This year was a little less trying than 2022 but my reading mojo was still lagging and I only read 141 books. So once again my Best of lists may be shorter but everything I read/listened to were so brilliant it was still a hard choice. So over the next two weeks I'll be featuring my Best Reads as well as Best ofs for my special day posts which are a combination of best reads and most viewed, I hope my Best of list helps you to find a new read, be it new-new or new-to-you or maybe it will help you to rediscover a forgotten favorite. Happy Reading and my heartfelt wish for everyone is that 2024 will be a year of recovery, growth, and in the world of reading a year of discovering a new favorite.
👀I try to keep the purchasing links as current as possible but they've been known to change for dozens of reasons, in case any of those links no longer work be sure to check out the author's social media links for updated buying info.👀
War of the Wicked by Davidson King
Summary:Lucifer's Landing #1
Lucifer’s Landing is full of unscrupulous people: five families desperate to own every inch. For years, under the watchful and most powerful eye, there has been peace. With the murder of the most powerful man, it’s as if the gates of Hell have opened.
Dante Scavo is trying to fill his father’s shoes, find the person responsible for killing him, and stop Lucifer’s Landing from becoming a war zone. He has to focus, find out who the traitor among his ranks is, and end them. The last thing he needs is a distraction, but when he meets Rainn, one look, one touch, takes his breath away.
Rainn Blessings is no stranger to strong and powerful men. His life is about survival and getting to a place where he finds his peace, though sometimes that means being the fantasy of others. Working as a high-class escort he’s seen a lot…done a lot…and not much surprises him. Then Dante walks into The Magic Mirror and turns his world upside down.
With an unlikely ally, Rainn and Dante try to survive the storm, but no one is bulletproof or untouchable in the game of violent delights. Getting out unscathed is impossible; the question is: will they get out alive?
***Please see start of book for trigger warning
Original January Book of the Month 2023:
I want to start by saying if you read the author's original Lucifer's Landing(which sorry to say I did not get around to so I can't speak from experience) this is heavily edited and expanded. When the author got the rights back she set out to create the story she originally wanted and envisioned and that is how War of the Wicked came to be.Now, on to War of the Wicked.
HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!!! Once again Davidson King delivered!
I have to be honest, mafia, especially contemporary mob stories, have never been my genre of choice. I love learning about the heyday of the mafia, i.e. the 1920s and prohibition but as the mob evolved into more contemporary ages I become less interested. Well, fictional mob tales are the same usually. That's not to say I don't enjoy them I just don't seek them out. Davidson King is such a dynamo in the field of storytelling I can't help but read her take on the violent world of mafia. If you read the author regularly it's hard to imagine she could possibly get any darker but personally I think Wicked is just that, her darkest yet.
There are so many amazing factors in Lucifer's Landing that I won't touch on so I don't spoil anything. I do want to touch on one of the elements that stood out for me(beyond the chemistry between Dante and Rainn as well as a few others I highly expect to see get their own journey): sex workers. Of course there is the negative side of the occupation but amongst most of the characters, the author does not shame the sex workers(except where it's meant to create division and discord). Is it an occupation they chose to be in? Of course not. But they know it's a job that keeps them alive and frankly King gives them respect for surviving and doing what they have to to do so and that is rarely seen in fiction or reality.
As for Dante and Rainn. There's just something about an alpha male with a heart who can be tender and dangerous at the flip of a switch and at times even all at once. Dante Scavo is definitely dangerous and that can mean he does things that scare people away or attract those with a violence fetish so when he meets Rainn I think he's a little . . . well, gobsmacked at his presence. Dante's desire to possess, protect, and provide creates problems(or potential for problems) with those around him. However, Rainn is not your typical character and he doesn't freak out easily, he may not be an alpha male but he's no pushover and he isn't afraid to speak up(even though there are a few times he maybe should've been😉). Why does the duo work? So many reasons and frankly every reason would be a spoiler and I feel I've given away too much already so that's it for particulars.
So to wrap it up shorter: War of the Wicked is wicked good! Violent, dark, heart-filled, sexy, humor, friendship, family, love - it's all there. Davidson King has once again brought her special brand of storytelling to life and I am already on tenderhooks waiting for the next trip to Lucifer's Landing.
RATING:
Summary:
Boyfriend for Hire #5
Hiring a fake boyfriend for a school reunion seems to be the only solution, but love was never part of the equation.
Felix has enough on his plate looking out for his parents, let alone agreeing to being hired for a date with the friend of a friend. His instant attraction to the scatter-brained scientist has him making impulsive decisions he hopes he won’t regret. But, somehow, he’s agreeing to more dates, and more time with sexy Ethan and his non-stop talking. When stolen wintry kisses turn to love, and Christmas works its magic, Felix knows he’s losing his heart.
The science of chemistry makes more sense to Ethan than connecting with potential boyfriends, and he’s wary of romance. Unsettled by a string of failed hookups, he knows it’s on him when everything goes wrong and he can’t help but wonder what has made him this way. His friend Jared says that Ethan needs to close metaphorical doors on past hurts—whatever that means—and that the school reunion might just be step one. Determined to show himself as confident and happy, he hires Felix to be his date for the night, but a kiss to make up for the one he missed at prom, and abruptly, it’s not the past that is consuming his thoughts.
Now all Felix has to do is show Ethan that it’s okay to love and be loved in return, and that chemistry can lead to a happily ever after.
Original Review January 2023:
I love this series so much and I have no idea how I missed reading Jared, the 4th entry but I did and I'll have to go back and check it out. I mention this for those who are wondering about reading order. Boyfriend for Hire is a series of standalones where the connection is the fake boyfriend service the men in the titles work. As stated each entry is a standalone but there are a few cameos of previous characters however knowing their journeys is not a must to understand the entry you are reading. In Felix, there are a few mentions of Jared as Ethan, the man in need of a fake boyfriend is Jared's roommate but I wasn't lost having not read Jared's story first.
On to Felix.
I could empathize with Felix in his need not to have jobs that lasted more than 24 hours because he needs to stay close to care for his parents. Being my mom's 24/7 live-in caregiver I don't have the luxury of a time card but I have turned down many social functions because I was uncomfortable being away for extended hours so I completely understood where Felix was coming from and I loved how the authors really convey that pull on an adult caring for a parent. It may only be a small factor of the story and more of a set-up situation that makes Felix the perfect one to step in as Ethan's date but it really stood out for me and gave me that connection to the character and it's that connection between reader and character that can turn a good book into a great story.
