Marcello: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Mob Daddies Book 1)

by Alexa Hart

  I shivered, visibly shaken.

  “Mr. Morano and Gia will never be safe, Miss Greene. Not really. Rossi loves them – and maybe that’s the one redeeming quality the man has – but he’s still who he is, and he still does what he does. It won’t change because it can’t. This isn’t a life you back out of, you understand, Miss Greene?”

  I leaned against the wall now, suddenly feeling very unsure if I were awake or not. Surely this was a dream. Surely this was a nightmare.

  “You involve yourself with Morano, and you involve yourself with some evil men – the likes of which I don’t think you would quite believe exist. Morano is protected because Rossi loves him. Rossi owns him.” He paused, shutting his eyes briefly and shaking his head. “Rossi may love you too, in time. He loved Celia dearly. And he’ll certainly own you – kinda already does. You might want to pay a bit more attention to your surroundings, Miss Greene.”

  Not real, not real, not real...

  “But regardless o’ all that. You will never be safe again, Miss Greene. Not you. Not your loved ones. Not your children. Not your children’s children.” Charlie’s eyes went tearful in an undefinable second. “I lost my family to this “job”. I can imagine what I’m gonna lose for this conversation. But you – ” he pointed a weathered finger at me, “you gotta decide if Mr. Morano is worth the cost. Cuz the cost is real. And you need to decide it quickly, Miss Greene. You already got one foot in the door. Rossi doesn’t need much more before you become just one more of his possessions. And Rossi don’t ever give nothin’ back.”

  With that Charlie calmly turned and walked back to the thermostat, flipping the switch again with careful, steady precision. He walked back to his cart, tipped his head to me, and pushed his way out the door. “You have a good night, Miss Greene.” I heard his whistling echoing down the hall until it disappeared entirely, and then I fled Winston Elementary Private School with tears in my eyes.

  Chapter 9

  I wasn’t sure I would ever want to be driven anywhere by anyone ever again. I walked home – wanting to run – and feeling that every car, every passerby, every set of eyes was purposefully focused on me.

  “You might want to pay a bit more attention to your surroundings, Miss Greene.”

  Only now, it seemed the last thing I wanted to do was look around me. The second I was home I locked the door behind me and slid to the floor in exhaustion. Marcello. I needed to talk to Marcello.

  His phone rang only once before his voice, sounding distracted and mildly startled, soothed my agitated mind with its purring solidity. “Abby? Abby, are you alright?”

  He always assumes something is wrong. He’s waiting for something to be wrong. I noted this, feeling a chill in my bones, and hurriedly responded, “Yes, it’s me – I'm fine, Marcello.”

  I heard a quiet sigh of relief, which did not relieve me in the slightest, and he questioned gently, “Do you need something, Abby? I'm with a client. I’m sorry – I can call you back in an hour or two? Unless you needed something now?”

  I debated. A part of me knew that he’d be with me in a second if I showed even an ounce of the distress that I was feeling. Another part of me felt that I had no idea what I wanted to tell him or needed to tell him or if any of it even mattered at all, in retrospect. Charlie had warned me about Marcello’s life. I was already weary of it. Charlie had relayed some information that Marcello didn’t know. I had already suspected, since day one, that at least Celia’s accident wasn’t actually an accident. I now found it hard to believe that deep inside, Marcello didn’t also feel there was something darker behind it than pure bad luck.

  And finally, Charlie had made it clear that Rossi was bad news. He had made it clear that Rossi was a bad person. Again, I had somehow already innately sensed that, but Marcello’s devotion to the man was real. I wasn’t sure he would even hear me were I to speak any words of criticism regarding his adoptive father. It certainly couldn’t be anything he hadn’t heard before.

  “Abby? Abby, what’s wrong?”

  I tensed, sucking in my breath and closing my eyes. “Nothing, Marcello. Just wanted – you know, just wanted to say hello. Call me back whenever – it's absolutely fine.” I never would have made it as an actress. I sounded as convincing as a hostage in a terrorist situation.

