Sinner's Lullaby: A Dark Mafia Romance (Mazzeo Mafia Book 2) Read online

  Sinner’s Lullaby

  A Mafia Romance

  Nicole Fox

  Contents

  Mailing List

  Also by Nicole Fox

  Sinner’s Lullaby

  1. Charlotte

  2. Lucio

  3. Lucio

  4. Charlotte

  5. Lucio

  6. Charlotte

  7. Lucio

  8. Charlotte

  9. Lucio

  10. Charlotte

  11. Lucio

  12. Lucio

  13. Charlotte

  14. Lucio

  15. Charlotte

  16. Charlotte

  17. Lucio

  18. Charlotte

  19. Lucio

  20. Charlotte

  21. Charlotte

  22. Lucio

  23. Charlotte

  24. Lucio

  25. Charlotte

  26. Lucio

  27. Charlotte

  28. Charlotte

  29. Lucio

  30. Charlotte

  31. Lucio

  32. Charlotte

  33. Lucio

  34. Lucio

  35. Charlotte

  36. Lucio

  37. Lucio

  38. Charlotte

  39. Lucio

  40. Charlotte

  41. Lucio

  42. Charlotte

  43. Lucio

  44. Charlotte

  45. Lucio

  Epilogue: Charlotte

  Extended Epilogue

  Sneak Preview of GILDED CAGE

  Mailing List

  Also by Nicole Fox

  Copyright © 2021 by Nicole Fox

  All rights reserved.

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

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  Also by Nicole Fox

  Mazzeo Mafia Duet

  Liar’s Lullaby (Book 1)

  Sinner’s Lullaby (Book 2)

  Kovalyov Bratva Duet

  Gilded Cage (Book 1)

  Gilded Tears (Book 2)

  Bratva Crime Syndicate

  *Can be read in any order!

  Lies He Told Me

  Scars He Gave Me

  Sins He Taught Me

  Belluci Mafia Trilogy

  Corrupted Angel (Book 1)

  Corrupted Queen (Book 2)

  Corrupted Empire (Book 3)

  De Maggio Mafia Duet

  Devil in a Suit (Book 1)

  Devil at the Altar (Book 2)

  Kornilov Bratva Duet

  Married to the Don (Book 1)

  Til Death Do Us Part (Book 2)

  Heirs to the Bratva Empire

  *Can be read in any order!

  Kostya

  Maksim

  Andrei

  Princes of Ravenlake Academy (Bully Romance)

  *Can be read as standalones!

  Cruel Prep

  Cruel Academy

  Cruel Elite

  Tsezar Bratva

  Nightfall (Book 1)

  Daybreak (Book 2)

  Russian Crime Brotherhood

  *Can be read in any order!

  Owned by the Mob Boss

  Unprotected with the Mob Boss

  Knocked Up by the Mob Boss

  Sold to the Mob Boss

  Stolen by the Mob Boss

  Trapped with the Mob Boss

  Volkov Bratva

  Broken Vows (Book 1)

  Broken Hope (Book 2)

  Broken Sins (standalone)

  Other Standalones

  Vin: A Mafia Romance

  Box Sets

  Bratva Mob Bosses (Russian Crime Brotherhood Books 1-6)

  Tsezar Bratva (Tsezar Bratva Duet Books 1-2)

  Heirs to the Bratva Empire

  The Mafia Dons Collection

  The Don’s Corruption

  Sinner’s Lullaby

  Book Two of the Mazzeo Mafia Duet

  SHE SOLD ME LIES AND STOLE MY DAUGHTER. IT’S MY TURN TO EVEN THE SCORE.

  Charlotte came into my house with lies on her lips.

  With debts on her head.

  With hate in her heart.

  Despite all that, we found something together.

  Hope.

  Healing.

  Family.

  But it was all just a pretty song and dance.

  A sinner’s lullaby.

  She made me weak…

  And now my little girl is the one paying the price.

  I’ll get my daughter back, no matter what it takes.

  Then I’ll find Charlotte Dunn…

  And show her what happens when you lie to the don.

  SINNER’S LULLABY is the second book in the Mazzeo Mafia duet. Make sure you’ve started with Lucio and Charlotte’s story from the beginning in Book 1, LIAR’S LULLABY.

  Charlotte

  Six weeks since I last saw Lucio Mazzeo and yet I’m still dreaming about him.

  Six weeks since he last touched me. Since he last kissed me.

  And yet every night, when I collapse into bed and close my eyes—there he is.

  Those gray eyes. Boring into me. Splintering me into a million jagged shards, each more irreparable than the last.

  All that’s left behind is fear.

  Fear and regret.

