A Debt Paid: A Dark Mafia Romance (Greco Mafia Book 3), page 1
A DEBT PAID
MJ MASUCCI
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
2023©MJ Masucci
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Although every precaution has been taken to verify the accuracy of the information contained herein, the author and publisher assume no responsibility for any errors or omissions. No liability is assumed for damages that may result from the use of information contained within.
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 prior written permission of the publisher, except in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
ISBN 978-1-950175-45-1
Trigger Warning:
This book is for 18+ and contains verbal abuse, pregnancy complications, attempted assault, kidnapping, blackmail and steamy sex scenes.
“A ruler must remember that whatever brings success is due to power. Men look at power as a success.”
Niccolo Machiavelli
PROLOGUE
I would never be the same after meeting Alessandro. And now he’s gone. All I have are his memories and legacy. I’ll never be able to walk the streets again without looking over my shoulder. I need to move on because this time, he’s not coming back. And just when my life returns to somewhat normal, I get the shock of my life.
CHAPTER 1
18 Months Later
Time passed slowly when you lost someone, but I couldn’t dwell on losing my husband because I had a baby to care for. Luca just had his first birthday. Sometimes it hurt to look at him because he was a mini version of his father, with his dark hair and beer-colored eyes.
On the last day, I saw Alessandro alive, I’d fought for consciousness as he passed out in that alcove, but it wasn’t to be. The bullet that lodged in my shoulder nicked the axillary vein causing me to bleed out, and if not for a neighbor who was an ER doctor, I would’ve bled out, and our son wouldn’t have survived.
Those days after that I spent in the hospital were a blur of fading in and out of consciousness. By the time I woke, Alessandro was buried. I was glad I didn’t have to say goodbye to him again. The gaping wound in my shoulder started to scab over, but it was still raw. But most of all, I feared I had lost Luca. But I was lucky, and they were able to preserve my pregnancy.
Upon Alessandro’s death, I was quickly thrust into a world where I didn’t want to be—a world of bullets, blood, and criminal activity. But unlike Alessandro, I chose to leave that life behind. My husband had cultivated a legitimate life as a businessman with an extensive portfolio. With all he owned passed to me, I would never need to work again, and everything was mine.
Everything being hotels, clubs, properties, restaurants, the home in Palermo, and investments. Alessandro set it up so the next generations of the Greco family would never need to work. I would also make sure our son would never step foot in the mafia world, regardless of his name.
“Vivienne,” McKenna called.
I looked up to see her standing at the doors of the patio. I no longer resided on the east side of the park at the penthouse where Alessandro lived, wanting to escape the horror that took place in the lobby of our home. After leaving the hospital, I chose a sunny penthouse on the west side of Central Park with a patio and gardens to enjoy.
“Here,” I said.
She ducked her head out the door, and Luca shuffled toward her. I dusted the dirt off my gloves, having just finished planting a small pink rose bush in one of the planter boxes.
McKenna picked Luca up and swung him around. He giggled, which was music to my ears. At least he wouldn’t know the nightmare of his father’s death.
“Looks nice out here,” she said as she cradled Luca.
“Thanks. It needed some more color.”
I removed my gloves and stowed them in the small case where I kept my planting tools.
“How are you?” she asked.
It was the same question I received over the past eighteen months, and my answer was always the same. Fine. To tell her of the nasty dreams that invaded my dreams the minute I sunk into sleep would make her worry. A few times, I scared Luca when I screamed myself awake, and by the time I reached him, tears usually flooded down his chubby cheeks.
It broke my heart to see him so upset, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t control what my subconscious chose to show me once I hit REM sleep. The nightmares always came with images of Alessandro’s dying body in my arms and the carnage of the lobby.
“Fine,” I said without looking at her.
“You always say that,” she said.
“It’s true. I have Luca to keep me busy.”
She sat down on the edge of the planter wall while I snapped the gray tool case closed.
“Bria and I were talking.”
I quirked my eyebrow. My sister and sister-in-law spoke about me a lot and how I should start dating, but I wasn’t ready. When my first husband, Angelo, died, I was falling out of love with him. He could be cruel and crude, traits he didn’t show until I had his ring on my finger. My willingness to date several months after he passed away wasn’t the same as I felt now after Alessandro died.
My heart was broken, and I wasn’t sure if it would heal enough for me to give it to someone else. Alessandro was my true love, and he might’ve been a gangster, but it didn’t matter to me. His coldness ever followed him home.
