Taken: A Dark Italian Mafia Romance (Men of Mayhem Book 3) Read online

  Taken

  Men of Mayhem: Book Three

  Kristen Luciani

  Taken © 2020 by Kristen Luciani

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Except for the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles, and lyrics mentioned in this novel are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed, or used in any manner whatsoever, via the Internet, electronic, or print, without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For more information, or information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact Kristen Luciani at [email protected].

  Edited by: Elaine York of Allusion Graphics

  Cover Design by: Cosmic Letterz

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Tommaso

  2. Gemma

  3. Tommaso

  4. Tommaso

  5. Tommaso

  6. Gemma

  7. Tommaso

  8. Gemma

  9. Tommaso

  10. Tommaso

  11. Gemma

  12. Gemma

  13. Tommaso

  14. Gemma

  15. Tommaso

  16. Gemma

  17. Tommaso

  18. Gemma

  19. Tommaso

  20. Gemma

  21. Tommaso

  22. Gemma

  23. Tommaso

  24. Gemma

  Epilogue

  Mob Lust Series

  Severinov Bratva Series

  Men of Mayhem Prequel

  Men of Mayhem Series

  Love Drunk Series

  Standalone Romance Titles

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Tommaso

  I adjust the tie tightly knotted at my throat. It’s like a damn noose, choking me a little bit more every time the scathing words of my brother Vince’s warning echo through my mind. “Stay the hell away from her, Tommy. You have one chance left and if you fail…if you lose focus for a single second…losing Gemma will be the least of your problems. I warned you to stay away. The blood that surrounds her and her family will drown us all. Just remember that, and do your fucking job!”

  I finally loosen the silk knot enough to suck in some air and grab a glass of soda from the bar. No booze for me tonight. I need to stay sharp.

  Aware of everything.

  And everyone.

  A long gulp helps cool my body. I hate wearing suits. My arms feel stiff and the fabric makes me sweat since I always run so hot.

  But tonight, there’s something else making my body overheat, and it sure as hell ain’t heavy black cotton.

  I turn around with my drink, lounging against the white wood, and taking in the elaborate scene. Everything in the nightclub is black and white. I smirk, raising the glass to my mouth, the bubbly liquid fizzing against my lips.

  It’s kind of ironic because the décor theme is so close to real life for the Casarella family.

  You’re with us or you’re against us.

  And if you’re against us, you’re dead.

  Very black and white.

  Not a single dot of gray.

  According to Federico Casarella, seeds of doubt grow like deadly weeds, morphing into suspicions that will squeeze the life out of those who carry them.

  And once they crop up, they need to be eliminated immediately, if not sooner.

  Fitting for a young Italian woman’s Sweet Eighteen party theme.

  A thinly veiled threat to all in attendance.

  Myself included.

  Pretty slick, Freddie.

  Dance music vibrates the black-lacquered floor as party guests twist and shake to the electronic beats spun by one most famous deejays in Italy. It’s easy to get big names when you have an even bigger one.

  My nose twitches and the urge to sneeze overpowers me. I didn’t think I was allergic to flowers, but then again I’ve never been immersed in a field of black and white calla lilies, either. I think Freddie must have bought every last one in Italy for his only daughter’s birthday celebration.

  Calla lilies are her favorite flower.

  I take another sip of my drink once the urge to sneeze passes, staring through the tall glass vases in the center of the buffet table, my eyes searching for the guest of honor.

  Gemma Marie Cassarella.

  The girl I’ve loved for as long as I can remember.

  And the girl I’ve been warned to stay away from for just as long.

  She finally appears on the arms of both parents after a photo shoot that could probably rival the best of Vogue Italia, her favorite fashion magazine. My breath hitches as she steps out onto the dance floor and for a second, I have to tell myself to get a goddamn grip.

  I already lost control once today.

  It can’t happen again.

  Her long dark hair spills over her bare shoulders, wound in soft, thick curls that bounce as her high heels click against the floor. Her teeth are bright and white, her laughter floating into the air, making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle. The beads on her dress catch the glittering overhead lights, sparkling like tiny diamonds.

  Just like her violet-colored eyes at this moment as they scan the room and land on me.

  Her red lips curl upward into a smile as she takes a few steps in my direction. But it isn’t the sweet, polite one she reserves for strangers. It’s not a thank you for coming to my party and celebrating with me smile.

  It’s seductive.

  Sexy.

  And dangerous, if I’m being honest.

  Dangerous for both of us.

  It’s a smile that tells me in no uncertain terms that she’s an adult.

  A woman, one who knows exactly what she wants, and what I’d been refusing to give her ever since she realized her feelings for me matched the ones I have for her.

  Until today, when I finally gave in to the pent-up lust that’s been building inside of me for the past twelve months.

