Trapped: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Anna Ray

  Trapped

  A Dark Mafia Romance

  Anna Ray

  © Copyright 2021 - All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Your Free Gift

  1. Massimo

  2. Alessandra

  3. Massimo

  4. Alessandra

  5. Massimo

  6. Alessandra

  7. Massimo

  8. Alessandra

  9. Massimo

  10. Alessandra

  11. Massimo

  12. Alessandra

  13. Massimo

  14. Alessandra

  15. Massimo

  16. Alessandra

  17. Massimo

  18. Alessandra

  19. Massimo

  20. Alessandra

  21. Massimo

  22. Alessandra

  23. Massimo

  24. Alessandra

  25. Massimo

  26. Alessandra

  27. Massimo

  28. Alessandra

  Epilogue: Massimo

  Author’s Note

  Collided

  1. Chiara Fiore

  2. Luca

  Your Free Gift

  I wanted to show my appreciation that you support my work

  so I’ve put together a bonus story for you

  Tempted: A Mafia Romance

  Just visit the link above to download it now.

  I know you will love this gift.

  Thanks!

  1

  Massimo

  As the door to my office closes, I turn to the safe concealed behind a signed print of the movie poster for Suspiria and enter the combination: 102210 — the date my family was murdered.

  It’s almost ten years to the day since my father, mother, and sister were shot dead by some unknown mobster, and I’ve been searching for their killer ever since. In that time, I’ve learned a lot about the criminal underworld of Chicago, but I’m no closer to finding their killer.

  With the cash safely stored, I take my gun, close the safe, and flip the poster back to cover the hidden opening. It’s almost seven, which I deem a fair clocking off time. Normally, after work, I’d be hitting up an exclusive club or visiting a VIP lounge somewhere with my best friend and second in command, Donte. When you make the type of money I do, doors open for you, and there’s never any shortage of beautiful women to share an evening with.

  But tonight, my plans don’t involve attractive women, and Donte will be left alone to have his pick of the many beauties. However, I’m guaranteed to get a good meal and some excellent wine. I’ve been invited for dinner to the home of my boss, Carlo DeLuca and his wife Teresa. The DeLucas are the only “family” I have left, my godparents having offered me a home after my family were murdered.

  Some would say Carlo is ruthless, and he certainly is. But I know another side of the mob boss. I’m one of few people he allows to see his softer side, and it’s thanks to Carlo I even have a roof over my head, let alone the success I've achieved since my family’s murder.

  As one of the two most powerful crime lords in Chicago, Carlo isn’t a man to be messed with. He has connections everywhere and a hand in everything. That club I love, whose owner turns a blind eye at the “extras” I indulge in on a night out? Carlo owns a percentage share in it. The restaurant across from my penthouse apartment I love ordering from? The owner owes $10,000 to Carlo. Everything on the West Side of Chicago can be traced back to Carlo.

  I leave my office building, which looks like a regular moneylender, check cashing, and payday loan business, but actually serves as a front for Carlo’s main money laundering operation. I’ve been overseeing the operation as his second for the last five years, and business is booming.

  Parked in the lot is my beloved Ferrari F12tdf, and though it draws more than a little attention around the city, I love the power and speed of the vehicle.

  It doesn’t take long to zip through the streets to the sounds of AC/DC, and before I know it, I’m pulling up outside the DeLuca estate. The six-bedroom, 10,000 square-feet, Beaux-Arts mansion sits behind a high security gate only a select few know the combination for. I’m one of them.

  The grand house invokes childhood memories of my younger sister, Bianca, and I playing in the expansive yard and Christmases spent together with our parents and the DeLucas — happier, simpler times.

  I press the button for the electronic window controls and reach out to type the code into the keypad. As I enter the last digit, a green light blinks, and then the wrought iron gates swing open to let me in.

  I make my way slowly up the flagstone driveway to the main entrance of the house where the DeLuca staff wait to greet me. A valet takes my Ferrari as the housekeeper, Mrs. Russo, greets me.

  “Massimo, it’s good to see you. Are you keeping well?” asks the elderly woman who has worked for Carlo and Teresa for as long as I can remember.

  “Yes, thank you. And you? How is Mr. Russo?” I ask, having been taught at an early age that it always pays to be polite to those you employ.

  “He’s well, thank you.”

  The marbled entranceway is decorated early for the approaching holidays with carved pumpkins and fall decorations dotted around. Teresa is well-known for appearing on Halloween night dressed as Morticia Addams and handing out candy to kids brave enough to approach the gate.

  From somewhere further in the house, I catch the scent of onions, garlic, and chilli, and my stomach rumbles. It’s been too long since lunch.

  Mrs. Russo leads me through the entranceway and off to the left, where I know my godmother will be, waiting for me in her lounge. It’s a custom that whenever I visit, I have coffee with Teresa before we all gather for dinner. After dinner is reserved for business talk between Carlo and I.

