Ranieri Andretti: A Second-Chance, Enemies-to-Lovers Mafia Romance Novella (The Five Syndicates Book 3)

by Parker S. Huntington

  “And you went for that?”

  “I thought we could be a family again!”

  “It broke my heart!” I slammed my fists onto the table. “It broke me!”

  “And I’m sorry! I made a mistake.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Why did Ranie agree to that?”

  “Because he loved you, and I begged him to.”

  “Brody said he saw you and Ranie together recently.”

  “He wanted to tell you everything, and I asked him not to.”

  “Why?”

  “I was ashamed!” He tore his eyes from me, unable to meet my gaze, and when his volume never lessened, it was like he was shouting at himself. “So much time had passed! I was afraid you wouldn’t look at me the same! I was afraid of losing you!”

  I stood and rounded the table to face him, because the fact that my father couldn’t look me in the eyes struck me hard, like an unexpected uppercut from an MMA fighter. “You were right and wrong. I won’t look at you the same, but you also won’t lose me.” He was still my dad, after all. “I need to go.”

  We would talk about this later, and I would forgive him, because he had tried to protect me. And though his intentions became less pure, he was still my dad, and I knew what it felt like to be witlessly in love.

  “Where are you going?” Dad finally asked when my fingers brushed the doorknob.

  “I need to find Ranie.”

  * * *

  * * *

  I stopped by the Down & Dirty, but when I couldn’t find Ranie, I ended up at Brody’s condo. Okay, so I was nervous, and I needed time to recollect myself. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

  I slid Brody’s spare key out of the fake rock in front of his place and slid it into the door. He wasn’t home, but I wasn’t in a rush to confront him either. His condo was small but clean, with tasteful furniture.

  He worked as an electrician, so he made decent money, but he wouldn’t be playing eighteen holes at the country club with the rest of Miami Beach’s millionaires and billionaires anytime soon.

  Below the flat screen in the living room stood a mantel above a fireplace. Picture frames filled with pictures of Brody and I lined the mantel shelf, along with a few knick-knacks that represented tokens of our friendship over the past eleven years.

  There had been a time when I had thought Brody could like me as more than a friend. It had been during our sophomore year of high school, but quickly after I had considered it, he’d found himself a girlfriend.

  And then another.

  And another.

  Since then, he’d had a steady string of girlfriends, more than I could count, and was one of North Beach’s most eligible bachelors. Which was why he had taken me by surprise this morning.

  But looking at his condo now, my presence in this place was eerie. I was in almost every picture frame. I had been there for almost every furniture purchase and chip on the wooden floor. I’d thought it was a typical best friend situation, but I had only had one other best friend in my life to compare it to—Ranie.

  And I’d fallen in love with him.

  Twice.

  My fingers brushed over the small wooden box I had bought Brody for Christmas sophomore year. We’d gone to the swap meet, agreed on a budget, and parted ways to hunt for gifts for one another.

  I lifted the lid, pulled out the folded sheet of paper, smoothed out the edges, and froze when I recognized the familiar handwriting.

  Mine.

  Except this letter hadn’t been for him.

  * * *

  Resentment is a union of

  sorrow and malignity.

  Samuel Johnson

  * * *

  Nine Years Ago

  Maybe I was on a RomCom high after a Princess Diaries marathon, followed by The Titanic, The Notebook, and a few other article-noun romantic comedy titles. Either way, I had penned a response to Lonely Romeo’s letter in my signature turquoise ink.

  If Ranie was Lonely Romeo (and he had to be because he was the only one to call me Gallo), he deserved a response, and if he wasn’t, maybe it wasn’t so bad to try to talk to him again. We had been best friends for nine years. One or two years of fighting was merely a blemish in the grand scheme of things.

  “Tell me again why we’re doing this?” Brody leaned against a locker, his voice echoing along the empty hallway.

