Taken By the Capo (Taken: The Lucchese Family #2)

Chapter 1

Five Years Ago

Messina, Sicily

“Oh, I won’t take your pussy cherry. But I will pop that ass of yours, bella. Your future husband will never know his fiancée isn’t a virgin.”

Giada Lombardi shivers as my warm breath skitters over the shell of her ear. Lips trail open-mouthed kisses down her neck to the juncture of her shoulder, where my teeth nip the sensitive flesh. A moan slips from her parted lips as she shudders against the wall pinned between my forearms.

I smirk at her reaction.

Niccolò Lombardi would have my balls if he knew my intentions for his seventeen-year-old eldest daughter, already promised to another man. The highest-ranking capo of my family’s organization—La Cosa Nostra—Lombardi runs his slice of the pie and crew of soldiers with an iron fist.

But he’s no match for mine—Marcello The Hammer Lucchese, third-born son of Vincenzo the Boss.

I live by our family’s motto, Want It. Take it. And by my Taran Tactical Glocks.

A made man since my first kill to mark my thirteenth birthday. Nothing comes between me and what I want. Even as a child, I took whatever the fuck I wanted from others. If they refused, I hammered them. First with the toy car I wanted, then with my fists. They gave willingly or crying.

And Giada Lombardi will give crying my name as I pound my cock in her virgin ass.

My erection punches against the zipper of my bespoke tuxedo trousers. I grind my well-endowed junk against her pussy as my fingers tighten around her throat and one hip. My dick throbs as she gasps for air. Her pink, manicured fingernails claw at mine.

I lick up her throat to her slack mouth. The tip of my tongue rims her glossy lips. She moans while heavy lids lower over bright blue eyes. My tongue dives in. It sweeps the wet warmth to tangle with her tongue as she gives willingly.

Good girl.

Better to give me what I want than for me to take it.

Not that I need to take from women. Oh, no.

They drop to their knees or spread their legs for the baby face killer.

The contrast of my soulful mink brown eyes and clean-shaven face with my reputation as a ruthless assassin makes their pussies wetter than the Ionian Sea off the coast of Sicily.

I could drown a blissful death as I eat their pussies.

Whores, socialites, mafia princesses all succumb to my mystique.

And Giada falls the hardest.

Her knees wobble as I kiss her breathless. Soft mewls escape her mouth. Hips gyrate as she meets the grinding of my pelvis. Yeah, she’s ready.

I spin her around to face the wall. I can’t help but to grind my cock against her round ass, driving her hip bones against the silk wallpaper.

A good foot shorter than my six feet, four inches, I bend my knees to align her ass with my groin.

Braced by my muscular thighs, I thrust up, lifting her to the balls of her feet in the high heels.

My hands place her palms against the wall as I press my front to her back. She moans and pushes her ass against me. Warm breath comes out in pants while her eyes squeeze shut. I can hear the thoughts as they race through her mind.

So good.

My father will kill me!

Oh, God, Marcello!

I snicker and nip at her nape. She squeaks.

“Keep your hands on the wall,” I order as I press mine on top of them. “Do not move unless I tell you. Understand, bella?”

She nods. Then yelps and her eyes pop open as my palm connects with her ass through the evening gown. She cranes her neck to look at me. I bunch her dress around her waist and pull her hips back.

“Wha—”

“Words, bella. I will have your words.”

Her eyes flutter closed as I pepper her ass exposed by a skimpy thong with a flurry of spanks. The corners of my mouth quirk up and nostrils flare as I watch her creamy skin bloom a rosy pink.

“Use. Your. Words.”

I punctuate each word with a spank that jiggles her reddened butt cheeks.

“I—I—I understand!” She wails, face flushed like her ass.

“Good girl.”

I slide the tip of my middle finger along the inside of her thong, down to her pussy lips. The silk comes away soaked.

Giada likes it rough. Naughty girl.

She gasps and struggles to close her legs when my finger rims her slick pussy lips and slips inside to the second knuckle.

“No!”

“No?” I ask as my finger slides in and out of her tight pussy, eased by her natural lubricant.

“Y—You said you wouldn’t touch me there. You said my butt, Marcello.”

My wicked chuckle makes her tremble. Then she moans as I increase the pace of the thrusts.

“I never said I wouldn’t touch your pussy, bella. And I am a man of my word.”

Her pussy walls quiver around my thick finger. My ring finger flicks her engorged clit, and she goes off like a rocket.

Pussy grips my finger. Juices gush into my palm. Mouth forms a perfect O as a throaty moan pours from between her parted lips. My thighs press against the backs of hers to keep her from collapsing to the floor as her entire body convulses.

Damn. Has no man set her off?

What a dumb fuck her fiancé must be.

My fingers continue their magic, drawing out her orgasm until she’s still. A satisfied smirk spreads across my face as I lean into her ear and nip the delicate lobe.

“You’re ready to take my cock in your ass now, bella—”

I jerk away and rise to my full height as the sounds of shouts and screams infiltrate the room.

My gaze swivels to the door of the meeting room next to the grand ballroom in the hotel owned by my family.

The clicking of high heels on marble and the heavier thudding of men’s shoes as guests run past the door adds to the unexpected chaos.

