“I’m supposed to put my personal life on hold?” I seized Carmela’s drink and drained it. “There will always be a crisis. Learn from Alessio, who never took five and burned out.”
“Yeah, but nothing slipped past him.”
“Except you kidnapping his wife.”
He made an amused sound, already halfway finished with his meal. “Rage Machine.”
“What about them?”
“Sock-puppet clubs are litmus tests for patched members. If they run through a gauntlet of vicious crimes, they’re accepted into the main club, Legion. Seems to attract guys with zero brain cells.” Vinn sighed and raked his ebony hair. “Anyway, guess who’s the leader?”
“Crash?”
“President claims he’s lost control of his little experiment, which means Legion is on its last legs. He’ll get killed, and we don’t have the numbers for a war.”
“Then we import soldiers from the old country.”
“That’ll take time. Negotiations.” Vinn picked his Bolognese without interest. “We should’ve murdered him while he was spitting glass.”
Carmela walked in. I shot her a pointed glare, but she sat beside me.
“Honey, we’re having a conversation.”
“You’re talking about Crash?” She cut through my denial, frowning. “I heard his goddamn name. Let me help. I have more reason to want him dead than either of you.”
“What’ll you do? March into his clubhouse and shoot him?” Vinn sneered, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Keep washing dishes.”
I slugged his arm. “Don’t be rude.”
“I’m serious! Use me to draw him out!”
I hardened into stone. “Vinn, can you give us a second?”
He lumbered into the living room, where my sister accosted him. Their voices rumbled in the background, but I tore my attention from them and took Carmela’s chin.
“How often do I have to repeat myself? Let me handle him.”
“It doesn’t feel right.”
What does that mean?
Carmela ripped from my side, shoving the chair under the table. In a whirl of skirts, she disappeared into the bathroom. A sob echoed before the door shut. Carmela wasn’t big on crying. She was such a pillar of strength—one of the many reasons I loved her—but something had crumbled her resolve.
I nudged the door open.
The curtain of hair almost hid her frown. She sniffed hard when I approached. She turned away, as though ashamed by her tears.
“I’ll get him, Carmela. I—”
She whirled around. “Why were you talking about a war?”
“I was exaggerating.”
“You’re not helping by downplaying everything. You think I’m an idiot? I read the news. I know you’re stressed out of your mind. And I’m not a fucking robot. If killing Nick means starting a huge conflict, I don’t want it.”
“This will never touch you or the kids.”
She made a hopeless sound. “Michael, I’m worried about you.”
Ah.
It occurred to me that Carmela had been awake all week when I got home, no matter what the hour. Maybe she was falling for me.
Finally. “When did this become about my life?”
“Shut up.” She captured my mouth with a swipe of her tongue. Her arms looped my neck.
I kicked the door closed, and then I lifted her onto the counter. Carmela’s eyes blazed as I stepped in between her legs.
“Let’s test how quiet you can be.”
Twenty-Nine
Carmela
“Higher, Mommy!”
I pushed Matteo on the swing. The mid-morning sun stroked my face with warmth. Sometimes bits of Michael flashed out in charming ways—the coy smiles, the playfulness—but his daughter was just like him.
Fiercely independent.
Uncompromising.
When Mariette called me Caramel, it was without Matteo’s innocence or Michael’s sweetness. I was the intruder. Matteo barely remembered his birth mother, but Mariette had years of memories. She was still grieving. She glowered whenever she caught her brother calling me Mommy. Michael stopped pretending to give a shit about Serena. It must’ve been gut-wrenching to watch her dad cozy up with a new woman.
“Stop pushing me!”
A pink-and-blue blur ran across the playground, howling as Mariette stood at the top of the slide, arms folded over her sequined tiger T-shirt.
Oh, Mariette. “What did you do?”
“I told her to go home. She’s stupid,” she burst in a scathing tone. “We’re playing pirates. Not cheerleaders.”
