Condemned to Love: 

by Davis, Siobhan

  “You brought your bodyguard with you,” I surmise, remembering the mess he left for me to clean up.

  Death doesn’t scare me, and my hands have plenty of blood on them. I don’t remember all the dead bodies I am responsible for, either by my own hands or by another’s hands, but I remember every innocent life that has been needlessly lost. I didn’t kill those two old men drinking at the bar, my bartender, one of my soldiers, or the taxi driver, but I have carried the weight of responsibility with me since that day. I never understood why. We didn’t keep cameras in the strip clubs, for obvious reasons, and whoever killed them left no trace. I knew it was a professional hit. But I never knew why or could find out who did it. At least that mystery is solved.

  She nods, dragging her lower lip between her teeth for a second. “Did you…did you hurt him?”

  I shake my head. “I never knew who did it or why.”

  Her shoulders relax a little.

  “You still should’ve told me. You had no right to keep it from me.”

  Fire blazes in her eyes. “Are you for real?” she shouts before cussing and clamping a hand over her mouth. I glance over my shoulder, but there isn’t a peep from the other side of the bungalow. “Why the fuck would I tell you after that?” she continues. “I put aside your cruel treatment of me in Vegas to do the right thing for my unborn child, but after witnessing you torture and kill a man, I wanted to run as far away from you as I could. There was no way in hell I wanted you anywhere near my son, and that hasn’t changed.” She tips her chin up defiantly, and I grace her with a wry smile as I climb to my feet.

  I loom over her as I lay down the new law. “I don’t give a fuck what you want. He’s my son, and I have a lot of missed time to make up for.”

  She scrambles to her feet, inching away from me.

  I flash her a deadly smile.

  “You’re dangerous, and I want you nowhere near him.”

  “I am, but there is nothing you can do to stop me. I will drag you through the courts if I have to.” Hell will freeze over before I’d publicize her and my son in such a blatant way, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  “You can’t do that!” she cries.

  “You can’t keep me from my son. I won’t hurt him,” I add, seeing the abject fear reappearing on her face. “I will protect you both, but I can’t do that from New York.”

  Her brows pucker as suspicion creeps into her tone. “What exactly are you saying?”

  “You have this weekend to pack up your shit. Rowan and you are moving to New York with me.”

  19

  SIERRA

  “The hell we are,” I tell him. Has he lost his ever-loving mind? “You don’t get to show up here and start dictating things to me.”

  “You better start listening carefully, Sierra, because I am not in the habit of repeating myself.” I’m not sure if his cold tone and emotionless expression is better or worse than the naked rage which contorted his face when he first showed himself. “You will not keep me from my son, and you are in no position to argue with me. You lost that right the day you fled New York without telling me the truth.”

  “I’ll go to the cops,” I blurt. “I’ll tell them what I saw.”

  He barks out a soft laugh, and I’m grateful he’s careful not to wake Rowan. Not that I’m telling him that. “The cops won’t touch me. There is no evidence.”

  “I’ll tell them what kind of man you really are.” It’s a weak argument, and we both know it.

  “What kind of man is that?” he teases, fighting a smile, and I want to ram my fist in his smarmy face.

  “The kind who hides his criminal activities behind legitimate businesses. I’ll tell them how you have strategically targeted up-and-coming tech companies to foster your agenda, like using your staff to invade people’s privacy,” I snap, hating that I have just let him know I have kept tabs on him over the years. He also knows my statement is conjecture because there is still nothing shady reported online. I’m grasping at straws, and I bet he can tell.

  Frustrated, I cross my arms, wishing again that I wasn’t wearing such flimsy pajamas. He enjoyed drinking his fill earlier, and I’m embarrassed to admit how much his intense, heated stare turned me on.

  I hate him.

  He’s a predator of the worst kind.

  Hiding in my house. Eavesdropping on my conversation with Dion. Spying on Rowan and me as we went about our normal nightly routine completely unaware of the monster lurking in the shadows.

