The Scarred Protector: Santoro's Mafia, #3

By Lily Clarke

Dive into the gripping world of "The Scarred Protector," a masterful blend of dark romance and suspenseful mafia drama that will captivate readers from the first page to the last. Set against the backdrop of the Texas underworld, this novel explores the life of Giulio Santoro, a man marked by the brutality of his past, who emerges as the ruthless adviser to the mafia. His story intertwines with that of Allegra Wright, a young woman with a voice as captivating as her mysterious heritage, unknown even to herself.

Giulio, scarred both physically and emotionally, has lived his life in the shadows, dedicating himself to protecting those he loves at all costs. His dark past, defined by sacrifice and pain, has prepared him for any challenge—except perhaps, the challenge of falling for someone whose existence he could never have predicted. Allegra, with her innocence and determination, breaks through his defenses, bringing light to his shadowed world. But her connection to the very man Giulio despises threatens to tear apart not just their budding romance, but the very fabric of their lives.

As their worlds collide, "The Scarred Protector" weaves a tale of love, betrayal, and redemption. Giulio must confront his deepest fears and darkest enemies to protect Allegra and her child, forcing him to decide whether his love is strong enough to transcend the sins of the past.

This novel is a must-read for fans of mafia romance and those who love stories of deep emotional journey, suspense, and the power of love to heal the deepest of wounds. With its richly developed characters, atmospheric setting, and thrilling plot, "The Scarred Protector" promises to be an unforgettable addition to your bookshelf.

Experience the intensity, the passion, and the redemption of Giulio and Allegra's story in "The Scarred Protector." Discover why readers are unable to put down this tale of dark pasts, dangerous liaisons, and the undeniable power of love. Your next favorite mafia romance awaits.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lily Clarke
• Release date: Mar 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224067077

Lily Clarke

Born amidst the charming cobblestone streets of Brussels, Belgium, in 1997, Lily Clarke discovered her passion for storytelling from an early age. Raised in a city that breathes history and cultural richness, Lily's imagination was sparked by the vibrant tapestry of life that surrounded her. A literary explorer, Lily ventured into the realms of fantasy, mystery, and drama with equal enthusiasm, inviting readers to embark on a captivating journey through her imaginative landscapes, where every page reveals a new facet of her storytelling prowess.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Allegra Wright

D on't you think you're too pretty to be singing in a rundown bar like this?

I lifted my head toward the voice addressing me as I leaned on the bar, sipping water.

Especially that night, I felt my throat a bit drier due to the weather.

But who was complaining?

The two boys – because they were definitely not men – had been staring at me since they arrived. Not like my usual audience looked at me, but with a kind of lewdness that always unnerved me.

This was not uncommon. The show I put on had that appeal: a fragile girl, with a vulnerable expression, singing with a husky, breathy voice, songs about unrequited love.

They thought it was an invitation. For me, it was survival.

I took a deep breath and decided to just return to my water, not paying much attention.

Aren't you going to thank me for the compliment? another one of them asked.

Okay, they were persistent. Nothing I couldn't handle or hadn't happened before in those last few months since I started my job.

I turned towards them, leaning my arm on the bar and raising an eyebrow.

Thanks...? I replied with complete reluctance. It's my job to be pretty. In fact, I just stand on stage doing nothing else. I'm just a decorative object, I continued, smiling.

The two exchanged glances and laughed, completely mocking.

How I hated brats. They thought they owned the world. Rich boys, then, seemed to have a king-sized ego.

Do you really think anyone would put you to sing if you weren't so pretty? One of them laughed. You're not even that good.

Rolling my eyes, I just tried to get away, but my hand was grabbed by one of them.

Singing is average, but maybe moaning... who knows if we find some hidden talent there?

I wanted to slap the idiot's face, but he was a customer. If I did that, I'd be fired the next day. I couldn't afford to do whatever I pleased because my adoptive mother depended a lot on the money I brought home. Since my biological mom died, it's been just us, and I couldn't disappoint her.

Especially because she'd handle that kind of harassment easily, and she'd even accuse me of being foolish enough not to stand up and pretend nothing was happening.

Could you please remove your hand from me? I asked politely, not having much hope that it would be obeyed, but hopeful that my boss would intervene.

There were other people around, including coworkers. Waiters, for example, who could inform the bar owner that I was being harassed.

When me and my buddy here get a hold of you, you'll want us to put our hands in various places.

Things were getting a bit more serious. It was more than just a joke – although no woman should take that kind of thing lightly – and I was starting to get scared. Especially because inside the venue I knew I'd be safe, but what about outside?