  Big oversight on my part.

  I said things and did things…the wrong things…things that can get me killed.

  It never should have happened.

  Because I have a job to do.

  And I’m not talking about the one I do for her father.

  I’m talking about the real reason why I fell in with the Cassarella family, the one Freddie knows nothing about.

  Freddie trusted me pretty quickly, or so it seemed. All it took was me saving his son Gio’s ass when he’d been pummeled by some guys he owed some pretty big gambling debts to.

  Freddie knew how much trouble Gio could cause for him and his organization since he was a fucking addict of the worst kind — drugs, gambling, pussy, you name it and he was all over it. But he didn’t hire me to be Gio’s babysitter.

  Not at first, anyway.

  He lured me in with Gemma, and that was the beginning of the end for me. Freddie asked me to hang around the Cassarella house just to make sure Gemma was safe since the girl has no fear of anything and isn’t exactly the most cautious, even though her father is one of the most powerful and feared men in Italian organized crime. It was bullshit, though. I know I was picked because of my family’s connections. Freddie kn
ew we were suffering after the death of my father, that we were struggling to keep whatever influence we could, and he wanted to use our connections to his advantage. And even though Freddie had his iron fist submerged in just about any illicit business you could think of, there’s no such thing as too much power and money.

  And while most people are with him, there are a lot who aren’t…a lot who want to take him down a few pegs. Well, all pegs, really. You don’t cross Federico. You walk behind him. And if he turns around and catches you with a gun in your hand, you’d better take the shot and not miss your mark.

  Because if you do, he’ll not only kill you, he’ll go after everything and everyone you love and dump it all six feet under right next to you.

  So don’t cross him.

  He always has security surrounding him and his family, but it’ll never be enough.

  One near-assassination attempt proved that.

  That’s when he hired me to be his own personal bodyguard.

  Privately, as in nobody but the two of us would know about our arrangement.

  That was my condition.

  I told him it would be safer that way, for everyone.

  And just like that, I was in his inner circle.

  I pose as Gio’s best friend, which is probably more dangerous than protecting Freddie. Good Christ, I deserve triple what I’m being paid for trying to keep Gio in check. He’s like a stray bullet, ricocheting off walls. You never know which way he’ll rage. But you sure as hell know he’ll explode at one point. Sometimes I feel more like a fucking nanny than an enforcer. I have trackers on him at all times since he does a damn good job of making enemies, and it’s my job to keep tabs on all of them.

  Gio is a huge liability and a threat to his father, one I’ve been tempted to erase more than once. But I keep him alive because he’s no use to us dead.

  Yet.

  Same thing goes for Freddie.

  I need them both.

  My eyes tangle with Gemma’s before sweeping over her ankle-length black and white gown. It’s tight all the way down to the bottom, highlighting every luscious curve…the ones that keep me awake at night, tossing and turning and fantasizing, ones I had pressed against me only a few short hours ago.

  I manage a return smile through my lust-clouded fog, my heart sinking as one of her friends grabs her arm with a loud shriek followed by a tight hug. The friend pulls Gemma into the crowd of dancers and for the time being, I’ve lost her to the Tarantella.

  It’s definitely for the best.

  I know how this whole thing plays out.

  And there’s no scenario where I win.

  What she wants, what I want…none of that matters because there are others who want different things, conflicting things.

  “Hey, Tommy!”

  I swallow a groan when the scent of whiskey assaults my nostrils and Gio swings himself around me, leaning back against the bar.

  “When did you get here?” he asks, his dark eyes glassy. “I haven’t seen you all night.”

  “The party just started an hour ago. I’ve been here for fifteen minutes.”

  He peers at me, as if he’s trying to decode my very clear words. “Huh. You get a drink yet?”

  I hold up my soda and he rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna need something stronger than that, bro.”

  “If I’m driving your ass anywhere later, you’re gonna be happy I stuck with this instead of whatever the hell you’re bathing in.”

  “It’s Macallan.”

  Yeah, Macallan and his little white pills du jour. I shake my head. I don’t know how he drinks that shit. It makes my eyes water and my nose hairs burn before I can gulp down a single sip. “So what’s the plan?”

  Gio’s eyes narrow as they flicker toward Gemma. I take another long sip of my drink, almost choking so that I don’t have to stare at the way her slim hips move to the beat of the song. But that smile…damn, it captivates me, and I can’t drag my hungry gaze away from the girl whom I want grinding up against me instead of that tool, Marco DeVito.

  “I fucking hate that guy,” Gio hisses, taking a swig of the amber-colored liquid sloshing around in his glass. “Why the hell is he even here?”

