Stealing Her Heart: Dark Hearts 2, page 1
Stealing Her Heart by Dee Ellis
© 2024 by Dee Ellis. All rights reserved.
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Cover Design: Matilda Martel
Interior Formatting: Dee Ellis
Publisher: Hummingbird Press
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Hi Reader!
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
Epilogue
Thank You for Reading!
Dark Heart Series 2
About Dee Ellis
Chapter One
Gabriel
Nothing stains the same as blood.
Wiping smears of it on the expensive pocket square from my suit, I sigh. This will never come out. Glancing down at the huddle man at my feet, I want to laugh. It is not a normal response, but there is little normal about me or the life that I lead. This man’s fingers lay scattered on the damp ground between us, his blood a crimson pool.
“Warned you once, Flavio. Said if you were caught counting cards again, I would take something from you. Get out of my sight before I decide you owe me more than your fingers.”
Whimpering, he nods as he scrambles to his feet and turns to run. I wipe as much blood off my hands as I can with the pocket square, tossing it on the ground with his fingers. Dario, my consigliere, my second in command, scoops the fingers up in the bloody silk, laughing about how Flavio won’t be able to play cards one handed.
We’ve got to find some levity somewhere. Thinking about a one-handed thief playing cards at our back-room casinos is funny. Primo, my enforcer, laughs too, shaking his head as Dario passes him the fingers. They joke about Flavio getting a claw to replace his hand or some stupid prosthetic.
What we do, the world we live in, there is rarely a moment for laughter or lightness. Our world is dark. We were all born into chaos we had to learn to maneuver if we wanted to survive. It is not a life for everyone. It is violent, dangerous, and it can be pretty damn lonely.
Brushing off that odd burn in my chest when I think of loneliness, I stiffen my spine as I square my shoulders. I am not allowed to complain. To question what we do or how we do it. Taking over the Capelli family after my father was murdered meant I had to prove myself as a man who could lead, who could decimate enemies, and who would never turn on any of the other five families.
“Come on, boss,” Dario calls, leading the way to my waiting car. “We still need to show up at that party for Marconi. That engagement thing.”
Rolling my eyes, I nod. Being a boss means a lot of shaking hands and showing up. Weddings, funerals, baptisms, even confirmation. We’re expected to show up at these celebrations as if we have something to celebrate. That might be the funniest thing about our lives.
We claim to be so God fearing, so close to our Catholic roots. It’s a bunch of bullshit. We’re killers, thieves, wretched men who go to church and say the lord's prayer after we’ve cut off a man’s hand or put a bullet in someone’s head. How is that for something to laugh about?
“Who is engaged again?” I mutter as I stretch out in the large SUV.
“Marconi’s youngest boy is getting hitched to the Bianchi girl.”
Shrugging because I know little about either people he mentioned, I light up a cigar. We will make an appearance as we’re expected to. I will shove some cash in this Bianchi girls’ hand, giving her and Marconi my best wishes. That ought to be good enough.
Once I have done my part, I am out of there. I hate these stupid parties for nothing. Who cares that one of the capo’s sons is getting hitched? Most of these marriages were set up before the bride or groom was born. I refused to let my father do that shit to me.
Marriage, a wife, kids—none of that is for me.
Breathing in the sweet smoke of my cigar, I smile. No, I have no plans to take a bride or have kids. It is what is expected of us to continue our bloodlines. To keep the Capelli men in power. If you ask me, we’ve spent enough time in power. Let someone else take the reins after I am gone.
Any of my men would do a fine job. Dario or Primo would make good capos. Better than me if I am being honest. I stopped caring about this world, about the dirty deals, the filthy money, and all the damn death a long time ago. It might be all I know, but that ain’t a good thing. It ain’t something I am proud of. I can be a proud man without being proud of what I do.
“Rumor has it this Bianchi girl is not thrilled about being promised to Marconi. Guess he’s been a creep towards her long before she was legal.”
Brow shooting up, I shoot a sidelong look at my second. Dario is more than my consigliere. He is my best friend, and knows all the little things, like this detail, about all five families. He keeps his ear to the street to protect us. Nothing better than knowing your enemies’ weaknesses.
“Is that right? Could she refuse to go through with it?”
“I mean, she could. Her father owes Marconi, so he won’t allow it.”
“He owes Marconi, so he hands over his daughter?”
“Seems that way. His only daughter too.”
“Always suspected Bianchi was a fucking loser. Trading his daughter to get out from under Marconi is a bullshit move. Why does he owe?”
“Marconi financed his attempt to become mayor. Remember that?”
Laughing as I suck on my cigar, I nod. Oh, yes, I do recall that. Seeing one of our own people trying to run for office was pathetic. Ceasar Bianchi is a low-level soldier who barely earned for his capo. Running for office for his borough of Silver Shores was his attempt to make something of himself.
