The Dom's Virgin: A Dark Billionaire Romance Read online

  “Wipe that look off your face,” he snaps, pulling his gun and pointing it at me. “Or should I just shoot the look off myself?”

  I don’t flinch. “I can see why none of your men were able to kill me now,” I say. “You must have been the one who taught them to run their mouths instead of getting the job done.”

  I see his hand tense, his finger pulling the trigger back a fraction of an inch. I brace myself, ready to move if I think he’s going to do it, but I don’t. He has wanted me for too long to kill me now. I just need to keep baiting him and dragging this out until the Bianchis come. The seals hiding know not to shoot until I give them the signal, and they wait, even while Fredo’s gun is pointed straight at my forehead.

  “You think you’re tough, don’t you?” asks Fredo. His face contorts in rage, letting me know he’s about to hit me. He whips the butt of his pistol toward my face and I’m able to roll with the blow, taking the bone-crushing potential of a pistol-whip away. My cheek throbs and I feel blood trickle down my jaw, but I don’t let any pain show on my face. I show him nothing but cold indifference. He’s a dead man, whether he knows it or not, and I want him to go to his grave with the same fear and helplessness my brother probably felt before he was executed.

  Fredo’s lips twitch as he scans my face, looking for some sign of weakness. He punches me in the stomach, but I flex just before impact and only feel a dull throb from where he hits me. I don’t even bend over with the blow. He pulls back for a wild swing at my face and I catch his fist, squeezing until his mouth parts in agony.

  “One word,” he hisses.

  I lean close, whispering so only he can hear. “Did you tell them what to do if I rip your jaw off with my bare hands?”

  Fredo’s eyebrows draw together as I let him go. He shakes his wrist, clenching his fist. He turns, and I think he’s about to give the order to shoot when the sound of engines meet us. Three black sedans are pulling up to where we are in the junkyard. I have to keep from smiling. Like a hungry rat, Marco took the bait. Fredo motions for his men to stand down while we watch the cars pull up.

  Marco and his men get out slowly. I see Antonio Bianchi get out as well, his second-in-command. Perfect. Marco frowns at the Morettis and then at me.

  “What the fuck is this?” he asks.

  Fredo still holds his gun, and when he turns to wave it toward Marco, the Bianchi guys pull their own weapons. In a split second, the Morettis and Bianchis have each other at gunpoint. Only Marco is showing some semblance of calm.

  “Leo, you fucker. What is your game?”

  “I don’t have a game. I was waiting for you here when the Morettis showed up and started threatening me. I thought maybe you put them up to it.”

  Marco glares at Fredo. “You wanted me to get Leo. That was our deal. You trying to get him before I do so you don’t have to pay your end of the bargain?”

  I quirk an eyebrow. They are at each other’s throats a lot more quickly than I had hoped. I hoped Marco would feel shafted if he saw Fredo trying to kill me under his nose, but I didn’t expect him to jump to accusations so quickly. He really is an idiot. Even here, the Morettis outgun him.

  “Well,” I say, feeling my muscles tense as I know how much chaos is about to follow my words. “Maybe you should be asking the more important question here,” I say.

  Both Marco and Fredo turn to look at me, confused.

  Now it’s time to make both sides think they’ve been double-crossed. “I’d be wondering which one of you set this up, and why there are men with rifles hiding in those cars,” I say, pointing to the piles of trash around us.

  To my surprise, Fredo lifts his gun and squeezes off two rounds without hesitation. Marco falls, but not before he fires back, catching Fredo in the shoulder. The Morettis open up on the Bianchis, and the Bianchis return fire. Both groups of gunmen duck behind cars and use car doors for cover, but when I raise my hand, the seals hiding on either side bring down a hail of bullets that sprays blood and dust into the air. Antonio Bianchi catches a bullet in the neck and then his body jolts as several high-powered rifle rounds tear through him. Within seconds, the crossfire shreds both groups of men. All that’s left is a red mist and mangled bodies. I didn’t even have to draw my gun.

