Protected by the Mafia (De Salvo Family Book 2)

1. The Last Day

one

Cristiano filled the windowless room with bright, yellow-white light. The overhead fixtures flared to life with a snap and the poor excuse of a man inside the box cell in the center of the room startled audibly. Cristiano smirked. “I have a gift for you, Tristán.”

The punk did his level best to glare out at Cristiano, despite undoubtedly still being blinded by the sudden intrusion of light. It had been three days since anyone had come to check up on him, after all. Seconds passed before the gangster who’d made the egregious mistake of pissing off the Boss of the De Salvo family shuffled enough to kick weakly at the bars between them. “Let me the fuck go, psycho,” he said, his words lacking the bite they’d carried when Cristiano had first hauled him into this isolated dungeon.

Cristiano made a show of walking wide around the side of the box containing his prisoner’s waste bucket and pulled his promised gift from a pocket. All the while making mental notes. The bucket needed to be emptied again, but that was no surprise. At least Tristán seemed to have stopped trying to make a filthy mess in his cell thinking it would get him out. On the opposite side, shoddily discarded bottles and shreds of cheap napkins mixed with crumbs, a portion of crust, and one sole remaining untouched granola bar, assured that Tristán had also stopped trying to starve himself. He even seemed to have learned a modicum of rationing.

When he was once more facing the twenty-five-year-old, Cristiano flicked the two photographs through the bars and onto the boy’s lap. “I thought you might like to see your family again,” he said as the laminated papers fluttered.

Tristán’s nostril’s flared and he straightened, scrambling for the pictures that had immediately tumbled to the side.

Cristiano watched silently, studying the way his prisoner’s dark eyes darted from side to side. It wasn’t hard to notice the way Tristán’s stare lingered over the vertically oriented image compared to the horizontal one. That one detail told Cristiano plenty. Even if it was the answer he hadn’t wanted.

Tristán finally looked up from the photographs, glaring again, and his fingers clutched so hard at the pictures that they crinkled in his hold. “Y-you sick fuck. Stay away from my family!”

Interesting.The punk had clearly had a stronger reaction to one over the other, but he still had enough presence of mind to try and hide his attachment. Cristiano let a frown bend his lips and dropped down onto his haunches. “We exited the bargaining stage of this relationship when you forced me to bring you here, Tristán. Everyone you’ve ever given two shits about is going to die, and all because you went and held a knife to the wrong woman’s throat.”

Tristán managed to shove to his feet and waved the photographs around violently. “They didn’t do nothin’! It’s the Blots who’re gonna burn your messed up family to the ground, motherfucker, not these people.”

Cristiano stood calmly, until he was once again looking down through the bars to meet his captive’s wide-eyed stare. “If you cared what happens to your family, you shouldn’t have started a war with mine. Moving forward, you should consider that the less you’re willing to talk, the more they’re going to have to suffer before they die.” He turned, intending to leave the gangster to stew with that information for a day or three.

Behind him, Tristán pounded on the bars in a fresh rage.

Cristiano ignored him and flicked the lights off again for good measure on his way out. He locked the door, reset the closed-circuit security, and continued to the end of the hall and up the flight of steps that led into the unassuming house above. From there, he pulled the designated burner from his pocket and texted a specific code to signal for a crew to go in and set up their guest to spend another forty-eight hours or so alone with his thoughts. Maybe less if Cristiano learned new information he could use as leverage.

Only once he was outside the building altogether did he remove the filter style plugs from his nose. He didn’t know why Dante hadn’t purchased the company that made the fucking things yet, for as often as the family went through them.

He was back on a main road, burner exchanged for his main phone and breathing lungfuls of big city pollution just minutes later. The quiet beat of the music in the car stereo cut out as he rounded a corner, followed by the auditory announcement of an incoming call. An ever-present reminder that he sometimes wondered if one of his cousins had bugged his favorite car. But Cristiano pushed the thought aside and tapped the button on his steering wheel. “Go ahead.”

“Since you’re back on the radar,” Mikey said by way of greeting, “Big Brother’s looking for you.”

Cristiano slowed to accommodate traffic. “Are you tracking me?”

“Only when I’m trying to get in touch with you.”

He bit back a growl. “I’ll call him.” Another tap disconnected that conversation, and seconds later the cab filled with the sound of a ringing line.

“You’re a hard man to find, cousin,” Dante De Salvo said when the line connected again. His tone was smooth, but Cristiano knew his cousin well enough to know not to be lulled by it.