“And?” I asked.
“It’s been almost two years. You should try to date again.”
“No. It would be disrespectful.”
She sucked her breath in and put Luca down. He toddled away, thrusting his finger into the fresh soil. I pulled it out and wiped it clean with my t-shirt.
“Do you think he would stay single if you were the one who died?” she asked.
I didn’t look at her as my lower lids brimmed with tears. “I’d like to think so.”
“You’re young. You can’t be single forever.”
I swiped at my tears. “Worry about yourself.”
She put her hand on my arm. “I’m not the one who lost her husband.”
I shook off her hand and went to get Luca, who was heading for the fireplace in the corner of the patio.
“And I hope you never need to find out,” I said with gritted teeth.
“Come out with us. We can go to Virtue.”
I laughed. “Thanks for inviting me to my own club.”
Since Alessandro passed away, I’d built the Greco brand, opening two more clubs—one in Manhattan and the other in Brooklyn. They were in the works before his death, and rather than lose money; I continued working with the business staff Alessandro had in place. They were competent and thorough. I learned a lot in the past eighteen months. If anything, being busy helped keep my mind off his murder.
“Think about it,” she pushed.
“I have no one to watch Luca.”
“Liar. Donna and Joanne have been begging to watch him.”
My best friends had been supportive after Alessandro died. I spent weeks at their apartment, unable to bear walking through the lobby of my and Alessandro’s home. It took the owners weeks to repair the damage caused by the shootout, and when I finally returned, the décor was totally different from what I remembered.
Aside from feeling out of place, there were endless questions from the police, and even associates on the Greco payroll couldn’t stop the avalanche of requests. My attorney stopped them once I collapsed a few weeks after Alessandro’s death and after a short time home from the hospital. I also had Luca to think of, though I didn’t know I was having a boy at the time. Alessandro would’ve been so proud; he wanted a son.
“I have nothing to wear,” I said in excuse.
“You are just full of lies today. You have a whole closet of clothing.”
I resisted a sigh. She wasn’t buying my bullshit. I had many dresses that didn’t fit well because I’d lost weight since my husband’s death. There was no reason for me to buy anything since I had nowhere to go.
“Why can’t you just accept that I don’t want to go out?”
I caught Luca from wandering off again and cuddled him in my arms.
“Da,” he said.
“Oh my God, did he just say da?” McKenna said.
Again, my tears threatened to fall. For the past few weeks
“Yes.”
“But why? How would he know.”
I sniffled. “I tell him about Alessandro. Just because he’s gone doesn’t mean I’ll pretend he didn’t exist. I want him to know his father.”
“Everything?” she asked more seriously.
“When he’s older.”
“But he’ll know because Marcello runs the family, and Riccardo is underboss.”
Alessandro would have had a fit to know that Riccardo was involved. He never wanted his siblings to be touched by the mafia life.
“Are you still messing with Riccardo?” I asked.
She looked down at her feet. “A little.”
“End it. He’s vulnerable, and so are you as long as you’re with him,” I growled.
“Who are you to tell me?” she demanded. “Both your husbands were involved.”
“And I don’t want you to deal with what I am. Do you want your heart torn to shreds if something happens to him?”
“It’s too late,” she mumbled.
I frowned. “Excuse me.”
McKenna bounced her knee. “I’m in love with him. I love him.”
I put Luca down on the large patch of grass opposite the planter boxes and sat beside my sister.
“That doesn’t make me happy,” I stated plainly.
“Why? Why can’t you be happy for me?”
“Because I know what being a mafia wife means. Are you prepared? Are you prepared that he might go to jail or leave you a widow?”
“He’s careful.”
I couldn’t hold back as tears leaked down my cheeks. “That’s exactly what Alessandro said. He promised he would be careful.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t change how I feel.”
I wiped my eyes. “I hope you’re prepared.”
“I think I can handle it.”
“Famous last words.”
Luca handed me blades of grass, and I rose, sweeping him in my arms as I headed for the door.
“No, Alesso, please, don’t go.”
My eyes shot open. It was still dark in my bedroom, and I checked the video monitor to make sure Luca was asleep in his crib. He was. I wiped the sweat from my face and turned on the bedside lamp. After eighteen months of this on and off, it was time for me to see someone before I scared my son so much he ended up traumatized.
