The Tempted Series: Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  I peeled his fingers from my suit, rotated my shoulders, and straightened up. “I would have the best man that gets a kick out of fucking with me,” I muttered.

  “You love me, stop it! I bet when Adrianna has a ‘headache’ you miss the days of me being your roomie.”

  “Adrianna doesn’t get headaches,” I say smugly. There were perks to be had from spending so much time apart; you get a chance to make up for lost time.

  “All kidding aside, I’m happy for you,” he said sincerely, forcing me to turn around and meet his gaze. “It took a long time getting here but I’m glad it did. It allowed me not to miss out on standing beside you when you take Adrianna as your wife.”

  “Everything happens for a reason, Mike,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here too. Real glad.”

  We were interrupted by a knock on the hotel room door.

  “Who is it God dammit!” Mike hollered. “We were in the middle of a moment here,” he mumbled a stream of curses as he walked towards the door and pulled it open. “Who the hell are you?” Mike asked.

  I stepped around Mike and glanced at the man on the other end.

  “Jarvis? What’re you doing here?” I asked Vic’s lawyer. I clenched my fists at my sides as I stared at him, baffled as to what had brought this man to Mexico. Nothing good ever came from a visit with your lawyer, especially on the day of your wedding. That was in another country.

  “You know this clown?” Mike asked, looking over his shoulder, sticking his thumb towards Mr. Jarvis.

  “He’s Vic’s attorney.”

  “For fuck’s sake!” Mike turned around and glared at him. “We’re in the middle of a wedding here.”

  “I need a moment of Mr. Bianci’s time.”

  Mike glanced back at me. “You okay with that?”

  “It’s fine,” I said, motioning for Mr. Jarvis to come inside. He made his way into my hotel room, towards the small table overlooking the ocean and set his briefcase on top of it, popping it open. He pulled out a folder, opened it, and handed me the papers.

  My eyes drifted down to the papers then back to his eyes.

  “What’s this?”

  “A gift from your father-in-law,” he replied.

  I stared at him momentarily, shocked and caught off guard. I snapped out of it and studied the papers. The first page was a note from Vic.

  Anthony,

  My sincerest congratulations on your wedding. I wish you and my daughter nothing but a lifetime of happiness. I know you will take good care of my little girl. You’ll treat her, as she always deserved to be treated.

  I never thought the day would come where I would want to thank you for loving her but, here we are and I’m not sure how to go about doing so. Please accept the deed to the Long Island house as gratitude for the love you give my daughter, our girl.

  It’s a nice place to take your family, a great place to make memories, and it’s my gift to you.

  All my love,

  Vic

  I flipped the page and stared at the transfer paper that legally entitled Adrianna and me to the house she loved. It was a house full of her fondest memories with a promise to make even more with our own family.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” I whispered.

  I stared at the envelope that my father’s lawyer had dropped off moments ago, trying to find the courage to open it and read it.

  “Do you want me to read it to you?” my sister asked softly behind me.

  I turned around, my eyes found hers and I handed her the envelope. “Please?”

  She nodded, taking the envelope from my hand and opening it, unfolding the pages carefully.

  Dear Adrianna,

  I’m sitting here, trying to wrap my head around you getting married. It’s so hard for me because even though you’ve grown into such a beautiful woman, I still look at you and see the little girl who stole my heart. I know you might find it hard to believe but it’s true. You’ll always be my little girl.

  I think about you; my sweet Adrianna and I remember the girl who would run to me whenever I walked through the door. You’d smile up at me and no matter how grim my day had been you brought joy to my life.

  I wish I were there to walk you down the aisle. I don’t even know if you would’ve wanted me to but still I would’ve been honored to give you a way to Anthony. A part of me thinks that it would’ve been redemption for tearing the both of you apart.

  I’ll be thinking of you today and when I go to sleep, I’ll dream of the dance we would have shared today. I love you, Adrianna. Please never doubt that.

  All my love,

  Daddy

  Nikki folded the letter, lifted her eyes to mine, and she reached out and brushed away my tears.

  “Don’t cry you’ll mess your make up,” she whispered, sniffling a little herself.

  “I wish he was here,” I said hoarsely. How crazy is that? If someone would’ve told me six months ago that I’d miss my father, I’d tell them they were crazy. When I was a little girl I used to dream of my wedding, and my dad was always there walking me to my prince charming. I guess that’s when I believed life was made up of fairytales. It took a long time, a lot of heartache, to understand that life isn’t about fairytales but that sometimes, the lucky ones still find their happily ever after.

  I’m one of the lucky ones. Mine and Anthony’s story was anything but a fairytale, but after everything we had gone through, we found our happy ending.

  I kept my eyes glued to the other end of the white runner that had been laid upon the sand, waiting for the first glimpse of my wife.

  Wife. It sounded strange, but it felt right. I gave up on this day a long time ago, and if she hadn’t given up on me, we probably wouldn’t be here today. I’ll always be grateful for that.

