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

by Kristen Luciani

  “And why the hell is this guy dead, Tommy?” Vince’s face turns a deep shade of red, and if I wasn’t his brother, I’d expect him to fillet me, too, for going behind his back like this.

  “Because I needed a way to make Carlos talk. And he did,” I say through gritted teeth. “He just needed a little convincing, so I cut out his buddy’s heart. That’s when he told me it was Salazar who’s behind the whole thing. That bastard is selling his shit to us and then stealing it back when it’s in distribution!”

  Vince’s lips stretch into a thin line. “What else?”

  “He’s selling the stolen drugs to the fucking Villani family. I thought they were our allies, for fuck’s sake!” I point at the mess on my table. “And this guy is the message to Salazar that we know his game and we’re gonna tear his fucking ass apart.”

  Vince storms away from the table, pacing next to the elevator. “Wait, what do you mean, message?”

  I shrug. “I took some pictures and sent them to Salazar.”

  “You fucking did what?” Vince fists his perfectly coiffed hair, making it look like the crazy he’s about to become.

  “Do you know how much money he’s cost us because of his scam?” I ask. “What was I supposed to do? Bend over and let him keep fucking us dry?”

  “No! You come to me and we handle it as a fucking family!” Vince roars. “You don’t have the right to pull this shit on your own and then leave me to clean up the goddamn mess!”

  “If I waited for you to do your own audit, we’d be millions more in the hole,” I seethe. “I don’t like being dicked around, Vince!”

  “And I don’t like having to clean up your messes, Tommy,” he growls. “How many more times are you gonna put this family at risk because you can’t breathe unless your head is buried up your ass?”

  I stomp toward my brother, my jaw tight. “You want me to take action and do my job. How long have I heard those fucking words come out of your mouth?” My breaths are short and sharp, my heart thundering as the pent-up rage that’s been bottled up for the past two years courses through me. “‘Protect the family, Tommy!’ ‘Keep an eye on the enemy, Tommy!’ ‘Destroy anyone who gets too close, Tommy!’” My voice rises with each word, Ant and Diego watching me go off on my tirade, jaws dropped to the cement floor.

  Because I’m the easygoing one, the one who is always quick with a joke, the one who likes to make fancy cakes and duck confit for a living.

  Until I snap.

  Then, look the fuck out.

  And I’ve just snapped like a goddamn rubber band that’s been stretched way too far for way too long.

  “You wanted me to take action and to do my job? Well, I fucking did it, Vince! Okay? I did what you asked. And you know what?” I shove my chest against his. “I’m ready to deal with the consequences. From you, from Salazar. I don’t give a good goddamn who comes at me next. I’ll be ready. With a slicer in my fucking hand!” I yell, my voice ricocheting off the cinderblocks in the open space. I grab the knife and swing it around. It’s still stained with blood as I hold it out in front of me.

  “Get the hell upstairs,” Vince seethes, his fists clenched. He points at my brothers. “Now!”

  Ant and Diego exchange a look. “Vince, this is a family issue.”

  “The fuck it is!” Vince yells. “This has to do with me and Tommy. When I say it’s a family issue, then it’s a family issue. Until that happens, lose your fucking selves!”

  My brothers key into the elevator as Vince and I stand-off in the dank basement. If glares could maim, we’d both be in traction right now.

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on here?” Vince says, inching close to me.

  “Sounds like you’ve already got an idea,” I snarl right back. “Why don’t you enlighten me instead?”

  “I know exactly why you did it,” Vince says, his voice gruff. “You’re still pissed off about what happened with the Cassarellas. That’s what this is about. It’s been your MO for the past two years. You’ve challenged me on every move we’ve made since then.” His nostrils flare as his jaw locks. “Why? Because you missed the fucking boat and lost your girl. You made the error, and instead of making up for it, you’ve gone rogue to handle shit your own way to prove whatever the hell you think you need to prove.” He pokes me in the chest. “And I don’t like it. You may not give a shit about yourself, but don’t you dare make moves that can hurt the family. There are a lot of other people besides you in this organization and it’s not up to you to make decisions that will impact them. Tell me, if one of our enemies…enemies you’ve singlehandedly made over the past couple of years…come after Ava, Aleksandr, or Joseph, how would you feel? Do you even think about the kids? Do you think of your blood, Tommy?”

