Born into Sin: An Age Gap Dark Mafia Romance (Devils Will Rise: Melnikov Legacy Book 1)

1. Dominic

Iwatch my father take his last breath as I let out the one I’ve been holding. His hand, once so strong, grows limp in mine while I try like hell to feel something, but there’s nothing there. I feel empty and vacant, the same damn way I’ve felt for years.

A big piece of my heart died when my sister was murdered, and I haven’t been able to get it back. When we found the sex-trafficking bastard who took her, my father and I took turns torturing him, and it had given us both some much-needed peace, but it could never be enough to take away the pain of losing her. We both knew that going into it, but it hadn’t stopped us from trying.

That was eighteen years ago, and I still carry around the pain of losing her. It might have dulled over the years, but it’s still there, and I’ve resigned myself to the fact that it will never go away. The truth is I’m not so sure I want it to. It’s the last piece of her I have, and I’m not willing to part with it.

Squeezing my father’s hand one last time, I stand and then let it go. He’d held out longer than I thought he would. Isabella’s death nearly killed him, especially after losing our mother only a few years earlier, but his anger and need for revenge had kept him going. After he’d gotten it, he’d held onto the anger until he couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer. The doctor said the stroke was a long time coming. I have to agree with him on that. I never thought he would make it to eighty, but he’d surprised all of us.

When I leave the bedroom, my Uncle Salvatore is ready and waiting. One large, beefy hand squeezes my shoulder as much as the arthritis will let him while he pats my cheek with the other.

“You were born to lead this family, Dominic, and you’ve been doing a hell of a job of it ever since Isabella’s death, but now it’s official.”

I nod and scrub a hand over the light beard that’s in need of a trim. I’ve been unofficially running this family for almost two decades. For me, this is just another fucking day of work. The only thing that’s changed is my title. I’m no longer the underboss. My dad’s death means I’ll be addressed as don of this family, and that’s about all that’s changing.

Nodding to my uncle, I walk past him to the hall where two of my cousins are waiting. Dario and Alessandro Alessi lean against the wall, eyeing me cautiously. Whatever they see has Sandro pushing off to give me a respectful nod while saying, “Sorry for your loss, boss. Uncle Antonio was a good man.”

“One of the best,” Dario agrees, smacking my shoulder in a show of comfort, because he sure as fuck knows better than to try and hug me.

“I need a drink,” I tell them, walking past to my office, knowing they’ll follow me. I’ve been in Italy for the last year, and as much as I love my country, it no longer feels like home. I’m anxious to get back to America. I’ve worked hard to make the Alessi Mafia something to be feared, and with the help of an alliance that I never saw coming, I’ve secured more power and wealth than our family has ever seen. The Melnikov Bratva and the Alessi Mafia have control of one of the biggest cities in America, and we intend to keep it that way. My mafia runs the eastern and northern areas now, and the Melnikov Bratva runs the western and southern areas. For the most part, our men stay on our own sides, but there’s always a little bit of overlap. I allow his men to transport shipments through our territory, and they extend the same courtesy to me.

So far we’ve managed to not kill each other. We’ve actually grown quite close over the years, and I tend to think of them more like family—the wilder members who show up to family gatherings covered in tattoos with chips on all their damn shoulders, but family nonetheless.

Pouring myself a whiskey, I motion for the others to grab a glass and then sit down. Dario and Sandro have just taken the two chairs in front of my desk with their own drinks in hand when their dad walks in. I wave a hand at my uncle, making it clear he should just help himself, and once he’s taken the leather seat beside his oldest, he raises his glass in a toast.

“To my brother Antonio, may he finally find the peace that was denied him in life.”

We raise our glasses and drink to my father and the peace that he may or may not have found. I’m on the fence about religion, but I hope my uncle is right. I hope he’s reunited with my mom and Isabella and is at peace.

“So,” my uncle begins, “what are your plans, Dominic?”

I sigh and look out the large window that faces the Ionian Sea. I’ve lived in this house since I was born, and there’s no denying the beauty of the southeastern coast of Italy, but I know where I belong now, and it’s not here.

Looking back at my uncle, I say, “I’m going back to America. I’ve been gone too long as it is.”

He looks like he wants to argue, and when he manages to bite his tongue and keep quiet, I let out a soft laugh.

“That looks painful, Uncle Salvatore. Just spit it out. We’ve always had honesty between us.”

He looks relieved to not have to hold his words back and lets out a sigh at what had clearly been a battle of wills before saying, “Your family is here and your home is here. You should find yourself a nice Italian girl and get married, start a family. You need heirs, Dominic.”

