by Sam Mariano
The Last Boss’ Daughter
By Sam Mariano
Dedication:
To my brother, David.
May the words keep flowing, even when life gets stressful. ;)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The Last Boss’ Daughter Copyright © 2017 by Sam Mariano
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Check out Sam Mariano’s other books:
NEW ADULT
Because of You (#1)
After You (#2)
(coming 2017)
TABOO ROMANCE
Irreparable Damage (#1)
Irreparable Lives (#2)
Irreparable Box Set
STANDALONE CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Beautiful Mistakes
Author’s Note
I’ve classified The Last Boss’ Daughter as a Mafia romance because it is—but not the kind you may be expecting. (There is still violence and villainy—a fair amount of it, but...) As you’ll see in the first couple of chapters, the hero is not in the Mafia, and neither is the heroine (directly). This story is about Annabelle and Liam, not a criminal organization. If you only enjoy one type of Mafia book, this might not hit the spot for you. This story is different. I believe different is good. Hopefully you do, too. ;) As with all my books, it’s best not to expect anything too cookie-cutter and go in with an open mind! (I’ve tried to use cookie-cutters, but the damn dough always breaks!)
Anyway, thanks so much for checking out my book!
Happy reading!
Annabelle
There’s an old junkyard in Brooklyn that doesn’t mean much to anyone but me.
My father used to bring me when I was young. Behind the old, beaten fence stands a huge oak tree with an apple tree just behind it. Dad hung up a rope swing just for me and before long it became my favorite place in the world. Dad would grab two apples, toss me one, and push me on the swing while I told him about my day or my dreams or my dolls or the boy I liked—whatever I wanted to talk about. My dad was a busy man, so having his undivided interest in those moments… well, it was special to me.
Every year on the anniversary of his death, I come back. I trespass on the land that’s no longer ours, steal two apples from the tree, and swing on the swing that the new owners never took down. While I’m there, eating stolen apples and swinging on someone else’s swing, I talk to my dad. Of course he isn’t there, but I talk to him anyway.
Only this year, something is different.
The junkyard isn’t abandoned.
I’m unsure what to do at first. Lights are on inside and a few vehicles are parked in front of the building. The alarming part is the two armed guards stationed by the rickety old fence, guarding the entrance. All this for a yard full of rust? There can’t be much left of the cars at this point.
The guards go on alert as I walk by. I pick up the pace, my heart pounding as one takes a threatening step forward. What the hell? I’m not sure what to do now. I could go home and forget my annual tradition, but…
I reach the end of the road before I decide, fuck it. Those guys saw me keep walking, so they’re probably back to relaxing and bullshitting with each other. I don’t want inside the fence anyway; I want to go behind it.
I have to go about it a different way, that’s all. Usually I walk right in, cut through the hole in the fence at the back, but my instincts tell me before I even get there, that hole is probably gone. Whatever’s inside, someone wants their privacy.
Cool with me.
I couldn’t care less.
My curiosity isn’t even piqued.
I just want a few minutes on my swing. I just want to steal two apples, then I’ll be on my way.
It may be dangerous. Little red warning flags, but fuck those, too. I’m going on my swing. I haven’t let dangerous men stop me from doing what I want in 26 years, so why start today?
And I make it. I cut through an alley, go behind a building, hustle across a clearing, and I’m along the side of the fence, safely out of the view of the guards. Smiling faintly to myself, filled with an unfamiliar sense of peace and victory, I pluck a pair of apples from the tree, climb up on the seat of my swing and push off. I’m a little less sure about talking to my dad with the security on the place, but as long as I’m quiet it should be okay.
“Hey, Dad,” I murmur, hooking my left arm around the rope. “It’s been a while.”
For a moment, I stop, words clogging my throat. As much as I love the idea of telling Dad about my life, I realize things have gotten so bad that I don’t want to tell him.
Instead, I say, “Do you remember when I was 14 and I finally figured out the whole Mafia thing? How I was so conflicted about it, and… and I felt like my image of you was sort of damaged, and it was so morally reprehensible to do the things I realized you were responsible for?”
I remember an argument we had during that time, in the car on the way home from the junkyard. My arms crossed in anger, telling him, “I would never do those kinds of things, not for any amount of money.”
My dad shook his head, seeming vaguely irritated with my naiveté, and told me, “You think that now, but everyone has a price.”
“I don’t,” I assured him, vehemently.
He nodded, not agreeing. “We’ll see.”
He never did get to see, since he was killed two years later. I hadn’t sold out by then. Not what you would expect of a daughter of a criminal organization, but I was actually a goody goody. Hadn’t even had my first kiss until after he died.
As it turned out, life’s sharper corners poked holes in most of my ideals, like my father predicted they would.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Remember when you told me, even though our family was our kind of family, that if I really didn’t like it, and it really made me unhappy, I didn’t have to have any part of it? I could have a normal life with my little ideals and live blissfully unaware of the goings on?” He couldn’t answer, of course, but I nod anyway. “I think if you would’ve lived, that might’ve been true.”