  Fear and regret and loneliness.

  “Please,” I whisper to him in those dreams every night. “Please forgive me. I’m begging you. I’m sorry.”

  And every night, the same thing happens.

  The gray in his irises turn dark. Almost black.

  I lose the man behind the anger.

  In his place is the uncaring beast he was when we first met.

  Lucio’s hand shoots out. Wraps around my throat.

  “Luc…” I choke out.

  He doesn’t hear me. Doesn’t care.

  He just squeezes and squeezes and squeezes and the lights start to fade and blur and dim and my breath won’t work, can’t work, and I’m clawing at his arm but he’s too strong and this was inevitable from the start and so I’m just going to—

  My eyes fly open.

  I sit up and stifle a scream. My chest is heaving with huge gasps as I breathe greedily, desperately.

  I touch a tentative finger to my throat. It feels warm. Like a hand just left there.

  But I know that’s all in my head. All dreamed up.

  There’s no one here with me.

  No one’s ever here.

  I look around at the small apartment. It’s comfortable and well-furnished, but after six weeks confined to it, I can only describe it as claustrophobic.

  More of a prison cell than anything else.

  The blinds are drawn, but I can tell it’s still dark outside. I push myself up and lean back against the headboard.

  I’m desperate for some form of human contact. Anything other than a hand around my throat, that is.

  I pull a pillow to my chest and hug it tight, trying to soothe this clawing need for touch. But the pillow is a shitty substitute. After only a few moments, I discard it.

  The dream is still with me.

  A dream that’s not really a dream at all.

  Not the first bit of it, anyway.

  Six weeks since that horrible day in Lucio’s library, and I’m still seeing the same images again and again. I’m haunted by them. Tormented by them.

  Every dream starts the same.

  Exactly the way it did when it really happened.

  With Lucio’s gray eyes finding mine.

  Realization dawning slowly.

  Robbing me of the chance to tell him myself that I betrayed him and his daughter to his sworn enemies.

  I close my eyes and replay it again…

  SIX WEEKS EARLIER—LUCIO’S LIBRARY

  “You’ve got a rat in your bed, Lucio Mazzeo. And the only one to blame is yourself.” The Polish soldier on the floor cackles at Lucio’s despair.

  The bastard knows he’s about to die.

  So he’s taking me down with him.

  I can’t look away from Lucio, even though I want to.

  His eyes are molten. But his body might as well be carved out of marble. Cold. Unmoving. Frozen in time.

  The gunshot is so sudden that I can’t help but scream.

  For one insane moment, I actually believe he’s shot me.

  But when I look down, I see the blood pooling around the Polish soldier’s head like some perverse halo.

  The motherfucker’s eyes remain spiteful, even in death.

  “Tell me it’s not true,” Lucio growls, forcing my attention back to him.

  “Lucio, I can explain—”

  “Tell me it’s not fucking true,” he spits.

  I bite back my tears and shake my head. “I can’t do that.”

  “You told them about Evie?” he asks. His voice is low and dangerous. A feral beast in the wild. “You told them about my daughter?”

  I tremble.

  But not for myself.

  I tremble fo
r the hurt I’ve caused. For the mistakes I’ve made.

  “I didn’t mean to,” I sob.

  That’s all I have to say.

  That’s all I can say.

  He turns from me. Hunches over in disbelief for a moment like I stabbed him myself. Hell, in a way I did.

  When he turns back around, it’s because we can hear running footsteps.

  “Lucio?” comes a voice.

  “Adriano,” Lucio sighs in response to the new presence at the doorway. “We’re in here.”

  Adriano appears at the threshold. Relief floods across the man’s normally carefree features.

  “Thank fuck,” he says. “I thought we got here too late.”

  “You very nearly did,” Lucio grimaces.

  “Charlotte?”

  I turn in the direction of Evie’s terrified little voice. Instinct moves me forward as I take a step towards her.

  “Stop right there.”

  I freeze.

  Lucio is the one who barked the order. He’s glaring at me as though I’m no better than the Polish soldier he’d just shot in the head.

  “Do not go near my daughter,” he snarls at me.

  I stand there, feeling Adriano’s eyes dart between Lucio and me..

  “Adriano,” Lucio says, in a voice that brooks no argument, “take her down to the cellar.”

  “What?” the man balks.

  “You heard me,” Lucio replies. “Take this bitch down there. And keep her there until I’ve decided what to do with her.”

  “Charlotte!” Evie cries again.

  I wince at the sound. She’s poking her head out from behind the sofa. Her cheeks are tear-streaked. Her eyes are swollen.

  She’s looking at me in confusion, wondering why I’m not coming to her.

