Brando followed, veering right a minute later. He parked behind a derelict barn half a mile from the gypsy village and climbed out of the car. He popped open the trunk and searched through his collection of disguises, looking for something that wouldn’t stick out amongst the gypsies. His hand brushed over a threadbare shirt with tassels. He removed his silk shirt and pulled it on, the front gaping open, revealing his darkly-tanned chest. He slipped on a male beaded necklace, settling it on his chest, then changed his pants into a worn-out pair of leathers. Once done, he grabbed a mirror and checked his appearance. He ran a hand through his black hair, the slicked back look not fitting where he was headed. He messed it up, knowing he was still going to be noticed; his features too beautiful. Although he was similar in coloring to the gypsies, their dark looks originating from the Balkans, his golden eyes were too unusual, along with his model-like features.
He slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and a hat, solving the problem, then headed down the dirt track to the village. Brightly painted gypsy caravans lined the Mediterranean Sea, adding more color to the countryside. The intricate caravans were all shapes and sizes, the mobile houses works of art. They were lined up in rows, with narrow alleyways running between them. Several cars were parked on the outskirts of the settlement, the vehicles belonging to the gypsies’ clients.
Brando walked past the soldier’s car, keeping an eye out for Miko. A group of small, scruffy children shot past him, chasing a skinny dog. On his right, in front of a caravan the color of the sky, a male gypsy was sitting behind a table, dealing cards to a group of middle-aged men in suits—none of which were Miko.
Brando continued on, dropping his head as two colorfully dressed gypsy women walked his way. They headed past him, too caught up with their conversation to pay him any attention. He raised his gaze, hoping to find Miko quickly, because he wanted to get back for the twins’ gig. Vinnie and Dominic were playing at the family’s nightclub, their rock act his taste in music.
A flash of black caught Brando’s attention, making his head whip around. His eyes shot to a tall figure disappearing behind a red caravan. The man was dressed in black priest’s clothing, his muscular physique far too familiar. He had only met one priest with a physique like that...
Padre Michael Donatelli.
He’d heard that Padre Michael was a prisoner of the Black Widower, a sadist who took pleasure in torturing men. But, maybe he’d escaped and was hiding out with the gypsies.
Brando ran after the man, his assignment completely forgotten. No, he didn’t forget, he just didn’t fucking care, his need for vengeance overwhelming everything. When he’d heard about the Padre’s capture, he’d been happy. The bastardo deserved to be tortured ... or killed for what he’d done to him. He’d almost killed the man on two occasions, but had restrained himself, knowing the consequences would’ve been dire for his family. But now the Donatelli family was all but destroyed, there would be no consequences, only sweet revenge.
He rounded the corner, seeing a flash of black disappearing around another corner. Brando sprinted between the caravans, turning in the direction the priest had gone. Again, he saw the black cloth veer around another caravan. It was as though the devil was dangling his prize just out of reach, taunting him with something he could never have...
Vengeance.
Even more determined, Brando picked up speed, running between the bushes and the caravans. He took a left into another alleyway, this one a dead end. He came to a halt, surprised to find nothing but empty space. He bobbed down and looked under the caravans, a few of the big wheels high enough for someone to crawl under. He was greeted with nothing, the grass undisturbed.
Pushing up, he turned to the red caravan and peered through its window, the brightly colored room empty. He checked through the window of the next caravan, finding a young couple making love. He wondered whether he’d imagined the priest, the bullet in his skull at times causing him to hallucinate. He’d tried to commit suicide almost two months ago, but his mother had knocked the gun, stopping the bullet from hitting him full on. He’d pulled the trigger after discovering he’d been the result of an affair, and that his real father was someone he’d killed in a hit gone wrong. Though, it hadn’t been the only reason he’d tried to commit suicide. He’d been wrestling with suicidal thoughts ever since he’d gone to help the Padre that fateful day seventeen years ago, something he wished he could wipe from his memory.
