My Heart Read online

  My Heart

  Bloody Business Book 1

  By

  AJ Wolf

  Copyright

  MY HEART - BLOODY BUSINESS BOOK 1 COPYRIGHT © 2019 AJ WOLF

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, plots, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental. The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of all word marks, products, and brands mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Cover Image/Book Design by OliviaProDesign

  https://www.fiverr.com/oliviaprodesign?

  Contents

  My Heart

  Copyright

  Contents

  Glossary

  Warning

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  My Heart Playlist

  Sneak Peek

  About the Author

  Follow AJ Wolf

  Glossary

  Cuore Mio - my heart, a term of endearment used for loved ones who have stolen yours

  Capo Famiglia - the boss of the mafia. They are both respected and feared by all subordinates.

  Capo Bastone - the second in command who can and will stand in for the capo famiglia whenever needed.

  Consigliere - the advisor to the capo famiglia. They are usually the closest friend to the boss and is chosen for their trustworthiness and knowledge. Their job is to provide unbiased advice.

  Capo - a captain in the mafia who heads a crew of their own made men and report directly to the Capo Famiglia or Capo Bastone.

  Made men (man) - the lowest rank in the mafia, they run errands and do all the dirty work. They are also called soldiers.

  Associates - people who work with the mafia but are not actual members. This usually includes but is not limited to cops, lawyers, bankers, politicians, etc.

  Omerta – code of silence, loyalty and honor taken by all who are initiated into the mafia.

  Famiglia – family; also used as a term for the mafia by those in it.

  Nipote – term used for a granddaughter, grandson, niece or nephew

  Cognata – sister in law

  Uomo morto – dead man

  Stronzo – asshole

  Coglione – moron

  Fanculo – fuck

  Testa di cazzo – dickhead

  Figlio di puttana - son of a bitch

  Pronto – Italian way of answering the phone meaning ready or ready to speak.

  Traditori – traitors

  Cuore mio, tu sei il mio tutto. Mi hai fatto il dono più prezioso. Ti amerò sempre – My heart, you are my everything. You have given me the most precious of gifts. I will always love you.

  The Westies – a New York based Irish American crime gang

  Bastardi - Bastards

  Warning

  This is a romance story but there are parts that some may find offensive; cursing, sexual scenes/situations and violence. Please continue at your own discretion.

  Chapter One

  I hear my phone beep with a message and glance at the clock on my wall. Like clockwork every day, twice a day, my husband sends a message or leaves a voicemail. I never read them. Never listen. I should delete his contact, block his number, but for reasons I can't explain I wait on bated breath for his messages and calls. Every day I stare at his name on the screen with a bleeding heart begging me to answer and end our torture. And every day I almost give in, hand trembling with barely contained restraint, breath shaking with held back tears. Walking to the coffee table my chest is heavy with anxiety. Just swipe and delete Beverly; lately that's been my inner mantra. It's been almost exactly three months since I left. Instead of getting easier my poor little heart cracks even further every day, webbed with bleeding lines like the veins in fine marble.

  Just as my fingers graze my phone there's a loud pounding on my door, drawing my attention away. My husky/shepherd mix growls from his spot on the couch and I frown. I'm not expecting anyone. "Who do you think it is Dylan?" I obviously don't expect an answer, but it would definitely be nice. Adjusting my loose tee and smoothing my hands down my leggings, I go to open the door. At least I'm having a good hair day.

  "Beverly?"

  I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding, a shy smile taking place of the frown that was previously there. Just a postman. "Yes...I'm Beverly."

  He hands me a plain brown box with a smile of his own and a nod. "Great. Have good night."

  "Thanks...you too." I stare at his retreating back for a moment then shut the door. The box doesn't have a return address and I don't remember ordering anything. I send a side eye towards Dylan who has gone back to snoozing. Apparently, he doesn't share my feelings of apprehension.

  Grabbing a knife from the kitchen drawer I carefully cut the tape and then open the top. Inside there's four deep burgundy peonies cut short and tied with a black ribbon, a small piece of paper folded and stuck between the stems. I don't have to read that note to know who sent it. My body is thrumming with unease, my heart beating roughly against my ribs. I shouldn't read the note. Should throw it all out the window and forget I ever saw it. But for the same reasons I can't explain, I slip the note out with shaking fingers and carefully unwrap the edges.

  “It's time to come home Cuore Mio”

  Crushing the paper in my palm I sink to the floor, heart pounding in my ears while I try and fail to keep my resolve; my tears hit the cheap yellowing linoleum as I bend at the waist with an unrestrained sob. A pain bone deep pangs in my chest as his endearment is repeated over and over in my head, bouncing along the walls of my brain. Dylan has wedged his big body between me and the floor and I cling to him as a lifeline, burying my cheek and fingers into his dark fur.

