Seeking Vengeance: Possessive Mafia Romance (Hunting - Mafia Romance Book 1)

by Eden Summers

  “I never knew Costas could beg,” Bishop mutters.

  She glares at him, then gives a brittle smile when her attention returns to mine. “He’s right. We don’t usually stoop this low. But like I said, it’s important.”

  I have no idea what she’s up to.

  Is she going to haul me over the railing? Does a weapon lie in wait outside the door?

  “You’ll be fine.” Bishop pushes from the bed to stand tall. “I’ll be watching.”

  I nod and follow her past the threshold, stopping two feet outside as she stands out of view of the room.

  “Listen to me,” she mouths. “I can help you.”

  I frown and glance back at Bishop in confusion.

  “Don’t look at him,” she whispers. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

  I balk. “Excuse me?”

  “Do you want to leave?” Her voice is barely heard over the breeze, her pretty face pinched in apprehension.

  My heart kicks up a gear, my pulse increasing. “What are you trying to do?”

  She inches closer, her voice dropping further. “Despite the estrangement, I love Dante. But I don’t think you want to be here…” She pauses, waiting for me to fill the silence.

  “So you’d help me escape?”

  “Normally, no.” There’s no apology in her tone. “But I owe your brother, and I want the debt off my shoulders.”

  “Why would you owe him?”

  “You don’t need specifics.”

  “If there’s any way I’m going to trust your help, I’m going to need them.”

  She sucks in a tired breath. “He showed me kindness the night your husband died. He could’ve hurt me, but he didn’t.”

  “You’re lying.” Cole wouldn’t have shown anything other than hostility toward the people who stole my daughter.

  “Believe what you want. I’m not here to convince you. The question is whether or not you want to get away from Dante.”

  I disregard the name she uses while my stomach sinks.

  Do I want to get away from him? Do I want to distance myself from heartbreak and betrayal at the cost of vulnerability?

  “How?” I whisper.

  “There’s a window in the bathroom. The screen can be removed. If you climb through, there’s an old trellis that will get you to the ground.”

  She’s serious.

  Holy shit.

  “To what end?” I frown, keeping my voice low. “How am I meant to outrun nine grown men when stuck behind towering walls that are miles from civilization?”

  “Once you reach the lawn, move around the back of the house to the garage. The roller doors should already be open. My car is the Bentley. The keys are in the center console along with the remote for the gate.”

  I stare at her, trying to find a hint of deception. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I already told you. I owe Cole. This is me repaying the debt.” She reaches for my arm, her fingers cautiously touching my wrist. “I’m not your enemy, Layla. I never have been. What happened with your husband was a horrible tragedy. And your daughter…” She winces. “Me and my brothers had no idea what was going on until we were in the middle of a war. It never should’ve—”

  “Are you two finished out there?” Bishop growls, his footsteps approaching.

  Abri retreats to stand at her full height, her face transforming into a mask of innocence.

  Are we finished?

  It seems like she’s merely scratched the surface of withheld information. And none of it makes sense.

  Cole showed her kindness? My husband’s death was a tragedy?

  “What’s going on?” Bishop comes to stand at the threshold.

  “Nothing.” I clear my throat and swallow to alleviate the dryness. “I was just about to come inside.”

  I maneuver past him, hiding my face from his scrutiny as I reenter the room.

  Indecision claws its way into my skull, awakening a thousand questions, stirring up more trouble. It’s too much to think through. I can’t concentrate to make a plan.

  My instincts boil down to Matthew and whether I should trust his offer of safety or flee to find my own. The thought of escaping his manipulative protection fills me with dread. And my damn heart still clings to the hope of him making amends.

  But he can’t. How could he?

  He lied. Had me mugged. Made me fall for him under false pretenses.

  He duped me better than my father ever did, the resulting emotional scars capable of outweighing those already in existence.

  I’d loved him.

  Wholeheartedly.

  With optimism and passion.

