The Hitman's Desire: A Mafia Romance (The Silent Family Book 1)

by T Steele

  “Come with me,” my father says, and I have to grit my teeth to refrain from retorting, “Only if you say please.”

  I stand and follow him to his study, wiping my sweaty palms on my skirt, causing it to come untucked a bit.

  The clothes I’ve been wearing were definitely cute, but they feel very uniform. Like I’m attending some high priced private school. All I need are some knee-high socks and keds to go with the look.

  My father pulls out a seat, offering it to me. I take it, feeling even more nervous now that my father’s being so polite. Then I relax a little when he pours himself a shot of whiskey. He surprises me by pouring another and passing it to me.

  I hesitantly curl my fingers around the small glass that probably costs more than the entire outfit I’m wearing. I barely stop myself from making a joke about how I’ve turned into a giant because “Look at my huge hands!”

  No one ever appreciates the nervous jokes I make when I’m stressed.

  My father stares into my eyes, and I stare back, trying not to look away. Trying to appear mature and strong and everything a mob daughter should be.

  “I talked with John,” he says.

  I stiffen, almost spilling the whiskey. Clearing my throat, I ask, “About what?”

  “He thinks you can help with the casino.”

  My brows raise in surprise. That isn’t what I was expecting.

  He studies me. “John doesn’t put in a good word for anyone. Ever.” Butterflies and anticipation flutter in my stomach. My dad leans back in his chair, his eyes serious and hard and a little suspicious. “Are you up for this, Ruby? You do realize that most people at this casino aren’t good people. They’re going to want to touch you,” he grits out, throwing his shot of whiskey back. “They’re going to think you’re willing to fuck anything for money. This isn’t some after school program.” He refills his glass. “Do you still want the job?”

  “Yes,” I say without hesitation. John believes in me, and that, for whatever reason, means something to me. If he thinks I can do it, then I don’t want to let him down . . . or my father. And besides, I’m taking this for what it is: a peace offering of sorts from John.

  He nods, downing his third shot and refilling it once more. “If you’re going to work with us, you’re going to have to take the pledge of omerta.” I have to force myself not to blush at the words when I think of the tattoos on John’s body. I almost blurt out the question, “Am I getting a tattoo, too?”

  “Most Capo Dei Capis would make omerta their first order of business, but your situation has been a little different. Most of the mafia living in the U.S still believe in the old rules, not allowing women to participate in the business. But, you see, I was never too proud to admit that women can be useful just like any of the made men I have on my team. I’ve done better, surpassing all those before me by letting the women of La Famiglia Silenzio work. So, if you’re ready to be a part of this family and work with us, then I’m ready to accept you.”

  A twinge of annoyance passes through me at how sexist most people in the mafia are, but it’s minimal compared to the relief. Relief because I would be getting to leave this house and actually work.

  The question is: am I ready to be a part of this family? My father’s eyes pierce into mine, reminding me of tiny needles ready to puncture at any moment.

  “Do I have a choice?” I whisper. “I’ll never be able to leave this life, will I? The mob is a lifetime deal, right?”

  My father runs his thumb along the rim of his glass. “It is,” he starts, “we have some family who aren’t living this life, though I doubt you could ever stay with them.” He mutters something about Tommy Moretti, the dumbass hockey player before shaking his head. “Even if you stayed with them, it’d be too risky. My enemies know who you are. I could figure something out for you, though, if you absolutely wanted out. You’d just never be able to go back to your old life. You’d have to move and change your name and likely your appearance.”

  “Why didn’t mom have to do all those things?”

  “Because I’m a selfish fucking bastard. I thought we were in the clear because—” he stops talking and his eyes fill with uncertainty, and I know he’s not going to finish what he was saying.

  “Tell me,” I demand anyway and he sighs.

  “I just killed a lot of people so that you and Alona would be safe. That’s all.”

  I try to muster up a smile for him. “I’m sure you did everything you could,” I say sincerely because regardless of my father being a mob boss, anyone could sense that his feelings for my mother were genuine. As for me, I think he loves me in his own way. He at least doesn’t want anything bad to happen to me.

  His eyes lower in shame. “You know, this is why your mom left the life and I agreed to it. I didn’t want this for you, either,” he pauses, his eyes probing mine. “I found John when he was only eight. Did you know that?”

  At John’s name, my heart stutters.

  Right. John was the whole reason I was sitting here with my father right now.

  “No.” I perk up, wondering if I’ll get any personal info about John.

  “He was beaten pretty badly, and . . . ah, fuck. Look at me, gossiping like some old hag. I don’t know why I thought to bring that up. I just know that I trust John more than anyone, and if he thinks I should do this for you, then I will.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat, my heart going out to John and also ripping into tiny splinters trying to stab their way out of my chest. John stood up for me. He knows I can’t stand being on lockdown in this house. I feel as though he understands me, and maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to understand him, too.

  “Are you ready for the ritual?” my father asks.

  “Yes.”

  He pulls out his phone and taps the screen, precise and quick, and then he’s standing and bringing more chairs around his desk.

