Removing my cell from my inside jacket pocket, I hand it over without argument.
Lawson clicks his fingers, and the privacy screen whirs into place as the driver reverses the car. Outside, my men are being herded into the three different SUVs. He turns to me, pinning me with hazel eyes that are more green today, reminding me of my beloved. “Bennett. How good of you to come to me. Saved me any more theatrics.”
I wet my lips, schooling my face into a neutral line. “Theatrics do run in your family, Lawson, and I’m not talking about my fiancée.” I shove my hands between my thighs to avoid the almost insurmountable urge to strangle the bastard beside me. “Or should I call you DeLuca now?”
He slowly claps his hands, grinning, and I want to slam his head against the window repeatedly until his brain leaks from his skull. “It’s about time, Bennett. It took you long enough to figure it out. What gave me away in the end?”
“We caught up with Lucille, and she identified you. I pieced the rest together myself.”
“I knew I should have shot that bitch after I fucked her.”
“How long have you been colluding with the Russians?”
“We began negotiations at the start of the year.”
“I don’t know how they do things in Sicily, but in the US, consorting with the enemy is an immediate death sentence.”
He pulls two cigars out of a tin in the center console, offering me one. I shake my head, uncaring if he feels slighted. “I am well aware of how they do things in the US, my boy. I have lived here most of my life.”
“Why conceal your identity? Why have everyone believe you were leading through Gifoli from your seat in Sicily?”
“Why do any of us make any decisions?” he says, flicking open an old silver lighter. “For power and control.”
“How have you managed to keep this a secret for so long?” I won’t show any admiration for the man because there is nothing I admire about him, but what he has achieved is no easy feat.
“By containing the knowledge of my true identity to a small handful of trusted people.” He lights his cigar, bringing it to his lips and inhaling.
“It’s why you took Georgia’s name when you married her.” I bark out a laugh as something occurs to me, and he eyes me curiously. “You dangled the truth in front of us. If I’m not mistaken, Joseph is the English version of Giuseppe. I bet you got a real kick out of that.”
“I did.” He smirks, continuing to puff on his cigar. “You all think you’re so clever in New York. That The Outfit is second to your organization, but you are wrong.” A muscle clenches in his jaw. “Chicago is the true seat of power, and I am the Italian mafioso’s true natural leader. The Commission will answer to me, not the other way around.”
That power trip has clearly gone to his head. He might have fooled us all these years, but his business is inferior to ours. We have increased our soldati numbers two-fold in the past five years, and our net worth has quadrupled. DeLuca has been so busy patting himself on the back for pulling the wool over our eyes that he has missed the memo. Things are moving forward, and if The Outfit doesn’t catch up, they will soon be obsolete. In his twisted head, he might believe he holds all the cards, but he is the one who needs us more. “The Commission will never answer to you. All that you will achieve is a bloody internal war. Is that what you want? To see your men slaughtered? Your city ravaged? Your power in tatters?”
“Ben, Ben, Ben.” He shakes his head. “I thought you were the insightful one.”
I visualize slamming his face into the window this time with my hands around his neck, squeezing every last bit of oxygen from his lungs.
“Of course, they won’t answer to me. Those smug bastards think they are above everyone. No, the only way we can do this is to get rid of them.”
“We? You can’t seriously be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.” Disbelief radiates from my tone.
The car heads down the ramp, onto the highway, and I wonder where he is taking me.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t been on the ultimate power trip these past few years, Bennett. Own your achievements, son.”
Bile floods my mouth, and I bite hard on my cheek to ignore the urge to retaliate. “I know what I’ve achieved and what is still left to achieve. Killing the rest of the New York famiglia is not on my agenda.”
“I know you are loyal. It is our way, but think about it.” He finishes his cigar, leaving the butt in the ashtray, and grips my arm. “Together, you and I will be a formidable force. We will reorganize The Commission, and I will rule La Cosa Nostra as don, and you will be our underboss.”