  I enter the softly lit sitting room to find Teresa reclined on a chaise lounge, looking as young as a woman half her age. Her long black hair falls in lustrous waves around her shoulders, and she’s wearing a modest, yet undoubtedly expensive, silk kaftan. With a smile, she rises from her seat to greet me.

  “Massimo, you look well,” she says, kissing both my cheeks.

  I return the embrace with equal tenderness. Teresa is the closest thing I have to a mother these days and one of few links back to my parents. Teresa and my mother, Silvana, grew up together and attended the same Catholic school. When Teresa married Carlo DeLuca, it was through her that both my parents got jobs. Over time, the two families blended into one. When my parents and sister were murdered, and I was the sole survivor at just nineteen, the DeLucas took me in. Teresa gave me a home, and Carlo gave me a job. Without them, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

  “As do you, Teresa. You’re looking after yourself?”

  Teresa sits down and pats the space on the chaise lounge beside her for me to join. “Of course. Don’t I always?”

  I smile and nod. “Carlo wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  As we make small talk, Mrs. Russo comes in with coffee and biscotti, and Teresa probes me about my life since we last spoke. There’s no mention of business, of course. She leaves all that to her husband. But she’s eager to know if I’m eating well, if I’m looking after myself, and if I’ve met anyone special yet.

  I brush off her last question with a carefree laugh. �
��You know I’m far too busy for relationships.”

  “You’re not getting any younger,” she reminds me, as though twenty-nine makes me an old man in her eyes. “I want grandbabies while I can still enjoy them.”

  For a moment, I feel a twinge of guilt. I’m the closest thing the DeLucas have to a son after struggling for years to conceive, even with the help of expensive fertility treatments. And I really want to settle down and have a family someday. I feel the weight of “continuing the family name” hanging on my shoulders, and I won’t disappoint my godparents.

  But I can’t slow down for a moment; business is booming. We own more of Chicago than ever before. Balancing family responsibilities with my business duties never gets easier.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I say to humor her. Both of us know it isn’t true, but Teresa doesn’t let on, instead filling me in on all the gossip from around the city. I zone out as she tells me which politician is having an affair and which famous marriage is on the verge of a breakup.

  Eventually, Mrs. Russo announces dinner is ready and leads Teresa and me through to the grand dining room, which is laid out with silver cutlery and fine china. A long table with enough seats for twelve people dominates the room, though only a few seats are used regularly. The room is much brighter than the sitting room, with green wallpaper that brings some of the outside in. I know Teresa and the interior designer she hired to decorate the estate had a lot of fun giving each room a distinct aesthetic.

  Carlo sits at the head of the table, swirling red wine around in his glass and looking pensive. Strands of white streak through his black hair, but it does nothing to diminish the power radiating from him.

  As Teresa and I enter the dining room, he raises his eyes to gaze at us and smiles.

  “Teresa, my love,” he says, standing to embrace his wife. He kisses her cheeks and gently guides her into the seat to his left before turning to me.

  “Massimo, my boy,” he says, greeting me with a tight embrace.

  We hug for only a moment before I drop into my usual seat to his right, knowing there will be no talk of business at the dinner table. Instead, we enjoy a meal of pasta puttanesca and a bottle of deep red Cabernet Sauvignon and chat about trivial things. I promise to join them for Thanksgiving dinner and that I will visit more often. After a dessert of cannoli, which I only take a few bites of for not being overly fond of sweets, Carlo and I bid Teresa goodnight and head up to his office.

  Before sitting, I take down the bottle of Amaretto from the liquor cabinet behind Carlo’s desk, knowing it’s customary to share a couple of glasses with my mentor after dinner, and that it’s only right, as he’s my elder, that I serve him.

  “Saluti,” Carlo says, raising his glass in my direction.

  He settles on the leather couch before the fireplace — a more casual seating area than his desk — and I pour a drink for myself before joining him.

  “Saluti,” I reply, raising my glass before sitting on the other end of the couch and angling my body so I’m facing him.

  He reclines back, crosses his legs over at his ankles, and takes a sip of his drink. He lets out a satisfied breath and asks, “Were there any problems with Ramsey?”

  Ramsey is one of our main drug dealers, and it’s through him we take in the most money, that then has to be filtered through our “legitimate” businesses.

  “No, everything went as expected. The $20,000 Ramsey made last night is in the safe, and I will deposit small amounts into various accounts in the coming weeks.”

  He smiles. “You’re doing well. Maybe this old man can retire.”

  I laugh at his joke, knowing Carlo won’t step away from the business, even if he were on his deathbed.

  “I have news about your family’s murder,” he continues after a moment, and my head snaps up. He has my full attention.

  He has been using his various underground contacts to search for my family’s murderers for the last ten years, but until now, it’s only led to dead ends. Whoever killed my father, mother, and younger sister covered their tracks very well.