“Honey, we don’t use that word.”
“Daddy does!”
“When you’re thirty-four years old, you can say whatever you want. Until then, you’ll follow the rules.”
Mariette’s lip curled, echoing her father’s sneer. She ignored the kids jostling for the slide and zoomed down. Her trainers hit the gravel, and then she stalked to her brother, giving him a push on the swing. The heat bristling my chest softened as she played with Matteo.
At least they got along.
I waved at a three-year-old who crossed my path. Her wide eyes gaped at something over my shoulder.
A shadow rippled over me. Then a man’s body pressed into me. He grabbed my waist and glided up, squeezing.
I smiled, leaning against Michael. “You’re back.”
“I am.”
My entire body went cold and dark.
That voice.
I slid my gaze from the kids to the man of my nightmares.
Nick stood in full biker regalia—plaid shirt under his leather cut, steel-toed boots, the gun half-hidden in his jeans. Sun rays stroked him in warm light. This harbinger of death was so out of place on a playground.
“Did you think I’d give up on you?”
He grasped my jaw.
No.
Nick’s hard mouth crushed mine. He kissed me like a man ravaged with hunger. He shoved his tongue down my throat. Clove spice violated my senses as he swept me in breathless strokes that I didn’t return.
I jabbed his ribs.
He stopped short of mauling me, his grin still intact. He didn’t seem to care I hadn’t reciprocated.
“Nick, you shouldn’t be here.”
“It’s all right, babe. I’m taking you home.” My insides recoiled as his attention shifted to Michael’s children. “You’ll never have to watch his brats again.”
“Leave them out of this.”
Mariette’s fierce glare locked on Nick as she stepped from Matteo’s swing. “You’re not Daddy. You can’t kiss her.”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
“Nick, stop!” I yanked his leather cut, and when that failed, I shook him. “Nick. Look at me.”
“So those are his kids, huh?”
“Nick, you don’t have to do this. Don’t hurt them. I’ll do anything. I’ll go wherever you want, please—”
“Relax, baby. I’m not hurting anyone.”
“Leave them alone!”
Women in the playground glanced at Nick and walked away quickly. He pushed me off him, his eyes flashing as he approached.
“Mariette, run!”
She didn’t budge.
Nick gave me an exasperated look as he reached into his side pocket and fished out a magazine. Then he knelt beside Mariette.
“I’m just giving them a present.”
“Nick, please stop.” I looked for our bodyguard, but he was nowhere in sight. “Please—”
He popped two rounds from the clip. He tucked one in Matteo’s shirt and offered another to Mariette. “This one’s yours.”
You sick son of a bitch.
Mariette held out her shaking hand.
Nick dropped the bullet in her palm, and then he patted her cheek. “Tell your daddy it’s from me. My name’s Crash.”
Agony tore my guts as Mariette burst into sobs.
Nick stood, his face blank. Then he grabbed my b
icep. “Now, we can go.”
“Wait. Let me say goodbye.”
“You are such a bleeding heart.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Make it fast.”
I turned to Mariette. “Honey, I have to leave with Nick.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“I need you to be brave. Stay close to your brother.” I pressed my phone into her palm. “As soon as I’m gone, you find an adult. Call your father.”
“You’re leaving us?”
Her broken tone cleaved my soul. I took Mariette’s hand and cinched it on Matteo’s. The phone trembled in her grip. Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Why are you going?”
“I don’t want to.” I wrapped them in a fierce hug. “I love you both so much.”
I forced a smile. Their last memory of me wouldn’t be tainted with horror, so I swallowed my anguish. I turned my back on them as my stomach collapsed.
Nick beamed at the kids and wheeled around, hands in his pockets. Bikers lounged near the trees surrounding the lively park.
He loped beside me. “Give me your hand.”
When I refused to uncross my arms, he seized my wrist and ripped the ring from my knuckle. A flash sparkled through the air as he tossed it toward the playground, where Mariette and Matteo stood.
