Dynasty: A Mafia Collection

by Jen Davis

  “Please don’t,” I begged, trying to move, desperate to stop him.

  “Oh, I’m going to, and you’re going to fucking love it.” He jerked my legs apart, hands and fingers invading me, touching me, probing me. Warm tears burned my skin, and I bit into my tongue, the metallic taste bursting through my mouth. Everything about this man, the way he smelled, the way he touched me, was vile and revolting. His stinking breath in my face had me choking and gagging while my lungs demanded air.

  He leaned down and licked the side of my face. I started to weep, my skin crawling with disgust. His lips moved against my ear, his hard body gliding over mine.

  “I saw you ride my cousin. You rode him like a fucking champ. You should have seen your face when he stuck that cock of his inside your dirty pussy. Your face, your eyes, the way you arched your back when he filled your filthy cunt for the first time, you loved it like the cheap whore you are.”

  Every malicious word sliced through my chest, inflicting so much pain. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. My body was stone cold, my spine frozen in place. It was like there was no more blood flowing through my veins, only ice.

  “Now, let’s see what your face looks like when a real man fucks you.”

  I cried. I cried so hard my sobs drowned out every other sound around me.

  “Please don’t. Please…”

  Through tearstained eyes, I watched as the man on top of me reared back, my legs held wide open. The evil face that hovered above me was consumed with hate and lust, the two things that were about to rip through my body and destroy me for good.

  I gagged, my stomach churning when he moved between my legs, his hand touching and brushing against my skin as he guided his cock toward my entrance. I closed my eyes and screamed before he forced two fingers inside my mouth, pushing deep to the back of my throat. I continued to gag, readying to throw up as he kept forcing his fingers deeper.

  This was it. I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t fight. All I could do was lie there, my body about to be defiled and corrupted.

  I felt the pressure between my legs as he moved…and then there was a loud explosion, a crack that shattered the air. It felt like a boulder had been dropped on my chest, and warm liquid splattered onto my face. My ears were ringing, the rapid beating of my heart the only sound that infiltrated the buzz inside my head.

  I opened my eyes and tried to breathe, but I was smothered with something heavy…until it was yanked off me.

  “Tatum?”

  I looked up and saw Castello’s face through the haze.

  “Tatum, are you okay?”

  The ringing in my ears dissipated as my mind and vision became clearer, color and sound slowly returning.

  “Tatum?”

  He pulled me up, and my head spun, a throbbing ache pushing against my skull. I wiped my palms across my face, and when I opened my eyes, my vision now crystal clear, I saw that my hands were covered in crimson…blood.

  My heart stopped.

  I looked at Castello, who was crouching in front of me, dark eyes fixed on me with concern. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”

  “What…”

  I caught sight of the gun in Castello’s hand then looked to the floor. There was Nicollo, with only half a face, lying in a pool of blood.

  Oh my God.

  I swallowed hard, bile pushing up the back of my throat.

  “You shot him.” I looked up at Castello. “You killed your cousin.” I never thought I’d see the day where I would be thankful for someone’s head being blown off.

  He took my hand in his. “Come on. We need to get you out of here.”

  He helped me up, and the second I managed to straighten, I looked into his eyes. “Why did you come back?”

  With a gentle touch, he tucked my hair behind my ear. “I came back because I was there.”

  “Where?”

  He held out a white sheet of paper. “Between those jumbled thoughts you needed to sort through. I was in there somewhere.”

  I glanced down at the paper and saw the same image I had drawn on the other sheets…only this time there was a scar across the side of the man’s face, and one pupil was elongated in the shape of a teardrop.

  Castello pointed to Italian writing at the bottom of the sheet. L’unico.

  The one.

  Chapter 22

  Castello

  I had to come back.

  Thank God I came back.

  I was on my way to my bedroom when I accidentally dropped the sheets of paper that burned my fucking hand. The anger and rage that buzzed through my body was so strong, it surpassed the fury I felt when I found out my brother had been murdered. And I knew why. I knew why I was so consumed with intense indignation. Because my jealousy was fueling it.

