Mafia Prince: A Second-Chance Mafia Romance (Moretti Mafia Book 1)

by Lucia Black

  3

  Lorna

  Looking down at the clouds was always surreal to Lorna. She watched the landscape float past her window with a weary appreciation. The view from the private jet was undisputedly beautiful, with patches of colored fields and metropolitan bustling, and everything looking so miniature and harmless. But every second brought her closer to her destination, closer to her fiancé, and closer to her wedding.

  Fiancé. She would have to keep calling him that in her mind. She would have to start calling him that in front of others. She had to sound convincing, even if it was mostly for herself.

  Logan tapped her arm to get her attention. “Almost there,” he informed her.

  She nodded. She’d gathered that from the familiar skyline at an unfamiliar angle. Giovanni would meet her at the airport. He would take her on a date. In a month, she would marry him. These were facts as emotionless and indisputable as the fact that it was four-thirty in the afternoon and partly cloudy.

  “Are you ready?” Logan asked, with just a little too much sympathy.

  “Yes,” Lorna snapped. “Of course, I’m ready.” She had no choice but to be ready. It was happening whether she was ready or not. “I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t need to be coddled.” She ran an entire branch of her father’s illegal organization. She lived under pressure. She thrived under stress. What was this marriage if not another way to prove her mettle? “This is my life. I agreed to it. I don’t go back on my word, Logan.”

  He raised his hands in surrender and leaned away in his seat.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry.” She’d been harsh. She hadn’t meant to lash out at Logan, of all people. He’d been a pillar of support in her life longer than anyone. He’d helped raise her, taught her how to look at a problem and find the root of it, taught her how to defend herself in a fight, and how to avoid a fight in the first place. He didn’t deserve her ire. “To be honest, I’m a little stressed.”

  She’d barely said a word to Giovanni, even at parties and family gatherings. He struck her as aloof. Not conceited or arrogant in the way Alessandro was, but sort of above it all. He was never unkind, but he wasn’t overly social either. He seemed professional, a bit stiff, and not overly warm. Alessandro had been unkind to her in school, called her names, and pulled her hair. She wouldn’t describe him as professional, especially with all the sly looks and winks he threw at her over the dinner table the summer he stayed with her family. He liked to show off, and by the time they were eighteen, Lorna didn’t mind it when he called her names and pulled her hair, so long as his mouth was on her neck and his body was pressed against hers. She just couldn’t think of Giovanni in the same way.

  “You’ll survive. You always do,” Logan reminded her. He knew what she needed to hear. He didn’t tell her it would be okay—because it might not be. He didn’t tell her she would grow to love him in time—because she might not. He didn’t tell her she should be happy about getting married because he understood that she wasn’t. But she would survive. She might not be happy, she might not be content, or even okay, but she would survive. She always did.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, and he turned in his seat to face her.

  “It isn’t easy, what you’re doing. Your parents have always asked a lot of you.” His sincerity got to her more than she cared to admit, and a lump formed in her throat. “And you do what you need to without whining or complaining.” He laughed lightly and nudged her arm. “You’ve never wanted for anything in your life, Lorna Bianchi, but you’re not spoiled.” They shared a smile, and he continued. “You do whatever they ask without question. It’s a lot. Some might say too much—”

  Lorna cut him off with a quick shake of her head. “Thank you, Logan. I appreciate it. But I am the last Bianchi.” The end of an empire. The weight of the world on her shoulders. “This is my duty to my family.” She thought back on the last ten years, her undergraduate degree in art and piano performance, the support her parents showed for her passion. “And for all they’ve done for me, it’s not too much.” They could have denied her any involvement in the arts and insisted she learn the business. They could have refused her any post-secondary education. But they always supported her and took as much pride as she did—if not more—in the things she wanted to pursue.

  Logan nodded his acceptance of that reasoning. The plane touched down, wrapped in comfortable, pensive silence.

