he’s spreading the word to random thugs, Don Abruzzi must just want to make my life a living hell.

  I was careful in that fight. I held back more than I would have when I first got in here. Push your opponent too far, and you both get thrown in the hole, no matter who starts the fight.

  At least I’m not entirely alone in here. As I walk past the cells, I glance into those occupied by my fellow Costa soldiers and enforcers. We trade knowing looks, sometimes nods, but we keep a low profile behind bars. I’m not dragging old grudges in here if I can help it.

  They have a way of finding me easily enough.

  But I know that the Costas in here with me are why I haven’t had even more trouble from our enemies. I was arrested right after the assault on the Abruzzi compound, but word spread like wildfire, and I got word that I was a hero to the mob.

  I gave the Cleaners a bloody nose they wouldn’t forget anytime soon. Don Abruzzi vanished off the face of the earth for a while, probably hiding in some manor upstate.

  Load of good that did me now. Stolen from my girl, from the only thing that mattered at all. I put it all on the line for her, and though the Costas might think I held my tongue to protect them, it was to protect her. I accepted my punishment to keep her safe. That was the deal.

  Nothing can ever happen to Serena. And if I have to do time, then I’m still going to do everything I can to make sure that remains true. If I’d drawn out the court proceedings, turned the Costas on me...

  Well, it wouldn’t have been a wise decision, and I’d still have gotten my ass locked up.

  When I get back to my cell, I notice two things. First, my cellmate isn’t here. I don’t know the guy very well, so I don’t think much of it, because the second thing is a lot more interesting: I have mail. I smile at the sight of the handwriting on it, because I recognize it.

  It’s from Serena.

  Serena and her letters have been a ray of hope shining through to this bleak and dark place. The crushing isolation is something that nobody is ever prepared for. Writing letters to prisoners is something so many people on the outside never even think about, but reading the words of someone not in prison is like a breath of fresh air. They’re reminders that we’re still ourselves.

  They remind us that the outside world hasn’t forgotten us, and that we’re still loved.

  And Serena’s love could keep me going for a lifetime.

  Everything I’ve done in here to perfect my body, everything I’ve done to keep myself sane, to keep hope alive, to remember the outside world, it’s all been for her. The sight of her face before getting thrown into the back of a police car is both my dearest memory and what haunts me.

  But letters are one way we can stay in touch. She writes to me as much as she can, even though her schedule is so busy running the shop alone again. As I run my fingers along the paper that I know she’s touched herself, as much hope as it gives me, I feel a pang of guilt in the back of my mind.

  I stepped back into her life for a moment of joy, only to get snatched away, just when we thought we would be together. Just when things seemed to be going right.

  Those are thoughts I have to keep down deep. They’ll consume me if I’m not careful, and I’ve seen guilt and regret eat people alive in here, driving them truly mad. I can’t blame myself for what’s happened.

  But I can blame someone.

  Detective Price has been my shadow, even since being in here. He haunts me, dropping in from time to time to summon me to interrogation rooms, drilling me for more information about “my case.” He uses it as an excuse to push my psychological limits.

  Taking me down earned him a reputation, and since he’s deep in Don Abruzzi’s pocket, that means he’s had more leeway to investigate mafia operations in the Bronx, which means putting pressure on us.

  And since I’m both the highest-ranking Costa member behind bars and the living symbol of his success, he has a close eye on me. I have a feeling he’s also the reason that most of my letters out to Serena get mysteriously lost in the mail.

  All letters get screened by guards. If something is deemed worth censoring, the letter goes in the trash. End of story. A lot more of my letters get censored than Serena’s, but I know not all of hers make it in, either.

  I cherish the ones that do, though.

  I unfold the paper and read her fine handwriting.

  Dear Bruno,

  Things were great at the shop this week! I started a new promo based on an idea Rafaela had. I’m having people bring back a few old shampoo containers to recycle in exchange for a free hand-soap to advertise that new scent I told you I was working on. It’s been a hit so far! Also, Rafaela says hi. She says Nico does too, but you still owe him a beer... or five.