I’m guessing Gifoli isn’t listening in on the conversation unless DeLuca is lying and he plans to use me to get the other dons out of the way and then dispose of me. I wouldn’t put it past him. “You are crazy if you think anyone would commit their allegiance to you after wiping out The Commission.”
“That’s where you come in. Your powers of persuasion are legendary, and I’ve already struck a deal with the Bratva. In exchange for gifting them a couple of key territories, we will sign a peace treaty. That is what I offer my fellow Italian Americans. Peace and prosperity.”
“You were behind the attacks on Vegas and Philly,” I surmise.
“I designed the strategy and helped the Russians with execution. See how easy it was to run rings around The Commission?”
Either he’s suffering from amnesia or he’s deliberately ignoring the Bratva’s failure to take Philly this week.
“And they have the nerve to call themselves the leaders of La Cosa Nostra.” He tut-tuts. “They are a disgrace.” He slams his hand down on the arm rest. “An abomination.”
“I won’t do it,” I tell him. “I won’t betray my family.”
He chuckles, and I’m two seconds from throttling him with my bare hands.
“I know you won’t, which is why I arranged for the right incentive.” He pulls a small TV screen down from the ceiling, and every muscle in my body strains with fear and rage as the image flickers to life.
Sierra is slumped on the floor of a dirty van, lying motionless with her eyes closed. Around her, eight men converse and laugh while eyeing her with dark intent.
My hands are around Giuseppe’s throat before I’ve processed the motion. Spittle flies from my mouth as I squeeze his neck, wanting to snuff out the amused look in his eyes. “You better pray she is just unconscious because I will burn your fucking world down if you have hurt her or my son!” I roar.
The muzzle of a gun presses into the side of my skull. “Release the boss now, Mazzone, or I’ll fucking shoot,” Gifoli says, digging the weapon in tighter. I didn’t even hear the privacy screen lowering or sense him leaning into the back.
DeLuca shoves me away when I let him go, and Gifoli keeps his gun trained on me. “Let’s make one thing clear here, Bennett. You are no longer in charge—of anything,” DeLuca hisses. “I call the shots, and you will do as I say, or I will order my men to shoot her.” He jabs his finger at the screen, and pain slices across my chest as I watch my fiancée lying motionless on the floor, surrounded by hungry vultures. “Of course, I’ll let them have their way with her first. They can fuck her, cut her, piss on her for all I care.”
“If they so much as touch a hair on her head, I will kill you,” I calmly say.
“They are under clear instructions not to touch her, but I can change that at any moment, Bennett.”
“Where is my son?” I growl.
“He is at your home, sleeping off the effects of the gas we pumped through the air-conditioning system.”
“You bastard.” I lunge for him, and Gifoli presses the muzzle to my forehead this time.
“I believe that accolade is more fitting for you and your son,” DeLuca says, lighting a second cigar. “Let’s not make Rowan an orphan.”
Peering closer at the screen, I curse when I see a familiar face among DeLuca’s men. “That double-crossing asshole.” I’ve been wondering how the hell
DeLuca managed to get to Sierra when there is no way in and out of my house without meeting a barrage of bullets. Leo’s cousin has betrayed us. “How long has Ian been working for you?” I grit out.
“I recruited him when you brought him to Chicago,” he replies, sending a cloud of cedar-scented smoke into the air. “It was remarkably easy,” he adds. “He harbors a lot of resentment toward Leo and Frank and their father. You really need to look after your people better, and I’d take a long hard look at your security procedures. It was way too easy to infiltrate your inner circle.”
Touché, asshole.
“How long have you known Rowan is my son?” I demand to know.
“I discovered that information the same day you did,” he replies, startling me. He barks out a laugh. “It’s ironic your heir was sitting right under my nose this entire time. You know, I never thought Sierra would amount to much, but I welcomed her back to the family when she gave birth to a boy.” He puffs on his cigar as the car turns down a winding side road. “I thought he might be my only chance for an heir considering Saskia and Felix couldn’t conceive and Serena had only birthed a daughter. But then Gifoli came through,” he adds, grinning at his current underboss. “When Romeo was born, I had no need for Rowan anymore, so I removed my protection.”