  There’s a knock at the door after a few moments, and my father reaches the door in quick strides. He opens it, and I see every member of the family. Todd, Frank, Suzanne, Eva, Liz, Ryder, some of the other soldiers. Then, lastly, my eyes land on John and linger before I pull myself together.

  They all come in and sit around the desk quietly and I stare at them. I feel as if I should say something, but have no idea where to even begin.

  And then my father is opening a drawer and pulling out a piece of paper and handing it to me.

  It reads:

  I pledge my trust.

  I pledge my loyalty.

  I pledge my silence.

  I pledge my life.

  La Famiglia Silenzio is my ultimate family. They are my blood and I am theirs until all the blood drains from our bodies and even then, I will remain loyal still.

  “Sign this,” my father says, handing me a pen.

  I take it and do as he says, and then he’s picking up a knife and handing it to me. I take it hesitantly.

  “I need you to pledge your loyalty to us by pricking your finger with this knife, your trigger finger, to be exact, and then you’ll let a drop drip onto the paper and into my shot glass.”

  I nod, feeling as if I’m in a trance. The family stares at me wistfully except John and Liz. The latter looks excited while the former looks emotionless, but I can see the small dose of anxiety in his eyes.

  Is he nervous for me?

  I bring the tip of the knife to my right pointer finger and apply just enough pressure to make blood well. I’ve never even shot a gun before, but I’m assuming this would be my trigger finger if it occurs. I do as my father had instructed, and then he holds his hand out, silently asking for the knife back. I give it to him and he swipes it against his suit before pricking his own finger and letting a drop of blood swirl into my glass.

  He fills his cup with another shot of whiskey and then clanks his drink to mine. “Ready?”

  I bring the glass to my lips, inhaling. My stomach lurches at the thought of drinking someone else's blood, but with so much intimidation in th
e room, all I can do is nod, and then my father throws his shot back before I can blink.

  I hurriedly do the same. The alcohol completely overrules the taste of blood, but it is still a strong drink and I sputter for a beat, rubbing my chest consolingly.

  My father smiles proudly. “My daughter,” he says softly.

  Then, he picks up the paper with my signature and drop of blood and throws it in his fireplace, before lighting a match and throwing it inside.

  I stare at the burning piece of parchment before my attention drifts to the rest of the family who has now all stood and lined up before me, single file. They kiss my bloodied trigger finger. Each of them. John goes last and the amount of effort I have to use to control myself is a nightmare. When his lips touch my skin, all I want to do is throw myself on him like a wild animal.

  “We are bound together through blood and loyalty,” says my father, voice booming, and John stands fully, turning, so he can focus on my father.

  “We only live because of silence.”

  “We only live because of silence.”

  “We only live because of silence.”

  They chant this quote three times and then my father is thanking them and dismissing them.

  I sigh, grimacing to myself, wondering what the fuck I’ve just gotten into.

  “That’s not always apart of the ritual, the whole kissing the trigger finger part. They did that out of respect to me because you’re my daughter.” My dad’s voice sounds pleased.

  “That was nice,” I say slowly, another thought forming in my head. “Hey, Dad . . . what about my friend Daphnee? It’s been about a month since I’ve talked to her. I don’t want her to think I’m just ignoring her. She’s my best friend and I miss her,” I get all this out quickly, but my voice still cracks at the end.

  “Ruby,” my father says softly and then he pauses, and I get the feeling he’s trying to choose his words carefully. “I honestly don’t want to make you upset, but you can’t drag her into this life. And now that you’ve taken the omerta pledge, you can’t discuss this with anyone. The consequences of discussing anything about us with anyone is death. Always. You’re my daughter and I don’t want anything to happen to you, so please don’t put me in a position where I’m blatantly showing nepotism and favoritism just because you are my daughter.”

  “I know. I just . . . I was hoping I could at least say goodbye or something . . .” I trail off. I love Daphnee, but I’m at least smart enough to know that I can never tell her who I really am. She’s my only friend from my old life, and I feel I owe her an explanation.

  “I know you’re feeling guilty, sweetheart, but it’ll pass. I can allow you one phone call to her from one of our throwaway phones, but that’s it. I’m trusting you. Remember omerta, Ruby. Just because you’re my daughter doesn’t mean I can allow you to break the oath.” He lowers his chin as his eyes narrow, and I’m thankful that he’s my father because I don’t think he would ever hurt me, but if I were anyone else, he wouldn’t hesitate. And the intimidating look he’s giving me would definitely make me shit bricks.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  We discuss a few more things. He tells me I can pick out what I’m wearing to the casino as long as it’s a disguise, and then I leave his office.

  When I get back to my bedroom, John is already there, and I don’t waste any time beating around the bush.

  “You spoke to my father for me.”

  His eyes do a slow sweep of my body. Outwardly, I try to appear unbothered, but it feels like it’s been an eternity since he’s looked at me like that, and I feel my cheeks heat. When his eyes finally come back up to mine, they hold, and he simply shrugs.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “You have a pretty voice. I thought you deserved to be heard.”

  For some reason, that stupid, simple compliment makes my eyes well with tears, and I quickly blink, looking away. I clear my throat, “Thank you.”

