Darkness and Duress (Fiori del Cuore #2)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Marco

“ E nd me now.” My cell landed on the counter with a clatter. It was way too early for my idiot younger brother’s shit. Scratch that—there was never a good time for his bullshit. Six o’clock in the morning was the worst time. I loved him to death. Hell, I'd take a bullet for him. I'd also just as soon put one in his head when he got up to his fucking nonsense. Especially since his nonsense came in every color under the sun.

Abandoning the offensive text messages, I left the coffee pot to do what it did best and returned to my bedroom to get ready for another fun-filled day of more bullshit. On top of Gianluca, I had to deal with Pops, and he’d been in rare fucking form lately. The fact that I was the only person who wasn't surprised that life had turned into a shit-show after the d’Ambrosio-Moretti marriage alliance pissed me off to no end. I told them it was a mistake—often and with a lot of passion. No one listened. Surprise, surprise.

Schick, schick, schick. The sound of the metal hangers sliding over the bar in my closet scratched at my brain in a particularly uncomfortable way as I tried to pick a suit that might inspire some vaguely pleasing response, but I honestly just didn't give a shit anymore. I was finding it harder and harder to care, lately. About the business. About my appearance. About anything. I picked a charcoal grey Armani at random and tossed it on the bed. It landed on the floor. Close enough.

Leaving it where it fell, I followed the siren song of the coffee pot beeping. Coffee would probably help me pretend I gave a rat’s ass. At the very least, it would ease the headache courtesy of too little sleep. As soon as I spied my phone beside the machine, my ire returned. Fucking Gianluca. As I expected, there were five more texts after the one that had started my descent into bitter anger.

To be fair, it was my own fault he was on this latest kick. A lesson hard-learned—don't get drunk and play stupid kid games with your little brother and his dumb-fuck friends. Never Have I Ever was not the right game to play with a bunch of infants pretending to be adults. Gianluca just had to ask the one question I never should have answered honestly. “Never have I ever fucked a guy in the ass.”

My answer had my brother convinced I was gay or bi or something, which was a terrible fucking assumption to make. No shade to anyone who was, but I definitely wasn't. It happened when I was in a weird headspace, horny as fuck, and frankly, I'd always been an opportunist. A hole’s a hole, especially behind bars. Unfortunately, Gianluca wouldn't hear reason. Every single day since then, he'd been sending me screenshots of the messages my new Grindr profile received. One he set up for me without my consent using a picture he snuck while we were at the gym together. I scoffed in horror at the audacious messages and tapped out a reply.

Marco: Delete it. Now. I'm not fucking gay.

Gianluca: idk man fucking a dude in the ass is pretty gay

Marco: I'm not gay. Gianluca, delete it now.

Gianluca: I think u should give twinkerbelle a try. Says he's good at deepthroating.

Marco: I'm going to murder you in your sleep.

Gianluca: tonight at 8 good for u?

Growling under my breath, I called him directly. Of course, he picked up on the first ring, but I could barely hear him over the loud music playing in his apartment.

“Gianluca, turn that shit off and listen to me!”

“Huh?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Turn it off!”

“What?”

“I will rip your fucking balls off and feed them to your dog!” I shouted into the phone and was met with a cackle of delight.

“Balls, eh? Figured you'd be more of an ass man.” He laughed again as he lowered the volume of the music.

“I hate you so fucking much.”

“Nah. You’ll thank me later. So, eight?”

My breath hissed through my teeth as I exhaled with a clenched jaw. “I'm not meeting up with twink-whatever. Delete the fucking profile. I told you I'm not—”

“Gay, I know. Bi is best.”

“I swear to fucking Christ, Gian. I'm not having this conversation again. Unlike you, I have actual work to do today. Grow the fuck up.”

“Whoa, hold the fuck on. Low blow.”

The scathing remark was right on the tip of my tongue, but if I didn't de-escalate this situation, no one would. “Probably. But seriously, delete the fucking profile. I'm not hooking up with anyone. Especially not a man. Delete. It.”

