Brutal & Raw: Mafia Romance & Psychological Thriller (Beneventi Family Book 1)

by Sonya Jesus

  The Butcher wouldn’t hold me, would he?

  A substance is poured down my breasts. It drips between my ribs and over my stomach.

  Oh, God! My neurons hit a wall of fear, the impact paralyzing me. Butcher. Breaker. Beneventi. One of them was going to end me.

  Bargain. That’s the only ‘b’ word that mattered here.

  Just moments ago, I was ready to die, and now I’m scared again. Terrified not to survive.

  “Breaker, I need to tell Breaker something.” The words escape before the scent of macadamia nuts reaches my nostrils. Bodywash? He’s bathing me. “Breaker?”

  The blindfold is removed from eyes, and I prepare. I open my eyes and find someone who is not Breaker. The gasp dries the saliva in my throat.

  Not The Butcher either.

  The revelation dims my nerves while my eyes strain as they adjust to the light. Kneeling beside me is someone undoubtedly related to Breaker—strikingly beautiful and probably just as dangerous. I recognize him from the seconds before.

  “You want me to do that, or can you manage?” His modulated sweet voice, like soothing honey, pours into me. I don’t feel threatened, surprisingly, but I’m still afraid to move under his gaze. I don’t trust the Beneventis, even though part of me belongs to one.

  Stunned, I glance down at the curly sponge in his hand. It’s already been lathered, and he holds it in the air close to me, so I don’t have to reach far. Hesitantly, I take the sponge from his hand and connect the face and voice to the person. I didn’t expect him to have kind eyes, especially not ones burdened with regret.

  He has the same nose as Breaker and similar eye shape, but this Beneventi smiles.

  He tilts his head to the side and rests on his calves while I modestly try to cover my breasts with my knees. He sighs softly, “I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Am I supposed to believe you?”

  “No.” He reduces his smile by half and pours some more bodywash on my knees.

  Absentmindedly rubbing my shins with the sponge, my brows raise as I study him. A sense of familiarity stands between us. I pretend not to know him. “Who are you?”

  “We’ve met. You tried to ensure my brother wouldn’t have nephews. Repeated kicks to the balls are not fun.”

  I ignore the thoughts of Breaker as a father. They’re disturbing and far too much to handle right now. “You kidnapped me.”

  “My brother’s not an invite kind of guy.” He stands up and grabs a towel from the cabinet and folds it over his arm. Not once does he look away from me or my nakedness.

  None of the Beneventis respect women, I guess. “Why are you watching me?”

  “Because my brother decided to task me with your well-being…for the moment.” I notice the slight hesitation in his voice, which makes me think I have a long night ahead of me. “You should get cleaned up. You have blood in your hair.”

  I reach up and pull at the strands of my hair. Only months ago, I was masking the red with black mud, and now I’m masking the black with blood. “Blood never bothered him before. I remember the girls at The Farm, and the room he held me in.”

  He winces at the mention of The Farm. “Apparently, he doesn’t like it on you.”

  I dip my head into the water, feeling like the bath was useless. “He prefers his victims to wear their own blood, huh?” I say, as I emerge from the water, wiping the liquid from my eyes in order to check the hue of the bath: tinted pink with hues of brown.

  Dirt and blood. That’s what you get with the Beneventis.

  Stone steps toward me and hands me the shampoo. After taking it from him, I lather my hair and fill the awkward silence by trying to get information. Stone had reminded me of my reasons to live. “Can you turn around?”

  “No,” he says but lowers his gaze.

  “Why not?”

  “Because if something happens to you before he’s ready, it will be on my head.”

  Before he’s ready? Everything has to be done according to his timeline. That I already knew. “So, he sent you in here because he wants you to make sure I don’t kill myself?”

  Stone smirks and quickly flattens his expression. “He sent me in here to buy time.”

  “Time for what?” We both know the answer. “To kill me?”

  By the time I rinse off the shampoo, Stone has the towel stretched out between his arms and lifted about his eye line. “Do you need help getting up?”

  “I need help getting out of here,” I mumble, as I swipe my hand down the middle of the towel, wishing it were his face. “Do you enjoy bringing people over here so he can stab them with knives?” I search for the blade he used on me and spot it on the floor beside him. “Was that the one he used to kill my friend?” Though I doubt it, this one was much smaller and resembled a letter opener.

  He kicks the weapon underneath the cabinet on the other side of the bathroom and scrunches the towel in his hands before throwing it over the sink. “You know nothing about me.” The offense in his tone would have caught me off guard if I didn’t know these types of people. His strong hands reach into the water and grab on to my waist. He lifts me up, as if I weigh nothing, and stands me on the ripped shirts I had been wearing. His hands remain on me as he stares into my eyes and asks, “Can you stand up okay?”

  “I think so.” I gauge the person before me and try to assess him.

  He turns to grab the towel and wraps it around me. “I’m going to cut your legs free, but if you try to run…” he whispers.

  I nod in understanding, though I’m going to run the first second I get.

  “I brought you some clothes. They’re Kelsie’s.”

  “Kelsie?” I ask softly. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “No, but she’s family. She’s the reason why you’re probably still alive.”

