The Mafia Royalty Book 1: Mafia Games
Автор
C. Wilson
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2,0M
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Chapter 1
Book 1: Mafia Games
“Mmm.” Unintelligible sounds left my mouth as I twisted and turned in the satin sheets wrapped around my body. I moved my hand to cover my eyes as I squinted against the bright glare of the sun that shone through the high-arching windows in the room.
Alarm bells immediately rang in my mind. My body impulsively shot up, and I took in my surroundings with wide, terrified eyes.
I was in a large bedroom. Compared to my run-down fixer-upper of an apartment, this room screamed wealth. The bright sky peeking through the windows was a scene I was unused to—its light a beacon that highlighted the sleek wooden furniture and paintings hanging on the walls.
From the oversized bed hidden behind a canopy of curtains, I glimpsed the silhouette of a man. He was sitting in the corner of the room, his elbow on the armrest with his chin in his palm. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I knew that he was currently staring at me.
My heart thudded.
Who is this man? What is going on?
I glanced at my body to see I was wearing a thin satin nightgown. I covered myself with the thick duvet and asked incredulously, “What the fuck? Did you undress me?”
“You didn’t hesitate.”
Unease spiked my heart rate. “What?”
“You didn’t hesitate to pull the knife out,” he clarified.
His words sparked a faint memory of the night before. After a brief phone call with my sister, I’d left the house for a late-night walk, only to be confronted by unknown men in suits. The area of the park I’d stood in was dark, with no light to warn me of their presence.
Despite whipping out the knife I always carried for safety, I had been overpowered and taken. I’d not gotten to see the faces of my kidnappers.
Back in the present, my body stiffened with fear, crippling me as I tried to remember to breathe. My only solace was the duvet wrapped around me, and so I clung to it until my knuckles turned white.
“What do you want from me?” I tried to sound tough, but the tremor in my voice gave me away.
“I never saw that look in your eyes before,” he mused, ignoring my question.
“Who are you?” I demanded, my eyes scanning the room for the nearest exit. “Who undressed me?” The more I asked, the stronger my voice became. My mind ran with many possibilities, but I couldn’t think of anyone who’d want to harm me.
Silence blanketed the room. He seemed to be deep in thought. I glanced around for any sharp objects or anything resembling a weapon that I could use to defend myself, but there was nothing.
Movement caught my eye, and I quickly scrambled on the bed as the man started to approach me. My back touched the headboard, and I used it to push myself onto my feet, securing the duvet around me as I stood on the mattress, prepared to jump down and run at any moment.
I placed my hand out in warning. “Don’t come any closer!”
The man acted as if he couldn’t hear me and continued to move forward. He lifted the swaying curtains and slipped under to stare at me in amusement. A familiar pair of gray-blue eyes blinked at me, dousing me in a bucket of cold water.
My emotions ran amok. Shock, anger, confusion, and something else that I refused to acknowledge.
It had been a little over a year since our breakup, yet the man still made my heart flutter. His hair was slightly longer than the last time I’d seen him, and what was once a five-o’clock shadow was now a neatly trimmed beard.
If God had favorites, he’d be one of them. He was still one of the most handsome men I’d ever met.
His lips curved deviously, painting a picture of mischief, despite the storm brewing behind his eyes. I could never read his eyes. It was what drew me to him, but it was also what drove us apart.
“It’s been a while, amorina.” My nickname rolled off his tongue with ease. It meant little love in Italian, and it brought back memories I’d spent the last year trying to forget.
“Stefano.” The weight of his gaze steadied my erratic heart, and all my fears somehow disappeared. “What have you done?”
He’d never struck me as the type to randomly pluck a girl off the street. But then again, there wasn’t much I knew about the guy, despite us sharing a passionate history.
“We’re at my house,” he said.
His typical lack of explanation annoyed me. “I don’t give a fuck about your house! Why am I in it? You kidnapped me.”
He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a heavy breath. “It would appear so.”
I stared at him, my eyes wide and my mouth twisting in anger. I couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation. Why had I been kidnapped?