  So, I forgot to mention it in the last letter I sent, but we just passed the anniversary of that time we went down to the beach. I know, I know, it’s dumb to keep date-anniversaries, shut up! But when I’m lonely in bed at night, sometimes I picture us back on those sands again. I feel you pulling my shirt up over my head and tossing my bra to the side. My heart starts racing, and I think of your strong hands feeling me up. God, your fingers are so thick, bu
t they were gentle with my nipples... at least, as gentle as they should be. I remember the feeling of your teeth grazing them, and my whole body misses you even more. Do you remember how wet I was for you when you touched me that night? I could never forget how good you felt, and your thick shaft going into me made me feel more whole than I’ve ever felt.

  I’ve treated myself a little since you’ve been gone—I’m writing this wearing a new... outfit. I spent a little extra on some lacey pink and black lingerie. I love it! I’m looking down at the way it hugs my thighs, so close to where my legs meet, and all I can think about is you running your rugged carpenter’s hands along them, your stubble brushing up against it before you let that tongue of yours out.

  I can’t stop thinking about you, Bruno. I tried to make this letter about the usual stuff that’s going on from day to day, but just thinking about us has got me in a different headspace. As soon as I’m done writing this letter, I’m going to go take care of that, and I’m going to be thinking of you inside me. Then I’ll try another letter and see how that goes! I keep thinking about how much stronger you’ve gotten since you’ve been working out in there, and I wish I could be with you so badly. I wish I could slip into your cell for just one night. I’ve thought about that, and I’ve thought about you doing everything you could ever dream of wanting to do with me. Think about me the next time you’re feeling lonely in there, and remember that I’ll be thinking of you.

  Serena

  She signs her name with a bunch of little hearts drawn next to it. I smile and read the letter over again, and I feel the beast between my legs stirring at the thought of her. Steamy letters do usually get through, and they’re a blessing.

  My mind is already swirling with the thoughts of the things I’d do with my Serena if I had her with me. We don’t get the conjugal visits some married couples enjoy, so letters like these are the best we can do. I’m not much of a writer, at least not like Serena is, but I’ve been trying my hand at returning the favor as best as I can.

  I read the letter over a third time before I stow the letter with the rest, under my bed. I’ve barely finished doing so when guards appear at my cell door, and I give them a puzzled look when they open the barred door.

  “New cellmate,” the guard says gruffly to me as I stand up, keeping my face stony. A new cellmate could mean any number of things, and after that new guy tried to jump me earlier, I don’t think it bodes well.

  “What happened to John?” I ask, but the guard just grunts.

  “Transfer.”

  Arching an eyebrow, I look to the two guards behind him to see who they’re leading into my cell, flexing my fist.

  SERENA

  7 YEARS AGO

  I check my phone incessantly throughout the day, taking every excuse to leave class and run to the bathroom or go out to the courtyard for a “breath of fresh air.” I know it’s becoming an annoying habit, and all of my friends roll their eyes at me when I take out my phone and click the screen open during a face-to-face conversation, just to see if I have any messages from Bruno. They don’t understand. It’s rude of me, I know. But I can’t help it. I just can’t stand the thought of accidentally missing one of his rare, almost cryptic messages.

  It’s a different number every other time or so, because he uses those disposable, pre-loaded crappy little phones from the supermarket. I don’t know if it’s just because he can’t afford a regular cell phone like mine, or if he prefers the air of mystery those burner phones give him.

  I don’t ask questions like that.

  It’s not important, really. All that matters is that he stays in contact sometimes. I wish he talked to me more often, but I know he’s a busy guy. We couldn’t be living more different lives. Class is back in for me and I’ve started my junior year of high school, and my thoughts are filled with the prospect of prom and passing my exams and turning in term papers. I think about making sure my stupid school uniform is cleaned and ironed every evening before bed, about how I’m going to do my hair and makeup in the morning. I think about whether I’m going to try out for our school’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream to bolster my college applications with some performing arts credits. I worry about which colleges I should apply to and whether I will qualify for scholarships, even though with my dad’s money I probably won’t need them.

  Or at least I used to think about those things. I should still be worrying about that kind of stuff now, too, but instead I’m just checking my phone and zoning out in AP U.S. History class, my mind circling around Bruno and wondering when I’m going to finally see him again. Since the day we first met a couple months ago at the construction site — which has been almost totally finished up by now — we’ve only seen each other in person a handful of times. Three times, to be exact. We did end up meeting at the park around the corner from my house in Riverdale, but we only had about an hour to spend.

