His: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Citrione Crime Family) Page 11

  Business called. Had to run. Make yourself at home, but do not leave. It’s not safe for you yet. I’ll call if I can.

  P.S. I’m not fuckin’ around. Don’t you dare leave the apartment.

  -Vince

  16

  Aubriella

  I wake up when a shaft of the rising sunlight spears through the windows and hits my eyes. I sit up, suddenly wide awake when I realize where I am. It wasn’t just a dream or a nightmare. It all happened. I can still smell him through his shirt. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve grabbed my phone and turned it on to check my notifications. Five texts from Aria.

  Aria (8:37) - Still pissed, but thanks for letting me know Ronnie is okay. Heading over to see him now. U ok?

  Aria (8:54) - You said you saw him. He didn’t hurt you, did he?

  Aria (9:02) - Please text back. Getting worried.

  Aria (9:04) - I’m going to call the police if I don’t hear from you soon.

  Aria (9:06) - Called police. I really hope ur ok.

  She called the police? Jesus. Just because I didn’t text back within thirty minutes? I groan out loud. That’s going to complicate things. SportsCast will tell the police that I disappeared in the middle of my shift after missing my first assignment in four years. My dad will confirm that I’m missing because I dodged his call before the game. Hell, they will find my car in the parking lot at the stadium and my empty apartment. It’s going to look like I was kidnapped or murdered. I need to get back there and straighten all of this out.

  “Vince,” I call, my voice echoing in the large apartment. I check his bedroom, but the bed doesn’t look like it has even been slept in. Come to think of it, why didn’t he sleep beside me on the couch? He seems like he can hardly keep his hands off of me, so I’m surprised he didn’t take advantage of the opportunity. The thought brings me back to last night and I still can’t help laughing a little again. The idea of a tough guy criminal like him being a Harry Potter fan is somehow just too perfect. I must be crazy, because it somehow makes him even sexier to me. Maybe it’s just that he seems more relatable now, less perfect and unreachable.

  He’s not home. He just left me here alone? It pisses me off and I try yelling his name one more time, but get no response. I stand in his bedroom with my hands on my hips, fuming a little. Then my eye falls on his bedroom again and I’m overcome by a guilty urge to snoop. I’d probably be tempted in a regular guy’s apartment, but this is too much. I check his nightstand drawer and my hand jerks back when I see the glinting steel of a pistol inside. I carefully pull the drawer the rest of the way out and move my head to check the darkened corners of the drawer. No condom wrappers or any hard drugs, at least. Yeah, listen to yourself Aubriella! Just a fucking pistol, but at least he doesn’t have heroine in his nightstand drawer. He’s a real catch!

  I don’t have time for this though. As much as I want to spend more time poking around, my life is falling apart and police are probably already wasting resources trying to find me. I decide to deal with the easiest part first. I pull my phone back out and text Aria. Doing fine. Stayed the night with him, but okay. May stop by my place. You can tell police I’m okay, no big deal.

  I look at the text and frown a little. It sounds shady, but I’m too stressed about the idea of police searching my apartment right now to spend anymore time on the text. I hit send and toss my phone on the couch back in the living room. I just need to get out of here for a little while and make sure no one is looking for me. That’s all. I look around the apartment for a minute, not sure if the elevator for the car is the only way down. Then I notice a smaller elevator in the center of the room that was hidden behind a fountain. I take a step toward it and realize I’m just wearing a t-shirt and panties. Damn it.

  I rifle through his perfectly organized closet and don’t let myself spend too long gawking. The way he meticulously organizes his clothes and keeps his apartment doesn’t surprise me. It fits him. I’ve seen hints of the beast hiding behind those dark eyes, and I wonder if I’ve even seen all the dirty things he wants to do to me when our clothes are off yet. I end up wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and some sneakers that are too big on me. I look like a slob or some slut who is slipping out after a one night stand, but it’d be worse if I wore my wrinkled, blood-splattered clothes from the night before.