Intense pressure sits on my chest, and I’m like a volcano, boiling under the surface, ready to explode.
He clamps his hand down on my shoulder. “If I had known he was your son, I would have treated him differently, but that is neither here nor there now. I have ensured your son was kept out of this once it was clear he was your flesh and blood, and I assure you no harm will come to him.”
“Pity you didn’t afford your daughter the same courtesy,” I hiss. “You don’t need to use Sierra. I will agree to your crazy plan. Let her go, and I give you my word I will do whatever you want.”
“Don’t insult me,” he snaps. “And need I remind you I am calling the shots?”
The car slows down as we approach a large white building with Lawson Pharma in big gold lettering on the front.
“You will agree to my plan, and in exchange, I will let Sierra live. Not in the US, though. Saskia wouldn’t tolerate that.”
“What the fuck does that annoying bitch have to do with anything?”
He punches me in the face, and blood trickles out of my nose. “If I hear you speak about Saskia in such a derisory tone again, I will instruct my men to inflict the next punch on Sierra.”
I used to think Sierra’s dad was a cold-hearted bastard, but that front concealed his true nature. He is cold because he does not feel emotion. He has obsessions, possessions—like his need for ultimate power, and his weird fixation with his eldest daughter—but he’s an unfeeling monster because he is a psychopath. It’s painfully clear now there is no reasoning with the man. Everything I say or do from this point on will either save Sierra or kill her. I won’t take any chances with her life, so I will play this game the way he expects.
I grind my teeth to the molars but say nothing, knowing he will continue because he loves the sound of his own voice.
The car glides to a halt at the back of the building in front of a small painted door.
“You were always meant to be with Saskia until that meddlesome Terry Scott fucked things up. You do know he killed your brother, Mateo. Right?”
My jaw slackens, and I can’t mask my shock in time. “What? Why?”
“It seems Terry overhead Gifoli on the phone to me planning a path for your future. He must not have liked what he heard because he concocted a scheme to take out your brother, knowing Angelo would come looking for you. It was all done to snatch you from me, just when I was ready to make my move.”
A muscle pops in my jaw, as I struggle to deal with that bombshell. If it’s true—and that’s a big if—why would Terry send me running from the hands of one mafioso to another? Unless he saw Angelo Mazzone as the lesser of two evils? Given the bizarre turn in this conversation, I’ve got to agree with my late friend.
“We got rid of Felix to pave the way for this to happen,” he continues, confirming he conspired with Saskia to kill her husband. Sierra wasn’t far off the mark with her comment that day at the graveside. “Poor Saskia can’t bear children, and she’s been tormented these past few years, but she will love Rowan like he is her own child because she loves you and Rowan shares your DNA.”
Rowan also shares Sierra’s DNA, but I don’t articulate that point for fear he’ll carry out his threat and hurt her. I work hard to keep the shock from my face, presenting a neutral front while my entire world is crumbling around me. “What exactly are you saying?” I ask as the driver steps out of the car.
“I will ensure my men keep their hands off Sierra and let her live a comfortable existence in Europe after you marry Saskia and she adopts Rowan.”
50
SIERRA
My arms ache, my body is exhausted, and my head feels fuzzy as I slowly come to. My eyes repeatedly flicker open and shut as darkness tries to drag me back under. Fighting the lure of unconsciousness, I force my heavy eyelids to open in the dusky room. It’s a small enclosed space with bare brick walls, a low ceiling, and an uncovered floor. Apart from an old, stained toilet and a rickety wooden chair propped in one corner, the windowless room is empty. The thick steel door ensures I won’t be getting out of here anytime soon. Fear crawls up my spine, and I shiver all over.
