The Pledge: Mafia Vows

by SR Jones

  Of course she does.

  Alesso heads to a garage set back from the house, and with a click of the fob the door to it smoothly opens by rolling up. I stare, and then stare some more. There’s a Porsche in there. A low sporty car that I don’t recognize. Some sort of huge sedan with tinted windows, and a massive, mean looking SUV.

  Alesso strolls to the SUV, unlocking the doors with a press of the key fob, and climbs in. He drives it smoothly out of the garage, and stops, allowing Justina and myself to get in. I go for the back door, but Justina pulls my arm away. With a puzzled frown, she shakes her head.

  “I think Mr. Gorgeous Chops will want you riding up front with him. I’ll take the back.”

  I do as she says, climbing into the front seat, and noticing that fresh lemony scent I’m starting to associate with Alesso.

  As he drives the car down the hill toward the gates at the bottom of the winding road out of Andrius’ property, I find myself staring at his hands. I’ve never really noticed hands before, but Alesso’s are beautiful. Big, tan, and veined, they’re strong, but sort of graceful too. He handles the car competently, and I’m even finding that attractive. God help me!

  “What car is this?” I ask. It’s big inside, and sumptuous.

  “BMW X5M,” Alesso tells me, and it means nothing to me. I like it, though.

  “Can I drive on the way home?” Justina asks. “I’ve not tried this one yet.”

  “Sure,” Alesso says easily. “What are you driving these days?”

  And they’re off. A long and boring conversation about cars that I frankly tune out of after all of a minute. Instead, I spend my time either watching Alesso’s sexy hands as he drives, or looking at the beautiful scenery as we head for Corfu town.

  When we arrive at our destination and park, I feel excited butterflies for the first time in … forever. My butterflies of recent weeks and months have always been a mixture of anxiety, or nerves, or plain old terror. Today though, I’m … happy. The sun is shining. I like Justina the more I get to know her, and Alesso is being simply charming company. And I’m somewhere I’ve wanted to visit for the longest time.

  Today is a good day, I think.

  We walk toward the main center of the small town, and when we get to the narrow, venetian streets of the old town proper, my heart lifts. It is so beautiful. More so than I had imagined or the photographs of it show.

  An old Greek lady leans out of a window high above, shaking a cloth, and she speaks to us in rapid-fire Greek. Telling Alesso her son is going to be the death of her, and he better get himself up for work because if she has to shout at him one more time, she’ll take the frying pan to his head.

  I grin, and Alesso gives a deep laugh and replies better to use a bucket of cold water.

  Justina watches the exchange, bemused. We’ve been talking in English, the three of us, since she speaks only a little halting Greek, and both Alesso and I speak good English.

  “What was that about?” she asks as we move on.

  “Her son is about to get a rude awakening.” Alesso chuckles.

  “So, shopping first, or a drink?” Justina asks.

  “A drink. I’m thirsty, and I want to show Stella the Liston.”

  We round a corner a few minutes later, and I stop in my tracks.

  The most elegant buildings I have ever seen span in front of me down a long, pedestrianized walkway. The buildings on one side, built from cool stone, contrast beautifully with the green of the trees and the grass on the other.

  Coffee shops line both sides of the walkway, and beyond them to our right is a cricket pitch.

  “This place is amazing,” I say. “I could burst.”

  Alesso takes my hand for a moment and squeezes it before dropping it.

  “There’s such a mix of buildings and culture,” I breathe.

  “Yep.” Alesso nods as he looks around with a smile. “There’s the old Venetian town, then there’s the Liston, built by a French engineer, inspired by the Rue Rivoli in Paris. This bit was built in the 1820’s. Then there’s the British influence with the St. George palace, and of course the cricket pitch.”

  “It’s stunning. Truly. I’m so glad I got to see it.”

  “We can come again, Stella. You don’t only get to see it once, you know?” Alesso’s voice is softer than usual.

  “I know, but things are up in the air now, no matter what happens, I’ve experienced it, and I’m grateful to you for bringing me.”

  “Oh, Lord, you two.” Justina pretends to retch and rolls her eyes.

  Alesso pushes her shoulder with his, hard enough to send her stumbling to one side.

