No Love for the Wicked Read online

  No Love for the Wicked

  One drop hate.

  Two drops love.

  Hell is below.

  Heaven is above…

  No Love for the Wicked

  Written by Tiana Laveen

  Edited by Natalie G. Owens

  Cover layout by Travis Pennington

  BLURB

  In 1979 NYC, Crime and urban flight are at their peak. Rocky II has hit the silver screen. The Knacks’ ‘My Sherona’ and Donna Summer’s ‘Bad Girls’ are burning up the music charts and blasting in every disco on a Saturday night. Murder also dances to a timely final heartbeat. Human demise and carnage are running rampant, many last breaths taken beneath the concrete surface, hidden from the naked eye. The nasty truth lies in an underworld of vengeance, greed, and evil.

  Angelo Ferrari is an unrepentant, heartless man who lives his life in the shadows. As a gun for hire who has followed in his father’s twisted footsteps, he has left a bloody trail of bodies in his wake. Since taking his first life at age fourteen, he has been holding a gun in one hand, a knife in the other, and hatred in his heart. He’s so good at being wicked, he’s never been caught red-handed. After years of grooming and experience, he is the newest Seraph of Mortality – the executioner.

  One fateful evening, however, things change…

  Andrea Ellison is an herbalist, palm reader, and Sensitive. She’s also the wrong woman to cross. Working at a perfume counter in Manhattan, she supplements her income by offering specialty love spells and clairvoyant readings. Though she at times can see the future, she did not notice Angelo Ferrari coming her way. When she sets her sights on the troublemaker, he makes her soul tremble. Never has she encountered such evil and beauty all within the same man…

  Their fortune is in their hands. No matter how hard they try to resist, they eventually realize they are destined to be together.

  However, love comes at a cost – for both of them.

  Can Angelo dance with the Devil and keep the woman of his dreams protected from his darkness? Can Andrea trust Angelo to love her, find his inner light, and not be swallowed by his shadows?

  Read “No Love for the Wicked,” to find out!

  “I’m goin’ straight to Hell.

  Might as well take some hopeless souls with me along for the ride.”

  – Angelo Ferrari

  They say there’s no love for the wicked.

  Well, maybe the wicked can learn to love…

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2021 by Tiana Laveen

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are fictitious and products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. PIRACY IS AGAINST THE LAW.

  There’s no rest for the wicked.

  Please do not skip this section.

  The warning is here for your protection and to provide a heads up.

  * This book is NOT politically, socially, or ethically appropriate according to the contemporary beliefs of our modern age. You will read things that are said and/or described by the characters using strong language we would not find acceptable in current times.

  This book is intended for mature eyes ONLY. As the author, I never wish for my readers to be blindsided. If any of the below-mentioned topics offend you or may be a trigger, please proceed with caution:

  1. Profanity

  2. Graphic sexual encounters

  3. Discussions of racism, injustice, and prejudice which include racial slurs, gender-specific and sex-related insults and reprehensible remarks that were more commonly used during that period.

  4. Plentiful Violence

  5. Discussions of abuse and neglect, including attempted sexual assault.

  6. Drug usage

  7. Loss of loved ones

  Oh, one more thing: For those unfamiliar with my work, I purposefully write ‘goddamn’ as ‘gotdamn.’ It’s an intentional spelling error. Just personal preference.

  Let’s continue…

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to an era: The 1970s. This was a time of innovation, peaceful and violent protests, ruthless rebellion, love, cohesion, truth, political upheaval, war, self-evaluation and discovery, abuse of one’s body, mind and soul, upliftment of one’s sister and brother, cultural awareness, healing, masculine and feminine energy. It was about the lion and the sheep – embracing both sides of human existence. Loving our shadows, and our light.

  This book is dedicated to Brooklyn, The Bronx, Manhattan, Queens, and Staten Island. This book is dedicated to back bones slipping, Hip Hop birthing, and discos beats thumping. It’s dedicated to style and grace, amazing Black exploitation movies and bad taste. It’s dedicated to natural hair and sleek perms, wide collars, bell-bottoms and platform shoes. This book is dedicated to the rhythm, and the blues.

  CAN. YOU. DIG. IT?

  1970s! This book is dedicated to YOU.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Half-Title

  Title Page

  About this Book

  Copyright

  Warning

  Dedication

  An Adoration - A Gift of Roses

  Love Letter to my Readers

  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

  No Love For the Wicked Music Directory

  About the Author

  An Adoration – A Gift of Roses

  Please excuse me for this broadcast interruption. I have to do something unconventional with this book. Something has happened. Through the course of writing this book, my family and I endured a tragedy. When it happened, the book was already near completion and I had high hopes that things would not end the way they did. I debated on waiting until the next novel to include this Adoration page for this special person, but I feel compelled to do it now. My Aunt Jackie recently passed away.

