Taken: A Dark Italian Mafia Romance (Men of Mayhem Book 3)

by Kristen Luciani

  He’s got no response.

  He knows Marco is his father’s guy.

  He knows Marco will always be his father’s guy.

  Unless…

  His hand creeps around the back of his tuxedo jacket and he pulls out a gun from the waistband of his pants.

  His friends step back, hands in the air as Gio circles Marco.

  “You think you’re so much better than me, huh? How the fuck will you get out of this one, Marco? How will you work with the Mexicans if you’re fucking dead?”

  “Gio,” I mutter, nodding my head at the other guys and directing them back to the party so they don’t have to witness what’s about to happen next.

  Or rather, what I have to stop from happening. Now’s my time to take control of this situation, that’s what I’m paid for.

  “Let’s not do this tonight, okay?”

  Gio’s hand stays steady on the trigger, the gun pointed right between Marco’s terror-filled eyes. I’ve got to hand it to the guy. Fear is etched into his expression, but he never backs down. His body stays strong and stiff, his jaw set. He knows he’s looking death in the eye, but he’s not begging for his life like a pussy.

  “What the hell do you know, Tommy? Have you ever had to deal with this kind of shit? Did your father ever pull this kind of crap with you? Hiring douchebags like Marco to do what you should’ve been doing because you’re his son and he should’ve wanted you to take over one day?”

  Good Christ, sometimes I think working with the fucking drug lords would be safer than trying to reel in Gio who is just desperate to make a name for himself and be taken seriously by his father.

  Talk about daddy issues. He’s got ’em bad.

  It’s ironic that he asked about my father, who never respected any of his sons and kept us in the dark more often than not.

  He never played favorites with us.

  We were all equally useless to him, which is why we’re still struggling to survive.

  “This guy,” he hisses, pressing the gun into Marco’s chest. “He walks around like he’s the fucking king, like he’s gonna take over what belongs to me.” Gio shoves his face right into Marco’s. “And nobody is gonna beat me at this game, you got that, dick?”

  He’s going to cause hell for his family because the older he gets, the more unhinged he becomes, and that hell fire will rain down on Gemma.

  His father knows it and so do I.

  I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen, to keep Gio in check, and to help keep the Cassarella family sitting on top of the mountain until it’s time for them to be thrown over the side.

  I let out a shaky breath as Gio’s rage builds.

  He’s always only half a step away from unleashing the pent-up fury that’s been building for years.

  I’m the only one who can keep it from exploding.

  Because it’s not Marco that he should be suspicious of.

  It’s me.

  “You’ve got to cut this shit out now, Gio,” I hiss, grabbing his arm and looking around. “Your father will be pissed as hell if he knows you’re pulling this crap tonight, of all nights.” I need Marco alive. So does Gio, even though he doesn’t know it yet. But drunk, amped-up Gio isn’t much for talking. He’s much more about action. And right now, action is exactly what I want to avoid.

  For two big reasons.

  Freddie and Gemma.

  “Stay the hell out of my way, Tommy!” he shouts, shaking off my arm. “And how come you’re always buried up my father’s ass? Don’t you have enough of your own family shit to focus on? He’s not your goddamn father!”

  Damn, that stung.

  I grit my teeth, feeling my fingers twitch. I wanna take such a fucking punch at Gio. He deserves it, the entitled jerkoff that he is!

  He has no clue that my family shit is tangled up in his family shit.

  And that I’m literally drowning in it all.

  “Keep an eye on things tonight,” Freddie says to me before I leave his office to change for the party. He puffs on his Cuban cigar, reclined in his cordovan leather recliner. “Something big is going to happen. Make sure you keep Gio occupied so he doesn’t interfere. And you’d better keep Gemma and Marchella safe. This doesn’t touch them, understand?”

  I rub the back of my neck, struggling against the urge to leap at Gio and pummel him into the core of the Earth for that comment. A few sharp breaths escape my mouth, but I refuse to play into his hands. He’s looking for a fight, and hell, at this point, he’ll pull that trigger no matter who’s staring down the barrel. I’ll kick his ass later, but right now, I need that gun out of his hand. A quick look at my watch reminds me that I’ve been out here for way too long.

