Mistress For The Mafia Princes

THREE ~ Lucas

*Four Years Later*

I was standing over the latest fucker we had to beat up on my boss’s orders, wondering how all people ended up so damn similar.

By now, they were always a mess. Split lips, crushed spirit, and that slack-jawed surrender.

If I had a heart, maybe it might have bothered me. But I don't.

Besides, I was not the guy throwing punches, that was my crew.

I was the one calling the shots, the brain behind the plan.

And I always know how to break a man.

Sometimes it’s a punch from one of my boys. Other times, just a quiet word in the right ear.

Right now, though, I had to deal with this pathetic mess in front of me.

The boys did a lot of damage, but maybe it was time to try something else.

“Come on, Crivello,” I said with a sigh. “Tell me what I need to know, and I’ll let you walk.”

The guy was old-school and stubborn as hell.

He had been a faithful bodyguard to the Darlo family for years, until they cut him out for a few jobs gone wrong.

I crouched beside him, careful not to let his blood ruin my Italian leather. "Look at you," I murmured. Tossed out like trash by Darlo even after all those years of service. Now, why are you still loyal to them?"

His face was a ruin with swollen eyelids, split lips, the sour stink of fear and sweat clinging to him.

He tilted his head toward my voice, his eyes were already swollen shut. "I tell you... and I'm dead," he rasped.

"Now why would I do that?" I clicked my tongue. Give me the kid’s location, and I'll let you go as soon as we have her here. I promise."

A wet, hacking sound erupted from his throat. His attempt at a laugh. "You promise?"

Blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth.

"If you think you have another option, you're sadly mistaken," I said.

Crivello shuddered, collapsing back onto the concrete. "She's just a kid," he choked out.

"Then pray her father is more cooperative than you have been. If he is, she'll be unharmed".

That was a lie.

The order I was given was clear: the kid’s body was supposed to be the message.

But Crivello did not need to know that.

"Come on. I want to let you off. Just talk, and all this ends. Keep playing hero..." I trailed off, nodding toward the shadows where my boys waited, knuckles still raw.

Silence. Then, a ragged breath.

Followed by the info we needed.

Finally.

I stood up and nodded towards Salvatore, my right-hand man. We'd gotten the information we needed. He responded with a curt nod and took some men with him.

I left Crivello to my men, who would hose him down and make him presentable for our guest.

Maeve Darlo.

She was an illegitimate child of the Don of the Boston gang. Lived with her mother for most of her life. That is, until a hit was ordered on her mother.

Then Daddy dearest swooped in to claim her as his own, and she has lived with him ever since.

Now she'd been picked as the unfortunate victim to send a message to her father.

The Boston Don had been pulling hard on the long leash we Italians let him run with in this town.

Truth was, he’s deep in debt to my boss, Marconi, deep enough that snatching his kid would’ve been fair play.

But my boss was not exactly famous for patience. He’d skipped the kidnapping and gone straight to a hit.

I don't approve of his methods, but they are orders I have to carry out.

Almost four hours passed before Sal and the guys rolled back in.

We’d gone quiet on comms, but I knew Sal, he’d get the job done.

It would take time, of course. They’d have had to deal with the guards before they even got to Maeve.

But Maeve? She'd be no trouble. I did not expect her to be a fighter.

The warehouse roller door started its usual racket, banging and scraping as it lifted.

From afar, I kept my eyes on the old white van as it crept across the warehouse floor.

When the guys pulled her out of the van, she was kicking and screaming. Her shrieks were muffled by the bag over her head.

Maybe she was a fighter after all.

She was still struggling when the men got her strapped to a chair. I could see where her mouth was, the bag over her head rose and fell with each breath, as she sucked in damp air and let out a rough cough.

“Was there any trouble?" I asked Sal.

At the sound of my voice, Maeve stilled.

"No trouble,” Sal said. "The security on the house was just as Crivello said it would be.

At the mention of his name, Crivello began moaning and mumbling prayers.

I moved to the chair and crouched in front of the girl.

"Sorry it had to come to this, Maeve," I told her, keeping my tone polite. "But if your father gives us what we want, we can all forget about this nightmare."

A sound came from her and I assumed it to be a scoff.

I turned to one of my guys standing beside her, “Take the bag off." I told him.

He did.

A gasp slipped from my lips.

I knew that face. I had never forgotten it.

“You…"

"Me.” She said back, in all her glory.

She was a bit roughed up from the ride over here, but she was still as beautiful as the night she saved my life.

Her plump lips were slightly parted as she took in deep breaths. Her auburn hair was longer than I remembered, and now in knots, but her hazel eyes were still just as striking, looking at everything with a question.

I wondered how she could be Maeve Russo. How could I not have known?

But then I realized.

She had never told us her name.

“Everyone out,” I said, quiet but sharp. “And take that piece of s**t with you.” He jerked my chin towards Crivello, keeping my eyes on Maeve.

Crivello started wailing, begging, saying how sorry he is like it matters now.

One by one, the men shuffled out. Except one.

Still keeping my eyes on Maeve, I said to him, “George, get out."

“My uncle said I should keep an eye on the kid.” George snapped back.

I kept my breathing slow, trying not to imagine all the ways I could kill this bastard for disrespecting me, the second in command, just because the capo was his uncle.

I glanced at him and he glared right back.

George Marconi, always been a problem since day one. He doesn’t have to say a word for me to know what he thinks.

He had that deep-seated hate, the kind that clung to skin. Won’t say it out loud, but it was in his stare, like a stain.

