by Lucia Black
Mafia Prince
A Moretti Mafia Novel
Lucia Black
Mafia Princess
Lucia Black
Published by Lucia Black
Copyright © 2020, Lucia Black
Edited by ALD Professional Editing
Cover by Temptation Creations
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. Lorna
2. Alessandro
3. Lorna
4. Alessandro
5. Lorna
6. Alessandro
7. Lorna
8. Alessandro
9. Lorna
10. Alessandro
11. Lorna
12. Alessandro
13. Lorna
14. Alessandro
15. Lorna
16. Alessandro
17. Lorna
18. Alessandro
19. Lorna
20. Alessandro
21. Lorna
22. Alessandro
23. Lorna
24. Alessandro
25. Lorna
26. Alessandro
27. Lorna
28. Alessandro
29. Lorna
30. Alessandro
31. Lorna
32. Alessandro
33. Lorna
34. Alessandro
35. Lorna
Also by Lucia Black
About the Author
1
Lorna
Lorna’s shoes pinched her toes, making it difficult to give the two idiots in front of her the full honor of her attention. Not that they deserved it. The Wheeler brothers had been talking—and flirting—her ear off for the better part of an hour trying to secure a deal. The parking lot was empty except for her limo and security detail, and their customized sports car, but she still felt crowded by their proximity.
“Tell you what, babe,” the taller of the two men purred. “We’ll double the offer if you lift your blouse.” He reeked of beer and stale cigarettes. Not a smell Lorna was particularly fond of. Especially when it was invading her personal space.
She scoffed. Even doubled, their offer was worthless. She’d told her father these guys weren’t worth their time, but he liked to be thorough. He told her to consider every detail. He’d been in the business much longer than she had, and he often knew better, so she did as she was told.
“So, when is your daddy gonna come close the deal?” the shorter one drawled. He tilted his head like he wanted to look down at her, but with her uncomfortable designer heels, she stood a solid head taller than him.
She lifted her chin to look down her nose at him. “As difficult as it may be for you to comprehend, I am the one in charge here.”
He donned a disgustingly lecherous smile and leaned far too close to Lorna. “Oh, I bet you are.”
Logan, Lorna’s right-hand man and acting bodyguard, cleared his throat threateningly, and the shorter Wheeler backed away. “Do you have anything else to say regarding this deal?” Logan asked, the menace in his voice barely contained. He had distinct tones for different situations. When he spoke to Lorna, it was with his paternal instructor voice, or with total deference. This particular tenor worked on the two would-be entrepreneurs. They straightened their backs and stepped a comfortable distance away from Lorna’s person.
“No, I think we’ve made our case.” The taller Wheeler looked at the other for support.
“Yeah. Lil’ Miss Bianchi here can come in and sign off whenever she’s ready.” He winked at her.
Lorna sighed. Her feet hurt, and she’d had enough of her time wasted. She turned to nod at Logan. He smiled and she walked away, toward the car. No words needed to be spoken. That was the bond they shared. They’d been working together since her father sent her out to L.A., but more importantly, they’d trained together since she was a child. Logan understood her without the burden of words.
“Where are you going, baby?” the taller one asked, confused.
“Does that mean you accept?” the other called out after her.
Logan sounded calm and collected as ever. “She’s made up her mind.”
“What does that mean?” Fear crept into the man’s voice. Lorna smiled to herself as she slid into the back of the limo. They should be scared of her.
“That means she’s taken the opportunity to liquidate your assets. Consider it payment for your attempt at cheating the Bianchis.” Logan, smugly professional, offered his hand to shake. Both Wheeler Brothers stared at it blankly. Logan lowered the hand and inclined his head with a self-indulgent smile. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
Lorna took her shoes off and stretched her toes as the limo drove away. She would have thought twelve hundred dollar heels would be more comfortable, but she supposed that was too much to ask, even of a big-name designer.
She looked out the window to survey her domain. She ruled these streets, and nothing happened without her approval. It was a good feeling to be so influential of her surroundings. There were aspects of her life that she couldn’t control, so it was comforting to be so in command of the world around her. She felt comfortable here. Confident. Running a mob was work, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world.
A buzz from her handbag pulled her from her thoughts. She took out her phone and answered as soon as she saw the caller ID. “Hello, Father.”
“I just wanted to check in on the deal. How did it go?”
She stretched in the seat and switched her phone to the other ear. “Oh, you know. They didn’t think a woman was capable of handling business. They assumed I knew nothing and were trying to use that to their advantage. So I shut them down.”
A low whistle from the other end of the line. “You’re good, Lorna.”