  Logan stood to grab Lorna’s bags, but Lorna stayed seated for a moment after the plane taxied to a stop. She had to steel herself to face Giovanni for the first time in years. Maybe her perceptions of him were wildly inaccurate. Maybe he was a fun-loving sweetheart who wanted a family and liked Nutella on his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Maybe she remembered him wrong and he was actually toxically charming. She’d spent the past decade avoiding him at all costs.

  She took a breath and stood up to exit the plane. Walking down the steps carefully, she felt like she was trying to slow down time. Steal just a few moments more where this situation was not her reality. She lifted her head. A car waited for her, black and sporty, polished to a flawless shine. Leaning against the door was a man in jeans and a leather jacket with his arms crossed over his chest. Deep brown curls fell, highlighting his twinkling eyes. A triumphant smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  Lorna stopped dead in her tracks. “Alessandro?”

  4

  Alessandro

  Alessandro enjoyed every way Lorna said his name. The way she hissed it like a curse in middle school with a subtle lisp from her braces. The way she gasped it out in mock scandal when he suggested something outrageous. The way she laughed it when she told him no. The way her voice broke around it when she came hard, shaking beneath him. And this way, full of surprise and disbelief, and maybe disgust.

  He raised two fingers to his forehead in a sort of salute and rolled his body off the car to stand up straight. “At your service, princess.”

  She had always been beautiful, but ten years on the other side of the country . . . ten years not seeing her . . . it only made her more stunning. Her hair was pulled up in an elegant bun with wispy curls pulled loose to frame her face. Her outfit was tasteful. A fitted blazer open over a loose blouse tucked into a pencil skirt. Even through her clothing, he could tell she had filled out some. She was curvier, and the familiar flame in her sharp eyes, paired with the way she crossed her arms and jutted one hip out, made her sexier. “What are you doing here? Where’s Giovanni?”

  He shrugged, a dare in his eyes. “Not here.” That name on her sinful red lips did not fit like Alessandro’s did. It slid off her tongue like turpentine and diluted some of his unbothered facade. She shouldn’t be saying Giovanni’s name. In a perfect world, she would be happy to see Alessandro, run into his arms, kiss him. But that was not the reality.

  She lifted her chin with the beautiful defiance that made him fall for her in the first place. “Why not?” The confidence in her voice, the expectation of absolute obedience sent a thrill through Alessandro’s body. Because her confidence had been sexy when she was eighteen, but now that she’d had a taste of power, she radiated control.

  He smiled in spite of himself. He did so enjoy pushing her to her limits. “He couldn’t make it. I’m driving you to your apartment.” He opened the car door like a gentleman and motioned inside.

  “No,” she said firmly.

  “No?” he challenged, raising his eyebrows.

  She tilted her head forward and spoke very intentionally, like he was a small child unable to comprehend. “No. You are not driving me to my apartment.”

  He smiled and waved a hand to indicate both of their guards were watching. “Do you really want to cause a scene right now?” The flare of fire in her eyes was worth waiting ten years to see. He noticed a familiar face hovering behind her and raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, Logan.”

  Her trainer joined them. “How’ve you been, son?” They clasped hands and brought it in, hugging and clapping
each other on the back.

  “Not too shabby. It’s nice to see you guys again,” Alessandro spoke with an easy warmth. He noticed the way Lorna’s hands wrapped around the edges of her blazer a little too tightly.

  Logan laughed. “I’m sure Lorna’s happy to see you too.”

  Lorna smoothed out her jacket and threw Alessandro a glare. “Indeed.” She took her seat through the door Alessandro held open for her. He closed it, nodded at Logan, and waved to the security detail behind them to signal that they were ready to go. He slid into the driver’s seat, outwardly relaxed, calm, cool, and collected. Inwardly, his heart beat a little too fast, and his blood pumped a little too hard.

  Lorna faced the window, totally ignoring him. That was fine for now. She could pretend to disregard him, but she couldn’t escape him. He turned the car on and drove away with one hand on the steering wheel. Languid, like a cat stretching in the sun. It really was a pity she wasn’t looking at him. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, princess?” She didn’t respond. Didn’t even bother with a glance in his direction. “Did L.A. treat you alright? Heard you did some good work there.” Still nothing. He rolled his eyes and focused on the road. She’d come around. He just had to push her. And pushing Lorna Bianchi was his favorite pastime. “Still cold as ever, I see.”

