Eagle Elite Book 8

  by Rachel Van Dyken

  Copyright © 2017 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.


  Copyright © 2017 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

  ISBN-13: 9780997145137

  Cover Art by Jena Brignola

  Formatting by Jill Sava, Love Affair With Fiction



  Eagle Elite Family



  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight


  About The Author

  Also By Rachel Van Dyken

  Dedicated to the readers who will most likely hunt me down…

  love you guys!


  AUTHOR NOTE: I’m adding this in here just in case you guys need a refresher on who belongs to each family and which couple belongs to each book.

  Nixon Abandonato married to Trace Alfero (Granddaughter to Frank Alfero). Nixon is the boss to the Abandonato family. (Elite/Elect)

  Frank Alfero married to Joyce Alfero (deceased). Boss to the Alfero Family (for now). (Elite & Enchant)

  Chase Abandonato married to Mil De Lange (Phoenix De Lange’s sister). Mil is the new mob boss to the De Lange Family, one of the most hated in The Cosa Nostra.


  Tex Campisi married to Mo Abandonato (Nixon’s twin sister). Tex is the capo dei capi, which basically means he’s their version of the godfather. (Elicit)

  Luca Nicolasi (deceased). Never married, but had a small affair with the love of his life Joyce Alfero, this produced two children. Dante and Valentina Nicolasi. (Enchant & Enrapture in the Hurt anthology)

  Phoenix De Lange married to Bee Campisi (Tex’s sister). He is the new boss to the Nicolasi dynasty. He knows everyone’s secrets and keeps black folders on every individual close to them, himself included. (Ember)

  Sergio Abandonato married to Andi Petrov (Russian mafia, deceased). Sergio was forced to marry her for protection, and later marries his soul mate Valentina Nicolasi. (Elude, Empire)

  Ax Abandonato married to Amy De Lange. He’s a made man for the Abandonato Family. (Bang, Bang)

  Nikolai Blazik married to Maya Petrov (both Russian Mafia). He makes a brief appearance in many EE books, and is known as The Doctor. (Rip — EE spinoff)

  The Petrov Family is the Russian dynasty out to destroy all five Sicilian families. They have now spread from Chicago, to New York, and even Seattle.


  Verb: To anger, incense, infuriate, madden — to make very angry, i.e.; the man was enraged at his family for taking everything — and offering nothing but death. He lived his rage, he fed his rage, and in the end, the man fell in love with the rage, because that is what’s done when you feed the beast.

  It grows.



  THE FAMILIAR SMELL of blood invaded my nostrils as it ran down my wrists, its hot wetness fueling the anger inside.

  “Again,” Nixon screamed, his eyes flashed with fury, and blood caked his face. “Do it again.”

  So I did.

  And again.

  And again.

  And again.

  “Finish him,” a cold voice commanded.

  “Give me one good reason why I should.” I didn’t recognize my own voice; it might as well have been a stranger talking for me.

  “I’ll give you the only reason.” A gun was held in front of my face — pointed directly at her. “Now finish him.”



  “GET THE HELL away from me.” I could barely control the rage as it made my body shake. Blood dripped from my lip as I held an ice pack to my face. Everything hurt. I’d only been in Chicago a few months and in that time, I’d learned one thing.

  Nixon Abandonato was trying to kill me.

  He told me so every day.

  And every night when I went to sleep — I had images of all of the men who’d made similar threats — men I’d silenced with my fists.

  Nixon wasn’t one of those men. He was too damn fast, calculating in every jab. Hell, even my liver hurt.

  The bastard had me boxing blindfolded.

  And when he still wasn’t satisfied, he asked the capo to rough me up… he even said please. The rest of the bosses watched while my hands were literally tied behind my back and the guy sank his fist into my stomach.

  “No.” The voice was small, pretty. I would have thought she was pretty if I didn’t know who she was or what she was about. When she’d first come to us, we’d all assumed she was older, the way her ex dressed her and covered her with makeup you’d think she was at least twenty-four, not so near my age. It was easier then, to ignore her, thinking she was this used, pitiful woman.

