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

by Eden Summers

“What about the things I should’ve been aware of?” He grates through clenched teeth. “You didn’t do me the courtesy of telling me I was fucking my way back into the underworld. I had to find out—”

  A pounding knock sounds at a nearby room.

  I freeze. Matthew straightens.

  “Housekeeping,” Remy shouts.

  “They’re going door to door,” Bishop snarls. “Yet again, we don’t have fucking time for this.”

  Where the hell is Cole?

  He should’ve been here by now.

  “I’ll fight to the death to stop them from taking you.” Matthew leans closer, his commanding face an inch from mine. “But I’m unarmed and Bishop’s outnumbered. Do you despise me enough to risk them taking you back to Emmanuel?”

  I wish I knew.

  “Come on, amore mio.” He reaches out. “Be smart about this. Do what’s best for Stella.”

  I hate how he wields my daughter like a weapon even though his argument is valid.

  “You’ll take me to Cole?” I ask.

  “You’ll see him as soon as he arrives. I promise.”

  He holds out a hand as another booming knock sounds, this time closer.

  I’m running out of time. Out of options, too.

  “Okay.” I ignore his offering and nod. “I’ll go with you, but once I find Cole, I never want to see you again.”

  40

  Matthew

  I help Layla into the back of the Lincoln then climb into shotgun while Bishop takes the wheel.

  She’s safe for now. At least from herself. She can’t escape again with the child lock on both doors. But my threat toward her is a different matter.

  I want to throttle her. To shake and scold until she understands exactly how stupid it was to run from me.

  “Ready?” Bishop shifts into drive. “I don’t think we’re going to leave the alley without being seen.”

  I know, and I have no clue what Salvo will do about it. Give chase? Give up? Who fucking knows with that asshole.

  “Slam your foot down and don’t stop until you lose him.” I glance to Layla in the back seat. “Put your seatbelt on.”

  She does as instructed, her frantic eyes meeting mine. “What about the phone call?”

  “Later.”

  “Later? That wasn’t the deal.”

  “We’re kinda busy here, amore mio.” I turn my attention to the side mirror as Bishop inches forward, my focus on the closed window we climbed out of more than a few yards back. “If we’re lucky, Salvatore and Remy will be searching one of the hotel rooms when we pass.”

  They know she’s around here somewhere. In this suburb. Abri told me as much after the city search failed and I was forced to bribe my own damn sister.

  “Evidently, we’re shit out of luck.” Bishop rolls the Lincoln to a stop.

  “Why?” I raise my gaze to the alley, my pulse kicking at the sleek town car slowly approaching to block our exit.

  “Want me to blow this pop stand in reverse?”

  “That’s Cole.” Layla releases her belt and tugs at the door handle only to have it deny her freedom. “Let me out.”

  “I need to speak with him first.” I shoot Bishop a hard look and shove from the car. “Keep her inside until I return and make sure you watch the back of those hotel rooms.”

  “No, take me with you,” she demands. “He’ll kill you.”

  I ignore her, unsure if her intent is to intimidate or warn, and close the door behind me to stride ahead. She shouts for me to stop, the muted calls trapped behind closed windows and smothered by heavy traffic, but her suffering punishes me all the same.

  I’m sure I’ve got nothing to worry about, though.

  Cole is smart enough to pause his trigger finger when his sister is still trapped in my car. I’m banking my fucking life on it as I continue forward, the two men seated in the car before me glowering, the driver lacking subtlety when he casually rests his gun on top of the steering wheel.

  I stop a few yards from the hood, watching them talk, the conversation seeming relaxed as fuck.

  I’d do the same—fake self-assurance in the face of my enemy. But from what I’ve learned about the infamous Cole Torian, we’re different in almost every other aspect.

  To me, death is a transaction—clinical and cold.

  He sees it as a game—thrilling and ego-boosting.

  I have confidence he won’t shoot me before he has the chance to taunt me first.

