My mafia romance

Tristan Morelli slid into the seat next to mine, drawing a collective breath from the rest of our Poli-Sci class. The entire Morelli family was well-known in Boston, and Tristan was the oldest surviving son of the Morelli empire. I tried not to squirm as his expensive cologne drifted around me like a circle, caging me in place. I could sense him in my peripheral, tall, dark and commanding, and utterly self-assured that the world belonged to him. Mr. Magliano, the professor, waited for a subtle nod to continue his lecture, and all at once I’d begun to feel like a bug under a microscope. 

“Do you have any extra paper?” he whispered. I could feel the cold that radiated off of him, like the chill before a winter storm. Keeping my eyes carefully trained forward, I slipped him a few sheets of blank notebook paper and a pen. 

“Thanks,” he whispered, and I nodded vaguely.  

Tristan looked like his father, Anthony Morrelli sr. His dark eyes and hair accented an olive-toned skin, and his teeth were straight and perfectly white. While the rest of Northeastern students gravitated toward regular jeans and a t combination, the Morelli brothers only wore tailored suits or slacks, and each brother came with his own personal bodyguard. I glanced surreptitiously back at Hugh Franklin, the massive, boulder of a man that always sat two seats behind Tristan and to the right. I wondered if campus security ever searched these men- I doubted it.  

When class ended, Tristan took his time at his desk. Hugh remained rooted in place; eyes trained obediently at the door. During my harried attempt to escape him, I’d managed to dump the contents of my backpack out all over the floor, my lip-gloss rolling just under the toe of Tristan’s expensive shoes. He pinned it in place beneath his foot, arching his brow at me as I scrambled over to retrieve it. 

“Why so nervous, Lilly?” 

I nearly choked. Tristan had only just transferred into this class last week and had missed the first two. Anyone else would surely have been dropped by now, but no one crossed the Morellis. Especially when they owned the University library. 

“How did you know my name?” 

He smirked, reaching down to pick up the pink gloss, inspecting the tube in his fingers. I scoffed and scrambled to my feet, my patience wearing thin. Morelli or not, I had places to be. 

“It’s not a bomb,” I advised him. Tristan narrowed his eyes at me, and my insides warned me to keep my mouth shut. He handed the tube back to me and stood, his long body towering over mine. I imagined men like Tristan had grown accustomed to looking down at people. 

“I make it my business to know,” he said. Then he turned to go, his faithful bloodhound following him out the door, shooting me a warning glance as they departed. 

My heels clicked against the asphalt as the cool wind caressed my bare legs. I scanned my surroundings as I crossed the campus lot toward the fraternity house, where Tucker Wilson’s twenty-first birthday was being held. My roommate, Miranda, was already there, but I’d gotten a late start. Unlike her, I did my assignments, and I’d had to finish a paper that was due tomorrow. 

My phone rang and I fished it out of the clutch I’d brought. 

“Hey, I’m on my way,” I told her. 

“Hurry up, Lil! They’re already opening the second keg!”  

I could tell Miranda had already had a few glasses of alcohol, and I hated the idea of her being unattended around so many drunk guys.

As a rule, we attended parties together, but Miranda’s crush had convinced her to come early. 

“I’m five minutes away!” I assured her. She laughed at something someone else had shouted in the background, and the line went dead. I tucked the phone back into my purse and assessed my appearance. I’d borrowed one of Miranda’s dresses- an ivory, strapless one with eyelet fringe and a matching cardigan. The dress length was precarious- Miranda was shorter than I was- but of all the options, this one had been the least revealing. 

I froze when I heard a loud clatter to my right, coming somewhere down the alley between the café and the computer lab. A man grunted, and two others spoke harshly, threateningly. Glancing around, I determined that the lot was empty, and I considered using my cell phone to dial 911. I jumped as the grunting continued, and as I inched closer to the commotion, I could hear the sounds of someone being beaten. Rounding the corner, I gasped as a pair of large men hurled another, smaller man into an air conditioning unit. The two men looked up and caught sight of me, and the one standing closest charged me, his hand reaching into his waistband to retrieve what I thought would be a firearm. I screamed and turned to run, only making it a few feet before my heels broke, sending me toppling forward. I could hear his footfalls growing closer, his breathing frenzied and ragged. I clawed at the clutch, desperately seeking the cell phone I’d kept in there. Or the pepper spray. 

His shadow loomed over me, his silhouette framed by the security lights that would do us no good. My fingers curled around the can of spray, and I yanked it free of the clutch, aiming and spraying it at the man’s face. He cursed and clawed at his eyes, buying me a little time to escape. Leaping to my feet, I hobbled forward before he managed to reach me again, wrapping both arms around my hips and tackling me to the ground. I cried out as his hefty body pinned mine to the asphalt, forcing the air from my lungs. His eyes and nose watered, and spittle landed on my face as he clawed at me, tearing my hair at the roots.

