Abducted: A Mafia Hitman Romance

by Alexis Abbott

  “Merry Christmas,” I say suddenly, breaking the silence.

  Sal looks over at me, surprised. Then he smiles and reaches across the console to take my hand and squeeze it gently. “Merry Christmas, Eva.”

  By the time we arrive back at the safehouse, I’m overcome with relief. This place, although it holds the awful memories of being trapped underground, has become a comfort to me. Besides, it was really only the shed and bunker that terrified me. The safehouse itself hasn’t done anything against me. In fact, with all the little fixes and improvements that Sal has been doing around the place, it’s starting to almost look like a livable residence again. The car rolls to a stop and we get out, trudging up the gravel to the front porch.

  As soon as we get in, I go to the kitchen and make us some hot chocolate with a little splash of liqueur added in. Then we sit in the living room, sipping our hot drinks and trying to wind down from this eventful night. I stare down into the gently swirling contents of my mug, my mind running in circles.

  “What are you thinking about?” Sal asks gently. I bite my lip, trying not to cry.

  “Just about how fucked up my life is,” I begin, shrugging. “I never asked for any of this, you know? I just wanted to live my normal, quiet, hard life. It was never fun or exciting but I was finally kind of stable. I had two jobs, my own place, and I was this close to finally adopting a cat. Man, I really wanted that cat.”

  “You do seem like a cat person,” he says, smiling faintly.

  “I am. And I was looking forward to having some little friend to keep me company when I was off work. It got lonely sometimes, of course. Living the way I did,” I admit.

  “I can understand that,” he says.

  “I bet you do. I can’t imagine being a mafia hitman is a very social job.”

  “No. Not at all. It’s the perfect job for a loner. A lone wolf.”

  “That’s you, isn’t it?” I say, taking a sip of my hot chocolate.

  “I was that man once. Now, I’m not so sure,” he confesses, looking at me pointedly. My heart does a little flip-flop. I decide to change the subject.

  “It’s not fair, you know. I never cared much about my father. Sure, it hurt like hell to know that he didn’t care about me, but I had my mother. She was parent enough for the both of them on her own. But now that my father is dying… well, suddenly I don’t hate him. I hardly even dislike him. I want him to survive, Sal. So that we can get to know each other. I told him I wasn’t quite ready to forgive him, and I’m not, but I want to. As soon as I can. I just need him to wake up and get better so I can tell him myself,” I ramble.

  “I hope he will,” Sal says.

  “And then there’s stupid Blake. My idiot half-brother who despises me. Hates me so much he wants me dead. He doesn’t even know me, Sal! He’s never had a conversation with me. Sure, we have nothing in common besides a shared father. We were never going to be close friends. But this? This is absurd. It was bad enough growing up without a father, knowing that he abandoned my mom and I and never looked back. But knowing that I have a brother who hates me so much he didn’t even hesitate to hire someone to kill me is too much. I know so many people with close, supportive, loving families, and I get stuck with this.”

  “You’re right. It isn’t fair,” Sal agrees, scooting closer and putting an arm around me. I lean into his touch, his warmth.

  “I’ve always kept to myself. I’ve been so afraid to rely on anyone, depend on them. Because of how badly my father hurt me when he disappeared without a trace. I’ve missed out on so much. Close friendships. True love. Instead it’s always just been my mother and me, and when she died, it was just me alone. That’s all I’ve ever known, Sal.”

  “I know what that’s like,” he says softly. “To isolate yourself. To be alone.”

  I rest my head on his shoulder. “I just keep wondering what I did to deserve this. I must have really screwed up in a past life or something.”

  “No, you can’t blame yourself for this, Eva. You don’t deserve this pain,” he says firmly.

  “Thank you for saying that. I don’t know if I can quite believe it, but thank you,” I admit. A tear rolls down my cheek and Sal catches it with his finger. He tilts my head up to kiss me.