  A year younger than me, and already she was hard. It was the way she looked at a man — like I was the cause of all of her pain.

  She took a step forward. “You’re injured, I think I have some arnica that I gave the boys when they were—”

  I burst out laughing — it was an ugly sound — and more bl
ood spewed from my mouth. “Fucking arnica is going to fix this shit?” I lifted up my shirt, there wasn’t an inch of skin that wasn’t marred with blue, black, or my personal favorite, green, I don’t know how the hell the guys accomplished it, but they had officially turned my body into something I didn’t recognize.

  My mind was all I had left.

  Which was why they kept beating me.

  It was my fault.

  I’d begged Sergio, my twin’s scary as hell husband, and an assassin, for proper training.

  What I didn’t get when I’d asked was that training actually meant that they would bring me as close to death as possible and then give me just enough food, water, and rest to heal, only to do it again.

  I spent an entire week in a dungeon-like room, damn near starving to death. And one of the guys, it was usually Chase, would walk by and drop one Cheetos through the bars, smile, and walk off.

  I wasn’t sure whom I hated most.

  Sergio for trying to break my spirit.

  Nixon for trying to break my body with his fists.

  Phoenix for trying to slit my throat with a knife.

  Chase for torturing me until I wanted to die.

  Mil for shooting me at point blank range and then asking me to stop my own bleeding.

  Tex for tying me up and pulling me behind his car.

  Or Frank, for breaking two of my fingers and then laughing.

  If that was how the mafia trained someone they actually liked, then I hated to think about what they would do to their enemy.

  I fought for sleep that didn’t come, and prayed that since the next day was Saturday they’d give me time to sleep rather than pulling me out of my REM cycle only to torture me again.

  Five minutes.


  I relaxed.

  When minute seven came…

  The door opened.

  “Wake up, buttercup.” Chase’s voice sounded so pleased that I almost grabbed my gun and pointed it at his face. “It’s time to train!”


  Minute eight, the lights flicked on

  Minute nine, and I was on my ass on the ground getting a knee pressed against my chest while Chase’s hands wrapped around my throat. “I’ll give you one chance to change your answer.”

  “The hell is wrong with you!” I croaked trying to shove his heavy body away.

  He shrugged; an easy smile hit his lips. “Haven’t had sex in two days, lucky you.”

  “Why, you gonna screw me?” I taunted.

  His fist flew across my right cheek as he heaved me to a sitting position. No fighting back.

  That was one of the rules.

  Unless they asked me to.

  Which meant I got the shit beat out of me ninety-nine percent of the time.

  “You’re not funny.” His blue eyes flashed. “Meet me in the basement, you have two minutes. If you’re late, I play Russian roulette with my favorite pistol.”

  “Last time you missed.”

  “Last time you were early.” He grunted and stomped off.



  I PRETENDED TO be asleep.

  I always pretended to be asleep.

  It was what I did.

  I told myself that if my eyes were closed, I was safe, hidden, away from everything in the world that told me otherwise.

  My breath hitched in my throat as another wave of crushing anxiety washed over me.

  Bad enough that I was under the protection of the Sicilian Mafia after being taken from the Russians.

  What was worse?

  I honestly think that the Sicilians liked all the violence, the house nearly buzzed with unleashed excitement over the last few weeks — when they were training Him.

  I didn’t say his name.

  Never looked in his direction.

  Because the one time I looked into his icy cold gaze — I felt something shift in me, something that told me that maybe I wasn’t as dead inside as I thought I was.

  And I needed to stay dead.


  I squeezed my eyes harder as the sound of running water filled the room and finally sneaked a peek when light from the Jack and Jill bathroom slithered across my floor, kissing the white duvet with its brightness, making me plaster my body back against the mattress even more.

  Why? Why hadn’t they let me stay in New York? I’d helped take care of my ex’s kids, protected them from his fists — they got to stay with a new family while I was basically cast out. Like I was just as bad as he’d been. Like I was this shameful secret.

  Another loud noise as my body froze.

  “Shit.” Dante cursed and then something shattered beneath him, I wasn’t sure if it was because he tripped or because he actually liked watching himself bleed all over the white porcelain.