  Aunt Jackie was the only relative, besides my parents and deceased grandmother, who actively supported my writing and my books. I have a host of friends who are absolutely wonderful in this regard, but as far as blood relations, she is the one that I knew for a fact was not only my aunt, but one of my greatest fans. She would remark about how talented I was, and that she was proud of me. The best part? She actually read the books. There are funny stories I cherish about that. I also would go as far as to say that she was responsible, to some extent, for my very existence. Let me explain.

  She in
troduced my mother, who was her friend all the way up to the end, to my father, her brother, at a party. Now, sure, they might have met anyway, but I somehow doubt it. My father was a wild man at that time, and he was playing the drums at said party, probably high as a kite. LOL! My mother is a lot more conservative. They were opposites in so many ways, but there was chemistry between the two, and lo and behold, they enjoyed many of the same things. So, Aunt Jackie was a matchmaker – and my parents are still married to this day. My Aunt Jackie was active in my life. She attended gatherings, my bachelorette party, and my wedding to my wonderful husband. I remember she had to rearrange her work schedule to get there, and the wedding was a bit of a drive away, something she was known to not enjoy, but she did the fifty-minute one-way trip anyway, and when I saw her walk through that door on my special day, I literally burst out laughing and screamed with excitement. She was known to be hilarious, outspoken, and also showed tremendous growth as a human being over her short lifespan. She was constantly evolving, as we should all strive to do.

  She enjoyed her life and ventured out, doing new things she’d sworn to never do, such as traveling out of her comfort zone and making plans for additional trips. One of these was to visit her brother and sister-in-law, my parents, as well as me and my husband and children since we’d moved across the country. That last trip was being planned, but it never happened.

  Aunt Jackie worked in the healthcare field, and an ugly virus that ravished not only the United States, but the world, affected her to the point that she was unable to recover. She’d been simply doing her job, contracted it, and ultimately become ill and succumbed to the virus. The emotional devastation this has caused my family is unimaginable. There’s been hostility, deep sorrow, disbelief, depression, and mental anguish. There’s also been renewed support, sincere outpourings of love, self-evaluation, and much needed discussions that should’ve occurred years ago. All the things that unfortunately come along with a family losing someone who was not only loved, but central to the family unit. None of these emotions will bring her back. However, they are part of the process.

  It happened so suddenly, and worst of all, towards the end, we believed she was going to make it. As I write this, several weeks after her death, it still feels surreal. I will never hear those funny birthday greetings and songs she’d sing ever again. Ones she was notorious for. I will never be able to call her up, hum a song I cannot remember the name of, and have her identify it for me. I will never be able to hear that special laugh of hers. She’d been a treasured gem at her job, putting a smile on people’s faces in the middle of a crisis.

  I know she is okay. The problem is, we’re not okay. I don’t believe time heals all wounds. I have lost too many people I love to test that theory. What I do believe is that some way, somehow, by the grace of God, we manage. We learn to forgive others, instead of holding onto the hot coals of pain and living in the past, which is a slow torture that breeds much of the same. Grief is strange. It’s like temporary insanity. Losing someone can cause one to evaluate one’s life. But rather than project, we should be introspective, look in our own mirrors, and understand that life is far too short for sweating the small stuff. If God granted us five more minutes with Aunt Jackie, who was a friend to many, a sister, a mother, a co-worker, and so much more, would we spend it arguing and fussing with her? Or would we spend it hugging her and telling her how much we love her? Life is precious. It is sacred.

  If we get another chance in the form of a new day, we need to seize it. We need to tell the people in our lives that we care about that we love them, before it’s too late. After all the dust settles, we have to make a decision to let go and let God. Yes, forgiveness accompanies grief. My Aunt Jackie understood that forgiveness was pivotal to growth. She loved my grandmother. But what does my maternal grandmother have to do with this?

  My grandmother had been a helper to my aunt, if you will, during a rough patch in her life. She was not her biological mother; she was my mother’s mother, but she played a maternal role when my Aunt Jackie needed it during a time in her life. My grandmother was big on discussing forgiveness because she, too, had some of the same struggles my Aunt Jackie faced earlier in her life. I have never gotten over my grandmother’s death. She and I were extremely close. My grandmother discussed self-love, mercy, and kindness frequently. This is a sign of growth, a sign of a desire to gather and hold tight to peace. Anger is never the true emotion. Anger is a mask for sorrow. We’re angry that she’s gone. We’re angry about many things; however, anger is a disguise. We have to dig deeper. We suffered a blow, but I know my aunt would want us to find a way to re-build our lives, brick by brick, from the crumbling pieces of our wrecked hearts, and focus on what is most important in life: LOVE.

