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This is a work of fiction from the Author’s imagination.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner without written permission from the author except in the

case of brief quotations for reviews or fan made articles.

Any names resembling any living person is purely coincidental.

First Edition. May 28th 2020

Written by Shan R.K

www.shanrk.com

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

UNION OF DEATH

First edition. May 30, 2020.

ISBN: 978-1393213833

Written by Shan R.K.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Also by Shan R.K

Catch Me, If You Can

Shock Me Twice

Love Hate and Billions

Kylie Bray

Secrets Of The Famiglia

Capo Dei Capi

Union of Death

Queen Of Killers

Conception Of Truth

The Angel Descendants

House Of Legions

The Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club

Beggar

River's Keeper

Zero

Beauty's Breath

Killer

Sienna (Coming Soon)

The Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club Book Bundles

The Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club Book 1 - 4

Standalone

Faces Of You

Watch for more at Shan R.K’s site.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Also By Shan R.K

Dedication

Union of Death (Secrets Of The Famiglia, #2)

Prelude

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24 | Marco

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

I dedicate this book to you, the reader, because you are amazing. And if it weren't for your support and time you take to read my work and review it, this, my dream of sharing amazing stories would just be that.

You are special, so when you read this book, know I wrote it for you.

“Emotions make a man do crazy things. But a woman is a demon without it.”

Prelude

Aliyana

Leonardo da Vinci once wrote, Black is like a broken vessel, which is deprived of the capacity to contain anything. I wonder what he thought of the color white. Did he think it was a sign of purity? Or did he too look upon whiteness as a false brightness, a lie?

2-years-ago if I stood on this very podium, with this man across from me, I would have smiled similar to the way I am now. The white dress hugging my body then a promise of honesty and trust as I glowed with a warmth knotting my stomach walls.

Only then, my smile would’ve been comfortable, wrapped in genuine joy, because then I loved him. At that stage in my life, he was my world and I would have laid myself on the floor where he walked with his blood-stained soles. And I would have done it naked, ready to bare myself to this one man with a smile on my face.

A smile that wasn’t bold, or soaked with the whisper of revenge. My heart would have beat with love, and not in the threat that now lurks outside these Church walls, waiting with finite patience that would soon be over. This marriage is no fairy-tale.

Yes, this entire scene once had the potential to be the perfect imagery of a great folklore tale where the devil married his angel. But I am not the angel, I’m the bad one.

Since I am going for honesty, I should also point out that this man is not the devil. The devil was once an angel. Marco Catelli has never known a day of what it feels like to be pure.

He only knows evil, hurt, pain, and hatred. And the only greatness in this entire Church is my hate for this one man, my future husband.

He lifts my hand, enclosing it in his own. I need not look into the crowd to know the women are glaring at me in disgust and jealousy. I am marrying a Catelli.

The few PEOPLE happy about this union are old and might think Marco’s hand over mine means he loves me. But I assure you, love is not the case of point. He is squashing my hand, his cynical eyes are stabbing me to death, over and over again.

Marco Catelli is showing me he will soon have power over me.

This isn’t a Union of Love; this is the Union of Death. Marco isn’t marrying me for the life he claims to breed with me in the foreseeable future. He is marrying me to avenge the one he has already claimed as his own. He is slipping this ring on my finger because I am the one with the tools he now needs in his arsenal to start a war.

I am the last choice. His last step into the darkness. And my inevitable early grave is the only solace he offers.

My father told me Marco was obsessed with the idea of me. But I know that is not true, Marco Catelli’s only obsession is feeding his addiction to power. It has blinded him to the extent that he can’t see, that I, Aliyana Capello his future bride, is his most dangerous enemy.

If he thinks I am going to just allow him to use me, I will relish in his misery when he realizes I am not the mouse he was so in love with. Camilla Moretti was foolish and whatever led her to her untimely death was her own doing.

She wanted to play a game with the wrong players and like Ren; they took her out like a pawn:- worthless and dispensable.

But for me, I have gained Queen status. I am as evil and cunning as Marco’s biggest adversary, Lucca Sanati. The man they all search for. A man who chose to make an enemy out of me when he took someone he was not supposed to touch.

“Do you take Marco Catelli to be your lawfully wedded husband, through sickness and in health, until you both shall live?” The word no comes to my lips. I should say it.