What the fuck could happen at my older sister Gemma’s engagement party to Giada’s brother Renzo?

I don’t waste time figuring it out. Instead, I grab Giada by the arm and pull her to the conference table. Dragging a chair away, I push her forward.

“Hide under the table until your family comes for you. Do not leave this room. Understand?”

This time, I don’t demand her words. She nods as her wide eyes flick between me and the door where the hysteria increases. Without hesitation, she scampers under the table. I roll the chair back in place before I rush for the door. I slam the lights off and crack the door open.

Automatically, my hands go to my Taran Tactical Glocks in the holsters beneath my tuxedo jacket and click the safeties off. I whip them out as I step from the room. The door closes behind me with a soft snick. Guests race past me, fleeing the ballroom. I run to it.

“Fuck you, Ludovico! Fuck you too, Luca! And to hell with you, Flavio! You think you’re tough shit as the Boss’ sons? It’s time for the Lucchese rule to end! It may not be me. But someone will take you out! End your fucking line for good!”

Renzo glares through blackened eyes as he kneels before my older brothers. Bloody spittle lands on Ludovico’s shiny patent leather dress shoes. His face remains impassive as he holds one of his Heckler & Kochs to Renzo’s forehead.

Around them—also on their knees—Niccolò, his two younger sons, and his top soldiers glare with eyes full of hatred. Luca, Flavio, and some of our soldiers train their guns on them.

In search of my parents and sisters, Gemma and Allegra, my gaze roves over those remaining in the ballroom.

The Lombardi women—except from Giada—huddle in a corner surrounded by more of our soldiers.

Other capos and their soldiers stand to the side.

But no sign of the rest of my family. My heart lurches in my chest as I run to my brothers’ sides.

I aim my guns at Niccolò. He spits at my feet. I don’t flinch. But my fingers itch on the twin triggers.

“It won’t be you.”

The crack of the gun as it discharges a bullet into Renzo’s skull reverberates around the ballroom. His head snaps back at the force as a hole appears between his eyes. Another crack signals the shot to his heart. Women scream.

I don’t have to look at Ludovico to know the process. Our father taught us to shoot between the eyes and in the heart to ensure the kill.

Renzo Lombardi is no more.

His father roars at the death of his heir and rises to one foot.

I shoot his kneecap.

He screams in agony and falls to his side, covering the blown joint with his hands. Blood oozes past his trousers and between his fingers.

“Do not kill him, Marcello.”

Luca’s calm command stills my trigger fingers.

“End the others.”

Without hesitation, Flavio, our soldiers, and I kill them. The room erupts in gunfire, screams, and shouts. A single gunshot aimed at the ceiling silences the ballroom. All eyes shift to Luca.

The eldest of the Lucchese siblings at twenty-five and the identical twin to Ludovico stalks towards Niccolò. My brother moves with the grace of a predator as he focuses his sharp brown eyes on the fallen capo. Their eyes meet. Neither cowers.

“You dare to kill our father while our mother rides in the car with him on their way to your son’s engagement party to our sister? You break the code of no harm to women and to children. So you can take over what my family has run for generations? The Lucchese’s rule La Cosa Nostra.”

My heart skips a beat.

However, years of trainings—including beatings by my father’s hands—prevent me from displaying any reaction and damn sure no emotion. I sense the eyes of the other capos and their soldiers on my brothers and me. I remain still with my guns at the ready.

“You dare to speak to me like I’m someone beneath you, boy?! You’re still shooting blanks. I don’t give a fuck who you think you are.”

Ludovico and Flavio flank Luca. Niccolò gives them a scathing look and spits at their feet.

“Marcello, bring Giada from wherever you were fucking her.”

The son of another capo utters a string of Italian curses. But he shuts his mouth with a quickness when a soldier faces him.

“You filthy animal! If you laid a fucking hand on my daughter—”

Ludovico knocks the words from Niccolò’s mouth with the butt of his gun. A glob of blood mixed with broken teeth lands on the floor. Wordlessly, Ludo steps back.

I stride from the ballroom and return with a frightened Giada gripped by the elbow.

“Father!”

She jerks. But I hold her fast and drag her to Luca.

“My father taught us an eye for an eye—”

“No! Please! Please, Luca! I beg you! Do not kill my daughter! We know nothing!”

The Lombardi matriarch’s cries ring out in the ballroom. She pleads while we stare impassively.

She cries, and my mother is dead.

I give zero fucks. Kill the bitch.

Interestingly, Giada’s fiancé remains silent. I flick my gaze from him back to Niccolò. He rises to his knees. A grimace crosses his face at the pressure on the shattered joint. He clasps his hands together and lowers his gaze in supplication.

“Luca, Giada’s mother is correct. They know nothing of my plan to overtake your father. The women are innocent—”

“As was my mother.”

Niccolò flinches at the deadly tone. But he continues to beg.

“Please, Luca, let them live. You killed my sons and my soldiers involved. Kill me now. But have mercy on Giada. Please.”

Silence descends.

Giada and the other women cry softly.

Two gunshots ring out.

The body crumples to the ground.

Screams and shouts fill the air.