by Bella J.
“But you were, and that was the only reason you helped me, so you knew where to find me when the time came.”
The smug grin turned arrogant. “See, I helped you, and I was being smart about it too.”
“What did you pay him?” I glared at him. “What did you pay my father to write that fucking letter?”
He cocked his head, his gaze sweeping from my neck, to my lips, to my eyes. “I paid him more than he would make in two lifetimes.” He licked his lips. “And it was worth every cent because now you’re mine. Mine to take care of.”
Bile crept up my throat, my chest burning with equal parts disgust and craving. “All you know how to do is destroy lives.”
“Sometimes the strong need to eliminate the weak in order to thrive.”
I almost laughed in his face. “Strong? You think you’re strong? What, by turning an innocent woman into an addict? By taking her away from her son? Are those the actions of a strong man? An honorable man?”
The corners of his lips twitched, a malicious sneer forming on his ugly motherfucking face. “Who said anything about honorable?”
Disgust filled me to the brim when he leaned closer, the vile scent of sandalwood invading my senses, causing a gagging reflex I tried my best to suppress. But everything about this man triggered the violent urge for me to vomit. His voice. His smell. His touch. His motherfucking existence. It galled me to have him so close to me, to even think that he lusted for me. I could see it in his eyes every time he looked at me. The hunger. The need.
I would rather have welcomed death with open arms than have him claim my body in such a sacred way—which was what I would have to do in the end, anyway.
His cheek rubbed against mine, the stubble of his beard scraping against my skin. “I am so sick of you hiding behind my father’s demand that you stay untouched. I’m sick of him dictating everything.”
A chill ran down my back, all the way to the soles of my feet. “Enzio was sick of it too, remember? Sick of listening to Stefano, and look what happened to him.”
Abruptly, his hand was at my throat, fingers digging painfully into my skin. “After all this time, one would think you’d have learned your place by now. But no.” His grip tightened around my neck, leaving me gasping for air. “That damn fight is still in you.” He grabbed my arm with his other hand, forcing my palm against his crotch. “You feel that?”
I whimpered.
“You feel how fucking hard you make me? It’s that fight of yours. Even if you don’t speak, I see it in your eyes.” He pressed my palm harder against him. “It makes me so fucking hard, all I can think about is bending you over and fucking you until every last ounce of fight you have inside you dies like a delicate, vulnerable, withering little flower.”
Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes as I turned to look at the bodyguards. Why weren’t they helping me? Why were they just standing there, not even looking our way?
With a tight grip around my neck, he jerked my head to face him again. The edges of his mouth curved with malicious intent. “Are you wondering why they aren’t helping you?”
I gasped, my lungs no longer expanding with air.
“You see, Layla, my father isn’t always the fucking dictator. He’s losing his ability to lead. After his own son defied him, getting killed in the process, his authority is being questioned by a lot of important people. If he can’t even control his own son—or sons,” he smirked, “how can he lead an entire family?”
He let go of my hand, only to force his between my legs. I cried through gagging and gasping, my body numb from the invasion. His lips touched my ear, and I shuddered as his warm breath slithered across my skin. “So, tell me, Layla. Tell me what the fuck is stopping me from pushing my cock so deep inside that sweet cunt of yours, fucking the last breath out of you?”
Tears trickled down my cheeks, and he pulled his hand from between my legs, wiping the tear away with his thumb. “And if you’re lucky, I’ll let your valiant mafia prince watch.”
The excitement in his hard, low voice sent a shudder of fear throughout my body. My knees threatened to give way, and all I could do was pray my life would end before he had the chance to tear my soul from my body in the most horrific way.
For a few seconds, his grip tightened to the point I thought I would pass out. Black shadows invaded my vision, my throat and chest burning as he buried his fingers deeper. Then suddenly, he let go of my throat, and I hunched over, coughing and gagging, desperate to take a decent breath. My body was weak, my legs numb. My attention turned to the pouch I still clutched in my hand. My hate for this man had outweighed my need for a hit. At that moment, I wanted to shove that needle into the skin of the son of bitch standing before me, rather than my own. It was him I wanted to poison more than myself.
I tightened my grip on the pouch, embracing the rage which consumed me little by little.
Then the sound of a phone ringing pulled me from the anger that almost made me act on impulse.
Matteo pulled the phone from his pocket, still staring at me like I was fucking dinner. I held my breath, praying to God he would answer it, that he would divert his attention away from me.
He straightened, and I exhaled.
“What?” he growled into the receiver. A few seconds later, he turned away. “Dad, what’s going on? What? How is that possible? Who the fuck would…? Yes. I’m on my way. What? Why?” He turned to look at me, and I swallowed hard. “Yes. I’ll bring her with.”
He hung up, grooves of anger forming on his forehead. My curiosity was piqued. Anything that angered Matteo had the tendency to affect me in some way or the other.
“Seems like we have someone meddling in our business.” He said it as if I had to know what the fuck he was talking about. I remained silent while he rubbed his chin, seemingly deep in thought. “I have no idea what the hell is going on, but since my father ordered me to bring you with me, that gives me the idea it has something to do with your pussy-whipped boyfriend.”
