Men of Honor: Cosa Nostra book 1

by Jasmine Denton

“The tall, dark-haired guy with the great cheekbones,” she replied. “Wearing black on black.”

  Bela was startled and a little unnerved, but also impressed. “How did you…”

  “How did I know?” Mandi asked, taking a sip from a glass of water. “Well, for one you two just had an entire conversation without saying a single word, and you haven’t taken your eyes off that door since you saw him. What’s wrong? Trey doesn’t know?”

  She took a sip of champagne nervously. “No, he doesn’t.”

  “Well, your secret is safe with me,” Mandi assured her.

  Bela gave her a grateful smile.

  Finally, after about twenty agonizing minutes of waiting, the door to the den opened again. A crowd of people left, scattering in different directions. Finally, she saw Vincent leave and look around, presumably searching for her. His gaze met hers, but she waited to see if Trey was going to come out, too.

  “Go ahead,” Mandi urged. “Take him outside. I’ll keep your brother in here.”

  “Really?” Bela asked, surprised.

  Mandi nodded and waved her on. Bela caught Vincent’s gaze again and then nodded toward the large patio doors off the side of the room.

  She walked through the open doors to the garden just outside. It was dark, but a couple bushes were still blooming with small flowers. She stepped around a line of hedges, slipping into the shadows, and then waited for Vincent. A minute or two later, he found her and slid into the dark corner with her.

  With a small grin, he wound his arms around her waist. “Hey, honey.”

  Infuriated, she gave his chest a shove. Making sure to keep her voice in a low whisper, she said, “Hey honey? I don’t hear from you all day and then find you going into my father’s den like another one of his henchmen and that’s all you have to say is ‘hey honey’?”

  “In all fairness, I couldn’t return your calls earlier because I left my phone in the car.”

  She narrowed her eyes in a scolding look.

  “Because I was being held hostage until the meeting tonight.”

  This made her even more angry and worried, and it wasn’t as if she could voice all of her questions and concerns right now. While she struggled to choose what to yell at him about, her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she saw that his face was bruised. Two yellow and purple abrasions marked both his cheekbone and his jaw. “And what the hell happened to your face? Did Trey do that?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Better than fine. Your dad has agreed to let me prove myself. I mean, your brother wanted to shoot me but your old man is going to give me a chance.”

  “Prove yourself?” Her eyes bulged in disbelief and shock. “Are you kidding me? You want to work for him! Why would you want to work for him?”

  “I can’t explain everything right now,” he said, taking her hands. “I need to get back before Trey comes looking for me.”

  “I know, but—”

  He quieted her protests with a kiss. Even though he was in a hurry, he took the time to give her a slow, tender kiss. The feelings he evoked made her anger edge away. She knew she could never stay angry with him for long, and felt herself melting in his arms. When he pulled away, he whispered, “Rooftop. Dawn?”

  He waited for her to agree, and when she nodded, he gave her that charming smile as he snuck out their small corner. His hand fell from hers, leaving her with that lingering feeling of emptiness. After just being so close to him, feeling his…enigmatic presence, she missed him even more. She couldn’t believe she’d waited all day just to see him for a few minutes, and she couldn’t wait for sunrise.

  Vincent locked himself inside his apartment and stripped off his blazer. Tossing it onto the couch, he leaned against the door and let out a slow, shaky breath. On more than one occasion tonight, he’d been sure he was going to die. Working with mobsters—especially when you’re a known enemy of theirs, like Vincent was—was risky. But, in a shocking turn of events, he hadn’t been murdered simply for being a Marcano on DeLuca turf. Instead, they’d let him in. Now he was a made man. Now, he could put his plan into action.

  The plan was simple. Gain Trey’s trust. Sabotage his empire. Watch that empire crumble.

