Machiavellian: Gangsters of New York, Book 1

by Di Corte, Bella

  Your wife: That was my plan.

  Then she sent me a smiley face winking.

  I sat in the cold for a while, staring at my phone. I clicked on the picture she had uploaded. We’d been sitting under the grape arbor, and I’d been rubbing her feet. The photographer had caught us in a candid moment. Mariposa loved it so much that she had it blown up and hung it over our fireplace. I used my finger to scroll through the other ones. Some of them I had taken in Greece.

  In that moment, I was a liar. In my life, I had once done something that was not in my plans.

  Her.

  My wife.

  She changed the entire course of my life.

  She had been a surprise the first time, and again when she came back into my life. It would take a fool to think that fate doesn’t exist, that some things in this life don’t belong to us, no matter how much we fight them.

  Mariposa Macchiavello was mine in every way. She had been since the moment I found her on a night like this one. Dark. Cold. Snowing. The air had been almost blue with cold. No stars in the sky. She’d been only five at the time. Only five. Her innocence had been a blow to my heart.

  Her mother’s big bag had been pressed against her little chest as we drove away from the place Palermo had been hiding them.

  “Where we going?” she had asked me in Italian.

  “You’re going home, Mariposa,” I had answered in the same language. It was mostly all she’d spoken. Her father spoke mostly Italian at home, but on the streets, English. Her mother left Sicily and went straight to America. Her English was limited.

  Her eyebrows drew in. “To your house.”

  I didn’t answer and she continued to stare at me, her legs so short that they hardly reached the end of the seat.

  “Do you know what Mariposa means?” I asked her.

  She shook her head. “Non.”

  Non ho capito. She didn’t understand.

  “It means butterfly,” I said. “Farfalla ma in spagnolo.”

  She thought it over for a minute before she nodded.

  If the Scarpones found Mariposa, the game would be different. No longer would I have nothing for them to steal or to blow up. No longer would I be a ghost, but a man with everything to lose.

  She was the one thing in this world that was worth something to me.

  Everything.

  She had been worth everything to me ever since that cold night in December when she’d asked me to color with her, when she had given me the rosary because she said that I was fidgeting. She had unnerved me the first time I saw her. Looking at her was like looking at my future, and unless she lived, the rest of my life didn’t seem to matter. It was like trading my evil so one ounce of good would be left in the world.

  “Fucka me,” I breathed out. Where was I before I had gone too fucking soft? Mariposa fidgeting.

  Her mamma, Maria, knew that about her, and instead of her giving her something childish, like a soft blanket or a stuffed toy, she had given Mariposa the rosary to caress when she was anxious. When I saw her doing it in church, after my grandfather’s funeral, it brought me back to when she was five, and I couldn’t help but question how much more Maria had instilled in her, even at that young age.

  Get the fuck outta here, Capo. Thinking of your wife while on Scarpone territory is only going to get you killed.

  Not yet.

  I flipped the headlights on, snow swirling in their beams. I set the gears and pulled off. I’d go to a separate building before going home. I’d use the connecting buildings to walk to another one, and then take another car, leaving from a different exit. I’d know if they were following me. I tracked them all on my computers.

  Even computers didn’t inspire enough trust, though. That was why my wife was in the firehouse. Even if they blew up the other building, she was safe on the other side. Besides, the entire block was “owned” by Luca Fausti, Rocco’s father. No one touched him. If they did, they’d regret it.

  The Scarpones wouldn’t even drive down that block, much less put a finger on one of his properties. Luca Fausti disliked Arturo. Always had. And after Marzio had filled him in on what had happened to me, he was all too eager to put his name on the block as a front.

  Still. I took one extra step to make sure Mariposa was safe. The abandoned firehouse wouldn’t get a second glance.

  Though, I didn’t fucking like the Scarpones seeing her, getting that close to her, like they’d done in Italy. They knew that if anything would draw me out, it would be my grandfather’s funeral. I’d been seconds away from being discovered when Rocco—actually, my wife, since she came looking for me—stopped them.

