Good Girl: Valetti Crime Family (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance)

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o part
of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations within critical reviews and otherwise as permitted by copyright law.

NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real life is purely coincidental. All characters in this story are 18 or older.

Copyright © 2016, Willow Winters Publishing. All rights reserved.

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G
ood Girl

Willow Winters

I
’m not a good man
, but I’m damn good at what I do.

I
was raised
to be ruthless, and as the muscle for the Petrov mafia, that’s
all
I am.

T
hen
she
got caught
in the crossfire, and when it was over, she was mine – given to me as a temporary gift. Once a mafia princess, now just a bargaining chip; she wasn’t a part of my plans.

S
he’s scared
, alone, and has the most perfect, innocent baby blues that beg me to protect her.  

T
here’s not
an ounce of good in me.
I don’t deserve her, but I
want
her. I want her sweet submission and tempting curves, at any cost.  

E
ven if I
have to kill every f*cker who stands between us.  

T
his good girl
belongs to
me
.

T
his is a standalone
, full-length mafia romance with a filthy-mouthed, possessive bad boy.  Dark mafia themes throughout. Guaranteed HEA.

I
was the mafia princess
. I thought I was safe.

I was the muscle and moneymaker. I was supposed to be untouchable.

I
still remember smoothing
my dress and putting on my earrings the day it all happened.

I remember wiping the blood off my face and feeling the heat of the fire the night it all went down.

I
pull
at the chain around my neck and hate what I’ve become.

I wrap my knuckles with tape before laying hit after hit, hating what I have to do.

T
hey’re all dead
. Now I have no one.

They’re all dead. Now I have no one.

I
feel so alone
, but I won’t stop fighting.

I feel so alone, but I won’t stop fighting.

T
hey want
me to be scared of them, so I’ll play the part. I can use that to my advantage.

They’re terrified of me, and that’s good. I’m going to need that fear to survive this.

T
he plane descends
and lands with a loud thump that shakes the cargo hold, but I keep the sick feelings at bay. I hope that bastard’s here.

I hear the plane land and I know it’s almost time. I hope it’s him this time and not just another shipment.

H
e’s
the reason I’m shackled and beaten. Used and degraded. I won’t stop fighting to breathe until I have my revenge.

He’s my chance at redemption and a new life. I’m not gonna lay down and die; I’m making a name for myself.

T
hey keep saying
I’m a good girl.

They think I’m a bad boy.

N
one
of them really know who I am.

None of them really know who I am.

T
hey can keep calling
me a good girl though, right up until the moment I slit their throats.

M
y fist slams
against the bag. I see my uncle’s face. I throw a right hook. Next, a left jab. Over and over I slam my fists into the leather until my muscles scream with pain. And then I push myself harder. I feel my knuckles crack under the weight of my hits. The sound of my fists making contact with the heavy bag doesn’t do anything to relieve this tension, though. I want to hear the crunch of his jaw. Fucking rat. That coward destroyed my family, and ruined my life. And I can’t do shit about it. I can’t turn back time.

I hit the bag again and again, trying to get this weight that’s crushing my chest to leave me. I hear my father’s voice, the screech of the tires. The gunshots. I grab the bag and slow my racing heart. A deep breath fills my lungs, but it only serves to fuel my anger further. They hunted us all down because of my fucking coward uncle. And I can’t do shit to change any of that.

“Kane!” Marco shouts; his voice echoes in the empty room. I hear the door swing shut and his boots smack against the concrete floor of the warehouse. I wipe the sweat off my face.

I needed to get out some aggression, but I have to be presentable for the meet, so I grab the towel on the pile of boxes next to me and wipe down quickly. I hear Marco walk toward me as I pick up my shirt and slip it on. I button it up, concentrating on keeping my anger at bay. Aggression would not be good right now. Not when I’m on my own, completely outnumbered, and about to meet the new boss of the Marzano Cartel.

Abram Petrov. He's become notorious for taking over the industry quickly, and with lethal force. Recently he's acquired the lead cartel in Mexico as well as heavy hitters in France and Russia, where he’s from. He’s a new force that’s not scared to play dirty, and now he’s on my doorstep.

“I’m ready!” I yell over my shoulder, and stalk toward him. Time to meet the new
famila
, or Bratva as the Russian fucks keep calling it. Or whatever the fuck he calls his crew. I have to try to earn a position with a mob that’s willing to take in the nephew of a rat. I swallow thickly. I’ve been waiting for a few weeks for this meet-up, staying in the warehouse and lying low with a target on my back. This place used to be a safe house for my family. Now it’s my bargaining chip to get the attention of Petrov.

His crew came and set up yesterday, but I kept my distance. They know it’s my place and they came to do business here, which is great. But I’m not a part of their crew. I’d rather give them the space they want and a warm welcome without getting involved in their shit. I can’t fuck this up.