  Bela was never supposed to be part of the plan. It had been a coincidence when he bumped into her outside of Starbucks one morning and spilled her cup of coffee, ruining a brand-new Prada blouse. She’d agreed to let him replace the coffee, but wouldn’t let him spring for the dry-cleaning bill. During that impromptu coffee date, he’d felt something he’d never expected to feel: that spark. The one that could drive a sane man crazy, the one that could turn friends into lovers. The spark that could throw a wrench into his entire plan.

  More than once, he’d wanted to walk away from her. He’d even met her on the rooftop with the intention of breaking things off. Each time he’d try, he’d take one look at those beautiful almond colored eyes—so lonely, so oppressed—and he knew he couldn’t walk away from her. Love had taken hold in his heart and there was no avoiding it, no denying it, no abandoning it. There was no way he could leave her in that situation, surrounded by criminals and murderers for the rest of her life. So he’d amended his plan to work toward one goal: getting Bela out; away from the mob.

  He’d need to be careful, he knew that much. Bela’s loyalty was to her family, and for that reason, she could never know what he was doing. Even if, by some miracle, she understood his mission, knowing it would only put her in more danger.

  Step one was complete. His foot was in the door; he was on the DeLuca’s payroll. Now it was time to initiate step two: gaining Trey’s trust.

  Chapter Five

  Vincent met Bela on the rooftop just before sunrise. In one hand, he carried two cups of coffee in a small tray, and the other held a bag of bagels. Though the gesture was sweet, it hardly let him off the hook about going behind her back and trying to get a job with her family.

  “I know you think I’ve lost my mind,” Vincent said as he sat down on the rooftop next to her. “But I’m doing all of this for us.”

  “How?” She was angry with him, but it was too early to turn down a cup of coffee. Cradling the cup between both hands, she took a cautious sip. White chocolate mocha, just the way she liked. Vincent knew her too well. “Working for my father only makes you more off limits.”

  “Maybe not,” he said. “If I win them both over…”

  “Trey is impossible to win over,” she said. “And now that you’re working for him, we have to be even more careful. I mean, Trey’s made it clear that I’m supposed to marry into the mob eventually, but a Marcano? He’ll freak out.”

  “Everything is going to be okay.” Then he turned to look at her, studying her with the hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Wait…you want to marry me?”

  “What?” she asked, flustered. She gave his shoulder a shove. “Shut up.”

  “You do,” he teased.

  “I love you, you jerk,” she said. “That’s all I meant.”

  “Sure,” he said with a playful nod. Then he leaned forward, bringing his lips closer to hers. “I love you, too.”

  After leaving Bela, Vincent drove to meet trey downtown. He had no idea what the rest of the day held, but he was eager to prove himself and had decided that he would do whatever it took to get on Trey’s good side. There was too much riding on this for him to lose.

  Trey took him to a pawn shop first. The second they walked in, the grey-haired man behind the counter looked frightened. His hands shook as he quickly took out an envelope and stuffed it with cash. He handed it to Trey, stuttering a nervous, “M—morning Mr. DeLuca.”

  “Nice day, isn’t it?” Trey paused briefly to count the cash. Satisfied with what he found, he stuffed the envelope into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

  “Yes, Mr. DeLuca.”

  Vincent watched as Trey obviously got off on the show of respect through intimidation. As they left the store, Trey slid a pair of sunglasses onto his face. “I hope someone
’s payment is late,” he mumbled as he opened his car door. “I really want to shoot someone today.”

  Vincent raised an eyebrow. “You shoot a lot of people?”

  Trey simply smirked as if to say ‘wouldn’t you like to know?’ He stooped into his car and called out, “Hurry up, Marcano. Places to be.”

  After they were leaving the third rent pick-up, Vincent couldn’t help but ask, “You’re a Capo, right?”

  Trey raised an eyebrow.

  Sensing Trey’s annoyance, Vincent hurried to explain. “Capo’s a big deal. You answer only to the boss or underboss. I mean, you must have like ten or twenty soldiers working for you.”

  “So?” Trey asked, sounding annoyed.

  “So why are you doing grunt work like picking up payments?” he asked. “Are you just trying to bore me to death?”

