Condemned to Love: 

by Davis, Siobhan

  “I promise I will.”

  Even if I have to die tonight, I will ensure Sierra gets out of this alive.

  53

  BEN

  “Where are the rest of the reporters?” Saskia huffs, pressing her haughty nose to the window of the limo as we pull up in front of the hotel. Three men with cameras linger on the red-carpeted steps, straightening up as the driver kills the engine at the curb.

  “Maybe this isn’t as newsworthy as you imagined it would be,” I say, running low on patience reserves.

  She’s been pawing at me from the second I picked her up at her hotel, and I’m glad I had the foresight to book a hotel room only five blocks from here so I didn’t have to endure her insufferable presence for longer than necessary. All I can visualize when I look at her plastic face and her plastic body, poured into a hideous sickly sweet pink gown, is how she hurt my Firefly, and I want to strangle her with my bare hands after slicing strips from her overstretched skin.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps, adding more gloss to her enlarged lips. “This is the announcement of the century.”

  She truly believes that. She is batshit crazy, I have come to realize. I used to think she was just bitter and jealous, but whatever insanity gene runs in the DeLuca blood has clearly infected her too. If what Giuseppe said is true, at least Sierra has dodged that bullet.

  “How do I look?” she asks, thrusting her fake chest in my face. If the dress was any lower at the front, her nipples would be on display. Saskia used to dress elegantly, back when we were dating, but there is nothing elegant or classy about her now. She is as fake and tacky as they come.

  “Like one of those Kardashians.” I plaster a faux smile on my face while she tries to work out if my statement is a compliment or an insult. The driver opens my door, and I get out, leaning down to offer her my arm even though my skin crawls every time she touches me.

  I only have another couple of hours of faking, so I can stomach the charade for a little longer.

  She clutches my arm, preening and pouting for the waiting cameramen as we walk into the hotel.

  It takes enormous effort to act lovingly toward my supposed fiancée and to laugh and joke with her father as we enjoy a sumptuous meal in the ballroom of one of the finest hotels in New York, but I do it because I can’t tip him off. He’s watching me like a hawk, and an offhand look or glint of anger would give the game away.

  Around me are two hundred guests I hope won’t get caught in the crosshairs. A few of my men have been tasked with discreetly ushering guests outside, in small groups, just before this kicks off, but we can’t evacuate the entire room without sounding alarm bells.

  I have chosen my guests carefully and vetted all of them on DeLuca’s side. Everyone here either has ties to The Outfit, is loyal to the New York dons, or they are clients of my establishments. The hotel owner is one of my best clients, and I send a ton of business his way. He will be compensated for any and all damage, and I’ll ensure no adverse press appears in the media about the hotel. That should be enough to assuage him and keep his silence.

  No one will speak out about the events here today.

  Unless they don’t value breathing.

  Armed soldiers and bodyguards from The Outfit and the New York famiglias surround the room and mingle with the guests. Invisible tension ripples through the air, and the room silently groans in anticipation.

  DeLuca stands as the hotel manager materializes, handing him a microphone. I keep my fake smile smeared across my mouth as I listen to him drone on about how proud he is of Saskia.

  Serena sits glumly beside Gifoli, at our table, glaring at me any chance she gets. I don’t know what DeLuca has told her and Georgia, but they aren’t buying it anymore. She’s been blowing up my phone all week, but I have avoided talking to her because I couldn’t risk incurring DeLuca’s wrath. Georgia is putting on a good front, but there was no masking her fear when the dinner started without her youngest daughter. If Serena and Georgia didn’t know what was going on before, I think it’s blatantly obvious now.

  “I’d like you all to stand and raise a toast,” DeLuca concludes as Saskia snuggles into my side, tilting her face up expectantly. “To the happy couple.”

  “To the happy couple” is chorused around the room as champagne glasses are raised.

  I pry Saskia off me and stand, reaching for the mic. “I would like to say a few words.”

  DeLuca sends me a warning look. This wasn’t part of the plans for the evening, and he doesn’t like that I’m going off course. “Relax,” I tell him, snatching the mic from his hands. “I just want to tell our assembled guests how deeply I’m in love with your daughter.” I flash him a dark look, pushing him roughly into his seat. “Have a drink. You look like you need it.”

