Broken Hearts: A New Adult Mafia Romance

By Vivi Paige and Bonnie Kennedy

Love? F-love. It’s a joke.

I’ve seen my mom get burned too many times by guys that said “I love you.” I know it’s not real. And it never lasts even if it was based in reality.

All that changes when I meet Luca Rossi.

You’d think I’d know to run away.

That I’d see how he treats everyone else like he’s superior and get that he’s not someone I want to be with.

There’s just one thing, though…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Aug 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9781094460147

Vivi Paige

Vivi Paige is the sekrit pen name of a New York Times and USA Today bestselling romance author who decided she wanted to play on the dark side of happily ever after… Join her in a sinister world of murder, mayhem, and marriage.

Book preview

1

Icouldn’t keep the smile off my face.

As I slotted my keys into the front door of our little apartment I relived the last three hours with a kind of wistful relish. The soccer match had been a wild success.

I was agile and light with the ball, weaving in and out of the grasp of other players before spotting the goal and setting myself up for a strike.

The ball had hit the back of the net with satisfying force.

I remember the crowd cheering in a dull roar as I ran around the field, my hand cupped to my ear in a comical request for them to shout louder. Which they did.

The door to our apartment squeaked open in protest. Before I could even place a foot inside, the door jolted suddenly and stopped mid-way.

I peered around the frame, trying to see the obstacle and my heart instantly dropped.

Piles and piles of boxes littered the small hallway, which was not even that big to begin with. Some of them were not even closed and various kitchen appliances poked out here and there.

Mom? I called into the now dusty hallway. I managed to maneuver my way around the door and let my bag drop where I stood, all the exhilaration from my soccer game earlier disappearing in a heartbeat.

Mom, I called again, this time a little more urgently.

Serena Moretti’s head, with all its wild curls piled up in a messy bun, popped out from an open door at the end of the hallway and she smiled sheepishly. My wayward mother obviously had a lot of explaining to do.

Mom, do you think you can explain what is going on? I asked, stepping a pathway between the boxes, trying to make my way to her side. She tried to ignore my question at first.

Do you want some lemonade, Angie? You look parched! she exclaimed before her head disappeared again. I could hear the echoes of her voice bouncing around what sounded like a now empty kitchen. Ice as well?

As I came into the doorway, she reappeared in front of me, glass in hand, and thrusted it in my direction. Just as I had predicted, the kitchen was completely empty. Not a cup in sight except the one I now held in my hand.

I gaped at her with indignation.

What the hell is going on, Mom? Please tell me that you had the sudden urge to redecorate? I asked tentatively, starting to panic slightly as the shock wore off.

Mom averted her eyes in a way that made me nervous before she answered, her hands fiddling with packing a small box on the counter.

Angie, you know how it is. Work is hard to come by these days, she stuffed some bubble wrap inside a nondescript jar before grabbing the sellotape, and the world is a big place. There is so much left to see. And, well, I think we need to expand our horizons a little bit-

Mom! I shouted, cutting her off mid-waffle with a hard stamp of my foot. Explain yourself right this minute. Where are we going?

Mom squared her shoulders before taking a deep breath and turned to look at me. Her eyes were filled with remorse, which signaled nothing good for me.

Angie, I got a new job. It pays well and it’s a good opportunity. They have even offered us free lodgings with the position. She took a tentative step towards me and reached out to grab my hand. This is too good to pass up, kid.

I wrenched my hand out of her grasp.

I haven’t even started school yet, Mom. What about what’s good for me? I asked, my chest heaving with the injustice of it all. What about what I want?

I looked around the small kitchen with desperate eyes. I had never really stopped to take everything in or to appreciate where I was. Now that it was suddenly being taken away from me, an intense feeling of nostalgia rushed in, reminding me of how attached I had become to this place.

I had let my guard down.

I had become too attached to Mom as a secure presence in my life.

It served me right for getting too comfortable.

Of course Mom would bail eventually. That’s what she’d always done.

And would continue to do in the future.

I steeled myself against the tears that threatened to break through the surface and directed my most accusing look at her.

