The Games We Play

The Games We Play Sicilian Mafia Wars Book 2 Meaghan Pierce Pierced Soul Publishing Copyright © 2023 by Meaghan Pierce All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. Editing by Comma Sutra Editorial Cover Design by Books and Moods Contents 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 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 A Note for the Reader Also by Meaghan Pierce For The Group Chat. Y’all make me better. Dear Reader, Please be aware that The Games We Play contains content that may be triggering for some. For a list of triggers, please see the next page. The Games We Play contains the following content: degradation kink, exhibitionist kink, threats of rape. Chapter One She hated absolutely everything about her life. Maybe not everything. She still had her camera. The one possession she’d refused to sell. It sat hidden in the back of her closet in a beat-up box under a pile of clothes. As much as she wanted to pull it out and frame the perfect shot, hear the click and whir of the shutter as it captured her vision, hiding it from prying eyes was the point. There was no telling what her mother would say about such an expensive thing sitting unused. Not when it could be sold. But she’d worked hard to save up for that camera, and it was the only thing still tethering her to her old life, to the person she used to be. To the person she was giving up hope of ever becoming again. Pulling even with the curb, she cut the engine and glanced up at the house that felt more like a prison than a home. She hated coming back to this place every day, to the people inside it. Or, rather, to her mother. She’d escaped to Rome and avoided relocating to Sicily ten years ago for a reason. At least the house was paid off. One less bill to scrounge up the money for each month. Not that it was in great condition, with its yellowing stone and peeling paint. There was a hole hidden behind a picture frame in the kitchen. Her mother’s half-hearted attempt to fix a leak before getting bored with it and leaving it for someone else to deal with. Something ugly hidden behind something pretty while everyone went on pretending it didn’t exist. The story of her fucking life. With a sigh, she shoved out of the car and trudged up the front walk to the shallow stoop. Letting herself in, she headed for the stairs. She needed a hot shower. Something to wash off the sweat and the disappointment. “Emilia? Is that you?” She squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of her mother’s voice. She did not need another tense conversation with her mother that dissolved into an argument. “Hey, Mama. I’m going to go up and grab a shower.” “Can you come here for a minute? Please.” Emilia’s head swiveled toward her mother’s voice. There was something about her tone and the way she’d used the word please. Turning from the base of the stairs, she walked down the short hallway to the living room, stopping dead in the archway. Shit. Her mother was perched on the edge of one of the high-backed wing chairs at the far end of the room, and her sister was just as rigid on the couch, an untouched glass of iced tea in her hands. But Emilia’s eyes were drawn to the man sitting in the other chair next to her mother. He smiled, but it was cold, an unspoken threat, and her heart began to pound. “Good to see you, Emilia,” he said. “Won’t you join us?” He gestured to the couch next to her sister, and she dropped her eyes to the empty spot, then looked back at his face. “What are you doing here?” Her mother sucked in a sharp breath, but the man ignored her, leaning forward in his chair, eyes narrowing on Emilia’s face. “It’s Wednesday.” When her hands began to shake, she shoved them into her back pockets. It couldn’t possibly be Wednesday. Yesterday was Monday. Wasn’t it? She wasn’t late. She hadn’t been late in the six months since moving to this godforsaken island. “Are you sure?” “Emilia!” her mother hissed. She swallowed past the panic rising in her throat when he fixed her with that sinister grin again. “I’m sure. I wouldn’t be here wasting my time if you’d kept to our bargain.” “I have it. Just…wait there.” She flicked a glance at her sister’s wide eyes and spun on her heel, sprinting up the steps and slamming into her bedroom. Stupid. She was stupid. Every Tuesday for half a year, she’d laid money in the palm of the man in her living room. Each time reminded her how far she’d fallen. How not in control of her own life she was. Dropping to her knees, she pushed the rug back and used her fingernail to pry up the loose floorboard between her bed and the wall enough to grasp it and pull it free. While most of her mother’s money