Abducted

by K. I. Lynn

  “Hold on,” Domenico said between clenched teeth.

  I took hold of the armrest and braced against the door. A sudden jerk of the wheel and we slammed into the other car. The force drove them onto the curb, where they slammed into a light post. The car bounced off the pole, the momentum pulling the back end around until it was blocking the lane, then came to a stop.

  Seconds later we were flying onto the interstate, and Domenico really opened the engine up.

  “I think we lost them,” Domenico said as we raced down the interstate doing well over the speed limit.

  “What do we do now?” I asked, because we were drawing a lot of attention as we weaved through mid-day traffic. I stared at the bullet hits on the back glass. The windows were still standing, to my shock. Large white circles indicated where each bullet had landed, and cracks spiraled out from the force.

  “I think it’s time to pay your father a visit,” he said as he pressed harder on the gas.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” I asked. He was the one who’d orchestrated my kidnapping and had hidden his agenda.

  “We don’t have much of a choice. We need an ally.”

  But was he an ally?

  It was our best hope, and I hoped it would work.

  When we got off the interstate, we were still alone. The anxiety that one of them was going to suddenly pop out had me still clutching the door so hard my hand hurt, but I couldn’t let go.

  The area shifted, no longer dirty and run down—everything was pristine and well-manicured.

  The Northbrook neighborhood I grew up in was still marked by massive mansions with a few smaller, older homes mixed in. Many of them had been torn down to have the giant structures replace them.

  My stomach knotted at the wrought-iron fencing, and I took a deep breath before I stared up at the stone facade, noticing how little had changed in three years.

  My hands shook as we pulled up to the house that I had once called home. It was the property my father purchased when he’d climbed his way higher into the organization. A veritable fortress, a gilded cage.

  As soon as we stepped out of the car, there were half a dozen men outside, half of them with their hands on their guns. I recognized the man in front of me. He’d been one of my father’s men when I lived here.

  “Santiago,” Domenico said with a nod.

  “Sir,” he said with a hint of surprise. He glanced over to the guard on his right, then to me. “Miss.”

  The guard he’d looked at turned to me, his brow scrunched.

  “We need to see Maurizio,” Domenico said.

  “He’s not taking any visitors today,” the guy said as he scowled at me.

  I quirked a brow at him. While my veins were buzzing with nervous energy, part of me was waking up—the part of me that was a Mafia princess, even if I didn’t want to be.

  I walked up to him, my jaw locked as I glared at him. My fingers wrapped around his tie before yanking his head down until we were face-to-face. His arm swept up, but before he could strike me, Domenico held one of his arms, while Santiago held the other.

  “Get my father. Now,” I demanded, then released his tie.

  His eyes were wide as he straightened, his arms released.

  “Go on, Jenkins,” Santiago said.

  There was something off about Jenkins and the few others who followed him inside. They didn’t match the Ferrante men in that they didn’t look Italian. They looked more like hired guns, and I wondered why he’d searched out more security than Ferrante provided.

  What was my father up to?

  Santiago led us up the steps, and Domenico kept me tight to his side as he eyed Jenkins when we entered.

  The foyer was just as grand as I remembered, especially the double marble staircase with ornate iron handrail. The memories it held made me shiver, and I hated our pause as Santiago knocked on the door to the left of the grand staircase.

  “Sir, Mr. Mancini is here,” Santiago said.

  “Domenico?” A shiver rolled through me at the sound of my father’s voice. Domenico must have felt it because he gave me a squeeze. He released me after that but kept my hand in his as we moved to head in.

  Santiago stepped back and held the door open. “There are six roses, sir,” Santiago whispered under his breath as Domenico passed. It was so low I barely heard.

  It had me confused until we walked through the door to my father’s office and I spotted a rose lapel pin on his jacket.

  The door closed behind us, but even that couldn’t pull my father from his power trip of a pause.

  My father sat behind his great carved walnut desk, the scent of cigars still lingering in the air. The room was exactly as I remembered with its rich wood walls, bookshelves, and coffered ceiling, a marble fireplace on one wall and a window opposite that surveyed the front yard.

  “You’re just about the last person I exp—” He stopped mid-sentence when his head rose and his eyes landed on me. “Arabella.”

  I held back a shudder as he said my name. “Father.”

  “Truly the last person I expected to see. It’s been three years, Daughter.”

  “You sent for me, didn’t you?” I held my arms out. “Here I am.”

  He tsk’ed as he stood. “I see you’re at least wearing clothes these days, though you look like a hobo.”

  I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Donations at their finest.”

  His mouth turned down in disgust. “You had such potential. Now look at you.”

  “What do I have now?” I asked.

  “An empty cage that misses you,” he sneered.

  My fear swirled inside me, morphing into the hatred I’d long forgotten. “That’s why you had me kidnapped? To slowly kill me in a cell?”

  He stared at me, his gaze then trailing down my arm to our joined hands, then back up. “If I wanted you dead, I easily could have had you taken care of, and nobody would have known of my involvement.”

  “You wanted her. I have her. Now we need your assistance,” Domenico spoke up, cutting him off.