  At the time, I didn’t care. It was easier to die than to feel the pain of losing the man who taught me everything about living. Then mia farfalla brought me back. The life in her made me hungry again.

  I hit the break when a man jogging down the street decided to cross. He ran right in front of my car, slowing when he made it past the hood. He stopped for a second, putting his hands on his hips, breathing heavy. The wolf tattoo on his hand stood out, the glow of my lights highlighting the ink. He narrowed his eyes on the car, trying to see through the tinted windows. He couldn’t.

  “Joker.” My voice was low, rough. “You’re trying to see someone who doesn’t exist anymore.”

  I lifted my hand in greeting. He narrowed his eyes again but didn’t move. I took off slowly, watching him through the rearview mirror. He moved from the curb and stood in the middle of the street, trying to read the license plate. Be my guest. He’d get some random name and number.

  He was always a stupid motherfucker. Couldn’t see beyond what was right in front of his face.

  Yeah, my wife was protected from them, from this life of vengeance I chose. The jury was still out on my fate. I didn’t know who was more dangerous to me—the Scarpones or her.

  22

  Mariposa

  He was late. I was too, but that was beside the point.

  He had been “working” more late nights ever since we got back from Greece. He didn’t bring up what had happened to his building, or whatever else was going on, but call it wife’s intuition—I knew he fought a battle that was kept under wraps.

  I thought his building, or a building, getting blown to smithereens would’ve made the news, but it hadn’t. I watched the news every night and… nothing. The supposed “wars” between the connected families had died down, the news reported, and soon after that was settled, it was all about politics again.

  Usually, I didn’t mind when he was late, but tonight was important for two reasons. One. Keely had her debut on Broadway. She was playing the lead. Some kick-ass Scottish warrior who was an excellent archer. Two. I didn’t want to think about reason two. It made me nervous to keep dwelling on it, so when it happened, it happened.

  “Mariposa,” Capo called out, coming into the bedroom. He found me sitting in the bathroom naked, touching up my makeup.

  He stopped, his suit jacket over his arm, looking me over. “Just the way I want you,” he said, his voice low. “Stand.”

  As I did, he threw his jacket on the counter and loosened his tie, his eyes never losing contact with mine. The frenzy that existed between us, something carnal, seemed to feed his desire as much as it fed mine.

  A long moment seemed to stretch before something seemed to explode inside of me, before his body created the physical equivalent between his chest and mine. Our bodies crashed into one another, my fingers hungry against his skin, his mouth devouring mine. My back slammed against the shower, and without him having to instruct me, my legs wrapped his waist, urging, pleading, demanding that he settle the ache.

  I’d come to know that whatever thing stood between us, was primal but basic, animalistic. And that’s how we were tearing at each other, like animals that didn’t know right from wrong, that had no other thought or feeling but this and now. It had only been hours, but the ache screeched…right now!

  The noises we made echoed aro
und the huge bathroom, and the noises his mouth made from pleasure reverberated inside of me, reaching every hollow, pinging from bone to bone, sliding right through my bloodstream.

  He drove me higher and higher, my back sliding against the doors to the shower, his thrusts hard and crazed. He read my body language, maybe the way I started to quiver, and how loud my moans were becoming—maybe the pleading was getting worse. Then, in another explosion, we came together, his guttural growl swallowing my softer one as he spilled into me with so much pleasure that it made me feel like the most powerful woman in the world.

  We stood connected for a moment, our breaths settling together, and when I finally had the energy to open my eyes, I smiled at him. He’d been watching me.

  “Welcome home, Capo,” I said, my voice shredded.

  He grinned and set me down on my feet. “My favorite time of the day,” he said.

  “Mine too,” I whispered, dazed, as he carted me into the shower and wet all of the makeup I’d applied and my hair.

  We were going to be so late.

