Bella (A Sagatori Family Saga Mafia Romance Book 2) Page 2

  “Who do we have here?” Lizzie spoke with apprehension.

  “This is Isabella Moretti,” Margarete said in a soft tone.

  She took me in, her eyes stalked me. “I know who you are. I need a cigarette, care to join me?” She reached for her clutch.

  I didn't answer. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know her and definitely wasn't comfortable with her just yet. “Come on, I don't bite, princess.” She pulled a cigarette out of her clutch.

  “I don’t smoke.”

  She laughed, “Neither do I.” She winked.

  “You two go ahead. I really need to speak with the chef and I'll catch back up with you, Bella.” Margarete hurried off.

  “Well, I must say you are the stunning site, Bella.” She wrapped her arm inside of mine.

  “Thank you,” I answered. I stood tall and refined. Lizzie wasn't a girl on the refined track, yet she was brilliant in another sort of way. The shake of her hips in a way you'd smack your husband for eyeing. A man stood a few feet in front of us ogling our bodies as he guarded the exit.

  “Ladies.” He tilted his eyes, skimming our body's with lust. His lower lip sucked into his mouth biting against his desire for I'm assuming Lizzie. She'd make any man hard. My eyes crossed hers seeing a wink so faint that I would have missed it completely if I hadn't spotted her in that one second.

  “Thank you,” she said crisply as the guard opened the door for us to pass.

  We stepped over the threshold seeing the lights of the city darting across the blackness of the night. A glance over my shoulder showed Dominic very close by, yet he gave me some space, and I appreciated it.

  “So, Bella, what do you think about the party?” The flame flickered as she lit her cigarette. Her hand lifted with an extra cigarette for me.

  I eyed the white tube and shook my head. “No thank you.” She shrugged forward. My throat cleared, and I leaned on the railing looking down onto the grounds. Dizziness washed over my head and nausea kicked in. “It's lovely.” I stepped back as I held onto the railing.

  She choked on the smoke. “Oh wow, so proper. Just like your mother.” However grateful I was that she hadn’t caught my weak moment, she had made a dig and I'd quickly set her straight.

  I shot off of the railing in a second and pulled the hem of my floor length gown into my palm. “You know nothing about my mother. Keep your mouth shut about my family.”

  She didn't budge, not even an inch. She remained tall while holding a smirk that raised at the corner of her mouth. She pulled her cigarette to her red lips and blew the smoke in a billowing cloud that surrounded us. “I like you, Bella. I like you.” She pointed and then leaned into the deck railing. “So much fake bullshit, but you're real. I knew if you were like your mother, I’d like you.”

  I remained in a clenched position, surprised and feral. I had wanted to punch her in her pretty face one moment and the next I didn't. “How did u know my mother?”

  She remained quiet for a moment then turned her head to mine. “She was someone who helped me once.” She tossed her cigarette to the floor of the deck, blew out a cloud of smoke, and dug into the butt with her two-thousand-dollar shoes. “Come on, let's meet the other girls.” She tucked her arm through mine and led me into the house.

  I quickly saw Tonya, long red hair with wide curls flowing down her back. Smooth cream skin, diamonds dripped from her neck and ears. She was someone's princess. “Who is this?” she growled protectively.

  “Isabella Moretti.” Lizzie winked.

  The creamy wash of Tonya’s face flushed pink. “Oh my God.” She was embarrassed. “I didn't… Sorry, I'm Tonya.” Her eyes darted back to Lizzie's as she held out her hand.

  “Hello, it’s so nice to meet you. I'm Bella.” I offered a smile. A woman in the Cosa Nostra was protective of their circle. I knew that and expected it. Really they were being much nicer than I'd thought they'd be.

  Margarete’s hand landed softly on my arm as she reached us. “Dinner will be served in five.” I thought we'd be waiting for the men before we'd eat.

  “Will we be dining alone?” I asked over my left shoulder.

  “No dear, they’ll be joining us.” Her eyes focused forward.

  A loud clank echoed across the space, and all heads turned toward the white distance of bright flowers and crisp decor. The darkness of suits against the bright color was hardening to the eyes. Music played in the background. Drums hummed against a piano and a whispered voice rang in my diamond pierced ears. Jax stood behind three other suit-clad men who smiled against the lies they lived every day. His eyes focused on mine. Dark, hungry, scary, worried, electrified, and dangerous. I knew that look. I knew what that darkness meant.