  “Eva, I have not known you long. But I’m a damn good judge of character. I have to be, for the work I carry out. And I can tell that you are a truly good person. A little broken, perhaps, but so are all the most wonderful people. And so am I,” he whispers.

  Suddenly, I don’t want words anymore. I need more than that. I need comfort, physical comfort. And I know Sal can give it to me. Without a word, I get up and push him back on the couch, straddling his lap. He slides his hands down my body to cup my breasts, my ass. He falls into step with me easily, without saying anything at all. He just knows.

  I strip off my shirt and he reaches around to unclasp my bra, tossing it across the room. I lean forward and kiss him deeply while his fingers tweak and roll my nipples, sending streaks of pleasure down through my core. I moan into his mouth, rolling my hips, grinding against his already rock-hard shaft. I can feel it straining under the fabric of his pants, and suddenly I can’t wait any longer.

  I get up and crouch down in front of him, taking off his shoes, then pulling down his pants and moving them away. He’s not wearing boxers. His cock springs free and I lick my lips, wrapping both hands around his enormous length while I look up at Sal expectantly. He gives me a nod and I eagerly pull his massive cock into my mouth, enjoying the sensation of my cheeks aching and stretching to accommodate him. Sal groans and places a huge hand on the back of my head, pushing me down on his cock until I’m nearly choking. I bob up and down, letting his shaft brush against the back of my throat, my tongue swirling around the head of his cock while my hands work his length. I can feel myself getting wetter by the second, turned on by what my mouth and hands can do to Sal. I get a thrill out of making him moan, making him feel so good.

  This is exactly the kind of distraction I need. This is the Christmas present I want.

  Just as I can feel Sal’s balls tightening up, his body tensing in anticipation of climax, he gently nudges me away and beckons for me to stand up. I obey, watching him with hopeful eyes.

  “Strip,” he says simply.

  I take off my shoes, pants, and panties so that I’m standing fully naked and exposed in front of him. There’s a coolness in the house from the gentle snowfall outside, and goosebumps prickle up on my skin.

  “Come here,” he growls. “I want you to ride my cock.”

  I dutifully straddle him on the couch, slowly lowering myself down, spearing myself on his massive, hard cock. With every inch, I feel an overpowering shiver of pleasure, moaning as I slide his full length inside me. Sal grabs my hips and starts to rock me, the two of us grinding together passionately as his cock strikes my g-spot over and over again. He reaches down between us to rub my clit with his fingers while we fuck, making me cry out. It’s not long before my body is seizing up, coming all over his cock.

  “Yes. Good girl,” he says quietly, darkly. I can tell he loves being in control, being able to make my body do what he wants. I love it, too. I love obeying his every instruction, relinquishing control for once. Being able to actually trust someone again. And not just because he saved me. Because he’s shown me, with every action, that I can trust him.

  If I’d run away to the cops, I could have gotten him put in jail forever, but he trust me to stay here with him. He didn’t threaten me, didn’t keep me locked in that bunker. From our very first moment together, he made himself vulnerable for me. He was the man I needed.

  And then, when things spiraled out of control and we realized there was a hit out for me, he made himself hard. He went out of his ‘retirement’ for me. He’s killed the worst type of men in the world, and that strength, that power...

  It turns me on.

  He kisses me as I ride his cock, his hands caressing my full breasts, his fingers circling
my nipples and sending spirals of bliss down my body. He kisses my neck, just below my ear, where I’m ticklish in the most delicious way. I shudder and lean into him, delighting in the sensation of pleasure bordering on discomfort. It’s wonderful and so, so good.

  Suddenly, Sal grabs my hips.

  “I’m going to pump you full of my come, sweetheart,” he promises in a low whisper. A thrill of excitement rocks my body.

  “Yes. Oh god, please,” I murmur as he picks up the pace. I know it’s risky, and that just turns me on even more. I’ve been surrounded by so much death. My mother died far too young, and my father is now at death’s door. And I was locked in a bunker, facing down death or something worse every minute of the day.

