He stalked towards her, his gait pure arrogance. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“I...” She stopped herself just in time before she gave out her real name, the man rattling her. “Isis Massari,” she said.
“Who do you belong to?”
“What?”
“Whose maid are you?”
“Ricardo’s.”
He sneered, anger flashing across his eyes. “Follow me, then.” He walked past her, stopping a few paces away. He looked back. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
She nodded and walked after him. He stopped outside the end bedroom, ushering her inside. Her eyes swept the room, finding it spotless, not one thing out of place. She couldn’t see why he needed her.
She turned back to him. “What do you want me to do?”
“Take your clothes off.”
“What?” she said, not expecting that.
“You say what a lot. Are you simple?”
She bristled. “No.”
“Then undress.”
She moved her hands to her blouse, hesitating for a moment, his cold tone reminding her of the Black Russian. That black-hearted bastard hadn’t just used the Vipers to fight, he fucked each and every one of them.
“Naked. Now!” Brando barked.
She jolted. Memories of the Black Russian ordering her to get undressed returned. He used to punish her if she didn’t do what she was told, causing her pain or humiliation. Anger raced through her, but instead of lashing out at Brando, she undid her blouse buttons, her hands shaking.
He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, running his hand up and down it, the shaft beginning to harden. Forcing herself to look away, she laid her blouse down on the bed.
Brando made a loud grunt, sounding impatient. He stalked up to her and reached behind her back, unzipping her skirt, his hard stare unfriendly. “You’re not very good at taking orders, are you?” He dropped her skirt to the floor, then spun her around and leaned her over the bed. He grabbed her panties and ripped them down, only her bra stopping her from being completely naked.
He placed a hand on her back and pushed her breasts to the bed, so her ass stuck up. She jolted as his cock prodded her entrance. Knowing he hadn’t put on a condom, she went to complain, but instead yelled out as he shoved his cock in without any preparation.
Brando grabbed her hips and began fucking her, not giving her enough time to stretch, his cock hurting her. He grunted as he did it, the man penetrating her without any care for how she was feeling. He was just using her for sex like the Black Russian had, using her as a hole, purely made for his pleasure. The Black Russian had constantly told her she was born for his cock, a whore from birth. She thought she had escaped that, but she’d been fooling herself, because no matter how far she ran—she would always be a whore.
She dropped her head, letting Brando do what he wanted, not even willing to fight him. However, she would make him pay for it later, hurting him like he’d hurt her. Because she never forgot—or forgave.
Brando leaned down, placing his lips to her ear. “If you get pregnant, keep my baby.”
She went stiff at his comment, not understanding why he would say that.
He moved his face away from her and started fucking her harder, slamming inside of her body. After a few minutes, he stilled, the groan that followed loud. She could feel his cock pumping cum inside of her.
Once done, he pulled out. “Leave,” he said, slapping her ass hard.
She spun around, considering lashing out at him, but he was already walking away, heading for his closet as though she was no longer in the room.
She grabbed her clothes and started to dress, while he searched for something in the closet. As she did up her skirt, he turned around, the gun in his hand stilling her. He slipped it into the holster on his chest. “I told you to leave,” he said, glaring at her.
Tucking her blouse in, she went for the door, needing to get out before she hurt him. Footsteps resounded behind her, making her glance over her shoulder. Brando was wearing a stone-cold expression, the man looking ready to kill. He pushed her aside and left the room. She followed him out, closing his door behind her.
He walked down the passage, hollering, “Madre!”
A door further down opened, Brando’s mother emerging from it. Concetta’s eyes went to her son as he pulled out his gun. “Put that away, figlio,” she said, backing up, fear coloring her features.
He followed her. “I’m not going to shoot you, I love you too much.”
She stopped, her expression confused. “Then what are you doing?”
“Forgiving you for what you did to me.” He lifted the gun to his head. “See you in Hell, Mamma.”
Realization shot across Concetta’s face. She lunged for Brando’s gun as he pulled the trigger.
***
The man stumbled towards the water fountain, falling onto its outer rim. He stuck his head into the water, desperately needing to cool down. He started drinking, not caring as mothers quickly ushered their children away. Once his thirst was quenched, he turned around and leaned his back against the low wall, his eyes surveying the large square. People were staring at him, some with curiosity, others with fear. Again, he didn’t care. He was too exhausted, sore, and confused to even bother trying. He slipped down and leaned his head against the fountain’s edge, closing his eyes, just wanting to sleep.
Something prodded his chest. “Mister, are you alright?” an American voice asked.
He opened his eyes. A cute woman was looking down at him with concern. She had short red hair and a pixie face, her slim body clad in jeans and a halter-top.
“You need to go to a doctor,” she said, bending down. She slipped an arm around his waist, attempting to get him to stand. “Help me, you’re not exactly small.”
He pushed to his feet, his body aching all over. He knew he had other injuries, but he’d chosen not to look, already knowing they were bad.
“What’s your name?” she asked, steering him across the square.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
He nodded.
She tightened her grip around his waist. “What happened to you?”
“I think my car blew up.”