I groan, because I’ve heard this a million fucking times from him, while Sandro lets out a soft laugh because he knows how much I hate the you need to get married to a nice Italian girl talk. “My place is in America now. You know this, and I have no desire to marry.”

The very thought of marriage makes me feel like I’m suffocating, the air slowly being cut off as I’m trapped in a situation I have no desire to be in. I’ve never met a woman I can tolerate for long. A few dates, a few fucks, and then I’m done. I’ve never wanted anything more, and I’ve always been very upfront about that. They want the Alessi name, the money, the designer clothes I can buy them, and the bragging rights of being on my arm. They don’t give a fuck about me, but that’s only fair since I don’t give a fuck about them either.

My Uncle Salvatore refuses to accept my decision to remain single. He’d married my Aunt Maria when he was young, and he swears it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. I know my uncle. I know all about his various affairs over the years, but he’s always said that coming home to Maria is what’s kept him sane. He never wanted to be the boss. He’s always been more than happy to be the muscle behind the scenes, but his days of killing are over—about eighty pounds of extra weight and arthritic hands have seen to that. Probably for those same reasons, his days of whoring around are also over.

“It’s not good to be alone,” he tries again. When I meet his dark eyes, he adds, “Isabella would have wanted you to be happy.”

I narrow my eyes at the mention of my sister, letting him know he’s on dangerous ground. He backtracks and holds up one of his broad hands. In his prime those hands were feared, but now he can’t even straighten his fingers out. They remain in a constant bent position that I know he despises. No one enjoys becoming weak, but it’s even worse when that weakness is so obvious to others, especially in our line of work.

“I’m going back to America,” I tell him, my tone making it clear that it’s not up for discussion. “As soon as my father is buried, I’m leaving, and I’m taking Dario and Sandro with me.”

His grey, bushy eyebrows raise at that. I look over at my cousins, not at all surprised to see Sandro grinning while Dario gives me a wary look. I hadn’t discussed this with them, but I need them with me. I’ve divided my time between these two countries long enough. I’m tired of all the travel and stress. My future is in America, and that’s where I need to be. My top men are coming with me.

“What? Why are you taking them from their home?”

“They’re mine to do with as I please, Uncle Salvatore. You know that.”

My cousins swore an oath to this family, the same as we all did, and that means they’re mine. They will bleed for me, they will die for me, they will do whatever the fuck needs to be done for this family, and that means both their asses will be coming with me to the States.

“What about Italy?”

I look back at my uncle, feeling my patience start to dwindle as I take another drink. “What about it? The other families haven’t tried to encroach on our territory in a very long time. We have an agreement with all of them, and I see no reason for that to change. I won’t be as active here, they know that, but I also won’t be interfering with their shit, and that’s all they really care about. If things change in the future, I’ll deal with it, but right now, there’s more money to be had in America. I have a good thing going there, Uncle, and I’m not about to lose everything I’ve worked so damn hard for.”

“You mean with the fucking Russians?”

He looks like he wants to spit over his shoulder after he says it, but instead he tips his glass and finishes his drink.

“They’ve been loyal friends to me, and without them we wouldn’t have found Isabella’s killer,” I remind him.

“Papà,” Sandro starts to say, but Salvatore waves a hand at him, and even though my cousins are both in their thirties now, they respect their father too much to speak over him.

After a few seconds, Salvatore sighs and says, “Will you at least let your Aunt Maria introduce you to one of the nice girls from the village? She’s been pestering me for weeks about this girl she knows from Mass.”

When he sees that I’m about to protest, he quickly says, “I swear I’ll shut the hell up about marriage and you taking my two sons, my only sons,” he emphasizes, “away to America.”

I sigh and scrub a hand over my jaw.

“If you don’t agree to this, I’ll never hear the end of it. I’m begging you. Have pity on an old man and just agree to meet with her. She’s twenty-five,” he says, like that’s supposed to make it better.

“Too young,” I say. “I’m forty-three, Uncle.”

He gives a soft laugh and looks at his sons. “Too young?”

Dario joins in and shakes his head. “It’s not like she’s eighteen, Dominic.”

Knowing there isn’t a chance in hell this is going to lead anywhere, I finally nod my head. “Fine. I’ll meet with her, but I’m holding you to your word. No more talk of marriage and no more lectures about America.”

My uncle smiles. “You’ve saved me from a lot of grief. Maria will be so happy when I tell her.”

“Can I at least get my father buried before this godawful setup?”