Cristiano let his gaze flick to the dashboard long enough to confirm the time, though with the sun still in the sky, he wasn’t worried that he’d missed anything critical. Like a family dinner. “My boss is demanding,” he said. “But I just stepped out for lunch, so I have a minute. What did you need?”

“Someone has a sense of humor today. Did you get a lead?”

The flicker of humor zapped out of Cristiano’s chest and he tightened his grip on the wheel. “Maybe. I rattled him up with something new.”

“Good. I’m tired of picking off flies. I want the main dish.”

“I understand,” Cristiano said. He merged lanes as his exit neared. “It’s disappointing that wannabe sniper took the coward’s way out before we could catch up to him. We might have more information on their ringleaders by now.”

Dante grunted. “What’s disappointing is that the one we did catch could only verify orders from the punk in your dungeon.” He paused for a long second. “Remind me what you do know about him.”

“Tristán Garcia, age twenty-five, local kid. Barely graduated high school. Middle child. Before his association with the Ink Blots, he was known to hang around some smaller gangs. Most of those have been busted up.” Cristiano fast-forwarded the information he’d gathered on his prisoner in his mind in the interest of hitting the relevant highlights. “Seems like he got dragged into the gang scene by his older brother, who’s serving time for murder-two.”

“So it’s not a family affair, then?” Dante asked.

“Unlikely,” Cristiano said. He slowed as his building finally loomed ahead. “Older brother’s the only other one with a criminal record. The Ink Blots look more like your standard gang.”

“Since when do up-and-coming standard gangs target mafia territory?” Dante dragged in an audible breath. “Deal with the family ties as they come up, but I want those fucking gangsters cut down, Cris. Find out who’s running that operation and burn it to the goddamn ground. Call in whatever extra backup you might need. I don’t want them ruining my wedding.”

Cristiano couldn’t help but smile at that. He eased to a stop in the private parking garage, cut the engine, and leaned back in his seat. “Whatever happens, cousin, I’d never let your big day go bad. Say hi to Iris for me.”

It was hard to imagine his big, scary, technically younger cousin finally tying himself down, but the day was fast approaching. There was little over a month left before Dante “the Dragon” De Salvo said ‘I do’ in front of both kinds of family, business associates, and pseudo-friends. Cristiano might not have believed such a day would ever come if he hadn’t seen the couple together for himself. But Iris was perfect for him. More importantly, Dante actually seemed happy, like he had something moving him forward beyond the fleeting joy of his own power.

Cristiano gave himself a shake, unpaired his phone, and climbed from the car. He needed to go up to his penthouse and wash off the stink of his latest visit to Tristán. Then it was time to get a little personal.

“Hey, Felicity, can you cover my register for a few minutes?” Her coworker waved her phone. “I’ve gotta make a call.”

Felicity Garcia stared up at the other female, irritation and a stupid layer of shock surging through her. Her mouth opened to respond, but no words immediately followed.

Her colleague took this as an agreement, apparently, and said, “Thanks so much!”

Felicity watched the woman whose name she barely knew flounce off toward the nearest side exit. Dammit. Her gaze dropped to the colorful sports drink in her hand and the deli sandwich she’d only just sat down to eat. “I could just not…” She sighed. She couldn’t be that irresponsible, even if she was entitled to her own lunch break and even if it meant that she would be going another whole shift without eating.

She really hated her job. Almost as much as she hated the majority of the people she worked with.

Still, she pulled herself together, tossed the sandwich she had no way to store into the nearest garbage and shoved her drink into her purse. She had just over twenty minutes before she was due back at her own register, at which point her colleague was out of luck, but she’d do the right thing and cover for the woman until then. Because apparently whatever call the woman had to take couldn’t wait until her own scheduled break.

Barely a minute passed before she had her first customer, a perfectly polite older lady with just a handful of groceries. Behind that woman came a man in dirty work clothes, clearly on his own lunch break. And so the traffic began, until Felicity was forced to shut the lane down when it came time to switch back to her own station.

“Come on, lady, I’ve been waitin’ forever!” some teenager who probably should’ve been in school snapped at her.

Felicity scooped her purse up from behind the register. “I’m sorry. I have to open another lane. You’re welcome to follow me over.”

He did, unfortunately, and angrily shoved his ten or so items at her as if moving his cart three aisles over had been a major ordeal. He cursed her out under his breath, flicked his payment in her direction, and rudely shoved his emptied shopping cart out into the walkway at the other end of the check lane when he started bagging. Clearly done with it.

Felicity scrunched up her face, turning her attention from the payment she’d been calculating, and said, “Sir, you can’t just leave you cart like that. It’s a problem for the other customers.” Not to mention the employees who have to chase it down.

