Scars and Silk 1 (The Calvetti Crime Family)

by Rose Harper

  Her cackle causes me to cringe. It’s just as fake as she is, and that’s saying something. About ninety-nine percent of her body is plastic, all thanks to the money I bring into this family. Fucking self-righteous bitch. “Straight shooter, huh?”

  “Is there any other way?” he retorts, smirking, and I watch as my mother physically swoons in front of him. Hell, even though I don’t like her, I can’t blame her there. I’m swooning, too. Just the sight of his lips pulling into a thin line, highlighting the peppering of fine lines next to his eyes, has me panting for more.

  In hurried succession, his eyes flick over her head, ensnaring me in his mouthwateringly dark gaze, before snapping back to her, a soft smile spreading. The action is so imperceptible that if you weren’t looking right at him, you wouldn’t even notice. His grin completely morphs his features, making him seem lighter, more handsome if that is possible. And his eyes. They’re bottomless, captivating. They pull me in like a snake lures its prey.

  Forcing myself backward, I curse silently as the shelving digs into my spine. I’ve been trying my hardest to stay unnoticed; yet, within moments of his attention turned this way, he sought me out. How? I’m the stealthiest person I know; have to be in a godforsaken place such as this.

  Goddammit, I hope he doesn’t say something. If he opens his mouth and tells them I’m here, it will all be over. My parents will send me to the hole for disobeying them, torturing me until they think I’ve had enough for my disobedience. Even if it’s been years since I’ve been there, still to this day, I clearly know never to disobey them because the repercussions he can extract from me are severe. Every action has a reaction, which is what my father always tells me, and if Mateo outs me, I’m done for.

  Thankfully, no one takes notice of where his attention had just been. Instead, she rolls her shoulders back and juts her chest out, wrapping her wavy hair around her finger. Inwardly groaning, I snap my eyes shut to save myself from the spectacle that is my mother. It never fucking fails with her. It doesn’t matter if my father is near her or not. She will blatantly flirt with anyone that holds more power than him, hoping for a better life than he can give her.

  Only, she’s not the one that gets punished for her actions, sent to do things no other person should have to do. I am. I’m the one who goes without dinner, bathing, or personal contact for weeks on end unless I do what he asks of me. I’m the one who gets the brunt of his anger, even though I’m not the one that caused it. It’s never her. It’s always me. And as the devil as my witness, one day I’ll make her pay for it.

  “It’s coming along wonderfully,” she coos, grossing me out even more. “You’d be happy to know your little property is at the end of training. We’re learning …” She leans forward, whispering only so those close around her can hear. I chance getting caught by leaning forward as well. Only, no amount of closeness will tell me what I want to know most: what the hell she’s whispering to him about.

  “Oh, really?” he asks, his smile blooms across as his eyes flick up to meet mine, holding a mischievous gleam of excitement. Why is he looking at me like I’m a piece of meat?

  Does he not know the things I’m capable of?

  2

  MATEO

  She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Her eyes captivate me. Her body slays me. I don’t have the first clue who she is, but every nerve ending inside me is screaming to take her—claim her as she needs to rightfully be claimed. Her body practically weeps for my attention, as I take in all her fulfilling attributes. And let me just say … goddamn. Just the sight of her creamy flesh makes me itch to mark it.

  This little truffle has no idea she’s just made the devil ravenous for a taste. All her innocence screams at me to soil her, make her as devilishly sinful as me.

  “Yes, really,” Jillian squeals softly.

  I know the reason she’s as excited as she is. The last of training means she gets to rid herself of the “abomination” she’s been taking care of for the last twenty-three years. She and Captain Dipshit get a big fat check for all their trouble, and I get a little missus that’s supposed to know how to please me.

  Only, I know better. She may say they’re moving along, but there’s never been one day of training taking place inside the Ricci house. Trust me. Ever since I took over the family business, I’ve had spies all over this shit. And to my complete and utter dismay, my spies found out that the Riccis have been lying to my family this entire time. Instead, they’ve been taking the money my father is so generously giving them, spending it on anything and everything they could possibly want.

  Many things in life I can stand, tolerate, or push to the side. But being a thief, liar, and a manipulator is something I completely abhor. People have died at my hand for a lot less, and the Riccis are walking on very thin ice when it comes to me.

  “There is much business to discuss, then,” I say, trying to hold my cool. “Shut the party down and send everyone home.”

  Without waiting for a response, I cast one last look over to the shadowed corner, hardening my eyes as they meet her wild ones. Flicking them to the side, I silently bid her to do as I say and leave my presence immediately. To my surprise, she takes my hint and starts sliding from the corner. I watch as she disappears down the stars toward the basement, narrowing my eyes as confusion begins clouding my judgement.

  Pushing it from my mind, I make my way through the expansive home, seeking out Daniel’s office. Thrusting open the doors, I wait until my brothers are safely inside before ridding myself of the fury settling in my gut.

  “They are a bunch of goddamn liars!” I thunder. “Since the moment we stepped into this house, I know every one of you saw what I did.”

  “I know I did,” Gavino, my younger brother, states. “I saw that little bird hiding in the corner. Who is she?”

