Men of Honor: Cosa Nostra book 1

by Jasmine Denton

  She sighed dreamily at the thought of freedom.

  “You could try it, you know,” he said. “You’re eighteen now. You can go wherever you want.”

  “Trey made it clear he’d track me down in an instant,” she said. “So, I’m pretty much stuck.”

  “For the rest of your life?” he asked.

  “Looks like it,” she said.

  “That must be terrible,” he said. “I know how much you want out. And to believe it’s never going to happen…you must feel so…”

  “Suffocated?”

  He looked like he felt sorry for her. Bringing his lips to hers, he gave her a sweet kiss. “It doesn’t have to be that way,” he said. “I know you don’t feel like it, but you do have a choice.”

  She leaned into to kiss him again, but before their lips could meet, his cell phone rang. Keeping his forehead pressed against hers, he closed his eyes in annoyance, but took his phone out and answered it anyway. After a minute, he said, “Yeah, okay. Be there soon.”

  He hung up the phone, his gaze meeting Bela’s with a look of regret and caution.

  “Let me guess,” Bela said, unable to help the bitterness that seeped into her tone. “Duty calls.”

  He nodded. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

  She nodded reluctantly, letting him kiss her on the cheek before he stood. Once again, the second he left her sight she was filled with an uneasy feeling of dread. Each time he left, she feared it would be the last time she saw him.

  Trey met Vincent behind the Strip Dive. His car was parked horizontally, blocking the exit to the small alley. Trey leaned against his car, with the trunk open behind him.

  “What’s with the 911?” Vincent asked as he approached Trey.

  “We’re gonna teach someone a lesson,” Trey said. He shoved a gas can into Vincent’s arms. “Start pouring that.”

  “Where?” Vincent asked.

  Trey pointed to a spot toward the middle of the small alley. Vincent began to pour the liquid all over the ground, holding his breath against the stench. When he was done, he put the gas can back into Trey’s open trunk.

  Trey reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, then lit one up. Even though he didn’t smoke, the cigarette would be important to his message. Vincent leaned against the car next to him, waiting.

  Suddenly, the club’s owner, Max came out of the back door. He was a tall, gruff looking man with an overly-muscled body and a thick New York accent. “It’s a little early to collect the rent,” he said.

  “This isn’t about the rent,” Trey said. He leaned up against his car as he smoked the cigarette. “I hear you’ve been roughhousing with your employees.”

  “You know how those girls are,” Max said with a dismissing chuckle. “Gotta keep them in line, right?”

  “I like to keep my employees in line, too,” Trey said. His voice was cool and calm as he spoke. “But what you did was a huge mistake.”

  “Yeah, I heard you got the hots for that blond one,” Max said. “But trust me, I didn’t do anything to that one that hadn’t been done to her before.”

  The mention of Mandi didn’t do anything to help Trey’s anger. Even before Max brought her up, he kept thinking about her, picturing that bruise on her back and how it had gotten there. It infuriated him. No matter how brutal and ruthless he was on the job, he would never hit a woman. There were just some lines you didn’t cross and that was one of them. “You’re fired.”

  “Wait…what?” Max asked, stepping closer.

  “I said you’re fired.” Then he tossed his cigarette down…right into the pool of gasoline. The cigarette hit the fuel and ignited a fire. Flames leapt up, climbing Max’s clothes. He screamed, cried out in pain as the flames swallowed him.

  Vincent jumped at the sight of the fire, watching in horror as the man’s flesh burned. But Trey grinned triumphantly as the flames danced, knowing that he had sent a message.

  Chapter eight

  “I can’t believe you helped Trey set someone on fire!” In their secret meeting place, Bela stared at Vincent like he was a stranger.

  He had his back to her. His hands were leaned against the ledge and his head was titled down to look at the street below. “I know. Your brother’s kind of psycho.”

  “And you still do what he says.”

  “I have to.”

  “You have to? You have to. You’re an idiot, Vincent,” she snapped. “If he told you to jump off a building, would you do it?

  He hesitated. “How tall is the building?”

  She groaned in frustration. “This isn’t a game. The two of you set a person on fire. A human being. He has third degree burns all over his body. He spent hours in surgery, and even still, his life is never gonna be the same—”

  “He was a bad guy, Bela,” he said. “An abuser and a bully. Trey was just sending a message.”

  “See? That—right there—you’re already acting like one of them!”

  He sighed and turned around to face her. “I had to do what he said, Bela.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Right now, if Trey tells me to jump I gotta say ‘how high?’ Or I’m out.”

  “Why do you want in? I don’t understand. The whole reason you left your family is because you hated the life as much as I do. And now that you’re out and free, you’re...what? Switching teams? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tighter when she tried to wriggle free. “I get it. It was a cold thing to do. Wrong on so many levels. But you gotta think of the bigger picture.” He lowered his voice. “If I win them over, get them to...like me or hell, at least respect me, maybe...just maybe...they’ll let us be together.”

  Bela shook her head in denial. “I don’t want mobster-Vincent. I want you. The real one. The one I fell in love with.”

  “I’m still me,” he said. “That’s not going to change, I promise.”

