Fracture Read online

  Fracture

  A DeLuca Family Novel

  K.A. Ware

  Contents

  Prologue

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Untitled

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Stalk ME Online

  ALSO BY K.A. WARE

  Copyright © 2018 by K.A. Ware

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover Design by Bite Me Graphic Designs

  Created with Vellum

  To my daughter, may you be fierce like Mia, clever like Frankie, patient like Elena, loyal like Vic, and love as strong as Mallory.

  Also, on an entirely separate note, may you not read this until you’re thirty.

  Prologue

  MALLORY

  MY BODY FELT HEAVY. A crushing pressure weighed me down as I tried to force my lead-laden eyelids open.

  The reverberating sound of metal on metal echoed around the small space, causing me to flinch and a white-hot throbbing pain to radiate from my temple. The pain was so searing even my teeth hurt. The familiar tang of copper bloomed on my tongue, but when I tried to bring my hand up to inspect the damage, it wouldn’t cooperate. The unyielding bite of what I assumed were zip ties cut deeper into the sensitive skin of my wrists when I tried to move, and a sharp stab of pain reminded me that my shoulder had been dislocated.

  My heart pounded in my chest as the fog that had been blanketing my mind began to lift. Flashes of images flooded my vision.

  Strong arms gripping me from behind.

  His breath on my neck as he told me not to fight him.

  A man in all black holding my life in his hands.

  The silver glint of the barrel of a gun being held to my son’s temple.

  Luke.

  One

  ANGELO

  DECEMBER, 2017

  I FLICKED THE SWITCH on the wall, and fluorescent lights whined to life, illuminating the empty gym Carlo had built beneath the DeLuca compound. Various equipment surrounded the massive regulation-sized boxing ring that sat in the middle of the space.

  I wasn’t usually the first to arrive, but I’d slept like shit the night before and needed to burn off some nervous energy. Things had been quiet for months, inordinately so, and it had put me on edge.

  Moving over to the bay of lockers in the open room, I hung up the suit I’d brought and traded my jeans and shirt for a pair of sweats. Once I'd changed, I sat on the bench and began wrapping my hand, my mind wandering to things better left locked away.

  Growing up, I’d never questioned my lifestyle, but as I got older, my mind wandered to what could be. It was a dangerous habit. I needed to be focused and alert at all times, not just for me, but for my family. One wrong move could hold the most severe consequences.

  “Don’t you get tired of me kicking your ass day in and day out?”

  I turned to face my brother, a grin already forming on my lips. “If I remember correctly, the last ass kicking I received from you was when I was fourteen, old man. You may have me on brute strength, but I’ve got finesse.”

  Antonio scoffed and tossed his gym bag on the bench in front of the lockers. “Right, that’s why you keep getting shot.”

  Outwardly I laughed, but his words sent a chill down my spine. My hand moved of its own accord, absently grazing the puckered flesh on my chest. Mentally pushing away the memories, I shrugged. “The ladies like scars, what can I say?”

  “You’re sick. You know that, right?” Enzo said, shaking his head as he passed on the way to the lockers. Enzo may not be blood related, but he was as much a brother to me as Antonio. We’d worked and fought side by side for years, and I’d trust him with my life.

  I looked to Carlo for help as he trailed into the gym behind Enzo.

  “Don’t look at me. You’re a—what is it Frankie calls you?” Even though I wasn’t sure my cousin would ever completely rid himself of the ruthless demeanor that helped him build his empire, he’d softened since having kids. He’d never be what I’d call approachable, but he wasn’t as cold and stoic as he used to be.

  “A man whore,” Enzo’s muffled voice called out as he stripped off his shirt.

  “Right,” Carlo said, nodding toward me. “You’re a man whore.”

  I tossed the roll of tape to Enzo and shook my head. “Just because you all decided to wife up, doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with a single man sowing his wild oats.”

  Antonio snorted but didn’t say anything.

  Enzo passed the tape to Carlo and walked over to the heavy bag. “You’re thirty now, don’t you think it’s time to raise the bar a little on the caliber of women you choose?”

  I followed him and braced the bag as he started to warm up. “What’s wrong with the women I date?”

  “Well, how about the fact that you don’t actually date them?”

  “No, he just picks up a different barfly every night so that his cheap ass doesn’t have to buy them dinner,” Antonio added as he took up the same position as me on the next bag so Carlo could take a few warm-up shots.

  That’s just what I let you think.

