Blame It on the Shame (Blame It on the Shame: Lou-Lou and Ricardo's Story #1) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Blame It on the Shame

  Prologue (Ricardo)

  Prologue (Lou-Lou)

  3 years later...

  Chapter 1 (Ricardo)

  Chapter 2 (Lou-Lou)

  Chapter 3 (Ricardo)

  Chapter 4 (Lou-Lou)

  Chapter 5 (Ricardo)

  Chapter 6 (Lou-Lou)

  Chapter 7 (Ricardo)

  Chapter 8 (Lou-Lou)

  Chapter 9 (Ricardo)

  Chapter 10 (Lou-Lou)

  Chapter 11 (Ricardo)

  Chapter 12 (Lou-Lou)

  Chapter 13 ( Ricardo)

  Chapter 14 (Lou-Lou)

  Chapter 15 (Ricardo)

  Chapter 16 (Lou-Lou)

  Chapter 17 (Ricardo)

  Chapter 18 (Ricardo)

  Chapter 19 (Lou-Lou)

  Chapter 20 (Ricardo)

  Chapter 21 (Lou-Lou)

  Chapter 22 (Ricardo)

  Chapter 23 (Lou-Lou)

  Chapter 24 (Ricardo)

  Chapter 25 (Lou-Lou)

  Epilogue (DeLuca)

  About the Author

  The National Domestic Violence Hotline

  Acknowledgements

  BLAME IT ON THE SHAME

  Ashley Jade

  Blame it on the Shame

  Ashley Jade

  COPYRIGHT

  First published in USA, August 2016

  Copyright © Ashley Jade

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be circulated in writing of any publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or events is purely coincidence.

  .

  Attribution

  A special thank you to the photographers and sites listed here as we greatly appreciate their work, contributions and artistry.

  Picture Acknowledgments

  Some photos use are used via creative commons and built upon the originals.

  https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

  Pixabay (CC0)

  http://pixabay.com

  **Trigger Warning**

  This series is not suitable for readers under 18. This book contains elements of emotional, sexual, and physical cruelty. Any readers with sensitivity to the above topics should proceed with caution, and at their own risk.

  Blame It on the Shame

  “Sometimes there is absolutely no difference at all between salvation and damnation.”

  ―Stephen King

  Prologue (Ricardo)

  Shame. It wounds us. It damages us.

  Or, for the few poor souls out there like me...it defines us.

  I'm the son of the devil, himself—the most feared mob boss who ever lived.

  I was cursed from the moment I took my first breath.

  I hate him—but I have his blood pumping through my veins, feeding the darkness within me.

  His blood ensuring my fate—to become him.

  “There are only three great loves in a man's life, son—money, control, and the greatest one of all; Power,” my father said. “And you need the first two to earn the last.”

  Those were the first words my father, Bruno DeLuca had ever spoken to me.

  I looked up at him in a combination of awe and fear, the light from the moon made his dark features even more threatening.

  Even at 11 years old, I knew my father was a force to be reckoned with.

  How I had the misfortune of ending up his only son was beyond me. Especially since it took him over 11 years to claim me.

  Although, looking back- that probably had more to do with the fact that I was what was known as a 'half-breed.'

  In other words, I was not full-blooded Italian.

  My mother was 100% Puerto Rican and my father was 100% Italian.

  And as a member of the mafia working his way to the top, having a son that was less than perfect simply wouldn't do.

  I knew from the first second his dark eyes met mine that he didn't like me.

  And I knew without a shadow of a doubt, there was no way he would ever love me. I didn't think he was capable of loving anyone.

  The only reason he was here now, claiming me; was because of the DeLuca superstition- 'il malocchio', or as some called it 'the maloik', also known as the 'evil eye'.

  Or, as I would believe it to be- a curse.

  In simple terms, 'il malocchio' meant that you were jealous of someone. To get rid of it, you performed a ritual with olive oil and water. To be honest, I didn't know the exact mechanics of it. I wasn't interested, and I certainly didn't believe in it.

  Surprisingly, that was the only thing I said that made my father's eyes light up during our first meeting.

  I soon found out why.

  Apparently the DeLuca 'il malocchio' was very different from any other curse of its kind.

  Unlike others, the DeLuca men didn't fear the evil eye...quite the opposite. They relished it, they loved it. They didn't hide the fact that they bathed in their own greed and they wanted nothing more than to witness other people's jealousy over their money, control, and power.

  They also didn't believe in stupid curses causing misfortune.

  Although, everyone who knew about the DeLuca's knew it wasn't just a mere coincidence that the DeLuca men had a problem with infertility.

  Don't get me wrong, they weren't exactly shooting blanks. It was more like they could only hit the target once and only once in their lifetime.

