Frivolous: A DARK MAFIA AGE-GAP ROMANCE

by Veronica Lancet

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  No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the publisher and author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published.

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

  Frivolous

  Copyright© Veronica Lancet 2021

  Edited by: Alex M.

  Beta read by: Oana D.

  Blurb

  She was the beauty in a gilded cage.

  He was the beast out for her destruction.

  THE BEAST IN THE SHADOWS

  Bastiano "Bass" DeVille is not a good man, and he's never professed to be one. He lives, breathes, and kills for the famiglia. And in a world where money rules, blood is spilled and corpses abound, he is a king among men. After all, five years in prison have only increased his appetite for violence. And now... he has a new target.

  The girl with stars in her eyes and thorns in her heart.

  THE BELLE OF THE BALL

  Gianna Guerra's blinding beauty and glamorous life propelled her into the spotlight, bringing the New York City high society to her feet. Cruel and patronizing, people would rather be in her good graces than at the end of her tongue. But one failed engagement and her world threatens to fall apart. Because she may be the Queen Bee, but even mean girls have feelings. And Gianna's might just take her on the road of no return.

  DEFILE. DEBASE. DESTROY.

  May the wickedest win.

  Frivolous is an enemies-to-lovers, age-gap, bodyguard dark mafia romance. It is a standalone in the Morally Questionable world. Please be advised that it contains a lot of sensitive themes. Read the triggers before proceeding.

  Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Preface

  Family Trees

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  For anyone struggling with invisible illnesses.

  You're not alone.

  Preface

  Dear reader,

  Frivolous is a standalone in the Morally Questionable world and it takes place ten years before the events in the Morally Questionable Series.

  This isn't as dark as my other books, but it still tackles a number of sensitive issues.

  There are mentions and depictions of sexual assault/abuse as well as situations that would fall under the umbrella of non-con/dub-con (perpetuated by the hero). There are also depictions of substance abuse, self-harm and suicide that might be triggering to some.

  Please proceed with care!

  P.S. The hero is an asshole and you might hate him.

  TRIGGER WARNINGS: anxiety, death, derogatory terms, child abuse, drugs, guns, graphic violence, graphic sexual situations, depictions of torture, grooming, mental illness, murder, molestation, rape, non-con/dubcon, self-harm, sexual assault, substance abuse, suicide.

  Family Trees

  Chapter One

  Wiping the blood off my knuckles, I give one last kick to the man currently writhing in pain on the floor. I already had an inkling that my welcome party would include fists. Good thing I'd had plenty of exercise over the years, my entire body primed for fighting.

  The perks of spending half a decade in a state prison.

  Known for their lax regulations, every day had basically been a battlefield. And when everyone hates you, there's an unlimited supply of challengers.

  Ah, but I'd never lost.

  Funny how my fists had landed me in jail and my fists had kept me alive there. It seems fitting, though, since my entire measure has always been the amount of destruction I could wreck on an enemy.

  But that's just who I am.

  I live, breathe, and kill for the famiglia.

  Leaving the injured men behind, I head down to the basement where my welcome committee is. Reaching the landing, I nod to the guard and open the door.

  My nephews are all sitting by a round table, thick smoke permeating the air as they bicker over poker chips.

  I can see the shape of a woman under the table, on her knees as she's servicing two men at once. Rolling my eyes, I head straight to the empty seat, unholstering my gun and placing it on the table with a resounding thud.

  Their voices stop, and I wait for their reactions as they scrutinize my face, unspoken questions on their lips.

  "Bass," Cisco is the first to speak, rising to his feet. "Good to see you old man," he exclaims, drawing me into a hug. He's also the only one looking at me with a straight face.

  And the only one keeping it in his pants.

  I grunt, shaking his hand and resuming my seat.

  Dario's eyes are bulging in his head, and he blinks rapidly as he stares into my face—or what's left of it.

  Yet no one dares to say anything.

  The woman, who I can only assume is a hooker, places one hand on my knee, the other already on my zipper.

  "Don't," I swat her hand aside, my voice grave.

  Her eyes peek at me from under the table, the horror on her face unmistakable, as well as her relief as she scoots back, resuming her previous activities.

  "Bass, old man, don't tell me your time in jail has turned you away from women," Dario jokes amid sloppy blowjob sounds.

  "I don't want your fucking STDs," I growl, already growing tired of their antics.

  I should have known five years would be too little for them to grow the fuck up.

  "What STDs?" Dario asks, eyes wide. "There's no such thing here," he smirks, his hand in the woman's hair as he makes her gag on his cock.

  Children...

  I shake my head at him, his ignorance not my business. If he wants to believe that mouths don't carry STDs then he's my guest. I simply can't wait to hear when he gets the itches, and then we'll see who's laughing.

