Savage (King of the Mafia #6)

Chapter One

Cormac

Ican’t stand to see the enemy win.

In this case, my enemy is my sister’s husband: Marco Amato.

He married my sister for political reasons – an Italian wanting to get in good with the Irish. My dad fell for it. He always wanted more power than what was good for him.

But I never thought it was a good idea to work with the Italian mafia. I never wanted my sister, Ciara, married to Marco.

And now, I finally have the chance to hurt Marco and bring him down.

I sit in my car, across the street from a large house in the New York suburbs. The kind of house where you raise two kids and two dogs. The kind that feels safe and warm. Rich people who don’t need to worry about anything in this world.

I came from money myself but living within the Irish mob makes it hard to never worry. Not when you have to worry about who will try to kill you or fuck you over.

I glance down at my phone. A picture of me, my sister, and my dad from when me and Ciara were kids acts as my screensaver. It’s a picture I cherish: one of good memories. One of a time when things were simpler and I didn’t have to worry. When I didn’t have this anger inside of me.

My back is sore from sitting in my car for hours, watching the house on the nice, safe street. But I’ve always believed in ‘no pain, no gain.’ My body is a testament to that.

I will sit here for as long as I need to do to get what I want.

My phone burns in my hand. Tempted to call Ciara. Check in with her. But she’s been married to Marco for months now. He’s probably hurting her every single day and there’s nothing I can do about it.

My father disowned me. I accidently shot Ciara when my bullet was meant for Marco. Now, I have no one. No contacts. No family. Nothing.

Which is why I need to get them back. I need to get Ciara away from Marco. One way is death but I can’t risk hurting Ciara again.

The other way is to get Marco to divorce Ciara but a stubborn man like him will never concede. It’s why I need to make him divorce my sister. I don’t care if Ciara told me she loved her husband. It’s not love. I know he isn’t right for her and I will take her away from him soon.

I just need to get Marco to do what I want and there’s only one way to do it: threaten him.

Which is why I’ve been sitting in my car for hours, staring at the nice house on the nice street. Waiting for the people who live here to return home.

So I can get my revenge. So I can save my sister.

Arianna

“You did a beautiful job tonight, sweetheart,” my dad says to me on the drive home. My mom smiles back at me from the passenger seat.

“Really beautiful,” she adds.

I smile but it doesn’t fully reach my eyes. My ankles and feet are sore from dancing for the past two hours. I’ll need to recover before my next performance.

A contemporary dancer’s job never stops.

“Thank you,” I respond. But I know I didn’t do a beautiful job tonight. Not when I missed one of my steps. Not when I wobbled for just a moment.

I trained as a dancer since I was three.

Now that I’m twenty-one, it’s my full time job.

Dancing in plays. Taking on work for music videos.

I’ve done a lot of it over the past couple of years thanks to my father’s money.

It got me into the best dance studio in the state, giving me the most opportunities to dance.

I should be ecstatic that I get to dance for a living but my body already feels tired and I’m only at the start of my career. Dancers don’t have a long shelf life. Most retire in their thirties. I need to make this count and yet, I don’t feel as content as I should be.

“We’ll get you home and ice your feet,” Mom says. “You need to be well rested.”

“Of course.”

Dad’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Are you ok, Arianna? You sound sad.”

“Not sad,” I say quickly. The last thing I want is to make my parents worried or upset. I’ve always been their angel – their miracle baby that took them away from my dad’s dangerous family. I can’t disappoint them.

“Good. Because you did a beautiful job,” he repeats. “You should be proud.”

We arrive home and Mom immediately goes into the bathroom to prepare my bath for me. I’m capable of doing it myself but my parents insist on taking care of my every need. Almost like I’m a child. A sheltered, innocent child.

Dad’s phone rings as he hangs up his coat. His face furrows from the number on his screen.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“No one.” He hangs up, putting his phone into his back pocket.

“Dad, don’t lie to me. You looked upset.”

He sighs. “It’s your uncle. Calling me again. I told Marco I don’t want him in our lives. I wish he’d leave it alone.”

“Why exactly don’t you want Uncle Marco to be involved in our family?”

“I’ve told you before: he’s dangerous.”

“How so? You’ve never told me how exactly.”

He places his hands on my arms, giving them a gentle squeeze. “You don’t need to worry about this, sweetheart. All you need to know is that I don’t want you involved in your uncle’s life. I left that world behind when your mom got pregnant with you. I don’t want you a part of it.”

“Part of what exactly?”

“You know I won’t tell you.”

I do know because in all the years I’ve asked, he’s never said. I tried researching my uncle but I couldn’t find any news on him. I have no idea why my dad doesn’t want Uncle Marco in our lives. Other than ‘dangerous’ I know nothing.

