Mafia Mistress by Mila Finelli

Chapter Two

Fausto

The car turnedinto the warehouse lot. The place hadn’t been used in years by the looks of it, which was perfect for this errand. When the wheels stopped, I opened the door of the rented car and stepped out. Marco got out and unlocked the trunk.

The boy was yanked out and thrown onto the ground, where he crumpled in a pile of limbs covered in cheap clothing. My men caught the stronzo crawling out of her bedroom window this morning. I stared at him, wanting to see what she saw. Why would a woman as beautiful as Francesca Mancini ever waste her time on such a pathetic and ordinary creature like this?

She was glorious. The rumors of her looks weren’t exaggerated. All three Mancini daughters were said to resemble their mother. Sofia Mancini had been a famous model before marrying Roberto—I remember jerking off to her photos as a teenage boy—and Francesca was the spitting image of her mother, except with bigger tits.

Dio, how I would love to fuck those tits.

Stop. She’s marrying your son.

Angry at my inappropriate thoughts, I transferred that fury onto the man on the ground. “So you are the boyfriend.”

His frightened eyes darted between me and my men. “Who are you? Why am I here?”

I nodded at Marco, who gave the boy a swift kick in the ribs. “I ask the questions,” I said when the boy caught his breath. “And I want to know if you fucked her.”

The boy’s brows rose. “What?”

After another kick from Marco, the boy wheezed for two full minutes. I sighed. “David, I grow weary. Just tell me if you have fucked her.”

“Wait, are you talking about Francesca?”

Marco lifted his leg to kick again, but David held up his hands. “Stop, stop. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Finally. I bent and looked him in the eye. “Did. You. Fuck. My. Son’s. Fiancée?”

My tone seemed to impart the gravity of the situation on David. His brows flew up and he started babbling. “I had no idea she was engaged. Really. I’m sorry. She never told me. I never would have slept with her if I’d known. Please, you have to believe me.”

“How long, David?”

He licked his lips. “We’ve been seeing each other for seven months.”

I rose and gestured to Marco, then put my hands on my hips. Seven months this brutto figlio di puttana bastardo had been putting his dick in her. Cazzo, what had Mancini been thinking, letting his incredibly hot daughter loose on the streets of Toronto?

Marco put some effort behind this kick and David curled up in a tiny ball, gasping. “Please, no more,” he begged. “I think you broke a rib.”

I exchanged an amused look with Marco. We both knew he’d been holding back. “Get him up,” I ordered.

Marco and Benito each grabbed an arm and hoisted David to his feet. The boy moaned, his head hanging, so I snatched his hair and tilted his face up to meet mine. “Listen to me carefully. Forget she exists. If she contacts you—today, tomorrow, a year from now, whenever—ignore her. If you don’t I will peel the skin from your body while you watch. Do you understand?”

He whimpered and I could smell the piss now staining his jeans. Cristo santo, I wanted to go home. “Are we clear?” I repeated.

David wisely nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” I stepped back and headed for the car. “Leave him.”

I heard David drop to the ground as I opened the door. Marco and Benito, both my second cousins, got in and we drove off, leaving David to find his own way home. I rubbed my jaw and stared out the window. Mancini had clearly let his daughter run wild. She’d probably slept with a handful of men. Did I care? Even though we retained most of our traditions in Siderno, the old way of insisting on a bride’s virginity was dying out. The bloody sheets ritual was practically archaic these days.

My wedding twenty years ago had adhered to all the traditions, the things that were supposed to bring a couple good luck. Yet my bride died after just five years of marriage, a young son left behind. There hadn’t been good luck. Only heartache and regret.

I hadn’t loved Lucia. We’d both been young, the marriage arranged as an alliance with the Lombardo ’ndrina. I thought she understood her role as my wife, tolerating my long absences and the mistress I kept in town. After all, these things were common in our world. Giulio had been born after our first year of marriage and I always assumed we’d have many more sons and daughters. How foolish I’d been. How naive to think the violence of my world wouldn’t extend to my family.

“You think Giulio’s going to like her?” Marco asked. “He wasn’t happy you were coming here to select his bride.”

“Giulio will marry whoever I tell him to marry.” To be honest, I had no idea of Giulio’s taste in women. Even at eighteen, my son was secretive—a trait he learned from me. But who wouldn’t want Francesca Mancini?

And it didn’t matter. The marriage would forge a strong bond between our families, as well as settle a debt. A win-win.

Marco glanced at me in the rear-view mirror. “Should we go back to the hotel?”

“For a bit. But she’s going to run, so we need to be ready.” Mancini had given his daughters too much independence, clearly, with no discipline or consequences. The manner in which Francesca had spoken to her father and to me meant she didn’t know her place. I almost envied my son for his task of bringing her to heel.

I liked women with spirit. They were much more fun to fuck, and having a strong woman bend to my will always got my dick hard.

Benito turned around. “You think she’s going to run?”

A smile tugged at my lips. “Oh, you can bet on it. But we’ll be waiting. Tell the pilot we leave today.”

* * *

Francesca

Later that afternoon,I threw my makeup bag into a satchel. I couldn’t bring much when I ran, but I would take my very favorite things, like the earrings Mama left me. A photo of me, Gia and Emma at CN Tower. The leggings that fit my legs and ass perfectly. And, of course, my passport and money.

“This is a bad idea,” my sister, Emma, said. “How are you going to live?”

“Forget about that, how is she going to escape Papà and the guards?” Gia turned the page in her magazine, barely paying attention. “You’ll never even reach the street, Frankie.”