  Trey reached up and turned off the radio. “I’m doing this myself because I’m involved in all areas,” he said. “And I don’t want anyone to ever forget it. It’s good to make a personal appearance and shake them up once in awhile.”

  Vincent nodded, making a mental note that Trey was a control-freak with a God complex.

  “The boring you to death thing is just a bonus,” he added with a grin.

  Carrying a fresh bouquet of roses, Bela walked to the edge of the Deluca grounds, to the small patch of land reserved for her mother’s grave. Kneeling down in front of the marble headstone, she pulled out the dead flowers from last week and tucked the new ones into the stone vase mounted on the bottom of the headstone.

  “Much better,” she said to the slab of stone with her mom’s name engraved on it. “They’re from your garden. They just keep getting prettier and prettier, don’t they?”

  She knew it was silly to talk to a headstone. But her mother had died over nine years ago and talking to her out loud was a habit she’d developed. She made it a point to come out once a week, even though she was the only one in her family who still visited. Her dad didn’t have the time, and Trey preferred to avoid anything that made him feel the tiniest emotion.

  Bela wouldn’t trade these weekly visits for the world. These days, this place was the only place where she didn’t have to lie. She could be honest and open about her feelings for Vincent, about the anger buried deep inside that no one ever noticed. She hated all aspects of the mob life—the violence, the murder, the people acting like these things were no big deal. She didn’t inherit that gene that most women in her family had—that one that said the money and glamorous lifestyle was enough to turn a blind eye to any brutal act.

  Honestly, she hated her life. She’d wanted to go out of state to college, but her father had insisted it was too dangerous for her to leave. He wouldn’t even let her move into a dorm; he forced her to settle for driving to community college every couple of days. It wasn’t the exciting college life she’d planned, and the one aspect that made it all bearable was Vincent. Once again, her family found a way to throw a wrench in that, too. They would hate Vincent solely because he shared the same last name as her father’s long standing enemy. Sal blamed the Marcanos for her mother’s death, and for a long time, Bela had, too. But Bela didn’t see the point in hating an entire family based on the actions of one hit-man, carrying out orders from one person. All that hate didn’t bring her mother back; it had just weighed Bela down instead. Now, the hatred turned to her family and even though she loved them, she resented them a lot, too. They didn’t care about how she felt; all they cared about was the family business.

  “Does this life ever get easier, mom?” she asked, leaning against the headstone. “Because if it doesn’t, I don’t think I can take much more.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what her mother would say, but she came up blank. It’d been too long since she’d had a mother’s advice. One fateful night, after shoving Bela into a closet and giving her instructions to hide, her mom turned to face her death bravely and saved Bela’s life in the process. She could still remember—all too well—the way that gunshot had sounded. Even hidden in the back of the closet with her hands clamped over her ears, Bela had still heard the loud POP explode in the quiet house. That bullet shattered their lives that day, and none of them had been the same since. Sal buried himself in work, Trey became determined to gain fear and respect so nothing like that would happen to him again, and Bela became nothing more than a piece of property. Always to be protected, no matter what. Even when she didn’t want to be protected anymore.

  “I don’t have it all.” Mandi tried not to stammer as she placed an envelope of cash onto her boss’s desk. “My rent was due, so I’m a little short this month—”

  Max looked from the envelope, to Mandi. “You were short last month.”

  “It’s all the interest,” she explained. “I can’t keep up. I have other bills to pay, too.”

  “You might want to tell that to the jerk who ran off and left you with a hefty tab,” he said. Then he snickered. “Oh, right. He’s dead.”

  Mandi crossed her arms and took a deep breath. She hadn’t thought of James or his death in a long time, and she liked to keep it that way. Thinking about him brought up too many bad memories. “I’ll work more,” she said. “I’ll get you the money, but can’t we come down on the bill a little? It’s been two years of this.”

