Enjoy Chapter One of my dark mafia romance eBook «Untangle me». If you like it, there is a button at the end which brings you directly to this free romance eBook on Wattpad. If you want to start reading the whole book right away, follow this link 

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«Her striking green eyes meet mine, and I swear I feld my whole heart lurch»

First Chapter

Giada

I’m pushing through the busy sidewalks of New York City, my eyes on the ground and hood pulled low so it covers most of my face. Another nasty gust of wind slaps against me, making me pull my drenched jacket impossibly tighter around my middle. 

It’s raining cats and dogs. Of course, it is. Because the day wasn’t bad enough. On top of everything, I thought it was a good idea to go to work in nothing but a flimsy dress and my jacket this morning. 

To be fair, I couldn’t have known the weather would do a 180 when the sun was shining so happily up until noon. Well, could have if I had checked the weather app but my brain was too scattered for that. It’s one of my brain’s favorite traits these days but today is worse than normal.

I finally push through the door of my destination, a cute little flower shop I discovered on my way home a few days ago. Its neon sign, a big letter V, sprang to my eyes so offensively I wonder how I could have missed it before. Oh well, might be new. Not that I would know.

 The sweet scent of different flowers hits me like a truck but I’m too content to finally be inside to mind. I lower my hood and take a look around, knowing what to search for.

The shop is beautifully decorated, the flowers arranged neatly along the beige walls while warm light illuminates them from the top. A tall lady is standing behind the counter opposite the door. The shop doesn’t seem to be busy which makes it easy for the elderly woman to direct all her attention toward me. 

Only that she isn’t coming any closer or offering her help. Instead, she’s just staring at me, a smile frozen on her lips while her expression slowly falters. I stare back, scared she’s having a heart attack or something from the way she’s holding one hand over her chest. After a few tense seconds, I clear my throat.

«I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?» I ask, attempting a smile even though it feels foreign to the muscles on my face. God knows it’s been a while since I last smiled.

The woman snaps out of her stupor, slowly shaking her head before pulling herself together. «No, of course not. Pardon me, you just reminded me of someone,» she says, still searching my face as she comes closer. «How can I help you?» 

«I’m looking for Gladioli,» I tell her, already fighting back the lump in my throat. God, I’m pathetic. Eight months since I lost my father in that car accident and I still feel that unbearable weight clawing at my chest each time I think of him. 

If the saleswoman notices my shift in emotion, she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she nods absently and walks through a door behind the counter, leaving me to occupy myself. The woman’s gone for a suspiciously long time but just when I’m about to conclude that she doesn’t have my order, she comes back.

«Here you go. Just tell me which ones you prefer and I’ll finish wrapping them up,» she says. I don’t need to think about it before I tell her to take the white ones. They were my father’s favorites and the ones I watched him pick out for my mother’s grave a million times. Well, not her grave since that is in Italy but rather the little monument we set up for her in our backyard. 

I pay the lady for my flowers but she hesitates before handing them to me, glancing at the clock next to the door. An uncomfortable feeling twists my gut, the paranoia I’ve been suffering from since the accident, but I push it down.

«Is something wrong?» I ask the saleswoman as I carefully take the flowers from her hands. She’s staring at me again, the wrinkles on her skin deepening as she furrows her eyebrows. It takes too long for her to answer and when she does, her voice is nothing above a whisper.

«Giada?» 

My heart jumps in my throat and I take a staggering step back.

«How do you know my name?» I ask, trying to keep my voice even despite the nausea that rips through me in waves. That name. The name I haven’t told anyone in months. The name that only ever sprouts confusion.

 It’s been like this since the accident. Ever since I was diagnosed with retrograde amnesia. 

Of course, the diagnosis is bull. If it weren’t, I would have gotten my memories back long ago. All of them. But here I am, still without much recollection of the months or years before the car crash. 

«Do I know you?» I ask more frantically. So desperate to find anyone who can tell me about myself, about my accident. Anything that the police and news were so careful to cover up. 

The old lady doesn’t answer, her face ashen and motionless. It’s scary. So scary that I turn on my heels and flee the shop without another word. 

My breathing is erratic and my vision blurry with tears or rain, I’m not sure. I bump into many people as I quicken my pace, practically running from where I just came from. Mumbling incoherent apologies under my breath, I don’t stop long enough to see who the people are. I don’t stop at all until I’m no longer surrounded by people but high grass and water instead. I’ve reached Pelham Bay Park without realizing it.

My weak knees finally give out beneath me and I crumble on the wet ground, hands and knees digging into the dirt. My head is swimming with painful memories that stay just beyond my reach and I heave, emptying the contents of my stomach at once. 

When my throat is raw and I have nothing else to throw up, I crawl a few feet away and sit down. Fuck, this hasn’t happened in so long I forgot how bad it was. But this is exactly why I’ve stopped telling people my real name. It’s also why I changed and dyed my hair. Because I couldn’t stand the red, short strands that didn’t even reach my shoulders. I couldn’t recognize myself. I looked in the mirror and was faced with a stranger. A woman so different from what I remembered of myself.

So I dyed it back to my original blonde and made the stylist put in extensions that reach the middle of my back. That felt more like the version me I remember. The only version I have any pictures of, at least, since my phone was destroyed in the accident.

Seems everything in that car except for me suffered from fatal damage. 

I look at the flowers I got for my dad and more devastation crushes through me. It’s irrational, they’re just flowers but I can’t help it. I carefully gather the dirty and ruined plants in my hand as I bite back tears.

«I’m sorry,» I whisper, hoping my dad can’t see me from wherever he is. He’d be so disappointed, seeing the mess I’ve become after everything he did to raise me as a strong woman. 

I was only five when we moved from Italy to America where my father’s from. He raised me alone, put his personal life on hold completely so he could devote all his time to me whenever he wasn’t working.

«We found her.» The deep voice barely registers to me over the loud pounding of the rain but it’s enough to set every nerve of my body on edge. No one should be here. Not in this weather and not so far away from the paths of this park. 

I haven’t even decided whether I wanted to get to my feet and run or turn around to see who’s here when something wet is pushed roughly over my mouth and nose. 

I’m not stupid, I know I can’t inhale it so I hold my breath instead. Even though every nerve in my body is screaming at me to struggle against the man at my back. To push or lash out at him despite him being undeniably taller and probably stronger. 

Instead, I put on a show of writhing in his grip before I force my limbs to relax and my body to fall limp to the ground. The man releases me, probably assuming the drug has already knocked me out and I wait for only a second before reaching for my pepper spray. 

I use it blindly as I run away, letting his roar of pain guide me in the opposite direction. To the trees, I think desperately as heavy footsteps start gaining on me. I push my legs faster, my instincts taking over but I know it’s no use. 

Whoever’s after me isn’t alone. I can hear voices way too close. They’re faster than me and I have nothing else to defend myself with than my old pepper spray and the few tricks my father insisted on teaching me as a girl. 

It won’t be enough but at least I won’t go down without a fight. 

A heavy hand settles on my shoulder and whips me around, bringing me face to face with a six-foot-something man with arms bigger than my legs. I panic and try to twist his wrist but he doesn’t budge. I try to hit his arm or break his fingers but all to no avail. My attempts only seem to annoy the giant.

I know what he’s about to do even before his hand makes contact with my face and the world goes dark around me.

I pass out with a single name in my mind. 

Capo Crimini