Owned by the Italian Mafia Don: A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Possessive Mafia Kings Book 2)
Owned by the Italian Mafia Don: Chapter 3

I’m cleaning the dishes while Caplan clears the dining room table. Mom and Dad are already passed out in front of the TV and have been watching all day for the most part. It was only me and Caplan for dinner. It’s always me and Cap. Mom and Dad checked out of our lives a long time ago.

“Cap?” I call him by his nickname and the clanking of dishes stops.

“Oh, no. Nope. I know that tone and I know that nickname. You call me that when you want something.”

“I do not.” I do. I definitely do.

“What is it, Rosie? Just spit it out.”

I squirt a little bit of soap on the dishes and grab the brush, giving it a good scrub. “I want to know the name of the place where this guy jumped you.”

“Rosie,” he exhales, setting the plates down on the counter next to me. “No way am I telling you that. First, you’ll lecture me. Second, I don’t want you to go there, and I know you. You’ll go. It isn’t safe for you.”

“And it’s safe for you?” I ask him, dropping the brush in the sink. “You could have gotten killed.”

“They will eat you alive there, Rosie. A pretty girl going to Amor? Come on. They will beg you to go on stage.” His eyes widen when he realizes what he said, and an evil grin takes over my face. “I didn’t mean Amor.”

“Amor, huh? That fancy gentlemen’s club on the other side of town?”

“Nope. No. Not that one. I’m getting it confused with another. It’s not that one.” His cheeks redden as he tries to cover up his mistake.

“Too late,” I singsong, gathering the brush in my hands again and scrubbing the pan.

“Please,” he begs. “Don’t go there.”

“I’m going. End of story. Don’t worry. I won’t cause any trouble. I promise. I want to go and just look around.”

“You always cause trouble even when you don’t mean to,” he states.

I gasp, hand to chest. “Not true.”

“It’s true and you know it. I’m asking you not to go. It might be an expensive place, but it isn’t a good place to be.”

“Why were you there then?”

“The strippers,” he says a little too bluntly. “I’m still a man.”

I pretend to gag. “Hardly.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “I’m going to my room.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “Please, don’t go. For me?” he pleads.

“I’ll think about it, but no one hurts my baby brother and gets away with it.”

He shakes his head, but relents, knowing he won’t win this fight, and walks away. He has to dip his head down, so he doesn’t hit the top of the doorway. When he is gone, I grip the edges of the sink and take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to get away with going to Amor Gentlemen’s Club.

Either way, I’m going and I’m going to do recon. I’m going to figure out why that stone is important and why they beat my brother in the first place.

I dry my hands and disappear into my room, deciding that, if I’m going to go, I’m going to look the part. I need to wait a few hours to make sure Caplan is asleep or he will try to come with me, and he can’t. It’s too risky for him. He’ll be in danger whereas I’ll just be someone new.

I don’t have time to straighten the mess of curls, so to tame them I grab a bottle of mousse. “Oh, shit, shit, shit,” I chant, watching the tower of foam grow in my palm.

I always use too much.

Once my hair is as good as it is going to get, I put on some make-up. Heavy on the mascara and I decide on a pink gloss that makes my lips look pouty. Rummaging through my closet, I grab a pair of red heels and the only tight black dress I have.

I slip it on, running my hands down my sides while I look in the mirror. It’s been so long since I’ve had on anything other than jeans and a T-shirt, I’ve forgotten what I look like outside of them. I snag my purse, my phone, and then peek out my bedroom door to stare at Caplan’s. His door is wide open.

The hallway is carpeted so my heels don’t make noise. I peek my head into his room and notice he is already asleep on his bed, arm tossed over his head, and hushed snores coming from his parted mouth. Surveying the room, my gaze lands on the gem sitting on top of his dresser as if it isn’t worth a ton of money, but something he found on the side of the road instead.

I tiptoe by his bed, snagging it from the dresser. I take a moment to look at it and realize that, whatever it is, it’s an uncut gem. It’s round but a few parts of it are rough and jaded. I slip it in my purse and there’s a beat where I feel horrible about going to the club behind his back.

But I need to know just how deep my brother is in with the Bianchi crime family. Do we need to move? I want to confront the man who hurt him anyway.

I leave, snagging my car keys from the hook.

The door creaks as I open it, echoing down the hall. It’s hard to believe that after all the hard work, blood, sweat, and tears in this life, we somehow still live in an apartment that is barely standing on its foundation. Water drips from the ceiling and down the drywall, old stains are left in the leak’s path, the lights flicker when people walk upstairs, and there’s a moldy, musky smell always lingering in the air.

