Machiavellian: Gangsters of New York, Book 1
Page 40
With each passing day, our love only grew. Like the garden around us, our roots went deeper and deeper into a soil that would always welcome us home. Whatever it took, we did, to make us right.
“If this isn’t what you want.” He took a step closer to me, and my breath caught in my throat. The lowering sun hit his eyes just right and reminded me of naked swims in the sea in summer, just the two of us, body sliding against body. “Speak now or forever hold your peace, Butterfly.”
“A little too late for regrets, isn’t it, Capo?” I took a step closer to him, running my hand along his chest, stopping at the scar around his throat.
“You got any of those, Esquire?”
He sometimes called me that. After Saverio was born, I went back to school and became a lawyer. I worked with Rocco, handling family business from time to time. I also donated my time to kids who were like I had been—needing help when the system failed them. I mostly wanted to take care of my children, but it was nice to have something for me on the outside, too.
“Regrets?” I shook my head. “Not a fucking one.”
We both turned to look. Evelina was in her own world. She was playing with her little outside fairy world. She whispered things to the fairies, not wanting to disturb the butterflies flittering around.
Capo grinned, but before he could speak, I pulled myself up by his shoulders and slammed my mouth against his, wanting him so bad that I ached. I needed him inside of me, not giving me a chance to escape his intensity.
When he broke the kiss, I kept my eyes closed, leaning my head against his chest. His heart beat slowly in my ear. “Ti amo,” I breathed out, holding his shirt in my hands, refusing to ever let him go. Two words that meant life or death to me—the two words he had engraved on my engagement ring.
He pulled back, studying my face. “After ten years.” He shook his head. “You finally read it.”
“Ten years?” I blinked up at him. “You had the words engraved before we were married?”
“Since I had the ring made for you.”
The laughter that escaped my mouth came out soft—the awe for him thickening it. “Better late than never.”
He was a patient man—in revenge and in love.
“’Bout fucking time.” And he slammed his mouth against mine, returning all of the things I’d shared with him without using any words. “If I couldn’t tattoo the words across the heart in my chest, I did the second best thing. I had it inscribed on your ring and then put it around your finger—lock down. You take my ring off, even after ten years, I know.”
“What about your body?” I raised my eyebrows. “Shouldn’t I be there, too, Capo?”
He grinned and set his hand around my neck, right over the frantic pulse. “We both know that’s a done deal, Mariposa. You’re on me, in me, in all the ways. You’re mine. Today. Tomorrow. Per sempre.”
He had gotten a small blue butterfly tattooed on his hand, right above the wolf’s head. It was as electric as the color of the animal’s eyes. But if the scar around his throat wasn’t enough of a marking, I wasn’t sure what was. He acted like the tattoo was a bigger deal, though, like the cost of saving me hadn’t been the highest of his life.
Something dawned on me then. I knew him well enough to put two and two together after the big ring inscription reveal. “Our arrangement.” I let those two words hang between us for a second. “If you knew you loved me before then…”
A wolfish grin appeared on his face. “The other women?” He shrugged. “Yeah, it would have been an arrangement, nothing more. The terms would’ve been set, and there was no moving them. The only reason I made an arrangement with you—” He watched me for a minute or two, drawing out the moment, before he exhaled. “—I needed to work around your aversion to kindness. What better way than with terms? It was real in a sense—you’d get everything if I died—but other than that, it meant nothing. Agreement or not, that ring was on your finger for good.”
He had been, all along, my “for good.”
“Do you remember when we played twenty questions after our wedding?”
“There is no little man running around with a tab jar,” he mocked my voice.
“Yeah,” I said, not at all surprised by his memory. “I asked you then if you’d ever been in love.”
“I told you no.”
“Next question,” I said, remembering what he had said.
“You didn’t ask me if I was in love, you asked me if I’d ever been in love. I hadn’t. Not before you. Words, Mariposa, have to be used wisely.”
“Fucka me,” I whispered, and then a laugh exploded out of my mouth.
Evelina hushed me with a finger to her lips. “You just scared a boo buttafly, mamma!”
Capo and I moved even closer to each other, laughing quietly. Each year around the sun with him only got better. I couldn’t wait to go a hundred more.
“Mia!” Evelina whisper-shouted, rushing over to meet the little girl. Saverio walked next to her. She was the same age as Evelina.
We didn’t move until the group was close enough for me to hug and for Capo to shake hands. Our group, our famiglia, had grown over the years, not only our family tripling in size. We were a built-in party.
Where I found myself in life was more than I could’ve ever wished for. It went beyond what I ever dared to hope for. More than I ever dreamed I wanted. It was, all along, what I’d always needed.
There were times in my life that I didn’t think I’d survive another ten minutes, much less ten years.
A million years with my capo and our children wouldn’t do, only forever, as long as I lived it with them.
The End
Capo
Now you know—
Her love of living life.
Her wild laughter that can’t be caged.
Her infectious smile.
Her regal nose.
Her pillow-soft lips.
Her irresistible scent.
Her fierce passion.