Ethan. What can I say about Ethan? I just want to wrap him up in bubblewrap to keep him safe. His inner struggles and introverted-like social skills scream "love him, for the love of everything holy in the universe give this man the HEA he deserves!" He has issues, or doors that need closing as Jared points out and having Felix on his side be it professionally at first and then emotionally is one of the most heartwarming stories I've read in a long time. Why you ask? I don't really know. Maybe it's my own brand of introverted-ness, maybe it's knowing he's had something locked away behind that door Jared says needs closing, maybe it's just my need to find goodness in my readings, or maybe it's a combination of all the above. What I do know is I'm not going to spoil it for you. Scott & Russell are all about the HEA in their Boyfriend for Hire series so we all know where the ending will lead but it's the journey the men take getting there that makes this story a heartwarmingly fun holiday gem and that is something you need to experience.
For those who don't like insta-love then this may not be up your alley and that's okay, it's not a trope for everyone and if it's not done right it's not a trope for me either but Felix is done right. But I just want to say for those who don't believe insta-love is real, I can prove you wrong because I wouldn't be here if it wasn't real. My grandparents met in January 1946, engaged on Valentine's Day 1946, married in July that summer and were still married in 1994 when my grandpa passed away. So it's real and it can lead to life long love.
It's All Relative by Jordan Castillo Price
Summary:The ABCs of Spellcraft #14
If Spellcrafters value anything, it’s family. (And a good deal from the clearance rack, and an exceptional hand of poker. But mainly family.)
So, when a long-lost relative surfaces, everyone is absolutely thrilled…until the newcomer challenges Dixon for the title of Hand.
Yuri is perfectly willing to force the usurper back under whatever rock he crawled out from, but Dixon insists on proving himself the best man for the job. A magic string chose him as the Hand, after all. And while Spellcraft can be capricious, surely it would never let Dixon down.
Would it?
To make matters worse, Dixon’s attention is divided. Not only is he scrambling through town on a magical scavenger hunt, but a Handless customer with a sob story has him searching for her lost dog. Because, as Yuri points out, there’s always a dog.
From one end of Pinyin Bay to the other, the whole family pitches in to help Dixon keep his rightful place in the final installment of this heartwarming series.
The ABCs of Spellcraft is a series filled with bad jokes and good magic, where M/M romance meets paranormal cozy. A perky hero, a brooding love interest, and delightfully twisty-turny stories that never end up quite where you’d expect.
Original Review February Book of the Month 2023:
Say it ain't so! The end is here! No more Dixon and Yuri! As the saying goes, all good things must come to an end . . . doesn't mean I have to like it😉.
The ABCs of Spellcraft may be over. No more new adventures for the always over-optimistic and endless ray of sunshine Dixon and his stern but never not supportive man-friend Yuri, and the incredibly intriguing cast of wacky family, friends, and occasionally not-quite friendly characters. Yes, that's sad to hear but their adventures will live on in re-reads and re-listens and they will never get old, I will never tire of re-visiting Pinyon Bay for a ride-along. For me, that statement alone is the best way to explain how much I enjoy this series and characters. I have a list of books that I re-read/re-listen to every summer, it's not that long but the year would never be complete without them and I am 99.999% certain Spellcraft has just hitched a ride on that list.
Now, as for the final entry, It's All Relative, itself.
What can be said that hasn't already been mentioned in my previous entries reviews?
Jordan Castillo Price has a unique and creative way to bring the world of magic to life, to make it real, to make one look up and expect to see a crafting, or the result of a crafting, float by your front window. Frankly I don't know how Yuri stays so calm. If my significant other had the never-ending energy that Dixon lives life by I would be off my rocker. My mother always looks at life postiviely but her views on "it's going to be okay" has nothing compared to Dixon, so I don't know how Yuri does it but he manages to not only stand by his man sanely but he does so with Dixon's family as well. His desire in Relative to see Dixon keep his place as the Hand probably tests his control more than any other obstacle the couple has tackled but he maintains his voice of calm and focus.
I've probably given away more than I intended to so I won't say more but know it's brilliant and if this series had to end, I can't think of a better way to do so. This series is simply put: FUN! FUN! FUN! FUN! and what's the word I'm looking for? Oh yeah: FUN!!!!!
Now I realize that for some 15 books, even novellas, can seem daunting if you haven't been reading as they've been released. That's a lot of zany, madcappery magic to digest but trust me, you won't regret it. Dixon and Yuri and the whole Spellcraft gang is so enjoyable the time will fly by and before you know it you will be where I am right now, the end with no more new coming and you'll be a little sad but also happy for having discovered such a crazy, fun, romantic, entertaining universe.
Mountain Springs Omega #3
Mason's hated Valentine's Day ever since his fiance broke off their engagement on that most romantic of holidays.
Ten years after his alpha ended their engagement, Mason still feels the hurt and does everything he can to not thing about his lost love or the holiday. But being Mountain Springs' only chocolatier, he doesn't have the luxury of hiding from the day like he'd prefer.
Devon just wants to protect his omega, even though he knows he hurt him.
Ending the engagement was the last thing Devon wanted to do, but he needed to protect his omega, and at the time he thought it was the only solution. Now there's an arsonist running around Mountain Springs, and Mason's shop is in the crosshairs. Devon realizes he'll have to hurt his love again in order to protect him.
When both men are frced to confront the past in prder to prevent calamity, will their history get in the way, or is a little heat just what it takes to bring them back together?
Recipe for Romance
One Protective Alpha
One Emotionally Scarred Omega
1 Failed Engagement
1 Chocolate Shop
1 Arsonist
Candy Kisses for the Omega is a 13K word , non-shifter, M/M, Mpreg romance, featuring two men afraid to confront their past, some knotty fun, and plenty of chocolate.
Original Review February 2023:
Over the years I've read a handful of mpregs in fanfiction and enjoyed them all but I'll admit I've only read a few in published works, which I too have enjoyed each time. It may not be a genre or trope I seek out but I don't shy away from either and have collected a fair number on my kindle and TBR list but haven't had the opportunity to discover yet. As for Lacey Daize? This is a new author to me, some find that scary but I find it adrenaline pumping almost as much as the rush I get waiting to discover the end of great book. Lacey Daize is definitely an author to go on my authors-to-watch list and I look forward to discovering more.
On to Candy Kisses. Being a short novella I won't go into much detail so not to spoil it for others who are also new to either the author or this story. Candy is the third entry in the author's Mountain Springs Omegas non-shifter mpreg series and as far as I can tell it is a series of standalones. Being a series-read-in-order kind of gal, it is unusual for me to start in the middle but as I was looking for Valentine stories, what can I say I took a chance😉.
I enjoyed every minute of this short tale of love, friendship, second chances, and it has just a hint of mystery that made it a winning gem. I want to wrap Mason in bubblewrap and though I wouldn't mind giving Devon a good solid shake(and possibly a whack to the back of the head) I understood his thought process wayback when. Can the pair work through the heartache of the past to find happiness in the future? You'll have to discover that for yourself, as it's a holiday that is all about love you can probably guess where the couple will end up but getting there is where all the entertaining discovery lies.
Candy Kisses for the Omega has definitely made me want to check out the rest of the Mountain Springs Omegas series.