“Dante.” I breathed out his name like a prayer for my goddamn salvation.
“Yeah.” He grabbed the pouch from my hand, and instinctively I tried to get it back. But Matteo managed to grab a fistful of my hair and swung me back. My ass hit the floor just before the side of my face connected with the corner of a marble table. Pain exploded through my skull and the sound of shattering glass sliced through my ears. The crystal vase which stood on the table was now laying in pieces next to me on the floor.
“Now see what you’ve done. Fucking junkie.” Matteo held up the pouch. “You broke a two-thousand-dollar vase just because you wanted a tiny little fix.”
I cringed as I touched the broken flesh next to my eye, blood painted on my fingertips.
“Get up, you fucking cunt.” Matteo pulled me up by my hair, and I cried out in pain, my skull on fire, and the wound on my face aching and pounding like a bitch. But even through all the pain, the shock, my body still craved the heroin. My stomach clenched, and I couldn’t take a decent breath as it seemed like panic filled my lungs instead of air.
“Matteo,” I said softly, “please.”
He dangled the pouch in front of my face like a spoiled little brat. “You want this?”
All I could do was nod. “Please.”
A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. “I think we’ll keep this. You know, until we meet up with your prince and the rest of his royal cocksuckers. That way he can watch as you push the needle into your skin yourself.” He pulled me closer, his face inches from me. “Maybe then he’ll realize you’re no longer worth fighting for.”
My jaw clenched as I tried to bite back the tears, the heartache. Matteo was a heartless son of a bitch who thrived on the pain and suffering of others. But a part of me feared what he said would be true.
What if Dante realized I wasn’t worth it?
It doesn’t matter, because you’ll probably be dead anyway.
Fingertips which only agitated my skin more traveled do
wn my arm before wrapping around my wrist. “Get ready, Layla. I have a feeling this war ends tonight.”
Chapter 20
Dante
Boston Harbor wasn’t a place I visited often. One thing my grandfather used to say was you never shit where you ate. Obviously something the Mancusos still had to learn.
Our shipments never came through Boston Harbor. In fact, we never used the same port twice in a row. It was always scattered around. Different ports. Different shipping lines. Different times of day or night. And different routes.
We’d never claimed to be saints. To some people, there was no such thing as a big or small sin. Wrong was wrong. But in my opinion…who in the name of ever-loving fuck thought that way? How could one argue there was no scale when it came to wrongdoing? That was like saying a rapist had done equal wrong as the man who cheated on his wife. Bullshit. No matter who said what, I believed sin could be measured. And it was because of this I knew the Mancusos were far higher on the wrongdoing scale than we were.
Yes, we bought illegal firearms.
Yes, we sold illegal firearms. Those were our family’s devil horns, but our halo was the fact that we supplied said illegal firearms to countries who fucking needed it. Countries where civil war was a reality. Countries which needed someone to break the fucking law, and to be sinners in the eyes of man so they had means to survive. So, yes, we weren’t saints. We were dirty bastards who couldn’t afford to have a conscience so the less fortunate had an evenhanded chance in this unfair thing we called life.
This was our city. We ruined. We ruled. But what set us apart from people like the Mancusos, we didn’t just take. We gave back to those who needed it most. We protected those who couldn’t protect themselves.
I glanced at my father sitting in the passenger seat. The drugs. The ruined lives. It was fucking with him in the worst kind of way. These were our people who needed our protection. Drugs soiling the streets meant we weren’t doing our jobs, and my father took that personally. All of us did.
But right now, this went beyond personal. They took what was mine. Touched what was mine. Harmed what was mine. And now…they had to die.
“How are you doing, son?”
I checked the rearview mirror, Antonio and Lucio driving behind us. “Oh, I’m fucking peachy.”
“Stop the bullshit, Dante. I know you’re angry, hurt, and probably confused as hell.”
I snorted. “Confused? Now, why would I be confused? Two days ago, I was living a bachelor’s life, and now I’m on my way to put some bullets in a few Italian cocksuckers’ skulls. Oh, and of course, I’m a father now too…apparently.” I shrugged. “Nothing to be confused about at all.”
“Sarcasm. It’s always been your best line of defense.” He looked out his side window. “But I’m afraid this time it’s not going to work.”
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. The anger was simmering, threatening to erupt, to destroy everything in its path. But it needed to be contained, controlled until it could be unleashed on the fuckers who deserved it.
“Rafe,” I heard my father say. “The name, it means counsel of the wolf.”
The murderous thoughts inside my head stopped, the hate silenced.
“Rafe,” I whispered. “Rafe.” Layla managed to hide a part of my heritage in his name. My son. My boy.
Oh. My. God.
I had a son. I actually had a son. This was no longer just me and Layla. I was no longer going to try to save the woman I loved. I was going to do everything in my goddamn power to get back the mother of my child. It wasn’t about me anymore, about how desperately I wanted her back, safe here with me. It was about him. Rafe. How he needed his mother. How I would storm through the gates of hell to make sure he didn’t have to live a life without a mother. Without a father…without me.
