Devil's Daughter Read online

  DEVIL’S DAUGTHER

  Devil’s Playground Romance

  VIVI PAIGE

  BONNIE KENNEDY

  Contents

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  About the Authors

  Description

  I came to save her life. She took my heart.

  * * *

  They call her Zola.

  She’s the Don’s daughter and the girl I gotta protect.

  A curvy little bombshell, this little ball of spitfire has somehow gotten herself mixed up with the wrong people.

  They’re coming for her now.

  And only one person is gonna stop them.

  * * *

  Me.

  * * *

  I’m the only choice.

  I’m a Made man. I’m the most loyal.

  I’ve lived a life of sheer brutality and I relish violence.

  * * *

  Duty, loyalty, honor. These are the only emotions that matter to me.

  * * *

  Until Zola.

  She shows me something that trumps all.

  Might even make a man go against his own family.

  What’s this fourth emotion?

  * * *

  Love.

  Chapter One

  I figured whatever Don Maloik wanted to see me for had to do with the gang war that was heating up.

  It had been a while since real war brewed between the families in Chicago. Some of the guys I knew were scared. Me? I figured this was the life we’d chosen. If I’d wanted something safe and boring, I’d have partnered with my cousin when he opened up a laundromat.

  I wasn’t made for sitting around, doing math. I was made for the brutal life. You got a guy who’s behind on his protection payments? Call me and I’ll break a few bones until he gets with the program. Have some moron who placed a bet bigger than he could handle? Send me to his place and I’ll induce him onto a payment plan. Somebody’s squealing to the pigs and needs to be permanently dealt with? I won’t lose sleep over it.

  In fact, there’re two things I’m known for: my efficiency in the matters I just mentioned, and my ability to sleep just about anywhere.

  On this day, that ‘anywhere’ happened to be the outside of a café where I was half-dozing on a plastic chair, enjoying the early spring air. I’d been called for a sit-down with the Administration. Most guys I knew—button men and half-assed wise guys alike—would’ve been nervous to get called before the don out of the blue. Not me. After all, there was nothing the don could do to me no one hadn’t tried before.

  “Santo? Santo Farina!” a voice called.

  I snapped awake, apparently having done more than just half-doze. I glanced up. A capo named Flavio Lastra was standing over me, shaking his head.

  “What’s the matter,” he asked, “you don’t got a bed to sleep on at home?”

  I stretched and ignored the friendly jibe, instead asking, “How was your daughter’s honeymoon?”

  A few weeks ago, Flavio’s daughter had gotten married to a newly made guy. I’d been invited to the party, which abruptly ended when a guy named Donato Alberto tried to assassinate the guests with an AR-10. I put a stop to him with a few slugs buried in his chest.

  Lastra gave me a grin. He’d been there. He knew what I did.

  “She had a great time,” he said as he ushered me into the café.

  “May she give you only male grandbabies,” I told him.

  “Boys, girls, I don’t care, as long as there’s a ton of ‘em,” he said.

  I left him behind and headed to a room in the back of the café. One of the don’s bodyguards opened the door for me. If I hadn’t been a made man, he’d have patted me down and told me to leave behind the Taurus 9mm holstered under my left arm and hidden by my leather coat, but I was a made guy, and I’d been summoned, so he just nodded me on through.

  The office was dimly lit and tiny. There was a round table in the middle of the room covered with discarded sandwich wrappers and a mini-pastry tray. At the far end of the table was Don Gratiano Maloik himself, all beefy and balding. To his left was his younger brother and consigliere, Arrigo. Standing and leaning against a wall near the door I’d just come through was Primo Mancini, the underboss. He was about my age, tall and strong, though I had a couple of inches and maybe fifteen pounds on him.

  Primo indicated a seat at the table and I dropped into it.

  “So, Santo,” Maloik said in his gravelly voice as he appraised me.

  “Don, God bless you. It’s good to see you looking well.”

  “In part thanks to you and your heroics at the wedding.”

  I shrugged. It wasn’t false modesty, just that killing a bad guy wasn’t that exciting to me. The don knew it, I knew it. We could leave it at that.

  “You’ve proven reliable in a tight spot,” the don went on. “That’s why you’re here.” The don leaned forward on the table, and I was grateful to see he was going to cut right to the chase. “I don’t have to tell you that shit’s heating up, Santo. The fact that they’d openly try a hit on me at a wedding? It’s shameful.”

  “It shows they’re desperate,” Arrigo cut in.