Summary:
New York City, 1924
Once their paths cross, their worlds will never be the same.
Danny Moore and his crew only meant to rob the hotel suites of rich guests. He wasn’t supposed to find himself in gangster Ricky il Sacchi’s room. And il Sacchi wasn’t supposed to wind up dead. Now Danny has the attention of another notorious gangster.
Carmine Battaglia is intrigued by the Irish thieves who would have made off with a huge score if not for il Sacchi’s death. They’re cunning, careful, and exactly what he needs for his rum running operation. But Danny’s already lost two brothers to the violence between New York’s Irish and Sicilian gangs, and he’s not about to sell his soul to Carmine.
With a gangster’s blood on his hands, Danny needs protection, whether he likes it or not. And that’s to say nothing of the generous pay, which promises to pull him and his crew—not to mention their families—out of destitution.
Working together brings Danny and Carmine to a détente, then to something so intense neither can ignore it. Something nearly enough to make them both forget the brutal tensions between their countrymen.
But the death of Ricky il Sacchi hasn’t been forgotten. And someone is determined to make Danny bleed for it.
The Venetian and the Rum Runner is a gay historical romantic suspense novel set during Prohibition and the Roaring Twenties.
CW: graphic violence, PTSD
Original Review March 2023:
Every St. Patrick's Day I go to my book rec groups on FB asking for Irish-themed stories, maybe it's just Irish characters, set in Ireland at least in part, and a special kudos to any that actually have at least a St. Patrick's Day scene. This year someone rec'd The Venetian and the Rum Runner by LA Witt. So glad they did because . . . YUM! Talk about a story I've been looking for on multiple levels.
1920s✅
Prohibition✅
Mafia✅
Irish characters✅
Mentions of Influenza Epidemic of 1918✅
Post WW1✅
Just so many of my boxes ticked.
I love the whole slow burn trope and this may be one of the slowest slow burns I've read in recent memory and that is not a bad thing. The era and even more so the alpha male label that gangsters are known for wasn't exactly conducive for those who were LGBT. Besides the immoral umbrella too many saw LGBT as falling under, it was also seen as weakness when it came to the mafia. Let me tell you there isn't any man in this story that is weak. There are characters who may see themselves as weak for a variety of reasons but they aren't, nor are they broken. They have just seen too many horrors in the world that leaves them hurting. Danny's friend James is a perfect example. He may be a priest but he also served during WW1 and those nightmares will always follow him. I loved the friendship between James and Danny, they understand each other and accept each other.
As for Danny, as one who has many Irish branches in my family tree I may not understand the battles between the Irish and Italians in 1920s New York-based mafia(my ancestors came through Canada to Wisconsin in the mid-1800s) but I do understand the stubbornness Danny feels in his opinion of Italians. I am definitely stubborn and know that I mainly inherited that trait from the Irish side. I think it's that stubborn certainty to have ill will against all Italians for the actions of a few and still be able to work for them when he is faced with no other options, it shows a lot of courage on his part.
Carmine. What can I say about Carmine? He too has some preconceived notions on the Irish but it's not really deep seated in hatred like Danny's for Italians. His willingness to work with them also shows a level of courage and growth. His relationship with his sister, Giulia, is your standard brother/sister and though he only has her protection in mind with his actions, it is pretty clear early on that Giulia is not shrinking violet.
Put these two men together and you have a chemistry that is instant(although not explored other than inner monologues for quite a while) and never ending. Frankly I loved the progression the men take from boss man/rum runner to oh so much more. I will admit I can see where it could almost be too slowburny for some but not me. Could the author have lessened some of the inner musings? Sure. Would those cuts have made the story better? Maybe. Would I have wanted to see it shorter? Hell No!
I can't imagine it being written any other way than how the author has told it. It's that combination of main characters growing, secondary characters showing their friendship and loyalty, bad guys being super bad, good guys having some bad tendencies but done with a purpose, romance, mystery, heat, suspense, and heart that makes The Venetian and the Rum Runner so bloody brilliant!
As for what draws me to the genre . . .
Maybe it's having grown up about 30 minutes from St. Paul that went a long way to pique my interest in the era. I don't think enough people realize just how many gangsters of that era came through the area. You can still find the tommy gun bullet holes in the Wabasha Caves nearly 100 years later. Maybe it's the glamour side that Hollywood has always portrayed that decade to be. Obviously it's not all glamour and Hollywood has never had a problem with fact-stretching but as a little girl I can't deny that film genre went a long way to forming my interest and as I got older and the realities of the time became more clear, my interest was already embedded.
I've read a few stories that touched on my earlier checklist and loved them all, there's just not enough in the LGBTQ+ historical mafia genre to feed my hunger. Or perhaps there are and I'm just not looking in the right place. Whatever the answer is to that, at least this LA Witt novel crossed my reading journey and I'm beyond thankful for that.
Whether you are a fan of historical 1920s prohibition era mafia stories or not, I still highly recommend giving The Venetian and the Rum Runner a chance. It is most certainly not a quick read but it is an entertaining one that kept me hooked all the way through and left me sad when I reached the last page. I've already purchased the audiobook and look forward to many re-visits to come.
War of the Wicked by Davidson King
CHAPTER ONE
Dante Scavo
The weather emulated the mood of the day. As I stood in Saint Michael’s Cemetery, watching my father’s casket being lowered into the earth, my heart ached and the falling raindrops from the dark sky hammered home the overall feeling.
My father, Vito Scavo, wasn’t supposed to die yet. Of course, when I’d say that to his face, he’d smile in that mischievous way and tell me, “Dante, we are the most powerful crime family in Lucifer’s Landing. Four other families try to tear us down daily. Long lives aren’t common in our business.” And while I’d agree to his face, I’d challenge that theory daily.
Those four families had a presence today, and as I scanned their faces, I saw so many expressions. Sadness from my mother, brother, and the entire Scavo family. I couldn’t linger on them because while they were lambs in this equation, the wolves were foaming at the mouth, ready to attack.
Cillian McLoughlin stood across from me, his green eyes glued to the sinking casket. He had enforcers on each side of him, and they watched every move my family made. The Irish were lethal and precise. They never hid their hatred or disdain for my family, and I respected that to a certain degree. We had what my father would call a tentative truce. We both lived very close to each other, and a war on the streets would hurt more than help us. But a truce wasn’t reason enough to turn my back on them.
To my left, Joseph Etienne didn’t hide his happiness at my father’s death. The Haitians were attacking our ports and warehouses daily and likely saw my father’s death as a weakness in our armor when it was anything but. Joseph was younger than most—his father was killed by his own people ten years ago, and with no one else to take his place, seventeen-year-old Joseph took over. He built the Etienne empire into a lucrative and vicious family, one I watched very carefully.