  Wondering why her papa is so angry.

  Wondering why her world isn’t making sense… again.

  I turn back to Lucio. “Let me speak to her,” I beg him. “Only for a minute.”

  He can’t even bear to look at me. His eyes pierce right through me, as if I’m not even there. As if I’ve been blotted out of existence in his world. Torn off and thrown aside.

  “You will never speak to her again,” he intones. “Adriano, get her out of my sight.”

  Adriano’s hand closes around my wrist. I don’t resist as he pulls me away.

  All the strength is gone. All the fight. All the fire.

  I have nothing left but shame.

  “Charlotte, wait—”

  I hesitate, my neck craning back to look at Evie.

  She’s scrambling around the sofa to get to me. She starts to run, but Lucio steps in front of her, seizing her up in his arms before she can reach me.

  And then I’m being wrenched out of the door and carried down the destroyed corridor towards the staircase.

  I can hear Evie screaming for me.

  I can hear her sadness, her confusion.

  And I know that sound will haunt me for as long as I live.

  “What the fuck did you do?” Adriano asks in horror as we reach the staircase.

  I don’t look at him. I know that his eyes will be full of pity, and I can’t stand that.

  Because I deserve this torture.

  When I do find the words, they come out in a hoarse croak.

  “The wrong thing,” I tell him. “I did the wrong fucking thing.”

  PRESENT DAY

  Light starts peeking in through the tiny slats between the blinds. I glance at the clock mounted on the wall in front of the bed.

  Five-thirty a.m.

  I’ve only slept for about three hours.

  And I’m pretty sure that I dreamed through most of it.

  I get out of bed and head straight for the bathroom. I wash my face and brush my teeth, then slip into the kitchen.

  As far as apartments go, this place is nice. The walls are a cheery auburn. The furniture is expensive Italian leather. Even the kitchen is clean and well-stocked, though I haven’t been doing much cooking lately. Just haven’t been in the mood.

  Haven’t been in the mood for much of anything, really.

  I’ve read all the books on the coffee table, but I barely remember them.

  I’ve watched all the TV and movies I care to watch on Netflix, but they all passed by in a hazy blur.

  Most of the internet sites are blocked, so I don’t bother with that much anymore, either.

  It’s a comfortable prison.

  But a prison nonetheless.

  Mostly, I just sit and stare out the window with a cup of coffee in hand. I’ve been drinking cup after cup these days. There’s something soothing about the bitterness on my tongue.

  I sink into a seat on the window ledge and gaze out at the world below.

  It looks simple. Happy. Normal.

  Shrubs and trees dotted along the sidewalk. Laundromats and cafés and second-hand bookstores lining the street.

  Parents escort their young kids to school. Women in bathrobes walk dogs. Men in suits hustle by on their way to work.

  A few days into my imprisonment here, I started naming some of the familiar faces.

  There’s the man who lives in the brownstone next to the laundromat. He’s got silver-brown hair and a distinguished face. The kind of face you trust instantly. I call him Derek. It seems like a trustworthy kind of name.

  Every morning, Derek walks his two kids to the elementary school around the corner. His little boy, code name Harry, looks just like him.

  His little girl, Meryl, must favor her mother, because her blonde hair is a sharp contrast to the muted brown of her brother and father.

  They look like the rest of the world outside my door does.

  Simple.

  Happy.

  Normal.

  I’ve started saying that to myself like a mantra every time I see them.

  The door to their house swings open.

  Meryl skips down the steps.

  Harry comes racing along next.

  Derek last of all, suited up, today’s newspaper tucked under his elbow.

  Simple. Happy. Normal.

  He calls after his children to slow down and wait for him. Both kids grind to a halt and look back at their father.

  He canters down the stone steps, links up with them—and they each slip a hand into his.

  That tiny little gesture cracks my heart wide open.

  To have a parent who tells you to slow down… who cares enough to yell… who holds your hand to make sure you’re safe…

  I’ve never had that. Never known that.

  And I can feel that lack like a bullet lodged in my chest that’s been there since the day I was born.

  Derek and his children round the corner and disappear from sight.

  More members of the neighborhood trickle out and about over the next hour while I watch and drink my coffee.

  Anita May with her three Labradors.

  Juan with that telltale swagger of his.

  The bodega owner, nickname Stevie, comes out to smoke a cigarette on his stoop.

  I cling to them because they’re all I have now.

  As they each appear, I speak their names out loud like they’re characters in an old and familiar movie.

  They can’t hear me. Can’t see me either, courtesy of the tinted, bulletproof windows.

  So even though I want to scream for help, I don’t.