Love that Binds: Cosa Nostra Series: Book Three Read online

  “Do you like puttanesca?” He turns away from me to add the chopped garlic to the pan, causing it to sizzle as it emits the most delicious smell, and my stomach growls in agreement. He looks over his shoulder, before chuckling. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  I curse my stomach for betraying me, but I can’t remember the last time I had something to eat. And the appetizing smells coming from the pan is enough to make anybody’s mouth water.

  “How are you feeling?” He turns back to me and continues cutting olives and anchovies, and it’s difficult not to think about the delicious dish that he’s whipping up. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. The doctor will be round in the morning to check on you.”

  “What doctor?” My hunger is quickly replaced with agitation starting to build inside of me. If he would just answer one of my questions, I could get a handle on what the hell is going on. Because this is not normal; nothing about this is normal. I’m not naïve enough to think I’m on a fucking beach vacation, with a handsome man in a suit who’s going to cook for me every day. “Stop playing games and tell me what’s going on, Christiano.”

  He turns and takes two wine glasses from the cupboard before opening a bottle of red wine. “I remembered you like to order red wine.” He pours each of us a glass before setting the bottle down and holding mine out to me. I ignore him, not willing to play his little game, and he sets it down in front of me before he lightly touches his own against it. “Cheers, Amelia.”

  The frustration inside me is suddenly in uproar, and I swipe the glass off the counter, sending it flying against the cupboard on the opposite wall. Red wine stains the perfectly white and clean interior, and it sends a jolt of satisfaction through me. The muscle in Christiano’s neck twitches as he peers at the mess I’ve caused. Wine is dripping from the cupboard as shards of glass lay scattered on the wooden floor.

  “That’s not very nice,” he drawls, sipping at his own wine before setting it back down again. His dark eyes bore into mine, daring me to make another move, daring me to push him.

  “You can’t keep me here.” I push off the stool, acknowledging the dull ache in my abdomen which is now a little more prominent from all the activity. If I want to do something, I have to do it fast. There’s only so much my body will be able to handle after having major surgery and no food to provide me with any energy. “I won’t stay here. I won’t be your obedient little prisoner. I want to fucking leave.”

  He swallows before staring at me over the rim of his glass for a second, considering his answer.

  “I’m afraid you can’t do that,” he says as he turns away from me. He continues to add the rest of the ingredients to the sizzling pan before he fixes the boiling water for the pasta he intends to cook. “You have to stay here—it’s the safest option.”

  His refusal to give me anything but a straight answer has me clenching my fists at my sides, itching to get up and leave.

  “You’re fucking with me.” He cannot be serious right now. The safest option is for me to stay with Neal, or anywhere but here for that matter, since Christiano is the reason I was taken in the first place. He was the one who pulled out my IV, who carried me out of the room. Who held me while Romero came at me with a needle. The mere thought of that man has my heart racing, my palms sweating, and I wonder if Christiano can see through my tough facade, straight down to the fear beneath.

  Where the hell is Romero?

  “I’m not fucking with you, Amelia.” Turning back toward me, he takes another sip of wine as he carefully inspects me. What he expects to find, I have no idea, but being at the other end of his scrutiny is making me uncomfortable. It looks like he’s debating something, and he narrows his lips before setting his glass down and looking at me. “We’re close to Boston. This is my house.”

  “Why are we in Boston?” I ask, looking over to the windows like I could see any indication of our location through the glass. The fact that this place does not belong to Romero settles my stomach, albeit only slightly.

  “I have a few business associates here, and it’s easier to work here when you have a house nearby.” He doesn’t elaborate as he starts cooking the pasta and stirring in the olives and capers in the pan. Christiano looks at me over his shoulder, his face scrunched up in disgust. “I don’t particularly like staying in hotels.”

  “What kind of business does a Made Man from New York have in Boston?” He must be lying. He and his Family are in charge of all the prostitution rings in the city. What the hell is he doing all the way out here? This is not his domain.