  And more often than not...the offspring were female instead of male.

  Some said it was God's way of controlling how much evil was unleashed into the world.

  But now, my father said; the DeLuca's were officially on the upside because I was the third male in the line of DeLuca's to be born.

  DeLuca originally thought he was immune to the curse. He thought he would strike it lucky and breed a bunch of children.

  No such luck for him, though. Or me for that matter.

  I was his one and only and I was stuck with him. He called it my salvation...I called it my damnation.

  My mother begged him not to take me that night, claimed I wasn't his, said it was a mistake...but when the results came back- the odds were not in my favor.

  And even at a young age, I knew something bad would happen to her if I didn't go with him willingly.

  What I didn't know, was the next and last time I would see my mother again would be when my father was injecting her with a lethal dose of heroin, leaving her to die.

  To teach me a lesson about denying who I really was.

  I hated Bruno DeLuca.

  The really tragic thing about hating someone? You have to love them first.

  After Bruno claimed me as his son, I went to live with him.

  For the first few years, he left me to my own devices, since I was still too young.

  However, when I was 16, he started to take an active interest in my life. I guess he was preparing me for when I would officially become a man.

  He also gave me advice on women. His first words of advice?

  “All women are whore
s. Be sure to take what you want from them before they take everything from you.”

  And with those words, his Ferrari pulled up to some kind of club.

  The room went silent and everyone stopped to look at us when we walked in.

  I looked around wide eyed and my heart rate sped up. The fairly large room was full of at least 25 beautiful women scantily clad in various forms of lingerie.

  My father brought me to a fucking brothel.

  I didn't know how he knew I was still a virgin. But then I thought about it.

  Of course, he would assume I was.

  Despite being Bruno's son, I took my education very seriously. I paid attention in class and I worked hard. My gpa was a 4.0 and I was in the national honor society. Something my father, of course, mocked me for. He called me a nerd and said my education was a waste. He also threatened to pull me out of school unless I spent my free time doing something manly.

  That's when I took up boxing.

  I took every ounce of aggression I felt out at the gym.

  The physical results took awhile to take effect, but the mental was instantaneous. Every jab I dealt, I imagined his face as the target. A face that I was fortunate enough not to resemble, with the exception of my eyes.

  They were all his.

  A few months after taking up boxing, my father started to take even more notice of me. Only this time, I saw something in his eyes that I'd never seen before.

  Pride.

  He was proud of how I handled myself in the ring. He was ecstatic when my trainer said I had the makings to go pro in a few years. I soon found out that Bruno himself had loved watching boxing matches, mostly of the underground variety. It was one of his favorite pastimes. The fact that his very own son was good enough to turn pro in a few years was music to his ears.

  Despite being looked at as a nerd, boxing had transformed my once very lanky 6'2 frame into something that had the football team coaches trying to recruit me.

  Regardless of all that, I still kept my nose in the books and stayed to myself.

  Of course, I thought about girls, but I was always too nervous to approach them.

  Too afraid of rejection.

  I'd suffered enough of that from my father already.

  Which was why I suppose he thought bringing me to a brothel was something he needed to do.

  “Pick any whore you like, son,” he said. “Hell, pick any two you like if you think you can handle it.”

  The women were gorgeous, no doubt. But something about it all didn't feel right to me.

  Like the fact that he was addressing these women as mere objects.

  And no matter how stunning the women were, I really wanted someone who wanted me for me. In spite of who I was or what power my father wielded. I wanted this moment to be special.

  Then I got a look at her and all that fell by the wayside.

  She gave me a 'come hither' smile and sauntered over to me in her pink lingerie.

  She also ignored my father completely, which was the first thing I liked about her.

  She was older than me by a few years but that didn't matter. Her coppery red hair fell by her shoulders, and her ivory skin was so creamy, I wanted to put her in a cup of coffee.

  “What's your name, honey?” she asked.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father smirk. His smirk was usually an approval of some kind.

  “R-Ricardo.” Of course, my voice would pick that exact moment to stutter and crack. I silently cursed myself, cleared my throat and looked at her.

  “You're very handsome. Did you know that?” she purred.

  I shook my head because I honestly had no idea I was even remotely attractive at that time.

  “You want to come in the back and get to know me a little better? I can teach you some things you'll never forget.” She held out her hand. “I heard you're quite the student and you pick up on things easily.”

  Yes, yes I did.

  I immediately took her hand and followed her to some room in the back. I couldn't care less about being my father's son at that moment. I wanted her.

  An hour and a few lessons I'll never forget later, I'd lost my virginity to some 25-year-old named 'Ginger'. The act itself only lasted 5 minutes, but I didn't care.

  I was hooked.