  He’s a cold-blooded killer and a man who can’t be trusted. He almost choked me to death earlier. My throat throbs, as if on cue, helping to remind me. I might feel guilty because I have denied him his son and I have denied Rowan his father, but I did what I believe was in the best interests of my child. Rowan is the priority, and he always will be. Keeping him away from Ben is still the right thing to do.

  He’s staring at me with that cold, harsh gaze, awaiting my response, so I tell it as I see it. “The kind who maims and kills and doesn’t lose a wink of sleep over it.”

  “I am all that and more,” he agrees, stalking toward me, eating up the small gap between us. I retreat until I hit the end of the wall and I can’t retreat any more. “And you would do well to remember it.” The tips of his fingers brush against my sore throat, and I detest the flurry of fiery tingles his touch invokes against my sensitive flesh.

  Why can’t I feel this when Dion touches me? Why do I have to crave the man who would sooner crush me than treat me with any kindness? I am under no illusion here. Ben wants Rowan, and I’m only part of the package because he knows he needs me to take care of his son while he’s off building his crooked business empire.

  “I’m not scared of you,” I lie. He chuckles, and I’m back to wanting to punch him again. “And I won’t apologize for doing what I did to protect my son.”

  All humor fades from his face as a familiar thunderous darkness washes over his features. His piercing blue eyes—the same ones his son shares—penetrate my skull as if his gaze is a knife slicing through skin and bone. He presses his body flush against mine, forcing my chin upright. “My son does not need protection from me.” A muscle pops in his jaw. “But he does need protection from my enemies. You both do. If word got out, they would come for you and Rowan. You are both targets now.”

  Fear whittles through me, but I compartmentalize, focusing on damage control. I won’t agree to this, but I’m not stupid either. Ben is a powerful, dangerous man with considerable resources at his disposal. If I refuse, he will just take Rowan anyway, and I cannot bear the thought of him being separated from me. My only option is to appeal to whatever sliver of humanity still lingers in his bones.

  “No one knows, Ben. Your name isn’t on his birth certificate, and only two of my friends know the truth, and they will take the secret to their graves. You can leave and no one will be the wiser.” He opens his mouth, to spit more hatred at me, I’m sure, but I talk over him. “Rowan is happy here. He loves school, and he loves this house, and he is best friends with his cousin Romeo. Pulling him away from everything he has ever known will unsettle him.” I peer deep into his eyes, pleading with everything I’ve got. “Please don’t force me to do this. I’m begging you.”

  “You should never beg, Sierra,” he says, but the hard edge to his tone is missing.

  A little surge of hope springs to life inside me.

  Releasing my chin, he steps back, rubbing his hands down his cheeks. “I don’t want to upset him or unsettle him, but you can’t ask me to turn my back on him. I cannot do that, Sierra. I know what it’s like to grow up without a father, and I’m not inflicting that suffering and guilt and self-doubt on my child.” Pain flares briefly in his eyes. “You said no one knows, but two people do.”

  “My friends would never tell.”

  “Our enemies have ways of torturing the truth from hardened men who have been trained to keep secrets. If they get their hands on Esme or Penelope, they will sing like a canary.”<
br />
  He references my besties with the confidence of someone used to extracting truths. If he can make the connection that easily, it doesn’t bode well for others who might come looking. “How would anyone even know to come here? Know anything about me?”

  “Have you forgotten the men in that basement in Vegas?” he asks.

  A shudder works its way through me. “I haven’t forgotten a single thing about that night,” I say, scowling when his lips curve into a salacious grin. “Are you saying Scarface Salerno is your enemy now?”

  He shakes his head, propping his butt against the arm of my couch. “Vegas is an ally, but situations can change overnight. He knows who you are. No doubt he still has the recording from the bedroom.” Ben smirks. “He probably jacks off to it nightly.”

  My face pulls into a grimace. “Not helpful, and can we stay focused.”

  I’m getting hot thinking about the more pleasant aspects of that night, and I won’t let him distract me.