But now he had a slew of reasons to live for, one of them his job, the other a woman, someone he hoped would be going to his brothers’ gig tonight. He kicked into gear, wanting to get back on track so he could see her. He would find Miko, verify the man was telling the truth, then head back home and enjoy the remainder of the day, preferably ending it with the woman of his dreams riding his cock.
A beautiful female gypsy stepped into the opening, making him stop. Recognizing her, Brando quickly dropped his head. It was Gemma Balak, one of the twins’ exes. She had a scarf wrapped around her head, its tassels hanging above her stunning green eyes. The rest of her long black hair hung loose, the curls spilling over an embroidered green blouse, which stopped an inch above a flowing skirt, revealing a sapphire stud in her navel.
“No use hiding your face, Brando,” Gemma said, her accent Slavic. “I recognized you instantly. You glide like a demon.”
Sneering, Brando raised his gaze. “I won’t ask how you are, since I don’t give a shit.”
Her green eyes flashed at him. “Ever the charmer.”
Removing his sunglasses, he headed for her.
Gemma took a step back, the woman unable to hide her fear, but to her credit she didn’t run. “Why are you in my village?” she asked.
He slipped his sunglasses into his pocket. “Not for you—obviously.”
She grimaced. “You could at least be cordial towards me; after all, we were intimate once.”
“No, I just wasted perfectly good sperm.”
Her hand whipped out, slapping his face. Before her palm had left his cheek, he grabbed her by the neck. Clamping his other hand over her mouth, he pushed her up against a bright red caravan. The woman started flailing about, trying to get free.
He pressed his body against hers, stilling her. “I could snap your neck in a second, witch, but I didn’t come here for you. So don’t strike me again or I might forget why I’m here. Acknowledge me with a nod.”
She nodded.
“Now, I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth, so don’t scream or I will kill you.” He freed her mouth, but kept the other one on her throat, giving it a slight squeeze to scare her more. She gasped, making him smile, her fear turning him on.
“You’re evil,” she said, swallowing against his palm.
“Then why did you fuck me, puttana?” he said, calling her a whore.
“You cast a spell over me, dhampir.”
Smiling wickedly, he flicked one of his pointy incisors with his tongue, knowing it would get a reaction. As predicted, her eyes shot to his mouth, the woman shuddering in fear. She believed he was a child of a human and vampire—a dhampir in her native Slavic tongue. After she’d slept with him, she told him he’d enthralled her with his demon magic, making it impossible to resist him. He’d replied that she was a two-timing puttana who didn’t deserve his brother, and to shove her superstitious mumbo jumbo up her ass.
He moved his mouth to her neck, scrapping his teeth up her flesh, playing on her irrational fears. Goosebumps rose across her flesh. He nipped her skin, making her gasp.
“I should suck you dry,” he said, amused as she whimpered. Obviously, Vinnie had fallen for her looks, because she didn’t have a brain cell in her pretty head. “But, I’m sure you’d taste bitter.” He sucked her earlobe into his mouth, giving it a slight nibble. “Sì, definitely bitter.”
She started breathing heavily—fear, hate, and even arousal mixing in together. “Let me go,” she croaked out.
“You didn’t say that when you moaned under
neath me, saying my name, not my brother’s.” He ran a hand over her full breasts, making her gasp again. “Are you excited? Because your nipples are hard.” He tweaked them.
She gasped again, her eyes going round. “I don’t want you, dhampir. Let me go.”
“Oh, you hurt me so,” he said, sarcastically. “I thought you loved me.”
“I only love Vincenzo.”
“What about your husband?”
She went silent, her eyes glossing over with tears.
He sneered at her. “Once a cheater, always a cheater.”
“You approached me, not the other way around.”
“You were just a job. I was paid to seduce you to make sure you stopped seeing Vinnie.”
A tear spilled over, getting caught in her long eyelashes for a second. It dropped down, followed by more.
“Your tears won’t work on me.”
“Why are you so cruel?” she sniffled.
“As you said, I’m a demon.”
