Mafia And Maid: A Mafia Romance, page 1
MAFIA AND MAID
ISA OLIVER
Contents
Copyrights
1. DEDICATION
2. AUTHOR’S NOTE
3. SPOILERS - CONTENT NOTE
4. FAMILIES
5. FACEBOOK GROUP AND ARCS
6. PROLOGUE
7. CHAPTER 1
8. CHAPTER 2
9. CHAPTER 3
10. CHAPTER 4
11. CHAPTER 5
12. CHAPTER 6
13. CHAPTER 7
14. CHAPTER 8
15. CHAPTER 9
16. CHAPTER 10
17. CHAPTER 11
18. CHAPTER 12
19. CHAPTER 13
20. CHAPTER 14
21. CHAPTER 15
22. CHAPTER 16
23. CHAPTER 17
24. CHAPTER 18
25. CHAPTER 19
26. CHAPTER 20
27. CHAPTER 21
28. CHAPTER 22
29. CHAPTER 23
30. CHAPTER 24
31. CHAPTER 25
32. CHAPTER 26
33. CHAPTER 27
34. CHAPTER 28
35. CHAPTER 29
36. CHAPTER 30
37. CHAPTER 31
38. CHAPTER 32
39. CHAPTER 33
40. CHAPTER 34
41. CHAPTER 35
42. CHAPTER 36
43. CHAPTER 37
44. CHAPTER 38
45. CHAPTER 39
46. CHAPTER 40
47. CHAPTER 41
48. CHAPTER 42
49. CHAPTER 43
50. CHAPTER 44
51. CHAPTER 45
52. EPILOGUE
53. SNEAK PEEK
Copyright © 2024 by Isa Oliver and IOCP Ltd. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.K. copyright law. A mafia-lite romance. Tropes and themes: single mom romance; mafia curvy romance books; mafia romance books; mafia romance forced proximity; mafia romance standalone novel; mafia romance HEA; mafia romance Italian; curvy girl mafia romance books.
DEDICATION
For all the girlies who want a man to fall to his knees for her…
And I'll let you imagine what he does next…
Acknowledgements: Thank you so much to Miha, Zui, the Angels, Hope, Amy and Amanda and their awesome team, and the amazing Jo for all your help and support. I love you guys! And thank you to the very special S7 girls and guys. You are the kindest, funniest, most supportive group a girl could ask for, and I truly appreciate you, your friendship, and all the giggles xxx
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear Reader, please note that while not dark, this book contains some sensitive topics. More details are on the next page. Please note that any beliefs, views, opinions, and statements in this novel are the views of specific characters as part of the storyline, and they are not the views of the author. Love Isa xxx
Marchiano Mafia Series
(all are standalones):
*
Mafia And Captive
(age gap dark romance)
*
Mafia And Protector
(arranged marriage)
*
Mafia And Taken
(captive romance)
*
Mafia And Maid
(forced proximity)
*
Mafia And Angel
(single dad arranged marriage)
SPOILERS - CONTENT NOTE
Topics referred to include:
…
…
…
Mafia violence and murder
Domestic violence (not from the hero)
Emotional ab*se (not from the hero)
Eating disorder
Cheating by a side character
No cheating by main characters (FMC has left her ex before she meets the MMC)
A full content note can be found here:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1UMuRf1Ur9-1wc0zG5kujiWoIXf2ZID5VIQNuWJPRbjI/
Please reach out if you need help. Your mental and physical health matter very much xxx
FAMILIES
Marchiano Family (Fratellanza Mafia)
Marco Marchiano - Capo
Alessio - brother
Camillo - brother
Danio - brother
Debi - sister
Lorenzo - cousin
Juliana - Marco’s wife
Cate - Alessio’s wife
Anni - Lorenzo’s wife
Davis Family, Chicago
Conor Davis - businessman
Cyndie - wife
Rosa - daughter
Reagan - daughter
Devlin Family, Chicago
Grayden Devlin - businessman
Rosa - wife
Ethan - son
FACEBOOK GROUP AND ARCS
Facebook Group: ‘Isa’s Angels & Mafia Books’
https://www.facebook.com/groups/1409806332760996
Would you like to receive a free ‘Advance Reader Copy’ of Isa's next release before anyone else? Please see here:
https://isaoliverauthor.com/free-arcs/
PROLOGUE
CAMILLO
Arriving at the high society wedding, I take in the display of fragrant pink flowers and floaty pretty fabric draped over every single surface. It’s traditional and opulent—and it’s like a bridal magazine that’s thrown up all over the place.
I follow my brothers up the pristine stone steps into St. Hyacinth’s Basilica, tugging once more at the sleeve of my black Brioni suit. The surrounding air is indifferent and undisturbed despite the glances and hushed whispers they don’t think we can hear.
Bodies dressed in the best their money can buy blend in with the extravagant decorations that scream wealth and privilege, because Chicago’s finest are all gathered here today for an over-the-top display of pomp and circumstance veiled as happy nuptials.
It’s tiresome as it's nauseating.