  “The point is, your friends knowing is a risk. If you stay here, you put them at risk as well as yourself and Rowan.”

  “We have lived here for five years, and nothing has happened,” I protest.

  “That doesn’t mean it will last forever.” Exhaling heavily, he stands. “Look, it’s late. Let’s sleep on it and talk again tomorrow.”

  I know he has no intention of letting it go. I see the determination glinting in his eyes. Yet, buying some time to think of options is better than the alternative right now. “Okay.” Briefly, I consider packing Rowan up and fleeing in the night, but I doubt I could find any place on the planet to hide where Ben wouldn’t find us. A life on the run, constantly looking over our shoulders, is not the kind of life I have in mind for my son.

  He taps out a message on his cell phone. “Walk me to the door,” he demands, and I barely resist the urge to flip him off. He’s so damn bossy.

  I startle when I open the front door, finding a tall guy about my age standing right there. “Fuck.” I slam a hand over my chest, sure my heart is going to short-circuit this time. There are only so many frights it can handle in one night.

  The guy looks me up and down.

  “Eyes on my face,” Ben snaps, and I jerk my head up.

  “Sorry, boss.” The man sounds contrite, but you can’t tell from his face which is a master class in nothing. He obviously attended the same school as Ben—both have the art of emotionless expressions down pat.

  “This is Alessandro,” Ben explains.

  “Hi. I’m Sierra.” I don’t smile, but my tone is pleasant.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, offering me a slight smile. He’s good-looking with dark hair and warm brown eyes, and I’m betting he does well with the ladies. He has that whole moody, broody vibe working for him.

  “Alessandro will guard you overnight,” Ben says. I open my mouth to protest, but he places his fingers to my lips, silencing me. “It’s not just that I don’t trust you to not make a run for it,” he says, and my cheeks flare up as I remember my thoughts from a couple of minutes ago. “It’s for protection.”

  “It’s past midnight.” I poke my head out, looking left and right. “The neighborhood is dead. Everyone is asleep.”

  “Arguing is pointless,” Ben says, stepping out of the house. He stands beside Alessandro. “Either Alessandro keeps watch out in his car or I guard you from inside. Your choice.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” There is no way I want to explain his presence to Rowan. I face Alessandro. “Do you need to use the bathroom, or can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

  “I’m fine, but thanks.” With another small smile, he returns to the black SUV now parked directly outside my house.

  “Don’t make plans for tomorrow,” Ben says as a sleek black Mercedes pulls up to the curb. “We have lots to discuss.”

  “I don’t want you to meet him yet,” I say, steeling myself for another argument. “I will drop Rowan off at Serena’s in the morning, and he can play with Romeo until we are done.”

  “You can’t keep him from me forever, Sierra. I have a right to know my own child, and he has a right to know I’m his father.”

  “I’m not saying that.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “We can’t just spring this on him is all I’m saying.”

  His shoulders stiffen. “We will talk more tomorrow.” He walks away but stops, turning back around. “He’s a great kid, Sierra. You’ve done a wonderful job with him.”

  “It’s not me,” I rasp, barely able to talk over the lump clogging my sore throat. “It’s all Rowan. He makes it so easy to love him.”

  “I wish I knew that firsthand,” he says as a new wave of anger skates over his face. “Good night,” he clips out, his jaw tensing as he walks off.

  Leo gets out of the car, holding the door for Ben. His eyes are hostile as he stares at me while Ben climbs into the back. Having withstood enough hostility tonight, I slam the door shut and walk into the kitchen, grabbing a broom and dustpan. I walk on autopilot into the living room, cleaning up the mess and washing the wooden floor, only heading to bed when I’m sure every speck of glass is gone.

  Sunlight is creeping through the blinds in my bedroom when I finally fall asleep hours later. But my dreams are troubled, and I toss and turn fitfully, hating that everything is about to change yet understanding I am powerless to stop it from happening.

