Dark: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance (Citrione Crime Family)

by Penelope Bloom

  “Weeee!” yells Roman from the back. “Do it again!”

  “Honey, make sure your straps are tight, okay?” I ask, voice strained as I swerve off the exit ramp and head down a backcountry road. There’s a mom and pop style grocery store and a few trailers scattered around fields of overgrown grass and not much else. I don’t even see any other cars on the road.

  I drive as fast as I dare, glancing in the rearview as the black sedan gains on us. I squeeze the steering wheel, struggling to think of something to do, anything to get them off our tail.

  “Honey, are you in tight?” I call back to Roman, quickly reaching to turn off the music.

  “Weeeee!” he yells again. “I’m in tight!”

  I swerve off the road, driving a few dozen yards through grass until a reach a field of tall, golden wheat. I see the black sedan through the dust cloud I’m kicking up, following behind. I can’t see anything now, but I did see a farmhouse roughly in the direction I’m driving from the road, I just have to hope I’m driving in a straight line, and I have to hope whoever is driving the sedan didn’t see what I saw.

  I drive as fast as I dare, still seeing flashes of black through the dust behind me, bouncing along in the fields of wheat, gaining on me. I grip the steering wheel tighter, twisting my hands and wondering how much farther it could—

  The wheat drops away and I barely swerve in time to miss the corner of a farmhouse. A split-second later, I hear the sedan crash into it.

  “Ahhhh!” Roman yells happily. “This is awesome!”

  I slowly circle back through the wheat as best as I can tell until I find the path of trampled crops that leads back to the road. I see the car jammed into the house, spewing thick black smoke as I drive. I let myself sigh with relief, grinning a little. Take that, you fuckers. No one comes between me and my son.

  When I emerge from the crops, I see two black SUVs waiting for me. Four men stand in the grass, guns pointed toward us. One of them steps forward, motioning for me to get out of the car. My mind races. I briefly consider swerving into the crops again and hoping I could lose them, but they are too close. I can’t risk a stray bullet catching Roman. Even the thought twists my heart. My only hope now is to wait for an opportunity or hope Leo finds us. As discreetly as I can, I fire off a text to Leo that says “Help”.

  31

  Leo

  I wait in the junkyard for everyone to show. I’m wearing my gun holstered inside my suit jacket, and the weight is reassuring. Still, a lot of pieces have to come together for this to play out the way I hope. I called Marco a few hours ago and told him I wanted to give him some critical information about the Capobiancos. He sounded eager enough to show, probably on one hand because he thinks he can set up a trap and have me killed, and on the other because he knows the Capobiancos could decide to gun for him at any time. It’s a win-win for him.

  Fredo and his crew show first. I see the small convoy of four SUVs pull up to the entrance of the junkyard and wind their way toward where I wait near the center. If he’s smart, he’ll turn the cars around when he sees I already broke the agreement and showed up early, but as I was hoping, his arrogance and pride seem to take over, because the SUVs don’t stop, even when they have to have a clear view of me.

  I stand in a clearing, surrounded by piles of junk cars and scrapped electronics. The Capobiancos managed to hire four ex-seals that are working as military contractors. Two wait to my left, and two are to my right, lying prone on top of cars. They have heavy weapons, and I’m counting on them being able to do a hell of a lot of damage in a short period of time, otherwise I’m fucked.

  I crack my neck, and clench my fist as I watch Fredo and his men step out of the cars. I need to keep my mind in the here and now, but I keep thinking of Julia and Roman. My son. Jesus Christ. Has it really only been half a day since she told me? It was one thing to suspect, but hearing it confirmed was like a weight off my shoulders I didn’t know I carried. He’s my son. Julia and I had a son together and I didn’t even know. The thought is terrifying and exciting at the same time. I need to clean this up here and now, for them.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket from a text, but if I reach for it, the Morettis will think I’m pulling a gun on them.

  Fredo walks up to me until he’s inches from me. He’s not as tall as me, and he has to look up to meet my eyes.