A silent howl went through me.
When would be the next time I’d see them?
Never.
Thirty
Michael
I’m ready to give up Tony Costa.
The number matched the one I’d called weeks before. The text was from Crash, who’d sent a proof of life photo. We’d pored over the grainy picture of Anthony, who still wore his jogging pants and T-shirt. His beard was overgrown. Chains wrapped his arms and legs. His clothes were dirty, but they weren’t splattered with blood. His vacant expression troubled me. I’d seen it before in Vinn, after he’d returned from his service in the military. It was as though he’d given up.
Additional messages said to prepare for a call at eleven this morning, which brought us to Vinn’s monochrome penthouse. We stood in his living room, streaked with black, grays, and white. Light streamed in from the wall-to-wall windows facing downtown.
Was Anthony somewhere in that maze spread below?
“I don’t like this.”
Vinn’s colossal frame straightened over the concrete table. His eyes flicked from my phone’s silent screen. “You’ve mentioned.”
“A guy who sends notes attached to dead hookers won’t hand over Anthony.”
“We’re fresh out of options.”
“I don’t think we should humor him.”
“I won’t ignore Anthony’s kidnapper.” Vinn swigged the energy drink and crammed a handful of almonds into his mouth. “You’re just worried he’ll ask for your wife.”
“He will, which makes this a waste of time. We could be searching for him. I have your prince,” I huffed, repeating the words on the note. “This is a game to him.”
Vinn waved me off. His wrinkled shirt hung like a battered flag over his pants. He paced his monochromatic apartment, rubbing his unshaven cheek. He was fucking exhausted—we all were. Since Crash took Anthony, we’d been working around the clock to find him.
Several days ago, a shell-shocked Alessio returned from a trip to New York to visit Nico in prison. Uncle Nico was furious. The news about his son’s disappearance went over so poorly that he’d attacked Alessio. Guards had to pull him off. He blamed us for Anthony’s kidnapping. Nobody was off the hook. If his son died, we were all fucked.
I needed Anthony to be all right. I’d made promises to Carmela, promises whispered in the dark as I lay there, spent and wrapped in her arms.
I love you.
I will never leave you.
What good was my sentiment if I died?
“It’s eleven.” Vinn stood. His broad frame cast a winged shadow on the cold floor. “Maybe I should do the talking.”
“He texted me.”
“You can’t fly off the handle with this guy. If he hurts Anthony—”
“He already has. Did you look at the photo?” I shook my head as Vinn shrugged. “Sadism is Crash’s thing, and Anthony’s an easy target.”
Vinn grabbed my shoulder and pinched hard. “Don’t lose your temper. No matter what he says about Carmela. Do not give him a reason to hurt Anthony.”
I pushed him off. “Fine.”
The phone rang.
I breathed deep and accepted the call.
Crash’s loathsome face popped into the screen. He sat in a booth of what appeared to be a diner. A glass of water sat in front of him.
A smug grin curled his lip. “Costa, thanks for joining.”
“Where’s Anthony?”
He sipped his drink. “I’ll get to him in a minute. I want to chat first.”
“Are we getting to the point sometime this century?
Vinn gestured violently, mouthing, Stay calm.
“You’re not who I thought you were. I assumed you were my total opposite. Boring. Safe. Spineless. Then I did some digging. About you. You and Beauty. Nobody could tell me when you started dating. And I mean nobody. They all gave me the same story. Those I persuaded to talk, anyway. They claimed you forced Carmela into marriage.”
The judgment ringing in his tone was precious. “If I owe an apology to anyone, it’s her. Not the piece of shit looking at me.”
“I’m the asshole? You dragged her down the aisle. Put a gun to her father’s head.” Another soft laugh shook through the speaker. “You think you’re better than me? Look in the fucking mirror, you filthy dago.”
“Where is Anthony?”