  When those sheets scattered around me, one of them caught my eye—the one Tatum was now clutching in her hand.

  Her very last drawing was one of me, with my scar—L’unico.

  That was the moment I realized there was no decision to be made. There never was. I had no fucking choice but to protect her, no questions asked.

  I rushed back to her room only to find Nicollo on top of her, his cock in his hand, seconds away from claiming what was mine.

  I reacted.

  With nothing but red clouding my vision, I took out my gun, aimed…and pulled the fucking trigger. And God forgive me, but when Nicollo’s lifeless body fell limp, half of his fucking skull splattered against the wall, I savored the moment. This was justice. This was retaliation, vengeance, payback—and all because my actions protected something worth protecting. Her.

  I stared at her. She was shaking, her left eye bruised and cut, blood trickling down her cheek. All this time, I saw her as vulnerable, trapped between these four walls. I was so wrong. She was never vulnerable, just scared, yet strong. But right now, this woman in front of me, she was vulnerable. Seconds from being raped then having a man’s brain matter all over her face, I saw that all her strength had finally left her, leaving her helpless, defenseless, but not weak. Never weak.

  I pulled my shirt over my head and gently wiped her face clean. “This is probably the world’s most fucked-up question right now, but are you okay?”

  She didn’t stop shaking. “Yes.”

  “Liar.” I tilted her chin to lift her face toward mine. “When will you accept the fact that your body can’t lie to me?” Softly, I traced my thumb across the bruised skin next to her eye. Fuck, if I could kill that son of a bitch again, I would.

  “What the fuck?”

  I closed my eyes when I heard his voice and knew that we were screwed.

  “Castello, is that…is that Nicollo?”

  I turned to face Vico, who was standing by the door, staring at Nicollo’s corpse.

  “Yes.” I moved in front of Tatum.

  Vico’s shocked face turned pale. “What happened?” Confused eyes found mine.

  Oh, boy. Here we go. “He was trying to rape Tatum. So I had no choice.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You shot him?”

  “Yes. Like I said, I had no choice.” I straightened, my instincts expecting the worst.

  “What the fuck, Castello? Why would you fucking shoot him?”

  I slowly eased my arm back, curving it around Tatum’s hip—my number one concern, protecting her.

  “I told you, he was trying to rape Tatum. So I had to act.”

  Vico pushed both hands through his hair, looking back down at Nicollo’s dead body. “Holy shit. You fucking killed him.”

  When Vico looked up at me with sudden wicked resolve in his eyes, I knew the shit was about to hit the fucking fan.

  “You killed Nicollo because he wanted to rape that slut? She’s going to die anyway, Castello. Why the fuck protect her by killing your own goddamn cousin?”

  “Vico, I need you to stop.” I stepped back, forcing Tatum to move. I wanted her protected between me and the wall. “What Nicollo was trying to do was wrong.
”

  A manic laugh rumbled from the back of his throat. “Wrong? Who the fuck made you judge and jury?”

  “I’m the Boss, Vico. Nicollo was sticking his nose into shit where it didn’t belong.”

  “By wanting to fuck her? He wasn’t hurting anyone.”

  “He was hurting her!”

  The second the words left my mouth, Vico’s eyes grew wide, and I knew he had figured it out.

  “She’s hooked her claws into you too, hasn’t she?”

  My heart raced, my mind spinning, trying to figure out how to get Tatum out of here.

  “It’s not that simple, Vico.”

  “Not that simple? I’m pretty fucking sure the fact that you blew half of Nicollo’s head off simplifies this quite a lot.”

  “Things changed.”

  He snorted. “What things?”

  “Everything.”

  His dark brows slanted inward as he frowned. “Oh my God. You fucked her, didn’t you?”

  I couldn’t answer him. Vico was a loose cannon right now, and I had to tread lightly if I wanted to keep him from blowing.