  The piano took over the air as he surveyed my eyes then my body. I swallowed down another drink of wine then a deep breath to feed my hungry lungs. “Bella.” He reached me, his dark suit kissed with the crimson tie and handkerchief, and he slid his fingers across my peppered flesh. His hand met my hair, his head loomed over, observing me. He leaned into my ear and a gasp of air escaped my lips involuntarily.

  His lips kissed the tip of my ear taking in my earring with his teeth. I didn't move or speak. The room was empty for as much as I was aware. The back of his hand slid down the inner side of my arm reaching my palm, a shiver crossed my flesh, and my nipples hardened. I didn't like that. I didn't want Jax to have that kind of effect over me. He wasn't interested in me, this wasn't done out of love or, hell, it wasn't done from lust either, I was certain. Instead, he reacted to me like this for appearances sake. I wasn't having it. I wouldn't be used.

  My eyes found his and my hand released from the soft hold. He pulled in a deep breath and pressed another kiss to my temple while he clenched his jaw; the tightening was easily felt. I'd really pissed him off. Good.

  “Shall we?” I smiled then turned on my heels into the direction everyone had been walking.

  Chapter 3

  Jax

  This woman infuriated me. I wanted to bend her over my knee and spank her; teach her a lesson. I wanted to fuck her until she never back talked me again. Bella is a strong woman; I knew I had my hands full the moment I’d agreed to marry her.

  “Moretti.” Tito approached. Someone gave this dumb bastard the nickname Tombstone because he’d hand carved his name into every fucking headstone of the men he’d killed. Dumb as fuck. That was years ago and honestly, I didn’t think he was that hard on for that too much anymore. Old bastard. “Welcome to my home. Isabella. Your father was a good man, a respected man.” He watched Bella. I nearly wrapped my hands around his throat but instead gripped her hand tightly. I didn’t want anyone to look at her.

  “Yes, it’s good to see you again.” Bella was perfection. Her beauty was classically endless. I caught myself staring, but I wouldn't let that happen again. I’d need to be careful where she was concerned. Or rather, she should be careful where I was concerned. Some more bullshit was said, but I didn’t listen to any of it, all of it only a formality. I hated these fucking things, honestly.

  Tito remained close as we walked to the basement of his overly priced mansion. Mickie was steps away ready to give his life for mine. I trusted only a few men: Mickie, Dominic, and Tommy-Bella’s protection. If I didn’t trust them, they’d be nowhere near her. The hallway was dark, and when we rounded the corridor the metal door glowed under the heavy light. The next time I’d walk through this door would be as head of this family. I would be the boss of bosses.

  All of the men once under Anthony Sagatori followed in their expensive tailor-made suits, shiny shoes, slicked back hair. Each of them wanted this spot. The one that wanted it most was three steps ahead of me. Salvatore Casconi. He wanted to be boss more than anyone, he wanted power. More than anyone he’d wanted to call the shots and sit on the thrown of power. But the power was mine. He'd also wanted my wife for himself, but she was mine as well; he wouldn't have her. I'd put a bullet in his fucking head if he ever tried.

  We entered one
by one through the metal door. I saw the large oval table with twelve chairs surrounding it. I’d be at the head of this table tonight. I’d be calling the shots.

  The men sat in the leather chairs with flat, unreadable faces.

  Tito gestured for me to sit at the head of the table furthest away from the door. I sat, tucked myself in, and peered over my shoulder giving a knowing nod to Mickie who stood to my left near the wall. He had a perfect shot if anyone tried anything tonight. He was supposed to give up his gun at the door, but let’s just say we angled around that.

  Roberto Chenneli sat to my left, he would be my successor as boss for the Chicago outfit. Roberto was mid-thirties, brown hair, tall, thin. He was mean and took nothing from no one. Exactly what Chicago needed. Cesare Tarintino sat just past Roberto. Cesare was the boss for New York; this guy was pushing eighty, and he’d been around a long time. Dark skin, large round age spots covered his face and hands, thick gray hair.

