Amore part 1, p.1
Amore: Part 1, p.1Bella Jewel
~*AMORE PART 1*~
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AMORE PART 1
Copyright © 2016 Bella Jewel
AMORE is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events portrayed in this book either are from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or location is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Table of Contents
DEDICATION | To all the believers. | Keep believing.
A NOTE FOR MY READERS
CHAPTER 2 | RAFAEL
CHAPTER 3 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 4 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 5 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 6 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 7 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 8 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 9 | RAFAEL
CHAPTER 10 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 11 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 12 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 13 | RAFAEL
CHAPTER 14 | RAFAEL
CHAPTER 15 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 16 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 17 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 18 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 19 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 20 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 21 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 22 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 23 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 24 | RAFAEL
CHAPTER 25 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 26 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 27 | RAFAEL
CHAPTER 28 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 29 | JULIETTA
CHAPTER 30 | JULIETTA
To be continued... | My darling readers, please don’t panic. I know, I know. I NEVER do cliffhangers, but this book, these characters, they just needed it. You’ll be pleased to know Part two is already written AND edited so you’ll be getting it in a matter of weeks. I swear you won’t have to wait long. Big hugs, Bella xx
As always, my heartfelt thanks to every single blogger, reader and author that has supported my journey. From reading my books, to sharing them, to raving about them, to being there for me. Thank you. My career would be nothing without any of you.
A huge thanks to Kylie from Give Me Books for organizing my reveals and blitzes. You do such an amazing job. No matter how many times I use you, I am always blown away by how efficient you are. Nothing is ever a drama. Thank you for giving me so much support.
A massive thanks to Kellie from Book Cover By Design for this epic cover. It’s absolutely beautiful, and I couldn’t have imagined anything better. You got what I wanted, down to a T. Thank you.
To Lauren, my epic editor. You are the best thing since sliced bread, no lie. You seriously are the best person EVER to work with. You are quick and your notes always make me laugh. No one else could ever keep up with my writing pace, but you always nail it.
A big, heartfelt thanks to Rose from Read By Rose for this amazing proofread. You came in at the last moment and helped me in incredible ways. You’re truly epic and I can’t wait to work with you again.
And of course, to my admin, MJ, for ALWAYS keeping my page running beautifully. I couldn’t do it without you, girly. I love your teasers and your passion; thank you for taking the time out of your life to help this poor girl keep everything running.
And, last but certainly not least, to my loyal readers. To each and every one of you that picks up my books and give me a chance. To the reviews you write, good or bad. To the time you take to make me a better person. You make this real for me; never stop giving such love and passion. You make our journey so amazing.
To all the believers.
A NOTE FOR MY READERS
I need to tell you a little about this book before you go in, so maybe you’ll understand why I stepped outside of my usual box to write it.
I was reading a book recently that was about the mafia. I love mafia books. I’ve read a good portion of them. The mafia leader and his lover, his forbidden flame, the woman he purchased, the daughter of his enemy, you name it. I’ve read it.
You know what I haven’t read? What you’re about to read.
Back to the book I was reading. There was mention of a mafia leader who had a wife, a lovely wife, a good wife, a loyal wife, a wife he loved. But he had something else. He had a mistress. A woman on the side. Supposedly for status. A woman to make him look strong and superior. In fact, it was deemed that if he did NOT have one, that he was perceived as weak.
My attention was sparked. I did research. Turns out that is indeed true in a lot of those situations. Not all of them, no, but some of them.
And I said to myself. What is her life like? The other woman? The one used as a status symbol? What does she do with her free time? Who is she? Why does she do what she does? How does she fit into his world? How does it feel for her to be what she is? Does she hurt? Is she happy? How come nobody has told her story?
I’m telling her story.
I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it.
I stare into his eyes.
Rafael Lencioni’s soulless, perfect, brown eyes.
They’re the kind of eyes you never forget. Not for a single second of your life. His fingers are curled around my arm, his mouth is millimeters from mine, and his breath is hitting my cheek in short, hard bursts. It’s been days since I ran from him, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say the comfort that I feel from standing here in front of him is real.
But we both know it isn’t.
His lies are breaking my heart. He’s tearing it into a thousand tiny pieces because I have to do something I honestly believed I’d never have to do. There was one rule I shouldn’t have broken—he was never meant to mean anything to me.
My own brown eyes don’t disconnect from his. Instead, we just stare at one another, so much passing between us, the main thing being a sense of desperation.
