Mafia Don’s Secret Twins: PROLOGUE

8 years ago

Panama City, Florida

My phone buzzes, but this time instead of answering, I shut it off.

Marco is not going to fucking ruin this for me. Not again.

Will he be pissed when I turn it back on? Sure. But honestly, I don’t fucking care.

Marco isn’t my boss. He’s my older brother but acts like he’s my fucking keeper. No, Marco isn’t going to ruin this trip for me.

If our dad called, then I might be worried.

Dad, however, will absolutely not call. I know that for a fact. He won’t call. Not when he can task Marco with it.

Not when he doesn’t now, and hasn’t ever, given a fuck about me and what I do.

I put the phone in my backpack, where it hopefully will fall to the bottom and I won’t have to fucking think about it again until I’m on my way back to New York.

Marco is going to be livid. However, that’s a future problem. I’ll handle that when the time comes.

But for now?

I’m in a motel. In Panama City, Florida. The room isn’t much to look at, but the view?

Damn.

There’s a stretch of powdery soft white sand in front of me, curling as far as I can see in either direction. The ocean is a beautiful jewel-toned blue, and I swear to fucking God, there are dolphins just at the edge of the horizon.

I’m on spring break. Like a normal fucking human.

And I’m going to enjoy the hell out of it.

‘Yo, D. We doing this or what?’

I turn, leaving the view from the cheap motel’s balcony as I look at my friends. They grin back at me, and I’m immediately grateful for both of them.

Jayce and Brent.

They’re two completely regular guys that I met playing football. They’re both from Jersey, both from regular boring-ass families who don’t have to consider whether or not phone conversations or family associations will get them locked up on RICO charges.

The exact opposite of my family, basically.

In high school, I knew that I would rather hang with them than with my brothers. So, I did.

We’ve been friends, more or less, ever since.

‘Fuck you looking at? The view?’ Brent grunts.

Jayce laughs, handing me a plastic red cup to mix a drink into. ‘Yeah man. There’s nothing to fucking see right now until we find some fucking girls.’

I nod. ‘Fuck yeah, man.’ I grab a handle of vodka and start pouring, ready to mix it with whatever the hell we packed to get the party started.

The party is the most important part.

That’s the point of this trip. If I’m being honest, we’re fucking losers. College drop-outs, or in my case, college non-starters. For whatever reason, Jayce had a football scholarship to Penn and lost it. Brent is… Brent. I don’t think he ever applied.

Neither did I.

Having brothers like mine? Yeah. No fucking way was I going to try and stand in either of their shadows. Even my sister is a badass, and I just can’t hold a candle to them. Marco just graduated business school. Sal is in fucking Yale. Caterina is probably going to be a lawyer or some shit.

And then there’s me.

No one expected much of me, honestly. My mom cried like a baby when I graduated high school a few years ago. I could tell that she didn’t think I’d make it.

Neither did I.

For the most part, I don’t give a fuck that I don’t go to school. I like working on the docks for De Luca Shipping. It suits me. No one cares that I’m loud and mouthy and as prone to getting in a fight as I am doing my fucking job.

It suits me.

At this point, most of the guys have even forgotten that I’m the boss’ son. I should remind them every now and then, but honestly…

I don’t want to.

It’s kind of freeing to not be Dino De Luca when I’m with them.

I just get to be… me.

And Jayce and Brent are part of that freedom.

But, since none of us actually went to college, none of us had a college-style spring break.

So, we decided to make our own.

This trip?

This is it.

I finish pouring the drink, mixing a soda into it, and the boys do the same. I hold up my red cup. ‘To failing and still being fucking great,’ I say.

Jayce and Brent clink glasses with me and we all drink. The vodka burns my throat going down, and I take a deep breath after.

I look at my friends. ‘Well, let’s find the fucking girls, yeah?’

While I typically consider myself to be a pro at day drinking, I have to admit that nine hours later is kind of a long time to be really fucking drunk.

It’s getting old at this point.

We’ve been to the beach. We’ve had some food at some point, but it’s sitting poorly in my stomach. Now, Jayce is somewhere unknown, and Brent has been trying to get the same girl to give him her number for an hour. The club is outside, on the beach, and the pulsing lights and grinding music are giving me a headache.