  Bernardo Campanni, the boss for Vegas sat next to Elido Pappalardo, the boss for New Jersey was next. Renaldo Asati sat at the end of the table. He was consigliere for Anthony Sagatori, and I’d also select him to remain as such. Tito Toscano sat opposite of myself. Tito had been the underboss for the Sagatori crime family and I’d select him to remain as such as well. Anthony Russo rested smug in a dark hand-stitched Italian suit. This guy was the boss for Atlanta. Alfio Consentino, boss for Philadelphia, came next. He adjusted himself uncomfortably in his chair, weighing in at around four-hundred pounds with a balding head. And next we had Salvatore Casconi: the boss for Detroit. Smug was an understatement. Sam also wore a well-fitted hand-stitched suite, crimson trinity knot, well-folded handkerchief in his jacket, dark curly hair slicked back across the top of his head. Two large diamond rings held on his fingers. His eyes never left me. He wanted this position, and I figured he’d be trying to take it tonight.

  Ugo Mancuso was next at the oval table, he was the boss for Boston. The only thing people noticed about Ugo was the large, ugly scar on his left cheek and the massive diamond rings on his fingers. Each ring held a diamond for every kill he’d made. Last was Albert Cavalano, the boss for Los Angeles. He was the only man at this table I hadn’t met before. He typically didn’t travel too far from L.A. Cavalano wore dark, round glasses that were a little too large for his oval face. No jewelry. He had that L.A. look, though. Fashionable and shit.

  “We come here tonight to announce Jax Moretti as head of this family. This was decided by Anthony Sagatori before his passing.” All heads in the room including myself made the sign of the cross. “Are there any objections?” All of the men but one shook their head and fumbled with their ties or whatever was sitting in front of them.

  “No,” echoed throughout the room from all but one man. Casconi; he would object.

  My eyes met his as I adjusted my tie. “You got an objection?” I asked him.

  His response was slow as he twisted a gold metal lighter between his fingers. “Yeah, I got an objection.” He leaned forward on the table addressing the other men. “Sagatori is gone, we don’t have to listen to him anymore. We can do what the fuck we want.” He shrugged in his seat. My eyes roamed along watching the other men's responses. Some men nodded while others shook their heads.

  “You come here and insult Anthony Sagatori on this day?” Cesare spoke. He had no fear of Casconi. “You think you have what it takes to run this family?” His eyes narrowed. “Because you have a few men under you? You think you can do what Sagatori knew Moretti could do?”

  “Yeah I have to agree. I have the Bratva picking at every business I run. We need leadership right now.” The Russian mob is at everyone’s door lately.

  “They think we’re weak ‘cause Sagatori’s gone. I got ‘em at my fuckin’ backyard every five fuckin’ minutes.” Several of the men agree.

  “Yeah,” bounced around the room as the men responded to Cesare.

  I remained quiet.

  “Take a vote,” Casconi growled.

  “A vote? We haven’t done that shit since the fifties.

  “So, do it now,” he demanded with a shrug.

  “Why not?” I grinned with the left side of my lip curled up.

  The men shrugged in their chairs as they made eyes at each other.

  Tito watched me as he spoke. “So we vote, who votes Casconi in as boss?” Casconi was the only son of a bitch that raised his hand. The other men watched the walls or the floor. “Moretti?” All hands raised in silence except Casconi’s. “Are we finished with this bullshit?” Tito asked Casconi.

  Casconi slammed his fist on the wooden table. No one jumped or reacted. Salvatore Casconi was an explosion waiting to happen, and I didn’t need him running anything under me.

  With the FBI barking at Bella’s doorstep which also meant they were barking at mine, not everyone was able to be here. Anyone that had a felony had to stay away.

  “Boss, you need to select your consigliere.”

  I nodded.

  “Renaldo Asati, I will keep you as my consigliere,” I responded.

  Renaldo tipped his head. “It’s an honor, boss.”

  “It’s decided Renaldo Asati will sit as consigliere. Boss, who do you take as your underboss?”

  “Tito Toscano,” I said without hesitation. Anthony had specifically asked that I do this and for him, I would.

