A Mafia Romance

Melissa

MELISSA

As soon as we get underway in the warm car, I feel sedated again. Why are my instincts telling me to trust this thief? He claims to be the best driver in New York State. He’s my best ticket across the border.

He puts his arm around me as I rest against his shoulder. He smells of mint and coffee and the spices from the pie. He’s so gentle...

I don’t know anything about gentle men. Benny is maybe the closest to that, and he pretty much fails at it entirely. My father rules by fear, both family and Family. My brothers are his cold-eyed drones. His men aren’t much better; not a one of them would ever consider crossing Don Gianni Lucca.

But here’s this guy, touching me so lightly, the heat of his hand radiating against my cheek. It’s...comforting.

“Did your car break down?” the Uber driver asks Chase. He’s a narrow-faced man with dark, scruffy hair. Chase is using a gift card and a burner phone; he’ll get his money without leaving much of a trail.

“Yeah, and my lady’s got a migraine.” His voice is so kind. Please don’t let this be an appalling trick!

“Oh, that’s terrible. My lector gets those all the time.” He smiles briefly, and to my surprise, he’s wearing a white band collar.

A priest is driving us? Oh great, we’re lying to a priest! If I wasn’t going to hell for being a mob boss’s daughter, I sure am now.

Then again, he’s getting paid, and we’re getting a safe, nondescript ride to Lloyd. We don’t exactly owe the guy our life story.

The two men chat quietly as we drive on through the dark. Slowly, I lean my head on Chase’s broad shoulder and close my eyes, pulling the hood of my coat over my face against oncoming headlights. Please, actually be this good.

We’re on the road for twenty minutes before I hear the rushing sound of several cars headed toward us at once. I lift my head, and watch the headlights coming.

“Goodness,” the priest is saying, “That almost looks like a funeral procession.”

My heart rate picks up. Without lowering my hood, I see three big black sedans driving by. Matching sedans—from my father’s motor pool.

Oh my God, Benny and Dave brought backup to Lloyd. Please don’t let this be the only car they pass before they get to town!

I turn my face away and bury it in Chase’s shoulder as he covers the back of my hood with his hand, still in character. “Shh, sweetie, those lights are pretty bright. Just keep your eyes closed.”

But I can’t relax, even with his touch and his low, reassuring voice. Tears squirt through my eyelashes and I mash my face against the flannel of his sleeve until the sound of their engines fades off in the distance.

Only then do I lift my head and meet Chase’s worried gaze. He nods, understanding my unexpected attack of fear. “It’s okay,” he reassures.

I let out my breath and straighten, but I’m so tired that soon I settle against him again.

“Won’t be long now,” the priest reassures in a cheerful voice.

I close my eyes in relief and drift off.

I don’t remember when we pull up at the narrow Victorian house with its brown patch of a front yard and windows blocked by blackout drapes. I just remember being removed from the car. My suitcase wheels rattle against the slate sidewalk as Chase helps me inside while pulling it.

The house is warm, a few lights are on giving the small wood-floor living room a golden glow. A small Christmas tree is set up with a bunch of model cars circling it by the wet bar, and there is a gas fireplace he turns on as soon as he gets me out of the coat and on the couch.

“We got away clean,” he reassures me when he sees my expression. He takes off that goofy redneck cap and the matching jacket and stuffs them into his backpack before throwing it into a closet. Underneath, he’s wearing a clingy green turtleneck of some high-tech material.

I hesitate in answering, my eyes caught by the curves of his muscular back as they show through his shirt.

...Oh.

He’s a lot fitter than I expected. Lean, but powerful, with the easy grace of a dancer. When he looks back at me and smiles, his eyes twinkling, my breath catches in my throat.

“So,” he says, lifting an eyebrow slightly at the sight of me staring. “You want to tell me who your father is, for starters?”

I nod and struggle to focus for a few moments before looking back into those beautiful eyes. “Don Gianni Lucca.”

His eyes widen, and he sits back, suddenly looking plenty worried. “...Shit.”

“Yeah.” My smile is an apologetic half-wince. “That’s why I’m offering you the big money.”

He seems to consider this for a moment, and then nods. “Okay. So...tell me how you ended up on the run from the most dangerous mobster on the East Coast?”

He’s apprehensive. Is he going to dump me as a client? He needs to understand how desperate this is!

It will matter to him. He’s a nice guy.

I hope.

"My father had three sons and one daughter. He wanted four sons. My mother is deceased."

