Elite Mafia of New York Series, Books 1-3 - Paperback

Emilia

I’m determined to bring down the formidable Santoro Mafia and prove my worth as the youngest detective on the force.

However, when I decide to investigate one of their nightclubs and cross paths with Luca Santoro, the youngest son of Rocco, I stumble upon more than I bargained for. Suddenly, my life is in danger.

Luca kidnapped me, but hasn’t killed me yet. In fact, he’s hell-bent on keeping me in this cabin and torturing me. And from the way he looks at me, I don’t know if he wants to kill me or ravage me. Maybe both.

As the hours stretch into days, a shameful truth emerges. Despite my best efforts, my body betrays me, yearning for the man who may be my ultimate downfall.

Luca

I’m the son of a mob boss, untouchable until that one night when Detective Emilia Washington barges into my club and witnesses me taking down my best friend.

Now, I could simply follow my family’s orders and get it over with. Instead, I play mind games to get inside her head like she’s invaded mine.

But when a rival mafia targets her, I step in and take her to a secluded cabin.

I’m also taking her there to end her life, right?

So why is every moment filled with an overwhelming urge to touch her body, claim her as mine, and have her scream my name on those perfect lips of hers? 

Time is ticking...

All three books are to be read in order.

Chapter One – Emilia

This is it.

When they look back over the course of my stellar career as one of the youngest people to ever make detective in the entire state of New York, this is where the story will begin.

The night I first made contact with the Santoro family before I eventually took them down.

“Explain something to me,” my partner pushes, slamming his door after stepping out of the car and staring at me over the roof. “What do you think we’re going to find here tonight?”

If I grit my teeth any harder, they’re going to crack. I am so sick of his misogynistic bullshit, not to mention the way he talks down to me. As if his ten years as a detective somehow earns him the right to treat me like a child.
He’s no different than any other stupid, egotistical man I’ve ever dealt with. Unfortunately, I’m forced to spend time with him. But you can’t choose your partner.

I’m sure it was supposed to ease me into my role as a detective, pairing me with a ten-year veteran such as Craig Graham when I joined the unit six months ago. However, I would probably do better on my own since all he does is hold me back and ask stupid, pointless questions that only serve to waste time.

The way he is right now as we stand in a parking lot across the street from one of the city’s hottest clubs, it wouldn’t surprise me if he only agreed to this little field trip to watch me fail and take me down a peg.

And I get it, in a way. I don’t expect anyone from the Santoro family to commit a punishable offense in front of us. They are the Famiglia, after all, one of the most ruthless mafia in New York. And if I take them down, then maybe the unit will treat me like I’m not just a useless rookie. But the Santoros won’t slip up. They’re much more discreet than that, considering the DA has been fighting to put together a case that sticks for years. Until now, the family has been a living, breathing piece of Teflon.

Everything beads up and rolls straight off them.
It infuriates me.

That’s why I wanted in on this case and nagged my captain for the last month and dragged my partner here tonight. I have this burning need to show myself that justice can win in the end, and I truly believe I'm the one who can make it happen.

I can’t throw Craig’s words back in his face and tell him exactly what I think of his outdated and downright sexist opinions. My only hope for justice is to finally build a case against the Santoros and their biggest rivals, the Vitalis.
The two families who have torn the city apart and gotten more than one innocent bystander caught up in their decades-old feud.

Tonight is the first step—if I can convince this caveman we’re doing the right thing.

“How are we ever going to nail these guys unless we get a better idea of how they think? How they do business? If we’re going to do what nobody’s been able to do before, we need to take a different approach,” I mutter as we make our way across the street.

As soon as he smirks, looking me up and down, I know what the jerk is thinking and have to stifle the sigh threatening to escape. “You’re off to a good start. Where have you been hiding that body?”

His words make my skin crawl, but sadly, it’s typical. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re making a case to be put on administrative leave.” I come to a stop on the sidewalk, folding my arms. “But that can’t possibly be what you have in mind, can it? Making sexist comments like that?” I question, raising an eyebrow.

He rolls his eyes before scoffing loudly. “Take it easy, would you? This isn’t a Me Too story. But don’t pretend you didn’t put on that dress and those shoes to—”

“I’m trying to blend in,” I inform him, cutting him off and gritting my teeth again at his bullshit to avoid an attention-grabbing fight on the sidewalk. “What, you think I’m going to walk in there with my badge on a lanyard around my neck? Get real.”

He hoots with laughter behind me when I turn on my heel and march to the back of a long but quick-moving line separated from pedestrians by a velvet rope.

“You know I like it when you get sassy, Emilia,” he remarks, and I can only roll my eyes before shivering a little when a stiff breeze blows past, knowing that no matter what I say, it will never be enough.

