Victorious: A Dark Mafia Romance (Deviant Series Book 2)

by Angela Snyder

  “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, and Baz stands, approaching me cautiously.

  Turning to face him, I tell him, “She needs to be found. Today. Right fucking now!” My voice has reached a fever-pitch, and I’m nearing hysterics. Seeing Victoria broken like that has, in turn, broken me. All I can see in my mind over and over again is her lying lifeless on the concrete floor while one of Nolan’s men gives her CPR — his mouth on hers and his hands pawing at her while he pumped her heart back to life.

  Something inside of me just snaps.

  Releasing a feral growl, I clear the desk in one fell swoop of my arm. The monitor goes crashing to the floor, the screen splintering upon impact.

  Feeling like a caged animal, I pant, trying to catch my breath as my hands grip the edge of the large oak desk, threatening to upheave it in my rage.

  My ragged breathing is the only sound in the room until I hear several chimes coming from Baz’s phone. He’s quick to answer the call, muttering in his native tongue and leaving me in the dark.

  After he hangs up, an actual smile forms on his lips.

  “Tell me some good news. Tell me you fucking found her,” I say eagerly.

  “Not yet, my friend. But my men managed to capture someone who might know where your Victoria is.”

  “Who?” I ask, cocking a brow.

  “Connor Doherty.”

  The name has me up on my feet in a split second. Holy shit, they captured Nolan’s right-hand man. We’ve been questioning Nolan’s lackeys, killing them off one by one when they come up empty-handed, but Connor Doherty is a gamechanger. If anyone would know where Victoria is, it would be him. Doherty has to have the information we need.

  “They’re taking him down to the basement as we speak,” Baz informs me. “I’m sure you’ll be able to get him to sing like a canary.”

  I give Baz a single nod. I’ll get Doherty to sing all right. I’ll get him to tell me all of Nolan’s secrets before he leaves this world for good tonight.

  * * * * * * *

  I HAVEN’T BEEN in the basement of this mansion since Victoria and I used to sneak down here when we were kids. We were innocent back then, having no idea of the true horrors that befell upon this part of the property.

  Now, it’s thirteen years later, and I’m the one doing the dastardly deeds her father used to do down here.

  Wiping sweat from my brow, I take in the deformed face of Connor Doherty. Baz’s men had roughed him up before we made it down here. And even though I’ve been at this for almost two hours now, and the guy has more broken bones than I can count, he still has yet to crack.

  Doherty is short and stout in stature. The full mop of hair on his head is ginger, and it matches his thick, wiry beard. He’s older, probably in his late forties or early fifties, and loyal as fuck.

  Usually I would appreciate such loyalty, but not in this situation. He’s wasting precious time. Time that I simply do not have. Time that could be spent finding Victoria and getting swift justice for her kidnappers.

  Looking over the various tools that Ciccone once used and trying to decide what I should use next, since pulling out all of his fingernails one by one didn’t work, Doherty hacks and spits blood onto the floor. He remains quiet and still in the chair. But it’s not like he could move even if he wanted to with the amount of rope tying him down.

  “We have a sayin’ in the Irish mob,” he says, slurring his words through broken teeth. “Eye for an eye. You wrong us; we’re going to wrong you the same damn way. Taking the girl wasn’t personal. It’s just fecking business.”

  Turning to him, I tell him, “Then you should have taken Ciccone’s life and not gone after his daughter.”

  “Going after Ciccone himself would have been a stupid move, and you know it. His daughter is where it would hurt him the most. Family is the only thing valuable to a mob man.” He spits more blood on the floor, and a piece of his tooth bounces around on the concrete. “Why isn’t Ciccone down here anyway? Why is it you doin’ this?”

  I smirk at his questions. “I guess news doesn’t travel fast these days. Ciccone is dead. I put a bullet between his eyes,” I answer.

  Doherty’s dark eyes widen a fraction before narrowing. “So you’re…”

  “That’s right. I’m the new boss.”

