I can’t keep avoiding her question. She’s rolled onto her side, her long ponytail snaking over her shoulder as she stares at me, an unspoken plea for mercy in her gaze. “He gets one shot,” I grunt, shoving back the chair and standing straight up. My mouth twists as I send the chair crashing into the desk.
“And what will you do with me in the meantime?” she asks. I can tell she’s trying to keep her voice even and strong, but I hear the waver she tries desperately to hide. And I get it. I’m a brutal killer and I shot her with a tranquilizer gun so I could kidnap her and possibly murder her.
If I were her, I’d be shitting a brick, too.
But there’s already been too much blood spilled. My family name can’t be stained with any more, not on my watch.
I need to assert my control in another way and Marchella is going to help me.
And her question ignites fierce flames of desire deep inside of me because while there are endless possibilities for what I’d like to do with her in the meantime, I can’t give into a single one of them. My priority is getting the organization back on track after that ambush, not obsessing about a hot piece of ass who just so happens to be lying on my couch in tight black Spandex.
My cell phone pings, and I pull it out of my pocket, peering at the screen. My eyes burn from lack of sleep and I blink fast to clear my vision.
Where the fuck are you?
Dante. That’s his way of expressing concern.
I send a reply. Still at the office. Don’t wait on me for dinner.
You work too hard. And you need to eat.
I roll my eyes. Food. There’s a luxury I can’t seem to squeeze into my day.
Order extra pizza. I’ll have some later.
In a few seconds, he sends a reply.
Okay. And bring home some Jack Daniel’s. You’re out.
Freaking lush drank me dry already?
I shove my phone back into my pocket. When I finally do get home tonight, there will definitely be a lot to explain to my brother. He comes to New York to escape his own slice of hell, and now I’m about to plunge him into a different one.
None of us could escape the shit show that choked us in Sicily, and my whole family still carries that hate for the Amante family even though we came out on top.
A strangled sob jolts me from my inner turmoil and I look over at the couch. Chella’s eyes are closed, but I can see a single tear slip down one flushed cheek. “I told him to find legitimate work, something that would keep him out of trouble. But he didn’t listen. He said he could make good money, that we would be taken care of.” Her eyes float open and she slowly sits up, gripping the arm of the couch for balance. A dejected expression shadows her face as she pins me with her rage-filled gaze. “That was always my plan. To take care of us, since my father gave up on that responsibility a long time ago.”
Jesus Christ, when did this turn into a therapy session? Do I look like a goddamn shrink?
But I remain silent, letting her continue her tirade since I need time to process all of this shit anyway.
“Mama was gone so everything fell on me. And that was fine!” she says, her voice shaking. “I didn’t mind because I had goals for myself and my life! I was going places!” She digs her fingertips into the leather, her knuckles turning white. “I had a plan, Roman. A fucking life and it was finally headed in the right direction! I worked goddamn hard for it, too. And then everything went up in smoke.”
“Wait, what about your mother?” I ask.
Chella’s face darkens. “She died six months ago. Cancer.”
I swallow hard. Fuck. “I didn’t know,” I mutter. “I’m sorry.”
“It devastated me. All of us. And everything unraveled like a cheap rug once she passed.” Chella moves to the edge of the couch, pushing herself off of it and rising to her feet on wobbly legs. “I’m so tired…of feeling…helpless and alone!” she rasps. “Tired of working…my ass off at some dead-end job, living paycheck to paycheck…to pay off our family’s debts and medical bills and not able to enjoy…a single fucking penny of my hard work!” She inches toward me, grabbing onto everything she can to keep her from crumbling onto the floor in front of me. “And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, I get fucking sexually assaulted in the park by my childhood crush, and then kidnapped by him because my idiot brother can’t keep his hands to himself! Because he’s always looking for an easy way out, but there isn’t one! Not for us!” she screams, seeming to use every last bit of strength in her to force out those words. Her chest heaves harder with each labored breath as she sways into a chair. “Things were so perfect in Sicily. So much…hope. And then it went up in smoke. And you didn’t stop it…or me. I…hate…you!” Tears spring to her eyes once again as she takes her final step toward me. And just as she swings her fist out to hit me, her legs give out and she collapses against my chest, wilting in my arms like a dying flower.
