RISE (A Mafia Crime Family Romance) Read online

  RISE (A Mafia Crime Family Romance)

  Bella Love-Wins

  Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  Cover Design Credit

  Blurb and Author’s Notes

  1. Natalia

  2. Natalia

  3. Antonio

  4. Antonio

  5. Natalia

  6. Antonio

  7. Natalia

  8. Antonio

  9. Natalia

  10. Antonio

  11. Antonio

  12. Natalia

  13. Antonio

  14. Antonio

  15. Natalia

  16. Natalia

  About Bella Love-Wins

  COPYRIGHT

  RISE

  * * *

  Saints of Sin #2

  * * *

  Copyright (c) 2019

  Bella Love-Wins

  Written by Bella Love-Wins

  * * *

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover Design Credit

  RISE

  * * *

  Saints of Sin #2

  * * *

  Cover Design by Book Cover by Design (Kellie Dennis)

  Blurb and Author’s Notes

  BLURB

  From Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author Bella Love-Wins, comes this riveting continuation of the emotionally dark mafia crime family romance serial.

  * * *

  Antonio DeLucci

  I'm under fire, but won't take it lying down.

  * * *

  The Italian head boss we all answer to is to blame.

  The boss of everything.

  We've been loyal without question.

  Until now.

  Until he went too far.

  * * *

  Because of this ruthless old man, we risk losing it all.

  Now, the New Jersey empire placed in the palm of my hand is crumbling under my watch.

  The woman who melted under my heated touch is further out of reach.

  * * *

  He crossed the line by taking Natalia from me.

  I've lost enough.

  I've fallen too far.

  * * *

  But to take it all back, I'll have to fight like never before.

  And if it takes becoming The Trigger once more, so be it.

  I'll bring down hell on earth to track down my Natalia.

  My sweet, virgin, mafia princess.

  It's our time to rise.

  I'll kill everyone in my path to get Natalia back.

  And if they've touched a hair on her head, the boss of everything will be the next target on my list.

  * * *

  Author's Note: RISE is book two of the Saints of Sin Series. This is a novella-length serial romance that ends in a cliffhanger. Cover design by Book Cover by Design (Kellie Dennis).

  1

  Natalia

  I gaze up through the back window, my eyes squinting at the sight of the cloudless sky, a dazzling blue while the late morning sun climbs to its peak. I know what I have to do yet for the past few minutes, I’ve been frozen in one spot, incapable of making my next move.

  Running shaky fingers down the side of my neck, I lean my head to one side and close my eyes, hoping to tap into any courage I might have left. It’s hard, though. So fucking hard to do what needs to be done when fear has my heart pounding so loudly that it’s threatening to drown out my will to survive.

  I need help.

  I need my family. My friends.

  Father.

  Nonna.

  Tammy Lou.

  Cassandra.

  Antonio.

  Mom.

  Vinny.

  My chest goes tight and my breath won’t move past the hard lump in my throat as the last three names enter my thoughts.

  Antonio.

  I won’t see the man my heart yearns for, the one whose touch I’ve been longing for. Not for a long time. It’s been long weeks since I felt his strong arms around me, his hot body against mine, inside of me. But when I shut my eyes tight and picture him standing in front of me, it’s almost like he’s here. Almost. We’re both better off if I don’t go home. Of that, I’m certain. I hate that it’s true, but there’s no going back. Not now.

  Mom.

  I miss my mother so much. The pain feels so fresh. It’s as though I’ve just lost her all over again. In a way, I have. I lament over the fact that I no longer have those letters she wrote to me. I don’t regret leaving them with Tammy Lou. I’m glad I did. At least there’s a chance I’ll see them again. But for now, my biggest regret is that I didn’t read them all, and that I didn’t memorize even one of them. While those bad men held me captive, I was able to remember a few bits and pieces. The time capsule she and her friends buried out in the yard. How much she loved me and Father. The way she explained her insights about our mob family. Her love for writing. Her cute way of referring to me as different types of fruit as I grew in her belly. Her enjoyment of these very mountains around me here in Colorado. If this disaster ever blows over, if I survive this, the first place I’ll go is to Tammy Lou’s doorstep. The first thing I’ll do if I return to New Jersey is to read Mom’s letters and memorize every single word she left behind for me.

  And Vinny.

  For my friend, all I feel is guilt. My mind replays the last time I laid eyes on him. I’ve replayed the image of him on his knees a thousand times while I was locked up in the dark, dirty hole. That automatic handgun pointed at the back of his head. The way he kept fighting, struggling against the two men that held him firmly in his spot on the tarmac. It’s not fair that he and the rest of Father’s men at the private airstrip had to pay such a high price. Just for me. They were killed protecting me. There’s no way any of them survived. And I’ll never be able to thank them for their sacrifice.