  A chill zips through me when Vince mentions my niece and nephew, Cristian and Gianna’s kids, but his caustic tone doesn’t make me cower.

  Fuck that.

  This is all his fault.

  He watched my life crumble the night of Gemma’s party. He watched it unravel. He knew how I felt, and he just let it happen! I did exactly what he wanted, and he saw me die a slow death during the aftermath. I lost Freddie, I lost Gemma, and I lost my damn self in the process.

  Everything. It was all swept away in the blink of an eye. Taking action on behalf of my family is the only way I feel I can make myself whole again. “It was your idea to get into bed with that fucker Salazar. How much more money were we supposed to lose?” I shout.

  “It wasn’t your responsibility to take on the cartel. You should have come to me first!”

  “Well, now we have a situation, don’t we?” I drop the knife in the sink and it clatters against the steel.

  “A situation you created.” Vince rubs the back of his neck. “You’ve got to let this shit go, Tommy. You’re either part of this family or you’re not. But I am not putting up with your crap anymore. I’ve protected you every time you’ve pulled a dumbass stunt to prove yourself, but I won’t do it anymore. I won’t put the family at risk for you. Get your fucking head on straight because you’re about to have two very big problems on your hands.”

  “Salazar is one person,” I mutter, leaning over the sink. “I’m not worried about Villani.”

  “I didn’t say Villani, did I?” Vince says, lifting an eyebrow.

  “So who else is coming for me?” As if I care. I sleep with a slicer under my pillow, for Christ’s sake.

  “Gio Cassarella just got out of prison about a week ago.”

  Tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention at the mention of the Cassarella name. I’d kept tabs on him since the night of Gemma’s party, knowing he’d be back for me at some point. But soon after the party, he went off the rails when his gambling addiction ran out of control and he burned through his father’s money…whatever wasn’t hidden in offshore accounts. He was choked by debts and ran his father’s organization into the ground. He bankrupted himself, his mother, and Gemma in a matter of months because he was too drunk and sky-fucking-high to handle the operation. In the end, I got lucky when he was caught running dope and guns and had his ass thrown in prison for twelve to fourteen months.

  It was nice to not have to look over my shoulder for that chunk of time since I’d been looking ever since I walked out of the hospital two years ago.

  But luck is fucking fleeting, I guess.

  “Let him come for me. I don’t give a shit. There are plenty of guys who are dying to cut off his fucking dick to settle his gambling debts.” I stuff my hands in my pockets as Carlos’s muffled cries get louder.

  I lean back against the counter, my shoulders sagging. Nah, Gio definitely doesn’t scare me.

  But Gio isn’t the reason why I’ve become so unhinged.

  Gemma is.

  “She and her mother are still off the grid,” Vince volunteers, not even bothering to say her name.

  “I didn’t ask,” I grunt.

  “I can see it on your face.” He pauses. “Y
ou’re not responsible for what happened.”

  “Yeah, I am.” That’s all I say. There’s really no reason to mince words.

  I’d rather just save my energy and mince Gio when he shows up.

  Which he will because he just never learns his lesson.

  “Watch yourself, Tommy,” Vince says, his words laced with a not-so-subtle warning. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  I nod at him as he turns the key in the elevator lock and disappears inside.

  He’s not wrong. I let the anger grab hold of me, consume me, and now there’s a lot more in danger than just me. These cartel leaders don’t believe in an eye for an eye. When they want revenge, nobody is safe.

  Nobody.

  So I have only one choice.

  Find Gio before he finds me and put a bullet in his brain.

