Chapter 7 – Alessandro
D ante shifted beside me. My right hand felt the trouble brewing same as I did. The sixth sense developed at a young age, and since we were some of the lucky bastards who listened to it, we were still here, decades later, haunting the shadows of the underworld.
Of course, luck had very little to do with it.
We trained hard; we learned the art of war. We put ourselves in situations where luck could be produced. That was the thing about the elusive lady. She didn’t bestow her favor on those who avoided her.
“I don’t like this,” Dante muttered.
“If they’re dealing, I need to know,” I growled.
A plague was spreading across the Midwest—across the whole of the country. While mobs sometimes dealt in the drug trade, there were a few substances I would not allow anywhere near my territory. I knew some facets of Caravello’s operation were drug related, and I could in good conscience write that off. But not if he was investing in things like methamphetamine, fentanyl, or even prescription painkillers. Some of that shit was tainted and downright nasty. When we first proposed the joining of our houses through marriage, I made it a non-negotiable.
Blindly trusting my future father-in-law’s word would be utterly stupid. I had to make sure his operations were above board.
It would have been so much easier to marry a Chicago girl. I could better keep an eye on her family’s operations. And I’d tried! Around Christmas time, I’d offered myself to the pakhan of a rising Russian Bratva. But Dimitri Vlasov was fiercely protective of the women in his family. He wouldn’t hear of a man approaching forty marrying one of his young female relatives. It was hard not to admire the pakhan for that. We’d established a friendship, however, over our shared hatred of the main source of fentanyl in Chicago—the Toro Syndicate, who were based out of the cesspool that was southern Minneapolis. They were street rabble, little better than a hood gang, but with a more organized structure like a motorcycle club. Their reach spread to neighboring states. They were a cancer, putrid and rotting, that kept coming back no matter how frequently we gunned them down.
Mine wasn’t the only organization who abhorred their existence, but I was probably the only one powerful enough to do anything. The Vlasov Bratva was a newer organization, and they were focusing on growing their business. There was an old Irish faction with several prominent families in Chicago. They could do something—if they wanted to. But the idea of an Irish woman marrying a Prince of Rome was worse than letting a new crime faction arise in the city.
No, Vlasov was the only one willing to fight the scourge. Together, we kept that shit from our streets. But what I had with the Russians was a working relationship, and I needed something deeper to shore up my reign.
So I had to look for alliances elsewhere. That led me to another old legacy, one that we had warred with and married into before.
“Is that the Caravello heir?” Dante pointed through the broken window of the old warehouse.
I frowned. “What is he doing here?”
Massimo wasn’t a capo, but he also wasn’t a street soldier.
“Do you think he’s going to double cross us?” Dante voiced a question that irritated me like sand behind the eyelids.
That nagging feeling in the back of my mind flared bright. Certain things about this alliance weren’t adding up. Dante’s sleuthing had proved effective in producing non-doctored reports. Caravello was receiving a much better bargain through this marriage than I was. The exchange of money and power didn’t bother me as much as the fact that his businesses weren’t as profitable as he’d claimed. If he could fib about the numbers, what else was he hiding?
The only way to back away from the contract and not start a war was if Caravello was coming to the table in bad faith. We hadn’t proved that yet. And because I needed this alliance, I hoped we wouldn’t.
“He looks like he’s here for a regular drop.” Like a common soldier. My tongue swiped across my teeth as I considered the scene playing out before us.
“He lacks discretion,” Dante spat.
I hummed in agreement.
My second palmed his gun. “Should we teach him a lesson?”
“As fun as that sounds, I don’t think we’ll have to.” I jerked my chin in the opposite direction. “Let’s see how the kid handles himself.”
Three figures emerged from the darkness. By a civilian’s standard, it wasn’t a fair fight. But nothing about our life was fair. We survived or fell on our own merit. It was what made a mob stronger than any legal organization. Bureaucracies and legal entities leached off those they were supposed to protect and serve. They wouldn’t know the value of service if it was presented on a silver platter. Most Made Men protected their own, and that extended to anyone living in their territories. That was the sacred code I lived my life by. Even if the civilians didn’t know we existed, we fought, bled, and died to keep them safe.
When the trio of newcomers shouted, the little Caravello jumped.
Dante chuckled.