  He climbs from the passenger seat and strolls casually toward me, his equally well-known enforcer stepping out from the driver’s side to remain behind the open door, his weapon coming to rest on the roof.

  Cole doesn’t speak as he approaches, his dark grey suit wrinkle-free, the slightly imperious set of his brows confirming he’ll at least toy with me before I’m dead.

  “I’m unarmed.” I raise my hands at my sides before letting them fall.

  “That’s a mistake.” He grins, the flash of teeth cocky. “You’ve got my sister.”

  “I do. She’s safe and unharmed.”

  “But still being held against her will, otherwise she would’ve run to me by now.”

  I don’t deny the obvious. There’s no point.

  “Let her go,” he drawls. “And I’ll let you live… for now.”

  I should scoff. Or at least mimic his arrogance, only this isn’t about ego.

  It’s about her.

  Layla.

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  “I can’t do that. She doesn’t want to return to Portland.”

  He raises a sardonic brow. “You can hear her yelling, right?”

  “I can.” And it fucking kills me. “But are those shouts for her freedom or my life?”

  He pauses, contemplating me for long moments.

  “She’s been happy with me for weeks,” I add. “She loves me—just ask Keira.”

  “Proof of her love wouldn’t mean shit. You’re not the first scam she’s fallen for.” He steps closer, losing the mask of delight. Now he glares. Hard eyes. Curled upper lip. “You’re her MO. This is what she does—falls prey to predators. She’s the walking, talking definition of gullibility.”

  My hackles rise. “And that right there is why I can’t let her leave with you. She’s told me all about her position in the family. How you make her feel worthless.”

  “Her actions make her feel worthless. She’s her harshest critic.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  He scoffs a silent laugh. “That’s some set of balls you’ve got, Costa.”

  “Don’t call me that.” I clench my jaw. “It’s not my name.”

  “Sorry. I forgot Layla told me about the label change. But tell me, Matthew, have you informed her of your moniker yet? Has the man who wants to rescue her like a fucking hero told her what he’s best known for?”

  I clench my teeth harder, refusing to react.

  “You didn’t tell her that, either, did you?” His eyes narrow. “You’re delusional if you think she could love someone with your reputation.”

  “Reputations are usually built on gossip and exaggeration. You and Hunter should know that better than most.”

  “I think we’re both man enough to admit the worst of us is kept secret from the world because those who witness it die at the scene.”

  I fall quiet. Unresponsive.

  He’s right.

  “I’m told you were once a monster, Matthew Langston,” he drawls the name with censure. “And yet you expect me to what? Let you leave with my sister?”

  “I am leaving with her. The only decision left to make is if it will be done with force.”

  “You’re threatening me now?” He steps closer, less than a foot between us when he clenches a fist.

  “I’m preparing you.”

  I don’t attempt to block his punch. I take the blow to the gut as punishment and hunch with the impact, Layla’s muted screams surpass the thunderous pulse in my ears.

  He strik
es again and again. My chin. My cheek. Each impact hitting without defense.

  “That’s enough,” I warn.

  Another blow hits my jaw. My temple. The pain rings through my skull.

  “I said, that’s enough.” I charge, ramming my shoulder into his ribs, sending him backward in a grappling bear hug. Impatience consumes me as I hold him close and shove a hand beneath his jacket, snatching for his holster to unclasp his weapon.

  The soothing familiarity of the gun is in my hand in seconds. The urge to pull the trigger calls to me.

  “I deserve a few hits for the secrets I’ve kept from her.” I place the barrel against his sternum. “But now you’re done.”

  Rage flashes across his face. “We’re done when I say we are.”

  “Give the order,” Hunter growls beside their car. “One word and he’s dead.”

  “If he’s dead, she’s dead, too,” Bishop calls from behind me. “I don’t have a fondness for the bitch like he does.”

  I smile, tasting blood. But it’s Layla’s silence that unsettles me.

  There are no shouts.

