The Rocchetti Queen (The Rocchetti Dynasty Book 3) Read online

  I looked back over at Nora, a spitting image of her mother with a bright future ahead of her. She was explaining to Dante what an atom was. My son looked very interested, watching her red hair fly as she spoke.

  I turned back to Aisling, beautiful and self-sacrificing.

  If my father-in-law hurts either of these girls, I thought, I’m going to kill him.

  When I returned home, I was surprised to find Chiara di Traglia outside my house. She stepped toward me as the car rolled up on the driveway.

  “Do you want me to tell her to leave?” Oscuro asked.

  I shook my head, sighing, “No.”

  I hadn’t even gotten Dante out of his car seat when she approached. “Have you heard anything?” she asked.

  I held my son, wrapping him up to protect him from the November chill. “No, I haven’t,” I told her kindly. “How about you come inside and have some tea?”

  Chiara set her jaw in anger but accepted my invitation.

  Dante napped in his bouncing seat while Chiara and I sat in the living room, neither of us making a move toward the tea and biscuits.

  “Adelasia is somewhere out there, alone and pregnant,” Chiara bit out. “Your family have not had any success in finding her.” The sharpness to her tone made me bite down on my words but keep my face pleasant.

  “We are doing—”

  “You are doing everything you can. Save it,” she sniped. “I have heard it all. And yet, Adelasia is still missing and our family is still suffering.”

  I drew back slightly. “Chiara,” I kept my voice level, “I understand you are upset but you will not speak to me in such a way. When I tell you, ‘We are doing everything we can to find your misguided niece,’ you should believe me.”

  Chiara’s eyes flashed. “Without the di Traglias, the Outfit would be nothing,” she snapped. “Nothing.”

  The di Traglias did make up most of the Outfit. Out of all the families, they were by far the largest.

  “Our family’s reputation has been soiled. Now, our daughters are pariahs for marriage and our sons unlikely to become Made Men.”

  “I am sorry that your family’s reputation has taken such a hit,” I said. “Especially such a respectable family as your own.”

  Chiara ignored my ass-kissing. “Your brother-in-law needs to find Adelasia and marry her. Claim his bastard chid.”

  “Or?”

  “Or the di Traglias will leave the Outfit.”

  I didn’t let my reaction show on my face. “That is a very hearty threat to be throwing around, Chiara. Let us forget this conversation, and instead put all our energy toward bringing Adelasia home.”

  “No. Find Adelasia or forget about ever being donna. Without my family’s support, you and your husband will never be able to rule.”

  In her own way, she was correct. Not having a large majority of the Outfit’s support would make it extremely difficult to run the organization.

  “Chiara, you have my word, we will find Adelasia.” Dead or alive, Alessandro’s voice said in the back of my mind.

  Chiara rose from her seat. “You best hope so. For your own sakes.”

  I called her name before she left, not rising from my seat. “Oh, and before you go,” I said when I had her attention. “I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you, if you ever speak to me the same way you just did, Adelasia will be the least of your problems. Family support or no.”

  She bowed her head, realizing she had gone too far, and left swiftly.

  When she was gone, I picked up Dante and held him on my lap. He slept peacefully in my arms, barely stirring as I moved him.

  My brain was moving hurriedly and with panic. If we lost the support of the di Traglias, Alessandro and I would have a lot more problems than just his father and brother. They could tear the Outfit in two.

  On their own, they would never make it. But the di Traglias could do some serious damage to my own ambitions on their way out.

  I kissed Dante’s forehead softly.

  Chiara’s words were ringing through my brain. A marriage is the only way to fix something like this.

  I closed my eyes, breathing in my son. He wasn’t even a month old, and already the plan for his life was forming in front of him.

  Tears welled up in my eyes. I knew what I was going to do—what my husband was going to do. We wouldn’t risk losing the di Traglias, we wouldn’t risk losing the Outfit.