Shaking my head, I wrap my arms around myself to fight off the bite in the air. It’s kind of chilly, and I am wearing less clothing than I’m used to. My idea of a comfortable outfit involves jeans and a sweater. Not four-inch stilettos and a dress that only reaches my mid-thigh while exposing more cleavage than I think I’ve ever revealed in public.

At least I know I blend in like I intended. A cluster of girls in front of us are dressed the same as me, and the mixed perfumes, hairspray, and lotion are almost enough to give me a headache.

“Here’s one thing you need to keep in mind.” Craig bends a little to speak
directly into my ear. “Try not looking like you’re going to a funeral. You’re supposed to be having fun, right?”

There go my teeth, gritting again. This time, it’s because he has a point. I deliberately relax my jaw and roll my shoulders back so I don’t look quite so defensive. Sweeping my long, chestnut hair over one shoulder, I bat my eyelashes and pout my lips. “Is that better?” I ask in a breathy voice.

His eyes harden before he smirks. “Careful, Washington. You might end up signing a check you can’t cash.” After giving my cleavage a pointed, prolonged look, he stands straight and ushers me forward when the line moves again.

Men. It takes literally nothing to distract them. But I’m not going to be distracted tonight. I need my eyes open and my head clear. Until now, I’ve only set my sights on the Santoro family through news reports, photos in the paper, and the extensive intel gathered at the depot.
The capo, Rocco Santoro, would never show his face in a place like this.
For one thing, he’s too old-school and well past his partying days. My research into the family has given me a decent idea of what he likes to do for fun— theater, restaurants, and concerts. The rumors say he’s gotten into gardening in his old age. Less murder, more mulching.

On the other hand, his two sons have been known to frequent one of the family’s few legit businesses. Dante is the eldest and the family underboss. He wouldn’t run this kind of establishment, not when he’s overseeing so many of the family’s other interests.

It’s Luca, the second son, who prizes this club so highly.
And it’s Luca I’m hoping to set eyes on tonight.

Once we make it to the front of the line and pay our cover charge, I remove my driver’s license from my wallet, figuring somebody who looks as young as I do would get carded, and the last thing I need is someone seeing my badge.

As I breeze past the bouncer without so much as a second look, I am swiftly welcomed inside, and a nagging thought arises. Are the long hours I’ve put into my work starting to show on my young face?

Taking a deep breath, I push forward. At first, the darkness surrounding us is disorienting, but once we’re past the coat check, the narrow hall opens into an enormous club. Flashing white, blue, and purple lights illuminate a long bar set against the wall to my left, spanning the room from front to back and already six customers deep.

Along the back wall and to my right are dimly lit and discreet booths. The sunken dance floor is already full of writhing bodies driven by an upbeat song pounding through speakers throughout the space. The floor’s vibrations travel up through my body until it feels like I’m part of the room itself.

“Come on. Let’s get a drink, at least.” Craig scoffs at our surroundings like he’s unimpressed before he leads the way, and for the first time tonight, I’m actually glad he’s with me. Although highly fucking annoying, his larger body parts the crowd easily, and I follow on his heels like a running back taking advantage of the blocker in front of them.

A running back in needle-thin stilettos.

One thing is for sure. This place is much more upscale than I imagined. It’s not some hole-in-the-wall dive where thugs gather to conduct their shady business.

I run a hand over the smooth marble bar after Craig elbows his way through. “White wine,” I shout to Craig, who places the order with a handsome bartender while I scan the room.

There’s a roped-off section in the back corner, and I instantly recognize a few faces at a semi-circular booth from countless award shows and movies. I guess it doesn’t matter that a crime family runs this club.

Maybe they don’t know…
… or maybe they do, and they don’t care.

Either way, it’s none of my business.

What is my business, though, is the young man in a dark suit who approaches the table and shakes hands with everyone seated there. He waves over a pretty girl wearing a black dress shorter than mine, who presents a bottle of champagne.

Luca Santoro.

Goose bumps cover my arms, and my heart skips a beat. He’s gorgeous, but then I knew that, with jet black hair and a jaw sharp enough to cut glass. But there are some things a photo on a website can’t convey. Like the way his smile seems to brighten everything around him. His easy laugh—I can’t hear him from here, but I see the way everyone around him reacts. He’s good at handling people. It’s obvious this is the right sort of business for him to run.

When he leans down and murmurs something in the ear of that actress from the new Marvel movie, she blushes under the light hanging above the table and swats playfully at his arm. Something about their casual flirtation leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

Thanks, I mouth to Craig once he hands me a glass. “Be right back.”

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