Ricca (In Loyalty Lies Trust) Read online

  Ricca (In Loyalty Lies Trust)

  By Esther E. Schmidt

  Copyright © 2018 by Esther E. Schmidt All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Incidents, names, places, characters and other stuff mentioned in this book is the results of the author’s imagination. Ricca is a work of fiction. If there is any resemblance, it is entirely coincidental.

  This content is for mature audiences only. Please do not read if sexual situations, violence and explicit language offends you.

  Synopsis

  Chiara was raised into the mafia world the hard way. Enduring the assault at the hands of her father until she was kidnapped and forced to marry a mob boss. One she’s sure is even worse than her father.

  Ricca never backs away from a challenge. When the woman he kidnapped sneers he would never own her, he’s more than happy to prove her wrong. It doesn’t matter he is being forced into this marriage by The Syndicate, to cover-up the kidnapping.

  An enemy is forging a plan to take Ricca down. Can a marriage, even one forced by the decision of others, turn into a solid band of trust, loyalty, and eventually love? Or will either one—or their enemy—rip out their heart to stop it from beating? Dive into this Mafia Romance where the value of human life is worth less than loyalty.

  Cover design by:

  Esther E. Schmidt

  Editor #1:

  Christi Durbin

  Editor #2:

  Virginia Tesi Carey

  Cover Model:

  Jay Piggin

  jaypiggin.com.au

  Photographer:

  Ritchie Duce of Level Eleven Photography

  level11photography.com.au

  Dedication

  EHP, this one’s for you.

  Table of contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue ~ Eight years later.

  Chapter One

  We’re not allowed to play.

  ***Ricca***

  I pour myself a few fingers of whiskey and gulp it down, enjoying the feel of the burn sliding down my throat. Just what I fucking need to pull me through an already screwed up day.

  “Fuck toy, trophy wife, prisoner up in the glass tower, what did you have in mind for her? Have you labeled her yet? I know how your mind works, tell us already, what’s she gonna be, boss?” Armino asks, while Fausto and Ernesto are trying their best not to laugh. Fuckers.

  “None of the above,” I state. “I don’t have to explain to you guys how this marriage was a necessity. I didn’t have a fucking choice. But to be honest, in the end it did result in a nice solution since it’s a boost for both our companies. Like me, she didn’t have a choice in this either. My wife, Chiara, will be living here permanently and I don’t want any of you to be disrespectful to her. Unless of course she turns out to be disloyal, then we all shall act accordingly. Till it happens though, she’s going to be treated with respect.”

  Did I forget to mention my day is screwed up because it’s my fucking wedding day? And yes, I am aware I said ‘till it happens’ since life and people have the tendency to screw you over. Besides, as I mentioned, it’s not like we’re in love or will have a normal marriage.

  “Ah, you mean living here under different circumstances? Since, you know...you had her kidnapped and stashed away in your bedroom before you accepted The Syndicate’s deal—demand, whatever—to take her on as your wife.” Fausto chuckles. “Screwed up technicalities, my man. I think her attitude won’t flip quite the same way. Though ninety-nine percent of all marriages are arranged in our lifestyle, kidnapping then forcing someone into marriage ain’t in your cock’s best interest...if you know what I mean.” He gives me an appreciative grin and adds, “But, I have to say the woman can school her features like a killer pro. The way she’s working the room tonight—playing the stunningly happy bride—is sending chills up my spine. I think I won’t have any difficulties with respecting her. She fucking scares me a tiny bit.”

  I groan inwardly. Fausto isn’t kidding and it has me pouring myself a second glass of whiskey and downing it again in one go. My wife—who I’ve only talked to a handful of times before our wedding day—is a closed book I can’t wait to spread open and read every single letter. Though I have no clue what genre she is, so to say.