  "You'd think that after five years you'd be eager to resume your life, uncle." Cisco notes with the rise of an eyebrow.

  I just shrug.

  "I can't help it if I have standards. Unlike some of us..." I trail off, tilting my head in Dario and Amo's directions.

  Amo's kept quiet until now, but I see the trace of a sheepish smile on his face. After all, as the youngest, he's always seen Dario as his role model and had always taken after him. Too bad he's chosen the worst he could follow.

  "I have standards too," Dario chimes in, "she needs a cunt and two spare holes," he winks smugly at Amo, as if he just said the greatest piece of western philosophy.

  I don't know if I'd call that standards or desperation.

  Everyone knows that Dario hasn't been the best at getting female attention until way after he'd reached puberty. And since
then, he's decided to plow his way through the entire population of willing females.

  But if that's his minimum requirement, then so be it.

  I've always preferred quality over quantity, proof being that I haven't gotten laid in over eight years. Or is it more? Fuck, I can't even remember, and that's saying something. But even before my short layover in jail I'd been very discerning about potential partners. And the minimum requirement has always been a clean bill of health.

  You'd think that would be easy, but the evidence points to the contrary. I should know since I've been visiting my father's bordellos for years to collect fees. And when you're privy to the inner workings of whorehouses, you tend to become a little pickier. The number of times johns refuse to wrap it up is insane, and I can only imagine the shit that they spread in and out of the brothels. That's not to say the cases in my own family...

  Just like Dario, who even now snorts arrogantly as if having his cock in a whore's mouth is such an achievement. Although... I doubt anyone would fuck him for free, so there's that.

  "Dario." Cisco raises an eyebrow, after which Dario promptly shuts up. Not without a pout though, before he concentrates his attention on the whore at his feet.

  If anyone's able to rein these two under control, it's Cisco. Only a few years older than them, he's decades ahead in maturity and life experience.

  And it shows.

  His father's heir, he is the one who calls the shots in the absence of the capo. And since my brother's health had gotten progressively worse, now unable to move around except in a wheelchair, Cisco's in charge of everything. Though he is four years younger than me, I can only comply, since I simply follow the chain of command. It's not a hardship, though. Not when I respect the man and agree with his decisions.

  My brother is lucky his first born wasn't an idiot like Dario, or we'd have a revolution on our hands.

  "Can't say I missed this." I mutter under my breath, suddenly my cold cell sounding more appealing than the squabbling of children. "Why don't we get to the point of this meeting," I nod at them.

  "Guerra," Amo blurts out, though he immediately censors himself when Cisco gives him a grim look.

  "I know it's been just..." Cisco looks at his watch, "twenty-one hours since you got out of prison, uncle. But this job requires your expertise."

  "Out with it." I lean back in my chair, curious what they'd have to say.

  It might be less than a day since I've been released from jail, but it's not as if I have any pending matters. After all, I've given my entire life to the famiglia. They were the reason I did time, but they were the reason I got out before my time too.

  The corner of my mouth pulls up as I remember just how the cops had caught me. In the middle of nowhere, without a care for who might hear or see, I'd just snapped. My fists had been red soaked in blood as I was pummeling away at an already dead man. I'd only stopped from my rage when headlights had shined down on me.

  Faced with irrefutable proof, there hadn't been much anyone could do to get me off the hook. And so they had charged me with manslaughter and slapped me with a life sentence. Of course, a few bribes here, a few threats there, and I'd managed to get out early.

  That doesn't mean the time I did behind bars didn't leave its mark on me. Hell, I'm yet to find out just how much four walls and exquisite company can change a man in five years.

  And I'll have the eternal memento staring me in the face every time I look in the mirror, the jagged lines crossing my face a perpetual reminder of what can happen when you're the most hated man inside.

  Jail isn't that pleasant when you're part of the most insular crime family on the East Coast. I might not have gone to war, but I've become used to sleeping with an eye open to avoid a knife wound in a critical spot. Other areas? Cool. It happens. But while a scratch here, one there is nothing to worry about, a mortal wound is. I do still value my life, even though it might not seem so.

  "What's with Guerra?" I grind my teeth as I say the name.

  The reason we're the most insular crime family.

  The conflict with Guerra originates on the continent, before our families came to America to start a new life. There are different versions, depending on who you ask. From land disputes, to betrayal to simply a squabble over women—since, when is it not?

  From what I'd gathered, though, the squabble had been over one particular woman, who'd been playing with two men at the same time—a Guerra and a DeVille.

  This had been around the turn of the century, and both men had been too proud to admit that they'd been played. Instead, they'd decided to solve matters in a very public duel which had resulted in both their deaths. The families had been incensed and had vowed retribution against the other. And so a game of cat and mouse had begun, each family trying to one up and ruin the other.

