Dark Blood: A Mafia Hitman Romance

by Isabella Starling

  "My wife passed away suddenly after being in a car crash," he says. I remember her — Donna Maria, a kind woman who always liked me. She fathered three sons for my father before passing away. "I was heartbroken."

  "Don't remember that part," I hiss at him. "I mostly remember you tossing my mother aside like she was trash."

  "Your mother was a whore," my father cuts me off. I stare at him blankly and he just laughs, a cold, soulless sound. "You didn't know, Matteo? Of course she was a whore. And I tried so fucking hard to fix her. But the drugs, and the alcohol, and the sex.... She was too far gone."

  "So you just gave up on her," I say dejectedly. "Gave up on another woman in your life. And your son."

  "How the fuck was I to know if you were actually my son?" he snaps at me. "She slept with a lot of men. All I had was her word for it, and it wasn't worth much."

  We stare at each other. Finally, he's come out and said it. Finally, he confesses he never saw me as a son. He just used me, for my whole life. And I just let him like a total jackass.

  "When your mother died so soon after my wife, I was left alone," my father continues, sitting on the edge of his desk. "I took you in, took care of you."

  "More like trained me to be a killer," I spit out.

  "Shut the fuck up and listen."

  I fight every instinct in my body and do as he says, listening for the punch line.

  "I had a friend," my father continues. "He was the best man at my wedding. We came to the city together, moved from Italy at the same time. He was my best friend. My rock. My brother."

  I think about whom he could be talking about, coming up empty. But my father has plenty of friends and associates. It's possible he just drifted apart with the man he's talking about.

  "This man was intent on helping me get better after the death of my beloved wife. He took me out to a bar one night, and we met her."

  He points to the picture of Sofia.

  "I.... It was love at first sight. She was singing, and my friend was playing piano in the bar. I saw the way he was looking at her, all eyes. He loved her." My father loosens his tie. "But she only had eyes for me that night."

  By now, I'm completely immersed in his story. I want to hear more, so I nod for him to go on.

  "Sofia and I began an affair. We were in love.... She was a Catholic girl, a good one. Also Italian. I knew she'd be my wife, and I knew I'd take care of her for the rest of her life."

  "So what happened?" I ask.

  "My friend happened," my father snaps viciously. "He was in love with Sofia. Madly. Deeply. Irrevocably." He picks up the framed photograph and his fingers shake as he strokes the woman's hair through the glass.

  "I still don't know what happened," he says tiredly. "She came to me one night — we were engaged at that point. She told me she was pregnant. She didn't know whether it was mine or his."

  I stare at my father as he puts down the frame, avoiding my eyes. "My friend's name was Nicolas Abbate."

  Bianca's father. I wait for him to go on.

  "He took my woman. He took the child I never had." He punctuates every sentence with a slam of his fist against my desk. "I knew she wasn't mine; I had a paternity test done. He took my life, my family, my future. He stole Sofia. He stole Bianca."

  I can't even react, I'm frozen to the spot. Bianca.... Da Costa's daughter. Her mother, my father's lover. Finally, a reason for the year-long feud.

  "Sofia was miserable," my father continues. "She wasn't allowed to see me. She wasn't allowed to let me see the child. The child I would've raised, even if she hadn't been mine. She took her own life."

  My father looks ill now, pale and shaky as he turns his back on me to walk back to his chair. He looks like an old man in that moment, weak and hurt from the years of injustices that have happened to him.

  "She left behind a daughter I never had the chance to meet. Da Costa hid her from me for her whole life. The child that should've been mine," he says, the pain evident in his voice. "So I started killing his children. One by one they all went down. Until there was no one left...but Bianca."

  "And the boy," I say in a daze.

  "The boy." My father looks up at me. "They boy who will die next."

  "What about Bianca?" I demand to know.

  "Bianca.... I don't know," he shrugs. "I need to have her."

  I guess I understand where he is coming from. Another man stole his woman, and my father developed this sick obsession with owning the only thing she left behind in this world. It doesn’t make it any better, and it doesn’t make him any less of a sick bastard. But I find myself nodding at his words.