  I sucked a few tears in.

  I hated the loud noises.

  The rustling around that told me he was getting ready to go back into the training rooms with one or all of the guys.

  To them, he was being groomed for Italian royalty.

  To me?

  They were feeding the monster.

  Making it bigger.

  Without even realizing that he was big enough.

  Strong enough.

  Scary enough.

  I flinched when the light shut off. A door opened and closed, footsteps neared my door.

  This was it.

  I knew it was only a matter of time before he saw what every other man did when he looked at me.

  An opportunity.

  I prayed and bit down onto my fist to keep from screaming when the door cracked open.

  Please, God no more. No more.

  My bruises had healed on the outside — but on the inside, I might as well be bruised, beaten, bloody beyond all recognition.

  My emotional bleeding wouldn’t stop until my heart stopped beating, and some days, I wished it would.



  The door clicked shut again.

  I breathed a sigh of relief.


  But for how long?

  How long until I had to somehow earn my keep? Like I did with Xavier Petrov? How long before they started beating me like he did? How long before they saw my pretty face and body and decided that I needed to show my own loyalty to the same family I ran away from?

  My alarm sounded next to my bed sending me sailing to the floor in a giant heap of blankets.

  I yelped.

  The door burst open.

  Dante gave me one look and sneered. “Can you try to keep it down? Some of us have to be up earlier than others.”

  I didn’t respond.

  But I did flip him off in my head and say a whole bunch of other things that would probably get me beaten if I whispered them out loud.

  He slammed the door behind him.

  And I relaxed as much as I possibly could against the cold wood floor while I stared out at the early Chicago sunrise.

  They’d freed me from a prison.

  Only to put me in another.

  Because no matter how pretty the walls were.

  They were still made to hold me in.

  When all I wanted, all I’d ever wanted. Was to be free.



  IF LIVING WITH the Italian Mafia was Hell.

  Being forced to attend Eagle Elite University — was the seventh circle.

  My purgatory.

  My punishment for being born in the right family at the wrong time.

  When I’d first moved to Chicago to train with the five families, when I made the promise to my dead father Luca Nicolasi that I’d try — that I’d see how I fit in this world, I never imagined it would hurt so damn much.

  Or that it would feed my hate beyond recognition, blinding me to the person I saw in my own reflection.

  The Dante Nicolasi that got off the plane six months ago was gone.

  And a part of me hated them for that, hated
them for squashing that final piece of innocence I’d held on to with a deathlike grip.

  Every one of the bosses were brutal, each of them with their own expertise and dealings, each of them with their own shiny houses, shiny wives, cars, and money.

  They owned the world.

  And the world knew it.

  I stared down at the iron gates.

  Eagle Elite University.

  Owned by the Abandonatos.

  Run by.

  No one.

  That was the catch.

  Italian royalty no longer needed to attend the school. The only reason for it in the beginning had been to gain intel on other families and now that all the families were playing nice, it wasn’t necessary.

  Until I showed up.

  Until it was very apparent that since the five families had withdrawn themselves from the school — that new people were forced to rise up, to lead.

  It didn’t matter that the money was still coming from the same place.

  What mattered was that the presence.

  The figurehead.

  Was gone.

  The Elect, or so they were called — were gone.

  And that left.



  I ran my hands through my hair, blood still caked my knuckles. I was showing up on the first day of school looking like I’d literally been run over by a truck.

  Maybe that was why Chase had been so relentless.

  He wanted people to know I was a scary son of a bitch.

  He wanted people to know that even though I was blood — they wouldn’t hesitate in killing me.

  Beating me.

  Shooting at me.

  I was fucking limping by the time I made it through the second iron gate. It slammed behind me with such finality that I almost puked.


  I was in prison.

  My life was not my own.

  It never was.

  The chess master had moved his piece.

  “Remember,” Chase said before he landed another blow to my left cheek. “Peace is always more dangerous than war.”

  I dodged his punch and side-stepped him, bringing my elbow down on his back as he collapsed onto the cement floor. “Nice shot.”

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