La Dolce Vita: Romantic Suspense (Battaglia Mafia Series Book 7)

by Sienna Mynx

  La Dolce Vita

  Sienna Mynx

  THE DIVAS PEN LLC PUBLICATION

  The Divas Pen LLC Publication

  http://thedivaspen.com

  La Dolce Vita

  The Battaglia Mafia Series

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  La Dolce Vita © Copyright 2016 Sienna Mynx

  Cover art by Reese Dante

  Electronic book publication November 2016

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, The Diva’s Pen LLC.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously

  FOR THE GOOD GIRLS THAT LOVE THE BAD BOYS LIKE I DO

  PART ONE

  The Good Life

  Prelude

  The Amalfi Coast –

  Sorrento Italy / 1972

  The sun drowned the tiny fisherman’s boat in golden heat. The cap Giovanni wore pushed down on his head was the only protection for his scalp. Pearls of sweat dripped from his brow and trailed down the side of his face. Giovanni's gaze swept the calm waters of the sea. However hot and humid the day became, he could always count on a fresh breeze from the ocean to cool him. It was the best part of fishing.

  The water was the purest along the Amalfi when the tide was calm. Dark turquoise waves glistened as if sprinkled with blue crystals. And just below the surface, if he stared long and hard enough, he could see fish chase after the bait it sniffed on his hook. The medium sized fisherman's boat rocked like a cradle when Lorenzo shifted his weight behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder. The glare of the sun blinded him. He squinted out of one eye to look at his cousin. Lorenzo was again doing his best to impress Patri and Giovanni was envious. The relationship his cousin shared with Giovanni's father was far stronger than his own relationship with Don Tomosino had been in the past few weeks.

  For approval, Lorenzo worked the wiggling shrimp on the hook without dropping it. The tiny creature kicked its little legs as it died. Patri inspected the bait and gave a nod of approval to his nephew. Lorenzo stood in the center of the boat. He wobbled a little. The entire boat shook, but he soon gained his balance. It was only then that he cast the line into the water.

  "Bravo!" Don Tomosino let go an amused chuckle. The Don settled back into a reclined position at the bow of the boat. His dark gaze swiveled to Giovanni. "Any nibbles, Gio?"

  "No, Patri," Giovanni answered.

  The Don removed his cigar from the front pocket of his shirt. He put it in his mouth. He cupped his hand around the flame of his match as he lit the end. He tossed the burned out stick into the sea with no regard to the beauty of the ocean around him. His gaze flickered back to Giovanni. All was not forgiven between them. How could it be? He'd seen his father's darkness and suffered his wrath. And his father had seen his weakness when he attacked Armando Mancini over his feelings for a girl. It was only recently that his father had started speaking to him again.

  Instead of receiving his love and approval he had to watch from the sidelines as the Don took both Dominic and Lorenzo under his nurturing wing. It hurt Giovanni deeply. The love of his father was a guiding force within him. It helped secure his identity. It helped him understand and appreciate his mother's sacrifices and suffering. It justified his actions when even he didn't understand his reasoning. He was Tomosino's son. The birthright was a badge of honor. However long his exile from his father's affections would be, he knew the punishment was deserved. After all, his father had to leave Sicilia under the gun because of Don Salvatori Mancini's wrath. Salvatori Mancini, the father of Marsuvio Mancini, and Armando Mancini's grandfather, ruled his region of Sicilia as one of the Five Dons of Sicily. His temper was unyielding over his grandson's attack. Not even the friendship between Tomosino and Marsuvio could appease the old Don. Sicilia would no longer be their home.

  "Patri? Where is Zio Rocco?" Lorenzo asked.