The boy who wasn’t even old enough to qualify as a manchild stopped and looked over at her again, dark brow pinched in a glare. “The fuck did you say, bitch? Why should I give a shit?”

Felicity sucked in a breath, appalled at his attitude. Suddenly a large, muscled arm reached out from somewhere on the other side of her peripheral vision and the hand hooked into the back of the boy’s shirt, hauling him entirely off his feet. The boy let out a startled yelp and Felicity’s head snapped around, her eyes widening at the sight of the figure the arm was attached to.

Thatwas a man. Her mouth watered and she couldn’t stop herself from rolling her lips between her teeth as her gaze ran up, and up, and up some more. He was huge. Tall, broad, and as powerful as he was sexy. He had to be a full foot taller than her, at least. And while she was short at only five-foot-five, that still made him tall. Tall, dark haired, blue eyed, strong jawed, and so handsome. His face had a maturity to it that told her he had to be several years older, too. In her mind, that only added to his appeal. She almost forgot he was also holding one of her customers up by the back of his shirt.

“Did no one ever teach you manners, boy?” the man said, dark blue eyes narrowing into a fierce glare. “You don’t talk to women that way, and you don’t treat the people who work in the service industry that way.” He set the teen on his feet and planted his large hand on the boy’s head. “Apologize.”

Felicity could hardly hear anything over the thunder of her heartbeat. She was sure her face had gone red.

The brat’s face was also red, but he dragged his eyes to hers and swallowed visibly. “U-uh, I’m sorry … ma’am.”

Ma’am.Felicity pulled in a breath. She was torn about that word, but what mattered in this moment needed to be the effort, not the detail. “Promise me you’ll learn from this, and I’ll accept your apology.”

He tried to nod his head, but the hand still flattening his unnaturally spiked hair inhibited more than the dipping of his chin. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yes! I will. I promise.”

Well. She believed he’d learn something, at least.

The hand released his head as if the man behind him had read her mind. “Now go get that cart and be sure you put it away.”

Felicity was mildly impressed that the boy remembered to collect his groceries as he ran off.

“Felicity.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of her name in the sexy stranger’s voice, her attention swinging forward again to find him closer, standing on the other side of her register. Only then did she also notice a handful of groceries she still needed to ring up. Logically, they had to be his. She tried to pull herself together, and then he went and offered her a smile.

“It’s a pretty name,” he said. He didn’t add the rest of the cliché, or drop his gaze below her face, but the light in his eyes told her he was thinking it.

That realization only flustered her more. She’d never hated having to wear a nametag more in her life. Why, oh why, couldn’t she have met this gorgeous man in a more socially appropriate setting? “Thank you,” she said. She went to reach for the nearest item on the conveyor belt and finally processed that she still had money in her hand. She’d never given the teen his change. Her gaze dropped to the three single dollar bills. Shit.

“Looks like he left you a tip,” the sexy man said. It almost sounded like he was amused.

Felicity did her best to bury her sigh. She’d get in trouble for this. “We can’t take tips.”

Something like a hum emanated from the man across from her, then he reached out and plucked the cash from her palm.

“What—”

He lifted his wallet from a pocket and extracted more cash.

She gaped. “What are you … doing?”

He arched a brow at her. “I’ll have to pay.” He slid a fifty and another bill she couldn’t identify from the wallet before tucking it away, still holding onto the singles.

A strange laugh bubbled up in her chest and Felicity felt her lips twitch. She unfroze and began dutifully swiping his items across her scanner. With her eyes on her task, it was a bit easier to speak, and she said, “Thank you for stepping in. Though you certainly didn’t have to.”

“He never should have talked to you the way he did. That brat’s lucky this place is busy.”

Her fingers hovered over the keypad as her gaze flicked back up to the man. He’s serious… Instead of commenting on his threat, she kept the smile on her face and said, “I think the lucky one is me.” The screen blinked as the total popped up, and before she could repeat it to him, he held out the cash. She gathered the coins for his change and set them in his waiting palm with the receipt, finding herself sad that he’d step away and she would almost surely never see him again. “Have a good rest of your day, sir.”

The corners of his lips lifted and his eyes darkened for a second before his hand curled around the change. “Take care of yourself, Felicity.”

She licked her lips as soon as he turned his back, fighting the urge to fan herself outright. He was still tucking the final item in a paper bag—paid for—when an elderly lady barely shorter than Felicity stepped up to the lane. Felicity watched the woman’s attention slide down to the bagging station while she scanned her sparse two items.

“You don’t see men like that every day, do you, hon?” The lady gave her a conspiratorial grin, as if she thought she’d spoken in a whisper.

