Taken: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Vanessa Waltz

  I ripped him off me. “Nick, it’s over.”

  “The hell it is. I love you.”

  No, no, no. “I don’t feel the same anymore.”

  Nick yanked me off the wall. “You can’t mean that.”

  “I do. We weren’t good together.”

  “Bullshit. We have what everybody in the world wants.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Love.”

  He wasn’t capable of empathy, and I didn’t love him. Maybe I thought I did in the beginning, but I was so naïve. His overprotectiveness, the grand gestures, the over-the-top displays of affection, the lavish gifts—they were a hollow imitation of love.

  “You’re my old lady.” Nick tapped on his bicep, to the black-and-white rose. “You’re in my heart, Carmela. In my soul. I’m tired of banging girls who look like you but aren’t you. I want you every day, not once in a while.”

  As though a tattoo proved anything but his obsession.

  “You beat me constantly.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re exaggerating.”

  “I’m not. You hurt me so often that it took weeks to heal from everything you did.”

  “You are crazy—”

  “You raped me in front of your brothers.”

  “I warned you. I told you that a relationship with me would be intense. You said you didn’t care.”

  “I had no idea what I was getting myself into.”

  “If I was a monster, it was because you pushed me.”

  “I never want to see you again.” I wrenched from his grasp and rubbed at the red mark. “We’re over.”

  “No.” Nick shook his head, his expression maddening. “You will get over this.”

  I headed toward the service entrance, and Nick’s toxic presence followed, demanding my attention.

  “Don’t you fucking turn away.” He seized my left arm, scowling at something.

  I balled my fist. Too late.

  “What the fuck?” He brushed his thumb over my wedding ring, his voice rising into a shout. “What did you do!”

  “Nick—”

  “You’re married?” He let my hand fall as though he was gutted. “How could you?”

  “How could I find happiness? How dare I be with someone who doesn’t hit me? He treats me like a human being and not a blow-up doll, which is all you’ve ever done.”

  “You slept with me two months ago!”

  “What was I supposed to do? Fight you? You broke into my house. You’re sick. Crawl into a hole and die.” My throat tightened as I staved off the images from our last encounter. “I fucking hate you. I hate you so much.”

  “Carmela—”

  “No. You had your chance, and you ruined it.”

  A heavy silence filled the space between us, broken only by his brothers, who were cat-calling another woman.

  A bitter smile staggered across his face. “Who is it, Carmela?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Give me his name. You said you loved me. You wanted us to marry and have kids, or did I imagine that? Lying bitch. You whore.” Nick’s shouts attracted attention from the employees gathered by the door. “Who the fuck is it?”

  “Michael Costa.”

  “Michael Costa.” Nick’s voice lowered to a deadly simmer. “I’ve never seen you together, and suddenly you’re married to that dago wop?”

  “Yes, and thank God, he’s nothing like you.”

  His hand whirled, and my cheek exploded with pain. My palms hit the concrete, the rocks digging into my skin.

  Ahead, a group of men in smocks approached. One of them spoke on the phone, glaring at Nick, who squared his shoulders and whistled at his brothers. Normally, Nick wouldn’t think twice about blowing them apart, but we stood on a college campus. He backed off, his eyes reduced to malevolent slits.

  “Lady, you okay?” A forty-something dark-skinned man helped me upright. “Should we call the police?”

  “No. I’m good.”

  The concerned men formed a circle around me as I reentered the venue.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  I must’ve repeated that phrase thousands of times in the weeks after I escaped Nick, when everybody saw that I was a shell of my former self. Bumping into Nick didn’t rattle me. My hands were shaking because it was cold.

  I was fine, except for the foulness that was Nick sitting heavy in my stomach. It churned violently. Acid shot up my throat.

  I shoved people aside and hung over a trash can. The bitterness raked my tongue as I purged. I always vomited when Nick left. Every single time. It didn’t matter that he never got the chance to rape me, because he’d find me and do it again, and again, and this would never stop.

  The rage that consumed me could’ve blotted out the sun.