My true-love remains buried in a shallow grave that is still wet, in the middle of nowhere thanks to this man. I should say no. I look at him, his clean-shaven jaw, harder than I remember it. Those obsidian eyes that once burned with so much heat, I felt touched by the sun, now empty, freeze me in that my skin is still covered in Goosebumps from the time I arrived here, 37 minutes ago.

“Yes,” I say it and like a tick of a clock my fake smile drops.

It boggles my mind how one simple word can have such a life-altering outcome to one’s life. Is that what my existence has now come down to? Is that all that my freedom meant? One word and it is all gone. Sold at a low cost of pride to the man with the biggest title. How shallow has it all become? And I have said yes, sealed it all, and now I am the official Mrs. Catelli.

I take a deep breath, as the flashes of last night remind me of why I am here, and I tell myself that biding my time is my only option.

The ring my father chose comes into view by my small cousin Bernardino and as I take it my eyes drift to the man sitting in the front of the Church row, my father, my jailer who just gave me away.

A deep throat clears and my heart beats in equal measures of fear and nerves as I face my soon to be husband and hold the hand that just hours ago, left the mark on my neck. Funny isn’t it. What is hilarious is I slip the band on his finger knowing full well that he is not yet done with me.

It is sad that a tear betrays me, as it slips down the side of my cheek. Life can sometimes be a cruel joke.

How did it all come to this? When did I make the wrong choice?

My name is Aliyana Capello, daughter of Consigliere Sartini Capello, and today on June 23rd, 2014, I became the wife of Marco Catelli, The Capo Dei Capi of the 5th State.

The man who killed my lover, best friend, and who now wishes to kill me. And this is my confession.

Chapter 1

Camilla

6-years-Old

––––––––

AMERICA, THE PLACE where dreams come true and white picket fences are a must.

“Miss Moretti, your grandfather sends his apologies but he will not be coming to your birthday. He said to enjoy the evening.”

“Couldn’t he have just called and told me that himself,” I say to Ridwano, my 2nd bodyguard, or was he the first?

“Scusi Signorina.” Sorry Miss.

I sigh but say nothing else, as the car continues to travel along the road of no real destination.

There is pros and cons that come with the title of Dante Moretti’s granddaughter.

Pro’s were far and few between because the con’s always slapped me right in the face. Today is no different, only today instead of wasting this chance I am embracing it.

“Can you drop me off at the hotel.”

The driver doesn’t question me and I don’t turn my face from the street lights and bustling cars of Washington DC. I’m 23 today. 1 year to add to my growing hate of my Grandfather and another year to add to the loss of my parents and brother.

We arrive at the hotel just before 8pm and in a way, I am glad and relieved to just get inside. Sliding out of the Bentley, a standard car if your Grandfather is the Godfather of the underworld, I rush to the door.

“Miss Moretti, you are back early, did you enjoy your dinner?” The door man asks me as he opens the door to lead me in. He is a short chubby man, around 50. He reminds me of someone I met on my trip to Alaska last September.

“I did thank you. Do you have a bar around here?” My long dress is not the perfect bar outfit but it is definitely me. A mafia princess

“Certainly, this way.” I move toward the door he’s ushering me to and spot the dim lights and mirrored beams before I enter the cosy place.

“Thank you.” I signal the bodyguard which is closest to me to tip the guy.

The place has a vanilla scent which hits my nose as I enter and make my way closer to the bar where I sit down. The bartender is a handsome bulky man, maybe in his late 30’s.

“What can I get for the lady.”

“3-fingers-whiskey, anything black will do, 16-years or older.”

“Coming up.” The shelves surrounding the bar is designed in a pyramid of cherry wood finishes. Hundreds of bottles of alcohol are stacked around the expanse, catering to a truly wide variety of customers.

“Give her a Jameson Jacob.” The deep voice comes from the other end of the bar and my eyes fray to the man who now holds my attention.

“Are you the manager or something?” I am genuinely curious.

“Or something.” He is hidden in a shade of light so it is hard to make out his face but his voice is deep, dry. He must be one hell of a man.

I get off my chair and make my way toward him as my guard’s start approaching. I send them a signal with my fingers to relax. I don’t want them ruining an evening before it hasn’t even begun. I get closer to the man and that is when I see the uniform.

“You are a soldier? Wow, I didn’t see that coming. I’ve never met an American soldier in my life.”

He says nothing but when I sit next to him and smile, he stares at me with dark intense eyes.

