Steal My Heart (NOLA Mobsters #1)

Prologue

Angelo

Almost ten years ago…

My foot taps wildly, my mind racing. Finals are coming up, and I don’t have time for… whatever this is. Mama begged me to come home, but refused to say why in her cryptic message.

The driver opens the door for me, and I take a deep breath before stepping out and approaching the front door.

Trying my key, I’m surprised it still works.

Figured all the locks were changed when I dropped a bombshell and left New Orleans for New England.

Not that it should have been a bombshell; it was painfully obvious the family life wasn’t for me.

But because of that, Papà made clear I was no son of his.

I step inside the grand foyer and follow the sound of the television to the family room. “Well. Well. Well. The prodigal son returns.” My older brother sneers at me over his glass of whiskey.

“Fabien. Shouldn’t you be wearing orange?” My gaze lingers on his ankle monitor.

“For your information, I don’t self-surrender until…” He checks his flashy watch. “T-minus 188 minutes.”

“And making every minute count.” I nod to the bottle of booze.

He smirks, kicking back the whiskey in one gulp. “Unlike you, Angelo, I know how to have a good time.” He refills his glass.

My eyebrows lift. “By good time, do you mean getting coked up and popping an undercover fed in a bar full of witnesses?” Even Vitto Calvani, the king of NOLA, couldn’t sweep that one under the rug. The best our papà could do was get the charges plea bargained down to manslaughter.

Fabien’s eyes flicker with rage, but he masks it easily enough with a sardonic laugh. “Don’t be a sucker and believe everything you read.”

“Everything you see . That’s the thing about witnesses and cell phones,” I inform him.

“Why are you here?” he counters. “Flunk out of school already? Gonna crawl on your hands and knees and beg for Papà’s forgiveness?”

“My business with Papà doesn’t concern you.” I’m not sure if Papà even knows I’m here, but my obnoxious brother doesn’t need to know that.

He puffs up his chest. “I’m number two in this family, so I say it does.”

“Here’s the thing about number two: it always gets flushed down the shitter,” I taunt.

Fabien hops out of his chair, getting in my face. Years ago, he’d have already laid me out, but I’ve bulked up since our last encounter, and he suddenly isn’t such a badass. My lips curl into a mocking smile. “Do it. Catch a few more charges while you’re at it.”

“If you fucking think you’re going to slide in here and steal my position, you’ve got another thing coming.” He grits between his teeth.

“Don’t worry, big brother. I could never deep throat a boot like you.”

Fabien lands a shot to my ribs, but I’m too keyed up to feel it. Wrapping my arms around him, I barrel forward. His back slams into the wall, the air leaving his lungs in a violent swoosh .

“Boys! That’s enough!” Mama appears in the doorway, hands on hips.

“We were just messing around,” I say, dropping my arms and backing up. Fabien gives me a death glare as I cross the room and greet Mama with a hug and kiss on each cheek. “Where’s Al?” I ask her.

“Karate,” she answers, taking my hand in hers as she dotes over me.

“How’s it feel knowing an eight-year-old could kick your ass?” Fabien goads.

“Fabien,” Mama warns.

The hostilities are put on hold by the ring of the doorbell. “Those are some buddies of mine. We’ll be in the game room,” Fabien tells Mama.

Mama sighs. “Do not try to leave this house and get into trouble?—”

Fabien’s hands fall to the top of his head. “I’m about to do ten years. How much more trouble could I get into?”

“Eleven years. Twelve years. Thirteen years,” I helpfully add.

“Glad to see that Ivy League education taught you how to count.” Fabien strolls across the room and kisses Mama. Now behind her, he flicks his hand under his chin and mouths to me, Sei uno sfigato, before walking out.

Unclenching my fists, I turn to Mama. “Why did you ask me to come?”

“Follow me.”

“What’s with the cloak and daggers? Just tell me.”

She doesn’t answer, and I sigh, following her down the hallway and to my father’s office.

“Uh-huh,” I say preemptively. “I’m not dropping out of school to cover for my idiot brother?—”

“Angelo,” Mama chastises. She knocks softly on the door, but to my surprise, a woman in scrubs appears and ushers us inside. “He refused pain medication,” the nurse reports to Mama.

“He wants to be lucid to speak to his son,” Mama tells her. “That will be all for now.”

The nurse nods, walking out and closing the door behind her.

My jaw hangs from its hinges, and I have to force my mouth shut. My father, King Vitto, isn’t seated on his throne behind his desk; instead, he’s lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to monitors. His face gaunt, his breathing labored, it’s clear he’s knocking on death’s door.

“Pancreatic cancer. By the time he was diagnosed, it had already progressed to Stage 4. It’s metastasized to his lungs…” She trails off, fighting back the tears. “He doesn’t have much time.”

Walking to my father’s bedside, she takes his frail hand into hers. “Vitto, my love, Angelo is here to see you.”

My feet don’t want to move, but I find myself now standing beside my father.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Mama says, kissing my father’s forehead before taking her leave.

“Papà,” I say, running my hand through my hair for lack of anything else to do. “I had no idea…”

“I know you didn’t,” he says, his voice paper thin. “A dying man needs a favor.”

