Men of Honor: Cosa Nostra book 1

  Cosa Nostra #1:

  Men of Honor

  Jasmine and Genna Denton

  Copyright © 2014Jasmine Denton

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN:1468030191

  ISBN-13: 978-1468030198

  Licensing Notes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  Cover: Genna Denton Designs

  For the girls who love bad boys.

  August, 2002

  Chapter One

  They called her the siren because she could lead a man astray with just a flutter of her long, delicate eyelashes, with one twirl on those enticing, slender legs. Anyone who came to the Strip Dive knew that she was the best dancer in town. Watching her, Trey DeLuca sat at his reserved booth in the corner of the small bar. There was just enough privacy for him to conduct his ‘family business’ and still get a bird’s eye view of the stage…and the enticing dancer offering entertainment on it.

  Right now, she wore a long, jet black wig that made her fair skin look as smooth and delicate as a porcelain doll’s. Though most days she made an excellent mermaid or schoolgirl, today she was dressed up in a shiny black leather bodice that clung to her body in all the right places and showed just the right amount of skin. Fishnet leggings completed the look. With the dim light in the smoke-hazed bar, she looked like a dark, alluring Queen of the Night. Edgy but innocent. Youthful, but mature enough to show a man a thing or two. As she stretched one long, shapely leg around the pole and twirled down, Trey found himself mesmerized.

  “On top of all that,” the man next to him took a gulp of his beer and looked away from the stage. “The boss is flying in tomorrow night and I just got a tip that a dealer is scaring customers away from your clients. We have to fix that before your old man shows up—”

  “Johnny,” Trey said without looking at his friend and right-hand man. He lifted his scotch to his lips and drank, his eyes still fixed on the dancer. “Don’t you see that gorgeous woman up there? She’s working so hard to put on a good show. Shut up and show her a little respect, will ya?”

  Johnny gave an irritated sigh, but waited until the song ended to continue. “So, should I call the boys to go rough him up?”

  But Trey wasn’t listening. Abandoning the corner booth, his half-full glass and his partner in crime, he headed across the crowded bar to the stage. Those who knew Trey and respected the DeLuca name moved out of his way, and he dodged those who were too drunk to notice.

  He met the dancer in a small hallway toward the back. She was busy pulling dollar bills out of the top of the bodice and bumped into him. Letting out an adorable and seductive gasp of surprise, she stumbled back a step. When her huge blue eyes locked on his, he gave her a smooth, charming smile and held a crisp one-hundred dollar bill between two fingers, offering it to her. She hesitated a second, as if giving him the chance to slip the money in her outfit himself, but he waited for her to take it instead.

  “Nice work tonight,” he said.

  She tucked the hundred dollar bill in between two singles and gave him a coy, but somewhat robotic smile. “Come back and see me again sometime then.”

  “Maybe I will.” He stepped out of her way, giving her one last, long look before he turned and headed back toward the table. Instead of stopping to finish his drink, he motioned for Johnny to follow. “Where did you say that dealer was?”

  Trey reared his fist back and slammed it into his hostage as hard as he could. A sickening crack rang out as the man’s head flew to the left with the blow and then swung downward dizzily. This had been going on for an hour and his victim was bruised, bloody and missing a few teeth, but Trey wasn’t letting up. If there was one thing his father, the highly-praised, highly-feared mob boss had taught him, it was how to send a message.

  “So here’s what you’re gonna do.” Trey brought his hand down on the dealer’s shoulder and squeezed it tight. Leaning in, he kept his voice creepily calm and steady. “You’re gonna keep your petty little drugs off my turf, or I’ll be back. And next time, I won’t be so gentle.”

  “I got it man,” the dealer stammered.

  Standing behind them, Johnny snickered. “Nothing like the Treytment to keep a guy in line.”

  Trey turned and headed toward the exit, calling out, “Cut him loose, Johnny.”

  Later in the car, Johnny was still rambling about all the things that could go wrong between tonight and tomorrow afternoon when Sal got back to town. Trey’s father had left a few months ago when rumors of police infiltration had started circulating. Now the heat had died down and it was safe for him to come back, and while that was nerve-racking for some, Trey wasn’t worried. In the middle of his friend’s neurotic rant, he spotted the girl from the club again. This time, her hair was platinum blond and curly, but it was definitely her. He’d know the shape of that lovely body anywhere. He slowed the car down and pulled over, keeping his eyes on the girl. “Johnny, get out.”

  His friend looked over at him in surprise. “What?” Following Trey’s gaze to the girl, he groaned. “Oh, come on! We don’t have time for—”

  “There is always time for a pretty girl.” Trey leaned over Johnny and pushed open his door for him. “Remember that.”

  Johnny shook his head in disapproval, but got out of the car anyway. Once the door was shut, Trey rolled down the passenger window. He accelerated just enough to catch up to the girl and then slowed down again. “Hey,” he called out the window.

  She looked cautiously over at him.

  “Let me give you a lift,” he said, motioning to the empty seat.

  “No thanks,” she said, and kept walking.

