RISE (A Mafia Crime Family Romance) Read online

  The only promising detail about the part where he mentioned that they took her, is the fact that they didn’t kill her on the spot. There was no body, and up until now, no ransom demands or body parts showing up in mysterious packages.

  Nothing.

  To me, this kind of nothing means there’s a chance Natalia is alive.

  Natalia.

  My woman.

  Mine.

  Where the fuck have they taken you, sweet girl?

  Sixty-three days.

  That's how long she’s been missing.

  And no fucking clues. No talk of her through any of my channels since she’s been gone either.

  Missing.

  Not dead.

  She can't be.

  4

  Antonio

  My girl is alive.

  She’s out there and hoping that I find her.

  I refuse to let other thoughts take root in my mind because the idea that she’s gone is impossible.

  I feel her. She's alive somewhere, hoping we put all the pieces together, praying we track her down and save her from whatever she’s been going through and finally bring this disaster to an end for her.

  But there’s one part of Vinny’s message that haunts me the most. Night after night, it torments me. Hour after fucking hour. It’s the detail that I feel is the worst possible realization for Romano’s organization. It’s the fact that someone caught Vinny and his men off guard. It means someone on the inside tipped off whoever it was that took Natalia or hired those bikers to take her.

  It’s been sixty-three days, and although I already acted on that fact, I still can’t get over it.

  Fuck yes, I acted on it.

  I had to.

  The string of messages from Natalia on the very same day, with one sentence warning me of the same truth, making the same fucking point, was more than enough justification.

  Natalia: Do NOT trust the Pinuccis.

  Natalia: Why aren't you calling me back?

  Natalia: Are you okay?

  Natalia: Please call. Sorry for over texting. I have to go.

  The Pinuccis.

  Lorenzo and Cristiano.

  I should’ve killed both the fuckers.

  If I had found them both, I would’ve.

  Both father and son alike would’ve each had a bullet to the head and one through the heart by now.

  We got Lorenzo.

  He won’t ever have the chance to betray anyone again.

  But just like most fathers would do, Lorenzo made Cristiano go deep into hiding before my men could get to him.

  No amount of coaxing, negotiation, threatening or even torture could drag that information from Lorenzo.

  We finished him off, though.

  And soon, Cristiano will be next.

  We’ll find him.

  It’s just a matter of time.

  In the meantime, excommunicating him will have to be enough.

  Cristiano has been completely cut out of the operation. He has no access, no authority, no friends left. And once he’s found and made an example of, it’ll be one less thing for Romano to handle when he’s back. If my boss had to deal with this, that fucking disloyal father and son duo would be rotting in the same ditch somewhere. Even Nonna Romano agrees. She had no qualms telling me I was too fucking slow. That I needed to make an example of Cristiano soon, to send a message so that no one tries to cross us like that again. She swears on her husband’s and daughter’s life that Xantos had no part in taking Natalia, but as far as I’m concerned, no one has been ruled out, especially not the man at the top. Money alone isn’t enough reason for the Pinuccis to go against Romano.

  I drag my free hand through my long, wavy hair and let my fingertips scratch my thick, unruly beard. I haven’t taken the time to have a fucking haircut or a shave since all this shit went down. I hate the feel of all this facial hair, and my long hair disgusts me every time I catch a glimpse of it in the mirror. Maybe I’m just punishing myself. A part of me wants to let it grow out because it helps to hide the look of failure on my face that I know I’ll hate seeing even more than all this fucking unruly hair.

  Pausing in the corridor around the corner from Vinny’s room, I do what I can to shake off all these questions, doubt and guilt before I walk into his room. I need to be strong for him. He might still be in a coma, but the way I see it, if there’s a chance he’s even the least bit aware of what’s going on, then I need to be calm, to show a brave face, and to give him every reassurance that things are under control while he works on healing his body and his mind, while he tries to make his way back to us.

  I freeze in place as I round the corner to Vinny’s hospital room and find Lombardo, Nonna Romano’s personal bodyguard, standing at the door with one of my men.

  She’s still here?

  Fuck.

  I’ve been so careful up until today.

  For the last month, since Nonna Romano’s been back from Italy, I’ve stayed clear of her at the hospital. We both visit Vinny every day, but as soon as I figured out her routine, I took every precaution to avoid crossing paths with her here. It’s another person I don’t want to face, on top of everyone else on my crew.

  It’s the accusatory glances, the repeated questions on what more I’ve done, whether I have something new to report, whether I’ve made any progress and found her granddaughter, and the fucking obvious disappointment I am to her now.

  That’s what I’ve been hoping to stay far away from.

  But she’s here and I’m not ready for this.

  Why the hell is Nonna Romano still here?

  She comes here every morning after mass, promptly at seven o’clock. And she leaves by eleven thirty, like clockwork.

  I check the time on my phone, and it confirms this error wasn’t entirely my fault. Yes, I was wrong to push this fucking door open before checking through the little reinforced glass window built into the door. But it’s after two o’clock. She’s never here this late.

  Fuck.