Lorna smiled. “I know.” She had to be. There was no other option. “But I’m only doing what you taught me.”
“You flatter an old man.” She could hear the smile in his voice.
She played with the tassel on her shoe. “Not at all. Is that the only reason you called?”
“No, I also want to let you know you’ll be coming back to New York.”
Lorna stared at her shoe in her lap for a moment to process that. “Why?” She’d been largely successful in Los Angeles. She had a good thing going. Taking her away from what she spent the last few years building didn’t seem fair. But then, life wasn’t fair, was it? She knew the reason for her return, and it put a sour taste in her mouth.
Her father sighed, which whistled through the phone in a distorted scream. “We’ve talked about this.” His voice sounded weary, betraying his age. “You’re getting married in a little over a month. You need to spend time with your fiancé, get to know him, or it will be more difficult for you than necessary.”
Mechanical silence filled the phone line. Lorna couldn’t say what she really wanted to say. That she didn’t know Giovanni Moretti, nor did she particularly want to. That she’d rather eat her own toes than marry him. That the whole idea was silly, and who arranges a marriage for their daughter in the twenty-first century? But she knew she couldn’t say that, so she practiced self-control.
“I’ll be back on Friday,” she said, hoping that her voice didn’t betray her feelings. Her father knew how she felt. They’d spoken at length about the arrangement and how it benefitted both families since the Bianchi name would die with Lorna because she was an only child. She understood. That didn’t mean she liked it. She’d agreed to it, but it certainly wasn’t by choice.
“Thank you, Lorna.” He sounded a bit relieved.
“Of course, Father.” She ended the call and set her phone down on the seat beside her.
New York.
She spent her childhood there. She had fond memories of picnics and shopping trips with her mother, Christmases and birthdays and summers, getting on the wrong train the one time she had been allowed to take the subway instead of being driven, and all the guards laughing at her for years.
She rubbed her thumb over the soft strands of the tassel on her shoe. She had fond memories of New York. But she wasn’t ready to go back. She wasn’t ready to face Giovanni. The man she was supposed to marry. But more than that, she wasn’t ready to face his younger brother.
Alessandro was insufferable, a pain in the ass, and too big for his britches. He had an ego that could flatten the Taj Mahal. He loved to torment Lorna and had perfected his technique since the sixth grade. They argued endlessly, turned everything into a competition, and drove each other to insanity.
But he was also the only man who ever held her heart. She could see his infuriatingly cocky smirk, and also the softness around his eyes when he first woke up in the morning. The defensive snarl he got when she won something, and the way he threw his head back with his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open around a silent moan. She could still feel the warmth of his hand squeezing hers in quiet reassurance, and the dull pain when he kicked her legs under the table at dinner. Nothing about her feelings with Alessandro were muted. And she didn’t feel anything at all for Giovanni.
But duty had been drilled into her psyche since before she could walk, and she had given her word that she would marry Giovanni. So the day would come when she wore white and walked down an aisle with Giovanni waiting at the end . . . standing next to his brothers. Her stomach twisted with the knowledge that every passing moment brought her closer to that day.
And Alessandro. There were too many questions. Would he still be angry? Surely he had moved on . . . right? Did he think of her like she thought of him? She shook her head to banish the invasive thoughts. It didn’t matter. She might still be in love with Alessandro. But she would marry his brother.
She looked down to her lap where the tassel in her hand had snapped off the shoe. She curled her fingers around the tassel and held it tightly. Some twelve hundred dollar shoes. A name couldn’t always be an assessment of worth. Jimmy Choo or Christian Dior. Giovanni or Alessandro Moretti. Sometimes you just had to wear the shoes, and grin and bear it.
2
Alessandro
The vintage jukebox in the diner coughed out a seventies disco groove so warbled by antique speakers it would be unrecognizable even if Alessandro listened to that kind of music. He leaned back in the glittery red booth and took a sip of coke from a glass bottle. He didn’t care much for themed diners, but this place had the best loaded baked potato and coleslaw he’d ever had, so he tolerated the black and white tile floor and excessive neon signage.
“But nothing’s falling apart, so we can’t complain,” Giovanni was saying. He set his burger down to dip a fry in his milkshake. “And we’ve been proactive about stabilizing the supply chains.”
Alessandro tried to have a friendly lunch with his brother a few times a month without the pressure of business hanging over them. Funny enough, they still ended up talking business more often than not. Then again, it was the biggest part of their lives. Truth be told, Alessandro found it pleasantly distracting.
