by KD Robichaux
When I’m all clean, I make my way to my huge walk-in closet and pull on some soft pajamas, then hop into bed, grabbing my phone. Even though I’m alone in my big apartment, I tug on my noise-canceling headphones so I can submerse myself fully in my audiobook, and open my Toon Blast app.
I finally beat the level, but by the time that happens, my eyelids are heavy and I can barely concentrate on my book, so I take my headphones off, set the Sleep Timer on my book for ten minutes, and roll over on my stomach. I fall asleep quickly, dreaming of serial killers and my prince who comes to steal me away.
2
DeLuca
Ferro Fetulli. One of the highest-ranking men in the Cosa Nostra and he has called on me to carry out a job. He and I have never met, but his henchmen are about to introduce us after I received his proposition from a messenger yesterday. All I know about the man is his title and that he has a wife. Nothing more. I don’t attend The Ruin events or socialize with others in this world. It’s not my style.
They sought me out. They needed a man with my power and connections to get jobs done under special circumstances. And that first time, it was personal. They knew I wouldn’t turn it down. And once I got that first taste of taking someone’s life, it was all over. In Desolation, where crime is prevalent, deaths and murders are a dime a dozen, mostly brushed under the rug because they just don’t have the manpower to bother with all of it. But when one of these special cases come up, when it’s evident authorities would be called in because of the hit being of a higher caliber, that’s when they call me to make sure it all looks like the “victim” did it to themselves.
I use the term victim loosely, since everyone in The Ruin knows I don’t accept jobs taking out the innocent. I don’t hurt the good.
Who am I?
I’m the most renowned oncologist in the state of New York. I cure the good by day and end the bad by night. I could lie and say there’s a deep, dark reason I’m this way—maybe a trauma from my younger days—but no. I simply am the way I am. I was born with a moral compass that’s stronger than the law.
Walking into the abandoned building in the slums, I’m met with the stench of death. Clearly, this is a place they use for the deadlier side of their business. The sound of leaking water echoes in the space, as well as my boots as I take a few steps inside. The metal of the storm door hits the chains hanging between both doors, and this must alarm the henchmen of my presence.
“Dr. Randazzo, Fetulli is ready for you. Follow me,” the burly man greets. His size should intimidate me, standing several inches above my six-foot three height, but it doesn’t. I don’t spook easily. You can’t in this business. I follow his retreating footsteps, taking in my surroundings, keeping a laser focus on who and what is around me at all times. You never know who is against you in this world.
Running a hand through my thick mane of dark hair as we enter the room, my eyes land on who I assume is Fetulli. He’s… different than I expected. Being a leader in this kind of world, one would think he’d look big enough to defend himself, but clearly that doesn’t matter, since he’s surrounded by nearly half a dozen armed men double his size. He’s roughly five eight in his sleek leather shoes, barely a hundred sixty pounds, I would guess. It dawns on me why a man like him might need my services.
“Ah, DeLuca. The infamous Lethal DeLuca. You’re a legend here.” He spreads his arms out wide to indicate the rusted, rotting room as if it’s filled with all the members of The Ruin.
I give a cocky grin, a hint of sarcasm in my tone. “My ego doesn’t need stroking. What job are you calling on me for?” I don’t care if he is a leader. We have no issues, and we have no rapport, so there’s no need for small talk.
“Well, fearless, I see. I admire that.” Looking me over, as if to assess what to do next, he narrows his eyes when I don’t break eye contact. He’s sizing me up, and that’s fine. Given our significant difference in physique, I don’t blame him.
“Can’t be afraid in The Ruin. Isn’t that the motto around here?” I quip, making sure I keep my tone… friendly, if you could call it that. He doesn’t react right away, taking a minute to smirk at me before clapping his hands in boisterous glee.
“This guy! I love him. Let’s talk business, shall we?”
“Yes.” I don’t match his enthusiasm, and he shakes his head, yet a smile still splits his face. He thinks The Ruin created me, but little does he know I’m not the type to be molded into anything. I was always this way. The Ruin just gave me an outlet. However, he seems like the type of man who needs all the credit he can take from others.
“Antonio. Remove the guards and leave us be.”
Nodding, the man who brought me to Fetulli ushers everyone out, but before he leaves, Fetulli stops him.
“Oh, and remember to warn them, Antonio. A single word about this meeting to anyone and it’s off with their fucking heads!” he bellows so the guards can hear him. I barely contain the roll of my eyes at the cliché line, but what can one expect from a guy who is shaping up to have a horrendous Napoleon complex?
Antonio nods, followed with a “Yes, sir.” Once we’re alone, Fetulli begins to pace back and forth in front of me, one hand clasped around his other wrist behind his back. I, however, stay put, watching and waiting for him to get on with it.
“DeLuca, we have a threat. A dangerous one. And I’m afraid this threat could collapse The Ruin,” he sneers.
That, I don’t like the sound of. Though I don’t call this a brotherhood or worry about this organization collapsing as a whole, I don’t want to go down with it.
“Go on,” I encourage, letting him know I’m listening and still in it so far.
“She isn’t just a quick kill, you see. It’s more complicated.”