I need some fucking air.

Slowly, I rise, my feet feeling weirdly unstable under me. I trip forward, tumbling toward the edge of the party, where the crowd wanes and the actual ocean starts.

The music is still loud, but it’s fading.

I look to the left of me. The hotels and bars curve away to the right, but to the left it looks.. quiet.

Dark.

While I was deeply engaged in spending my day drinking, the sun slipped below the horizon, and now…

Well I can’t exactly see stars, but it’s nice to see darkness for a change.

I lurch toward the promise of stars, and the sounds of the party slowly fade away from me.

I’m not sure how long I walk for, or even if I’m allowed on this stretch of beach. But, eventually, something trips me and I fall.

The world is spinning, so I opt to not get up.

This was supposed to be fun. A way to meet some fucking cute college girls and pretend that I belonged somewhere.

Now, though, I’m drunk and I feel lonelier than ever.

I shut my eyes.

If I never got up from this spot, would my family even fucking care?

Everyone wants me to be something I’m not. Marco wants me to go to college and fall in line, maybe live in Italy for the business. My dad doesn’t give a fuck what I do, so long as I don’t embarass him.

Sal wants me to be ”nice’. He wants me to blend in and hide who I am just to get along.

Caterina?

I don’t know. Caterina is the person I feel the worst about disappointing.

Her, and my mom.

They’ve all been able to just… exist. Like they all got programmed with something that I don’t.

I feel like I came out wrong. Like there’s this ball of anger and pain and something fucking awful inside me that I have to hide to be like them.

I’m so fucking sick of hiding it.

God, I’m a miserable fucking drunk. I need to get my shit together and go find my friends…

I try to get up but I collapse.

Fuck.

I don’t even have my fucking phone.

Do I even remember our room? Or the hotel? Fuck, I guess I should have at least asked…

‘Are you dead?’

My eyes snap open.

I blink.

Maybe I am dead, because standing in front of me is the prettiest fucking girl I’ve ever seen in my life

She blinks at me. ‘Okay. I hope not because if you were dead this would be really weird.’

Jesus fucking Christ. Her voice is smooth and sweet, like the breeze on a hot day. I sit upright, well aware that there’s sand sticking to my sweaty, drunk skin.

‘I’m alive,’ I croak.

She raises one of her perfectly groomed eyebrows. ‘You don’t seem alive.’

‘I am now,’ I say.

It’s so fucking true that it rings through me like a bell.

She folds her arms across her chest. She’s wearing a white dress that ties behind her neck. I can see that she’s wearing a bikini under it, like most girls at the beach, and her torrent of brown curls is tugged up into a braid that I want to unravel.

Her eyes are so brown, they look black in the night. Her skin looks velvety smooth.

Her lips are lush, and they bow into a perfect shape…

Wow.

I’m being so fucking creepy. ‘I’m not dead,’ I clear my throat and say again. ‘Just…’

‘You’re like falling down drunk.’

I nod. ‘Yeah.’

She looks me over. ‘Are you staying here?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Where?’

I narrow my eyes. ‘Why do you care?’

‘Because, asshole,’ she tips her hips, her feet widening like she’s squaring up. ‘I walked out and found someone who I thought was dead on the sand dunes, and I don’t really want to walk away feeling like you’ll be dead after I leave.’

‘Why do you care?’

The question is a little harsh, but it’s true. She’s a total stranger. Why does she care even a little about a stranger on the beach?

She sighs. ‘Because I’m a nice fucking person. And I can’t be a nice person without being nice. And it wouldn’t be very nice of me to walk away if I saw a dead body on the beach, now would it?’

I blink.

She stares at me. ‘So. Are you staying nearby? Do you have friends that could come fish you out of… this?’ she gestures to the sand.

‘Uh. Yeah.’

‘Okay. Well, are you gonna call them or what?’

‘Don’t have my phone.’

She curses softly in Spanish, which explains the light accent that I’ve been hearing. ‘Do you know which hotel you’re in?’

‘Uh…’

I can’t exactly lie to her. Something about her keeps me from doing what I normally would, which would be pretend to be fucking fine and tell the other person to go to hell.

Instead, I tell the truth.

‘I don’t remember,’ I say.