It failed of course. People might be willing to vote for a known criminal—but not one who can’t even do that well. I had no idea Marconi backed his stupid ploy. More proof he was good at one thing: making bad decisions.
“Bartered a debt with his daughter. That is brutal. No wonder the rumors have been going ‘round. I wouldn’t take to kindly to being sold off either.”
Puffing at my cigar, I start thinking about the Bianchi girl. I am sure I have met her before, but hell if I can recall her. Most of the five families have dozens of soldiers, enforcers, and capo’s, which means hundreds of people I have encountered. Very few of them made much of an impression.
Pulling up outside Marconi’s gaudy mansion, I finish my cigar deep in thought. What kind of a man is Bianchi to give up his daughter this way? What sort of man is Marconi to accept it? If you ask me, they’re not men at all. All of us do dark stuff. We steal, we maim, we kill—but we’ve never trafficked anyone or allowed the women in our families to be hurt.
“Get me a few minutes with the Bianchi girl,” I tell Dario, noting how his brow furrows. “I need just a moment alone with her.”
“Whatever you want, Gabriel. I will get her away from her future husband long enough to let you two talk.”
Nodding, I step out of the car, unsure why this is so important to me. I cannot explain it, but I do not want to leave this stupid shindig without seeing her. I have no idea what I am looking for or what I expect. I assume once I see her, I will know what it is I am looking for.
Inside the house handfuls of people fill the rooms, talking, drinking, some laughing or even arguing. All par for the course at these gatherings. Food lines a long, wide table in the main room. Rolled meats, cuts of cheeses, nutty olives and chocolates. Typical fare for an Italian celebration.
“Go find her while I find Marconi to give my well wishes.”
“You got it, boss,” Dario nods, weaving through the crowd.
Something has me on edge. Not just that I hate coming to these things. Or even that I never cared for Marconi or Bianchi. They both came up long before I was around and are stuck in some of the old ways. Such as this bullshit arranged marriage. Most of the families have stopped doing this sort of thing. Hell, the Orsini's have a woman capo, one bad-ass broad who no one crosses in her borough.
Pulling another cigar out of my inside pocket, I flick open the gold lighter my father gave me. It has our last name engraved on it, but it is a lot more than just a trinket. My father was not a good man but amongst the worst of the worst, he was the best man I knew. Smoked my first cigar with him when I was sixteen, and he lit it with this very lighter.
Lost in thought, I don’t notice her at first. Well, not the way you usually notice someone enter a room. No, when she steps into the room where other capos and criminals stand, the air shifts. It smells of whisky and smoke until the air carries her sweet strawberry fragrance with it.
I am not sure what I expected when I told Dario I needed to speak with her. I have no right. I am not her fiancé and our families do not mingle. I know her father, but I have never met her. I told myself earlier I must have, but now I am convinced otherwise.
No way in hell could I forget the goddess that is Gianna Bianchi.
“Here she is,” Dario announces, as if he would be bringing me anyone else but the new bride.
New bride. My gaze drops to her hand where I expect to see a garish ring. An ugly ring of gold and emerald sits there but it does not suit her. I can tell by the way she spins it anxiously that she rather not be wearing it. Good. There is still time. Time for what? Not sure. All I know is the second I set sights on Gianna, I declare no other man will ever have her.
Dark hair billows down her back, pulled away from her face on one side. I imagine it is silky, and it must smell of strawberries. Everyone is dressed to kill in suits and satin dresses. Not Gianna. No, she has on a bright pink party dress that makes her look like a beautiful little princess.
Stunning gray eyes stare up at me and I can’t help but note the flecks of blue in them. I wonder how they would look in the darkness, how they would shine in the sunlight. My gaze drops to her mouth, a full, round pink mouth. Her golden skin is flawless. No makeup, nothing overdone or calling for attention. Yet, once you look at her, you cannot look away.
“Mr. Capelli,” she mutters as I am sure she has been trained to do.
“Gianna,” I call her name, watching those gray eyes flicker. Oh, yes, this is good. It is not just me lost in this moment. She is there with me.
“I... I am not supposed to talk to anyone else. Just my...well...I mean...my fiancé. He won’t let me talk to another man, if I am not back to him….”
“He will do nothing,” I cut her off with a promise, my voice sharp. “No one will do a damn thing to you for talking to me, princess.”
A flush overtakes her face and makes her even more beautiful somehow. I am mystified as I stand here gazing down at her. There are a dozen others in the room, but they fade to nothing. I take her hand, bringing it to my lips to kiss it gently. Gianna exhales, her chest rising and falling fast, but she makes no move to take her hand back.
“My father said...he said I had to behave tonight. I have never been very good at that,” she whispers this to me, as if we’re sharing a secret.