  But today, she’s still here.

  Clearing my throat as I walk past the men, I give them a nod and take a small step into the hospital room doorway, feeling her familiar pair of eyes on me.

  I know what to expect.

  I know it won’t be sweet, or kind like the way she used to treat me.

  That was before.

  Before I let someone snatch up one of the two people in the world who means the most to her.

  5

  Natalia

  “Are you planning on buying something, Miss?”

  I nod my head without looking directly over at the tall, blond teenaged gas station attendant standing guard over his cash register. The sound of his skinny fingers nervously tapping against the countertop grates on my last nerve as I keep an eye on the roads, and on the tow truck driver. My unsuspecting rescuer. Any minute now, he’ll finish replacing that tire for the customer and head off to somewhere else. When he does, that's when I’ll leave.

  “What was that, Miss?” the young attendant behind me asks again.

  “Yes. Yes, sir,” I reply, my gaze still pinned outside. Raising my left hand, I show the attendant the cash I stole, now neatly folded between my index and middle finger. I then lift my small plastic shopping basket that holds a container of cheap red hair dye, a travel-sized pouch of wet wipes, a souvenir Colorado Mountains hooded sweatshirt, oversized sunglasses, and a thick, floral patterned flannel scarf, all of which I picked up while perusing the three aisles of goods in here. It’s everything I’ll need to change my appearance and keep warm, as least for the time being. “I’ll pay for these in a minute.”

  “All right, Miss. There’s a two for one sale on those day-old muffins to your right,” he adds. “In case… well, if you’re hungry.”

  I pull my gaze away from outside long enough to whip my head back to the kid. He has my attention now. Of course, I’m hungry. It’s been long hours since I ate. Hours, but it feels like it’s been forever since I had any dec
ent food at all. Which isn’t inaccurate, given the disgusting slop-like garbage those men fed me while I was their captor. Judging from the way my stomach continues to gurgle and groan, it’s as though it wants to make up for lost time right fucking now. The thing is, I have my priorities, and food doesn’t rank too highly at the moment. There’s no telling how long it’ll be before I have the chance to put in an honest day of work to top up the funds I stole. This money has to last. It has to pay for my ticket out of town and put a temporary roof over my head for at least a few days. Once I check those two big items off my list, then I can think about how much I have left for food.

  But it’s the way this kid has seemingly taken an interest in my health and state of hunger that makes me curious. And tense. Cautiously, I approach him with the items I plan to purchase and begin to study him with more focus than before. One thing I’ve learned from my father is that people have friends in unexpected places. And in the underworld, people have eyes everywhere. It sounds paranoid even to me, but who knows if this kid could have some connection to those men who took me. I could probably say the same thing about anyone I run into in this town.

  I can’t trust anyone.

  Not even this teenager.

  I notice him glance down my body to the shoes I stole and catch his reaction as his gaze trails slowly back up my body, stopping at the top button of the overalls I stole. I’m still wearing it inside out to avoid having anyone recognize the logo, especially the tow truck driver.

  I take a breath and relax when I realize what I’m dealing with. I’ve seen that look before.

  Many times.

  Not that I’m bragging, because men can be so predictable when it comes to how they interact with the opposite sex.

  The kid isn’t not spying on me. Not in the way that I need to worry about, anyway.

  It’s not suspicion.

  It’s honest, innocent, youthful lust in those pale blue teenaged eyes.

  Lust, well that I can handle.

  Or maybe, make the most of it.

  “A two for one sale?” I chirp, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chest out toward him. “On those?” I point a dainty finger back toward the spot where I was standing, and he nods.

  “Yes, Miss,” he answers, his eyes now glued to my chest. “Would you like to buy one? Or two? There’s no limit on how many you can get for free.”

  “You see, I was hoping, seeing how they do look so… well, so stale, that you might consider letting me take a few of them off your hands. Or all.” I keep my eyes fixed to his face, my even gaze determined and unyielding. I’ve seen Father negotiate many times. He’s a confident man by default, but when he’s in the middle of settling a deal, he can be ruthless. More than a few times, I’ve seen him shed his soft side, setting aside the charm, changing his composure, masking any emotion on his face and in his eyes as he swoops in to close a deal. Now, I’m not Father, but I’ve swayed him before. And being a girl, I know how useful a little charm and sweetness can be, when paired with determination.

  “They’re um... not exactly, um... free,” he informs me, still mesmerized by the hint of cleavage that shows at the top button of this stolen shirt.

  “I understand, that, but you do realize that I’m buying all these things here at full price and all? Each of them costs more than a regular priced muffin, don’t they?”

  “Um… yes, I suppose they do.”

  “Okay, then tell me… what would be so hard about giving me one little old day-old muffin for free with each of these items? Just five little muffins you’ll throw away eventually.” It’s hard to draw the kid’s eyes to mine while he’s fixated on my breasts, but I do what I can, stepping backward toward the shelf that holds the tray of several flavors of muffins at the window. “Am I wrong, sir? Or do you agree that it’s pretty fair?”

