Guns Blazing: A Mafia Anthology brought to you by Knox Publishing Read online

  Guns Blazing

  A Mafia Anthology brought to you by Knox Publishing

  Andréa Joy

  Alice La Roux

  Iris Sweetwater

  Krissy V

  Janine Infante Bosco

  Erin Osborne

  Elizabeth Knox

  E.C. Land

  Courtney Lynn Rose

  Nicole Banks

  Claire C. Riley

  This book(s) is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book(s) may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in articles or reviews.

  Bound to You. Copyright © 2020 by Andréa Joy

  The Queen of Hearts. Copyright © 2020 by Alice La Roux

  Absolution. Copyright © 2020 by Iris Sweetwater

  Omertà. Copyright © 2020 by Krissy V

  Connected. Copyright © 2020 by Janine Infante Bosco

  The Witness. Copyright © 2020 by Erin Osborne

  Deceptive Love. Copyright © 2020 by Elizabeth Knox

  Embrace. Copyright © 2020 by E.C. Land

  A Family Affair. Copyright © 2020 by Courtney Lynn Rose

  Ice. Copyright © 2020 by Nicole Banks

  Royal Blood. Copyright © 2020 by Claire C. Riley

  Cover design by Clarise Tan, CT Cover Creations

  Content Editing by Courtney Lynn Rose, Knox Publishing

  Copy/Line Editing by Kim Lubbers, Knox Publishing

  Formatting by E.C. Land, Knox Publishing

  Proofreading by Jackie Ziegler, Knox Publishing

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Andréa Joy

  Bound to You

  Alice La Roux

  The Queen of Hearts

  Iris Sweetwater

  Absolution

  Krissy V

  Omerta

  Janine Infante Bosco

  Connected

  Erin Osborne

  The Witness

  Elizabeth Knox

  Deceptive Love: Extended Cut

  E.C. Land

  Embrace

  Courtney Lynn Rose

  A Family Affair

  Nicole Banks

  Ice

  Claire C. Riley

  Royal Blood

  Bound to You

  Andréa Joy

  Chapter One

  Gemma

  There’s this moment where all the events that have happened in your life, where everything you’ve been through— the ups, the downs, the betrayal, the love and loss, and regret— click into place and start to make sense. When you realize all of it was to get you to where you are today. You begin to see the bigger picture instead of one tiny little piece at a time. For those who are lucky, that moment is what propels them forward into the life they’ve always dreamt of. One of success, love, and acceptance. Where all their hard work finally begins to pay off. For others, that moment never comes, and they’re left wondering what the point of it all was or if there’s any point to it at all.

  For me, that moment came rather . . . unexpectedly. There was no light bulb turning on above my head like in the cartoons, no angels singing. No shooting star or a sign saying, this is the sign you’ve been waiting for. It wasn’t anything special. In fact, it was rather unconventional because I was on my back in the middle of a king-size bed in a five-star hotel with my legs wrapped around the slim waist of a man and my nails digging into the hard muscles of his back as my second orgasm washed over me.

  It was a one-night stand that turned into a weekend. A weekend of unapologetic make-out sessions in back booths of classy restaurants, walking down the street to the theatre holding hands, of raw passion between the sheets of his hotel bed at night while mine laid untouched a few floors away. It was undoubtedly the best weekend of my short twenty-two years, but after we both leave here tonight and return to our normal lives, this weekend will be just another memory, another puzzle piece in the bigger picture.

  “Come back to me, Красивые.” Beautiful.

  Rough, calloused fingers trace down and around my jaw to grip my chin. The more he spoke the Russian word to me this weekend, the more I picked up on its meaning. No one has ever called me beautiful the way he has. Not in English and certainly not in a foreign language. So the first time he said it, I smiled it away. The second time he said it, I buried my face in the curve of his neck while molten heat blazed across my cheeks. However, the third time he said it, I could no longer deny that it did something funny to my belly and that maybe, just maybe, he meant it. How is it that one word spoken by a complete stranger could elicit such feelings in me? I didn’t understand it since it has never happened before, and frankly, it frightens me.

  My eyes slowly open as he tips my chin and I sigh wistfully as a small smile tilts my lips. “I’m right here,” I say, squeezing my thighs against his waist as proof and then I run my fingers through his close-cropped salt and pepper hair to cup the back of his neck and pull him to me.

  He’s significantly older than me; twenty years to be exact. A fact we found out after he first approached me at the hotel bar and bought me a drink, but neither one of us cared. Men my age didn’t do it for me. They were still growing up, still immature, and I had no time to deal with their shit. Plus, there’s a regalness about an older man. The way they carry themselves, the way they treat those around them and the way they see the world, it’s all so much more appealing to me than a twenty-something-year-old who prefers to spend his nights hitting on anything that moves at a club or who couldn’t do his own laundry or carry a conversation that isn’t related to the latest video game.