  In that moment, I wished Dante had better parents, parents whose blood didn’t run Cosa Nostra.

  Dita found us in the dark hours later, my cheeks still wet.

  “Get some rest, Sophia,” she murmured. “I will watch him.”

  I took her up on her offer but I wasn’t going to rest.

  T he church was freezing.

  I shivered in the pew, head bent down low. Whenever I slipped into my thoughts, into the chanting of my prayers, I could’ve sworn I felt the eyes of Mary Madonna burning into my skin. But when I snapped my head back up, taking in the still statue, I was both relieved and alarmed to find it was nothing but my imagination.

  Behind me, the large doors clanged. Footsteps neared me, strong and confident.

  Oscuro was waiting out the front and wouldn’t let just anybody enter, so I knew who it was immediately.

  My husband slid into the pew beside me, his warmth seeping into me.

  “Are you alright, my love?” he asked, his deep voice nothing but concerned.

  I tilted my head to the side, taking in his hands. Large and rough, pink scars decorating the olive skin. They were hands that had brutalized and tortured, hands that at just fourteen years old had wrapped around a man’s neck and strangled him to death.

  Yet never had they turned to me in anger, never had I feared them.

  I slid my fingers into his, and he gripped them immediately.

  “Have you ever prayed, Alessandro?”

  Alessandro pressed his hand beneath my chin, lifting my eyes up to his. His expression swallowed me; half-fierce, half-adoring. “Only once.”

  That was not the answer I had expected. I’d expected him to scoff at my superstitious nature, my belief in a higher power.

  “Once? When?”

  He moved his fingers from my chin, cupping my cheek. Warmth fluttered through me, reminding me of how cold the rest of my body was. “When I heard a gunshot go off in my wife’s hospital room.”

  My heart skipped a beat. All I could think to say was, “That is not the proper way of praying.”

  “I wasn’t aware there was a correct way.”

  “We’re Catholic.” I smiled slightly. “There is a correct way to do everything.”

  Alessandro’s gaze dropped down to my lips. “Oh? Will you teach me?”

  With shaky legs, I rose. Alessandro came with me, dropping his palm from my cheek and instead taking my cold hand. I led him up to the alter, to the marble statue of the Virgin Mary. Reds and blues and greens fanned over us, a result of the moonlight shining through the stained-glass windows.

  Alessandro’s dark eyes roamed over the arches and spires, a nostalgic look on his face. Was he remembering our wedding? Our son’s baptism? Or perhaps the induction of Anthony Scaletta? Maybe he was remembering one of the many funerals that we had endured in this cold holy place.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked.

  My husband smiled, possessive and half-feral. “When we got married.”

  “A joyous day,” I mused.

  A small part of me wished I could go back and comfort past-Sophia. I would wrap her up in my arms, keep her warm and tell her, it’s going to be okay. He’s going to see all of you and it will be terrifying but it will be okay.

  “Indeed.” He cast his eyes up to Mary Madonna’s face. “You were going to teach me how to pray?”

  “You have to get on your knees.”

  Alessandro eyes gleamed. In one smooth movement, he dropped to the ground.

  He peered up at me, eyes too dark, too knowing.

  M
y breath caught in my throat. “You have to press your hands together.”

  “Really?” He caught my thighs, pressing on them until I leaned against the statue, the stone digging into my back.

  “Yes,” I breathed. The heat from his palms was shooting straight up, overwhelming my senses—

  “Did I ever tell you I am terrible at learning new things?” Alessandro asked. He may have been on his knees, bowing to me, but it was very clear who was in charge of this situation.

  I stuttered out, trying to make my voice sound level, “Oh?”

  His grin only widened, the whites of his teeth flashing. “All my teachers said, all my reports. The capo I served under in my youth. Even my grandfather.” I felt his hot breath tickle my thigh.

  “Why?”

  “Apparently, I’m too easily distracted.”

  I gasped as his hands cupped the back of my thighs, spreading them. “I can’t imagine why,” was my breathy reply.