“Oh, fuck him. He’s such a whiny bitch. I don’t understand why you care about that limp dick.”
“Because he’s Nico’s only son, and he’s never been involved in the family business—”
“You Italians and your legacies. What good is that if it’s attached to a man like him? Whatever. I’ll keep him alive if you do one thing.”
“I’m not giving you Carmela.”
“Beauty is mine.”
“Her name is Mrs. Costa,” I hissed into the phone. “And I’m not handing over my wife, you sick fuck.”
He rolled his eyes, grinning. “I don’t need your permission. This is already a done deal.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have your wife.”
“Fuck you.” A horrible thrill shot into my heart. Then my phone vibrated with a notification flashing with Carmela. “She’s calling me right now, Dipshit.”
“That’s your daughter.”
“Don’t talk about my kids.”
“When you pick them up, I want you to ask for the present I gave them.” He winked, and then he smiled at something off-screen. “Say hello, baby.”
The camera panned, revealing a woman’s arm and the anchor-patterned white dress she’d worn this morning, and my wife’s terrified face. Carmela sat in the booth, pinned to Crash’s side.
No, this couldn’t be real.
“I stole her back. How’s it feel, Costa?”
A wounded howl tore from my throat as he caressed her shoulder and played with her bra. It felt like being stabbed. The agony twisted my insides with fire. Carmela ripped away from him, her mouth twisting. Her pain doubled my anguish.
“Take a good look. You’ll never see her again.”
“Let her go!”
“Never.”
“Carmela, where are you?”
“I can’t tell you. Sorry.” My wife shrieked from the speaker, “Get the kids! They’re at Salmon Creek Park!”
No.
“Where are you?”
“She’s with me,” Crash boomed, shifting the view to him. “And that’s where she’s staying. If I catch one whiff of a Costa, I will crush Anthony’s skull. Capiche?”
“You better sleep with both eyes open! Because I won’t rest until I bring her home.”
“She is home.”
The call ended, but my phone still vibrated.
A wild hope seized me as Carmela flashed across the screen. I squashed the cell against my ear, but the voice that answered wasn’t Carmela’s husky sigh.
It was my daughter’s.
“Daddy, she left us!”
Thirty-One
Carmela
I would fucking kill him.
Son of a bitch put a bullet in Matteo’s pocket. He’d taunted a seven-year-old girl, terrorized her father, and kidnapped Anthony. His list of crimes kept growing, and I could’ve stabbed him in the neck with a fork, but that wouldn’t help me win. Nick’s revolting hands would never touch a child, ever again.
Nick pulled out his Zippo and lit a clove cigarette, the perfumed smoke curling around his silhouette. “Get a grip, Carmela.”
“You didn’t have to hurt them!”
“I didn’t.”
“You scared those innocent children, and now they’ll think I abandoned them.”
“I don’t know why you give a shit about his kids.” Nick’s disgust seemed to grow when I slumped against the wall. “The fuck is your problem?”
“You.” I grabbed his leather jacket, tears shaking down my cheeks. “You’re what’s wrong with me. You destroy everything good. You’re a cancer. You should’ve never touched them.”
Nick glanced at my fists beating his chest and balled them. He squeezed hard. “You’re out of your mind.”
“I love them.”
Nick slapped me, the sting deepening my rage. He gave me a look as though worried for my sanity. “Snap out of it.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“Are you that desperate for kids? You’d lower yourself to take care of another man’s brats?”
“I spent weeks caring for them.” My gaze wandered across the parking lot to the highway. “You ripped me away from what made me happy.”
Nick glared at me through his veil of smoke. “I’ll give you a baby.”
Hell no.
I wouldn’t want your spawn if you were the last man on Earth.
If I blurted that out loud, he’d make me eat a bullet. Sparring with Nick while he was this volatile would earn me a trip to the morgue. I needed to calm down.
Taken: A Dark Mafia Romance Page 18