Black Hearted (The Margarelli Brothers 1)

Black Hearted

She’s my sworn enemy. A mafia princess through and through. But I can’t stop myself from wanting to settle things the old fashioned way.

Francesca is a single mom with a fragile beauty that takes my breath away, but that doesn’t mean she’s an easy target. The woman runs her own crime syndicate, and they are encroaching on our territory. She’s as ruthless as she is beautiful.

But that’s all a front.

When I get closer, I find out that she’s in trouble. Doing everything she can to protect her kid, including messing with the Margarellis. And once I see past her facade, the attraction explodes into something else entirely.

I want her and I want to save her. But having her in my bed is dangerous for both of us. The real danger is keeping her out of my heart.

Twenty years earlier

My body thrummed with excitement, although I held perfectly still. Fidgeting was not dignified, as well I knew. I did not tap my toes or move on the leather seat. I stared out the window, reflecting none of the inner turmoil inside me, the pride, nervousness, and excitement. My shoes were shined, my shirt was stiffly ironed, and my hair was plastered, neatly combed across my forehead by my mama that morning.

It was my first time at the most important event of the year. Papa was letting me come to the Five Families meeting with him. It was more than a momentous occasion.

It was a landmark in my life. A graduation. Even though I was barely seven years old, Papa said that I was a man now.

As of a year ago, I had a baby brother to look after. Responsibility made a man. Responsibility was power. Not age. Not even wealth mattered as much, although it did matter.

“Wealth without power is nothing,” Papa said. And taking care of yours was the ultimate power.

“It is an honor to take care of those you love,” I added, and he nodded, landing his heavy hand on my shoulder.

My face had shone with pride that day. My father’s approval was hard to come by. I was very careful to follow his rules. To imitate him. To be the kind of man he was in words, thoughts, and actions.

Except when it came to Mama. I had just started to realize that sinking feeling I got when she cried. When he used a harsh word toward her. When he grabbed her arm and dragged her away behind a closed door.

When I heard the smacking sound of his meaty palm against her face, I wanted to protect her. To take the beatings in her place. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t big enough yet.

But someday, I would be.

And then I’d stop him.

Papa’s driver pulled through high iron gates into a massive estate. My father grumbled about the long row of trees and the perfectly groomed grounds. To me, it looked like a park, but better.

“Hogs. They take too much and show it off,” he muttered, gripping my arm so tightly it hurt. “Pigs get fat. Hogs get slaughtered. You remember that, capisce?”

I didn’t see any hogs. It was one of those times I wasn’t sure what he meant. The idea of letting him down filled me with terror.

I nodded, even though I knew it was dangerous to lie to him. If he asked later what it meant, I would have to make something up. But delaying his displeasure was still the best course of action.

Papa’s driver opened the door, and we stepped out. I stared in awe at the old stone mansion. We had a house in the city and visited Mama’s family home in Italy in their big stone house, but this house was even larger.

A man came to welcome us. Like Papa, he wore a three-piece suit. They shook hands, and my father lifted me up to show me to the man.

“Wait out here, Vincenzo. Keep an eye on the car.”

My face had fallen. I had thought I would be inside the meeting. But no. Papa just wanted to show me off.

I wasn’t a man. Not yet. I was merely a pet. A prize pony.

I was instantly forgotten.

I watched as they disappeared into the house. I stood there, stiff and ready to protect the car. A bird flew overhead, and I glared at it, daring it to come too close. Papa hated it when birds pooped on his car.

The driver leaned against the hood, looking lazy now that my father was not there to watch him. I glared at him too.

Something caught my eye as I saw it in the periphery. Not an it. A who. A flurry of pink ruffles and skinny legs. I turned, the car and driver forgotten. I craned my neck and then ran off toward the side of the house where a garden beckoned.