Panic sluices through my veins when I move my frigid limbs and something cold and sharp digs into my wrists. I look up, and my pulse throbs wildly in my neck as I peruse the steel manacles that bind my wrists to the exposed stone wall, keeping my arms raised above my head.
I’m slumped on my side against the wall, so I attempt to straighten up, biting back a whimper when the manacles dig into my sensitive flesh. As my eyes adjust to the lack of light, my gaze roams over the unfamiliar surroundings while I trawl my foggy brain for answers.
Rowan!
My panic elevates a thousand notches and my breath oozes out in anguished spurts. The last thing I remember is the bodyguards swarming the house, advising us of a security alert as they rushed us through the hallways, toward the safe room. Then a misty veil descended from the ceiling, and everyone started dropping like flies. My very last memory is holding Rowan to my chest as I struggled to stay awake.
Terror has a vise grip on my heart at the thought he could be chained in another cold, dank, dark room. “Help,” I croak, struggling to get to my feet. Standing isn’t an easy feat with my arms chained over my head. “Somebody, please help me.” I know any person who comes to my aid is no savior, but I need to draw attention to myself in the hope I can find out what has happened to Rowan.
Smothering my painful cries, as the manacles tear into the delicate flesh of my wrists, I struggle to my feet, banging my knee off the hard wall in the process. Pain shoots through my leg, and I slouch against the wall, feeling weak and useless. My head pounds like someone is hammering on my skull from the inside, and my eyes sting. Whatever gas was used to knock us unconscious is still lingering in my system. “Hey, asshole,” I shout when my pleas for help rouse no one. “I’m awake, motherfucker. Show yourself, you freaking coward!”
My spine stiffens when the door groans before slamming inward. A guy with cropped strawberry-blond hair steps into the room, flashing me a mouthful of crooked teeth. He’s dressed head to toe in black, and he has a gun belt strapped around his waist, a Glock perched on his toned hip. “Watch your mouth, bitch,” he says, striding toward me. “Or I’ll shut it for you.” He grips my chin, pinching my flesh with dirty nails. His stale breath fans across my face, and bile travels up my throat.
“Where is my son?”
“Who said you could ask questions?” He digs his nails in farther. “You’re our prisoner. We get to ask the questions, not the other way around.”
“Z.” Another man steps into the space. “Back off.” His deep voice is abrasive, but he carries an air of authority.
“I don’t take orders from you,” Z says, releasing my chin before plastering his disgusting form against my body. He’s taller than me, so my face is pressed up against his chest, making breathing difficult. Sweat and the stench of cigarette smoke clings to his black top, and I gag.
Suddenly, he is yanked back without warning, and I gulp in lungsful of air.
“The boss was clear. No touching her,” the new guy says.
“I was just laying down the ground rules,” Z says, folding his arms. Although he has his back to me now, I hear the petulant pout in his tone.
“Where is my son?” I repeat, looking at the tall, broad-shouldered man with reddish-brown hair.
“He’s not here,” the newcomer says. “Our instructions were to take you and you alone. We didn’t go near your son.”
I burst out crying as relief thunders through me though it’s short-lived. While I’m relieved Rowan isn’t here, that doesn’t mean he is unharmed. Who knows what the aftereffects of the gas might have done to a child, and poor Angelo! His lungs are already under attack from cancer, and he might not have survived.
“I’ve got this,” the taller man says, and Z storms out of the room, clearly not happy.
“I’m B,” he supplies. “Let me give you some advice. Cooperate and this will be easier on you. If you disobey us, I will have no choice but to leave you chained up, cold, and hungry.”
“Who are you?” I ask because neither of the two men sounded Russian. Unless it’s not the Bratva who took me?
“I’ve got it from here,” another man says, entering the room carrying a small tray.
“Ian?” I frown as I stare at him, struggling to understand what is going on.
“I brought you some dinner, Sierra. You should eat.”
Condemned to Love:  Page 38
