Dark Reign (The Bennett Duet #2): A Dark Mafia Romance

by Xavier Neal

  Feeling better?

  “Sì.” The shirt I was wearing is thrust his direction prior to me plucking the black t-shirt from Perry’s possession. It’s swiftly pulled over my head while resuming the speech that was previously interrupted. “This decision wasn’t made lightly, Miko.”

  My cousin’s stare remains pasted on my mine.

  “La fiducia è purtroppo scarsa al momento.”

  Trust is, unfortunately, scarce at the moment.

  His eyes fall to the ground from the heavy weight of the truth.

  “We will do what is necessary for survival.”

  He lifts his gaze back up just as I’m tightening the straps on the vest.

  “And, then we will do whatever is necessary to restore order.” My body leans a little closer during the reclaiming of my jacket. “Le teste gireranno, caro cugino.”

  Heads will roll, dear cousin.

  I slowly slide the article back into place. “The only question is…how many?”

  Something similar to relief settles into his stare.

  “Sì?”

  “Sì.”

  My hand motions to the vehicle. “Then, shall we?”

  Perry opens the door for Miko and I to get settled in the back, hangs up the dress shirt that no longer serves a purpose, and makes his return to the driver’s seat. My second keeps a watchful eye on our surroundings while I retrieve the hidden items from under the seat. Weapons are tucked properly into place. Poise resumes its faithful position. Thoughts of my future wife…my pregnant future wife…are forcefully pushed to the back of my mind to allow my focus to gather where it is truly needed.

  Our access into the wealthy gated community on the outskirts of Keleston is instantly granted. Initial security assumes I’m here to visit a friend – something the world often mislabels my associates – and welcomes us warmly. We take the windy road towards one of the far corner lots where their intricate backyards open to the lake or – for those more criminally conversant – a water-based escape route.

  Due to the silencer on the end of my pistol quietly taking out the guard in Layfette’s personal security station, our entrance onto his actual property is easy. Perry proceeds to drive calmly as though we’re scheduled guests hoping to avoid alarm; however, when the two members of his team radio in to receive confirmation about our arrival, our movements swiftly shift.

  Miko and I subtly slip out of the SUV on the side they don’t have a good visual of at the same time it comes to a suspicious creep. The guards whip their weapons to the driver window, preparing to fire, yet are each met by a bullet to the brain. Their bodies fall to lifeless heaps alerting the security member on the second story balcony to danger. Before he’s had time to process his next move, I fire off a round, clipping him in his shoulder. He promptly prepares to work through the pain when Miko unleashes one bullet into his open mouth and a second through his immediately exposed neck.

  While which shot drops him is unclear, my best friend’s mocking is unmistakable, “Really? His shoulder?” The levity that seems endless is thrown my direction. “What? We playin’ paintball now?”

  I let my eyes narrow to make my irritation known.

  He chortles, takes point, and proceeds to lead us inside.

  Layfette’s gaudy turquoise and gold decorated mansion is more than a basic eye sore. His walls house erotic photos and provocative paintings while the junctions are home to crystal statues of random wildlife. The area where the two sets of main stairs eventually meet in the middle is currently being occupied by a distracted guard who I don’t hesitate to drop with one round between the eyes. Miko’s promptly shot an arrogant smirk that’s followed by him extending his weapon to fire two over my shoulder. I glance the direction of his newest victim to see a seemingly innocent maid sprawled out. Knowing how my house staff has been trained to behave upon a potential invasion or suspicious visitor, I scan her corpse, almost instantly spotting the gun wedged between the towels she was carrying.

  My gaze returns to Miko who, yet again, presents me with a goofy, taunting grin.

  Yes, he is head of security for a reason.

  I know that.

  But he doesn’t have to be so fucking smug about it.

  He happily motions his hand for me to head up the stairs first. We cautiously creep towards the top. Thankfully, we’re not caught by any more security or wandering staff in the process. Our arrival on the second floor presents us with a new problem of which direction to take.

  I’ve barely finished opening my mouth to suggest the obvious when Miko shakes his head in a silent denial.

  Splitting up covers more territory in a timelier fashion.

  Is it ideal?

  No.

  None of this is.

  Nothing about my life is currently ideal.

  However, we do whatever must be done.

  My mouth lowers once more to propose the apparent only to be shut down by him shooting over my shoulder a second time, an action that easily echoes his disposition. “No.”

  The sounds of a new victim hitting the marble door is proceeded by me surrendering. “Fine. Left.”

  “Balcony guard was to the right.”

  “Lattice was to the left.”

  A less obvious escape route.

  Layfette always insists on having one.

  It’s something that helps make him remarkable at what he does.

  Miko nods in agreement and returns to taking point. I keep my attention primarily pinned on our six. The long hallway behind us along with the unopened doors we pass on our journey are easy to monitor. His extravagant entertainment room is the next place trouble is, theoretically, waiting, though the luxury French pool table taking up residence dead center provides us with just enough coverage to assist in the slaying of the cavalry. They poorly file into the room one right after another, keeping their drawn weapons low. My bullets are delivered to their hands and arms in a distracting fashion, which allows my second to swiftly follow the blows with kill shots. Once the situation is deemed clear, we replenish our ammunition and resume our search for the master bedroom. Luckily, the last leg of our trek is uneventful and takes us to a secluded set of white French doors.

