Bellini Bred (Bellini Mafia #3)

Chapter 1

Gio

You can run, but you can’t hide, tigrotta.

Through window blinds, I watched my little tigress of a wife bustle about, waiting tables at the restaurant across the street. The patio seating was full this evening, the fool’s spring bringing enough warmth that patrons were eager to dine outside after a cold and snowy Colorado winter.

Seven years. That’s how long it had been since Rory vanished without a trace, and I’d been trying to track her down to drag her ass back home ever since.

Before her disappearance, she’d made it no secret that she loathed me, hated the man I became after my father’s untimely death, which required me to step up as Don of the Bellini Crime Family.

I hadn’t particularly given a fuck, to be honest. Marriages in the mafia world didn’t revolve around love; they were brokered to create alliances and strengthen your family’s position of power.

Rory didn’t have a damn thing to complain about.

She went from being the spoiled daughter of Boston-based Irish mobster, Seamus O’Malley, to the future queen of the Bellini Mafia upon our marriage.

Being the wife of a don was the highest position a woman could hold in our world.

She should have been thrilled when the crown was placed upon my head, but instead, she went out of her way to voice her displeasure, bitching and moaning about her cushy role.

She had only one job: to provide me with an heir to secure the Bellini bloodline.

But the five years she spent warming my bed had resulted in zero pregnancies. While during that same time, my younger brother, Matteo, had managed to get his wife pregnant within mere months of their wedding.

Though it pained me to swallow my pride and accept that perhaps I was the problem, I asked our in-house physician to conduct a semen analysis.

When those results came back, indicating that my sperm count was high and my swimmers had good motility, I had Rory tested for any internal issues that might be impacting her fertility.

It turned out there wasn’t anything wrong with either one of us, so we just kept trying to conceive.

Even if my wife outright hated my guts, the sex was off the charts. Hell, that’s probably what made it so hot. I got off on her claws scratching so deep she drew blood and her teeth biting down hard enough to tear a chunk out of my flesh.

For one single terrifying moment after she’d gone AWOL, it crossed my mind that the reason she’d run was that she discovered she was pregnant, that she’d taken my heir and fled.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for women to get sentimental over the idea of a baby and panic that their powerful husband would separate them after birth. Because that, too, was common. My own mother had been sent away after producing two sons, thus ending her usefulness in my father’s eyes.

But an interrogation of the entire household staff uncovered that a maid had found used feminine hygiene products in the bathroom trash can only a week prior. If Rory had recently had her period, the odds of her carrying my heir were almost non-existent.

My life narrowed down to a singular focus: find my fucking wife.

And damn if that didn’t come with significant fallout.

When my in-depth search of Chicago came up empty and her father began calling me, asking why Rory hadn’t checked in for months, I was forced to tell him that she was gone. But instead of telling him the truth, I lied and said that our cross-town rivals, the Russians, had abducted her.

That started an all-out war, and the collateral damage was extensive.

We lost countless loyal men, our ranks thinning dangerously.

Though that paled in comparison to the day I lent my pregnant sister-in-law my car and it was ambushed by the Russians.

Under heavy fire, the tires were shot out and the SUV rolled several times.

Allegra hadn’t been wearing her seat belt and died from her injuries.

It was a goddamn miracle she survived long enough for the doctors to deliver my niece, Serafina, three months premature.

My brother was left a widower with two little girls to raise, all because I couldn’t own up to my wife leaving me.

To this day, it still boggled my mind that Rory had managed to not only escape my heavily fortified estate but the city without leaving a damn trace. There hadn’t been a single hit on any of her credit cards or withdrawals from her bank accounts—even the secret one she thought I didn’t know about.

Someone had to be helping her. But who?

It took three years before a real lead landed in my lap. Most of the potential sightings to that point had been dead ends, cases of mistaken identities—apparently, petite redheads were a lot more common than I’d once thought—but this time, it was really her. There was photographic proof.

Though every instinct demanded I haul her home kicking and screaming, I knew that in order to get what I wanted from my runaway wife, I needed to play the long game.

A lesser man in my position might force himself upon his wife, take what he was owed before cutting her loose after the stunt she pulled. And while I was guilty of many crimes, I wasn’t keen to add rape to the list. So instead, I devised a plan.

Leaving Matteo in charge, with a blood sample to confirm my identity upon my return, I took off for the dusty little Arizona town Rory had last been seen in. I needed to lay eyes on her for myself before committing to the sheer insanity my brain had conjured up.

Sure enough, Rory was there. Though the only thing I recognized about the woman I’d been married to for almost a decade was her flaming red hair.

Everything else about her was completely different—how she dressed, how she carried herself.

Hell, even her name. She now went by Ro Shepherd and worked three jobs in town, all of which paid in cash.

Visual confirmation was all I needed to set my plan in motion.

With the help of several plastic surgeons, I had a complete facial reconstruction, in addition to a procedure on my vocal cords to deepen my voice. By the time I recovered from all of that, Rory had moved from Arizona to a small town in the Colorado Rockies.

Following her there, I hit the gym hard, bulking up my previously trim frame.

I would need to buy all-new suits when I got back to Chicago, but that was a problem for another day.

Then I got tattoos to hide the identifiable scars lining my torso and limbs.

Not quite as many as my cousin Enzo had—the man’s ink covered every available inch of skin—but enough that they’d draw the eye when I rolled up my sleeves.