  His car crawled along next to her as he gave her his most charming smile. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Sure, why wouldn’t I trust a guy I don’t even know?”

  “You’re funny,” he said with a laugh. “I can be funny, too. Look.” He covered his eyes with one hand and continued to steer with the other one.

  He heard her shriek. “Are you crazy?”

  He uncovered his eyes long enough to say, “Get in or I’ll drive blind.” Then he covered his eyes again.

  “Okay, okay,” she said.

  He chuckled as he brought his hand back down to the steering wheel and hit the brakes. She opened the door and glided into the seat as elegant as a cat. He noticed she made it a point to buckle her seatbelt.

  “Where do you live?” he asked.

  “The dump.”

  “The dump?”

  She glanced over at him, laughing sheepishly. “Well, that’s what everyone calls it. It has a real name. I think it’s…”

  “I know the place,” he said as he pulled back onto the road. “It’s just a rough neighborhood. You live by yourself?”

  “What kind of question is that?” she asked, scooting over an inch.

  “Apparently a creepy one,” he said. He noticed that, although she’d appeared confident on stage, she was a skittish one. He made a note to dial down the personal questions. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  “I’m Trey, by the way.”

  “I know who you are,” she said, once again looking over at him. “You own the club I work at. I mean, your family owns half the city—why wouldn’t I know who you are?”

  He chuckled. It was nice to have a reputation.

  “Of course, I didn’t have a face to put to the name until recently,” she said. “But everyone’s always talking about the DeLuca family and how you’re…”


  She stopped suddenly, looking afraid or like she’d said too much.

  He knew what she meant and wasn’t offended, but wanted to milk the situation a little. She was cute when she rambled. “How we’re…what?”

  Looking a little pale, she gave him a sideways glance as she said. “You know…” and then she mouthed the word ‘mobsters’.

  He laughed again. “We prefer to be called men of honor.”

  Her cheeks flushed as she inhaled a gentle breath of relief. “For a second, I thought you were going to cut off my head or something.”

  “Are you kidding?” he asked. “I’d never cut off such a pretty head.”

  She chuckled and looked away, flustered.

  “So, are you going to tell me who you are, or should I just call you the Siren?”

  “I hate stage names,” she said with a low groan. “They’re so cheesy. Unfortunately, my real name is even worse.”

  “Why? What is it?”

  She looked over at him, as if trying to decide if she would tell him or not. Finally, she kinked an eyebrow and bit her bottom lip as she said, “Mandi. My name’s Mandi.”

  “Really?”

  Her cheeks flushed and he couldn’t help but notice how cute she looked. “Yes, really.”

  “Well, you’re wrong. I don’t think it’s cheesy, I like it.”

  “You’re just saying that,” she said.

  “I never say anything I don’t mean.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  He pulled into her apartment complex and parked in front of the building she pointed to. She unbuckled and turned to him. “Thanks for the ride.”

  He noticed a couple guys lingering on the street corner, probably peddling drugs. This wasn’t his turf, though, so he wasn’t going to do anything about it, but he decided to step out of the car with her. “I’ll walk you.”

  She looked a little surprised, but led him up the staircase to the second floor. Then she lingered outside an apartment door.

  “Well, it was nice meeting you, Mandi.” He hoped she’d invite him in; he’d love to play with this one a little more. He pegged her as a screamer.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I mean, you too.”

  Then she simply waited, making it clear that this was as far as he was getting. Tonight.

  “Goodnight.” He gave her a charming smile and stepped back, turning to walk away. After he reached the stairwell and he still hadn’t heard her door open, he stopped and turned around. “You’re not going inside,” he said, eyeing her.

  She froze, looking back at him. “I…um…”

  “That isn’t your apartment, is it?”

  Once again, her cheeks turned pink. “Honestly? No…it’s not.”

  He laughed in amusement. He didn’t really know this girl, but he was proud of her. She was slick.

  “It’s nothing personal,” she said, coming forward a couple paces. “I mean, it’s not because you’re a…it’s just that I’m…” she paused, looking awkward and embarrassed. Adorable, he thought.

  “I get it,” he said with a shrug. “You can never be too careful.”

  “Right,” she said. She went a couple doors down and stuck her key in, opening the door. “This one’s mine.”

  “Goodnight,” he said, winking at her as he descended the stairs.

  From the top of the rooftop, Bela DeLuca looked out across the horizon of sparkling city lights. Against the midnight sky, the lights looked like twinkling stars. This high up on the rooftop of one of the abandoned buildings her family owned, the sounds of traffic were just a dull roar beneath her. She closed her almond colored eyes and felt the cool breeze brush against her body, blowing strands of her waist-length mahogany colored hair out behind her. Stretching her arms out, she imagined that she was a bird. Free and majestic, and capable of taking flight any moment. The reality—weighed down with family legacy and expectations—was far too grim to think about most days.

