The Wedding Steal (Complete Series): The Wedding Steal

By Layla Valentine and Holly Rayner

"He kidnapped me on the eve of my cousin's wedding,
And now he's the only one who can protect me…"

HER:

I've been to a few bad parties, but this is the first one that ended in me getting kidnapped!
My hot-as-hell captor tells me he used to be a SEAL, that he'll make sure no-one hurts me…
Would you trust a guy who just abducted you, ripped body and soulful green eyes aside?
He came here to steal the bride,
But he got me, the bridesmaid, instead.
And now we're both on the run.

HIM:

I served my country, but now I'm working for the mob.
And instead of saving women, I'm being hired to kidnap them.
It doesn't feel good, but in my line of work there's only one way out.
I just didn't expect to fall for the girl I'm being paid to steal.
I'm gonna make this my last job, and damn the consequences.
If they want her, they've got to get through me first…

This is the complete The Wedding Steal series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Layla Valentine
• Release date: Mar 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201598426

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

COLTON

Iclenched my fist and leaned through the punch. Shockwaves moved up my arm, dampened slightly by the hand wrap and the thick boxing glove. Sometimes, using all of the safety equipment required at the boxing gym felt like using the bumpers at a bowling alley. But if I wanted to stick around, I had to follow Mickey’s rules, and Mickey’s rules were that nobody got hurt by being reckless. I understood his position—he had insurance to think about, after all—but that didn’t mean I didn’t occasionally itch to rip the glove off and crack my bare knuckles against the punching bag. Or Robby’s face, for that matter.

Robby worked at the gym as a trainer and trained at the gym in his free time. It was almost impossible to go for a workout without seeing him, and he really liked to offer his unsolicited opinion.

Move your hips, Colton, he shouted from across the room. Boxing isn’t about who can hit harder—it’s who wants it more. Put your body into it. Make love to the bag.

I groaned and rolled my eyes, throwing another punch, this time imagining I connected with Robby’s fat jaw. Make love to the bag. Who says things like that? I was convinced Robby thought his life was an inspirational sports movie. He imagined himself as the boxing instructor who used unconventional methods to inspire a down-on-their luck boxer to win the big fight and change their life. I refused to be that person.

Though, by all accounts, I’d been pretty down and pretty unlucky recently. The past year had not gone the way I’d expected. A year before, I’d had a good life, a good career in the Navy SEALs, and great friends in my SEAL platoon. A girlfriend would have been the cherry on top, but I was away from home for six to nine months every year, and I couldn’t reasonably ask any woman to sign up for that. Otherwise, things had been going well. And then, my dad got sick.

My dad and I hadn’t been close in a long time—we stopped having anything to say to one another about the time I learned to ride a bike. It wasn’t that he was a bad parent, and I wasn’t a bad kid. We just…didn’t have anything to talk about. We were family, not friends. So, when he wrote to me while I was deployed to tell me his doctor had found something unusual on some scans, I didn’t feel much of anything. And that made me feel like crap. My dad had cancer. I should have been sad. Instead, I felt disappointed.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I’d always assumed we would spend a long weekend together and unlock the secret to our relationship. We’d discover our common interests and spend the last twenty years of his life talking on the phone a few nights a week and going fishing. I hated to admit it, but I’d fancied myself in an inspirational movie of my own. But then, suddenly, I had a year at most left with him, and the majority of that would be spent working or deployed. So, after almost no thought, I retired.

I quit the SEALs, returned to my dad’s two-bedroom bungalow in New Jersey, and planned out how I was going to fix a lifetime of childhood disappointment in the space of twelve months. My dad died two weeks later.

So much for my inspirational ending.

You’re pulling back just before you make contact, Robby shouted again, breaking my concentration. You’re more likely to get injured if you’re holding back than if you move with confidence.

I gritted my teeth and spun around, finally ready to tell Robby where he could shove his unwanted advice. As I turned, however, I spotted a figure by the door. I’d thought Robby and I were alone in the gym, but a third man had joined us without me realizing. I wanted to tell Robby to mind his own business, but I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of a stranger.

And that was when I realized the figure wasn’t a stranger, after all. He was my boss.

Tony Gambino tipped his head imperceptibly towards me as our eyes met. His black hair was slicked back to his head with gel and hairspray, but his wide shoulders and tree-trunk neck looked rugged and tough. I’d never seen him throw a punch, but I suspected he could knock Robby out cold.

Can I help you with anything? Robby asked, slipping one of his gloves off and moving towards the front door. I’m not on the clock right now, but I’m a trainer here a few days a week.

Tony shook his head, stopping Robby in his tracks. I’m here for him, he said, nodding his head towards me.