  “Jesus Christ, Gio,” Marco mutters. “Bad enough you’re an asshole to your enemies. But since you have as many friends as I have cocks, you really should watch what you say.”

  Gio’s shoulders quake, his glare murderous. But instead of just focusing it on Marco, he makes sure I get equal airtime. “Should I gamble? Should I press my luck, alienate everyone, and then shoot off your dick?” He lets out a dry chuckle.

  My eyes fall to Marco and even though he’s beaten to a pulp, he doesn’t back down. And he won’t stop running his mouth, which is just gonna piss Gio off even more.

  “Let this piece of shit go,” I mumble. “He’s a fucking errand boy. He’ll never be more than that to your father.” The lies slip out, and even if Gio suspects I’m blowing smoke up his ass, each word calms him.

  “Yeah,” he repeats, staring at Marco. “Find your own fucking family. Leave mine alone,” he seethes, lowering the gun.

  And then Marco…that fucking idiot…has the nerve to laugh. He’s holding the side that Gio kicked the crap out of, and if he’s in pain, it doesn’t show a bit. “Screw that, bitch. Your pops is just waiting for me and Gemma to get together. And once I knock her up and marry her, I’m taking over! I’m gonna be your boss!”

  “Oh, fuck,” I mutter, sweeping my hands through my hair. Did he seriously just say all of that shit to this ticking time bomb standing over him with a Beretta pointed at his forehead?

  A rumbling sound gets caught in Gio’s throat as he swings the gun across Marco’s face with a loud crack. He leans down close to where Marco moans, crumpled on the ground, a drizzle of blood appearing out of the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think I heard you right, Marco,” Gio hisses, punching him square in the jaw, the bones in Marco’s face shattering upon impact. He wails, clutching his jaw as Gio snickers. He looks up at me, his smile fading.

  “Don’t ever tell me what to do, Tommy. Don’t you ever fucking challenge me again!”

  “I’m looking out for you, Gio,” I say, grabbing his arm. “This isn’t the time or place. Do you really want to ruin your sister’s party because you got a bug up your ass about this guy?” I snarl, nodding my head at Marco writhing on the ground. “Deal with it tomorrow. He’s not worth it.”

  I look back at my watch.

  Too long. We’ve been out here too long. If Marco is gonna make a move, it’ll be soon…fast…and right now, all of Gio’s guys are watching us from the door. Nobody is inside the party.

  Nobody except Marco’s crew.

  And the rest of the Cassarellas.

  Gemma…

  “He’s a two-faced, lying piece of shit,” Gio mumbles. “I don’t know why my father trusts him.” He turns and kicks Marco one last time before I pull him away.

  “Gio,” I say, my eyes scouting the darkness. “The guy is a punk. You’re not losing anything to him.”

  All true.

  I leave out the part where it’s yours truly who’s already gotten his pockets lined by the boss because I sure as hell don’t want that gun pointed at me.

  Gio wouldn’t even think.

  He’d just fire.

  “He is a punk,” Gio repeats, turning his head toward Marco. “And he doesn’t know how to pick out a decent suit, either.”

  “See?” I say, twisti
ng in the direction of the door, my hand gripping Gio’s arm. “He’s a prick who can’t land a punch and he dresses like shit. I told you, he’s not worth the—”

  Pop!

  Bullet.

  “Goddammit, Gio!” I groan, falling to my knees next to him on the cobblestones.

  Marco’s body shudders, his hand trembling over the hole Gio just blew into his chest. Blood drizzles out of the corners of his mouth, his face white as the moon shining down on this whole shit show. A gurgling sound rumbles in his throat as he sputters and gasps for air. “Y-you c-can’t save h-h-h…” Seconds later, the struggle ends, and Marco’s head falls back onto the stone walkway, his eyes as wide open and vacant as the inside of Gio’s fucking head.

  What in the hell was he thinking?