The final touches included allowing my hair to grow out—both on my head and on my face—using color-correcting contacts to change my eyes from brown to green, and wearing non-prescription glasses.

There were times when I jumped out of my skin after catching my reflection in the mirror, so Rory had no chance in Hell of recognizing me.

My little tigress would be none the wiser as I worked my way into her life before putting my baby in her belly.

The Bellini Family motto was “debts must always be paid,” and she owed me an heir.

Today was the day. The one where I made contact with my wife, not as Gio Bellini but as John Peach.

I gave myself a little pat on the back for coming up with that pseudonym, which was a play on my real name—Giovanni was the Italian equivalent of John, and a bellini cocktail was peach-flavored.

Yes, I ran the risk that Rory would figure it out, but what was life without a little danger? That’s what made it exciting.

Halfway through her shift at the restaurant, I snuck in through the back entrance, concealing myself in an alcove that housed a payphone near the restrooms. Since no one used those anymore, it felt like a safe spot to hide undetected.

Timing was key, so I patiently waited for the perfect moment to initiate our—gag—meet cute.

Until that time, I kept my eyes locked on Rory, noting how she didn’t bat an eyelash at demanding customers, a smile constantly affixed to her face.

It was a slap to the face that she appeared happier working for less than minimum wage—taking crap from people who viewed her as nothing more than a servant to bring their food—than she had been living the life of luxury I’d provided for her.

I’d given the woman the world on a silver platter, yet she turned her nose up at it.

For the life of me, I couldn’t make sense of it.

Never had I beaten or verbally abused her, so was it really so bad to stand there and look pretty by my side, with the single expectation that, at some point, she bear my child?

If I didn’t know any better, I would have believed this to be a test. That Rory wanted me to track her down because, in some sick and twisted way, that would prove that I cared enough to do so.

But then I remembered finding a packet of birth control pills when I tore our room apart looking for clues, and it sank in that she’d been playing me the entire time we spent trying for a baby.

Vision tinted red, I clenched my fists as I glared at my wife across the crowded restaurant.

Yeah, I was really going to enjoy pulling one over on her to get even.

With sharp bursts of air rushing past my flared nostrils, I let my eyes fall shut in an attempt to calm my racing heart. I couldn’t come off aggravated, or I’d ruin this whole thing.

I needed to act charming, which would be one hell of a stretch for me because I was the type of man who would rather kill than play nice.

There was a reason Matteo was the face of our real estate company while I handled our dealings in the dark underworld.

I simply wasn’t level-headed enough to navigate corporate politics.

The success of this mission would require more restraint than I currently possessed. But since failure was not an option, I had to rein in the all-consuming rage coursing through my veins every time I so much as looked at my wife.

Confident I’d settled enough that I no longer resembled a pissed-off bull ready to charge, I made my move.

Rory had just cleared the door to the kitchen with a loaded tray for her eight-top when I ventured from the alcove, putting us on a collision course.

Her gaze was already fixed on the table whose food she carried, so she didn’t see me coming from the opposite side.

Well, at least until I not-so-accidentally bumped into her shoulder, knocking her off-balance enough that the tray tipped and the crash of breaking dishes echoed throughout the space.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I gushed, fighting against the urge to roll my eyes at how pathetic I sounded, before dropping to my knees to help clean up the mess.

With a patient tone I had no idea she possessed, my wife spoke to me for the first time in seven years. “It’s okay. Accidents happen.” She grasped the edge of a broken plate and hissed, “Dammit.”

Blood seeped from a cut across her palm, and she cradled the injured appendage to her chest.

“You’re hurt. Let me see.” I extended a hand, curling my fingers.

Her face went pale, and her lower lip wobbled. “N-no, I’m fine.”

Shaking my head in mock-disgust, I muttered, “God, I am such a clumsy idiot.” Then I smacked my palm against my forehead repeatedly, chanting, “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“Hey.” A tiny hand landed on my forearm, tugging my arm away in an effort to halt the self-destructive motion.

It was impossible not to suck in a sharp breath at the contact, especially when her touch was searing, sending a rush of heat through me.

“Look at me,” Rory commanded softly, and I obeyed, slowly lifting my gaze until it met hers.

The smile on her face was one of compassion, something she’d never aimed in my direction before, and it caused my lungs to seize.

My wife had always been a beautiful woman, but now there was a sparkle in her blue eyes and a pink tint to her cheeks that made it appear as if she glowed from within. It was stunning.

Don’t get too used to it; your plan is going to snuff that light out.

Remembering my end goal, I shook out of my stupor in time for Rory to say, “It’s not your fault. I should have been more careful when clearing broken ceramic. I know better than to rush.”

Damn, she really had this service persona on lock, absorbing the blame instead of allowing a “customer” to take accountability. I could admit that I was mildly impressed, considering she hadn’t worked a day in her life prior to running out on me.

“At least let me help you up?” I asked, tone hopeful.

Her smile widened, causing the skin around her eyes to crinkle. “Sure. That would be great.”

Taking her uninjured hand in mine, I gently tugged her to her feet. The moment we both reached our full heights, Rory gasped and took a giant step backward.

All I could think about was how much time and money I’d wasted on a disguise my wife had seen right through and wondered how in the hell I was going to cart her out of here without making a scene.