  No screams.

  Bishop can threaten on my behalf all he likes, but if he’s got her at gunpoint there’s going to be trouble.

  I glance over my shoulder, finding him behind the wheel, his upper body half out the window, while Layla’s frantic eyes stare at me from the back of the Lincoln, her hands gripping the front seats.

  “Interesting that you chose to threaten instead of negotiate or beg.” Torian reclaims my attention. “I would’ve thought you’d be smarter than that.”

  “You wouldn’t respect me if I did. And I wouldn’t be a strong enough man for Layla either. I’d go to war for her. What I won’t do is wither on my knees.”

  “So you choose death?”

  “No.” I shove him away and raise the gun, making a show of letting it fall limp in my fingers. “I’m the one who came unarmed, remember? I don’t want you as an enemy.” I lower the weapon to the asphalt and kick it aside. “Nobody needs to die today.”

  “Just be taken hostage?”

  I expel a heavy sigh. “She’s only a hostage to her own anger. We had a fight. She’s pissed. But she still wants to be with me. And from what I’m told, you’d appreciate not having to deal with her anymore.”

  “Is that what she told you?” He frowns.

  “That she’s the outcast? The black sheep? Yeah. She hates her life in Portland, and loved the time she spent with me. Let me take her off your hands. I’ll protect her. Provide for her. She’ll never be left wanting.”

  “Except for the truth, right?”

  My jaw ticks. “We don’t have time for this. Salvatore and Remy are inside that shitty hotel looking for her. They’re not going to unfurl the welcome mat if they find you here.”

  “I already placed a call to the owner. If he knows what’s good for him, he would’ve gotten rid of them.”

  I fall silent.

  Cole does, too. Both of us scrutinize each other through our animosity.

  “So you think you’re going to convince her you’re a good guy?” He focuses on the car over my shoulder. “I say you’re kidding yourself. Hunter has a sinister reputation, but even he’s disgusted by some of the tales of your glory days.”

  “I’m not a good guy. But I’m not that man anymore either. I did everything I could to get out of the lifestyle and start over. You, of all people, should understand the dedication that required.”

  He continues dissecting me beneath his gaze, his thoughts loud but undecipherable. “She’ll hate you before she ever attempts to love you again.”

  “I can live with that. But I won’t live without her. I promise you I’ll rain hell down on everyone until I get a chance to redeem myself. And I’m a man of my word, Torian.”

  “I’m beginning to see that.” He grabs his lapels to straighten his jacket. “I’m assuming you love her back?”

  I stiffen, every muscle, every limb.

  I’m getting somewhere here. I’m winning him over. I’m not going to lie, though.

  “No,” I answer simply. “What I feel for her doesn’t represent the whimsical bullshit people brag about.”

  “Then why the fuck would I—”

  “Because she fucking consumes me,” I snarl through clenched teeth. “She destroys me. Rips me apart and leaves me weak. Every thought I have is savaged by her. Every breath is tainted with her scent. What I feel for her is more than the bullshit of love. It’s something you wouldn’t understand and couldn’t comprehend.”

  He raises a brow, mocking me. “Nice speech.”

  My anger spikes. I glance for the gun, itching to sweep it off the ground.

  “I suggest you leave it where it is. Especially when I’m finally starting to not want you dead.” He waves a lazy hand toward my face. “You’re lucky I recognize the pussy-whipped expression. You’re also fortunate I have plans for your family and no patience to babysit her while they unfold.”

  “With all due respect, don’t you think it’s a little late for babysitting? You should’ve told her before you made a move.”

  His left eye twitches, the seconds passing in reignited hostility before he states simply, “I was yet to make a move, Langston. Do I look like the type who would repay what Emmanuel has done with a friendly bullet wound?”

  “Then who—”

  “Who’s to say he didn’t do it to himself? It got us all here, didn’t it? It gave him the attention I’ve learned he craves. It also fuels your siblings’ hatred and makes them more inclined to follow Emmanuel’s lead.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But what does that mean for Layla?”