Then his eyes widened with shock and his body jolted before crumbling in a heap on top of me again. 

“Lilly, it’s okay. It's me,” a familiar voice whispered. A boot pressed against the man on top of me, pushing him off to the side. I drew in a delicious breath of air, my eyes stinging from secondary contact with the pepper spray. His hand captured mine, hauling me to my feet. Behind him, a bloodied man waited, his body bowed and broken. It was the man from the alley, the one I’d witnessed being hurled into the air conditioning unit. I scanned the space behind them, noting the second man slumped to the ground, unmoving. 

“What the hell is happening here?” I managed, despite my shaking knees and aching head. Tristan shed his coat and wrapped it around my shoulders, guiding me toward the sleek, dark car that idled just around the corner. The engine hummed so quietly it was almost undetectable. I supposed that was intentional. 

“Just get in,” he ordered. Obediently I climbed in, sliding to the farthest seat. The beaten man took his place in the front passenger seat, leaving the backseat unoccupied for Tristan. He slid in and reached across my trembling body to secure my seatbelt before securing his own. The driver angled out of the lot and east toward the city, leaving the two beaten men to the dark parking lot. 

“Who were those men?” I asked. The three men exchanged loaded glances, but neither spoke. 

“Can you drop me off at my dorm, please?” I tried again. 

“I can’t do that. Not yet. You aren’t safe right now.” 

I sat up straighter. 

“Not safe!? I’ve got nothing to do with whatever it is you’re involved in! I want no part of it!”  

Tristan fixed his steely gaze on me, and I shrank back into the seat. 

“You’ve got no choice in the matter. You saw something they didn’t want seen and now they’re going to clean up. Until I get every one of them, you’ll remain under my protection.” 

“Thats not FAIR!” I protested, reaching for the door lock. With one, quick movement, Tristan’s fingers captured mine, gripping them hard. His other hand reached up to cradle my chin, forcing my eyes to his. 

“Life isn’t fair. Now be a good girl and sit still while I take care of the problem.” 

The bloodied man in the passenger seat eyed me warily, a question on his lips. I scowled at Tristan, speechless and utterly frustrated. I’d only just had my first conversation with him this morning. Knowing someone and knowing of them were two very different things- and I wondered how long Tristan had known of me.  

“I have to call Miranda and tell her what’s happened,” I mumbled, fishing my phone out of my purse. Tristan intercepted it as I punched in the number, hurling it against the window. The window remained intact, but my phone cracked and broke. 

“You! You assh-” 

“Did you not hear me!?” he growled, bearing down on me. “I just said you are not safe, Lilly. I don’t give two shits about your little friend. You will do as I say, or I’ll lock you up.” 

I gaped at him. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” I growled. The man in the passenger seat shot me a worried glance. 

“Keep pushing me. You'll find I’m a man of my word.” 

We rode in silence for another few miles until the driver eased the car down a long, sweeping driveway that curved around a massive white house with stone pillars and an immaculate garden out front. Everyone climbed out, their doors opened by attendants who awaited them. Tristan grabbed my wrist and pulled me out after him, pulling me to his side. I shuddered as his jacket slipped off my shoulders and the cool of the night kissed my bare skin. My cardigan had gotten torn during the scuffle. 

The inside of the Morelli mansion was as grand as the exterior indicated. The marble floors gleamed with fresh polishing, and expensive artwork hung on the walls. A grand, curling staircase snaked up to the second and third floors, and an elevator gleamed at its base. House attendants drifted about, cleaning and tending to the affairs of the house. Men in dark suits drifted after them, clearly on some security rotation designed by the Morelli family. 

“Why did you bring me here?” I whispered, as Tristan gave clipped, quiet instructions to one of his security guards. Then the elevator chimed, their doors sweeping open to omit him as he towed me in behind him. The doors closed, leaving us in a warm silence. 

“How do know me?” I asked. 

“I don’t,” he said simply. 

“Then...why do you care?” 

Surprised, Tristan turned his attention on me, and I nearly shrank back against the mirrored walls. 

He blinked, incredulous. 

“I- I don’t.” He turned to face the doors again, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I can’t have anyone talking before I catch up with the people responsible for assaulting my family.” 

“Your family?” 

He nodded. 

“That man they were beating behind the computer lab,” he spit. “That’s my younger brother.” 

I gulped and nodded. I studied Tristan, glad that I was not on the receiving end of his fury. I’d never seen the youngest Morelli brothers, only Tristan, and his older brother Devin, before Devin had been killed in a car crash last year. That left Tristan to inherit the Morelli fortune, crime syndicate, whatever you cared to call it. 

“Miranda will worry,” I said softly. 