  The don waved him off. “Desperate, sure, but also, determined. The Loggias have joined the Zanettis in open warfare against us.”

  The don paused to see if I’d be surprised by this news. I hadn’t known for sure, but it made sense to me. Scum sticks to scum. The don opened his hands wide and said, “We need allies.”

  “I’m not really the diplomatic type,” I replied with a grin. Behind me, Primo let out one short, loud laugh. He was familiar with my work.

  The don smiled, too. “We’re not starting the treaty negotiations yet.”

  “The Angelo family wants nothing to do with the war,” Arrigo informed me, “and the Greco family will wait to see who looks like they’re winning before they join anybody.”

  “So that leaves the Schiavones,” I concluded. “And Don Tony’s a hard nut to crack.”

  “That’s where you come in,” Don Maloik said.

  I looked at him, disbelieving. “You want me to pressure Schiavone?”

  “No. I want you to go help his most beloved daughter. Girl named Zola.”

  There was something in the way the don cocked his eyebrow as he said the name that piqued my interest. I became even more interested when Arrigo tossed a picture toward my end of the table. The don ca
lled her a ‘girl’, and she was clearly a little younger than me, but very much a woman. Everything about her—from her swept-back black hair to her stern green eyes—meant business. My kind of business. She was short and skinny but with all the right curves a good Italian girl was graced with by God. My gut turned a little, telling me there had to be more going on with this lady than this picture revealed.

  “Where is this?” I asked, looking closer at the details around Zola in the photo. “Mexico?”

  “Panama,” the don told me. “The young Ms. Schiavone has gotten herself into some trouble down there.”

  I nodded, starting to get the idea, as Arrigo explained, “The plan is for you to go down there, bail her out, and bring her up here in one piece. Then Don Schiavone will be so pleased…”

  “…his family agrees to become our ally,” I finished.

  The don nodded. “What do you say?”

  What did I say? The motherfuckers in the Zanetti and Loggia families had attacked a wedding. Innocent people died. That had gotten my hackles up and I’d promised myself that killing Donato would only be the beginning. If bashing some heads south of the border and saving this Zola woman gave us a leg up on those bastards, I was more than willing.

  “When do I leave?”

  Chapter Two

  I looked at the back of the truck as the 4x4 bumped over the rough terrain leading to the airstrip.

  My guys were ready; all grasping their machine guns, all looking around the truck that was bouncing through the forest. We were in a vulnerable position, and we had to stay on point if we were going to make it out of the situation alive. I knew that, even as we pulled into the dirt airstrip in the middle of the jungle of Panama.

  My father sent me down here to get me out of his hair. It was to shut me up, but little did he know, I was starting to run things my way.

  And my way involved a lot of guns.

  There were two trucks near the airstrip, both pointed toward us. That would be Pedro.

  I tapped the brakes twice, and my enforcers started rechecking their guns and rolling their shoulders. That was our cue, the signal we’d agreed upon. They knew that if they betrayed me or if they fled, a bullet to the back of their heads would be the least of their worries.

  I was a woman on a mission.

  I took the rest of the drive slowly, taking care to keep a watchful eye on the forest around us. I had information, information that wouldn’t lead to a peaceful end to this meeting. I wanted to make sure we weren't driving into an ambush.

  My newly formed empire was on the brink. Of what, I wasn't sure yet. It could be collapse, or it could be greatness, but all of it relied on whatever happened over the next few minutes.

  I smiled to myself as I saw them. It was Pedro Martinez, one of our mid-level importers, chatting with a white guy.

  “Get ready,” I commanded my guys behind me loudly, ensuring my voice carried over the sound of the engine. This was going to turn into a shitshow.

  I pulled the Jeep around, so it faced an exit. Maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to get us out of here alive. I jumped out, my aviator sunglasses and cargo pants guarding me from the bright sun above. It was hot in Panama, hotter than anything I've ever experienced in my life. Especially compared to Chicago.

  But I wouldn't wear a hat. I wasn't going to fuck up my hair because of a little sunlight.

  “Pedro,” I said, walking up. I swayed my hips a little bit to keep the men looking, just to make sure they underestimated me. Because my life went infinitely better when I was being underestimated, which happened often. Especially down here, in the world of the cartels. I was an anomaly, a woman—a hot one—running a successful drug export business.

  It’d always served me well to be underestimated. I saw Pedro assess me up and down, not hiding it at all as I approached.

  “Who's this, then?”

  Pedro nodded toward the white guy, and he gave me a warm smile underneath his wide-brimmed hat. I kept my face straight, my eyes stony behind my glasses.