  “You can’t hurt her,” I tell him. “I’m going to protect her life with my own.”

  “Why?” My father looks puzzled. “She’s just a girl. Just a pawn. Nothing else….”

  I lunge at him. “She is mine,” I growl. I’ve already started seeing her as my property, and I haven’t even been inside that sweet pink pussy yet.

  "Jesus," my father breathes. He looks irritated as hell as he pushes me off. "Calm down, Matteo. All right, I won't question it any more. But I need to know where she is." He gulps down the lump in his throat. "I need to know more about her."

  I contemplate his words for a long moment, trying to decide what to do about his request. "Fine," I finally say. "I'll take you to her. You can see her, but she's staying at my place."

  My father looks at me with genuine curiosity in his eyes. "Your place?"

  "Yeah." I get up and smooth down my shirt. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't sleep in a fucking ditch." I head for the door, looking over my shoulder when I reach for the doorknob. "Are you coming, old man?"

  My father gets up from his chair and follows behind, and it feels damned good to have him behind me, following me for once instead of the other way around. I lead the way, guiding him into my car and starting up the ignition on the old piece of crap.

  The ride is silent, and my father doesn't comment as his swanky neighborhood transitions into the dregs of the city. Not a single word about the shitty neighborhood, which I appreciate. After all, all his other sons live with him in opulence and luxury. Maybe seeing my run-down apartment will finally give him some perspective.

  I park on a side street, as usual unable to find parking on my own. Thankfully, my car is shitty enough that I don't have to worry about it getting stolen. A small fucking blessing.

  I help my father out of the car. He looks out of place here in his expensive suit, and I can see a few younger thugs on the street glancing at him with interest. I give them a warning look, and they back off, but I'm sure if my father pulled up in his Corvette, he'd get robbed in an instant.

  "You lived here a while?" he asks me as we walk the two blocks down to my street.

  "Yeah." I fish around in my pocket for the keys, unlocking the front door. "Coupla’ years."

  More like the past ten, ever since he let me go from the training compound. Of course, you could never tell by the state my apartment is in. Torn apart, with crappy old furniture and my shit still in moving boxes. Guess I never bothered to unpack. I was always silently hoping my father would invite me to live in his house, like the rest of the family. Big fucking chance of that happening now.

  I open the creaking door, and right away, I get a sinking feeling, like something's off. I look at my father and the expression is mimicked on his face. "You feel that?" I ask him, and he simply nods. We go up the stairs — no lift here — and I take two at a time.

  As soon as I reach my floor, I see it.

  The door to my apartment is swinging open, torn off its hinges. A white sheet lying on the floor, stained with something dark. Blood. Her fucking blood.

  I race towards the apartment just as my father reaches the floor and follows me inside.

  The place is a mess. My old furniture, torn apart. Signs of a struggle. Broken glass everywhere, a draft coming through the broken window.

  "Bianca!" I yell. "Bianca! Come the fuck out here."
/>
  Of course, she isn't coming. And even as I tear the place apart, I already know she isn't here.

  My father searches frantically with me. No sign of her in the ruined living room. No Bianca in the kitchen. No trace of her in the bathroom. A sweet remnant of her scent in the bloody bedroom.

  My father charges for me with a scream.

  I let him.

  I relish every punch he throws at me as the horrible reality sinks in. Someone took her. Someone broke into my apartment and dragged my girl away, possibly hurting her in the process, judging by the dark blood pooled on the bed.

  I let my father hit me with all his might, and I start to scream. Rage churns inside my body as I feel the loss of my woman.

  I

  Will.

  Find.

  Her.

  Then I will kill the motherfucker who took her by tearing him to pieces with my bare hands.

  9

  Bianca

  Once I wake up, I'm alone. I feel safe here for reasons I don't understand. The place is a dump. A far cry from my princess bedroom and luxurious mansion back at home. But Matteo's presence seeps out from every inch of the space, and I feel like I belong, possibly for the first time in my life.

