Virtuous Lies: a mafia romance (Lies of the Underworld Book 1) Read online

  Virtuous Lies

  a Lies of the Underworld novel

  HALEY JENNER

  Copyright © 2022 by HALEY JENNER

  All rights reserved.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or transmitted in any form or by any means; graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations or excerpts used in a book review and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is intended for those 18 years and older. It contains content of an adult nature.

  Published by Haley Jenner.

  Editing Team:

  Ellie McLove ~ My Brother’s Editor

  Jenny Sims ~ Editing4Indies

  Cover Design: Cat Imb ~ TRC Designs

  Photographer: Carmelo Blazquez

  Cover Model: Lluis Tura

  to the good girls…

  IYKYK

  Contents

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  (Before)

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  twenty-five

  epilogue

  IMPACT

  VL Playlist

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by HALEY JENNER

  This book contains topics that may offend some readers.

  For a full list of content warnings, please visit our website.

  * * *

  one

  Holding my head high, I walk from the apartment. One high-heeled foot in front of the other moves me toward the elevator. The silence is deafening. The plush carpet mutes the sound of my heel. No music plays through the hallway speakers. Even the lift moves silently.

  The dress I meticulously chose from my closet—the sexiest one I own—brushes my upper thighs as I step into the elevator. Anxiety rushes over my skin, but I force myself to stop fidgeting. I push my shoulders back in a posture that screams confidence.

  My racing heart pounds against my rib cage. I’m convinced I’m only moments away from a heart attack. At eighteen.

  My eyes move to the digital read on the elevator, the metal cage moving closer and closer to the ground floor with every second that passes. My body wills to shake, to tremble with dread. I refuse to let it, holding it in. It inverts, my organs rocked by tremors that make me nauseous.

  Life changes so fast. You blink, and your world turns inside out. Six weeks ago, I was told I would marry Salvatore Bianchi in a peace deal brokered between our family and the Chicago Outfit. I wasn’t surprised, certainly apprehensive, but I hid my hesitation well—as would have been expected. Salvatore was due to arrive in the coming weeks. I was of age, having just celebrated my eighteenth birthday, which meant by my family standard, I was ready to belong to a man I was yet to meet.

  I know the basic facts about my future husband. Thirty years old and boss of the Chicago Outfit. Never formally married. Mama assures me he’s handsome, but she’d say anything to make me agreeable. Honestly, I couldn’t care less if he had two heads. I just wanted to know whether he’d hurt me. Mama tells me that men can’t hurt us if we don't let them infiltrate our hearts. I told her I meant physically. She told me to learn to disassociate. Inspiring, no?

  On the same day I was told of my union with Salvatore, Caterina was told of hers with Roberto Ferrari. An act to preserve power within the family.

  Caterina and I knew this was our path. This being the accepting mafioso women who we were, we’d accept our fate. Only, I couldn’t acquiesce my sister’s.

  Caterina Rossi would never belong to the consigliere of Cosa Nostra. Not if I had anything to do with it.

  I pretend I can’t see myself in the reflection of the elevator doors. My lipstick is smeared, but I don’t fix it. My hair has lost the neat silk of the wave I’d styled it into, the strains a messy resemblance of what they were a simple hour before.

  The elevator comes to a stop with a delicate jerk, and I take a fortifying breath, relaxing my face into what I imagine an eighteen-year-old woman stupidly in love would look like.

  I adjust my dress purposely as I step from the open doors, the resounding click of my heel against marble loud enough to steel my nerves. The black Town Car parked curbside is impossible to miss, and I’m both elated and petrified at the sight of it.

  My brother, Tony, eyes me warily as I exit the building with balletic strides. He stuffs his hands into his black dress pants. The leather of his gun holster is visible, his jacket haphazardly thrown open, and I eye the concealed weapon with trepidation.

  God, if he makes Tony kill me.

  My brother dips his chin inconspicuously enough that if you blinked, you would miss it. I return the indecipherable gesture. The success of a scheme coming together without issue passed through silent conversation between siblings.

  Tony was surprisingly agreeable when I came to him with my plan. Our sister is naïve and amorous. Traits that wouldn’t fare well in the possession of a monster. Our father had no issue with pushing her into the lion’s den. Mother would stand by idly and watch the carnage. I would not, and Tony wasn’t convinced he could close his eyes to the slaughter of Caterina’s soul either.

  Tony steps forward when I’m mere steps away from the car, grabbing my upper arm roughly. “Well done,” he whispers, his face a contradiction to his praise, twisted in disapproval to make my father believe he’s reprimanding me.

  He pushes me forward unexpectedly, and I stumble on my stilettos, falling against the car roughly. I scowl at him, my reaction one-hundred-percent real. “Ow.”