  I hurriedly redid what he had wrecked, my face, and tried to the do the best with my hair without having to fuss too much. Tonight was a reason to dress up, so I wore a sapphire silk jumpsuit, and diamond, sapphire, and gold bangles on my wrists to match.

  “Blue.” He grinned as he stepped out of the closet, handing me a pair of shoes I had asked him to find. It had taken him ten minutes to get dressed.

  “My signature color,” I said.

  He nodded. “Sempre bella in blu.” Always beautiful in blue.

  We stared at each other for a moment or two. The intensity in his eyes was hard to meet, especially when images of the night before, when he had brought the marshmallows home, did things to me that made my skin shiver in remembrance. Out in public, the man was as reserved as could be, but behind closed doors…he was an insatiable animale. And when he had time…delayed gratification was his specialty.

  “It really should be a crime for any man to look as fine as you,” I said, not able to help myself.

  “That’s why I married the most beautiful woman.” He slipped my dress coat over my arms, helping me into it. “No one will be looking at me, but at you.”

  I sometimes forgot how much of a recluse he was. Even though women stared at him wherever we went, he didn’t seem to notice, or care. The sooner he was behind closed doors, the sooner he opened up to me.

  Ever since the day of his grandfather’s funeral, after what had happened in church, something had changed between us. Nonno had told me that all life changes begin with a crux. He explained to me what it was—the decisive or most important point at issue, the heart—and when it changed, it changed the entire course of things.

  “Compare it to taking a different road,” he had said. “Sometimes we do this by accident; sometimes we do this by will, but it changes everything beyond that point. It changes history that has yet to happen.”

  Greece only helped. Capo was more relaxed, more at ease, even though I knew he was grieving. Somehow, though, I knew Capo was teaching me how to live (almost through death), and it seemed like it was in honor of something. Though I didn’t know exactly what. Maybe the fact that he had saved my life? And the cost to him, because I knew there had to be one, would be in vain if I didn’t make the most of my time here.

  Nonno was a philosophical man. His grandson was, too. I tried to keep up.

  Giovanni drove us to Broadway. The show was packed; sold out completely. I waved to Keely’s family as I took my seat. I was so nervous for her that my foot kept tapping against the floor.

  Capo squeezed my thigh, stopping me. “Dov'è il tuo rosario?” Where is your rosary? he asked in Italian.

  I dug in my clutch and pulled it out. The soft lights made the pearls shimmer against the darkness of my nails as I rubbed a bead between my fingers. He rarely had to remind me to use my rosary to ease my anxiety, but tonight, my mind was running in too many different directions, tearing me apart.

  The lights went off completely, the curtain lifted, and the show began. Capo took my hand and we watched.

  To say that I was proud would’ve been an understatement. If Keely didn’t make the news with her performance, the entire Broadway community could stuff it, as far as I was concerned. After the show, we were invited backstage. I handed her the flowers I brought and hugged her longer than necessary. She invited Capo and me to dinner with her and her family, but I declined. It was awkward, and the less time spent together, the better.

  I noticed that the guy who was at the party at Harrison’s house, the one who went after Keely, was there. Cash. It didn’t seem like Keely wanted to be around him. He’d talk to her and she’d ignore him. When she had to answer him, her answers were clipped.

  The entire time, Capo kept his hand on my neck, the one with the tattoo, my hair covering it. It seemed like he did it on purpose, but I wasn’t sure.

  I didn’t take an easy breath until we were out of the theatre. The night was hard with cold, and snow fell in flurries. It actually felt good, and I didn’t feel like going straight home. This was the first winter that I didn’t fear my teeth chattering all night.

  To buy some time, I suggested we get something to eat. Capo agreed. We walked the streets, his hand still on my neck. The city was decorated with holiday decorations. Thousands of lights were strung up, Santas waved bells from street corners, and windows were decked out with pretty things begging to be bought.

  Capo had been quiet most of the night. I wondered what he was thinking about.

  I glanced up at him. “You’ve been quiet.”