  “What have I told you about sticking your nose in other people’s business, Amelia?” He waves the spatula at me, tutting at me in the process.

  “If you don’t want me in your business, then why am I here?” I grip the counter, thinking about a way I can cause him physical and bodily harm. I do not have it in me to deal with his little games.

  “That’s the million-dollar question, is it not?” he says, amusement dancing in his eyes as he relishes in my frustration.

  I’m sick of this.

  Huffing at him, I turn to leave him alone. He’s not going to tell me anything, and I don’t feel like partaking in his riddles.

  “Your temper won’t get you answers any faster,” he calls from behind me.

  I turn back around and lunge for the wine bottle that’s resting on the counter. Grabbing it by the neck, I smash it against the hard surface, causing it to break and spill its contents all over the counters and floor. Using the broken shard that’s left in my hand, I swipe at Christiano who steps back in time, but not far enough, allowing me to make a shallow cut across his face.

  Blood spills from the new cut across his cheek. If he’s shocked at my outburst or even pissed off, he isn’t showing it. Instead, he picks up the kitchen towel and dabs at his face. “Are you done?”

  “I’ll never be fucking done,” I grit out breathless, my heart pounding in my ears as my head throbs, thinking about all the ways I can cut his body into ribbons. The fact that he doesn’t even look irked after my attack has me more frustrated than a few seconds ago. “You’re an arrogant bastard.”

  He grips my wrist and yanks me closer to him, easily overpowering me. Now, there’s no mistaking the anger dancing in his eyes. It reminds me of the flames in my room, luring you in until you’re close enough for it to burn you alive.

  “Never do that again,” he warns me, squeezing my wrist so hard I have no other option but to drop the broken wine bottle to the floor. “You shouldn’t be so quick to want to dispose of me, Amelia.” There’s a coldness to his voice despite the heat in his eyes.

  “Why would I want to ever keep you alive?” I ask, as if I could kill him right here and now.

  He lets me go and takes a step back, the glass crunching beneath his shoes. “Because I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  Wait, what?

  2

  Neal

  Two weeks.

  Fourteen days.

  Without a fucking word on Amelia. The two rings glinting on my fingers have both meant everything and nothing to me in the search for her. I have men out looking for her, two Families’ worth of men, and still nothing. Romero is missing, as well as Christiano Lucchese. He was nice enough to leave me with his calling card when he burned my men the night he took Amelia. Otherwise, I might’ve thought Romero was working alone.

  They have her.

  And it’s eating me alive knowing she is in their clutches. That Romero has taken her from me. After everything he’s already destroyed, I cannot let him get away with this. Pushing her away was supposed to save her life; she was supposed to be in Boston right now. Engaged to her ex-boyfriend, safely away from everyone who would want to use her to get to me. I pushed her away because I wanted to save her, even after I promised her nothing would ever come between us. The look on her face, the tears on her cheeks when I said goodbye…it fucking ripped my heart out.

  And for what? That’s what you get for trying to be the be
tter man.

  It fucking backfired, anyway.

  Clutching the drink in my hand, the added weight of my rings help me crush it between my fingers. The amber liquid dripping down my hand burns the small cuts on my skin, fuelling the frustration that has made its permanent home inside of me.

  I should’ve gone with my first plan. The one involving chaining her to my side. Fuck.

  Looking out over the city now, it all seems different. It seems empty.

  She isn’t here. Romero has moved her somewhere else, otherwise I would have found her by now. This is my domain—most of this belongs to me now. I’m running two of the five territories and I trust Di Napoli as my new ally. Carmine Lucchese’s Underboss is missing in action, his territory left open in his absence, so it’s not hard to scour his streets for her. But something tells me she’s further away, outside of my reach.

  It's in the way the city seems to struggle to breathe, like it’s missing some vital part.

  I need to find her.