“Oh, you poor sweetheart.” She stopped in front of a small Fiat and leaned him against it, unlocking the door with her other hand. Once it was open, she bundled him into the backseat, telling him to lie down. He did, too exhausted to do anything else. His eyelids drifted down, sleep taking him on a ride.
Something prodded at him.
“Mister, wake up.”
He opened his eyes and sat up, surprised to find he was somewhere else. The Fiat was now parked in front of a doctors’ clinic.
The redhead helped him out of the car, assisting him to the front door of the clinic. It slid open, allowing them to enter. She steered him to the desk. “This man needs help,” she said to the nurse behind it. “He’s burnt badly and can’t remember his name.”
The woman at the counter stared at him, her face fearful like the lady who’d called him mafioso.
“Do you know me?” he asked.
She shook her head, though he knew she was lying.
“Please, just tell me who I am.”
“I’ll get you some help.” She picked up a phone and spoke into it, telling the person on the other end to come immediately. She hung up, saying, “The doctor in charge is coming. He knows who you are.”
A few seconds later, the double doors on their right burst open. A slim man in his late forties, and with thinning hair, emerged. The doctor’s eyes went to him, his expression surprised like the nurse’s. Fear quickly followed. The doctor spun around and headed back through the double doors, telling them to follow.
The redhead helped him through the doorway, following the doctor down a short passage. They passed through the last door on the right.
“Please lie on the bed,” the doctor said.
The red
head assisted him onto the thin mattress.
“Tell me what happened?” the doctor asked.
“I think I was hurt in a car explosion.”
The doctor nodded. “I need to remove your clothes so I can clean and patch up your injuries.” He started cutting away the burnt clothing, only leaving the material melded into his flesh. As he moved lower, he turned to the woman. “Can you please wait in the reception?”
“I have to leave, but I’d still like to know how he’s doing. Can you please call me?”
Nodding, the doctor wrote down the number she gave him. After she’d left, he removed the remaining clothes, cleaned and bandaged the burns, then administered some pain relief. Once finished, the doctor laid a sheet over his body. “I’ll go phone your famiglia.”
He breathed out in relief. “Can you tell me who I am? I can’t remember.”
A slow smile pulled at the doctor’s lips. “Well, I’ll be happy to. You’re Valentino Landi.”
The door burst open. The doctor spun around as the redhead reentered the room. She stopped in front of him, her expression apologetic. “Sorry,” she said. “I gave you my old number by mistake.” She handed over a piece of paper, then waved at Valentino. “I hope you get better soon.” She disappeared back out the door.
“Will I scar?” Valentino asked, grabbing the doctor’s attention, the man appearing shaken.
“What?”
“Will I scar?”
“Your hands will, they’re the worst, you will also have some on your chest and legs. Though, many of them could be removed with plastic surgery.”
“What about my face?”
“It’s fine.” The doctor picked up a handheld mirror and held it over Valentino’s face. Pale blue eyes stared back at him.
The doctor removed the mirror and placed it on his desk. “I need to make a call to your brother Pedro, but first I’ll give you something to help you sleep.” He pulled open the cupboard next to his desk and grabbed another syringe, injecting its contents into Valentino’s arm.
***
Ricardo’s four-wheel drive stopped in front of the doctors’ clinic. Two more vehicles pulled up to the curb, his soldiers emerging from them. He jumped out, ordering six of the soldiers to stay out front and two to cover the back of the white building. He didn’t want to take Brando to a public clinic, but it was the closest one that had the best facilities. He also didn’t have much choice after his mother had fired their surgeon the week prior.
He strode through the entrance, following the soldiers carrying Brando. His brother was lying on a makeshift gurney with a bloodstained bandage around his head. He was still alive, but only by the grace of their mother. She’d knocked the gun enough to stop Brando from planting a bullet in the middle of his head. Regardless, it had still hit him, just on an angle, giving him a fighting chance to survive.
Salvatore, their mother, four more soldiers, and Lisa, followed him across the foyer, the rest of the famiglia told to stay at home. Lisa pointed to the double doors on their right, instructing the soldiers to take Brando through them.
The reception nurse stood up from her desk, her eyes terrified. “Signore, you can’t go in there!”
“It’s Don,” he said, heading for the doors.
A doctor emerged through them, blocking Brando’s gurney from entering, the man’s face just as frightened as the nurse’s, if not more so. “No one, bu-but patients are permitted back here,” he stammered out. “Please wait in the reception.”
Ricardo glared at him. “You’ll make an exception for me. Now, help my brother,” he snapped, pointing at Brando’s still form.
The doctor breathed out, looking like he was trying not to shit himself. “He needs to be taken to a hospital. His injury is serious.”
“If you don’t stop wasting my time, your injury will be deadly.”
“Sì, Don, I’ll hel-help him.” He stepped aside, allowing them to enter a corridor. His gaze fell on Lisa, recognition crossing his face, the man probably knowing her father. “I’ll call through to the other doctor in attendance. Please wait here a moment.” He disappeared into the last room on the right.
Lisa turned to Ricardo. “I phoned my father on the ride over,” she said, the two of them having arrived in different vehicles. “He should be here soon.”
The doors burst open behind them, the man in question appearing a second later. Lisa’s father strode towards him with two soldiers at his back.