Salvatore puts his curled, stiff hand against his heart. “My brother’s death breaks my heart, Dominic, but I’ve had a long time to prepare for this. We all knew it was coming.”

He’s not wrong. My father lived a long life, even if it was filled with sadness and violence. His death wasn’t a shock to anyone. If anything, we’re all relieved it’s over. Antonio Alessi was more than ready to leave this world. I think he’d been wishing for it for years. I down the last of my drink, more than ready to get this over with and get back to America.

Two weeks later, my ass is being lead through the house by my very bossy and insistent aunt.

“Aunt Maria, don’t get your hopes up,” I tell her for the tenth time in the last twenty minutes. I can see the wedding plans taking place behind her warm, brown eyes, and that shit needs to stop. I gently reach out and squeeze her bony shoulders. She’s as petite as Salvatore is large, but there’s a strength to my aunt that goes beyond her small frame.

“Nothing is going to come of this,” I tell her, trying to not sound like an ass.

She smiles up at me and gives my cheek a soft pat. “She could make you very happy, Dominic. She’s a sweet girl. Never married, helps look after her parents, beautiful.” She smiles even bigger. “Good birthing hips.”

“Jesus,” I groan and then raise my hands in apology for the blasphemy.

She points a finger at me. “You need a woman to look after you.”

Without giving me a chance to respond, she spins on her heels and marches to the front sitting room. When we walk in, there’s a young woman already sitting in one of the chairs that never gets any use aside from short visits like this one is most definitely going to be. The woman is blonde, tall and curvy, and looks scared to death when she sees me. Jumping up, she meets my eyes for all of one second before dropping them and fidgeting with the dress she’s wearing. She’s chosen black—a proper mourning dress that is both respectful and modest and absolutely boring as hell. She’s pretty, there’s no denying that, but I feel nothing when I look at her. Well, that’s not true. I feel irritated and bored and wishing I was already on my flight home.

“Dominic, I want you to meet Beatrice.”

Aunt Maria beams up at me and then looks at the woman.

“Beatrice, this is my nephew Dominic, the one I’ve been telling you about.”

I force a smile and hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Beatrice.”

She holds her hand out, and I can see the slight tremor in it. Good god, she’d probably have a heart attack if I went in for a kiss, not that I have any intention of doing that.

“Nice to meet you.” Her voice is whisper-soft, and her hand in mine is limp and clammy. I let it go and have the sudden urge to shake her shoulders in annoyance. There’s something about her timidity that irritates the hell out of me. I know it’s fear because of who I am, but I don’t have a reputation for abusing women, and there’s no reason for her to be acting like this.

I look at my aunt and raise a brow at her. I feel like my work here is done, but her expression makes it clear this little meeting is far from over. Biting back the heavy sigh I want to give, I motion to the couch and say, “Please, sit down, Beatrice. Would you like something to drink?”

She looks at where she’d just been sitting and quickly sits back down again. “Um, a glass of water would be great. Thank you.”

Water isn’t going to cut it for me, so when my aunt looks over, waiting to see what I’ll take, I say, “A whiskey.” Before she walks away, I add, “A double.”

I see the slight shake of her head, but she doesn’t say anything before walking out to get our drinks. We have staff who could easily bring us whatever we want, but I know this is my aunt’s way of giving us some alone time so we can presumably fall in love. Fat fucking chance of that happening.

Resigning myself to a few minutes of hell, I sit down and put my focus on the scared woman in front of me. “So where do you work?” I finally ask to break the awkward silence.

“I work at my family’s bakery.” Her eyes briefly meet mine. “I brought some pastries with me. Your aunt took them into the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. “I’m sure they’re delicious.” I pause, running my eyes over her, noticing how uncomfortable she is. “Tell me something, Beatrice. How did my aunt convince you to come here?”

Her eyes jump to mine, worry written all over her face.

“Relax,” I tell her as gently as I can manage. “I’m not mad. It’s just that you don’t look thrilled to be here.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Alessi,” she whispers.

I raise a hand to try and calm her down. “Call me Dominic and, again, I’m not mad. I just want you to tell me the truth. My aunt can be,” I stop and give a soft laugh, trying like hell to think of a nice word I can use before settling on “pushy.” I shrug my shoulders and settle back into the couch, resting one elbow on the arm rest. “She means well, but she’s determined to see me married, but the truth is I want nothing to do with it.”

I’m surprised when she meets my eyes and lets out a relieved breath. “You don’t?”

