Genre: Contemporary Romance
Series: Mobster’s Series Book 1
Gripping my chest is the only way to hold myself together or what’s left of me will fall out. The past week has enlightened me on one thing-I don’t care.
Megan, Mobster’s Girl
I didn’t even hesitate. I took two strides and blasted him in the face with my fist. He was ready for it this time-unlike in church. He tried to hit me back but I ducked and smashed him again.
Antonio, Mobster’s Girl
You can’t help what family you’re born into or what lies they keep from you. You can’t help it if they mold and shape you just the way they wanted. Are monsters born or made?
Antonio and Megan have a timeless issue. They were told to stay away from each other. They try, they really do. But they are drawn to each other.
Antonio is eighteen and the up and coming mob boss of Palmetto, New Jersey. Megan is a girl uprooted from the grassy plains of Ireland at the age of five. Now she’s seventeen and faced with horrors she never thought existed.
Get caught up in an Italian Mafia Romance Novel!
As I turn the corner into the office doorway, I’m taken aback. My father is standing there.
“Hi, Meg,” my father returns quietly.
“Uh, hi, Dad. What are you doing here?” In all the years I’ve been in school, I can’t remember my father ever coming to the school. I had a music recital in which I played the harp in middle school, and he didn’t even come to that.
“I signed you out.” I pause while he continues. “I have somewhere I want to take you.”
“Uh, okay.” The secretary waves to me from her desk and I say goodbye. Dad and I walk to the minivan and get in silently.
Weird. That’s the only word to describe this moment. We drive for about ten minutes, still in complete silence.
“Where are we going?” I question.
“Is it a surprise?”
“You’ll see when we get there,” Dad says stoically.
I want to ask more questions, but my father’s demeanor is actually starting to frighten me.
“Did Antonio give you that necklace?” he asks, never taking his eyes off the road.
“Yes.” I immediately touch it and smile.
“Are you going out again?” His voice never changing.
“Yes, we’re going to the movies. Why?”
My dad doesn’t reply; he just keeps driving.
After a while we drive into a neighborhood with small houses and tiny front lawns. It’s the middle of the afternoon, so there isn’t anyone around, most likely because kids are at school and parents are at work. My dad parks in front of someone’s house. I have no clue whose house it is, or even where we are.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Megan…” My father’s is on the steering wheel. “This is for your own good. Get out.”
My heart is racing with worry and a lot of fear. What is this all about? I slowly open my door. My father comes around the van to stand next to me. He grabs my wrist and starts pulling me down the sidewalk. He’s not rough, but he’s not gentle either.
“What are we doing, Dad?”
“Quiet,” he warns.
I can faintly hear yelling as we walk farther. Still clutching my wrist, my dad walks us over to a tree. The yelling is getting louder. My dad moves us slowly to the edge of some house. I still have no clue what we’re doing or whose house this is. Are we trespassing? One of the voices yelling is familiar. The tones are sharp and mean.
“I told you to never fuckin’ run from me!” I hear as my father pushes me a little to see around the corner of the house. He’s right behind me. Two men are standing and struggling in the backyard. The smaller man is in a headlock. He reaches behind him to try and grab his assailant. I put my hand on the house to steady myself. Bits of peeling paint crumble in my hand.
“Where’s the money? I’m not asking again!”
Those words help me to understand the horror I’m witnessing. It’s Antonio! Within seconds, Antonio gives two kicks to the man’s kidneys. The guy yells and falls to the ground. Antonio reaches for the man’s left leg and, with a quick twist, snaps it. My body jolts and cringes with the break and snap. The man screams and so do I, but my scream is muffled by my father’s hand over my mouth. Hot tears burn my eyes as I watch Antonio’s face. It’s full of rage and hatred. It’s an expression that I can’t even imagine on the most infamous criminal—it’s heartless and cold. Tears continue to flood my eyes and roll down my face and slide down my father’s hands.
As the man is writhing on the ground, Antonio punches him twice in the face.“Shut the fuck up!” He rifles through the man’s pockets and finds a wad of cash.
I feel the scratch of vomit welling up in the back of my throat. My body convulses with panic.
Antonio kicks the guy hard in the leg he broke, shoves the money in his pocket. “Next time, if you run, I won’t be so fuckin’ nice.”
That’s it. I lose it. I wriggle to get away from my father and push off from the house. I vomit into the bushes. My father grabs my hand and starts tugging on it, motioning for me to run. But I can’t see through the tears, and I collapse with more dry heaves wracking my body. My father reaches down and stands me up, slinging my arm over his shoulder, and moves me toward the car. I’m so afraid that my body just doesn’t work. He handles me like a rag doll.
My father gruffly orders, “Keep moving, Megan.” Keep moving where? There is nowhere to go that can save me from this. The man I love dishes out merciless and unfeeling beatings. Oh God! The man I love. And I vomit all over the street.
I’ve heard of people blacking out when they witness something horrific. So that’s the only explanation that I can figure out when I wake up on my bed with a cold facecloth on my head. My throat stings from vomit and screaming. My face is achy and my legs are numb. My mother is sitting on a chair in my room, watching me.
“You knew, didn’t you?” I ask in a raspy voice.
She nods yes. Her face is blank except for her pursed lips. I take her expression to be righteous, and I lose it again.
“Get out of my room!” I scream. “I hate you!” I throw the facecloth at her. She stands; she’s acting all high and mighty. Shouldn’t a mother be sympathetic when her daughter learns her boyfriend is psychotic? “Get out!” I scream again.
“We were just doing what’s best for you,” she humphs as she leaves the room. The river of tears I cried comes back in shuddering waves. I can’t stop them. The pain is so intense, it’s like someone stabbed a knife through my sternum and into my heart.
I don’t know how long I cry, but a soft knock sounds on my door and a whisper says, “It’s Erin.”
The door opens quietly. Through my sobs I hear her gently pad in the room. She sits on the bed and rubs my back. I look over at her. There are tears in her eyes too. Exhaustion overtakes me, and I fall asleep.
Amy Rachiele is a Reader, Writer, Tea-er, Werewolf-lovin’, Sci-fi Junkie, who won’t survive the apocalypse… unless she has a tailor made Iron Man suit.
Amy is a widowed military spouse and brat who spent many years volunteering and on staff for the Army National Guard, and who has a propensity for writing about alpha-male mobsters. Her first self-published book is Mobster’s Girl and it made it to the amazon’s bestseller list for romance and family saga.
She devoted 10 years to teaching at-risk students at the secondary level and watching reruns of Star Trek. She holds a Master’s degree from Rhode Island College in English and Secondary Education. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America, BroadUniverse, Writer Unboxed and sits on the board for the Historical Writers of America. Besides writing, she enjoys scrapbooking, sewing, traveling, and pretending to know how to knit. Amy lives in Massachusetts with her son.