Taken by the Mafia King

SeraJim Harrison. Tall, blond hair, big baby blue eyes. And dimples that showed off every time he flashed his dashing white smile. Everything about him screamed American Dream—broad shoulders and a finely defined jaw, well-fitting Levi jeans, and the kind of face that made me envision a life where we got married, bought a condo in Jersey, and adopted a Golden Retriever named Buddy. Jim would train him to heel, sit, and stay. I’d let him sleep at the foot of the bed. We’d argue about it, but Jim would eventually forfeit and lose a quarter of his half of the bed. Buddy deserved the best. I’d been crushing on Jim on and off for the better part of a year, but so had every single other teacher in the Ardmore, Pennsylvania district. Yet, somehow, on a sunny Thursday afternoon in October, Jim walked me out to my car after our students left for the day and started flirting with me. Reality turned to sand, running between my fingers.Finally.“Sera?” He laughed, waving a hand in front of my

KillianIt’d been years since I last stepped foot in Sala delle Rose, the grotesquely enormous mansion situated on the Jersey coast. I avoided this place if I could help it. Grecian columns lined a long foyer as I walked toward the ballroom. Yes, a fucking ballroom. Riccardo Marino’s grandfather had built this place back in the early nineteen thirties and had apparently thought of everything when it came to what his descendants might get up to when he was six feet under and nothing but a mural on the wall.The Marinos were once the family—the ones calling the shots and ruling over practically the entire east coast. But Riccardo’s rise to power some thirty years ago saw the end of their reign. Now, the man threw his fancy parties and sat on his throne, which was exactly that: a big golden chair with red velvet cushions that overlooked the entire ballroom.I smirked as I entered and looked around.“Your mask?”I turned, looking Riccardo’s son Niccolò in the eyes. His pupils widened befo

Sera“Who are you?” I whispered to the man who’d just bought me for a million dollars.He was not handsome. He was not young. His eyes were bright and blue and cruel.“You know me, bella,” the old man crooned as he ran a finger down my cheek and along my jaw, pressing under my chin so I had to look up into his eyes. “Say my name.”“Gabriele de Luca,” I said, my voice a strained whisper as he smiled.“I do love the sound of that on your tongue.” He clucked, patting my cheek with his warm, clammy hand. He was my father’s age, maybe a little older. I didn’t know for sure.But what I did know was that they were enemies. Was this why I was taken? Was I kidnapped and sold so he could use me up and then kill me, returning what was left of my body to my father’s doorstep when he was done?I gagged at the thought, and gagged even harder as he slid his thumb into my mouth and over my tongue. I tasted copper, leather, and tobacco.“You better be worth the money I spent on you,” he warned, pressi

SeraThey were speaking loudly in Italian. I was sure Gabriele and his men thought I didn’t know what they were saying, but I was fluent. My mom had seen to that, putting me and my brother Leonardo—Leo—into private catholic schools and bringing us up in what she lovingly called “the old way.”We’d spent summers in Italy with my maternal grandparents. I’d picked oranges from my Nonna’s tree, and she’d sliced them up and served them with olives, Coppa, and fresh bread.Tears streamed down my face as I shifted my focus back to their conversation and away from the beautiful memories of what was sometimes a loving, happy childhood before my mother died. My neck felt bare and cold without the weight of my rosary. I ached to reach up and rub it between my thumb and forefinger, but even the slightest movement of my arms sent a rush of searing pain through my hands as the handcuffs shredded my skin.Gabriele had me in his lap. I could smell cigar smoke and sweat even through the bag. I could d

SeraI clutched the sheet to my chest as a young woman entered the room. She was dressed in a pale blue uniform of some kind, her mousy brown hair pulled away from her face. I knew as soon as I laid eyes on her that my hopes of a rescue were foolish.She held a tray of food in one hand and a plastic bag in the other.“Hi.” She didn’t look me in the eyes when she spoke. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the tray of food. “I brought you something to eat and change into.”“I need out of here,” I said, “not food and clothes.”A guard moved into place outside the door as she closed it behind her. My heart fell into my stomach as a crushing weight settled there. What lengths would he go to in order to make sure I didn’t set one toe out of this prison? Was he waiting for his turn with me, like Gabriele had promised him? How patient a man could he be? Would he wait? Or if he saw an opportunity… I shook my head, scattering my thoughts. I couldn’t focus on every little threat right now. There