OWN HER: A Dark Mafia Romance (Mancini Family Mafia)

by Zoey Parker

  “But not with you, right?” he said, his eyes suddenly filling with suspicion.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean once all this is over, I'll be in Arizona or Alaska or wherever the hell, and you'll have gotten what you need from me,” said Gio. He took his hands away from hers. “You'll go back to work trying to catch guys like me, and that'll be that. This whole 'take my hand, Gio, I really care about you' thing is just a con so you can get what you want from me. They probably taught you this shit in Fed school.”

  Carla said, “Gio, I do care about you. I didn't expect to, but I do. I can see that your decisions haven't really been your own, and I really do want to help you. And...” She paused, took a deep breath, and continued. “I also didn't expect to enjoy being your submissive, but I did, and it's been a lot for me to try to work through. If you want us to keep exploring this relationship when this is all over, we can definitely talk about that. I'd like to.”

  “No, bullshit,” Gio insisted. “All you Feds will say anything, promise anything to guys like me, if it'll get them to flip on their families. But you're lying, I know it. I can't trust anyone anymore.”

  Carla took Gio by the shoulders and kissed him.

  He hesitated for a brief moment. He wanted to remain suspicious of her—he didn't want to be some sucker who could be fooled by a kiss.

  But as her soft lips pressed against his for the first time and their breath mingled gently, Gio felt himself swept away by the passion and sincerity of her kiss. He felt like a drowning man clutching his salvation and he held on tightly, embracing her, never wanting to let her go.

  They stayed that way until it was time for the restaurant to open.

  Chapter 26

  Don

  “Journals?” Don repeated into the phone. He leaned back in his office chair. It was the third time he'd uttered the word, but he still couldn't bring himself to believe it.

  “Yes, journals,” Carla confirmed patiently. “Containing every dark deed Mario's ever done. And we've got the codebreaker, ready and willing to cooperate and testify.”

  “If this is true, then Mario must be the dumbest Italian since Nero, keepin' all that written down,” Don said, mystified.

  “If it's true, Don—and I'm positive that it is—then this could be one of the biggest, most far-reaching LCN busts in the Bureau's history,” said Carla. LCN was FBI shorthand for La Cosa Nostra, or the mafia. “Not only will we have Mario and his immediate associates dead to rights, but we'll also have detailed accounts of all the times they've cooperated with other organizations. We could bring down three or four major crime families at the same time.”

  “Well, let's not go countin' those chickens,” Don warned. He'd participated in plenty of investigations that had seemed like slam-dunks until some small misstep tripped them up in the end, and he'd long since learned the value of cautious optimism. “We still gotta get our hands on those journals, an' even then, we gotta squirrel Gio away an' put him in protective custody before Mario figures out he's been double-crossed.”

  “I've got that covered,” Carla assured him. “Gio's getting the journals now, and then we're going to meet at his place so I can officially take him into custody.”

  “You want me there for that?” Don asked. “When you're in the home stretch on somethin' like this, a little backup's generally not a bad thing.”

  “I think it'll be better if I take him in by myself,” she said. “He seems to trust me. Having other cops there at the start might make him nervous. I can probably keep him calmer during the ride to the field office if it's just the two of us.”

  Don thought about the vile sex acts Carla had probably consented to in order to gain Gio's trust, and grimaced. He hated the idea of her having to continue the charade with Gio and submit to his urges for a few more hours, and he wished she'd let him chaperone. Still, she was the agent in the field, so it was her call to make.

  “Fair enough,” Don sighed. “If you think it'll make him more cooperative, then that's what counts. Just be careful out there.”

  “I will,” Carla promised, ending the call.

  As Don put the phone on its cradle, a fresh-faced young agent named Ives ran into his office. His face was red, and he was breathing hard.

  “What's all the hubbub, bub?” Don asked. “Sit down an' have some water, you look like hell.”

  “The local cops just found a body dumped in the weeds at the edge of town,” Ives said.

  “So? They probably find bodies out there all the time,” Don said. “I mean, this is Chicago, after all. Murder capitol of the damn universe, last I heard.”

  Ives shook his head. “It was Louie Grammatica. The Mancini lawyer. He had a dead rat stuffed in his mouth.”

  Don's eyes widened. He rose from his chair slowly.

  If Mario had Louie killed and a rat placed in the attorney's mouth, that meant Mario knew Louie was working with the FBI.

  Which meant he'd probably had Louie tortured first to find out if he was working with anyone else undercover.

  Which meant...

  “Get some agents together an' get a federal judge on the phone right now,” Don said, picking up the phone and dialing it. “We need a warrant for a raid on Gio's house immediately.”

  “But haven't we got probable cause to go there anyway, if we think an agent's in danger?” Ives asked.

  “What probable cause, son? A mob lawyer turned up dead, an' we want to knock down a door ten miles away? That dog don't hunt. Now stop askin' stupid questions an' get a move on, before it's too late.”