  He nods, and once again, we stand there in awkward silence, and I wonder if he’s thinking of the other night. Or if he’s thought about it as much as I have.

  “I don’t regret it,” John says in that soft, rough voice of his.

  “You act like it,” I whisper.

  He walks closer to me, his big palms cupping my face. “I honestly don’t know what to do with you, Ruby, and that’s my problem.”

  “Why do you have to ‘do’ anything with me? Can’t we just let things play out?”

  “Your father will kill me.”

  “What if I talk to him about it? Maybe I could try to warm him up to the idea. He told me he trusts you more than anyone.”

  John’s shoulder’s slump. “I never feel guilt, Ruby. I’ve managed to turn it off after all these years, but this—” he gestures between us, “—this makes me feel guilty, and I don’t like the feeling.”

  I can’t help but huff at that. “I’m guessing you don’t like feeling any emotions.”

  His eyes bore into mine, and he looks like he wants to say more, but his phone rings. He frowns, backing away from me.

  “Yeah,” he answers. I hear the faint sound of a voice on the other end, and then John says, “are you sure?”

  The other voice on the line must have approved because John says, “consider it done,” before hanging up the phone.

  He looks angry. Well, angrier than normal. I lightly touch his arm, and he flinches, causing me to swiftly pull back. “What’s wrong?” I whisper.

  “I have a hit tonight.”

  My stomach jumps to my throat. “Oh?”

  “Your dad says I don’t need to keep watch over your door tonight.”

  “What if I only trust you to watch over me?” I cross my arms, lifting my chin.

  “I’ll still have to go tonight and your dad will probably have someone else guard your door, then I’ll return tomorrow.”

  “Do you not want to go tonight?”

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because it doesn’t seem like you want to leave.”

  “I want you to be safe,” he says and I wonder if that means he only trusts himself to do the job right.

  “You don’t think I’ll be safe without you here.”

  John’s jaw works. “No, you’ll be plenty safe.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” I whisper, hating this feeling of worry. “Who will keep you safe?”

  John’s eyes soften, and I want to leave kisses all over every inch of his face like we’re in some sort of rom-com movie. He brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “I will. Now, get some rest. I’ll probably be hungry when I get back.”

  Heat creeps up my neck and onto my face at the possessive look in his eyes. I try to feign nonchalance, though. “What makes you think I’d feed you after the way you’ve acted?”

  The look in his eyes turns seductive. “I’ll make it worth your time,” he whispers.

  And dammit if his words don’t send a fiery jolt straight to my groin. I open my mouth to say something, but come up blank. How am I supposed to respond to that when I want him more than anything, but pride demands I keep being a pain in the ass?

  God knows he’s been a pain in mine.

  He lets out a dark chuckle, noting my heated expression and knowing he’s won this round. His hand slowly slides down my stomach before cupping the place between my thighs. “Keep my dinner warm,” he says, smirking before picking me up and carrying me to my bed.

  I wake in the middle of the night and there’s a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel like something’s wrong. I check my phone and the clock reads 4:02 a.m.

  Is John back yet?

  I glance around the room for any guards my dad might’ve left me and notice Eli’s tall form sitting in front of the door. His head rests against the wall and light snores leave his nostrils. His arms are still crossed and I know he’s probably not in the deepest of sleep, but I don’t care.

  My dad said if John was back early enough, he’d come back to my room, so
maybe he’s still not home. That doesn’t stop me from getting out of bed and lightly walking around Eli, though. Slowly turning the knob, I glance back at Eli before fully opening the door and leaving quietly.

  I tiptoe down the hall to John’s room and put my ear to the door.

  Nothing.

  I tap on the door with my nails lightly, trying to be as quiet as possible.

  When there’s no answer, I open the door, then immediately shove myself inside and shut it behind me. The music is blaring. No wonder John couldn’t hear me knock. The song “Toxicity” by System of a Down plays so loud that I barely register the sound of water running.

  “John,” I call out and receive no answer.

  The bathroom door is cracked open and I stand just outside of it. “John,” I call again.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Ruby?” he asks, but there’s no bite in his tone.

  I open the door a little more and can’t help but gasp.

  There’s blood all over the clothes he’s discarded, some of it even smearing the tile floor.

  “I just wanted to make sure you were okay . . .” I say quietly.

  The bathroom is so steamy that I can barely see the silhouette of John’s body through the glass doors of the shower.

  “I’m fine and you should know better than to come to my room in the middle of the night.”

  I ignore that last part. “Are you hurt?”

  “That isn’t my blood.”

  “That didn’t answer my question.”

  He remains quiet, and I don’t pry anymore. What am I even doing here? This was a stupid idea. But every time I glance at John’s clothes, the more worry and apprehension I feel. The title of John’s job fully sinks into my brain. He kills people for a living. I’m assuming they’re not good people, but he kills them, nonetheless.

  Everyone fears John or is at least wary of him. I’ve never feared him, though, and maybe that makes me an idiot. He really could snap me in half like a pretzel.

  “I could break you.” He’d said it to me himself.

  The water shuts off, and John’s arm snaps out, grabbing the towel hanging by the shower. When he emerges from the shower, the towel around his waist does little to hide the fact that he’s hard.