  And Marcello wasn’t buying it. “Abby, I will call you as soon as this meeting is over. I promise.” He was concerned, from habit or from intuition, and I felt an instant wave of guilt for calling him in such a blind panic.

  “Sounds good. I’ll talk to you soon,” I pushed out and hung up abruptly. I felt an intense sensation of frustration with myself. Abigail Greene wasn’t a lot of incredible things, but she had her shit together. Always.

  Things are different now, Abby.

  An hour passed. Then two. I took a warm shower, attempting to ease my nerves and relax muscles that were locked into a rigid alert. It was nearing 9:00 and I still had heard nothing from Marcello.

  Call him. Send a text. Do something.

  But he had promised to call. I fully believed he would follow through as soon as he was able to. I wasn’t ready to dive into the role of “crazy girlfriend” yet, especially considering we’d never even been on an actual date. No. I would not text. I would not call. Everything was fine.

  A knock on my door as the clock ticked past the nine o’clock hour caused me to freeze, and then a giant rush of relief was engulfing me as I nearly ran to answer the knock. It must be Marcello, deciding to check in personally, rather than call. It seemed very “Marcello” of him, and I was smiling when I threw open the door.

  Heart. Stopped.

  “Miss Greene!” A hearty, deep voice and a wide, disconcerting grin framed the face of a friendly stranger. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance!” A hand outstretched from a dark overcoat towards me, and I immediately knew I was meeting none other than Stefano Rossi, himself.

  I shook his hand with great internal reluctance, feeling how coarse and calloused the skin was against my smooth little palms. His eyes were every bit as dark as Marcello’s, but harder. Scarier. They gleamed out from wrinkled, age-spotted skin that sagged around what must have once been a very prominent and powerful brow. Age did nothing to lessen his intimidating presence though. He was standing here, smiling like it was Christmas day and I was his first present. I fought off a telling shiver, and pasted a polite exterior on my face.

  “Stefano Rossi - I’ll bet you already figured that out, smart little schoolteacher that you are! You can just call me Stefano!” His voice was literally booming and bouncing off the walls of the building. I realized I hadn’t moved back an inch or even begun to appear to invite him inside. He realized it too. “May I come in, Miss Greene? Is it okay if I call you Abigail?”

  How often since I had first met Marcello had I been asked questions that I knew had non-negotiable answers? I gathered all of the strength I had left and motioned him inside, pleasantly saying, “Of course, Stefano. It is a pleasure to meet you as well. Please come in.”

  He strode into my living room as though he had been there a million times before, and sat triumphantly in my mildly dilapidated armchair, beaming at me good-naturedly. I had a random flashback to a video we had watched in high school science class where a mouse was dropped into a snake’s cage, and the snake had seemed to happily play with it for close to half an hour before swallowing it whole.

  Do I have half an hour?

  I gulped and sat at the end of the couch – the spot farthest away from Rossi. “What brings you here this evening?” I surprised myself with the forwardness of my question.

  He let out a bellow. “Ah! Right to the point then, Abigail? I like that! Ha! That’s a good girl right there! Tough!” He seemed so overly amused by my simple words that I nearly joined in his merriment from sheer absurdity. “Okay, my girl. I guess if you’d like to get down to the bones of things so quickly, I can go along with that.” He leaned forward, putting two giant elbows on two giant kne
es, and commanding serious eye contact from me while he rested his chin on his fisted hands. “It’s been a strange day, Abigail. I was in a meeting – a very important meeting – with my son just a bit ago. Imagine my surprise when he took a call from a girl and then refused to finish the meeting because he was so instantly worried about her well-being? He damn near walked right out of the room, completely against my orders, until I finally offered to send someone by to check on you.” Rossi paused, and tilted his head. “You did know I was speaking of you, Abigail?”

  “I assumed as much,” I replied collectedly. I refused to say more. Rossi had instantly struck a nerve of rebellion in me that seemed foolish to entertain, considering who I knew him to be. I couldn’t help myself however, and I knew my polite gaze also remained hard with repugnance.