“What brings an English woman like yourself to this fine dine, dressed like that?”

“It’s my birthday, so I thought I would dress up and leave my castle and have a drink with a handsome man. And not that it makes an inkling of a difference to you, but I am actually Italian.” His face is clean shaven. His head is cropped short and a tattoo is visible on his scalp but the dim lighting in this particular area makes him seem like a vivid dream.

The Bartender brings my drink over to this side and as I take a much-needed sip my eyes stain his handsome face with lust.

“Two Italians in a bar. What are the chances. Like what you looking at?” He asks me and a laugh bubbles in the back of my throat.

“I’m still looking, I will let you know when I am done.”

“You don’t strike me as an ordinary Italian, you sound and look British, are you here for holiday?”

“It’s the hair. I changed it to red. And yes and no. I came to visit some family. I thought I would surprise my cousin, and he would be all smiles to see me but I missed him. It seems like he left for London with the intention of surprising me. And yes, I like what I see.”

“The nights still young, who knows what can happen.” When he says that my entire body heats up at his not so subtle hint. I have never been an exhibitionist but tonight staring at this man I know he was about to change that.

“If I’m going to miss my plane for you, I should get a name.”

“You first.”

“Marco.”

A man walks toward us with a tray in his hand that has a cell phone on top of it, interrupting our conversation.

“Sir, your brother is on the phone.”

His eyes stare me down and a flicker of recognition shifts my lust into something deeper. Could it be?

“Tell my brother something has come up.”

“Yes sir.”

I smile as a swamp of nerves rushes through my body as the boy I have loved since I was 8 years old sits across from me with want and doesn’t recognize me at all.

“Do I get that name?”

“It depends, how badly you want it.”

Chapter 2

Aliyana

Present day

The darkness can be the setting for one's nightmare or the sign of one’s escape. There are instances between life and death, decisions we need to make.

Only when we are weighing our options thinking we chose the most plausible of the lot, we have no idea that the selections we end up making, can sometimes have drastic consequences.

Like the people who killed my friend, Ren. They had no idea when they pulled that trigger, we were going to catch up to them so easily. Stupid people. The one who betrayed us had no inclination that we would ever find out.

We have, well, I have. And right now, I am the one with the trump card. But showing my hand too early would not be wise so I bite my tongue. Waiting.

The long skinny brush hangs by the tails end through my nimble fingers as the brown colored tip glides across the roughened canvas, reminding me, how easy one small simple judgment can influence a vast amount of other aspects. We are the product of our choices. And most of the time we screw it up, royally.

What we do, what we say, where we end up is all part of who we choose. Yes, who. Because it all comes down to you verse everyone else.

Like this painting, I chose the brown thinking it was going to bring a balance to the grey clouds, but all it brings is duller, faded shades of grief.

In the not too different past, I assumed that life wasn’t a nomination of oneself but the rulings of the ones around me. My opinion on that changed, the day Marco Catelli walked out of my life. My ‘take’ on a lot of things have changed since then. Including my interpretation on the word ‘art’. Once a form of indulgence, now my promise of vengeance. How easily is the heart tainted by its adversary, rejection.

There are internal landmarks since the day Marco walked out on me. Days when I feel a hollowness, like I'm missing something so full. Yes, full, because it is all I can feel, it is all I want to feel. Fulfilment

Only now I am full of pain and nothingness.

I push it back, as that thick lodging in my throat reminds me of how empty I am, and how pale my existence has become. In the darkness of my bedroom I convince myself I’d wake up, I’d be numb, the pain I feel would be a passing and all that matters now and mattered before would be here, in my world.

All those people would be around, smiling at me, looking me in the eyes and telling me that it was just a dream. Yes, it would be one heck of a choice to believe this is a dream, to convince myself that my life, my lack thereof is a bad nightmare.

But life never works that way. Life is meant to be difficult. Smooth sailing is a joke, nothing is ever simple, and if anyone tries convinces you different, then I suggest you have your Glock against their head for spewing shit to you. Because life is hard, your battles aren’t like everyone else but doesn’t make them any less real.

In the 5th State it is more than hard, it is a dangerous ride just being born. Add in the extras and you got yourself a life fit for a villain.

And that is a normal conversation amongst our kind. Talk about someone getting whacked, or your uncle Benny just dropping off the face of the earth.

