Beautiful Carnage: A Dark Mafia Bully Romance (The Boys of Sinners Bay Book 1)

  BEAUTIFUL CARNAGE

  By

  Caroline Peckham & Susanne Valenti

  Contents

  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

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  FOUR YEARS AGO

  It was a cold day. The type that drilled into your bones and licked and bit at exposed flesh. Port Diavoli was a place of sin where even the wind would gut you if it got the chance.

  I clipped my seatbelt into place as I dropped into the back of the shiny Bentley and Uncle Sergio patted my knee. He patted it a little higher every year. I’d just turned sixteen. Where was the line for old Uncle Serg with his dyed black hair and greasy moustache? Was this the year he’d try his luck?

  I carried mace – wasn’t allowed a gun – and my fingers got twitchy for it every time I had to spend time with him.

  “Sensible, Sloan. You’ve got your mamma’s brain.”

  I peeled his hand off of me when he didn’t remove it, planting it back in his lap with an overly sweet smile. He didn’t put his own seatbelt on. Most of my family never did, like they thought their name alone was a sure-fire shield from death. But like he said, I had Mamma’s brain. Not that that had saved her in the end.

  She’d hung herself from Inverno Bridge high up in the eastern forest eight years ago, leaving nothing behind but tainted memories. Had she ever really been happy? Had the smiles she’d given me been painted on with lies? I guess I’d never have my answers. And thinking about it only made my heart hurt.

  I whipped out my iPhone, tapping on Pinterest. My bodyguard, Royce, glanced around from the passenger seat in the front and shot Sergio a look as powerful as a gunshot. My uncle missed it, but Royce gave me a nod to say he had my back and my lips twisted into a smile. He was the only guard I liked. Tall, as hairy as a beast and as big as one too. Royce could shoot a tin can off a wall a hundred feet away. He’d shown me that once then I’d begged him to let me try it. But he’d said what he always said when I asked to do something reckless. “A tuo padre non piacerebbe, Miss Calabresi.”

  Translation? Your father wouldn’t like it, Miss Calabresi.

  Not to sugar coat it, my father was a mob boss. And not just any mob boss, he owned the whole city and everyone in it. Including me. My name was tattooed between a ring of barbed wire across his entire chest. How was that for messed up? I loved Papa, but holy shit, he was controlling.

  I was on my way to a gala to schmooze a bunch of new business owners into signing over a percentage of their company to him. He did it all under the guise of flashy lights, expensive wine and enough food to bust your gut. But what it really was, was a threat. Papa was the king of the city and with our rivals looking to cut us down at every opportunity, he wanted to have something on everyone to keep them from screwing us over in favour of the Romero family.

  It was all pretty boring to me, but Papa dragged me along to every event, showing off his shiny princess. I was expected to smile and look pretty. Apparently he hadn’t heard of the twenty first century. And I couldn’t say I’d stepped a foot into it either outside of Netflix shows. The cruel truth was, men ruled my world whether I liked it or not. I was trapped in an invisible cage, my wings thoroughly clipped. I was home schooled, my friends were chosen for me, as were my books and daily activities. But Papa’s downfall was his old fashioned ways, like the way he’d forgotten about restricting my access to Netflix. Pinterest was the only social media I was allowed though. He hadn’t let Instagram or Snapchat slip through the net.

  The one thing I knew for sure? I was going to escape this life soon enough. Papa was sending me to study in Italy. I had just two more weeks to kill then I’d be free. Sure, he was sending Royce and the rest of the team with me to hound my every move, but I’d be far, far away from America and Papa. How much control could he really exercise over me then?

  I tugged at the bottom of my silver dress to cover my knees more thoroughly, feeling Sergio’s gaze dripping over me. He wasn’t flesh and blood. He’d married into the family and I pitied my aunt for his company. Not that she was much fun either. She had a Botox addiction and her only hobby was counting calories.

  “Road’s closed,” our driver murmured, glancing over at Royce for direction.

  His lips were tight and his posture rigid. I swear he was made of stone sometimes. The only place he bent was at the hip.

  “Go around,” he decided, pointing to the diversion sign.

  The driver veered down a dark road where the tall buildings seemed to close in on either side of us and dark alleys sat between them. Lights flashed behind us as the other car full of bodyguards signalled to us. Papa was always overprotective with me. Did I really need to travel with eight people just to go to his stupid gala?

  Royce’s phone buzzed and he answered it with a heavy sigh. The predictable snap of Eddie’s voice sounded down the line as he shouted angrily in Italian. I rarely used the language unless Papa insisted. I personally saw it as another way to control me. We lived in America so I spoke goddamn English thank you very much.

  “What do you want me to do, huh?” Royce hissed, silencing him. “There isn’t another way around. We’re almost through the-”

  A huge crash sounded and everything lurched, my gut tumbled. My whole world flipped – no the car goddamn flipped!