  When my sobs have turned to hiccups, I slowly pull myself up, wiping the snot and wetness from my face with the corner of my shirt. White knuckling the counter I rest my forehead on its cold surface, trying to regain composure. The walls I've been trying to build up for three long months were crumbled to dust with a single sentence; my carefully constructed front ripped straight down the middle. I've moved past anguish and straight to anger. How dare he do this to me. Slapping my palms on the counter I straighten my spine and take a deep breath. With new determination I stomp to my phone and snatch it up, he doesn't get to tell me when I'm done grieving. My thumb hovers over his message, my courage slipping with the passing seconds. Half of me wants to fight him tooth and nail, make him feel the same pain, sorrow and misery I've endured because of his choices... But the other half, the half connected to my weak little heart, screams in white hot agony at the mere thought.

  My problem isn't that I hate my husband, it's that I love him so deeply I'd slit my throat if it meant sparing his. Despite his adoring words and soft touches, my husband shattered my heart. Squeezed it in his fist until it burst under the pressure, then wiped my tears away with his bloody hands, whispering sweet nothings against my lips. Yet he is what my heart so desperately wants, will happily take slice after slice for. I'm clearly some kind of masochist because I can't seem to keep my
self from his clutches. I’m forever stuck in an endless loop of loving a man who cleaved my soul in half; forever plagued by thoughts of his betrayal picking at the frayed edges. I crave a taste of his lips, to feel a breath whispered in my ear, even as guilt eats at my gut. I'm fucking wrecked and there's no one to blame but him. I knew he was a dangerous man, but I never would have imagined it being me his wrath would crush.

  I close my eyes, tightening my hand on the phone. Just delete the damn message. Looking down I swipe and delete without letting myself hesitate again. I don't know what time it is but I'm over today. I whistle for Dylan, walking to my room, switching lights off as I pass. There's a sliver of light still clinging in the sky, shining through my windows like a night light guiding my way. Leaving the light off in my room I crawl into bed fully clothed, tennis shoes still tied, toss my phone onto the floor and curl around my pillow. The bed sinks slightly as Dylan climbs up and rests his big head on my side. Maybe I'll wake up from this nightmare tomorrow.

  ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪

  I'm woken abruptly by Dylan's deep bark. He isn't in the room anymore and I can hear foot falls outside my open door. Fear is spiking my blood with adrenaline as I jump up to grab the gun I keep in my dresser. A masculine yell echoes through the dark apartment followed by the sound of tearing fabric as I quietly dig through the drawer; silently thanking Julian for always reminding me to keep a gun within reach. I don't want to draw attention to myself but I need to get Dylan. Loading the chamber and switching the safety off my gun, I crouch low to stay below the window line and peek into the hall. Dylan is terrorizing two men in the small kitchen area, one of them currently being yanked around like a rag doll. Despite the commotion there's a straight shot to the balcony and fire escape; that will be the best way out.

  Allowing myself an extra second to gather my scattered nerves I take off for the balcony. The men are too distracted with Dylan to notice me until I've slammed the sliding door open and whistled for my pup. I don't look but I hear his clicking feet behind me as I sprint down the first set of stairs. Only two more to go. Heavy pounding as I get to the last balcony tell me I'm running out of time. I lift the ladder, letting gravity yank it down; a quick glance over my shoulder confirms I need to jump or risk getting grabbed. Looking over the edge my belly clenches with nerves, I better not break my fucking leg. Before I can overthink it, I launch down. In an attempt to protect my ankles, I tuck and accidentally slam my shoulder down too roughly, smacking my funny bone as I land. Fuck that fucking hurt. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep myself quiet, the urge to yell out almost overwhelming. Whoever named it that is a damn moron, there's nothing funny about hitting your elbow. Tasting the metallic tang of my blood I groan and roll over, forcing myself to my feet to look up at Dylan. He's smarter than I am and uses the first two feet of ladder to help push down before jumping the rest of the way. He lands jaggedly but appears okay. I turn and sprint, trying to ignore the pain shooting up random parts of my body. The back of my apartments is a long, wide alleyway that opens to a shabby little shopping square that has people at all hours; I just need to get out in the open.

  Turning the corner at a dead run, my windpipe slams shut and my vision goes black. I hit the ground like a brick, the back of my head bouncing on the pavement. I hear my gun skid across the ground along with Dylan's deep growls and snaps as I fight to get air in my lungs. Wheezing and clawing at the ground my vision slowly starts fading back to color, blurry with tears. My throat and lungs are burning as I try and reach for my gun, my fingers just brushing the handle as I'm yanked up by the waist. Whipping around scratching, biting, kicking, I try to scream but my sounds are low and hollow from being clotheslined. Dylan launches at the man holding me but he gets ripped back by two sets of hands; one pins him down while the other fights a muzzle over his face. I swear to God if they hurt my dog, I will kill them.

  I'm pinned against a dark SUV while my hands are zip tied, watching as Dylan is pulled into another identical vehicle and forced into the back. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to calm. I can't get out of this unless I have a clear head. I'm fine, we're fine. I force myself to repeat the statement over and over, willing myself to feel it. Scanning my surroundings, I start to notice key details I should have before and bite my cheek in anger. Every man is dressed in a pressed suit, both vehicles are unmarked and illegally tinted, they had a muzzle for Dylan and no one except for the giant who clotheslined me tried to physically harm us. I'm being kidnapped but I have a feeling I know exactly who wants me.