  Sex was even better than boxing. And nothing was better than boxing as far as I was concerned.

  As we were getting dressed, she confided that she knew all about me thanks to my father. Apparently, he was her favorite client and vice versa.

  That's when I realized that Bruno and I had something else in common besides a love of fighting.

  Women.

  When we headed back out to his black Ferrari, he lit up two cigars and handed me one.

  “Ginger said you reminded her of me. That means you're one step closer to becoming a man,” he said.

  I didn't know how to feel about that so I stayed silent.

  He appeared to be in deep thought before he uttered his next statement. “I never thought I'd say this. But you've really proven yourself to be worthy of carrying the DeLuca name these past few months. I'm proud of you, son.”

  I smiled.

  Then fear hit me like a punch to the gut.

  It was the first time he ever said he was proud of me.

  It was the first time I ever felt happy to be his son.

  It was the first time I ever thought he might actually love me.

  And I wanted that.

  One week before I turned 18, my father enlisted my help for a very special assignment.

  I was supposed to look after one of his new guys during one of the drug runs. My father wanted me to get a feel for him.

  Up until that point, I wasn't allowed to do the big runs myself, I had to earn that privilege. But the fact that my father thought I was capable of handling small runs and valued my judgment meant something to me.

  My father trusted me.

  Which, was unheard of when it came to Bruno DeLuca.

  I didn't know much about the guy I was supposed to be watching. He only disclosed that his name was Graham. He looked like an all-American guy, maybe even a surfer dude with his blond hair and hazel eyes.

  In other words, he looked nothing like my father's other men who worked for him.

  He was also more of an observer, rather than a talker. Unlike his annoying ass buddy, Ford who was nothing but talk.

  Graham being an observer was something I could appreciate because I was the same way.

  I liked to watch how situations unfolded first, get a feel for it, then logically plan my next step.

  My mind was like one big chess board. I never made a move without thinking about all the possible outcomes. I thought with my head first, not my heart.

  It was the safest way to stay ahead of the game as far as I was concerned.

  Even though I could appreciate the quality in Graham, it didn't mean that I wasn't concerned.

  You see, being an observer meant he was a thinker.

  And you didn't need to think about much when it came to a small sized drug run. The rules were simple, make sure you don't get caught and get the money.

  Besides, he was with me, DeLuca's son. He knew I was going to handle everything. What the hell did he need to think about?

  But, there he sat in the car beside me, silent...not saying a word.

  Anticipating my every move out of the corner of his eye while he pretended to read his book.

  I had the sneaky suspicion that he was a cop. But I had to be sure, so I started grilling him.

  “What did you say your last name was, Graham?” I asked.

  He studied me for a beat before replying, “I didn't.”

  I crossed my arms and stretched my legs as much as my now 6'3 ½ frame would let me. Especially in a car like this.

  My father was a big fan of Ferrari's, being he was Italian and all.

  Personally, I hated them. I only drove the one he gave me because I needed a set of wheels and t
here was no way in hell he was going to let me buy the Shelby GT500 red mustang I had my heart set on since I got my license.

  I arched an eyebrow. “So, what is your last name?”

  He matched my stance. “What's yours?”

  I laughed. “Ah, you're funny, you wanna be wise-guy. You already know I'm DeLuca's son.”

  “I meant what was your last name before he claimed you as his kid?”

  I put my hand in my pocket and felt for my gun. “How do you know about that?”

  He held up his hands. “Look, it was only a rumor I heard. Obviously, you're very sensitive about your father being an asshole.”

  My mouth dropped open. None of my father's men would dare to ever speak so freely about him like that. Especially in front of his one and only son.

  The guy had a set of balls on him.

  He shrugged. “I'm just saying. Any man that refuses to acknowledge their own kid for the first 11 years of their life is an asshole in my book.”

  “Do you have kids?”

  Something flashed in his eyes but he didn't answer my question.

  I took that as a yes.

  I leaned down in my seat. “Our relationship has gotten much better over the last two years.”

  Graham sniggered. “Is that why I overheard him giving you shit about getting another A in your English class and being up for valedictorian?”

  I scrubbed a hand down my face, trying my hardest to deflect the hurt I felt. I couldn't help that I did well in school and that I liked to read.

  Graham continued, “I believe his exact words were—I will not have my son looking like a pansy-ass wimp while he's praised for being a nerd. You better fail your next test or else.”

  “Yeah, so what? He’s just concerned about my image.”

  Graham barked out a laugh. “Last time I checked, any decent parent would be ecstatic over their kid working so hard in school. I know I would be over the moon if my little Goblin ever became valedictorian. Hell, I was proud as anything when she finally learned to tie her shoes the right way.”

  That's when I laughed. “Your little goblin? What the fuck is that?”