Her lasagne al forno and her root beer floats.
Her love of old movies.
Her love of kiddie coloring books.
Her love of journals, of collecting words.
Her love of old songs and new.
Her voice when she sings to our children.
Her touch—more than words.
Her legs when they’re wrapped around me and she’s screaming out my name as I bury myself deep inside of her.
Her.
My wife.
My lover.
My best friend.
My ride or die.
My queen.
My most trusted advisor and confidante.
My heart.
My rosary.
My stained glass, my mosaic.
My butterfly, mia farfalla, my Mariposa.
My everything.
I love her.
The mother of my children.
I love her.
You tell anyone our secret, I’ll fucking kill you.
Preview of Marauder
Gangsters of New York, Book 2
“Some men are born more animal than man. It’s just who they are, what’s running through their veins,” the old man used to say.
He’d tell me that bad men don't know they're bad. And they usually don't believe it when they're told. In the eye of the beholder, the end always justifies the means. In our world, it is what it is.
So let me ask you a question: Does the end always justify the means?
Stealing to stave off hunger?
Lying to protect the one you love the most?
Cheating to win so your worst enemy doesn’t?
Killing to save your life? Or hunting for the one life that means more than your own?
You see, all of these scenarios have one thing in common.
Stealing.
Lying.
Cheating.
Killing.
They’re all considered wrong. One is even a mortal sin.
Yet, dependin
g on the scenario, one is excused from this wrongdoing, the sin, in the eye of certain beholders.
Reality—how different it looks through different eyes.
Even Robin Hood was a fucking villain, depending on who you ask.
Ask me. I’ll tell you.
The world sees me as a marauder.
You cross me, and I’ll return the favor by pillaging your village for whatever the fuck I want. I’ll find the one thing you hold dearest and rip it away from you. Then I’ll starve it. Let that one piece of you die a slow death, and watch as you watch, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. Hands and feet tied tight, because I knotted the rope.
Is Robin Hood the villain or the hero? It depends on who you ask.
Ask me. I’ll tell you.
The Hood just knew how to spin the story.
Now you tell me: How do you see me? Remember this question.
I’ll give you time to see how I spin the story before you answer.
I give you permission to begin now.
Ready.
Set.
Fucking go.
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About the Author
Bella Di Corte has been writing romance for seven years, even longer if you count the stories in her head that were never written down, but she didn’t realize how much she enjoyed writing alphas until recently. Tough guys who walk the line between irredeemable and savable, and the strong women who force them to feel, inspire her to keep putting words to the page.
Apart from writing, Bella loves to spend time with her husband, daughter, and family. She also loves to read, listen to music, cook meals that were passed down to her, and take photographs. She mostly takes pictures of her family (when they let her) and her three crazy dogs.
Bella grew up in New Orleans, a place she considers a creative playground.
Also by Bella Di Corte
The Beautiful Years I
The Beautiful Years II
The Beautiful Years III
The Beautiful Years IV
The Beautiful Years V
The Beautiful Years I-V
Coming Soon:
The Fausti Family:
The Beautiful Years VI
The Beautiful Years VII
The Beautiful Years VIII
Gangsters of New York:
Marauder, Book 2
Machinate, Book 3
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Bella
Acknowledgments
Saying thank you is not nearly good enough, but here goes…
My Family:
None of this would be possible without you. From my husband cooking dinner, to my daughter helping me with social media issues, to my mom answering medical questions, to my brother always reminding me to take a break, to inspiration that comes straight from the vault of my huge, beautiful family, none of this would be possible without ya’ll. My success is your success. Anything I’m able do in this life, I do because you love me.
Alisa Carter, my editor:
You will always be my BEFL. Thank you for always polishing my diamond in the rough.
Stephanie Phillips, my agent (SBR Media):
Thank you for taking me on! I appreciate all that you do for me!
Buoni Amici Press (Drue & Debra):
What a team you two make! The marketing side of the book world can be very overwhelming, but ya’ll have made such a difference in that part of my life. I’m thankful for all that you two do for me on a daily basis.
Bella’s Beautiful Betas
Stephanie, Lashell, Anna, Malia, Pam:
Every writer deserves betas as special as the five of you. You love my stories as much as I do, and your feedback is worth more than gold. Grazie, Bellas!
Najla & Team over at Qamber Designs:
I still don’t have the words to express how much I love Mac’s cover. When I look at this cover, today & forever, I see Mac, and for someone who works entirely with words, there’s something so special about the moment your book comes to life through the cover. It’s magical. Thank you for sharing your magic with me.
All of My Reader Friends:
You’re the best! Thank you for letting my stories (and me) into your world for a little while. Like the body needs a heart, a writer needs readers. You’re the beat that keeps me putting words to the page. Keep being amazing!
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I’d also like to take a moment to thank New York and Italy for being such inspirations while I was writing Machiavellian. Both places, along with my home state of Louisiana, have really taken a beating over the last few weeks. This virus, this invisible foe, has come in and changed so many lives, our entire world. This too shall pass. Until then…I’m sending prayers and love.