  Saskia frowns while Gifoli straightens in his seat, glancing around. My eyes briefly meet Barretta’s across the table, and shared understanding flows between us.

  “Thank you all for coming.” My voice projects confidently and loudly around the room. “My fiancée and I are grateful to know so many wonderful people who are willing to share in our joy. You see, I have known my beloved since she was young, and she has always been the love of my life. She is the only one who has ever captured my heart, and it has always belonged to her.”

  Oohs and aahs ring out around the room as I notice my men sneaking guests out a side door. Briefly, my eyes land on Chantel LaCroix. I suspected she might come with her politician daddy. Her scowl is large enough to cast a dark shadow over proceedings if I gave a shit about her, which I don’t.

  I continue. “Recently, I discovered she gave me the greatest gift of all—my son.”

  DeLuca grins, the stress easing from his face. He still thinks I’m talking about Saskia. After all, he wants me to pretend she is Rowan’s mother—as if I would ever agree to that.

  The main entrance doors to the room open, and my heart thumps wildly behind my chest as Brando’s broad shoulders sweep Sierra into the room. I didn’t realize how tightly I was wearing my fear—how stressed my muscles were, or how heavy my thoughts were—until this very moment when I lay eyes on the love of my life, and my knees almost buckle with sheer relief.

  My jaw slackens as my gaze rakes over her for the first time in six days. She is a vision in an exquisite layered red silk dress that clings to her gorgeous curves. Since her birthday, I have loved seeing her in red. The color compliments her skin tone and her golden blonde hair perfectly. Unlike Saskia’s low neckline and gaping cleavage—leaving nothing to the imagination—Sierra’s dress only offers a glimpse of creamy skin, hinting at the beautiful breasts underneath. Her hair is newly washed and styled, perfectly glossy and shiny, falling in soft sensual waves down her back. As usual, she isn’t wearing much makeup, but she never needs it because she steals my breath every time I look at her.

  “Mazzone,” DeLuca hisses under his breath, pinning me with a stern look, urging me to continue my speech or end it. He hasn’t noticed who my gaze has strayed to, but Saskia has. She swivels on her chair, and it almost happens in slow motion. Alessandro and Ciro emerge to flank Sierra on both sides as Brando protects her from the rear. Sierra holds her head up high as she walks with poise toward me, looking far more beautiful than any other woman in the room.

  Saskia almost falls off her chair, and her eyes widen in shock when she sees her younger sister striding toward us. “What the fuck is going on?” she barks, turning around and piercing me with venomous eyes. “Daddy. He can’t do this to me!” she wails, standing as I move toward Sierra.

  “Ah, there she is. My real fiancée. The only woman I have ever loved and will ever love,” I say into the mic, pushing past Saskia and stretching my arm out for Sierra.

  She runs the last few feet, and though I want to run to her, I won’t leave her exposed. I need to keep DeLuca, Gifoli, and Saskia in my line of vision because I don’t trust any of them not to start shooting.

  Hushed murmurs and shocked glances flo
at around the room as Sierra throws herself at me. My arm bands around her slender frame, holding her close, and every muscle in my body relaxes temporarily at the feel of her delicate curves flush against me.

  “Ben.” She places one hand on my hip, cradling her other hand against her chest. It’s wrapped in a bandage and clearly hurting her.

  I glare at Brando because he never told me she was injured. He has the decency to look sheepish, and I rein in my anger because without him Sierra wouldn’t be standing here.

  I’m glad I chose to plant a man in the rank and file, just after I found Rowan and reconnected with Sierra. I wanted to have someone on the inside of The Outfit while my family was in Chicago. It’s a pity Brando wasn’t aware of Ian’s betrayal in time to stop the kidnapping, but that was a closely guarded secret for a reason. He only realized what had happened when Ian threw Sierra into the van that day, and by then, it was too late.