  Giovanni turned his gaze back to the sea. Nothing nibbled on his line. His ears perked and he waited for his father's response. Uncle Rocco was dragged out of bed in the middle of the night. If he and Lorenzo hadn't been out in the woods sneaking whiskey and cigarettes, they would have missed the scene. Patri waited under a dead, leafless tree in the forest for his brother to be delivered at his feet. And when he was, the mean punch to the gut from the Don shocked both Giovanni and Lorenzo. His father's men took a vomiting, weeping, Rocco deeper into the woods. That was two weeks ago. They had not seen their uncle since.

  "He is in Chianti," The Don answered. "Where he will rot for his remaining days."

  Giovanni closed his eyes and bit back his emotion. He and Lorenzo had a wager on what Rocco's fate would be. Giovanni believed nothing could separate the brothers. He believed that blood, no matter the sin, was the ultimate bond shared between men. He had to believe that. If his father could cast away his beloved brother, would he do the same to his only son?

  Rocco was banished.

  What crime could deserve such an unforgiving thing?

  "Gio? Guardami!" The Don commanded.

  Giovanni turned on his small bench seat to look back at his father. He held to his fishing rod and squinted once more at the sun that burned away his eyesight.

  "Sí, Papá?" Giovanni answered.

  He only called his father 'Papa' when truly trying to show humility. Lorenzo glanced at him and then to the Don. To both Lorenzo and Gio’s surprise, Patri did not regard Gio with the typical scorn or disapproval he'd cast him with the past week. Instead, the Don smiled.

  "Life will be different. For you and me. For all of us."

  "Perchè?" Giovanni asked.

  "Cosa c'è?" Lorenzo asked.

  The news could mean anything. Including their most dreaded fear. Being sent away to school like Zia Isabella often threatened to do to them when she was angry.

  "Guarda!" Patri pointed. The boys' heads turned on their shoulders, and they cast their gazes back to the Amalfi. From the sea, the beauty of the tower homes situated amongst the base of the cliff could be seen for miles. And along the coast, colorful fishing boats were lined up at the shore. Tomosino traveled with men who carried guns. He always had armed men working for him, but these guys were different. They patrolled the beach and waited for their boss to return with his boys as if expecting some arsenal to rise from the sea to prevent it.

  "We can make this our permanent home, per sempre," Tomosino informed them. "We won't be returning to Sicilia. For a very long time," Patri said.

  "Is it because of Giovanni?" Lorenzo asked.

  For once Giovanni's sins weren't at the forefront of his father's mind, and his cousin insisted on dragging him down in his father's opinion again. He tried to reason away the betrayal. Lorenzo had lost his father a few months ago. Everyone was sensitive to him
now. Except for Lorenzo's mother. In his father’s absence, and with his mother’s dismissal, Patri's approval had recently become a great desire for Lorenzo. But, when Don Tomosino didn't respond to his question, the boys knew that Lorenzo's little act of treachery had turned on him. The Don now glared at his nephew as if he'd strike him. Patri never liked to be questioned.

  "He only means to ask if there is a reason we should know of," Giovanni said. And Lorenzo cast him a look of gratitude.

  "We are Camorra now."

  The Don let the proclamation sit.

  The boys sat upright. The declaration skewered them. All they wanted to be when they grew up was their fathers. And their fathers were the Mafiosi. In their opinion, the Camorra were the dogs that lapped at the Mafiosi boot heels. Yes, his father was sent by the Five Dons to southern Italy to invest in their interest. And yes, he broke bread with the clan bosses of la Camorra. He even had his own clan and started new racket, but he had never abandoned his roots. Sicilia was in his blood. After the Ciaculli bombing and the first mafia war, Tomosino had more wealth and power within the Camorra than most clan bosses. The plan as Giovanni believed it, was always to return to their roots. One day.

  "That is the reason why we will live here. Not because of Don Salvatori Mancini. The old bastard is close to death. Not because of my lying brother Rocco. It is the choice I've made for you boys. The Amalfi belongs to Battaglia. It is ours for the taking, and we have no one to answer to. You are Camorra now. This is our home. I am your father, your Don."