A desperation to change a life we have no say over.
“Why, Julietta?” he rasps, his voice low, deep and husky.
I love the way he says my name like he means it, like it’ll be the only name he ever murmurs for the rest of his life.
“Answer me,” he demands carefully, precisely, with an order you can’t shy away from, even though he’s not raising his voice.
His hand gently moves from my arm up my neck, and there he cups my jaw, bringing my face closer, as if he’s going to kiss me. But he’s not. He won’t. Not here. Not in public. That would break all
That’s always been the problem.
“Let me go, Raf,” I breathe, trying to move away from those intense brown eyes.
“Not until you tell me why.”
Why I’m here.
Why I ran from him.
Why I’ve avoided him.
Because I had to. I have to. I can't take it anymore. The lies, but mostly, the pain. The intense, desperate pain. The agony of needing someone you can't have.
It leaves me only one choice. I'm going to do the one thing I know will make him turn his back on me. The one thing I know will make him run in the opposite direction. The one thing I'm certain will ensure he doesn't come back.
The thought of never again touching him, kissing him, laughing with him makes my heart twist and an agonizing ache forms in the pit of my stomach, but I have to do it. I have to. For him. For me. For us. So, I part my lips and say the words that'll take him from my world forever. "I'm in love with you."
I see it before my words are finished leaving my lips. I see the way his eyes flash. I see the way his body stiffens and he straightens, looking broken, looking confused, looking furious. His hand slides from my jaw and everything inside me screams to reach out and grab it back, but I don’t. I let it fall, taking my heart along with it. He takes a step back, and I watch his eyes shut down right along with his body. I watch him shove my words into a place he doesn’t allow himself to access.
He turns away, putting his back to me, letting me know my words have achieved what I wished. Before he’s gone, he looks back over his shoulder and gives me eyes I’ll probably never see again. I try to capture his face in my memory, try to remember every curve and every line. Try to remember how rich his laugh is, and how he makes my heart pound.
Brown eyes connect with mine, and in a low, husky voice, he murmurs, “I told you not to do that.”
“Julietta, you look stunning,” my mama says, leaning down and kissing both of my cheeks, her perfume washing over my senses and reminding me to make sure I put on my own before I go out tonight.
“Thank you, Mama.” I smile, hugging her and then stepping back.
Tucking a long strand of perfectly straight hair behind her ear, she asks, “Are you going out with Celia?”
I nod, knowing what’s coming even before I answer her. “Yes, we’re going to that new club in town.”
My mama’s face scrunches, and when she does that she looks just like me. Both her and my father are Italian, but her father had an English background so my mother isn’t full Italian. I’m a good mix of both my parents, with hints of my mother’s heritage in me, which shows in my hair, which is light mousy brown, not the norm for an Italian. I have fair olive skin and brown eyes with thick lashes, from my father. I also have a light scattering of freckles across my nose, which, Mama tells me, are from her.
I wish those would kindly remove themselves.
“I don’t know about that club.” She keeps frowning and then leans in closer, her eyes wide, and whispers, “You do know who runs that, don’t you?”
I roll my eyes. “Mama, I know . . . but everyone goes there. It’s not dangerous. It’s just a club.”
“It’s run by members of the mafia,” she whisper-yells, her eyes flaring with a dramatic pop.
I smile at her, trying to smother my laughter. When she gets like this, it can get pretty hilarious. She has a flare for the dramatic. “And?”
“And you know how they are in this town.”
“Mama,” I scoff. “They don’t bother anyone who isn’t messing with their business. There are worse people out there. Celia has already been, and she said it’s amazing. Besides, I’m twenty-four; I don’t actually require permission.”
She flicks her arms around and then waves her finger in my face, a trait she got from my father’s mama, Francesca. That woman expresses everything with her hands. If she’s talking, or laughing, or yelling, she’s got her hands moving at a quick pace. “Don’t you give me that kind of lip, young lady,” Mama says, her eyes serious. “You’re still my daughter.”
“A daughter who lives on her own, has a career, and isn’t stupid,” I point out, also waving my finger. Only a little.
“It doesn’t matter.” She frowns, dropping her hands and crossing them over her chest. “That club isn’t the place for a girl like you.”
I raise my brows. “A girl like me?”
“Nice, sweet, smart. . . You don’t need to be getting up in the space of anyone involved with the Lencioni family.”
“I’m going to drink and dance. That’s it. I’m not getting up in anyone’s space. It’ll be fine. Now I have to get going. Celia is waiting for me.”