But my attention was drawn to a shift of movement in the front seat of the kid’s dark sedan. Massimo didn’t come alone. The question of who he’d chosen to trust on this mission was quickly answered with a terrible revelation.
Nut brown hair swept into a braid fell down her back. I gaped at her. Dio mio, no! Penelope sprang from the car and bounded to the little prince’s side.
“Shit.” I pushed from the wall.
By the time Dante and I scrambled down the stairs and burst outside, gunshots rang through the night. Cool metal filled my hand a moment later, but instead of drawing a steadying breath to make the too-easy shot, blood roared in my ears.
Penelope wasn’t on the ground. Neither was she taking cover near the sedan.
Fury blazed through my veins. Standing tall, and refusing to take cover, I advanced, my gun raised as an extension of my hand. I aimed and plucked off one of the newcomers. It was a clean kill, and better than the bastard deserved.
I wanted to shred the flesh from their skin.
Another dove for safety, but not before Dante managed to send a bullet straight into his center mass.
In a haze of red, I strode into the street. Two more shots, and I managed to kill the last. My second sprang after his wounded prey with a bloodthirsty snarl. He would finish him and place a final bullet in each skull for silence.
“Caravello,” I shouted. “Come out here!”
The prince had taken cover behind a mailbox—not taking his cousin with him.
A thousand thoughts boiled through me. My chest rose and fell rapidly. It was hard not to strangle the boy.
“Boss?” Dante muttered, jogging to my side. “You alright?”
He was looking at me as if I’d grown another head. I might as well have. Uncontrolled outbursts weren’t my style. And yet I’d just rushed into the night, inserted myself into a street fight without knowing the stakes, and was about to unleash a volley of fury on the heir to the Caravello Famiglia.
The reason for the change of conduct emerged from behind the shelter a moment later.
Calm down. Fucking now! I gulped air into my lungs.
Penelope seemed fine. But as she took a step forward, the pronounced limp in her gait had me rushing forward. She put up her hand and shook herself out.
“I’m fine, but there’s a rock in my boot.” Without taking my offered hand, she reached down, removed the worn cowgirl boot, and shook it out.
“What the fuck happened?” I snapped.
The Caravello kid was on his phone, stammering to his capo or another authority figure.
Calmly, Penelope’s gaze washed over me. What did she see? A man on the edge of losing control and unleashing a terrible wrath on her family member? I struggled to hide that, but the flicker in her eyes told me she’d already seen me at my worst.
“Max was overseeing a drop,” she explained, her voice slightly breathless. “When my uncle’s guys never showed, we came to investigate and—”
Whatever else Penelope was going to say was cut off when bullets rained down on us.
I didn’t even think.
I dove.
Right before I crushed her against the pavement, I managed to roll so that I took the brunt of the impact. A splitting pain shot up my arm.
Penelope squeaked but didn’t resist me.
Looking up and around, I spotted a vehicle racing toward us.
Dante, the crazy motherfucker, stepped into the road. He lifted his gun and coolly took three shots.
The truck careened to the side, running into a building.
Four more shots filled the air. Dante dropped his clip, smacked another in place, and continued to fire.
The fight was done moments later.
“Clear,” my second shouted.
“Did he just take out a 5.56 rifle with a freakin’ handgun?” Penelope gasped, leaning over to take in the scene.
This girl knew guns.
Warmth bloomed in my chest, and I barely recognized the foreign emotion as admiration.
I didn’t release her. Instead, I swept my hand over her head. When nothing wet or sticky met my touch, I continued a path down her back.
“It’s not always the bigger firepower that wins the fight,” I rasped, allowing my mind to focus on the philosophy of warfare to help calm myself down. I hadn’t been this worked up in…ever. My pulse thundered in my veins. The organ in my chest beat double-time. I couldn’t see straight.
But my assessing touch shot little bolts of reassurance through me. It had to be why I continued to pat her down.
It wasn’t because I enjoyed how she felt. That made less sense than losing control.
Penelope’s gaze cut to mine. “I’m fine, Mancini.”
My fingers slid over her hips, brushing her back pockets and only becoming firmer as they glided over the backs of her thighs. Dante’s and Massimo’s conversation faded away. I murmured deep in my chest. Yes…yes, she was fine.
A shuddering breath left my lungs. “You could have been shot.”
Penelope pursed her lips. “I just told you I wasn’t.”