  “I do tend to have a soft spot for my son, Abigail. And it seems he has a very soft spot for you, my girl. I mean, I knew he was seeing Gia’s schoolteacher here and there but this! I know a man in love when I see one, Abigail,” Rossi offered, seeming to attempt to become more likeable in direct response to my becoming more guarded.

  He succeeded in catching me off guard with the mention of love. I felt my cheeks burning and struggled to think of any way to properly respond.

  Rossi grinned wider than ever. “Yes, I tend to know a woman in love when I see one as well, my girl,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry, Abigail, my lips are sealed. I’ll let all of that play out as it will. But I can predict the outcome about as well as I can see that you clearly are not coming into this any big fan of mine!” He boomed that giant laughter again, making me jump. My body tensed, again not knowing how to respond to this man. He continued talking through his laughter, “Abigail, it’s completely understandable. And luckily, you are one easy girl to check on. My guy had eyes on you almost immediately, just sitting at your counter, staring at a coffee cup. Or he assumed it was a coffee cup. You might want to consider shutting those blinds after dark, my girl. Either way. You were fine, my boy was reassured, and my business could continue as usual,” he told me this as though it would relieve me, brushing his hands together in a “no problem” manner. “Abigail, I very much feel that you will eventually be my family, which in my eyes, makes you family already. I have a very special place in my heart for family, my girl. Very special.” He seemed tender, momentarily, and looked at me with sincere affection. “Family. There is nothing I would not do for my family, Abigail. Nothing.”

  In that moment, I believed him, and hated myself for seeing genuine humanity in Stefano Rossi’s eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t here to threaten me. Maybe he was here to show me that we could be friends, that he meant me no harm, and that I was welcome in his son’s life. Just as I thought this, his eyes went slightly foreboding again, and he straightened up completely in my chair, carefully scanning my apartment with eyes that I was positive missed nothing, ever.

  “It’s a very kind sentiment, Stefano. Thank you,” I managed, nervous and for the second time that day willing to give anything to just end the goddamn conversation.

  He nodded, and stood, giving me a rush of hope that this was over – at least for now. I rose too, taking a slight step towards my door and preparing to show him out. “One more thing, Abigail.” He suddenly turned to me and his face was like stone. I shrank back instinctively, more fearful now than ever.

  “Yes?” I squeaked, wanting to get on with it.

  “It has come to my attention that you were paid a visit by Mr. Charles McGee this afternoon, were you not?” He spoke severely, and I nodded just once, frozen in his icy gaze. “Right. Well, good ol’ Charlie – who doesn’t love Charlie – occasionally he gets some ideas into his head which may or may not be true, but more importantly are none of his business. Quite a character flaw, really. Charlie’s been around a long time, one of my best employees. He’s certainly taken care of more important matters than Winston’s dirty floors in his day.” He winked at me, and I shuddered, unable to hide it and no longer caring to. “Now I may not know exactly what words were said inside of that classroom of yours, Abigail, but I assure you I don’t need to. I think you are bright enough, my girl, to realize that in this business, you keep your ears shut and your mouth shutter, as the saying goes.” Again he laughed, but it was full of malevolence. “There was a time when Charlie understood that clearly. He will be dearly missed.”

  My eyes went wide, picturing Charlie McGee pushing that cart with his calm, friendly whistle and gentle mannerisms. “Dearly missed?” I choked.

  “Oh, I meant he’s been reassigned, Abigail. He won’t be bothering you anymore,” Rossi said this carefully, watching my reaction. “I don’t allow missteps where my family is concerned; and you, my girl, are family.” He paused and moved closer to me, putting a friendly hand to my shoulder. But there was absolutely no trace of friendliness on his face when he then leaned in until we were nearly nose to nose and stated calmly, “Charlie, however, was not.”

  I nodded again. “I understand, Mr. Rossi.” My voice shook.

  “Stefano, Abigail. Stefano.” Now he smiled what seemed almost an actual smile again, and squeezed the hand on my shoulder. “I look forward to what I know will be a grand relationship with you, Abigail. Perhaps I will gain another daughter. God knows I'd love more grandchildren.” And just like that he did seem completely like a normal grandfather wistfully wishing for sweet things aloud.

