The Mafia Lord And His Spy Lover

ADONIS

Nine years ago

I had killed a man an hour ago, only to become something I had never imagined-the boss of the most powerful crime family in the New York Cosa Nostra. The Capo of the Vitale Crime Empire.

Everyone was expecting me to give a speech about this uplifting experience, to tell them of the plans I had for the future of this syndicate. To say I had any would have been a lie. Everything about this was sudden, a catastrophe I could not put a stop to.

However, lucky for me, the moment I stepped on the stage, a courier arrived in my name-a box wrapped in colourful papers and adorned with ribbons like a fucking Christmas gift-stopping me from giving a speech I had not even prepared.

"Open the box," dozens of suited men now under my reign yelled, curiosity piquing in their voices.

I had no choice but to oblige.

I had not received a present in ages, at least not in boxes unless they were dead bodies of traitors and liabilities, or expensive drugs, weapons and liquors. This box looked too tacky to be one of those.

And the contents were even fishier.

A disk was encased inside with the words 'Happy Initiation' written on it with a marker and italicised calligraphy as if it were for a christening ceremony. I wondered which Mafioso had time for shit like this.

"Where do I play it?" I asked and looked around. I couldn't remember the names of half the people present in the room, yet I pretended as though I did.

The former capo and my uncle, David, had warned me about this. "Be discreet and have a keen eye, Adonis. Know those around you and watch their every step." Throughout my life, he had said many things, but I hadn't imagined those words to become the key to my survival.

Many envied the position I held. Many would try to kill me for it like they had done the one this position rightfully belonged to.

I was only a surrogate, who from now on would have to carry the title and pass this burden onto the generations to come. The generations of Vitales.

"There's a telly in the main room, Capo," one of the soldiers said.

I had to blink twice at the man who had stepped forward to make sure he was looking at me and not my uncle, who was standing in one corner of the stage. I had uttered the word Capo many times but had never been called it. The feeling was strange, yet the sense of power thrilled me.

We moved to the main room, all impatient about the disk, but none more than me. The soldier quickly plugged it in, and handed me the remote. I turned it on.

The first thing to appear on the screen was a naked woman. Not just any woman. My little sister Amara. Except, the people around me didn't know that. For good reasons. For them, this was just another whore.

She lay sprawled out on a canopy bed with blood-red sheets and drapes, her hands handcuffed to the headrest and legs parted with a splitter.

A thousand knives pierced my organs, shame prickling through my skin and heat marring my temples. All remnants of my emotions shattered into pieces. I wanted to look away, wanted to gouge everyone's eyes out. Yet I couldn't move. The shock overwhelmed me.

A man walked toward the bed, his back turned to the screen. I didn't need to see his face to know who he was. His dark hair, tall frame and charred skin on his left shoulder blade gave it out.

Guilt rampaged inside me like a storm. My hands and feet were searing with the anger bridling in my chest.

"If you go through with the initiation, there will be consequences, Vitale," he had said to me through a note. Through a fucking note.

He wanted nothing more than to hurt me, kill me, even. But using a woman, whose love for him was pure and innocent, was beyond cruel.

I doubted Amara had any idea about how he had turned her into an essential pawn in the game, as he had done with every damn person in his life, even his own blood. I had no weaknesses-none that I had been aware of until now. He knew the truth. He knew he could break me through her.

He climbed onto the bed, dipped his head between her legs, and kissed her inner thighs.

I hurtled toward the television, my rage out of bounds. The monster the world knew me as lurched out to the surface. With all my strength, I pushed it off the stand. The DVD player was next. I picked it up and tossed it to the ground, breaking it into parts.

Everyone stepped back in horror. I seldom reacted out of anger, given my role in this family, where hundreds of eyes watched me for my last name. But whenever I did, the ruins were beyond repair.

He fucking won because I was too blind to his loyalty. He had started the war and trapped my sister in it as a weapon to his advantage, and he would have to pay heavily for it. I would butcher him, forgetting every moment of friendship we'd had.

"No one says a word about this to anyone," I yelled, my voice booming in the room-my first order as the capo. "None of you saw this. Understood?"

***

Present

"There you are," Dom said as I ambled down the stairs, fastening the cufflinks of my white shirt.

I wanted the morning to be silent after parading through the clubhouses last night. Well, peace for me was like a cold day in hell with Domenico Guerra as the herald of chaos.

Dom's hair was ruffled. There was blood smeared on the hems of his sleeves, which was odd, considering how posh he was, always in his upmarket clothes and expensive boots and watches. He kept his image in check because of his position as my advisor, the consigliere of the Vitale Empire, which was the second-most important position in Cosa Nostra.