  He made eyes with me, then he sought out the rest of the table. “It’s decided; I will sit as underboss for this family. Thank you, boss.” A respectful nod of his head was given. “Now onto other business. The Bratva are becoming a thorn in our sides. Our businesses are suffering across the board.”

  “New York is taking a beating,” Cesare grumbled.

  I nodded. I knew their concerns because they were my own. “We will send a message that can’t be resisted.”

  “Boss?” Cesare asked, “Orlov is known for retaliation and goes for the wives and children first.”

  “So we take the eagle by his wings. Clip them, all of them.”

  “Boss?” Cesare made eyes then the rest of the men followed with knowing nods and grumbles.

  “A war?” Casconi hissed. “You want a war with the Russians?”

  “Are you doubting my authority?”

  “No boss, just your orders.” In a crime family, it’s simple. There are roles. I’m the head of the famiglia. They call me the boss of bosses, not over the entire Mafioso just this family. My right hand is the consigliere, he’s the man I go to much like a chief advisor; well, in fact, that is exactly what he is. He’s my closest confidant in this family. Then there’s the underboss, and he ranks below the boss which in this case is me. The Capos rank beneath him and will answer to him directly. Next you have Soldiers that are run by the Capos. Each Capo is given reigns over ten or so.

  In this scenario Casconi is calling me out, he wants to test me, see where my weaknesses lie. I have no weaknesses, however. A deep breath enters harshly into my nose then my lungs, filling them to their capacity.

  “In this family, Casconi, I will not tolerate disrespect.” If you have a beef with a made man permission is needed to deal with that beef. In this case, I’m the only one who can give that okay. There's no one here to stop me from slicing his throat or breaking his neck with my bare hands. No one but me. “You come in here tonight and disrespect Sagatori, my father-in-law.” Everyone made the sign of the cross and kissed their crucifixes. “Bring him to me.” Casconi isn’t worth me taking the time to stand, no he’s beneath me. His eyes bore holes into me, and I smiled. I don’t give a fuck.

  Mickie approached Casconi encouraging him to stand and then he’d walked him to where I sat. A .357 magnum revolver was handed to me by Mickie. No one said a word. Deep breaths were the only sounds. I sat back in the comfort of the leather chair and removed all six rounds and watched as they rolled along the table. I scooped one bullet from the shiny wood, inspected it. The gold bullet sat cradled in between the tips of my fingers then I slipped it back inside the chamber.
I spun the cylinder and watched as Mickie pressed and held Casconi’s head against the table. I stood and pressed the muzzle to his head. Ironic that we were talking about the Russians at this time, considering I was playing a fun game of Russian Roulette with him. That’s the said origin of this game of course. “Now as I see it, you have a one in sixth chance that this gun will go off seeing as how I’ve removed all but one. Anyone see how those odds might be wrong?”

  “No boss,” all answered.

  “Of course, that’s only true if all chambers rest in their correct positions. Seeing as this revolver is a swing out as you all witnessed. With gravity, those odds are in your favor. Which I, of course, make it my business to known. That all changes, however; when I spin the cylinder and don’t…” I spun it again after I’d removed the muzzle from his head. I don’t let it complete its spin before stopping it. “Let it complete. Were you aware of those odds, Casconi?” I ran the muzzle flush with his temple. He didn’t respond, I knew he wouldn’t, he was proving himself. With one sleek move of my index finger, I pressed and held the trigger. A loud click sounded, no shot, though. Casconi’s body tightened causing the skin around his eyes to wrinkle. I continued with this three more times and the bastard got lucky each one. No one spoke. I was making a point and I think it was working. I removed the gun handing it back to Mickie and leaned down to his head. “I will gut you like a pig the next time you question my decisions or authority.” A harsh dark sigh resonated from his throat. I smiled with gratification that my point had been received. Casconi stood and limped back to his seat after I placed a hard connecting blow to his stomach with my fist.

  The table continued with a conversation about the Bratva and what we would do to lean on them. When we’d finished, we were led upstairs to the gathering where I’d find Bella.

  ***

  Two days had passed since the meeting with the bosses of the family that had come together. Four of my men had been killed in Chicago and the fall out of the retaliation was reigning heavily in all the territories. The Bratva was out for blood. The threats were constant.