Married to the mafia boss Series

CARMELA

I hated wiseguy parties.

My dad couldn’t stand that I was twenty-seven and unmarried, so every few months he’d invite all the single mafiosos for a barbecue. Mom bore the brunt of the cooking, so I’d helped roll the dough for the tomato pie and kept the liquor flowing for the greedy sons of bitches.

They’d packed my parents’ home like vermin-fat, power-hungry, cheese-eating rats. Some were old enough to be my father. Men with pot bellies. Guys who talked too loud and leered at me with disgusting grins.

I felt like I was reliving the past at this party with all the Costa soldiers and their wives. There were no families. It was mind-numbingly boring, and I didn’t have Matteo and Mariette to keep me company.

I nursed my Prosecco, unable to shake Michael and the things he’d said. Carmela’s dying for a baby. I’d never so much as hinted at that, despite it being one hundred percent true.

What the hell was he playing at?

Men wearing leather drifted through the crowd, heading for the buffet. My pulse galloped as six-foot giant with a ginger beard loaded his plate with steak. Tattoos decorated his arms, and a Legion MC patch covered his chest.

Nick’s gang.

My stomach filled with ice.

Michael had mentioned it was a get-together with his partners, but I had no idea that meant Legion. Nick could be here.

I had to leave. I opened my phone and called him, but it went straight to voicemail. My thoughts raced. I was better off at the house than here. Staying put me at risk of bumping into Nick, who likely still lived in a fantasy land where I was his loving girlfriend and he didn’t repulse me.

I pushed people aside in my haste, bursting from the service exit behind the kitchens.

Frigid air stung my feet and legs. Men lounged against the brick, smoking. Leather cuts flashed into view as I hurried past.

A wolf whistle cut me to the bone.

“Lift up your dress. Show us that pussy.”Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

“Want a ride, baby?”

The familiar baritone poured gasoline on the flames. The universe couldn’t be that cruel.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” A man peeled from the wall, flicking his cigarette. “Hold up.”

I picked up my pace, my heels cracking the pavement. A lightbox glowed ahead. If I reached it, I could call campus security-

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” Heavy footsteps thumped the concrete with a jingle of metal. “Baby, hold on.”

He pawed my shoulder as something drifted into my nose.

Cloves.

I used to connect the scent with home, but now it reminded me of death. The smell came from Nick’s ebony cigarettes. So many times, I’d watched him light up. Before our love story turned into Fatal Attraction, I’d bought boxes and slipped them in places for him to find.

“I said, hold the fuck on.” His playfulness evaporated as he dug into my forearm. His mouth twisted into a scowl that smoothed over when I spun around. “Beauty.”

He looked the same as he did months ago, still wearing his golden hair in a messy California wave. A snarl of one-percenter imagery wrapped his sleeves in vivid, black ink. A dark shadow covered his jaw and cheeks. He kept his beard short because it grew in patchy chunks. Nick cupped my face, his eyes glazed with lust.

“Hi, Nick.”

“Hi, Nick. That’s all I get?”

Nick’s broad hand settled over my chest as he pushed, with way too much force. When he’d hurt me, he fed me a line of bullshit. I don’t know my strength, babe. Michael’s imperial frame was just as strong, and he’d never injured me.

I had the feeling he’d scoff at a man who used that excuse.

“Nick, it hurts.”

Nick hissed, crushing me against the wall. His fingers glided up my neck, and squeezed my artery. I slumped, my heart pounding, my lungs struggling. He loved keeping me on the edge of suffocation.

“Nick, stop.”

“Where have you been? I’ve searched everywhere.”

He pinched, cutting off my tether to life. Nick watched me gulp for air, his lips curled in sadistic greed. His mouth caught mine, hungry, devouring. A tide of vomit threatened as his tongue slashed my lips open. He tasted like his disgusting cigarettes, the clove spice invading my senses. He kissed me as black spots ate my vision. He released me, the rush of oxygen flooding my body with vigor.

I yanked to the side. “Get off me.”

“I’m not done with you, Beauty.”

“Back away.”

“You want to talk?” He retreated several inches. He sighed, zeroing in on my cleavage. “Start by explaining yourself.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what, running out on me?”

Nick had no idea I was married. If he found out, he’d crush my throat. A faint tingle shot down my spine. I’d been prepared to die for a long time. I wished he’d just do it.

At least I’d be free of him.

Suspicion darkened his gaze. “Carmela.”

“I’m here with someone else.”

“You’re messing with me.” His finger stabbed my neck. He drew a line as though mimicking a blade, his nail scoring my flesh. “You must be. I’m a jealous man. You know I take no prisoners.”

“We broke up.”

“I never agreed to that. You walked out on me, and ever since then we’ve been playing this cat-and-mouse game.” He slipped under my dress, sliding up my thighs to cup my ass. “I find you. We fight. We fuck. Then you run. I’ll admit, it was fun for a while, but now I need you back.”