Even I will brush it off as one of those things. Because that is what the underworld is about, and us, the women born in this darkness take it up the ass even though we are not working class.

And we will not settle for anything else than our brand of fucked up. We only know one way. And even if you are stupid enough to want different, the men will find you and haul your ass right back where it came from and then you are fucked.

Ask Rosa Marchesi, the infamous Italian girl who fell in love with a diplomat’s son who sold her out to her family. He chose his safety over her heart. It was a good choice, we have to choose ourselves to survive in the 5th State. Even a normal boy figured that out. It is a pity selling someone out is considered bad manners though, else he would still be alive.

But 24-year-old Rosa is. She’s now a myth, a story without a proper face. Some say she is a slave to her parents, who keep her locked up in their home. Others say she is the lucky one who got it easy and lives in a mansion near Malibu.

But either way, no one has seen the girl in years. Like my cousin, Rosco. My mouth tilts at the thought of our last interaction just a few days ago. My ‘presumably’ dead cousin, now a biker named Knight. How small is the earth we claim as our home?

Squinting my eyes, I bend my neck to pay close attention to the rustic chair I’m currently painting into life, as the cold air seeps through my jersey. I twirl my brush, making sure I get the perfect curl around the chairs back. I would need to add in some gold, yellow and black, with a few touches of white mixed in to get the perfect antique look I was wanting to portray.

My finger shakes as I use my tiny brush to get the corner end of the chair perfect to my naked eye.

Yes, it all comes down to options. Decisions, decisions. The wind blows my crouched, awkward form as my lips tug at how every day is a new day, making way for a fresh start. Even us, criminals, evil killers, the tortured ones, get that fresh start. The beginning of something new, the chance to choose different.

It is our own fault we remain the same. We still pick that gun up, we still smile, relishing in that sickness we are born with for the taste of death, for the taste of ending someone's life. And come Sunday morning, like this morning at 9am we go to church.

We are the ones who pray to god and return vigilantly to mass confessing our sins and asking god if we repent will he forgive us, but in actual reality we are the worst of the disbelievers, we are the sinners, the ones who are convinced they have the authority to take a life, to play god.

The truth is when we have that gun in our hands, we feel like we are god, we feel powerful. It is the reason we allow our anger to lead to where it goes. It is the excuse we tell ourselves when we beat another person because they didn’t fit in with our plans. And I, Aliyana Capello am a sinner just like the rest of them.

I am just one of the few who acknowledge that I am better because of it. Free, because I have not strayed from my path, I have not craved goodness as I have craved the love of a man, the feeling of want.

I have not become so weak that I have forgotten who I am and what I am meant to be. Nor have I forgotten the blood that runs through my veins is not just belonging to the Italian Famiglia but Bratva, a strong Russian syndicate, that many fear.

I am not just a member of theirs, but I am a member of the Vasiliev clan and it is time I started acting like one.

For a long time, I wanted to fit in with the Famiglia, and that want blindsided me from the other part of my heritage.

My mother chose to remain a member of the Bratva, and for years I thought it was to keep my sister safe but I realize now it was more than that. She didn’t want to abandon who she was; her identity was more than her marriage. Her love for herself outweighed her desire to please my father.

A lot can happen when your eyes are open, when you can finally see, only then you understand it all.

By then you are finally free to feel and to purge all that anger, hate, pain and love out. It is only once you have finally stopped and understood that life isn’t about what other people want. It is about you, what you want, who you want and I don’t want a man who chooses someone over me.

I want a lover who is unafraid of reason, who stands tall in those things that don’t make sense and who isn’t scared away by the thought of loving me. And I deserve that feeling of completeness.

And right now, that lover is me.

“I say we ditch the whole formal vibe and do a retro theme. Ky would love it, you can get that girl Diane to organize it.”

“I’m not feeling Retro. When I agreed to this Ky, said small. Now, I’m sensing big.”

“True, but we not havin’ the party just for you, your birthday is just an excuse to have a party, things are pretty boring recently.”

“If we are going for Retro we should have it at Cristen, the place looks akin to a 60’s club.” My new favorite place.

When Deno and Marco asked us to frequent the place, I admit I was lost and didn’t know what to believe.

Whether I could trust the Misfits, I’m still not sure. Nobody wants to admit when the people who are supposed to be our most trusted allies turn out to be strangers. Even when the answers are staring you right in the face.