  “Great,” I say sarcastically. “Tell her I said thank you…for backstabbing me and getting Addie killed!” I sit on the edge of the tub, wiping myself as much as I can with wet panties on. “Am I going to get to see her and tell her myself? I’d really like to convey how much I hate her.”

  “For what it’s worth, she really likes you.”

  I shake my head, refusing to believe anything coming out of his mouth. “Is that why she helped him kidnap me? Sounds to me like if she really did like me, she would have warned me and told me to get out. Yet here I am, in the lap of luxury, trying to figure out which one of you is going to kill me.”

  “She didn’t have a choice.” The ‘either’ remained unsaid.

  “Choices don’t really exist with your brother.”

  “He doesn’t want to kill you.” He bends down to retrieve the metal blade he kicked under the cabinet.

  “That doesn’t mean he won’t.”

  “No, but it means you can convince him not to.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?” He walks over to me and takes a knee, strategically placing himself in the way. His massive body blocks my escape, and if I try to run, he’ll snatch me up just by stretching his arms.

  “Be the girl he met at The Farm. Because that girl is who’s been keeping you alive.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Probably.” The blade slips between my ankles. “If he finds out I’m telling you any of this, being my brother won’t matter.”

  “Then why tell me this?”

  “Because I’m not a murderer.” The blade cuts through the plastic.

  Maybe he can help me. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “Did you think Kelsie was a murderer?”

  “Obviously not,” I whimper, as I prop my foot up on my knee and rub my swollen ankles. “I told her a lot of things, and she lied about a lot of things. Does she even have an abusive boyfriend?”

  “No,” he says. “Hayden is a nice guy and my best friend. And the reason why she couldn’t help you.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a long story, but basically, he’s the choice Kelsie didn’t have. It was between you or the guy she
loved, and she chose him.” Before I can say anything, he answers the questions forming in my head. “He’s not part of this. Not technically. He got mixed up between family businesses on New Year’s Eve. It’s complicated.”

  “Complicated,” I huff out, not finding this amusing at all. Addie did say that’s how we explain things. “You guys deal in complicated.” Short memories from my time with Breaker surface, and I recall a name. “Jason.”

  Stone perks up at the mention of the name. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Breaker,” I grumble out. “He talked to me while he kept me prisoner at The Farm.”

  Stone nods and sits beside me on the edge of the tub. He glances back and drains the water before speaking. “He tell you a lot of things?”

  I nod, not wanting to remember them.

  “He made you his consigliere because he couldn’t trust anyone else. Not anyone who would make it out alive.”

  “What?”

  “I got to go check on something.” He stands up just as the last of the water gurgles in the drain. He reaches into his back pockets and holds another black plastic tie in his hands. “Put your hands behind your back.”

  I do as he says, because…because he’s the lesser of two evils at the moment. Worse.

  He brings his lips to my ear and whispers, “Be her for a little while longer.” He disappears after asking me to mask my identity once more. Only I’m not sure who her was.

  I haven’t been myself since I was a kid.

  As 327, it was the first time I felt alive. No matter who I am, I may not be here when he returns.

  18

  No More

  Breaker

  Stone storms out of the bathroom, locking the door behind him, like he couldn’t get away fast enough. He cuts through the room, bypassing Rom and the stain, and darts for the door. Just like I did. He’s probably on his way for some air because her presence suffocates. All her actions were subconscious blocks, protecting herself from me. She placed her arms in front of her—they were tied that way—but she bent her elbows and held her forearms over her chest, creating a barrier between it and me. If that weren’t enough, the frailty in her words discredited my meek attempt at remaining impassive.

  The vulnerability in her voice breaks through even the toughest exterior and makes any person capable of empathy feel like shit.

  If it made me like that, it must have wrecked Stone.

  I wasn’t drunk enough to shut off my damn empathy, and I think with her, I needed to be unconscious not to be affected by it. I’ve hurt women before, and I’ve broken hearts and spirits, but regret isn’t a common afterthought. Neither is self-loathing. Yet here I am, swallowing them both down with a bottle of whiskey while my brother deals with my girl problem, and Rom deals with the mess on the floor.

  “Boss?” Romolo throws my name out into the space, cracking through my headspace. “You all right, Boss?”

  I cringe at the name, feeling the weight of the position for the umpteenth time tonight and letting it remind me, or rather convince me, of the inevitable. “Why do you ask?”

  “Your phone was ringing, and you didn’t even hear it.”

  “I heard it,” I lie. “It’s probably Franco.” I use my bottle to point at the mess on the floor. “You’re doing his job. Makes me wonder what the hell I need him for.”

  “No offense, Boss…” He swallows down the bile in his throat before finishing his sentence, “I don’t ever want to do exactly what he does.”

  I laugh at the disgusted expression on his face. “Really? Not a fan of the chopping?”

  “My dad had a butcher shop before he got sick. Trust me, the last thing I want to do is be the one dicing and carving. I want to do what I can for you, but in all honesty, I’d puke all over the body.”

  Me too. I think the whiskey is making me loosen up. “Don’t worry about it. Franco doesn’t like company. He’s more of a loner during his process.”