Behind the McLoughlins were the Japanese, the Ikeda family. They were the hardest family to get a bead on. They held their traditions and honors to high standards I was admittedly in awe of. Ren Ikeda, the head of the family, used to be my best friend when we were growing up. It was Ren who made me realize I was gay. I never told him or my father that, but I think Ren knew. We were carefree when we were younger, but the battle between our families pushed us apart. Now, he barely made eye contact with me. The Ikedas were dangerous and also brilliant. Ren never attacked my family; his weapon of choice was words. And he would sooner decimate others financially rather than bloodily.
Then there was the Konstantinos family. Standing to my right, they scowled at my father’s casket, Elias Konstantinos glaring at me whenever I looked his way. I knew he wanted everything the Scavos had and often knocked on the front door to get it. His numbers weren’t close to being equal to that of my family, but he got bigger every day, and I had little doubt he was waiting for the perfect moment to attack. Helen Konstantinos, Elias’s sister, was deeply in love with my brother, Giovanni. While Gio had slept with her many times, he always swore it meant nothing more than a fuck for him. He was one that wouldn’t be held down by anyone. Helen would oftentimes beg her brother to work with our family—for selfish reasons, clearly—thinking that would make Giovanni love her. She was an idiot.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Father Benni said, and a collective, “Amen,” was spoken by everyone.
“How you holding up, son?” My uncle, Dominic, gave me a solemn smile. He was a year younger than my father, and while he’d never expressed much interest in running the Scavo family, I wondered if he’d fight me for the seat.
“I’m fine.” There was no way I’d show anyone the emotions churning inside my head and heart. Any inkling I was affected by this would be seen as a chance to strike. For my mother’s sake, I didn’t want a war to erupt. She needed to mourn.
“You say that, but the loss of a father is—”
“Inevitable, Uncle. You know that’s what my father would say. No use in thinking otherwise.”
He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing me. “You are so much like him. You’re the spitting image of him with your dark hair, darker eyes, and your smile…damn, it’s eerie.” He chuckled. “But he’s six feet under right now. I don’t want you joining him any time soon.”
I darted my gaze back to him after I scanned the room. “You speak as if his car accident wasn’t an accident.”
Dominic shrugged. “Too often most things aren’t, Dante. Watch yourself.” With a pat on my shoulder, he was gone, mingling with others, drinking and eating. Stories of my father swirled around the room, and I could feel the pressure forming behind my eyes.
I excused myself and went to the restroom. We were having the repast at my father’s favorite Italian restaurant—no way was I letting these people into our home. I entered the restroom and moved to a stall; there I sat and tried to calm down.
Of course, the thought of my father’s death being intentional had crossed my mind. But multiple reports showed he slid on a patch of ice and hit the guard rail. He wasn’t supposed to be on the road by himself, but too often, he felt the need to just take a drive. I hated that Uncle Dominic had made me wonder again.
“Dante?” Giovanni’s voice echoed in the restroom.
“In here, be out in a sec.” I flushed the toilet even though I hadn’t gone, took a deep breath, and exited the stall.
“You have that look in your eyes,” he said as I washed my hands.
“What look might that be, brother?”
“That you want to murder someone look.” He chuckled and met my gaze in the mirror. “What’s up?”
I sighed, shut the water off, and took the cloth Giovanni offered to dry my hands. “I keep thinking maybe Dad’s death wasn’t an accident.”
Gio didn’t laugh. Hell, he didn’t react at all, just stared at me.
“And what, currently, is making you think this?”
Since it was just the two of us, I figured it was safe to discuss it. “Uncle Dom, he kind of led me to think it wasn’t. Then he said to watch my back.”
This time Gio did chuckle. “Watching your back is our family motto, brother. But, okay, let’s examine the facts.” Gio leaned against the sink, and I mirrored him. “The police reports, and our guys, found nothing suspicious. Said it was ice. Multiple witnesses even said the same thing. They saw his car slide and slam into the barrier.”
I knew he was right, and Giovanni wasn’t one to lie to me. I trusted him more than anyone. But… “I know, Gio. Something’s just bothering me about it.”
He gave me a curt nod and pushed off the sink. “Okay, your gut is rarely wrong. We can have someone else look into it.”
“Who?” I had no idea. Our guy had scrutinized all the reports and the car after the police completed their investigation. Who could we trust more than our own family?
“I know this may come as a shock to you, Dante, but I have this friend who might know someone.”
I chuckled. “How much do you trust this friend of yours?”
“Next to you, more than anyone.”
That was good enough for me. “Okay, contact him tomorrow. Maybe I’ll feel better after I hear it from someone else.”
We left the restroom and went over to the bar area. Many people came over to us and gave us their condolences. It was such a tedious affair. How many times can you hear, “Sorry for your loss,” before you want to scream? I took to simply nodding at people and drinking my bourbon.
Gio went over to our mother, who was sitting at a table surrounded by her sisters, cousins, and other wives. She was barely touching her food, and Giovanni wanted to make sure she was okay. Which left me dealing with the monotonous task of thanking everyone for their well wishes.
“Dante, the families want to talk to you,” Edward Carson, the Scavo family’s consigliere, said as he came up beside me.
“Ed, I’m not doing this at my father’s funeral, and the fact that they’re asking at all right now is a sign of complete disrespect.” I placed my empty tumbler on the bar and glared at Edward. “I hope you explained that.”
Ed was my father’s age, and his hair had equal amounts of blond and gray. His cornflower-blue eyes and gold-rimmed glasses often made me think of him as a professor. He and my father knew each other from their days as altar boys at Saint Michael’s, and because my father trusted him, he’d keep his place in our family.
“You know I did. Don’t insult me.”
I nodded and accepted the drink from the server. “One week. I have shit I need to handle; then we can sit down and talk.”
Edward sighed. “You know they will either want to solidify promises your father made or change the terms.”
There was no question that was it. Though I truly felt like the Konstantinos longed to make a play for my territories. Fat fucking chance of that happening.
“We meet on neutral territory, Ed.”
He agreed. “Listen, Dante.” Edward scanned the room and spoke low. “There’s not likely to be anyone to challenge you for your father’s seat. But I gotta ask about Dominic.”
I had the same question running through my head, and I pinched the bridge of my nose to release some of the pressure. “He hasn’t mentioned anything to me about it, Ed. But I’ve wondered.”
He nodded. “All right. We need to see where he stands in all this. Last thing we need is to be dealing with the four families and an internal war on top of it.”
He made his leave, and I swallowed my drink in one gulp. I just wanted to go home and nurse this headache. When I looked over at the table where my mom and Giovanni sat, laughing at something my aunt Carmelina said, I decided to gravitate their way and allow myself to just be with my family and wait out the rest of this day with them.
If there was going to be a war, I’d be ready, and any who stood in my way would pay.
Felix by RJ Scott & Meredith Russell
“So what is it you wanted to talk about?” He clasped his hands together.