  She felt a warm body slide up against hers, felt strong arms wrap tight around her waist. Immediately, she recognized the feel of Vincent’s presence and the scent of his cologne. Sporty and fresh and so…masculine. He nuzzled his face into her hair and greeted her with a sweet, damp kiss at the nape of the neck. “Missed you,” he whispered.

  “That’s because you’re late,” she said, trying not to squirm as his peaceful, gentle breath tickled her skin.

  “Sorry, baby,” he said. “I got…held up.”

  Bela’s eyes opened.

  “I did a quick sweep to make sure you weren’t followed,” he said. “If my family finds out I’m back in town…”

  She shivered. Vincent’s father was the boss of the second leading crime family in the tri-states, and had a longtime grudge against the DeLuca family. The fact that Vincent left the mob business as soon as he was about to step into a position of power was infamous among all the crime families. It’d shocked everybody that an heir to the one of the dynasties had walked away. Bela had remembered hearing stories of the traitor who’d disappeared without a trace. The popular theory was that he was dead, but she’d bumped into him a few months ago and, right away, he’d captured a place in her heart. She came to adore his sexy, lopsided grin, the playful twinkle in his eyes. She loved the way it felt when he held her, his rock hard body pressing against hers. Everything about it was magical. The closer they grew, the more imperative it was to keep their relationship a secret. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if news of Vincent’s return spread. Even though he had danger written all over him and a price on his head, it was worth the risk just to look into those deep, sensitive brown eyes of his. His hair was dark as night and long enough to run her fingers through, with short wisps that reached the tops of his eyebrows when he hung his head. His features were all chiseled and well-defined; strong cheekbones, a long, pointed nose, a stern, rugged jaw. How could she look into that gorgeous face and actually care about what his last name was? She couldn’t and she never would. Unlike her family, she could separate a person from the lineage they came from. Especially if they, like Vincent, had walked away from a life of crime.

  “I hate all of this hiding,” she said, leaning against him.

  “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds,” Vincent finished. He pressed his lips against the top of her head and gave her a tender kiss.

  “Exactly,” she said. “Especially when you think about the people who would hate us being together carrying guns.”

  He titled his head downward to look at her. Those dark, Italian eyes met hers and he gave her his signature lopsided grin. “Seeing you is worth a bullet.”

  “That’s not funny.” Turning, she gave him a stubborn look. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Nobody’s going to shoot me,” he said, trying to laugh off the heavy feeling that had settled over the rooftop. “I won’t be in hiding forever. Just until I figure out how much my family still hates me.”

  Bela leaned against the ledge of the rooftop, studying Vincent. “If they hate you so much, why would you risk coming back to town, anyway?” Three months of secretly dating and she still hadn’t gotten a straight answer to this question. Why was he back, risking it all to walk the streets of New York? Risking it all to be with her?

  “Sometimes it’s easier to run from your problems,” he said. “And others, it’s best to take a stand.”

  Chapter Two

  Early the next morning, trey walked into his father’s den. Since his dad had been out of town, Trey had been doing most of his work from his father’s desk. Today, someone else was in the overstuffed leather chair.

  Nikolas Amarro was his father’s underboss and technically, his uncle. He’d married Trey’s aunt a couple years ago and quickly climbed ranks after that.

  Now he was sitting in his father’s chair, with his back to the door, looking out at the pristine upstate New York view. Trey stopped a few feet short of the desk and cleared his throat.

  Nikolas swiveled around in the chair, h
is cheeks flushing slightly when he saw Trey. He stood. “I was just…”

  “Mm-hmm,” Trey said as he took the seat Nik had just vacated. It didn’t take a genius to know that Nikolas was a power hungry social climber just itching to take the boss’s place, but Trey wasn’t worried. In time, he would beat Nik out of that position. His father had promised Trey he’d inherit a dynasty, and he knew he would.

  “I heard you gave someone quite the beating last night,” Nik said, chuckling. “Heard the guy had to have his jaw wired shut.”

  “That job was small-fry,” Trey said with a scoff. “I need something bigger.”

  “You want that promotion,” Nik said.

  “With dad’s right-hand man dead, the role of consigliere is open,” he said with a nod. “And yeah, I’m aching to step right into it.”

  “You’re a little young for that, don’t you think?” he asked. “Just last year you were promoted to Capo and I think that’s impressive enough.”

  “You do?” Trey asked with a snicker. “I guess it’s good I’m not trying to impress you, cuz your standards are low.”

  Nikolas chuckled again, but it was a tense sound. Trey got the feeling Nik didn’t want him stepping into that role. Not that Nik wanted it for himself—consigliere would’ve been a step down (or sideways) for the underboss, but that didn’t mean he wanted Trey gaining any more power.

  “And since dad is currently overseas, I answer to you for now,” he said.

  “You want a bigger job,” he stated, finally taking a seat in the chair across from the desk.

  Trey nodded. “Something that’ll show dad I can handle the position. Something that will blow him out of the water.”

  “This afternoon I’m overseeing a shipment from Boston,” Nik said. “You can tag along and make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  “Shipment?” Trey asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “No questions,” he said. “It’s a big job. You want in or not?”