  “Shh!” I slapped a hand over his mouth. The whole point of ditching class was so no one could catch us, and I didn’t need his big mouth ruining my plan. “We’re not doing anything. I am.” With my free hand, I lifted the letter to my lips and pressed a kiss to its outside, my bubblegum lip gloss leaving a mark on the paper. “I’m doing this because I was given a love letter, and I need to respond. It’s only fair.”

  He licked my hand, which was still pressed against his mouth, and I pulled it back, scrunched my face up in disgust, and wiped his spit on his perfectly-pressed Polo. “We’re not watching RomComs this weekend.”

  I shrugged. “It’s your turn to pick the movies this weekend anyway.” I found the locker and moved to slide my note inside, but Brody’s hand blocked my way.

  His brows furrowed. “This is Ranie’s locker.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s an asshole. He hates you.”

  Thanks for reminding me.

  I sighed, annoyed at having to repeat myself. “Is he an asshole? Yeah. Right now, he is. But we used to be friends. I like to think that guy I knew and loved is still in there.”

  If possible, his frown deepened. “Loved?”

  I didn’t know why I felt the need to defend myself, but I did. “You don’t get to be friends with someone for nine years without loving them.”

  He lifted a brow, interest plaguing his features. “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” I pushed him aside with my hip. “Now, move.”

  My heart pounded as I slid the letter into the locker. I was risking my heart, and if I didn’t get a reply, I’d be crushed. Again. But Ranie was the type of guy worth fighting for. He was my protector. My jester. My past, present, and future. And my best friend.

  That was worth fighting for.

  “This is a bad idea,” Brody repeated. He was just being his usual protective self, but it was grating my nerves.

  I gave him a fake smile. “I know you hate the guy, but I’d really appreciate it if you could support me on this. I’m already nervous enough as it is.” My palms were so clammy, they couldn’t even form proper fists. “No more negativity from you, mister.”

  He held both hands up. “Okay, okay.”

  “I gotta go to class. We’re going over safety precautions for the rat dissection in class today. I should probably catch as much of it as I can, so I don’t do something dumb like stab my lab partner.”

  Not that I wouldn’t mind pissing Lacy Ryan off.

  “Or slide a love note into some asshole’s locker.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Hey!”

  Okay, maybe that was a little dumb.

  He laughed. “That was the last jab. I swear.”

  “See you tonight!” I slung my backpack over my shoulder and left Brody alone in the hallway.

  I waited the rest of the day for a response from Ranie. Anything. I waited the next day, too. But days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and months turned into a year. Then, the next. And the next.

  And still, no response.

  And then I remembered what Brody had said that day I’d received my letter from Lonely Romeo.

  See ya, Gallo.

  * * *

  * * *

  The Present

  There were hordes and hordes of letters underneath my response to Lonely Romeo. I stole the box and fled from Brody’s house, not bothering to lock up behind me. Not telling me about seeing Ranie and Dad together, I could forgive. But stealing Ranie’s letters to me—and I had no doubt now that they had been from Ranie—was unforgivable.

  I couldn’t go home because I was mad at Dad
. I couldn’t run to Brody’s because he had betrayed me, and I couldn’t see a future where we could be friends again. And I couldn’t run to The Down & Dirty because Ranie owned it, and we were fighting.

  Those were the three men in my life, and they had all lied to me massively at one point or another. But the only one who had ever had good intentions—the only one who had truly only ever had my wellbeing on his mind—was Ranie.

  And he happened to be the one I was in love with.

  I drove to the park near my apartment and climbed up the jungle gym, box in hand. My hands shook as I pulled the letters out and spread them before me on the plastic-covered, grated metal base of the jungle gym.

  There were dozens of these letters, and they were all undated. I grabbed the closest one to me.

  They served apple pie at the cafeteria today. It tasted like you smell, and when I held the red wrapping paper, I couldn’t get the memory of you and that dress out of my head.

  -Lonely, Apple-Loving Romeo

  And he had kept that dress.

