Silken Chains: Dark Mafia Romance, page 1
Silken Chains
TANGLED DESIRES: Bloodline Mafia
Catalina Snow
Silken Chains – Book One, Tangled Desires: Bloodline Mafia
Copyright © 2023 by Catalina Snow
Cover Art by Lily Bear Design Co.
Editing by Enchanted Quill Press
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, recorded, or stored in any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without express written permission of the publisher, except for the brief quotation for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us: authorcatalinasnow@gmail.com
First Edition: September 2023
Printed in the U.S.A
Contents
Mailing List
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Prologue
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Chapter Twenty
21. Chapter Twenty-One
22. Chapter Twenty-Two
23. Chapter Twenty-Three
24. Chapter Twenty-Four
25. Chapter Twenty-Five
26. Chapter Twenty-Six
27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
30. Chapter Thirty
31. Chapter Thirty-One
32. Chapter Thirty-Two
33. Chapter Thirty-Three
34. Chapter Thirty-Four
35. Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
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Prologue
Bella
12 Years Earlier
Rain taps lightly on my windowpane, and I lean against my bedroom door with my ear pressed against the smooth wood. My heart pounds in sync with the drumming outside, and through the cracks, I hear the muted voices of my parents. Their tones stay anxious and hushed.
"I don't think it's a bad idea to stay in the pueblo." Mom's voice sounds strained, as if she's on the brink of tears. "Where you grew up. We can start over."
Dad's response comes quick and sharp. "It's not an option, Em. We can't stay there. Anywhere but there."
My hand flies to my mouth, stifling a sob that threatens to expose my eavesdropping. A rush of warmth floods my face, and my vision blurs with tears. I shouldn't be listening, but I can't pull myself away.
"We've been trying for years," Mom continues, her voice desperate. "You’ve done everything and been an upstanding member of society since. Why can't they understand?"
A heavy silence fills the space, and I imagine Dad's brown eyes searching Mom's face for answers. "It's more complicated than that."
Mom releases a choked cry in response. The weight of their predicament settles like a storm cloud.
"Remember before we married, those detentions, those strikes against me? They never forgot," Dad whispers. His voice strains with regret.
"But it wasn't your fault." Mom's voice cracks, revealing the weight of a long-held secret.
Dad's sigh echoes through the hallway. "Em.” He pauses. “I’m not without fault in what happened in my past. You know this. And since we got married, I've been working under the table. The business is in your name. There’s a reason for that. And sure, they never detained me, but I couldn't work legally while we fought the case."
Mom's answer is barely audible, a whisper of despair. "So, they've finally decided to take action.” It wasn’t a question. “After all these years. After we’ve established ourselves, our family!" The shrillness of her voice sends a chill down my spine.
A door down the hallway snaps open and hits the wall. Alex's voice cuts through the tension, loud and indignant. "It's not fair! This is our home, and now we have to leave?"
My heart echoes my brother's sentiments. Why does it have to be this way?
"We'll visit the States, sweetheart. All our family is here. And when you're older, you can decide if you want to return." Mom’s voice sounds closer to my room. She’s already resigned. Why? Why isn’t she fighting this harder? I wonder.
"But Mom–" Alex begins, his voice cracking with fear.
"We stick together," Dad interrupts, his voice firm yet tinged with pain. "That's what this family does."
With my back still pressed against the door, I slide to the floor as my thoughts swirl in turmoil. My bedroom, once my sanctuary, now feels cold and unfamiliar. With every raindrop that hits the window, a piece of my old life seems to wash away.
Uncertainty looms as I try to drift into sleep, casting shadows over the life I've known and the future that awaits us in Mexico. The rhythmic rain is my only companion, echoing the restlessness in my fourteen-year-old heart.
Chapter One
Bella
The air pulsates with the upbeat tempo of mariachi music, enveloping the restaurant's patrons in a joyful atmosphere. Even amidst this lively backdrop, a new table catches my eye as I weave through people in the room—each male dressed in suits that scream money and authority. My heart skips a beat. I tell myself it's just another table, but something deep within me hums with anticipation.
Summoning courage, I inhale deeply, straighten my apron, and saunter toward them with as much poise as possible.
As I reach the table, my eyes lock with those of the man at its head. They're a dark, compelling abyss that pulls me in. I feel stripped bare as his eyes drop to my chest until his lips twist into a knowing smirk.
"Bella." His voice feels like a velvety caress that rolls down my spine. "An apt name for someone as captivating as you."