“This is gonna be great. I know it will.” Marco grins at me and slaps his hand on my back. His arm has to reach up to hit me square on my shoulders. I’m six-foot-five and all muscle. Next to Marco I look like a fucking beast. I was the top earner in the
famila
for a reason. I’m a terrifying fucker to go up against. People tend to pay up rather than piss me off. But even with all the money I was bringing in, they tried to have me killed. They tried, and they failed.

“Boss’s already impressed with everything you did to those pussies.” My gut twists and my chest tightens with pain. They should’ve known better than to come for me. That shit with my uncle had nothing to do with me. Or my father. And they sure as fuck knew my sister and my mother didn’t have shit to do with any of it. They fucking came for us all the same, though. They should’ve made sure we were all dead. Those fuckers left me alive. And they paid the price. Even if they were the only people I had in this world.

I grin at him and huff a laugh. I need the boss to like me. I need somewhere to go, someone to be. I grew up in this life. And everyone I knew turned their backs on me. If I hadn’t been so fucked up, I could’ve started the business myself. I have contacts. A few I still trust. But I made this call too soon. Now I need to go through with it.

I breathe in deep and walk through the hall to the hangar. The meeting’s going down here. I’m ready for this. It’s not an ambush, but they could easily kill me. It’s just me against all of them. They’re not here for that. No one’s touching me after what I did. Revenge will make a man crazy. Unstoppable. Untouchable. But it’s also left me alone. I’m ready to move on and get back to work.

There are a few small planes in the relatively empty hangar. Stacks of cocaine bricks wrapped in plastic are sitting on a folding table. It's not what I’m used to. I’m more of a blackmail-the-politician type. But shipping and selling will have to do in the beginning, I suppose. Onward and upward or some shit like that. I’ll prove my worth.

Four men in black and grey suits surround the table, watching the two workers weigh and bag the product. As they hear our footsteps, they turn to face us. The boss, Abram, walks toward me. His underboss walks next to him, but a step or two behind. The other two men with them are obviously soldiers, judging from their broad shoulders. One has a scar across his face. It looks like it came from a slash that should’ve taken his eye out. The other has a tattoo scrolling up his neck. Both of the soldiers read as highly dangerous, nothing like Abram himself. Their dark eyes stare back at me as they put their arms behind their backs and square their shoulders, waiting for orders. Marco walks behind them and back to the table. He’s just a soldier. And he’s completely happy with that. He’s a dumb fucker.

“Kane,” Abram greets, as he extends his hand to me. He's a tall, slender man, with black hair that's slicked back with oil. I shake his hand firmly and stare into his eyes; they’re so dark, they appear black as well.

Abram’s a deadly boss. I heard about what he did to the cartel in Mazatlan. I’m not all that happy seeing how he cut ties purely for business reasons. And by cut ties, I mean demolished their businesses, stole everything they had, and murdered them. To call him ruthless would be putting it lightly, but beggars can’t be choosers. I know there’s a target on my back. I need to find a place and lie low. And this is the only option I have right now. So I’m making a deal with the devil.

“Abram. Or should I call you Boss?” I ask, with the hint of a grin on my face.

He smiles back broadly. “Boss, I think.” Hearing that allows me to breathe, but I don’t show my relief. He turns and wraps his arm around my shoulders, guiding me to the group of men. It’s an awkward hold on me, because I’m so much taller than him, but I allow it. “Thank you again, for making this transition easier on us. I appreciate the gesture.”

“No problem.” I nod my head and take a look at the product lined up on the table. That’s a lot of coke. No doubt using my hangar was a decent option for them. And a sign of trust that they accepted my offer.

“I’d like you to meet Vadik, my second-in-command,” Abram says. I reach out my hand to the underboss and he’s quick to take it with a smile. Another good sign. This man is older. Vadik looks to be somewhere around my father’s age, whereas Abram can’t be any older than 35. Abram’s face has the hint of wrinkles around his eyes. This man, however, has earned his age. Grey hair that’s slicked back the same way as Abram's and deep-set wrinkles on his face. His pale blue eyes are like ice. So fucking cold. This man reads as deadly. Abram could easily fool you into thinking he's less dangerous than he is, lulling you into a false sense of security. Based on everything I've heard about him, he's succeeded in doing that multiple times in the past with former rivals. But this man, Vadik, looks like a killer.

“Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand. He puts his other hand on top of mine.

“It is indeed, Kane. I’ve been anxious to meet the man who took down the entire Armeno family in one night.” He smiles wickedly as he says, “You’ve made quite an impression.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” I say the words, but I’m not happy at all. I did what I had to do. I didn’t want to. I had to.

“I’ve considered your proposal to join me,” Abram begins, while looking me in the eyes. I can feel a “but” coming, and I don’t like it. I keep my expression impassive as he continues. “I like it. I like it a lot. I think we’ll work well together.” My brows raise slightly and he registers my surprise.

“We’re going to have some more guests in a moment,” Abram says, motioning with his hand and guiding me to the front of the hangar. The doors are open, and the sun is shining through. It’s a bright, beautiful day. The breeze is refreshing. Too fucking bad there’s so much adrenaline pumping in my blood that I can barely breathe.