  I straighten myself, retreating onto the sidewalk and adjusting my hair. Normally, a driver would be waiting, car door held open for me to slide into the sanctuary of my father’s presence. Not today. Today, I’m forced to remain outside, waiting for a punishment I had hoped for.

  Bile twists itself in my stomach, and I’m thankful for the heat New York City slathers my skin with. The sweat grasping my upper lip will be mistaken for the humidity in lieu of what’s actually causing it—crippling nerves.

  He could kill me.

  Men have died for less.

  The dishonor I’ve drenched my father with is a scandal my family has not had to overcome for generations.

  I was the golden child.

  The swan in a gilded cage.

  I was my father’s most prized possession.

  The key to the expansion in the business.

  And I’ve just fucked it all.

  There will be blood on my hands. The loss of life resting heavily on my shoulders for eternity. But I can’t find it in me to care. My hands might forever be
bathed in red, but I would wear it proudly. If only to myself.

  The back door of the Town Car opens slowly, and my heart skips a beat. I avoid Tony’s eyes, afraid of the panic my older brother will be unable to hide.

  Armando Rossi moves torturously slow, and I consider he does it purposely. I refuse to look at the buffed leather of his loafers as he steps out, my eyes kept forward as my father—all six-foot-two of him—unfolds from the car.

  He straightens the cuffs of his pressed shirt.

  He adjusts his collar.

  He spins his wedding band three times.

  He does all this before taking a single step. Before even looking at me.

  The fury in his breath coats my face in warmth, and it takes everything within me not to grimace in repulsion.

  I want to apologize, but I refrain.

  I want to swallow, yet I clench my jaw to abstain.

  “Look at me.”

  My chin longs to wobble, the fear in my throat like acid. But I do as I am told.

  The back of his hand scores across my face before I register he’s lifted it. The slap is hard enough the metal of his wedding band rips into my skin in a caress of reproach.

  “Let it bleed,” he grates out when I lift my hand.

  Fist clenched, I drop it to my side, my eyes watering unintentionally at the feel of blood trickling down my cheek and onto my neck.

  “Tony,” he murmurs, refusing to take his eyes from me.

  Tony moves toward the glass doors of the building without delay, and I send a prayer to anyone who will listen that he’ll be safe.

  “No, Daddy,” I cry. “Please.” I throw myself toward him, grabbing the lapels of his jacket. “Don’t hurt him.”

  He pushes me back with a disregard and disgust that pierces my heart in a way I wasn’t expecting.

  “Get in the car before I’m forced to kill you.”

  I swallow. It was always a possibility, but hearing the words fall from my father’s mouth with such ease slices me open and makes my heart stutter in pain.

  I scramble toward the car, attempting to be seen as a dutiful daughter when, in fact, I’d just blown his entire world apart.

  He waits long enough for me to swipe at my tears before following me into the car. His stare burns a hole into the forefront of my head, where a bullet would lodge itself right between my eyes.

  “I love him,” I lie, massaging my hands in my lap. My eyes are cast downward, afraid my deception will shine through.

  He snorts in disgust. “You know nothing of love. What of loyalty, Bianca?”

  “I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

  “Anything I ask?” he bellows. “It was implied, Bianca. You are given. You are promised to another. To the boss of the Outfit.” The veins in his head pulsate so fiercely that I fear his head will explode.

  “And I will remain dutiful to him.”

  “He will not want you,” he sneers. “You are no longer pure. What will Lorenzo tell him? The disrespect is unforgivable.”

  My father is a beautiful man. Tall and muscular. A strong jawline and thick lips. Brown eyes the color of cognac. Women throw themselves at him. I’d love to say that he only has eyes for my mother—as beautiful as she is—but I’d be lying. He takes advantage of his beauty.

  While he remains respectful of my mother, which is the Cosa Nostra way, he’s kept a goomah for many years. Even then, he enjoys the women the family has on the payroll when it suits him.

  I want to hate him for it. It’s not uncommon for made men to cheat on their wives, and it’s not frowned upon. The women accept it. My mother tells me my father does it respectfully. How does one respectfully commit adultery? He does it discreetly, yes. But respectfully? There is no such thing.

  My father is a capo, and while he has never outwardly vocalized his charge, I know he’s responsible for the underworld prostitution ring run by the family. It should make me sick, but I’ve met some of the women under his charge, and they’re happy. As happy as you can be sucking cock for money. But their vocation lets them live a life they’re comfortable with. They’re protected, to a degree, by the family, and I can’t begrudge them that.

  “Why is it okay for you to have mistresses but not okay for women to live the same?” I stupidly spit. “Were you a virgin when you married Mama?”