Jared shrugged. “It’s nothing much. It’s just a small, tiny favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
“Like I said. Small.” He held up his hand, his index finger and thumb close to each other. “The thing is”—This is going to be something I don’t like, isn’t it?—“Ethan is going to his school reunion next week.”
Felix narrowed his eyes. “Uh huh?”
“I am,” Ethan stated. “With a plus-one.”
Am I supposed to care? He vaguely remembered Jared telling tales of his roommate’s numerous boyfriends and the ridiculous antics he got up to. Felix’s favorite story ended with a purple-dyed police officer. He didn’t know who Ethan was dating now, but good for him if it was going well.
“And you’re telling me this because?”
“Well…” Ethan bit his lower lip, rolling his eyes upward as he seemed to process his words before speaking. There was something more sexy than cute about the way he tugged on his soft pink lips with his teeth.
He should stop doing that—he’ll end up bruising them, and they’re too pretty to be bruised.
Unless it’s me kissing them and… the fuck?
“The thing is Ethan’s plus-one kind of did him dirty.” Jared answered for him. “Ethan got dumped. Again,” he added straight-faced.
“I dumped him,” Ethan said in a strained voice.
Jared met Felix’s eyes and shook his head. “He didn’t,” he mouthed.
Felix snorted a laugh, but his smile faded as the favor Jared had in mind hit him front and center. “No,” he said.
“I’ve said nothing,” Jared said, blinking with all the innocence he could muster.
Felix ran his hand back through his bangs. “I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is no.” He leaned back, side-eyeing Ethan. “Why don’t you ask Caleb? He’ll take anything you can throw at him.”
“Well, of course I tried him first, but he’s already booked. But we all know you’re the best person for the job, and you owe me one.”
It's All Relative by Jordan Castillo Price
1
DIXON
The Practical Penn Spellcraft shop has been in my family for years. My folks partnered with Uncle Fonzo to start the business while I was still in diapers—and, for the record, I was very easy to potty train, unlike Tuesday. Probably because even at that tender young age I was so concerned about disappointing anyone—while Tuesday is probably the least motivated baby I’ve ever known. Though she’s so utterly adorable, no one really minds.
I’d spent my childhood at Practical Penn playing hide-and-seek with my cousin in the various offices. My school years doing homework on a desk where enchantments were Scribed. And, more recently, the occasional weekend helping clean out the cages of the various small animals we’d inherited from Precious Greetings.
But as for actually working there as a Spellcrafter? Between my walkabout after college and the span of time I’d endured as an unquilled WheelMeal driver, the hours I’d clocked in the family business were surprisingly few.
I plucked a curved piece of metal from the supply cabinet and held it up for inspection. While my inventory list did contain some pretty obscure items, we Scriveners do know our stationery well. Surely it was just a matter of eliminating the various tools I recognized, and whatever was left would cause recognition to dawn.
I was debating whether the object seemed more like a distance page-turner or a rubber band stretcher when I realized a shadow had fallen across the curve of the metal. I turned and found my mother filling the doorway to the supply room, hands on hips, looking very businesslike indeed. She knew this office inside and out, so surely she’d know what it was. The trick was in not letting on that I didn’t. I smiled my winningest smile and said, “So, if one were looking to loosen up his rubber bands….”
“Give me that.” Mom snatched the mystery object out of my hands and tucked it into her cardigan. Either she has extra pockets in there or she’d just developed the ability to hold onto various small items with her body mass—a handy trick to be sure. “It’s the arm that holds a globe on its stand, but the globe shattered years ago and the stand turned to rust. I’d better get rid of it while your father’s off running errands.”
I turned to the list in my hands and added the words Globe Holder…then dutifully crossed them off.
Mom blinked in that way she does when she’s counting to ten. “Dixon, is this really necessary?”
“The Annual Reckoning must be completed in an orderly manner,” I said brightly, quoting a pamphlet I found stuck to the back of a desk drawer in Shirque Mansion. It was printed in 1948, so all the men in the photos are wearing hats and smoking cigarettes—but fortunately, Spellcraft traditions themselves are pretty timeless.
“Everything’s there in black and white on the spreadsheet I printed out,” Mom said. “All you need to do is sign it.”
“If I wanted to scrape by doing the bare minimum, then sure. I could read through the spreadsheet, ink my very fetching signature at the bottom of that form, and be done with it.”
“You think that’s the bare minimum? Your uncle never even bothered to sign the darned thing himself, let alone read it. Look, I get that you take pride in being the Hand of the family. None of us can argue with that. But no Hand in their right mind would do all this manual bean-counting unless they were planning to Fold.”
Obviously, the last thing I wanted to do was liquidate the business and leave everyone in my family unemployed. Not to mention invalidating the work order that kept Yuri in the country.
However….
“These beans you’ve just referenced—I’m not seeing them on the spreadsheet.”
The chime of a customer coming through the door interrupted our lively debate, and Mom threw her hands in the air and bustled off to go see what they wanted. And since the tallying of staples, pencils and paperclips had indeed grown truly tedious, I followed her out to the front counter.
A red-haired woman in her mid-thirties stood in the lobby, visibly fretting. There was a nylon strap of some kind in her hands, and she twisted and re-twisted it nervously as she rocked from foot to foot, scanning all the various signage, from the jaunty “Got Problems? Spellcraft is the solution!” to the stern, “No Bad Checks…Or Else.”
“Can I help you?” Mom asked the woman, in a brusque, no-nonsense way most Handless find oddly comforting.
“Gosh, I sure hope so. I was told that—”
Outside, a car horn blared. Not just a polite toot-toot, either, but a long and weirdly loud bellow that went on and on. I hurried around the counter and pressed my face up against the glass to see what such a beepable offense might be, only to find a little old lady pawing desperately at her steering column trying to get her horn unstuck. A truck driver had stopped to help her, but despite his intervention, the honk just kept right on honking. Eventually, he gestured in the direction of the nearest mechanic, and the old woman hastily drove off, the beep fading behind her as she turned a corner and was gone.
“Wow,” I said, “that must’ve been painfully loud from inside the car. I’d hate to have all that beepage blasting right in my face. Good thing the horn on our truck stopped working ages ago.” I turned toward the customer. “Now, how can we help?”
“This is a prime example!” she said. “Every time I—”
A raucous clatter cut her off. I whirled around and saw the truck that belonged to the helpful driver had opened up, and hundreds upon hundreds of cans had fallen out the back. I was excited for a split second there, imagining such syrupy delights as fruit cocktail and cherry pie filling up for grabs, distributed throughout the neighborhood like tiny treasures waiting to be stumbled upon later. But then the vegetables painted on the side of the truck quashed my nascent fruity fantasies.
Still, the spill was entertaining. Those cans could really roll! Though why they were just loose in the back of the truck to begin with was anyone’s guess.