  I can’t get a read on her because like Fausto mentioned, I had her kidnapped because her father killed a few of our men. I took her as a precaution to have leverage, make a stand so the fucker knows I won’t take shit. Below the belt? Sure, but we’re the fucking mob. We have no morals when it comes to striking the enemy where they will feel it the hardest. If needed, I would have sliced her damn throat right before her father’s eyes. I don’t care—to the outside world, I have no heart—it’s who I am.

  I didn’t have the right to kidnap her at the time. When it comes to striking back one should inform The Syndicate first. They are the neutral ground who keep an eye on key players in the mafia world. The Syndicate made me take Chiara as my wife to cover up the kidnapping. Right next to the pressure coming from different sides I might add.

  My age, the way I’ve been alone without one move toward taking a wife, old bastards in our world don’t approve and see it as a weakness. Multiply and raise strong sons and all the bullshit that goes with their train of thought. But I mainly agreed because the bitch coldly stated no one would ever own her.

  Not a surprising statement after you’ve been kidnapped, but still. Chiara even vividly described how she would carve up my body and feed it to her father’s dogs when the opportunity arose. Her Italian temperament flared up and yet was only visible in the heat of her eyes and the sharpness of her tongue; she was as contained as a trained killer. I took it as a personal challenge, one I couldn’t pass up.

  She intrigued me. And as the boss I have certain obligations. Most of all? I ain’t getting any younger and like I mentioned...there are already rumors about the fact I haven’t settled down yet. I have a status to uphold and no other woman spiked my interest until now.

  Can I also add the fact she inherited her father’s companies which are a perfect addition to mine? That’s where the vendetta started in the first place. Her father, Esposito, wanted my sister as a wife to obtain an open link between our two families and combine our companies.

  Seeing my sister was already spoken for—without her consent because, as Fausto mentioned, that’s how it goes with mafia women—he tried to slaughter my men to get his way. Wrong. Fucking. Move. Esposito ended up dead, and I ended up with a wife and his companies. Not his dogs though, no fucking way will I bring those into my house when my wife obviously intended to feed me to them in pieces. I might be a crazy fucker, but I’m certainly not an idiot who leaves options open, if you understand what I’m sayin’.

  Ernesto slaps Fausto against his chest. “Give the man a few days to adjust to his wife. The wedding night is still to come. Hey, there will be a wedding night, right? Because you’re here with us, not getting hot and naked between the sheets.”

  “I’d rather spend the damn night in the basement,” I grumble.

  “Hey, if we’re not allowed to play, you’re not allowed to play. You’re not playing, are you?” Fausto questions.

  These three are the ones who keep me sane, though I doubt their sanity from time to time. We’ve been together ever since we were able to walk. Hell, we went on a killing spree the night my parents were murdered and I became one of the youngest bosses in history. Of course, I made my three oldest, and most loyal friends, a part of it.

  Fausto is the Underboss, he’ll step in without thinking if something needs to be handled when I’m not around. We all have the same mindset and sometimes it’s as if we don’t need words to agree about things. We all think alike and handle it with the same ferocity.

  Hence the reason Armino is my Consigliere. He’s the one with the cool head, thinking things through and on top of that, he’s a brilliant negotiator. He’ll give you advice whether you want it or not, always has been an annoying fucker, but I guess he’s serving his purpose in our fucked up life.

  Ernesto is one of my Capos, though he balances all of us. We’re a team—always have been—no matter our titles or fucking ranks. It’s only natural to demand loyalty from every single one who’s a part of my circle, but these three guys—and only with these three guys—we all share a blind trust.

  “He’s not playing,” Ernesto sighs. “He’ll go back to the guests, plaster one of his creepy smiles on his face, work the room for two hours, before it’s time for the guests to leave. Then he can take his bride for a spin or handle the idiot in the basement. His choice. And do I need to remind you we have to discuss the ripple effect killing the idiot in the basement will cause?”

  I groan and throw back another shot of whiskey. “I’m off to work the room. We will discuss the fallout tomorrow.”