  “Watch your mouth.” His mouth doesn’t open as he threatens me. The clench in his teeth so tight, the words are scarcely audible. “You honor and you respect the old ways, Bianca. I am a capo, for fuck's sake. What do I tell Lorenzo? Huh? His key to peace with the Outfit has been blown up because you fucked his consigliere? His closest advisor?” he screams, shaking the windows of his Town Car.

  I can’t swallow. I try, but my throat has tightened. An invisible palm having closed itself around my neck. I didn’t think about what Lorenzo would do.

  Tony jumps into the passenger seat, startling us both. “Go,” he urges my father’s driver.

  Twisting in his seat, Tony looks ready to combust. “Did you fucking kill him?”

  “What?” My mouth falls open.

  “Did. You. Kill. Him?” he snarls, his face twisted with unease.

  “Wh—No. Of course, not.”

  Looking at our father, he shakes his head. “Roberto already had a serious fucking headache when I got up there.”

  “A headache?” I repeat dumbly.

  “A gunshot wound to the goddamn head, B.”

  “Who else was with you?” My father grabs my wrist, and I cry out from the pain.

  “No one. I swear. It was just Berto and me.”

  two

  “They’ve been meeting for a long time.”

  I grab Caterina’s hand. She’s shaking. Her small hand damp with sweat.

  “That’s a good thing.” My mother paces the length of my bedroom, her thumbnail caught between her teeth. “We’re lucky Lorenzo didn’t just demand you be put to ground. Salvatore Bianchi may demand it.”

  She prays quietly, shaking her head, rejecting the thought of my impending death.

  “You know they call him Joker?”

  I’ve heard stories, but I keep my silence, knowing her question was rhetorical.

  “He’s happy and friendly until you cross him, Bianca. Then he’ll slit you from ear to ear, forcing you to smile as he watches you bleed out.”

  Caterina’s gasp has me tightening my grip on her hand, and I force an exaggerated eye roll in her direction. My sixteen-year-old sister shouldn’t have to be concerned with matters of life and death. She should be worrying about boys from school and her cheerleading team.

  “Mama,” Tony chides.

  Mama whirls on me, and it takes everything I have in me not to scramble up the bed in fear. My father may be formidable, but my mother is no less threatening. “What were you thinking, you stupid girl?”

  Caterina snuggles closer.

  “That I wanted to feel loved by a man the right way before I was given, against my will, to another.” I lower my voice, afraid that if I speak louder, my lie will be written in my inflection.

  “Your sister’s future husband?” she screeches. “Of all the men. Let’s be thankful you’re already on contraception or...” She shakes her head, unwilling to finish her insult.

  Bile rushes up my throat at the thought that Caterina would have been married to that man.

  Roberto Ferrari was a rapist. He was a man who harmed women and did so with a smile. The romantic in my sister would have been eaten alive by such a monster. She still believes in love. Even knowing she’ll be promised to another, she believes they will fall in love. I want to shake her and make her see. That falling in love with your captor isn’t anything but a coping mechanism.

  “Mama, that’s enough.” Tony steps up, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Bianca is frightened enough and heartbroken”—he looks at me with wide eyes—“that Berto is dead.”

  I drop my face, playing my part by sniffling softly.

  “I don’t know what
she expected to happen.” My mother speaks as though I’m no longer present. As though I’m not five feet away, listening to her. “Opening her legs for a man who’s not intended for her.” She swears under her breath, making the sign of the cross.

  “We’ll wait downstairs.”

  I nod at Tony, and he steers my mother from the room.

  The door has barely closed when Cat throws herself at me. “What if they kill you?” She sobs.

  “It’ll be worth it.”

  “Not for your life.”

  I push her back. “For yours, yes, it is. He was a horrible man, Cat. You wouldn’t have survived by his side.”

  “He’ll just promise me to another.”

  I swallow my sigh. “Anyone has to be better than Roberto Ferrari.”

  “Oh, B. If they hurt you—”

  “Stop.” I cut her off, pushing off the bed to take up my mother’s pacing. “I don’t want to worry about my death until I’m certain it’s imminent.”

  A knock on the door has me sucking in a quick breath.

  “B,” Tony tests, popping his head through the crack he makes. “Father has requested you fix yourself up. You’ll be requested downstairs in half an hour. Be presentable.”

  “For what?” I move toward him. “Death?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m a soldier, Bianca. They don’t tell me shit.” He closes the door, and I turn to Cat.

  “Presentable? For what?”

  She swallows. “When we were told of our pairings with Salvatore and Roberto, Father told us we'd have to dress nicely for our initial meetings. He promised Mama would take us shopping.”