Fate's Dice : Chicago's Finest : A Mafia Romance Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by V. Domino

  Cover Design: V. Domino

  Interior Formatting: V. Domino

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  FIRST EDITION

  ISBN: 9798568033059

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Dedicated to anyone who has ever let fate be your guide.

  It’s freeing to let go.

  _____________

  Special thanks to three special people.

  My husband, thank you for doing whatever it took to keep us above water.

  My best friend and fellow author, Eleanor Aldrick. Thank you for spending hours with me, encouraging me to fight through my battles. You’re my ride or die.

  Bookstagrammer, Mary, for literally falling in love with

  my stories and giving me the best tips to make them even better.

  **TRIGGER WARNING**

  Before continuing, please be aware that the Chicago’s Finest series contains graphic violence, power control, explicit sexual content, kidnapping, and attempted sexual assault. Each book is on different levels in terms of triggers, but all contain them. This book has cussing, alcohol, cigarette and drug use and is for mature readers only.

  Thank you!

  My name is Dice Garza. I’m an average girl riding the waves of life and hoping to touch land one day. So, when fate rolled her dice, dropping tall, dark, and fuck me, into my life… I had to admit, I enjoyed the view.

  Leo Alonso is the Mafia Don of the Alonso Familia.and for some reason, its me he wants.

  Just when I think things are starting to look up in my life, enemies of my family’s past begin to stalk me.

  Lurking in the shadows, my father’s obsessive killer watches me, salivating for a chance to snuff out my light.

  Finding my placeby Leo’s side comes with it’s own set of problems.

  When the dust settles and the light begins to shine once more, will the rug be pulled from beneath us?

  Fate rolled her dice and I’m not sure I can survive.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘SICK AND TIRED’ IANN DIOR

  Sometimes it's during the tedious tasks in your daily routine that you find yourself in the wildest situations. Yes, it's very fucking rare you'll find yourself in one of those crazy scenarios you imagine while sweeping floors, or something as equally mind numbing and dull, but once in a while, fate has a sick sense of humor.

  For me, it was while I was wiping off fingerprints and other strange smudges from the plexiglass of the teller's window, that fate dropped tall dark and fuck me into my life.

  Only, this guy wore a suit and a ski mask.

  Recently, I quit my job as a club dancer because I was tired of all the hours and sleazy assholes. There’s just not enough money to be made when the clientele is worth shit.

  I was asked by my mother, Raquel, to step in for her at her work when she fell on the job and severely sprained her ankle. She doesn't have health insurance because shit is crazy expensive here in Chicago.

  The bank she works for isn't much of a bank. It's more like a place to cash your peewee checks without a lot of questions. The fast-food version of banks.

  They pay my mother every week under the table, but unlike other companies who take advantage of the poor souls, this bank does its best to treat her fairly. Alas, there's nothing they can do to help her with medical. In order not to lose her job, I stepped in for her so here I am, cleaning before opening hours at the ass crack of dawn.

  Popping in my wired earbuds—yes, this bitch doesn't have Apple, I have oranges; I swipe my phone and begin playing my favorite music while daydreaming of a better life.

  'Sick and Tired' by Iann Dior and MGK blasts through my head as I dance and empty the trash bins before putting in fresh bags.

  This song is just so perfect, the words speak to me like nothing else.

  Though I’m an adult with a job and social life, I've never fit in. I've tried many things in my short twenty-two years, trying to find who I am as a woman; dating, partying, job jumping… but I still haven’t found me.

  In all honesty, I'm just floating.

  I let the waves of life take me back and forth. I’ve given up fighting against the current, I just hope one day, a wave that’s big enough—strong enough—will help me touch land.

  I didn't graduate because I needed to help my mom make rent and bills or we'd be fucked. She always fought me on dropping out, but as much as I wanted to go to college, my mother's sanity mattered most. I can always take online classes one day, for now I just want to keep her from an early grave.

  Something my father should have done but he walked out on us before I was born. I shake my head from those angering thoughts.

  Our small one-bedroom apartment is a little hole in the wall, but it's home. It's where I was born, literally, and its four walls have seen every tear I've spilled along with every moment of joy.

  My mother and I used to share the bed, but we haven't since I grew boobs and couldn't fit next to her on the twin-size mattress any longer. I tried buying a queen-size but, even used, they are expensive and we're already living paycheck-to-paycheck, so I just steam-cleaned a new-to-me twin size and created a wall from a shower curtain in the living room.

  God, my life sounds pitiful, but I have to say, my mom created a life of unconditional love within our little home.

  Though I want more for her, I'd be lying if I said I was unhappy.

  Sure, we don’t have all the latest electronics or high-end clothing, but I have a lot compared to others in the hood.

  Hell, I have more than some rich kids.

  Money doesn't buy it all. I've seen some people who have money spilling from their ears, but they lack a warm and loving home.

  Sometimes, money covers your eyes, and you miss the beauty before you.