  Firm lips part mine in a kiss and I valiantly wish this was not our last night together. His thrusts become faster. Harder. Needier as he leads us both toward our releases. My back arches and he bites down on my shoulder as my pussy clenches around him and he shudders. My body sinks back into the mattress, my legs and arms still wrapped tightly around him because I refuse to let him go just yet. Our bodies are slicked with sweat and we’re both panting hard when he lifts up enough so he can see my face. His grey eyes ping pong between mine and something flashes in them. Something I’d rather not try to put meaning to right now, so I run the fingers of one hand up between his shoulder blades to cup the back of his head and draw his mouth down to mine in another kiss.

  “Gemma,” he groans when I run my other hand down his back to palm his ass and thrust my hips up.

  “Please.” It comes out as a whisper, a plea, but he hears it and then he’s kissing me again. His hands grip my hips and he flips us until I’m straddling him. He plants his feet firmly on the bed and bends his knees, his one hand tangles in my messy locks while the other grips my hip. I ride him like my life depends on it. Like this is the last night we’ll have before we go our separate ways— because it is. I ride him until we both find our releases again and then I collapse on top of him and promptly fall asleep.

  When I wake up in the middle of the night with his arm like a band across my back and his muscled chest under my cheek, I have to fight against the urge to wake him up for one last goodbye. With a last soft kiss to his chest, I slide out f
rom under his arm and gather up my clothes from the floor before slipping out to the living room to get dressed and then out the door of his hotel room.

  Chapter Two

  Gemma

  It’s still light out when I pull the battered Corolla into my brother’s driveway. I should’ve traded in my baby months ago, hell even years ago, but I just couldn’t find it in me to leave her on that lot. She’s been there for me through my move to university, through late-night drives around the city when I couldn’t sleep or when the stress of papers and finals became too much. She’s seen me through break-ups and one-night stands, through road trips with friends and my inability to carry a tune or sing the right words. This car has been a part of me for eight years, ever since I was sixteen and saved up as much money from my paychecks working as a cashier at a grocery store I could save. She’s not the most visually attractive car, but she’s reliable and that’s a hell of a lot more than I can say about the men I’ve dated.

  Slamming the back passenger door shut, I grab the handle of the rolling suitcase and head up the walkway to the front door. Stefan gave me a key when he first bought the house so instead of ringing the doorbell, I unlock the door and push my way inside.

  The entranceway is bright. Marble tile at the front door leads into a bright cashmere coloured carpet which I know for a fact continues throughout the rest of the house except for the kitchen and bathrooms. Placing my bag against one wall, I take off my sweater and fold it over the suitcase, dropping my purse beside it and start heading up the stairs.

  “Stefan!”

  I know I’m early— I told them I’d only be here tonight— but the longer I stayed in that apartment, the more it felt like the walls were starting to close in.

  “Brielle!”

  I’m just about to take another step further up the staircase when my brother rounds the corner in grey sweatpants and a black muscle tee. I groan, images and memes of men in grey sweatpants floating through my mind. It should be illegal for any man you’re related to, to wear those damn pants.

  “I thought you weren’t getting in until later tonight,” my big bro says, meeting me halfway down the staircase.

  “Love you too, bro. That was the plan.” I shrug and turn to descend back down the stairs.

  Stefan follows me into his kitchen where he goes about putting a k-cup in the Keurig machine. I take a seat across from him at the bar top counter and once the coffee is done he hands it to me before popping a new one in and making himself a cup.

  “Where’s Bri?” I ask when I don’t hear light footsteps pad across the floor upstairs. Usually, my best friend turned sister-in-law is the first one to greet me at the door.

  “She had to go into town early this morning.” When he’s done doctoring it up, he turns to face me and leans his back against the counter behind him. “So, what’s going on, Gem?”

  I shift uncomfortably on the stool and duck my head. Focusing all my attention on the black coffee in front of me. I stopped taking my coffee black months ago, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that.

  “Nothing’s going on, Stef.” I grin at the growl coming my way from across the room. I gave him that nickname when I was still learning how to talk. Stefan hates it, but I love it. I love the way it gets him riled up so fast. Plus, it’s my prerogative as his younger sister to find little ways to piss him off.

  Stefan goes to reply but the sound of the front door opening and closing cuts him off. I turn toward the doorway and jump down off the stool when I see who it is.

  “Oh my God, Bri!” I squeal, abandoning the bitter liquid in the coffee mug and flinging myself into the arms of my best friend. I giggle when she has to brace a hand against the wall in fear of toppling over.

  “Hey to you too,” she laughs.

  I pull back and study my sister-in-law. Bri and I have been friends for as long as either one of us can remember. We practically grew up together until her parents up and moved them across the country, but even then I was lucky enough to be able to go visit her at least once a year if not more thanks to Stefan and the De Luca clan. Lukas and Caterina took us in when our parents died and we couldn’t have asked for better adoptive parents than the two of them.

