Bellini Born (Bellini Mafia #1)

Prologue

Matteo

“More tea?” The most beautiful girl in the world held up a teapot, ready to serve me if I gave the word.

My fingers pinched the delicate handle of the teacup as I extended it in her direction. “Yes, please.”

When Bianca tipped the teapot, nothing poured from the spout, but I still brought my cup to my lips, smacking them with an “ahh” as I pretended to drink.

Crossing to the other side of the table, she reached up to fix the floppy hat situated atop my head before placing her tiny hands on my face. “Pretty Papa.”

“Not prettier than you, principessa. “ I leaned in to dust a kiss over her button nose.

Her sweet giggles created a lightness within my chest, and I found myself laughing right alongside her.

To the rest of the world, I was the big, bad CEO of Bellini Real Estate and younger brother to the Don of the Bellini Mafia. But here, inside the walls of my home, I was simply a father, free to let down my guard and play dress up while having a tea party with my three-year-old daughter.

Though I could never admit it aloud and show weakness to our enemies and rivals, I much preferred my role as Bianca’s papa over the one where I played a shark in the business world.

Sure, fear and power were a hell of an aphrodisiac. But they didn’t hold a candle to the unconditional love I got from the little girl standing opposite me. One smile from her, and I felt like I was on top of the world.

A giant yawn split Bianca’s face, and a knowing hum worked its way through my chest. “Time to finish up our tea party and get ready for your nap.”

Her rosebud lips pursed into a pout, and she stomped her tiny foot. “No nap, Papa. I not tired.”

“All right,” I conceded. “How about we lie down and read a story instead?” I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist the call of sleep once we settled onto her bed and my deep voice began reciting the words from her favorite book.

Brow wrinkling, she mulled it over. But just as she was gearing up to announce her verdict, the door to the playroom burst open with a bang.

Instantly on alert, I was on my feet in a flash, but my knees threatened to buckle when I caught a good look at my brother Gio’s face. It bore the same grim expression as when he’d come to tell me our father had been killed.

Someone close to us was dead.

With my throat closing up, I dared to ask, “Who?”

Gio let out a sigh so heavy it shook his entire six-three frame. “Matteo—I—“ His words cut off, and he ran a hand through his dark hair.

Dread carved an icy path down my spine.

“Who?” I barked, finding my voice.

My older brother’s eyes slid closed, and he shook his head. “There was an ambush. It was meant for me. They saw my car and thought—“

“Goddammit!” I roared. “Fucking who, Gio?”

He swallowed thickly before rasping, “Allegra.”

A part of me already knew he was going to say my wife’s name, but hearing it still knocked the breath from my lungs.

Clearing my throat a few times, I placed a hand over my churning gut. “She’s . . .” My eyes darted to my daughter staring wide-eyed at our exchange, and I altered my word choice to protect her innocence. “Gone?”

Quickly, Gio shook his head, and relief crashed over me like a tidal wave.

But it was short-lived.

“She’s in bad shape. They rushed her to Windy City General.”

My feet were moving before I had a conscious thought. But the whimpered, “Papa,” behind me gave me pause.

Bianca’s dark brown eyes were glassy, her lower lip wobbled, and my heart fucking broke. Because if she lost her mother . . .

No, I wouldn’t even entertain that notion. My wife was the daughter of Emilio Santoro, ruler of the New York underworld. She was a goddamn mafia princess and too damn tough to be taken out by whomever chose violence and decided to cross the Bellinis today.

A hand came down on my shoulder. “Go. I’ve got her.”

With a quick nod, I turned on my heel and raced out the door.

Bursting into the emergency room of the hospital, I slammed both hands down on the reception desk and huffed out, “Bellini. Allegra. Car accident.”

My chest heaved; my lungs burned with each attempted inhale as black spots danced across my vision.

I was distantly aware of the clacking of a keyboard with the blood roaring in my ears. My heart rate hadn’t settled since Gio dropped the bomb that the vehicle my wife was traveling in had been attacked.

This was taking too long, and my frayed nerves snapped.

“How hard is it to look up a patient’s name?”

The woman behind the desk let out a frightened squeak at my harsh tone. But I didn’t have time for sympathy, not when my wife’s life hung in the balance.

Keeping her eyes cast down, she replied, “Fourth floor.”