For a split second, she’s quiet, save for the soft whimpers slipping from her mouth.
“I really hate you,” she mumbles with a sniffle. She tries to push away from me, but I keep my grip around her waist tight, knowing she’ll crumble to the floor if I let go. “I hate everything you stand for, the way you hurt innocent people, the way you try to make them fear you. You turned into your father. I saw it happen when you chose your family over me years ago. You never cared about me. You only cared about making your family happy. You’re evil and vicious, just like them, and you don’t give a damn about anything but money and power.” she says, the tears now streaming down her cheeks.
“I’m just trying to do my job, Chella. If people cross me, they get punished. That’s how this works. Your brother fucked me over, plain and simple, and now he needs to deal with the consequences. Our past doesn’t factor in. This is about me and Frankie. It has nothing to do with my family or what happened in Sicily.”
“He was desperate,” she says, her voice pleading. “He was just trying to do the right thing for us.”
“And in doing the right thing for you, he screwed me pretty damn hard. Caused a lot of problems for my organization that I need to fix. He created a huge goddamn mess, Chella. A big one. If he wants to keep you alive, he’s gonna have to figure out how to clean it up. Fast.”
Her puffy, red-rimmed eyes make my throat tighten and my resolve falters.
She doesn’t deserve this. She didn’t make the asshole decision to dick me over, Frankie did.
He’s the one who needs to suffer, not her.
And hearing her tell me that she hates me…that stings. Yeah, I let her go because what the hell choice did I have? Was I supposed to run off with her at eighteen and get cut off by my family?
Family always comes first.
Always.
I hated like hell to see her go, but I had no choice.
And I never stopped loving her either.
Clearly, she doesn’t carry the same torch for me.
As I stare down at her, overdosing on her raw beauty and vulnerability, I realize what I need to do…how I can make things right for everyone involved.
Frankie will pay, but so will I.
Chapter Ten
Marchella
So much suffering. When the fuck will it ever end?
Roman helps me settle back onto the couch but I shove him away. I don’t need his help. I need his mercy.
But everything he just said confirms one thing.
He’s still my enemy.
My head falls into my hands, the sobs exploding from my chest.
I hate that I’m crumbling in front of this man. I hate that I’m so emotionally broken that I’m allowing myself to lose my shit in front of someone I loved to the ends of the Earth who has just basically threatened to kill me and my brother if he doesn’t get what he wants.
Because the truth is, while my situation is dismal at best, I still manage to pop out of bed in the morning. I still have some shreds of positivity left in me. I still have hope, dammit!
But
everyone has their breaking point, I guess.
And since I’m already fractured, I guess it was only a matter of time before I cracked open completely.
God, what I wouldn’t do to feel my mother’s arms around me, to hear her soothing and syrupy-sweet voice whisper that everything will be okay…that this, too, shall pass.
I have clung to that saying for the better part of the last year and you know what?
Shit’s only gotten worse! Nothing has gotten better!
Case in point, I’m sitting on a couch in my captor’s office awaiting a sentence of his choosing because Sticky Fingers Amante couldn’t get a real goddamn job!
“I’m sorry your brother put you in this situation,” he grumbles.
“And I’m sorry you’re such a fucking insolent and controlling asshole who assaulted me, drugged me, and dragged me away from something that actually needed my help! Did you even care that I was trying to save that stray dog? Was it even a thought? She needed me, but did you care, you selfish bastard?” I know I’m rambling now, but I can’t stop the anger flowing out of me.
I wished to have my mother’s arms around me, but I’m convinced that when I found Bella, I had a little piece of Mama in my grasp before they tore it away from me.
