Taken by the Mafia Boss Read online

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  TAKEN

  by the

  MAFIA BOSS

  Chloe Fischer

  Copyright © 2018 Chloe Fischer

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher. Thank you for buying an authorized copy of this book and complying with copyright laws.

  This is a work of fiction. Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

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  Taken by the Mafia Boss

  Prologue

  The ball bounced off his head and ricocheted toward the tree, rebounding to hit him in the face. The children found it hysterical, their laughter becoming louder and louder as they pointed at Matteo.

  The boy tried to ignore the flush of humiliation burning through his face as he adjusted his glasses and stared at their mocking faces, a familiar sense of anger coursing through his veins.

  “Look!” Carolina yelled, her voice shrill and jesting. “The little stronzo is going to cry!”

  The realization only made the children howl louder, drawing the attention of a nearby teacher, but not before the chanting began.

  “Cry! Cry! Cry!” they chorused and as if on cue, tears of frustration sprang to his dark eyes.

  Don’t let them see you cry! He thought, locking his jaw as if that would stop the onset of saline pooling.

  “What is going on over here?” Signore Cabal demanded, his hands on his hips as he glared at Matteo’s tormentors. He didn’t have to ask—it wouldn’t be the first time he had rescued Matteo from that particular group. Carolina had a particular focus on Matteo, one that had started before the boy could remember.

  “I think Matteo pissed himself,” Cara taunted, extending an index finger toward his crotch. For a horrific second, Matteo felt all eyes on his pants and he found himself wondering if he had, in fact, wet himself.

  “Cara, you’re a cruel and spoiled girl!” Cabal scolded, ushering the mob away from the tormented boy. “Haven’t you anything better to do than bother children half your size?”

  “It’s not my fault!” The redheaded bitch insisted. “If they would put him in the baby class where he belongs, I wouldn’t forget that he’s one of my peers!”

  I’m not one of your peers! Matteo fought the desire to scream at her smug face. I am better than you, no matter how small I am!

  Of course, he said nothing, turning his head away to remove his glasses from smoky grey eyes, blinking madly to reduce the telltale wetness.

  “Off with you!” the teacher snapped. “I will detain the lot of you if I see you near Matteo again.”

  “Ooh!” Simon chanted. “Poor baby Matteo needs his godpapa to save him.”

  “Simon, you will remain after school to clean the classroom!” Signore Cabal hissed. “Now back inside. All of you!”

  There was a grumble of protests but nothing coherent enough to inspire more punishment from the incensed teacher.

  A combination of misgivings and gratitude filled Matteo as he stood, his back to the retreating group.

  “Oh, Matteo,” his godfather sighed. “Why do you let them do this to you?”

  Matteo spun and eyed the man in disbelief.

  “Let them?” he choked, throwing his hands up in frustrated disbelief. “Look at me, Padrino! I’m an easy target!” The small boy shook his head forlornly. “Cara Vinucci has specifically selected me for torture!”

  “No, my boy,” Tomas Cabal sighed. “No one can make you a victim if you do not want to be one.”

  Matteo chewed on the insides of his cheeks, staring bitterly at the grass below him. Toward the schoolhouse, the bell rang, signalling the end of break but Tomas reached out for his godson’s arm.

  “Matteo, you must —”

  “It’s so easy for you!” he cried out, the tears resurfacing before he could stop himself. “You’re strong and big. You probably never had anyone pick on you in your whole life!”

  Tomas sighed and glanced back toward the schoolhouse where the kids had disappeared inside.

  “Come on, Matteo. We’ll talk more tonight at supper,” he promised but Matteo knew his godfather was brushing him off. He stormed past the man, his arms folded over his chest and stumbled over a rock he had not seen.

  Shame stained him as he realized he had forgotten to put his glasses back on his face but he was thankful that Cara and her minions hadn’t been nearby to witness his fall.

  “Here,” Tomas sighed, reaching for the boy, but Matteo leap to his feet with surprising agility and out of his godfather’s reach.

  “No!” he spat, unsure why he was furious with his mother’s brother. There was simply no one else to direct his growing resentment toward.

  He ran off, avoiding the schoolhouse as he bolted down the dirt road toward his house a kilometer away. There was no way he was going back there and no one could make him.

  ~ ~ ~

  He heard the rasping coughs before he ran inside the dilapidated cottage, but too late to stop the door from slamming in his wake.

  “Tomas?” Florentina choked through her spasms of coughs. “Are you home already?”

  “No, Mama, it’s me.”

  The foul mood which had followed him home dissipated, replaced by a deep concern as he ran to his mother’s side. She seemed to have paled to translucency since he’d left for school that morning.

