Mafia Sins (Mafia Enemies to Lovers #2)

Chapter 1

ONE

Angelo

“Have you laid eyes on the guy I just brought in?” A female officer leans against the cold wall of the jail cell, her voice a whisper that carries through the cramped space.

“Who, the Rossi guy?” another officer asks.

A subtle smirk curves my lips, unnoticed amongst the unfolding conversation as the first officer continues, her words dripping with a mixture of admiration and mischief.

“Yes, him. Oh god girl, if I were ever tempted to bend a rule, it would be to reserve him a cell of his own. He’s a towering figure, isn’t he?

I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s impressive in other departments.

Just look at him-that dark mane, that sun-kissed skin, those muscles, good lord hold me back. ”

“Careful with your words in here! Someone might.. oh, damn. That’s him?”

“Told you,” the first officer murmurs. “He’s worth a suspension, if it means getting up close and personal. He wears dishevelment like a badge of honor, doesn’t he? A challenge I’d love to take on. Teaching a bit of lawfulness to a wild one like him.”

“Give me a chance and I’ll bet I can make you a bad girl,” I say in a throaty growl as I open my eyes to meet theirs.

A groan escapes one officer while the other pulls her companion away, leaving me to smirk and stretch out my neck, feeling the weight of the cell press in around me.

A few of the other guys here watch me like they’re not sure if I’m a threat or a potential ally. They whisper, sizing me up.

Meanwhile, the women in the holding cell next door are more direct.

“Hey, baby, need a little company?”

“Bet I could make you forget all about your troubles.”

I flick a glance their way, give a wink, but nothing more. I don’t buy pleasure. I don’t need to. Right now, I need to focus on getting the hell out of here.

That means either starting the right kind of fight to force my lawyer’s hand or tracking down the man who was supposed to get me out before I was booked.

A shift in the air pulls my attention.

One of the larger guys—a biker or something—steps forward. He’s covered in ink, the kind that tells stories most people don’t want to hear. His eyes rake over me, assessing.

“You’re not a criminal,” he mutters.

Shows what he knows. I crack my knuckles, stretching out as I reply in a low gravelly voice, “Going to introduce yourself, or do you owe me some money?”

He snorts at me. I narrow my eyes when he takes a step forward, something behind his back. “Not another step unless you want a concussion.”

“The officers say you’re a Rossi? Couldn’t buy your way out of a murder charge?” he sneers.

I hear my name whispered around me like a fucking chant, but I meet his gaze, unfazed. “They couldn’t pin a murder charge on me if they tried, even with my sister feeding them information.”

I snort at the others, and they take a hurried step back.

“Brought down by a bitch, huh?” the biker asks.

I narrow my eyes and drop my voice to something lethal. “Insult my sister again, and I’ll kill you before you can put that knife you’re hiding to use.”

“Bullshit,” the man snarls. “You’re a con man. A real Rossi-”

“You seem too concerned about who I am,” I say, standing up to show off my impressive height. If they expect a demon, I’m happy to give them one, but no one said demons didn’t have charm. “Why do you care? Are you applying to be my right-hand man? Flashing your rap sheet instead of your resumé?”

The guy snarls. “Rossies tried to ruin my business and take out my men.”

“We don’t try.” I curl my hands into fists. “We succeed, which means you were too much of a coward to be there.”

That’s all it takes to start the fight. The guy comes at me and I dodge, so he hits the wall behind me.

I tackle him, and I break his arm before he can recover from his attack.

Some others get in on the action, sharks in the water scenting blood and determined to get in a bite, but I’ve been trained well.

I toss one guy into the bars, getting some attention as I punch another guy. I can hear his nose crack. I sweep the leg of the third, but beating out six-plus guys without taking a few blows is impossible, even if I barely feel their attacks.

By the time we’re dragged apart, I’m cuffed and jerked out of the cell, leaving behind a group of men on the ground, groaning or unconscious and others trying to climb into the women’s cell to prove they’re not a threat to me.