  “Leo fucking Citrione, the phantom in the flesh.” He smirks, the walking around me in a slow circle, appraising me like a rancher inspecting a fine piece of livestock. “You know the funny thing? I didn’t even give a shit about killing you at first. I just wanted that fucking brother of yours. But you’re like the fucking white wolf, the unkillable, aren’t you? Once I realized what a pain in my ass you were, I wanted you, just for the sport of it.”

  I don’t move, standing motionless as the smaller man paces in front of me. “You want sport?” I ask. “We could settle this, man to man. Right now. You and me.”

  He barks a laugh that’s too loud. “You would like that? Wouldn’t you?” He rushes toward me, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “You’d love to kick my fucking ass in front of my men and make me have to yell for them to help, to put you down like the fucking mad dog you are.”

  I look down at him, meeting his eye and making him take a step back. I smirk. Fucking coward.

  “Wipe that look off your face,” he snaps, pulling his gun and pointing it at me. “Or should I just shoot the look off myself?”

  I don’t flinch. “I can see why none of your men were able to kill me now,” I say. “You must have been the one who taught them to run their mouths instead of getting the job done.”

  I see his hand tense, his finger pulling the trigger back a fraction of an inch. I brace myself, ready to move if I think he’s going to do it, but I don’t. He has wanted me for too long to kill me now. I just need to keep baiting him and dragging this out until the Bianchis come. The seals hiding know not to shoot until I give them the signal, and they wait, even while Fredo’s gun is pointed straight at my forehead.

  “You think you’re tough, don’t you?” asks Fredo. His face contorts in rage, letting me know he’s about to hit me. He whips the butt of his pistol toward my face and I’m able to roll with the blow, taking the bone-crushing potential of a pistol-whip away. My cheek throbs and I feel blood trickle down my jaw, but I don’t let any pain show on my face. I show him nothing but cold indifference. He’s a dead man, whether he knows it or not, and I want him to go to his grave with the same fear and helplessness my brother probably felt before he was executed.

  Fredo’s lips twitch as he scans my face, looking for some sign of weakness. He punches me in the stomach, but I flex just before impact and only feel a dull throb from where he hits me. I don’t even bend over with the blow. He pulls back for a wild swing at my face and I catch his fist, squeezing until his mouth parts in agony.

  “One word,” he hisses.

  I lean close, whispering so only he can hear. “Did you tell them what to do if I rip your jaw off with my bare hands?”

  Fredo’s eyebrows draw together as I let him go. He shakes his wrist, clenching his fist. He turns, and I think he’s about to give the order to shoot when the sound of engines meet us. Three black sedans are pulling up to where we are in the junkyard. I have to keep from smiling. Like a hungry rat, Marco took the bait. Fredo motions for his men to stand down while we watch the cars pull up.

  Marco and his men get out slowly. I see Antonio Bianchi get out as well, his second-in-command. Perfect. Marco frowns at the Morettis and then at me.

  “What the fuck is this?” he asks.

  Fredo still holds his gun, and when he turns to wave it toward Marco, the Bianchi guys pull their own weapons. In a split second, the Morettis and Bianchis have each other at gunpoint. Only Marco is showing some semblance of calm.

  “Leo, you fucker. What is your game?”

  “I don’t have a game. I was waiting for you here when the Morettis showed up and star
ted threatening me. I thought maybe you put them up to it.”

  Marco glares at Fredo. “You wanted me to get Leo. That was our deal. You trying to get him before I do so you don’t have to pay your end of the bargain?”

  I quirk an eyebrow. They are at each other’s throats a lot more quickly than I had hoped. I hoped Marco would feel shafted if he saw Fredo trying to kill me under his nose, but I didn’t expect him to jump to accusations so quickly. He really is an idiot. Even here, the Morettis outgun him.

  “Well,” I say, feeling my muscles tense as I know how much chaos is about to follow my words. “Maybe you should be asking the more important question here,” I say.

  Both Marco and Fredo turn to look at me, confused.

  Now it’s time to make both sides think they’ve been double-crossed. “I’d be wondering which one of you set this up, and why there are men with rifles hiding in those cars,” I say, pointing to the piles of trash around us.