“Please,” I say. “I’m an adult now.”

“You still live at home. Your mom and I take care of you. We’re still in charge.”

I don’t make enough money as a dancer to afford New York apartment costs so it’s easier to live with my parents. But I think, even if I made enough, my dad wouldn’t let me move out. He’s always been so insistent that I stay safe. He hardly lets me out of his sight.

All the years of my dance practices, he would be there, watching. Every time I wanted to go out, he would come with. I’ve never known a moment alone, except in my bedroom. Otherwise, my dad or mom go with me everywhere.

I thought it was normal when I was a kid until I realized that not all of my friends in school had the same type of parents. It must have something to do with Uncle Marco’s ‘dangerous’ lifestyle but I don’t know how exactly. Not when I’m kept in the dark.

“Why can’t you give me the details?” I ask. “I’m an adult now. I can handle it.”

“That’s not the problem, sweetheart. It’s for your own protection. The less you know, the better.” He gives me a kiss on the forehead. It’s a hard peck, making me flinch. “Now, go take your bath. You need it.”

I go into the bathroom like the dutiful, good girl that I am. I’ve always listened to my parents. Never have I felt rebellious. I’ve always done well in school. Worked hard at dance practice. And then I would come home. A simple, quiet life.

I never dated, despite a few boys asking me out.

I never had the time between school and dance and I just…

wasn’t interested. Dad said I should only date someone I felt completely safe with and I never felt that.

Maybe because I have my dad’s warnings in my head – about Uncle Marco – but I always wondered if there was any man I could trust. It kept me at a distance from boys. It was just easier that way.

“Let me help you,” Mom says after I enter the bathroom and start to take off my socks. She kneels down before me and slips my socks off my feet.

“Mom, I can do this myself.”

“You need someone taking care of you, Arianna. You’re so fragile sometimes. I worry for you.”

“I’m a dancer. I’m strong.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

I try not to wince. We both know what she’s talking about. The pressures of dance. The pressure to look a certain way. The memory of the pills in my hand and then the memory of waking up in the hospital.

Dad almost made me quit dancing then but I convinced him I’d be ok. My parents have watched me like a hawk ever since then.

To my dad’s credit, maybe I’m not prepared to handle the truth about Uncle Marco. Whatever ‘dangerous’ lifestyle he lives in.

Mom helps me undress and watches as I get into the ice bath. My breath catches and I try to tell myself I’m ok. That the ice is just temporary.

“Sit in there for a few minutes and then you can come out.” She sits on the toilet, scrolling on her phone. My face burns in shame.

I never should have taken those pills. I just wanted to be skinnier. I never meant to…

A loud knock on the front door makes me jump.

Mom looks up from her phone. “Who’s coming here at this hour? It better not be your uncle showing back up here again.”

We both sit in silence. I can faintly hear my dad open the front door and speak to someone. And then the sound of a loud bang.

I jerk out of the bath, wrapping a towel around me. Mom runs out of the room and I follow behind.

Dad is on the ground, a large welt on his forehead. A man stands in the doorway. Young. In his twenties. Blond hair and muscular body.

And he has a gun in his hand.

My dad groans, telling me that he’s alive.

“Dad,” I gasp, kneeling down beside him. Mom stands in front of me, even though we both know she’s powerless against a strong man with a gun.

“Who are you?” Mom demands. “Who are you and why are you here?”

“Why don’t you shut up?” the man growls. “You’re a filthy Italian. You don’t get to speak to me. I’m here for her.” He points his gun right at me.

“No,” Dad moans. “No. Leave her alone.” He sits up, rubbing at his head. “Arianna, run.”

“What is this?” I whisper. “Who is this? I won’t leave you, Dad.”

“You need to run. Now.” His tone speaks to no disagreement. Is this the dangerous lifestyle of my uncle’s he was warning me about?

But this man standing in my doorway is not my uncle. This is a man I’ve never seen before.

“Run!” Mom screams at me.

Finally, I get my body to move and run away from my parents. I hear my mom scream and then silence. I force my head to not look back as I run to my bedroom. I can get out the window. It’s on the first floor.

I hear heavy footsteps right behind me.

I make it to my bedroom and shut the door, locking it. The towel around my body drops away, leaving me naked but I don’t care. Not in this moment.

The man bangs on the door, trying to get it down. That gives me time to open my window and jump through it. I run around the house and scream as I run down the street, hoping someone will hear me.

That’s when I sense someone behind me.

I gasp when hands grab my waist, stopping me.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the dangerous man growls right into my ear.