The lady was polite, but I won't be if you don't step away from her now.

The sentence came, spoken by a heavy baritone voice, yet cadenced and almost melodic. Slowly, the man delivered his words, in a perfect diction, seemingly intentional so that the two boys could understand.

And how good it was that I used the right word.

Unlike the jerks who had approached me before, our new company was nothing like a boy. He was a man. All made, all built, in the most masculine way possible.

His hair was very dark and combed back, but it wasn't exactly short, although it wasn't long either. I imagined that if left loose and more rebellious, they would fall into his equally dark eyes, giving him a slightly softer look. The beard also didn't fill his face densely, only painting it with shadows, hiding what seemed to be well-defined jaws and a sculpted mouth.

He was much older than me. About eleven, twelve years, maybe. He must have been around thirty, thirty-one. He had a beauty not so obvious as the blond, princely boys who had been so abusive with me, but he was attractive in a way that took your breath away.

All it took was a whisper from the guy who wasn't holding me, in the other guy's ear, for my arm to be released. They stepped back, almost afraid of my defender, and dispersed, saying absolutely nothing more.

Did they know him? And why so much panic?

Are you okay? the mysterious dark-haired man asked, and I lifted my head to look into his eyes, since he was so tall.

I am. Thank you. I don't even know how to thank you.

You don't need to, he asserted, with a stern tone, almost impatient. As if all humans were too mundane, and he, a superior being.

I arched an eyebrow, a little surprised by his attitude and arrogance.

I picked up my glass from the counter and took the last sips. My break had already ended.

Okay, then. No thanks for you, I tried to tease, but if he was even bothered by how I reacted, he didn't show.

I returned to the stage, sitting at the piano and already starting the next setlist with I Put a Spell on You. I liked the huskiness my voice acquired when hitting certain tones, and it was a pleasant song, with which I could play.

Involuntarily my eyes turned toward the mysterious man, and he didn't take his eyes off me. It gave me an indescribable sense of power; so much that I even smiled. That kind of thing was new to me: liking male attention. Normally I was afraid, because of all the things I saw and experienced.

How my biological mother suffered because of my father, whom I didn't even know properly. How Mary, the adoptive one, was always abused by men who entered her life. How some looked at me too, in a way that sent shivers of fear down my spine.

The guy in the audience was the type I should stay away from without thinking twice, but something drew me to him. Maybe I was one of those girls who liked danger without even knowing it.

He stayed until the end of the show, and I was the one who left first. As he ordered another drink as soon as I finished, I figured he would stay there for a while longer.

I could try to approach him... but what would I do? I had no idea what a man like him would want with a girl like me.

I'd keep it in my imagination...

I changed clothes, swapping the green dress I was wearing for jeans and a T-shirt, almost turning from Cinderella into Cinderella. I left my hair as it was, because I was too lazy to change it.

I used to pull a strand from each side of my head, tying them together at the nape of my neck with a big bow, matching the color of my clothes. I knew it gave me a doll-like appearance; a distinctive feature that made people remember me, even if they didn't know my name. Many came back, asking for the girl with the bow.

One day they would ask for Allegra.

Actually, just Allegra. Like Adele. Beyoncé. Rihanna. It was a huge pretension, but someone who came from nothing needed to dream big.

Wearing my coat, I tied it around my waist, grabbed my bag, and headed for the back door, where I always entered and exited, saying goodbye to the people I passed.

It was cold outside, and a gust of cold wind caught me off guard, making me shiver.

Taking a deep breath, it took me a while to realize that two people were approaching.

Of course, I knew very well who they were.

They were coming toward me with determined steps, and a car seemed to be waiting for them, a few meters away. I could be very wrong, but it would be very easy for them to grab me and drag me into the vehicle, throwing me inside to take me anywhere else.

I immediately took a step back and pushed the bar door, going back inside. I could be lost in paranoia, interpreting everything wrong, but I wasn't going to pay to see.

Any employee could serve to accompany me and help me, but I found myself advancing towards the table of the mysterious man. He had scared off the abusive boys, why couldn't he do it again and defend me once more?

I ended up startling him when I sat in the chair next to him, which remained empty. With my hand on my chest, trying to control my breathing, I prepared to speak, while he watched me.

Help me, please? They're outside.

Luckily, I didn't have to explain much, because the man stood up, adjusting his own overcoat, taking out a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket, leaving it on the table, and reaching out his hand to me.

What are you going to do? I asked, a bit unsure if I had made the right decision.

I'll accompany you and take you home.

Okay, I didn't expect any of this.

