Page 2 of The Mafia’s Fiancee

Close. Now that I was a mafia man—at least by blood—I didn’t want to know what the cartel would think of me. Or how I should view them. Before this afternoon, they were an ambiguous and distant bad guy, just out there somewhere. Now that I was part of the organized crime world, I had to redefine my parameters.

“Not the cartel,” I answered. But I wouldn’t give him any more than that. “I need to go get her.”

“And not call the police?” he scoffed, putting his hands on his head and looking at me like I was insane. Randy didn’t care for the cops. His grandpa had been profiled and targeted for many years, and it instilled a generational weariness of the law. Still, Randy was an ordinary civilian, used to alerting the law enforcement in cases of emergencies.

In any other circumstances, I would’ve been thinking the same. If not to call the cops that someone had been kidnapped, then to report it to Tim and let him direct the security department here at the resort.

I had no plans to contact my supervisor though.

A couple of hours ago, Emma tried to explain to me that an arranged marriage could happen in mafia families. She summed it up bluntly: “We have our own laws.”

I didn’t need to ponder any further to know that kidnapping was also something they took upon themselves, empowered by their own authority.

I couldn’t go to the cops. I had to do this solo. Without help. And without interference.

I stepped toward Randy. “I need to go get her.”

“Fuck.” He muttered again, disbelieving that this was happening to me, that this was my life now. “You’re serious.”

“I am. Tell Tim that something came up.”

“Just like that?” He scowled. “This woman, this piece of ass, is worth losing your job?”

I narrowed my eyes. If he knew, if I’d had the time to tell him that I proposed to Emma and that I loved her, he wouldn’t disparage her like that. It wasn’t the time to explain though.

“Fuck this job,” I growled. I had to get her.

He opened his eyes wide, surprised that I’d talk so carelessly about the job I’d depended on for so long. Since I was a kid, the Tropican was my livelihood. I started under the table, helping Miguel in the gardens. Then in the kitchen, Anita let me wash dishes. As the sole provider and breadwinner for me and my mom, I’d been working here for about seventeen years. To throw it all away now...

I have to. Emma had my heart. She was my future, not this job. “Tell Tim something came up.”

“With what? The guest you had no business fooling around with?”

“Tell him it’s a family thing.” The irony wasn’t lost on my that the word family would mean so much more now. Family no longer consisted of me and my mom. Us against the world. I had a father, an uncle, a fiancée. Those three represented members of mafia families.

“Shit.” Randy rubbed his face, still unhappy about this. “Fine. I will. But fuck, dude, be careful. For fuck’s sake. I don’t even want to know. I don’t even wanna fucking know what kind of shit you’re getting involved with.” He’d started walking away, like pacing to vent his frustration and bewilderment, but he faced me again, frowning. “And she’s worth it? You realize this could be the biggest mistake of your life, right? Emma is worth it?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Shit.” He shook his head as he reached into his pocket. After he tossed me his keys and I caught them, he stared at me with more concern than he did when I first told him I was a street fighter. “Be careful.”

“I will. Thank you.” I held up the keys, grateful for his offer to use his car. Mine was still at the shop, held hostage with a bill I couldn’t pay and wasn’t sure I would pay. It’d only be paying for a Band-Aid on a piece-of-shit car that should’ve been demoed years ago.

He frowned and waved me off, like shooing me. “Go. Hurry.”

I’d pay him back. I always did, slowly but surely. He was the kind of friend, the kind of brother, that everyone needed in their life, but it felt strange to run away with the idea that he was looking out for me this time, instead of the other way around. This hero complex that reigned in my mind and soul wouldn’t let me just accept charity, but in this case, I had no other option.

I’d pay him back, for epically covering for me and loaning me his car.

But first, Emma.

I ran to the employee staff lot and didn’t waste time getting in the driver’s seat.

Randy told me to go. He gave me the means to track down Emma, but I didn’t know where she’d been taken. The men who grabbed her looked like those Marchese soldiers. But then again, all those mafia men looked the same. Blank expressions. Fine suits. Cocky swagger. The were a dime a dozen, and I was too new to all of this to be able to identify any of them specifically. Not to mention, I barely had a chance to see them with how they’d rushed to get Emma in the car.

Emma was a Giordino. Her supposed betrothed was supposed to be a Marchese.

I was a Rossini, though. And Jimmy Rossini, my uncle, was the one who’d just told me hours ago that I had to give up Emma. Her being taken wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. If Jimmy had the knowledge of why Emma and I couldn’t be together, it stood to reason others did as well. Someone not only thought we couldn’t be together, they’d acted on splitting us up by kidnapping her.