  “I disappear for a few minutes, and this happens.” Michael’s warmth stroked my back, and suddenly a napkin hovered near my lips. “You all right?”

  “No.”

  When I straightened, Michael’s smile thinned and the tan drained from his face. “What the hell happened?”

  “My ex-boyfriend is here. He hit me.”

  “What the fuck? Are you serious?”

  “We had a really bad relationship, but we broke up a while ago.” I brushed the mark on my cheek. “He’s with Legion. He found out I’m married, and he was very upset.”

  “I see.” Michael’s voice chilled to subzero as his arms wrapped me in heat. “Where is the prick?”

  “Outside.”

  He tucked my head under his chin, stroking my hair. “I’ll send you home with Vitale. Take a bath. Do something relaxing.”

  “I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I’ll be right behind you. Promise.” He gestured at Vitale, who peeled himself off the wall. “What’s his name?”

  “Crash.”

  Fourteen

  Michael

  The name sounded familiar.

  All biker handles blended together because they were stupid fucking names—Axel, Diesel, Crash. Was Mommy’s Accident taken?

  “Bad relationship” meant beatings and rape. A lot of Carmela’s behavior now made perfect sense. Red flags I should’ve noticed smacked me in the face.

  Men who hit women were a half-step above pedophiles. Crash was garbage. He terrorized her to feel big, because his ego was fragile. I’d find that piece of shit. I’d drag him into my car, shove him in a dark cell, and spend a few days inflicting unimaginable pain on him.

  I’d sent Carmela home with Vitale. She was a mess. It took a while to calm her, and then I’d amassed the troops. Six Costa enforcers—brutes with hard-ons for fighting—and then we’d interviewed the staff. They gave me a much more harrowing account.

  “He did what?”

  My voice smoked with rage, and the atmosphere pulsed with fury. Everyone wanted to beat up bikers. When I was little, my brother would drink and rave about MC guys corrupting nice Italian girls. A deep mistrust of one-percenters was in our blood. Costas were protective of our own. Nothing enraged us more than bikers’ filthy hands on our women.

  “He choked her,” the forty-something caterer repeated. “She tried to run, but the asshole wouldn’t let her. He called her a whore. Slapped her.”

  A hush descended over the room.

  Men had died for lesser offenses, but what Crash had done was egregious. He’d assaulted my wife. I was Vinn’s right hand—was this guy out of his mind?

  His fate was sealed. He’d die slowly.

  “Where is he?”

  He frowned, his mouth thinning. “You seem like a decent man. You don’t want to be mixed up in that kind of trouble.”

  “Buddy, I am trouble.” I patted his back and shoved a fifty in his pocket. “Thanks for the information. I’d appreciate it if you kept what you saw to yourself.”

  As soon as he’d vanished from the kitchen, someone smashed their fist into the wall.

  “We should kill them all
!”

  Agreed.

  I faced the hungry wolves desperate for a fight. “Nobody is firing their weapon. Understand? The last thing I need is the governor on my ass about a school shooting.”

  They nodded.

  “I’m serious. Somebody better keep a calm head, because I don’t know if I can.”

  “Let’s fuck him up, boss.”

  My shoulder rammed into the service exit, and it blew open into a darkened alley between two buildings. A dumpster sat to my left, and trash littered the ground. Bikers lounged against the brick wall, smoking, their Harleys parked in a row. I spilled into the cool darkness, my enforcers covering my six as I approached the men wearing leather cuts.

  “Crash!”

  They angled their heads at me. I had no idea which was him. Carmela had described him as blond and tall.

  “Which one of you is Crash?”

  “I am.”

  A soft voice beckoned me toward a man with a linebacker body. Black ink wrapped his sleeves, and he wore faded leather over a Metallica T-shirt. He was in his mid-twenties, his light features reminding me of Julian. His hair was swept back. A dusting of a golden beard clung to his jaw. The rounded cheeks gave him a baby-faced innocence that clashed with the biker outfit. He looked like a kid who’d watched too much Sons of Anarchy. He smoked an ebony cigarette, which he flicked in my direction. Red sparks danced across the pavement.