  Uncle Luca took the family to eat Italian today. Dad kept bitchin’ about how the spaghetti wasn’t authentic enough. I wanted to plug his loud mouth with some of your Spaghetti-Sunday spaghetti, but then I remembered you hate me. I wish you didn’t hate me. I want Spaghetti Sundays. And cooking at your dad’s. And throwing sauce at one another and blaming the neighbor’s cat when your dad asks. I want you.

  -Lonely, Spaghetti-Craving Romeo

  Ranie and I could have been happy. We could have been Romeo and Juliet, meeting in secret, our parents be damned. Brody had taken this from me.

  We learned the basic mechanics of a toilet today in Life Skills class. I swear, Mr. Clarke must’ve flushed that damn toilet hundreds of times. And each time he flushed, I kept thinking that I was that water, my life swirling in chaotic circles down the drain. Uncle Luca’s dead. Mom’s dead. Niccolaio’s gone, and he’ll probably be dead soon, too. And I just want my best friend back. Come back, Gallo. I love you.

  -Lonely, Toilet-Flushing Romeo

  A tear slid down my cheek. I was supposed to be there for him. He was my best friend, and I would have shouldered all his pain if it meant, for one second, that he would have felt even a little bit better.

  The first drop of rain landed on my cheek. I rushed to shove the letters into the box and hid them in the covered slide, where they would be safe from the rain. I wasn’t ready to go home, so I laid there, under the darkening sky and April shower.

  Laying under the rain like this, I felt like I was ten years old again, running around the playground with Ranie, playing Princess and Dragon. I was the dragon, and I had made him play my princess. And he did it, because he loved me. Maybe he always had.

  Ranie climbed up the jungle gym, his approach nearly silent thanks to the incessant splattering of the heavy, humid rain. He settled next to me, his back pressed against the cheap plastic-coated metal, his eyes fixated on the darkening sky.

  His eyes bled raindrop tears, while mine bled real tears. They slid down my cheeks, no doubt mixing with the pounding rain, like angry lovers meeting at last.

  Ranie reached out and brushed as much wetness as he could from my face. “Do you hate me?”

  “I don’t hate you, Ranie. It’d be a lot easier if I did.”

  His hand dropped to his side and rested between us. “I looked for you at your dad’s. He told me what happened.” He hesitated. “He’s worried about you.”

  “I’ll forgive him. Eventually.” I turned on my side and faced Ranie, lacing my fingers with his. “Do you forgive me?”

  “For what?”

  “All this time we’ve wasted could have been spent together. I should’ve known better. You’d never hurt me on purpose, but I saw you with all those girls, and it confused me.”

  Regret swallowed his countenance. “I needed to push you away. You wouldn’t give up.”

  “Because I loved you. And I should have loved you enough to see past the smoke and mirrors.”

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  I sat up, and the emotion rose in my throat, making speech difficult, but I pushed the honest words out, because he needed to hear them. “You don’t understand. It kills me that I loved you that much, yet I couldn’t see past everything.”

  It was like the bustling crowd at the train station, covering the sound of the pianist’s keys. But instead of listening to the melody beneath the distractions, I had been swallowed by the crowd.

  Ranie sat, too, and leaned forward until we were eye-level. “And you don’t understand. Our years apart don’t matter. Not when we have the rest of our lives to spend together. I love you, Carina Gallo. Always have. Always will.”

  His lips pressed against mine, slippery from the rain, and it was so sweet and so familiar, I wanted to lose myself in his touch but knew I would never. Not when it was imprinted into my memory forever.

  He lifted me with one arm and moved me until I sat between his legs. I leaned forward and pressed my chest against his, thrusting myself into the kiss. It was warring lips, and teeth clashing, and tongues dueling, and making up for lost time. It was nine years of childhood love and eleven years of calamity.

  I pushed his shirt over his head and flung it to the side. It landed far from the jungle gym, but neither of us blinked an eye. He moaned when I pulled my dress up my arms and off my body. I tossed it away from me.

