The Hitman's Desire: A Mafia Romance (The Silent Family Book 1)

by T Steele

  Copyright © T. Steele 2019

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by: Kate DellaVecchia, Waverly Alexander, and Payton Salmons

  Cover Designer: Olivia Pro Designs

  Interior Formatting: Kate Hawthorne

  The Hitman's Desire

  A Mafia Romance

  T. Steele

  Contents

  Foreword

  The Hitman’s Desire playlist

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Thank you

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by T. Steele

  To my family, Payton Salmons, Waverly Alexander, Kate DellaVecchia and Nicole Shaker.

  Trigger warning: This book is rated R for violence and explicit sex scenes.

  The Hitman’s Desire playlist

  Rise Against “Savior”

  Audioslave “Like a Stone”

  Thirty Seconds To Mars “The Kill”

  Nine Inch Nails “Closer”

  Nirvana “Rape me”

  Limp Bizkit “Break Stuff”

  Starset “My Demons”

  Rise Against “The Violence”

  Imagine Dragons “Natural”

  Billie Eilish “Bury a friend”

  The Smashing Pumpkins “Bullet with Butterfly Wings”

  Asking Alexandria “Vultures”

  Through Fire “Breathe”

  Korn “Freak on a leash”

  Korn “Got the Life”

  System Of A Down “Chop Suey!”

  System Of A Down “Toxicity”

  Fuel “Hemorrhage”

  Blue October “Hate Me”

  TOOL “Sober”

  Evanescence “Bring Me To Life”

  Skillet “Monster”

  Breaking Benjamin “The Diary of Jane”

  Chevelle “The Red”

  Slipknot “Psychosocial”

  TOOL “Schism”

  The White Stripes “Seven Nation Army”

  Chapter One

  “Thank you, have a nice evening,” I say to the lady through the Tim Hortons drive-thru window, the warmth of the coffee still lingering on my fingertips. My feet ache as I walk over to the counter, wiping it down. My job here isn’t horrible. I make decent money and I’m able to afford a small, studio apartment here in Detroit. Now my side job at Dearborn Auto Tech, that’s my dream job. It sounds odd that being a mechanic could be someone’s dream job, but I like what I like. I understand cars, and I like working on them. The thing that makes it hard, though, is that no one takes me seriously. Being a woman, a very feminine woman no less, makes people think I can’t hold my own as a mechanic.

  Standing at five foot three with a babyface, people smile down at me warmly, as if to say, “Aw, how cute.” They might as well pat me on the head and tell me to go play while the men do the manly work.

  I let out a sigh, blowing my blonde hair out of my eyes, and start cleaning the coffee machines. I hum as I work, then catch myself. There are still two customers. I can have my rock star performance when I’m alone.

  It’s my turn to close tonight, and I keep glancing at the clock and at the last two customers, who are sitting on opposite sides of the room at different tables. I’m trying to send the message of thank you, but it’s closing time.

  I’m clumsy with nerves, dropping things and tripping over my feet as I eye the two men, two very large men—one of them in a crisp, clean suit. His dark hair is styled on his head with more hair product than I’ve used in my entire life, and there’s a shiny Rolex on his wrist that he keeps glancing at as if he’s waiting for someone to show up. He reminds me of some high up executive, and his dark eyes slide to mine, then to the other man, before looking back to his watch. I keep pretending not to notice, but sooner or later, I’ll have to at least speak with the men to tell them to leave.

  The other man seems to be the one I should worry about the most. He’s wearing expensive clothes, but they’re . . . different. They’re all black, a jacket with one of the large collars that could come up to cover his face plus a hood on the back, black jeans, and black boots.

  With the hood up and the way he has his head angled downward looking at his phone, it’s hard to see his face clearly. From what I can see, he has curly, black hair and pale skin. His face looks harsh. Not that he’s ugly—no, the opposite actually—but the angles of his face and jawline give him a sinister look. With his concave cheeks and chiseled face, it looks as though his jaw stays permanently clenched. He hasn’t looked at me once, but I still feel his stare as if he has. It’s as if he knows I’ve noticed him, but I’m not important enough for even a glance. Despite his tense expression, his posture and body language say he hasn’t a care in the world.

  The more I continue to study the men, the more nervous I become.

  They’re not even eating.

  I wonder if they’re waiting for someone. A drug deal, possibly? Should I say something? Maybe mention the cameras inside and out? That might make it worse. I continue to clean, trying to appear busy, and inconspicuously take the name tag from my shirt. Even though they likely already saw my name, it makes me feel safer to take it off. I place the card that reads: Ruby DeFrank in my back pocket and glance at the clock.

  Only five more minutes, I think to myself.

  As soon as I finish the thought, the man in the suit stands abruptly and walks out the door. The other man, who I’ve decided to call Johny Cash for his black attire, stays seated. He is statue-still, and I know something is about to happen.

