Taken - A Gangster Stepbrother Romance

by Adams, Michaela

  “Who are you?” Emma asked, taking a step back in preparation to flee. This just felt too real. What was happening? How had she fallen so deep into the rabbit hole? Why had she picked up that call?

  The man nodded as if confirming something. “Get in the car,” he said, moving away from the door for her.

  Emma remained frozen in place.

  “Get in,” the man said again, his voice edged with impatience.

  Without another word, Emma turned on her heels and ran. This was exactly how women were kidnapped and then murdered. She had no idea who had sent her that note or who had made that call but either way, she was no fool. This had danger written all over it.

  But Emma had only managed to get a few feet before arms thick as tree trunks closed around her middle, trapping her arms against her sides.

  Emma kicked and squirmed, landing a good hit against the man’s shin. “Fuck!” she heard him grunt.

  Knowing that in her neighborhood, screaming could sometimes invite more trouble than help, Emma took the risk and opened her mouth but before she could even take in a breath, a damp cloth was pressed hard over her mouth and nose.

  Emma’s eyes widened in shock as she squirmed and fought the man’s ironclad hold. She wriggled and kicked. And she inhaled.

  Losing her breath from struggling so much, she breathed faster, inhaling the fumes of the damp cloth. A thick haze began to quickly creep in upon her. Her limbs felt heavy and awkward. Her muscles felt like they were made of pudding.

  As if from a faraway world, she felt the man carry her to the car and push her in. Her eyelids felt like they were made of steel beams. As she slowly let the fog carry her away, she wondered if anyone had seen her, if anyone had witnessed her kidnapping.

  And if anyone had seen, she wondered if anyone had cared.

  But she knew the answer. With a detached feeling of aching loneliness, Emma let herself drown in the heavy fog of drug-induced sleep.

  Chapter Three

  A soft ringing called out to her, cutting through the darkness and haze.

  Emma moaned a little, still feeling the heaviness of her arms and legs weigh her down. The muffled ringing continued, as if coming from a faraway room.

  She hoped she had woken up early enough to catch the bus for school. Or wait, was it clinic day today? She couldn’t remember. Feeling as though she were lifting an arm made of redwood tree trunks, she reached for her phone to check the time. But as her arm swung up, it brushed against something smooth and silky.

  Emma’s arm froze, midair. With her eyes still closed and her brain still slow, she remembered her bedroom quilt. It was a gray and white checkered cotton quilt that had needed its edges to be resewn more than a handful of times. Her sheets were a matching gray cotton that had been purchased when she had started college. They were nearly threadbare now.

  In short, nothing in her room should feel silky and smooth.

  With aching slowness, Emma squinted open her eyes. Instead of the peeling walls of her studio apartment, she saw a clean white wall with an elegant matching white chair rail trim across the middle.

  This…this wasn’t her room.

  Where was she?

  As she tried to get her vision to focus, Emma thought back to what she remembered last.

  She had gone to clinic. Seen her patients. She had stayed late to finish some extra work. She had gone home. Checked her mail—

  Her mail!

  The package. The phone. The note.

  It all came screaming back to her. Remembering the black sedan and the burly man who had kidnapped her, Emma forced herself to sit up.

  Though her movements were still a little sluggish, she managed to pull herself upright. Sitting up, she looked around her surroundings, convinced she would find herself in the middle of an unknown room filled with kidnappers and gang members bent on raping and murdering her.

  But instead what she saw made her jaw drop.

  She found herself in what looked like the most luxurious hotel room she had ever been in. The walls were painted a warm white with crown molding and trim. The room was spacious with high ceilings. A large crystal chandelier hung high above her, glittering and sparkling in all its glory.

  A silk covered loveseat and armchair were at the far end of the room with a delicate table between them. Off to her right was a large vanity complete with lights and a velvety soft stool. A satin covered chaise bench stood at the foot of the bed.

  The bed!

  Looking down, Emma realized she was sitting in a soft pile of white covers and sheets that were thick and downy soft. Judging by its size, it had to be a king size mattress. Having slept on a twin bed all her life, Emma was sure she could roll around on this bed till next Tuesday.

  But she didn’t want to roll around till next Tuesday when she wasn’t even sure where she was. Or even what day it was! This definitely wasn’t what she had expected to wake up to but it was nonetheless an unfamiliar environment.

  Feeling her coordination return to her with every passing minute, she pulled the heavy covers off of her and scooted off the luxurious bed. With a soft thump, she landed on the thick white carpet below. Unable to help herself, Emma wiggled her toes, feeling the softness tickle her feet.

  Taking in a deep breath, she headed towards the large door on the left that looked like the door out. Feeling steadier, she pulled the handle and walked out.

  But instead of the hotel hallway, she bumped straight into a broad back. She cried out in surprise as she fell back a few steps, rubbing her nose from smacking it straight into a hard back.