  At least he has wiped that scourge from the Earth, along with the rest of the assholes who were involved in my fiancée’s kidnapping. I know Leo and Frank wanted to be the ones to deal with their cousin, but this could only happen today, a few hours before the ceremony, and I couldn’t spare either of them at the last minute.

  In a nice touch of irony, I had Brando poison their coffees, before putting a bullet in each of their skulls, ensuring the message was driven home.

  There was a slight chance DeLuca might call Ian and become suspicious when he didn’t answer, so I had Phillip mess with the satellite signal to cover our tracks. He ensured all telecommunications were down in the area for a few hours.

  “Rowan?” Sierra whispers, looking up at me with fear coating her green eyes.

  “He’s safe,” I assure her, pressing a fierce kiss to her head. I want to tell her I love her. That I’m sorry she had to endure what she’s endured. How I hate that it took me this long to rescue her, but that will have to wait until after this is done.

  “You said no one would touch her,” I snap, keeping Sierra against me as I turn us to face DeLuca. Alessandro, Ciro, and Brando crowd around us. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy the other bosses walking this way having escorted their wives to safety.

  The moment of reckoning is here.

  “And you agreed to marry Saskia. It seems we’ve both broken part of our arrangement.” DeLuca stands, and around me, men reach for their guns as guests start running from the room, sensing the impending battle.

  “That isn’t all you have broken,” I say. “You have crossed one of our most sacred rules,” I add as the recording breaks out over the sound system. Phillip has eyes on this room, and that was his cue to play the small segment from that day in DeLuca’s car.

  “We got rid of Felix to pave the way for this to happen.” DeLuca’s distinctive voice booms through the speakers around the room. The confirmation that he killed a made man, without justification, causes The Outfit’s capos and soldati to trade angry looks and wary expressions.

  Thomas Barretta showed equal anger but less confusion when I played it for him, hours after I left DeLuca at Lawson Pharma that day. Thomas was already suspicious—Saskia’s behavior at the church and graveyard had tipped him off—and now he had the proof to confirm it. Taking a risk, I told him everything DeLuca had planned, and he readily agreed to help in exchange for him taking temporary control of The Outfit after we deal with DeLuca and Gifoli. I took it to The Commission who immediately agreed, and a plan was formed.

  Gifoli thought he was clever taking my cell from me in the car, but he didn’t realize my tie pin had a recording device inside. It’s only one of a handful of technical devices my internal team has created for our soldiers’ use in the field, and I’m grateful it came in handy.

  “Did you really think you could murder my son and get away with it?” Barretta says, pressing the muzzle of his gun to the back of DeLuca’s head. No one, except Gifoli, had suspected anything when the consigliere started slowly moving toward him. DeLuca’s bodyguards know him as a friend, family, and to most of The Outfit’s soldati, Joseph Lawson is only the man who washes the money. I’m sure some of them must have wondered about it from time to time, but I doubt anyone guessed his true identity. Why would they? To them, the big boss resides in Sicily. Gifoli is the one they respect. The one they report to. Which is why this needs to happen fast— before the truth is revealed and before Gifoli makes a preemptive strike.

  I nod at Barretta as I push Sierra into Alessandro’s arms. “Keep her safe.”

  Sensing the very real threat, DeLuca opens his mouth, shouting so his words carry across the room. “I am—”

  “This is for Felix,” Barretta says, pulling the trigger.

  Saskia screams as DeLuca falls face-first onto the table, the back of his head blown wide, brain matter and blood seeping from his open skull onto the pristine white linen.

  Gifoli immediately gives the call, rousing his soldati, as our men pull out their weapons and open fire.

  54

  BEN

  Chaos descends as shots are traded across the room. While The Outfit’s soldiers may be confused as to why Gifoli gave the order and why some of their crew is siding with New York, they obey.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Alessandro shielding Sierra behind him as he fights his way to the exit. Leo upends the nearest empty table, hauling it over to the side as I aim and fire, hitting The Outfit men who aren’t wearing the small red pin on their jacket pockets. It was a risky move asking them to wear them. If DeLuca had noticed, it might have given the game away, but I guess it shows how little regard he held for his men. Barretta will make a much better boss. He cared enough to protect those loyal to him. To ensure they wouldn’t get hit in the confusion.