  Climbing into the vehicle I rest my forehead against the tinted window, shifting onto the door to relieve some of the pressure from my arms. My throat is throbbing and nervousness is pooling in my gut. I can't see out the damn windows but it wouldn't matter even if I could; I'm terrible with directions, never eat shredded wheat, that's all I can say about that shit. The giant across of me is on the phone but he's speaking Italian and the jokes on me because I'm the one Italian in this whole damn city who doesn't speak it fluently. Julian always said that I’d regret that particular spiteful choice; I haven’t until now.

  My skin is hot and sweaty, my arms and sides where my shirt has ridden up sticking to the leather seats. I clench my eyes shut, willing my tears not to fall, even as they streak down my cheeks. An unbidden sob escapes my tight throat, startling the giant. I can feel snot pooling at the end of my nose and loose bits of hair sticking to my wet face. Shuddering breaths and hiccups are shaking my body as my babysitter side eyes me warily, looking uncomfortable and slightly frightened. He must get tired of my disgusting display because he pulls a hanky from his suit pocket while murmuring what sounds like 'Jesus fucking Christ' and hastily wipes my face. I momentarily consider asking if it's clean but keep my mouth shut because I can't exactly be a picky bitch right now. He sits back, face scrunched and hanky held at arm’s length, before dropping it to the floor and wiping his hand on the seat beside him. "Thank you." My voice is raspy, thanks to the same idiot who just helped me. He nods and crosses his arms while I lean back onto the door. I feel us coming to a stop and a wave of nausea hits my stomach. I'm not ready.

  Muffled voices outside my door make me sit up just before it's opened; we're in an asphalt parking lot but I can't tell where. The yellow glow of an above lamp is the only light and it casts dark shadows all around us. Stepping out on my own, I grind my teeth with irritation as the arm I fell on earlier is snatched in a tight grip. I hear his footsteps before I see him, I don't know how I know they're his, but I do and I squeeze my eyes shut. My heart is beating a mile a minute and my breaths are quick with growing panic. I force my eyes open just as he stops to stand under the light.

  "What. The. Fuck." It's a raspy whisper but I know my face is telling him how I really feel. I'm not ready to deal with the emotions bubbling up so I force them down, now isn't the place. Three months wasn't enough time.

  He flashes his dimples and gives me a smile that would put beauty pageant contestants to shame. "I missed you too wife."

  Chapter Two

  I yank my arm out of the grip it's in, attempting to step out of reach but my arm is easily grabbed again, tighter this time. Fucking prick. I force my face to stay neutral even as my nails bite into my palms and more tears sting the back of my eyes. My husband is standing with his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his Armani suit pants, dimpled smile still on his face. My heart tightens painfully in my chest, I've always loved his damn dimples. A shaky breath leaves my lips as I try to keep composure. I'm not ready for this. Push it down Beverly, push it down. I can’t help but scan him head to toe, see if there's any differences from the last time my eyes were on him. His almost black hair is longer than I remember on top but still cut short on the sides, the black tattoo peeking out of the top of his dress shirt bringing attention to the light stubble on his jaw. He's usually clean shaven, it's the only outward sign he's been struggling with my absence.

  "Bev get that look off your face. You know you missed me." He says
while pulling his hands from his pockets, moving closer. The deep baritone washes over me, sinking into my skin and thrumming my blood. He has no idea how right he is and it tears at my insides. I see he still has his wedding band on and almost scoff.

  "Get this shit off my wrists and take that ring off…we are divorced remember?" My words are dripping with irritation and I am seconds away from losing my shit. My carefully placed mask about to slip. A tinge of panic urges me to try to yank my arm out of the ironclad grip it's in with no success.

  "You know that's a lie Beverly. We are still very much married. Throwing your thirty-thousand-dollar ring into the harbor and shouting, 'we're divorced' doesn't count as a real divorce." He nods towards his goon who quickly drops his grip and cuts the ties binding my hands. Bringing them forward I rub at my sore wrists and glare up at him. I realize we aren't actually divorced, I'm not that big of an idiot. But it drives him nuts when I say it, so you bet your ass I'm going to keep fucking saying it.

  "What do you want?" The simple question is enough to crack my façade and I swallow hard as tears silently slip out and drip off my chin. Remy steps into my space, using his palms to wipe the tears away. The touch is soft and sweet and my bleeding heart weeps with joy even as guilt eats at my gut. I hate how weak I look right now. How desperate. I slap his hands away, making that beautiful mouth of his twitch momentarily into a thin line. Was he seriously expecting me to fall right back into his arms? After what he did? After he just kidnapped me? "What the fuck do you want Remy?” My tone puts a real frown on his face this time. Remy Oliver Luciano or Capo Famiglia is used to getting his way. Unfortunately for him I’m not one of his little puppets and I won’t be willingly jumping to him anytime soon. But looking at him now I think I misinterpreted the cause of his frown. His dark eyes are scanning the bloom of bruises creeping along my arms and assumedly my neck. Breezing over my split lip and tear stained cheeks. I can't handle the concern in his gaze, so I direct mine to my hands.