  The music sounded, and she appeared, taking my breath away instantly. She was always the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on but she made a stunning bride. My bride.

  I glanced at her side and saw the person who was giving her to me, the one giving me permission, to love and cherish her for all the days of my life. The pair made their way down the aisle and I anxiously met them half way unable to wait any longer. I leaned forward and pressed my lips quickly to hers before bending down and lifting my son into my arms.

  “You ready bud?” I asked Luca, kissing his cheek.

  “Yep!” He said, wrapping one arm around my neck.

  I held him with one hand and laced my other hand with my bride’s, escorting her to the priest waiting for us. The priest smiled knowingly at Luca before asking him a very important question.

  “Who gives this woman’s hand in marriage?” The priest asked.

  I glanced at Adrianna, smiled at her before we both looked at Luca as he raised his hand.

  “I do!” he shouted.

  © Copyright

  Uncontrollable Temptations

  By

  Janine Infante Bosco

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Published by Janine Infante Bosco

  Edited/formatted by: Jennifer Bosco

  Copy Editor: Trish Bacher Editor in Heels

  Cover Design by: Hang Le

  Prologue

  Thirteen years ago

  There was no God, no higher power I prayed to hoping to relieve me from my sins. No one would grant me penance for all the wrong decisions I’ve made. There was only the devil, and I tangoed enough with him in my twenty-five years to know I was at his mercy. There was nothing I could do but eat the crow he threw at me. I’ve swallowed a lot of shit in my life, losing my parents, my wife cheating on me, my brother turning his back on me and becoming a federal agent. But there is one th
ing you don’t swallow, one thing you never get over, one thing that stays with you, forcing you to question everything you know in life—that is losing a child. No parent should outlive their child. No parent should have to pick out a casket for their baby. And no parent should have to sit in a funeral home as a man dressed in a cloak prays over their son’s lifeless body.

  I wanted to believe the man who offered his condolences to me and my ex-wife, to trust his God would take care of my boy. I wanted to relish in the comfort of knowing a loving man would hold his arms wide open to embrace my sweet boy and welcome him into eternal life. I closed my eyes as his words cut through me. He spoke of a promise that someone would be there to take care of the innocent boy I created. Someone to guide him with a steady hand and be there for him when was he scared and missing his mama.

  Someone to take care of him better than I had.

  I leaned forward, dropped my head into my hands, unable to stare at him lying there in that box. He looked so peaceful it was almost as if he was sleeping, just a little boy holding his Harley Davidson teddy bear as he took a nap.

  Only—he wouldn’t wake. Not for me to chase the monsters under the bed or see the dawn of a new day.

  Not this time.

  I’d never look into the eyes of my son and see the innocence of a child staring back at me.

  I pulled my head back and lifted my eyes glancing at my brothers standing on either side of my son’s coffin. Our president on the left and the vice president on the right. They weren’t my brothers by blood—I had one of those too. I had raised him after our parents died but like everyone else in my life, I lost him. Still, I thought he would’ve shown up, hoped he’d put our differences aside and stand beside me as I lowered my son into the cold earth.

  I used to think having a brother meant I’d always have a friend, someone always there to have my back, but I didn’t understand what having a brother truly meant until I became a patched member of Satan’s Knights Motorcycle Club. Those men were my brothers, men that never left my side or my boy’s side. They were the men who would always have my back and they would be the men standing beside me as I say goodbye to my child. We didn’t need blood. We had loyalty. We had respect. We had the stuff that held people together when blood didn’t.

  I knew it was just something they did out of respect and they would do it for any of the brothers, but seeing them stand guard over my boy brought me a sense of comfort. They didn’t think it was my fault.

  They didn’t blame me for the things I couldn’t control.

  There were two people that blamed me for everything. My mother, who was dead, and my ex-wife, who sat beside me sobbing.

  My mother hated me. When she looked at me she saw her father reflected in my eyes. I wish she would have looked at me and seen that I was just a boy that couldn’t control himself. Maybe if she had, she would’ve been the kind of mother who sought help for her damaged child. Instead, she inflicted more pain on me, made me believe I was the devil reincarnate and not someone who needed help. Maybe if she had, then my son would be alive.

  What is wrong with you? You’re crazy!

  I could still hear her shouting at me, taunting me, until I started to doubt myself. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with me, but the more someone tells you you’re crazy, the more you start to wonder if you really are.

  After she died no one called me crazy. Not the same way she had.

  You’re a crazy motherfucker, Bulldog!

  You’re fucking crazy, brother.

  Sure, I did some fucking things that would have my brothers thinking I might have had a screw loose somewhere but they didn’t look at me and ask what was wrong with me. They just made me think I was a badass motherfucker who didn’t give a shit. They wiped away the doubt my mother instilled in me and gave me back the confidence she stole from me.