  Gio just stares at Marco lying still on the ground, a pool of blood gathering underneath him. Then he turns to me, points his gun into the air, and blows on the tip. “You can stop crying over him, Tommy. He’s gone. Fucking finally! And I’m all clear.”

  I clench my fists tight. “Clear for what?” I whisper-shout, straightening up.

  He grins. “To take my rightful place in this family, dipshit. There’s nobody else left to cockblock me now that Marco is outta the way.”

  I scrub a hand down the front of my face.

  Little does he know…

  I grab his arm and pull open the door leading back into the venue. One of Gio’s idiot peons, Devo something or other, watches us like a goddamn hawk and I shove my face in front of his. “Get the body out of here,” I hiss. “Now! And keep this quiet.”

  Devo pulls the other guys outside with him and I shove Gio against a wall while they clean up his mess. He’s still chuckling, making me want to smash his head in with a tequila bottle.

  I swallow hard past the strangled knot in my throat, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Do you even know what you’ve done tonight?”

  Gio shrugs, a smug grin on his face. “I took out the garbage.” A loud snicker escapes his lips. “Fucking literally.”

  My lips stretch into a straight line. I want to scream at him so he understands the consequences of what he just did, but I keep my mouth shut.

  I just have to do my job.

  My job…fuck.

  I look down at my watch and nod toward the room where the party is in full swing. “Get the fuck in there, Gio. Have a drink, eat a goddamn cannoli, and sit your ass in a chair. I’m gonna check on the guys to make sure they’ve got everything cleaned up. I’ll be back soon.”

  Gio snickers, swaying a little bit against the wall. “Jesus Christ, Tommy, don’t you ever get tired of being my father’s bitch? You cook for him, you clean up for him, what’s next? If he tells you to bend over, are you gonna drop your pants, too?”

  I narrow my eyes, taking a few steps closer to him. My mouth twists into a sneer. I know he’s drunk and angry about constantly being passed over by his father. I also know he’s full of rage and desperate to be accepted by Freddie.

  But I don’t fucking care.

  The corners of my lips curl upward. “Well, you are the expert in that department, aren’t you?”

  “That happened one fucking time during my threesome with Maria DeBenedicto, Tommy! And you know goddamn well it was because I was bombed out of my mind!” His eyes flash and he shoves me backward with a loud grunt. “And who the hell are you to talk to me like that, huh? All you do is hang around my father, licking up whatever crumbs he’s willing to drop for you.” His jaw twitches.

  But my fist twitches faster. So fast, I wind up without even realizing it. And when it flies toward him and my knuckles crack against the side of his face, he collides into the wall for the second time, his eyes wide with shock.

  So much for observing and controlling.

  “Watch your fucking mouth, Gio,” I growl, standing my ground, witnessing the exact reason why Freddie brought me into his organization in the first place.

  Best fucking friend, my ass.

  I play the part, but the show’s almost over for Gio.

  “Are you sure you wanna do this, Tommy?” Gio staggers in my direction. “Who do you think has your back? Huh? Now that your Pop is gone, who the fuck in your family has the muscle?”

  Marco’s words ring between my ears for the tenth time, so I push the laundry list of things I’d like to stab Gio with to the back of my mind and straighten my jacket. “Muscle is overrated.”

  “Says the guy who has none,” he says through clenched teeth. “For all I know, you and Marco were working together against me. Maybe my work’s not finished after all.” He reaches around the back of his jacket, a sinister grin on his face.

  In a blink, I loop my arm through his and tighten my grip on his wrist so his fingers loosen around the gun handle. “I’m not one of your bitches,” I mutter. “And the only reason you’re still alive to bang them three at a time is because of me. Just remember that before you even think of pulling a gun on me again.”

  I let him go and he rakes a hand through his hair, fire spitting from his murderous gaze. He may not like hearing it, but he knows it’s true. He needs me a hell of a lot more than I need him, and my patience is about to max out.

  Part of me wants to walk away and take my chances. Alone.

  The other part of me knows I can’t. My family was hit hard when Pop was killed, and if we have any shot of recovering, I need to find out who we’re up against.

  I also need Gemma.