  “Listen to me, Vico. I think Mother is lying to us. She’s been acting strange, and Uncle Gino—”

  “Uncle Gino?” He narrowed his black eyes. “Tell me you’re not fooled by that old man. He’s been out to ruin our mother for God knows how long. You know how he tried to turn Dad against her.”

  “Did he? Or was he simply seeing something none of us could?”

  “Oh my God. She’s really done a number on you, hasn’t she?” He peered over my shoulder at her, and I shifted, trying to block his view. By now, my body was against hers, and I could feel how she trembled. Fuck, I really needed to get her the fuck out of here.

  “Vico, calm down.” I held my hand out in front of me and slowly started to step to the side, my other hand guiding Tatum to follow. “I need to get Tatum out of here.”

  “What?” He straightened and balled his fists. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Another few steps, and the door came closer and closer. “I’m serious.”

  “Fuck!” His voice boomed through the room, and I felt Tatum jerk behind me. “Nicollo was right. You don’t have the fucking balls to lead this family. No wonder Dad spent all his time training Carlo and ignoring you. He saw it too, the coward you really are.”

  His words were like a punch to the gut, but my need to get Tatum to safety overshadowed my need to retaliate. Every instinct I ever had came together in one giant need to protect what was mine—and Tatum Linscott was mine, whether she wanted to be or not.

  Vico stepped closer, spite and malice emanating from him like deadly threats. “I’m sorry, brother, but I can’t let you take her anywhere.”

  “Vico, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  But my little brother had already made up his mind. He launched at me, and I yelled over my shoulder, “Tatum, run!”

  With a hard shove, I pushed her out the door and ducked just in time as Vico’s fist came flying toward my face. With a punch to Vico’s gut, I jerked up straight and flung my other fist toward his face, my knuckles connecting against his cheekbone. Bone cracked, and grunts and roars of anger echoed.

  Vico spun from the force and collapsed on the ground. For a second, I wanted to kick him while he was down. I wanted to beat him to a fucking pulp for threatening Tatum, for whipping her, and for every ounce of hate he had directed at her. But Tatum was out there running through a house she didn’t know, guaranteed to find a threat around every damn corner. I had to go find her.

  I rushed out the door and down the hall. There was only one place in this house she knew how to get to—my bedroom. So I rushed in the direction of my room, praying she didn’t chance it by running anywhere else. My heart raced at a million miles a second, and my feet couldn’t carry me fast enough. If anyone found her—especially my mother—she’d be dead before I even had a chance at saving her.

  I sprinted up the stairs, and the second I rounded the corner, I found her running toward my bedroom door—flailing against the wall was more like it.

  “Tatum!”

  She froze and turned. “Castello.”

  Immediately, she started running in my direction, and like a scene out of a goddamn romance movie, she wrapped her arms tight around my neck while I enclosed her within mine. I could feel her heart beating wildly, the pulse resonating against my chest. Her warm breath crossed the skin of my neck, and the only thought running through my mind was I need to keep this woman.

  “Tatum, we need to get you inside my room.” With one arm still around her waist, we both ran toward the door. The second we went in, I locked the door and bolted it shut with the extra security lever I knew would come in handy someday.

  With a heavy sigh, I leaned against the door, trying to get my racing heart under control.

  Motherfucker!

  I basically just signed our death warrants. Tatum and I were both as good as dead. Everything spiraled out of control within minutes. One moment, one decision, one bullet, and now everything was fucked up.

  “Castello?”

  I closed my eyes at the sound of her sweet voice. So close. It was so fucking close, or Nicollo would have stolen everything from her. He would have taken all of her that was mine now. Her soul, her mind, her body, her fucking heartbeat. It was all mine, and that motherfucker was seconds away from taking it all.

  I turned, and she was standing a few feet away from me, her eye swollen and her cheeks red with tears.