  “Perhaps,” I returned with all of the good spirit I could muster.

  “Until we meet again, my girl,” he nearly sang as he let himself out the door.

  This time I closed the door and fell to my knees, letting the tears flow freely into the otherwise silent night. Marcello’s tattoo flashed through my mind, and I hastily grabbed my phone, typing it into the translator as best as I could remember.

  Sangue, fuoco e morte prima del tradimento.

  I waited the split second it took to get my translation and read in a shaking whisper, “Blood, fire and death before betrayal.” A fresh tear meandered down my cheek.

  Things are different now, Abby.

  Marcello finally called slightly after eleven. I had been lying in bed, awake but lost in a fog.

  “Abby, I’m so sorry. I would have called earlier if I could – I swear to you. Abby? You’re okay, aren’t you?” I hadn’t ever heard Marcello, the king of cool, quite so flustered before. I was tired, and felt very removed from my current reality. His voice seemed dreamlike. Distant.

  “I’m fine. Sleepy, but fine,” I answered, feeling a hysterical giggle on the verge of escaping. Of course, I’m fine. Your father came to visit me, and basically laid out the rules of being a part of HIS family. I’m pretty sure he killed Charlie, by the way. Or had him killed. He probably doesn’t have to do that stuff himself, does he? Unless he wants to. Maybe sometimes he wants to. He’s a scary son of a bitch, Marcello. How do you love that man?

  “Abby, something’s come up. I have to leave for awhile – a week, maybe two. Business. Out of the country. I have to leave tonight, Abby,” Marcello spoke with speed and regret.

  “Rossi is sending you away?” I asked calmly, not really needing an answer.

  I heard a sigh. “Yes, Abby. I’m sorry. It’s urgent – “

  I bet it is.

  “It’s your job, Marcello. It’s fine,” I interrupted him, feeling blank and cold.

  “It isn’t fine, Abby. I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can, I promise you,” he was increasingly troubled, I could tell. He wanted me to say something – to let him know it really was okay, that I would still be here, that I still needed him.

  “I’m sure you will. Gia’s Christmas play is in two weeks. You should try to make it. It’s gonna be cute as hell.” I heard my words and felt no connection to them. Marcello didn’t speak. I felt numb. Lifeless.

  I disconnected the call and went to sleep.

  Chapter 10

  Marcello

  I didn’t know if I would make it. Seven o’clock loomed over my mind like a psyc
hotic death cloud, and I had already barked at Harrison far more than he deserved to “pick up the pace”. It wasn’t his fault that airports and traffic and cities were hell. But aside from Gia, I had one other piece of heaven left for myself in this world, and I refused to lose her.

  Just the sight of Winston’s ancient brick façade was enough to make me nearly jump from the car and run the rest of the way. There had been this godforsaken pit in my gut for two weeks straight, and I felt I was borderline close to going completely mad.

  Abby.

  Harrison dropped me at the outer auditorium door, and I felt all eyes turn on me. Parents. Parents who had probably been speaking (inaccurately) of my private life freely with their uptight, asshole friends for the last two years. They were some of the city’s wealthiest individuals. I hated them all.

  I grabbed a pamphlet from the small table at the door, as the heavily Botox-pumped face of the woman who was supposed to be handing them out had frozen at the sight of me. Or maybe that was just how her face always looked now. “Thank you,” I said, nodding and wasting no time making my way into the seating area. Most of the floor chairs were taken at this point (6:57), and it didn’t matter anyway. The side bleachers,which looked to have been precariously thrown together for crowd-overflow last minute by blind carnies, had what I wanted – a much better view.

  Only a few other parents seemed to have opted for these less comfortable seats, but that also suited me just fine. Stay the fuck away from me.

  There weren’t any children on the stage yet, but a lot of work must have gone into the backdrop and set. It was glittering like a Disney On Ice performance, and looked grand enough for the magnificent Mannheim Steamroller Orchestra’s accompaniment. I wondered briefly if Abby’s tiny hands had hung those decorations or arranged the props.