  I turned and watched Connie rise to her feet, her body trembling as she started for the coffin. I wanted to reach out to her, to wrap my arms around her, desperate to grieve with her. She was the only one who knew exactly how I felt.

  But she hated me. She blamed me.

  Please, get help!

  There is something not right with you, Jack.

  I’m begging you.

  I leaned back in my chair, watching her boyfriend wrap a steady arm around her waist as she kneeled before our son and sang him a lullaby. I blinked, tears falling from the corners of my eyes as her voice traveled through the quiet chapel.

  “Sleep, baby, sleep. Your daddy’s away. Sleep, baby, sleep. And mommy will pray.

  Sleep, baby, sleep

  Your daddy’s away

  Sleep, baby, sleep

  And mommy will pray”

  I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand as her voice hitched as she sobbed. I hated seeing her cry, always did. We were one another’s first love. I watched her turn from a girl to a woman and then made her a mother. We were twenty years old when our daughter, Lacey, was born. Twenty-one when we married, twenty-two when Jack Jr. was born, twenty-three was the year it all fell apart and twenty-four was the year it ended. Now, twenty-five, we’re burying our baby—both of us dead inside.

  Connie leaned over the coffin, peppering Jack’s face with kisses as she cried and pleaded with him to take her with him. Her boyfriend wrapped both arms around her, prying her away from the coffin. She turned in his arms, buried her face against his chest and let out an anguished cry that tore through my heart. She lifted her head, her angry eyes meeting mine, and she stilled.

  “This is all your fault,” she shrieked.

  “My baby is in that box because of you,” she slapped her boyfriend’s hands away and stepped closer, her green eyes lifeless as they pierced through me.

  She used to look at me lovingly.

  She used to look at me sympathetically.

  She glared at me now with hatred.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  And I was. Because she was right. Jack was dead because I was too proud to accept the things I couldn’t control. My son paid the price because I was too ashamed to get help.

  The demons in my head stole my son.

  But I allowed them to.

  He was a fucking Fed, a fucking federal agent out to destroy me. If that wasn’t a slap in the fucking face, nothing was. I gave him everything. I tried my best to do right by him. And this is how he repaid me? I put that spoiled prick through school, busted my ass so he could get ahead in life.

  “Daddy, what are you doing?” Lacey asked, looking frightened.

  I lifted my arms above my head and swung the hammer against the Sheetrock.

  “Go inside, Lacey,” I muttered, dropping the hammer at my feet and stuck my arm in the gaping hole. I pulled at the Sheetrock with my free hand, widening the hole.

  Where the fuck was it? Where did that bastard put the fucking bug?

  “Daddy, you’re scaring me,” she cried.

  I was sure it was there. I just needed to find it.

  He wasn’t going to bring me down. No fucking way.

  “Jack?” Lacey sniffled, wiping at her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt. “Daddy, I don’t know where Jack is.”

  I lifted the hammer over my head and took another swing, this time at a different wall. I beat the Sheetrock again and again until the hole was wide enough for me to stick my head inside. I felt out of control, like I was grasping at straws but I was so sure he played me. I didn’t just imagine it. Did I?

  I was fucking desperate.

  I needed to know I wasn’t crazy.

  My brother was a Fed.

  I was an outlaw.

  He was out to get me.

  I slid down the wall, my body falling to the floor with a thump and pulled my knees to my chest.

  I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t.

  “Daddy,” Lacey screamed, her shrill voice pulling me away from my manic state, forcing me into reality. “Come quick,” she sobbed.

  I lifted my head
and scanned the room for my daughter.

  “Lacey?” I called out.

  She didn’t answer me.

  Tires screeched across the asphalt, a crash sounded and then there was silence.

  I stood, walked toward the front door and noticed it was wide open. My steps quickened, my heart raced and then it crashed the moment I stepped outside. My daughter stood frozen at the curb, staring in shock at my two-year old son lying perfectly still in the middle of the street.

  I ran down the porch steps, unable to breathe not knowing which child to tend to first. I tripped over the curb, fell to my knees and crawled to my son.

  I frantically checked for a pulse.

  Nothing.

  “No, no, no,” I whispered hysterically, searching around for help. The car sped away, taking off down the street, no regard for my boy. I looked back toward my daughter.

  “Lacey, call 911!”

  She didn’t move. She was in shock. She just watched her baby brother get hit by a car.

  She watched him die.

  I closed my eyes and gathered my boy in my arms, rocking him softly. I stared up at the heavens and screamed for help.

  Please God, hear me. Hear my cry for help.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  I ran my fingertips along the distressed wooden table as I walked around it, taking my seat at the top. This thing had seen better days, been around a long fucking time. My predecessor, Cain, had brought it into the compound when he first took the gavel. A piece he and his old man had built with their own hands. The guys busted my balls, time and again, to get rid of the thing, bitched about getting a splinter whenever we held church. I couldn’t part with it though. It was all I had left of the man who brought me into this club and gave me purpose.