Her beautiful eyes widen. ‘So. Your plan was… to pass out here and wait until morning?’

‘Yeah,’ I nod.

The girl heaves the biggest sigh that I’ve ever heard in my entire life. She curses again in Spanish, and I know enough to recognize that she’s calling me an asshole and an idiot.

I’m both of those things.

But for some reason, coming from her, it hurts.

To my shock, she extends a hand to me. ‘Come on,’ she says, her fingers flexing. ‘Let’s go.’

‘What?’

‘You’re coming with me,’ she says matter-of-factly.

‘Why?’

‘So you can take a shower and sleep in a place where you won’t die of exposure.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Die of exposure?’

‘Just get up, okay?’

There’s a heartbeat of hesitation. I look at her outstretched hand, which seems outrageously small.

When I slip my fingers into hers, I know that my world is changing.

After her, everything will be different.

Interestingly, she’s not staying in a hotel.

She leads me to a little house. It’s just a shack on a beach, but it’s clean and warm and has a very nice shower. There are sweatpants and a large white shirt waiting for me when I get out.

The idea that another man might have stayed here, or that she might have a boyfriend or someone, makes me unnecessarily angry.

Clean and more or less sober, I follow the sound of dishes clinking together to the kitchen. The girl is in there and something smells amazing.

‘Damn,’ I lean against the door. ‘What’s that?’

‘Something to sober you up.’

‘I think the shower did that,’ I murmur.

She gives me a curt nod. ‘You don’t smell like a distillery anymore so that’s a start.’

Ouch.

She points to one of the small chairs. ‘Sit.’

I obey.

She hands me a plate full of rice, chicken, and something that looks like a banana. ‘Plantains,’ she says as I examine them. ‘Best hangover food in the world.’

Cautiously, I take a bite.

It’s fucking amazing.

I eat in silence. The whole time, I’m aware that she’s watching me, but I don’t talk to her until I’m practically licking the plate.

‘Holy fuck,’ I groan. ‘That was so good.’

‘Good.’

I look at her again. The borrowed clothes seem to itch on my kin. ‘Do you entertain strange men a lot?’

‘No.’

I chuckle at her succinct response. ‘So you just have spare sweatpants lying around.’

‘I do.’

She’s not giving an inch. I lean back, ready to needle her into a reaction. ‘How do you know I’m not like some kind of fucking rapist?’

She tilts her head. ‘You might be.’

‘That doesn’t scare you?’

Slowly, she shakes her head. Her curls bounce, some of them having come free from her braid. ‘No. It doesn’t.’

‘Why?’

Her eyes gleam slightly. ‘One, I know how to take care of myself. And two… I’ve already survived the worst thing that could ever happen to me. Lighting doesn’t strike twice.’

I snort. ‘That’s… both depressing and optimistic.’

‘It’s real,’ she says softly.

Real.

That’s the word that comes to mind when I think of her.. In our short interaction, I can tell that she’s the most real person I’ve ever met.

And I fucking like that.

‘What’s your name?’

She smiles, a small curl at the edges of her lips. ‘Marisol. You?’

No last names. Noted. ‘Dino.’

‘Okay. Are you tired, Dino?’

No. I shake my head. ‘Not really.’

‘Okay.’

I shift. ‘I um… thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For.. this,’ I gesture.

She shrugs. ‘Like I said. I can’t call myself a nice person if I don’t act like one, so. Yeah.’

That statement is so compelling.

I’ve met a lot of people in my life. Part of the deal, I guess, because I’m a De Luca.

I very rarely meet people whose integrity matters to them so much. I mean, she took me, a total stranger and potential danger, and she fed me, let me shower, and put me in some new clothes.

Fuck.

That’s… the bravest thing that I’ve ever heard.

‘So, Marisol,’ I smile at her. ‘Are you just here to rescue sad looking fuck-ups?’

‘You’re hardly sad looking, and why do you say you’re a fuck-up?’

‘I…’ I don’t answer. I can’t.

I don’t need her to know how I’m not just the black sheep in my family.

It’s more like they’re a pack of wolves.

And I’m a fucking lion.

‘I was asking about you,’ I recover.

She snorts. ‘Smooth. But I’m here because one of my friends is going through a really bad breakup and my… I was tasked with making sure that she didn’t do anything too stupid.’