  Doherty throws his head back and cackles. “You’re a little young to be fillin’ the britches of a mob boss, ain’t you, boy?”

  That earns him a punch square in the jaw. My knuckles burn with the pain of hitting bone on bone, but the hurt feels so damn good. Anything to distract me from thoughts of Victoria and what’s happening to her is welcome right now.

  “Let’s try this again,” I say, taking a step back to where the tools are spread out before me. “But this time more painfully…and slowly,” I tell him with a smirk.

  Returning with a hammer, I sit down on a metal stool next to the man. “We both know you’re not getting out of here alive,” I explain to him. “So, the quicker you tell me what I want to know…the quicker I will end your life. You’re just prolonging the inevitable here.”

  Instead of cowering beneath me like most men would, Doherty actually cocks his chin up in defiance.

  Fuck, this is getting us nowhere. Frustrated, I throw the hammer across the room. The loud thud as it hits the wall echoes in the room.

  Baz steps forward to intervene, but I put up a hand to stop him. I just need to think right now. There has to be something I’m missing. Something that will break the man sitting in this room who has the information I need.

  And that’s when it hits me, like a wrecking ball crashing right through a plaster wall. I think back to what he said earlier…

  Family is the only thing valuable to a mob man.

  Doherty told me his secret, and he didn’t even realize it. And now I suddenly know just how to make him talk. Turning to Baz, I say, “Give me his wallet.”

  Doherty eyes me with suspicion as I look at his driver’s license. I toss it to Baz, who catches it and gives it a onceover. And then I check all of the tiny pockets in the leather wallet until I find what I’m looking for.

  Pulling out several pictures of his family, I hold them up to Doherty, who sneers in response.

  And when I finally get a reaction from this guy, then I know I’ve hit the nail right on the fucking head.

  “Go to his home. I want his family tortured, beaten and skinned alive,” I tell Baz without flinching.

  Baz gives me a nod and leaves the room. It’s a full thirty seconds before Doherty finally calls out, “Wait!”

  The man hangs his head and says, “I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Just…just don’t hurt my family.”

  I smile in satisfaction, pleased that I finally cracked him.

  “There’s a farm,” he starts. “There’s a farm on the outskirts of the city. No one knows about it but Nolan and a few of us, okay? They’re keeping her in an underground bunker by the house.”

  “Give me the address, and I’ll end your suffering fast.”

  He spouts off an address, and I type it into my phone. When the map comes up and I see that the man isn’t lying, I give him a final nod. Tucking my phone away, I pull out my Glock and aim it at his head.

  “You’ve been most helpful.”

  I pull the trigger without even thinking twice about it.

  A few seconds later, Baz enters the cavernous room and glances from the dead man and then to me. “You got the information you wanted, my friend?”

  “Yes,” I tell him.

  “Then we shall go get your Victoria,” he says. “I will go rally the troops, as they say.”

  Turning around, I walk over to the sink in the corner of the room and scrub the man’s vile blood from my hands and forearms. But no matter how hard I scrub, the blood seems to stay on my skin, staining it for the rest of my life even if I can’t see it.

  I have a lot of men’s blood on my hands, and I’m only going to have more once I do what must be done to
keep Victoria safe.

  I made a vow a long time ago to protect her. And I’ll move heaven and earth to keep that promise.

  “I’m coming for you, Victoria,” I say out loud before slipping my jacket on and leaving the room.

  CHAPTER 13

  DAMON

  WE WAIT UNTIL we’re under the cover of darkness to strike the Farrell farm.

  The house itself is dilapidated, with paint peeling off the sides, broken windows and a crooked porch with a collapsing roof. But the house isn’t why Nolan Farrell bought this property.

  No, he bought it for the seclusion and for the underground bunker that was built in the seventies. The bunker where they have been keeping Victoria hostage, torturing her every day and sending me the evidence through videos.