  The I see Marco’s broken body lying a few feet from Fredo’s. Instead of the rich satisfaction I thought I’d feel, I only feel numb. Killing them didn’t bring back Angelo. It didn’t keep me from missing the first three years of my son’s life. It didn’t stop me from making Julia’s life a living hell. But if it means Julia and Roman are safe, I can live with the emptiness. I can shoulder it for them.

  I walk back to my car, pulling out my phone to call the Capobiancos to tell them they are going to need one hell of a cleanup crew, but instead I see the text that came through.

  Julia (4:42 p.m.): Help

  My blood turns to ice. I may have just cut off the head of both the Morettis and the Bianchis, but I’m not done yet.

  59

  Julia

  I’m blindfolded, gagged, and tied up in the back of a car. They took Roman to a separate car, and my head still hurts from where they hit me to stop me from trying to kick free and get to him. There are only two men with me in the car. I’ve gathered that the driver’s name is Frank, and the passenger is Benito.

  “...swear to fucking God. If he tries that shit again, he’ll regret it,” says Frank. He has a deep, slow voice that makes it seem as though he has to think carefully about every word he says.

  “Just drop it. You know what Fredo would do to you if you touched Carlo? Carlo is his fucking nephew. Fredo would rip you to pieces,” says Benito.

  “He could try.”

  Benito laughs. “You really are an idiot.”

  “Watch your fucking mouth,” says Frank.

  Benito huffs out a sigh and falls silent. I struggle to think through the throbbing pain in my head. “A’roo” I mumble through the gag when I try to say bathroom.

  “Shut up,” says Benito.

  “A’room!” I say more urgently.

  Benito grumbles and I hear him unbuckle his seatbelt. A second later rough hands yank the gag down to my neck. “The fuck are you saying?”

  I work the stiffness from my jaw. “Bathroom. I need to pee, or I’m going to do it all over this seat.”

  “Go ahead,” says Benito. “Boss told us not to stop for anything.”

  “She’s not pissing in my car,” says Frank. I feel the car lurch to a halt as he pulls off on the side of the road.

  “Shit,” mutters Benito. I can hear the faint sound of him dialing a number in his cell phone and then ringing. “Yeah. Gotta stop to let her take a piss. Wait up for us.”

  I’m led out of the car. I feel long grass brush against my ankles but still can’t see anything.

  “Alright, go ahead and piss,” says Frank.

  “I can’t see anything,” I say.

  “You don’t need to see to piss. Just go.”

  “I’m not going with you watching.”

  He groans. “No one is watching.”

  I hear car doors and voices as men approach. “...little kid is driving me crazy.”

  “You’ll get to shut him up soon enough,” says another voice.

  My heart clenches. I can’t stand hearing them talk about hurting Roman. My little guy is in danger and I can’t do anything to help him. No, not true. It won’t be easy to help him, but I can, and I will. I’m going to get him out of this. Nothing is going to happen to my baby, and I don’t care what it takes to protect him.

  “I can’t go with a blindfold on and my hands tied,” I say.

  Frank rips the ropes off my hands and the blindfold from my eyes, snapping my head back. I get a good look at his fishy lips and craggy face. He’s burly and the thinner man standing beside him is probably Benito. I look past them and see Roman being led by the men, eyes wet with tears. I want to cry, too, but I don’t have time to be weak, he needs me. He needs me to be strong.
>
  One of them is yelling at him to pee, but Roman can’t do it. He has always been bladder shy. I feel such a swelling of anger that if someone put a gun in my hand right now, I swear I would shoot every last one of these men. Leo… I wish you were here. I know he thought he was doing what would keep us safest, and I don’t blame him for this, but God I hope he finds us soon.

  An athletic man with blonde hair and a long nose walks over to where we are. Frank pushes me. “Hurry the fuck up.”

  I stumble, nearly falling on my face when I trip on a tree root. The blonde haired man catches me, letting his hands linger too long on my back. “Frank, be gentle with the prisoner. She’s not yours to rough up. Fredo wants her fresh and clean.”

  I take a guess from the way Frank glares at the blonde haired man that he is Carlo, the one Frank hates.

  “Is this the guy you were calling a pussy?” I ask Frank, pointing to Carlo.