The doors opened, revealing a posh looking bedroom the size of my entire floor at Northeastern. The walls were decorated with cream wallpaper and gold light fixtures, and the bedspread was plush and inviting. A small piano sat in the far corner of the room, opposite an adjoining bathroom. A pair of French doors led out to a private balcony that overlooked a swimming pool. 

“You’ll stay here for the time being. I’ll come get you when it’s time to take you back.” 

I spun to face him. 

“I can’t stay here, Tristan! My parents are going to wonder where I’ve gone. Miranda will call the police when she realizes that I’ve gone missing!” 

“Miranda is too busy getting hammered with those frat idiots to notice.” 

“How do you know-” 

“Don’t you think I have eyes everywhere? Don’t you think your little friend should have waited on you to go to that party in the first place, instead of leaving you to walk alone at night!?” 

“You don’t know her!” I defended, though a small part of me agreed with him. Miranda had always had a way of disappearing during parties, whereas I kept a close eye on her at all times. 

“She’s not any different from the other skanks her age,” he clipped. Then, with a light shove, Tristan forced me to sit at the edge of the made-up bed, turning toward the door. 

“I’ll come get you when it’s done,” he said, and then he locked the door behind him. 

I slept in fits after that. Without a clock in the room, I could only gauge the passage of time by the sun rise and set. I used to adjoining bathroom to shower and dress, finding a stack of neatly folded women’s clothing left on the dresser that morning. The door remained locked, and meals were brought by the house staff. I’d tried shouting and banging on the door, to no avail. The house staff kept their eyes trained to the carpet, their movements swift and practiced. Despite the cruel way that I’d been sequestered into this stranger’s household, my needs had been carefully attended to. I watched the sun set on the second day, studying the height of the balcony to the ground below it. I eyed the bedsheets, deciding that I could tie them all together like an old movie and use them to lower myself to the ground. That was only half the battle, though, since the Morellis had a regular interval of security prowling the property. If I was going to make an escape, I would have to be fast.  

Screams erupted downstairs as a spray of what sounded like gunfire echoed through the hallways. Below, I glimpsed a pair of dark SUVs peelings around the corner, armed men jumping from them and training their rifles at the Morelli staff. I screamed while they opened fire on the innocents, mowing them down with a quick efficiency. Once cleared, a bald man emerged from the second SUV, his lanky form unfolding from the backseat like a spider from a hole. He surveyed the carnage with pride, lifting his head to meet my gaze on the balcony above him. Then with a raise of his hand, he saluted me, and waltzed into the front doors of the Morelli mansion. 

“Lorenzo! Heath! To the armory! Arlo, secure the girl!” 

I pressed an ear to the bedroom doors, desperately trying to decipher the sounds on the other side of it. Footfalls could be heard through the hallways and up the stairs as staff members and security rushed to their appointed places. Another spray of gunfire echoed through the house, and shattering glass pierced the air. I turned and gasped at the figure looming on the balcony where I’d just been standing. I recognized the man who had tackled me in the parking lot. His face was bruised and cut, and two of his teeth were missing. He sneered at me and level his gun, closing one eyes as he trained it on my head. 

“Sweet dreams, bit-” 

The door behind me exploded open. I cried out and ducked just as gunfire erupted again, coming from either end of the room. Bullets hit mirrors and lighting fixtures, sending them shattering to the plush carpet. Then all fell silent, and when I looked up, the man on the balcony had fallen to the floor, his limp body lying in a growing pool of blood. 

I could smell Tristan before I felt his arms scoop me up. I trembled in his grasp, afraid to breathe. If I did, tears would come too, and I couldn’t afford to cry. Not now. 

“Shhhh, it’s ok, carina. It’s over.” 

I hiccupped and sobbed into his suit, which was soiled with blood. I gasped and recoiled, running my hands alone his chest and arms, searching for the source of the bleed. 

“It’s not mine,” he said, pulling me back into him. The house had fallen eerily silence, except for a few harsh orders given. Then, while Tristan held me close, a few stray shots sounded, ensuring the demise of the few surviving intruders. 

Two weeks Later... 

Tristan kissed me and took his seat to my right. The café was warm and dimly lit, the smell of pastries and coffee beans making my mouth water. At the next table over, three armed men waited, their eyes sweeping the room. Tristan had increased his personal security, and the Morelli mansion was being redecorated. I didn’t ask what had happened to the bodies of the men who had attacked them. I simply didn’t want to know. Tristan swept my hair behind my ear, whispering something seductive and kissing my earlobe. I shivered and leaned into him, staring out the café window at the pedestrians outside. I couldn’t decide when it had happened, or how, but somehow, I’d managed to fall for the stone-faced mafioso beside me, and somehow, he’d fallen for me, too. I wasn’t sure if any of it was a good idea, but it was too late now.