  What I don’t need is Gio holding it over my head when he’s always half a second away from getting his own head blown off.

  He thinks I put up with his shit because we have a history.

  He doesn’t realize that when I want to give up and walk away from this whole shit show, Gemma is the one reason why I force myself to come back, day after day.

  “Get back to the party,” I say in a low voice. “Now.”

  He stalks off, and I let out a breath. I press my fingertips to my temples, my mind mapping out the estate we’re on right now as I walk back toward the exit door to check on things. There are two entrances to the exclusive club — one north and one south. But they wouldn’t come in cars. There’s a guest list at the security booth at the main gate. I’d get word almost immediately if anyone—

  I’m jolted from my frenzied thoughts when a set of determined fingers pulls me into the coat room. The door slams shut as a whiff of a familiar scent wafts under my nose.

  “Tommy,” Gemma whispers, her soft breath against my ear. She takes my hands and places them on her slim hips. My fingertips sizzle against the shiny fabric, so close to what lies underneath. My brain screams that I should pull them away. Right now. Before it’s too late.

  Something I should have done the first time they ended up there.

  Early this morning.

  But my body just laughs and tells my brain to fuck off.

  Yet again.

  “I never got a dance with you tonight. I came to collect,” she murmurs, sliding her hand up the side of my arm and stroking the back of my neck.

  My cock thickens, and I swallow a groan. “Gemma,” I mutter. “What are you doing?”

  What is she doing? What the hell am I doing?

  Or better yet, what have I done?

  She lets out a breathless giggle. “I just want to celebrate my birthday with you. I mean, this morning was great, but it wasn’t enough. And I don’t want to waste any more time. What can I say? I know what I want. And I want it again. Now.” She presses her body against me and I pull my head back, the only body part that I seem to have control of right now.

  I’m talking about the one attached to my neck, by the way.

  The other head is a fucking lost cause right now.

  “I’m not afraid of my father, Tommy. I’m old enough to make my own choices. You don’t have to hold back anymore.” Her cherry-red lips curl upward, and my own tingle with the urge to crush against hers, to devour her the way I did this morning, the way I’d always fantasiz
ed about doing, and to peel her out of that tight dress and feel her bare skin against me.

  It’s always been Gemma.

  I meant that when I said it.

  She may not be the reason why I first wandered into the Cassarella lair, but because of her, I’m trapped forever.

  Vince’s icy tone and harsh warning assault my mind once again.

  I know what’s at stake.

  But she makes it hard to care.

  “Your father—" I manage to rasp the one word that is powerful enough to throw a bucket of water on the flames rising inside of me as her hands explore what’s under my jacket. She slides her fingers over my chest, slipping them around my back.

  I stiffen as she slips my jacket off of my shoulders.

  “I’ve wanted this so badly, Tommy,” she whispers. “For so long, I didn’t understand why you kept pushing me away and I tried hating you for it, but it didn’t work. I’ve dreamt about you…about this…and I know you have, too. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at me. And I felt it today in your kitchen.” Her mouth is hot against my neck, and I have to swallow a yelp when it grazes the skin behind my ear.

  One of my spots.

  How the fuck did she know that?

  She needs to stop! My cock strains against my pants, so hard, it’s ready to bust through the seams. My lips part, but no sounds come out. Yes, I want this. Yes, I’ve dreamt about this. Yes, I’ve whacked off to this exact scene more times than I can count. I think about Gemma twenty-three-and-a-half hours of every day, that last thirty minutes reserved for figuring out how to keep Gio from blowing shit up.

  I can’t lie to her.

  But I have to.

  I’ve already taken things too far.

  “Gemma, stop.” I grip her arms and gently push her away so I can see her half-hooded eyes in the thin streams of moonlight shining in from a nearby window. A shocked expression greets me.

  “Why?” she asks, her beautiful face a mess of confusion. “You want this. I know you do. I can feel it, Tommy! Are you going to try to tell me you don’t?”

  My chest tightens.

  “…keep an eye out…something is about to happen…something big…watch over my girls…make sure they’re safe…do your job…”