  All I can think about is the amount of pain she was in on the day I saw her in the hospital. The day she was taken. Chances are that Romero and Lucchese didn’t do everything they could to keep her healthy and comfortable. To keep her wounds clean and her pain under control. As long as she is breathing, she’d be fulfilling her purpose. Which is to serve as a bargaining chip and to torture me right along with it.

  I have to find her before Romero decides it’s time to bring her to me, because he will come. I know it. He wants the city; he wants to take everything from me. I’m sure he will not rest until he has won. It’s how he raised me, to never step away from what you want. If you set your eyes on something, you never let it out of sight. Sometimes you have to wait, bide your time. But in the end, you win. You always win.

  That’s why I have to find her first. Because I cannot allow him to control the situation. The moment he steps in here, Amelia in tow as bait, I know he’ll use her to take my territory, and he’ll kill her. Or worse.

  The elevator sounds behind me, immediately causing my stomach to fill with dread and anticipation. My men have come up empty so far, no matter how many Lucchese men we interrogate, but maybe today is the day. Turning around, I expect to see my newly appointed Underboss with news from our men, but instead my Consigliere steps through the doors. With Carmine Lucchese at his side.

  “I do not remember inviting you into my home, Carmine.” I wipe my hand on my shirt, smearing it with blood and scotch, the glass crunching underneath my shoes as I step toward my guest.

  He is taking a big risk to come to me like this. I have been hacking away at his men for two weeks, leaving the city strewn with bits and pieces of them. I was hoping he’d pick up the trail and follow it back to me some time. He needs to understand where he stands in all this.

  “I told him you were busy, Boss.” Hunter steps forward, hands folded in front of him, suit immaculate, gray eyes cool and collected. Always professional. “He insisted.” I discussed this with Hunter—we anticipated Carmine’s arrival at some point. But he does not need to know we baited him into this visit.

  “You cannot keep doing this, Neal,” Carmine says as he unbuttons his suit jacket to allow himself more room. “You are a part of Cosa Nostra. We do not fight our own. We are all on the same side.”

  I can’t help but scoff at his ignorance. “Unless you’ve got your son’s location for me, I do not see the point of you being here.”

  “I am on the Commission. You have yet to earn your position at the table.” He points at me, his features turning sharp despite his age. “Just because you run two of the Families, does not mean you get to throw away all of our rules, everything we live by.”

  “And who sent you to remind me of my place, Carmine?” I take a cigarette from the packet in my pocket and light it. “Was it Gravano? I’m not sure he’s conscious enough to have a say in the matter.” I chuckle at the expression on his face, at my insolence of pointing out the obvious—that he does not have as much power in this as he would like to think. “Or was it Di Napoli?”

  “Did someone say my name?” Vincenzo steps out from the kitchen, a small cup of steaming espresso in his hands, and he nods at Carmine, acknowledging the presence of another Don.

  Carmine Lucchese looks between the two of us, realizing he’s out numbered. In more ways than one. “Vincenzo, I cannot believe you’ll allow our personal differences to influence your common sense in this situation.”

  I’m not entirely sure what happened between them. Everyone in our world knows Di Napoli and Christiano tend to stay away from each other, because they’ve been known to come to blows on more than one occasion. But what exactly happened is still a mystery to me. It’s something they’ve managed to keep under wraps.

  “This has got nothing to do with your son and his ways, Carmine.” Di Napoli takes a sip of espresso as a smirk plays on his face. “This is purely business.”

  The look on Carmine’s face shows me exactly to what extent he believes Di Napoli’s statement. I’m sure the issue between the two of them helped Di Napoli make his decision in who he’s endorsing in this, but I know that’s not the only reason. His goals are aligned with my own, and together we can rebuild Cosa Nostra–better than it ever was before.

  “Why are you here?” I interject, growing irritated with his attempt at reprimanding me. “Your son started this when he burned my men, Carmine, and now Amelia is gone and he’s nowhere to be found.”