  Alessandro’s fingers moved up my legs, slipping beneath my skirt. I felt their electric touch as he got closer to the building ache. He twisted his fingers around the side of my panties, his grin only widening as my lips parted.

  The fabric easily came down as he pulled. “Step out, darling,” he murmured.

  I stepped out of my panties, barely able to think about anything past his hands, his lips, his tongue—

  Alessandro pushed me back gently, encouraging me to sit on the statue’s pedestal. The stony legs of Mary Madonna pressed into my spine, but I hardly registered it.

  His rough hands pushed up my skirt, the fabric bunching up at my hips. The cold press of the marble statue on my exposed skin made me start. The noise echoed through the church.

  “Is it too cold?” Alessandro asked.

  I nodded.

  “I guess I will just have to warm you up.” His head went down. I could feel his lips on my knee, my thigh, higher and higher…

  I felt his hot breath first, then his lips pressing against my sensitive spot.

  Alessandro’s tongue reached out in sweeping movement, his stubble brushing against my thigh, his fingers digging into my knees. The pressure between my legs began to grow stronger, wetter. Air was leaving my lungs; my nipples were tightening.

  I grabbed his head, fingers digging into his hair. “Please—oh God.”

  “Not God. Who?” he murmured against me.

  I would’ve told him anything in that moment. “You—Alessandro—my husband!”

  He laughed deep in his throat. “My love,” he said as his mouth went back down to me, the connection startling and hot.

  Alessandro nibbled and licked and bit until I was hanging off an edge, so close yet so far—His thumb scraped my clit, pressing down hard until there was nothing but his flesh pressing into mine, his fingers pressing against me, until my hips jerked—

  I cried out to the Heavens as I found my release, my head pressed in between the crook of the Virgin Mary’s legs, and my hands digging into The Godless’s hair.

  Afterward, Alessandro held me to his chest, both of us leaning against the statue, our breathing the only sound in the church.

  “The di Traglias are going to be trouble,” I whispered.

  “I know, my love,” he murmured as he ran a hand down my hair. “We will deal with it when Adelasia is found.”

  His tone implied he expected a body, and not a future sister-in-law.

  The longer we went without finding her, I felt my own expectations begin to dwindle.

  “I think we’re going to have to tie the di Traglias to us somehow.”

  Alessandro pressed his lips against my temple. “We are.”

  “We have only one thing precious enough to bargain with.” My mouth quivered but I didn’t tear up.

  “He will do what is expected of him. As all other Rocchettis do.” He didn’t sound particularly pleased with his statement. “As all Made Men do.”

  I closed my eyes. “Duty is inescapable.”

  Alessandro was quiet for a moment before quietly saying, “And yet...I have found so much happiness in my own.”

  “O h, Bill,” I said as I took in the dark room. The distinct smell of take-out food and misery was strong enough to make my eyes water.

  Beneath the blankets, half-encased in shadows, was lately deposed Mayor Bill Salisbury. If it wasn’t for the soft rise and fall of the blanket, I would’ve thought he was dead.

  But the poor man was very much alive—and still steeping in his very public loss to Mayor Alphonse Ericson.

  “Go away,” he muttered from beneath the covers. “I’m asleep.”

  “Bill, it’s me. Sophia Rocchetti.”

  Very slowly, Bill shifted the blankets, a mop of greasy gray hair poking up from beneath them. “Sophia Rocchetti?”

  I stepped closer to the bed. “The one and only.”

  His face grew glum as he took me in. “Are you here to tell me you support Ericson? If so, you needn’t have come so far. The polls told me enough.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. These politicians were all so dramatic. Try being a mob wife for a day.

  “Your wife called me, Bill. She is growing tired of...whatever this is.”

  Bill sighed.

  “You can’t keep going on like this,” I reminded him. “There will come a time you will have to face Ericson. And your city.”

  “No there won’t.”