I drag my hands down the front of my face, sniffling loudly. I’m crumbling like a freaking house of cards right now and I don’t really think I can stop it.
Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe he’ll think I’m completely nuts and let me go because keeping me would be more trouble than it’s worth.
Since nuts are prone to cracking.
Roman’s jaw tightens and his fists clench tight at his sides.
“Are you going to hit me now?” I hiss. “Haven’t you done enough to me already?”
In a flash, his fist whips past me and crashes against the wall, putting a dent in the sheetrock.
My mouth drops open. “You’re a sick bastard.”
He turns his fiery glare at me, his eyes shooting white flames. “I didn’t hit you, did I?’
“You’ve clearly got a lot of pent-up rage,” I mutter.
“Who says it’s pent-up?” he growls, shaking out his hand. The impact must have done some damage, although he doesn’t give any indication that he’s in pain.
I guess he’s just so used to causing it that feeling it doesn’t quite register.
“Lucky guess.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Tough guy got taken, so now he needs to prove he still has a dick swinging between his legs, right?”
When he launches himself at me, I am completely caught off-guard.
“Don’t make assumptions, Chella,” he snarls, yanking my ponytail so that my head is tilted toward his, giving him the upper hand. “You don’t know shit about me anymore. And you don’t have the right to judge what you don’t understand.”
“What I understand,” I sputter. “Is that you have no regard for anything but yourself and your reputation. That’s why I’m here. And that’s why you’re gonna snatch Frankie. You need to make examples of us to show your thug peons what happens when the great Roman Villani gets a dose of his own medicine. Tell me,” I seethe through clenched teeth. “How many times did you pull a scam on someone you worked for to get ahead, huh? How many times did you fuck over someone else to get yours?”
He pulls my head back farther, his lips hovering over mine. “How many times isn’t the question you should be asking.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, then, enlighten me. What’s the right question?”
“The right question is did I ever get caught? And the answer…” he says in a low, gruff voice. “Is no.”
I swallow hard. His forehead is pressed against mine, his powerful body plastered against mine as the heat in his gaze snakes through my insides, charging me up like I’ve just stuck my finger into an electrical socket.
“Do you know why?” he continues, his eyes shooting white hot flames. They’re dark and clouded now, filled with a twisted mix of emotion that I can’t even begin to process.
I grit my teeth, not backing away. Fuck him if he thinks I’ll cower!
“Because I was—”
“Boss!” A deep male voice calls out from the other side of the door. “They’re here.”
Roman hovers over me for a few final seconds, his nostrils flared. It’s almost like we’re playing a twisted game of Chicken.
“I don’t give a damn why, by the way,” I hiss. “You might be great at your job, but you’re a piece-of-shit mobster who has zero decency or morals.”
“I don’t need either,” he seethes. “Because I have something more valuable. Power.”
“You have nothing!” I screech, hurling my hand at his smug expression.
He catches my hand in mid-air…fucking again! I really need to work on my timing.
“Wrong,” he grunts. “I have you, Marchella.”
“You’re no better than Frankie or my father!”
And with that, he backs away with a grim expression on his face, smoothing down the front of his t-shirt. But he doesn’t say another word. I drag my eyes away from his bulging biceps. The fabric stretches tight over his broad chest, and I can see his pecs ripple as he moves toward the door. I swallow hard.
He kidnapped me and pretty much threatened death and yet, here I am, admiring his ripped muscles?!
Jesus, I really am a headcase.
Roman pulls open the door and moves aside as Frankie pitches forward onto the floor at his feet. His face is bruised and bloody, and the front of his shirt is stained bright red. A loud groan escapes his lips as he moves into a fetal position, clutching his midsection.
“Frankie!” I scream, adrenaline flooding my veins with an energy that I was certain had been zapped from my body. But that fight-or-flight instinct kicks in and I dart over to him, collapsing on the floor and covering his body with mine. My gut twists at the sight of all the blood, but I hold him tight and somehow manage to hold myself together.