She? I’ve never had an assignment dealing with the opposite sex. I keep my expression void, but inside, I can’t help but wonder who this woman is if one of the leaders of the Cosa Nostra needs her to be taken care of.
“How so, Ferro?” I question, wanting him to get to the point.
“She’s my wife.” The air suddenly goes still. His feet cease, and he stops in place just a few feet in front of me. Slowly, he brings his head up, making eye contact with me to see if I’m in fact still in it and prepared to take the job.
“You want your wife assassinated?” I clarify, making sure he understands exactly what he’s asking.
“Yes. But I need it to look like she chose it. The only one in The Ruin who can make it look that way—” He pauses, I assume for dramatic effect. “—well, that would be you, Lethal DeLuca.” He draws out the nickname the members of the underworld gave me in almost a mocking tone. I would be bothered if I truly gave a fuck what people thought about me. But I’m not, and I don’t.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I hesitate for a moment longer. “I don’t ask questions often, but I will ask this. This isn’t because of some love affair, or your wife isn’t holding up to your physical needs, is it?” Like I said, I only deal with the bad ones. Not an innocent wife he no longer finds attractive or wild enough in bed.
“Are you questioning me?” he asks, placing his hand on his gun holstered at his side.
Now, I may not be afraid of him, but his position does demand a certain amount of respect… and I’m unarmed. There’s a look in his eyes that seems to convey this woman really is a threat.
“No, but this is my job, and I have my own code and reputation. I won’t be played a fool. You need me. Correct?” I challenge logically.
“Correct. Now handle it. I have her itinerary and all the information you’ll need to know in order to take her out.”
“Picture?” Does he expect me to go in blindly?
“She refuses photos—a quirk her daddy instilled in her—and it’s best this way. When you read the file I’ve put together for you, burn it. There cannot be a trail left behind.”
“Trail? Judging by that and the comments you made to your men, it must be important for this not to lead back to
you,” I say, realizing now he’s hired me for that reason and not because he’s not strong enough to do the job himself.
“Correct. You’re smart. So do you agree to the terms?” he asks, waiting for me to finally give my word.
The Ruin at risk equals me at risk. For a woman—or any sole person—to hold that kind of power, power even one of the highest-ranking members in the organization fears enough to hire someone to get rid of, that’s all the reason I need. Because that kind of power can’t be anything but bad. Nothing good has that much reach. Only someone purely evil could take down the worst of the worst.
And with that thought in mind, I hold out my hand. “Done. Give me the information. I want the money in my account before this happens.”
At my agreement, a look crosses his face as if he’s the happiest devil to walk the earth.
“Antonio!” he hollers, and a few seconds later, the door opens, and footsteps sound behind me. He hands Fetulli the sleek black folder, and in turn, Ferro hands it to me. “Thank you for your services, Dr. Randazzo.”
Without another look in my direction, he exits out a door at the opposite end of where we came in, his men following suit. I wait until they’re all gone before I turn to take my leave.
A new job means it’s time to prep. A leader in our world has called for me to end the threat to it, and that’s what I intend to do.
Opening the envelope, I see her name.
“Arabella Fetulli. Time for you to go.”
3
Arabella
“I’ve got them, Marco. Thank you,” I tell my driver as he tries to take the couple of shopping bags from me when I step out of the car and out onto the curb. “You have a good night.”
He gives me a nod, closes the door, then circles around the front of the car. “You too, ma’am. Enjoy your books,” he replies, since the last stop we made was at the little bookstore just at the edge of town.
I stand there on the curb, watching the car pull away, left mostly alone once again. Yet, I feel eyes on me. The hair rises on the back of my neck, an awareness prickling through me as if I’m being watched.
But then I shake my head, snorting to myself. Of course I feel like I’m being watched. I always have eyes on me, even when I tell Ferro and my father over and over that no one cares enough about me to need constant security. But alas, my assurances go unheard. I glance around, trying to spot the guards I know are there, but they’re good at their job, staying unseen as I turn and start to make my way toward the side door of the building that houses my penthouse.
My brain doesn’t register the stealthy steps until they’re already upon me, my fingertips barely glancing the door handle when darkness consumes my vision and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. I take in a lungful of air to scream, but a hand the size of a mitt clamps down over the hood that’s blinding me, cutting off any sound I could’ve made. At the same time, what feels like an enormous cloth-covered brick wall comes up against my backside, my ass nestling against tree-trunk thighs, and the back of my head meets the middle of a chest that feels like boulders for pecs.
I struggle with all my might, but it’s clear within only a moment that it’s absolutely useless. I don’t even move an inch as I use all the strength I’ve earned from my daily workouts. He moves me backward with ease, a bulldozer lifting a single grain of sand, and all I can do is dig my nails into the forearm now wrapped around my chest. It’s all I can reach, my shopping bags still hooked in the crook of my elbow. The sound of the paper bag knocking against the side of our bodies the only one I hear until he speaks, the depth of his voice sending chills up my spine, around my neck, and down to peak my nipples.
“The alley four blocks up on the left,” he murmurs.
I don’t know who he’s talking to nor hear their response, but as his other arm comes to wrap around me, my fear mixes with just a touch of… comfort?
God, how pathetic am I? How lonely have I truly become that a stranger’s embrace—a clear kidnapper’s hold—brings me even a modicum of consolation?
And when he says in that gravelly voice, “Hush, Arabella. You’re mine now,” I feel my body slightly melt into his, and I tell myself it’s because I’m saving my strength to fight when I’m in a better position to actually get away.
In my warped sense of time, I can’t tell if it’s only seconds or an eternity until I hear a car pull up nearby, and then I’m moving. I’m lifted against this man’s body once more before a door is opened, and when I’m next settled, it’s on his lap, my now bare feet slipping against the leather seat, where I feel the buckle for the seatbelt against my heel. I absently wonder where my shoes went, knowing as soon as the thought forms how idiotic it is to worry about Louboutin flats instead of like… my life.
But again, as terrified as I am of what’s going on, of the unknown, there’s still that undercurrent of safety. It’s the most confusing mix of emotions I’ve ever felt in my existence, but at the same time, it’s almost a treat to feel anything other than boredom and loneliness. I had worried I’d lost all other emotions, since I hadn’t felt anything besides those in years.
“I take it plans have changed, sir,” a British-accented voice speaks from in front of us, I assume from the driver seat.
I feel the rumble of my captor against my side as he replies, “Yes, straight home this time, Maxwell. No need to stop beforehand.”
I wonder what the original plan was, but I’ve read enough thrillers in my life to make a guess. And it surprises me when I actually voice it. “Were you supposed to kill me?” I swallow, hearing the slight tremor in my tone. But I know in my soul the fear is coming from the fact that someone wanted me dead, not from the man currently holding me tight against him.
He doesn’t answer at first, and enough time passes that I don’t think he will. But then his deep murmur comes right by my ear beneath the hood. “That will no longer be happening.”
The answer gives more away than if he’d just said yes or no. But it also raises more questions. Now, I have to wonder…
Who wanted me dead? And also…
What will happen to me now that I’m not?
4
DeLuca
What the fuck are you doing? I admonish myself. But even as the voice inside my head revolts against what my body and soul are doing without its consent, I can’t help but breathe in the intoxicating scent of the woman in my lap. She’s tiny, not just in comparison to me but in general. I can feel the toned muscles of her arms and back beneath my biceps wrapped around her. Her little ass nestles between my thighs and against my cock, and my legs barely have to spread to accommodate it. She obviously takes care of herself. Maybe obsessively so. Maybe to an unhealthy degree. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about Arabella, because I never dive too deep into the background of the people I’m hired to kill. Seeing as I take jobs from only the highest ranking people in The Ruin, I’ve never had to. All I require knowing from them is whether they are on the side of good or evil, and her husband portrayed her as the latter. For the first time, I feel like I should’ve done more research.
Now that I’ve laid eyes on her, now that I have her pressed against me, I have to wonder if I’ve gone into this profession too blindly.
But no.
The other before her were so obviously evil. Men who’d raped, murdered, and—if one can imagine—even worse.
I should’ve listened to my gut when Ferro first mentioned it was a woman, his wife, he wanted me to kill. Because certainly the piccolina—little one—in my arms is harmless.
He said she has information to take down the entire Ruin. That doesn’t take physical strength, you idiot.
Either way, I have her now. She’s no longer a threat to The Ruin, even if it was true, if she has no way of informing anyone of what she knows.
Surprisingly, Arabella doesn’t struggle at all on the ride to my home. In fact, she seems to relax into me, a nearly weightless blanket atop my body. Her hooded head even comes to rest agains
t my collarbone, and if it weren’t for the occasional fidgeting of her bare feet, I would think she fell asleep.
I didn’t have time to think of what taking a woman captive would’ve been like, but if I had, it certainly wouldn’t have gone this smoothly. I don’t have to worry about Maxwell ratting me out to anyone. He and his family have worked for mine for generations. He’s practically family himself. Not to mention he’s used my services before—the ones inside and outside the hospital. You wouldn’t turn in a man who not only saved you from colon cancer, but who also suicided a drug dealer who sold your brother marijuana laced with Fentanyl.
Arabella is in no way a threat to The Ruin now.
Brilliant. Now, what do you plan to do with her after this is all said and done? Keep her forever?
No.
Yes.
Maybe?
Fuck, I silently curse, berating myself for the impulsive decision I just made out of pure desire for this intoxicating woman. I’m either a fool or the smartest man who ever lived when it comes to keeping her with me in captivity. I’ve not only practically signed her death certificate, but probably my own as well. But in this moment, with her tight body in my lap, I’d take that kiss of death without hesitation.
I'm a damn moron.
We pull into my hidden oasis or, as the people who have been here—mainly Maxwell—have called it, my castle in the woods. The two-story brick home is guarded by an iron fence, one no one could climb without being noticed quickly by my top-of-the-line security system. The far left side—the tower where I sleep when I need an escape—is covered in ivy and roses, the vines intertwining and growing along the dark-gray brick. I don’t personally bask in its beauty, but I can see how some would say it's magical-looking, gothic and morbid but still breathtaking.