  “Yes, there will. Because you’re invited to the Rocchetti Alzheimer’s Support charity gala as my honored guest. How silly will I look if you don’t show up when I said you would?”

  Salisbury, like all politicians, was an arrogant man. It came with the territory. But like all other arrogant men, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be an honored guest. Could anybody?

  The blanket drew back and his face was visible. His beard was out of control, hiding most of his face. He looked like he had been lost on a deserted island for a few years.

  I hid my reaction to his appearance, instead smiling graciously. “The members of the Historical Society will be there. They have missed you terribly these past few weeks.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mmhm,” I soothed. “Do you know how excited everyone will be to see you again? Especially at an event as important as this one.”

  “Will Ericson be there?”

  I smiled. “Of course not.”

  That sealed the deal. After weeks of being a virtual shut in, Salisbury was finally coming back out into the public eye.

  Which was for the best.

  I couldn’t have the politician I planned on replacing Ericson with spending all his time hiding under the covers like some scared little boy.

  Guests dressed in their best tuxes and gowns loitered around the tables, laughing over champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Scientists and politicians and socialites all shoved into the same space, trying to squeeze money or information out of each other.

  The ballroom had been decorated to perfection. From the emotional photos lining the walls to the glittering golden lights hanging from the ceiling. Flowers added a softer feel, wrapped around the doorways and chairs.

  I stood by the doorway with Alessandro, both of us dressed in our finest and greeting guests.

  My gown fell down to the ground, formed of golden sheer fabric and glittering silk. When it caught the light, it looked like it was stitched by rays of sunlight. The cut was modest enough, with only my shoulders and upper chest on display. If it wasn’t for my unbound hairstyle, I would have been very cold.

  Alessandro had stopped fidgeting once I let him take off his blazer. The flash of his tattoos below his sleeves felt equivalent to a poisonous snake showing off its brightly colored scales. From the pale looks of the ball’s patrons as they passed him, I knew they would also agree.

  My husband had grown bored quickly of kissing up to socialites and had instead found other ways to distract himself. Mainly by playing with me.

  A quick pinch to the bum, a tug on a curl, a kiss on my
bare shoulder.

  “You’re lucky we’re in public,” Alessandro whispered in my ear in a break between people.

  I shifted on my feet, trying to wash away the building ache at my center. “Oh?”

  His black eyes gleamed knowingly, picking up on the rising flush of my neck and cheeks. “I really like your dress,” he told me.

  “I would hope so. It cost you enough.”

  A grin passed over his features but the hungry look in his eyes did not diminish. If he kept looking at me like that, I would need to sit down and fan myself—or take him in the bathrooms for some peace and quiet.

  One week, I told myself. One more week.

  “We are greeting people,” I reminded myself more than him. “This is not the time...”

  “Not the time for what? To talk to my wife?”

  I tried to hide my smile but failed. “That’s not what you’re doing, and you know it.”

  The look in his eyes only grew more intense.

  I turned to greet more guests coming in but felt the heavy weight of his stare on my exposed neck. Lucky, I was able to distract myself by welcoming people to the charity ball and swooning under all their compliments.

  An old politician tried to get a bit more friendly. His hand moving away bit too slow, his eyes a bit too lustful.

  Alessandro moved his hand, the movement rough. When the old politician opened his mouth to say something, my husband grinned savagely.

  I laughed as the politician scurried off. “I think you made him nervous.”

  “Good.” Alessandro kissed my temple, his arm coming around my waist possessively. Back off, his movements seemed to yell.

  “I hope you’re not jealous,” I said.

  His laugh rumbled through his chest. “Jealous? I am not jealous. I know you are mine. You give them your tempting, dressed-up self, your filtered version. I get you when you first wake up; I have you when you're dancing around the kitchen and singing to our son."

  I abandoned all my pretense about public affection and kissed him, hands cupping his rough jaw.

  Alessandro grinned against my lips. “You’re scandalizing your patrons, my love.”