Married to the mafia boss Series

MICHAEL

Sundays used to be my favorite day.

Every weekend, I’d pack the kids into the car, and we’d head to Mom’s. Serena was usually sober enough to make it through dinner, even though I had to micromanage her wine intake.

Daniel’s empty seat weighed on my mind as we tucked into Mom’s gravy. The mood was somber, probably because Carmela took Daniel’s spot near the sliding glass door. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she should’ve stayed home, but she insisted on coming. Carmela wanted everybody to get along.

I loved that about her, but it was naive. I would never trust Ignacio with my children. I wouldn’t forgive Alessio or play nice with that prick.

My sister’s fork shrieked the ceramic as she spiraled her pasta. Mom stared at her plate and drank. At least she hadn’t burst into tears. Carmela coaxed Matteo into finishing his supper. His doctors wanted him to gain more weight, but he was a stubborn eater. Carmela had taken to blending vegetable soup.

“Don’t you want to be as strong as Daddy?” Carmela squeezed his little biceps. “They won’t grow if you don’t eat. Come on. One more bite.”

“No.” Matteo shook his mess of curls. “Not hungry.”

Carmela began anew with a different tactic, “You can’t leave the table until you finish.”

Liana watched with a lifted brow. My sister was a petite woman and practically a baby at only twenty years old. I considered her family, but we weren’t related. Mom adopted her after a mob assassination orphaned Liana when she was four. Daniel had raised her with a much gentler hand.

Liana’s gaze tore from Carmela. “Is Vinny coming?”

Not this again. “Vinny. He’d die if he heard you call him that.”

Hope swirled in her blue eyes that I wished would disappear.

“It’s what I’ve always called him.”

“He’s not Vinny. He’s the boss.” I ignored Carmela squeezing my thigh and speared a meatball. “Remember that.”

“Is he on his way?”

God, she wouldn’t let it go.

“No idea.” I dunked a chunk of bread in the sauce. “Why?”

“He hasn’t returned my calls.”

Of course, he doesn’t. “Baby girl. Put down the torch already. Vinn is not interested. Find somebody else before he breaks your heart again, and you become an old maid.”

Judging by the sudden absence of clattering knives and forks, I’d crossed the line. Liana turned a shade of beet-red and glowered.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Good.

She knew damned well I didn’t approve. He would never, ever share her feelings. Daniel would tell me to knock it off, but I was tired of watching her agonize over my heartless cousin.

Carmela seemed to want to fill in for my brother. She seized my knee, dug in, and dragged up my thigh.

Hello.

I grabbed her leg. Carmela’s nails pierced my slacks. I pushed my chair back before she stabbed my balls.

“Michele. Your sister is just concerned.” Mom used the Italian pronunciation of my name whenever I was a shit.

Too bad it never worked.

“So am I. She has a crush on our cousin.”

“I don’t have a crush,” she seethed. “And we’re not related, you jackass.”

“Hey. Language.”

Mom took the bowl of gravy and passed it to Carmela, who heaped a second helping over her pasta. Liana shot away, disappearing in a blur of pink. Carmela grimaced into her glass of water, and Mariette raised her head, looking thoughtful.

“What’s a jackass?”

“Great.” I glared in Liana’s direction, my voice rising into a shout. “You see what happens when you curse at the dinner table?”

Carmela’s haughty disapproval deepened into disgust. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“I am?”

“Yes. Go apologize.”

Fine.

I left my seat, sighing. My sister sulked in the kitchen, tearing a napkin into fourths, pacing, her blue gaze spilling with tears. She was so sensitive. I never knew what to say. Our age difference sometimes made it feel like we lived on different planets.

“Li, I’m sorry.”

Liana crossed her arms.

“I don’t like hurting you, but you know I’m right.”

“Shut up and stay out of my life. You’re not Daniel. You’ve never acted like a big brother.”

Ouch. “I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”

“Believe me. I won’t. I watched you destroy yourself with Serena.” Liana threw silverware into the dishwasher. “I miss Vinny. I wish he came by more often. That’s all.”

He’d stopped dropping in a year ago, after Nico promoted him to acting boss. She’d probably only showed because she hoped Vinn might come.

God. “Why don’t you find yourself a nice guy?”

“Why can’t you see a therapist for your rage issues? Or your drug problem? Or whatever hole you’ve dug yourself into this time. I don’t need your advice. Mind your damned business.”

Well, that went well.

I shut my mouth and left Liana. My mother took over looking after the kids as Carmela gathered plates.

I kissed her cheek.

Carmela’s lips thinned. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“What?”

“You’re burning bridges with your sister.”

My insides squirmed. “Vinn isn’t good enough for her.”

Her eyes flashed with disapproval. “Did you have to humiliate the poor girl?”

“I hate that she pines after Vinn.” I helped her gather dishes, sighing. “She’s loved him ever since they were children.”

“So what? She’s a young girl. Give her a break.”

“That’s why I want to keep her away from Vinn.” I snorted. “He’s too thick to put it together.”

“Why not tell him?”

“That’s not my place.”

“But it’s your place to stop her from dating the man she wants?”

“He is a violent man with a drug addiction.” The cutlery rattled as I dumped them in a bowl. “I was married to someone similar. My sister is never going through that. Period. End-of-fucking-story.”

“Vinn seems healthy.”

“He’s been sober for years, but still.”

There was a lot more I could say, but I wouldn’t.

I loved my cousin. I did, but I’d never trust him around my sister.