  He made me believe in a future without darkness. A life without recrimination. He had me planning a fresh start, one that I never deserved.

  My gaze treks to his across the hall, our eyes briefly locking for a pained moment while he addresses someone in the other room.

  There’s possession in his stare. Hunger even in the depth of this darkness.

  The sight of it breaks me. Cuts me down at the knees in humiliation. In sorrow.

  I’d wanted an entwined future. I’d never craved anything more.

  Now our time together boils down to one question—do I stay or do I go?

  I hold onto the sight of him as Abri closes the French doors. I take in the parts of him that inflicted betrayal—the hands that brought me pleasure, the lips that lied to me, and eyes that deceived.

  I breathe it all in, dragging the pain deep into my lungs, and release the last lingering threads of hope with the exhale. Then I turn to Bishop, hating him for the role he played as I announce, “I need to use the bathroom.”

  36

  Matthew

  “You’re caught in a temperamental position, son.” Emmanuel holds my gaze, his eyes gleaming with superiority. “Yet again you’ve fallen for someone who weakens you. Someone who has you begging.”

  I glance across the hall, watching Layla walk out of sight, a door closing shortly after.

  Where the fuck is she going?

  “Bathroom,” Bishop mouths, reading my mind as he gestures to his dick.

  Good. At least she can’t cause trouble in there.

  “You’ve got me wrong, old man.” I turn back to Emmanuel and prowl closer to his bed. “I’m not begging. I’m telling you to leave her out of this. Her and her daughter. Otherwise I’ll make good on all the things I’ve wanted to do to you in the last fifteen years.”

  He smiles. “All the things you wanted to do but were too loyal to instigate…”

  “I’m loyal, yes. But not to you. Lorenzo is the only reason you still have air in your lungs.”

  “Dante,” Adena snaps. “Don’t say such things.”

  “It’s okay, my sweet.” Emmanuel doesn’t break our stare. “What our son doesn’t realize is that his threats are a blessing. Every decision I made in his childhood was to shape the brilliant man standing before me. My actions placed fire in his belly and strength in his soul.”

  Venom in my veins.

  Hate in my heart.

  “You’re exactly what I aspired to create.” He grins. “I couldn’t be more proud.”

  My nostrils flare.

  “We need to endure to evolve, my son. You never could understand that. But what I did in your teenage years was a favor. A gift.”

  Grace’s murder was a gift?

  Slicing her open was a fucking favor?

  I laugh, otherwise I’d roar.

  I picture ripping out his throat. Watching him suffer. Hearing his cries for mercy.

  “That girl from your senior year was beneath you, anyway.” He continues digging his grave. “Can you believe she offered to spread her legs if I promised to get her out of town?”

  My body detonates. Rage and hatred collide.

  I lunge for him. Two steps is all it takes to have my hand around his throat, my eyes venomous as they will death upon him. “Your actions didn’t make me strong.” I seethe, spittle coating m
y lips. “They turned me into a monster.”

  My mother screams. He doesn’t look at me in fear. Only in satisfaction. “I’m honored,” he wheezes.

  Motherfucker.

  I gave him what he wanted. I turned into the man he’d wished for. Someone callous and cruel. Vicious and brutal.

  Goddamnit.

  Cold metal presses into my temple, the barrel of a gun hard and unyielding against my skin as Emmanuel rasps for breath.

  “Let him go,” Salvatore demands. “Get your hands off him.”

  I can’t.

  I want to end this. To squeeze the breath from the asshole’s lungs. To watch the life drain from his eyes.

  I’ve pictured it a million times. Felt the euphoria. Tasted the victory.

  “Langston,” Bishop shouts across the hall. “We’re not here for this.”

  But I want to be.

  I need it.

  The brutality calls to me. Fucking sings.

  Every wheeze invigorates me. Each stuttered breath appeases.

  “He dies, we all die,” De Marco mutters behind me. “Come on, man. This isn’t the plan.”