  “It means I’ll give you what you want. At least partially, anyway. You’ve got thirty days.”

  I pause, waiting for a catch.

  The bait and switch.

  “An entire month where you can do your best to win her back, because yes, I agree she deserves happiness, and it’s been clear for a while that she won’t find it with us in Portland.” He steps threateningly close, causing Layla’s screams to reignite. “But if you hurt her. If you fail to keep her safe—”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good.” He strides for his gun and bends to pick it up before shoving the weapon inside his jacket. “Because no words can describe the fun things I’ll do to you if you don’t.”

  “What happens after thirty days?”

  He shrugs. “If you win her over, she’s yours. I won’t get in the way. She’ll be your responsibility and you’ll get no trouble from me.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “For your sake, I wouldn’t let that be an option.” He strolls back toward me, giving me a demeaning clap on the chest. “Make her happy, otherwise it’ll be the last thing you fail at achieving. Hear me?”

  I raise my chin. “I hear you.”

  He passes me, continuing toward the Lincoln. “Now, I think it’s time you two were formally introduced, don’t you? It’s only fair that she learns she’s going to be spending her days with the Butcher Boys of Baltimore.”

  This story will be continued in…

  Ruthless Redemption

  If you haven’t already read the other books in the Hunting Her world make sure you go back to where it all began with Hunter. Turn the page for a preview.

  Hunter Preview

  1

  Her

  The weight of a psychopath’s gaze rests heavy at the back of my neck. He’s watching me, stalking me, probably already fantasizing about how my bones will break under his fists.

  I fight to contain a smile and cross my legs, allowing the hem of my skin-tight skirt to hitch higher along my thighs.

  Every move I make is strategic, every slow blink, every bated breath, every swipe of my lace glove-covered fingers along my exposed neck.

  I’ve practiced this a million times. I always do, because this needs to be perfect. Second chances are for the unprepared, and I’m anything but.

  M
y auburn wig is for his benefit—the brown contact lenses, bright red lipstick, and fuck-me boots, too. Tonight, I’m an actress, and my role is that of a novice escort—his ultimate temptation.

  I stir the toothpick-speared olive around in my martini glass, feigning loneliness.

  My mark, Dan Roberts, has to be beside himself with interest, salivating, his palms itching, his cock hardening. He’s picturing his hands around my throat, anticipating how hard he’d have to squeeze, and for how long, before I lost consciousness.

  I know this because I’ve watched him for weeks. He’s become predictable. All those nights spent in the shadows, stalking him as he stalked other women, has paid off. And it could’ve been just as easy for the local Portland police to track his crimes, if they’d bothered to take the word of numerous beaten women over the statement from a rich senator’s son.

  Only they didn’t.

  Their pockets had been lined with so much green that the evidence didn’t matter anymore. Fake alibis were taken as legitimate accounts. Photographs of beaten, bruised, and broken bodies were discarded, just like good ol’ Danny boy had done with the women he’d tormented once he’d gained his sadistic fix.

  This man is a criminal.

  A vile waste of oxygen.

  A pathetic piece of garbage.

  And apparently, I’m the only one with enough devotion to take out the trash.

  From the corner of my eye, I see him approach, stopping directly beside my perch on a cracked leather stool. He jerks his chin at the young female bartender and slides his hand over the scratched wooden bar. “Whiskey.” His voice is loud, with an undertone of control.

  He loves control.

  Lives for it.

  I glance at him from the corner of my eye and see no beauty in what people have described as a handsome man. His pale skin is smooth, his raven hair clean-cut and combed. Dark eyelashes frame what I know are deep brown irises, and his lips are lush and inviting. Or they would be, if I didn’t know he was a few Froot Loops short of a carton.

  I scoot forward on my stool to place my drink on the bar, but deliberately miss my target. The glass topples, the liquid racing toward the man’s hand.