Captive Thirst: Mafia Romance (Rough Redemption Book 4)

by Olivia Fox

  “Athena.” His voice was empty of feeling, empty of life. I’d never heard him sound so comatose.

  She was named after a Greek goddess and it totally fit. The likes of her weren’t meant to trespass the surface of the Earth along with the rest of us mere mortals.

  But could she ride?

  Doubted it.

  Since whatever was between the two of them, or had been at some point in time was rendering them silent, I took it upon myself to make the introductions. “Athena?” I extended my ringed hand towards her, “I’m Gabriela Serrano-Drago,” and my inner vixen made me purr that name out, rolling every ‘r’, “Carlos’s wife.”

  Her delicate hand flitted to her chest when I made my point loud and clear, and she began twisting the long, diamond bedecked necklace that split her in two like a body did the wings of a perfectly symmetric butterfly. From flawless lips, she uttered a sound that was not quite a gasp, for that was too elegant a word to describe the way she moaned his name.

  Shit, if I were a dude, my cock would be hard.

  “Carlos, is it true? You’ve married?” The anguish in her expression burned with such intensity I almost felt my sympathy kick in, until she took a step closer to my man.

  Just when I thought I’d have to take over the wheel of this shit show, my hero spoke up, “Nice to see you, Athena. Excuse us.” And he pulled me down the hall behind him.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “That was Athena.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks and hefted my chin up at him, “You know what I mean. What is she to you?”

  He took one of my wrists in each of his hands, and pinned them over my head right there in the hallway. I was so small, and helpless next to him, and all it took was a single move on his part to remind me of that.

  So strong.

  So sexy and unashamed to display his ardor for me in front of everyone.

  He was proud to show the entire world he was mine and it made me grow exceedingly hot between the legs. I shifted back and forth in my heels to try and relieve the sexual pressure.

  He raised a brow at me and tilted his smile, “Something wrong, Mrs. Drago?”

  “That’s Mrs. Serrano-Drago to you,” I said.

  “You know it gets me hot to hear you speak with a Spanish accent. Don’t think I won’t go down on you right here, right now, with everyone watching.” He said and a group of young people went floating past us, dressed to the nines, redolent with mischief and horniness.

  I could relate.

  “She’s nothing to me,” his voice husked. “No other woman ever will be now that I’ve had you.”

  29

  Carlos

  It took a lot of balls to pull a move like this, inviting ourselves into the home of the most powerful and vengeful enemy a man could dream up.

  El General.

  He commanded his soldiers like one who expected unswerving loyalty and a lust for the kill to back it up.

  Men like the ones who stood before us at the bar. Their suits were so strained by their bulging muscles I expected the fabric to rip any minute.

  “‘Scuse us, gentlemen.” I shoved a path between them and pulled Gabriella behind me.

  “What would you like, gorgeous?” I asked and wrapped my arm around her bare shoulders, pulling her close.

  She touched her throat and hid her face under my arm. “What is it?” I asked, my skin prickling with pins and needles.

  “Nothing, I’ll tell you later.” Her voice shook.

  “How about some champagne?” I held a glass out to her and she took it. “Help you relax.”

  “It’s her.” One of the muscled men said behind us. "I was going to be a made man. That bitch ruined everything tying me up naked in a stable. Can't even show my face at the track without someone referring to me as that pansy that got tied up by a dame."

  Gabriela ducked in front of me and I whispered, “How long have you been hiding this from me? And how many other goons do you have beefs with? It would help to know so I could foresee these things coming.”

  She replied, “Hiding? I don’t have anything to hide, I just don’t want that thug trying to get his meaty hands on my body.”

  I spun at the booming sound of his footsteps behind me and snatched up the front of his shirt in my hands, “You’re not thinking of laying a single finger on my wife now are you there, amigo?”

  “Let me go!” He whipped his shoulders back and forth in a clumsy attempt at escape, but my grip didn’t budge.

  “One condition, you set aside your hard on for Mrs. Serrano-Drago and let bygones be bygones.” My words were flat, belying my struggle to control the urge to unsheathe my claws and rake bloody furrows across this prick’s face.

  “Are you crazy?” he asked.

  “You really want me to answer that?” I asked.

  “I’m deadly serious. Emphasis on the deadly part.” He spoke above his trembling chin, and grit his teeth. His last-ditch effort to keep his cool was as see through as a wet t-shirt, but underneath it all I could tell he was about to pee his pants.

  “Careful now, my friend. You know the rule. Rivaling gangs might be civil in a friend’s home, but that rule doesn’t apply on the street.”

  Eyes wide, his shallow breathing made his chest rise and fall high-speed. “She’s driven you insane. I never thought you'd be the type to lose your shit for a girl, Drago.”

  I replied, “I didn’t either.” Those were the last words spoken between us before my hairy fist cracked against his jaw with a punch that left him reeling and spitting teeth.

  I didn’t get shit for that punch or the next one that finished him.

  We all knew how the food chain worked, and if I were a shark, that guy was plankton.

  Sure, it was impolite to smash a guy in the face over canapés, but if there were one code that superseded civility in the home above all else, it was know your place in the organization.