  “But it’s already changing,” she said. “The guy I knew wouldn’t hurt a fly. A couple weeks with my brother and you’re an accomplice to arson.”

  Vincent reached out, cupping her face in his hand. Softly, he whispered, “Do you trust me?”

  “With my life.” Though she was unbelievably angry, she reminded herself that they were a team. What was important to him was important to her, and even though she didn’t understand him at all, his choices were his own to make. She leaned in, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. Letting herself sink into him. Clinging to him while she still could. “But I don’t want you to change. If you do, then it’s all for nothing.”

  He held her close, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around her and offering her shelter from the cruel world outside their rendezvous spot. “I won’t change,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  Later that night, the strip club was buzzing with gossip. When Mandi learned that someone had set Max on fire—literally—she didn’t think anything of it at first. She thought someone had finally gotten sick of the bastard’s crooked ways; someone was bound to hurt him eventually. Even when Trey came to visit her at work…even when he walked straight into the dressing room with that arrogant, gloating smile, she still didn’t put it together.

  The other girls ogled Trey and whispered to each other as they left Mandi alone with him.

  “What are you doing here?” Mandi asked. She was running late and still needed to finish her make-up and hair.

  “Just wanted to see you,” he said, leaning against the vanity. “How’s it feel to be out from under that jerk?”

  “What?” she asked, leaning in to apply another coat of mascara. Her hand paused mid-stroke when the pieces finally clicked into place. She remembered how angry he’d been with Max, and how he’d promised to take care of it. “Wait…did…did you?”

  “I told you I’d fire him,” he said simply.

  In her reflection, she saw her mouth drop open. “I didn’t think you meant literally.”


  Trey pulled up a stool and sat on it. “He had it coming, Mandi. Nobody’s going to put their hands on you like that.”

  She couldn’t do anything but stare at him as a mix of shock and disbelief swirled in her mind. On one hand, she appreciated his protective instincts, but on the other, she was terrified of him. How far did she have to go to be on the receiving end of those flames?

  “You’re mad at me,” he said, studying her. There was a hint of confusion in his eyes, which only threw her off more.

  “No,” she said slowly, trying to recover from the shock. “No. I’m not mad. Just…”

  The dressing room door opened and another dancer stuck her head in. “Mandi, you’re on in five.”

  “I’ll be right out,” Mandi said, letting out a frustrated breath. She turned her attention to the mirror and tried to fix her lopsided eye-makeup.

  “Look…I didn’t mean to spook you,” he began.

  “It’s okay,” she said, standing up. “I just…I have to get to work.”

  “Right.” He sighed as he stood, giving her a thorough look up and down. For a second, she swore she saw jealousy in his eyes and it made her uneasiness grow. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Right. I forgot.”

  He didn’t say anything as she left the dressing room. As she stepped out onto the stage, she tried her best to leave the problems and worries behind. Allowing herself to become someone else, losing herself in the music, in the movement of her body to the beat.

  “Are you kidding me?” Bela asked as she sat on the patio opposite of her aunt Claudia. Claudia was her dad’s younger sister who was also married to Nikolas. The two of them lived in the west wing of the mansion.

  Claudia was busy painting her nails and didn’t look up from the brushstrokes. She’d just—out of nowhere—dropped the bomb that her dad had decided to use her nineteenth birthday as an excuse to throw a cover-party for his mob business.

  “Come on, Bela. It’ll be a lovely party,” Claudia said. “I’ll personally make sure of it.”

  “I didn’t want a party,” Bela said, trying her best not whine. “I wanted pizza and a movie with my brother, since my own father can’t seem to show enough interest to make it to a dinner except for once a month.”

  “He’s already given the orders,” Claudia said. “Maybe next year.”

  “So my own birthday can’t even be mine?”

  “We all make sacrifices for the family,” she said with a heavy sigh. “At least this is a small one.”

  “It’s not just this,” Bela said. “They dictate everything. Where I live, where I go to school, which guy I date. I can’t take it anymore.”

  “So fight the battles that are worth it,” Claudia said. “And give them their way with everything else.”

  Bela crossed her arms and stared down into her coffee.

  “Come on, don’t mope.” Being careful not to damage her wet nails, Claudia opened her purse and took out a credit card, sliding it across the table. “Here, go shopping or get your hair done. Buy a dress for the party.”

  Reluctantly, Bela looked at the credit card on the table. Spending her father’s money wouldn’t make her feel any less suffocated. Still, it was an excuse to get out of the house. “Thanks,” she said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “I’ll be back later.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Claudia said as she brought her hand up to look carefully at her fingernails.

  Trey had always loved to watch Mandi dance. Even before he’d introduced himself to her, he’d come to the Strip Dive almost nightly just to watch her move. But this time, something was different.

  This time, he was all too aware of how much skin she was showing with every layer she slowly stripped off. His ears too easily picked up the cheering sounds of pleasure from the audience. And each time an arm reached up to tuck money into her bra, he wanted to smack it back down. He knew it was just an act, just a job. She never really behaved as slutty and sensual as she did when the music was playing and the lights were dimmed. This wasn’t the real her.