“My brother’s fuckup isn’t my problem,” I say firmly.

He tents his bony fingers together. “Ahh, but it will soon be your problem.”

I cock my head in confusion. “I’m not following.”

“I’m naming you my successor.”

“Your successor,” I repeat dumbly.

“You’ll be boss.” He spells it out.

My eyes go wide at this lunacy. “Papà, I’m not even a made man.”

“We’ll take care of that shortly.”

“The hell we will.” I cross my arms. “You know I don’t want this life.”

A ghost of a smile reaches his dry lips. “And I don’t want to meet my maker, but some things are beyond our control.”

“You, the Iron Fist, are admitting you’re not in control?” I raise an eyebrow.

He silently grabs a manila folder on the bedside table and tosses it to me.

Opening the file, I find a letter from the dean.

Dear Mr. Angelo Calvani,

It is with heavy heart we inform you that you are hereby terminated from our university. We take allegations of cheating very seriously, and we have received irrefutable evidence of your cheating on the following exams…

It’s a list of every exam I’ve taken in my entire college career.

“This is bullshit!” I wad up the letter in a rage, flinging it across the room. “I’ve never cheated! You paid off the dean to come up with these allegations!”

Papà chuckles. “Seems your old man’s still in control, eh?”

“You son of a bitch?—”

“Don’t speak ill of your dead nonna. Here’s what’s going to happen.” He proceeds to lay out my future.

“Fuck school,” I say hotly. “I’ll figure something else out.”

“You could,” Papà agrees. “But you won’t. Not with the opportunity to stick it to Fabien,” he tempts, like a little devil perched on my left shoulder.

If there’s an angel on my right, he’s gone mute.

“Let’s say hypothetically I agree to this bullshit. You think Fabien will take the news lying down?”

“Lying down. Sitting up. Standing on his head. I don’t give a fuck how he takes the news. I’m the boss of this family until I say otherwise.” He pokes his finger into his frail chest.

“Even behind bars, he’ll try and kill me,” I point out the obvious.

“And I have faith that as boss, you’ll handle it.” He waves away my concern.

“I could disappear. You’d never find me,” I say, grasping for straws.

“There is no place you could go that I wouldn’t find you,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Heaven?”

That gets a belly laugh out of my old man. “Well, maybe one place, but we both know you couldn’t get into heaven, either. Just like your old man, you’re no angel.”

“I hate you,” I tell him with a resigned sigh.

“And that’s why you’ll be the best boss in this family’s history. Out of pure spite,” he declares.

Fabien storms out of Papà’s office. Enraged doesn’t begin to cover it. “Have fun playing boss while I’m gone.” He shoulder checks me as he barrels down the hall.

“Have fun playing prison bitch while I’m boss,” I call after him, resisting the urge to rub my throbbing shoulder.

My brother spins around, murder in his eyes, but before he can attempt to make good on that threat, Mama appears. “ La famiglia prima di tutto . You two kiss and make up.”

“Mama, I have to go,” Fabien starts, but shuts his mouth when he sees the look . Mama’s always been the peacemaker of the family, but when she breaks out the look, don’t fuck with her.

Fabien and I meet in the middle, a sort of hug, sort of wrestling match, as we kiss each other on the cheek. “See you in 5,259,600 minutes,” he menaces quietly.

“I’ll make every one of those minutes as boss count,” I whisper back.

“Now that’s more like it,” Mama announces. “Fabien, it’s time. I’m going with you?—”

“Nah, Mama. Don’t leave Papà. Let me get settled, and I’ll call you.”

She nods, grabbing her eldest and hugging him tight. They exchange something quietly that I can’t hear, and he gives me one last parting glare before walking out.

Mama takes my hands, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “Angelo, my angel. I have a favor to ask.”

“The theme of the evening,” I grumble.

“Swear to me you won’t kill Fabien,” she begs, grabbing my hands.

I sigh heavily. “I swear to you I won’t kill Fabien. Unless he gives me a reason.”

“Then I’ll pray he doesn’t give you a reason.” She makes the sign of the cross.

It’s a surreal scene: my father propped up in a hospital bed, surrounded by his capos.

Soon to be my capos.

“There’s my son.” Papà motions me over, and I take my place beside him. “Gentlemen, we’re here this evening to induct a new member into the Calvani family.”

“Boss, I understand the urgency, but has this kid even earned his button?” One of the capos interjects.

“Are you questioning my integrity?” Papà demands, his weak voice cutting through the room by sheer willpower.

“Course not, boss.” The capo ducks his head.

It feels like a blur as Papà goes through the ceremony, and I find myself pricking the center of my palm and swearing my life to the family.

“Let’s welcome Angelo Calvani to the family,” Papà announces.

Instead of placing the ceremonial knife down, I move the blade to my old man’s throat. Like a knife moving through warm butter, I slice open his jugular—blood spraying my arm and shirt.

Papà’s eyes go wide for a split second before rolling back in his head.

“Anyone else want to question whether I’ve earned my button?” I announce to a sufficiently shocked room.

Silence.

“Good. Gentlemen, let me reintroduce myself. Angelo Calvani, the boss of this family.”