  I take a long breath, and my resolve returns.

  The only way I can show my gratitude is to get out of this alive.

  My survival will make a difference.

  They won’t have died for nothing.

  Their deaths won’t be in vain so long as I’m still breathing.

  I have to make it. All of it. The only help I’m going to receive is the help I give myself. The help I grasp hold of and take, like when I jumped into the little space in this stranger’s tow truck and hid. This one stroke of luck won’t last forever. I’m only going to be free from these people who took me if I take that freedom and use it to get far, far away from here.

  With my eyes still closed, I push away the prick of tears that start to form and picture my mother’s family crest in the spot where it used to hang from my vanity mirror.

  I can do this.

  I have to.

  2

  Natalia

  I’m going to get through this day.

  For Mom.

  For Vinny.

  To have a chance to see Antonio and Father again in the future.

  But if I'm going to survive today, if I'm going to survive at all, I need to think smart, make good decisions, and more than anything, I need to act.

  Even if I'm terrified.

  Even if one or two of these good decisions are a crime.

  But like Father says to his men, sometimes doing a bad thing is the right thing because it's better than doing a worse thing.

  Sometimes doing a bad thing saves lives.

  This spot will have to do.

  I slink out of the tiny space in the vehicle that's kept me safe, warm, and undetected for close to five hours.

  The tow truck driver's busy changing a customer's car tire at a gas station.

  Vernon Gregory.

  I know his name because I've heard it several t
imes. And his wife is Marilyn. He has three kids, a boy and two girls, who he talks about with pride to every customer who will listen.

  I've come to know Vernon because it's his sixth stop since I snuck into this little space and tucked myself away under his pile of work clothes. It wasn't sensible to leave while he tended to things during his other stops. It made more sense to me to bide my time, to have a sense of the risks around me, to be familiar with the lay of the land so I can make my exit at the right time.

  Besides, all his other service calls out in the field were in places where it was either too easy for him to see me getting out of his vehicle, or too out in the open, or too far out in the middle of nowhere.

  Waiting gave me the information I needed to come up with a plan that could work.

  Like knowing this gas station was the best place to make an exit. It's a block from town, where I noticed an army surplus store beside the diner where Vernon stopped for coffee. The bus station is around the corner. A public restroom is steps away. And there's enough foot traffic for me to blend in.

  It’s also warmer down here in the valley. Patches of snow were long since replaced by grass as Vernon wound his way down from The Rocky Mountains. People around here are dressed in fall clothes, and every other resident is wearing a cowboy hat, or something plaid, or sturdy leather cowboy boots. I’ll need to look like them if I want to get out of this town.

  Sure, this gas station might have cameras mounted in all the right places to catch me getting out of the tow truck. But no one here knows or cares who I am or what I fled. This is my best shot.

  Stretching out my legs, I run my fingers down the back of my thighs, hoping the insistent tingling will stop so that walking won't be as uncomfortable. I keep my upper body low as I slide over the top of the passenger seat and take a set of the driver's coveralls. My gaze flicks across to his back as he works on the tire less than fifty feet away. He's still at it, so I turn the coveralls inside out, put it on over the rest of what I'm wearing, and fold up the arms and legs to avoid tripping over them when I leave.

  Before I push the door open, I do the one thing I've been dreading since the thought of it came into my head.

  My first justifiable, but bad deed.

  My first crime.

  Theft.

  Reaching into the center console between the driver and passenger seats, I grab as many crumpled up bills as I can hold on to.

  Cash that some of Vernon's customers paid with.

  Hard earned money.

  Honest money.

  It's only temporary but I need it more than the driver does.

  Each one will put a little more distance between me and the people after me.

  Some will pay for a bus ticket out of town.

  And I have to eat.

  And I'll need to find a place to stay in whatever Podunk town the first bus out of here is going.

  I'll pay it back.

  Every cent of it.

  Plus interest.

  But right now, I need this.

  Making a silent promise to write this wrong in the near future, I write a short note on the first empty page of the scratch pad that Vernon keeps on his dashboard to jot down addresses or short details on each customer call he receives.

  It reads:

  * * *

  Dear Mr. Vernon,

  I borrowed the money you're missing, but I swear to you that I’ll pay it all back very soon.

  Sincerely,

  NR

  * * *

  I feel stupid leaving such a thing behind. I mean, it doesn't say very much at all. And I'm sure I'm leaving some DNA evidence behind, which is kind of careless.

  But there’s one thing I've learned since Father handed me the box of Mom's letters.

  Words matter.

  Messages carry intention.

  Communication is better than the emptiness of silence.

  In cases like this one, anyway. It's not like I'd leave a note for the men who took me.