  No one was going to punish a lion for stepping on a mosquito who wanted to be king of the jungle.

  I turned back towards my wife, expecting to see her expression of shock, maybe a little disapproval until later on when we were alone together and she admitted that seeing me unleash on a guy made her hot.

  I was looking forward to that.

  Imagine my surprise to find the space where she stood completely empty.

  Swear to God, this girl was going to be the death of me.

  It was her voice I heard first down the abandoned hallway, far from the glitter and glam of the party. This was the smoked whiskey and antiqued leather part of the house, where deals were struck, and fates were sealed behind soundproofed walls. She stood at the open door of the library, her fantastic ass poking out into the hall, and pressed against the external side of the door, was her handgun.

  The little fool held a gun out of sight from whomever she was conversing with inside.

  “You should have done your research before you decided to mess with my men, again and again. They tire of your games.” It was him. El General. And I didn’t like the way he was speaking to my woman.

  “I could kill you now if I wanted to.”

  Oh shit. Nobody talked to him like that and got away with it. What was she thinking?

  “Really? Then we have a problem, Señora Drago.”

  I stood there frozen, afraid to advance and put her more in harm’s way.

  “Why?” She asked.

  “Because, I’m not here to die.” The General made his point.

  “It’s Señora Serrano-Drago.” She corrected him, “Forget that again, and you’ll find my steel somewhere uncomfortable.”

  She brandished her weapon from behind the doorway, and the only sound coming from within the library was silence.

  30

  Gabriela

  I felt his presence behind me before he spoke a single word.

  “I see you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my wife, General,” he said, and stepped around the place I occupied at the door, m
y finger tense on the trigger.

  “Your wife?” The bossman scratched his stubble, and shrugged his shoulders. “Huh, my wedding invitation must have been lost in the mail.”

  “It was a small, simple affair. Family only,” Carlos stated.

  “What was the rush?” The seated bossman asked, and I didn’t appreciate his meaning, insinuating we had reason to hurry.

  “Thanks to you and your gang of thugs, this one,” I pointed at my husband accusingly, “along with my father felt it best I have the protection of both the Drago and Serrano name. A plan which it seems is failing since your goons are still after me.” I pointed the pistol directly at him, no longer hiding it behind the wall.

  The General topped his steepled hands with his chin, playing it real cool — as if my homicidal ass didn’t have a gun aimed at his chest. “Sounds to me like someday you’ll thank me for those earlier kidnappings. After all, they helped lead to your wedded bliss.” The General didn’t move, though his seated position put him at a serious disadvantage.

  “And what about my most recent kidnapping. In the bay? On our honeymoon.” I spit out.

  “Oh now that’s a shame, interrupting your luna de miel. I confess I know nothing about any boat. If you had a lick of sense, you’d put that gun away, turn around, walk out of here, and pretend this never happened.” I honed the barrel of my gun on him when he reached for his glass of scotch and took a sip before remarking, “I’ll do the same. Consider it my wedding present to you both.”

  I stood beside Carlos, watching his cues as to what to do next. I couldn’t live life looking over my shoulder anymore. Either we get to the bottom of this here and now, or I’d make sure this so-called general was toast.

  “Tell her.” The seated jefe said, “Children don’t play with guns.”

  Carlos extended a palm towards me, “Hand it over.”

  I stomped one of my stupid high heels into the carpet. “Who said I was playing?”

  “Seriously, we leave and drop this like civilized people.” He took my elbow in his gun-free hand and lead me to the door. “Now.”

  The General shouted after us, “I won't kill a woman in my own home, Drago, but if she comes at me again—all bets are off."

  “If we get arrested, it’s your fault.” Carlos lectured me as we stood and waited for the valet to bring the car.

  “No one’s arresting anybody. We don’t call the cops on each other and you know it.” I replied, stating the obvious. The General would no more call the police on us than eat his chili verde out of a toilet plunger.

  “Okay, if we die tonight, it’s your fault.” He sounded so stern, speaking in his “made man” voice which brooked no argument.

  It did weird things to my stomach.

  Little did I know, the fire in my belly was about to be replicated ten fold.

  The Briarville stable was practically empty the next night. It was eerie. No matter the hour, you could find owners with insomnia using the excuse to come down and check on their horse, or jockeys sitting across from each other on hay bales, playing cards, and always a maintenance man or janitor.

  I’d hugged Matías goodbye in the parking lot before he headed home and entered the stall area to check on Prancer.

  That’s when I saw it.

  The flames flickered at the far end of the stable, dimmed low as if hushed by a sinister whisper. That murmur blew its icy breath up my spine, and froze me in place.

  I launched into a sprint towards Prancer’s stall and found he and Vida at the door echoing their animal cries of relief to see me. I ran them both to the round-pen outside where they’d be safe while I got out as many of the horses as I could.

  “Help! Somebody!” I couldn’t be the only person here in the stable, Jesus.

  The appaloosa gelding in the stall next to Prancer’s wasn’t so trusting of me. He reared up when I approached his door, his black hooves beating furiously in the air.