The dream or nightmare was always the same. It never deviated, and each time was like reliving the same day all over again. The doors of the penthouse elevator would open, and I’d find Alessandro down on the floor, his shirt soaked in blood. I always tried to help him, and he would reach up to touch my cheek with his bloodstained hand to tell me goodbye.
Since I couldn’t sleep, I turned on the television, arranging my pillows against the headboard. A moment later, I heard Luca whimpering, and I waited for him to start crying, but he settled down instead. I got up to check his diaper and smooth his fine dark hair from his forehead. He’s what kept me going.
I grabbed a bottle of water before I headed back to the bedroom, where the sound of rain against the sliding glass door in my bedroom filled the room. I switched on the patio lights to watch, and it soothed me. My leg ventured over to Alessandro’s side of the bed on instinct, and I pulled it back. Even eighteen months later and I stuck to my side. Sometimes I’d take his pillow and press it against my nose, hoping to catch the scent of his cologne.
Not too long after, I faded off to sleep with the television on, and when I woke, it was still raining. Over the video monitor, I watched Luca babble in his crib, trying to reach the mobile that hung above him. It was just after six, and dawn was lighting up the sky. Rising, I headed down to my son’s room.
He smiled when he saw me. “Hi, baby. Did you sleep well?”
Luca reached for me, and I lifted him out of the crib to prepare him for the day. It was always the same - change his diaper, prepare his breakfast, prepare mine, and we eat together. I supposed if Alessandro was still alive, he would share his time with us in the morning before he went to do whatever he had to do.
My son moved his Cheerios around the table attached to his highchair. He tried to stack them in a pile before he ran his hand through them, spreading them around. Luca was tall for his age, and I expected he would be close to the same height as his father, maybe taller.
I read The New York Times on my tablet while we finished eating, and something caught my eye in the entertainment section. Bianca Bernardo had apparently made a significant donation to the Henley Arts Foundation, a charity for the advancement of arts for children. I almost threw the tablet across the room.
I cursed under my breath, and Luca looked at me as if he understood. Bianca was a piece of shit. She came to New York to make a play for Greco territory, first taking out The Champlains, a crew of drug dealers. Even though it wasn’t confirmed, she put a hit on my husband, who ended up paralyzed.
Then her family collectively finished Alessandro off, killing him in the lobby of our building. However, it must’ve also been a bitter pill for her since my husband took out her brother, Matteo, during the attack. She and her father claimed they had nothing to do with the hit, blaming Matteo, but we all knew differently.
Emilio Garcelli, the head of the families, called off any retaliation, but this was the mafia, and old grudges died hard. Marcello was looking for his chance to take out the Bernardos. I hated them, and if it were up to me, I wouldn’t think twice about placing a gun to the stunning woman’s head and pulling the trigger.
Since Alessandro taught me to shoot a gun, I’d been practicing. I was a crack shot, and while my mother watched Luca, I went to the Larchmont Gun Club. My husband would be proud of me.
“Mama,” Luca yelled.
I looked up from the tablet with surprise since, until now, he’d never called me mama.
“What, baby?”
“Mama,” he said as he pointed a chubby finger at me.
I put down the tablet and lifted him from the highchair. He was done anyway since most of the leftover Cheerios were on the floor. Spilling them was almost a daily ritual. I planted kisses on his cheek, and he tried to push me away.
“No,” he whined.
Smiling, I lifted him in the air and then pulled him against my chest to hug him.
“Time for a bath, baby boy.”
Luca was napping as I went through some documents on Alessandro’s laptop. Despite taking care of so much already, I was still weeding through his estate. Nothing was settled yet, and I didn’t understand why. No one else came forward to claim any part of his estate, not even his siblings.
It was understood the home in Palermo would stay in the Greco family. If I remarried, Luca would get my share, and I would always have an open invitation to visit. It probably wouldn’t happen because I was sure I would never marry again. Twice married and twice widowed was enough for one lifetime.
“What the hell is this?” I questioned as I squinted at the screen.
With a shake of my finger, a double mouse click, and a folder labeled “drink recipes” opened—a folder I never bothered to open; after all, I wasn’t interested in drink recipes. Inside the folder was another labeled “Miami.” I clicked on the folder and found a copy of a deed for the Florida property.
I wracked my brain and remembered a conversation I had with Alessandro about a project in Miami. He never told me exactly what he was doing, but here was the information. He bought and renovated a home.
I lifted the receiver from the phone on the desk and dialed my attorney, Alfredo Mazza. He answered himself rather than have his assistant pick up the line.