  “Matteo, caro, what are you doing home? Don’t tell me you’re sick!”

  Another round of hacking followed her question and Matteo rushed to get her some water from the tiny kitchen.

  “Mama, you look terrible,” he said, staring at her bloodshot eyes. The cancer had sucked the life out of the once vibrant woman and Matteo felt a pang in his heart as he stared at her wan face, shadowed in sickness.

  “I’m going to get Padrino.”

  “No!” Florentina gasped. “No, you can’t!”

  He stared at her, his gut twisted. He was only eight-years-old. His heart told him to run for help but his loyalty was to his mother.

  “I’m fine, caro,” she insisted, forcing a smile on her weakened face. “I am only having a bad afternoon. Come, sit.”

  Reluctantly, Matteo moved toward her feeble body and perched on the edge of the bed. But his mother was not having the distance between them.
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  “Come and lie with me,” she insisted. Matteo’s mouth quivered but he didn’t dare show her that he was upset. She had endured enough without having to worry about his feelings.

  “Why are you home, Matteo? Has something happened at school?”

  “No, Mama,” he lied quickly. “It was a short day.”

  Florentina chuckled wryly and Matteo held his breath, expecting another spasm of coughs but to his relief, she held her coughs at bay for the moment.

  “Just because I’m sick, doesn’t mean I’m blind, amore mio. I saw the look on your face when you walked in the door.”

  Matteo opened his mouth to deny it but clamped it shut again, knowing that there was no point in arguing.

  “I know it’s been hard on you since your papa left and I got sick,” his mother cooed in his ear. “But you must be strong. Tomas will always be there for you. He will ensure you have a good future when we—”

  “Mama, stop talking like that!” he cried, raising his head from her chest to stare at her, aghast. He hated it when she started getting nostalgic and fatalistic, but she shook her head, cocking it slightly to the side. It was not the first time she had tried to prepare him for her death, but it never got any easier to hear.

  “What?” she demanded, her face puzzled. “I am talking about what happens when we get there, caro. Don’t tell me you’re really that upset about it.”

  He stared at her blankly.

  “Get where?”

  Florentina’s rheumy eyes widened and she nodded understandingly.

  “Ah,” she sighed. “I misunderstood. I thought Tomas had told you and that was why you came home so distraught.”

  “Told me what?” Matteo demanded, his heart in his throat. “What is it, Mama? What did the doctor say?”

  His mind was fearing the worst as he felt the walls of his cottage closing in around him, knowing that he was about to meet with devastating news.

  “We’ll wait until your godfather comes home to talk about it,” Florentina said, but young Matteo knew he couldn’t wait until the end of the school day to learn whatever was going to tear his life apart next.

  “Please!” he begged her. “I can’t wait that long!”

  Florentina smiled weakly and reached for her son, pulling his head back to her bosom to stroke his hair lovingly.

  “I suppose at your age, everything feels like an eternity,” she murmured softly. “I will tell you.”

  He waited as she took a shaky breath.

  “I am on my last days, Matteo. I’ve known that for a long time.”

  “Don’t say that, Mama, please!”

  “Matteo, you need to be brave and listen,” she told him firmly. He squeezed his eyes closed as if that would stop the words from hitting his ears.

  “The oncologist in Siena says that there is a new medical trial which I qualify for.”

  Again, Matteo’s head jerked up.

  “What?”

  She nodded, a light shining in her eyes that he had not seen in a long while.

  “Yes. There is no guarantee that it will work, but—”

  “You have to do it!”

  Florentina laughed and nodded, patting his cheek sweetly.

  “I am doing it, caro, but it means big changes for us.”

  “I don’t care!”

  He meant it. He wouldn’t have cared if he needed to give up his own life. Matteo would have happily given it to his mother if it meant saving her.

  “We are leaving on Saturday,” she explained.

  “Leaving for where?”

  Her smile faded slightly and she lowered her eyes.

  “We are going to America. That’s where the trial is being held.”

  Matteo gasped, looking around the small shack that had always been his home.

  “We’re leaving Italy?”

  “Yes, caro. Will you be all right without your friends?”

  Matteo would have laughed if the situation had not been so dire. What friends did he have? Cara Vinucci had ensured he was an outcast, a pariah. No one dared befriend the nearsighted, tiny Matteo, not if they wanted to stay in the redhead’s good graces.

  Matteo could only nod his head with vehemence.

  “You’re a good boy, Matteo. I don’t know how long we will be there but you must be prepared to start anew in Miami.”

  “Miami.”

  The word rolled off his tongue and the young boy was suddenly filled with images of scantily clad blondes on a white sand beach. He had watched enough American movies to identify with the southern part of the States. It sounded like a dream in that moment, one where his mother would be cured and the sun always shone. Nothing but excitement coursed through Matteo’s veins in those moments.