  “Easy, boy. I’m here to help you.” Thank God he settled, all four feet on the floor, his huge sides bellowing in and out with fear and physical effort. “That’s a boy.” I entered his stall, slowly, soothed him with my voice, but he still looked wary, and the whites of his eyes were unnaturally large.

  From outside, there was a shout, “Fire!” And the appaloosa bolted.

  As luck would have it, I stood directly in his path, the smell of smoke now hung in the air and there was no way the horse was stopping when every instinct of his being was telling him to run.

  The last thing I felt was the horrible impact of his steel shod hoof on my chest, and I heard the sound of my bones crunching. The last thing I saw was the barn ceiling which slowly faded to black.

  The last thing I thought was, “Daddy.”

  31

  Carlos

  It was my fault she was laying here, the hissing, puffing sounds of some damn machine at her side, interspersed with mysterious beeps that kept any hospital resident from getting some real, honest rest, and pried from their unconscious hands the very thing they needed most when their bodies were trying to heal.

  How was she supposed to get better here?

  She had to be on the mend. I couldn’t admit any other outcome to myself.

  What my wife needed right now was deep sleep, but it was impossible to attain in this joint.

  “Here, mijo.” It still shocked the shit out of me when Señor Serrano referred to me as his son, but not so much as I couldn’t take the cup of coffee from his hand and nod my appreciation.

  “Her skin is no longer blue. That’s good.” He noted, as if talking about the weather.

  Her father, mother, my relatives, and I, we’d gone on for days making these inane observations. It was as if our pretense about being in control, how we could all be real fucking grown up about the fact that my life lay in that bed, heart beating like a hummingbird, her gorgeous face twisted up in pain every time the meds wore off.

  I wasn’t fucking having it.

  The nurses knew by now not to ask me to leave. I didn’t give a shit about so-called visiting hours, and I had four men posted outside her room. I wasn't letting up until we got to the bottom of this.

  I wasn’t leaving her side.

  On the day she woke up from her surgery, I was there. She smiled at me, cleared her throat, and professed in a froggy voice, “Would you stop it? I can hear you worrying all the way over here.”

  Jesus, it was so good to hear her voice, I pressed my lips to the back of her hand and crossed my eyes at her.

  She spoke through clenched teeth and pointed to the chest tube poking out from between her ribs. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

  “Just take a breath into your spirometer.” I held up the plastic beaker with a mouthpiece and flexible tubing. “It’s supposed to build your lungs back up and help keep you from getting pneumonia.”

  I wanted to pull her into my arms and never let her go, but she might break.

  “Take a breath?!” She groaned quietly, clearly in pain. “It feels like my insides are being ripped out.”

  And then she started bleeding through her mouth. Her gorgeous, kissable, soft and inviting mouth turned into something out of a horror movie.

  I slammed my palm onto the emergency call light, sticking out from the wall behind her like a clown’s nose and somebody’s idea of a sick joke.

  “Gabriela!” I’d screamed when they whisked her through the automatic double doors, four hospital aides holding me back from going after her.

  It took them and a good dose of Ketamine, to knock me out.

  When I came to, trying to shout her name again, but stuck silent inside my own head from the trance-inducing drug, they told me she’d made it through the surgery to repair her punctured lung, only to find her liver hadn’t fared well after being run over by a thousand plus pound beast.

  Go figure.

  My baby.

  That’s what I’d called out when I was finally lucid enough to speak.

  Then insiste
d, “Bring me my wife. Either bring her to me now or I swear to God I’ll fill this ward with the dead and dying, blood-spattered and broken.”

  The head nurse came in, unimpressed, as only a woman who’d seen it all before could be. “Will you stop with the threats, Mr. Drago? You’re scaring my nurses. Your wife’s stabilized, and if you promise to be good, the two of you can share a room.”

  If my muscles weren’t still stunned by the dose of extreme tranquilizer, I’d have leapt out of my bed right there and then and kissed that nurse. But the sight of Gabriela being wheeled into the room, skin painted with splotches that were the color of purple grapes, killed my buoyant mood real quick.

  “Don’t mind the spots on her skin, they’ll fade now that she’s out of surgery and on the mend. I can’t believe she responds so positively to your voice. Even though you were shouting so rudely, her heartbeat normalized at the sound.” Said the nurse as she went about wheeling my wife into position beside me with the help of a few orderlies and made sure all the fucking tubes springing from her flesh were placed right.

  Finally alone, I watched Gabriela breathe, her eyes still closed, until my own lids grew heavy and I couldn’t fight the descent back into drugged unconsciousness.

  Now that she was here beside me, I could relax a little.

  Liver laceration.

  Little had I known the term would contain my two most hated words in the English dictionary.

  I crumpled the paper coffee cup in my hand, chucked it into the garbage can and collapsed back into the visitor’s chair next to Gabriela’s bed.

  It had been two days since her last surgery, one since I’d gotten out of bed to sit beside her, and the first words she spoke to me right then were, “Jesus, you stink.”

  I sat up straight in the visitor’s chair, not allowing myself to believe she was actually awake. I took her hand in mine, careful to avoid the IV stint that was sticking out of the top of her arm. “Gabriella?”