Because I don’t belong here.
If the tattoos that crawl up my arms and body don’t give me away, the cold set of my face usually does. But here I am, filing in after my older brothers to extend half-hearted pleasantries and niceties to one of Chicago’s most powerful financial families. As archaic aristocracy, the Davis family is used to getting its own way. And they’ve been a sharp thorn in our side for too many months now.
My brothers and I run the Fratellanza mafia, masterminding the shadowy underworld in this city and making our sins pay—and we don’t stand for people who won’t go along with our proposals. Because although the Davis family sneer down their noses at made men like us, underneath their polish and cut-glass accents, they’re just as tainted as we are.
Clocking the exits and entrances as we move further in, I make a note of the sorry excuse for security that wanders through the crowd. It’s not much for a wedding of this size and attention. But given the people in attendance, no one here expects a bloodbath—no one except for us. Ruthless, mindless brutes of made men. That’s the world I live in. A world where the monsters wear luxurious designer suits and brilliant smiles to hide their sharp teeth and claws like wolves in sheep’s clothing. Where villains and murderers run the city with pretty promises built on shadowy backroom deals.
“Stop fidgeting,” my oldest brother, Marco, grits out. “It’s getting on my fucking nerves.”
My hand drops from my sleeve. I hate weddings, but even more, I hate dressing like some monkey on display, ready to perform while they ogle and judge. My skin crawls at the thought, making the collar of my dress shirt that much tighter.
The smell of old money stinks up the room, and if this wasn’t such a necessary power play, I’d have stayed the fuck at home today. But we need to ensure that Conor Davis, one of the wealthiest businessmen in the city, understands there’s no option to say no to our proposal.
Their ostentatious need to showboat and flaunt their extravagance makes my skin itch. I don't want to be here today, but this is the job. I’m the enforcer for the Fratellanza—this is the role I play.
“We need to say hello to Davis and give him and the lucky groom our congratulations,” Marco says.
I fight an eye roll and nod, making another mental note of two more barely strapped bodyguards who lean much too casually against the wall.
“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter, hating how constricted and suffocated I feel in this suit. It’s expensive and tailored to my body, but the fabric feels taut and unbreathable. The dress shirt beneath it is already plastered to my chest with dew from the humidity. This isn’t how I normally choose to dress, much preferring more relaxed and casual clothing. “For fuck's sake, I feel like a goddamn circus clown.”
I look at my other brother, Alessio, as his lips twitch, but he has enough sense to hold his tongue. If people weren’t watching our every move, I’d have flipped him the bird already. But appearances are everything at an event like this, so I make do with a fierce scowl at him instead.
Marco shakes his head in exasperation at me as he walks on. Dutifully, we follow him to the corner of the church, where the man we’ve come to see stands talking in hushed tones.
He turns to us, his lip pulled up in a sneer before the carefully plastered smile falls into place. He graciously shakes Marco’s hand and then Alessio’s. I don’t bother offering mine; my hands are shoved in my pockets.
“I didn’t think you’d m
This time, I can’t stop the eye roll. There’s no chance in hell we’d have missed this. For months, we’ve been trying to cut a deal with him, to bring him into the fold, but the bastard has been obstinately resistant. Today is to show him that the Fratellanza doesn’t take no for an answer.
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Marco says in a smooth tone, though I can see the calculating gleam in his eyes.
“Wonderful, wonderful.” The tone of his voice says our presence here is anything but. “We were just about to start if you’d like to find a seat.”
“We need to talk,” Marco drawls, leaving no room for debate.
Conor Davis has enough good sense to look scared for a brief second before his face reddens. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
“Very well. This way, gentlemen.”
“I’m going to find a seat,” I say. I’m not needed to sit in on this meeting—that isn’t why I’ve been brought along today. I’m the muscle. The action man who stands between us and problems. Alessio and Marco can handle one sweaty balding man. “Congrats,” I add.
From the corner of my eye, I catch the sneers from the crowd as I pass. A mask of cool indifference shutters over my face as I give a tight smile, slipping into the pew strategically chosen on the off-chance things go sideways. Because they often do when my brothers and I are around. One might have a little faith in the house of God, but not me, that’s for fucking sure.
These people and I are from different worlds, and the mocking whispers at my back are all the indication I need to know that they realize it too. As I lean back against the polished wood, my gut churns with how badly I want to be far away from here. I tug again on my sleeve, hoping to conceal the edges of black ink that peek out. It’s pointless, but I don’t feel like giving them any more ammunition.
A body slides in beside me, and my back goes rigid. “Mind if I sit?” a weathered voice croons, and I shake my head. “Isn’t it just lovely?” she carries on.
I turn my focus onto the woman. Older, dressed in her Sunday’s finest, including a stupid hat with lace and mesh. “Yeah,” I growl as politely as possible, once more taking in the ridiculous decorations and fanfare. I wonder if I should tell her that I’ve just been thinking how it looks like a bridal magazine barfed all over the place, but something tells me she wouldn’t quite agree.
