Dishonorable

by Natasha Knight

  When Raphael accelerated, so did the SUV. And when he slowed, same thing. They seemed to be keeping pace with us. I could make out the shape of two forms inside, although all the windows, including the windshield, were heavily tinted.

  That was when I remembered.

  Moriarty.

  He’d come to the house during the wedding reception in an SUV similar to this one. Was it him?

  “Raphael?” I asked. “Are they following us?”

  “Hold on,” he said, taking a sharp, unexpected turn.

  “What are you doing?” I screamed, startled, the sound of screeching brakes scaring the hell out of me.

  Raphael didn’t answer me. Instead, we both watched as the SUV bounced around the turn, the driving erratic now.

  “Goddamn asshole,” Raphael said, reaching across to open the glove compartment. That was when I saw the shiny butt of what I knew was a pistol.

  “Raphael!”

  He was slowing the car, pulling off to the side.

  “What are you doing? Why do you have that?”

  He came to a full stop and took the weapon into his palm. Charlie must have felt my panic. He started to bark and circle on my lap.

  “Keep him quiet!”

  “I can’t help it! What’s happening?” He reached to open his door, but I grabbed his arm to stop him. That was when the SUV’s brakes screeched, and they swerved violently around us. I screamed, and Raphael muttered a curse, then turned to me.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “What was that?”

  “Are you okay?” he demanded this time.

  “Yes!”

  He shoved the pistol back into the glove compartment, put the car into gear, and drove it back around onto the other road heading toward home.

  “Moriarty’s goons.”

  “What are they trying to do?”

  “Scare us.”

  “Well, it worked.”

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to pay him a visit and end this once and for all.”

  “They’re dangerous, Raphael. You can’t—”

  But the look in his eyes when he turned to me stopped me short.

  “I’m dangerous too, Sofia,” he said, looking calm, taking a deep breath in.

  “The gun,” I said. I didn’t need to say more.

  He didn’t respond but kept his gaze on the road. He made two calls, and by the time we pulled in through the gates and parked at the house, I saw Eric and the other two men I’d met when I’d first arrived waiting for us.

  Raphael got out of the car but left it running. He said something to Eric that I didn’t hear. I let Charlie out and went to Raphael.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  Eric nodded and gave some orders to the others. Raphael turned to me.

  “Stay here. I’ll be back. Understand?”

  “You can’t go to him.”

  Raphael gave me a tight smile, his eyes not quite on me. I could feel the anger, the rage, coming off him.

  “Raphael?”

  “Go inside, Sofia. Swim if you want. Whatever. Don’t do anything stupid, am I clear?”

  With that, he dismissed me, and I realized I had not one guard but two. Eric’s cousins stayed at the house while Raphael and Eric drove off. I watched them go, feeling powerless and afraid.

  I went into the house, pacing for a little while, unsure what to do. Charlie lay down in the kitchen for his nap, and Maria and the others were working. I went up to my room and fished out the card Damon had given me and dialed him. He didn’t answer his cell phone, so I called the seminary where, after holding for more than ten minutes, Damon came on the line.

  “This is Damon,” he said.

  “It’s Sofia.”

  “Sofia?”

  “Raphael just left with Eric. He’s going to see Moriarty.”

  “Moriarty?”

  I nodded. “Yes. On our way back from taking Lina to Siena, this SUV started following us. It was pretty scary. Damon, he has a gun.”

  “Shit.”

  When I heard the urgency in Damon’s tone, I dropped onto the bed, too heavy to stand. “Damon?”

  “Sit tight, Sofia. I’m going to meet him, try to intercept him.”

  Stupidly, I nodded again. “Thank you, Damon. Thank you.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

  He was almost gone when I called out his name. “Damon?”

  “Yes?”

  “Take care.”

  “I will. It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  I hated those two words. They always meant the opposite of what they said.

  Chapter Twenty

  Raphael

  My fucking brother wouldn’t stop dialing my phone. I guessed Sofia had called him as soon as I left, and I knew he wouldn’t stop calling. Finally, after the eighth time, I answered.

  “What is it, Damon.”

  “Where are you, Raphael?”

  “I’m guessing you know that.”

  “On your way to Moriarty’s offices?”

  “He’s gone too far.”

  “Sofia said you have a gun.”

  “Do you propose I go without one?”

  “I propose you don’t go at all. Not until you’ve calmed down. He’s not some two-bit thug we’re talking about. He’s a legitimate businessman—”

  “There’s nothing legitimate about him.”

  “Unless you want to give him ammunition, you can’t go into Florence with a fucking gun.”

  He was right. I knew it. But fuck. “He sent a car after us. Us, Damon. Sofia was with me.”

  “I realize there has to be a meeting. Just not like this, not when you’re out of control.”

  “Aren’t I always out of control? That’s what you were telling me a few days ago with your fists, wasn’t it?”

  He sighed. “I need to be there too. This concerns me as much as it does you.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “The house may belong to you, but it’s my past too.”

  “No.”

  “Are you still protecting me, brother?”

  “Oh, that’s right, you didn’t want my protection.”