  As Ives scurried out, the phone kept ringing and ringing. Finally, it went to Carla's voicemail.

  Don slammed the phone down angrily. “Goddamn it, Carla, where the hell are you?” he growled, heading for the door.

  Chapter 27

  Gio

  Getting the journals from Mario's study had been easy.

  Since he'd grown up in his father's house, Gio knew the best ways to sneak onto the property without the armed bodyguards seeing him. Usually he'd just walk right past them, waving and making small talk—but this time, he didn't want anyone to know he'd been there at all.

  He used his spare key to gain entrance through the side-door in the garage, then checked to make sure his father's Lexus was gone before entering the main house. Mario was often gone for several hours in the middle of the day, taking meetings and picking up fresh groceries for the evening meal.

  Gio hoped his father had left fairly recently. He knew he'd have a difficult time explaining himself if Mario walked in on him in the study, poking around the hidden diaries.

  The only other person in the house was Jadwiga, the Polish maid. She didn't speak much English, but Gio still didn't want to risk her telling Mario he'd been to the house. He took out his billfold, peeled off three hundreds, and handed them to her, saying, “I wasn't here today. Understand?”

  Jadwiga's eyes widened and she nodded, tucking the bills into her pocket before she continued dusting the bookcases.

  Gio entered the study and closed the door behind him, kneeling next to the liquor cabinet. He slid the hidden panel aside and reached into the compartment, pulling out all of the journals. Then he yanked a crumpled plastic shopping bag from his back pocket and stowed the diaries in it, flipping through them as he did to skim the entries at random.

  Hijacking. Graft. Murder. Extortion. Grand theft auto. Kidnapping. Murder. Money laundering. Murder. Armed robbery. Murder. Salvatore. Murder.

  Salvatore.

  You could've had the kid you really wanted, Papa, Gio thought bitterly as he stared at the page. All you had to do was give your little bastard his shot at the gangster life like he asked for. You'd have had a loyal soldier to take your place, and I could have had a life of my own, the life I deserved.

  But no, you and your fucking Sicilian pride had to ruin everything. This is all your fault. It's exactly what you bought and paid for when you decided to murder your own son.

 
Gio replaced the panel on the cabinet, tied off the plastic bag, and snuck out of the house again.

  As he got in his car and started the engine, Gio thought about the future. He hoped Carla had meant what she said to him about wanting to keep seeing each other after the case was closed. He drove home with the window open and the breeze ruffling his hair, picturing new scenarios with Carla as his submissive—not a relationship of blackmail and intimidation this time, but one of mutual trust, like so many Doms had with their long-term subs.

  He daydreamed about having a restaurant of his own someday. None of the hokey mob-related gimmicks this time, either. No, this place would be classy, elegant, the kind of joint that people went to on special occasions. A place for joy and food and drink and celebration, where he could stroll leisurely from table to table, welcoming his patrons personally and rejoicing with them on their birthdays and graduations and anniversaries.

  These thoughts almost made him dizzy with hope. He was happier than he could ever remember feeling before.

  Free. After a miserable lifetime of violence and disappointment, he would finally be free.

  Gio parked his 'Vette in his driveway and strolled in through the front door, whistling to himself. He knew this might be the last time he ever saw his house before being put into protective custody and relocated, and he went from room to room, taking a last look around. Most of the furniture and possessions he'd collected could easily be replaced, and he was sure he'd be able to send for the ones that couldn't.

  There was only one room that Gio knew he'd truly miss. Sure, he could rebuild his Special Room wherever he ended up, and maybe starting his collection of toys, swings, and whipping posts all over again would even be kind of fun. But he'd always remember his attic hideaway fondly, and he went up the stairs to sit in it one final time.

  As Gio reached the top of the stairs, his feet slowed to a stop and he stared, shocked.

  Mario stood in the center of the Special Room.

  He was holding a gun.

  Chapter 28

  Gio

  As Gio stared at the gun in his father's hand, Mario looked around at the furnishings and oddly-shaped toys with a mixture of wonder and disgust.

  My gun's in my shoulder holster, Gio thought. There's no way for me to reach for it and aim before Papa plugs me.

  “I knew you were a degenerate, Gio,” Mario sneered, “but minghia, I had no idea you'd gone to hell with yourself this much. This disgusting room, and all this...sick paraphernalia. I'm glad your mother didn't live to see this. She'd have died of shame.”

  Gio suddenly became aware of the shopping bag bunched in his fist, and he saw that Mario's eyes were on it as well. Could Mario see what was inside it through the thin, crinkled blue plastic?

  “What are you doing here, Papa?” Gio asked. “What's all this about, huh? What's with the gun?”

  Mario shook his head sadly. “Louie got in over his head with some gambling debts. When I came to collect from him, he was so scared that he'd have said anything to save his own skin. Like for instance, telling me that he was cooperating with the Feds, and that the lady lawyer you've gotten so fond of is an undercover rat. All this time, I thought you two were sneaking around because you were fucking her and trying to hide it from me. But the truth is worse than that, ain't it? You've been feeding her info, and now you're gonna send your own father away for life. Because you've always been a weak, spoiled, ungrateful little zero, and you've always hated me, in spite of everything I've done for you.”

