Page 1 of Stealing Her Heart
Chapter One
Gabriel
Nothing stains the same as blood.
Wiping smears of it on the expensive pocket square from my suit, I sigh. This will never come out. Glancing down at the huddle man at my feet, I want to laugh. It is not a normal response, but there is little normal about me or the life that I lead. This man’s fingers lay scattered on the damp ground between us, his blood a crimson pool.
“Warned you once, Flavio. Said if you were caught counting cards again, I would take something from you. Get out of my sight before I decide you owe me more than your fingers.”
Whimpering, he nods as he scrambles to his feet and turns to run. I wipe as much blood off my hands as I can with the pocket square, tossing it on the ground with his fingers. Dario, my consigliere, my second in command, scoops the fingers up in the bloody silk, laughing about how Flavio won’t be able to play cards one handed.
We’ve got to find some levity somewhere. Thinking about a one-handed thief playing cards at our back-room casinos is funny. Primo, my enforcer, laughs too, shaking his head as Dario passes him the fingers. They joke about Flavio getting a claw to replace his hand or some stupid prosthetic.
What we do, the world we live in, there is rarely a moment for laughter or lightness. Our world is dark. We were all born into chaos we had to learn to maneuver if we wanted to survive. It is not a life for everyone. It is violent, dangerous, and it can be pretty damn lonely.
Brushing off that odd burn in my chest when I think of loneliness, I stiffen my spine as I square my shoulders. I am not allowed to complain. To question what we do or how we do it. Taking over the Capelli family after my father was murdered meant I had to prove myself as a man who could lead, who could decimate enemies, and who would never turn on any of the other five families.
“Come on, boss,” Dario calls, leading the way to my waiting car. “We still need to show up at that party for Marconi. That engagement thing.”
Rolling my eyes, I nod. Being a boss means a lot of shaking hands and showing up. Weddings, funerals, baptisms, even confirmation. We’re expected to show up at these celebrations as if we have something to celebrate. That might be the funniest thing about our lives.
We claim to be so God fearing, so close to our Catholic roots. It’s a bunch of bullshit. We’re killers, thieves, wretched men who go to church and say the lord's prayer after we’ve cut off a man’s hand or put a bullet in someone’s head. How is that for something to laugh about?
“Who is engaged again?” I mutter as I stretch out in the large SUV.
“Marconi’s youngest boy is getting hitched to the Bianchi girl.”
Shrugging because I know little about either people he mentioned, I light up a cigar. We will make an appearance as we’re expected to. I will shove some cash in this Bianchi girls’ hand, giving her and Marconi my best wishes. That ought to be good enough.
Once I have done my part, I am out of there. I hate these stupid parties for nothing. Who cares that one of the capo’s sons is getting hitched? Most of these marriages were set up before the bride or groom was born. I refused to let my father do that shit to me.
Marriage, a wife, kids—none of that is for me.
Breathing in the sweet smoke of my cigar, I smile. No, I have no plans to take a bride or have kids. It is what is expected of us to continue our bloodlines. To keep the Capelli men in power. If you ask me, we’ve spent enough time in power. Let someone else take the reins after I am gone.
Any of my men would do a fine job. Dario or Primo would make good capos. Better than me if I am being honest. I stopped caring about this world, about the dirty deals, the filthy money, and all the damn death a long time ago. It might be all I know, but that ain’t a good thing. It ain’t something I am proud of. I can be a proud man without being proud of what I do.
“Rumor has it this Bianchi girl is not thrilled about being promised to Marconi. Guess he’s been a creep towards her long before she was legal.”
Brow shooting up, I shoot a sidelong look at my second. Dario is more than my consigliere. He is my best friend, and knows all the little things, like this detail, about all five families. He keeps his ear to the street to protect us. Nothing better than knowing your enemies’ weaknesses.
“Is that right? Could she refuse to go through with it?”
“I mean, she could. Her father owes Marconi, so he won’t allow it.”
“He owes Marconi, so he hands over his daughter?”
“Seems that way. His only daughter too.”
“Always suspected Bianchi was a fucking loser. Trading his daughter to get out from under Marconi is a bullshit move. Why does he owe?”
“Marconi financed his attempt to become mayor. Remember that?”
Laughing as I suck on my cigar, I nod. Oh, yes, I do recall that. Seeing one of our own people trying to run for office was pathetic. Ceasar Bianchi is a low-level soldier who barely earned for his capo. Running for office for his borough of Silver Shores was his attempt to make something of himself.
It failed of course. People might be willing to vote for a known criminal—but not one who can’t even dothatwell. I had no idea Marconi backed his stupid ploy. More proof he was good at one thing: making bad decisions.
“Bartered a debt with his daughter. That is brutal. No wonder the rumors have been going ‘round. I wouldn’t take to kindly to being sold off either.”