  To my surprise, Fredo lifts his gun and squeezes off two rounds without hesitation. Marco falls, but not before he fires back, catching Fredo in the shoulder. The Morettis open up on the Bianchis, and the Bianchis return fire. Both groups of gunmen duck behind cars and use car doors for cover, but when I raise my hand, the seals hiding on either side bring down a hail of bullets that sprays blood and dust into the air. Antonio Bianchi catches a bullet in the neck and then his body jolts as several high-powered rifle rounds tear through him. Within seconds, the crossfire shreds both groups of men. All that’s left is a red mist and mangled bodies. I didn’t even have to draw my gun.

  The I see Marco’s broken body lying a few feet from Fredo’s. Instead of the rich satisfaction I thought I’d feel, I only feel numb. Killing them didn’t bring back Angelo. It didn’t keep me from missing the first three years of my son’s life. It didn’t stop me from making Julia’s life a living hell. But if it means Julia and Roman are safe, I can live with the emptiness. I can shoulder it for them.

  I walk back to my car, pulling out my phone to call the Capobiancos to tell them they are going to need one hell of a cleanup crew, but instead I see the text that came through.

  Julia (4:42 p.m.): Help

  My blood turns to ice. I may have just cut off the head of both the Morettis and the Bianchis, but I’m not done yet.

  32

  Julia

  I’m blindfolded, gagged, and tied up in the back of a car. They took Roman to a separate car, and my head still hurts from where they hit me to stop me from trying to kick free and get to him. There are only two men with me in the car. I’ve gathered that the driver’s name is Frank, and the passenger is Benito.

  “...swear to fucking God. If he tries that shit again, he’ll regret it,” says Frank. He has a deep, slow voice that makes it seem as though he has to think carefully about every word he says.

  “Just drop it. You know what Fredo would do to you if you touched Carlo? Carlo is his fucking nephew. Fredo would rip you to pieces,” says Benito.

  “He could try.”

  Benito laughs. “You really are an idiot.”

  “Watch your fucking mouth,” says Frank.

  Benito huffs out a sigh and falls silent. I struggle to think through the throbbing pain in my head. “A’roo” I mumble through the gag when I try to say bathroom.

  “Shut up,” says Benito.

  “A’room!” I say more urgently.

  Benito grumbles and I hear him unbuckle his seatbelt. A second later rough hands yank the gag down to my neck. “The fuck are you saying?”

  I work the stiffness from my jaw. “Bathroom. I need to pee, or I’m going to do it all over this seat.”

  “Go ahead,” says Benito. “Boss told us not to stop for anything.”

  “She’s not pissing in my car,” says Frank. I feel the car lurch to a halt as he pulls off on the side of the road.

  “Shit,” mutters Benito. I can hear the faint sound of him dialing a number in his cell phone and then ringing. “Yeah. Gotta stop to let her take a piss. Wait up for us.”

  I’m led out of the car. I feel long grass brush against my ankles but still can’t see anything.

  “Alright, go ahead and piss,” says Frank.

  “I can’t see anything,” I say.

  “You don’t need to see to piss. Just go.”

  “I’m not going with you watching.”

  He groans. “No one is watching.”

  I hear car doors and voices as men approach. “...little kid is driving me crazy.”

  “You’ll get to shut him up soon enough,” says another voice.

  My heart clenches. I can’t stand hearing them talk about hurting Roman. My little guy is in danger and I can’t do anything to help him. No, not true. It won’t be easy to help him, but I can, and I will. I’m going to get him out of this. Nothing is going to happen to my baby, and I don’t care what it takes to protect him.

  “I can’t go with a blindfold on and my hands tied,” I say.

  Frank rips the ropes off my hands and the blindfold from my eyes, snapping my head back. I get a good look at his fishy lips and craggy face. He’s burly and the thinner man standing beside him is probably Benito. I look past them and see Roman being led by the men, eyes wet with tears. I want to cry, too, but I don’t have time to be weak, he needs me. He needs me to be strong.

  One of them is yelling at him to pee, but Roman can’t do it. He has always been bladder shy. I feel such a swelling of anger that if someone put a gun in my hand right now, I swear I would shoot every last one of these men. Leo… I wish you were here. I know he thought he was doing what would keep us safest, and I don’t blame him for this, but God I hope he finds us soon.