  Several of The Outfit’s men are taken down by soldiers who fought beside them at one time, and I know this won’t last long. Not once news filters down that Gifoli conspired with Lawson to murder Felix Barretta.

  Gifoli must know his days are numbered as I watch him making a beeline for the exit on the opposite side of the room. He is holding a terrified Serena in front of his body, using her as a shield as he attempts to flee.

  That fucking coward.

  “Cover me,” I shout at Leo, moving to go after them as my eyes scan the room for Saskia. Fear prickles my skin when I don’t see her.

  We can’t let her escape.

  I find Georgia hiding under the table, her dead husband’s blood staining the white linen tablecloth crimson red, but she’s alone. “Where is Saskia?” I shout.

  “I don’t know. She ran off as soon as the shooting started.” She stares at me with a dazed expression, clearly shocked.

  “Stay there and don’t move. I’ll come back for you.”

  I straighten up, and a shot whizzes over my head, narrowly missing me. Leo takes out the shooter as I spin around, shooting the guy creeping up on me from behind straight through the eyes.

  A scream rips through the air, and I race around the overturned tables, ducking to avoid more shots as I head toward Serena and her husband. Gifoli is literally using his wife to deflect blows, and Serena is cradling her wounded arm, blood seeping through her fingers, as she screams in agony, wriggling in an attempt to get out of his hold.

  What a pathetic piece of shit he is. An embarrassment to The Outfit and made men everywhere. He has no honor, and he deserves to die.

  Gifoli shoots at a couple of my men as they aim toward him, and they dive behind tables in the nick of time.

  “Sierra. No!”

  My head whips around, halting my forward trajectory, when I hear Alessandro call out. They are almost to the side exit, but I wasn’t the only one who heard Serena’s screams. It’s so typical of Sierra to ignore her own safety to come to her sister’s aid. Running in her bare feet, she sprints across the room, firing the small handgun curled in her hand at anyone who dares cross her.

  “Get down,” I scream, spotting the nightmare in pink who rises from the shadows, just behind Sierra. I leap over tables
, shoving people and chairs out of my way as I race toward my fiancée. Sierra hasn’t seen Saskia. She’s too occupied watching her injured sister, and now it’s too late. My heart is in my mouth as I watch Saskia grab Sierra from the side, yanking her roughly against her body, pointing a gun at her temple.

  I can’t take aim at Saskia, not from this angle, without risking Sierra.

  “Stay back,” Saskia snaps, as I reach them. “Do it, Ben, or I’ll kill her.”

  “Saskia. You don’t need to do this,” Sierra says in a voice that’s unbelievably calm. “I know this isn’t you. You need help, and we will get it for you.”

  “Shut the fuck up, you slut!” Saskia roars, moving back toward the rear side door.

  Behind us, the battle rages on, and I trust my guys to cover us. That doesn’t mean a stray shot can’t take one of us down, so I need to put an end to this now. “Saskia, just let Sierra go, and I’ll leave with you.” I force a smile on my face and soften my voice, talking as if I was talking to a child. “I have a plane at the airport. We’ll go anywhere you want to go. Just the two of us.”

  “You’re a liar,” she says, digging her hand into Sierra’s arm while dragging her back. “As long as the slut is alive, she’ll keep getting between us.” She curls her finger around the trigger, and my heart leaps into my throat. I can’t shoot her without risking her shooting Sierra first, and panic races through my veins because I don’t know what to do. “I love you, Ben. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

  “Saskia, I—”

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” Saskia roars, digging the muzzle into Sierra’s temple. “I am sick to death of your voice. I fucking hate you! You ruin everything!”

  Her finger presses harder on the trigger and I raise my gun, aiming it at Saskia’s head, but I’m too late.

  A shot rings out, and I bellow out a roar, racing toward Sierra. “No! No, no, no.” Pain spears me through the chest as I catch Sierra in my arms when she falls forward. She clutches my arms, and my panic turns to relief as Saskia raises a shaky hand to her chest, trying to stem the blood pouring from her body.