  I really don’t want to think about the fucker locked up in the basement. He’s the son of one of
my Capos who has been altering the books for his own personal gain. I don’t play around. You steal from me and I catch you doing so? You’re a dead man. No second chances because people always fuck up and in my line of work this means an opening to shove a knife in my back.

  Though like I said, the idiot is the son of one of my Capos. This won’t go over easy and yet they are all aware of my ways of keeping people accountable. Every district in my territory has their own Capo. And yet it doesn’t matter if he’s in charge of a whole fucking district, they answer to me or to Fausto. And surprise, fucking surprise, Vittorio Mazza didn’t report his son, Mattia. Fuck no, Ernesto did.

  Ernesto might be a Capo himself—and the youngest out of the four of us—but his eyes and ears are everywhere. When Ernesto came to me with the news Mattia had been scamming the books for over five months now it hit damn hard. I wanted to get in my car and hunt the idiot down myself but I was already in my damn tux, an hour away from getting married.

  I didn’t have to hunt the fucker down myself, obviously, because Ernesto already discussed it with Fausto and Armino who sent two soldiers to bring him in. Mattia was in my basement at the same time I was voicing my damn wedding vows. See why I’m gulping down whiskey to take away the edge?

  “Mattia is tied to a chair in a locked room, he’s cozy enough for the night. Let’s show some face and get all the people the fuck out of the mansion so we can take it easy till morning. That way we will be fresh and wide awake, ready for hours of torture,” Armino reasons.

  “Fucking dandy,” Fausto chuckles in agreement.

  I set my glass a little too hard on my desk, prompting all eyes in the room to snap toward me.

  “Let’s do this,” I growl.

  “Dude.” Ernesto shakes his head. “Lighten up, it’s your wedding day.”

  I shoot him a glare and his fucking mouth twitches in return but he doesn’t say anything else. They all stroll out of the room in front of me so I can lock up my office and we all head for the ballroom. Normally it’s divided into two rooms but for some occasions I turn it into one large room where we can shift the tables along the walls and have a huge dancefloor in the center.

  Glancing around, my eyes find Chiara first. I fucking hate her name. Don’t ask me why, I don’t have a clue. Maybe it just aggravates me or I think it doesn’t suit her at all. Even if the meaning suits her, fucking shiniest person in the room, she’s gorgeous and radiates pure light. It’s as if she feels my presence since her head turns immediately and our gazes lock.

  Even this rubs me the wrong way. It gives me a feeling of unease, throws me off my game the way she draws my attention and how she makes my body react. Dismissing her, my next target is Vittorio Mazza. The fucker has a drink in hand and a smile on his fucking face as if there’s not a damn thing wrong. If he only knew I have his son in the basement ready to die bright and early tomorrow morning.

  “Riccardo,” a nasal voice whines from my left.

  The sound of my full name makes me want to palm my knife and carve out the vocal cords of the one who dares to call me by that name.

  Ernesto leans in next to my ear and whispers, “Take a breath, dude. It’s Cristiana, Vittorio Mazza’s daughter. Don’t draw attention we don’t need right now.”

  Fuck. He’s always the voice of reason. My hand falls away from my belt. Hell, yes, I was going for my knife. I’ve mentioned the fact I don’t care and have no heart, right? Even now, during my wedding reception.

  I’m dead set on killing her brother, and might have to add her, and her father, to the list too. Shit. Maybe it’s better to wipe out the entire family, and those who support their fucking mindset. It would resolve a whole-fucking-lot to make it a package deal.

  “Not. Killing. Anyone. Tonight,” Ernesto snaps in my ear at a low volume.

  “It’s a damn shame,” I mutter.

  Ernesto chuckles but doesn’t leave my side, probably to make sure I don’t change my mind.

  “Riccardo.”

  And my hand is heading toward my knife again.

  “I have to make you aware...you made the wrong decision, baby. Oh,” Cristiana giggles, “you always make the right decisions, don’t get me wrong, but this time you did by picking the wrong woman.”

