Apricity (Mafia Babes #3)

Prologue

LUCA

Don Massimo pats my shoulder. His hand feels heavy but familiar over the stiff fabric of my new suit jacket.

He’s a big man, but his large size is not the reason why he’s il capo dei capi; his indisputable charisma and indomitability are.

My eyes follow him as he makes his way inside his office, followed by Rick, his right hand.

When the door closes behind them, I remain alone in the great room.

I hear the chatter and laughter from the grand salon, but I don’t head back inside.

I should, since today is my day. I became a made man, a fully initiated, sworn member of the Leone family—and I'm only nineteen.

To become a made man, it is required to be of Italian descent and to have a sponsorship—in my case, it came from Don Massimo.

This status signifies that I’m a lifetime soldier committed to the organization, Cosa Nostra, and it allows for advancement in the hierarchy.

An associate, or someone not yet made, does not have the same protection or rights within the organization.

Only made men can rise from soldier to positions like boss or underboss—not that I give a fuck about that.

I look down at the tiny pin mark on my fingertip.

The ceremony felt more like a ritual. The other four New York bosses and their right hands came to witness as I recited my oath of omertà—the Mafia code of silence—followed by the blood pact in which they pricked my finger and the burning of the saint’s picture—I chose the Archangel Michael in honor of my parents.

I pull on the necklace until the small, round pendant slides out of the shirt. My mother gave it to me after my father died. It was his St. Michael, symbol of divine protection and defense against evil. It didn’t really work for him, though, did it?

I kiss it, then close my fist around it. How much longer before I can give my parents peace?

The whole ceremony, I had bile boiling inside my stomach as I felt his eyes on me.

Jack the Ripper Enzino. He looked heavier, smaller, and older than I remembered.

Ten years is a long time, but his conceited, smug gaze and arrogant stance haven’t changed.

I had to grit my teeth until I heard them cracking to keep from spitting at his feet.

He didn’t recognize me, the evil piece of shit.

Thankfully, he left as soon as the ceremony was over—one more minute and I would’ve filled his body with lead.

Don Massimo’s presence and the promise I made him were the only things that halted my murderous intents.

Now that I’m a made man, I’ll be forced to see the stronzo from time to time—which adds another layer of shit to my situation—as the rulers of the crime families have to meet regularly and…

cooperate. I heard Enzino is always trying to spark conflict during the meetings, though.

If Don Massimo takes me with him to one of those, I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my fingers off my knives.

The sound of footsteps makes my head turn, and Seb and Marco are walking toward me.

Seb stops near the window facing the back garden, hands crossed behind his stiff back—a perfectly commanding pose for the heir of the Leone family—while Marco drops unceremoniously on one of the sofas.

We have been together since we were kids, right after Don Massimo decided to adopt Marco and me, and we moved in with the family.

We are very different, but it’s probably those differences that keep us together—and make me fight with Marco every fucking day.

He is the boastful, opinionated, rude one—loyal to a fault, but so fucking annoying.

While Seb is the detached, fearless, stoic one.

He never, ever yields. Me? I’m the six-foot-three menacing gorilla filled with rage and restlessness.

“How does it feel to be a goodfellow?” Marco asks with a little smirk on his lips. He had his ceremony six months ago, and he’s been acting like a strutting peacock ever since.

I shrug, taking a seat on the opposite sofa. I forgot for a moment how the silky fabric creates a strange, cold sensation under my fingers; it turns into a shiver, quickly spreading all over my body.

“How was facing him again? Jack Enzino?” Seb’s directness never fails to hit me.

“Like a fucking stab in the guts,” I mutter, almost feeling the excruciating pain.

Marco lets out a whistle. It reminds me of our fucked-up time in the group home.

I was big but shy, knocked around daily by the caretaker at the home, and bullied by kids at school.

Frankenstein was their favorite nickname for me because of the scars on my face.

I didn’t care. My life had been turned upside down; I had lost both my parents and was living in a nightmarish group home.

But that’s when I met Marco. He fought for me, defended me—his bad temper took root around that time—I learned how to brawl thanks to him.