  I stare at him intently, hungry for news. “Who was it?” I ask desperately.

  “I have reason to believe it was Stefano Giuliani,” Carlo says, and if I had been drinking at the time, I would have likely spat it out.

  “The second most powerful man in Chicago killed my family?” I ask.

  While Carlo rules the West Side of Chicago, the East Side belongs to Stefano Giuliani and his organization. The two syndicates have been vying for control of more areas since before I was born, and of course, it’s the first place we looked after my family was killed. At the time, Carlo could find nothing concrete on them.

  Carlo bows his head. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Massimo. You know how much I care about you, how much I cared about your father, but it appears he was a double agent, playing both sides, and feeding Giuliani information about what we were doing. For whatever reason, Giuliani decided your father was a liability and took a hit out on him. That contract extended to your mother, your sister, and yourself. You only survived because you weren’t with them.”

  Anger burns through my veins. My head spins, and I see vivid memories of my sister, Bianca, laying on her bedroom floor, blood pooled around her head.

  Finally, I’m able to force words through my lips and ask, “You’re certain it was Giuliani?”

  When Carlo nods, my body goes stiff all over as the news sinks in that we’ve finally found my family’s killer and know why they were murdered. Anger that my father could have betrayed his best friend and put his family in danger burns through my veins. Hatred towards Giuliani for turning my father against the DeLucas makes my stomach tighten.

  “Why didn’t he follow up with me?” I ask, unable to process anything else.

  I’m wracked with guilt that my mother and sister died, while I’m still here. They weren’t involved in this world, not like my father and I. They never deserved this.

  “I never gave him a chance. After your family was killed, I became suspicious of Giuliani’s movements and protective of you. You’ve always known what I have planned for you…”

  Even before my family was killed, it was an unspoken agreement that one day, I would inherit the syndicate from Carlo. Was that why Giuliani targeted my father — to get to me? Did he think if the older Accardi switched sides, the younger would, too?

  “And of course, knowing I was watching his every move, Giuliani kept a low profile. That’s how he could cover up his involvement until now. It’s also how he could hide the secret that will be his undoing. Giuliani has a daughter.”

  The revelation shakes me, and soon, different paths spread out before me in my mind. Every path ends with Giuliani’s blood on my hands. A wolfish smile covers my lips. Once I take out Giuliani, the city will belong to Carlo and me, as it should.

  “Where is she?” I ask finally, and Carlo’s smile matches my own as he gives me the details.

  2

  Alessandra

  I notice the expensive, dark, unmarked car out of the corner of my eye and curse under my breath.

  What the hell?

  This is the third time in as many days I’ve seen the fancy car. Do I have a high-class stalker?

  I stare at the vehicle, but it has tinted windows. I can’t make out the driver. After a moment, whoever is inside must realize I’ve spotted them because they pull away. I try to push the worry out of my mind and focus on the here and now.

  That’s easy to accomplish as my best friend Taylor catches up with me, grinning from ear-to-ear.

  “I can’t believe you scored higher than me on the test,” she says, not a hint of jealousy in her voice. Taylor and I are at the top of our business and economics class, and we have a friendly rivalry going on as to who can get the best marks on tests and assignments. By competing, it keeps us on our toes and helps us maintain our excellent grades.

  “Yeah, but you beat me in the presentation, so we’re even,” I s
ay, referring to the in-class presentation we had to give earlier in the week, and which Taylor scored five points higher than I did.

  Taylor grins. “We should celebrate.”

  My grin matches Taylor’s as I say, “We should. Your parents are away on a business trip, right?”

  “Yeah, why? Are you thinking of a house party or something?” Taylor tosses a lock of long, blond hair over her shoulder.

  “Hmmm… maybe, but then we’ll have to deal with all the clean up afterward, and no doubt the party will be flooded with gross college boys… No, I have a better idea. Let’s check out that new bar in River North,” I suggest, remembering the flyers I’ve seen around campus for Howl at the Moon, which boasts of its high-energy live music show that’s centered around dance hits and party anthems.

  “Oh, my cousin Johnny went there last weekend and said it’s amazing. They have these plastic bucket cocktails that are perfect for getting wasted.”

  “Sounds like my type of bar; let’s do it. I’ll tell my parents I’m stopping at your place so they don’t need to know my exact location every second of the evening,” I say with an eye roll.

  Despite me being twenty-one, my father loves to treat me like I’m still twelve or something. I guess that’s part of the territory when your father works with the mob, and not gonna lie, I certainly love the lavish lifestyle it offers us. And I know he’s just trying to protect me, but I wish he wouldn’t treat me like a child. In the past, he’s sent his bodyguards out looking for me when I haven’t returned home straight away. Even now, a car waits in the campus parking lot with Tony, the driver, behind the wheel, waiting to take me home to the safety of our estate in Forest Glen.