I’m tossed into a cleaner room with all-white walls, so the flicking white light above me feels like it’s going to consume me. It’s going to worsen the headache I’m already sure I’m going to have.

I lick over my split lip, then spit onto the table when the door opens. “There’s your fucking D.N.A. sample.”

“Must have sarcasm woven into your D.N.A.,” a voice greets me.

I look up and see a run-of-the-mill officer. I snort and show my cuffs. “Am I getting my phone call or are you going to toss me in another cell hoping someone kills me and saves you the paperwork?”

The man sits down and rolls his eyes while shuffling through files. I roll my eyes. This isn’t my first time in jail. I know the games. They bring out a bunch of files, thinking I will assume that’s what they have on me.

It’s a waste of time.

I wait for the guy to finish playing the waiting game while stretching my legs. If I get put back in the cell with that asshole, I hope they leave the cuffs on. I’ll strangle him with the chain, hopefully, break the chain when I break the guy’s neck, then I can get the fuck out.

“Well, we’re just waiting for your lawyer, which you requested.”

“A long while ago. Not that I should be here after some half-assed entrapment set up by my sister,” I say.

The man snorts, but there are two hard knocks on the door. He glowers at me, nods once, then gets up to open the door. After a hushed conversation, he leads my sister in. Her red hair looks good. She should have changed it years ago, not when she was hiding from family and playing house with a cop.

My sister, all venom and sharp edges, has been tamed by a detective after giving him a lap dance that should have ended in murder and instead ended with her choosing a cop over family. She’s a traitor, and no reason is good enough to switch sides, then entrap me with the law.

“Who’s this?” I demand.

“Don’t do this, Angelo,” Emilia says sharply.

“Everything is said in English in here,” the cop says.

Emilia doesn’t even look at him before switching to Italian. “Think whatever you want about me. I had my reasons.”

“What reasons could you have for putting a cop above the family? For setting me up and getting me arrested for threatening a cop? Huh?” I demand, using Italian just to piss off the cop next to her.

“It’s going to take more than that to take over the family, not that you can handle it.

You proved that when you gave me to the cops for your own freedom. ”

“Angelo-”

“I’ve been in jail for hours. No bail hearing. No lawyer. You’re not fucking family,” I interrupt.

The cop bangs the table. “I said in English. Stay in line, Rossi, or you’re out.”

“Sounds like a good deal. I’ll take it,” I hiss in English. Emilia rolls her eyes and then looks at the cop. “You can wait outside anytime, pig.”

The violence in his glare makes me want to do something about it, but he doesn’t move. I knew there was something of my sister left, despite her switching sides. I speak in Italian.

“Getting tired of playing house with Cane and his daughter? Or does she call you ‘mommy’ now?”

Emilia’s face doesn’t change. She’s the spitfire I remember. Eager to prove herself, to stand out, and to be in charge. She sits taller, leans back, and flashes her cleavage. The cop looks over and she focuses on me.

“I’m not tired of a damn thing, Angelo. But this will be easier if you stop encouraging fights. You shouldn’t be in here for very long. It’ll toughen you up,” she says.

“I said speak English, I’m not going to,” he says, standing up, his chair scraping back.

“Sit down or the next officers that come in will pull you off this case. I’m a protected witness, and if you raise your voice at me again, you might just hit me.

I might fall out of my chair. I could be damaged and all my memories could fall out of my head,” Emilia says with a smile that’s so condescending no one could miss it. “Who’s worth more, officer?”

“Just because you’re dating a detective-”

“So you believe everything you hear? That’s adorable.” Emilia’s voice is a slow drag of silk over steel. Her hand ghosts over her hip, casual—except I know better. “Go on, then. Tell me what else they whisper about me.”

He looks her over, then away.

She smirks Good.

. “What else do they say about Eric Cane?” she taunts.

The officer stands, makes a subtle motion toward the window, and just like that he’s let out.

Emilia shrugs, switching to Italian as if it’s nothing. “It’s easier to manipulate when you know people on all sides. You taught me that once.”