Carmela carried everything into the kitchen. “Deciding that for her won’t work. Let her make her own mistakes.”

“No fucking way.”

My attention snapped toward the front door as a key scraped the lock. It swung open to admit a broad-shouldered man with a wide, chiseled jaw.

Fuck.

Carmela laughed as Vinn strolled inside, slipping the keys into his jacket sprinkled with rain.

Mom rushed to his side. “Sit down. Eat.”

“Hi, Zia Lena.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m good.” He bowed, kissing the air beside her cheek. “I’m here to talk to Mike.”

“You should eat. Sit.” Mom gathered a mountain of pasta and grabbed his elbow, steering him into the dining room.

“I’m full.”

“Refusing my mother is pointless,” I shouted, wiping the plate Carmela had washed. “She won’t leave you alone. Just say yes.”

Vinn dropped into the seat, as Mom whisked over a napkin, water, and cutlery. Within a few seconds, she’d gathered enough food to feed a football team and shoved it at Vinn, who seemed to have cut his losses.

A stampede of feet cascaded down the stairs. Liana appeared in the doorway, beaming. I cringed as she bounced over. Carmela’s grip dug into me, but I ignored her.

“Hey, Vinny. How’ve you been?” Liana slid her arm across his neck and hugged him. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Vinn glanced up, looking like he always did when confronted with the sheer force of my sister’s affection-deeply uncomfortable. He patted her. “Fine.”

Would it kill him to fake a little warmth?

Liana wasn’t dissuaded from his one-word reply. “Did you read my texts?”

“Yeah, sorry…Been super busy.”

Liana couldn’t take a hint.

Vinn’s gaze swept over my sister and found me. His eyes narrowed with a pointed save-me-from-your-sister plea, which I used to ignore because I loved how he squirmed. It stopped being funny when I realized Liana’s childhood crush wasn’t fading.

Six years ago when he joined the Marines, Liana had been a fucking mess. She’d called me every week, bawling. Vinn would get shot. He would die. She’d never see him again.

He returned home months later, kicked out after an incident he refused to discuss. Nobody would hire him after he was dishonorably discharged, so I got him a job as an enforcer. He booted his drug habit soon after, but he was never quite right again.

I rapped my knuckles on the wall. “Vinn and I need to talk business. Li, could you give us the room?”

Her arms disengaged from Vinn, who didn’t seem to notice her disappointment or catch her lingering stare. They were two of the dumbest people I’d ever met.

I sank into the seat beside Vinn. “What’s up?”

“Anthony’s been kidnapped, and you’re having Sunday dinner.”

“I’m supposed to put my personal life on hold?” I seized Carmela’s drink and drained it. “There will always be a crisis. Learn from Alessio, who never took five and burned out.”Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

“Yeah, but nothing slipped past him.”

“Except you kidnapping his wife.”

He made an amused sound, already halfway finished with his meal. “Rage Machine.”

“What about them?”

“Sock-puppet clubs are litmus tests for patched members. If they run through a gauntlet of vicious crimes, they’re accepted into the main club, Legion. Seems to attract guys with zero brain cells.” Vinn sighed and raked his ebony hair. “Anyway, guess who’s the leader?”

“Crash?”

“President claims he’s lost control of his little experiment, which means Legion is on its last legs. He’ll get killed, and we don’t have the numbers for a war.”

“Then we import soldiers from the old country.”

“That’ll take time. Negotiations.” Vinn picked his Bolognese without interest. “We should’ve murdered him while he was spitting glass.”

Carmela walked in. I shot her a pointed glare, but she sat beside me.

“Honey, we’re having a conversation.”

“You’re talking about Crash?” She cut through my denial, frowning. “I heard his goddamn name. Let me help. I have more reason to want him dead than either of you.”

“What’ll you do? March into his clubhouse and shoot him?” Vinn sneered, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Keep washing dishes.”

I slugged his arm. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m serious! Use me to draw him out!”

I hardened into stone. “Vinn, can you give us a second?”

He lumbered into the living room, where my sister accosted him. Their voices rumbled in the background, but I tore my attention from them and took Carmela’s chin.

“How often do I have to repeat myself? Let me handle him.”

“It doesn’t feel right.”

What does that mean?

Carmela ripped from my side, shoving the chair under the table. In a whirl of skirts, she disappeared into the bathroom. A sob echoed before the door shut. Carmela wasn’t big on crying. She was such a pillar of strength-one of the many reasons I loved her-but something had crumbled her resolve.

I nudged the door open.

The curtain of hair almost hid her frown. She sniffed hard when I approached. She turned away, as though ashamed by her tears.

“I’ll get him, Carmela. I-”

She whirled around. “Why were you talking about a war?”

“I was exaggerating.”

“You’re not helping by downplaying everything. You think I’m an idiot? I read the news. I know you’re stressed out of your mind. And I’m not a fucking robot. If killing Nick means starting a huge conflict, I don’t want it.”

“This will never touch you or the kids.”

She made a hopeless sound. “Michael, I’m worried about you.”

Ah.

It occurred to me that Carmela had been awake all week when I got home, no matter what the hour. Maybe she was falling for me.

Finally. “When did this become about my life?”

“Shut up.” She captured my mouth with a swipe of her tongue. Her arms looped my neck.

I kicked the door closed, and then I lifted her onto the counter. Carmela’s eyes blazed as I stepped in between her legs.

“Let’s test how quiet you can be.”