Page 1 of Mafia And Maid

PROLOGUE

CAMILLO

Arriving at the high society wedding, I take in the display of fragrant pink flowers and floaty pretty fabric draped over every single surface. It’s traditional and opulent—and it’s like a bridal magazine that’s thrown up all over the place.

I follow my brothers up the pristine stone steps into St. Hyacinth’s Basilica, tugging once more at the sleeve of my black Brioni suit. The surrounding air is indifferent and undisturbed despite the glances and hushed whispers they don’t think we can hear.

Bodies dressed in the best their money can buy blend in with the extravagant decorations that scream wealth and privilege, because Chicago’s finest are all gathered here today for an over-the-top display of pomp and circumstance veiled as happy nuptials.

It’s tiresome as it's nauseating.

Because I don’t belong here.

If the tattoos that crawl up my arms and body don’t give me away, the cold set of my face usually does. But here I am, filing in after my older brothers to extend half-hearted pleasantries and niceties to one of Chicago’s most powerful financial families. As archaic aristocracy,the Davis family is used to getting its own way. And they’ve been a sharp thorn in our side for too many months now.

My brothers and I run the Fratellanza mafia, masterminding the shadowy underworld in this city and making our sins pay—and we don’t stand for people who won’t go along with our proposals. Because although the Davis family sneer down their noses at made men like us, underneath their polish and cut-glass accents, they’re just as tainted as we are.

Clocking the exits and entrances as we move further in, I make a note of the sorry excuse for security that wanders through the crowd. It’s not much for a wedding of this size and attention. But given the people in attendance, no one here expects a bloodbath—no one except for us. Ruthless, mindless brutes of made men. That’s the world I live in. A world where the monsters wear luxurious designer suits and brilliant smiles to hide their sharp teeth and claws like wolves in sheep’s clothing. Where villains and murderers run the city with pretty promises built on shadowy backroom deals.

“Stop fidgeting,” my oldest brother, Marco, grits out. “It’s getting on my fucking nerves.”

My hand drops from my sleeve. I hate weddings, but even more, I hate dressing like some monkey on display, ready to perform while they ogle and judge. My skin crawls at the thought, making the collar of my dress shirt that much tighter.

The smell of old money stinks up the room, and if this wasn’t such a necessary power play, I’d have stayed the fuck at home today. But we need to ensure that Conor Davis, one of the wealthiest businessmen in the city, understands there’s no option to say no to our proposal.

Their ostentatious need to showboat and flaunt their extravagance makes my skin itch. I don't want to be here today, but this is the job. I’m the enforcer for the Fratellanza—this is the role I play.

“We need to say hello to Davis and give him and the lucky groom our congratulations,” Marco says.

I fight an eye roll and nod, making another mental note of two more barely strapped bodyguards who lean much too casually against the wall.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter, hating how constricted and suffocated I feel in this suit. It’s expensive and tailored to my body,but the fabric feels taut and unbreathable. The dress shirt beneath it is already plastered to my chest with dew from the humidity. This isn’t how I normally choose to dress, much preferring more relaxed and casual clothing. “For fuck's sake, I feel like a goddamn circus clown.”

I look at my other brother, Alessio, as his lips twitch, but he has enough sense to hold his tongue. If people weren’t watching our every move, I’d have flipped him the bird already. But appearances are everything at an event like this, so I make do with a fierce scowl at him instead.

Marco shakes his head in exasperation at me as he walks on. Dutifully, we follow him to the corner of the church, where the man we’ve come to see stands talking in hushed tones.

He turns to us, his lip pulled up in a sneer before the carefully plastered smile falls into place. He graciously shakes Marco’s hand and then Alessio’s. I don’t bother offering mine; my hands are shoved in my pockets.

“I didn’t think you’d make it.”

This time, I can’t stop the eye roll. There’s no chance in hell we’d have missed this. For months, we’ve been trying to cut a deal with him, to bring him into the fold, but the bastard has been obstinately resistant. Today is to show him that the Fratellanza doesn’t take no for an answer.

“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Marco says in a smooth tone, though I can see the calculating gleam in his eyes.

“Wonderful, wonderful.” The tone of his voice says our presence here is anything but. “We were just about to start if you’d like to find a seat.”

“We need to talk,” Marco drawls, leaving no room for debate.

Conor Davis has enough good sense to look scared for a brief second before his face reddens. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Very well. This way, gentlemen.”

“I’m going to find a seat,” I say. I’m not needed to sit in on this meeting—that isn’t why I’ve been brought along today. I’m the muscle. The action man who stands between us and problems. Alessio and Marco can handle one sweaty balding man. “Congrats,” I add.

From the corner of my eye, I catch the sneers from the crowd as I pass. A mask of cool indifference shutters over my face as I give a tight smile, slipping into the pew strategically chosen on the off-chance things gosideways. Because they often do when my brothers and I are around. One might have a little faith in the house of God, but not me, that’s for fucking sure.

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