I’m tired of living like this.

Which in turn makes me feel bad because all I do lately is complain, but I guess that’s what happens when the soul is tired. Everything around me exhausts me and I’m tired of acting like it will all be okay.

I open my purse to double-check that my pink knife is still sitting at the bottom.

Bingo.

I carry it with me everywhere I go. Being a single woman isn’t easy and I’ll be damned if I let a man touch me without getting sliced and diced first.

“Rosie,” Ms. Henderson, the lovely elderly woman who lives next door catches me just as I begin down the steps. “You look like a hooker,” she blurts. “Good for you.”

I chuckle, my cheeks hurting from how hard I’m smiling. “Thank you, Ms. Henderson. I’m going out. I think I deserve it.”

“You do, honey. Come back with a hot piece. I live through you now.”

“Will do.” I wave at her before pushing the door open into the heat of the night.

Humidity wraps around my skin like a heavy cloak and sweat threatens to bead across my neck as I walk swiftly to the car. My heels click against the pavement, and I turn a few heads while people walk by me, but I don’t care about them.

I have one goal in mind and it’s by far one of the most reckless things I’ve ever done in my life. I’m known as a thinker, someone who always has a plan, but I’m tired of planning. I’m tired of being the one who always has their head on their shoulders. My planning, my thinking, clearly has gotten me nowhere in life. I’m working a dead-end job trying to save a family business that can’t be saved. I don’t know why I bother trying. Maybe my issue is that I think too much, I plan too much, and I hope too much.

My brother is my everything. He’s young and he isn’t trapped like I am. I want him to have a way out, and desperate people do desperate things, so that’s exactly what I’m doing tonight.

Find the guy that hurt my brother and maybe I can make sure my brother’s life is safe.

I get into the old Buick that’s been in the family way too long and somehow it still runs. It’s rusted and loud. The belt screeches when I turn the engine and I wince. The loud sound eventually fades as I drive out of the parking lot.

The drive across town is quick since I’m lost in my head, and nerves decide to get the best of me. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

I pass the parking lot to the club, knowing I can’t park this piece of crap car in the same place filled with Rolls Royces and Lamborghinis.

How the hell did my brother get into this place?

I park in an abandoned lot a block away and take a deep breath, clutching the wheel as tightly as possible. Am I really going to walk into the lion’s den? What if I do this and they know? What if I don’t make it out alive?

“You’re being dramatic,” I tell myself, releasing the wheel. “I’m a single woman going in there for a good time. Nothing more.” I remind myself of the plan. I have to stick to the plan. Opening my purse, the gem stares at me as I grab my lip gloss to touch it up.

I close my purse quickly, not wanting to be reminded of what I’m about to do. Climbing out of my car, I hold my chin high and strut down the sidewalk. I’ve always been told I have a resting bitch face, so I let it rest, making sure everyone who sees me knows I’m not in the mood to fuck around.

I’m already losing my damn courage when my feet begin to hurt from these stupid heels. I remember why I don’t wear them anymore. They are terrible. I don’t know why women choose to do this to themselves.

When I get to the front of the building, I swallow the pain and cover it up by pushing through it. The club is classy, finished with a matte black, with a large wooden door that three people can fit through. A purple light lines the bushes out front, and a red rope keeps the line in check, so I step in and wait my turn. I think about the name Amor and laugh.

They could have been more creative in naming the place, but what do I know? I only work at a very successful failing general store named O’Connor’s.

The line doesn’t move for what seems like hours, but a man dressed in a suit that’s probably more expensive than what I could ever dream of making stops at my side. His eyes roam me up and down and I have to swallow the urge to roll my eyes.

I’m here to learn information and I can’t do that if I let my attitude loose.

He grins, unclipping the rope. “Welcome to Amor,” he holds out a hand for me, and with a fake smile, I slip my palm across his. “Beautiful,” he says, bringing the top of my hand to his lips to kiss my knuckles. “I love your hair.” He plucks a curl, straightens it, then lets it go to watch it bounce.

“Thank you,” I pretend to be breathless.

“Ralphie, let this one in,” he shouts over his shoulder to the bouncer.

The big guy nods, the purple light reflecting from his bald head, and opens the door.

“Thank you.” I bite my lip at the guy who allowed me out of the line.