  Still, I wouldn’t mind rolling in it.

  I spray some watered-down window solution along the plexiglass divider, scrubbing at the damn smudges, annoyed with the stubborn marks.

  What the hell do the customers do to get these prints all over the glass? The fuck… are these lip prints? There are some crazy ass people in the ghetto.

  Shaking my head, I finish with the outside and use the key to open the door to the teller's area. I avoid the computers and desks like my mother instructed me and restart the process of cleaning the inside of the windows. Thankfully, they're less dirty.

  The beat of the music has me stopping and closing my eyes, swaying and dancing along. Head banging like the little emo I am at heart.

  I grab new paper towels from my little basket and turn back to the windows to wipe them down before the cleaner dries. As I turn back, however, the bottle and rags slip from my hands and a scream lodges itself in my throat.

  There’s a man standing on the other side of the plexiglass wearing a ski mask with a gun in his hand. Not just in his hand either, but he has the barrel poking through the hole in the glass. What the fuck is the point of having bullet proof glass when there’s a gaping hole? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  My heart is pounding as I watch his mouth move with whatever he’s saying, but the music keeps me from hearing his words.

  Threats to my life, no doubt.

 
I quickly pull the earbuds out and hold my hands up, "Please, don't shoot."

  I'm trembling and doing my best to hold my pee in, I should have used the restroom earlier. Fucking hell. Why did this have to happen to me?

  "Then do as I say, and you'll walk away just fine."

  Even his voice makes me tremble with fear.

  It's deep and smooth. Not gravelly, but almost like he could be a rock singer or an audiobook actor.

  Or a fucking bank robber, Dice.

  I nod my head as I continue to stare into his pitch-black eyes.

  He’s tall and has a broad chest and linebacker shoulders. The suit, yes, the fucker is robbing a bank while wearing a suit, is tailored made to fit him perfectly.

  The pinstripe material hugs his muscular arms snuggly and the two top buttons of his white dress shirt are open, allowing me to see his Adam's apple bob as he looks me up and down.

  I swallow in trepidation as my heart beats in my ears.

  I try to step back but he maneuvers the gun, pointing it directly at me, "Don’t fuck up, doll. Slowly, go to the door and let me in."

  He juts his chin at the door to the side.

  My body is quaking, and my voice comes out like a shaky gasp, "I can’t open the door. If I do, the alarms will go off and the cameras capture everything."

  None of that is true, this rinky-dink place doesn’t even have a recording feature on their security system. It’s all a false sense of security.

  He doesn't know that, though.

  Ski Mask smirks and the action pulls my attention to his lips. They’re plump and full, the kind that women all over the place either photoshop into their selfies or pay crazy amounts of money for.

  His lips are seductive, and I just know they manipulate every woman he’s ever had in his bed.

  Charming them with smiles, spewing smooth words to melt their hearts and fog their minds. But they can, and most likely will, cut you down and flay you open with venomous words.

  My heart rate picks up when he calls me on my lie, "I know this place, doll. The cameras don't record, and the door is as plain as you."

  Ouch. What an asshole.

  "Now get your ass over there and open it before I shoot your fucking hand."

  Fuck, I don’t want to let him in. Maybe if I just act like I’m going to open the door, but instead, I duck and run?

  But to where? The only other way out is the back door, and to get there I’d have to run right through the direction of this gun. No, I better just do as he says and pray he doesn’t kill me.

  Keeping my eyes on him, I slide the key into the lock and breathe deeply. I have no weapons and seeing as how I just want to survive this shit; I decide to just play his game and live to tell the tale. I turn the key and open the door before gripping the keys tightly and stepping to the side.

  The guy grabs me by the nape of my neck to keep me in front of him, but my street fighter comes out. Well, that might be an exaggeration, squirm and worm while swinging wildly sounds more legit.

  I twist and swing my hand out, holding the keyring. One of the keys scrapes across his exposed neck but he grabs my wrist with ease. The angry red scratch on his neck has done nothing but anger him. He shoves me up against the wall with our chests flushed and his gun under my chin.

  "Listen, doll. I have little patience and seeing as how no one will be here for the next couple of hours, you better do as I say before you die in this ratty place."

  I can feel his heart racing against my chest, matching the pace of my own. His covered face hovers close and I can see that his eyes really are black as night. I can't even see the pupils. His breath fans across my face and thankfully it smells like fresh mint. I’d hate the puke all over him and really piss him off.

  When I don’t acknowledge his threat, he pulls me from the wall before slamming back against it and leaning in closer than before.

  I don’t see why he slammed me though. Aside from scaring me, he didn’t cause me real pain.

  He probably hurt his hand more than me since it’s cupping the back of my head, so the wall didn’t make contact with my skull. Either way, it scared me enough to pull a whimper from me and push my tears over my lashes.

  I lick my lips before replying, and my tongue accidently grazes his lower lip. I freeze further at the contact, but it’s his growl that has my eyes squeezing shut.