  “And you’re still arrogant.” She didn’t look away from the window, but it was something.

  Alessandro didn’t try to hide his grin. “It isn’t arrogance if it’s true.”

  She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “What are you doing here, Alessandro?”

  He stopped at a light and found her looking at him. Something passed between them, some mutual understanding of something he couldn’t quite put words to. The light changed, and the moment ended. “Can’t a future brother-in-law drive his sister-in-law home from the airport?” It was a deflection, and she likely knew it.

  “Is that all this is?” He glanced over to see the challenge in her eyes.

  It sparked a familiar tight feeling in his chest. “You tell me.” The flirtation was barely concealed, and he felt her close off.

  “I’m marrying your brother.” She might have said it as much to remind herself as to remind him. Her face looked emotionless, drawn tight, pinched.

  He hummed under his breath in subtle disagreement. She obviously didn’t want to marry him any more than he wanted to marry her. Even with his personal motives influencing him, Alessandro cared too much about both of them to see either miserable.

  She snapped. “Bianchis always keep their word, and I swore I would marry him.”

  She took pride in her identity and in her role, and Alessandro appreciated that. She was nothing if not loyal to her family, and he understood. But he wouldn’t sit idly by and watch her throw away her happiness. “We’ll see.”

  The rest of the drive passed in silence, weighed down by everything left unsaid. He listened to her barely audible breathing and the beating of his own heart. She gathered herself when they pulled into the parking lot of a classy high-rise. Her hand was already on the handle before he stopped the car, but he grabbed her arm before she could jump out. She looked startled, lips slightly parted, honey-brown eyes wide.

  He leaned in close. She wore different perfume now, still honeysuckle, but with darker undertones. It was just as intoxicating. He stopped a breath away from her. “I’ve missed this.” An intimate whisper laced with memories of the passionate summer they’d shared all those years ago.

  She didn’t back away, daring him to do more. “What? Fighting with me?”

  A smirk pulled up the corners of his mouth. “What else, princess?”

  She pulled her arm away from him and stood up out of the car, obviously flustered. “I’m not your princess.” She slammed the door.

  He rolled down the window before she could walk away, and called out, “I look forward to seeing you tonight!” She didn’t look back, but her steps quickened, and Alessandro knew he got to her.

  He drove away, taking a deep breath. He’d forgotten just how potent proximity to Lorna could be. He didn’t enjoy driving with a hard-on, and he would need to take care of that before he met Giovanni for their afternoon workout at Tony’s.

  5

  Lorna

  Not Alessandro. Lorna bit her lip and spread her feet further apart, pressing her shoulders into the mattress. Anyone but Alessandro. Her hand between her legs stalled. Everyone she pictured morphed back into Alessandro. With his loose curls begging for her fingers through them, his dark eyes hungry and merciless, his smirking mouth hot against her skin, with soft lips soothing the scrape of his teeth.

  She whined out loud, feeling the burning coil in her low stomach tighten. She thrust her fingers harder and gritted her teeth. No. Not Alessandro. A hot guard maybe, or that actor in the one film . . . she took a deep, shaky breath. She didn’t have time for this. She was expected at dinner with her future in-laws. But she absolutely couldn’t show up when she was all wound up like this. Especially not with Alessandro so good at reading her. He would know, and he would know he was the reason, and he would get that stupidly perfect smirk like he won, and Lorna absolutely could not abide that.

  She slowed her hand, twisting, curling, scissoring. Not Alessandro. He wasn’t the man she was going to marry. She swiped her thumb over her clit and sighed. Why not Giovanni? She supposed she should get used to the thought of him. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to picture him. He looked a lot like Alessandro, but a little older, more mature, more professional. She hadn’t seen much of him, hadn’t even really seen him emote past a polite smile or a sympathetic frown. She couldn’t picture him without an expensive suit. Or with any expression but politely feigned interest. Her mental image of Giovanni did nothing for her. It wasn’t sexy. It didn’t send thrills through her body like the mental image of Alessandro’s tongue delicately sweeping over his lip, or his hand wrapping around the back of his neck and showing off his muscular arms.