  “Asshole.” She punches his shoulder hard, but he merely laughs.

  “Come, let’s go get some lunch and a drink.” Alesso leads us to a table, and I’m glad he picked one in the shade of the beautiful arches of the Liston as I want to sit under these old stones and watch the world go by.

  And watch the world go by is what we do. We eat lunch of a Greek salad for me, a chicken souvlaki for Alesso, and a chicken club sandwich for Justina, as we share half a carafe of wine.

  After lunch we all sip at coffees, mine an iced one, even though it’s not really warm enough, and people watch some more.

  “She’s had a bit too much work done,” Justina mutters under her breath as an old woman walks by with a face so tight she looks like she’s in a wind tunnel.

  “Look at that dog,” I say, pointing to a stunning dog prancing by us. “What is it?”

  “Afghan hound,” Alesso says. “I bet it gets hot in the summer.”

  “Oh wow, it’s gorgeous. I want one.” I smile as it struts by, head high.

  “Can you imagine the grooming?” Alesso replies. “No thanks. Anyway, you want something a bit more down to earth. Like Levi.”

  “Levi’s a baby,” Justina says.

  I’m not sure I’d call a huge beast like him a baby, but to each their own.

  “I like Rottweilers,” Alesso muses.

  “They’re a good dog,” Justina supplies.

  “I like pretty dogs.” I pout.

  “Okay then, we’ll get a Rotweiller and an Afghan Hound.” Alesso laughs, and he’s only joking, but he keeps talking as if there’s an us, and I don’t know how to take it.

  “Don’t get a boy and a girl, ‘cause if they breed that’s going to be one freaky litter of puppies.” Justina laughs loudly at her own joke, and I start wondering what Rottweiler cross Afghan Hounds would look like.

  “Okay, shopping time,” Justina says, and Alesso sighs but nods.

  He reaches into his pocket, takes out his wallet, and places what looks like over a hundred euros on the table.

  “Oh, here.” I reach for my own money, what I have left, but he shakes his head.

  “Lunch is on me.”

  “No,” I say again. “That’s not fair.”

  “Stella.” He reaches out, tips my chin up with one long, strong finger, and looks right in my eyes with those baby-blues of his. “It’s. On. Me.”

  I nod and lose the power of speech as he holds me in the spotlight of his gaze.

  I suddenly realize I am a prize fool because I’ve agreed to go shopping with Justina, but I have no money for such fripperies.

  We walk along, and Justina seems to know exactly where she’s going as she turns us down two streets. “This shop is amazing. You’ll love it, and they stock stuff you’ll look so hot in.”

  “I’ll look and maybe try on, but I’m not buying.”

  “You said you’ve hardly got anything.” She scowls.

  “No, I didn’t,” I lie. I don’t want her to try to force me to buy clothes when I have no money. How embarrassing.

  “She hasn’t got anything, and you need some stuff, Stella.” Alesso’s deep voice rumbles behind me.

  I open my mouth to argue, but his warm hand touches the base of my back as he steers me away from a pedestrian I’m about to bump into. At even this simple touch, I lose my train of tho
ught.

  Two hours later, I find myself being driven back to the house, only this time, Justina is driving, I’m still up front and Alesso is in the back.

  He’s just spent over two thousand euros on clothes for me!

  Two. Thousand. Euros. On clothes … and I’m not sure how to feel about it. It’s nice he did it for me, but he’s just … taking over. I can’t pay him back, and I don’t want to feel I owe him in other ways. Not sex—I know he’d never expect that—but is this another way for him to get deeper control of me?

  We arrive at the house after the rigmarole of passing the security system, and a grim-faced Andrius greets us.

  As soon as we get inside the hallway, he speaks, no preamble. “Guess who is here, on Corfu?”

  “Who?” Justina asks, her voice serious for once.

  “The motherfucker who is partner of the man who took Stella. Stuart Robertson is here.”

  “Christ, he must know about you,” Alesso says to me, his face paling.

  My stomach drops. Oh, shit. Not only does this place me in grave danger, but I’ve also brought it with me to this home, to Violet, who doesn’t need this at all.