  I hate him, too. Not for the same reasons as Gio, but mainly because his hands are on Gemma’s waist and his lips are dangerously close to her teasing ones. Logic tells me she’s toying with him because she’s a maddening flirt who knows she can control any man with a snap of her fingers. But I don’t care about logic. I only care that he’s got his grubby hands on the girl of my dreams and my nightmares. My shoulders square at the same time my fist clenches against my side, and the urge to send him flying across the room with a thunder punch to the jaw grabs hold. I take in a breath before speaking. It does nothing to calm the rush of blood coursing through me. “He’s her friend,” I manage to choke out, well-aware that every one of her ‘friends’ is desperate for way more than just a wink and a smile.

  “I don’t like her choice of friends.” Gio drains the remaining liquid from his glass. “I think we need to let him know that.” He nods his head toward the direction Marco is headed — away from the dance floor.

  Away from Gemma.

  Exactly where he needs to stay.

  I stick close to Gio as we wind our way through the crowd, keeping my eyes focused on the large set of doors on the far side of the room so they don’t deceive me and stray back to Gemma. I can’t let myself get sidetracked now. Gio is too much of a loose cannon, and he’s the reason why I’m here in the first place.

  Well, him and Marco.

  Gio grabs another couple of guys as we exit the room in search of Marco.

  Poor bastard.

  He has no idea what’s about to happen.

  Me? I have some idea.

  And it’s not good.

  We loiter outside the men’s room for a few minutes until the door swings out and Marco struts into the dimly lit hallway. He stops right in front of Gio, folding his arms across his chest. “Are you that desperate to pick up someone that you need to hang outside the bathrooms waiting for some bitch to fall at your feet?”

  Gio’s jaw twitches and sparks of anger crackle behind his menacing gaze.

  I know that look.

  Shit’s gonna get ugly real fast.

  I take a quick look around and we’re alone…for the moment.

  “You’ve got a lotta nerve showing up here tonight,” Gio seethes through clenched teeth. “After what you did.”

  “Just because you couldn’t get the job done doesn’t give you the right to come after me.” Marco’s lips curl into a sneer. “I’m better at delivering for your father, and you know it. That’s why you don’t want me around. You know I make your sorry ass look bad.” He leans closer, his voice low. “Son of Freddie Cassarella, pathetic fucking loser who can’t get out of his own way. It’s no wonder your father picked me to join his crew. He knows what I can do…what you can’t.”

  Gio lets out a guttural roar, digging his fingers into Marco’s tuxedo jacket and dragging him to a glass door a few feet away. He kicks it open with his foot and drags Marco out behind him as his friends cheer him on.

  The blind leading the fucking blind.

  I peer back down the hallway, but nobody else has left the party.

  Freddie isn’t gonna be happy about this, but I’ll deal with that later. A small part of me wants to see Marco pummeled into the ground for thinking he can have a shot with Gemma.

  Not on my watch.

  Not on my goddamn life.

  But still, I grit my teeth and take my spot next to Gio so that he can release all the stress and frustration and anger that plagues him…all because his father thinks he’s a royal fuck-up and doesn’t trust him for shit.

  He’ll kick Marco’s ass because he’s drunk and high and pissed off, and then we can get back to the party.

  I expel a breath and watch Gio go to work on the guy.

  Marco holds his ground, grunting and spitting blood a
s Gio lands punch after punch. But he never backs down. I think that’s what Freddie likes about him. He laughs in the face of danger.

  And Gio is exactly that.

  Danger with a capital D.

  “You can beat the shit out of me, Gio,” Marco rasps. “But it won’t change anything. Your father still picked me to work with the Mexicans. He picked me over you, his own son!”

  Gio’s eyes widen as he registers what appears to be a new tidbit of information, and his crew falls silent, watching for his next move.

  Oh Christ. Why would Marco say that?

  Does he actually have a death wish?

  Fuck.

  “What are you talking about?” he hisses at Marco’s bloody face. I narrow my eyes, assessing the damage while Gio takes a breather to find out exactly how much more torment he needs to inflict on Marco. It’s always a dick-measuring contest with these guys. Who gets more jobs, who collects more cash, who Freddie respects more.

  I, on the other hand, hang back when they swing their cocks around. Not that I’d ever get hit because let’s face it, if they had anything serious hanging between their legs, they wouldn’t have anything to prove.

  Besides, my job is to observe and control, not to attack.

  “Your father knew he needed someone he could trust to work with the Mexicans, someone who could take care of distribution without raising red flags.” Marco snickers. “You have a fucking red flag tattooed across your damn forehead!”

  Gio’s spine stiffens, his fists cut up and are still clenched. His hair sticks up in a thousand different directions, wild and unruly, just like him. Beads of sweat form on his forehead, his lips stretched into a tight line.

  But he doesn’t say a word.