  “Goddamn it, Raphael. Just fucking wait. I’m on my way. I lost you once. I’m not willing to lose you again.”

  I paused, as if hearing his words in slow motion. It took me a full minute to respond. “I’ll wait. I’ll get there in forty-five minutes.”

  “I’ll wait for you, then. I’m closer. I’ll be there in twenty.”

  Damon was right, I knew it. Moriarty may be an asshole, but he was a powerful man. Legitimate enough that I needed to do this right. If I walked into his office brandishing a gun, he’d have me tossed into jail. Considering my past, I’d just be making everything easier for him.

  Traffic getting into Florence delayed both of us, but once we arrived, I found Damon at the café at the corner of Moriarty’s building, which was an old, three-story property, ancient on the outside, meticulously modern on the inside. I knew because I’d seen pictures in a magazine once.

  I told Eric to wait outside the building and went into the coffee shop where, before I could protest, my brother had a waitress bringing me over an espresso.

  “Sit.”

  Although reluctant, I did.

  “Drink and breathe.”

  “If it was just me, that’d be one thing, Damon. But Sofia was there.”

  “I know. I get it. And agree we need to handle this.”

  “He wants the property. He’s made perfectly clear he’ll buy us out—after subtracting the amount our father owed him.”

  “Generous of him.”

  “I’d rather see it burn to the ground than give it to him.”

  “Well, it almost did, didn’t it?”

  I shook my head, feeling more at ease now that Damon was here too. I didn’t realize how much I needed him. And he was right. I was too angry. Moria
rty wanted that. He knew having that car chase would scare the fuck out of Sofia, and he knew I’d react.

  “Better?”

  Damon was reading me. He always did have a knack for that.

  “Yeah.” I stood, pushed the chair out. “Let’s go do this thing.”

  He nodded and rose to his feet, tossed a few bills on the table, and we walked out. Eric waited just outside the building. Once inside, we bypassed the young blonde receptionist and headed toward the large marble staircase.

  “Sir, you can’t go—”

  I ignored her. We both did. I knew she’d call up to Moriarty anyway.

  On the third floor, we were greeted by two men in suits standing outside the large double doors that led to Moriarty’s office.

  Damon put his hand on my arm as we approached. Moriarty’s private secretary cleared her throat.

  “Don’t let him get to you. He’s going to do whatever he can to get under your skin. Don’t let him, no matter what you hear, understand?”

  I thought what he said sounded strange, and I would have questioned it, but the secretary spoke then.

  “Mr. Moriarty is expecting you. You can go in.”

  “How nice.”

  The men opened the doors, and Damon and I headed into his office. Inside, two men sat in large armchairs in one corner and two more flanked his large, mahogany desk. Behind it, Moriarty leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, a stupid grin on his fat face and his fingers steepled.

  “What a great pleasure. A visit from not one but two Amado brothers. With matching black eyes. How interesting.”

  “Six men. Is that special for us, or you need that much security with all your visitors?” I asked.

  “You always did think yourself special, Raphael,” he said, then turned to his men. “Search them.”

  Two men patted us down. Moriarty sat forward and rested his elbows on the obnoxiously oversized desk. One of the men announced we were unarmed.

  Moriarty nodded and cocked his head to the side. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Your boys tried to run me and my wife off the road.”

  He feigned shock.

  “Let’s cut the crap, Moriarty.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re not getting the house.”

  “Someone tried to run you off the road?”

  My jaw tightened, and my hands fisted. When I took a step forward, Damon’s hand closed over my shoulder.

  “Raphael,” he said. “Don’t let him get to you.”

  “Yes, Raphael. Don’t let me get to you.”

  “You don’t involve my wife in this, do you understand? She has nothing to do with this.”

  “Sadly, she does. She did the moment she said the words “I do.” Ah, young love. I remember those days. Very well, in fact.”

  “Cut the crap.”

  “You know, once upon a time, your mother, father, and I were very close.”

  “Ancient history.” I did know that. My father had gone to school with Moriarty when his parents had moved to Italy. He’d met my mother two years after that, and the three of them were once friends. For a short time at least.

  “Still.” He shrugged a shoulder.

  “Wait a minute.” I chuckled and looked around the room. I had a feeling the two leather armchairs the men sat on had been moved from the front of his desk so he would keep us standing. “Mind if I sit?” I asked, picking up a smaller, hardback wooden chair and carrying it toward his desk before he could reply. Damon remained standing. “So, is that what all this is about?” I asked. “Is it what it’s always been about?”

  His eyes narrowed just a little. I would have missed it if I wasn’t paying attention. Damon wasn’t the only one who could read people.

  “My mother?” I continued.

  “Raphael,” Damon’s low voice warned from beside me.

  Moriarty picked up a pen, and I saw how his knuckles whitened around it. I was right.

  “She chose him over you, didn’t she?” I asked.

  “Your father met her first. It was never a competition.”

  “No? You don’t think I remember your name being tossed around the house when I was growing up?” What I said was true. It was suddenly all coming together. “Let me ask you a question. Did you love her, or did you just want what my father had?”