  The instant we enter, we’re exposed to the very man we were expecting to find; however, he isn’t in the ideal state I was hoping.

  Lafayette scrambles to catch his falling towel. “Is knocking more or less foreign to you than this visit, Mr. Bennett?”

  “On par.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?”

  “Because, much like yourself, my reputation precedes me.”

  He grunts his irritation prior to inquiring, “May I at least retrieve my pants for whatever this is?”

  My head motions to Miko who steps to my side, gun extended, serious expression plastered in place. “You may, but I would advise you to be mindful of your moves for my second is overly cautious with a trigger finger that is far from slow.”

  The slender brunette lifts his hands to display his current weaponless position. Next, he waves a hand at the king-sized bed where his clothing – that was most likely laid out by a maid – is waiting. Layfette slowly begins the act of exchanging his post shower attire for his underwear while I seal us off to the rest of the mansion. Like my cousin, I never take my primary focus off of our target, which requires me to heavily rely on my peripherals and sense of touch to assist in the completion of my activity.

  About the time he has on pants, I arrive back at Miko’s side. He lowers his weapon as Layfette settles himself on the edge of the bed yet only inches his finger over enough to not be directly resting on the trigger.

  “This meeting isn’t protocol, Mr. Bennett.”

  “Protocols are being rewritten.”

  Nervousness immediately appears in his gaze.

  “You have newly acquired product that needs passage. You want it moved through one of my coastal territories, meaning it’s of high value, and the request for that to be done through one of my l
ive lobster transfers informs me of its rarity.”

  Lafayette remains silent.

  “Show me.”

  His eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “E-e-excuse me?”

  I make no effort in repeating myself.

  “Since when is it customary or required for you to personally see what I want moved?”

  Despite the weapon I’m holding, I rest my hands together in front of me.

  It takes him less time than predicted to conclude the obvious, “You want something.”

  The small nod he’s presented relaxes his shoulders.

  “Something wrongfully stolen from you?”

  Yes and no.

  He can’t sell me back my fiancée for a high price, but he can provide me with what is necessary to please the person who I know – without a doubt – can help me find her.

  “Your expression is telling me no…which is good. Fencing shit that was stolen from you and then trying to move said stolen shit through you would easily have you murder me and piss on my grave.”

  “Continue needlessly taking up my time, and I may find myself compelled to do that, regardless.”

  Layfette’s brown eyes bulge in fear, yet his head bobs in understanding. “I have no problem allowing you to shop my latest haul at a fair and reasonable price.”

  “Permitting you to live after such an inconsiderate comment covers that cost.”

  “Agreed,” he quickly concedes. “They’re in the safe, which is-”

  “Right behind you, Layfette.”

  His moving mouth abruptly ceases doing so.

  “You do not allow your best buys out of your direct supervision for more than a minimal amount of time. It’s why you book obscene, private helicopter tours of areas most people wouldn’t waste their money glancing at twice when presented with an opportunity to view their city from the sky. You know a good thief never leaves his goods susceptible to being stolen and a good fence never leaves his potential six-figure sales unaccompanied, so rather than waste your breath and my time with a lie that will only end with your blood staining your tacky tile floor, how about you simply open the aforementioned safe instead?”

  He, yet again, yields without further compelling. After flashing us his empty palms to show he’s not idiotically reaching for a weapon, he stands and backs up slowly for the head of the bed, maintaining eye contact every step of the way.

  His body bumps into his bedside table prompting me to state, “Scopo.”

  Aim.

  Miko lifts his weapon in preparation of Layfette making the deadly mistake of trying to sneak out a gun rather than simply opening the safe. While it’s easier for my request to be fulfilled by his hands in particular, it’s not impossible for someone else to do it. His safes aren’t complicated with the bells and whistles that attract the very people he buys his product from. They’re straightforward. They’re on the minimal effort side of cracking. The only advantage he truly has, aside from the armed guards we dropped, is the fact they’re cleverly hidden.

  Layfette tosses his pillows to the floor, slips down a small panel on the side of the headboard, and pushes a button. Suddenly, half of the seemingly wooden headboard slides out of the way revealing a safe built into the wall it’s pressed against. He doesn’t hesitate to spin the dial to grant himself access nor does he reach for the waiting weapon towards the back. The removal of the small box is done with such care that it’s clear the contents inside are of high value.

  Like a shady magician, he flashily reveals a key to open it as though it appeared out of thin air.

  An unsettling feeling threatens to run down my back. “Where was that hidden?”

  “Pillow,” he casually replies at the same time he shoves it in the lock. “You didn’t see me grab it because I have an amazing sleight of hand.” Layfette turns the key prior to looking up and gushing, “The best fence was once the best thief, Mr. Bennett.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Fencing is far less dangerous.” He returns to unloading the newly acquired collection. “Or, at least I thought it fucking was until you two barged in here and probably killed my entire security team.” Layfette gingerly places the cloth on his bed while continuing to ramble, “Then again, if it only took two of you to eliminate an entire fucking team, we’ll say you did me a fucking favor by presenting to me how utterly pointless they were and how it would be a good idea to hire better guards.” On a dramatic flick of the wrist, the jewels acquired are exposed. “Voila!”