  An athletic man with blonde hair and a long nose walks over to where we are. Frank pushes me. “Hurry the fuck up.”

  I stumble, nearly falling on my face when I trip on a tree root. The blonde haired man catches me, letting his hands linger too long on my back. “Frank, be gentle with the prisoner. She’s not yours to rough up. Fredo wants her fresh and clean.”

  I take a guess from the way Frank glares at the blonde haired man that he is Carlo, the one Frank hates.

  “Is this the guy you were calling a pussy?” I ask Frank, pointing to Carlo.

  Both Frank and Benito’s faces turn white. Carlo’s turns red and he pulls out a pistol, holding it at his side and racking a bullet in the chamber. “You have something you want to say to me?”

  Frank works his meaty lips and seems to come to some kind of internal decision, nodding and stepping to press his chest into Carlo. “Yeah. I want to say you’re an asshole, and if your uncle wasn’t the boss, I would’ve kicked your ass a long—”

  Carlo tries to smash his pistol into Frank’s face, but Frank blocks, knocking the gun to the ground. Benito shakes his head as the two men struggle, and the man who had been yelling at Roman to pee turns to watch the brawl, smirking.

  While they are all distracted, I inch toward the gun that’s sitting on the ground. No one notices until it’s too late, and just as Frank lands a devastating punch to Carlo’s face, I pick it up and aim it at Carlo. If he’s related to the boss, I figure he’s the most valuable target.

  “Roman, run!” I shout.

  He runs, and the chubby man nearest to him chases after him. I’ve never shot a gun before, and I don’t dare risk shooting anywhere near my son, so I have to hope that he finds a way to hide while I take care of the rest of these men.

  Carlo grins up at me, holding his palms toward me as he rolls out from under Frank, who is standing on his knees, fists still clenched. Benito’s hands are frozen, no doubt ready to pull his gun free the moment I show weakness. “Stand here,” I say, pointing to the ground in front of me and jabbing my finger at Carlo.

  He slowly moves to stand, stepping in front of me.

  “You two, drop the car keys and your guns, and run that way, as fast as you can,” I say.

  Benito laughs. “Or what? You don’t have the stones to shoot him.”


  “Shut the fuck up and do what she says,” hisses Carlo.

  Frank stands slowly, menacingly, moving his hand toward his pocket. “She doesn’t have the—”

  I aim the gun down to the back of Carlo’s thigh and fire. His pants rip open and smoke trails up from his skin as he falls to the ground, squirming and cursing.

  I aim the gun at Frank, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Do I have the guts to shoot people? If it means protecting my son? Yes. I’ll kill them with my bare hands if it means keeping Roman safe.

  Frank’s eyes dart to Carlo and then back to me. He lets his hand relax to his side and I nearly sigh with relief. I don’t want to have to shoot anyone again. My hand still tingles from the recoil and my ears are ringing. I’m worried reality will crash in on me any second, making me drop the gun and run away from what I’ve just done.

  “Keys. Guns. Then leave,” I say.

  Frank slowly reaches into the pockets of his slacks and drops the keys in the dirt. Both men reach for their guns. “Wait!” I say. “One at a time.”

  Frank looks to Benito, who nods back at him. Benito slowly pulls his gun free with forefinger and thumb, dropping it to the grass. Frank does the same.

  “Now run,” I say.

  Both men set off at a jog, not exactly running, but getting the job done anyway.

  “You going to just let me bleed out?” asks Carlo. His face is white and I feel a little sick when I see how much blood is already staining the leaves. Did the bullet hit an artery? Jesus…

  “You have a phone,” I say, kneeling and taking the two guns on the ground, throwing them deep into the brush. “Call 911. Tell them the woman you kidnapped just shot you in the leg and you need help right away.”

  I run off in the direction Roman went, knowing every second could count. The gun feels heavy and strange in my hand. I’m afraid to point it anywhere, as if it might go off without notice. It’s only a minute later when I see Roman being dragged kicking and screaming back out of the woods and toward the road. I freeze, making sure I’m not heard, wondering if I could shoot the man dragging my son. There’s no way I could make the shot, and if I show myself, the man is just going to threaten to kill Roman if I don’t give myself up.