"Got into another fight?" I asked.

He followed my gaze to his sleeves and shook his head. "A fucking torture romp. My morning started with two street racers crawling up my ass near the Arena. Plus, I didn't get any sleep, so you can imagine my annoyance." He strode toward the sink near the sidebar in the living room. "Turns out they weren't just any racers." I arched a brow. "Yakuza."

"Those Japanese motherfuckers," I gritted, reaching the glass table centring the living room.

"Their oyabun has been very persistent about finding the best routes to continue the annual race and please his protégés."

"What the fuck are they trying to do, anyway? They're tight on men here in America. And instead of keeping their noses in Japan, they're trying to mess with the Italian-American Mafia?" I snarled.

"Anyway," he stood before me, "I wouldn't be too focused on them. We've got bigger problems."

Bigger problems. The Mafia had been in shambles for the past ten years, with no hope for a better future. That had been the biggest problem for years.

The war between Chicago Outfit and the Camorra of Nevada was like a never-ending cycle. Then there was the conflict between the only two ruling families of the New York Cosa Nostra. The Illiano Crime Family wanted more power and demanded we divided New York equally, which we, the Vitales, would never agree to.

My focus, for now, was the inner strife within my domain, which was cancer to the union. Things were tough because of the audacity of men who thought they could overrule me. It was time this fucking nuisance stopped.

I walked to the main door, with Dom following behind. The soldiers guarding the mansion dipped their heads into a bow as we made our way down the portico stairs and toward our car.

"What else?" I got into the driver's seat, and Dom settled into the passenger beside me.

Dom cleared his throat. "Rats, as usual."

"This isn't news. Infiltrating my empire with pitiful soldiers won't do any good," I told him. "Besides, I'm an excellent throttler. Should we get our hands on any of those fuckers, we shall do our best to let them join their dead in the most modest way possible."

"Torture and pleasure mix all too well when the screams are louder," he mused with a wicked grin. I stepped on the accelerator and pulled out of the driveway. "Back to the news. Julian caught a rat last night after the whole restaurant fiasco. This bastard has been involved in a lot of shit under his underboss's nose," Dom accused.

"Under my nose, you mean?"

"This is fucked up," Dom murmured. "There's a club registered under our name that's doing illegal trafficking."

"Everything we do is illegal in its entirety, Dom," I said. "Be more specific. What's he been stealing from me? Arms? Drugs? How much?"

Dom tensed in his seat. It was a rare sight to see him bothered because of a fucking wimp. "Women. That's what he trades."

I stepped on the brake, putting my car to a screeching halt. The car behind me stopped as well. The driver yelled and screamed obscenities at us, something he shouldn't have done. Especially not now.

Mafiosos weren't saints. We did jobs far worse than trafficking. We had whorehouses, brothels and clubs where both men and women partook, but only after signing a consensual agreement as per the rules of the Commission. Human trafficking meant the lack of consent and display of false power and was completely against the morals of the Italian-American Mafia.

"We have to deal with this before the Commission finds out," Dom warned.

If they hadn't already found out. The Illianos wouldn't waste a single breath before using it against us in front of the entire commission. None of the parties in the Commission would waste their one chance of calling me incompetent.

I exhaled and got out of the car. One look at my face and the driver knew he was screwed. He rushed out of his car, his eyes wide with horror, and apologised. I would've beaten him up if I hadn't noticed the baby in the backseat of his car, sucking on a pacifier with big eyes, unaware of what the father had stepped into.

I clenched my teeth and returned to my car. Ruining my morning more was the last thing I wanted, anyway.

Dom's eyes rounded as I got in. "Either you're furious or ecstatic. I can wager it's not the latter."

"It's tiring to waste my breath when I have more important shit to deal with," I said. "Get to this club and see how far this ship has fucking sailed. And don't kill that rat unless we have some valuable intel from him."

BELLA

"You could've told him to shove that empty file up his fat ass," Harley said, gulping her fifth tequila shot.

If I hadn't known her better, I would've been surprised. Harley's limit, which an average person called drunk, was only getting started, whereas I was on my fourth and my head was already hulking with the beats.

"I seriously don't want to talk about it on my night off. God forbid, we don't get many of these."

"You're right." She shrugged. "Ron's a dick. He keeps handing extension contracts to us because he's too much of a slacker to go recruiting himself. At least you're lucky this is your last mission. I still have one and a half years for my contract to fucking end."

"My last mission was supposed to be the end of my agent days," I said, slouching in my seat at the bar.

"What made you agree to this?" she asked. "Coming to think of it, you've never accepted a mission remotely close to the Mafia world."