  I get up and swing my bare feet out of the bed. I tread carefully as I get out of bed and head into the kitchen. It looks like he isn't home, and my heart swells, knowing he left me here all alone. I could make my way out of here right now.... But he trusted me enough to leave me in his apartment all by myself. I could call the cops, or worse, call daddy. But I don't. I won’t.

  Instead, I go into the kitchen and find the coffee already made. I pour myself a cup and find Matteo's shirt from the day before discarded on the floor. I put it on, relishing his scent in the cool cotton. I get a mug of steaming coffee and head back to bed, curling up under the duvet.

  I don't question my actions until I'm back in his bed. The bed of my kidnapper.... And yet I don't want to leave. In fact, all I want is for him to come back so he can touch me some more under these sheets....

  I ponder this fact as I sip on my coffee. I don't understand the attraction I feel for that man. But our connection...it's electric. Dangerous. Wrong. And so right at the same time.

  I curl my feet up underneath me and enjoy the moment of solitude. My mind is a mess right now, and I need to decide what I'm going to do about him...Matteo. Reciting his name on my lips alone makes me tremble.

  I'm so deep in thought I almost don't hear the noise in the entryway. But then a chill tingles down my spine and I sit up in the bed, setting my mug down on the nightstand. Something seems off.... I've been in danger plenty of times in my life, but right now it feels like I'm in real danger. Serious danger.

  My toes curl up as I sit on the edge of the bed, my eyes fixed on the bedroom door. The noise I heard was barely there — I tell myself it could be nothing. Yet the sense of blood curdling in my veins makes me think there's more to it.

  I slide off the bed and stand up, my legs barely able to hold me up. All is quiet, and the only sound I hear is my own heavy breathing.

  Then, the door to the bedroom slams open, flying into the wall. I gasp, my hand flying up to my chest. My eyes search for the source of the noise when a huge figure steps forward filling the doorway.

  He's wearing black boots, dark jeans and a simple shirt. He's not wearing a mask to hide his face this time, but I still recognize him. His face is devastatingly handsome, his shoulders impossibly broad. A long scar runs the length of his face, spoiling his features. He smells like poison, he looks like murder.

  "There you are, little bird," he chuckles darkly. I'd recognize the voice in an instant. He's the man from the holding cell, the one who taunted me the most. The one I was most afraid of.

  I back up until I’m against the wall, my back hitting a hard surface. The man advances on me and I whimper in fear.

  "Where's your dark savior now, bird?" he mocks me. "Not so brave when you don't have your bodyguard, are you?"

  I realize how exposed I am, only wearing Matteo's shirt. My bare legs feel cold, and I'm painfully aware of the fact that I'm not wearing any underwear. "I'll scream," I warn the intruder. "I'll scream my head off if you come near me."

  "Poor little bird," the savage laughs. "Think anyone's gonna’ help you? This is a bad neighborhood birdie, and no one will come help you. Get that through that pretty little head of yours."

  He advances on me and I have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He reaches me with a few long strides, grabbing onto my hair and pulling back, hard. He's enormous. I have to twist my neck to look up at him.

  "Little bird, are you afraid?" he breathes down my neck.

  He is nothing like Matteo. Matteo is a cold burn, a kind vigilante. This man...he is blackness, he is a dark void. He has vicious eyes and dark intentions. He's going to kill me. But not until I give him what he wants.

  "Let me go," I manage to get out. "He.... He'll be back any second."

  He grabs one of my hands and pins it above my head, and I panic. My free hand is searching for something I could use as a weapon, but there's only the wall and the thug's hard muscles.

  "Shut up, sweetness," he tells me. "We're leaving."

  With all my might, I ram my knee into his groin. But it's all for nothing — he sees it coming, grabbing me by my shoulders and throwing me against the wall. I tumble to the floor, the tears coming hot and heavy. My whole body aches in pain, but he's not done.