  My body trembles with anger. It’s as if undiluted rage is seeping out of every pore. I hate being so close to rescuing her and yet having to wait until the right time to strike.

  Baz has assembled a team of several ruthless criminals, and we all lie in wait at the edge of the farm. They have been ordered to kill upon contact.

  Even though I would love to see Nolan Farrell strung up by his toes while he slowly bleeds out, begging for his pathetic life, my priority is to get Victoria out of there and get her some medical treatment as soon as possible.

  I know she’s close to death. I can practically feel it in my soul.

  I’m losing her.

  Armed with night vision goggles, smoke grenades and guns, we wait for one of our guys to cut the electric to the bunker. As soon as the light goes out above the only way in or out, we run across the grass like a pack of lions stalking our prey and going in for the final kill.

  Once we reach our destination, two men kick open the door before throwing tear gas grenades down the concrete steps. Chaos ensues down in the bunker with men yelling and scrambling to the surface for clean air.

  And that’s when they meet their maker.

  A few come stumbling out, coughing violently with puffy, red eyes and saliva running out of their mouths. Two are gunned down instantly. But when I recognize Nolan Farrell at the back of the group, I go for him immediately, claiming him for myself.

  Taking hold of Nolan, I throw him to the ground beside me. The old man fights me, but I pin down his arms with my knees as I unsheathe the knife that’s strapped around my calf.

  Staring into his eyes, I sink the blade deep into his chest, making sure to wiggle it between his ribs until it’s piercing his heart.

  “This is for Victoria,” I hiss through clenched teeth as I pound the hilt of the knife with my fist, jamming the blade straight into the frantically pumping muscle.

  Nolan struggles, but only for a few moments. I watch as the light leaves his eyes, and then his body goes limp under me.

  His death was certainly too quick and too painless to pay for what he did, and I wish I could have taken my time by inflicting the same torture on him as he did with my girl.

  But as I push myself up and stand above his lifeless body, I know my vengeance doesn’t matter here.

  The only thing that matters here is saving Victoria.

  Bodies litter the ground as I make my way down into the bunker. A few of Baz’s men are already down here, now that the tear gas has cleared out.

  There are several rooms in the back of the bunker with a hallway connecting all of them. I open door after door, using the flashlight on my phone to search each one.

  Most are filled with old, dusty supplies as if the former owners were preparing themselves for the end of the world.

  The final door I come to is locked from the outside with a heavy, steel bar. I push up on the bar and rip open the door.

  There, on the concrete floor, curled into a ball in a dirty, ratty blanket is Victoria. She looks so fragile and weak, and I can hear the death rattle in her lungs from here.

  A whimper escapes her as I step closer.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, faltering and scrubbing a hand down my face.

  I thought I was prepared to see the state of her…to see her in this condition, but nothing could have prepared me for this.

  And if I had to do it all over again, I would have taken Nolan Farrell with us. I would have killed him so fucking slowly and made him regret the day he dared touch Victoria Ciccone.

  Pushing all my homicidal thoughts aside, I scoop Victoria into my arms, assuring her that she’s safe now.

  I make a vow that I won’t let anyone ever hurt her again.

  And anyone that tries will have to go through me and my fucking army first.

  CHAPTER 14

  VICTORIA

  I AWAKE TO the sound of chaos all around me. Men are yelling and cursing, and I can hear heavy footsteps running. When I open my eyes, the bright light that used to always blind me has been turned off, and I’m surrounded by total darkness. I can’t help but wonder if I’m dead.

  Suddenly, gunshots reverberate through the thick walls, and I curl up into a ball, covering my ears with my hands, trying to block out the awful sounds.

  My lungs rattle as I take in shallow breaths, and my entire body aches from just trying to breathe.

  My eyelids slip shut once more. I’m too weak to even keep them open.

  I’m dying.

  Or maybe I’m already dead.

  Is this heaven?

  Or is this hell?

  When the door bursts open, a whimper escapes my lips. They’ve come for me. But my mind is screaming out in protest. No more torture. I simply can’t bear it.