I obviously knew that, but I was still surprised to hear him say it. Tony had never just shown up to talk to me. He would give me a call, we’d schedule a meeting, and I would be summoned to the family’s turf for a discussion with Tony and his dad and brothers. There was an order to things in a mob family, and they hardly ever broke from tradition. When they did, it meant something was wrong.

Robby furrowed his brow, looked from Tony to me, and reluctantly went back to his workout. Despite the fear creeping up my spine and settling in the base of my neck, I was pleased that his ego had been ever-so-slightly damaged. It would be a small consolation when Tony delivered the news that I had royally screwed up on my last job and a burn notice had been put on me.

Tony, I said, beating my gloves together in an attempt to release some of the tension in my body. What brings you here?

Tony ran his tongue over his teeth, then looked over my shoulder at his own reflection in the wall of mirrors. He was his father’s double, just some thirty years younger. I need to talk to you. You have time to take a ride?

I understood immediately that this wasn’t really a question.

I nodded. Just give me a minute to grab my stuff.

I turned around and slipped my gloves off, dropping them into my duffel bag against the back wall, all the while hoping Tony wouldn’t notice my hands shaking. Why was he here? What did he want? What had I done wrong?

My connection to Tony and the mob had started with a simple debt-collecting gig. I was alone at a bar—bent over my third or fourth drink and feeling sorry for myself since I’d given up my career to be with my father and he’d died, anyway—when a man approached me about some quick cash. He said I’d be perfect for the job because I was big and no one would want to challenge me. All I had to do was confront some people about paying back some debts and be willing to defend myself if they were stupid enough to become violent. Desperately low on cash and without any job prospects, I agreed. The next day, I was introduced to Tony.

It had been a few months since I’d started working for the New Jersey mob, but my job title hadn’t changed much. They had sent me to shake down some of their higher-profile clients, but I was still a debt collector. A nobody, essentially. What could I have messed up so badly that it required a personal visit from the head honcho’s son?

I took my time unwrapping my hands and tossing back the last bit of water in my bottle, taking the opportunity to try to relax. I still didn’t have a great understanding of how things in the mob worked. Maybe this was normal. Maybe I was overreacting for no reason. I shrugged into my jacket and lifted the strap of my duffel over my head so it settled across my chest, directly over my rapidly beating heart.

Tony turned and walked towards the glass double doors as soon as I moved towards him, and I followed him all the way outside and across the parking lot like a student being led to the principal’s office. Except, in my case, the principal might want to put a bullet in my forehead.

His car was black and sleek, something sporty that a man more familiar with insanely expensive cars would have recognized. Tony swiped his fingers down the hood as he walked to the driver’s side. You don’t mind if I drive, right? he asked, pulling open his door.

I shrugged, and Tony ducked down and slid into his seat. I took a deep breath before doing the same, praying it wouldn’t be my last taste of free air.

The interior was buttery leather, the color of caramel, and it smelled strongly of cigar smoke. I nestled my duffel bag between my feet, careful not to scratch the dash, and wished I’d kept my gun tucked away in the side pocket. I’d taken it out the night before to clean it and hadn’t yet put it back. Not that it would have helped me much in the current situation; I believed wholeheartedly that Tony’s quick draw would beat mine any day, and I didn’t even want to think about comparing our aim.

You might want to buckle up, Tony said with a smile. I’m known to be a crazy driver.

I pulled the seat belt across me, Tony watching as I clicked the buckle into the clasp. As soon as it locked in place with a metallic click, he slammed on the gas and tore across the dirt parking lot, taking a wild, screeching turn onto the road.

You, crazy? I asked, giving him a sarcastic wave. Never.

He laughed, which seemed like a good sign. He wouldn’t laugh if he was going to kill me, right? You can’t drive a car like this and not get a little wild.

I nodded, pretending I agreed, though I had no idea what kind of car we were in. The only hint I found from the interior were the words SUPER SPORT written in black shiny letters across the side of the center console.

Hold on, Tony said as he yanked the car into a sharp turn, cutting across two lanes of traffic and eliciting a chorus of honks.

I grabbed the door, my knuckles turning white. Tony was heading away from the center of town, in the opposite direction from the mob’s turf, which did nothing to calm my nerves.

Not that I’m not enjoying this, I said, gesturing to the car, hoping a little flattery might save my life. But I’m assuming you didn’t come pick me up for a joyride.

Wrong, Tony said. That’s exactly why I came to pick you up.

I furrowed my brow and shook my head. What?

He laughed. I could have called and told you what I needed, but I wanted to do it in person, and I wanted to give you the opportunity to take a ride in my car. Are you having fun?

Sure, if almost vomiting in my duffel bag for fear I was about to be executed was fun, then I was having the best time of my life.

Yeah, this is fun, I said.

Tony laughed again. His laugh was loud and sharp, like an alarm. Relax, Colton. I’m not going to kill you.