It’s a guy, isn’t it? I said, in a tone that was menacing even to my ears. After everything you’ve been through with other men you’re going to high tail it out of here and make a fool of yourself running after some lumbering idiot.

No! She reached out for me again but I backed away from her. I promise it’s not like that, her eyes beseeched me to understand. This is going to be good for both of us, sweetie. I’m working for a prestigious family now.

She nodded her head vigorously with almost laughable optimism. I couldn’t bring myself to see the funny side. I’ll be in charge of… this and that. They’ll take care of us, Angie.

"We don’t need anyone to take care of us!" I snapped. I walked over to the box she had been packing and purposefully started to unpack everything inside, each item making a loud ‘thud’ as it hit the kitchen counter.

This is why we moved here! We’re independent. We don’t answer to anyone. I turned on her, brandishing a bubble-wrapped Tupperware bowl in my hands. Why on earth would you give that up?

I finally lost the fight against my emotions. The tears that had been threatening to spill over trailed a path down my cheeks. I bowed my head, trying to comprehend how I had not seen this coming.

How could I have been so stupid?

My soccer uniform, which I had been so proud of today, now seemed to mock me with its bright, overbearing colors.

One of my tears was about to fall onto the collar of my soccer shirt. Just in time, Mom’s thumb and forefinger rose up to wipe it gently from my jaw. Her thumb grazed back and forth soothingly and I did nothing to stop her.

Angie, her voice was soft and imploring, this is the last time, I promise. After this move everything will be more settled, you’ll see.

She lifted my chin up so that her eyes met mine.

Everything good between you and me will stay exactly the same. Nothing and nobody is going to come between us, sweetie. Please believe me.

I wanted to be mad at her. I really wanted to tell her to shove her job where the sun doesn’t shine. I wanted to scream that I didn’t need her or anybody else ever again.

Instead, I collapsed my head onto her shoulder and gave in to the warm, comforting feeling of her arms holding me tightly. I didn’t want this feeling to ever end.

Both of us jumped apart at the sound of the doorbell ringing shrilly through the now empty apartment. Mom threw her hands up in the air with excitement before gently squeezing my arms reassuringly.

That will be the movers! she trilled, dancing her way around the haphazard piles of boxes toward the door.

A moment later, two extremely well built and burly men made their way into the hallway while Mom propped the door open with something she wedged into the gap. She snapped back up promptly, her hair wildly framing her face and her cheeks flushed.

Let’s start with the boxes in here, gentlemen, she instructed, sweeping her arm in the direction of the hallway where I stood motionless and wary at the end.

One of the men, looking my mom up and down, made no effort to hide the direction of his thoughts.

It’s always a good work day when you get to be a knight in shining armor for two pretty ladies, he drawled, turning his gaze to me and wiggling his eyebrows.

I narrowed my eyebrows into what I hoped was a severe scowl and tried to stare him down.

Mom seemed completely unfazed.

Oh, stop it, you, she joked, reprimanding him with a little shove against his arm which lingered a little too long.

She looked away, turning to the other mover.

You can start near the kitchen, Joe. That’s where most of the heavy boxes are.

The other man started making his way towards me, waiting patiently for me to move aside so that he could enter the kitchen. I stayed rooted to the spot in defiance, arms folded and my scowl firmly in place.

With an awkward glance back towards my mom, he cleared his throat before attempting to squeeze past me in the tight space.

Up close, with his sleeves rolled up and ready for work, a familiar tattoo peeked out from under the fabric of his shirt. I tried to place where I had seen it before when it suddenly hit me. My stomach dropped and I wondered what fresh trouble my mom was getting us into.

As soon as the men were out of the apartment with the first round of boxes, I rounded on my mother.

What family did you say you were working for again? I asked.

She turned to me, all smiles. The Rossi family.

Shit.

2

With a box in one hand and a small lamp in the other, I stared open-mouthed at the looming grandeur of the Rossi estate before me.

It looked like something out of an old Hollywood movie. The entrance consisted of a circular courtyard that was framed by tall cypress trees, rustling lightly in the breeze.