  “I don’t know if I can,” he tells me timidly. I scan outside again to find no real change, other than the spare tire is now on the car and the tow truck driver has the flat one on the ground beside him. As I turn back to the attendant, I find him with a wincing expression on his face, furrowing his brows as though saying no to me is in some way painful for him. “I haven’t seen the owner give them away like, ever, so—” he continues to explain, and each word before he stops speaking is quieter than the one before.

  “But in my case, you’re not really giving them away?” I state in a question. “Are you?”

  “Well, sure, I guess I could let you have them… if you’re buying these five things…”

  “Perfect!” I say quickly, scooping up three chocolate chip and two blueberry muffins and heading back to him. “Here you go,” I tell him, and slap twenty-five dollars down onto the counter beside the cash register. This boy seems so unsure of himself, he might change his mind anytime. And to be honest, I’ve spent enough energy on five damned muffins. What I need to do is get a move on. “Is that enough cash for everything?” I ask.

  He drags his eyes away from my cleavage long enough to put all my things in a plastic bag and ring up my purchase, then he nods, still not making eye contact. “Yes, Miss. It’s twenty-three seventy-eight for everything.”

  I give him a gleaming smile. “Great. Just keep the change,” I tell him. “Enjoy your day.”

  Taking the things I bought, I retreat into the farthest of two private restrooms at the side of the gas station, and I lock myself inside.

  Within an hour of slipping out of my hiding spot in the tow truck, I emerge from the restroom with my stolen cash and a plastic bag containing the last of the wet wipes and my four remaining muffins.

  I’m pretty fucking pleased with myself.

  Because I look like someone else.

  For starters, my face, arms, legs and everywhere I could reach on my body are clean, or at least a hell of a lot cleaner than before, after washing up with liquid soap from the restroom dispenser and scrubbing off weeks of grime with the wet wipes. Then there’s my hair. It’s now the warm shade of red promised on the box of hair dye, and it doesn’t look too awful. I promise myself that all this hair will be cut nice and short as soon as I have a bit more time to chop it off somewhere way more private, like wherever I’ll sleep tonight. The scarf I’ve tied over my thick mane now covers most of my head, and the oversized frame and lenses of my sunglasses hide most of my face. Together, from the neck up, the two accessories give me a look like I’m a spoiled valley girl about to step into some rich, handsome guy’s luxury convertible for a long, romantic drive down a seaside highway. Of course, the hooded touristy sweatshirt balances it all out, adding some substance to the idea that I’m not a local.

  I have a fighting chance of making it through today, and hopefully, if all goes well, this town will be far behind me.

  To be sure I’m in the clear, I peek around the corner of the building, looking to see who’s pumping gas or parked out front. I release a long sigh at the sight of a mostly empty front lot.

  No familiar cars.

  No tow truck.

  No one.

  But as I walk past the front of the concession store, the door opens outward. I stop sharply and hold my breath, mentally kicking myself for not being cautious. I should’ve checked the other side of the building, or at the very minimum, looked inside to see if anyone was there. As I scold myself inwardly for potentially allowing myself to be seen, and worse, to be somewhat cornered, a smiling middle-aged brunette about a foot taller than me and dressed all in denim steps out, unknowingly blocking my path.

  Shit.

  Fear starts to take hold of my body again, sending stiff tension down my back.

  All my instincts tell me to leave.

  I want to run.

  Anywhere.

  Far away from here, I don’t care where.

  Fast.

  6

  Antonio

  I grit my teeth and straighten my back, taking another few steps inside Vinny’s room. The air is heavy with the rhythmic puffing sound of his ventilator. The noise interrupts
the overlapping beeps of more monitors than any one person should be attached to. They’ve also connected a mass of so many different colored wires to him, it’s hard to tell where any begins and where others end. The ventilator machine has a large blue hose connected to Vinny’s mouth by straps that cover half his face. Seeing my friend this way, his skull wrapped in bandages, his eyes never opening, his face pale, haggard and gaunt, his body wasting away in that dingy blue hospital gown, fuck, it doesn’t get any easier with time.

  I just want him to be better.

  Back to normal.

  But the doctors don’t think that’ll happen. They’re saying otherwise. They don’t see a happy ending for Vinny. All they keep repeating is that it’s out of their hands. That all they can do is keep him stable, push air and oxygen into his lungs and liquids through his IV, continue to monitor him, and have his nursing attendants turn his lifeless frame on the bed to avoid bedsores.

  Vinny has to do the rest.

  Vinny and prayers.

  Because according to the head surgeon, it’s in God’s hands.

  God’s hands.

  It’s the bullshit line medical professionals give to their patients’ loved ones when modern medicine falls short and can’t put broken people back together again.

  It’s the excuse they use when their hands are tied, and a patient is beyond saving.

  God’s fucking hands.

  He hasn’t given me any breaks in this lifetime, so I can’t imagine him stepping in to help Vinny now.

  Maybe Nonna Romano’s prayers might reach the man upstairs.

  And if not, Vinny needs to keep fighting.