  I turn a murderous gaze on him. “She’s the bird I’m to marry, Gavino. The one that’s supposed to have all this monumental training on how to please a man with power, while bringing with her something that will rock the underworld as we know it.”

  “Shit.”

  “Shit is correct, brother. Which is why I’m thoroughly pissed.” My blood simmers in my veins the longer I stand and think about their deceit.

  It’s not the fact I cannot get a woman on my own, because damn, I’m one sexy son of a bitch. It’s the fact my father pays for everything they have just because we need someone to stand by my side that knows the ins and outs of being a motherfucking queen. We can’t afford to look weak, and a woman who doesn’t know her rightful place will make us just that. I couldn’t give two shits about her, but my family will look stronger if there’s someone by my side that appears just as strong as me.

  My life hasn’t been all fairytales and rainbows. It’s about blood, sex, and power. Things that little slit clearly knows nothing about. I eat women like her for breakfast and don’t need to tie myself to her if she’s going to fail me. My father insisted she would know the arrangement when the time came, but it’s clear the Riccis think they’re pulling a fast one. I’ve let this go far enough, and I’m not about to let it get any more fucked up than it already is.

  “What are you going to do?” Lucio, my other brother, asks.

  Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose to stave off the pressure building behind my eyes. “I don’t know. This could fuck everything up.”

  A few beats of silence envelope us until one of my brothers clears their throat to speak. “Is she really important?” Vinny asks.

  “Yes, Vin. She’s important enough for this to go off without a hitch,” I answer, fuming. “Father picked her specifically for a reason. I don’t want to marry this bitch, but it’s clear I have no say-so in the matter. You all know I will do what I can for the family, even if it means giving my last breath.”

  “Then just take her. Train her yourself.”

  “It’s not that simple, Giovanni.” Walking toward Daniel’s desk, I sit down, running my fingers through my h
air. “Father just handed the business over to me without rhyme or reason. If I take the time to train her, it could fuck with everything. We have deals in place that we’ve had for years. If I take time from them, then others will see me as weak. They will try to back out of their deal, and we all know that no one backs out on a Calvetti and lives to tell the tale.”

  “Then have Dom do it,” Lucio buts in.

  Anger like no other slices through my body just thinking of my best friend touching even a hair on her head. He’s important to me, but this bitch has been promised to me since her birth, and I refuse to allow anyone the pleasure. It’s not the fact I want her—yes, she’s gorgeous, sinful really, which is right up my alley—but it’s the pure principle of it. I would not be a man worth anything if I allowed another to touch what’s mine. It will make me look weak, spineless. Which is something I’m not.

  “You better rethink those words, brother. I don’t give a shit about that slit any more than I do the whore I keep around, but she will not be touched by anyone other than me. Our father wanted the Ricci and Calvetti name tied together for a reason. I’m only doing this because Father wants me to; because he thinks it will put the fear of God into those around me. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to be free game when it comes to her. She will act how a wife is supposed to act, or I’ll kill the bitch myself.”

  “Why does father want our two families connected so badly, anyway?” Gavino asks, mulling over his words.

  Good question. And one Father never gave me the answer to. Every time I ask him about it, he always blows it off as if it means nothing when clearly, it means everything. Because why would you make your eldest son marry a certain woman otherwise? It’s not like this is the sixteenth century and betrothed marriages are still a fad.

  “Influence. Connections—take your pick.” A timid knock on the door gets my attention. Smoothing my features, I say, “Come in.”

  I watch with equal parts anticipation and fury as both Daniel and Jillian quickly enter the fray, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. Silently, I stare at them, waiting for one of them to break under the pressure first. The longer we’re surrounded by silence, the more my nerves shred. So much so, my hand itches to grab one of the Glocks harnessed under my arms.

  “Explain.” I break the silence, cracking my neck.

  Daniel stops short, Jillian bumping into his back. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  It’s cute he thinks playing dumb is going to get him out of this. He’s been just as much a part of her training as Jillian has been. Only, he’s the one that was supposed to teach her about the logistics of being married to a man with as much power as myself. In my eyes, they’re both at fault, and they will be until this matter is resolved.

  “If you don’t explain right now, you’ll regret it,” I growl.

  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says again, more forcefully.

  Upon hearing a squeak, I train my gaze on Jillian and her eyes widen as she takes a step backward. Narrowing mine at her, all my brothers follow suit, pinning her in place with our dark glares. “No. You have to understand,” she says, floundering.

  “Have to understand what?!” I yell, shooting to my feet. “Understand that you’ve been funneling money from my father since day motherfucking one, yet you haven’t put in the effort you continue to lie about? What the fuck is she going to do when she figures this all out, huh? Do you think she’ll be ready for this?” I pound the desk with my clenched fist, then rest against the top on my knuckles.

  “I say we shoot her,” Gavino interrupts, going for his gun.

  As tempting of an idea as that may be, we don’t need any more problems than we already have. And something tells me Daniel would make a lot of fuss if we nixed his wife right in front of him. The shit I deal with on any given day is horrible, but when it comes to the woman I’m supposed to fucking marry for the family, I will not stand for any excuses they try to shove down my throat. Someone will pay for their actions, I don’t give a damn who that is.