  Gio felt the blood in his veins start to boil with rage. His familiar companion had returned and was howling for him to fight back against this old man's poisonous hypocrisy.

  “Actually, we were just fucking,” Gio snarled. “I knew she was a Fed, sure, but I didn't say squat to her about you or the business until I found out that you killed my brother.”

  Mario's eyes widened. “Shut up,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You never had a brother. You're talking crazy.”

  “Yeah, I must be crazy,” Gio countered, his voice rising. “Because you've always told me how family's the most important thing, right? How you're always loyal to your own blood? That's why you murdered Salvatore, your own fucking son, just because he wanted the life you forced on me instead. That's why you're here pointing a gun at me right now.”

  Mario's face was getting red, and his lower lip trembled slightly. The gun in his hand started to shake.

  “You think that's what I wanted?” he yelled. “You think it didn't tear my heart out of my fucking chest, doing that to my own flesh and blood? You think I wouldn't have done anything, anything at all, to convince Sal to just go away and live his life somewhere else? But he wouldn't listen! I tried and I tried, I told him what I'd have to do if he stuck around and kept shooting his fucking mouth off, but goddamn it, he just wouldn't believe me! He kept saying I'd come around, I'd see how useful he could be, and he wouldn't fucking leave.

  Do you know the shame that would have brought down on this family, having a bastard hanging around? Everything I've built for us could have been lost, so I did what I fucking had to do. And I've lived with it every day since then, like a man does. Just like I'll have to live with this.”

  Gio turned and started running down the stairs, expecting his father to start shooting after him. Mario had the drop on him, but Mario was fat and slow, and Gio was in excellent shape. If he could just get to the bottom of the stairs...if he could just get to his 'Vette...if he could just get a safe enough distance to call Carla and have her meet him somewhere else so he could hand over the journals...

  But when Gio got to the bottom of the steps, he stopped in his tracks.

  Bruno and Julius were waiting for him with their guns drawn. Bruno was holding a large can of kerosene in his other hand.

  Shit, Gio thought. They must have been hiding outside, waiting for me to go in so they could come up behind me and trap me. I was an idiot to assume Papa would have come here alone. Still, maybe I can turn this around somehow...

  “You guys, listen,” Gio began. “I don't know what Papa told you to turn you against me, but whatever it was, you've got it all wrong. He killed his own son, okay? I had a brother, and Papa whacked him.”

  Bruno and Julius stood their ground, their expressions unchanged.

  “They already know,” Mario said as he walked down the steps behind Gio, his gun still drawn. “They've been my most trusted guys since before you were born. They're the only ones I told about Salvatore, just like they're the only ones I told about this.”

  Gio stared at Bruno and Julius. “All this time, you guys knew that I had a brother, and that Papa murdered him? All these years, and you fuckers never told me? How could you do that?”

  “You ain't exactly got the moral high ground here, Gio,” Bruno pointed out.

  “After all, we ain't the ones about to turn over all the family's secrets to some Fed,” Julius chimed in. “What did they promise you, huh? Witness Protection? You gonna change your name to Peter Smith and work as an assistant manager at some Olive Garden in Iowa?”

  “You coulda been the boss of this family,” Bruno added. “Most guys would've done anything to be given the chances you got, us included.”

  “But you pissed it all away instead,” Julius concluded sadly.

  “So now we're gonna wait for your little rat girlfriend to show up,” said Mario. “And when she gets here, I'm gonna burn this place to the ground so no one else ever sees the monument to perversion you built in your attic. The fire inspector's gonna blame it on an electrical fire, an accident.

  Meanwhile, you and the Fed are gonna come with us down to the Dan Ryan Woods. And maybe, just maybe, if you prove you can show some loyalty to me after all by shootin' her through the fuckin' head and burying her out there, I'll let you run off an' disappear forever like Salvatore should've done.” As he spoke, Mario reached into Gio's jacket and quickly snatched his gun, holding it at his side.

  “And how's that goi
ng to play with the rest of the family, huh?” Gio challenged him. “You really think no one's going to notice how your only son just suddenly vanished?”

  Mario shrugged. “I'll tell 'em you ran off to marry your lawyer an' live happily ever after. They'll believe it. Everyone could tell you were never cut out for this life anyway. It'll be embarrassing to me, but not half as embarrassing as having a spineless waste of a son who pranced around in a leather harness like a faggot and then dimed us all out to the FBI.”

  “You want I should wait for her downstairs, boss?” Julius asked.

  “Yeah, make sure you stay away from the windows,” Mario said. “Get her as soon as she walks in the door, and keep her quiet. I don't want no showdowns, and no gunshots if we can help it—we don't wanna get any nosy neighbors in on the act. Let's finish this whole rotten business as quickly and cleanly as possible.”