  “Can’t get much talking in during a Broadway show.” The breath rushed out of his mouth in a cloud.

  I smiled a little and he pulled me closer. After he did, I felt his grip tighten on my neck, as if he’d seen someone he’d known in a previous life, someone he wanted to avoid. But when I looked up at him again, he was looking at me.

  Slowing our strides, I stopped at a window display. It was a bunch of porcelain baby animals. In the center of the scene, an entire Ferris wheel went around and around, all filled with happy little animals in their seats. More little figurines were in motion, rotating in a circle on the ground, like they were at a carnival.

  An elephant held a blue balloon. Two giraffes were in a hot air balloon. A tiger flew an airplane with a scarf around his neck. A hippo wore a tutu, holding pink cotton candy. The kicker: a black wolf with its head upturned, a blue butterfly resting on its nose.

  The little figures looked like antiques. Maybe French. I could’ve sworn I heard tinkling music coming from behind the glass.

  I turned away from the display and toward the man next to me. Snow fell in his hair, on his lashes, and his eyes seemed even bluer. “I’m not just saying this because you’re my husband. You really are the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.” He went beyond attractive, but I didn’t want to sound too girly by calling him beautiful.

  His eyes flew to mine. “You’ve complimented me enough tonight.” His voice was rough, like the cold clung to his scar and made it hard for him to talk.

  I looked down, the buttons on his coat suddenly catching my attention. I fiddled with one, rubbing it between my fingers. “I’m pregnant, Capo.”

  It was hard to meet his eyes. Would he be angry? He told me the choice was mine. I wanted a baby with him. Fine. I didn’t want a baby with him. Fine.

  He was quiet for so long that I took a deep, deep breath and then finally looked up. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but what I didn’t expect was how pale he looked all of a sudden. His hands trembled when he touched my face. His eyes looked so…uncertain. I’d never seen that before.

  It scared me, but I didn’t want him to see, so I kept talking. “The baby is due in August. The doctor said everything looks good. I was waiting for the perfect time to tell you, but my mind keeps fidgeting, so…”

  He lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. Without a word, he came in slow and kissed
my lips.

  That was it. A kiss.

  Maybe he was overwhelmed? Even after we started walking again, he didn’t say anything. This pleases me. This fucking sucks. Nothing.

  When we got to an expensive Italian restaurant, Dolce, I stopped. Whatever they were cooking inside smelled really, really good. I hadn’t had morning sickness or anything, so when the doctor confirmed that I was pregnant, it was hard to believe. I was worried that my lack of sickness meant that something was wrong. She assured me that pregnancies were as unique as the women who experienced them.

  I did have some symptoms, though. Tender breasts. A more sensitive oonie. I needed sex more often to satisfy the craving, which was saying something, because it seemed like that was all we did. Extreme exhaustion, which I had thought was from all the sex, was another symptom. Oh, and some foods smelled so delicious that it was impossible to pass them up.

  “What about this place?” I stuck my thumb toward it. “They’re known for—”

  “Veal parmigiana.”

  I studied his face harder. Was he sweating? In the snow? His voice was lower, even rougher.

  “Capo,” I whispered. I took a step closer to him and he took a step back, his eyes turning toward the alley that ran along the side of the restaurant. He narrowed his eyes, like he could see through the darkness. Maybe he could.

  Something was wrong, but I had no idea what. “We can go somewhere else,” I said. “We don’t have to eat here.”

  A bunch of voices drifted from the alley. Men. Maybe drunk. They were being loud. Obnoxious. Before I could react, Capo had me pressed against the wall of the restaurant, shielding my body with his. He was hurting me, almost crushing me against the wall, but I didn’t make a sound. Instead, I lifted my arms, wrapping them around his neck, trying to hide him.

  “Ooh!” One of the men squealed like a woman. “I can’t believe you would do this to me!”

  “After she tried to play you and him?” The other man scoffed. “She deserved everything she got.”

  “Bobby, you got a cigarette on you?”