  “That’s enough. Are you here to tell me you have the money you owe me? Because you know if you don’t, there’s one other way.”

  “I’m here to tell you it’s not my debt to pay.”

  “But, it is. In my book, at least. And you specifically, Raphael, since you’re responsible for your father’s death—self-defense or not. Therefore, you inherited that debt.”

  “That is some interesting logic.”

  “Once you pay me, I’m off your back. If it wasn’t for the astronomical amount, I’d forgive it. Again.”

  Again? “Bullshit. You forgive nothing.”

  “You see—”

  He rose to his feet and turned so he looked out onto the street as he started to speak. “Your mother tried that too once.”

  My hands clenched at my sides at the mere mention of her.

  Damon cleared his throat. “Let’s go, Raphael.” He turned to Moriarty, who now faced us. “We’ll figure out a way to get you the money, but it won’t be the house.”

  “It’s not our debt to pay,” I repeated to Damon.

  Moriarty watched me, ignoring my brother altogether. The smirk on his face suddenly sickened me.

  “You mother’s been here once before too. Well, multiple times. Renata loved Florence, after all.”

  “Don’t say her name,” I said.

  Damon’s hand closed over my shoulder.

  “That’s enough,” he told Moriarty. “Raphael. We need to leave. Now.”

  I glanced at Damon, saw how some of the color had drained from his face.

  “See, your father and I had a falling-out a very long time ago. Maybe around the time you two were born. He couldn’t wait to put babies in your mother. Thinking it would keep her bound to him.”

  I stood, my breathing tight now. The men who were sitting in the armchairs also rose to their feet. The two men before Moriarty’s desk stepped closer together, letting Damon and me know it would be stupid to launch any sort of physical attack.

  “But your father, well, I suppose Renata gave him reason to question. Even your paternity, believe it or not. Right up to the very end. The man didn’t even believe in the truth of science.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Raphael. We’re leaving. Now.”

  This time, Damon’s command carried a very real sense of urgency.

  “Renata, may her soul rest in peace—”

  Damon cut him off. “Leave the dead be,” he said through gritted teeth.

  I looked at Damon, but he didn’t seem as upset as me. And the look in his eyes the moment they met mine was one of resignation.

  “Damon. Always reasonable,” Moriarty started again. “What’s Zachariah like? Oh, you don’t know. He’s missing in action or was he AWOL? I can’t remember.”

  “You’re not getting her house,” Damon said. “Let’s go, Raphael. We need to leave.”

  Moriarty touched something on his desk, and the doors opened. The two men outside came in. “Get him out,” Moriarty said, gesturing to Damon.

  “Raphael. Come with me. We need to go. Now.”

  But I couldn’t. All I could do was stare at Moriarty’s ugly, fat face. The victory in his flat, dead eyes. No. I couldn’t leave. I had to hear.

  Damon fought them, and a third man joined in to drag him out the door. Moriarty turned to me.

  “Your brother already knows the story. It’d probably bore him anyway.”

  “Speak your fucking mind, and do it fast.”

  “As I was saying, your mother, well, she was a whore. She wanted every man who wanted her—”
>
  I didn’t know if he had more to say. If he was midword. I stopped hearing the moment he called my mother a whore. I lunged, but they expected the move. His men grabbed me by the arms and held me so that I faced that bastard.

  Moriarty looked at me. “See, your mother once sat in that very chair,” he said, pointing behind me.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.

  “The first time she came to me, she wanted me to forgive your father’s debt. She knew she’d chosen the wrong man. Knew he was weak.”

  “My mother—”

  “Offered to do anything.” He drew out the last word.

  I grunted with the effort to free myself, but the men held me tight.

  “Anything,” he repeated, “See, this is déjà vu, really. But I don’t want you to kneel under my desk and suck my dick, Raphael. I prefer women.”

  Fingers bit into my arms as I battled his guards to get to him. I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until the life had gone out of him.

  “I prefer your mother’s tight little ass bent over my desk. And I did fuck her in the ass. She needed to be taught a lesson—”

  “You’re a fucking liar! A goddamned fucking liar!” They held me tight. I heard the click of a gun being cocked and felt the cold steel of it behind my ear.

  “I don’t want a mess in my office, boys,” Moriarty said, calm as could be.

  He returned his full attention to me.

  “See, I did keep my word. I did forgive his debt. That time. But your father didn’t learn. When she came to me again, well, there’s just so much a man can do for used-up old pussy, isn’t there?”

  Rage throbbed inside me, burning hot, pumping my blood with adrenaline. With a roar more animal than human, I tore free from the men who held me and lunged across the desk to fall on top of Moriarty, knocking his chair over, sending him to the floor. I wrapped my hands around his throat and squeezed, his fat flesh too thick to snap his neck. His eyes bulged, his face reddened as he struggled to breathe, but before I could kill him, I was dragged off and tossed against the far wall, a fist landing in my gut, then another, then another until I hunched over, gripping my middle. Someone kicked my legs out from under me, and I dropped to the floor. A shoe closed over my throat and held me down when Moriarty came to stand over me, kicking me hard in the kidneys.