“Yes, I will.”

Two years ago, I discovered the cameras didn’t cover one sliver of the stone wall surrounding our house, so I chipped footholds into the stone, which allowed me to come and go as often as I dared. It was how I snuck out to lose my virginity to David last November.

My sisters didn’t know this, however. That escape route was too dangerous for anyone but me.

Gia made a noise in her throat like she didn’t believe me. “Papà’s going to be totally pissed when you’re caught.”

Bag packed, I went and sat on the bed next to them. “I hate to leave you both, but I have to do this. I cannot marry some stranger and become a mafia wife, trapped at home with a zillion kids while my husband fucks a mistress on the side.”

“The Ravazzanis are loaded,” Gia said. “I Googled them. They live in a castle, Frankie. An honest to God castle. And the son is a total snack. I don’t know what you’re bitching about.”

God, Gia was so spoiled. She had no idea how bad it could truly get for mafia wives. “Mama gave up her modeling career for Papà and she always regretted it. You don’t remember her as well as I do, but I can’t give up the chance at a normal life. Not for any amount of money. It’s not worth it.”

“I understand,” Emma said, always the level-headed twin. “And I don’t think you should agree. The man who came here, his father? They call him il Diavolo.”

The Devil.

I could well believe it. No one rose to the top of the Calabrian mafia without being evil and terrifying.

Emma touched my hand. “I have a thousand dollars saved up in my room. Do you want it?”

I felt like crying. Again. I threw my arms around her. “I can’t take your money, Emma. You might need it someday. But it’s very kind of you to offer.” I had five thousand plus some gold coins in my satchel. It wouldn’t last long, but it would be enough to disappear. I hoped.

Next I hugged Gia, who embraced me almost reluctantly. “I’m just going to see you again in an hour or so when Papà’s men drag you back inside,” she said.

“Well, in case you don’t, please give me a hug.”

That got Gia’s arms to tighten ever so slightly. “Good luck, Frankie.”

“I love you both. Use these next two years to figure a way out. He won’t marry you off before you’re eighteen.”

“He might,” Emma said. “Gabriella Pizzuto’s father arranged her marriage when she was only thirteen.”

Gross. I stood and grabbed my satchel. “You can both come with me, you know.”

Gia frowned. “That would only make it easier for us to be caught. Besides, they won’t hurt us in retaliation.”

I hoped that was true. Women and children were supposed to be off-limits in any mafia conflict, but I would never forgive myself if either of my sisters were harmed because of me. “Convince Papà to honor his word about allowing you each to go to college.”

“Go,” Emma urged. “It’s dark enough now that you won’t be seen.”

She was right. I needed to get going. The guards were eating dinner for only another twenty minutes.

I looked at my phone on the dresser. Not taking it with me felt very strange, but it would be too easy to find me if I kept it. I needed to leave it behind, as I always did when I snuck out.

After opening the window, I took the rope I kept under my bed, secured it to the bedpost, and unrolled it over the windowsill. I tossed my satchel to the ground and then climbed down into the yard. My sisters watched me safely descend before pulling the rope back up. I blew them a kiss then sprinted for the trees. Papà had no idea David existed, so I’d start there tonight. In the morning I would come up with a plan. Perhaps I’d go to Vancouver. Or Colorado. Somewhere I could hike and ski. I couldn’t stand being cooped up inside, not since I’d accidentally locked myself in a closet as a girl.

It had taken four hours for someone to find me, and I was nearly catatonic with fear by then. After that I hated the indoors, and Mama used to let me follow her outside to her gardens. She grew vegetables and flowers, and it always seemed like everything around her was beautiful. Ever since then, I’ve loved dirt and rocks and fresh air.

First I had to escape the estate. Then I would need to stay hidden, change my name, and never contact my sisters. I couldn’t allow Papà to find me, not until the threat had long passed. Still, I could do it. No, I had to do it. I had to leave all this behind and become my own person. Find happiness for myself, as my mother had urged me.

Never settle, Francesca. Be your own woman.

She said those words when I was a young girl, and I hadn’t understood them at the time. But I did now...and I would heed her advice.

I followed the well-worn path to the wall and into the trees, where the cameras couldn’t see. I chucked my satchel over the wall first, then I used the footholds to climb up. At the top, I threw my legs over and held on with both hands so I could jump the rest of the way down.

Except fingers wrapped around my legs, startling me. They didn’t let go.

I kicked—hard. But it did no good. The hands only tightened. “Stop it! Let me go.”

“Not a chance, Francesca.”

No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. How had Ravazzani found me here? It was impossible.

I struggled to get away but my arms weakened and I was quickly forced to let go of the wall. I fell into a hard, male chest, arms folding like steel bands around me. “Get your hands off me. I’m not going with you.”

He didn’t budge. “You are coming with me. Even if I must drug you to do it.”

I gasped. “Drug me? Is that what you Italians do to unwilling women?”

His lips met the edge of my ear. “I could not say. There are no unwilling women in my life, Francesca.”

Was that...sexual? My mind remained confused, but my body must have been on board because it went up in flames. I was close enough that I could smell him—lemon and mint and maybe green apple—and my nipples tightened. I shut my eyes, humiliated. Why was I having this reaction, especially when this man wanted to kidnap me and force me to marry his son?

Using all my strength, I bucked against him. “Get off me, you dick.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Drugs it is.”

I tried to push away to see his face. “No, please. Don’t—”

A sharp prick in the back of my neck was followed by a cold rush in my veins. “What was that? Are you seriously….?”

And the world went black.