I scoff, the words igniting something sharp inside me.

“And you’re telling me to sit here and be happy in jail day in and day out, huh? That I shouldn’t get bail or anything else?” I demand.

“You can work out and make some new friends. Matteo will be sad to know you’re roughhousing without him,” Emilia says, her tone light, but her meaning anything but.

I roll my eyes.

She leans forward over the table, closing the space between us, her dark stare locking onto mine.

There’s no escaping it—no escaping her. In her eyes, I see my reflection.

My same ruthless determination. The same instinct to bend rules and break them when needed.

The same defiance, even if she shouldn’t be flaunting our last name.

She’s a traitor.

Even if her tan skin matches mine.

Even if we share the same U.V. tattoo, branding us as mafia.

“What do you want, Emilia?” I ask, leaning forward.

“I want my boyfriend to plan more dates. I want bullying in schools to be punishable by adults like us. I want to watch every killer in Chicago burn while I dance in the ashes,” she says.

I continue glowering at her. She knows what I mean, but she’s given some shit away. She cares for Cane’s daughter. She cares enough that it could be used against her. A boyfriend is one thing. A child is another. We don’t deal with that kind of thing. Children are always supposed to live.

“I want you to be a good boy and use this opportunity, Angelo,” she says in Italian.

“Learn what happens when you threaten to break my toys and follow orders blindly. I won’t stop our father, no matter what he does, without help and you know he’s getting more unhinged by the day . .. otherwise, you’d be back at home.”

I grab her throat in my hand. “Maybe he left me here to deal with you and your too-soft heart.”

“Go ahead, hurt me. See what happens to your charges. See what happens to your informants. I will keep the promise I made you, Angelo. Try to hurt me or what’s mine and I will unleash everything you thought you buried.”

“I only bury the dead,” I sneer.

“Then call me a fucking necromancer because I kept records of it all. I kept track of everything. I had nothing to do but keep records since I was benched when it came to business,” she threatens.

“You’re lying,” I accuse her.

Her eyes stay on mine. Her normal tell, where she leans back, plays with her hair, or flaunts her sexuality doesn’t come. She just watches me. Fuck. I told Dad to give her something to do, even something small to make her feel like she mattered, and he didn’t. This is the consequence.

She’s turned witness, and now she has me by the balls.

“Get me out of jail on bail and I’ll forget you exist,” I promise.

“Funny, that’s what I was coming to do when you started a fight. Now you have charges of assault and attempted murder in a jail cell, no less.”

“And you’re dating a detective,” I hiss.

She stands and flips her hair over her shoulder. “You chose who you allied with a while ago, Angelo. I hope Dad comes through for you. I won’t.”

She stands, brushes off her shirt, and shrugs. “You earned these consequences, Angelo. I hope you take it as a lesson. I hope you don’t forget what I’m capable of again.”

My sister saunters out. A part of me is proud of her. She’s become a mafia princess and comes into her own by rebelling against our father. If our father had embraced her, loved her, and given her everything she wanted, she wouldn’t be this kind of woman.

“You’re welcome,” I say.

Emilia pauses at the door. She looks over her shoulder. “For?”

“For being part of the reason, you are who you are, Emilia. You might be trying to leave the family, but I’ve never understood you better than I do right now,” I say in Italian before switching back to English and flashing a bloody smile. “I’m proud of you, little sister.”

She leans against the doorframe. In the past, anything I did to ruffle her feathers would earn me the information I wanted. This time, she just inclines her head. “Then make me proud of you, Angelo. If you can.”

She breezes out the door, leaving me grinning. She’s come so far. I’m proud of her. I lick over my bottom lip and spit more blood on the table before running my arm over my lips and under my nose.

If Emilia will not make things easy, why should I? I lean back in the chair, putting my legs on the table. The chair groans, but after a warm-up round of interrogation with Emilia, I’m ready for the next officer to come in. There’s no way any of them are smarter or more conniving than Emilia.

But they have more to gain.

All I need is the right greedy cop and the right price.

I’ll be free by morning.