  The elevator has a note taped to it. I rip it free and read the small, cramped handwriting that must be Vince’s. Even his handwriting is meticulously spaced and neat. It’s not perfect, and there are inconsistencies in the shapes of the letters, but he writes on the blank white sheet as if there’s is a perfectly even line running beneath his letters, never losing sight of it in a way that makes the words pleasant to look at. I finish reading it and hesitate, but just for a minute. Being told to stay put irritates me. Last night, I had more or less accepted that this was a “polite kidnapping”, if there was such a thing. After the shower and cuddling on the couch though? I had stupidly hoped I was wrong, that he really would let me go home in the morning. It looks like that wasn’t the plan after all.

  I crumple the note and drop it to the ground. He can be pissed if he wants, but it’s my life getting trashed right now. It’s like I’m still just some object to him. He decided he wanted me so he thinks he can just snatch me out of my life and make me his. It’s not that easy. And I don’t like the idea of being treated like some kind of trophy.

  I leave the fancy lobby downstairs in my sweatpants and oversized t-shirt, feeling ridiculous as I pass men in expensive suits and women in elegant casual wear or nice dresses. What kind of people dress like this in the morning? Jesus. I feel a little better outside. It’s New York, after all, and it takes more than just a little sloppy dressing to draw attention on the street. I make sure I still have some cash in my clutch, which I do, thankfully. While I wait for a cab to hail, I check my phone. Missed call from Aria. Two missed texts.

  Aria (7:33) - I’ll be waiting outside your place.

  Aria (7:35) - Have you left yet?

  I text her back that I’ll be there soon and mentally roll my eyes. I’ve never seen her worry over me like this, but I secretly appreciate it. My dad was never a worrier, and Mom died before I could really remember much. As long as I remember, no one ever fussed over me or cared much about what I did. Having Aria freak out like this reminds me that I’m really not alone in all of this. I have a real friend who cares about me. With my life in full shitstorm mode, that small bit of knowledge means a lot.

  I get a cab after a few minutes. He takes me to my place and I give him twenty dollars that I can’t afford before stepping out. I’m about to take the steps to my apartment when I get a call from Vince. Shit. If it was anyone else, I would probably ignore the call. Something tells me you don’t just ignore a call from a guy like him.

  “Hey,” I say into the phone, trying to sound casual.

  “You’re not here.” His voice is like ice and fire at the same time.

  “I was planning to come back. I just needed—”

  “Where are you? Tell me right fuckin’ now.”

  “Hold on a second. Did you really expect me to be able to walk away from my life without going home or tying up any loose ends?”

  “You’re at your apartment, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t dodge the—” My words are cut off as the wind is knocked from me. I have a frantic second to look around, but all I see are four large bodies in dark suits. My phone clatters to the pavement and I can distantly hear Vince screaming my name through the receiver. Strong hands drag me from the sidewalk and toss me into a black car. I try to scream for help, but a strange smelling wet cloth is pressed hard to my face. I instinctively gasp for breath before I realize it’s chloroform.

  17

  Vince

  Tires screech as I peel out of the parking lot. I pound a fist into the steering wheel as I drive. Fuck! Everything fell apart all at once. Now I’m nearly certain they have Aubriella, too.

  “What is it?”
asks Frankie from the backseat. He has a gun to Lucky Anastasio’s head. Jimmy sits on the other side of him with his piece resting in his lap.

  “Someone got to Aubriella. She decided not to stay put. She was on the street somewhere.”

  “Shit,” says Jimmy .

  Frankie pistol whips Lucky, who hisses through broken teeth and blood. “It was your crew that took her, wasn’t it?”

  Lucky shakes his head, holding two hands to his mouth. “I’ve been with you. How the fuck would I know?”

  Frankie pushes the muzzle of the gun hard against Lucky’s head. “You want to get smart? We’ll see how smart you are if I knock some of these fuckin’ brains out the other side of your head.”

  Lucky spits blood in my car. Fuckin’ prick. “You’d also be knocking whatever information it is you’re hoping to get out of me. So be my guest. I’m sure your capo will be real pleased with you.”