  Fuck.

  I can justify my own death, but not those who followed me here. Not my siblings, either. Not yet, anyway.

  And not Layla.

  Never Layla.

  “Fuck you.” I shove Emmanuel into the bed before releasing him. “You will stay away from her. You will leave her the fuck alone.” I backtrack from the gun and glare at Salvatore, then Remy. “Fuck over whoever else you like. Ruin lives. Start wars. But she stays out of it.”

  “I applaud the vicious show,” Remy drawls, “however, I’m deducting points for the fear in your eyes. I can see right through you.”

  “I don’t fear you.” I march to him, not stopping until we’re toe-to-toe. “And I don’t fear death. I fucking welcome it, because staying alive means I’ll spend every waking moment wasting my time thinking of ways to torture you if you dare to touch her.”

  “Stop.” Adena rushes to Emmanuel’s side, helping to place the oxygen mask to his face as he barks and chokes. “Please just stop. Don’t you see how much we love you? We always have. We just want you home.”

  “He never left,” Emmanuel rasps. “He’s always remained close, still wanting to be a part of what he left behind.”

  “I haven’t been anywhere near this house since I left years ago. This is—”

  “You come back to Denver,” he corrects, his voice weak beneath the mask but the intent strong. “You come back and watch us share our family meal almost every month. You listen to our conversations from afar. Soak in the nostalgia.”

  He’s known.

  All this time.

  “Spying, big brother?” Salvatore lowers the gun to his side. “That’s a little pitiful, don’t you think?”

  “It’s fucking pathetic,” Remy seethes. “Why weren’t we told?”

  “Because he’s a piece of shit.” I throw my arms wide with a maniacal laugh. “If he’s known, that means he’s let me sabotage your warehouse shipments and rat out your distributions channels. Every problem you’ve had in the last ten years has been my doing, and he knew the whole time.”

  “It’s the price I paid to keep you close.”

  No. He did it because he’s insane.

  Fucking psychotic.

  “Enough of this back-and-forth bullshit.” I run a rough hand over my mouth, pulling myself in check. “I want your word you’ll leave her alone.”

  “Agree to return home and I’ll give you whatever you want,” he counters.

  I smile, all teeth, no charm. “How about this?” I step closer and Salvatore follows, his gun raising again. “I promise the next time I come back, I’ll burn this place to the ground. With or without you in it.”

  “Dante,” my mother sobs. “Please.”

  I don’t drag my attention from Emmanuel. Don’t blink. Don’t breathe.

  I stare into those godforsaken eyes and let him know I’m not bluffing. I make it clear I’d love to watch him burn. And that damn twinkle in his eye tells me he’s only growing more proud.

  Jesus. Fuck.

  “It’s time to go,” I address my team, still staring at my maker, waiting for him to say something I can’t ignore.

  A knock from the adjacent room breeches my ears, the subtle sound rising above the hiss of oxygen and whir of strangled breath.

  “Layla.” Bishop’s voice travels from across the hall. “Hurry up.”

  I tense at her name. At the vision it provides. At the fucking yearning. But I don’t move. Don’t quit staring even though everything in my soul wants to focus on what’s happening across the hall.

  “Just like Grace, she distracts you.” Emmanuel removes the oxygen mask. “How can you not see that?”

  “Because a distraction from what you created is exactly what I need.” I backtrack toward the door, passing Goodin, De Marco, and Whitby. “I’ll do anything to protect her. Remember that if you’re stupid enough to test me.”

  “I’m definitely going to test you, son. It’s what makes you stronger.”

  I smirk, pretending I’m calling his bluff when I know he speaks the truth. I’m going to have to find a way to kill him without getting pinned for the blame.

  I’ll pay someone. Bribe. Threaten.

  I’ll do whatever it takes.

  “Those are adamant fighting words coming from someone in a hospital bed.” I turn on my heel and stride for the threshold, telling De Marco to, “Block the door,” as I pass and continue into the adjoining bedroom where Bishop faces off with Abri who stands before a closed door.