“Man, you're so stiff. Maybe, just maybe, if you hooked up once in a while, you wouldn't be so fucking irritating.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose with a sigh. “Priceless coming from you. Go bother someone else.”

“Fuck you too.” The phone call ended. Thank God for the smallest of miracles. Knowing him, he pitched it in a fit of anger and our poor mother would be the one helping him replace it. Again.

My energy levels were depleted and the day had barely begun. With a mug of black coffee in hand, I returned to my bedroom, scowling at the bright sun streaming through the windows to fall in broad pools over the unmade bed and granite flooring. I had a nice place, courtesy of Pops owning the building, but that did little to improve my low mood. Very little did. I scooped the suit from the ground and set my coffee on the glass-topped nightstand to drag myself through the process of dressing. Honestly, all I really wanted to do was push the remote for the blinds and crawl back into the bed.

Half an hour and a full pot of coffee later, I was looking at the same view from my bedroom, but a couple floors higher. Lower Manhattan with Brooklyn in the distance, glittering under the morning sunlight. Pops’ office on the top floor got the best of the view. At least according to people who enjoyed that sort of thing. I used to be enamored with it. Now, I was exhausted by it.

“Marco, I'm glad you're here.” My father nodded toward the chairs in front of his desk.

“I'm always here, Pops. It's part of the job.” I slung my frame into the chair and slouched. “What's the list have on it for me today?”

“A small list, my son. Things are changing and we have a number of adjustments to make.”

My brow arched as I eyed my father, sitting upright with his steepled fingers and cool expression. This was Damiano in work mode, not Pops having a morning chat with his oldest son. There was a vast chasm between the two. “Understood. Lay it on me.”

“The alliance is still in tenuous shape, but we’re moving forward with our plans regardless. We need to establish shipping routes in north Jersey. As much as I want to keep you off the streets and out of the thick of it, we don't have much choice.” He shifted and tapped his chin with his fingertips. It was his biggest tell and I knew, before he even opened his mouth, I wouldn't like anything that spilled out of it.

“Your grandfather is getting older. So am I. Selene is graduating this summer, and Gianluca is moving to the Catskills to run smaller operations. With that being said, your mother and I have decided to take some time and establish ourselves in Italy. You’ll be taking on a larger role here.”

The clench of my jaw had my teeth instantly aching. He wanted me to step up now ? He'd kept me in a gilded cage since the day I stepped out of prison, but now that it was convenient for him, I would be taking on a larger role. Figures. I bit my tongue when he parted his lips to continue.

“I've also put together a team for you to help. They're skilled, aware of what we do, and already trusted. One will act as your driver. In the event the convoy is ever pulled over, you'll have more plausible deniability as a passenger. You meet with the new crew downstairs in an hour. They already have instructions for the day.” He leaned across his desk, plucked an index card from the side, and held it out to me. “That’ll be all.”

Wow . Talk about control. My irritation rose over the fact that, even as he stood on the cusp of handing over the stateside family operations, he still managed to keep me on a leash. A crew he selected? A fucking driver ? Fuck me. We exchanged tense eye contact for a moment, as if he were daring me to say anything, but I knew better. With a clipped nod, I rose out of the chair and left. There was no sense arguing or discussing. Pops said his piece, so I had to make the best of it.

I almost considered escaping to kill the hour sulking, but my mom’s happy humming had me stopping short in the hallway outside the kitchen. Before I could stop myself, I slipped through the doorway and into her domain.

“Oh!” The delight in her voice chiseled away at my heart. I really needed to spend more time with her. I wanted to, genuinely. There was just a gaping distance between us to contend with since I got out of lock-up.

“Hey, Mama.” I milled in the entrance as my skin prickled. “How're you?”

“I’m wonderful. Come here.” She flounced around the island in her designer pantsuit looking all the part of a made man’s kept woman. Pops treated her well, that was for sure. Between the designer clothes, the regular salon appointments, and the tricked out kitchen we were currently standing in, she could want for nothing. Except more time with her sons, given how eagerly she rushed to capture me in her arms.