  “First of all, I’m not cheap. I just don’t see the point in wasting money when I don’t have to. Secondly, before you all decided to tie yourselves down to one pussy—”

  A low growl from Carlo interrupted my rant.

  “Sorry, one woman, you all did the same damn thing.”

  “I didn’t,” Enzo grunted as he landed a solid right hook.

  “Extenuating circumstances, you’ve been married to Frankie since the beginning of time.”

  “It’s barely been ten years, smartass.”

  I glared at him as we switched positions.

  “The difference is, we all recognized what was in front of us and didn’t keep fucking around,” Carlo said as he took up the position behind the bag for Antonio.

  Left jab, left jab, right hook.

  The sting of the bag beneath my fists soothed the burn of anxiety in my chest. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Right jab, right jab, left hook.

  None of them spoke, the dull thud of our fists on canvas was the only sound in the expansive room.

  I straightened from my st
ance and stared at the men I risked my life for time and time again. “Am I missing something?”

  Enzo quirked an eyebrow at Carlo who glanced at Antonio who grunted in response and stepped away from the bag.

  “Mallory,” they all said in unison.

  My lungs seized in my chest at her name, my eyes flashing to each of their faces hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever they knew in their expressions, but I came up empty.

  I shifted uncomfortably, but caught the nervous reaction and planted my feet. “What does she have to do with anything?”

  Enzo rolled his eyes, a product of living practically on top of his wife, I’m sure. “Mallory is that type of woman, dumbass. Wife material. If you were smart, you’d stop fucking around with coked up co-eds and see what’s right in front of you.”

  I felt my jaw clench and my nostrils flare. “How many times do I have to tell you, there’s nothing going on between us. She’s not cut out for this life. Nothing is going to happen with her.”

  And it never will.

  Sensing my growing frustration, Antonio clapped me on the shoulder. “If we’re done with the slumber party talk, can we get to sparing?”

  Nodding my head in appreciation for the out, I headed to the ring with even more tension to release.

  Two

  ANGELO

  MAY 2012

  SHE COULD’VE DIED, and it would’ve been my fault.

  Tipping the almost empty glass in my hand from side to side, I watched as the ice cubes danced around at the bottom in the diluted amber liquid. I couldn’t remember how many I’d had since I’d sat down at the bar, but I could still see Mia’s bloody and battered face every time I closed my eyes, so it hadn’t been enough. I gestured to the bartender for another. He eyed me carefully but placed another glass of bourbon in front of me without comment.

  I let my gaze wander to the mirrored glass behind the bar. I looked like shit. A far cry from the man I tried to appear to be day in and day out. My hair was mussed, and my shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing my St. Christopher’s medal. The sight of the glittering metal pulled a humorless laugh from my throat. It was a farce, I may have been christened in the church, but I’d been baptized in the blood of my family’s enemies.

  I wish Carlo would’ve pulled the trigger, then maybe I’d have found some sort of peace. It felt like years since I’d been able to breathe normally since I’d been free of expectation and ultimately the weight of disappointment that came after. I didn’t have the cold indifference of my cousin or the bloodlust of my brother. I couldn’t pretend the life I lived didn’t affect me. I felt it down to my core. I could feel my soul fracture, and a piece of me break off every time I looked into the vacant eyes of yet another man whose blood bathed my hands.

  As much as I hated what it did to me, I stayed the course, too weak to walk away. Instead of severing the ropes that bound me to this life, I buried myself in faceless woman after faceless woman to soothe the pain. It was cliché and pathetic, but for an hour or two, nothing else mattered, and the doubts that raged in my mind were momentarily silenced.

  The stool next to me scrapped against the marble tiled floor eliciting an unpleasant noise that rose above the soft music playing in the lounge. The sweet scent of flowers encompassed me as whoever it was sat down. I wasn’t in the mood for company tonight, or the momentary relief it would bring. No, I wanted to wallow in my pain tonight, just me and a bottle.

  I kept my eyes on the glass of liquor in front of me as the woman beside me shifted in her seat. She wanted my attention that was obvious by the fact that she chose to sit directly next to the only other person at the bar, unfortunately for her, I had no intention of giving it to her.

  The bartender stopped in front of the new occupant. “What’ll it be?”

  “I’ll have a vodka tonic,” she said quietly, her nerves evident in her voice.

  I had to force myself not to roll my eyes. I didn’t do timid women; they were too much work to coax out of their shells. My tastes leaned toward the older and more experienced women that knew what they wanted and didn’t play games.