His words send a shiver down my spine, yet I force my shoulders to stay square, my gaze steady. With a defiant arch of my eyebrow, I flash a coy smile. "Thank you. 'Bella' may mean 'beauty' in a few languages, but around here, it's shorthand for 'boss's daughter.'" I wink playfully.
His low chuckle fills the space between us, making the electricity palpable. "Touché. That's a detail I won't forget."
Before the tension can escalate, another man at the table cuts in. His fingers tap rapidly on the table, his eyes darting between me and the man at the head. A sigh escapes his lips as though he can't bear the wait any longer. "Alright, enough. Bella, what top-shelf tequilas do you recommend?"
Without missing a beat, I list some of our premium tequilas. The group discusses briefly before settling on two different reposados.
The man with captivating eyes holds my gaze again, and a hint of mischief lurks in his gaze. "We'll be waiting for our drinks, señorita. And then you can take our orders."
I nod, acknowledging him with a slight tilt of my head. "Of course. I'll be right back with those bottles."
Turning on my heel, I make my way to the bar. I can't shake off the sensation of being watched with every step. Even from behind, the weight of his gaze feels palpable and sends a shiver down my spine.
Balancing the two ornate reposado bottles on a tray and ten pristine shot glasses, I gracefully navigate back to the table. I can feel his eyes following my every movement, tracking me as I precisely pour the golden liquid into each glass.
Setting down the last shot glass, I detail the restaurant's assortment of botanas. As I explain the various appetizers, I notice his eyes do not focus on the menu but intently on my mouth. He seems to absorb each word I say and every slight movement of my lips with rapt attention.
That unexpected jolt of excitement courses through me again. I'm not naïve. I know that look, but the intensity of it coming from a stranger is a first. I clear my throat subtly, pushing the feeling down, and swiftly take down the group's order.
As I'm about to leave, the conversation at the table resumes earnestly amongst the group, except for him. His attention remains
I don't wait to see his reaction; instead, I head straight to the kitchen, and my heart pounds faster than I'd like to admit.
I have barely processed the group's orders when Alex, my brother, pulls me into the dimly lit hallway that connects the main dining area with the restrooms. The urgency in his grasp immediately causes me to back up.
"What the hell, Bella? Are you out of your mind?" Alex leans in, his ashy, wavy hair falling into his eyes as he narrows them, a visible tension pulling at the corners of his mouth. His slender, rigid frame is the very embodiment of restrained concern and frustration. I furrow my brows, genuinely taken aback. "What are you talking about?"
He shoots me a disbelieving look. "Flirting with a Cervantes? Do you have any idea who they are?"
I roll my eyes. "It's just playful banter, Alex. It gets me tips."
But Alex isn't having it. He reaches out, grabbing my arm a little too firmly. "This isn't some college bar in the States, Bella. These men—"
"I'm not a child, Alex," I snap, trying to pull away. "You don't need to grab me."
A chilling silence descends upon the hallway before we can say another word. We both turn to find the source of our disagreement, standing mere feet away. His eyes narrow as they dart between Alex and me. The intensity of his gaze feels like the calm before a storm.
"Is everything all right?" His eyes narrow as he speaks, his voice smooth yet leaving no room for doubt; he expects an answer. The unspoken threat, clear as day, is directed solely at Alex.
Sensing the escalating tension, I step in. "Yes, everything's fine," I say quickly, forcing a light tone. "Sibling disagreements. If you have them, then you know."
Alex shoots me a warning look but says nothing. With one last defiant glare at the man, he turns on his heel and walks away.
The tall, athletically built man takes two deliberate steps toward me, eliminating our distance. He holds out his hand. The gesture looks both formal and assertive. "Gabriel Cervantes," he introduces himself, and his eyes never leave mine.
I accept the handshake and hope my smile looks like a blend of politeness and mischief. "Nice to meet you, Gabriel."
The world seems to blur around me as I lock myself in an intimate stand-off with Gabriel. The warmth of his hand wraps around mine, and the pressure feels firm but not overbearing. Our handshake, intended to be a brief introduction, lingers, morphing into something charged and unspoken.
His eyes, a deep shade of brown, seem to probe into mine, looking for something I'm not sure I want him to find. The tension feels like an electric current between us, setting my senses alight.
Finally, with an air of undeniable intention, Gabriel slowly pulls his hand back, the simple act feeling infinitely intimate. Gathering my wits, I flash him a confident smile.