“You deserve to die for what you did to me. You stole my virginity and lost me the love of my life.”
“You gave me your virginity freely. That is what lost you my brother. If you hadn’t cheated on him, I wouldn’t have forced you to walk away.”
“I made one mistake, which you used against me. I couldn’t bear my Vincenzo finding out. I wanted him to remember me with love. And he was the one who was having second thoughts about getting married—not me!”
“Only because my mother was constantly badgering him to break it off with you. In the end he decided to defy her, but you refused to see him.”
“What?”
“He was going to risk everything to marry you, even his inheritance and being with his twin.”
“But, you said you’d tell him I cheated if I saw him again.”
“I would never have told him, he wouldn’t have forgiven me.”
Her face fell. “I could’ve stayed with him?”
“No, I would’ve killed you if you tried, and my mother would’ve paid me to do it. She knew you were trash. She was the one who paid me to find out if you would cheat on my brother.”
Gemma’s eyes widened. “Your own mother told you to seduce your own brother’s woman?”
“Sì.”
“Why would she do something so cruel? I told her I loved Vincenzo with all my heart.”
“You must have a small heart considering what you did with me.”
“That wasn’t my fault, you seduced me.”
“Vinnie wouldn’t have seen it that way. All he would’ve seen was betrayal. He would never have forgiven you. He would’ve moved onto the next puttana in a second, knowing you were nothing but a lying fuck. Oh, that’s right, he did move on. A day after you refused to see him he went to a whorehouse and fucked up a storm.”
“You’re lying!”
“Maybe, maybe not, though I’m sure you’ve heard about his addiction to one-night stands. I’ve lost count of how many women I’ve seen him with. Only the other day, I walked in on him with two women. You should’ve seen what they were doing to him—”
“Shut up!”
“Why? I thought you’d want to know how the love of your life was getting on,” he laughed, “or who was getting on his cock.”
“You’re a cruel bastard!”
“At least I don’t pretend not to be—unlike you, puttana. You act like a victim, yet I remember you calling out my name as you came around my cock. I also remember you kissing me all over my face, telling me I was so, so beautiful, and, oh yeah, you sucked on my cock like it was your favorite lollipop.”
“I hate you! I hate you!”
“The feeling is mutual.” He pushed away from her. “I hope I never see your face again, Gemma, it makes me sick.”
She started screaming at him in her Slavic tongue. Ignoring her, he headed around the corner, knowing she was probably cursing him. But it wouldn’t work, because the priest had cursed him a long time ago, with something no gypsy could top.
***
Brando walked through the village, no longer concerned with concealing himself. Gemma was probably running to her husband, telling Milan Balak he was here, and if the idiot was stupid enough to attack him, he’d gun the scum down.
He started peering into windows, trying to find the soldier. Gypsies stopped to look at him, a few whispering in their Slavic tongue. He stopped outside the window of a circular caravan, finding what he was after. Inside the room, the fat soldier was having sex with a puttana, the sight not a pretty one. Disgusted, Brando turned away from the window, annoyed the afternoon had been a write-off. He’d confirmed nothing, meaning he had to continue following the soldier until he got what he needed: absolute proof that Miko was clean. Maybe he’d just cut to the chase later and torture Miko into giving him it. He could tie him up in his whipping room and make him talk. No one would hear Miko’s screams since the place was soundproof. He dropped the idea almost immediately, knowing Ricardo would say no. Pity, he could do with letting off some steam.
“Leave our village peacefully, Brando,” a deep voice said. “Or I’ll make you suffer for touching my brother’s wife.”
Brando turned around, finding Drago Balak glaring at him. The oldest of the Balak brothers was an impressive-looking man. In his mid-thirties, Drago had curly black hair and olive skin, while the kohl smudged under his eyes made him look menacing as well as exotic. Brando knew the kohl was used for the man’s work. Drago was a lion tamer, his attire suggesting he’d just returned from the circus. He was dressed in leather pants and a billowing white shirt, which was cut low, displaying a powerful chest. Brando’s eyes moved to Drago’s hand, which held a whip. Drago let the whip unwind, the leather strip tumbling to the ground.