  Aunt Jackie, I am releasing this book in your honor. It’s fitting because you were a musician yourself, and you loved music. The songs that accompany this story, I have a feeling you’d know most of the lyrics to by heart, and I bet you could pick up your guitar and play the melodies with the greatest of ease.

  Now, you can sing and make music with the angels.

  Until I see you again, just know that we’ve switched places.

  It is I, your niece, who is one of your greatest fans…

  “Beloved, like clay in the hand of the potter, I continue to mold you into My image. The things that you endure give opportunities for you to grow stronger and more resolute both spiritually and naturally. Never forget that you are My special treasure and loved beyond what you can imagine. Go forth with renewed assurance that I am with you and for you.” Jeremiah 18:3-4—“Then I went down to the potter’s house, and there he was, making something at the wheel. And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter; so he made it again into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to make.”

  Love Letter to my Readers

  There was an era in time when the music made your chest vibrate, your heart radiate, and your body sway to lyrics and a beat that rocked you off your axis. Your entire soul banged as live musicians sang their hearts out and strummed electric and acoustic guitars, beat drums, and played horns like never before. The clothing, hair styles, vernacular and feel of the world was vastly different than it is today. There was a sense of freedom, perhaps some would was argue it was too much, which led to an abuse of all things carnal. Yet, still, a moral code existed. There was an understanding of how one treats one’s brothers and sisters. By the mid-1970’s, the Vietnam War had ended and led to the nation crying out for peace. This time would never be forgotten by those who’d lived it, and those who have researched it to the point that we wish we had.

  Even in the Wild West type landscape of New York City at that time, there was a code of conduct. Rules and regulations in the concrete zoo. Gangsters thrived. Pimps wore their thick furs and shiny gold rings. High class prostitutes sashayed around town, riding shotgun in fancy cars, their necks christened with floral perfumes and jewels. White collar crime was lucrative. Serial killers, like the Son of Sam, terrorized the streets, and the same political messages and mess we’re dealing with today existed in the decade of the dynamite disco.

  Racism and classism were very much in existence, but oftentimes frowned upon, at least in mixed company. The haves and have nots were living in their own versions of paradise and Hell. But, children played happily in the streets, with the fire hydrants on full blast and sticky popsicle stains coloring their white shirts in rainbow celebrations of a sweet time.

  One person who is far from sweet though is Angelo ‘Casper’ Ferrari. He is an urban beast, a monster living amongst the civilized, blending in almost seamlessly, and yet, he is a definite product of his environment. He grew up watching his father terrorize a neighborhood into submission by his mere presence, and a mother who nursed her wounds with a wicked tongue, alcohol, and men. Angelo saw it all through a young lens, and he was forever changed. The tall teenager grew up to be a strong, feared, and revered man, one full of hate, and he
became the thing of nightmares to anyone who got on his bad side, or got in his way. There’s only one person keeping Angelo holding on to a sliver of a conscience: his grandmother (Nonna).

  His nonna is deeply religious, and superstitious, too. She is the gateway between the past and the present. A vortex of good vs. evil, unknowingly, for her grandson. One evening, she opens a door that he can never close.

  Andrea Ellison is no stranger to the ironies and tragedies of life. Raised by her uncle and aunt after her parents died in a car crash, she blended in amongst her cousins, and was sometimes invisible in the crowd. Andrea survived through her love of creating candles, scented oils, and earring making, but that was only a small portion of who she was. It wasn’t long before she realized she had a sixth sense, and could at times sense misfortune and danger lurking in the air.

  When she set foot out in the world on her own, she decided to complement her income by selling her special one-of-a-kind accessories and love potions, as well as offering readings to help people with their wayward husbands, punishing bosses, and unfaithful girlfriends. This way, she dealt with her own dilemmas, too. But then, things got worse.

  Much worse.

  And in walked trouble.

  Only this time, trouble entered with no warning.

  Trouble stood incredibly tall, had piercing blue eyes, and could frighten a killer shark right out of the depths of the ocean with one glance.

  Its name was Angelo Ferrari.

  The two met and dominant personalities clashed like the Titans.

  But there is a thin line between love and hate.