FAMILY TIES: A Mafia Love Story (Erotic Mafia Romance) (3 page)

              I cried out loudly in the privacy of my own home, my own shower as I felt the waves once again crash over me. When I finished cumming and I was able to stop shaking, I finished my shower. I had to force myself to stop thinking about it. Had I gone on remembering what happened after that, I may have never gotten out.

              Once I was dried off and dressed, I got out my laptop and pulled up “Romo,” Romolatti,” “Sammy and Guido.” I got back thousands of hits.  I started with the first one, saving anything that looked mildly interesting. After about an hour of that, I made myself a pot of coffee…it was going to be a long day.

CHAPTER FOUR: SAMMIE

             
It had been three days since Alana had walked out. I had made a grave mistake by allowing myself the pleasure of making love to her when she was too drunk to have the capacity to consent. I truly hadn’t meant for that to happen. I tried to tell myself that I was beyond the point of rational thought as well, but truthfully I wasn’t drunk, at least not from the alcohol. I was intoxicated by her. I’d been researching her and watching her for so long…every fantasy I’d had for the past year had been wrapped up in Alana. I had just completely lost my mind the moment I was actually allowed to touch her. The fact that she was allowing me to, and even encouraging it had really sent me over the edge.

              It was wrong though…I was wrong. I knew from the time I’d spent watching her that she wasn’t a big drinker, and she
definitely
didn’t sleep around. I should have had more respect…my mother would flog me if she’d known how I’d taken advantage of that beautiful young woman. I’d spent two days trying to decide how I should apologize. It wasn’t a matter of if….I owed her that much, but I didn’t think she’d consent to seeing me and allow me to apologize to her face to face so I was trying to think of another way.

              Finally, I had sat down and written a note. It said,

             
Dearest Alana,

              I am truly regretful about what I did to you the other night. I allowed you to drink too much and then while you were drunk and vulnerable…I took advantage of you. I’m assuming since I haven’t heard from you that you’ve adamantly decided against accepting my proposition, and I respect that. I do hope that you will forgive me for how I wronged you.

Sincerely,

Sammie

             
I had sealed it up and sent it along with five dozen red roses to be delivered to her work today. It was Monday so I knew that was where she would be. From my research, I knew she took her job very seriously and although now she would never believe it I had picked her for that reason before I’d ever begun to fall for her.

              “Sammie!” I heard the knock on my door and the sound of Marco Ricci’s voice as I sat looking out the window, thinking about Alana. I wanted to ignore him, pretend that I wasn’t here. It was no use though. I was like a bird in a gilded cage in this Penthouse. Marco and his wife knew my every move and without a doubt, reported them to the administration. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust me; it was that they didn’t trust anyone. “Sammie!” he said again, louder this time. I reluctantly got out of my chair and went over to unlock the door. “Jeez! Were you on the toilet? What took you so long?”

              “What is it, Marco?”

              “The administration wants to see you, now.”

              “Why? What’s happened?”

              “Lucio was found in a dumpster behind Sal’s this morning.”

              “Lucio? He was just a collector. How was he killed?”

              “It was a message body. He left his Goomah’s place and he was dead before he made it to the end of the street. When Sal took out the trash this morning, he found him.”

              “Lucio was my soldier and Sal’s is my place…so the message was for me….from whom?”

              “I don’t know Sammie, but I figure the administration must have a few ideas.”

              “Shit, okay. I’ll go now.”

              “Sammie, take Louie and Vinnie with you. I know you have an issue with protection but this message says that you need it. Please don’t play with your life.”

              “Fine, I’m leaving in five minutes I’ll meet them downstairs.”

              I sat in the chair and watched as Marco left. I was so tired of all of this. I was thirty years old and I had seen more death already than most people had seen in a lifetime. I had caused it even. If I didn’t break free of this life, my own death would be sure to come soon.

              Marco was right; I hated having body guards follow me around. But I suppose until I found out who killed Lucio it was a good idea. I felt sick that Lucio was dead. He hadn’t only been my soldier; he was my friend since we were kids. The woman that Marco had referred to as his “Goomah or his mistress was actually a friend of ours, Camilla, from the old neighborhood. Lucio wasn’t sleeping with her. He just had a wife who was unreasonably jealous. Camilla had been married and living in Newark up until six months ago. She had called Lucio one night and he had called me. She had an abusive husband. He had ignored every restraining order she’d ever gotten against him and this time, he’d beaten her to a bloody pulp. Lucio and I had gone out to New Jersey that night. We’d brought Camilla with us…her husband wouldn’t bother her again.

              I put her up in an apartment on the same block as Sal’s, a restaurant that my family owned. Lucio went by once a week to take her what she needed until her wounds healed. It was a pleasant escape for him from his hateful wife. Camilla would cook for him and they’d spend the evening just talking and laughing. As I slipped my Glock 9mm into my waistband and put on my jacket, I shuddered at the thought of having to tell her what happened. It would cause her a major setback and I couldn’t help but think it was my fault Lucio was dead. The women in the family would take care of his hateful wife. It was what they did, and they did it well.

CHAPTER FIVE: ALANA

             
I came in to work this morning determined to forget, once and for all, that I’d ever met Sammie Romo. It didn’t matter that he seemed to be all I could think about. I was a professional and that was how I intended to handle this: professionally. I’d spent hours yesterday researching him and his “family,” both biological and Mafioso. I found article after article on his father Guido. I also found much on his brothers and uncles all who had a long list of arrests just as Sammie said they did. But Sammie’s record was squeaky clean, even if his reputation was not. He was reputed to have killed more men as a “soldier” than any other Bosses son to date. That was when I really got scared. If this had been just a story, I would have been fascinated by that fact. Sammie Romo was only thirty years old. One had to wonder if there was any truth to that rumor, how old was he when he killed his first?