I didn’t stick around long enough to get a room number, running full steam toward the elevators.

When one didn’t open immediately upon hitting the call button, I pushed through the door to the stairwell and hoofed it up four flights of stairs. Despite being in peak physical shape, my thighs screamed as I pushed them to the limit in my desperation to get to my wife.

Reaching my destination, out of breath, I bent over with my hands on my knees.

“Mr. Bellini?”

At the sound of my name, I straightened to find a doctor wearing dark blue scrubs, holding a surgical cap in his hands.

“Yes,” I panted out.

The doctor hauled in a deep breath before introducing himself. “I’m Dr. Finch. When they brought in your wife, I was called down to assess her injuries as a general surgeon.”

Panic surged in my veins. “She’s pregnant.”

Dr. Finch’s lips thinned as he nodded. “We were forced to perform an emergency C-section. Your daughter is currently in the NICU.”

“D-daughter,” I choked out.

We hadn’t found out what we were having, intent on being surprised at the birth like we had with Bianca.

Instead of this beautiful moment where my wife and I were overjoyed by the discovery that our baby was a girl, the news was relayed almost clinically by a doctor, because I hadn’t even fucking been there to witness it.

Then another thought struck.

“She was only twenty-seven weeks.”

The surgeon nodded, addressing my concern.

“I know it sounds early, and it is, but the survival rate of a premature baby of your daughter’s gestational age is upwards of ninety percent.

Though I will warn you, you’re looking at a lengthy stay in the NICU.

Several months, in fact. I can take you to her now, if you’d like. ”

My mind was swimming, and I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Has Allegra seen her?”

Dr. Finch gestured to the small seating area to our right. “Why don’t we sit down?”

Why couldn’t he give me a straight answer? How hard was it? Had my wife seen our daughter yet? Yes or no?

When he grabbed my elbow to guide me to a chair, I shook him off, my voice going deadly. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

The man had the good sense to drop his hold and take a step back.

With my temper overruling the fear I’d felt walking into this building, I gritted out, “Take me to my wife.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s not possible.”

“And why the hell not?”

He exhaled deeply. “When your wife was brought in, her injuries were severe. From what the paramedics explained, the car had rolled several times, and the damage to the exterior was so extensive that it required the use of hydraulic rescue tools to extract her body. That’s when they discovered she hadn’t been wearing her seat belt. ”

I shook my head, silently cursing Allegra. Damn stubborn woman refused to wear one while pregnant, claimed it didn’t sit right over her belly.

Dr. Finch cleared his throat. “We rushed her into surgery as quickly as we could, but despite our best efforts, we were unable to stop the internal bleeding caused by the crash. That’s when we had to make the snap decision to deliver your daughter before we lost them both.”

My brows furrowed. His words didn’t make any sense. “What do you mean, lost them both?”

Looking me straight in the eye, the doctor explained, “I’m very sorry, Mr. Bellini, but your wife succumbed to her injuries sustained in the crash.”

Those words were like a bucket of ice water dumped directly over my head, and I sucked in a gasping breath. “A-Allegra’s dead?”

Dr. Finch hung his head. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

The scoff I let out was extremely inappropriate, given that I’d just been told my wife had died, but I couldn’t help it.

I was practically unaffected by death at this point, but you know who wasn’t?

The three-year-old little girl waiting for me at home, who no longer had a mother.

How the hell was I supposed to explain to her that her mamma was never coming home?

How could she trust that I would always keep her safe when the hole in her heart was a constant reminder that I’d already failed at that task?

Then there was the brand-new baby girl who would never know the comfort of Allegra’s arms, who would never get to hear the sweet sound of her softly sung lullabies as she rocked her to sleep.

It was all so unfair that my frustration with a situation I couldn’t control or change boiled over, and with two hands pulling on the stands of my hair, I shouted, “Fuck!”

My sudden outburst drew the attention of the medical personnel nearby, and Dr. Finch glanced around nervously.

“How about I show you to a waiting room where you can grieve in private?”

“No. Take me to my daughter,” I commanded.

“Mr. Bellini,” he began, his tone placating, which set me further on edge.

I arched an eyebrow. “Is there a reason you’re keeping me from my child?”

“It’s just that . . . The NICU aims to maintain a peaceful atmosphere, and I think it’s best if you calm down before I take you there.”