  “Nah, don’t think so. Guess what he does when he visits here twice a year?” Andrius’ jaw ticks as he speaks through gritted teeth.

  “What?” Alesso demands.

  “An auction. Of women he’s trafficking. One woman, twice a year, sold to the highest bidder.”

  Justina makes a strange sound and steps back. “I’m sorry. Excuse me, will you? I have to go … I need to make a call.” She pushes by Andrius and runs up the stairs.

  “I need to go make sure she’s okay. Shit like this is a massive trigger for her,” Andrius says. “But this fucker? He’s holding an auction here, about an hour north, in three nights. I’m thinking we go along to that auction, and we buy the girl. Take him out, of course, at some point afterward, but not until we have the girl safely with us. Then we bring the girl back here and find out where his base is, who else is involved, and take the whole fucking thing down.”

  “Isn’t that going to get you right back into this life you say you want to leave?” Alesso asks.

  “Maybe, but I’ve made this part of the world my home, and I don’t want that shit happening on my doorstep. You need to call Damen, he’ll fill you in, but the auctions he runs here on Corfu are strange. It seems as if this guy gets all the women he sells at these particular auctions from one place. And it’s a village on the mainland. They’re all Greek girls, and they call come from one location.”

  “What the hell? That makes no sense,” I say before I can think about being nervous around Andrius. “The guy who took me, Simon, he told Diana she’d messed up taking me, a Greek girl. He told her to stick to lost little immigrants. Those were his words.”

  “Exactly, which is why it is fucking strange,” Andrius says. “Doesn’t mean, though, they couldn’t have been running whatever the hell this is and still taking advantage of the odd lost girl they find, does it? I’m going to check on Justina. Alesso, you need to phone your man Damen. Oh, and Markos is heading our way. Damen wants him helping on this. He says this guy poses a threat to us all now he’s after Stella, and he wants him and his operation taken down. It’s only a matter of time before he finds out who Stella is, so we take him out before that happens.”

  With those words, Andrius jogs up the stairs, leaving my head reeling and my heart pounding.

  “You going to be okay?” Alesso asks. “I need to make this call.”

  I nod and smile at him, but I’m far from okay.

  “Maybe a glass of wine and a chat with Violet will help?” he says. And the way he words it, as if he’s never thought of such things before, makes me laugh out loud. I nod, and he goes and pours a glass of wine for me, and a big glass of juice for Violet, bringing them to us in the living room as we sit ourselves down.

  He passes me my glass, and his fingers brush mine as he does so. I swear there’s a spark, a jolt of warm energy that passes from him to me the moment our skin touches. Will he feel the same if he runs those fingers all over my body? Will my skin light up wherever his touch goes?

  I can’t think these thoughts. Things are already so far out of control it’s terrifying. Instead, I take the glass and sip at my wine, studiously ignoring Alesso as he studies me. I only lift my gaze once his footfalls head out of the room.

  Once I have made sure Stella is okay by plying her with a large glass of wine, and settling her in the living area with Violet, I take myself off to Andrius’ study, where I pour myself a huge shot of brandy from the bottle he has on the bookshelf by his desk.

  I take my phone out and dial.

  “Yasu malaka.” The familiar greeting from Damen—hello, wanker—has me smiling despite my worry, and I give the greeting back.

  It’s good to converse in Greek. I’ve been speaking in English for days now, and although I’m fluent, it’s more tiring than speaking in one’s own language.

  “This guy, this Stuart Robertson, any possible link to Yannis, or even Spiros?”

  Damen sighs. “Nope. Not so far as I can tell, and I’ve done a lot of digging.”

  “I think we ought to come back to Athens,” I say. “I don’t like the fact we’re split this way.” I miss having Damen by my side, but more importantly, it makes no strategic sense for our firepower to be split.

  “No.” His tone is sharp, and I frown at the phone as I take a sip of my brandy. Is he telling me no because he thinks me being back there with Stella will bring extra danger for Maya?

  The thought has a sharp burst of anger forming.

  “It’s not safe for you here.”

  I pause as my mind whirrs. Is he looking out for Stella? For me? Or for his wife now?