  He turned to Domenico. “Because of what you did? You really shouldn’t have, Domenico.”

  “What do you mean? She was running out of days. Shit was getting out of control. You told me to protect her.”

  My father turned back toward his desk. “Protect her so that she wasn’t a shell of a girl. To not let those animals you command destroy her. Not rescue her.”

  I stared at Domenico, then to my father. Not rescue me? What did that mean?

  “You’re going back.” My father pulled a gun from a drawer and aimed it at me.

  I drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide as I stared down the barrel. Domenico stepped forward and pushed me behind him, shielding my body with his own.

  “I have a deal with Roman,” my father spat.

  “What deal?” Domenico demanded.

  “He gets to marry Arabella and gets a leg up in the family ranking, taking over the position of underboss from Giovanni’s fluff of a brother, Giuliano.”

  There was my answer. Why I was taken. Why he searched for me then. Why I was kept for so long. It was all to use me to his advantage.

  “It’s all a power grab. I’m nothing but another pawn in your fucking quest for power,” I said. I knew it. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t because he missed me or loved me—I was simply a piece to play. Just like my mother. We never meant anything to him.

  A dark chuckle left Domenico. “You and Roman are both stupid if you think that will work.”

  “And you aren’t stupid for what you did? You’ve fucked up. You protected her too well, compromised your position. Now you’re just as useless to me as my daughter.”

  Useless.

  Useless.

  The word was on repeat. All my childhood memories flashed through my mind, my chest clenching at my early memories of the man who read me bedtime stories and made me laugh, then to the last dreadful years I’d spent as his prisoner. That was all his home had been—a prison
.

  Long ago, he stopped being a loving parent. Long ago, the monster took over.

  “You don’t want to do this,” Domenico said, but his tone wasn’t pleading. It was a warning.

  “Giovanni will forgive me. I’ll tell him I caught you stealing her away. They are already on the lookout for you.”

  “Trust me, Giovanni won’t be pleased with my death,” Domenico growled.

  My father shrugged. “I’ll take my chances.” His finger flexed, and Domenico jerked as the sound reverberated about the room. The deafening shock had me covering my ears.

  There was no chance at a second shot. Domenico closed the space between them and grabbed his hand. The gun fired off again, this time lodging a bullet somewhere into the bookcase.

  Domenico’s fist slammed into my father’s face. Then again, and again, just as I had seen before. Hard strikes to quickly immobilize an opponent, the fury of a beast. All the while I stared, my entire body shaking with adrenaline and a line of justice each time his fist connected.

  The sounds of feet stomping could be heard from the other side of the door, and I knew there wasn’t much time before my father’s guards burst in.

  “Domenico!” I cried out when my father was slumped into his chair, his body limp.

  Domenico’s shoulders heaved with each harsh breath he expelled. The gun had tumbled to the ground as he was beating my father, and he bent down to pick it up.

  He staggered as he straightened and reached up with his free hand to his abdomen. “Shit.”

  My eyes popped wide and dread zipped down my spine when Domenico turned toward me. His shirt was deep red and wet, his fingers red as well.

  The jerk he’d made had been him being hit by a bullet.

  “Oh God.”

  His eyes squeezed tight, and he shook his head as if to clear his mind. “We have to go. Now.”

  I nodded, the voices growing louder. “Give me his gun.” I held out my hand. Domenico looked at it before his gaze flickered to the door.

  “You know how to work it?” he asked as he passed it over.

  I released the magazine and glanced at the remaining bullets before seating it back with a pop of my palm. “Yes.”

  He reached into his waistband for his own piece. His steps were uneven, and I knew that each second that passed, the more blood he lost, the greater the chance I would lose him.

  That last thought shook me to my core. They were without thought. Losing him meant more than the protection he provided, and my chest tightened at even the small prospect that he would leave me.

  “Come on.” He stood for a second, listening with his hand on the door handle, then swung it open.

  On the other side stood nine men in suits, guns in hand. Domenico once again placed himself between me and them.

  “Stay right there, Domenico,” Jenkins called out.

  “Besides some hurt pride and probably a broken nose, he’s fine,” Domenico said.

  A few of the men relaxed once Santiago did, their gazes still locked on Domenico. Jenkins glared at those who stood down.

  “What the fuck are you doing? Get your guns up, now!” Jenkins yelled to the other men. They refused, which was odd, but then again, they worked for Ferrante in the end. The leader, though, didn’t seem to share the same sense of order and obligation, which made me believe he was a direct hire of my father’s. “Fuck this,” he hissed, returning his attention to Domenico, but before he could do anything, a shot rang out.

  Domenico’s arm was raised, and a moment later Jenkins had crumpled to the ground. There was a split second of silence before the ones loyal to him pointed their guns at Domenico.

  They were so focused on their anger and revenge that they didn’t even notice me. Didn’t see me as a threat.

  But I was, and they weren’t going to take him from me.

  I fired off multiple rounds, hitting my targets before they could hit theirs.

  I stared down at the men. One was gasping for breath, his eyes wide. The other was on his knees, clutching his stomach. Domenico’s eyes were on me, but I felt no guilt or remorse. They were trying to take Domenico from me, and there was no way I was going to let that happen.