He chuckled. “You’re still as expressive as ever. Sit down. I’ll explain the situation to you.”
He gestured to the edge of the bed, beckoning me. I eyed him and remained rooted to my spot, standing on the mattress and plastered against the wall. I crossed my arms and pulled the duvet tighter around me.
“Did you undress me?” I asked.
“Is there something I haven’t seen before?”
The question stumped me, and I opened my mouth to argue, only for him to continue.
“I didn’t undress you. You looked uncomfortable, so I asked one of my female guards to change you.”
“Guards? Just who are you?”
I looked him over again, noticing more changes. This was the first time I was seeing him in a suit, and he looked good in it. Authoritative, even. Was this the same man who would sit on my living room floor to eat because my table was wobbly?
He looked up at me, his hand outstretched. “Can you come down from there first? I won’t hurt you.”
I hesitated, tempted to decline.
“Please.” The word stopped the refusal on my tongue. His eyes compelled me forward, and I found my hand nestled in his as he helped me down from the bed.
I sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed and tugged my hand away when he made no move to let me go.
He sighed and sat down next to me. “I missed you.”
I couldn’t help but snort. “So you resorted to kidnapping.”
He smiled. “Quite romantic, don’t you think?”
I bit my lips to contain my smile, almost forgetting my situation. He’d kidnapped me, for fuck’s sake. Just a few minutes ago, I was trembling in my boots, but now that I knew it was him, there was no need to fear. He’d always had this effect on me. In his presence, my anxiety melted away.
“Seriously, though. Why am I here?” I asked, turning to look at him seriously.
“I want you to be my wife—”
“No.” My answer was immediate. Joke or not. I’d been down this road. No more. My heart couldn’t take it again. “You walked away from this relationship a long time ago, Stefano. I’ve moved on.”
“Have you?” he shot back, his eyes drilling into the side of my face. “Can you look me in the eye and say you don’t love me anymore?”
I clenched the duvet in my hands and kept my eyes trained on my lap. I shook my head. “Love has nothing to do with this. Take me home.”
“Amor—”
“Fuck! What more do you want from me? Take me home!” I snapped, turning my head to glare at him.
“I can’t.” He shook his head firmly, the strong resolve in his eyes shaking my heart.
“What do you mean, you can’t? Do you think I’m afraid to call the cops or something?”
“That would be useless.”
“Why?” I demanded. After all this time, why now? Why was he trying to come back into my life?
He stared at me seriously, his eyes scanning my face as if probing for something. The piercing look in his eyes unnerved me, and I shifted. “What is it?”
“Have you ever heard of the Perez family?” he asked.
My brow furrowed in confusion. “Who?”
“The Perez family.”
“Who are they?”
“So, you don’t know.”
“About what?”
He shifted his sharp gaze away and stared ahead of us in thought. “Then what about the Roscotto family?”
I paused, needing time to register his words. Once I did, my heart plummeted to the floor.
Who hadn’t heard of the Roscotto family? This city was run by them. The kings of the underworld. Everyone knew of them. Their family dated back generations.
Three mafia families ran this city, and the Roscotto family, thanks to their ruthlessness and hunger for power, was the strongest one.
Before my aunt had disappeared, she had a boyfriend who had deep ties to one of the families, though I’d never known which one.
Men in suits would regularly visit our home. My aunt would instruct me to remain out of sight whenever they’d stopped by. I would hide on the other side of the door, my ear pressed tight against it to try to hear what they said.
Most often, they would talk about money. Getting it. Moving it. Depositing it.
But there were other conversations. Darker conversations.
Guns.
Drugs.
Women.
Children.
Stefano bringing up the mafia family sent a shiver down my spine. I glanced around the lavish room, a sinking feeling settling in my chest.
I realized I’d never learned his surname. I’d never thought to ask.
Alarm bells rang in my head, and I hesitated before asking, “Are you?”
He nodded curtly. “I am Stefano Roscotto. The current heir to the Roscotto family.”