  I stand rooted to the spot in fear. My instincts are screaming at me to run to the cash register and push the emergency button located under it. My eyes dart back and forth, wondering if I should take off running out the back door, but I continue to stand still. Frozen. I am nothing but an icicle waiting to fall.

  Finally, after what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a minute or two, Johnny Cash stands up. The sound of his chair scraping against the floor causes me to flinch, and then he leaves.

  I let out a relieved sigh, but my shoulders stay stiff, the hairs at my nape stand, and I still feel as if I’m being watched. I finish cleaning, but I keep my eyes open and stop every few minutes to just listen. For what, I don’t know, but I feel it’s best to keep my guard up.

  Ten minutes later I stand in front of the back door, the last thing I need to lock up, with my hand hovering over the doorknob. I decide to pull out my phone and call my one and only friend before walking outside to my car.

  Daphnee picks up on the second ring. “Hey girl, hey.”

  “Daphnee,” I say with a shaky sigh.

  “Woah, what’s wrong?”

  “There were two scary dudes at work tonight, and now I’m about to walk out to my car—they left, by the way, but I’m jus
t creeped out and wanted to call someone while walking to my car,” I say all in one breath.

  “Oh my God, Rubes! Do you want me to come over there and walk you to your car?”

  I huff out a nervous laugh. “Nah, I’m a grown woman. I should be fine. Just be ready to dial 911 if anything happens,” I say sarcastically, but we both know I’m mostly serious.

  “Okay . . .”

  Daphnee is only a few inches taller than me, but if anyone could scare off two gigantic men, it’s her. With the determination to rival a buccaneering politician, she didn’t get her nickname “The Dynamo” for nothing.

  “Thanks,” I say, feeling my shoulders slump a bit as some of the tension drains out of me.

  But as soon as I turn the knob, they bunch up again. I feel my panic rising, but I can’t stay at Tim Hortons all night, so I pull open the door a little forcefully.

  Rip the band-aid off, I think to myself.

  Silence.

  There’s nothing except my car, parked where it’s always parked, and the dimly lit street light leaving a haunting glow over it.

  “Do I need to call the police?” Daphnee asks through the phone, and I gasp. In my panic, I forgot I called her.

  I let out an embarrassed laugh that comes out as a squeak. “No, so far so good.”

  I close the door behind me and lock it. I turn around and take off running to my car, but come screeching to a halt when I see a figure leaning against it.

  My breath comes in shallow bursts, and my hands fumble, almost dropping my car keys.

  “Call the police,” I whisper into the phone.

  I hear her sharp intake, and I know Daphnee is as worried as I am.

  “I’m on the phone with the police,” I try to yell over to the man, but it comes out in a cracked whisper.

  The man lets out a dark chuckle and pushes himself off the car. It’s the man in the suit. “I guess I’ll have to make this quick then,” he says.

  I turn to start running the other way when I slam into a hard chest. I fall onto the concrete with a blood-curdling scream.

  “Shut up, bitch,” a man hisses roughly, and I look up to see a gun resting between my eyes.

  This is a different man. He, too, wears a nice suit, but he’s not the one who was leaning against my car.

  There are two of them!

  It’s as if my whole body shuts down. I am in shock. My throat’s so dry that it stings with every sharp breath I take.

  Please let me get out of this, I pray. Please.

  I inhale to let out another scream when the man in front of me looks up, eyes widening.

  Then, a bullet pierces him straight through the skull.

  The man collapses in a lifeless heap while a puddle of blood oozes from the wound.

  There’s no sound anymore, all I can smell and see is blood and the man’s brown, unseeing eyes, as they stare at me in terror. I feel a warmth down my leg and realize I lost control of my bladder.

  Finally, everything comes back at once. I hear police sirens, and whip my head toward the sound. In my peripheral vision, I see the other man in the suit on the ground. The same puddle of blood. The same unseeing eyes.

  Movement catches my eye, and I see another person leaning against my car. The figure slowly straightens and starts walking toward me. A whimper escapes my mouth, and the figure stops.

  “I won’t hurt you,” says a deep, quiet voice.

  I definitely don’t trust the man, but it’s as if everything that happened in those couple of minutes comes crashing down.

  “You—you—you killed them?” I ask him.

  He doesn’t answer. I squint through the darkness and tears, trying to get a better look. I nearly jump out of my skin when I realize the deep voice belongs to the man from earlier—Johnny Cash. He stands a short distance away with his massive height and his hood and collar both pulled up, so all I can see are his icy blue eyes. There’s no emotion in them. His eyes might as well be just as unseeing as the two dead men.

  Before I can let out another scream, the man says, “The police are here.” Then he turns his back to me. It’s almost like he’s giving me . . . privacy? Wait, though, didn’t he shoot those men? If so, why is he still standing there when the police are here? Shouldn’t he be running?