“More guests?” I ask, with a bit of curiosity in my voice. I’m not curious though--I’m pissed. I offered my place to him to use for entry into the US. Not for him to use as a base for his operations. And definitely not so he could invite more people. But I’m sure as shit not going to tell him that. Not right now, anyway. I may be fueled by anger, but I’m not a hothead.

“Now that our competitor is no more, we have a few business meetings to conduct.” He stops in the open runway, looking toward the road. “Have you heard of the Valettis?”

I nod my head at his question. The Valettis are a tight pack. They're nearly the only
famila
left that has an actual family related by blood heading up their organization. At least around these parts. I’ve heard good things about them, promising things. But we’ve never met personally. They stayed in their territory and we stayed in ours.

“Well, they did business with our former competitor and now they’re coming to meet us regarding our new terms.”

“New terms?” I question. I’m surprised to hear that. I know they
can
raise their prices now that they’re the lead exporter. But I’m not sure it’s the wisest to do that at the beginning of a business relationship.

“You’ll see,” Vadik says from my left side with a crooked grin and a twinkle in his cold eyes. I don’t like the way he says it, but again, I don’t give them anything. Instead, I nod my head and stare at the two black Range Rovers driving up the dirt road to the landing strip. My heart beats faster in my chest and it’s harder to keep the anger from showing.

I don’t appreciate the secrets. Nor the sudden company. I don’t like being at the bottom and not knowing shit. Not controlling shit. But I have to remind myself that I’m in a tight spot. I need to take it easy and make myself valuable. I’m not valuable to anyone right now, and that’s not good for my chances of survival.

The Valettis park and get out quickly. I want to walk to them and meet them halfway, but Abram’s feet are planted. I take notice; I stand and act appropriately. It’s a rude gesture if you ask me. But what the fuck do I know? If I’m going to be working for him, I’ll have to put up with this shit. Regret is already pumping through my blood. I grit my teeth and wish I could take out this anger on something. On someone. I fucking hate the position I’m in.

“Abram Petrov,” Vince says, as he stops in front of us. I recognize him immediately. He’s the new Don of his
famila
. His father retired and word got around fast that Vince had taken his place. Three more men come up behind him and then two more exit the second vehicle.

“Vincent Valetti. Nice to finally meet you.” Abram smiles and extends his hand in greeting. Vince is calm and collected as he accepts the gesture, but he doesn't return the smile.

“It’s quite a drive to get out here, Abram. I’ve heard you’re a man who gets these sorts of business arrangements done quickly. Is that so?” An asymmetric grin pulls at my lips. I like how quickly Vince gets to the point. I would also like to get this shit done promptly. The two men standing behind Vince and the others from his
famila
are armed and showing it. Which isn’t that big of a deal since the men behind me, the two I’ve yet to be introduced to, each have a hand on their guns, too. It’s not a display of a threat, or of violence. It’s simply business. It’s how things are done in this life.

I’ll still feel better when it’s over. I don’t particularly enjoy being surrounded by men I don’t know who are all armed. I have to start somewhere, though.

Abram laughs from deep within his chest and nods his head. “Quick works for me, Vince.” He walks forward with a smile and gestures with his arm to a plane that landed an hour or so ago.

More shipments.

The pilot stands outside of the cargo hold smoking a cigarette. He’s in jeans and a black tee shirt. Tattoos cover both of his arms and his brow is pierced. He’s got a Mexican look to him. I imagine he was the contact Abram must’ve had in Javier’s cartel. Someone was a traitor. But no one knows for sure who it was. Maybe it’s wrong of me to assume. Not that it matters anyway.

“I’m ready to do business, and I’d like for things to go smoothly. So, the prices are exactly what they were for you before. Everything the same. The only difference is you’ll be going through me, rather than your former contact.” Abram talks as we walk closer to the plane. Sickness churns in my gut. I don’t know why, but I know I’m not going to like what I see.

“That makes me a very happy business partner,” Vince says, but there’s hesitation in his voice. He’s skeptical. And so am I. There are reasons for meets. But keeping terms the same is not one of them.

“We need your docks for other business ventures. So I’d like to add more to our arrangement,” Abram says, as we stop in front of the plane.

“What are you looking to export?” Vince asks, with his eyes narrowed.

“Felipe, bring it out here,” Marco says to the pilot. Felipe tosses the cigarette on the ground and walks to the very back of the plane.

I watch with wide eyes as a woman is dragged out from the cargo hold. She’s quiet the entire time. Not fighting, simply moving as fast and as best she can to keep up with the man. I’d like to kill that fucker. I struggle to keep my exhalation even. There’s a metal collar with a chain around her throat, but he’s pulling her along by her hair.

Blood rushes loud in my ears and my body heats with anger. Sex slave trafficking. I had no fucking idea they were into this shit. And judging by Vince’s face and the matching looks on his crew’s faces, neither did they. When I made contact with Marco, I knew what I was getting into. This wasn’t it. This is new, and I don’t fucking like it.