He eyed the cracked skin on the knuckles of his brother’s right hand. “I heard that some legs of the supply train took some persuading.” It wasn’t like Giovanni to actually do any dirty work, and Alessandro wanted something to goad him with. Businessmen aside, they were still brothers, and siblings had to give each other a hard time.
Giovanni sighed and looked down at his plate. His perfectly styled hair didn’t seem to notice. It defied gravity. What couldn’t the heir do? “Yes. There was a physical altercation.” He admitted it like a child in the principal’s office.
Alessandro exhaled sharply through his nose. “You obviously didn’t do too bad. You’ve got your pretty face still intact.” It was sarcastic, but not untrue. All the Morettis were attractive, though Alessandro prided himself on being the most handsome, or so he’d like to think.
“Yeah, I let my bodyguards do their job.” Giovanni smiled and ate a French fry, looking at his knuckles. “This was from the gym.”
Of course they both had bodyguards, whom Alessandro largely ignored. But even with guards, they had to know how to defend themselves. Alessandro felt more than confident in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and MMA fighting, so he didn’t shy away from a physical altercation. He never had. Giovanni had been training at a boxing gym for a long time. He knew he was competent. “How are your lessons at Tony’s?” he asked. Giovanni usually liked to talk about the boxing gym. He liked to talk about his instructor even more.
“Fine. Working on new techniques and conditioning . . .” Giovanni trailed off and sighed. “It’s been better, honestly.” He picked up a fry and set it back down a few times.
“What’s up? Did you and Delilah have a falling out?” Alessandro leaned forward on the table, genuinely interested.
“No,” Giovanni looked at his milkshake and not at his brother. “Nothing like that. Just duty hanging over my head.”
Alessandro took a bite of coleslaw. Giovanni hadn’t mentioned anything new coming up, and to his knowledge, there were no other issues they needed to deal with beyond the one that had just been handled. “Which duty is that?” Alessandro asked.
Giovanni looked at him. “Lorna’s coming back.”
Time stopped.
Every muscle in Alessandro’s body clenched. Lorna. He hadn’t seen her for years, but he was suddenly awash in memories of clever honey-brown eyes, flowing hair, and pouty lips just as inclined to snarl as to smile. The scent of honeysuckle perfume and the taste of her mouth. The ringing in his ears nearly drowned out Giovanni’s voice.
“Apparently we’re supposed to start ‘dating’ to make the transition easier.” He tapped a French fry on the edge of his plate. “Which would make sense, if I didn’t hate the idea so much.”
Alessandro forced himself to relax and tried hard not to think about how she’d held him like she’d keep him, kissed him like she needed it, and fucked him like she meant it. He took a breath. “When does she get back?”
“Friday.” Giovanni abandoned his food. “I’m supposed to pick her up at the airport.”
“I’ll pick her up,” Alessandro blurted before his brain could catch up to his mouth. Giovanni raised his eyebrows. Alessandro waved a hand to play it off. “She’s probably just as nervous as you are. I did spend a summer with her. Maybe she’ll relax if she sees a familiar face.”
Giovanni considered his milkshake for a moment, then took a drink. “Yeah. Good idea.” He nodded, quietly staring at the table.
Alessandro’s heart leapt into his throat. How had she changed in ten years? Was she just as clever? Competitive? Cold-blooded? He couldn’t wait to see her again. To remind her what she did to him. How she broke his heart.
Giovanni continued, “You can pick her up and take her to the apartment Don Bianchi set up for her.”
“Soun
ds good,” Alessandro agreed with a wide grin. A car ride and then he’d walk her into her apartment. Plenty of time to catch up.
Giovanni twirled his straw through his milkshake. “I’m supposed to take her on a date that night.”
The thought of his brother on a date with Lorna made Alessandro see red. But he contained his anger, as he had done for the last ten years. The last time he saw Lorna Bianchi was when he found out she was engaged to his oldest brother. She hadn’t told him. She’d used him, played him, left him out to dry. He’d been angry. He still was. But his anger didn’t change how much he loved her. How entangled his heart had become in the web of her secrets and her sweet intimacies. How he adored the single dimple on the left side of her smile. How he had the irrational urge to protect her from everything bad in the world, even knowing that if she wanted to, she could take him out without breaking a sweat.
How many times, how many ways had he imagined this moment? How would she react to seeing him? Did she still think of him like he thought of her, or had she forgotten him over the course of ten years?
Alessandro breathed in the neon diner ambiance. The warbling track on the jukebox, the smell of burgers and fish and chips, the glowing letters on the wall imploring him to drink Coca-Cola. The reality of Lorna coming back hadn’t seemed totally real before. Now the clock was ticking. He had a month to win her back before she married his brother.