I..., I began to stand up in a hurry, because the guy walked away, with all his elegance, weaving through the tables. I followed him, with wide steps, because he had huge legs; I could never keep up with him at normal speed. I didn't mean to bother you, I replied when I finally caught up to him after much effort.

But if you came seeking my help, what else could you want?

My God, why did he have to be so difficult?

But, indeed, maybe I shouldn't have asked for help from someone I don't know.

You don't need to take me home. I live three blocks from here.

Great, then I'll at least put you in a taxi.

He started walking again, striding to the back, and I was left with no choice but to follow him.

I had to hurry my steps more than usual, and my foot almost turned on the uneven ground.

It was a matter of a second.

Just one second and an impressive reflex that made the man turn in my direction, already reaching out his arm to catch me. With the precision of a snake, he supported me, and I almost gasped at the closeness of our faces.

His eyes were the darkest, most mysterious, and deepest things I had ever seen.

He let me go, leaving me standing safely. I began to mutter another thank you, but I couldn't finish because he started walking again ahead of me, with his hands in his pockets, his long coat flying around him like a cape.

My protector started looking around the street, waiting impatiently under a lamppost for a taxi to pass. He didn't say anything, continuing to act as if he had a clear mission.

Illuminated amidst the night, with his head held high and his gaze lost ahead, he seemed much more intimidating than inside, after defending a total stranger. The furrowed brow matched the appearance of a reaper, with the long coat covering much of his large frame.

He really seemed like death incarnate, seductive and mysterious.

He suddenly made a gesture, and I understood that my carriage had arrived. He stopped it, talked to the driver, left some bills, and opened the door for me in a chivalrous act.

I approached and stopped before leaning in to get into the back seat.

I faced him, very close, with the car door separating us.

Can you at least tell me your name?

He remained silent for a moment, almost as if hesitating. Since the jerks had been so frightened by his presence, was he someone known, whom I should fear?

Giulio Santoro.

It didn't ring a bell, but what did I know about famous killers? He could very well have a documentary on Netflix, recounting his journey as a serial killer of women, and I wouldn't know until it was too late.

He said his name with a slight accent, probably Italian, and then I began to recall some small nuances in his words, which indicated that he shouldn't be American.

Once again, thank you, Giulio. My name is... I began to speak, because if he seemed so indifferent to everything else, it wouldn't surprise me if he hadn't paid attention to my name.

Allegra. I know.

That conviction again.

It might be a very silly thing to analyze, but there was nothing more seductive than a man who exuded confidence.

I smiled at him, but he didn't return it, so I decided to give up. I got into the car, he closed the door, and I gave my address to the taxi driver, who drove off.

I glanced back and saw him still standing on the sidewalk, watching, but as I moved away, Giulio Santoro began to blend into the darkness, as he should.

That's how I should imagine him.

And that's how I should forget him.

CHAPTER 2

Giulio Santoro

Days Later

Darkness hung over Houston like a sinister cloak, swallowing every street and alley in its nocturnal grasp. The city lights, so vibrant during the day, now mere distant dots of a civilization that seemed to have been forsaken to its own devices. My footsteps echoed through the deserted alleys, a solitary symphony competing with the whisper of the wind.

It was a city of contrasts, of saturated skies, but to me, everything melded into shades of gray and black.

The cutting wind tried to sneak through the cracks of my coat, so I adjusted the lapels as I advanced, feeling my steps reverberate on the ground like a somber echo.

Crossing a deserted street, I came upon the facade of a shop that, at first glance, seemed abandoned. The dusty windows and faded sign indicated neglect, but a sinister aura hung in the air, suggesting that something more was afoot.

I glanced around, ensuring no one would witness my entrance, and knocked on the door. It took a moment, but it creaked open slowly, as if the very structure of the shop hesitated to let me in.

A man seated in a chair greeted me in silence, and I shrugged off my coat and scarf, hanging them on the iron frame supporting other pieces, similar to mine.

The shop was dimly lit, setting exactly the somber tone such a den of iniquity needed. Still, I knew all too well how to find who I was looking for.

The smell of smoke seemed to almost draw an imaginary line in my direction, pulling me in. I had recently quit smoking, but the craving still pulsed within me, making me an easy prey.

Dashiell Damiano, my sister-in-law's cousin, stood farther ahead, and he was the source of nicotine that had guided me to the gathering place. Knox and Rylan, his younger brothers, were also present because this was a matter to be dealt with by Le Serpenti. However, since our connection with them had become somewhat stronger after Luca and Paola's wedding, we often meddled in their affairs, assisting them whenever possible.