  “Both of you shut up,” I say. “It was either the Anastasios or the Sanatores. No question. They know we got Lucky and they thought they could get to me by grabbing her. That means we don’t have to figure out who has her, we just need to wait until they try to contact us about making a deal. So we all need to just calm down. We need him alive. For now.”

  It burns my chest to admit it, but I’d let Lucky go in a heartbeat if it meant getting Aubriella back. He’s my only link to Jackie’s killer right now, but there will be other opportunities to find out who ordered the hit and get revenge. I’d rather save Aubriella than avenge her, that’s for damn sure. I gun the gas even more, until I’m swerving between traffic and using sidewalks to get to her apartment faster. I don’t know why I’m rushing. It’s like I told them. They will contact me and try to arrange a swap. It’s not like they would kill her. The only reason to take her is to draw me out.

  As if on cue, my phone rings. I pick it up.

  “Who is this?” I ask.

  “The guy who has your slut.”

  I slam on the brakes, fishtailing the car in the middle of an intersection to a cacophony of horns. “I’m the guy who has guns on your hitman, so you may want to watch your mouth.”

  “Whatever he gets, she gets.”

  I grit my teeth and nearly squeeze the steering wheel in half. “What do you want?”

  “You and Lucky. Just the two of you or she dies. We’ll be watching. We’re in the old factory above where Marchiano’s used to be. You know it?”

  I hang up the phone and immediately make a few calls as I spin the car around and weave through the still honking traffic toward the factory. Within five minutes, I’ve called in all my soldiers and some capos I’m close with for a raid on the factory. If these fucks were following tradition, I’d take their deal. I would leave my men behind and let them do whatever they wanted to me and know they would honor the deal, but the Anastasios and Sanatores are spitting on tradition. They’ve already whacked Marcello, who was an old-time made guy straight out of Italy. They even tried to take out Pops last night, which is what made me leave Aubriella behind last night. Now they think I’m going to trust their word on a fair trade? No chance. We’re getting her out of there by force or not at all.

  18

  Aubriella

  When I wake up, there’s an overpowering smell that is sweet in all the wrong ways. I dry heave, try to bend over, and realize I’m strapped to a chair. Still gagging, I struggle, awareness coming to me slowly. I’m in a large, dark factory. A few feet to my right is…

  I throw up and barely manage to turn my head enough to avoid soaking myself in my own filth. It splatters to the ground and I can’t even wipe my mouth because my hands are tied. There’s a body in the chair beside me, but it’s so mangled that it looks like dogs have been at it. My eyes are drawn to the sports jacket lying on the ground, soaked in blood. There’s a SportsCast lapel pin on it. Oh my God. That’s Jerry Washington. It has to be. They got to him for the article.

  I would hurl again, but there’s nothing left in my stomach.

  “First time seeing a dead body, sweetheart?” asks a deep voice from a darkened corner of the room. The speaker steps forward, followed by a thin man who looks like he could be in his sixties. The man speaking is clearly a member of the mafia. He has the dark, olive skin of an Italian with thick eyebrows and a prominent nose. The other man looks completely out of place, like a confused grandfather who happened to wander into the wrong building. However, the black butcher’s apron hanging over his chest, covered in blood says he’s in the right place.

  “You killed him!” I cry.

  The Italian man shrugs. “Technically, yeah. But it was your boyfriend’s crew that brought him here and left him for dead. I just let my guy have some fun with him before he expired on his own. Hell, that article would’ve put away some of our biggest enemies. Why would we go after him?”

  “So what do you want?” I ask, voice shaking.

  “We want your little boyfriend to walk into this trap. I think we’re going to need to rough you up and send him some pictures though. Wouldn’t hurt to press his buttons some. We want him coming in mad and stupid.”

  “Wait,” I say, but I already feel the inevitability of it, the cold and careless truth of what is about to happen to me. All the times I ever watched a movie and saw someone being tortured, it always seemed so distant, just something unpleasant to watch that I had to look away from. I can’t get out of this chair. I can’t even move. I have no way to distract myself from the pain that’s going to come.