"I really should get back to work," I say, my voice steady despite the erratic beating of my heart. "But it was nice to meet you, Gabriel."
I quickly escape without waiting for his response and push through the swinging door into the busy kitchen. The familiar clatter of pots and pans and the warmth of the ovens is a welcome relief from the intensity of the hallway. My heart races from my unexpected encounter and the excitement of the evening.
I pause momentarily, leaning against the cool stainless-steel counter. Taking a deep breath, I gather myself and head into the back.
The soft hum of the ceiling fan is the only sound that accompanies me as I sit in the dimly lit office of the family restaurant. This room filled with invoices, employee schedules, and receipts has been my small haven from the bustle of the outside world. My fingers hover over my phone screen as I stare at the display. An unread email notification blinks back at me, its subject bold and demanding my attention: Interview Request for Bella Morgan from Garcia Enterprises.
A sigh of relief and a flutter of excitement pass through me. I've been waiting for this. An opportunity at Garcia Enterprises isn't just any job offer but the door to the future I've envisioned since starting my MBA—a global company.
The joyful moments of my recent graduation flash in my mind—the proud smiles on my parents' faces, the laughter, the tears. The occasion was made even more special by my father's first return to the States in a decade; it became a triumphant moment as he stepped legally onto American soil.
I cherish the memory, but here and now, I'm torn between the promising future of a corporate career I've worked hard for and my family and home that bind me to Mexico.
A sudden bang on the door snaps me out of my thoughts. Startled, I quickly minimize the email and slip my phone into my back pocket.
Alex appears in the doorway with his arms crossed and eyebrows quizzically raised. "Planning on making the office a sanctuary for the night? It's chaos out there."
I flash a playful smirk. "Just stepping aside so you can have your moment in the limelight, little brother."
With a chuckle, Alex uncrosses his arms. "Cute. But seriously, it's Happy Hour mayhem out there."
Resigned but relieved that he's moved on from earlier tensions, I rise from my chair. "Fine, I'm on it." With a last thought of the unanswered email sitting on my phone, I take a deep breath and follow Alex into the cacophony of the restaurant.
As I step out, the atmosphere engulfs me instantly—the warm amber lighting, the buzz of chatter, and the subtle undercurrent of mariachi music. The room is a well-crafted blend of rustic Mexican charm and modern flair.
Maria, one of the hosts, makes a beeline toward us. "Bella, that large party is asking for you."
My pulse quickens. Alex shoots me a narrowed glance, which I pointedly ignore. He's the one who called me back out, and besides, they're in my section.
I spot Gabriel across the room. Our eyes lock, and it's like gravity pulls me toward him.
Alex grips my shoulder. "I can take your place."
"No." I shake off his hand. "They've already seen me."
"You mean he's already seen you?"
I shake my head. "Not now, Alex."
As I near Gabriel, the air between us thickens, charged with an electric sense of unease filling the room. His gaze isn't just hungry when our eyes lock—it's ravenous. For a fleeting moment, everything else fades away—even the unread email. This pending job interview could redefine my future and even the watchful eye of my ever-critical brother.
But as my pulse quickens, a voice in my head interrupts me: What am I doing? I have aspirations that tower over this restaurant, this moment, and even this man. A crossroads stretches before me, and the next step remains shrouded in fog.
Gabriel seems to sense my turmoil; his eyes never leave mine, as if challenging me to decide.
My breath grows shallow, and my body tenses, caught in a tug-of-war between conflicting desires and unspoken ambitions. Do I surrender to the magnetic pull of this moment, or do I keep my gaze fixed on the yet-unwritten future that beckons from a distant horizon?
Caught between my past and the potential of my future, the decision looms larger than just tonight, leaving me paralyzed.
Chapter Two
Gabriel
The quiet rumble of the SUV fills with tension, and the brothers' faces turn grim as we drive away from the restaurant's lively atmosphere. The driver, a stern, middle-aged man named Jorge, clears his throat as his eyes fix on the road. " Señores, your father wants to see you. He's waiting at the house."
Marco, the youngest of us, immediately protests, his voice whiny. "It's late. He should be asleep. Can't this wait?"
Jorge's eyes flick to Marco's reflection in the rearview mirror, his expression unyielding. "I have strict instructions from Don Antonio to bring you home. He expects you tonight."
I thank Jorge and turn to Marco, my voice firm but not unkind. "Saying no to Don Antonio is not an option, hermano." From a young age, we Cervantes brothers have been instructed to refer to our father as such rather than any term of endearment.