But a few months ago, that all changed when I had to face facts. If Romero, Michel or Gabriel killed Ren, what was the reason and did it mean that I would be next? We all learned to fight together, shoot, aim and leave no fingerprints unless you are framing someone. Everything we have done up until this point has been all of us.

However, I learned a bit more than them when it came to smelling a rat. It was something my father instilled in me from a young age. Because it might just save my ass one day.

And since I started frequenting Cristen, I smelled a big rat, every time I stepped foot in that place.

“How much longer? If I am going to be stuck like this for another half-hour at least give me a darn chocolate or somethin’,” Diamond whines from the deck. Her hair drapes down her back like a golden satin cloth.

“I can HEAR you nagging like a banshee all the way from the kitchen. I brought your darn chocolate,” Kylie walks in to the backyard, wearing a yellow and blue bikini that does wonders for her breasts.

The same breast that looks a cup size bigger than I remember it. Her body is tall, but where Diamond is a barely there 17-year-old girl still growing into her womanhood, Kylie Bray is all woman.

Her hips are on the curvy side, but not too much that makes her take the hour glass shape. Her breasts are small but full, and her long legs that are currently shining and dark shoulder length hair that drowns in health brings no doubt that she is in fact a pure-bred rich girl.

The tray she is currently balancing with cocktails I know has more alcohol than it does anything else, proves why she is genuinely the best person I know by far.

“If this drink doesn’t add some zing to your ming, Liya, I don’t know what will. And stop staring at my boobs. I’m going to think you want to touch them or somethin’.”

Diamond laughs when my cheeks go pink as my own laugh comes out in a soft giggle.

“Do you wanna touch my boobs Liya? I would touch yours if you want.” Kylie’s make shift sultry voice has me splattering my paint on the floor as I put it down and Diamond half falling off her chair, I was currently painting for the last 2 hours.

“I leave you girls for an hour and you turn gay,” Deno walks to the back yard from the side of the house. His cream chino’s and loose shirt is not the attire I saw him in this morning.

Kylie winks at me as she puts the tray down on the side table near Diamond and pulls her long jersey over her bikini.

“What on earth are you ever talking about? Since when did a woman offerin’ another woman a feel of her chest considered gay? This is the 21st Century, boob touching is a thing now.”

Deno smiles, and taking the bait walks closer toward us, “And does this ‘thing’ extend to say, a man like myself?”

Diamond laughs louder, teasing “Yeah, Ky-Ky, does it extend to a man like Deno.”

Kylie’s face turns shell shocked and I can’t take my poor friend lost for words as her big brown eyes remain in a frozen state. Dumb founded is the correct thing to say.

“What the fuck is going on here? Kylie, it is 4-degrees, why are you half naked?” Vincent questions Kylie as he walks in. It is laughable how small the world actually is. The guy is cute, with light brown hair and sharp Texan farm boy features coated in olive skin. Kylie describes him as, rough and ready.

His Italian heritage hints in his slightly bent nose, that Kylie insist is straight and his long eye lashes she swears is masculine.

Deno rolls his hazel gaze and scratches his neck before slipping his hands into his slacks. The entire pose is chilled and relaxed as he gives his attention to his cousin with a grin plastered on his clean-shaven jaw.

“I thought I said stay in the car. The ladies were having a private moment. Now you ruined it with your mouth.”

“We need to leave, Marco just called, said it was an asap,” Vincent says the one word I don’t like to hear. I am not sure whether it is his warning tone or the fact that it is only 11 in the morning. But the hidden meaning behind his words has my shackles on high alert. Something is going on, question is what?

“Well, ladies, let us get to it.” Deno walks over to my messy designated work area, and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Kylie makes a terrible hand sign that involves her mouth, tongue and fingers.

Deno thankfully doesn’t see it and turns to leave, but stops, “Before I go, your sister is having dinner at the Manor TOMORROW evening and has decided to stay the weekend. Illaria and Natasha don’t get along, so we decided to skip the parents and make it for the siblings only. You would need to join. Kylie and Diamond, you are of course both welcome as well.”

“I can’t. My momma wants Diamond and I to haul ass to Liston from the 20th.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us. Tell Sienna I said Hi if she decides to join you ladies. Haven’t heard from her in a while.”

“Will do sugar. Though I highly doubt I would be seeing Sienna. That girl got a lot of explaining to do once she decides to show her face.

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 08.03.2023
ISBN: 978-3-7554-3499-3

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