  Still, even though staying during her show was torturing him, it would’ve been even worse to leave and let his imagination run wild. So he stayed in his corner booth as long as he could, until he just couldn’t take it anymore.

  Toward the end of the song, when she wrapped her leg around the pole and flung her head back, he lost it. A drunken, rowdy guy next to him shouted, “Take it all off!” and Trey’s control snapped.

  Standing quickly, he yanked the guy out of his chair and pulled his fist back before he realized what he was doing. He saw people in the crowd turn to look at him, saw fear wash over the guy’s face, saw Mandi pause in mid dance-step on stage. With everybody’s eyes burning into him, he released the guy with a shove. Hurrying away, he struggled not to make a bigger scene—struggled not to yank her off the stage himself—and went to the bathroom, instead.

  Locking himself inside, he gripped his hands around the porcelain sink and tried to calm himself. He took a couple slow, deep breaths, but it did nothing except for make him feel winded. He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help but feel so angry. Seeing her getting paid for dancing like that…with strange guys watching and getting off on it messed with his head in ways he couldn’t explain. On impulse, he swung his arm out and punched the mirror as hard as he could. The glass broke and splintered around his hand, the shattered pieces clattering to the sink and cutting into his skin.

  “Damn it,” he muttered to himself. He turned the cold water on and stuck his hand underneath the flowing stream. Taking a couple paper towels to his knuckles, he leaned against the sink until he was sure he had control of his anger again. Once he did, he tossed the bloody paper towels into the trashcan, straightened out his blazer, and then returned to the nightclub. Mandi found him moments later and pulled him into the back hallway. As she turned to face him, she noticed his hand.

  “That wasn’t there a few minutes ago,” she said cautiously.

  “It’s fine,” he said, stuffing the hand into his pocket.

  She didn’t look like she believed him. “Look…”

  “Listen,” he said, at the same time she finally spoke. He tried to laugh it off nervously, but the sound fell flat in the empty hallway. “You go first.”

  Nodding, she took a deep breath and dove right in, as if she’d already had a speech prepared. “Look, you’re a nice guy and everything, but…”

  “But I’m freaking you out,” he finished.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  He didn’t blame her. He was freaking himself out, too. “Because you’ve been hurt before and you’re not taking any chances.”

  “What?” she asked, looking puzzled.

  “Come on, Mandi. It’s written…well, all over you.” He motioned to her scantily clad body. “Nobody ends up here by choice. Usually you’re pushed until there’s no other choice. Or the other choices just seem too hard.”

  “So that’s what this is about,” she said, her cheeks flushing with indignation. “You have me written off as the poor damaged stripper. Let me guess, in this fantasy you’ve cooked up, you’ve given me daddy issues and a broken home and problems with trust.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “That’s not the point,” she said, frustrated. “The point is…you haven’t tried to get to know me at all. And yet, here you are setting people on fire and getting jealous during my show. It doesn’t make any sense, because we barely know each other.”

  “I…thought we were getting there,” he said. “You don’t like personal questions, so I don’t ask them. I thought that was how you wanted it.”

  “No, what I want is for you to stop coming down here and acting like you own the place!”

  He stared at her in confusion. “But, I do—”

  “Again, not the point,” she hissed. “The point is, you don’t own me. So stop acting like you do.”

  With that, she marched off and left him standing in the hallway alone.

  Later that night, Trey was s
till fuming from the fight with Mandi. Why did she always have to be so stubborn? Why did she refuse to let him in and then blame him for not knowing her? Vincent was in the passenger seat, and that was pissing him off too. So far, the Marcano kid had had it way too easy. With the mood Trey was in, he was itching to give him a hard time. The last straw came when he saw a familiar face on the street corner. Someone he’d warned once before.

  “Hell no,” he said as he pulled the car over next to the curb. “Get the gun out of the glove box,” he said to Vincent as he opened the door and jumped out.

  He approached the drug dealer quickly, like an attack dog closing in, and started shouting, “Didn’t I tell you I didn’t want to see your face on my corner again?”

  Vincent climbed out of the car with the gun, and the dealer’s face turned ashen.

  “I’m sorry man,” he stammered, his hands in the air in surrender. “I…I forgot—”

  “You forgot?” Trey shouted. He swung a punch, knocking the man down. “Then I guess I didn’t make a good enough impression.”

  Vincent watched, still, frozen, while Trey beat and kicked the drug dealer. After a minute, Trey ordered Vincent to join in. Though a knot was forming in his stomach, Vincent knew he needed to prove himself. Together, he and Trey pounded on the drug dealing kid until he was a bloody, mangled mess on the ground. Stepping back, Trey let out a huge sigh of relief. The anger was gone from his face now, leaving him looking relaxed and calm.

  “Now shoot him,” he said as he stepped away.

  “What?” Vincent exclaimed, turning to gape at Trey in shock. “He’s a kid!”

  “I said shoot him,” Trey snapped, pronouncing each word carefully. “Take his knee. He won’t be peddling on any street corners then.”

  Vincent looked back down at the beaten kid in pity. As he pressed the barrel of the gun against the kid’s knee, he started to squirm and writhe.