Mafia Heir

Chapter 2

Luca

All I had wanted was for them to bring home my jacket. After the artist had spilled her wine all over me, I left it sitting on a cocktail table and had walked out without it. I could have just left it, but it was a Brioni and one of my favorite coats. So I had sent Angelo, Marco and Carlo to get it for me, and instead of coming back with the jacket, they came back with an unconscious and beaten woman, a harrowing story of an altercation with one of our rival's men, and no goddamn jacket.

Dios mio, I should have just cut my losses on that one and had them stay home.

Even in her bruised and bloody state, I recognized the unconscious girl as the artist from the gallery—the one whose painting I had bought. She had a nasty gash on her forehead and I could tell by the patterned imprint it came from the butt of a gun. Her dark chocolate hair was matted with dried blood, and the lacy black dress she was wearing had been torn in several places. It was clear what my men had walked in on. Not only did Silvano's foot soldiers intend to kidnap her, they were about to assault her as well. And if my men hadn't gotten there right when they had, they might have succeeded.

I was intrigued by her earlier in the evening, but even more so now that she was lying on my couch, recovering from a mafia hit, and I didn't have the slightest clue who she was or how she got herself tangled up in Silvano's web. The only logical explanation was that she was working with him. It's the only thing that made sense. She had to be one of his women. Maybe that was why he was there tonight. Maybe he had gotten wind of our intentions to use the gallery as a shipping site and wanted to beat us to it. Maybe this girl got in their way, and he intended to make her pay for it with her life.

I rubbed my temples, turning my attention away from the girl laid out on my couch, and toward the fucking three stooges standing in front of me. Part of me was irritated that they intervened, but by the looks of the woman, they had no choice. They looked a little worse for the wear themselves, which meant the fight at the gallery had been a doozy. Angelo had a nice shiner forming underneath his right eye, and Marco's lip was swollen and bloody, but they were more unnerved than anything. For the most part, they were okay, and no one had been hit, which was lucky for Silvano. If one of my men had been severely injured, we'd be in a very different position right now—ready to launch an all-out war.

Silvano was the head of the Marquis family, and what he wanted with a tiny gallery in Manhattan was beyond me. He had ruled over the syndicate for years, but he was an adequate leader at best. His group had been no match for our ranks, but he certainly liked to be a constant thorn in my side. Never a genuine threat, but always an annoyance. They were traffickers, the very Scum of the Earth in my line of work, and I had been itching for the right circumstance to eradicate him for the last few months. This would have given me my opening, and I was almost disappointed.

I paced back and forth in front of them, trying to figure out what to do. Their prints would be all over that gallery, not to mention a slug from Marco's gun inside a dead body. It wouldn't be traceable, but it still was a risk. Still, the cops were the least of my worries. I had one of Silvano's workers in my bedroom, three more of his dead soldiers currently being disposed of, and there was no doubt he'd be crafting his vengeance. I needed answers. "Someone better start explaining."

Angelo, my second in command, spoke first.

"We went back for the jacket. The front door was unlocked, and we heard a woman screaming. When I got inside, one of Silvano's men was crouching down on top of her, and she was fighting and struggling against him. He ripped her dress nearly off and pistol whipped her so bad blood was already pooling around her head. I told the bastard to get off of her, but he didn't listen. He recognized us, knew exactly who we were. They would have killed her just to spite us."