  I don’t want to think about death anymore.

  I just want to think about life. A new life.

  I’m on top, but he’s in control, bouncing me up and down on his cock while I moan and roll my eyes back. All I can do is hold onto the back of the couch, riding him faster and faster while I come again and again. My sweet honey gushes over his cock, making us both slippery and sticky.

  “Oh my god,” I whimper. “Oh my god, Sal.”

  “Oh, fuck. Baby, your pussy is so wet for me,” he groans through gritted teeth. “God, you feel like heaven. I want to fuck you forever.”

  His hips snap erratically as he starts to lose control. He fucks me harder and harder until finally he pulls me close and kisses me, groaning into my mouth as he fills me up with his sweet come. I roll my hips a few times, milking every last drop of his precious seed while we pant and sigh in the afterglow. Sal kisses me softly as a tear rolls down my face. I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m not upset. I’m just overwhelmed. He’s so intense. Everything has been so intense.

  Finally, he moves me off of him and stands up, heading to the shower.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, pouting.

  “This has to end,” he says. My heart skips a beat. What does he mean? What has to end? Us? The two of us together? What we’ve been doing— what we just did?

  He seems to catch on that his words have sent me into a tizzy, because he turns and looks back at me, adding, “The danger. The fear. I can’t allow this to keep going any longer, Eva. It’s not fair to you. You should not have to hide out here like a criminal. It’s not your fault and you deserve better. Your bastard brother has to pay.”

  My eyes go wide as I get up to follow Sal to the shower. I can feel his seed leaking down my thighs. He turns on the water and we step inside. I grab the soap and start lathering up.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask meekly, afraid of the answer.

  Sal says firmly, “I’m going to confront him. End this once and for all.”

  “Sal, he’s dangerous.”

  “So am I,” he says, and I know he’s right. “Anything he can bring to the table will pale in comparison to me.”

  “Okay. Well, then, I’m coming with you,” I declare. Sal shakes his head.

  “No. Not this time, Eva.”

  “Yes, this time. Especially this time,” I retort defiantly. “First of all, whatever happens, you’ll need a witness on your side. Second of all, he’s my brother. I should be there. I-I want to hear him say it. I want to hear his confession, straight from his own mouth.” Adrenaline courses through my veins at the thought of it. Sal pulls me into his arms and kisses the top of my head.

  “It’s not safe for you.”

  “I don’t care,” I reply. “Sal, I need to do this.”

  He looks at me, hard. Sizing me up. I can tell there is not a single cell in his body that wants to allow this. He wants to tell me no. But I stand my ground.

  “Sal, let me go with you.”

  19

  Salvatore

  Heavy fog hangs in the air as I walk through the empty graveyard, no sound around me the hooting of an owl in a distant tree. My footsteps don’t even make noise.

  One of the things I was able to grab from Jerry’s apartment was his contact information, which in turn gave me access to his accounts.

  So, I impersonated him, and I set up a meeting with Blake.

  I told him there had been a complication at the hospital, and that we needed to meet up immediately. And so here, in the middle of the night in a graveyard on the outskirts of town, I’m heading to a meeting with Blake Brighton, who expects me to be Jerry, who he no doubt was planning to chew out or even kill, if I know anything about Blake’s personality by now.

  This isn’t just any graveyard, either. This is where the Brighton family has their own private mausoleum.

  It isn’t an unusual kind of place to meet people in my line of work. Back when I was younger and had a different idea of what dramatic flare was, it was almost like a calling card for me.

  Of course, Blake doesn’t know that.

  As I walk among the dead, I feel their stillness all around me like anticipation being tightly wound up. The moisture of the fog makes the tombstones damp and the ground wet.

  The Brighton mausoleum stands like a lonely monument in the fog, a big and dark shadow among shadows. I arrived later than I said to meet him, just to make sure I didn’t beat him here.