  "Rule number one," he growls. "You obey. Every. Fucking. Order." He yanks me up to my feet by my hair and I shake uncontrollably. He slams me back then, but he misses the wall and I land in the window. The glass shatters and falls to the floor in a shower of shards. I scream in horror as I feel gashes slashing open on my arms, on my back. I feel the blood running down my skin.

  "See what you made me do?" the man roars. "If you made me scar that pretty face of yours, you will fucking pay."

  I can't even get up. I'm on my knees, cutting my palms on the glass on the floor. "Please…." I manage weakly.

  He lifts me up as if I weigh nothing, inspecting my body. I can feel several cuts and scrapes, and my own blood is splattered on the floor, the sheets, Matteo's shirt.

  "Time to go," the man says. "This might hurt, little bird."

  He slams his fist into the side of my head and thankfully, mercifully, it all goes black.

  Pounding.

  Heavy, horrible pounding in my head.

  I stir, but I can't move. I'm bound to something. My whole body aches, pain stinging me and waking me from my slumber. I move fitfully, but I can't get free. My heavy eyes fly open and panic overwhelms me.

  Another nightmare.

  Another main character.

  A fucking living hell.

  I'm not in a cell, not this time around. Now I'm in a luxurious bedroom fit for a princess. There's pretty white furniture, including a lovely dressing table. It's similar to the room at home. Except in my house, I'm not bound to the bed with ropes tied to the bedpost.

  I squirm in the ties, but I can't move. My feet are free, and I kick at the sheets, desperate to get free. It serves no purpose — the ropes are tightly wound around my wrists and I can't break free.

  "Aren't you cute, trying to escape?" a cold voice interrupts me, and I look up to see my captor.

  "Who are you?" I demand. "This is Abbate's work? My father will kill you all."

  "Oh, pretty little bird." He approaches me slowly, like a predator getting ready to strike. “Your father will die before he gets a chance to avenge you. Abbate will make sure of it.”

  I look at the man with confusion. “I don’t understand…. Matteo was trying to save me. Are you here to take me back to the cell? Is Abbate going to murder me?”

  “This has nothing to do with him.” His index finger traces along my jawline and I struggle helplessly against his touch. I don’t like his hands on me. It feels dirty to be touched by him. “It has everything to do with this, though.” He
gets rougher, rubbing my cheeks with his thumb.

  “This pretty little face, perky tits, and that slit between your thighs, birdie.”

  I shiver. It doesn’t feel right, not like it did with Matteo.

  “You’re a personal interest,” the man continues. “A selfish desire I want to have fulfilled.”

  I swallow thickly, trying to move away from him, but the binds prevent me from doing that. “What’s going to happen to me?” I wonder, my voice quiet and broken already. But he won’t break my body as fast. I’m going to struggle every fucking step of the way.

  “You’ll be mine,” he says simply. “I have a basement with your name on it, birdie. I’ll make sure you never see the sun again. And I’ll make sure to make you bleed as prettily as you did in Matteo’s apartment.”

  I’m trembling at this point, desperate to get away from him. “Please,” I beg softly. “You don’t have to do this. My father will pay you handsomely if you just let me go.”

  “Your father?” My captor, whose name I still don’t know, chuckles darkly. “I don’t give a fuck about your father, bird. All I care about is fucking your pretty little face until you choke on my cock.”

  “Then Abbate!” I’m grasping for straws. “Surely he will know you took me. He won’t let you get away with that.”

  “And how will he know it was me?” he asks. I realize he’s right as soon as the words leave my mouth. He wore gloves when he took me from Matteo’s apartment. There’s not a trace of him left behind. I feel my blood running cold in my veins.

  “That’s right, birdie,” he says, sounding so full of himself. “I thought of everything. As soon as I saw you in that cell, I knew I had to have you. Now you’re all mine, and no one will ever know.”

  He reaches for the binds and shocks me by untying them. I rest until he’s done, but as soon as they’re off my wrists, I lunge for him, attacking the man with all my might. But he grabs my arms and holds them in a strong grip, as if I’m barely a threat to him. He laughs in my face as I struggle to regain control.