Brando smiled. “I prefer women to whip me.”
Drago shook his head. “You’re sick.”
“I don’t deny it.” Brando lifted up his shirt and placed his hand on his gun, which was sticking out of his waistband.
Drago started winding his whip up. “I want no trouble, Brando.”
“Tell your brothers that.” Brando’s gaze shifted to four men, who were heading his way—one of them Gemma’s husband, who looked like a younger version of Drago. Brando smiled at them. “Ciao, Eenie, Meenie, Miney, and Mo, how are you doing?”
Meenie went for him. Drago turned and shoved his youngest brother back, almost knocking him over. “Don’t be stupid, Milan, he’ll shoot you. Look where his hand is.”
Milan, aka Meenie, pointed a finger at Brando. “He assaulted my wife! She has bruises on her neck.”
Brando cupped his crotch. “Only because she deep-throated me.”
“Liar!” Milan went for him again.
Drago shoved him back harder. “Back down, Milan!”
Milan’s dark eyes flashed; his glare now on his brother. “He touched my wife! My wife!”
“And if you want to touch her again, you’ll back down. Brando will shoot you.”
“You bet I will.” Brando yawned. “Can I go now? You’re boring me.”
Milan pointed a finger at him. “Come near Gemma again and I’ll slice your throat open.”
“Looks like your puttana of a wife doesn’t give you any, because you’re such an uptight bastardo.”
“She is not a whore!” Milan yelled, his face going beet-red. “Keep your filthy lies to yourself and don’t come back. You’re not welcome in this village.”
“Then, I guess I better pay you now for Gemma’s blowjob.” Brando pulled out a coin from his pocket and flicked it at Milan.
Three of the brothers went for Milan, grabbing him before he could attack Brando. Laughing, Brando turned away, waving as Milan yelled louder, promising him death. Footfalls thudded behind him, making him glance over his shoulder.
“Why are you following me, Drago?” Brando asked.
“I’m escorting you out. I also want to know why you’re in our village. Are you after Gemma again?”
“I’m not interested i
n her, never was.”
“Then why did you fuck her all those years ago?”
Brando stopped in his tracks. “How do you know about that?”
“I know everything that happens in this village. So, are you here for her or something else? And tell me the truth, because if she’s lying to my brother, I will kick that whore out of this village regardless of what Milan wants.”
“I was following one of my famiglia’s soldiers, making sure he’s not a traitor. I ran into Gemma by accident.”
“Which soldier?”
“A fat fuck who wears suits too hot for the climate.”
“That sounds like Miko.”
“Sì. Has he ever won money from gambling here?”
“Why should I tell you anything? You disrespected my brother and his wife.”
Brando pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, removing a few hundred dollars. “I will pay you.”
Drago held out his hand for the money.
Brando moved it out of the man’s reach. “Information first.”
“No, the money first.”
Brando stuffed the notes back into his wallet.
“He comes here a couple days a week for whores and gambling,” Drago said, still holding out his hand. “Though, I don’t know whether he’s won anything. If he has, it probably wouldn’t be much since most of the gypsies who run the gambling are tricksters. He’d have more luck at the casinos than here.”
Brando pulled the money back out, handing over one of the hundred dollar bills. “Does he have much money with him?”
“I assume he does, since he’s able to pay for the young prostitutke. They cost more than the older ones.”
“How does he pay?”
“Cash, obviously. We don’t use electronic devices here.”
Brando held the rest of the money up. “Contact me if you find any useful information on him. I want to know where he’s getting the money from, whether it’s via gambling or elsewhere. I will pay you well.”
“I’ll get one of the prostitutke to talk it out of him. We’re able to get a lot of information from pillow talk. If I discover anything I will arrange to meet you elsewhere. And, don’t go near Gemma again. Milan loves her.”
Brando Page 2