  The reason for the conflict might have been paltry, but the enmity had gotten progressively worse with every generation. And in our generation the conflict had only been exacerbated by personal differences between my brother, Giacomo, and Benedicto's brother, Franco, who had once more quarreled over a woman. So our family had decided to go all out on Guerra.

  After all, it's not as if they aren't constantly trying to do the same to us. But this is a game of who can outsmart the other first.

  "Benedicto's daughter is of age," Cisco says, his eyes on me.

  Tilting my head back, I raise an eyebrow, waiting to hear the entire story.

  "He's been trying to marry her off to Agosti."

  "I should hope that's not the case anymore," I reply slowly.

  A connection with Agosti, one of the most powerful families in New York, would certainly give Benedicto the advantage to take us head on.

  For years now we've managed to keep them leashed into a financial submission of sorts, by never allowing them to make good alliances or investments. It's given us an edge in dealing with them, but it has also been satisfying to watch them struggle. While their own businesses are doing well enough, our interference has ensured they've never been able to grow and expand.

  A wolfish smile appears on Cisco's face as he pours himself more alcohol.

  "Indeed. And we didn't even have to kill the groom," he chuckles, "though we tried."

  "He still lives?" I inquire, both in shock and surprise. The former because I know Cisco never plays around, and the latter because he'd been daring enough to go after the son of a capo.

  "His death became... unnecessary." His eyes glint dangerously. "He's officially a married man and unlikely to disrupt our plans."

  "Then why did you call me if you have everything figured out?"

  "Because," he pauses, a lopsided smile appearing on his face, "war never stops. War is eternal," his face suddenly morphs in a perverse grin.

  "Right," I add drily. "And how can I be of help in this eternal war?"

  "Benedicto's looking for another groom," Amo rolls his eyes. "And we think he has several businessmen lined up."

  "Business interests," Cisco nods. "We can't exactly ensure he won't turn to anyone else unless we do something about his daughter."

  "What did you have in mind?" I ask, curious.

  Cisco might be many things, but I've never heard of him being cruel to women. In fact, it might be said that he's only human to them.

  "Don't worry, uncle," he's quick to say when he sees my apprehensive expression. "She's not that innocent."

  "I'm surprised Dario hasn't fucked her yet," Amo interjects, amused. "Since she fucks everyone," he drawls towards his cousin.

  I frown.

  Regardless of our animosity towards the Guerra, I know for a fact that Benedicto is a very traditional man. I doubt he would allow his daughter to go off the rails as they are implying.

  "Explain." I prompt Cisco, ignoring the way Amo and Dario tease each other with their former conquests.

  "She's very popular in high society circles, and rumors fly," he shrugs.

  "And you believe these rumors?"

  "I d
o. I have no reason not to. There have been numerous accounts of the debauchery she partakes in. Why, the parties those nouveau riche throw," he whistles. "You've never seen so much coke in your life."

  "He's right," Dario interrupts. "I've been to a few, and man, those rich girls?" he shakes his head, an amused smile on his face, "they suck cock better than a seasoned whore. No offense, dear," he pats the woman still gagging on his dick.

  "I've never seen one so willing for a quickie. You just have to listen to them complain about rich girl problems and up their skirts go," he laughs.

  "And Benedicto knows about this?" I ask, my eyebrows furrowing.

  I just can't believe that someone as traditional as Benedicto would stand by and let his daughter engage in that type of behavior. It's not only her reputation, but the honor of the family too.

  Cisco shrugs.

  "I don't think he has the ears to hear. Gianna is the apple of her father's eye. By all accounts, he'd sanctioned the match with Agosti because Gianna had wanted it. You know the drama with his first wife," he rolls his eyes.

  Benedicto might be traditional, but he isn't any less facetious than other made men. His first marriage had been one of convenience, and everyone had been aware that there had been no lost love between him and his wife. He'd had two children by her, Gianna and her brother Michele. But not long before Michele's birth he'd met and fallen in love with Cosima, a poor first generation Italian girl from the Bronx. She'd quickly become his mistress, and his entire attention had been focused solely on her.

  Suspiciously, his wife had dropped dead soon after she'd given birth to Michele. By this point, Cosima had also fallen pregnant, and Benedicto had wasted no time in marrying her to legitimize their child—Rafaelo.

  "Gianna doesn't get along with Cosima," Cisco continues. "So like any man full of regret, Benedicto's overcompensating by spoiling her rotten. He's simply blinded by his dutiful daughter. Do you think someone like that would believe she's anything less than perfect?"

  "I don't get it." I mutter. "Wouldn't Gianna's behavior reflect on her entire family? I've never heard of a made man allowing any woman in his family those liberties."