Eventually, the cacophony ebbed long enough for the red-haired customer to say, “I can’t take much more of this. I need someone to—”
Suddenly, we were enveloped by the rousing sound of a marching band. Through every speaker in the building, from the stereo that usually piped in Musak to the intercom no one ever used (as it was a lot quicker to just yell) some vaguely patriotic parade music blasted forth. Rufus Clahd reeled out of his office with an empty CD case in his hand—the title of which was March! March! March! He waved it around a few times, then stumbled back in.
Mom held up a Just-a-Sec index finger and bustled off to help our Seer with his musical selection. That left me standing there in the lobby with the customer—not usually a problem, but the fact that we couldn’t talk was surprisingly awkward for me. I offered her an encouraging smile and she tried her best to smile back, though really, it came out as more of a wince.
Banging and clanging ensued, and the rousing march went skip-skip-skip, sounding oddly techno as it stuttered over the end of a cymbal crash replaying the blat of a trumpet. Several bangs later, the march fell silent, and my mother stomped out of Mr. Clahd’s office, muttering, “Why we let him have access to the sound system, I’ll never know.”
The customer was just about to try again when Mom cut her off with, “Not one more word, young lady. Not until I get a look at that piece of Spellcraft in your pocket.”
The customer sagged all over with relief, pulled out the paper, and slid it across the desk.
The Seen was adorable—something right out of a children’s book, with a poodle frolicking in a green field of grass dotted with pastel wildflowers, puffy clouds overhead, and a butterfly circling lazily in the sky.
But the Scribing overlaid on the clouds was downright puzzling.
Nobody listens to me.
“I see the problem,” Mom said, as the customer nodded so vigorously I was worried she’d make herself dizzy enough to keel over. Not that that’s ever happened to me. Lately. “Crafting a Spell is challenging enough. It’s part discipline, part innate ability, and part luck. Most people who discovered a Crafting like this on their person would just tear it up, and it’s a good thing you didn’t. That might only make things worse. If you figure out who saddled you with this thing, you’d have a good case against them—though bringing it to the authorities would be a challenge in the state you’re currently in.”
The customer shook her head no.
“That’s good. I don’t recommend involving the law where something like this is concerned. Litigation and Spellcraft are an unpredictable combination. My advice would be to neutralize the Crafting—which just so happens to be my son’s specialty. But it doesn’t come cheap.”
The customer whipped out a credit card and flapped it up and down.
“Fine. Dixon?” Mom gestured at the Crafting. “It’s in your capable hands.”
Bursting with pride over my mother’s genuine praise, I gingerly picked up the Crafting and took it back to my office. It was the smallest office with the worst view—and it smelled like burnt mozzarella—but now it was so much more than a place to keep the nocturnal animals no one wanted in their house. Don’t get me wrong, the super loud toad was still there…but he was currently asleep, so he made a perfectly acceptable office mate.
Aside from the cages and tanks, there were now various Spellcrafty things a Hand might need. Copies of all the contracts and forms involved with the business. A giant box of dubious receipts. Contact info for the other local families, as well as a pile of generic gifts I might give if a social obligation cropped up…though someone had broken into the chocolates and taken a bite out of them. The fancy soaps, too.
In short, my office was a real office. And while I had once balked at the thought of joining my family business, now that I was actually rolling up my sleeves and getting down to work, I found it surprisingly empowering.
Though I had to admit, it was a lot more fun now that I was technically in charge.
I cleared my desk, drew my quill from its case, and lay the Spellcraft on the blotter. It wasn’t a curse—curses are in a horrific category all their own, and I’d be just as glad to never see one again—but it was definitely a hindrance. I would have expected the vibe it gave off to feel negative somehow. But when I turned it this way and that and tried to get a sense of the telltale tingle, it just felt…tingly. Nothing more.
If it weren’t for the actual words, I would’ve taken it for a perfectly benign Crafting. Maybe it was meant to teach someone a lesson. Or maybe it was just a poorly thought out practical joke. Whatever the reason, the only thing that mattered now was how to Uncraft the Spell.
Candy Kisses for the Omegas by Lacey Daize
Chapter 1 - Mason
I sat at the kitchen counter and picked up the newest edition of Mountain Springs’ bi-weekly newspaper. Given the overall state of the print media industry, I was glad to support the town paper and they did good work. However, the headline on the front page made me scowl: Arsonist Continues to Elude Fire Investigators.
The news made me worry for two reasons. The first was that it meant there was still somebody out there setting fires with no clear motive. The other was my friend Liam. The first incident had been a stand of bears set aflame in front of his parents’ gift store, and though the arsonist hadn’t targeted any single place twice, it couldn’t be ruled out either. It was stressful enough already, but Liam was pregnant on top of that.
I skimmed the article, but wasn’t too hopeful about finding anything of use in it. The title seemed to sum it up pretty well.
I picked out a few more articles to read while I drank my coffee, then it was time to get ready for work. As the town’s chocolatier, one of my busiest seasons was upon me and I had orders to make.
Eleven months out of the year I loved my work. I got to be creative, making new shapes and flavors of treats for the various holidays. Rose and lavender infused chocolates for Mother’s Day, beer and whiskey for the dads. My white chocolate green caramel eyeballs were Halloween favorites, and I’d had lines before Christmas for my chocolate-coated gingerbread men.
But the next holiday was the one I wished I could shut down the store for. Each chocolate-dipped strawberry and heart-shaped confection was like a dagger in my soul. Every one a reminder of the betrayal I felt.
Maybe I’d hire and train a new employee over the summer so they’d be ready to take over the following February and allow me to go on vacation—preferably somewhere warm and where I could avoid all the couples kissing and being lovey-dovey.
I headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and studied my beard in the mirror. I’d need to trim it soon or the health inspector would insist on a net for it. I liked the length, especially in winter, but the nets were uncomfortable and it was better to keep my facial hair neat than have to constantly be dealing with the net while trying to work.
I ran a comb through my beard to be safe, and made a mental note to book an appointment with my barber. Then I headed downstairs from my apartment to the kitchen of Mount Chocolate.
One of the nice things about running a candy store rather than a bakery was that I could keep slightly more normal hours than a baker would, at least most of the time. But today the sun had barely cleared the horizon when I walked in and flicked on the lights, which reflected off the stainless-steel work tables.
Even when I hated the holiday, I never hated the sight of my passion ready for me each morning. In a few hours those same tables would be filled with confections in various stages of making, the scent of chocolate filling the air.
I wandered over to my calendar and compared the schedule with pre-order quantities, trying to decide if I needed to shuffle anything. Chocolate-covered strawberries were flying off the shelf, but I couldn’t start on the bulk of the orders for them until the thirteenth so that the fruit remained fresh on the big day. Which meant it was other chocolate and gift basket prep with things that could last the week until February fourteenth.
Satisfied that my schedule was still fine, I started gathering my ingredients. First up was a big batch of red chile chocolates. They’d been popular the year before, and I decided to spruce things up with special boxes that read ‘Hot Stuff for my Hot Stuff.’ The special box meant that a number of people had ordered them, and as it would be shelf-stable longer it was a good choice to get a head start on.