I folded her against my chest and let out a soft breath to relieve the tension. “You smell nice.”

“Coffee and crumb cake. Do you want some? Both are fresh.” Her tiny frame cinched tight around me.

“That would be nice. Thank you.” Neither of us seemed eager to release our hold, but eventually we pulled apart.

“Oh, my sweet Marco.” Her hand flattened on my chest with a fleeting smile. “You're dressed up today. Special occasion?”

“Just work. Same shit, different day.”

I watched as a host of emotions crossed her face before she turned away under the pretense of serving coffee and cake. I wasn't dumb—she might have known what she was getting into when she married Pops and had three kids with him, but I always had an inkling that it wasn't something that made her happy. It took a rare breed of woman to raise a family in the mob.

“Please be careful.” The plate clinked against the granite counter in front of me with a little more force than she likely intended. “We need to get together for dinner. Just you and me. I'd like to talk to you about something—”

“You're moving. I know. Pops told me.” Retrieving a forkful of the fluffy white crumb cake, I held it before my mouth. “It'll be good for you both.”

Her eyes searched my face as I popped the forkful into my mouth and chewed, mindful to eat slow and steady. I'd picked up bad eating habits in prison and they always bothered her. Shoving food into my mouth as fast as possible was something I had to actively work to prevent when in her company for that reason.

“You're not upset? I had hoped to talk to you beforehand, but he beat me to it.” She pulled her mug closer and cradled it with her elbows resting on the counter.

“Mama, if it will make you happy, I'm happy.” I snuck my free hand over the distance and brushed the back of her hand with my fingertips. “Don't worry about me.”

“I'll always worry, Marc. You might be the oldest, but you'll always be my baby.” She slipped her hand free and captured mine in her grip. A tug at the corner of my mouth was matched by the subtle curve of her lips.

“Any idea when you will be leaving?” I gave into the urge and cut a massive chunk from the cake before cramming it into my mouth.

“Your father is hoping for August.” She squeezed my fingers again. “A long way off still.”

I nodded, still working my jaw to finagle the food into submission. I avoided eye contact. She seemed intent on forcing it.

“Marco, is this what you want for your future?”

In spite of my reluctance, my eyes bounced toward hers—pale green so light, it was almost grey. Just like mine. With a faint shrug, I forced myself to swallow with an audible gulp and bought time for myself with a large drink of coffee. I could only put it off for so long. I didn't like lying to my mother.

“I'll be happy with whatever happens. We’ve known for a while how things would work out.”

“Marc, you know you have a choice in this.”

I eyed her deadpan before returning to my indulgent breakfast. Her sigh carried the weight of everything we weren't saying. I was the first son born to the leader of a notorious mafia family and I had a shiny new felony record. My options weren't exactly plentiful.

Shoving the last hunk of cake into my mouth, I went to collect my plate, but she swept it out from under me with a swift hand. “More?”

We both caught my compulsive check of the watch around my wrist and she sighed before I shook my head. I washed down the massive mouthful with the last of my coffee before clearing my throat with an awkward cough. The tension and distance between us returned in stark contrast to the quiet moment we’d shared.

“I would but I have to go.”

She dropped the dishware into the sink with a clatter and grabbed the tea towel from the counter. “Of course. You'll stop by for dinner soon? I’d still like to have dinner, just us.”

The sound of my heart cracking in two must have been audible. It definitely felt like an audible crack. Her gaze flicked to my face and the strain at the corners of her eyes made me feel like the biggest asshole on the planet.

“Yeah, Ma. You and me. I promise.”

She rushed forward so suddenly, I took a step back, but the wily woman was quicker. She seized me in her arms and clung tight until I slowly wrapped my arms around her and kissed the top of her head. I think we both needed this more than either of us wanted to admit, so I echoed the reassurance. For both of us.

“I promise, Ma.”