  I screamed, my phone falling from my hand and hitting the roof before whacking me in the face as we spun over once more. Sergio’s foot slammed into my gut as he was tossed around like a rag doll. Another limb smashed into my mouth and I tasted blood. Adrenaline ran wildly through my veins and all I could hear was the deafening shriek and crunch of metal against concrete.

  We finally came to a stop and I hung upside down, panting as I gazed into Sergio’s lifeless eyes below. Blood dripped from my nose onto his face and I screamed once more.

  “Quiet!” Royce commanded and I forced myself to obey.

  The rat-tat-tat of several gunshots cut the air apart and I fell entirely still.

  “It’s the Romeros,” Royce breathed and fear latched onto my heart with ice cold fingers. My favourite bodyguard in the whole world tried to force his way to me from the front seat as smoke seeped under my nose and made my heart tumble into oblivion. He couldn’t fit. The roof was badly bent and the gap wasn’t wide enough for his huge shoulders.

  I’m going to die. I’m going to fucking die.

  I reached for
the seatbelt, pressing the button again and again, but it didn’t come free. Panic licked its way up my spine as I yanked at it.

  “I can’t get out,” I stammered, my voice trembling violently as I locked eyes with Royce.

  My gaze slipped to the broken windscreen, the person-sized hole, the blood, the empty driver’s seat.

  “Don’t panic,” Royce said too calmly like there wasn’t a thing in the world to panic about. He leaned through the front seats and I could tell his other arm was broken as he winced every time he tried to get near, clutching it to his chest.

  A boot crunched on glass on the other side of the vehicle and we both fell still. Royce twisted around, drawing his gun but a deafening bang made my whole world stop as a bullet hit him squarely in the chest. He jerked and fell still and it took everything I had not to scream again.

  “Check everyone’s dead, Rocco,” a cold voice reached my ears and the boots thumped away slowly. “Finish off anyone who’s still twitching.”

  I reached forward as far as I could, my fingers flailing for Royce’s gun. It was still in his grip and I could reach it, I was almost sure.

  I swallowed a whimper of fear as footsteps sounded close again. The scent of smoke was growing unbearable and a thick plume was coiling its way through the car.

  I battled the urge to cough as my fingers grazed the gun and I desperately wrangled it into my grasp.

  I was dead. I knew it. But I’d go out fighting. I’d take out a few of the bastards who’d done this. I’d never shot a gun in my life, but hell, I’d figure it out. I just needed a few seconds.

  My seatbelt unclipped itself and I fell from the seat with a gasp of horror, landing with a muffled thud onto Sergio’s body.

  Someone yanked on the door handle with brute strength but the twisted metal stopped it from opening all the way.

  I scramble around and lifted the gun, my fingers shaking violently as I gripped the trigger.

  I fell back on my ass the second the guy wrenched the door open. A breath lodged in my lungs as I held the gun up, my hands trembling like crazy, my tongue wet with blood.

  My life didn’t flash before my eyes, I didn’t see a bright light at the end of a tunnel. All I could think of was one word. Wasted.

  I’d wasted my life. I’d never really lived during my short sixteen years in this world.

  I waited to see his face to pull the trigger. I’d make these final seconds count. I’d let him look me in the eyes. Show him who killed him. Sloan Calabresi. A girl who could have been someone if only she’d stopped listening to what everyone else told her to do.

  He dropped to a crouch with his gun raised and our eyes locked. My finger twitched against the trigger and so did his. At least one of us should have been dead but we just remained frozen, staring at each other like it meant something. But my mind wouldn’t work to tell me what.

  His eyes were two inky pools flecked with silver, the stubble lining his jaw was as jet black as the hair sweeping over his head. His features were harsh, ruthless, stunning. His mouth was set in a hard line and my death awaited me in the depths of his eyes. The worst thing of all was that I knew who he was. Rocco Romero. Oldest son of Martello Romero, king of the underworld and bringer of terror.

  He was me in reverse. A prince to an empire. The only difference was, women didn’t inherit. He was his vicious father in the making. A man who slaughtered our people on the streets, who left a trail of fear in his wake. His family were the reason Port Diavoli had been nicknamed Sinners Bay. But I was not going to be afraid in my final seconds on Earth. I’d take out one of my mortal enemies instead.

  “Il sole sorgerà domani,” I hissed my family’s motto at him, squeezing hard and pulling the trigger. The sun will rise again.

  Click.

  Rocco didn’t even flinch, he smirked. And it was the coldest, most deadly smile I’d ever seen. “Safety catch, principessa. Didn’t Giuseppe Calabresi teach his little girl how to protect herself?” he mocked, then snatched the gun from me as horror bled through my soul.

  I refused to give in, reaching for anything I could use as a weapon. My fingers grazed my phone and I slammed it against his temple with a gasp of exertion.

  His hand locked around my throat in an instant and he pushed me down to lay on Sergio’s lifeless body. I clawed at his arm, terror wrapping around my heart as he reared above me. His body flattened mine with a weight of sheer muscle and panic swept through my blood. I was small, nothing compared to this animal of a man. And with no weapon, no nothing, he did to me what men had done to me my entire life. Crushed me beneath him.