I arch an eyebrow. ‘And? Where is this friend?’

‘Notably not here. Hopefully making whatever stupid decisions she wants.’

I laugh at that. Then, my mind catches on one of her words. ‘Who tasked you with this?’

‘No one you need to know about,’ she says with a grimace.

God, whoever did this to her… she fucking hates them.

It makes me so weirdly possessive. I want to dig more to find out who the fuck is ‘making’ her do anything.

And I will fucking end them.

‘So, your friend’s out making bad decisions… what about you?’ I smile at her.

She shakes her head. ‘No. Not me. Never allowed to do that, for sure.’

I laugh. ‘Oh, come on. Everyone makes some bad decisions in their life.’

‘I don’t,’ she says quietly.

I look over at her. She’s so beautiful that it makes me fucking nervous.

When she looks back up at me though, there’s fire in her eyes.

‘I don’t make bad decisions. I never make any decisions. I’m not supposed to,’ she says boldly.

I hold up my hands. ‘Whoa, okay. Well, let’s see. If you did want to make a bad decision, what would you make?’

I’m thinking she’ll say something standard. Get a tattoo. Get a piercing. Run from the cops.

What happens next, though, shocks me to my core.

She looks me dead in the eyes and says, ‘I’d kiss you.’

Then?

She fucking does.

I’m so shocked that when her lips land on mine, I’m completely frozen. My mind is a confusing jumble, because part of me wants to wrap my arms around her and kiss her back, and part of me…

Part of me thinks that would be a bad fucking idea.

So when she pulls back, her eyes wide, I’m still trying to decide.

‘Sorry,’ she breathes, her chest heaving as she looks at me. ‘I just…’

Yeah. While she might not be known for bad decisions, I am.

And I decide.

I curl my hand up the back of her neck and grab a fist-full of her beautiful curly hair. It feels like yards and yards of silk in my hand, and I tug her head back to get better access to her mouth.

She gasps.

And I’m gone.

I devour her. There’s no other word for it. I’ve never kissed anyone like this, and I’ve never had a kiss like this.

Ever.

This is so much more than just a kiss. It’s… an obsession.I’m lost in her. My hands roam her body, greedy to experience everything.

Every touch is a new treasure that I hoard to myself. Her skin is so soft when I free it from her clothes. Her hips curve out before dipping back into her neat waist. When I take her bra and throw it aside, her breasts flow over the sides of my hands.

When I lick her pert brown nipples, she moans and its fucking music to my ears.

Her fingers in the waist of my pants feel cautious, but curious. When she wraps them around my hard cock, I have to take in a deep breath to keep myself from erupting.

Her thighs are so sweet when they part. We’ve moved from the kitchen onto the small couch in the living room, and it might be tiny, but I’ve never been closer to heaven than I am right now.

As I fit myself to her entrance, I hesitate.

Does she want this?

I look down at her. Marisol is staring up at me, her eyes wide, her pupils blown with lust.

‘Marisol,’ I breathe. ‘Do…’

I don’t finish, because she tips her hips and presses against me, and then I don’t have an option.

I’m inside her, and she’s so fucking tight that I have to control myself before I lose it.

Slowly, I pump inside her. The arch of her back as she meets me, the slight jiggle to her full breasts, all of it is more erotic than any porn I’ve ever watched.

I’m so mesmerized by her that my orgasm catches me by surprise.

She comes a second before I do. She cries my name and it sends me over the edge. I tug her up to kiss me as the orgasm spirals down my spine.

I swear, I can feel it for an eternity.

When I finally let her gently back down onto the couch, we both lay there, chests heaving. I gently tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘Damn,’ I whisper.

She smiles. ‘I know.’

‘You…’

She shakes her head and presses her fingers against my lips. ‘Let’s just… hold me. Okay?’

I nod. ‘Okay.’

Gently, we shuffle so we’re both lying on the little couch. I hold Marisol close, stroking her hair until her breathing evens out.

That’s my cue. I fall asleep holding her, breathing in her pineapple smell.

Thank god I came to Panama City.

Because I’m going to marry this girl.

And nothing my family can say will stop me.

But, in the morning, she’s gone.

No note.

Nothing there.

I wait for her.

But she never comes back.