“It’s so wonderful to see how traditional everything is. It just warms my heart. Do you know the bride or the groom?”
“Bride’s father.”
“How wonderful.” I listen with half an ear as she continues to blabber on and on about the decorations. “What was it you said you did?” she asks in her singsong voice.
“My brothers and I are in the pharmaceutical trade.”
“Oh, you’re a doctor?” she exclaims, obviously impressed.
“Er, not quite. I’m more on the import-export side.” That’s easier than explaining that we distribute drugs while running clubs and casinos to launder the money through.
I see her gaze catch the tattoos running up the back of my thick neck.
“Oh.”
Her one syllable holds more contempt than a whole sentence could, and the curl of her lip causes my fist to automatically tighten, making the scars more prominent. The judgment pours off her in waves, and it takes every ounce of my strength not to move or say something I’ll come to regret later.
I don’t need to impress these people, not that it’s even possible. Instead of furthering the conversation, I relax into the pew, one arm stretched over the lacquered back.
The woman doesn’t say more, and I send up a silent prayer in fucking thanks. Perhaps miracles do happen just once in a blue moon.
Marco and Alessio slide in beside me, and from their faces, I can tell that their little chat didn’t go well because Marco’s usual expression is darker and harder. I raise a brow to my brothers. But Alessio shakes his head at me as he gets comfortable in the pew. We’ll discuss it at home, it seems. I turn back toward the altar as the music begins, and a hush falls over the crowd while everyone shuffles to find their seat.
The priest stands tall beside a groom who looks disgustingly too old for Davis’s daughter. He must be at least twenty years older than her.
The groom straightens his suit and smooths his hair back. Something about him makes him look exactly like the sort of person Conor Davis would put on a pedestal because everything about the groom screams educated, cultured, and refined—thus making him a perfect match for his precious eldest daughter.
We stand as the procession music starts, and sniffs and gasps sound as the happy bride, Rosa Davis, proceeds down the aisle, nodding greetings to her guests.
As she comes closer to me, I can see her features more clearly. And time stops ticking for a few seconds…
Because everything about this woman is absolutely perfect—beautiful. She’s like an angel.
Her face is behind a sheer veil, her blond hair in an intricate updo, and her conservative wedding dress trails behind her with a train so long it seems like a fire hazard. But not even the dress can draw my attention away from her stunning looks, my gaze lingering on her body with its curves in all the right places.
And as she passes me, she looks directly at me. And she smiles. It’s a smile that’s only for me…
But before I can react, she passes, and I’m left watching her back as she walks down the rest of the aisle. She takes her place across from her soon-to-be husband, her father placing her hand in the groom’s.
Her wide hips flare beautifully, and I can’t stop staring at her gorgeous, full ass… I mentally shake myself. What the hell is wrong with me? She was smiling at everyone, right? Of course that smile wasn’t a special one just for me. And she’s about to marry another man. Why on earth am I looking at her in this way?
Anyway, who in their right mind would want something like this? Relationships, marriage, love—all that fucking unicorns and rainbows shit isn’t for men like me. And shaking my head, I let my mind wander and drift off to think about business matters—about the next person I need to deal with.
At the end of the ceremony, the happy couple walks past, but this time, the bride’s face is turned away from me as she looks at the guests in the opposite pew.
All too soon, Alessio nudges me, jerking his chin forward. We’re moving to the reception.
I stand, following my brothers out the other end of the pew, dragging my hand down my jaw. I can think of a hundred things I’d rather be doing than making polite conversation in a room full of people who think they’re better than me.
We pile into the dark SUV, and I spread out in the back as Alessio drives us down the street toward where the reception is being held at the family’s ostentatious residence—because a man like Davis takes every opportunity to flaunt what he has. Thankfully, it isn’t too far from where the ceremony took place.
“I assume it went badly?” I comment.
“He’s fucking stubborn,” Marco grinds out. “But I’ll convince him.”
“And if you can’t?”
Marco’s head snaps around to glare at me. I casually raise my hands in surrender. He’s a scary man, confident in what he does as capo and protective when it comes to our family, but even I know not to push him like this.
“How long exactly do we have to stay?” I sigh.
“As long as it takes for Davis to realize that this is his best opportunity,” Marco says in a terse tone. “We were cut short before the wedding.”
“Just great,” I mutter, earning me another dark look from my brother.
“We’re here,” Alessio announces as he parks up.
I can do this for another few hours. But even as I tell myself this, my skin prickles, and I itch to feel the wrap along my knuckles. To feel the canvas bend beneath my fists. I can control that, and I need that control right now.
“Just play nice, Millo,” Marco orders.
I growl a response as we step into the greeting line.
The newlyweds stand at the head, shaking hands, talking, and laughing. Or rather, he does. Because with each step forward, I can’t help but notice the lack of a female voice. And when it finally hits my ears, it’s soft and gentle—almost melodic.
I peer around Marco’s broad shoulders, getting my first real glimpse of the bride without her veil. And she’s just as stunning as I thought she’d be.