  I want the satisfaction of an entrance.

  As I expect, though, Blake didn’t come alone. Outside the mausoleum, I see two men standing by the door. One has his arms crossed and leans back against the wall while the other smokes, looking out into the fog. I can see guns at their sides and know they’re there for security. My guess would be that he planned to have Jerry dragged before him when he arrived.

  I crouch down as I approach. The fog and the gravestones give me cover, and whenever one of them looks my way, I freeze, looking like nothing but a dark shadow out in the sea of stone.

  I circle around the back of the mausoleum and slip up the side of it, hugging the wall. The men aren’t speaking to each other. I can hear the smoker occasionally inhale on his cigarette.

  With no sound and no hesitation, I come around the side of the building and deliver a quick, sharp strike to the neck of the man leaning against the wall. I watch his throat crumple in on itself before I move to the smoker. He barely has time to turn around before I seize him around the throat with my arms in a sleeper hold, and he kicks in silence before finally going limp in my arms.

  Both men dealt with, I turn my eyes to the entrance to the mausoleum.

  I move into the mausoleum through the stone doorway, and I draw my weapon. I’m here to get answers, but I need to be ready. Someone like Blake isn’t likely to be smart about how to handle the likes of me.

  Once I’m halfway into the short hallway to the center of the building, I let my footsteps echo, and I hear someone breathe in sharply from the corridor to the left. The inside of the mausoleum is in the simple shape of a cross, with the entrance and three short hallways.

  “Is he here?” I hear a man’s voice ask in a snide, demanding tone.

  “Yes,” I say simply as I appear in the corridor as a tall, dark figure looming at the end of the passage at the intersection.

  Blake is a short man, shorter than I expected. His face goes white at the sight of me, but it’s already deathly pale, and his blonde hair makes him look almost ghostly. He looks like a childish, softer version of his father, dressed in warm winter clothes from some top-line designer brands in NYC. He looks more like he’s about to go out on a yacht than meet a mafia contact in a graveyard.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he says, cautiously stepping toward me, looking like he could bolt at any second. “And where the hell are my men?”

  “I’m the one they call the Angel of Death,” I say, my voice a low, dark tone, each syllable rolling off my tongue with practiced ease. “If you knew anything about dealing with murder, you’d know my name.”

  He looks chilled to the bone, and his hand twitches as if reaching for something at his side. He hasn’t seen my gun yet, but if I planned to just kill him quickly and quietly, he’d have never seen me coming.

&n
bsp; “Where’s the ratty guy?” he asks, his voice thin. “What the fuck is this?”

  “He won’t be coming, Blake Brighton,” I say. “Nobody will.”

  Like snow melting away suddenly, Blake loses his will, and his skinny legs break into a run. He darts past me, fumbling with a gun at his side and clumsily shooting back, the bullet hitting stone and chipping some of it off as it ricochets behind me.

  Blake takes off out of the mausoleum, and I jog after him.

  I’m in no hurry, though. I want to let him tire himself out.

  Outside in the cold, wet air, I can see his figure vanishing into the fog, but the sound of his running footsteps makes it easy to follow him, letting him stay just out of reach to give him the slightest glimmer of hope.

  “Tell me about your sister, Blake,” I call after him as he runs. “Tell me about what you put her through.”

  “I’m not telling you anything!” I hear his voice call back at me, and I weave through the tombstones as he runs.

  He’s headed for the exit, so I pick up the pace and circle around him, blocking off his escape and listening to the sound of his footsteps running toward me.

  “Do you know how she died?” I ask, moments before Blake’s sprinting form appears in front of me. He skids to a halt, and I can see the whites of his wide, terrified eyes. He raises his gun, but by the time he fires, I’ve already dived out of the way. He takes off running in the opposite direction, deeper into the cemetery.

  “You handed her over to the devil himself,” I call after him, giving chase.