  I collapse into a nearby chair, stretching my legs out in front of me. I grab a wrinkled, folded-up piece of paper from my pocket and carefully spread it out on my lap.

  A lump forms in my throat as I hear Gemma’s voice speak the words I’ve stared at so many times in the past. The ink is smudged, the edges of the page frayed, and the words are so familiar to me, I don’t even need to read them.

  But seeing her swirly handwriting makes me feel closer to her, and knowing she poured her heart into this passage gifts me with a tiny part of her.

  It’s all I have left.

  Her journal is still safely stored in my kitchen drawer, but this page is always with me, and not a day goes by that I don’t read it.

  I really fucked up by letting her go.

  Carlos lets out another muffled yell. I expel a deep breath and struggle to my feet before walking over to the sink again. I pick up the slicer again and walk over to the mini-dungeon where Carlos has probably just shit himself.

  And if he didn’t…

  I stare at the sharp tip of my knife.

  He’s sure as hell gonna once I open the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gemma

  I gape at the cashier behind the glass window in the Student Services offices. “What do you mean, bounced?”

  “Your tuition check bounced, Miss Cassarella.” The white-haired woman looks at me, a sympathetic expression on her face. “If you cannot afford to pay in the next two weeks, you will not be permitted to attend class or get your final semester grades. Your status as a student will lapse.”

  “But,” I rasp, a gaggle of angry tears knotted in my throat. “I don’t understand! The money was there! Are you sure—?”

  She nods. “I processed the payment with your bank three times. There is not enough to cover your debt, and you clearly don’t have overdraft protection.”

  “Overdraft protection? As in, extra money just laying around for a rainy day?” I ask in a high-pitched screech, my fists balled at my sides. “Yeah, good guess! No, I don’t have that! Evidently, I don’t have anything, including results for all of the damn work I did this semester!”

  How the fuck could I have messed up and overdrawn my account?

  Then realization dawns on me.

  A past-due bill from Mama’s latest surgery. Fucking collections must have stuck their hand in my goddamn cookie jar for the money, leaving me short my tuition payment.

  “Argh!” I yelp, pressing my fingertips to the sides of my temples.

  The woman looks around with concern and approaches the window, dropping her voice. “Miss Cassarella, I understand that you’re upset, but—”

  “Oh, you do?” I slam my palms onto the counter and lean in close, my pulse throbbing out of control. “You understand what it’s like to pinch pennies every single day so you can get to class and feed yourself because all of the money and hopes and dreams you had for your future just went up in smoke, taking one of the most important people in your life with them? You understand how difficult it is to work full time and go to school full time so you can pay for not only your rent, but your mother’s medical bills, too, because she’s permanently disabled from a horrific car accident? You understand how gut wrenching it is to hear that your student status is about to lapse, leaving you with absolutely no way of finishing university or finding a job to sustain you after graduation so you never have to depend on anyone ever again?” I clutch the edge of the counter so tight, my fingers turn white. My lips quiver and tears sting my eyes. “Do you understand all of that?” I lean back and peer at her name tag. “Bettina?”

  Bettina’s jaw drops and spots of pink pop into her plump cheeks. “I-I can’t say that I do.”

  I let out a sigh. “Thank you for your honesty. So please, before you say you understand anything about my life, just know this. You don’t!” I turn away from the window in a huff, my lips stretched tight across my face. I ignore the stares and the hushed voices and the pointing fingers.

  Fuck them all!

  They have no idea what it’s been like for me since Papa was killed.

  Since my life was turned upside down and inside out.

  And since I was betrayed and abandoned by the man I loved.

  I storm out of the office and down the stairs until I finally make it outside and fall onto a bench in the quad. I cover my face with my hands, letting the pent-up tears flow.

  They say time heals all wounds, yet the hole in my heart only gets bigger with each passing day.

  For the past couple of years, I’ve had my studies to keep me occupied and sane. I was almost happy at times.

  Hopeful that I might be able to create a good, solid future for myself.

  The pain of loss and rejection still festered deep within my soul, but I still forced myself to look forward, to create new dreams and goals for myself.