  Before my thoughts can spiral out of control even more, I see a policeman get out of his car and make his way over to us. His eyes take in the situation before landing on me.

  The policeman crouches down to look me in the eye. “Are you hurt, ma’am?” At his words, I see Johnny Cash tense.

  “Umm—” I stutter, then clear my throat. “No, I—I guess not,” I say through chattering teeth.

  The policeman nods. “I’m sorry you had to see all that.”

  My eyes dart back and forth between the two men, and I suddenly don’t feel any safer in the policeman’s presence. They know each other. There’s something in the way they’re acting that alarms me.

  Suddenly, a black SUV comes flying into the parking lot, tires squealing. Four men in suits jump out and run toward us. Instinctively, I reach for the officer’s hand. “Please don’t let them take me,” I whisper.

  The officer blinks at me, but then there’s another man there beside us. He promptly kneels beside me, a look of relief evident on his face. He reaches out to caress my cheek, and I flinch away. His hand stills in midair before he drops it to his side.

  “Oh, my dear sweet Ruby,” the man says.

  My eyes widen. “How do you know my name?”

  The man gives me a sad smile. “I’m your father.”

  My hand flies to my chest as I let out a gasp. I study the man’s face, and. . . I see it. My mother showed me a picture of him. They were a lot younger in the photo, but it’s him. One thing, though— my mom told me he died. And now . . . she’s dead. There’s no one I can ask.

  “But—but,” I stutter, and take a deep breath. “Mom said you were dead . . .” I trail off, gulping.

  My father’s eyes look pained, and he bows his head. “Well, yes, we thought it would be better that way, but–” he stops and looks around almost as if he forgot where we are, “why don’t you come home with me tonight, and I’ll explain everything.”

  My eyes fly from person to person; they all look uncomfortable, gazes averted. The bodies are gone. They cleaned them up. How could I have missed that?

  My eyes go back to my father. Can I trust him? Why would my mom tell me he was dead? Will he make me go with him if I refuse?

  “And if I refuse?” I ask, surprised to hear my voice sounding somewhat normal again. Six pairs of eyes flip to my face in surprise.

  Hurt flashes across my father’s face. “Well, I wouldn’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do, please know that . . . but I fear for your safety. These two bastards tonight,” he spits the words, “were only the first of them, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

  “So, what are you saying? I can’t go home, or someone will try to murder me?”

  “Yes,” my father answers immediately. “I can offer you the greatest protection.”

  “Why am I suddenly a target? Are you the reason people are after me? I’ve literally never done anything to anyone. None of this makes sense.”

  “I know it doesn’t, and I’m kickin’ myself in the ass that you were found.”

  “Found?” I ask.

  “I’m a very important person, Ruby. Unfortunately, that’s given me a lot of enemies. It’s the reason Alona and I thought it was best if you were kept away from me.”

  The sound of my mother’s name on his lips almost makes me want to trust him. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s my father. My mother did at least tell me that his name was Malcolm and showed me pictures. What’s bothering me most is that he just shows up randomly after I’m almost murdered saying “Come with me” and he instantly expects me to follow. He’s saying my mother and I were safer without him in our lives, so why would that change now? If I wasn’t in such shock, I�
�d probably just leave and go home. After I told him where to shove things, of course.

  “I loved your mom, Ruby. I know you’re scared right now, but I loved her and I wouldn’t ever hurt you. I hope my word at least counts for something.” He stares down at his hands as he says this as if he’s not used to being so honest.

  Suddenly, all the energy drains out of me. I can’t fight this with all these men, and it is my father. That does have to count for something, right?

  “Okay,” I say in a small voice. My father smiles at me, and it looks like there’s genuine relief there.

  He reaches his hand out for mine to help me up, and my cheeks heat in embarrassment as I remember the wet puddle I’m sitting in. I mean, who could blame me? But still, around all these tough men, I have to get up with a wet crotch like a small child who wet the bed.

  My father notices. “It’s okay, dear. You’re not the first and certainly won’t be the last.” He drapes his suit jacket over my lap and helps me stand. Whatever he means by that comment doesn’t make me feel any better.

  Once standing, I’m acutely aware of how much taller everyone is than me, my father included. I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin, trying to appear taller, but I fear it only makes me look more naive.

  We get into the SUV, my father and I sit in the very back, all the other men are seated throughout with Johnny Cash driving. The policeman took off in his own car.

  There’s an awkward silence, and I’m too exhausted to care about politeness at the moment. So, I decide to break it. “When are you going to explain to me what’s going on?”

  To my surprise, all of the men chuckle, except for Johnny Cash. My father looks pleased. “You remind me so much of your mother already,” he says with a slight shake of his head.