Soon I was fully immersed in the work, tempering the chocolate to glossy perfection and mixing in the spicy chile. I then spread it to cool before breaking it into bark-style pieces.
I’d been so immersed in my work that I jolted when I heard the little bell over the front door chime.
“Mason?”
I breathed out a sigh, calming my nerves. It was just Andrew. He’d breezed into town the month prior, but had only been working for me a week, since a receptionist job fell through almost immediately after they’d told him he’d been hired. But he’d shown himself more than capable of the work and a trustworthy employee.
He’d also fit right into my circle of omega friends, and after a love-at-first-sight romance was mated to a local alpha and had announced his pregnancy a few days before.
“Back here,” I called.
Andrew came back and smiled. “Where do you need me today?”
“Hop on the register until Daniel comes in, then you can come back and start prepping the hot stuff boxes.”
“You got it,” Andrew said as he grabbed an apron and a little candyman hat. A minute later I heard the sound of bills being counted as he prepped the register.
I had to admit, the other omega had come in at just the right time. I’d steadily been getting busier and with the dreaded holiday only a week away it was time for all hands on deck to push through.
I just had to hope he’d be willing to stay after February. He’d mentioned that he preferred office jobs, and was considering going back to school, but having him even on a part-time basis would be great.
I got the second batch of chile chocolate cooling and started on another specialty, Love Bites, which were small chocolates with a hot cinnamon kick.
Soon the sounds of customers drifted in from the front: people placing orders for gift boxes, excited children squealing with delight, and the sweetest of them all was the compliments as people tasted my creations.
Daniel came in around noon, which gave me a chance to head to Glen’s Diner and grab lunch for the three of us. Then Andrew and I spent the afternoon filling boxes and bags of candy while Daniel sold it out the front almost faster than I could make it.
Finally it was closing time, and after Daniel cleaned up the front he joined Andrew and I in the back on the assembly line. Soon we had stacks of boxes and gift baskets ready for both orders and regular store stock.
We were wiping down the tables when we heard the blare of sirens, followed by the low blast of a fire engine’s horn. The three of us ran to the front and out the door, eyes tracing the direction of the emergency lights until we saw black smoke rising from the direction of the community center.
“Think it’s the arsonist again?” Andrew asked quietly.
I nodded. “It’s a reasonable bet.”
The Venetian and the Rum Runner by LA Witt
Chapter 1
Manhattan
January 2nd, 1924
At quarter to ten the second night after New Year’s, having arrived at the address on the card he’d been given, Danny Moore found himself standing in the falling snow outside a butcher shop.
It was still open despite the late hour. He supposed that wasn’t a surprise, especially as a young couple sauntered in through the front door in attire no one wore to visit the butcher. Clearly, then, this was not unlike the florist shop that acted as a benign and perfectly legal front for the speakeasy Danny frequented. Given that the man he was here to see was a powerful bootlegger, a front seemed more likely than Carmine Battaglia moonlighting in the meat business, particularly the business of staying open late to sell meat to customers in their finest evening wear.
Danny cast a wary glance around the dark and mostly deserted street, then walked inside. The butcher shop itself was nothing remarkable. Sausages and cuts of everything imaginable hung in the windows or were displayed in a glass case beside a large scale and a cash register. On the wall, prices were listed, but Danny didn’t bother to read them. He was not, after all, here to buy meat.
The young couple was gone, having likely been escorted through a secret door into the speakeasy beyond. A middle-aged Italian woman watched him through wire-rimmed spectacles.
Clearing his throat, Danny showed her the card. “I’m here to see—”
“You got an appointment?” The question was terse.
“I do, yes. At ten o’clock. With, um… With Mr. Carpenter.”
She gave a curt nod, turned away, picked up the telephone, and dialed. After a moment, she said, “Mr. Carpenter’s ten o’clock appointment is here.” She hung up and turned to him. “Wait right here.”
Danny waited. Another couple came through the door, the woman waving a long cigarette holder between her fingers as she and her companion laughed at something one of them must have said outside. She was blond, dressed in sparkling silver and green beneath a snow-dusted overcoat, and both her hair and skirt were as short as was fashionable these days. Her companion was in a smart suit and shined shoes. Clearly here to buy meat.
The man murmured something to the woman behind the counter, and the woman again picked up the telephone, this time saying something Danny didn’t hear. A moment later, an unseen door in the back opened, and the butcher stepped out, wiping his hands on his dingy white apron. With a sharp nod, he beckoned for the couple to come with him, and they followed without hesitation.
Outside, a pair of policemen strolled by. One cast a disinterested look through the windows, put his cigarette to his lips, and kept right on walking into the frigid night. They had to know what went on in here. It was hardly a secret what it meant when a regular business had patrons dressed for a night out coming in through the front door at this hour. Either the policemen didn’t care or they didn’t bother because there were dozens of places like this nearby. More likely, they didn’t see anything because a few crisp bills in their pockets said there was nothing to see.
“You here for Mr. Carpenter?” The voice pulled Danny’s attention from the vacant sidewalk where the police had been patrolling, and he turned to see a hulking Italian man in a suit glaring at him from behind the counter.
Danny cleared his throat. “I am, yes.”
A sharp gesture summoned him into the back of the butcher shop. Danny hesitated—whether or not it was a front for a speakeasy, this was a legitimate butcher shop, and he wasn’t sure he liked venturing away from the windows into a place with knives and meat hooks. Not with an Italian wise guy, and especially not after what had happened on New Year’s Eve.
The Italian glared at him. “You coming?”
Well, if he didn’t, then four of his friends would likely land in the workhouse soon. Or worse.
So, swallowing his nerves, Danny followed the man into a larger room in the back. Here, the butcher was methodically cleaving apart some creature’s hindquarters, and he eyed Danny and the Italian with no expression on his face.
At the other side of the room was a door. Danny and the Italian stepped through it, and Danny jumped when it banged shut behind him, sealing them into a narrow, dark stairway that was as cold as the January night outside. They walked silently down the stairs, and Danny tried not to liken this to descending into the pits of hell for a meeting with the Devil himself.
When they reached the bottom, the Italian faced him and held up a canvas bag.
“Put this on,” he ordered.
“Put it…” Danny eyed the bag, then the wise guy. “Why?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You want to meet Mr. Carpenter or not?”
Well, no, now that he’d asked, but Danny didn’t have a lot of choice here. And he supposed now that he’d been into the tunnel behind the butcher shop, there was no turning back. He’d already seen too much.
Muttering a few choice words in Irish, Danny pulled the bag over his own head, and he tried not to let his mind linger on what exactly he was smelling. Something sour and decayed. Thinking any deeper than that, he’d probably throw up inside the bag. In fact, maybe that was what—
“This way.” The Italian took his arm, and what could Danny do but follow him?