  They both nodded that they understood. Tomosino's gaze lifted to the village along the shore. "La dolce vita. The good life," he said. "What I build for our famiglia you will inherit. Remember, Gio. Who we are. Who you are. Not son, not cousin, not brother, not boyfriend to some sniveling wench. First, you are me, my flesh, and you do as I do. Do you understand?"

  "Si´," he said but didn't get it. How could he foresee the future and what his father's words meant? He could only accept the present. Their lives were now completely tied to Italy, and it was where they would remain. Years ago his grandfather had acquired land in Sorrento. And his uncles had built a beautiful villa known as Melanzana, as a retreat. It was often the place the family visited and stayed in when his father spent time in the Amalfi. It was constantly being built upon and improved as a testament to his wealth. In Sicilia, his father could not have such prominence without bowing to the Mafiosi. But here, Tomosino and his father before him were their own men.

  "La dolce vita," Giovanni repeated. The good life was here. And his father would give him a second chance. "This is the life we deserve."

  Chapter One

  One Throat to Choke

  August 1994 - Sorrento, Italy

  "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" Mirabella Battaglia screamed in her head and not with her mouth. Kei's hand should have been called bone crusher. It clamped down on her throat with monstrous tightness. The man's fingers were unnaturally elongated, and his nails were sharpened and curved like the talons of a hawk.

  "You can breathe, if you fight him. Fight back, Mira." A comforting voice whispered against her ear.

  "Noooo, heeeee... hee... he's chokin... chokin... meeeeeee," she wept.

  Kei tore at her dress, shredding it. The iron glove he wore to strangle her was also on his other hand. He knifed and slashed her bare skin beneath. He was morphing, turning into a monster before her very eyes. She saw the rage and madness within him. He bared his teeth in a cruel snarl. He forced her thighs apart.

  "Fight him, Mira!"

  "Someone, help me," she wept. "God, please!"

  She beat him with her fists. The more she struggled, the tighter the stranglehold became. And he laughed. It was a cruel demonic laughter that was void of any compassion or understanding. The man she had known was gone. The monster on top of her would devour her whole. She was certain of it. Mirabella turned her head away, and tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.

  "Fabiana?" she said.

  Her best friend wept. She shook her head sadly.

  "Fabiana? Don't let him do this to me. Please help me," she begged as Kei dropped on her and a long slimy tongue licked the side of her face. She knew what he would do next. "Please help me!"

  "I can't," Fabiana said. "No one can."

  Mirabella’s eyes flashed open, but the nightmare held firm. Kei was no longer the attacker. It was Giovanni. He choked her. She prayed for death to be her release. He wanted her dead. Her beloved husband wanted her dead.

  "Bella? Wake up! It's a nightmare! Wake!" Giovanni shook her.

  "Let me goooooo!" She fought to get out of bed. They struggled, and both fell off the bed to the floor. He took the brunt of the fall. She kicked her legs and struggled to escape him. She fought him hard. Giovanni refused to release her. He protectively overcame her. Giovanni crossed her arms over her chest. He locked his legs around her thighs. She bucked with all her might, but Giovanni was too strong. He kept her pinned with her back to him. She whimpered, and her resistance broke.

  "I want to die. Let me die. I just want it to stop Gio," she pleaded.

  "Sei la mia anima gemella... shhhh.... non posso vivere senza di te..." he said she was his soulmate, and he couldn't live without her. He kissed the back of her head and held her tight to his chest. He talked to her in an even calm manner until she went limp with weakness and her mind cleared. She could hear and see him once more.

  Together they sat on the floor panting. Giovanni held her and kept close.

  "I'm crazy. Aren't I?" she asked.

  The nightmares persisted. It had gotten to the point that she could only sleep if the children joined her in bed. She would never submerge into a deep enough sleep where Kei could rise from the dead and torture her if her babies were in her arms. And why was Fabiana there? Why would her mind force her best friend to watch helplessly?

  "You are safe with me."