  “Mateo. Please,” she begs. “I did this to protect her.”

  “Protect her?! How the fuck are you protecting her? In two years’ time, she will be by my side as my wife, expected to be the frigid queen everyone reveres. You damned her to hell because the timid little creature I saw in there will never live up to my specifications.”

  “You saw her?” Daniel asks, a vein in his neck pulsing with anger. “When?”

  “Why do you think I canceled the party, Daniel? That bitch was hiding in the fucking corner like a trapped rat.” The only upside is that she followed my silent command and went toward the basement, which still piques my interest as to why she went there instead of her room. “And another thing, why the fuck is she in the basement? The only reason my father has been giving you money is because of her. Yet, you two live in the lap of motherfucking luxury while she holes herself away in the basement?”

  By this point, I’m shaking in rage. No one should be treated as she’s being treated. Living in the basement? This whole goddamn house should be hers by right. It’s my family’s money keeping them above water. It’s my family’s connections that allow them to survive without being mowed down by a rival. It’s us keeping these sons of bitches alive, yet they want to toss the reason we keep them around in the basement? Bullshit.

  “She deserves to be where I tell her to be,” Daniel spits, anger morphing his features as he stares me down. “My life—our life—has been put on hold because of that little bitch and she deserves everything we give her.” I can tell by the way his eyes flick toward the door that there’s more. More to what he’s saying that he doesn’t want me to know. If I find out he’s pussyfooting around with this, helping Jillian, I’ll end both of them myself.

  As soon as the words leave him, I’m around his desk, slamming him against the wall. Wrapping my fingers around his throat, I squeeze until he’s red in the face, veins are pulsing at his temples, and he’s gasping for air. “She deserves none of this. Least of all pathetic motherfuckers like you and Jillian. If you can’t get the job done, then so fucking be it. You don’t deserve anything my family can give you.”

  “Mateo,” Jillian cries.

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch, before I put a bullet between your eyes,” Gavino threatens, placing the barrel of his pistol in the middle of her forehead.

  This entire situation pisses me off. Every damn thing about it. If my father would just let me do shit on my own, then none of this would even be a problem right now. Instead, he’s allowing these rats to live, simply for the fact they’re supposed to be training my future wife on everything she needs to know. How am I supposed to look competent in front of our business associates if I have a wife who doesn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground? You can’t survive in my world without becoming hard and bloodthirsty. Yet these sick sons of bitches were going to send her in there, completely unprepared, and laugh when she failed.

  It’s not her that would look like a failure, it’s me. I will be the one looked down on. I will be the one talked about in the shadows. Instead of the “Bloodthirsty King,” I’ll be known as the “Bitch Boy.” But fuck me, if I don’t have enough time to train her myself. With everything going on with the family and my current obligations, she would suffer more with me than she is here. At least here, if Jillian stepped up her game, she can be ready for when I need her.

  “I’ll give you two months to get her where she’s supposed to be,” I whisper-hiss. “Two goddamn months. If she isn’t, then one of you will suffer. And so help me, God, I better be updated on her progress.”

  If this shit fucking backfires on me, I’ll mow down their entire bloodline. No one will be able to pass on the Ricci name by the time I’m through with them.

  3

  CARINA

  Running the tips of my fingers along the clay mud wall, I draw pictures that remind me of a better time. A time away from this place. A time, before a
ll this started, that I lived for myself and myself alone.

  With hair matted in a mess of dirt, grime, and tangles surrounding my face, I shiver as more freezing groundwater saturates my flimsy clothing. My soul yearns to be anywhere other than here; anywhere with warmth and the crispness of the fresh air I so long for. But no matter how hard I will those things to become a reality, they never do. I’m doomed to this life of darkness until my parents think I deserve the light.

  “I mean nothing; I am nothing,” I whisper, fighting a battle within myself. “I mean nothing; I am nothing.”

  Repeating my father’s words come second nature—it has for as long as I can remember. Every time I’m in here or doing what he bids of me, I have to recite them over and over until he says I can stop. It’s been burned into my brain since before I could walk, and it will continue to fester for as long as he deems fit.

  The only company I have are rodents dancing around my feet, and the bugs crawling over my skin—even when they’re not there, I can still feel their phantom steps. At least this time, he put me here clothed, instead of naked, which is what he usually does. He said it was a benefit of my situation. But, what situation is that? How is this a benefit? How can locking away your only child benefit them?

  “I mean nothing; I am nothing,” I repeat, rocking back and forth, now slapping at creepy crawlies that aren’t really there. I can feel my mind slipping with every brush of a rat’s body and every bite of an insect’s mouth. If they leave me here too long, I fear of what I might do—of what I might become.

  I’ve been in this place for nineteen days. Nineteen painfully desolate days. The only reason I know the exact number is because I slid around until I found pebbles scattered around the small damp space.

  For the first few days, I remained silent, never once allowing the words to tumble from my lips, which is what I knew he wanted. I did it as a nonverbal “fuck you” toward dear old Pops, but then, just like every time before, I caved. The words forced themselves from my chapped lips as if they were a prayer for any type of salvation.