  Lorna groaned in frustration. It was only in her head. That made it okay, right? She wasn’t actually doing anything, wasn’t actually cheating on her fiancé with his brother. And no one would ever need to know. Especially Alessandro.

  She allowed her mind to place her back in the car with him. The familiar smell of pine and something spicy still lingering in her nose lulled her into a nostalgic trance. She imagined him pulling the car into a dark, empty parking garage, showing off a little, parking too fast across three spaces. He would shift the gear into park with a harsh and fast movement. Her breath hitched in her throat as the hand between her legs imitated the imagined motion.

  He would drag her out of the car and slam the door closed in one fluid movement. The look in his eyes would make her knees weak. He would crowd her against the car until she was trapped between cold metal and the solid warmth of his chest. Imaginary Alessandro would run his hands up her sides. She shivered and bucked her hips up against her hand.

  He would drag his lips across her jaw and whisper filthy words against the shell of her ear. She could almost feel the possessive press of his fingers digging into her hip, hear his voice, low and husky promising to fuck her brains out right here and now. And in her imagination, she dared him to. He unzipped his pants and bunched her skirt over her hips. Even in her imagination, he was a tease, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

  She couldn’t replicate the width of his fingers, or their dexterity from her angle, but her body remembered what he felt like. Imaginary Alessandro spun her around and told her to keep her hands on the car. His teeth on her shoulder made her moan as he pushed into her roughly from behind. She loved the way he filled her, loved the heat against her back when she pressed against him, loved the wild passion and the slamming of his hips. He never treated her like she was delicate, he fucked her like he wanted to break her. And every time, she shattered.

  She bit her free hand to keep from screaming when her climax washed over her in white-hot waves that squeezed the
air from her lungs and turned her legs to Jell-O. She lay spread out on her bed for a moment to catch her breath and let the euphoria fade.

  The ceiling looked unfamiliar and not altogether hospitable. Like it was judging her. She pushed herself to her feet and washed her hands. She absentmindedly unpacked the dress she’d chosen for dinner. A halter top with a peplum and a slim skirt. Baby pink for innocence and warmth. Make the Morettis like her. Look pretty for her husband-to-be.

  She caught a look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks were flushed, and guilt haunted her eyes. She slapped her face to chase away the remaining fluffy feeling from her orgasm. The dress fit smoothly over her curves, accentuating her assets while keeping everything covered. Modest, but sexy. It would be the first time the Morettis saw her in years, and she had to make an impression. She fixed her makeup and set her hair in a romantic up-do, but she couldn’t do anything about the guilt lingering behind her eyes.

  A knock on the door startled her into dropping a hairpin. She dropped to her knees to find it—it was a sharp one, and she didn’t want to step on it later. “Hang on,” she called toward the door. Since when was she so jumpy? Since she was afraid of being caught with her thoughts; that was the answer. But that was irrational.

  She opened the door for a concerned Logan. “I’m fine,” she said before he could ask.

  “Uh huh.” He didn’t sound convinced. He studied her for a moment, and she tried to school her expression into the pleasant mask of ‘slight smile’ she wore for any social gathering. He nodded; his way of conceding and not questioning, but in no way did he believe her, and she knew it. “We need to get going if we don’t want to be late.”

  Lorna took a deep breath. She could do this because she had no choice. She nodded at Logan, resolute. But when she walked out the door, her steps were slow. Mournful. Her shoulders sagged slightly, and her chin dipped as she kept her eyes on the floor. She allowed herself this moment. A depressing walk she knew resembled a war widow marching to a funeral pyre more than it did a blossoming bride-to-be on the way to dinner with her new family. And when she would walk out the door, she’d pull her shoulders back, raise her chin, and play her part. Even if she died a little on the inside.