  "Okay, okay!" I squeak out before he shoves off me.

  My eyes fly open at the loss of his body weight against mine.

  As I go where he guides me with his hand to my neck, I mentally berate myself.

  Chill the hell out, Dice. Play it cool and survive.

  He hasn’t hurt me, manhandled me, yes but he hasn’t hurt me. That doesn't mean he isn't a complete psycho.

  Mr. black eyes guides me to the six-foot-tall safe inside the little storage closet at the back of the room. He goes right to it like he knew it was there.

  Has this guy been casing this place?

  Once we're inside the small room, he turns me to face him, "Put your hands on top of your head and lace your fingers together. If I see you move at all, it won't be good for you, doll."

  "Dice. My name is Dice.” Fuck! What the hell is the matter with me? Like this dick needs any information on me!

  The guy shakes his head and watches me follow his demands. Once he's satisfied that I won't move, he yanks off his mask and starts spinning the dial on the safe.

  I don't pay attention to the fact that he knows the code or that his gun is no longer in view, instead, I'm focused on his profile.

  What the hell is this guy doing as a thief? He’s fucking gorgeous. Annoyingly so.

  He's not the pretty boy most girls go for, he's rugged and dangerous looking. His nose is straight but looks like it's been broken once before, making him look like the gladiators of old. His jaw is sharp and covered in a clean five o'clock shadow that seems to be his style.

  He opens the safe and starts gathering the cash inside, stuffing the bundles into the pockets of his coat.

  "What kind of guy, dressed to the nines, robs a shitty place like this?" My cheeks flame with my word vomit and I wish I could become invisible. Since I can’t, I keep my chin up with false bravado.

  He turns to me while continuing to stuff money into his pockets, "The kind who does what the fuck he wants."

  I scan his face and almost groan at how handsome he is. He looks a few years older than me, but his scruff gives off an older vibe. His face is oddly symmetrical in a way that makes me want to punch him, and his curly black hair gives me the urge to pull on it. Don't ask.

  "What kind of girl, that looks like you, works as a janitor?"

  I bristle at his mocking tone and it makes my lip curl, "The kind who works for a living instead of stealing."

  He slams the safe closed, making me jump, and turns to face me fully. He's a tall motherfucker. All muscles with a snarl on his handsome face.

  "Well, Dice. I really don't give a shit if you find my lifestyle honorable or not. You know fuck all about me."

  He grabs me from my arm and pulls me once more. Oh fuck, is he going to kill me now? Is that why he took off his mask?

  Dead girls can't tell tales. The thought makes my legs shake.

  Damn, my day just went to shit.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘MONEY TREES’ KENDRICK LAMAR

  To say that I'm frightened out of my mind would not only be an understatement, but it would be horribly laughable.

  This guy tore off his mask and showed me his face as he robbed the bank. Why? Because I will not be alive to point him out anyway, so what does it matter?

  "Please, if you're going to kill me, at least let me call my mom."

  Black Eyes stops pulling me when we get to the door and turns to face me, "You can call Raquel after you call the police."

  "W-what? Wait, how do you know my mom's name and why are you having me call the cops? Seems a little backward." The word vomit won’t stop, "Is this your first tim
e robbing a place?"

  He rolls his eyes at my question, "It doesn’t matter. No more questions. You're going to call the cops and tell them a masked man robbed the bank. I'm going to stand right here while you do it too. I want to hear what you say to them." He leans down close to my face again and I'm tempted to flick his lip with my tongue just to make him move back.

  Whoa, calm down, bitch.

  "When they get here, Dice Garza, you better stick to the story or I'll regret leaving you alive." He grabs my chin with his thumb and finger, tilting my face to the side, "I'd hate to kill you, doll."

  With my heart pounding in my ears, he leans in impossibly closer and brushes his lips at the corner of my mouth and my core tightens with heat. Hello lady-boner, I think to myself as I inhale his heady scent.

  "Now call the fucking cops." He says as he pushes my face back and I stumble a little.

  Flustered with anger and disturbingly turned on, I grab the office phone with a little more force than necessary and dial 911.

  A bored as hell voice comes through the line after ringing one too many times, "Chicago PD, do you need fire, rescue or police?"

  "Police." My answer comes out in a growl which only makes the gorgeous prick before me smirk.

  "What seems to be the problem, ma'am?" Damn, this lady sounds like she'd watch the world burn while filing her nails.

  "Some prick with a mask just robbed the bank I'm working in." I glare at the now stoic looking man. My fear has turned into nothing but contempt for this asshole. And a little bit of intrigue. I grind my teeth with disgust at the thought.

  The lady asks for the address and if the robber is still on the scene, "No, he ran off like a little bitch looking for his next fix."

  When I hang up, the asshole grabs me by the throat and pushes me against the wall once more, "You seem to take this as a joke, I assure you it is not. If you speak one little word, I won't kill you, I'll kill your mother, then I'll come after you. Got it?"