  She thanked the bartender when he delivered her drink, and I felt her shift in her seat again.

  In 5…4…3…2…

  “Umm, hi.”

  I let my eyes slowly roll her way, intending to blow her off, but when I met her eyes, I froze. Utterly ensnared in a pair of crystal blue eyes, her straight blonde hair pooled over one bare shoulder. I let my gaze fall and roam her body, she was dressed for a night out, but instead of being at a club somewhere she was sitting next to me in a quiet hotel lounge.

  I straightened and looked into her eyes once more. “Hello.”

  One side of her mouth pulled up into a nervous smile. “I’m Mallory.”

  Taking her extended hand, I dipped my head and gently kissed her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mallory. My name is Angelo.”

  “Italian or Spanish?”

  I scoffed, giving her a dirty look. “Italian, born and raised.”

  She eyed me suspiciously. “You don’t have an accent.”

  Chuckling, I leaned in closer. “Me ne sono liberato,” I whispered, “I got rid of it.”

  She scanned my face for what I assumed was a sign I was bullshitting her. “Isn’t that hard to do?”

  I shrugged and took a sip of my drink before answering. “It just takes a bit of practice; an American accent isn’t that hard to imitate.”

  She propped her chin on her fist and leaned closer. “So where did you grow up?”

  “Marsala. It’s a decent sized village on the western coast of Sicily.”

  Why am I telling her this? I don’t share personal information, ever.

  “Sounds amazing, what brought you to the states?”

  “I came to work with my cousin.” Who just threatened to kill me.

  She leaned back and scanned me from head to toe. “What is it you do?”

  Traffic guns, distribute drugs, the occasional murder.

  “I’m in real estate.”

  “Oh.” Her smile stiffened, and the light in her eyes dimmed slightly.

  “What, not exciting enough for you?” Women. Like picking up a drunk stranger in a bar isn’t enough.

  She rolled her eyes as she sipped her drink. “No, but your conversational skills leave a bit to be desired.”

  I chuckled, my foul mood had me unprepared for the gorgeous blonde sitting beside me. Reaching out, I let the pad of my thumb graze lightly over the exposed skin on her shoulder. “I promise you. I have other skills that make up for it.”

  Her giggle started out small and grew until her head fell back and she was laughing so loudly people were starting to stare. When she finally calmed down enough to catch her breath, she waved the bartender.

  “If that’s the best you’ve got, we have some work to do.”

  Three

  MALLORY

  DECEMBER, 2017

  “WHAT ABOUT THIS ONE?” Ari asked holding up a navy scrap of fabric that was clinging desperately to the hanger.

  I rolled my eyes at my best friend. Sometimes I seriously questioned whether she knew me at all. “If I can’t tell what it is on the hanger, the answer is no.”

  She waved off my objection and slung the monstrosity into the shopping cart with the rest of the ill-advised selections she’d made for me. “You can at least try it on.”

  “You’ve said that about everything we’ve looked at,” I said, hurriedly pushing the cart away from the slutty-chic section and towards the business wear.

  Ari trailed behind, a blue sequined top clutched in her lady claws. “Forgive me for trying to save you from your blanched almond color palette.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with neutrals,” I complained as my hand itched to pick up the cream sweater I’d been drawn to. I didn’t want to see the satisfied smirk I was sure to get if I did.

  “There is if that’s all you wear. You’re a fucking babe, why you insist on playing
the wallflower is beyond me.”

  “Language,” I scolded, sneaking a peek at my son who was passed out in the cart among the pile of slutty clothes Ari had demanded I try on.

  “Pfft. For one, he’s asleep, and B I’ve never followed your ‘kid ears’ rule. Luke’s heard every swear word in the book and he hasn’t turned into a serial killer yet.”

  “There’s still time,” I said dryly, as I began flipping through the hangers in what I considered to be the ‘safe’ section.

  I hadn’t always been so boring, but I was a single mom and style didn’t really rank in my life anymore. When you spent your days in a lab analyzing evidence and trying to avoid getting puked or sneezed on by a tiny Tasmanian devil at home, you tended to opt for functionality over fashion.

  I held up a pair of cream wide legged trousers with a matching blazer and braced myself for Ari’s reaction. “What about this?”

  “It’s a party, at night. Not a job interview.”

  “It’s the Seattle PD holiday party, not a club opening.” Feeling dejected and a little sorry for myself, I returned the items to the rack and continued looking for something that followed Ari’s rules.