  A growl rumbles deep in my chest and I’m about to grab her jaw in a tight grip and get right in her face and tell her to fucking die or get the hell away from me—I’m fine either way—before I help her achieve my wish, but Ernesto interferes.

  “Be nice.” Again, with the damn whisper.

  Cristiana is oblivious to my plan to plunge my knife into her and carve her up into pieces—along with the rest of her family—while my mind now jumps to regrets of not taking in those dogs my newly acquired wife was talking about. Maybe I need to get me some dogs, new ones so I can train them to hate my wife. You know, out of precaution, then she won’t be able to feed me to them.

  “It might be too late now to take me as your wife.” Cristiana slides a manicured hand up and down my chest and I’m actually itching for her to come closer; easier to plunge my knife into her. The blood would certainly match those red painted nails of her. “Maybe I could be your mistress or we could get rid of,”

  Cristiana is shoved away from me before I can so much as blink. Chiara is standing next to me where Ernesto was a moment ago. My Capo is now standing to the side with his arms crossed in front of his chest and a huge grin on his face. Fucker. I was wrapped inside my head with killing plans, I bet he saw Chiara coming from afar.

  “My husband doesn’t have the time nor the energy to take a mistress. Certainly not one who spreads her legs for any soldier who trips easily with their dick in hand. Run along, Cristiana, and remember my words or I will have your father removed from his position. Clear?” Chiara’s voice is steady and makes my blood pressure rise to a whole new level.

  Chiara is right about Cristiana spreading her legs for anyone. Her husband died months ago and she’s been riding the wave of mourning a whole different way. Or catching up on what she missed, jumping from cock to cock, seeing Vittorio Mazza picked a husband for her who was almost sixty when they got married. The fucker probably wanted something from the old man and pawned his daughter out to get it.

  Cristiana’s face turns red. “You can’t do that,” she seethes and fuck, heads are starting to turn our direction.

  “Ah, but Cristiana,” I rumble and let my arm slide around Chiara’s waist—bad fucking move with her two-piece wedding dress, allowing me to touch her bare skin—while I pull her close, “as my wife she most certainly can advise me to do so.”

  Since this whole fucking day has been one puppet show and my newly found wife doesn’t even like me, to put it lightly, I let my nose run up Chiara’s neck while more words flow automatically. “Am I right, Stellina?”

  Stellina—little star—sounds way better than Chiara. I feel her stiffen for one breath before my wife turns to me and gives me a smile so damn bright, it can light up any dark sky no matter how fucking cloudy it is.

  I actually have to swallow due to the dryness in my throat while I keep staring at her mouth. The whole room can burn down for all I care. Not very smart to block out every single one, yet it’s something I can afford to do when I know my three trusted guys always have my back no matter what. All I have eyes for is her; Stellina.

  It’s as if I’m seeing her in a whole new light. Chiara. Fuck. Even her name holds the very meaning, such a bright and clear radiation of light. Maybe that’s the reason my mind jumped to calling her Stellina. Knowing this, I kinda have to admit the name Chiara is growing on me. Doesn’t matter, what does is the fact she’s standing her ground, lashing out even when it comes to protecting what’s hers; me. It’s kinda shocking since I fucking kidnapped her and we were forced to marry right after.

  Shit. I hate unpredictable elements, even more when it involves a person I don’t fucking trust and need to have living with me twenty-four-seven. And yet the feel of her delicate skin underneath my fingers spreads heat added with an electric current humming through my veins. Suddenly I’m looking forward to my wedding night. I’m dying to feel that shit lighting up my cock.

  I wonder if she’d let me take what’s mine or if she will fight me every step of the way. Though I’m actually hoping she’ll fight me. Just the mere thought makes me harder. I’m dying to know if my Stellina will be unpredictable between the sheets. Feisty, challenging, just like she was just now. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.