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

by Xavier Neal

  Another slow blink.

  A second swallow.

  “You have to find a way to let those things out, Mia Bella. You have to channel that energy. You have to do something. Perhaps one of your puzzles?” I motion my hand to an untouched stack of Sudoku books. “You must miss giocare con i numeri.”

  Playing with numbers.

  Not sensing any change or change coming causes me to spiral harder. “Fine! If you do not wish to work with numbers then how about a game of words? Hm? Perhaps beating Miko and me in a round of Boggle will lift your spirits?”

  I honestly don’t miss the game.

  I only miss her smile.

  Her attitude.

  Her voice.

  My God, do I miss her voice…

  “Ti ho comprato un nuovo diario.”

  I bought you a new journal.

  My words are illustrated by the actions that proceed them. Retrieving the leather-bound notebook waiting on the nearby table, I gingerly place it near her thigh and a writing tool neatly on top of it. “It’s a fountain pen. I know your preference for them in your personal use. I contemplated purchasing you one of those vintage feather quills along with the ink, but I convinced myself this would be the cleaner option while you’re in this bed.”

  Her body immediately inches away as though the smallest graze against the object will hurt.

  I can’t stop my jaw from locking in place.

  Am I the reason she won’t write?

  Did I break that piece of her or is the refusal to journal – something she needed like breathing since she was a child – an extension of the pain caused by Cobb?

  Fuck.

  I want to make a deal with the devil to raise that bastard from the dead just to kill him all over again where she could watch so that, perhaps, whatever fragments of fear he managed to sow through her system can be wiped clean.

  “Write down what you’re feeling, Mia Bella,” I callously demand. “Write it down, what you saw on that island. What you smelled. What you heard.”

  Her jaw twitches with the faintest tremble.

  My body leans in closer. Voice gets louder. Command grows harder. “Write down what they did to you. How it felt. How much you fucking hurt.”

  Chantal steals the smallest glimpse of her empty lap.

  “Write down how much you hate them! How much you fucking hate me!”

  There’s no denial of the statement.

  Why would there be?

  Why wouldn’t she hate me?

  How could she not blame me for getting her father killed?

  Her life taken?

  Her existence shattered?

  How could she not fucking hate me when I hate me?

  This time the lack of response spurs me into leaning over and snatching the remote out of her hand.

  The gasp that’s grabbed is so audible, so deliciously familiar, it threatens to make my cock stir. Her eyes narrow sharply, and I damn near drop to my knees in gratitude for the pain I’m being tossed. Chantal angles her head to the side, a movement I miss being attached to her sass.

  Her snark.

  She turns her palm upward and firmly demands, “Give. It. Back.”

  “Questo?!” I shake the object in my clutches. “This makes you fucking talk?”

  Fury burns fiercely in her gaze.

  “This is worthy of your fucking anger?”

  “Give. It. Back.”

  “This is worthy of fucking actions?!”

  “Now.”

  “This,” my fingers dangle the controller carelessly, “Questo pezzo di merda is what you’re willing to fight for?! Not our love?! Not our fucking child but the fucking remote?!” I hurl the device across the room at the nearest wall. Sounds of it shattering reverberate around the room sending tears to her eyes. “Parla con me! Yell at me! Fucking scream at me, Mia Bella! Do…something! Give me…something!”

  Almost as quickly as the fire appeared it’s extinguished.

  The grim, glazed over gaze I would sell my soul to stop seeing presents itself front and center. Another word isn’t uttered but a mild-mannered action. She slinks underneath the covers, rolls onto her side away from me, and pushes the journal off the mattress.

  It's hard thud on the ground tears a loud rumble out of me.

  All of a sudden, the door is swung open by Miko, who’s wearing his usually good-natured smirk. He glances around the tension-filled situation and playfully sighs, “Damn. Thought all the banging and thudding meant I was going to walk in on some good shit.”

  I mumble under my breath as I storm past him, “Non in vena.”

  Not in the mood.

  “When are you ever?” he teases back before delivering a snap point to Dario, the only other member of security allowed to watch Chantal.

  “Voglio fumare.”

  I want to smoke.

  “Your cigars are in the house.”

  My retort is given in tandem with me exiting out the front door to the heavily guarded guest house. “And, it shall do me some good to make the fucking walk.”

  Miko makes another hand motion – this one to lock the building down since we are no longer in it – and hustles to catch my stride. “You don’t like being this far away from her.”

  “Sì, but I can’t be…this…close to her, either.”

  To my surprise, he doesn’t say anything.

  We walk in utter silence across the estate for the cigar room. Despite the bright sunshine and the beautiful changing colors on the trees, the world around me seems grayer than ever. The sayings about life being more vivid when you’re in love are true; however, there is another side less explored and advertised. The fine print regarding what will happen when you are in love, but your situation is bleaker than either of you could’ve imagined is rarely examined. Warnings what mourning your lost love while still in love will entail do not exist.

  There are no odes.

  No sonnets.

  No long-winded limericks to merrily mock the oddness to lighten the load of misery.

  Just a steady bitterness that beats through your heart.

  Throughout your veins.