  “Tatum, I don’t—”

  “Thank you.” Her words cut me off, and I narrowed my eyes at her in confusion.

  “You shouldn’t be thanking me, Tatum. You should hate me.”

  “I did. I did hate you. And a part of me probably still does.” She lifted her eyes to meet mine. “But you saved me from him, which probably counts for something.”

  I shook my head and pushed myself away from the door. “I didn’t save you, Tatum. You’re here because of me. You almost got raped because of me. And now? Now all hell is about to break loose, and I have no idea how I can stop this.” I walked past her to grab my cell phone off the cabinet.

  “You saved me from being raped.” Her voice broke, and she sucked in a breath. “To me, getting raped would have been a fate worse than death.”

  I froze. When all this started, any thought with her in it contained the word “death” as well. But that changed. If death should take her now, I would envy death for claiming such a beautiful creature.

  “So you saved me,” she whispered, and my chest tightened.

  “Don’t thank me, Tatum.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not sure whether I did it to save you…or to save myself.” It was the truth. I fucking blew Nicollo’s head off because he was touching what was mine. He wanted to taint and defile something that belonged to me. So who did I save by killing him? Did I save her, as she so eloquently put it? Or did I save myself by sparing me the anger, the guilt, the resentment of knowing another man had claimed her, fucked her when the only word that resonated through my head whenever I looked at her was…mine?

  I sighed. “Don’t try to make me the hero here, Tatum, because I’m not. I might have slayed one demon for you, for me, for us—but with me come a thousand more.”

  She stepped up behind me, and my skin came alive when she placed her hand on my back.

  “You’re not the devil, Castello.”

  I let out a halfhearted laugh. “You’re such a naïve little mouse.”

  My eyes fell closed as my body bustled with so many emotions it was impossible to distinguish just one. Desire, possessiveness, a need to protect, lust…and something else. Something I didn’t recognize.

  “Your tattoo.” Her fingertips started to move over my skin. “Did you design it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her fingers traveled some more. “I understand the cross, Carlo’s name.” She hesitated, her fingers pausing right where I knew it
was. “But why your name?”

  My eyes remained closed, the image of what I knew the tattoo looked like flashing in my mind. It was a cross-shaped headstone with Carlo’s name on it, flames burning in the ground. Within those flames was my name—the morbid last edition Joey had added to the masterpiece on my back.

  With a deep breath, I replied, “Because Carlo might be dead and buried, but I’m the one burning in Hell.”

  I felt her stiffen, and her hand left my skin. This was all too fucking heavy right now, and I had much more important shit to deal with—like how to get her the fuck out of here in one piece.

  I turned and took a strand of her blonde hair that was tainted red with Nicollo’s blood between my fingers. “You need a shower, and I need to call someone.” I stepped away from her and dialed the number of the only person I knew who might be able to help us.

  He answered on the second ring. “Castello?”

  “I need your help, Uncle Gino.”

  Chapter 23

  Tatum

  After the very welcome shower, watching as streaks of pink and red flowed down the drain, I walked out of the bathroom. Castello had placed another one of his t-shirts on the bed, which I pulled over my head.

  He was standing by the window, back turned to me, still talking on the phone. For a moment, I allowed myself to see him as a man, an attractive man who took care of his body. His back was roped with defined muscles, broad shoulders insuring he could intimidate almost anyone. The jeans he wore were stained with patches of red, the blood only making him seem more dangerous…darker. But that darkness no longer scared me the way it did. In fact, I felt drawn to it. My own darkness, which I tried to suppress and hide for so long, was reaching for his, needing it like I needed air to breathe.

  He moved, and the tattoo on his back seemed to move with every muscle. For the first time since this all started, I was finally able to make sense of the man. The tattoo was his art, his design, and also the image of what he carried inside him every day—the image he now carried on his back, that moved with him. Carlo’s name was inked with intricate, beautiful calligraphy letters, while Castello’s name was bold, broken, and bleeding into the flames. He loved his brother but hated himself.