“No. I’m going back to America tomorrow. I’m sure you’re a very nice woman, but I’m not interested, and I’m guessing I’m not the only one.”

The corner of her mouth lifts up in a soft smile. “I was too scared to tell your aunt no. She’s been talking about you to me for weeks, but the truth is I’m in love with someone else. He’s a baker at our store, and we haven’t said anything to our families yet, and, well, you’re you, so I knew I couldn’t just say I wasn’t interested.”

When Beatrice speaks about the man she loves, she finally shows me a bit of backbone, and I can’t help but admire it.

“The man you love, what’s his name?”

“Emilio.” She’s unable to hide the smile when she says his name.

“Has he proposed?”

Her cheeks blush at the question. “Not officially because he wants to talk to my father first, but I know he loves me and wants to marry me. He was also waiting to talk to you when it was appropriate, to get your family’s blessing. We were so sorry to hear about your father’s passing. It seemed wrong to talk of marriage when you were still mourning.”

Before I can say anything my aunt comes walking back into the room, drinks in hand and a big smile on her face. I take my whiskey and raise it up in a toast.

“To Beatrice and Emilio, I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.”

Beatrice smiles and drinks her water while my aunt looks between us with a frown on her face. “Well, this didn’t go quite like I’d planned,” she mutters.

I laugh, feeling much better about our forced meeting now that I know my ass is off the hook. Emilio is getting married, not me. I look up at my aunt. “Please send an appropriate gift to Beatrice’s family and offer them my sincerest congratulations.”

We all know what that means. Nothing happens in this part of Italy without my family’s consent, and I’ve just officially given it. My aunt surprises me by grabbing the drink from my hand and tossing back the last of the whiskey. I laugh while she rolls her eyes at me.

“This isn’t how I imagined this visit going.”

“I tried to tell you, Aunt Maria, but you never listen.”

“I listen when something is worth listening to,” she argues, but because she really is a sweet woman, she turns to Beatrice and smiles. “At least someone is getting married.”

Beatrice returns her smile, looking a hell of a lot more relaxed than when she first walked in, and with the weight now off my shoulders, I feel more at ease too. This may not have gone how my aunt wanted, but this meeting was never going to end with me being in any way involved with the woman sitting across from me. The fact that she’s in love with someone else just makes it all the easier for me to walk away.

After a few more minutes of my aunt gathering enough details so that I know the whole town will know everything before poor Emilio gets a chance to ask Beatrice’s father for permission, I finish the drink my aunt was kind enough to refill and stand.

“I’m sorry, but I need to prepare for my return flight,” I tell them.

Beatrice smiles and shakes my hand again. “Thank you, Mr. Alessi.”

I don’t bother correcting her again. Most people don’t feel comfortable calling me by my first name, not around here anyway. There’s too much behind the Alessi name, too much tradition and fear mixed with it, and it’s been instilled in them since birth. It’s not an easy thing to just ignore.

Saying goodbye to both women, I walk back to my office, more than ready to get my ass back to America. Once I’m sitting behind my desk, a text comes in, and I’m not at all surprised to see Vitaly Melnikov’s name pop up on my screen.

Dominic, you ever coming back? Should we just take your part of the city and add it to ours?

I let out a soft laugh at the Russian fucker’s audacity and remind him that my dad just died and I’ve been tying up loose ends.

Sorry, I have to remember that normal people like their parents. Ours sucked. It’s a miracle I turned out as perfect as I am with the two assholes who made me. Antonio was a good man. I guess this means you’re officially the don. I’ll have to rewatch The Godfather so I know how to behave. I’m not kissing your goddamn ring, so don’t ask me to.

I laugh even harder and type out my response. I think you might be thinking of the Pope. Also, I don’t wear any rings, so you’re safe.

Thank fuck. Get your Italian ass back to America. It’s been years since you’ve seen the kids. The twins are eighteen now. Can you fucking believe it? We’re all getting together this weekend at the house in the country. I’m going to tell everyone you’ll be there.

I groan at the idea of a huge family gathering. I haven’t agreed to come yet.

His response is immediate. See you at seven on Saturday. Bring some of those cannoli I like. The real shit, don’t stop at a grocery store on your way. I’ll know if it wasn’t made in Italy. Don’t be that guy, Dominic.

He adds the smiling emoji, because of course he fucking does. Beatrice’s family’s bakery is on the way to the airport, so I guess I’ll be stopping in there for some authentic cannoli, because god forbid I be that guy and try to feed Vitaly subpar dessert.

Looks like I’ll be attending a huge Melnikov family event after all.