  "Yes, I feel that," she sighed and let his strong arms secure her to his heart. And it did work. No matter what the terrible dream said, his touch was all she needed.

  "Talk to me. What was the dream this time?" Giovanni asked. They were at the side of the bed. Giovanni was naked. She could feel his semi-erection pressed into her back. And his hairy legs locked over hers.

  “Don't be afraid to tell me; I want to help."

  “What if you can’t? What if the dreams are that scary, that terrible?”

  “Then I have to help. I can’t stand to see you in pain.”

  Shame swirled in her stomach The night terrors were something she could never share. She sat forward a bit and his hold on her was forced to loosen. She looked back at him. Deeply bronzed skin stretched over every inch of him, even his dick. His body glistened with sweat as if he'd just returned from her nightmare and slaying her demons. She turned and faced him. He was such a good-looking man. Her gaze lifted from his groin to his defined abs. Tight ridges formed a six pack. Hid chest was broad and expanded with each deep intake of breath. He was her husband and since the night terrors began he'd never left her side. The distress her mental state brought into their marriage was hard to ignore. He stared at her, confused by her state. She felt a rush of emotions, including the deep seeded lust she carried for his protection. Sex was as close as she could be with him and it made her feel safe. When frightened to death by the dark memories of her kidnapping, she needed his nearness, his attention. Her brain tried sluggishly and unsuccessfully to push away the nightmarish thoughts and focus on him. And when she looked down at herself she realized she was also sweating. How long had they tangled? In her head, the fight lasted seconds. But Giovanni breathed hard as if the ordeal went on forever.

  “What made you scream like that?” he asked.

  Mirabella traced the outline of past scars on his muscular chest with her fingertips over his chest. Giovanni’s gaze lowered to her touch.

  “I need you,” she said. She pulled her thin nightdress over her head and tossed it away. The focus had shifted for them b
oth. His gaze became heavy-lidded and darkened to nearly sapphire blue. He looked at her breasts and body with greed. Good. She didn’t want to talk about a false memory. She wanted to make new ones. Before he could overthink their connection she straddled him. Mirabella held to the back of his head and guided his mouth to her breast. The brush of his tongue and the warmth of his mouth brought her nipple to a tightened state immediately. A groan rumbled up from his throat. A familiar sound of desire from her husband spiked every dormant cell of arousal in her body, and she tingled all the way to her core.

  The thick bone of his erection pressed against the lips of her sex and she rolled her hips slowly to tease him.

  “Fucking hell,” he groaned and lifted his face to look into her eyes.

  “Fuck me,” she said in a voice so weak the words barely escaped her mouth. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, before letting out a moan as she slid down on his stalk. Her mind turned off. Heat and need throbbed deep inside of her. Each time she rose and went down on him the walls of her pussy clenched. He inserted his finger in her anus and the entire lower region of her body stiffened then relaxed upon penetration. Nothing was off limits between them. Again and again, he took her to new heights.

  "Fuck me, baby, fuck me," she panted as she bounced on his dick.

  “Ti scoperò fino a farti esplodere di piacere--I will fuck you until you explode,” he groaned.

  She didn’t move fast enough. She couldn’t move fast enough to satisfy his passion. He flipped her over to her back and kept thrusting in and out of her slick channel. The flex of his hips sent him deeper, and she writhed beneath him. Her lips parted, and her eyes were wide. He lifted and saw her chest move up and down as she struggled between speaking and breathing. Giovanni swirled his hips and withdrew slowly, and then stroked deeply into her again and again. She deliberately shut out any awareness of the past and the present. Her singular focus was him. The long muscular strength of his erection filled her up, and the power strikes became intense. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. He hammered his love into her while keeping her pressed down against the floor with her thighs and legs pushed back to his arms. She whimpered only twice when his power drilling became nothing but hard bangs instead of the love she was used to. She pulled on his ears to stop him and to bring his face up from her shoulder, so she could kiss him and slow down his ravishment of her. No one controlled her Don. Not even her.