  Taints your soul.

  I’m so lost in my own wallowing thoughts that I don’t even remember when we walked back outside let alone lit cigars. The habit of being trapped inside my own head is an overwhelmingly toxic one, which always leads me to thinking about Chantal being stuck in hers. My demons are manageable.

  I doubt hers are anywhere near as tame.

  “Come fai a sistemare le cose, Miko, quando l'altra persona non te lo permette?”

  How do you make things right, Miko, when the other person won't let you?

  He leans against the stair railing we’re next to. “Maybe you don’t?”

  Snapping my head in his direction is instant. “Che cosa?”

  “Maybe,” my cousin verbally tiptoes forward, “this isn’t about you making something right.”

  More disbelief appears in my gaze.

  “Yeah, you’re…technically responsible for some of the shit that she got stuck in, but maybe it’s not about you in that sense. Maybe it’s about her and what she’s dealing with and shit. And, what she actually needs versus what you think she needs.”

  I wordlessly lower the cigar away from my lips.

  “All I’m sayin’ is that chick in there isn’t our Chantal.” He leisurely rolls the cigar back and forth between his fingertips. “Not yet, anyway.” His head slowly shakes, blue eyes lingering in my hazel. “But you keep…roaring at her like she’s still that fucking tiger that could take down anything that crosses her path instead of accepting the fact that right now…she’s nothing more than a little lamb.” Miko continues in spite of the fact it looks painful to do so. “You have to accept that. The sooner the better. Because as long as you fucking don’t…this shit will continue. And, we’ll lose more and more of her until we’re stuck with something that will always be waiting to be eaten rather than the beast I, willingly, traded my life fo
r.”

  Guilt drops my gaze to the ground.

  She won’t last in this life like that.

  She…can’t.

  And, if her fighting spirit isn’t restored, I fear I’ll be burying her next to her father before our child turns a year.

  All of a sudden, “Poison” by Bell Biv Devoe begins blaring from Miko’s pocket. There’s a small chortle out of him proceeded by the fishing out of his cell. He prepares to answer it yet stops to gleefully smirk despite my scowling. “It’s fucking fitting, right?”

  “Sì, perché è quello che ti farà.”

  Yes, because that's what she's going to do to you.

  Miko laughs, carelessly shrugs, and puts the call on speaker. “Mouse, speaking.”

  I trade putting the cigar back in my mouth for throwing him a glare.

  “Little mouse,” Shay sassily corrects from the other end.

  “You’ve seen my cock. Io non sono piccolo.”

  I am not little.

  “And, I never implied your dick was the reason for the term of endearment.”

  “Ah. So, it is a term of endearment.”

  “Do you doubt the nature of my feelings?”

  “Do you doubt the nature of mine?”

  “It’s impossible to doubt what I saw in the picture, little mouse. Knowing it was caused by me, is what made it flattering.”

  “Do I need to be here for this?” my interjection is given around the expensive solace in my mouth. “Would you two prefer to be alone?”

  “This call, unfortunately, isn’t for foreplay,” Shay sighs with obvious disappointment in her tone.

  To my surprise, my second gets a similar look.

  What is going on between them that I am not privy to?

  “The girls have officially been relocated. Burns and Ferguson, your merc who volunteered to assist, have secured them into a safe haven where they will be getting the help they need and tools to be integrated back into society when they’re ready. I know this, too, isn’t what you wanted Benicio, but you must remember – vengeance isn’t always the correct answer.”

  I sneer at the response prior to giving the cigar a deep suck.

  It’s bad enough I couldn’t murder those that transported her on the boat due to their Syndicate veil of protection. Not being able to…extract information from the females who were under his thumb or, possibly, harm them if I found out they had harmed Chantal, became one more battle I felt I had lost. Both Roth and Ferguson agreed on what to do with the women, and once Shay signed off, any objection I had was moot.

  I honestly don’t know what feeling I’m more tired of.

  Losing control or feeling as though I have no control.

  “Cobb’s death has successfully been covered up. Wild animal attack.”

  Oddly accurate.

  “His facility was properly cleaned, staff transferred.”

  The two of us resume our smoking.

  “The man you shot point blank in the face until he had no face was a deacon at an exclusive church an island over. His death was…a little harder to spin but the large donation they received helped cure anyone of their curiosity.”

  Miko lightly chuckles out a mocking, “Amen.”

  “And, how’s Dr. Gregory?”

  “Still a lesbian,” he replies after releasing a billow of smoke.

  “Would it make you jealous to know I’ve enjoyed her in ways you probably won’t?”

  “You mean never will?”

  “No, I’m much more open-minded than you can possibly imagine, Little Mouse. And, her marriage is much more fluid than you’re picturing.”

  Intrigue pierces his stare and smirk simultaneously.

  “She’s working out well, Benicio?”

  “Sì.” It’s my turn to blow out a puff. “She has been worth every penny.”

  I want to ask what the additional cost was, the one Miko refuses to talk about, but don’t have time to.

  “It would have been silly to expect anything less. Now, back to the original reason for my call, aside from updating you about the carnage, I have news. We have a visual confirmation on your missing valet.”

