Mafia Mistress by Mila Finelli

Chapter Three

Francesca

The dream wouldn’t let go.As I struggled to wake up, my brain felt as if it was swimming through molasses, sticky and thick. Where was I?

I heard murmurs and a rumbling underneath me. Was I in a car? My body felt heavy and my limbs were cement. I couldn’t seem to open my eyes.

What was my problem?

Then I remembered. The wall, Ravazzani, the needle. Shit! He drugged me. That asshole.

I concentrated on my breathing and willed the drugs out of my system. I needed to fight whatever was happening to me.

“Good. You are awake.”

I would have started if I’d been capable of moving my limbs. Was he spying on me while I slept? Just my luck to get kidnapped by a murderer and a creeper. Great.

I was on a mattress, the sheets crisp and cool beneath me. “You...kidnapped...me,” I forced out. “And...drugged me.”

Large fingers brushed the hair off my face. “I retrieved my son’s fiancée by any means necessary. Let that be a warning to you.”

A tiny shiver went through me. None of this made sense. Ravazzani could choose any woman to marry his son, and most would probably come willingly. “Why...me?”

“Don’t you know that you and your sisters are legendary? Your mother was very beautiful and famous. Tales of her daughters have been spread across the globe.”

I swallowed against a dry throat. My mother hadn’t wanted this for me, for any of her daughters. Have your own life, Frankie, and never give it up for any man.

I knew I looked like her. Everyone told me as much and I had seen enough of her modeling photos online to notice the resemblance. Still, that wasn’t a good enough reason for ruining my life.

Blinking, I finally pried open my lids. Ravazzani’s gorgeous face filled my vision, his lips twisted into a smug smile as if I amused him. As if my resistance was nothing but a joke. I held his gaze steadily. “I will never marry your son.”

The smile dropped instantly. “Never is a long time, Francesca, and don’t forget you are at my mercy. You’d be wise not to make an enemy of me.”

The threat rolled so easily off his tongue, and I didn’t doubt him for a single second. Even still, I would not bend. He could try to break me, try to force me into a marriage I didn’t want, but I would never stop resisting. “What will you do, threaten to shoot me? Torture me?”

“That depends on you, monella. Because if you refuse, I will consider the debt unsettled. I’ll be forced to retaliate against your family. Is this what you want?”

Brat.I knew that word, one I had been called before by Papà’s men. “You won’t hurt my sisters.”

A dark brown brow shot up. “No?”

We stared at each other, and I tried to see inside his head, to figure out if he was bluffing. I couldn’t tell. The man was too good at concealing his thoughts. But even if he promised not to hurt Emma and Gia, he might kill Papà. “What does your wife think of you kidnapping a woman to marry your son?”

“My wife died many years ago.”

A lump settled in my stomach. Had he killed her? Or had she been killed by a rival family? The mafia was violent and cruel, which was why my mother tried to protect us from it. “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

Avoiding my eye, he pushed to his feet and straightened his cuffs. “It was a long time ago. Giulio is my only son, which is why he will have the best wife, the daughter of the famous Sophia Romano Mancini. A woman to make all other men envious.”

“And if I won’t marry him?”

“Do not make me answer that, Francesca.” He strode to the door. “Two hours before we land. You should sleep.”

He had a lot to learn about kidnapping if he thought I could possibly sleep right now. “I need a bathroom and my satchel.”

“Through there,” he pointed to a small door in the rear of the bedroom. “I’ll have the hostess bring in a tray. I’m sure you are hungry.”

I wasn’t about to thank him, so I repeated, “And my satchel.”

“You won’t have your things returned until I find you cooperative.”

I glared at him and tried to burn holes in his skin with my eyes. “There are people who will be worried about me. I need to somehow let them know I’m okay.”

“Do you mean David?” he sneered, sending a bolt of cold fear through me. “He’s not worried, Francesca. You no longer matter to him.”

“Oh, my God. Did you kill him?”

He had the gall to look down his nose at me. “You watch too much American television. He is alive and well—for now—but you will not see him again.” At the door, he paused and pinned me with a dark stare that scared me down to my toes. There was no feeling there, no sympathy. Just a man always used to getting his way. “Oh, and do not bother looking for a weapon. I made certain you won’t find one.”

I waited until he disappeared before ignoring his advice. I jumped off the bed and started searching. There had to be something in the bedroom or bathroom to defend myself with once we landed. Papà had reluctantly let us take self-defense classes, and the instructor said many ordinary objects could be used as a weapon.