  My chest rises and falls so rapidly that my head gets light. I can’t stop breathing faster and faster. The big man kneels in front of me, smiling cruelly. “I know what will calm you down.”

  Without warning, he backhands me hard across the face. I gasp, feeling the metallic tang of blood in my mouth immediately. I’ve never been hit so hard before. It makes my nose burn even though he hit me in the jaw, and my teeth feel like they’re going to be sore for weeks. The skin inside my mouth feels torn. I close my eyes, begging for Vince to hurry, wherever he is.

  19

  Vincent

  I don’t wait for the rest of the crew to arrive when I reach the factory. I’ve got me, Frankie, and Jimmy. I dropped the two of them off a block away so they could get to the rooftops and make their way inside that way. I walk behind Lucky, arm around his neck so I can use him like a human shield. I jam my gun into the back of his head and kick the door open. When I step inside, I see the silhouettes of four gunmen standing on rafters and the scaffolding of the second floor. They all have pistols trained on me.

  “My finger is on the fuckin’ trigger,” I shout once I’m inside. “Shoot me and he’ll die. Just give me the girl and I’ll give you your guy.”

  The only gunman on the ground floor points to a staircase at the back of the large space, still aiming his pistol straight for me. I move slowly, painfully aware that if one of them was a good enough shot, they could clip me from behind without hitting Lucky, and even if I do grease him before I die, that’s not going to help Aubriella.

  Then I hear a gunshot from upstairs. Bullets ping into the metal grating beside me, spraying me with sparks. I turn, whipping Lucky around as I do. Gunshots pepper him, making his body shake against me as a mist of blood flies up in front of him. I duck behind him and squeeze off two rounds, dropping the gunman on the floor. I drag Lucky’s now lifeless body around a corner.

  “Aubriella!” I shout

  “Vince!” I hear a faint cry from somewhere not too far above me. I drop Lucky’s corpse and run around the corner, firing blindly in hopes that the other gunmen will duck for cover instead of trying to drop me. It seems to work, because only one or two shots ricochet off the metal above my head before I clear the staircase and reach the second floor. I push into the closest room, diving and rolling to avoid the bullets splattering into the catwalk behind me. Any fear of being shot or dying is just background noise. I’m consumed by the desire to save her and protect her that is so overwhelming it might as well be molte
n metal in my gut.

  I get to my feet and don’t have time to take in my surroundings before a gunshot thunders out only a few feet in front of me. I reflexively duck, but feel like someone just stabbed me in the shoulder with a hot poker and didn’t rip it out. I fire back, dropping the gunman and then holding my gun on what looks like a grandpa who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then I realize what I’m looking at.

  The “grandpa” is wearing a bloody smock. Aubriella is gasping for breath and tied to a chair, so bloody that I can barely tell it’s her. There’s a mutilated body beside her. I don’t need to see more. The old man raises his hands, preparing to plead for his life but I put a smoking hole between his eyes and move to cut Aubriella free.

  One of her eyes is swollen shut, but she looks sleepily up at me with the other bloodshot eye. I hear gunshots peppering the building below me now, but I don’t care. My soldiers have probably arrived and maybe some of them are taking fire, I can’t think about that. My fuckin’ Aubriella, my doll…I carefully take her by the waist and slump her over my shoulder, still holding my gun with the other hand. Feeling her frail body and the wetness of her blood makes me want to scream in rage. Instead, I put six more bullets in the dead old man and empty what’s left of my clip in the other guy.

  I catch up with Jimmy outside the factory. There are about eight others with him, including my soldiers and Ramone, a capo from the East side. “Someone call the fuckin’ doc! Tell him he needs to come here. Now!”

  “Doc doesn’t do field work,” Jimmy says. He’s clutching his thigh and dark red blood is oozing around his fingers, but he barely seems to notice.

  “Tell him he’ll do it or he’ll be the one needing a doctor.”