  I kept my eyes on his, never looking away, determined that he would see no fear in me no matter what my thrashing heart thought of that. I recalled Mamma’s final words to me all those years ago, the only hint she’d been going to take her own life. Death is the truest freedom in the world, mio caro.

  “Sleep,” Rocco whispered as blackness curtained my vision and set off warning bells in my head.

  I despised how beautiful my killer was and spat a curse at him on the final scrap of air in my lungs. Then the devil sent me deep into the darkest sleep I’d ever known. And it was surely death.

  FOUR YEARS LATER

  I stood on the porch of the stately manor house where I’d grown up on the outskirts of the city. The sheer white walls stretched up above me, the pillars either side of me seeming more ostentatious than I’d ever realised. Snowflakes cascaded onto the lawn, silently circling and dancing through the air. The wind carried the sound of gulls down at the west dock on the bay and the cry of fishermen bringing in their morning catches. That wasn’t the only thing they’d have onboard. The men down there made most of their money smuggling goods for my family.

  My little white Pomeranian, Coco, was tucked under my arm as I stood there, hesitating. The driver placed my bags down outside the door and I dismissed him. I’d managed four years in Italy without a porter and I didn’t want to fall back into old habits. I might have had a whole crew sent with me to cater to my every need, but I’d wanted the real world experience. And as they were under my command and a thousand miles away from my father, I’d managed to get a bit more freedom than I’d hoped for.

  Now, I was home for the first time in four years. I hadn’t looked back when I’d left this place. Hadn’t wanted to look back. I was a prisoner here and returning felt like putting the shackles back on. I’d sobbed into my friends’ arms just yesterday while we drank wine and watched the sun set on the balcony of my apartment. It broke my heart to leave them. But I’d known deep down my papa would tighten the leash eventually. I had what he wanted. A shiny classical degree. Another gold badge to place on my lapel.

  I was still hesitating outside the door, putting off the inevitable. I loved my papa because he was flesh and blood, but I couldn’t say I’d missed him. I was afraid to walk back into his life and let him wrap me in chains once more.

  Coco licked my arm, wriggling in an effort to get down. At least he wasn’t afraid to be here. But he hadn’t met my father yet. I’d picked up the little pup in an animal shelter after I’d volunteered there with one of my friends. He’d been a constant companion since and I was glad at least to have been able to bring one friend home with me.

  I straightened my spine, lifted my chin and held onto what my friend Marina had told me before I’d left Italy. You are who you choose to be.

  So I choose this: I am not a prisoner.

  I slotted my key in the lock, pushing the door wide and finding two bodyguards flanking the doorway. I said hello but they said nothing and I sighed, missing Royce. I’d insisted he go home even though he’d driven the other car right up to my family’s property to ensure I got here. The guy hadn’t slept in twenty four hours and Papa had ten men at the gates. I wasn’t exactly in danger once I was in the Calabresi fortress. With the open heart surgery he’d had after the Romero attack, I was determined he rest as much as possible these days. It was a miracle he’d stayed in his job at all. But
I knew deep down, he felt guilty for what had happened that day. By staying, he was trying to make it up to me.

  I placed Coco down and he scampered up the stairs, disappearing along the balcony. Just don’t pee in papa’s office you little beast.

  “Papa?” I called into the echoing quiet as a servant hurried out to grab the rest of my bags. “I can do it,” I told the man but he just smiled and jogged upstairs with my two carry-ons. I sighed. I wasn’t going to be able to do a thing for myself here. But there was one thing I was determined to hold on to. In Italy I’d grown a passion for cooking. I could make my own pasta from scratch, my own sauces and seasonings. But the thing I’d fallen in love with the most, was baking. Little pastries, cakes, sweet breads and sugary treats. It was a passion I never would have found a love for if I hadn’t been given the freedom to discover it.

  “Papa?” I tried again, walking through the huge hallway across the dark wood floors and into the lounge. Two men sat by the fire with a bottle of port between them on the coffee table. My heart started beating harder at the sight of them. One was my father and the other was Nicoli Vitoli; the nine year old boy Papa had adopted when I was just four. Nicoli had answered all of my father’s prayers; he was the boy he’d always wanted. We used to be so close, causing mischief in the house, winding up the guards, spending our summers building camps in the woods and swimming in the lake.

  As he’d gotten older, I’d seen less of him. Papa had taken him under his wing, teaching him the ‘ways of the family’, spending more time with him than I ever got. It had made me resent him plenty of times, but I’d long since forgotten the days where I’d looked upon Nicoli with any envy in my heart. These days, I just wanted to keep out of the family as much as possible. I didn’t want to inherit, I wanted to be set free.

  Papa stood, spreading his arms with a welcoming smile on his face. He’d put on weight since I’d last seen him and his full head of hair was entirely grey. The smell of smoke wafted from two cigars sitting in a dish on the table and I wrinkled my nose. Nicoli rose to his feet too, turning to look at me and my breath snagged in my lungs.