"With good reason." The reason I would rather die with than tell anyone.

"I have no intention of prying." I straightened as she leaned close. "How did he get you to agree? From what I know, you're the most stubborn one of all of us."

"Well," I regarded what to tell her since I didn't know the answer either, "he said it's a small mission. No violence is needed. I just need to gather some of his deets and get out."

"That's a first." She chuckled. "So, no busting the assassin or a politician."

"Nope."

"Cheers to that then."

We clinked our glasses and chugged down another round of shots. I looked around the bar, the dance floor buzzing with youngsters, grooving to the loud music.

"This place is cramming. Half of them are teenagers," I said, inspecting the dance floor and the VIP areas upstairs.

"Yeah. This bar opened up last month and there aren't many strict bouncers out there, as you saw, which makes entry pretty easy."

"Right."

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you never went to bars with fake IDs."

I clicked my tongue. "At their age, I was going through the hardest recruitment process and training of my life."

After two years of training and six years of job since the age of eighteen, I could never get enough of it. It took away a lot of things I wanted in life, but I had nothing to regret. I had nothing to lose.

The bartender came around with a fresh round of shots and a sickly grin glued to his lips. "For you ladies, from that gentleman over by the corner."

We twisted our heads in the direction the bartender pointed, only to notice a tall man a few seats away from us with dirty blond hair tied in a topknot and a heavily trimmed beard covering his jaw. The silver ring on his lower lip shone from the distance.

"I don't think we should-" Before I could even finish, Harley had already emptied two out of four shots. "Harley, don't. What if they're spiked?"

"You say this every time a hot guy offers you a drink. It's no surprise you haven't had a dick in quite a while." She giggled at her own words and, leaning in, she asked, "Why are you so sceptical?"

"I have my reasons."

"Hah!" she groaned.

I had avoided attachments because of who I was. A relationship needed time, effort, and honesty, all of which I couldn't invest in as long as I had this job. I couldn't lie to those I held dear.

Harley slid a glass to me. "Come on, what could go wrong? Just get it out of your system, will you?" Without overthinking, I took the glass and, with one gulp, I drank it down. "I'm going to dance. Wanna join?" she cooed, twirling around on her feet.

I shook my head and watched her groove her way to the dance floor. She deserved to have fun, even though mine was out of the question. I had known Harley since she joined our agency five years ago. She had always been a devoted worker, much like me.

The passion for this had to be in our veins-the power of seeing brutality, fighting back, and getting the job done. No matter what. Harley was shaky at first, but that was just a phase-one I'd gone through as well.

"Hi," a hoarse voice said, not moments after Harley walked away. It was the same man who had ordered the drinks for us. He smirked. "Name's James. Would you like to dance?"

"Um, I think I'll pass." I looked away, hoping he would get the hint.

His face puckered. "Are you waitin' for someone here?" I tilted my head. "Oh, c'mon! It's just a dance. Unless you haven't got the feet."

I looked at the dance floor and then back at him, my instincts questioning what Harley had said: what could go wrong? I ignored people like him because I was awful at separating my personal and professional life.

I shrugged, taking his hand. I needed to let loose.

He led me to the dance floor, wrapped his hands around my waist and swayed with me to the drumming beats. I could see Harley's grin from afar while dancing between a man and a woman. God, she was wild when she had to be.

I tried to ignore my throbbing head all the while. The music was getting louder with each passing minute and the beats more abrupt. The ache in my head became unbearable with it. I couldn't take the loud noise, couldn't balance myself, let alone dance. My vision blurred.

I looked at James. His smirk didn't leave as he asked if I was okay. Leaving him on the dance floor, I dashed to the long, dimmed hallway that led toward the washrooms. What I felt wasn't because of the drinks. I was sure of it.

The musty smell that lingered on the walls of the washroom made me sicker. On top of it, my mouth tasted like smoke and tar, a horrible mixture. I splashed cold water on my face and frowned at my reflection in the mirror.

The door opened and James walked in, his brows pressed together. Maybe all those past allegations about our drinks being spiked hadn't been true. But today, I was right. I glared at him, knowing his intentions by the look on his face.

"Are you blind? It's for women," I bit out, holding my head high.

He sniggered. "Are you sick? D'you feel dizzy, or perhaps antsy?"

Dabbing my face with a tissue, I shook my head. "You think I don't understand what you're trying to do here? Fuck off!"

I walked past him. Before I could reach for the door, he grabbed my arm and twirled me around to face him. I was more than willing to rub that smug smile off of his face.