Ornate stonework gave the many front-facing windows a gothic air that, although opulent, wasn’t oppressive. There were a few luxury cars parked out front and I couldn’t suppress my curiosity.

I leaned over the blacked out windows of a sleek Rolls Royce, trying to see if I could get a glimpse of the inside.

Can I help you, madam?

I hadn’t heard anyone approach. Startled, I sprang upright and around to find a slim, rather austere man looking down his nose at me.

Hi, er… me and my mom are moving in today. I thought this explanation was self-explanatory but he continued to stare at me with an arched eyebrow. I cleared my throat.

We’re, er.. We’re the Morettis, I said, gulping down the intimidation I felt.

You don’t sound so sure, he said with a serious expression, although the corner of his mouth had flicked up just a little.

No, I’m…I’m pretty sure.

I felt self-conscious all of a sudden. I was acutely aware of how my clothes fit, the tattered bag that hung from my shoulder and the fact that I still had matted soccer hair. Usually, I was comfortable in my style but all this luxury was making me second guess myself.

If the man noticed the doubts I was having, he didn’t show it. He merely reached down to take the lamp from my overladen hands.

We have been expecting you, Miss Moretti. You are to be staying in the estate guest suite. Please follow me.

With that, he turned around and began to stride off, not bothering to look back and check whether I was following or not.

Instead of entering through the oak-paneled double doors of the main entrance, he led me around the side of the house.

Our steps followed a long driveway that eventually reached a double set of garage doors set amidst a stone outbuilding. I would have thought it a considerable size had it not been set next to the Rossi estate mansion.

I looked back the way we had come, hoping Mom could find her way. I turned back to the tall man.

Listen, my mom is still collecting things from the truck. Do you think you could go and get her?

Of course, he assured me. He set down my little lamp, which looked comparatively cheap on the wrought iron steps leading to the upper living space above the garage. You will find the door already open, Miss Moretti.

Please, call me Angie, I requested.

He didn’t look too happy about it but nevertheless he gave a curt little nod before heading back the way he had come.

Now that I was on my own I paid more attention to the space around me. Somewhere in the distance to my left, behind a tall, latched garden gate, was the sound of music playing, mixed with the laughter and conversation of a few cheery voices.

I glanced back up the iron staircase, knowing I should stay where Mom could find me. Instead I found my hands first placing the box I was carrying slowly on the floor before turning to see if I could lift the latch of the garden gate.

The door sprang open without a fuss. I hesitated only a moment before I decided to walk through it.

Past a neat row of tall hedges there was an enormous garden that sprawled over the estate and down towards dense woodland at the far end. I looked up at the building and realized this must be the back of the house.

The garden was full of people. Some were gathered around a large buffet while others were dancing along to the music.

My eyes caught sight of a chocolate fountain, flowing freely. There were also little bowls of fruit next to it on the table.

I couldn’t help myself. I made my way over to the table, more self-conscious of fitting in than ever.

As I held a strawberry under the chocolate waterfall, a few fragments of conversation drifted over from a group of guys that approached from behind.

Come on, Tre, stick your face in there. I’ll film it and then we can all make millions from Youtube. People would pay good money to watch you behave like a complete cretin.

I stared resolutely ahead. The same voice piped up again, this time much closer.

"What about you, Luca? Once you take over the family business, maybe you could turn this place into the next Playboy Mansion and we could have chocolate fountains everywhere."

He was met with a few sniggers before a new voice joined the fray.

Davide, no one is going to allow you free reign around chocolate fountains. God knows what you would dip in them. In fact…

I froze as I felt the light tap of a finger on my shoulder. I turned to find four equally amused faces staring back at me. The voice I heard over my shoulder now had a face that wore a mischievous grin.

"Excuse me, miss, I’ve heard this chocolate was made with hazelnuts. Would you say it has a particularly nutty after taste?"

Before he could even finish the sentence, the guy to my left spat out his drink in surprise, catching his breath only to fall into fits of raucous laughter.

Jesus, Marco. And they say I’m the uncivilized one, said Davide,