  “Matteo?”

  He didn’t respond with words, only by throwing his arms around her neck and finally allowing a sob to escape his lips.

  “Don’t cry,” Florentina murmured but Matteo couldn’t help himself.

  “You’re going to be cured!” he sobbed, but even as he spoke the words, Matteo knew there was much more to his overwhelming emotion than the wellbeing of his mother.

  Guilt consumed him as he realized his tears were that of relief and happiness, not only for Florentina, but for himself also. If there was a God in heaven, Matteo would never again have to set eyes upon Cara Vinucci and her posse of hellions.

  Mama will be cured and I will be free. We will live on a beach where the sun never sets and everything will be okay!

  How idealistic he was, how full of hope for the future.

  Of course, Matteo had been far too innocent to understand at the time that there were no miracles in life, that everything had its price.

  But he would learn.

  Chapter One

  The thud was sickening, even to his seasoned ears but Matteo maintained the stoic expression on his face. He stared at the bloodied face of his bound captive and sighed as if the beating was causing him greater pain than what his victim was enduring.

  “Where is it, Bucky?” he asked, his voice monotonous. “This can all end if you just tell me where she took the goods.”

  “I swear to God, Matt! I have no idea where she put it. That puttana screwed me too!”

  Without warning, another punch rendered the man unconscious and Matteo scowled at Federico.

  “Come on, stronzo!” he growled, delivering a smack to the henchman’s hard head. “What the fuck good is he going to do me if he’s out? Use that meathead of yours once in a while.”

  Freddy reeled back, touching his hand to his ear in shock and Matteo rolled his eyes heavenward at the man’s flair for the dramatic.

  “Stay with him until he comes to,” the capo barked, spinning on the sole of his shoe to leave the men alone in the basement. “I’ve had to sit out three rounds because of this bullshit.”

  “I’m sorry, Matt,” the soldier muttered, embarrassment in his face. “I wouldn’t have called you if it didn’t come from the Don himself.”

  “Yeah, well, a lot of good I’m doing here now, aren’t I? Just text me when he wakes up. Who the fuck trusted this porca guida with that much product?”

  “I don’t think he knew anything about what Brandy was planning,” Freddy offered, and Matteo resisted the urge to smack him again.

  It was a moot point. Bucky’s new girlfriend had lifted two kilos of heroin and disappeared into the night without a trace. It didn’t matter if the associate knew about the bitch’s intentions or not—the stuff needed to be reclaimed.

  “I don’t remember asking you for your psychological assessment on the matter,” he barked back. “Just fucking do what you’re told.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Matteo grunted and took the steps back up the stairs two at a time, grinding his teeth together as he moved.

  He wasn’t kidding; he loathed sitting out on poker night. He shouldn’t have to, not when he was so damned good at the game.

  “How’s it going down there?” Ariano snickered,
noting the scowl on Matteo’s face.

  “Shut up and deal,” Matteo growled, folding his muscular build into a chair. He leaned his broad chest over the gaming table and glowered at his acquaintances.

  “I swear, they just get stupider and stupider with every hire,” he muttered, shaking his dark blonde hair with disgust. “That’s what we get for bringing in these westernized millennials and not recruiting from the old country.”

  Tomas scoffed at him.

  “Matt, you weren’t even ten years old when you came here,” he reminded his godson with a chuckle. “Don’t talk like you’re some kind of tenth generation familia.”

  “There is no such thing as tenth generation familia,” Matteo muttered, but he stopped whining about the inept job of his soldiers. Even though the event was casual, talking shit about his own men among the others showed bad leadership. He knew his godfather had spoken to remind him of that.

  Ariano continued to dole out the hand but before anyone could speak, Lucia appeared. Gracefully, Matteo was on his feet, some old-world chivalry forcing him to stand every time a woman entered the room and as always, the men snorted.

  “Jesus Christ, Matteo, sit the fuck down,” Angelo snapped, his face flushing crimson as Lucia placed a fresh tray of snacks on the sideboard. “You’re making me look bad.”

  “You make yourself look bad,” Ariano chimed in, eyeing the fat, balding man with affection. “Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately?” The other men chuckled at Angelo’s expense.

  Matteo took his seat again and Lucia smiled warmly at him, her eyes crinkling in the corners.

  “I think it’s nice to have a gentleman among us,” she replied, bowing her greying hair at him. “I wish I had a granddaughter for you, Matteo. You’re going to make a good husband one day.”

  The men whooped at the idea but the capo ignored them.

  “Can you imagine, Angelo? Having Matt in the family?”