"Where are you going? I thought we could have some-"

I twisted his hand and pressed my thumb right over his radial nerve between his arm-perfect to inflict pain on morons like him. He grunted and his eyes widened, both with pain and surprise.

"Some?" He couldn't speak. "What? Don't tell me you took me for a fragile woman." I pushed him back. "Touch me again and I'll break your arm like a fucking twig."

"You bitch!" I heard him say, his voice a mere whimper.

I walked out of the bathroom, trying my best to hold it together, but whatever was mixed in that drink was working its effect on my body.

A forceful grip on my shoulder yanked me back. Oh, his audacity! My back crashed into the wall behind me and I winced. My entire body hurt like needles poking my skin.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, sweetie? I'll take you to a place you'll never be able to leave, even if you begged."

"You don't know who I am." I lifted my leg and connected my kneecap to his groin. He squealed in pain, but this time, his grip didn't loosen. "Are you going to let me go, or do you need more of that dose?"

He didn't look happy about it, his brows bent together in fury. My feet were wobbly. If he struck me this time, I could do nothing. There was a knot in my stomach that urged me to curl into a ball.

Despite the muffled sounds of the beats, thudding footsteps reached my ears. Twisting my head to the figure walking toward us, I sighed with relief. But wait; what if this man was with James?

"What the fuck are you trying to do here?" the man yelled.

I covered my mouth with a nauseating feeling rising in my throat. Jerking James's hand off of me, I shifted away and rubbed my chest with my hands.

"Get the fuck out of here," James said.

"I'll teach you how to get the fuck out of here," the man said, grabbing James up by his collar and giving him a forceful jolt.

As heroic as I found this man to be, I was more focused on the sour taste in my mouth.

I turned in their direction. Through the half-blurred vision, I saw James's eyes widen in fear as if he had seen a ghost, which made me wonder: who the hell is this man? As soon as the man loosened his grip on his collar, he sprinted without wasting a single second.

"They take too much time to understand simple human language," the man scoffed.

"Don't let him run," I got out. "Call the police."

Given James's audacity, he would do this again. His next victim might not be as lucky as me.

"That moron is about to meet the devil outside." He rubbed my back with his hand, sending warm sensations down my spine, and muttered, "He must've slipped roofies into your drink."

"I don't know. Maybe." I straightened to thank him, but before I could manage a single word, with a gagging noise, I puked.

Right on his polished, clearly expensive shoes.

What a charming way to thank someone.

ADONIS

After hours of damage control at the casino, Dom and I returned to the warehouse where the drama had already started.

Our latest rat's, Nico's, screams echoed through the metal door of the basement. Those sounds would only get louder and fiercer. I hated traitors. Betrayal was punishable by a slow, painful death.

I paused and turned to Dom. "Is there anything else you want to tell me? Anything I should know before I go in?"

"Julian called," Dom responded in a hushed tone. "He said the club's full of teenagers. Mostly. Everyone is being drugged, men and women."

"Stop all of it. Clear the bar and get everyone back home safely," I ordered. "And I need Nico's lackeys. Catch as many as you can. I need to know how many people they've transported till now and where."

"Okay." He nodded, dialling on his phone.

"This racket needs to be stopped." I pushed the rusty door open; the handle stained with dried blood.

Nico's hands were shackled to the ceiling with thick metal chains that made his wrists bleed. His blood dripped down his forearm, staining his half-sleeve shirt while he remained kneeling before me. His eyes froze on me, horror filling them.

What a lovely view!

A soldier voiced from behind Nico, "Here's the traitor you asked for, Capo."

My mouth twisted into a wicked grin, my gaze trained on the traitorous bastard. I could see it, feel it, even smell it-his fear.

I commanded, "Take his shirt off."

The soldier, with his knife, tore the dark shirt, clung to his body, and with it was gone his dignity.

I couldn't imagine the humiliation of being on his knees in front of these many men, all the soldiers he worked his, and his capo. He knew what he would get when he betrayed me.

I crouched. "Do you know what this is, Nico?" I traced the Omerta tattooed on his chest, a branding of his submission to me. He didn't respond. "The vow of always and forever being loyal to me and only to me. You've broken it." Nico peered up at me, his eyes flickering with tears. "You've betrayed your own people, but above all me."

With a shaking voice, he blurted, "You can't kill me. I know what I've done, but I'm willing to change. You can keep me as your rat against the Russians."

I kept my calm, despite the revelation. From the look on Nico's face, the word Russians had mistakenly slipped out of his lips. At least now I knew he was working with the Russian Mafia, popularly known as the Bratva, and smuggling women and children.

This was all part of that big fucking chain that had started twenty-four years ago. If I was right, I knew who Nico and the other rats had been working for.