I don’t get to further speculate, share, or reminisce. The sound of dying leaves crunching beneath heavy boots serves as adequate warning. I launch off the swing and turn with my back to the tree so I can look my attacker in the face, a particular habit of mine.
I like to unsettle them, if I can.
This guy doesn’t seem unsettled. A blonde, short-haired guard stands, legs braced, large gun trained on me, ready to attack.
“Over here!” the guy calls over his shoulder.
Another guard comes around the side of the building, leaves crunching beneath his heavy, black boots. He’s bigger than this guy—a lot bigger. Looks like he’s all broad shoulders and lean muscle underneath all that gear.
He doesn’t stop next to his friend, but keeps coming. I lurch back when I realize he’s coming at me, but there’s no time—and no point trying—to get away with him right on me. If I run, he’ll give chase. And probably tackle me. Bruises. Soreness. Nah, not worth it.
I can just explain myself. I don’t want the nuke codes or dead bodies they have inside, I only wanted a few minutes on the swing from my childhood.
“This has all been a misunderstanding,” I attempt.
Blondie is inexplicably out for my blood and enthuses, “That’s the same
girl that just walked by!”
Someone get the man a detective license.
The wall of man stalking toward me is similarly unimpressed with his partner’s deductive skills, but there’s no time to consider that—or even the unexpected handsomeness in front of my face, the chiseled features, the short pony tail of golden hair, or his overall largeness. I wasn’t initially intimidated by his strength, but the closer he gets, the more worrisome a detail it seems.
“Who are you?” he demands, pressing one large hand against my chest, effectively pinning me down.
My wide eyes focus on his hand as he holds me against the tree and starts patting me down.
“I—I’m not carrying,” I manage through my surprise. “I don’t even own a weapon.”
“Who are you?” he repeats.
“Annabelle?” I offer.
He gives me a dead look, but that may just be his face. He turns me around, belly to tree, and pats me down that way, too.
Then I’m spun back around, but before I can imagine he’s satisfied that I’m not dangerous, he comes forward, using his whole body to smash mine against the tree.
“Whoa,” I mutter, unprepared for the impact.
“Get Raj,” he calls back to Blondie. I can’t see him through the wall of chest impeding my view, but I hear Blondie break into a run.
I swallow, my heart in my throat, but a smile creeps across my lips.
I don’t react to things properly. It’s been a struggle for a little less than half my life. It started at my dad’s funeral when I was beyond devastated, but I didn’t want to cry so I told jokes. People thought I was having a nervous breakdown. I’ve adapted “fake it till you make it” as a coping mechanism. It pisses Paul off to no end.
As if egged on, the guard bucks against me, smashing me even harder against the tree.
Not the intended reaction, I sense a poorly timed stirring in my loins.
I decide to use it. “Watch out there, buddy. If you’re looking to turn me on, you’re on the right track.”
For the briefest fraction of a second, a glimmer of surprise crosses his face before the mask of stoicism slips back into place.
He leans back a step and lifts my 130 pounds with the ease I lift a fork. Nudges my legs apart and pushes between them aggressively, like he’s going to push right through my clothes and fuck me there against the tree.
“Still turned on?” he grinds out.
Still stoic. Can’t tell what he’s going for here. Trying to scare me? Maybe he’s trying to call my bluff. I wasn’t bluffing, but there’s no reason for him to suspect that.
In response, I smile and wrap my legs around his waist, using my heels to pull him even tighter against me. It’s exhilarating, courting actual danger like this. I’m truly getting turned on, which is so inappropriate, and I wish I could find even a single fuck to give.
The guard scowls, but interest lingers there. “What are you playing at?”
“Not even playing.” My eyes move over the muscular curves of him, the handsome face, the good hair. “I mean, look at you. You’re hot. I’m not trying to soften you up or anything, just stating the facts.” I crane my neck to peek over his shoulder before giving him a little wink. “How long do you think we have until your buddy gets back?”
Less intense, less guarded, he asks again, but this time less as if he’s interrogating me and more like he actually wants to know, “Who are you?”
“Annabelle Covello,” I tell him, even though I’m still not sure it’s a great idea.
He recognizes the name and his scowl comes back, his interest draining. “Covello?”
I nod, resigned.
Footsteps again, more than one set. Blondie says, “Here she is.”
His new companion says, “Jesus, Liam, get off the poor girl.”
Liam, I surmise, is the guard between my legs, because suddenly my feet hit solid ground again and he backs away, as commanded.
“I apologize, miss,” the man says, offering an apologetic smile. “We’ve had some security concerns lately, and I fear these two may have been a little overzealous. I hope—”
I cut him off because I can’t believe who I’m looking at. “Raj?”
He frowns, eyeing me speculatively.