  “You’re right.” He pushed himself up from the desk. When he stood, he towered over her. Two hundred and fifty pounds of muscular, self-involved control freak. “It’s been two years of you whining and complaining about my prices. But the fact is, you and your boyfriend borrowed a lot of money from me. I’m nice enough to let you work it off, and still you think you have the right to complain?”

  He lumbered toward her as he spoke, and though she wanted to shrink away, she forced herself to stand her ground. She hated being intimidated—it made her feel weak and helpless. “Come on, I just gave you fifteen hundred dollars. That’s got to put a dent in it…buy me some time at least.”

  Reaching one thick, long arm out, he gave her shoulder a hard shove and sent her freefalling into the door behind her. The door knob hit her in the back, and before she could right herself, he was in front of her. Wrapping one hand around her throat, he pressed his gross, rock-hard body up against hers, shoving the doorknob further into the small of her back. “Here’s what you’re gonna do,” he said, his breath hot and tainted with liquor. “You’re going to get back out there and keep dancing, and you’re going to shut that pretty little mouth up before I do it for you. Are we clear?”

  She nodded, but he slammed her head into the wall. Finally, she managed to say, “Yes. We’re clear.”

  “Good.” He let her go and stepped back. “Get to work. You need the money.”

  Bringing one hand to her sore throat, she gave him a glare as she used her other hand to yank open the door. She stormed out, slamming the door loudly behind her. She spent the rest of the night trying not to cry, trying to convince herself that Max was a jerk and she would be out from under his thumb, eventually. So, she alternated between serving drinks and dancing on stage for the next fifteen hours, while strange men used their grubby little hands to shove chump change down her clothes. Max didn’t even give her a break longer than five minutes, and by the time her shift ended, she was exhausted and only two hundred dollars richer.

  When she finally reached her apartment, she was surprised to find a bouquet of roses in front of her door. Even more surprising was the fact that nobody had stolen them. She picked them up and carried them inside. After she locked the door, she leaned against it. Kicking off her shoes, she let out a load groan of pleasure as the cool air rushed over her achy feet. Dropping onto the couch just inside the door, she set the roses on the table and then plucked the card from the center of the bouquet. She recognized Trey’s handwriting from the card he’d sent with the dress. On the front flap, he’d written “Siren” and inside he’d said, “Sing to me again.”

  The note made her smile. What that charming, rich man saw in h
er, she’d never understand. Maybe he had a thing for strippers with creepy bosses and crummy, low-rent apartments. Maybe he was bored and looking for a toy. Either way, the gesture was a nice end to a terrible night, and she was grateful.

  Chapter six

  A few weeks passed and Bela saw Vincent less and less. Their dates kept getting pushed aside while he desperately tried to prove his loyalty to Trey. Sometimes she would see him going into her father’s den with Trey or meeting with Johnny and the guys in the garage. He’d catch her gaze, give her that wry half-smile of his and somehow make her feel like all of the waiting and sneaking around was worth it. She stopped asking what went on in those meetings, or what he was up to late at night because she didn’t want to know. It was easier for her if she didn’t know the details. And she hated it, but she realized that she was becoming like the other women in her family. Turning a blind eye out of love.

  Trey walked into the Dive just after nine o’clock. The bartender, seeing him, rushed to pour two fingers of scotch on the rocks and brought it to Trey’s usual booth. Trey met the bartender at the table, but didn’t sit down.

  “Mandi around?” he asked as he took a sip of the freshly poured scotch.

  The bartender waved him on. “In the dressing room.”

  Trey nodded and headed toward the door marked “Employees Only”. A small hallway opened up to a large room with mirrors, costumes and make-up galore. In front of a mirror, Mandi leaned in close to apply mascara. Based on the matching white satin underwear set and the sheer robe she wore over it, he guessed she was going for a sweet and innocent look tonight. Her hair was straight and sleek, framing her face perfectly. And he had to admit she looked hot. Seriously hot. The girl could’ve been a model with the right connections, so what was she doing wasting away in this dump?