  Taking one last look toward Vernon, I exit the tow truck through the passenger side, quietly push the door closed, and calmly take the long way around to the restroom at the back of the station. By this time next week, I’ll be far away from here.

  I’ll be somewhere new. Reborn. Starting from nothing.

  New town.

  New name.

  New look.

  A new chance at a life as someone other than Natalia Romano.

  3

  Antonio

  I shield my eyes from the blinding early afternoon sunlight streaming in through the top section of the windscreen of my SUV as I reverse into the same hospital parking spot that I've used for the last two months.

  Sixty-three days.

  That's how long it's been since Vinny was admitted here. The private urgent care clinic that the boss has a service contract with has taken damn good care of my closest friend. They assure the utmost discretion to their patients, which are comprised mostly of crime families like Romano, as well as politicians, celebrity actors, performance artists and musicians, athletes and other notable individuals who want to keep the details of their individual health care treatment completely personal, secure and out of the public eye.

  This full-service health clinic hires only the best medical, dental, surgical and long-term health care professionals from around the world, so I know there's nothing more anyone can do to help improve Vinny's condition.

  He was shot at point-blank range that day Natalia was taken. It's a miracle he survived at all.

  But Vinny is tough.

  He held on.

  He forced himself to take breath after labored breath so he could send me a text after the men who took Natalia left. He willed himself to stay alive after lying half dead on the airstrip tarmac for close to three hours.

  It took seven grueling hours of surgery to stabilize him once he was admitted here.

  He held his post, potentially watching over Natalia in ways none of us could ever have done.

  “Keep fighting, brother,” I mutter as I grab what I brought Vinny from the back seat of the SUV and head for the hospital entrance. You need to pull through this. Wake up. You need to wake up and get better. If you don’t, I don’t fucking know what I’ll do.

  The words of Vinny’s text message begin to float across my mind as I mentally order him to get better on my way through the main floor of the hospital, my eyes downcast to the gleaming, spotless floors. Each word of his text is as vivid as it would be if it were to move across a digital screen or billboard.

  Vinny: Tried to protect Nat. They caught us off guard. 6 men. Not Italian. American. Bikers. HHpindsmc Or Stans Furmc. West accents. Lots of ink. One had a skull on his neck. Jsul. They took her. So sorry. I failed, boss. If I dont make it, thanku for everrth

  The mistakes and typos in his incomplete message only show me how hard Vinny fought to get each word out. He put every last ounce of energy and willpower into providing as much information as he could to me, even while fully expecting not to survive his injuries. There are still a couple of parts that I haven’t been able to figure out what he meant. Clusters of letters like HHpindsmc, Stans Furmc, and Jsul, have been a big mystery to unravel. I mean, the guy had been shot in the head. It might just be letters his fingers pressed in between consciousness. Nonsense. Gibberish. But they might’ve also been intentional. Key clues he meant for us to read. Or maybe they’re a combination of both errors and critical pieces of information Vinny needed to convey. I’ve sent the message to a couple of my men to work on. So far no one can make heads or tails of it.

  If Vinny would just wake up...

  The tip of the hockey stick I’m carrying taps the bottom step of the stairwell as I make my way up to Vinny’s room on the third floor.

  “Fuck,” I groan at my carelessness. The stick’s signed by Steven Santini, Vinny’s favorite defenseman in the Jersey Devils this season. It’s the only NHL team he’s ever followed, since back when we were kids. Hoisting it higher, I gr
ip it further down along the handle and continue upstairs. Everyone else gets him flowers and get-well cards. But not me. Since he’s been here, all I’ve brought here are signed hockey memorabilia. It’s the least I can do. And I know he appreciates it. He will. When he wakes up, he’ll have these to add to his collection.

  If he’d just wake up…

  Without consciously intending to, my other hand balls up into a tense, veined, frustrated fist.

  Fuck.

  The man did all he could to give me these clues and still, I’ve made no fucking progress. I’m the fucker who made zero fucking headway from my friend’s effort to save Natalia. I’m the incompetent prick who failed everyone.

  And I’m still fucking failing them.

  Until I have Natalia back safe and sound, that’s all I’ll be.

  I have to find her.

  I push the details of Vinny’s text around my thoughts for the umpteenth time. The most obvious clue is the skull ink that one of the men had tattooed on his neck. I had all my contacts comb through every last friend and associate they know to figure out how to identify which members of which motorcycle club could’ve accepted this kidnapping job. The problem is, they came up with too many. At least a few hundred west coast MC members have skull tattoos on their fucking necks, and a whole lot more across the country are sporting the same ink. And that’s just of the ones our people are aware of. On its own, that clue hasn’t been helpful. I have two of my guys working their way through these lists, but so far, nothing.