“Oh, you’re welcome, sweetie.” A thick accent of some kind make his words seem harsher. New York, maybe? I don’t know. His eyes eat me up as I back away from him and a few people in line shout in anger. They want to go inside the club too. “Hey, shut the fuck up before I make you stand out here all night,” the guy threatens.

Everyone falls silent.

“Have a good time,” the bouncer states, opening the door for me to reveal a very dark room. His voice is thick with an accent too, but foreign. The way he says those four words creep up my spine and make my skin crawl in fear.

Our eyes meet and they are a cold, ice blue, making me feel like I’ve stepped into a tundra.

I swallow, giving him an unsure smile. I put a pep in my step because fuck that guy and walk further into the dark club.

The music is so loud, having a conversation won’t happen. The lights change from purple to blue, an apparent theme they want to keep, and private booths circle the main stage. The tables are set strategically so everyone can see the stages. To the left though was a hallway that didn’t leave much to the imagination for what happened back there.

I bet that’s where all the private rooms are.

The song changes and a woman saunters on stage, placing her back against the long, silver pole. I take a seat at the bar, wanting to keep my distance, and the bartender, a man in a tight black shirt stretched over his chest, leans over the counter so I can hear him speak.

“What can I get you, Beautiful?” he has an accent too.

Equally charming and dangerous.

“Can I have a dirty martini? But make it dirty with extra olives, please.”

He smirks. “A filthy martini, for the filthy girl. Got it,” he winks at me.

Oh, please.

I want to roll my eyes again.

Men. Do they think saying a compliment that has no meaning behind it will work on a woman? Maybe I’m just complicated.

“Thank you so much.” I wince when I hear how fake that sounds. I need to tone it back on the cluelessness.

He places a purple napkin on the counter in front of me, then the glass. “On the house,” he says.

I slip him cash. “No thank you. I don’t like to owe anyone.”

“You don’t owe anything. It’s taken care of.” His eyes dart to a man on the other side of the bar. “He’s one of the owners. He bought your drink.”

“Oh.” I glance down at the bar, lifting the glass in the air as a thank you and he does the same. I slip the money back into my purse, relieved because I don’t have much to last for the rest of the month.

The guy at the end of the bar, the owner, picks up his drink and makes his way toward me. He seems sophisticated, but the kind money buys, and the type that flaunts their worth. I’m not interested in that type. I love a man in a suit; something about a man exuding power excites me because I love to test power, poke it, and challenge it, but in a good way.

I don’t like fake power, something this man is pretending as he strolls ups to me, cocky smile on his face as if he can get anything and everything he wants. And maybe on any other day he can, but today isn’t that day.

Not with me.

But I’ll let him think so. I’ll let him have his dreams and dirty thoughts about me while I plan on getting every ounce of information I can out of him. I won’t fuck him. I have limits. I’ve never had sex and I’m not about to give my virginity to this guy.

I’ve wanted to have sex, but the time never felt right. I never felt pressured to have sex. I never felt like I had to. I also was never very interested or attracted enough to someone to fall into bed with them. It hasn’t been on my to-do list – only surviving has been.

“Hey gorgeous,” a slight slur in his greeting.

Perfect. He’s already drunk. This will be easier than I thought.

“Hi,” I purr, swirling my drink with the toothpick the olives are on.

He sits down and his hand slaps the table. That’s when I notice his knuckles, how bruised and red they are from getting into a fight.

My anger rises, knowing that this is the man who hurt my brother. It has to be him.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here?” he touches my hair and I try not to flinch. He tugs a curl like most people do.

I hate how strangers invite themselves to touch my hair. They think it’s fun and it isn’t a big deal, but I’d like for someone to ask if it’s okay to randomly touch me.

“I love your hair. It’s unique. Like you.”

“Mmm, thank you.” I sip my drink, acting like I’m interested. I pretend to just see his hand and I gasp, gently touching the top of his knuckles. “Oh my gosh, what happened? This looks sooo painful,” I make sure to emphasize the o’s, wanting him to think I care.

I hope it fucking hurts.

“It’s fine,” he bites, the words clear and crisp as if he hasn’t been drinking all day. “A punk got in my way and took something that belongs to me. He looks a lot worse than my hand.”

Caplan does look a lot worse. I’m worried about him. His eye was swelling pretty badly and if it isn’t better, I’ll have to take him to the doctor, which he will refuse because we can’t afford it.

“I hope you got what you were looking for.” I trail my fingers up his arm and with my free hand, I down all of my martini, needing a kickstart to the night.

“Another martini?” he asks me, snapping his fingers at the bartender.

“I’d love one. Thank you so much for taking such good care of me.” Ugh, this is so painful to do, but I need to get him alone. I want him to think he’s going to get lucky and then I want us to strike a deal. He gets the stone back in exchange for Caplan’s life.

Another drink is set down in front of me, the bartender giving me an odd look as he tilts his head. Concern shifts quickly over his eyes, the lights flashing across them just in time for me to see, but just as fast as it appeared, the concern disappears.

I pluck an olive from the toothpick and roll it around my tongue, the saltiness spreading across my taste buds, pairing well with the gin.

“So what happened? Why did that guy attack you? Is that what happened?” I keep my voice calm and sweet as if I’m just some stupid girl who is here for a good time without a care in the world about her safety. Isn’t that what it’s all about? Don’t men love that?

“How about I tell you in a private room?” The way he asks leaves no room for doubt about what he wants. His accent is thicker and huskier, his eyes roaming down my body as he licks his lips like he is a feral dog about to make me his bitch.

I’m no one’s bitch.

By the end of tonight, it’s me who is going to own him.

My blood is thirsty for revenge. My fingers are trembling to grab the knife and threaten the man who dared to lay his hand on my brother, a teenage boy who doesn’t know any better. I’ve never confronted anyone like this before. I’ve never been the type to paint myself as brave. I think there’s a line between bravery and stupidity.

A very fine line.

I wonder if bravery only counts if the goal is achieved, and if I fail whether I’ll be considered stupid.

I have no doubt this man will kill me or someone in his mafia will replace me, track me down, and do god knows what to me.

I was ready for that. I was ready to pay for whatever crime I was about to commit.

Slipping off the seat, I tug my dress down slowly and his eyes stay glued to my thighs, watching the dress hug my curves.

“I’m ready when you are.” I take another sip of my drink.

“Give me a minute, Baby,” he grins, a sly, pervy smile stretching his lips that has a cold grasp settling in my bones.

“Gladly.” I bite my lip, giving him a once-over to act like I’m interested.

I give him my back and my smile fades along with my act. I rolled my eyes and gulp my martini down, biting the olive angrily. A part of me wishes I would have slapped Caplan on the back of the head for hanging out with these people.

Something in the dark has the hair on the back of my neck standing up. My instincts roar for me to get out of this building, but I had a goal I had to meet. My eyes roam the poorly lit room, only giving me flashes of light when the cycle of purple and blue switch directions. A fever builds on the inside of me, becoming warmer with every passing second.

I’m not sure what to make of it. I want to run, but I don’t want to run out the door. I want to step into the darkness that’s compelling me. Even the urge to listen to the silent call isn’t enough to distract me from my goal.

Nothing can.

A hot palm presses against my lower back and it takes all I have not to tense, push him away, and punch him in the face for touching me.

“Ready, Baby?”

I do my best not to roll my eyes at the pet name. It’s easy to use, but a little degrading in the sense he is using it because he doesn’t mean for it to sound sweet.

“Ready as ever I’ll ever be,” I say honestly, keeping a flirty smile on my face while he guides me down the hall to a private area.

The gem in my purse is heavy but so is the knife.

“What’s your name, Baby?” he asks me just as we get to the door of the room he just paid for.

“Calling me Baby is just fine,” I tell him, batting my long lashes at him while I twirl my tongue around an olive before sucking it into my mouth. There’s no way in hell I’m telling this asshole my real name.

He laughs, wrapping his other arm around my waist as we step into the room. There’s a long black leather couch against the wall, a private bar, and a stripper pole in the middle of the room for what I have to guess are private dances.

“My lucky night, you stumbling into the club. I needed the distraction,” he says, plopping down on the couch and bringing me down with him.

I park my ass on his lap, my nerves getting the best of me. The door is right there. I could run. I could run and never look back, dropping this stupid rock in the middle of the road. Then, it could be someone else’s problem.

But it’s worth so much. If we didn’t need the money so badly, I would have flushed this thing down the toilet, which is still the smart thing to do. The urge to keep it for me and my family is strong. It really could fix all our problems, even while creating so many new ones.

My brother’s life is more important, so I need to play the part of a clueless hooker.

“Do we get a bartender and a show?” I pet his chest, holding back a gag.

“We will in twenty minutes. I wanted alone time with you,” he says, his hand drifting up and down my thigh.

“Oh, you can tell me what happened to your hand,” I remind him, taking it again and holding it as if it’s about shatter. I kiss the top part where the skin is marred and broken with dried blood. “You poor thing,” I purr, probably coming on a little too strong.