With my blood boiling, my jaw clenched. “I’m not going to calm down until I see with my own eyes that my daughter is alive and well.”

The doctor must’ve realized he was fighting a losing battle because he ducked his head. “Yes, of course. If you’ll follow me.”

I fell into step beside him as we navigated the hallways of the hospital that led us to the neonatal intensive care unit, which featured no less than two dozen clear incubators.

Each one contained a teeny-tiny infant who should by all rights still be growing within its mother’s womb—including my baby girl.

Dr. Finch came to a stop before an incubator that had a bright pink placard affixed to the outside, bearing the name BELLINI in capital letters. My breath caught in my lungs as I stared down at the baby lying flat on its back, attached to so many tubes it made my heart hurt.

A nurse in pink scrubs joined us. “Are you this little one’s daddy?” Her mood was too damn cheerful for this dark day.

I managed to grunt in the affirmative.

“Don’t let her size fool you; she’s a fighter. I can already tell.”

Of course she was. She came from strong stock.

Not strong enough to survive a car crash without a seatbelt.

“We didn’t manage to get a first name, though . . .” The nurse’s words trailed off expectantly.

Swallowing thickly, it struck me that Allegra and I hadn’t made it to that part of the planning for our new arrival.

Truth be told, this pregnancy had flown by.

I was busy with work, and Allegra was busy taking care of Bianca.

We’d thought we had three more months to make these decisions, and never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined it would fall to me alone to name our child.

We’d gone round and round when it came to choosing Bianca’s. It was my top choice, but Allegra had been stuck on Serafina. Eventually, my wife tired of the debate and conceded that if we had a girl, Bianca would be her name.

So it seemed only fitting that the daughter she’d never meet should be given the name she had wanted for a girl three years ago.

“Serafina Allegra Bellini,” I announced, voice gone gruff.

The nurse let out a wistful sigh, clasping both hands together and bringing them to her chest. “Beautiful.”

Dr. Finch expressed his condolences one more time before leaving. Then it was just me and the little life I’d helped to create and, now, would be forced to raise alone.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there before I caught a figure in my periphery. I could sense my brother’s presence without even looking.

“Who has Bianca?”

“Gemma came over to keep an eye on her.” Our older cousin adored my daughter.

“What happened?” My eyes never left the heart rate monitor at my daughter’s bedside. Watching that steady rhythm was the only thing keeping my murderous rage in check.

Gio sighed. “Best we can tell, it was a hit on me.”

“Why the fuck was she in your car in the first place?“ I seethed.

“Antonio called in that hers got a flat, and they were close enough to my place that I sent Vic to pick her up and take her home. I didn’t want her stranded like a sitting duck while they changed the tire.”

I snorted. “Fat lot of good that precaution did.” Placing my hand on the incubator, I whispered, “I could have lost them both today.”

“I’m s—“

“Save it,” I cut him off. “Sorry won’t bring back Bianca’s mom. Sorry won’t change that Serafina’s birthday will forever be tainted by tragedy.”

“Serafina, hmm?” Gio hummed. “A pretty Italian name for a pretty Italian girl.”

He was saying that just to be nice because, in reality, it was mildly disturbing that her skin was translucent.

“Who did this?” Someone owed me a life to replace the one that had been taken from me.

“We don’t have any proof yet, but it makes the most sense that it was the Russians. Especially after we told the O’Malleys—“

“Don’t,” I spat. The last thing I needed was a reminder that we’d willingly entered into a war when Gio’s wife had run away a couple of years back.

His decision to tell her Irish mobster father that the Russians had kidnapped Rory had been a calculated risk.

We were going to war one way or another, but this way, we joined forces with our allies against a common enemy instead of fighting a battle on two fronts—a battle we were guaranteed to lose.

“We’re gonna find the men responsible for this, Matteo,” Gio vowed. “And we’ll make them pay.”

“I want them brought in alive, do you understand?”

There was no need to explain why. He already knew.

I wanted to torture them until they begged for death.

I wanted to make it as slow and painful as possible.

And even then, it wouldn’t be enough to extinguish the rage burning hot in my veins.

Not when I had to look at the faces of my daughters every day for the rest of my life and know that if it weren’t for their mother’s attachment to me, to my family, she would still be alive.

“They’re all yours, brother.”

I was going to send them to Hell before joining them there myself.