Mama shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest. “Your father will not like this.”
“He’ll be fine,” I scoff. “He doesn’t even need to find out.”
She looks horrified at the thought of keeping a secret from him. “He knows everything that goes on in this town, Julie. He’ll find out.”
I raise my brows and throw back, “He thinks he knows everything in this town, but trust me, he isn’t as important as he believes.”
My father is a businessman and runs a local sanitation company. He knows a lot of people. He also thinks he’s the king of Chicago. He would probably have a conniption if he knew I was going anywhere near the Lencioni’s, but it’s just a fun night out. He has nothing to worry about.
“You don’t get your sass from me,” she mocks as I kiss her cheek.
“I absolutely do. Later Mama!”
I turn and rush out before she can get another word in. I only popped by because I left my shoes here. Next time I’ll wear a different pair. I adore my parents, but they can be slightly over-controlling. I guess it’s because I’m their only child and because of that, they tend to wrap me in cotton wool. They don’t believe I can do anything on my own without their watchful eye.
That’s fine with me, but I’ve always been a free spirit.
And I don’t intend on changing that.
“Oh. My. God,” I cry, clapping my hands together and refraining from leaping up and down on the spot. “This club is amazing!”
Celia takes hold of my arm, a huge grin on her pretty face. “It’s incredible, right?”
“Absolutely.” I gasp, staring at the intense, beautiful space.
It’s sleek, modern, and huge. There are several floors overflowing with people. On the top part, they’re leaning over the balcony, talking and watching the patrons below. The swank interior is decked out in a blue and black theme. The floors are black, the bars and booths are blue, and there are flashing lights hanging from the ceiling that change from flicking to pulsing every few seconds. There is a massive dance floor in the middle of the room, and it’s packed.
“Come on, let’s see if we can get a drink,” Celia says, pulling me through the crowd.
The men around us make a line so we can move through with ease. That’s not surprising. Celia is tall, dark-haired and stunning. She’s wearing a tight red dress and heels that scare even me, they’re so tall. She walks in tall heels with ease, like she was born to move in them. My own hair is down, curled, and flowing around my back. My dress is equally as tight and black, dropping down to my hip at the back. My heels are black, strappy, and high—but not nearly as high as hers.
A group of men in suits grin at us as we pass them, and I flash my best smile. I’m a serial flirt. Celia tells me I should have been a male, but it’s just how I am. I’m in no way cheap, but I love giving the guys something to talk about, and a little flirting always does the trick.
“Ladies,” grins one of the well dressed males.
We both nod and keep pushing through to the bar. It takes around ten minutes to get a drink, but finally we’re sipping Cosmos and moving back through the swarm of people to find a booth. There aren’t any free,
“So, you impressed?” Celia asks as she leans over and yells in my ear.
I nod and give her the thumbs up, letting my eyes travel over the space again. I see at the top right there is a huge room that seems to be made entirely of glass. It looks as if it’s hanging over the club in a sense; its sharp, pointed edges hover over a quarter of the club floor. My guess is the people who own this place are sitting in there right now, watching the crowd. We can’t see in, but I have no doubt they can see out.
“You think they’re watching us right now?” Celia asks, looking up and following my vision.
I shrug, then grin as a hilarious idea hits me. Along with being a flirt, I’m also a serial shit stirrer. “I don’t know. We should totally do something and see if we can get their attention.”
Celia giggles. “Oh my God, that would be funny.”
“It really would.” I grin, still looking up at the glass room. “Let’s make faces at it.”
“Oh man, no way.” She chuckles.
“Come on, it’ll be funny.”
She shakes her head. “It’s the mafia in there; they might shoot us.”
I scoff. “They won’t shoot us. People probably mess with them all the time.”
She thinks on it for a second, then nods. “You’re probably right.”
“Come on, let’s have a little fun. Don’t make me dare you—I know you can’t say no to a dare.”
She feigns shock. “You wouldn’t.”
I put my thumbs up to my ears and wiggle my fingers, poking my tongue out. Celia jumps in beside me and we start pulling crazy faces. People around us laugh out loud, and some of them call us immature, but if we cared . . . well . . . we don’t, so it’s beside the point. Hell, I’m sure they can’t see us anyway.
“Are you seeing this, Raf?” my brother Vincent says, hands on the glass looking down at the two girls staring right up at the office, pulling faces.
Amore: Part 1 by Bella Jewel / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes