Trapped: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Anna Ray

  But instead of saying any of this, I shrug. “You know. Same old. How about you?”

  He huffs out a breath as though he’d been waiting for someone to ask him that exact question. “You remember Francesco?”

  “How could I forget?” I reply coldly.

  “Well, he got busted for possession, and I had to bail him out. But now, the cops are on to him. That means he can’t deal for us anymore. That’s a huge loss of income until I find a replacement.”

  Instead of telling him it’s his own fault for being involved with drugs, my mind scrambles for an answer. Sure, this business isn’t a legal one, but it’s still a business. Businesses, I know.

  “Have you thought about targeting the colleges?”

  “That’s what Francesco was for,” Massimo replies. “But now he’s out, I need a new way in.”

  “Well, I might have been able to help you, if you hadn’t, you know, kidnapped me and used my friend, Taylor.” I add, “Taylor is a hardcore partier, and her cousin Johnny is into all sorts of shady stuff. I’m sure they’ll know someone.”

  Massimo doesn’t reply immediately, and I assume he doesn’t want my help. Typical. Why do all these mobsters think women are clueless idiots? I’m about to give it up as a lost cause when he asks, “Do you have Johnny’s number? I can’t very well contact Taylor; she’ll wonder how I got her number. But if Johnny is known for shady business, it won’t be strange for me to get in touch with him.”

  I sigh. “I don’t know Johnny’s number off the top of my head. If I had my phone, I could give it to you, but…” I trail off awkwardly.

  “I have your phone and your purse. I made sure to bring it here with you. It’s in my safe.”

  “Well, there you go, you can get Johnny’s number that way.”

  “Yeah, thanks, I will. And because you’ve been so helpful, I will allow you to have your phone for an hour, under my supervision.”

  I can’t believe Massimo is offering to give me my phone back and happily agree with his terms. Anything to be in touch with the outside world. Sure, I can’t tell my friends I’m safe, let alone where I am, but I can still see their faces and hear their voices. That might make me feel less alone.

  After dinner, he disappears upstairs, and when he returns, he hands me my phone. I clutch it to my chest like a precious gem before turning it on and scrolling through my social media news feed. My chest tightens when I see all the posts about my disappearance and loved ones, begging anyone with information about my whereabouts to come forward.

  I almost break down in tears when I get to a video of my mother. “To the bastard that has my daughter — you harm one hair on her head, and I will make you wish you’d never been born.”

  I glance across at Massimo, who flinches at my mother’s words, but says nothing. It isn’t him I’m angry with, though, it’s my father. He knows how to get me back — he just doesn’t care enough to do it.

  “I’m sorry,” Massimo says so quietly I almost don’t hear him. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you earlier.”

  All I can do is shrug in response, and Massimo surprises me when he continues speaking. “I just want all this to be over.”

  “You and me both,” I reply, my gaze drifting back to my phone. I keep scrolling, acutely aware Massimo is watching me. Is he trying to figure out if I’m hiding something? Because if he thinks I am, he’s going to be disappointed. I know less than he does about my father’s criminal dealings.

  When I get to another video, this time by Taylor, I don’t know if I should watch it or not, but the lure of seeing my best friend’s face wins out. The video by Taylor is very similar to my mother’s.

  “Whoever has Alessandra, bring her back. She is a good person, with a good heart, and doesn’t deserve to be caught up in whatever twisted game you’re playing.”

  Her fierceness makes me smile, but I can’t stop the tears that roll down my cheeks. I sniff quietly, hoping Massimo won’t hear, but he turns and looks at me in surprise.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing. I… it’s just...” I trail off, power down my phone, and hand it back to him.

  “You must miss them all.”

  “I do. So much. Listen, I get it — you want revenge for your murdered family, but my father doesn’t care about me.”

  Massimo snorts. “Every father cares about their child.”

  “Did your father care about you when he was playing both sides and feeding information to my father?” I bite back, letting the frustration and hurt I feel boil over. People made choices, and innocent lives paid for them. And innocent lives are still paying for them.

  Suddenly, I can no longer stand being in the same room as Massimo. I put my empty plate down on the coffee table, not even caring about the desert waiting, and I go up to my room. Not wanting to be disturbed, I pull the vanity table over to prevent Massimo from entering.

  A few moments later, he tries to open the door, and when he can’t, he pounds on it.

  “Alessandra, speak to me,” he demands, but I ignore him.

  Instead, I bury my head in the pillows, cover myself with the blankets, and finally give in to the tears that have been building since the moment he gave me my phone back.

  13

  Massimo

  I pound on Alessandra’s door again, but still I’m greeted by silence. Then, I hear the sound of muffled cries, and I step back.

  I swallow down my frustration and anger over what Alessandra said and remind myself she’s suffering, too. A hatred for her father burns in my core. I already knew he was a monster the moment Carlo told me Giuliani was responsible for the murder of my family. But what sort of heartless bastard does nothing to rescue their only child?

  Have I seriously underestimated my foe?

  I want to question Alessandra, to see if she knows anything more, anything she’s been withholding from me, but I can’t get into her room. Even if I could, I know disturbing her now is a terrible idea.

  Instead, I stalk back downstairs and pour myself a glass of Amaretto over ice, the box of fresh cannolis lying uneaten on the counter. I pick up the box and throw it across the room, letting out a growl of frustration.

  Nothing is going like I planned. Between Giuliani’s lack of response to my demands and the fuck up with Francesco, I’m going out of my mind. It doesn’t help that I have Carlo on my ass, asking if I’ve dealt with Alessandra yet and what I’m going to do about the drug supply chain now that Francesco is out of commission.

  For one fleeting moment, I think about throwing it all in. I have savings, and my home is worth a fortune. I could let Alessandra out, and just leave… walk away from Carlo and Giuliani... all this crap. But then an image of Bianca’s bloodied and broken body enters my mind, and I know I can never walk away.

  Not until Giuliani is dead.

  But I also know nothing can be resolved tonight — not when emotions are running high. So, I clean up the cannoli, dump the evidence in the trash, and go up to my room.

  I listen outside Alessandra’s door but hear no sound of crying and figure she must have fallen asleep.

  I get into bed and try to sleep, but even after a couple of hours, I’m still laying on my back staring up at the ceiling in the darkness.

  “Did your father care about you when he was playing both sides and feeding information to my father?” Alessandra’s words from earlier haunt me because it’s a thought I’ve had a hundred times in the past.

  My father had to have known the consequences of playing both sides against each other, had to know it would end with his death, and likely mine, too. Even so, he was willing to gamble with other people’s lives. Innocent people’s lives.

  I hate him almost as much as I hate Giuliani.

  Does Alessandra deserve to pay for her father’s crimes? A voice in the back of my mind asks.

  She’s collateral, another voice argues.

  But where does this end? The first voice questions, and I can
't help but wonder, after I’ve had my revenge, will I always be looking over my shoulder, worrying that Mrs. Giuliani will hire someone to take me out and avenge her daughter? Maybe it would be best if I take out the whole family — make a clean job of it? But how do I get Giuliani to bring his wife with him when he comes to pay the ransom for Alessandra?

  If he comes to pay the ransom for Alessandra, another voice in my mind reminds me.

  I know without a shadow of a doubt, if someone had called me up, saying I could save my mother and Bianca, I would have done exactly as they asked. And I know, if I ever have a child, I’d do anything to protect them. So why hasn’t Giuliani contacted me?

  Because some parents don’t care about their children, I remind myself, thinking about my father.

  Eventually, I must have dropped off because I wake up early the next morning when my alarm sounds. After a quick shower and getting dressed, I step out into the hallway, listening for any signs Alessandra is awake, but soft snores coming from her room tells me she’s still asleep. I vow to come back at lunchtime to check she’s okay and perhaps talk to her about her father.

  I head downstairs and refuse the cook’s offer of breakfast, but happily accept the cup of espresso he hands me. Then I leave the house and head to the office.

  I can’t control the situation with Giuliani, but I can fix the mess Francesco left behind. I call the number for Johnny that I took from Alessandra’s phone and wait for someone to answer.

  “Yo! This is Johnny; how can I help you?” he replies.

  “A mutual acquaintance tells me you know where I can score a hit,” I begin without preamble.

  Johnny is no fool, though, and plays innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude.”

  I can’t reveal how I got Johnny’s number and instead lie and go with the best I have. “So, you’re not Taylor’s cousin?”

  Johnny lets out a breath. “Yeah, that’s right. If you’re looking for drugs, I can hook you up. I’ll give you my address, and —”

  I cut Johnny off before he continues and instead say, “No, you meet me. Do you know La Festa?” I ask, referring to one of the many clubs Carlo and I own shares in.

  “Sure. Sure. It’s the place on North Milwaukee Avenue, right?”

  “That’s the one,” I confirm. “Meet me there in thirty minutes.”

  I end the call to Johnny, throw on some sunglasses, hoping to mask my identity a little, and take my gun out of the safe. Twenty minutes later, I enter La Festa as the cleaning crew prepares for a new day’s business.

  “Sorry, we’re closed right now,” a woman behind the bar says.

  I remove my glasses and gaze directly at her, recognizing her as Chantelle, the bar manager. Chantelle’s eyes widen, and she hastily says, “Good morning, Mr. Accardi. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine. I just need to use the bar for a business meeting. I won’t be long,” I reply, scanning the area for any signs of Johnny.

  “Not a problem. Do you want something to drink?”

  “Got any coffee?” I ask, craving another caffeine hit.

  Chantelle smiles. “We sure do. What can I get you?”

  “An espresso, please.”

  Chantelle disappears into a back room, and I turn my attention back to the entranceway where a shady, scruffy looking guy is hanging around, checking his phone. Assuming it’s Johnny, I go out to greet him.

  When I approach, his eyes widen and he says, “Holy shit. You’re Massimo Accardi!”

  I suppress an eye roll. “I am. You must be Johnny. Please, come inside.”

  He follows me back into the bar, and I indicate that he should take a seat at the closest table. A moment later, Chantelle appears with my espresso. She places it down in front of me, and asks, “Can I get anything for your guest, Mr. Accardi?”