Chase is sitting in one of the big, brown leather chairs across from the matching couch I'm lounging on. Since I sat down, his glance has slid up my leg every now and then, but the moment I speak, they're back on my face. I go on.

"All the old mobsters who come by and eat our food and drink our booze and pinch my a*s won't let their daughters near him no matter how many gifts he offers. Most of them don't care much for their daughters, but they care enough not to let them end up smuggled out the door in a rolled up carpet like my mom did." He’s sitting there listening, his brows drawing together, golden-brown eyes full of quiet revulsion.

I pause. Dammit, what a nice guy. I really shouldn't be dragging him into my problems, but he's my best hope. "I'm sorry. This is all appalling, but...you wanted the truth."

He presses his lips together and looks down at his hands. "You know, I'd be making you a hot toddy right now, but I’m thinking booze probably won’t mix well with that sedative." Then he looked up at me. "How did you know about...what happened to your mom?"

“My brother Joey told me when he was drunk and home from the Army. I was ten. I've been terrified of my father ever since." I don't know why, but instead of the usual fear, what I feel now is...poignant. I would have liked to have known Mom.

"There are a lot of arranged weddings in the mob. It was for my Mom, too. Her dad was an industrialist with a pile of cash that went straight into Dad's pocket. Now my Dad wants to marry me off to a son of the Don of Chicago. A guy named Enzo."

My lips feel very dry, like they're about to c***k. I fish nervously for the little globe of strawberry cream lip balm in my bag and rub it on my mouth, but it doesn’t help much.

He gets up and brings me a dark blue sports drink that smells faintly of raspberry when I c***k it open. "Go on."

I take a sip—and then find myself swallowing down half of it in several large gulps. “Oh God.” Some of my headache goes away almost at once. “Thank you.”

I have to take a moment. “Enzo’s...dreadful.” I take the watch cap off and shake my hair out before handing him the hat. “His dad got tired of paying off girlfriends’ hospital bills and decided to marry him off.”

“To you.” He opens his own sports drink, staring at me with a frown.

“Yeah. But he decided—” My voice gets shaky and I take another swallow, trying to steady it. “He wanted a piece of me early. That’s uh...that’s why I ran.”

I don’t have to elaborate. He already sympathizes. I can see it in his face, his body language. It’s pronounced and genuine. His jaw is dropped. He’s revolted.

He blanches in aversion. “Jesus. You okay?”

“Yeah, he um...I kind of...” I swallow hard, the fear of that moment ghosting through and fading away again. “He tried it, and he’s bigger than me, but uh...I get mean when I panic, and he kind of found out the hard way.”

He blinks slowly, some of the dismay draining from his face. “Wait. What?”

“He got a...thousand dollar bottle of Chianti to the side of his head.” How fast some mild embarrassment can displace that ghostly fear? Between this and the g*n, he might think I’m cruel.

“Wait, you knocked him out?”

I think back to that moment, pinned on a pool table in Enzo’s den, his drunken rage... Barely reaching the stem of the bottle and then gripping it hard as he shoved his pants down.

His greasy boner was the size of my thumb and went limp when I clocked him. I shoved him off me to the floor, grabbed the unbroken bottle, uncorked it, and when he started waking up, I just started feeding him wine until he passed out again for good. He never fully opened his eyes.

Didn’t actually protest much either, now that I think about it.

“Yeah, basically. Then I went upstairs, cleaned out Dad’s safe and left.”

Chase’s handsome face splits in a wide, lopsided grin. “Holy s**t, you’re a badass! What the hell do you need me for?”

I’m taken aback. “I...uh...well, remember, when I tried to get to Montreal on my own, I was caught within two hours.”

They were waiting for me in a hotel room. I cried and pleaded, but of course, they weren’t about to let me go. You can’t expect mercy from mob guys. I’ve grown up knowing that.

His smile fades. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry, you probably didn’t need the cue.”

I give him a tiny smile to bolster his. “It’s okay.

“So, that’s in essence the story,” I say quietly. “If I don’t get to my friends in Canada, my dad will force me to marry Enzo. Probably after letting Enzo...punish me.”

He sets his jaw and his feral-looking eyes flash. “Nah, they’ll never have the chance, Princess. Come through with the cash, and you’ll get your ride out to Montreal. I have a pretty good advantage.”

And then comes that lopsided grin again, dazzling and distracting me from my fear of Dad.

My mouth is dry again. I take a drink and hope he doesn’t notice me staring. “What’s that?”

He winks. “I’ve never been caught.”