I wanted to believe him, but then again, why had the thought even crossed his mind if it wasn’t a possibility? I didn’t make it a habit to tell people I was casually hanging out with that I didn’t plan to kill them. The fact that he even had to mention it meant I should be a little uncomfortable.

Then, what are we doing? I asked. Annoyance was slowly beginning to erase my fear. I’d been in the middle of a workout. I took on jobs for the mob, but they didn’t control my life. I shouldn’t be expected to drop everything to ride around town with Tony Gambino.

All business, huh? Okay. I can appreciate that, Tony said, nodding, drumming his thick fingers on the steering wheel. I have a job for you.

All right. Usually someone just sends me the address and basic information.

Yeah, that’s the protocol for debt-collecting gigs.

I looked over at him, eyes narrowed. Is this not a debt-collecting gig?

He shook his head. This job is a little different than what you’ve done for us in the past. It’s more…advanced.

He made it sound like a promotion, but I had an idea of what ‘more advanced’ looked like in the mob. It looked like felonies and violence and prison. I wasn’t interested.

I sighed and ran my hand across my stubbly jaw. I’m not sure I’m looking to do anything more advanced right now.

Tony didn’t miss a beat. You’ll be compensated, of course. And everyone agrees it’s about time you took on a more significant role.

I gritted my teeth and tried to think of how to best get out of this. As I did, I recalled a conversation I’d had with an old drinking buddy, Rick. Months ago, he warned me about getting involved with the mafia if I wasn’t in it for the long haul.

It’s just a few jobs, I said, dismissing his doom-and-gloom tone. A little extra padding for my pocket.

Sure, it is right now, but soon, they’ll want you to do something more serious. Get your hands dirty. Rick leaned forward and whispered ominously. Do you think the mob bosses stay out of prison by calling in a bunch of small-time crooks and muscle to deal in petty business and then let them go? No, because if they did, the police would strong-arm the small guys. Cut them a deal if they decide to talk on the bosses. They’d get a few months in the pen while the Gambinos were charged with life. But if everyone gets their hands dirty, then they’re all in it together. One of the pack goes down, they all go down.

That doesn’t exactly breed goodwill, I said with an uncomfortable laugh.

No, Rick said, rolling his eyes at me as he walked away. But it breeds loyalty.

This was Tony asking me to get my hands dirty. It was time to make a commitment to the mob or bail, to let them know whether I was all-in or a security risk. Tony said he wouldn’t kill me, but he didn’t say he wouldn’t order someone else to do it if I answered incorrectly.

How significant? I asked finally, breaking the silence.

There is someone who owes me to the tune of one hundred thousand big ones, and I’d like to encourage them to pay me back. Your job would be to bring them to me.

Whether they’re willing or not, right? I asked.

Tony nodded.

So, kidnapping? I said.

He nodded again. They’re in Ohio. There’s an extra ten grand in it for you, for the additional work and the time on the road.

I didn’t want to do this. Not at all. I collected money, not people. While debt collecting, I never had to do more than flex and intimidate someone, so kidnapping was way beyond my comfort zone. Plus, Ohio was over five hundred miles away, and my car had seen better days. Had I already thought about the fact that this bumper pay could help me put a down payment on a new car? Yes, I had. Was I ashamed of that fact? Yes, I was.

This job is pretty personal, Tony said, turning and looking at me for a long moment before refocusing his eyes on the road. We’d been driving straight long enough that we were out of the business district and into residential neighborhoods. Suddenly, Tony hooked a U-turn in the middle of an intersection—making me yell as one car narrowly avoided hitting us—and began going back the way we’d just come. I came to talk to you because I trust you, Colton, and I’m hoping you will make the right decision and help me out, he went on. This job is no big deal. A breeze. You’re ready for it.

Isn’t there someone else who could do it? I asked. I’m kind of busy right now. This was a lie. I hadn’t been busy in months. Not unless you counted getting drunk and feeling sorry for myself as being busy.

Tony shook his head. You’re it. No one else can know about this. Not even another Gambino. I told you all of this because I believed you would take the job. If you don’t…

His voice trailed off, and I knew what that meant. I didn’t have a choice.

When does this need to happen? I asked, resigning myself to my fate. What would my dad think if he knew I’d fallen so far?

Two days, Tony said, reaching into the center console and pulling out a manila folder. Here’s the info.

I hesitated opening it up, knowing I was only digging myself further in the hole. The more I knew about the job, the harder it would be to get out of it. Though, that ship had already sailed. So, I cracked it open.

Immediately, I was struck by the picture taped to the inside of the folder. A beautiful young woman with long, wavy brown hair smiled back at me. Her teeth were white and straight, her eyes a bright, disarming blue. She wore a collared shirt in the photo with