  He pulled a condom from his pocket, a question in his eyes. I shook my head. I was on the pill and clean, and I trusted him not to hurt me. Heat flared in his eyes, and I rushed to unbutton his jeans, unzip the zipper and slide them down his legs. He was bare beneath, and his cock sprung upward, hitting his belly.

  It was finally happening. This moment had been twenty years in the making, and my brain begged me to savor it. He was naked, and beautiful, and mine, and fuck savoring it. I needed him now. I needed him fast. And I needed him hard.

  He unhooked my bra, tossed it away, and tore my panties—again. But I would sacrifice all my panties if it meant I had him. We were both bare in front of each other for the first time, and the shock and lust never dulled from our eyes.

  “Slide your pussy onto my cock,” he begged.

  From my position above him and the way desperation shined in his lust-driven eyes, I felt more powerful than I had ever felt in my life. I pushed his shoulders backward until his back pressed against the jungle gym floor.

  His hand grasped his cock, and he positioned himself at my entrance. I lowered my pussy onto his erection and closed my eyes. My body stilled as I adjusted to his size and savored the feel of my narrow walls gripping his cock.

  “Carina,” he growled as he pushed himself deeper into me and thrust hard. I loved how rough he fucked me, like he knew I could take it. “If you don’t ride me right now, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk, flip you over, come on your back,” he gripped my ass hard and his nails dug into my sensitive skin, “and spread my cum on that perfect ass with my hand as I spank you for teasing me.”

  I whimpered at his words and bucked my hips forward. “Tell me how you want me.”

  He sat up, and my clit brushed against his skin. “Forever.”

  My laugh turned into a moan as he sucked the spot below my ear. “I meant, how do you want me to fuck you?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  I nodded my head. “Always.”

  He lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist and ground deeper onto his cock as he moved us to the barred walls of the jungle gym.

  Hot rain drizzled down his face, dripped past his chin, and splashed his chest as he spoke, “Hold onto the bars.” He tore a strip of fabric from his shirt as I gripped the bar above me. “So you don’t slip.” He pressed a kiss to my lips, then tied my wrists to the bar with the fabric. He tugged on it, making sure it didn’t loosen.

  My lips met his, and he gripped his cock and stroked it once before rubbing the head of his erection against my clit. I jerked forward, buck
ing my hips to meet his cock. Frustration surged through me as the restraints bit my wrists.

  He stopped me with a tsk-tsk. “Don’t be greedy, Gallo. If you can’t control yourself, I can always tie your legs.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What if I’m not into BDSM?”

  He reached out and rubbed his thumb against my bottom lip, parting it. “This isn’t BDSM. It’s kink.” He moved his lips to my ear until they brushed against the lobe as he spoke. “And you like it.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  He reached between us and caressed my pussy lips before parting them and sinking three fingers inside. “Soaked.”

  I wrapped a leg around his waist and tugged him closer to me. “Shut up and fuck me already.”

  He laughed and gave me what I wanted, thrusting into me and hitting my g-spot on his first try. He grabbed my other leg and wrapped it around his waist, too, driving harder and harder into me. I threw my head back and groaned.

  No matter what I had felt for him in the past, from love to frustration to desperation to anger, I’d always known we were made for each other. His body a perfect match for mine. His long, thick cock a perfect stretch for the tight walls of my pussy.

  His thrusts quickened, and I met each of them, bucking my hips eagerly. I closed my eyes and rested my head against his shoulder, savoring the feel of finally, finally being connected to him. I wanted him to stay in me forever.

  “More,” I begged.

  He leaned forward and bit my nipple. He brushed his tongue against the pebbled bud. Once. Twice. Three times, before he sucked on it, reached between us, and brushed the pad of his thumb against my clit.

  “Come on my cock,” he urged.

  I was close. Flying closer and closer as sparks flew behind my eyes, and Pop Rocks traveled through my body, filling my veins with something that was, without a doubt, love.