  The door to the bedroom swings open. Three-quarters of a bottle of top-shelf whiskey makes me not care about the interruption. Romolo takes the opportunity to voice his opinion on Franco, something I think he wouldn’t have done in his presence. “He’s a sick bastard.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” Stone saunters into the room, sporting a serious case of confidence as he sets a small box on my bed and then sits his ass down.

  “Get off my bed!” I order, slamming my hand down on my mattress.

  Stone glares at me, unmoving, and continues explaining things to Romolo, “Franco keeps pieces of them.”

  Romolo stops dabbing at the blood with the soaked towel. “What? Like, of the bodies?” For someone who has killed for me, he seems even more creeped out than my no-kill brother.

  I chime in after another swig of liquor. “He has a thing for teeth with cavities.”

  Stone pumps his fist in the air, showing off what Franco does with them.

  In case he missed it, I bluntly state, “Franco masturbates to death.”

  “That’s so sick.” He extends the middle word as his body shivers and processes the thought. “He gets off on having something that can identify them?”

  “He explained it once.” I don’t offer them any more on his particular situation. “You got to ask him.”

  “What if they have perfect teeth?”

  My heart races at the mention of that.

  “Not many people have perfect teeth,” Stone states, and I immediately change the subject.

  “Talking about Franco, he better call me the fuck back. I don’t care if he’s shitting, dying, or screwing. When I call, there better be a goddamn ‘yes, Boss’ on the other line. So, if he calls you, tell him to stop whatever or whomever he’s working on and get his ass over here before I make him the next piece on the slab.”

  Stone glares at me for a minute, pushing the box in my direction. I narrow my eyes at the contents and get distracted by Rom’s frustrated sighs.

  “This is making it worse, Boss.” Romolo wipes at his forehead with the back of his gloved hand, careful not to smudge his face with the blood.

  The obvious doesn’t need to be voiced, but I’m too exhausted to tell him otherwise. With a flick of my hand, I give him the okay to give up. “We’ll just have it recarpeted.”

  “Want me to call someone in the morning? We can start tearing it out tonight.”

  Tonight, I’m busy. “No, we’ll deal with it…after.” After, I deal with 327 reasons why I hate my life at the moment. “Can you secure the guesthouse?”

  Rom stands up and nods his head. “Sure thing. Need me to try Franco again?”

  “No, get some rest. He’s working on something… Make sure the guys are doing their jobs and then get some yourself. There will be plenty to do here in the morning.”

  Stone looks at his watch, probably checking to see when the shift changed for the men. The action reminds me of my phone, so I pluck it out of my back pocket. A quick scroll through the six missed calls from Magdalena is enough to throw me off my axis. By the time I look up, Rom is gone, and I’m holding the phone up for Stone to see my call log. Sooner or later, I am going to have to tell him about getting married, and since I’m drunk and he’s already disappointed, why not use this to stall and avoid talking about everything else?

  Stone swipes his finger downward, checking the other calls and shakes his head. “Kelsie’s going to be fucking pissed when she finds out you’re using her home as a morgue again.” His complete avoidance of anything Magdalena doesn’t surprise me.

  “No, she’s not.” I lock the phone and place it beside me, next to the gun I got from the nightstand.

  “What? You think she’s going to move in here like you asked because you need her space as a temporary dumpsite?” He scoffs and makes light of the situation by joking about a very possible outcome. “I’d be worried about waking up with rotten bodies in my bed and a gun to my head.”

  “I don’t worry about Kelsie,” I admit to my skeptic brother and don
’t give him time to follow up and distract me from what I need to tell him. “Magdalena will be moving in here soon. After the wedding.”

  “I’m sorry… WHAT? Have you lost your mind?” He points to the blood on the carpet. “That is nowhere near as awful as Magdalena. Bringing her into this house is almost as insane as she is. She’s certifiable—like legit, looney-bin certified.”

  Even talking about her scares the crap out of him. “You’ve always been scared of her, even when we were younger.”

  He tilts his head to the side, looking down his nose at me, as if fear was some kind of superpower I lacked. “She held me under the water until I nearly drowned.”

  “She held you under the water to kiss you, if I remember correctly. She wanted to be the air you needed to breathe.”

  “No, you don’t remember correctly. I was struggling to come up for air while you, Luca, and Kelsie were sitting on the edge of the pool, trying to see what Costa was doing in his office. They were having a meeting while Mom kept an eye on us.”

  That was not a good memory. “Mom kept an eye on her martini glass more than she kept an eye on us.”

  Stone lowers his gaze to the bottle in my hand and raises his brow, pointing out that alcoholism is in my genes. I validate his point by taking a quick swig and averting my gaze. Frankly, I’m getting sick of looking at a better version of me.

  “What I remember is you and Kelsie sneaking into Dad’s office.” Again.

  Stone’s face blanches at the memory, and now I’m the one to look down my nose at him. “I forgot about that.”

  “Of course, you did.” I force myself up and turn my back to my brother, looking out the large double doors. The stars in the night sky play out the memories as I recant them. “You stole an envelope with a couple of thousand dollars from Costa’s second drawer. The money had blood on it, so I told you to put it back.”