I wouldn’t know. I have never done this before. I’ve been holed up in the store and maybe I’m acting out like this because I need excitement in my life. I don’t know. I don’t really care.

This is the one thing that’s made me feel alive, no matter how fucked up it is.

“Some punk kid came in here, started talking about how to join the…” he catches himself. “Company I work for. We like new recruits,” he adds. “They are eager and want to climb the ranks. We are expanding so I didn’t mind talking to him.”

Joining the mafia? What the hell is Caplan thinking? He left that part of the story out.

“He went on about how he needs quick money. His family was in debt, and they needed to get out quickly. I told him this isn’t the type of organization you join on a whim. If he needed quick cash, he could be a runner for us, someone who drops…” he watches his words again and my heart rate is beating faster with rage. “Merchandise for us.”

Merchandise.

Drugs.

Oh, Caplan was going to get his ass beat when I get home.

“The kid was adamant. He wanted to join regardless and his eagerness threw me off. I told him no. We got into an argument, and he threw a punch, so I kicked his fucking ass and reminded him what an idiot he is. He stole something very valuable from me too. When I get it back, his life is mine. He stole a very rare gem, one worth millions.”

“And if he returns it, will his life be safe, or do you kill him regardless because he stole it?” I ask, knowing damn well this answer was going to change what was going to happen in the next second.

“Kill him. No one makes a fool out of me and gets away with it. Whoever touches that gem is good as dead.” He pushes me off him and pulls a gun from his waistband; the loud cocking of it has me frozen.

I lift my purse and set it on the counter, showing him I’m not armed. “What are you doing?”

“Baby,” he sighs, scratching his temple with the barrel of the gun. “You’re hot and a good fucking distraction, but I don’t like how many questions you ask. Unfortunately, you know too much. I have to kill you.”

“But you didn’t…You said…”

“Aw, I know. It’s nothing personal.”

“It’s personal,” I sass, racking my brain as to how I’m going to get out of this alive. “It’s very personal. This is my life. I was only trying to have a good time with you.”

“Is that it?” he narrows his eyes, the disbelieving tone causing my throat to dry, but I’m nowhere near thirsty.

“That’s it. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” I’m hoping I can get on his good side, his drunk side, and he will enjoy the company he will have tonight.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t risk you giving that information out.”

I hold my breath and dive to the right just as he fires his gun. The gunshot causes my ears to ring, and I snag my purse, jumping behind the bar to open it.

Fuck, I didn’t expect him to bring a gun to a knife fight. I’m screwed.

I grab the knife and close my purse just as he walks around the bar and his shadow falls over me. I tuck the knife behind me, breathing hard to show how scared I am.

I’m terrified.

I’m way too naïve to have put myself in this situation, but I won’t die without a fight.

“Stupid little whore,” he spits at me, his accent thick this time, unmistakably Italian. He grips me by the back of my head, his blunt nails digging into my scalp. “You would have been a good fuck. I would have loved to see you ride my cock, but pretty bitches like you always love to ask questions when you already know something you shouldn’t.” He presses the hot barrel against my shoulder, the metal hot from firing the bullet. “So tell me and I’ll make your death quick. Don’t tell me, and I won’t. It’s an easy decision.”

“I don’t know anything,” I say through tight teeth.

“I know a liar when I see one. You want to die a liar?”

“Better than dying a fucking creep.” I flip my blade and stab it into his neck, knowing that’s where the jugular is after my anatomy class in high school.

I never thought I’d need to know anything I learned in there, but here we are. His eyes are wide, and his face turns red.

“Fucking…bitch,” he stumbles backward, lifting the gun to kill me, but I am quicker.

I yank the knife from his neck and blood begins to swim down his expensive suit. His skin loses color, and he falls to his knees, losing any energy he had.

I’m shaking. My entire body is trembling. I have no idea what I just did. What did I do? What just happened?

Oh my god.

My eyes blur with tears as I stare at the dead body at my feet. His eyes are open and the puddle of blood leaving him grows larger.

I open my purse, debating if I want to leave the gem in his pocket. I take it out of my purse, the temptation to shove it in his pocket and run so strong.

A strong, deep, cunning voice laced with a slight tsking sound has me holding my breath.

“Oh, what a mess you’ve made, Tesoro.”

I don’t want to admit that the pet name he just called me sounds sweet and exotic falling from his lips because I can’t afford to care right now.

And I don’t.

Tesoro.

Whatever that means.