They walked for what felt like miles. Maybe that was just his nerves, or maybe time seemed to be crawling by because of the horrid stench so close to his face. All he knew was he’d long since lost track of the turns and switchbacks, and that with every set of stairs—even those going up—he was sure he was getting closer to literal hell.
Finally, he was ordered to halt. Something squeaked, and he thought he heard a door open, but he wasn’t told to move, so he stood there stupidly and waited for something to happen.
The Italian’s gruff voice made him jump: “Your ten o’clock is here, boss.”
The response came in a smoother voice that made Danny’s already racing heart beat faster: “Bring him in.”
Danny was shoved unceremoniously forward, and he just managed to keep himself from falling. When he’d righted himself, the bag was yanked off his head.
He blinked a few times—the room was dimly lit by a few bare bulbs strung around where crown molding would have been in a classier place, but it was still bright for a man who’d been in darkness for the last… the last however long he’d been hooded.
A heavy metal door slammed shut behind him, and a lock clanged into place. It sounded like the kind of door they used for bank vaults, and that didn’t settle Danny’s nerves at all. There was a reason he and his crew had never bothered trying to rob banks.
As his eyes adjusted, he shivered and took in his surroundings. Aside from being cold, the room was rough, its floor made of wood but its walls out of ragged concrete. A few pipes went across the ceiling and along one wall, but otherwise it looked like an office—a desk with a couple of chairs and a telephone. Several ledgers and pens. It wasn’t even as big as the modest parlor in Danny’s Broome Street tenement apartment, and the low ceiling and dim light made it feel even more cramped and tight.
Or perhaps that was because of the locked door and the man gazing back at him from behind the broad desk.
He was Italian in the usual expensive suit, and he was plainly a gangster. As easy to recognize as Ricky il Sacchi. The way he carried himself, even while sitting down. The way he looked at Danny like he owned everything in this room including him. The pinstriped slate gray suit and the fedora on the desk. And who else but gangsters held meetings in dark basements with men summoned by threats? He couldn’t have been anyone other than a gangster, and Danny suspected this “Mr. Carpenter” was, in fact, Carmine Battaglia.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“It ain’t ‘kid,’” Danny growled, hoping his nerves didn’t betray him.
A dark eyebrow arched.
Danny gulped. “Daniel. My name is Daniel Moore.”
To his surprise the Italian got up and came around the desk. He was slightly shorter than Danny—an inch at most—and he looked Danny right in the eye as he extended a hand. “Carmine Battaglia.”
Unsure what else to do, Danny shook Battaglia’s hand.
So this was him. Carmine Battaglia. The gangster who’d demanded Danny’s presence and threatened to send four of his friends to the workhouse if he didn’t show.
And maybe if Danny hadn’t been so uneasy with this whole situation, he’d have spent a little more time focusing on those full lips and near-black eyes. Or the way the bare electric bulbs cast harsh shadows on sharp, olive-skinned features.
He’s one of them, Danny fiercely reminded himself. Stop staring and find a way out of here.
“Well? You wanted to see me.” Danny spread his arms. “I’m here.”
“Yes, you are.” Battaglia leaned casually against his desk, head tilted his head as he studied Danny intently. “I understand you’re in charge of a group of thieves who broke into some suites at the Plaza Hotel on New Year’s Eve.”
Danny swallowed, not sure how to proceed.
An odd smile formed on Battaglia’s lips. “I’m not the police, Daniel. I’m—”
“You’re a gangster.” The words came out with more venom than perhaps was wise. “Just tell me what you want so you won’t send my friends to the workhouse.”
Battaglia shook his head, chuckling softly. “I’m not interested in sending you or your friends to the workhouse.”
“But you said… If I didn’t come…”
“And you did come.” Battaglia shrugged. “You held up your end of the deal, and now I’ll hold up mine.”
It wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be. Nothing ever was with gangsters involved.
“So what is it you want?”
“What I want is to put you and your crew to work.”
Danny blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I want to put—”
“Yeah, I heard that part.” Danny stared at him in disbelief. “You want us to come work for you. For gangsters. For Sicilian gangsters.”
Battaglia inclined his head. “You would hardly be the first Irishmen on my payroll.”
Setting his jaw, Danny glared at him. “Your kind put two of my brothers in the ground. I’d sooner work at Tammany Hall than with the likes of you.”
Battaglia’s expression hardened just slightly, but his voice stayed calm. “And you don’t think plenty of my kind are in the ground thanks to Irishmen?”
“With any luck, they’re in hell.”
The gangster’s eyebrow rose slowly.
Danny’s heart went wild. This was dangerous. So dangerous. He may as well have spat in the man’s face and cursed his mother.
Perhaps not the wisest thing to do when he was in a locked underground office with a powerful gangster and not the faintest clue how to get back to street level.
But he didn’t take it back.
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
RJ ScottWriting love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
Meredith Russell lives in the heart of England. An avid fan of many story genres, she enjoys nothing less than a happy ending. She believes in heroes and romance and strives to reflect this in her writing. Sharing her imagination and passion for stories and characters is a dream Meredith is excited to turn into reality.
Author and artist Jordan Castillo Price is the owner of JCP Books LLC. Her paranormal thrillers are colored by her time in the midwest, from inner city Chicago, to small town Wisconsin, to liberal Madison.
Jordan is best known as the author of the PsyCop series, an unfolding tale of paranormal mystery and suspense starring Victor Bayne, a gay medium who's plagued by ghostly visitations. Also check out her new series, Mnevermind, where memories are made...one client at a time.
With her education in fine arts and practical experience as a graphic designer, Jordan set out to create high quality ebooks with lavish cover art, quality editing and gripping content. The result is JCP Books, offering stories you'll want to read again and again.
Lacey DaizeLacey lives in New Mexico with her four critters. She’s a Jill-of-all-trades by day, but loves writing in her spare time. She dabbles in a variety of pairings, but jumped feet-first into the deep end of omegaverse the first time she read it. She loves the play on social expectations and the different ways to express romance.
L.A. Witt and her husband have been exiled from Spain and sent to live in Maine because rhymes are fun. She now divides her time between writing, assuring people she is aware that Maine is cold, wondering where to put her next tattoo, and trying to reason with a surly Maine coon. Rumor has it her arch nemesis, Lauren Gallagher, is also somewhere in the wilds of New England, which is why L.A. is also spending a portion of her time training a team of spec ops lobsters. Authors Ann Gallagher and Lori A. Witt have been asked to assist in lobster training, but they "have books to write" and "need to focus on our careers" and "don't you think this rivalry has gotten a little out of hand?" They're probably just helping Lauren raise her army of squirrels trained to ride moose into battle.
Davidson King
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
RJ Scott
Jordan Castillo Price
Lacey Daize
LA Witt
War of the Wicked by Davidson King
It's All Relative by Jordan Castillo Price
The Venetian and the Rum Runner by LA Witt