  Both Frank and Benito’s faces turn white. Carlo’s turns red and he pulls out a pistol, holding it at his side and racking a bullet in the chamber. “You have something you want to say to me?”

  Frank works his meaty lips and seems to come to some kind of internal decision, nodding and stepping to press his chest into Carlo. “Yeah. I want to say you’re an asshole, and if your uncle wasn’t the boss, I would’ve kicked your ass a long—”

  Carlo tries to smash his pistol into Frank’s face, but Frank blocks, knocking the gun to the ground. Benito shakes his head as the two men struggle, and the man who had been yelling at Roman to pee turns to watch the brawl, smirking.

  While they are all distracted, I inch toward the gun that’s sitting on the ground. No one notices until it’s too late, and just as Frank lands a devastating punch to Carlo’s face, I pick it up and aim it at Carlo. If he’s related to the boss, I figure he’s the most valuable target.

  “Roman, run!” I shout.

  He runs, and the chubby man nearest to him chases after him. I’ve never shot a gun before, and I don’t dare risk shooting anywhere near my son, so I have to hope that he finds a way to hide while I take care of the rest of these men.

  Carlo grins up at me, holding his palms toward me as he rolls out from under Frank, who is standing on his knees, fists still clenched. Benito’s hands are frozen, no doubt ready to pull his gun free the moment I show weakness. “Stand here,” I say, pointing to the ground in front of me and jabbing my finger at Carlo.

  He slowly moves to stand, stepping in front of me.

  “You two, drop the car keys and your guns, and run that way, as fast as you can,” I say.

  Benito laughs. “Or what? You don’t have the stones to shoot him.”

  “Shut the fuck up and do what she says,” hisses Carlo.

  Frank stands slowly, menacingly, moving his hand toward his pocket. “She doesn’t have the—”

  I aim the gun down to the back of Carlo’s thigh and fire. His pants rip open and smoke trails up from his skin as he falls to the ground, squirming and cursing.

  I aim the gun at Frank, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Do I have the guts to shoot people? If it means protecting my son? Yes. I’ll kill them with my bare hands if it means keeping Roman safe.

  Frank’s eyes dart to Carlo and then back to me. He lets his hand relax to his side and I nearly sigh with relief. I don’t want to have to shoot anyone again. My hand still tingles from the recoil and my ears are ringing. I’m worried reality will crash in on me any second, making me drop the gun and run away from what I’ve just done.

  “Keys. Guns. Then leave,” I say.

  Frank slowly reaches into the pockets of his slacks and drops the keys in the dirt. Both men reach for their guns. “Wait!” I say. “One at a time.”

  Frank looks to Benito, who nods back at him. Benito slowly pulls his gun free with forefinger and thumb, dropping it to the grass. Frank does the same.

  “Now run,” I say.

  Both men set off at a jog, not exactly running, but getting the job done anyway.

  “You going to just let me bleed out?” asks Carlo. His face is white and I feel a little sick when I see how much blood is already staining the leaves. Did the bullet hit an artery? Jesus…

  “You have a phone,” I say, kneeling and taking the two guns on the ground, throwing them deep into the brush. “Call 911. Tell them the woman you kidnapped just shot you in the leg and you need help right away.”

  I run off in the direction Roman went, knowing every second could count. The gun feels heavy and strange in my hand. I’m afraid to point it anywhere, as if it might go off without notice. It’s only a minute later when I see Roman being dragged kicking and screaming back out of the woods and toward the road. I freeze, making sure I’m not heard, wondering if I could shoot the man dragging my son. There’s no way I could make the shot, and if I show myself, the man is just going to threaten to kill Roman if I don’t give myself up.

  All I can do is creep along, trailing behind them in the forest, struggling to think of any plan that doesn’t involve just watching this man drive off with my son. It feels like only seconds later when Roman is being thrown into the back of the car, but I still can’t risk taking a shot. I could easily miss and hit my son. Instead, I’m forced to sit, waiting and watching the license plate as the car pulls away. I watch as they take my son away, and I can’t do anything to stop them. I memorize the plate numbers as quickly as I can, stomach feeling like it’s full of acid the whole time. I hope to God I just made the right decision.