If the mafia world weren't so conservative and prejudiced, Paola would be the leader of Le Serpenti – an organization similar to the Cosa Nostra but smaller and with less power. They focused mostly on specific cities but had their roots in Texas.

There had been much rivalry in the past as they established themselves, but gradually, we needed to unite, and the marriage of a Santoro to a Damiano was the key to making that possible.

Paola was the sole direct heir of the group's former leader, since her father and brother were murdered, but Dashiell ended up taking over for being the first man in the line of succession.

Though I agreed that Paola would be excellent in leadership, he was a decent choice.

We thought you'd never arrive. So much so, there isn't much fun left, Dashiell commented, adding with a hint of cynicism, cousin.

We were almost like family, after all.

I'm a busy man, I said, without much explanation, adjusting the axe I always carried with me in hand, feeling its weight.

I see... I suppose you returned to a certain bar to see a certain singer...

I hadn't told anyone about Allegra, but on that day, Dashiell had been present at the bar where I met her. Disguised, each of us had taken a table, and we exchanged no words, only meaningful glances because our intention was precisely to keep an eye on a certain duo causing trouble in the well-established universe we created.

Since Luca's wedding, despite all the turmoil in his story, we had been fighting to cleanse Texas from the interference of any parallel organization that might be trying to steal our spaces in the arms, drinks, and illicit substances trade.

There was a hegemony that needed to be respected, and we were willing to go to great lengths to protect our businesses.

The two idiots who harassed the girl at the bar were small fry within something much larger, but we couldn't neglect anything.

I didn't get the chance. I shrugged, and the response could have been different.

I didn't want to return to the place because staying away from that delicate little thing was the best choice I could make, for my own sake, but mostly for hers.

Allegra Wright was her name, and I couldn't deny that I found out what I could in a brief search on her social media, even though she was as discreet as a music artist could be.

With the same intensity that sparked my curiosity, my protective instincts screamed for me to stay away. She was a normal girl, didn't need a fucked-up guy – in every sense – to ruin her quiet little life.

Soon I'd have to find a wife within the Cosa Nostra. Lovers were a different story. Taking the lovely Allegra to bed was an idea that appealed to me, but I had a feeling she wasn't that kind of girl.

A shame. Must be interesting to have a voice like that whispering something in your ear while... Knox spoke, eyes closed, as if savoring the image in his mind.

Can we focus on what really matters? I interrupted, not wanting to talk about the girl. What have we achieved here?

Blood was splattered everywhere, smelling of rusty metal, just like the chains from which hung two bodies marked by grotesque wounds and deep bruises.

I didn't know what bothered me more, the sight or the fact that I no longer found any of it surprising. If imagining a person in utter despair didn't evoke anything but indifference in me, what level of depravity had I reached?

Multicolored bruises stained the battered bodies. Some limbs seemed to be at odd angles, and I could see bodily fluids spread around.

The scene was a fucking twisted painting, a nightmare, where the line between life and death blurred. Discarded pieces of torture instruments lay scattered on the floor, and the open, glassy eyes of one of the boys indicated how far it had all gone. The other was still alive, but barely.

You really couldn't wait for me, huh?

I didn't take pleasure in hurting people. It was just a means to an end.

As with most things I did, I felt only indifference.

I knew very creative ways to extract information from subjects who thought they were tough in just a few minutes. I was known for using my axe, and it was sharp and precise enough that just its sight made some tremble at their core and spill more than they should.

The problem was that sometimes, depending on the person who became our victim, the job became more interesting.

I particularly had very little tolerance for rapists.

Anxiety got the best of us. But they didn't last long. Wet themselves in less than five minutes. This one still alive was just a courtesy for you, Dashiell said, extinguishing his cigarette on a windowsill that was closed and sealed. We have some names, but we believe whoever's leaking the information is someone from within.

From the Cosa Nostra or Le Serpenti?

We don't know yet, but we'll find out. As I said, they've given us some names. Mostly powerful businessmen. Someone tied to politics. No big shots within the mafia.

I raised an eyebrow but didn't show much. Most of my thoughts were safer inside my head anyway.

Well, if there was one last job to be done, I needed to put it into practice.

I raised the axe, watching the prisoner lift his eyes, knowing I wouldn't be gentle.

There was no delicacy in the kind of pain I inflicted on those sons of bitches. With each blow, I imagined slicing another person, with refined cruelty.

Someone I never had the chance to confront in that way, because he was protected enough by the Cosa Nostra. If I killed him, my family would pay.

And most of the time, I felt like that was my life's purpose. When it was over, I'd be empty.