  And when hands wrap around my back and under my legs, lifting me into warm arms, my head lolls against a hard chest. “J-just k-k-kill m-me,” I stammer as my entire body trembles uncontrollably.

  “You’re not dying, Victoria,” a deep voice that I recognize instantly tells me. “I won’t allow it.”

  And in that moment, I realize I am already dead. And this is heaven.

  “You’re safe now. You’re safe,” he repeats over and over again.

  “Arlo,” I whisper, curling up closer to his chest and inhaling his familiar scent of sandalwood and vanilla.

  And then I let him carry me away into the unknown. Because I know that, if we’re together, he won’t let anything bad happen to me.

  CHAPTER 15

  DAMON

  I PACE THE length of Giorgio Ciccone’s old office — now my office — as the doctor I hired rattles off everything that’s wrong with Victoria.

  “She’s dehydrated and malnourished. She has bacterial pneumonia in both of her lungs. It’s treatable, but I don’t know how much damage has been done to her lungs until I get some of the test results back.” He pauses before continuing. “With her weakened immune system and the state of hypothermia she was in, we’re definitely in for an uphill battle. Her organs were beginning to shut down to preserve heat and to protect her brain, so she has a slight heart arrhythmia I need to keep an eye on. There could also be some long-term damage to her organs that could come up later on down the road.” He looks down over his long list. “All of her wounds are being treated with antibiotics. I didn’t see any signs of sepsis, so that’s one good thing.” Hesitating, his gray eyes meet mine before he suggests, “I think she should be in a hospital.”

  “She’s not going to a hospital,” I growl. Brody Farrell is still out there, and he’s going to be seeking revenge for what Victoria’s father and I did to his family. Victoria isn’t safe anywhere but here, with me.

  He nods in response, understanding that I’m completely and utterly dependent upon him to make her well again.

  “She’s going to get better,” I state matter-of-factly. There is no other outcome that my mind can focus on other than the fact that I will get my Victoria back.

  “She should get better with treatment and time.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “Physically speaking.”

  I stop pacing and glare at him. I know what he’s not saying. With the torture she endured, mentally speaking, she may never recover. Well, I’m pr
epared to deal with that. It’s my fault she was vulnerable and put in that position in the first place, and I’m ready to deal with the consequences of my past mistakes.

  “Thank you, Doctor. That will be all,” I say, dismissing him.

  Needing to see her, I go to Victoria’s room. She’s in her childhood bedroom, where I figured she’d be the most comfortable, the room I remember sneaking into when we were kids. I remember it being all pink and frilly even though Victoria was more of a tomboy and hated the color.

  She never asked her parents for a change, however, because her mother painted it before Victoria was born, and she loved her mother with all of her heart.

  The walls are still the color of Pepto-Bismol, just like I recall, as I step into the room. Victoria looks so small and fragile in the large, four-poster bed with a white canopy. She’s hooked up to an IV that’s pumping her full of the medicine and nutrients that she so desperately needs right now.

  She’s been unconscious ever since the rescue, and the doc said it’s probably her brain trying to recover from all the trauma she suffered. He assured me that she’ll wake up when she’s good and ready.

  When we first arrived here, I had gently bathed and dressed her in clean clothes before putting her in bed. I can smell her apple-scented shampoo from here.

  The marks and bruises on her body that I bore witness to made me want to kill Nolan Farrell all over again. Only this time, slowly and with my bare fucking hands.

  Anger ripples through me in waves, but I’m completely calm by the time I crawl in bed beside Victoria. She’s the only thing keeping me sane right now. The only thing that’s keeping me from running out and painting the streets red with the blood of every Irishman in this godforsaken city.

  Her skin is still cool to the touch, but nothing like the icy cold that I felt when I first held her in my arms after I rescued her from that underground bunker. The doc was able to get her body temperature up to almost normal, but she still feels cold to me.