  “What the hell—!” a man grunted.

  The back turned around and Emma saw that it was attached to a man with a long face and a broad nose. He didn’t look like the man from the sedan although her memories were hazy of that night.

  The man studied her silently before raising his wrist to his mouth. “The acquisition is awake,” he said quietly into his wrist. “Repeat, acquisition is awake.”

  Emma stared at him. Acquisition? Who? Her?

  “Where—”

  But before she could finish, the man put up a finger as he listened to his earpiece intently. Nodding at whatever was said, he grabbed Emma by her upper arm and pulled her out of the room.

  “Hey!” she cried out trying to jerk herself free. “Let me go! Where am I? Where are we going?”

  As the man silently pulled her down the hallway, Emma noticed they weren’t inside a hotel. It was instead some kind of opulent mansion. The ceilings rose and domed above her. The wide hallways were lined in an ashy gray hardwood that looked expensive and modern.

  The man eventually led her down a grand staircase that had wrought iron rails on either side.

  “Where am I?” she asked again, still futilely fighting against the man’s strong grip. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Office,” the man finally answered in a curt voice.

  “Office?” Emma echoed as she was dragged across the huge first floor foyer. She was led down another wide hallway.

  The man stopped at the first door to his right. He gave two respectful knocks then waited.

  “Come in,” a voice said from behind the door.

  Emma gulped. No one had answered where she was yet. And she had no idea who the man that had been dragging her was. Just like she hadn’t known the man from the sedan. And just like she hadn’t known the man on the phone. What was going on? How much further would she have to fall down this rabbit hole?

  But before she could gather her bearings, the man opened the door and pushed her in without following. Emma stumbled a bit, almost tripping over her own feet. She heard the door close behind her.

  Inside was the kind of home office old movies used to show. Huge windows graced the far side of the room, outlined in heavy curtains. Looking out, Emma only saw a manicured lawn and well trimmed trees, nothing to give her an idea of her location. The walls were a dark brown that gave it a richer, more masculine vibe. The wall in front of her was c
ompletely lined with bookshelves chock full of books. In front of the books was a grand desk made of a gleaming wood that Emma was sure was expensive and rare. She could probably lay along the length of the desk with a few inches to spare.

  And behind the desk stood a man.

  Emma watched his silvery gray eyes take in every inch of her. Although she was wearing the same clothes she had been on the night of her kidnapping, she felt naked and exposed under his gaze. Because it wasn’t just the keenness of his eyes or the focus of his gaze—it was the power of it.

  The man simply exuded power. Well over six feet tall, he wore a dark suit with a crisp black shirt, a few buttons casually undone. His black hair was cropped and neat and his clothes impeccably tailored.

  He looked like a wealthy businessman but the feeling he gave off was altogether different. The cut of his jaw, the broadness of his shoulders, the width of his clearly muscular body all spoke of a brutal kind of strength. Emma could tell he held his power in check and was in complete control of the aura he gave off.

  With one hand, he rubbed his cheeks, his wide blunt fingers scraping against his rough stubble. He then gave a quick nod as if accepting a job or a responsibility. Walking around the enormous desk, he leaned his hip against it and faced Emma directly.

  “Who are you?” Emma whispered, completely taken by his powerful presence. He made her body tighten in fear, awareness, and something else. Something unnameable.

  The man gave her a smile that never touched his eyes. It was a perfunctory movement he made with the muscles of his mouth, nothing more.

  “Hello, Emma,” he said. She immediately recognized that voice. She could hear the clap of thunder and the crash of waves in it. It was him. “I’m glad we can finally meet.”

  He waited a beat, seeming to expect Emma to say something. When she said nothing, he just nodded and said, “Since I know your name, I’m sure you’re curious about mine.” With a gaze that was piercing and completely focused, he said, “My name is Antonio Del Marco.” He made a small gesture with his hand, motioning towards the room in general.

  “Welcome to my home.”

  Emma swallowed. Oh god.

  Chapter Four

  Antonio Del Marco.

  A flood of articles, news reports, blogs all rushed at Emma.

  “Notorious head of Del Marco Clan seen flying into LAX….”

  “Antonio Del Marco escapes prosecution for drug ring….”

  “Del Marco Mob now headed by son of mobster Gabe Del Marco….”

  “Blood on his hands—can justice be served against Antonio Del Marco?”

  She heard the echoes of gunshots that she could hear in her neighborhood. She thought of all the broken children she counseled, their small shoulders shaking as they remembered a murder or a shooting. And all of this at the hands of the Del Marco Clan.

  Standing before her was the head of one of the most powerful crime syndicates in the world. Emma took a step back as if she had just received a blow to her stomach.

  “Del…Del Marco,” Emma whispered. She was standing in Antonio Del Marco’s house? She was literally in the heart of the Del Marco Clan! Wildly, she began scanning the room for a means of escape.