“Speak of the Devil,” Ricardo muttered, not liking the man. Regardless, he was still grateful Cesare was here. Lisa’s father was a brilliant surgeon, someone he hadn’t wanted fired. He just wished he knew why his mother had done it.
Ignoring Ricardo, Cesare stopped in front of Lisa, the fifty-something man’s face a mask of arrogance. He had similar features to Lisa, just with a harder edge, his steel-gray eyes the same color as his hair. “Which room and which doctor’s in attendance?” he snapped at his daughter, looking angry that he was here. It was probably because of Ricardo’s mother, who was glaring at him, the woman not knowing when someone was trying to help.
“The doctor’s Giovanni Mercurio,” Lisa answered, “and the room’s the last one on the right.”
Cesare headed for it, snapping orders at the two soldiers carrying Brando to follow him. The first doctor emerged from the room, his face startled at seeing Cesare.
Cesare stopped in front of him. “I need you to assist me.”
The doctor nodded, pointing to another room, instructing that Brando be taken in there. Lisa ran over and pulled open the door, allowing the soldiers with Brando to enter. Cesare and the clinic doctor disappeared through the door after them, Lisa following close behind.
Ricardo’s mother started crying. Ricardo turned to find Salvatore hugging her. “Brando will pull through, Mamma,” his brother said.
She wiped her cheeks. “He tried to kill himself because of me, because of what I got him to do.” She turned to Ricardo, a glare quickly forming on her face. “Why did you have to tell him who his father was? You’ve destroyed him.”
“It was you who set him on that path,” Ricardo snapped. “So start taking responsibility for your actions.”
She turned her head and pressed her face into Salvatore’s chest, her shoulders shaking. Salvatore shook his head at Ricardo as though he had no compassion—which he didn’t right now.
“Go wait in the reception,” Salvatore said. “I’ll stay with her.”
Without replying, Ricardo headed out of the corridor, not wanting to be around his mother. One of his soldiers followed him out. They veered towards a row of chairs, sending a man and a woman scrambling away. Ricardo settled down on one and leaned back, his shoulder and arm hurting. He’d popped a few stitches from lifting Bianca, which he’d fixed himself, not wanting to explain to Lisa how it had happened.
A cute redhead strode through the entrance, capturing Ricardo’s attention. She stopped in front of the desk. “My GPS has stopped working,” she said to the nurse. “Can you please tell me how to get to Primavera Hotel?”
The nurse gave her instructions. The redhead thanked her, then went to leave, stopping as her eyes fell on Ricardo. A big smile lit up her face. “You must be his brother,” she said, heading for him.
Ricardo frowned. “Whose brother?”
“The man I brought in with amnesia. He looks just like you, just with blue eyes.”
Ricardo pushed to his feet, his mind instantly going to Valentino, what Salvatore had said giving him hope. “Where is he?”
She pointed at the double doors. “In there with the doctor.”
“Can you please take me to him?”
“Sure.” She pushed through the doors, Ricardo shadowing her. They headed past his mother and a quizzical-looking Salvatore, entering the last room on the right. The woman pulled back the white curtain, revealing Valentino lying on a bed.
Ricardo placed a finger to his brother’s throat, relieved to find a strong pulse, because Va
lentino looked dead to the world. He lifted the sheet up, assessing Valentino’s injuries. His brother was naked and covered in bandages.
He laid the sheet back down, then turned to the redhead. “Was the doctor who saw my brother skinny and with thinning hair?”
“Yes, he saw Valentino.”
“How do you know my brother’s name if he has amnesia?”
“The doctor knew him. He told me he’d call your family.”
“How long has Valentino been here?”
“Ten to fifteen minutes.”
“The doctor might’ve called my home. I was driving here at the time.”
“How did you know to come, then?”
“Another of my brothers got hurt.”
“Is he okay?”
“I hope he will be.” He pulled a card out of his jacket. “Send me an email; I would like to reward you.”
She looked at the card, a small frown creasing her brow. “But I thought your surname was Landi.”
Ricardo went still. “Why?”
“I heard the doctor call your brother Valentino Landi.”
Fear shot through him. Ricardo took a hold of the woman’s shoulders. “You need to leave now,” he said, steering her towards the door.
“Why?” she said, pulling away.
“The doctor lied. The Landi are mafia, which means they’re coming for my brother. So leave now, I’ll get him out.”
Alarm crossed her face. She took off through the door. Ricardo followed her out, yelling at one of the soldiers to help him. Ricardo reentered the room, instructing the soldier to take his brother to one of the armored vehicles. The soldier wrapped the sheet around Valentino and picked him up, putting him over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. They left the room, the soldier heading past a shocked-looking Salvatore.
“That’s Valentino,” Salvatore said.
Their mother lifted her face from Salvatore’s chest. “What?”
Ricardo ignored her. “Get Mamma to a vehicle now; the Landi are coming. Put her in the same one as Valentino and leave. Order the soldiers to get ready for a battle.”
“What about Brando?”
“I’ll get him out.”
Salvatore steered their mother to the door. “I want to stay with Brando!” she cried out.
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