I ripped him off me. “Nick, it’s over.”

“The hell it is. I love you.”

No, no, no. “I don’t feel the same anymore.”

Nick yanked me off the wall. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do. We weren’t good together.”

“Bullshit. We have what everybody in the world wants.”

“Which is what?”

“Love.”

He wasn’t capable of empathy, and I didn’t love him. Maybe I thought I did in the beginning, but I was so naïve. His overprotectiveness, the grand gestures, the over-the-top displays of affection, the lavish gifts-they were a hollow imitation of love.

“You’re my old lady.” Nick tapped on his bicep, to the black-and-white rose. “You’re in my heart, Carmela. In my soul. I’m tired of banging girls who look like you but aren’t you. I want you every day, not once in a while.”

As though a tattoo proved anything but his obsession.

“You beat me constantly.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not. You hurt me so often that it took weeks to heal from everything you did.”

“You are crazy-”

“You raped me in front of your brothers.”

“I warned you. I told you that a relationship with me would be intense. You said you didn’t care.”

“I had no idea what I was getting myself into.”

“If I was a monster, it was because you pushed me.”

“I never want to see you again.” I wrenched from his grasp and rubbed at the red mark. “We’re over.”

“No.” Nick shook his head, his expression maddening. “You will get over this.”

I headed toward the service entrance, and Nick’s toxic presence followed, demanding my attention.

“Don’t you fucking turn away.” He seized my left arm, scowling at something.

I balled my fist. Too late.

“What the fuck?” He brushed his thumb over my wedding ring, his voice rising into a shout. “What did you do!”

“Nick-”

“You’re married?” He let my hand fall as though he was gutted. “How could you?”

“How could I find happiness? How dare I be with someone who doesn’t hit me? He treats me like a human being and not a blow-up doll, which is all you’ve ever done.”

“You slept with me two months ago!”

“What was I supposed to do? Fight you? You broke into my house. You’re sick. Crawl into a hole and die.” My throat tightened as I staved off the images from our last encounter. “I fucking hate you. I hate you so much.”

“Carmela-”

“No. You had your chance, and you ruined it.”

A heavy silence filled the space between us, broken only by his brothers, who were cat-calling another woman.

A bitter smile staggered across his face. “Who is it, Carmela?”

“None of your business.”

“Give me his name. You said you loved me. You wanted us to marry and have kids, or did I imagine that? Lying bitch. You whore.” Nick’s shouts attracted attention from the employees gathered by the door. “Who the fuck is it?”

“Michael Costa.”

“Michael Costa.” Nick’s voice lowered to a deadly simmer. “I’ve never seen you together, and suddenly you’re married to that dago wop?”

“Yes, and thank God, he’s nothing like you.”

His hand whirled, and my cheek exploded with pain. My palms hit the concrete, the rocks digging into my skin.

Ahead, a group of men in smocks approached. One of them spoke on the phone, glaring at Nick, who squared his shoulders and whistled at his brothers. Normally, Nick wouldn’t think twice about blowing them apart, but we stood on a college campus. He backed off, his eyes reduced to malevolent slits.

“Lady, you okay?” A forty-something dark-skinned man helped me upright. “Should we call the police?”

“No. I’m good.”

The concerned men formed a circle around me as I reentered the venue.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

I must’ve repeated that phrase thousands of times in the weeks after I escaped Nick, when everybody saw that I was a shell of my former self. Bumping into Nick didn’t rattle me. My hands were shaking because it was cold.

I was fine, except for the foulness that was Nick sitting heavy in my stomach. It churned violently. Acid shot up my throat.

I shoved people aside and hung over a trash can. The bitterness raked my tongue as I purged. I always vomited when Nick left. Every single time. It didn’t matter that he never got the chance to rape me, because he’d find me and do it again, and again, and this would never stop.

The rage that consumed me could’ve blotted out the sun.

“I disappear for a few minutes, and this happens.” Michael’s warmth stroked my back, and suddenly a napkin hovered near my lips. “You all right?”

“No.”

When I straightened, Michael’s smile thinned and the tan drained from his face. “What the hell happened?”

“My ex-boyfriend is here. He hit me.”

“What the fuck? Are you serious?”

“We had a really bad relationship, but we broke up a while ago.” I brushed the mark on my cheek. “He’s with Legion. He found out I’m married, and he was very upset.”

“I see.” Michael’s voice chilled to subzero as his arms wrapped me in heat. “Where is the prick?”

“Outside.”

He tucked my head under his chin, stroking my hair. “I’ll send you home with Vitale. Take a bath. Do something relaxing.”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’ll be right behind you. Promise.” He gestured at Vitale, who peeled himself off the wall. “What’s his name?”

“Crash.”