“What did they do to you?” I weep, my face pressed against his arm.
One of Roman’s guys yanks me away from Frankie and shoves me back onto the couch. I land with a gasp, twisting around toward Roman. A glimmer of fury in his expression morphs into a raging inferno, and he grabs the guy by the jacket and slams him against the wall. The pictures hanging on either side of him crash to the floor, shattering on the hardwood.
“Don’t you fucking lay a hand on her unless I tell you to!” he roars, letting go of the guy and then slamming his head against the wall a second time, I guess to make sure he really drove his point home.
Well, that was somewhat chivalrous in a sick sort of way.
The guy groans, rubbing the back of his head. He mutters an apology and backs away as the other guy with him stands still with a stoic expression on his worn face.
Smart. I’d stay still, too.
Roman kneels down next to Frankie who is still crying into the floorboards. He pulls off his baseball cap and fists his hair, yanking his head off the floor. “Frankie,” he says in a low, menacing growl. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“Yes,” he wails, still holding his midsection. “And I’m s-sorry, Roman!”
“Sorry for what, exactly? For stealing from me? For fucking me over? Or for getting caught? Which is it, Frankie?”
“For all of it!” he groans. “I needed the money and it wasn’t coming fast enough. So when Sal came to me with the job, I figured it could help. I didn’t know we were gonna hit your stash.”
Roman punches him in the jaw, and I yelp.
“Stop that! Can’t you see he’s already hurting?” I scream.
But he just ignores me, pulling Frankie’s head closer to his mouth. “You’re a fucking liar! Your friend Sal sold you out. He told me the job was your fucking idea!” A vein in his neck twitches. “You knew exactly what you were doing, who you were doing it to, and you were banking on me not finding out, you cocksucker.” He lets go of Frankie’s hair and his head drops to the floor like a roc
k. “Did you really think I was gonna let it go? I’m not my father. I do things my way! I’m not gonna run you outta Manhattan. I’m gonna run you into the core of the fucking planet!”
I cover my mouth with my hand, tears streaming down my face. I have to do something! I can’t just sit here while they kill him! “Please don’t hurt him!” I plead. “Give him a chance to make this right. You said you would. He’s not a bad person. He was just desperate to do something to help us.” I turn my eyes to Roman. “Don’t you understand that? Haven’t you ever felt that before, that you just need a chance to prove yourself?”
Roman walks over to the couch, falling to his knees in front of me. He cups my face with his rough hands, bringing it close to his own, searing my insides with those molten eyes. “Don’t challenge me,” he rasps. “Or my decisions. Otherwise, you will be punished.”
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes to protect my brother from you,” I say, my voice quivering. “He did a stupid thing, but he doesn’t deserve to die.”
The electricity sizzling between us is so intense, my nerves are on the brink of short-circuiting, maybe for good.
But still I hold my ground. Frankie is an idiot. He knows better, yes, but look at the role model he had! It’s up to me to help him out of this mess.
If Roman will let me.
“Okay, then.” His voice is rough and gravelly and I find myself longing for his strong hands on my prickled skin.
“Okay, then…what?” I ask, my mind glitching as I stare into his stormy gaze.
“I said one chance, yeah?” he grunts. “Here it is. Frankie gets my drugs and I keep you until he finds them.”
“Keep me?” I repeat. “What the hell are you—?”
“Listen, Chella. If I let you both go now, he’d take you and flee the city.”
I swallow hard. Shit.
“So to keep him on task, I’m keeping you. You’ll stay with me until he gets back what he stole.” He turns to Frankie, whose black and blue eyes are almost swollen shut. His body shudders as Roman approaches him on the floor and he rolls onto his side to protect his busted-up midsection. “You’re going to go back to the assholes you worked with and steal it back.”
Savage Beast: A Dark Mafia Enemies to Lovers Romance (Sinfully Savage) Page 10