“Forgive me for making sure,” I said dryly.
“That’s no reason to be so handsy, lupo,” she snapped.
Wolf—she called me a wolf. That insult, coupled with the bite in her voice, sent a bolt of white heat through my veins.
My gaze dropped to her lips.
Such a gorgeous mouth. It tempted me, and I wasn’t a man who succumbed to temptation. It was a useless emotion that could be exploited as a weakness. Until several days ago, I had been immune to its draw.
Now temptation incarnate wriggled out of my arms.
I shouldn’t want to taste that luscious mouth. Penelope wasn’t for me. I had an accord with her uncle; I was promised to her cousin.
But damn me, I wanted her.
I shifted my weight, pushing to sit, and drawing her leg over my thighs. From the glow of a distant streetlamp, I could make out the torn denim and dark splotch staining her skin. Her knee was skinned and bleeding under the ripped denim.
My voice came out rough and harsher than I meant. “It doesn’t hurt?”
“No,” she breathed, the fire suddenly absent from her tone. “I’ve had worse on the ranch.”
“Hmm.” I drew my hand down her calf, applying the slightest pressure. “Nothing hurts deeper? Muscles? Tendons?”
“No,” she insisted, the bite in her voice lessening.
I lifted my gaze back to hers. So damn beautiful, in a raw, real way. Other women didn’t carry themselves like this. I held out my other hand for her to rise. She avoided the offer and sprang nimbly to her feet.
The sudden urge to do something to this woman struck me. I wanted to drag her back down, pin her with my weight, and—
What?
Penelope wasn’t for me.
With a growl, I fought back the sudden rush of possession in my chest. Planting both hands, I went to push off the pavement.
And nearly bellowed.
My arm, the one with the pain. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now—
“Che cazzo!” I hissed.
Penelope squatted beside me. “What happened?”
Breathing through the burst of pain, I looked at her.
Those bewitching hazel eyes were filled with concern. It did something to me. Dark feelings twisted in my chest. I would give up half my kingdom to keep her staring at me with that searching, beautiful look.
“My arm. It’s fine,” I lied.
And she knew it.
A snort flared her nostrils. “Men. You’re all the same. So tough.”
She straightened, staring down as I struggled to my feet.
The truth was, something was very wrong with the limb. Since it caught both our weight, I would be lucky if it wasn’t damaged to the point of needing a sling. Something I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. Dante would simply have to pop the joint back into its socket, and I would hide the weakness.
We wandered over to where other Caravellos were showing up.
I kept Penelope in my line of sight, continuing to sweep the area for danger. While it was probable that the excitement was over, I wasn’t taking chances where she was concerned.
The truth was, I couldn’t stop thinking about this country cousin. After tonight, it was going to be impossible to content myself with the timid bride the Caravellos were presenting me.
And then, a darker thought sprouted. Was there any way, even a snowball’s chance in hell, that I could have this woman instead of the one promised me?
No, not without breaking the deal. Taking this woman for my own would be a declaration of war. It would be cataclysmic, bringing disaster on those I was sworn to protect. I had to push my own desire away, bury it deep within me.
But a little voice whispered in protest that anything was possible. If the opportunity presented itself…. If there were a way to make Penelope mine…. I had to admit, if the chance came, I would take it. Immediately and without hesitation.
“And what, pray tell, were you doing out in the streets of Detroit?” Don Tito glared at me across the desk. The piece of furniture was littered with papers, stubs of pencils, and a laptop sat helter-skelter to the side. The rest of his home office wasn’t much better. How he was productive in this chaos was beyond me.
I took another sip of my whiskey, numbing the throb in my arm. “Sightseeing.”
The older man growled.
He might have a few more years than me, but I never had my legacy handed to me in a gift-wrapped package. No, I’d bled to become don.
“What I want to know is why the fuck you let your niece go out for mob business?” I demanded, voice holding steady.
“That’s a family matter,” Caravello snapped.
I bristled. “I’ll admit, I didn’t know you had a sister, let alone a gaggle of nieces and nephews. Penelope’s sudden appearance in Detroit has been quite the surprise.”
Caravello’s tone was defensive. “My sister left the Famiglia, and we haven’t had much contact with her.”
“What’s to say one of her sons doesn’t come sniffing around for a piece of your empire?” I pushed.