  What could they possibly want with a social services grad student?

  She caught Antonio’s eyes, sharply watching her look futilely for escape. Although he stood in a relaxed stance, she could tell his body was coiled for action. If she were to run, he would chase.

  Seeming to recognize the accepted defeat on her face, Antonio gestured towards the large leather sofa behind her. “Why don’t you take a seat, Emma,” he suggested. Emma’s heart pounded as she slowly walked towards the couch and gingerly took a seat. Antonio Del Marco’s words might’ve sounded like a suggestion but she could tell the man never suggested; he ordered.

  Antonio followed and took a seat across from her in a large leather wingback chair. He crossed his long legs and sat back with an urbane ease that made Emma’s hands sweat.

  “Why am I here?” she asked. This was all just too surreal.

  Antonio paused and regarded her for a moment before starting, “I want to tell you a story—well—a little history about the Del Marcos. I think it’s very relevant to you.”

  Relevant to her? How could any part of Del Marco history be relevant to her?

  “A story?” she echoed. She couldn’t believe she had been kidnapped just to be told a story from the infamous crime kingpin of the west coast.

  Antonio nodded.

  “And then I can go home?” Emma asked, trying not to sound too hopeful or eager. She wasn’t sure if that would sound offensive to the man who seemed so keen on telling her his story.

  Antonio made a shrugging gesture with his hands. “Well,” he said, “we can talk afterwards.”

  The vagueness made her throat clench. But seeing as she had no other choice but to listen, she folded her hands in her lap and tried her best to listen without her heart ripping through her chest in fear.

  “If you’re familiar with the Del Marco name,” he began, “you’ll know that our roots run very deep in LA. Gabe Del Marco, my father, began our organization in the late seventies at first through drugs. Importing, distribution, selling, all of it.”

  Emma tried hard not to show her disgust. She saw his lips twitch with amusement at seeing her struggle. She couldn’t believe how frankly he was admitting to his criminal past. Wasn't he worried she might do something with the information?

  “He quickly was able to edge out or absorb any of his competition,” Antonio continued smoothly. “Once his territory was sizeable enough, he moved into several other fields, arms dealing, prostitution, loan sharking, tenement properties. You name anything with a whiff of the unsavory, and he dealt in it. And quite well, I might add.”

  No, he didn’t need to add. Growing up in LA, Emma had seen first hand the wide reach of the chaos and trauma the Del Marco Clan had wreaked. Although none of her foster homes had been in very dangerous neighborhoods, she still wasn’t completely shielded from the fallout a run in with the Del Marcos could cause.

  “And of course, in this business, strength and brutality is how you survive. Blood was spilt and lives taken in the name of the Del Marco Clan,” Antonio said baldly.

  Emma gaped at him. Had the head of the largest west coast gang in America just admit to the Del Marco Clan murdering for the sake of their crime syndicate? What was this man doing?

  “It was at the height of all of this—about twenty years ago—that my father decided to remarry. He wanted a wife again. My mother had died only a year after I was born,” he explained with an aloofness that distanced him from the tragedy he was actually narrating. “In this business, it’s always smart to keep your distance from anyone not family. And as a man, it is especially true when meeting women. There were always tons of women who were throwing themselves at my father. They wanted a piece of the pie and live the lifestyle they thought a mobster’s girlfriend was entitled to.”

  Antonio shrugged and made a small gesture with his hand. “But my father was smart enough to know that was the quickest way to ruin. Those kinds of easy women were perfect targets to lure as moles by rival gangs. All it took was some money and something shiny and those women would immediately turn on anyone.

  “Anyway, about then was when my father met Charisse. She was a smart and kind woman who my father fell in love with immediately. She was good to him and also good to me, which couldn’t have been easy. A ten year old son from a previous marriage? But she accepted me and loved me. My father insisted on the fastest wedding possible. But Charisse was hesitant. She had a three year old daughter from a previous boyfriend who had run out on her. She was scared to pull her daughter into the kind of life Del Marco men led.” Antonio steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them.

  “And rightly so. It was a life of constant danger and threat. But my father loved her and swore to her that he would protect her and her little daughter as well. Chariss
e eventually gave in and they were married soon after.”

  Emma nearly forgot where she was. So enthralled by the tale of forbidden love and danger, she was completely lost in the story. And the added thrill of hearing intimate details of Antonio Del Marco’s life only heightened the experience.

  “I, err, have never heard of Charisse Del Marco,” Emma said quietly. Almost everybody knew the family tree of the Del Marcos. She knew Gabe Del Marco had been widowed shortly after his son’s birth but she had never heard of him remarrying, especially to a woman who already had a child from a previous relationship.

  Antonio’s jaw tightened a bit and his eyes turned a colder shade of silver. “No, you wouldn’t have,” he said, his voice edged with tightness. “Shortly after marrying, literally hours after, Charisse Del Marco was murdered.”