I stepped on the gas, swerved around corners, and ignored every red light the best I could. My father hated speed, but he knew now was not the time to preach about it.
“Is Castello’s team there?”
My father looked at his phone. “Yes. Everyone is in position.”
“Good.”
More speed. More determination. More deadly contemplations. With every breath and every beat of my blackened heart, I embraced the hate, the rage, the undeniable vehemence of my lust to kill every motherfucker who did her wrong. I would not rest until I slaughtered each and every bastard who dared to lay a finger on my woman.
As we approached the entrance of the harbor, I didn’t slow down. The boom lifted, and I raced inside with screeching tires, Antonio close behind.
“Dad.”
We glanced at each other.
“This ends tonight.” I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. “I’m ending this war tonight.”
He nodded, his eyes conveying his approval. Like me, he knew this had gone on for long enough. They had ruined enough lives. But their worst mistake? Trying to ruin my life. Her life. Our life.
As we approached the warehouse, about half a dozen SUVs parked outside, I felt the adrenaline pumping through my veins, crashing against bone.
Switching off the ignition and getting out of the car happened all at the same time. The dark, heavy clouds which started to cover the colors of sunset created an even more ominous feel. It was like I could smell the mayhem, the chaos…the death in the air. For years, I had killed and disposed. I embraced the darkness of the hole which was left in my chest after Layla ripped my heart out. But when she came storming back into my life, she reminded me of the man I once was. How I had loved her with all my heart. And for the one night we had shared together, I cherished every moment because it felt good being that man again…for her. But tonight I would be the heartless son of a bitch again, only this time it would be for her instead of because of her. Kill and dispose.
Antonio got out of the car. “Lorik just called. He’s got Karina safely out of town.”
“Good. One less thing to worry about.” I looked around. “Where’s the cargo?”
Lucio joined us. “It’s inside the warehouse.”
“And the Mancusos?” I hardly finished my question when a convoy of Bentleys came driving toward us.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Lucio reach for his gun, but I stopped him. “Not yet. Not until we know Layla is safe.”
“Oh, come on. I’ve been psyching myself up the entire way here.”
My response was a glare which silently told him to cut the crap.
The cars stopped, one next to the other. I buttoned my suit jacket, my shoulders squared and my hatred raw. I hoped to God they weren’t under the impression that we were here to negotiate. It was simple. They had to give me back my woman…and then we torched their fucking drugs.
Antonio stepped in next to me, menace swirling around us as if the devil himself had joined our little carnival of conflict.
“You ready?”
I inhaled deeply. “Oh, I’m ready.”
My dad stepped up front, but I grabbed his hand. “This not your fight, Father.”
“Whenever it concerns one of my children, it’s my fight.”
He turned back, and we all watched as Stefano emerged from the car. Antonio let out a low snarl next to me, and my fists balled at my sides.
“Lorenzo,” Stefano started, “mind telling me what this is all about?”
“You know what this is about.”
He looked at me and my brother before turning his attention back to my father. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Where is she, Stefano?”
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”
It had only been two minutes, and I was done waiting.
I brushed past my dad, glaring at Stefano. “Layla. Where is she?”
His eyebrows knit together. “Please tell me this isn’t all about jealousy.”
“Where is she?”
“My dear boy, you have to accept that Layla is with my son now.”
“Bullshit!”
Stefano remained cool and aloof while he stood a few feet behind his bodyguards. “Clearly, you still need to learn how to accept defeat.”
My jaw clenched, and my heart was about to claw its way out of my throat.
“Where is she?” I stepped forward. My deadly intent was obvious, and his bodyguards moved toward me. It took all but a split second for Lucio and Antonio to flank me, weapons in hand.
Stefano grinned. “Come, now, gentlemen. There’s no need for violence. Just give me my cargo, and we can go our separate ways.”
“Not before you give me Layla.”
He frowned. “Do not test me, boy. Lorenzo,” he spoke to my father but didn’t take his eyes off me, “I would advise you to tell your son to back off, and to leave the business side of things to us.”
“Layla is not business!” I snapped. “She is not business. She is fucking personal.”
Stefano studied me, his eyes raking over my face, nostrils flaring. I was pissing him off. Good.
I cocked my head. “Give me Layla, and you can have your precious cargo.”
“Oh, come now, Dante. You and I both know you’re not planning on giving me my cargo.”
Smart motherfucker.
The sound of a car grabbed our attention, and I bit down on my cheeks as I watched it approach us. Even though my attention was on the car, I was hyperaware of every man currently taking part in this standoff.
Stefano righted himself and straightening the sleeves of his jacket. “It seems you’re having difficulty accepting that Layla has moved on with my son. Maybe he can convince you.”
The car stopped, and my heart beat wildly inside my chest as I watched Matteo get out. If hate had a moment in time, this would be it. The sight of his ugly motherfucking face made me want to rip out his goddamn spine through his throat. It took every shred of self-control not to end him right there and then.
My hand itched, the weight of my gun at my back making me aware of how much I wanted to put a bullet in his skull. And the smug grin he had on his face as he got out of the car made the urge to kill him even stronger.