Raj Ahuja, the man who’d run the junkyard with my dad all those years ago. The years must not have been kind to him; it looks like he’s aged 20 years in the 10 since I’ve seen him.
“I’m sorry, have we met?” he asks.
“I’m Annabelle C—Annabelle De Luca.” Of course that wasn’t the name I’d just given the guard, so he scowls in my direction. “My dad was John De Luca.”
He knows who I am now and it seems like he expected me to still be 16. “Annabelle?”
I nod. “I didn’t know you still owned this place. I thought after Dad…”
“I bought them out. It didn’t take a lot, the shop wasn’t much.”
I agree, but I look to the guards. “That’s what I always thought until I saw SEAL Team Six over here guarding the entrance.”
Raj gets uncomfortable. “Yes, I…”
Since he doesn’t seem eager to finish that sentence, I do it for him. “Security concerns, I heard.”
His gaze moves away from me to the swing, still swaying ever so slightly. “Your dad used to bring you out here when you were younger, didn’t he?”
I nod, but I’m not sure how much to say. I would’ve expected Raj to be happy to see me—I had loved him when I was a kid, and even into my teens we had remained friendly, always joking around when I came to the shop, which was admittedly less with every year that passed. He has a son a little younger than me, sometimes he’d bring him and we’d play baseball in the open grass by my tree swing.
This Raj still seems tense though, on his guard, not the same Raj I joked around with back then.
“Well, I should probably go,” I say. “I’m sorry to have caused a whole… incident,” I add, gesturing around to the armed giants.
“Yes, I’m sorry about that.” He pauses, as if unsure whether or not to go on. “But, Annabelle? It’s not a good idea for you to come back here.”
I frown, taken off guard. Ordinarily I’m good at dodging undesirable feelings, but this is so unexpected that I am slightly offended. “Oh.”
“Nothing personal.”
“It seems personal. I only come…” I want to continue, but stop short. No. This isn’t the Raj I knew, I’m not going to share anything vulnerable with him.
He ages another year or so before my eyes. Sighing, he looks at me like he has to put down his favorite dog. “Go home, Annabelle. And don’t come back.”
Liam
“Follow her.” I watch Raj as he sinks heavily into his seat behind the desk. “Make sure she isn’t reporting back to her stepfather.”
I know which way she went and I don’t want to get too close, so I know I have a minute. “All right.”
“Don’t hurt her,” he specifies, shooting me a look. I can tell he didn’t appreciate the scene he came upon outside. I wouldn’t even begin to know how to explain it to him, so I don’t try.
Then, shoving a stack of papers irritably across the desk, he says, “Not yet, anyway.”
“How long do you want me to stay on her?”
“The rest of the night. Just in case she anticipates this and does something else to throw you off.”
I hesitate. “I really don’t think she was up to anything. When we got out back, she was just swinging and eating an apple.”
I could still smell the apple on her breath when I got so close to her and she inexplicably tried to… do whatever the hell she’d been trying to do.
“Well, let’s hope. But we need to be sure.”
I nod and leave to trade my large weapon in for something more discreet, then I shed my top layer of gear. I can’t wait too long and lose her, either. Even assuming I found her, I wouldn’t know the trail she took—any stops, phone calls, hurried texts.
The
re’s nothing to worry about though, as I find her quickly. I send a text to Lance to follow me with a car. A quick check shows she lives in Jersey and that means we’re not going to be walking the whole way. I tell him to throw the audio equipment in the back seat, just in case.
As far as I can follow her—down into the subway, but not on the subway, since I’ll be spotted—she doesn’t do anything alarming. No phone calls, no texts. She doesn’t even fiddle with apps to distract herself.
She looks sad. There’s a sort of sag to her shoulders, her mouth set in a practiced frown. There’s nothing about her that gives me any inkling she might be spying for her stepfather or anyone else.
Raj said her dad died, and that he used to bring her to the swing when she was little. Maybe that’s why she was there, for sentimental purposes.
Her two last names confuse me. There was no time to ask Raj about it.
As she waits for the subway doors to open, I try to figure out how to play this. Given the stops, she could be heading into the city to shop, or she could be heading home. For half a second, I consider blowing my stealth all to hell and just approaching her. I could probably get the information I wanted by watching her closely while I simply asked, and if not, there was always brute force. Of course, on a subway full of people that wouldn’t be as effective, and it wasn’t likely she would follow me into some secluded alley to chat.
I wasn’t able to peg her, given the briefness of our encounter and her odd reaction to it, so I don’t take that chance.
Once she’s in the subway car, I call Lance and give him the subway stops.
“Put someone on the train in case she surfaces. I’m gonna take the car.”
I head for Jersey, because I think she’s going home.
She doesn’t surface at the stops, and before long it’s clear I was right. Someone did get on the subway with her at the next stop, someone she wouldn’t have recognized as watching her, and they verified that she hadn’t done anything suspicious. Checked her phone once, they reported, but seemed to only be checking the time.