  “So you’re the dago that married my girl.”

  He was begging to die.

  “And you’re the chrome-humping rapist.”

  His friends slid from the shadows, reaching for their weapons. He raised a palm, and they stopped. “Is that what she says I am?”

  “She never mentions you.”

  “Because you can’t compare.” Crash’s mouth curved into an arrogant smirk. “She’s sparing your feelings because you don’t do it for her. I know my woman. She doesn’t want a nice guy.”

  “What makes you think I’m nice?”

  “You’re not an alpha male. You’re a beta bitch, and you’re not what she wants. You’ll give her up.”

  “Over my dead fucking body.”

  He shrugged. “There’s no way I’d let you live after tasting my woman’s pussy.”

  It was as though a blood splatter had blinded me. I seized my knife. I swung, burying the blade. It pierced his leather and struck something hard. There was no gush of warmth.

  The fucker wore armor.

  His knuckles smashed my head. Two more punches caught my jaw. I staggered. My enforcers launched at the bikers, armed with knives and blackjacks. I rammed my shoulder into Crash’s stomach, pinning him against the dumpster. He hammered me. A blow to my kidneys knocked me down.

  Fucking asshole.

  I gritted my teeth and socked his gut. He unsheathed a blade and sliced, forcing me to jump. I blocked his blows with my forearms until a wild stab seared into my skin. I grunted as heat spilled into my palm. His knife whistled the air. I avoided it, ducking and diving. I grabbed his wrist, twisted, and wrenched the handle. Then I kicked his leg out.

  His knee slammed into the concrete, and I grappled him. I couldn’t get a hold on him. I dropped my weapon. I jerked him into a chokehold. He pushed with his feet, attempting to dislodge me. He thrust my chin and punched. Agony burst through my insides. Nausea radiated from the fire in my groin.

  I let him go, gasping.

  He lunged.

  I took a bottle rolled under the dumpster and swung it like a golf club. It shattered on his cheek, glass raining the pavement. Crash swore and stumbled. I seized his jacket and tugged him to the ground. I smashed his face into the shards, introducing my knuckles to his eyes, his nose, beating every exposed inch. I scraped the broken bits and shoved them in his mouth.

  “Choke on it.”

  Crash rolled on his side, vomiting.

  “Stop!”

  Dimly, I recognized my cousin’s baritone as rough hands seized my arms. They yanked. My elbow cracked into a jaw. I was ripped off Crash. Another body tackled me, knocking me backward. I roared as Crash crawled upright, spitting crimson.

  “Let me the fuck go!”

  A red-haired Legion member patted Crash’s shoulder. “You okay, man?”

  “Get off me.” Crash pushed him. He scooped a knife from the floor. His brothers waylaid him. Four of them subdued him, but he was like a rabid tiger. He slashed the ginger beard’s chest, slicing his leather cut. Then the president stepped into the fight, slamming his fist into Crash’s skull.

  He dropped. His palms hit the asphalt.

  “I gave you a goddamned order.” The president of Legion stood beside Vinn, whose stony features betrayed nothing. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Crash slowly got to his feet, his bleeding lips stretched into a leer. “Costa and I had a disagreement.”

  “He assaulted my wife. I have witnesses. I demand his life.”

  “Carmela belonged to me before she was yours.” Crash twisted the blade in his palm. “Give her back.”

  “If you have to make demands for a girl, she’s not yours.”

  “You stole her—”

  “I proposed. She said yes.” I laughed, pointed at the president’s shocked face. “Even he thinks you’re insane.”

  “Two months ago, I was fucking her. We were together!”

  “And then she ghosted your ass. Too bad.” I’d carve this motherfucker and blowtorch his lying mouth. “Maybe you should’ve offered her more than your small dick.”

  “I will rip you apart, Costa. I’ll destroy your world and everybody in it.”

  This dumb fuck didn’t realize I’d marked him for slaughter.