  And for a while, it worked.

  I became cautiously optimistic.

  Then our money ran out.

  I grit my teeth and swipe at the tears under my eyes.

  Or rather, my asshole brother pissed it all away on anything and everything he could gamble. He lost millions to every scumbag bookie who’d extend him credit and then accumulated losses plus ridiculous amounts of interest.

  And because Gio had run my father’s organization into the ground after taking it over, gambling was the only way he could try to make up for the financial ruin he’d caused.

  It didn’t work.

  He’d gotten the shit kicked out of him so much when he couldn’t repay his debts, I was seriously afraid he’d wind up dead in a ditch somewhere. But miraculously, he survived and became a collector instead. So instead of giving the orders, he went after gambling addicts like himself who couldn’t pay their debts. But it didn’t bring him as much cash as he needed to live, so he got sucked into life as a drug and gun-parts dealer to pay the bills. Then, fortunately or unfortunately for him, depending on how you look at it, he got caught running those drugs and was thrown in jail for over a year.

  It might very well have saved his pathetic life.

  My pathetic life, however?

  It still hangs in the balance.

  My shoulders droop as I collapse back against the metal bench. A picture catches my eye and I reach over to grab the random magazine that was abandoned by the previous occupant of this bench. The very magazine whose pages are fluttering in the breeze. I bring it close to my face, my eyes narrowed to slits as I study the image on the cover.

  Tommy Marcone with an arm snaked around some gorgeous brunette model who only has one name. Fuck. My. Life.

  I take one look at her flawless complexion, clear green eyes, and perfectly sleek hair, and immediately hate that one-named pretentious bitch.

  A disturbing thought clutches my heart.

  Is he sleeping with her?

  Or does he…love her?

  I fling the magazine across the pavement to get their smiling faces as far away from my miserable one as quickly as possible. I’ve seen the articles and the photos. I’ve watched the interviews. I’ve read the papers.

  All of his success.

  All of his money.

&n
bsp; All of his fucking fame.

  He can choke on it as far as I’m concerned!

  I spent so much time trying to figure out how to get him to love me, that I didn’t see the reality staring me down…that Tommy Marcone is a lowlife bastard who only cares about himself. He played me like a fucking violin, throwing me little crumbs, and I lapped them all up like a little puppy, hoping his feelings would finally take over.

  And then my life crumbled, and he blew out like a gust of wind.

  He’s a traitorous asshole who deserves to feel the same kind of pain I’ve experienced, and I hope his new restaurant burns to the fucking ground with him in it!

  Him and his model bitch girlfriend.

  I slap my hands against my thighs and stand up.

  No, I take that back. I’m not an evil bitch. The model can live.

  Tommy, though?

  Yeah, he can incinerate in hell.

  My cell phone rings as I head toward the bus stop since I can’t afford a car after mine was totaled in the accident. I take a deep breath, pull out my phone, and stab the Accept button. “Hey, Mama, how are you feeling today?”

  My mother’s weak voice makes my gut twist. “Not too bad. My left side is a little stiff, so I’ve stayed in bed a lot, resting.”

  I expel a breath through my nose and squeeze my eyes shut before any more tears have a chance to sneak out. It seems like our charmed lives went from fabulous to complete shit in a mere blink. My eighteenth birthday was supposed to signify a new beginning for me, the first chapter in my incredible story. And then the pages went up in flames and it quickly became the nightmare I can’t seem to wake up from.

  The beginning of the end.

  Severe nerve damage resulted in partial paralysis for Mama after the car accident that took place on the day of Gio’s verdict. We were devastated at the thought of him going to prison, and my eyes were so blurred with tears once we started driving that I didn’t notice the traffic light at the busy intersection a block from the courthouse had turned red before it was too late. A car plowed into the passenger side door leaving my beautiful, strong, and ever-optimistic mother, a woman who’d been my rock for as long as I could remember, bound to a wheelchair forever.