  “Stefan said you had to go into town early this morning. Everything okay?” I say, taking a step back to allow Bri to fully enter the kitchen.

  She shrugs, depositing her purse on the counter and then stepping into Stefan’s waiting arms. “Yeah, everything’s good. We have a new ECE assistant starting next week. I couldn’t remember if I had added her to the payroll yet so I had to run in and check. While I was there, I ran into the mom of an old student and she looked like she needed to talk so I took her for lunch.”

  My brother looks down at her adoringly and pulls her in close to place a kiss on her forehead. Bri beams up at him when he pulls away. Looking at them now, I can’t believe how I never saw it before. They were always meant to be together.

  Seeing the two of them together brings a buried memory from several months ago back to the surface. One of grey eyes peering down at me while strong hands held me close and we danced around the dance floor all night long before heading back up to his hotel room and making love all morning and afternoon. Stopping only long enough to eat.

  It’s crazy to miss someone this much after only knowing them for a weekend, right? To miss the way their hands felt clasping yours or the way their lips felt when you kissed, the way their eyes changed colour throughout the day from grey to blue to black. Not for the first time since I snuck out of his hotel room, I wonder what he’s up to right at this moment.

  “I thought you weren’t getting in till after dinner?” Bri asks, stepping out from under her husband’s arm and taking the stool on my right.

  “I thought so too, but I got everything done earlier than I expected so I figure I’d leave earlier instead of sticking around.” It’s not a lie. I did get all my errands done early, but it’s also not the whole truth either.

  She swipes the coffee mug in front of me and takes a big gulp of the liquid, wincing when the bitterness hits her tongue. I laugh. Serves her right for trying to steal my coffee. I don’t share my coffee with anyone, even if it tastes like tar.

  “I’ll leave you two to catch up. I have work to do downstairs. Are you coming to Braxton’s with us for dinner?” Stefan asks, turning around to wash out his mug and place it in the drying rack on the counter beside the sink.

  It was no secret to me what Stefan’s role was in the family after Lukas and Caterina took us in, and truthfully, I’m grateful. It meant Stefan no longer had to roam the city streets at night while he thought I was in bed asleep. I didn’t know for sure what he was doing, but I had a pretty good idea. I saw the finger-shaped bruises on his skin whenever he would change his clothes in front of me, and they weren’t all on his upper body, either. I loved him for the sacrifices he made for me, but I wish he hadn’t had to do it in the first place.

  “Sure, that sounds good. What time are we leaving?”

  “Around five-thirty? B’s firing up the grill at six.”

  After settling on a time, Stefan heads downstairs, leaving Brielle and me alone in the kitchen.

  I slide down from my stool and begin raiding the cupboards. “Where’s the wine in this place?”

  Bri giggles and comes around the counter to help me search all the cupboards and pantry. When we uncover nothing but age-old scotch and Irish whiskey, I make a list of everything we may need this weekend from wine to snacks. My trainer’s going to kill me when I go back home, but I’m on vacation and when you’re on vacation calories don’t count. Bri stays behind as I head to the grocery store and then the liquor store.

  Chapter Three

  Viktor

  “Are you sure about this, Boss?” Ivan asks as we pull up to the opulent house. It’s not as grand as my own, but it’s still nothing to scoff at.

  “We need the Italians on our side if we want to separate the Cartel from their weapons,” I
answer, stepping out of the limo and doing up the button on my suit jacket.

  “What about the Irish? The IRA would drop them instantly if they knew you were interested in taking over the distribution. They fucking hate the Cartel anyway, bunch of greedy fucks.”

  “That might very well be true, Ivan, but we still need the Famiglia on our side. Plus, how would it look if I were to go against my niece?”

  “But sir—”

  I silence him with a look. It’s no secret some of my men think it’s a bad idea for us to go into business with the Italians. After all, our two families don’t have the most favourable history. However, it’s the only way I can see to get rid of the Cartel once and for all, and to not involve the IRA any more than they already are. Plus, after I heard about what happened to De Luca and his family during their Christmas vacation several months ago, now seems like the perfect time to make the offer . . . for both of our families.

  We’re shown into a bright entranceway, lit up by a chandelier hanging from the tall ceilings. A staircase takes up each side of the wall. In the middle, a hallway leads to the rest of the house. I have to admit, whoever designed the house, did so well. It’s the perfect mix of traditional Tuscan, Italian, and modern North American.

  Ivan and I are shown into a room off the hallway on the main floor. This room stands apart from the rest of the house. Cherry wood bookcases line one entire wall. A fireplace sits dead center on the opposite one with matching leather armchairs on either side, facing the fireplace. To the right and in front of the big bay window is a matching antique cherry wood desk. A pile of paperwork is stacked neatly to one side of a laptop. The door shuts behind us as soon as we enter and Braxton De Luca turns around from where he’s standing at the window, overlooking what I assume is the backyard.