  I convinced my mom that I was just going to my friend Gemma’s house for dinner and to watch a movie, and then I took a cab to the park. By the time I got there, Bruno had already been waiting for a while. I was late, having been forced to endure my mom’s interrogations. But he didn’t seem to mind at all. His face lit up when he saw me, and my heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. I nearly floated down the pathway to the little pond where Bruno was sitting on a bench. He had a small bouquet of flowers, as well as a half-full bottle of Campari.

  It was a magical hour, just sitting there slowly getting tipsy with my mysterious new beau. Of course, we didn’t do anything. Just talked for a while, comparing our favorite books and movies, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. I honestly couldn’t even recall what all we discussed, because I was so blissfully caught up in just being in his presence. It was intoxicating, even more so than the Campari we took turns sipping straight from the bottle. Every time our shoulders brushed together, every time he looked directly into my eyes, I felt like I could simply melt into the bench. A puddle of goopy infatuation on the ground.

  I hadn’t wanted to leave, but I knew the longer I took, the more likely my mom would suspect something was up. Despite the fact that she’s never been super involved in what I do with my time and I definitely consider myself closer to my dad, she does seem to have a weird sixth sense about my actions.

  Dad always says it’s because she and I are so similar, she can anticipate what I’m going to do. But I think that’s crazy. We’re nothing alike!

  The next two times I saw Bruno, it went about the same. I lied to my mom about where I was going, and then I took a cab to see him. Our second date was a movie. Some over-the-top horror movie that normally would have given me nightmares, but since I spent the whole time obsessing over whether or not Bruno was going to try and put his arm around me, I hardly noticed the movie. Even with all the blood and guts and screaming. Bruno is infinitely more interesting.

  And he did, in fact, put his arm around me. It was enough to make me all tingly and loopy for the rest of the flick. Thank god for the darkness of the movie theater, because I must have looked absolutely crazy, grinning giddily while watching a horror movie.

  The third date was a few weeks ago. We went to dinner in Harlem, some tiny Italian place where he spoke Italian to all the staff. It was a romantic candlelit meal, complete with accordion music and sparkling grape juice. Afterward, he walked me to my cab and just before I climbed inside, he kissed me.

  I sigh to myself thinking about it as I slump against my locker, closing my eyes for a moment. I can’t believe how lucky I am. That kiss was amazing, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Yeah, I’ve been kissed in the past a couple times, but it was always sub-par. Just another boring teenage first to tick off the list. But this kiss with Bruno… felt different. Like it was truly the first one. Like it meant more than I can even express.

  But that was three weeks ago. I haven’t seen him since then, and he’s only sent me one text message in all that time, about a week after our date. It was short, just
“I miss you. See you soon.”

  I replied, of course, with lightning speed. I’ve sent him message after message, asking when we can meet again, what’s going on, where has he been all this time? But I haven’t gotten a single reply. In fact, there’s a little voice in the back of my head that has recently started speaking up, chiding me that maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. I’ve run through so many scenarios in my head. Maybe I was just a summer fling, and now that school has begun again, he’s over me. He’s a high school dropout, working full-time as a carpenter with his uncle. He’s got his own life path and maybe it doesn’t include me. Maybe I was such a bad kisser that he wants to just forget about me. Maybe he found someone else. Maybe he moved away.

  All these thoughts plague me during my waking hours and make it very difficult to keep living my life. I’ve fallen behind on my assignments for the first time in my life, and I’ve been withdrawn from my friends, unable to really confide in them about what’s going on. They’re all obsessed with guys from our school— the football captain, the trust fund boy whose dad owns a yacht, the artsy guy whose band might just make it big. I know they wouldn’t understand my feelings for Bruno. They wouldn’t understand the kind of life he lives. Money is everything to them, and they wouldn't get why I’m interested in someone who can’t “provide” for me, which is code for “he’s not the kind of guy who will make me his beautiful, spoiled trophy wife.” If that’s what my friends want, then all the power to them. Hell, I used to think that was what I wanted, too.

  But not anymore. I know I’m young and we’ve only seen each other a few times, but I know this is something big. This is real. The way I feel about Bruno is real, and it’s more important than anything else.

  I check my phone for the millionth time. Still nothing. My heart sinks even lower.

  I jump at the sound of the school bell ringing to tell me it’s time for my next class. I groan and roll my eyes, closing my locker as I start to make my way down the hall to calculus. But one of the ladies from the front office suddenly steps out in front of me and gives me a smile.