The bathroom yielded nothing. The medicine cabinet was empty and the shower contained only plastic bottles. I quickly used the facilities and washed my face, then found that a tray was waiting for me on the bed in the other room. I dug in, knowing a hunger strike would only weaken me, and I had to keep up my strength to fight when we landed. I hardly tasted the food, though, my haste and fear overriding everything else at the moment. Unfortunately, the silverware was plastic, as was the wine glass and water bottle.

I kept looking. The desk contained nothing but blank paper, while the nightstand just had condoms. Extra large, naturally. Disgusted, I slammed the drawer shut and then dropped down to check under the bed.

Tucked into the carpet along the wall, I spotted it. A pen. I snatched it up and slipped it into the pocket of my jeans.

As a weapon, it wasn’t much but I just had to wait for the right opportunity to use it.

* * *

Fausto

I heardthe bedroom door open and my body went on alert. I didn’t want to admit it, but I had been listening for any sound of her back there. Eager, like a schoolboy. I shook my head, disgusted with myself. Even if I weren’t too old for her, she was engaged to my son.

I needed to pull my head out of my ass.

All my men turned to watch as she picked her way to an empty seat, her tits bouncing with each step. Long legs and shapely hips, with waves of blond hair that reached down her back, and a face that could make angels weep. Dio, she was hot.

When I looked away, I found Marco smirking at me. Had he read me so easily? When my father died and I became capobastone ten years ago, I appointed my cousin my right-hand. In fact, there was no one I trusted more. We’d grown up together, killed together, and risen through the ’ndrina ranks together.

But that didn’t mean he had the right to smirk at me.

“You have something to say to your capo?” I asked him.

He didn’t appear chastised in the least. “Are you going to shoot me if I say it?”

“Probably, once we are on the ground.”

Marco held up his hands and remained silent. I went back to my phone, to the emails and notes I was reviewing. These were for the legal businesses, the ones I used as a public front for my family’s wealth. My cousin, Toni, handled most of the Ravazzani corporation for me, but I kept involved. After all, I had to provide answers if the Guardia di Finanza paid me a visit.

Earlier, I texted Giulio to ensure he remained home tonight. I wanted him to meet Francesca as soon as we arrived. The sooner the two of them met, the sooner she would accept the marriage. In the meantime, Giulio could look after her well being, acclimate her to life in Siderno.

Though my son was only eighteen, I needed him settled and married. The time had come for Giulio to fulfill his role as my heir, which meant producing heirs of his own. I was an only child, as was my son. Therefore, until I had grandsons, the future of the Ravazzani ’ndrina would remain at risk.

That brought my thoughts back to Francesca, who was staring out the window at the night sky. Was she on the pill? I’d need to inform Giulio about her former boyfriend and the possibility she might be carrying another man’s child. Best to wait until she bleeds before the wedding.

Her gaze met mine in the window’s reflection but she did not cower. I liked that about her. Most women feared me, or at least my reputation. Francesca didn’t seem to have that problem. In fact, she showed more spirit than most had dared in the last ten years. Would she show that same spirit in bed?

I had to stop. These thoughts weren’t productive and I could not afford the distraction. Besides, even if she weren’t marrying my son, she was too young. I had a mistress already, one who gave me no hassle whatsoever, and I wasn’t interested in replacing her.

Resolved to ignoring Francesca, I returned to my phone. For the rest of the flight, Marco and I talked business, going over all that needed my attention after this trip. The crimine in San Luca was coming up in two months, where all the leaders gathered every year to discuss our operations. Even the Toronto capos, like Mancini, would attend. This meant that profits needed to be up, all our debts collected. We would need to pull some men off other jobs to clean up the ’ndrina books.

I rubbed the back of my neck, exhaustion pulling at me. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t relax on planes or in hotels. It was why I rarely left the castello in Siderno. At least there I was safe.

“You should sleep in the back,” Marco said. “Now that she is awake.”

“We are close. I’ll wait until I’m home.”

“Too bad. I bet the sheets smell like her.”

“Fuck you.”

Marco chuckled. “You think Giulio can handle her?”

I cracked one eye. “Are you saying he is soft?”

“No, but he’s not like you. He doesn’t have them eating out of the palm of his hand. Never seen a meaner bastard get more pussy than you.”

I had a temper, for sure. Giulio was more even-tempered, like his mother. “She will come around,” I said about Francesca.

The pilot announced our landing. A silent Francesca put on her seatbelt as I secured my own. Her quiet demeanor bothered me. Shouldn’t she be yelling and panicking right now? Throwing something at my head? Trying to overpower the pilot? The instinct that had kept me alive for nearly thirty-nine years screamed inside me, telling me to be on my toes around her. She was up to something.