“They’re ranchers! They care about their trucks and cows, not the underworld.”
The postcard image of a ranch played in my mind’s eye. I could see the spirited woman there, riding horses, free and wild. Why would she choose to come to a city like Detroit if that was her life? I shifted, wondering at the pieces of the puzzle. Something was missing. I told myself the reason for my fixation on the subject was business related.
I almost believed it.
“And yet Penelope is here. Supervising with your son and heir,” I countered.
The don didn’t like being pushed. That much was obvious. His plump face reddened, and the jowls on his cheeks shivered.
“Like I said, she’s not your concern,” Caravello repeated, tone sharp and decisive.
In the corner, Massimo fidgeted on the grey metal chair. He’d been so quiet, it was easy to forget he was present for this interview. Well, if his father wanted him to witness me being taken down a peg, that wasn’t happening.
“She’s just here for the wedding,” the don lied.
“But not the rest of the family?” I countered.
“No—they weren’t invited. Penelope and Poppy are close.”
“So she’ll be a guest in my wife’s house?” I pushed.
The don’s face became a dangerous shade of red. “That is unlikely, signore. And if she does, her visits won’t be unsupervised.”
I leveled my stare at the don. He dared tell me how to conduct my affairs? This conversation was treading on dangerous territory, and it would be wise to drop it. But in order to do that, I had to clench my jaw tight and force air into my lungs.
“It still doesn’t explain your spying.” The accusation flew across the desk.
I finished my whiskey. “I am first and foremost a businessman, signore. And that is why I don’t like surprises, especially unknown relatives popping up right before my wedding.”
“Penelope won’t be a problem.” The automatic answer came too quickly.
The warning bells chimed in my head. What the hell did he mean by that?
“We’re dealing with the niece situation, and it won’t affect my daughter’s acceptance of your hand in marriage.”
“See that it doesn’t,” I ground out.
Caravello shot me a disdainful look. “I’m a man of my word.”
A twisted, warped word.
“It’s late. I’m going back to my hotel,” I said. This conversation was going nowhere.
“I’ll walk you out,” Massimo offered.
“You’ll stay,” Caravello barked. “I’m not done with you and that stunt you pulled tonight.”
Ah, so the don was waiting for me to leave before he ripped into the boy. There wasn’t a drop of pity in my veins for the kid. He messed up bringing the girl into a street fight, and now he would have to answer for that.
“Goodnight, signore,” Caravello said tightly.
I gave him the same icy reply and left. As I met Dante by the SUV, I paused to look up at the night sky. Like Chicago, there were too many lights to see the stars well.
I bet that’s different on the ranch.
Without a conscious thought, my fingers reached to the tiny piece of metal dangling against my sternum.
The moment I felt the small object under my shirt, I snatched them back and shook them as if they’d been burned. I told myself when I took the trophy that it was madness. But then I started wearing the damn thing.
Never touching it, only wearing—because I just couldn’t help myself.
My gaze skated over the front of the house. Somewhere in there was the woman who was messing with my head. I clenched my jaw tight and refused to wonder if she’d cleaned her knee. That was none of my business.
If I was smart, I would walk away and let her fate play out.
That wasn’t happening.
Whatever the Caravello Famiglia did going forward was my business. That included the girl. They were planning something with Penelope. Every single move her uncle made would affect me in the future. The lie flitted through my mind that I needed to know for my own wellbeing.
“Find out what they’re doing with Penelope,” I instructed my second the moment I was safely behind the wheel and the doors were shut.
Dante shot me a side look. “What happened?”
I shifted my arm. The joints were in the sockets, but the damn thing needed ice to stop the inflammation. It was going to be an uncomfortable night.
“Caravello plays dirty, and I don’t think she knows it.” The engine started with a purr.
“And you care why?” my second countered.
I slammed my foot on the gas, sending the wheels spinning. “Because I don’t like men who use women as pawns.”
Dante only grunted.
I knew what he was thinking. I was marrying a girl for an alliance. But Poppy grew up in this world. She might be scared of me, but there was no fear of becoming a don’s wife in her eyes. The way she accepted my opulent gifts, the eagerness with which she talked about the grand wedding…she wanted her moment as a mafia princess. Even if it meant the groom was seventeen years older than her.
“Just do it,” I snapped.
Wisely, Dante nodded. “Sure thing, boss.”