  “There’s something I need to tell you. It’s why I asked Andrius to get you to call, and it’s why I’m sending Markos to you.”

  “Go on,” I say. My voice hard.

  “There’s a hit … on you.”

  His words don’t sink in. Not for a few long moments as the silence between us stretches. “What? Me? From who?”

  “Yannis.”

  “Why the fuck would Yannis put a hit on me?”

  “Not just you; me too. I’m going to take him out, but if you come back here, he’s going to know about it, and he’ll know we’ve found out about the hit. I don’t know who, if anyone, has taken the contract yet. But if Yannis is dead, the contract is null and void. So, I think the best way forward is you stay there, with Andrius, Markos, and the men Andrius has around him. Watch your fucking back, and bring down this cunt who is trading women. I’ll stay here, and Cole, me, and the guys will take out Yannis. Stamatis has upped his security too, although so far there’s no intel there is a threat against him.”

  “Is Stamatis on board with us taking out Yannis Pappas? Because doing so drags us into a probable conflict with Lefteris Pappas.”

  “He has no choice, does he? Yannis has put a hit out on his two seconds, which leaves Stamatis no option but to retaliate. Things are going to get very bumpy. Unless….”

  “Unless?”

  “We can figure out a way to do it that doesn’t point to us. I’m looking at options.”

  I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “It doesn’t sit well, brother,” I say. “Us being so far apart when all this shit is going down.”

  “I’ll send you the Spetsnaz guys; that will help bulk your numbers out,” Damen says. He knows if I decide to return to Athens, he can’t stop me. We are in this together, leading together. He doesn’t get to make the decisions here. I let my brain run through the permutations as I take another sip of my whiskey.

  If Yannis gets intel that I’ve headed back to Athens, then Damen is correct. He will know for definite that we’re both aware of the hits on us. Our biggest advantage in all of this is the fact we aren’t simply criminals running a cartel; we are ex-military, and Damen is ex-secret service and an expert hacker. People don’t know about his ski
llset. No one outside of a small, tight group does. So, if I head back, I’m giving away the game to a degree. Letting Yannis know we have ways of finding out his every move. It also means I don’t get to deal with Stuart Robertson, which leaves a loose end dangling, and one which could be very dangerous to Stella.

  This way, I get to watch my back here, with Markos by my side, Andrius, and his men. Damen has Cole and the others. If anything, this plan leaves Damen more exposed than me. Cole is a new entity, and he’s so far done well, but he isn’t one of us. Not in the way Markos and Andrius are. And Stamatis’ men are loyal, but again, if Damen sends the Spetsnaz guys my way, he’s relying on paid muscle he doesn’t know.

  I take another sip. Shit. This is fucked. “Okay,” I say slowly. “I’ll agree to staying here, but only if you keep the Spetsnaz guys with you. Send me Markos, but you keep Andrius’ men with you. We know they are trustworthy beyond a shadow of doubt because they come from him, and we don’t know that with Stamatis’ men if you had to draft some in. Yes, he’s our boss, but what if someone is working against him in his own organization? The minute you start relying on nameless, faceless hired guns, you’re at risk. Keep Cole, keep Tolya and the men, but send me Markos. If there’s me, Markos, Andrius, and his guys here, that’s enough.” I lower my voice then. “He’s also got two maids, who aren’t what they seem and are highly trained.”

  Damen laughs. “I’ve always said he was paranoid.”

  “Or as he’d say, just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.” We both laugh, and then the silence descends once more. This is shit.

  He’s got to be worried out of his mind about Maya, and I’m scared to death for Stella. This is all getting so fucking crazy, with enemies in all directions, that I feel untethered to reality for a surreal moment.

  “I’m going. Be fucking careful, Damen.”

  “I will. Markos will be there tomorrow.”

  “Bye.”

  He says bye too, and I hang up, a feeling of dread settling cold and hard in the pit of my stomach.

  I analyze it curiously. Before a skirmish, during the time I served, I didn’t feel this. Honestly, I felt more of a sense of excitement. Adrenalin pumping, you’d be hopped up and raring to go. Same when we went into battle for Stamatis. This? It’s different, and a lot more uncomfortable.