"A traitor's always a fucking traitor, Nico. You would've said the same thing to that damned bratkis if this situation were to be reversed."

He shook his head immediately, but there was a flicker of discomfort in his eyes. "With the war and the Bratva, you'll need me."

"Need you?" I asked, raising my brows. The soldiers in the room chortled. "What makes you think I need you?"

"Because they trust me."

"And you think I do?"

The soldier walked around to me and handed me the pliers he had in his back pocket. Nico's shivers returned. Every tremor, every fucking squeal, I was going to enjoy immensely.

I pulled his hand toward me, despite the tight chains holding it in place, and he winced at the pressure. Gripping his middle finger between the sharp blades, I questioned in a mutter, "How long have you been involved in their racket?"

The metal doors opened and Dom entered the room, his eyes glinting with rage. "We cleared the club. Caught three brokers."

"First, you steal cannabis, hallucinogens, Rophynol, the Special K. Do you know how much each packet of those costs? How much you've robbed from me?" I roared at Nico's face. "And now you go behind my back and get involved with the Ivanovs?"

The name set an alarm inside Nico. His chest heaved with fear and regret, confirming my intuitions. I bet he wished he could turn back time and undo his mistakes. Too late.

I pressed the pliers like breaking a frail leaf from a branch. Blood splattered on my dark shoes and the concrete floor. Nico screamed in pain, his eyes on his limp finger on the floor.

"Don't do this, Adonis. I have a wife," he whimpered.

"Yes, you do. And the girls you trade have families too. Have consent." I moved onto his forefinger and repeated. He screamed again, louder than before.

"Wait, I'll tell you." I arched my brow at him. He begged, "I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

"Good boy." I snickered and handed the pliers back to the soldier beside me. Dom inched closer too, to listen in. "Keep going until he spills all that he knows-his informants, where he keeps the girls, where he delivers them, and who picks them up. The drugs he uses for spiking and drugging the victims and the ones he sells off. I don't care if this fucker dies in the process, but not before he confirms the location of the Ivanovs."

"What if he dies before?" the soldier questioned, to be on the safe side.

"Then we move on to his three other lackeys. It makes thirty more fingers and toes."

Receiving a brisk nod, I exited the room with Dom.

"I thought you'd end Nico then and there," Dom said, amused.

"A wise man knows better than to make rash moves, Dom. We need information from him, and he needs to be alive for that." I glanced at him. "Inform deputy chief Bishop of this mess. The NYPD might come in handy if this reaches the media."

"Okay."

One look at his face and I knew he had been dying to ask me. "Go ahead. Ask what you have to do ?"

He shrugged. "How did you know it was the Ivanovs?"

"Did you see that poor motherfucker's face when I mentioned them?"

"But you sounded so sure of it. How did you know?"

"Like two families rule New York collectively as Cosa Nostra, Bratva is ruled by three families, bonded by a very fickle alliance. Human trafficking, however, is rooted deep within only one of the families."

"The Ivanovs," Dom understood the matter.

"Yes." I went on, "If I'm right, one of the Ivanovs is wreaking havoc from within my territory. We just need to find out where he is hiding."

"They might not be as reckless as they were four years ago."

I remembered the entire matter clearly. In collaboration with the LA Crime Family, we uprooted one of the three Ivanov brothers, who ran a drug trafficking and testing chain. But the two other Ivanovs were still alive and causing trouble even four years later.

"We'll have to dig deeper, but we can't let them slide this time." I sighed, settling into my car outside the warehouse. "Now, I need you for some genuine advice."

"I'm all ears."

"About the war. Who do you think we should side with?"

"By any chance, are you talking about the war between Outfit and Camorra?"

I arched a brow at him. "Is there any other war I'm not aware of?"

He vigorously shook his head with worry morphing into his face. "No. That's not our war, Adonis. We already have the Ivanovs to deal with as you said."

"But if we were to side with either of them, which one would you prefer? Give a technical answer."

He regarded me before speaking up, "I would go with the Outfit. Allying with them will be highly beneficial for us. They're well connected to politicians and law enforcers overseas, which would make it easier for us to negotiate and extend our trade. And they're currently looking for efficient partners for shipping and transportation matters, which we can provide at ease. Plus, their capo is a tactical man. An excellent partner, as I've heard."

"Hm..." My voice trailed off.

The Outfit would be delighted to be in business with us, no doubt. With the war going on, what were the chances of us being spared? Weren't we all pawns in this twisted world?

"What the hell is going on inside that twisted brain of yours?"

I smirked. "A good proprietor never reveals his plans."