I smothered a grin. Whatever she planned, I would be ready. She didn’t stand a chance.

Minutes later, we touched down. As I descended the steps to the ground, I made certain Francesca was directly behind me with Marco on her tail. My car was waiting, so I clasped her arm to pull her toward it—and felt a sharp pain in my hand.

“Cazzo!” I hissed. She’d stabbed me with a pen, the point now embedded in my flesh. I snarled and ripped the thing out of my skin, tossing it to the ground. That stranza.

Francesca darted off the second she had the chance but she was no match for Marco, who still jogged daily. I hadn’t even finished cleaning up the blood on my hand before she was dragged back to my car.

“Help!” she shouted to the crew I employed at the private air strip. “Help! I’m being kidnapped.”

My men snickered. No one in a fifty-mile radius would aid a person complaining of a kidnapping here. They all knew better. I jerked open the rear door of the car. “Get the fuck inside, Francesca.”

I walked around to the other side, fury boiling inside me until I nearly choked on it. She had embarrassed me in front of my men. Drawn my blood and made me look weak.

She would pay for this when we arrived home.

She fought Marco, but it was in vain. Soon she was pushed inside next to me and the car sped off. “I won’t apologize,” she said, like a petulant child.

For once, I didn’t try to appear civilized. Instead, I let her see the darkness I normally kept hidden. “Good, because I am looking forward to punishing you.”

She swallowed and focused on the scenery. Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at my home, Castello di Ravazzani. I loved every bit of the estate—the olive groves, vineyards, farmland and pasture—but I couldn’t appreciate any of it at the moment. And this only increased my fury.

When the car stopped in front of the stone entry, I didn’t move. “Leave us,” I told Marco and my driver. The doors closed and Francesca jumped, a frightened little rabbit. I angled toward her slightly. “Do you know my favorite part of owning a castle?”

“No,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Not even a guess?”

“The turrets?”

Smirking, I got out and came around to her side. Once I pulled her from the car, I leaned down. “My favorite part of this castle is the dungeon.”

She gasped. My patience thin, I didn’t give her a chance to run. Instead, I hauled her over my shoulder and started walking toward the back entrance that led below ground.

She instantly began thrashing, her legs kicking frantically. “Put me down! Stop, please.”

I ignored her and kept going.

“No, please. I can’t go into a dungeon. Don’t take me down there. Please, Signore Ravazzani.”

Signore? That was new.

But I was mad, beyond rational thought. We used the dungeon for business, though I preferred not to kill people on my land. It made too much of a mess. Francesca could stew in one of the dank cells for a few hours, then she might be more amenable to my hospitality.

By the time I threw open the heavy door, she was weeping. Good. Perhaps this would help her learn her place.

“Please, signore. I can’t... You cannot put me down here.”

The soles of my shoes scratched against the old stone as I descended. Hopelessness rattled off the walls, while blood and despair hung in the air—two familiar scents that never failed to please me. I had done terrible things in this place, and my son would do countless more. The legacy of the Ravazzani ’ndrina would continue here through fear and intimidation, through wrath and torture.

Grabbing a ring of keys off the peg by the door, I strode to the nearest cell. The iron bars were impossible to escape, though many had tried. Chains were embedded into the wall, but I didn’t think those were necessary with her. Not yet, at least.

I set her on her feet. Tears tracked her cheeks and her eyes were wild as she clutched at my jacket. “Please. Don’t do this. I will literally freak out.”

This generation. So damn dramatic.

I shook her off and stepped back, my intention clear. A capo never changed an order once it was made. We never showed weakness or remorse. I would gain the upper hand with this woman and she would fall in line.

I stepped outside the cell and swung the heavy metal door shut before she could slip through it. When it closed, she shook her head, panic causing her to shake. She clutched the iron bars. “Please, signore. Don’t do this. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be good.”

The words made my dick twitch as I imagined her on her knees being very good for me.

Minchia!There had to be a special circle of Hell for a man who had impure thoughts about his son’s fiancée.

With a furious twist of my wrist, I locked the door with the old key. Above ground, we may have gone high tech but medieval worked perfectly well down here. “Perhaps this will teach you who holds the power in this house, piccola monella.”

She rattled the bars with a pained cry and for a brief moment I reconsidered, something which I almost never did.

A capo cannot show weakness.

My father had drilled this into my head for years, almost from birth. It was in our blood, our history. After all, the word “’ndrina” was derived from the Greek, meaning “man who does not bend.”

Which meant there would be no mercy, not even for her.

I spun and started for the exit. “Enjoy your stay.”