  I hadn’t okayed a second person here.

  Especially this guy.

  “This is my new exporter, he's a buyer from the States. This is—”

  “Stan Hansen,” I said, pulling my Glock out of the holster on my lower back. “US federal agent and working with the DEA. Yeah, I know him.”

  Stan was fast, but I was faster. He drew a gun and fired, as I dove away and fired back. Pedro looked completely dumbstruck, and he stood still for a minute too long.

  My guys knew their jobs, and their semi-automatics hummed as they gave me cover, offering me a retreat.

  My instincts had been right. More DEA agents exploded from the trees around us, covering their own guy with fire.

  Sometimes, I hated being right all the time. This was, indeed, a shitshow. I ran back to the Jeep, skidded on my ass, and went right underneath it. It offered the best cover, and I took a moment to scramble, catching my breath as bullets kicked up the dirt around me.

  Fucking Pedro, bringing the DEA into this. The guy was an idiot, and it served me right for doing business with a fucking idiot.

  The Jeep was raised, and I was able to flip my slight form on my stomach and take note of the gunfight going on. My guys weren't losing, but they weren't winning, either. A couple of them went down with DEA bullets.

  Then, something else reached me from above the airstrip.

  It was a jet. A big one. Probably the one that was coming to pick up our shipment and drop off money. I shimmied from underneath the Jeep, away from the DEA agents in the trees. Again, I wasn't wrong. The Cessna was coming in for a landing.

  At least it would provide a distraction. And I needed one to get the fuck out of here.

  So, as the Cessna approached, I looked back at my men and screamed in Spanish.

  “Covering fire! Covering fire, now!” The men started sweeping their guns, trying to offer the Cessna a clear path into the airstrip. The guys on board, even if they weren't mine, needed to get out of this without being arrested or killed. Meaning, we were going to form a quick-and-dirty alliance in this fight.

  The Cessna touched down, the wind from the jet engines blowing my hair out of my face. As soon as the door opened and the cargo net dropped, I saw the guy's eyes go wide.

  Fuck.

  He retreated back into the jet as the engines started to rev higher. They were leaving us. They were going to dine and dash, touch down for barely a second, and dip out of here.

  Not on my fucking watch.

  I sprinted. As hard and as fast as I possibly could. Bullets whizzed around my head, but I weaved as I ran toward the retreating jet.

  Just as it reached the end of the airstrip and started pulling up, I jumped as high as I could.

  My fingers wrapped around the cargo net. I allowed myself a smug smile as the wind whipped through my hair and I was dragged hundreds of feet off the ground in an instant.

  But I didn’t look down.

  I looked up and started to climb.

  Chapter Three

  A sudden lurch woke me. I opened one eye and took stock of the cargo plane around me. One of the other guys, a Mexican whose name I never caught, tossed a cargo net outside the main cargo door.

  I started to stretch and look around a little more, taking in my surroundings. It was a normal cargo plane, with five other guys who looked ridiculous in cargo vests buckled into the benches around me.

  “Rough landing?” I asked the nearest one when I saw how white his face was. He didn’t answer, just looked at me with a side glance.

  I shook my head at the silence and overall glumness in the plane. These guys took themselves way too seriously.

  Large wooden cases of money were strapped into the bay at the back of the plane. They’d be exchanged for crates of cocaine, and we’d fly back to some unknown airstrip in Mexico. Then, the cocaine would change hands with other cartel members, and the whole thing would start all over again.

  If these guys knew what they were
doing, it shouldn’t take us longer than twenty minutes to get back in the air.

  Well, I’d be bringing along another passenger, or staying in Panama for a while, depending on what happened on the airstrip.

  I sighed, ready to put in some manual labor, when the Mexican guy pulled away from the cargo door and started shouting frantically in Spanish. I didn't know much Spanish, a problem considering where we were in the world right now, but whatever it was, the guy was clearly scared.

  I yawned, just as the sound of gunfire reached my ears. Well, that would do it.

  The guy yelled something to the pilot, who immediately revved the engines high again. That was something I couldn’t allow to happen. I'd worked hard to get myself hired as a goon for this cartel, I wasn't going to lose my only lead to Schiavone’s daughter because some lowlife was scared of a little gunfire.

  Just as I was about to mumble, the Mexican guy drew his gun and started shooting wildly beneath us. The gunshots echoed throughout the cabin, and I thought my head might explode. I covered my ears and yelled at the idiot. We were already well off the ground, there was no way a bullet from below would reach us.