  “Sir, you need to go. Now. Take Miss with you. We will deal with this,” Santiago said. He stepped forward and fired off two shots—one in each head of the men I’d injured.

  Domenico nodded. “Thank you, Santiago.” He took a step forward, but before he could take another, his legs gave out and he crashed to the marble floor. “Fuck.”

  Santiago rushed forward and called the others over. They got him to his feet and walked him out to the car.

  “Miss,” Santiago said as I watched in horror as Domenico’s strength spilled out of him. My gaze moved away from him to Santiago. “Get him to a doctor. Fast.”

  I nodded and took the keys he’d pulled from Dom’s pocket and moved to the driver’s side. With one last glance I peered up at the house I once knew and wished Santiago would burn it to the ground with my father still inside.

  There was no room for thoughts of anger or retribution, only getting Domenico help. His head was leaned back against the headrest, eyes drooping. His shirt was completely soaked, and blood was running down his pant leg.

  We were more than a mile away from the nearest hospital when his hand reached out and grabbed my arm.

  “Not a hospital.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course a hospital! You need a doctor.”

  He shook his head. “No hospitals. They’ll find you. Too many questions. Police.”

  My heart hammered. His concern wasn’t for himself—it was for me. If no hospitals, where was I supposed to find help? Who would save him?

  I need someone to save him!

  “Where?”

  “Not Ferrante.”

  Not Ferrante? Then…

  My mind whirled, and my eyes widened as the answer came. We were in Northbrook. We weren’t far. I slammed the car into a hard left.

  It had been years since I’d been cut off from my mother’s family, and there was one man I knew who would help. My only hope was that I could reach him before his men opened fire on us. Thankfully we were only about ten minutes away.

  “Stay with me. Please,” I said as I bit back tears.

  Nearly a decade had passed since I’d visited, but I still knew the way. My mother had made sure of it. She’d even made a song of it, a rhyme. It was a little like “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes,” but with street names. Maybe she knew one day I would need him and that was how I would remember.

  The estate was larger than I recalled but held more warm memories than my father’s house. A tall stone-and-iron fence surrounded the property and the gate was open, one guard in the shack, but there was no time to stop.

  It had been so long since I’d last seen my grandfather. Would he recognize me? The years apart were not by my choice, but the tighter my father wound the leash around my mother’s neck, the more things he cut from her life, starting with her own family. The deeper he got with Ferrante, the more unwelcomed he became with my grandfather.

  I powered past the entrance, drove under the guard tower, pulled up to the front door, and slammed my foot on the brake. In seconds a swarm of armed guards surrounded the car. No attention was paid to them as I jumped out and ran to the passenger side.

  “Help me!” I yelled.

  “Miss, stop right now,” one of them yelled.

  I shook my head. “No! He needs help.”

  “Then go to a hospital.”

  I glared at him as tears welled in my eyes. I didn’t care that there were multiple guns pointed at me. All I cared about was Domenico. “I can’t!”

  The guard came closer and towered over me. “You can’t come in here. Leave now of your own will, or leave in a plastic bag.”

  My lip curled up into a snarl, and I slammed my hands against his chest. “Get me Vitale!” I cried out.

  “Miss, I’ll give you ten seconds to get back
in the car before we open fire.”

  Anger flared in me, and I whipped back around to him. “No, you listen to me. You have ten seconds to get me Laureano Vitale.”

  “What is all the commotion about out here, Angelo?” a deep voice rumbled from the door. It was one I recognized despite the years since I’d last heard it. The overflow of my anxiety was wiped away at the calming, familiar tones.

  “Please! Please help me, Nonno!” I cried out in hopes that I’d made the right decision.

  Hard heels clacked against the stone steps, and Angelo was pushed aside. Light brown eyes matching my own were wide as they stared at me in shock. “Arabella? My Arabella?” His gaze flickered around, zeroing in on the red splotches covering my skin. “Get the doctor!” he yelled out, and a few men ran back into the house. He took my hands and flipped them, his fingers gingerly searching out the source.

  “Not me, Nonno. Him.” I stepped aside, exposing Domenico. At that moment, his head lolled to the side, and he looked at my grandfather briefly before his eyes shut.

  “Dio mio. What happened?” he asked.

  “He saved me.”

  His eyes searched mine. “Saved you?”

  “From my father.”

  My grandfather’s expression darkened, almost crackling. Recognition flitted across his eyes before settling again. “Who is he?”

  “His name is Domenico Mancini,” I said, and I began to question my decision. “You know him.”

  Of course he would, because they were enemies, and Domenico was la Bestia.

  “He is one of Ferrante’s men. Therefore, I need you to tell me why I am fixing up one of his men instead of throwing him into a landfill.”

  “Because he protected me, took a bullet for me, stood between me and my father and beat my father to a bloody pulp with that wound and made sure I got out of there safely.”

  He stared at him, then motioned at his men to take him inside. “Let’s get you cleaned up before we talk more.”

  “I want to stay with Domenico,” I said as I watched four men carry his lifeless body through the door.

  “Let the doctor help him, Nipote.” He took hold of my arms and guided me in a different direction.