  “You’re attacking my Family for some woman who is not even part of our world, an outsider?” he asks, looking truly baffled at the situation, and it’s clear that Carmine has no idea what is really going on. It’s been going well for too long—he stuck his head in the sand, forgot where we came from. Forgot we have to fight every day in the life we live. That there is no safe place. That there will always be someone coming for what you have. Either he forgot or Romero has been easing his mind all these years. Placating him into believing no one will ever take what’s his. Now, he doesn’t understand where all the hostility is coming from.

  “You were willing to buy her from Romero. You were willing to let your oldest son, your heir, marry her,” I remind him. “Now you want to stand there and tell me she’s not worth any of this?”

  His mouth is working as he tries to figure out how to respond, because there’s no denying it. I know about the contracts that were set up, the ones they so happily signed to buy Amelia from the Castellano Family. I made sure Thomas fixed them as soon as possible, reversing their entire transaction before they could go through with it.

  “You have to stop attacking my Family, or I will be forced to retaliate,” he says instead.

  I chuckle at him and his empty threats as I draw on my cigarette. “You’re welcome to it, Carmine.”

  “What do you want from me? What do I need to do so you’ll stop killing my men?” he asks, as he rebuttons his jacket, his signet ring visible on his aging hands. Soon, he’ll have to give that up. And it will be Christiano running the Family in his stead.

  Christiano doesn’t deserve to be a Don, does not deserve a seat on our Commission moving forward. I’d rather have one of his brothers rule beside me. And now that he has taken Amelia, he cemented that future.

  “I want your son,” I say, drawing on my cigarette as I enjoy watching his face fall at my condition. “Then, and only then, will I stop.”

  “You can’t kill him, Neal,” Carmine says, his voice shaking a little. “He is set to take over from me.”

  “He shouldn’t have taken what belongs to me.” I put out my cigarette, not bothering to look at Carmine. “Bring him to me, and you can have your piece of New York. Otherwise, I’ll take it all.” With a nod toward my Consigliere, I let him know I’ve said all I needed to say.

  “But—" Carmine sputters as Hunter grabs him by the arm and shoves him towards the elevator.

  “The meeting is over,” he growls at Carmine. “You’re free to leave.”

  Di Napoli takes a s
eat on one of my couches, idly sipping the last of his espresso as we both stare at Carmine being man-handled into the elevator, his protests falling on deaf ears. I have no interest in anything he has to say anymore. I gave him my ultimatum, either he follows through or I do.

  “That didn’t go too bad.” Di Napoli sets his cup down on the coffee table before making himself comfortable. “We’re going to have to work with one of them, or kill them all. You know that right?” I walk towards the bar and pour myself another drink. “Don’t you want some coffee first?” Di Napoli calls over the back of the couch, and I send him my middle finger over my shoulder.

  “I’m not willing to work with Christiano,” I say, taking a sip. I relish in the liquid burning down my throat, waiting for it to fill me with warmth. But it never comes. Nothing has been warm or satisfying since they took her.

  Where the fuck is she?

  “Me neither.” The anger in his voice makes me turn my head to see the rage unfurling on his face. “I’m not sure if the brothers are any better, but if not, the Lucchese Family will cease to exist. Much like the Bastone Family.”

  The Bastone Family is nothing but a name now, since Guido died and Arica literally screwed her brother out of a chance at running the Family. I’ve allowed Roberto to stay on as a Capo, to oversee some of his men, but the boy is struggling. He will have to be properly trained, but he won’t become Don. The Bastone Family is now mine to command.

  “What happened between you two anyway?” I move closer to Di Napoli, a vein clearly showing in his neck, running beneath his Ace of Spades tattoo. I can’t help but wonder what could have happened between the two of them. The hate is clear as day, and now that we’re at odds with the Lucchese Family, Di Napoli is even more set on eradicating them from Cosa Nostra altogether.

  “Nothing worth telling.” He gets up and joins me at the bar, pouring himself a drink double the size of mine, to which I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that–you fucking started it.”