Still, Felicity grinned back and shook her head. “I do not.”

The rest of her shift was entirely ordinary once the sexy stranger departed. She felt unusually drained and she wasn’t sure if she’d used up all her energy on the excitement of that singular moment or if it was because she hadn’t been allowed to eat. Regardless, her back hurt, her feet were killing her, and neither of things mattered as much as the rumbling in her stomach when she finally stumbled off the elevator onto her floor later that afternoon. As if the day hadn’t been long enough, she’d gone and forgotten that the elevator didn’t line up to the floor anymore, and caught her toe on the step-up. At least I didn’t totally face-plant.

She had her key in hand before she reached her door, but still she wasn’t fast enough.

The apartment across the hall and one door down from hers was wide open, soft music drifting out, and her least favorite neighbor stepped into the hallway. He smiled so wide the cigarette nearly fell from his mouth. “Long day at work?”

She did her best to keep her tone, and her expression, neutral. “Yes.” She averted her gaze, pretending she thought he’d stepped out to smoke.

“If you’re hungry, I could whip you up a nice dinner.” Matt moved closer, leaning his shoulder against the wall beside her door. “You look hungry,” he said, his gaze riveted to her chest.

Felicity fought the urge to wrap her arms around herself. She knew she was covered. She knew her long-sleeved tee did not dip too low or hug too tight. “I can manage for myself, thank you.” She put her shoulder to him and finally got her key to the lock.

“Don’t be like that,” Matt said. “You need someone to take care of you, someone to—”

Her fingers tightened around the key. “All you want is to get me naked,” she said sharply. “I’ve told you no.” She finally let herself glare at him, too cranky to restrain herself. “Repeatedly. Please leave me alone, Matt.” She’d gone so far as to complain to the landlord about his harassment, but it hadn’t made a difference. She couldn’t ‘prove’ it, so the landlord had dismissed her as just another overly empowered woman looking to make life difficult for men everywhere.

Matt blinked at her, straightened, and adjusted his cigarette. Ash crumbled away from the end, falling to the hall floor. “Someone’s cranky today,” he said in a disapproving tone. His gaze raked over her. “Fine, go take a nap or something.” He turned and waved a hand over his shoulder. “You know where to find me when you change your mind.”

She wanted to scream. But he was walking away, at least for the moment, so she hurried to let herself into her apartment and lock the door behind her. She didn’t trust that he wouldn’t help himself if she ever forgot that little detail. He was almost as bad as— No, she hadn’t had a bad enough day to think about that.

Felicity pushed into her apartment, flicking on the kitchen light and shoving what remained of her sports drink into the fridge before navigating to the bathroom. She’d clean up, wash the day off, then make herself some food. After dinner, maybe she’d finish that hot monster romance she’d started the day before.

It was a great plan, except she fell asleep on the couch two chapters in.

And when she blinked her bleary eyes open, realizing groggily that she hadn’t ever even made it to bed, seconds passed before any other realizations struck. Like how she was definitely in bed despite not having taken herself there. How it was still quite dark, too dark to tell what time it might be, or see anything around her. In fact … everything felt wrong. Even the bed.

Adrenaline finally shot through her and Felicity shot awake, her heart pounding. Her head swiveled from side to side, but she couldn’t see more than indiscernible shapes. A window, maybe, obscured by thick drapes. Something that might have been a tall armoire or wardrobe? She wasn’t familiar with it, though. Just as she certainly wasn’t familiar with the large, disconcertingly luxurious bed beneath her. It was hard to even find comfort in being the sole occupant, and slightly easier to realize she was at least certain she was still in the same pajamas she’d been wearing when she’d curled up on the sofa.

It didn’t matter what she was wearing. She’d been kidnapped in her sleep! Someone had broken into her apartment and kidnapped her!

Felicity pressed a hand to her chest, feeling panic rising, threatening to overwhelm her senses. She squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to block out the unfamiliar. Focus on the positive. Nothing hurts. I can move my arms and legs. The air doesn’t smell funny. And if it’s a room, there has to be an exit.

A soft click shattered the almost oppressive silence and her eyes flew open to discover a tableside lamp had been turned on, creating a halo-like glow in its section of the room. A glow which provided an eerie backdrop for the large, distinctly male figure that was sitting in the chair beside the desk.

Felicity pulled her legs in, as tight as she could, as she stared stubbornly into the small, blinding light.

“Good morning, sweet Felicity,” the male figure said. There was something familiar about his voice. “I am sorry we’re starting off this way, but regardless, welcome. Welcome to the first day of your new life.”