  I glance pointedly at Johnny, and he says, “Yeah. Can I get a flat white, please?”

  “Not a problem,” Chantelle replies and leaves us to it.

  Once Chantelle has bought Johnny’s flat white over, I explain my offer to him. I want him to deal drugs that I will supply to the universities and clubs in the city in exchange for a thirty percent cut of the profits.

  He accepts my offer, and I give him a $500 “signing on” bonus so he can clean himself up and get some presentable clothes so he won’t get thrown out of the clubs I need him to deal in.

  “Meet me here tomorrow at the same time, and I’ll give you your first consignment,” I say, standing from the table and leaving the bar.

  After my meeting with Johnny, I head straight back to the house to check on Alessandra and question her more about her father. She’s not downstairs, so I assume she’s in her room and head there, only to find that empty, too. What the fuck?

  I scan the room, but nothing seems out of place. Where the hell is she, then?

  Back downstairs, I search every inch of the house for Alessandra, and in the kitchen, I notice one of the steak knives is missing from the butcher’s block.

  The stupid girl has tried to escape!

  I head into the garage. The security code hasn’t been activated, and the gates are still locked. She can’t have gotten far. Back inside the house, I notice the rear door, the one the staff uses to take the trash outside, is open and figure that’s the escape route she has taken.

  The back yard is vast, with plenty of furniture and plants for Alessandra to hide within. I search the area by the pool and hot tub, but find nothing, and continue stalking through the yard, my frustration growing with every step I take.

  I’m approaching the property boundary — where upright sugar maple trees stand in front of the fence, their leaves an array of fall colors: orange, red, yellow — when I hear a gunshot followed by a scream. I rush through the trees to find Alessandra pressed up against the fence, the steak knife clutched in her hand. Just inches away on the other side of the fence there are three men, all heavily armed and shooting at the ground around Alessandra’s feet. The moment they see me, they change their aim and start firing at me instead.

  I pull my gun out of the hip holster and start firing back, but I only have six rounds — I didn’t think I needed to have more ammo on me — and I’m outnumbered three-to-one. When a bullet grazes Alessandra’s knees and she lets out an ear-piercing shriek, I instinctively dive in front of her. Using my body as a shield, I scoop her into my arms and carry her back to the house.

  My veins pumping with adrenaline, I throw her down on the couch and make sure none of the armed men made it over the fence. Satisfied we’re safe inside the house, I grab the first aid kit and tend to her wound. Thankfully, it isn’t serious, and she won’t need to go to a hospital. I apply antiseptic and cover the gash with a bandage. If she leaves it alone for a few days, it should scab over and heal.

  Now I know we’re not in any danger, my concern turns to anger, and I narrow my eyes.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” I demand.

  “I was thinking my father isn’t coming to rescue me, and you’re too proud or whatever to call him again. So I had to take matters into my own hands.”

  “Bullshit. There were men outside the house. Your father’s men. This was a setup.”

  “Are you serious? They were shooting at me, too. Don’t you think if they were my father’s men, they’d have avoided injuring me?”

  “Not if it was a trap. You must have contacted him on your phone and told him where I’m holding you,” I insist, my anger growing. I punch the couch beside Alessandra’s head, and she flinches. But I’m surprised when she doesn’t start crying.

  Instead, she stands from the couch and slaps me, hard, across the face. My anger becomes tempered by another feeling, but I push that aside and glare at her.

  14

  Alessandra

  My hand still shakes from slapping Massimo, and I’m expecting him to hit me back at any moment. The adrenaline burns through my veins, and I feel on the verge of throwing up.

  All I wa
nt is to go home.

  “Who were those men?” Massimo demands.

  “I don’t know!” I insist, the shaking in my hand extending to my whole body. I drop onto the couch, trembling.

  “Don’t lie to me,” Massimo snarls.

  “I’m not!” I grind out. “Honestly, I have no idea who they were. You probably know more about my father’s business dealings than I do.”

  “If you don’t know who they are, why were you trying to escape? You set this up. You called your father while I was out and told him where you are.”

  “How? You have my phone, and even if I could call him, I’m not sure it matters.” The words slip out of my mouth unexpectedly, but the more time that passes without my father doing anything to rescue me, the more I worry he’s abandoned me. I never thought it possible, but it’s been over a week. What’s he doing?

  “He will. I’ll make him. I can’t let you go. I need you for my plan to work.”

  I can’t help the mirthless laughter that ripples from my lips. “You’re delusional. Your plan failed. My father isn’t coming for me… but that isn’t the reason you keep me here, is it? It’s because you’re bored and lonely. I’ve seen the way you look at me, Massimo: you want me.”

  I don’t know why I say the words I do — to get a rise out of him? Because I think they’re true? Because I want them to be true?

  He snorts. “You’re the one who is delusional if you think I want you. Don’t flatter yourself; you’re eight years younger than me, and I could have any woman I want.”

  The words sting, but I don’t let that show and instead bite back, “Oh yeah, so where are they? Where are all these women you could have whenever you want? Because all I see is you spending every evening with me. Making sure the cook prepares my favorite food, letting me pick the movies, buying desserts for us to share.”