Suddenly, all I can think about is sharing secrets with her. Having her in the darkness of my bedroom, whispering all her dreams, all her fantasies to me. I want to know them all. I want to make them all come true. I want to know every thought going on in her pretty head. And I want to protect her from her father and the fiancé, both of whom do not deserve her.
“Is that so? You tend to misbehave, do you?”
Flushed again, she nods, glancing back and forth before smiling up at me. “Yes. He says I am a nuisance. Always asking questions, wanting to know things I shouldn’t. I suppose it is why he wants me to get married. Hand his trouble off to someone else.”
This strikes a chord in me as I lead her from the room, heading for wide French doors that lead outside. I am breaking about a dozen rules for her. Not that I care. I am a mafia capo, after all, why the hell should I care about rules? Rules should be broken, and I am in the business of breaking things.
Outside it is a crisp, clear night with a blanket of stars in the navy skies overhead. We step out onto a stone patio circled by thick bushes. It is a fine place to hide from everyone else. I watch her circle the space, her fingertips walking over the marble wall before she sighs and leans back against the stone with a defeated sigh.
“Something tells me you’re not pleased about the coming nuptials.”
Gianna bows her head shamefully. I hate it. There is nothing for her to be ashamed of. This is all other men’s doing. For most of my life, these men have controlled the women in their families with brutal iron fists. I swore I would never be that kind of man. I swore I would never turn a blind eye to someone else being that sort of man either.
“No, I am not pleased. We’re told from the time we little girls to have dreams. To want big things. Until we’re told our dreams have to fit inside small spaces that they create for us.”
Stunned by her insight, by the strength in her voice, I realize why I wanted to talk to her. Gianna is not the first woman promised to a man to pay a debt or create a truce. I cannot make it, so she is the last. What I can do, what I will do, is give her a choice. I am not against breaking rules, as I said.
“Tell me one of your dreams, Gianna,” I tell her gently, coming up behind her as she turns to stare out over the lake below.
Standing close behind her, I feel the warmth of her thighs, the softness of her backside. I can smell her sweet strawberry scent. I am addicted to it now, and I make a mental note to fill my penthouse with plenty of strawberry scented things. Until I can get her there, I will need it to get me by.
“I....well I have never said it out loud. I want to get drunk at the Lampshade. Just once. Listen to bad music, eat peanuts and drink beer.”
Smiling, I nod my head. I can make that happen. I can make anything she wants happen. Unable to stop myself, I drop my hands to her hips. For a moment, I consider how dangerous this is. If we’re caught together, it could cause a war between two of the five families. As she presses back against me, letting out a dreamy little sigh, I decide something.
Any war would be worth it if she is what I am fighting for.
“I will take you there someday. Go inside, princess. Behave for tonight. You can do that, for me, can’t you?”
Gianna turns just enough to gaze up at me. My hands tighten on her wide hips to yank her back against me. Slowly, she nods. My chest aches as my heart swells. In the span of a few moments, my entire mindset has changed. All I can think about is taking care of her, protecting her, giving her anything that she wants.
“Goodnight, princess,” I call as I watch her head inside.
“Goodnight, Gabriel.”
Those words stay with me for the rest of the night. I hear them over and over. As I make small talk with the other capos, I hear her voice. As I talk with her fiancé and deem him absolutely unworthy of her, I hear that sweet voice calling my name.
Whoever I was before, whatever vows I made as a capo, none of that matters now. Nothing but Gianna matters. My whole world narrows down to one thing and one thing only.
Claiming my princess before someone else beats me to it.
Chapter Two
Gianna
Being an afterthought is kind of my thing.
My mother barely remembers she has a daughter. Not when she is too busy banging the pool guy, the gardener, and her security. Father doesn’t care because he married her for one reason: to create an alliance with her father. Too bad he had no idea her father had long ago burnt his bridges and had alliances with no one.
My father almost forgot about me entirely. Until I was useful. Once his creepy boss from the waste disposal company set his sights on me, it was over. They started talking about weddings and agreements I have had no say in. It is not uncommon for marriages to be arranged in our world. I thought perhaps I would escape that fate, but it seems my father has other thoughts.
“Behave tonight. You must make a good impression on him.”
“Well, being as he wants to marry me without us ever speaking, I assume I made all the impression I need to.”
“Do not make a fool out of me, Gianna!”
Cowering under his shout, under his glowering look, I nod. I do not want to get married. Least of all to one of the men in the five families. Marconi is a spoiled brat who wants me just because he thinks he can have me. We’ve never spoken more than a hello. We know nothing about each other. All he cares about is how I fill out a dress and how docile I will be.
Newsflash: docile is not a word ever used to describe me.
Take for instance tonight’s affair. It is black tie as these stupid engagement parties often are. Black or white dresses for the women and dark suits for the men. I bypass the handful of dresses my mother set out for me. I choose a bright, pink, sparkling number that I have no other excuse to wear.