That’s fine. I did not need him to like me. I needed him to follow orders.

Sal came and all but dragged George out of the room.

And now, I was alone. With her.

I immediately started pacing the room.

“Lucas?"

I nearly groaned at the sound of her voice whispering my name.

I'd thought about her more times than I care to admit. It's almost pathetic, the way my mind kept circling back, like it couldn't help itself.

Lately, it happened more. I drifted into those old memories like I was slipping into a warm, familiar coat.

You’d think the moment would have been worn thin by now. But it still hit me, that jolt when I first saw her. Like lightning, clean through the chest.

And then there’s the part I could never shake, the moment I had to leave. It felt like she’d sewn something of herself into me, when she stitched my wounds and tearing away from her meant ripping something deep.

And I stayed torn open for a long, long time.

Until now.

“What are you going to do with me?"

I shut my eyes. “I'm supposed to kill you."

A faint gasp escaped her mouth.

“I'm going to fix this," I said and continued pacing.

There was a brief silence until, “Where's Liam?" And I stopped moving.

I had not been in contact with my brother for years.

“We had a falling out." I told her simply, with a tone that clearly conveyed I had no plans to talk about it.

“Are you really going to kill me?"

“f**k no! You saved my life. I can't do that."

“Then set me free," she licked her lips. “I'll run away, you'll never see me again."

“If I do that we'll both be killed when they find you, because they will find you."

Silence.

"We’ll see the Boss.” I told her. "I’ll lay it out, take whatever judgment he gives.”

Her face looked grim.

Either way, I owed her a debt, and she was not going to get killed on my watch.

* * * * *

Don Michael Gaccio Marcello had always cut me more slack than most, especially when it came to my Caporegime, Angelo Marconi.

He had always had a soft spot for me and Liam.

I hoped that the soft spot would come in handy.

We filed into his dining hall. Me, Sal, Marconi, and Marconi’s half-wit nephew dragged behind like a bad habit.

Out in the front room, Maeve was waiting, bag over her head and armed men on all sides.

Gaccio was sitting behind a long table like he was presiding over a kingdom instead of dinner.

One by one, we walked up, kissed his hand, and took our places in front of him like schoolboys lined up for inspection.

I lifted my head and met his eyes. “Forgive the intrusion, Don Gaccio. We’ve brought our problems into your house.”

He stared back, calm as ever.

Then Marconi opened his mouth. “This asshole never follows orders, Don. Always mouthing off, stirring s**t—”

Don's hand went up. Marconi shut up. Even he knew when to stop.

Gaccio’s eyes flicked to me. “And who is the guest outside?”

“Darlo's daughter,” Marconi growled. “I want her dead.”

Gaccio gave a small nod, and a guard slipped out. A moment later, he came back with Maeve, minus the bag.

Gaccio leaned forward just slightly. “Now, why didn’t you carry out your orders?”

I paused, just long enough to think, not long enough to look scared. “Don Gaccio,” I said carefully, “might I ask for a word? Just the two of us.”

“No, the hell you can’t!” Marconi barked.

Just like I hoped.

Gaccio turned his head, gave Angelo a look that could stop a freight train, then stood. He didn't speak, just tilted his chin at me.

I followed him into the office.

“Don’t sit,” he said, and I know I had maybe sixty seconds to fix this.

“In one minute,” he said. “Explain why you thought you knew better than Marconi. He’s my appointed Capo. That makes his word mine.”

I nodded once. “He is, Don. No disrespect. But I owe the girl my life.”

He said nothing. Just lit a cigar.

“Years ago, before I was Family, she saved me. My brother can back it up. I never had a chance to repay the debt, until now."

More silence as he puffed on the piece.

“And Marconi?” I went on. “He doesn’t really care about the girl. He just wants to hit Darlo hard. To make sure they pay up. But the girl’s worth more to us alive.”

“How so?” he asked.

“She’s the oldest kid Darlo's got. If we kill her, it could go two ways. He gets mad or he breaks. Either way, it’s a mess. A war with Boston, or worse, he runs to the Feds. And if he folds? His business crumbles, and we still get nothing.”

He leaned back. “So what do we do?”

The “we” was not lost on me. My heart bumped in my chest.

“We keep the girl,” I said. “Back in the day, royal families kept their enemies’ kids as leverage.”

“And we give her to Marconi? Let him hold her

“Absolutely not,” I said quickly. “We keep her comfortable. Treated well. Let her father see it. Makes him easier to steer.”

He grinned at that. Slow and wide. Pointed a finger at me like I was the punchline to a joke he'd been waiting to tell.

“You hear that?” he said to no one in particular. “Smart man. Always know how to work things out.”

Then he leaned in, smoke curling from his cigar. “But why stop at a political hostage? I’ll do you one better.”

* * * * *

Back at the dinner table, Gaccio did not have to raise his voice. It's already quiet enough to hear Maeve breathing hard through her nose.

“The girl lives,” he said.

Marconi growled low in his throat. The guards inched closer.

“She lives,” Gaccio repeated. “Lucas owes her a great debt. And he made a good case. But she’s not going back to her daddy.”

“She’ll escape,” Marconi muttered, the word mangled in his mouth.

“No, she won’t,” Gaccio said. He looked at Maeve. She shook her head fast as if to reassure him that she would never attempt it.

“Because she won't be a hostage,” he said. “She’s going to be a new ally.”

I felt Marconi twitch beside me. I didn't move. A man who couldn't control his own hands should not be trying to control anyone else.

“That's right,” Gaccio finished. “The girl is going to marry into the Family!”