  Shay’s new announcement damn near knocks the cigar off my lips.

  “Where?” Miko beats me to the question.

  “Prague.”

  “Fucking Prague?!” My best friend barks out. “What the fuck is he doing in Prague?!”

  “Hiding,” she swiftly retorts, “and quite well considering you couldn’t locate him.”

  “There had been no indication he had left the states,” he bites backs. “None of our contacts at any of the borders – air or water – flagged him. What the fuck did he do? Teletrasporto?”

  Teleport.

  “Roth believes he, most likely, left the same night, the same way Chantal did – via a set of mercs and a boat – which is why your contacts wouldn’t have had a chance to flag him.”

  I want to prod why Miko didn't check those possibilities during his search initially, yet I don’t.

  There’s no reason to believe he didn’t or second guess his methods. Most likely, he tapped every source he could as best as he could, and they just had nothing to give. Prague isn’t exactly a small place, and with our resources split in so many different directions I can’t pretend I’m not surprised the valet was winning the worldwide version of “Where’s Waldo?”.

  I did not enjoy those books as a child.

  They were always too busy.

  Too many people.

  Too many details.

  Unnecessarily complicated.

  My cousin – on the other hand – will still pick one up to this day and enjoy the eye-straining search.

  “I can have Roth prepare an extraction plan and have him, as well as a team, assist in the process.”

  Miko prepares to sign off when I hold up a palm to stop him. “Is this included in the servitude my second is already required to serve or adding years?”

  She lets go of a small snicker that stirs bile in my stomach. “You’re learning. That’s sexy.”

  The grunt of annoyance out of my cousin is hard to ignore.

  Jealousy or envy or whatever emotion it is he’s toying with is not welcomed nor needed.

  Even if Mia Bella wasn’t in my life, I am not the match for Shay that she would desire.

  She lives for the chaos that she creates.

  Anarchy to a system she designs.

  Insanity is her favored flavor, while one I simply tolerate.

  “Locating your lead was the agreement; however, if you make a special stop for me while you’re over there, Little Mouse, I will happily lend you the assistance you’re going to need to capture and transfer your target.”

  “Done,” Miko surrenders without obtaining further information.

  My hands flail at him in frustration.

  More snickers slip free from her, resulting in a head shake from me. “Perfect. I’ll have the store waiting with the package for you to pick up. I expect you to be wearing one of the pieces when you deliver it.”

  “Aspetta cosa?”

  Wait, what?

  Another headshake is delivered to him.

  When will he learn, she is not the woman to make agreements with, without first reading the fine print?

  “I expect you to treat it delicately. Every item is hand stitched, hence, the outrageously high price.”

  “But-”

  “You should begin making arrangements for Chantal’s safety in your absence. Between snatching, securing, and retrieving my purchase from a store that’s only open two days a week, I imagine you will be gone about a week.”

  My entire frame tenses.

  “Would you like a few members of my team to assist in the security process?”

  “Nope,” Miko promptly refuses. “Got that shit covered. Ma grazie per l'offerta.”

  But, thanks for offering.

  “You sound bitter, Little Mouse.” Her giggling is proceeded by a proposition presenting in a p
outy tone, “Would you feel better if I sent you a little piece of cheese?”

  “Is cheese code for a chick to fuck?”

  “It can be,” Shay suggestively retorts. “Would that put a smile back on your face?”

  “Depends. Is she coming just to fuck me or remove one of my kidneys, too?”

  Shay loudly laughs, although it sounds more authentic than cynical.

  “Have Roth be in contact at his earliest convenience with the details. I’ll have our site set up and ready to deal with the target when we return to the states.”

  She says nothing else.

  There’s a click followed by a half-amused sigh. “Sarà la mia morte.”

  She's going to be the death of me.

  Quite literally is the worry that consumes me.

  “Perhaps you should go alone?” my suggestion is quiet.

  Uncertain.

  Miko shoves his phone into his pocket, stare pasted on me.

  “Chantal-”

  “Will be protected, at all times, by those we can trust as much as we can trust ourselves.”

  His statement could only imply one thing, which lifts my eyebrows.

  “This arrangement was made before she was ever brought home. They’ve, literally, just been waiting for the call.”

  I let my shoulders slightly relax at the same time I compliment, “I appreciate you anticipating my needs.”

  “It’s a skill,” Miko casually brushes off and turns around to rest his arms on the railing. “It’ll take Dario a bit to learn it, but I have no doubt that he will.”

  Dario will never be to me what Miko is.

  He’s not family.

  He’s not the only true friend I’ve ever had.

  As much as I don’t want to accept that I have to let him go, that I traded one love for another, I know that I have no choice.

  Given the way he keeps behaving, he’s already accepted his fate with wide arms and waggling eyebrows.

  “He’ll be the right fit when the time comes.” His cigar begins a slow return to his mouth. “My time here is limited but that doesn’t mean my legacy has to be.”

  A loud chortle escapes on a confused grunt. “Quando sei diventato così saggio?”

  When did you become so wise?

  “Somewhere between sharing limoncello and lemon gelato with Antonio.”