  20

  BEN

  At least hanging around Chicago for the weekend gives me the opportunity to meet with Gifoli to open proceedings. The news this morning from my father’s medical team isn’t good. He only has six months, max, left to live, and there is still much to do. We need to secure Florida’s and Chicago’s commitment to The Commission before Angelo Mazzone dies. It’s the only way to ensure we survive should the Russians use my father’s death as the catalyst to make their move. I’m hearing all kinds of rumors of planned attacks and attempts to forge alliances with other criminal entities, and they aren’t mobilizing without a goal in mind. While they don’t know about his condition, I am sure they are watching and waiting for the perfect moment to present itself for them to strike. It’s what I would do in their shoes.

  Hence why I reached out to Alfredo Gifoli—the underboss in charge of The Outfit in Chicago—a couple of hours ago. One of the other New York bosses—Gino Accardi, my brother-in-law—is dealing with the stubborn don in charge of Florida.

  I had Phillip send me a file on Gifoli this morning, and I was shocked and more than a little concerned to discover Serena Lawson is now Serena Gifoli. I dug a little deeper, discovering Saskia is married to Felix Barretta. Felix’s father Thomas is the consigliere to Giuseppe DeLuca, but as DeLuca rules his domain from his residence in Sicily, Barretta effectively reports to Gifoli. Felix stands to become consigliere when his father retires, as is tradition.

  “It’s no accident Joseph Lawson married two of his daughters to men of power within the mafioso,” Leo deduces as he drives me from our hotel to Sierra’s house.

  One of my soldiers is normally on driver duty, and it’s not often a task asked of my underboss, but circumstances necessitated it today. I would have driven myself except Leo refused to let me go anywhere without him now that I have assigned Alessandro as Sierra’s bodyguard.

  I nod. “It’s widely known Lawson Pharma has been laundering money for The Outfit for years. Lawson has hundreds of reps on the road dealing directly with doctors and small-town pharmacies, and they favor cash payments purely so they can wash money for DeLuca’s organization. In return, The Outfit uses their contacts and influence inside the government to ensure significant R&D funding goes to Lawson Pharma and that key legislation is passed to enable them to rush trials through as quickly as possible.”

  It’s genius, really. No one would suspect a pharmaceutical giant of money laundering. The mob usually uses clubs, bars, hotels, and casinos to wash their cash, and that’s what the authorities focus on when they are trying to fin
d something to charge us with. One of the reasons I’m putting a lot of my energy into the construction division of our business is so we can wash cash. Focusing on high-end multimillion-dollar projects in prime locations is strengthening our redeveloped brand and enhancing our reputation within legitimate business circles as well. We still clean some money through the casinos, but it’s carefully laundered in a way that can’t be traced.

  “I see the attraction for Lawson,” Leo adds, taking the next exit for Glencoe. “What I don’t understand is why powerful men like Gifoli and Barretta would agree to it.”

  Arranged marriages are fairly common within la famiglia, most usually at the higher levels, as a way to forge bonds, foster loyalty, and to ensure the bloodline continues. It is rare for Italian men to marry non-Italian women. “Both enterprises have grown wealthier over the years, thanks to the alliance. Money is a powerful motivator, and it’s the only leverage Lawson has.” I flick a piece of lint off my pants. “Gifoli must need him badly enough, or perhaps I’m not the only one challenging traditions.”

  It might come across like I’m making light of it, but I’m not. It has raised some suspicions in my mind.

  Leo eyes me through the mirror as he drives through downtown Glencoe. “Sierra getting pregnant must have saved her from a similar fate.”

  “I have no doubt that’s true.”

  “When Lawson discovers the truth, he will use that to his advantage,” Leo warns.

  “Only if we make peace with The Outfit. He wouldn’t dare risk their wrath by insisting I marry Sierra if The Outfit remains outside of The Commission’s control.” He pulls onto Elm Street, and I smooth a hand over my hair.

  “They are in even greater danger.” Leo acknowledges what I already know as he guides the car to a halt outside the small bungalow my son calls home.