  I double back to Carlo. His face is bone white and his hand holds a phone. I pause, staring in disbelief. He looks dead. But I just shot him in the leg, how could he be dead? I feel sick as I kneel down, checking for his pulse and feeling nothing. How could he die so quickly? As much as I know he deserves it, I didn’t mean to kill him. I never wanted to kill anyone.

  My breaths come rapidly, making me feel light headed, but I power through it, turning my back on the body, on the man I killed, and calling Leo’s number.

  “Where are you?” he asks immediately, picking up before the first ring even finishes.

  I shout the license plate number to him through the phone. “Can you remember that?”

  “Yes. Where are you?” he asks again.

  “That’s the car that took Roman, please find it.”

  “Where the fuck are you?”

  “I don’t know!” I shout, “but I’ll be fine. Just find Roman!”

  “I’m going to have someone call you at this number and find you. Just hunker down and wait for a call.”

  60

  Leo

  I call my sniffer, Logan. “I need you to track the GPS on Julia Connors’ phone. Her number is 555-7438.”

  Logan is quiet for a moment. “Off route 17, near Century Road.”

  “Good. Hold on, I’ll call back in a minute.”

  I hang up, calling Vince Citrione next.

  “Vince, it’s Leo,” I say into the phone as I speed down the highway, weaving through traffic.

  “Leo?” asks Vince. “Christ, man. You haven’t called in years.”

  “Yeah, well remember that favor you owe me?”

  “No,” says Vince. “If anything, you owe me for not castrating you when you walked away from our family.”

  “Vince, I need you to do me a favor. I got tied up in some shit, and the Morettis took my girl. I know where she is, but I need someone I can trust to come pick her up. Can you send anyone?”

  “Where is she?” asks Vince, his voice suddenly serious.

  “She’s off Route 17, near Century Road.”

  “That’s not far at all. I can pick her up in less than thirty minutes.”

  “I owe you,” I say, hanging up quickly and concentrating on driving again. I call Logan back. “I need you to run some plate numbers for me,” I say, reading off the numbers.

  I hear him typing into a computer, not even bothering to respond until he has what I need.

  “The car is registered to Killian Mor
etti,” he says.

  “Killian? You’re sure?”

  “Says right here, yeah.”

  “Can you get me any home addresses in his name? Any properties?”

  “It won’t be in his name,” says Logan doubtfully. “But I can trace his bank accounts and see where the money is flowing, it will just take a minute.”

  “Do whatever you have to,” I say.

  I listen anxiously as I hear him clacking away at keys in the background. “121 Paterson street and 8860 Linwood. Looks like one might be for storage. A lot of square footage, but no plumbing or ventilation.”

  If he’s taking Roman somewhere, it’s there. Still, it’s a stretch, but Killian has a reputation for being the cruelest soldier working for the Morettis. Rumors are that he never carries out a hit without torturing the victim first, even if there’s no information to be gained. The sick fuck just enjoys it, and he has my son. My fucking son. I twist my hands on the steering wheel, pushing the gas even harder.

  I make the forty minute drive in fifteen minutes, fishtailing to a stop outside a large square building in the middle of an overgrown field and off a dirt road. Two cars are parked outside, and the plates on one match Killian’s. I pull my .44 free, racking a bullet in the chamber and barely resisting the urge to burst through the front door shouting for him to show himself. My only hope of saving Roman might be in surprising Killian, and I can’t risk letting him know I’m coming.

  I move to the side of the building, jumping on a dumpster and using it to look through a window that is nothing more than just a square cut into the steel siding. There’s a tower of pipe and wood scaffolding a few feet from the window and an otherwise open space littered with dangling chains, grisly steel implements, and tall, flat tables stained with red. Fuck. The rumors didn’t even do this creep justice. He has his own personal torture room.

  I quickly scan the space and find Killian with his back to me, standing in the corner bending over a table, running his finger along tools. Roman is lying motionless on a table. My stomach clenches when I see him, but I sigh with relief when his stomach rises and falls. Killian must have drugged him. Good. No three year old needs to have a memory of this place.