  “You’ll never get the chance.”

  “That’s enough.” Vinn shoved me, his actions clashing with his tempered voice. “Not here, Mike. Look where we are.”

  I didn’t tear my gaze from Crash. “I’m killing the bastard.”

  “Not here.”

  The president motioned to his men, who dragged Crash to the bikes. As much as I wanted to end this here, I couldn’t execute him on a college campus. A gunshot victim on Ivy League grounds would attract national attention. This wasn’t the way to dispose of Carmela’s ex.

  I would kill him.

  Soon.

  We held an emergency meeting. Vinn played the diplomat with Legion’s president, who insisted that his road captain made an error in judgment. It was like Crash hadn’t groped and hit my wife. He expected us to shake hands and forget, which would never happen. According to Vinn, this was not the first time Legion had been soft with Crash. Then I screamed into the receiver and threatened to cut off their drug supply, and he caved. We were free to murder Crash, provided we could find him.

  He was probably holed up in a motel, licking his wounds. If it weren’t for Vinn, Crash would’ve died on a gurney in between spitting out chunks of glass. His pride was shattered. Carmela had rejected him, and I’d beaten his ass.

  He had to die.

  Eventually, I cooled down. I visited the ER to get stitched up. It was past midnight when I got home. My heartbeat jacked, I climbed the steps to our bedroom.

  Light bled under the door.

  Shit. She was awake.

  I hesitated before entering.

  Carmela whirled. She’d cleaned up, but red marks etched her cheeks as though she’d gripped them for hours. She wore nothing but the black T-shirt I used for sleeping. She stalked toward me, her eyes burning.

  “You bastard. Why didn’t you call me!” Carmela grabbed me, her forehead pulsing with a throbbing vein. “I’ve been out of my mind with worry. You didn’t return my calls. I didn’t know if I should contact hospitals or the morgue or—”

  “Look, I’m sorry. I thought you’d be asleep.”

  “Sleep? Are you insane?” Carmela swelled like a bullfrog, clutching my blazer. “You crazy son of a bitch.”

  She enveloped me in a bear hug and dissolved into sobs. Breath caught in her lungs as she struggle
d to inhale.

  It killed me.

  I’d never seen her fall apart. My words stuck in my throat as she clung to me.

  “Sorry.” I cradled her shoulder, burying my nose in her sweet scent. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “What happened?”

  “I fought him. It didn’t end on good terms.”

  “Don’t be vague.”

  “He sliced my arm, so I shoved glass in his mouth. He’s still alive—”

  “Oh my God,” she moaned, fingering the bandage. “You’re insane.”

  “It’s all right. Just a scratch.”

  Carmela crumpled as she unfastened the knot at my neck and pushed the jacket from my shoulders. She gazed at the strip of white wrapping my arm, her voice husky with regret. “I’m so sorry, Michael.”

  “I’d do it again. And again. Carmela, breathe. You’re safe.”

  Carmela shook her head, so agitated she couldn’t exhale without shaking violently. “I hate him. I wish he’d disappear.”

  Working on it. “How long has he been an issue?”

  “A couple of years.”

  “Years?”

  “Sometimes he leaves me alone for a few weeks. I move constantly. I rent apartments under pseudonyms. I do everything I can to avoid him. He always manages to find me.”

  I didn’t know where to begin. “How did you meet this guy?”

  “A bar.” She closed her eyes. “I thought I was in love. We were together for a while. I ran away to be with him, but after a few months of living with him, it turned into a horror show. I left him, but he hasn’t left me.”

  “You could’ve asked me for help. You were at my house on Christmas. We hung out all the time. I would’ve handled him for you.”

  “You have two adorable children.”

  “What do they have to do with anything?”

  Everything.

  My stomach dropped as Carmela slumped onto the mattress, depression descending over her like a cloak.

  “You were such a nice guy. I couldn’t bring him in your lives.”

  Nothing she’d said tonight devastated me more. “You’re worth it, Carmela. I don’t care what kind of trouble you’re in.”