What scared me was that I’d had such poor judgment that I’d spent the night alone with a killer. What kind of journalistic instinct was that? Maybe I wasn’t ready to report “real news” if I was going to put myself in that kind of position. I would definitely need to take a good look at myself. But for now, I was going to sit down at my desk when I reached it this morning and the first thing I was going to do was delete all of the emails he’d sent me and block his address. I know that wouldn’t stop him if he wanted to reach me, but it was a step towards putting Friday night behind me.

              I stepped into the lobby of the building the paper was in feeling better than I had all weekend and I suddenly heard,

“Hi Alana.” I cringed at the sound of his voice, turning over my shoulder to see Nate Hunter standing there. He was one of the papers elite investigative journalists. He’d been all over the world on the paper’s dime and reported on just about every major event that had happened in the past five years. He was also my ex-boyfriend and an egotistical, self-absorbed, smug son of a bitch.

              “Good morning, Nate,” I said and then turning back, I continued walking towards the bank of elevators.

              “Alana, wait,” he called after me.

              “I’m running late. I’ll have to catch up with you later,” I told him as I stepped into the open elevator. I thought I’d lost him as the doors began to slide closed but then I saw the sleeve of his expensive gray suit wave up and down between them and the offending doors re-opened and allowed him to step on.

              “Wow, you
are
in a hurry,” he said.

              “Yeah, I told you I was. What’s so urgent, Nate?”

              “It’s just the funniest thing,” he said. “I have a source that brought me some information over the weekend that I’m really confused about.”

              Sighing heavily, so that he knew I could barely tolerate him I said,

              “What does it have to do with me, Nate?”

              “Everything, apparently,” he said, handing me a manila folder.

              “What is this?”

              “Open it,” he said.

              I rolled my eyes and opened the folder. I was staring at an 8 x 10 glossy of myself and Sammie Romo on the dance floor at 230 Fifth. I looked up at him; he had his signature smirk on his face as he said,

              “Keep looking sweetheart, there’s more.”

              I wanted to punch him for calling me sweetheart. What was with all of these suddenly over-familiar men? I picked up the photo and underneath it was another…it was one of Sammie and I walking arm in arm into the Glass Towers. It was stamped with Friday night’s date. The elevator Nate and I were riding in stopped and the doors slid open on my floor. I felt like my heels were glued down and I couldn’t move. To my horror, Nate had to take me by the arm and lead me out of the elevator. I think I was in some kind of mini-shock state. I found myself standing in the hallway, still gaping at the photos in my hand. Feeling sick to my stomach, I picked up the next photo and the last one was the best. It was a photo of me in Friday night’s clothes and a flagrant case of bed-head, getting into the back seat of Sammie’s limousine. The photo was clearly stamped with Saturday morning’s date.

              “What—Where---Why are you having Sammie followed?” I finally spit out.

              “Are you serious, Alana? Do you know who he is?”

              I flipped the folder closed and said, “Obviously I do,” as I placed them back in his hand.

              “Alana, what are you doing with this guy?”

              “I don’t believe that’s your business, Nate.”

              “Uh, have you considered that maybe I’m concerned for you?”

              “Don’t be. I’m a big girl,” I told him as I walked on shaky legs towards my cubicle.

              “Alana, please talk to me. Is this about a story? Is that it?” he asked as he followed me around the corner and into my cubicle where I almost walked into the largest bouquet of roses I had ever seen. Nate looked at the roses and then back at me. The tone of his voice changed as he said, “I was worried this was about a story. I know how you’ve always wanted to do more interesting things than your features. But now I’m even more worried. Please, Alana, tell me you’re not really personally involved with this guy.”

              My mind was reeling. I was staring at the roses, and Nate was staring at me. The part of me that despised the fact that all of the investigative journalists with the paper were men – and that they all had the same kind of egotistical attitude that Nate did – made me suddenly feel like I had to be the one to get the story Sammie Romo had to tell. I had to redeem myself and prove if only to me that I can do this because of my journalistic abilities, and not because of my feminine wiles. I’d made a mistake, but I could correct it and move on…in the direction of furthering my career.

I opened my mouth, and before I even realized what I was doing I was speaking.

“He’s my fiancé.”

              “Excuse me?” Nate said, looking like he was going to choke.

              “He proposed last night… and I accepted.”

              “Oh, Jesus, Alana. What the hell are you thinking?”

              “What I think and who I choose to be with is not your business, Nate.”

              “Alana…”

              “I’m finished with this conversation. Please leave so I can get to work.”

              “If you’re doing this to get a story….”

              “Go!” I snapped.

              He finally left and I dropped down into my chair and let out the breath I’d been holding. I hoped I knew what the hell I was doing. I looked over at the giant flower bouquet again and reached for the card. I slipped it open and read Sammie’s note. It actually sounded like he was remorseful and I found myself feeling guilty about that. I’d just told Nate that I was a “big girl.” Supposedly I could take care of myself. Sammie hadn’t forced me back to his room. He didn’t force me to have sex with him. I had been drunk, yes, but he hadn’t forced the drinks down my throat either. The simple truth of the matter was that he was incredibly good-looking and I hadn’t been with a man since I broke up with my last boyfriend five months ago. I was incredibly horny. It had been a volatile situation all the way around. I’d got that out of my system now though and I was ready to start over. In public, I would be Sammie Romo’s girl, but in private it would be strictly professional and if it took me five years, I was going to write the most informative, alarming, exciting story about the Mob that anyone had ever seen.