If it weren’t for Marco, I don’t think Don Massimo would have taken me in.

“I was expecting a Hulk out, but you didn’t off the bastard and decorate your neck with his intestines.” Marco sounds almost disappointed.

“Did you expect me to disembowel him in front of all the bosses?” I clench my fists on my knees. I wish I had.

Seb turns his penetrating eyes on me. “It’s too soon for that. The loyalty you showed to the family today was the best course to take for your vendetta.”

“Best but not fastest,” I get out between gritted teeth.

“You’ll have your chance, Luca.” Marco’s words make me jump off the sofa.

“I had my chance, but Mario was sent to Italy, and fuck knows when he’ll be back,” I snarl.

“Sent? After what he did, the fucker had to run away,” Marco scoffs.

Mario, Enzino’s oldest son, killed four people in a shooting at Coney Island two weeks ago—two were just innocent bystanders.

The mayor is in our pockets, but even he couldn’t stop the mess Mario created.

Also, the families don’t take kindly to this kind of attention.

That’s why Jack Enzino, that motherfucker, put his son on an airplane while the corpses were still warm and then made up a bunch of excuses, pointing his finger at other people and yapping about lack of proof when there was plenty enough for a death sentence.

In the end, as punishment, Don Massimo turned Mario’s escape to Italy into a two-year exile and then took part of Enzino’s turf and gave it to another family, the Corettis.

“Enzino’s son was banished, and the family punished.” Seb seems to read my thoughts.

“I still believe death would have been a better punishment for both of them. Mario is a sick fuck, worse than his father.” Marco tsks.

He is right. Don Massimo should have killed them both—one phone call, and Mario would have been dead as soon as he set foot on Italian soil. But I think he didn’t give the order for me. Because he gave me his word, and going back on it would have meant taking my revenge away from me.

I growl. Sometimes I think my parents were the lucky ones. It’s better to die than be left behind. Some wounds fester, and others rot completely. The one inside my chest is corroding its way to the core, and soon it will start to decay, leaving a hollow space where breath and life should be.

“Revenge is a plate best served cold,” Seb states in a flat voice, flicking an invisible speck of dust from the sleeve of his jacket.

“After ten years, my parents’ bones are frozen cold,” I rebut.

He doesn’t give up. “But your anger is still blazing.”

Blazing? It’s a raging inferno. When I think about it, darkness slithers into my body and soul, and I want to wreck every-fucking-thing in my path. Whatever makes a sound, moves, breathes, lives—whatever I can see—I just want to annihilate it all. The raging beast inside me wants satisfaction.

“Well, I’m not like you. I can’t rationalize everything.” It’s kind of a low blow, but whenever I get worked up, I can’t seem to filter my words.

“I know that,” Seb replies calmly, not at all affected by my statement.

Marco’s huff comes right after. “How about a cold one to chill the spirits?”

I’m about to refuse when Rick appears on the threshold. His brown eyes find me straight away. “Don Massimo wants to see you.” He snaps his fingers and points at the office door.

I give him a firm nod and head there. One knock later, I’m stepping inside.

Don Massimo is sitting behind his big mahogany desk.

His gray, gelled hair looks shiny under the artificial light, his cheeks red and lips thin—Seb doesn’t resemble his father much.

There are two empty glasses and a bottle of whiskey on the desk.

“Come in and sit,” he orders, his Italian accent still strong when he speaks.

I oblige, closing the heavy wooden door behind me and taking my seat on one of the leather armchairs. My back is straight, my attention solely on him. Respect is the first thing il capo taught us.

His dark eyes lock with mine, and he stares for a long moment like he’s trying to read my thoughts.

As always, I feel the urge to squirm under his intense gaze, but I force myself not to.

Il capo has a way of making people uncomfortable just with one look.

That’s something I’d like to learn, but I think it comes with experience.

He clicks his tongue and nods before giving me a small, closed-mouth smile. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

I nod. “Yes, Boss,” How can I forget? I was a foolish kid about to die while trying to avenge my parents. “It was in Enzino’s garden when I sneaked in.” Don Massimo was there for a meeting, and he caught me just as I was about to slip inside.