  “We’re getting out of here.” I stalk toward them. “Where’s Layla?”

  “Still in the bathroom.” Bishop flings a hand in Abri’s direction. “She’s been in there for over ten minutes with no flushed toilet or running faucet. And no goddamn response when I call her fucking name.”

  I shoulder my sister out of the way and slam my fist against the door. “Layla. Open up. We’re leaving.”

  There’s no reply.

  No sound. No shift of movement from inside.

  I glare at my sister. “What have you done?”

  She raises her chin, defiant.

  Fuck. What the hell has she done?

  I step back, panic consuming me, rage inspiring me. “Layla, move away from the door.” I plant my heel next to the handle, sending the door flying and wood splintering from around the jamb.

  I don’t have to step inside to know she’s not there.

  The window is open, the white lace curtain dancing in the breeze.

  I race forward, my hands sweating as I grip the ledge and shove my head outside.

  A screen frame lays dormant on the grass below in an otherwise still garden.

  There’s no sign of her.

  “Where is she?” I swing around and charge for Abri. Her eyes widen. “What the fuck did you do?’

  She braces her feet apart and squares her shoulders. “Nothing.”

  The crunch of pebbles carries from outside. Loud and urgent. Bishop shoots me a glance, then makes for the French doors.

  I’m right behind him.

  “What’s going on?” Salvatore yells from the other room.

  Bishop and I step onto the balcony to see a Bentley fishtail around the drive, the brake lights glaring as the gates begin to open.

  “It’s her.” Bishop shoves his hands through his hair. “Jesus goddamn Christ.”

  I fight the compulsion to jump the balcony and chase after her the fastest way possible, knowing I’ll break my fucking legs in the process.

  “What are we doing, Langston?” Bishop turns to me. “What the fuck do we do?”

  How could she leave?

  Does she hate me that much? Enough to risk running without protection?

  “Wake the fuck up, bitch.” Bishop thumps my chest, the blow hard enough to jar bone. “What’s the plan?”

  “Is something wrong?” Emmanuel
calls from the adjacent room, his derision sparking insanity.

  He’ll give an order for her to be chased.

  He’ll command my brothers. Their guards.

  I’ve got no chance of finding her first.

  “Hey.” Bishop grabs my shoulders. “I know that look in your eye, asshole.” He gets in my face, friend to friend, monster to monster. “We didn’t come here for this. No bloodshed, remember? Just a fucking conversation.”

  “I can’t do it.” I shake my head. “I can’t let him go after her.”

  “He’s bedridden, for fuck’s sake. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “And what about Salvo and Remy? One order from him and they’re out the door.”

  He leans closer, grabbing me behind the back of the neck. “They’re pussies. They—”

  “They won’t hurt her,” Abri whispers from the balcony threshold. “I promise, Dante. They’d never do that.”

  “See?” Bishop digs his fingers into my neck. “Pussies. Emmanuel’s the only one heartless enough to kill in cold blood and he’s too decrepit to do it.”

  “No.” I shove him away. “They’ll find her and bring her back here.”

  “If that happens, we’ll have De Marco and the guys waiting.”

  “Abri, what’s going on in there?” Salvo snarls with impatience. “If this guard dog doesn’t move, he’s not going to appreciate my lack of warning shot.”

  I claw my fingers into my palm, unsure which path to take as De Marco mutters something in reply.

  “We’ll be there in a minute.” Abri cuddles her waist, the picture of sophistication and class now marred by eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  “For what? Betraying me or putting her in more danger?”

  She cringes and casts a cautious glance toward the hall. “I was helping her.”

  “Why?” Bishop grates.

  “She didn’t want to be here. You were forcing her—”

  I step up to my sister. “I was protecting her.”

  “I know what forced proximity with a man looks like.” Her response is barely heard. “I know what it feels like, too.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Bishop warns.