  The two of us immediately approach where they’re being displayed, so I can engage in a closer inspection.

  Layfette folds his arms across his chest and explains, “The most valuable piece would be that hummingbird brooch. I can easily get somewhere near a million for it depending on if it’s an American buy or a greedy nobleman in need of something to shut his mother up for her birthday.”

  Mamma hated extravagant gifts.

  I do believe Chantal is the same.

  The praise received over a leatherbound journal far outweighed that of an entire new designer wardrobe.

  Hell, the bragging she did in regard to the one evening I served her homemade pizza eclipsed that of her first experience having Duck Confit, which was prepared by a world-renowned chef.

  She’s a woman who finds more value in action than in material.

  It’s unheard of in the world she’s agreed to permanently join by marrying me, yet something that feels suspiciously like it should be considered a strength as opposed to a weakness.

  My love won’t be easily won over or seduced by something shiny any asshole with a black card can provide.

  I’ve come to find comfort in that.

  Being able to truly trust the female at my side is a type of ease that soothes the soul.

  Especially, in times like this.

  Especially, when loyalty of those closest to you has come into question.

  “The rest…,” Layfette breathes out a whistle, “probably a judge’s ruling.”

  Half instead of a full million.

  My eyes skim the other items in search of something that would better suit the recipient.

  Much like the woman I’m going to marry, it’s not about the expense with her.

  It’s about something else.

  Something stranger.

  I continue letting my attention roam the collection. “What came from where?”

  “Most were just basic lifts.” Layfette motions to the emerald earrings, “Drunk politician’s wife,” he shoots a finger at a pair of pearls, “pharmaceutical tycoon’s absentminded fiancée,” his gesture moves to a pink sapphire ring, “billionaire’s brat that didn’t realize she was giving up much more than a blow job in the backseat of daddy’s limo…” He folds his arms across his chest once more. “The bird took flight from our northern poutine-loving border along with that black onyx necklace. Some old heiress with a new, young, and very fucking dumb boyfriend, who was left in charge of watching the movers yet chose instead to watch the beautiful jogging redhead.”

  My gaze glides to him.

  “You have any idea how many men are suckers for a redhead in a sports bra?”

  I choose not to answer what I’m certain is a rhetorical question.

  “Too. Many.” Layfette cocks a crooked grin. “Or, the perfect amount to keep me in riches like this and Felice strutting around in those red bottom shoes she adores so much.”

  “This heiress…does she have a name?”

  “Don’t we all?”

  The lack of amusement on my face causes him to clear his throat.

  “Felice should have more information on her mark, if not, Butch probably does since he was in the house and made the swipe.”

  My stare falls back to the selection in silent deliberation on which piece would please the recipient the most.

  Something involving sex – given her unique position – is likely to put a sadistic smile on her face, yet if what was stolen from the heiress has a better background to i
t, a better story, than it is what she should be presented.

  “Need help deciding?” Lafayette needlessly invades the thought process.

  “No.”

  “You sure?” his tone takes one filled with mirth. “I bet my expertise could lead you into picking the right present for your mistress.”

  There’s an audible hiss out of Miko that’s barely heard over the sound of my weapon firing. The thoughtless reaction is done so quickly that Lafayette doesn’t have time to react. One moment my gun is resting in my possession and the next a bullet is piercing his throat, proving my indisputably fragile sanity is much more frail than I’m consciously letting myself believe. Blood splatters across the gems while he falls to his side, clutching the gushing wound. Logic whispers to leave him be, that the fired shot was enough of a mistake, but the budding madness bullies me into snatching him up by the disheveled, wet hair.

  Into shoving the barrel of the suppressor so roughly past his front teeth it knocks them out.

  Into scraping the back of his throat so forcefully with the metal that it’s unclear if he’s choking on spit or blood.

  “Mistress?!” Revulsion rolls off much more than just my tongue. “Mistress?!” I lower my face to let his tear-filled eyes latch onto mine. “You think so fucking low of my future wife that I would need a fucking mistress?!” He’s yanked closer despite the fact the gun can’t go down his throat any further. “You think I would risk my fucking life for some bottom feeding filth?!”

  Gags and gurgles are given in response.

  “Here’s a little lesson about how the fucking animal kingdom works in our world, Lafayette.” My voice drops an octave lower to growl, “Only the king’s goddamn queen could ever make him this fucking insane.”

  The statement is supported by me squeezing the trigger in rapid succession until the entire magazine is empty. At that point, I carelessly drop what remains of his body and examine the bloody mess I didn’t intend on making.

  Red droplets dribble down the risqué portraits.

  Chunks of bone or brain cling to the bedside lamp.

  Crimson stains slowly soak into the expensive sheets.

  Lucidity looms over my shoulder like a disappointed angel while lunacy cackles on like the devil that’s finally grateful for a chance to dance.