Mafia Puppet: A French Mafia Romance

by Bella King

  He looks over his shoulder at me, still grinning in light of the danger. “Then may God have mercy on the souls of anyone who decides to investigate.” He brandishes a gun. “Now, leave.”

  I’m not as thrilled about this as he is, but I also don’t want to be knocked to the floor once he lights that fuse. I leave the building, stepping back out into the lazy orange sunlight with the painting under my arm. I figure it’s better to stand by the car and right next to a building that might collapse.

  I lean against the car, waiting in anxious anticipation as each precious second ticks by. It feels like it’s been forever since I left the building, and nothing has happened. I have the painting, so it’s not like Pierre would abandon me out here.

  I jerk to attention as a muffled boom shakes the ground, and the bricks in the building jump, settling back down as a sea of grey smoke meanders out of the entrance. Pierre never left the building.

  My heart skips a beat. Did he accidentally blow himself up? I don’t think I’d be able to go in there and see the shreds of what would be left of him.

  What if he’s still alive, but his legs have been blown to bits? I’d have to go in there and pull him out. I can’t just stand out here like a lame duck.

  I step toward the building, my stomach sinking as the dust settles. He said he was going to leave after he lit the fuse. Why would he still be inside?

  Pierre’s head pops out of the archway, a silly smile plastered across his dusty face. He beckons me forward. “Come on, Shaye. Let’s go.”

  I shake my head, charging toward him. “Are you trying to fucking kill yourself?

  He dips back through the doorway, not allowing me to scold him.

  I chase after him, entering the dust-filled building. My lungs reject the thick grey smog in the air immediately, causing me to cough and sneeze at the same time. It’s an unpleasant experience for me, but with all the smoke Pierre has inhaled, he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

  That idiot must have a death wish or something, and I like him too much to let him kill himself like this.

  “At least cover your mouth,” I say between coughs into my sleeve.

  Pierre ignores me, flashing his light toward the hole in the ground as he picks up his can of paint thinner that he left against the wall. “The air will be better down there,” he says.

  I look toward the hole, seeing only a pit of darkness. This one is much larger than the last and could easily fit three people at once. Those explosives packed a punch, but they weren’t as loud as I thought they would be.

  “Ladies first,” Pierre says, coming toward me and placing his hand on my back to urge me forward.

  “No fucking way,” I say, planting my feet into the ground. “You first.”

  “So sweet of you,” he replies, maintaining his good-natured tone, and he jumps straight into the hole, vanishing from sight.

  Fucking hell.

  It’s pitch black in here without his flashlight, and I can’t even see the edge of the hole as I inch toward it. I immediately regret letting Pierre go first, especially with the way that he just jumped in. He’s far too excited about something that could get us both killed, but I’d still rather be doing this with him than anyone else.

  I take a deep breath, and then, the leap of faith.

  Chapter 34

  Pierre

  Shaye lands beside me with a light thud. I was going to help her down, but it seems that she’s found her way in just fine by herself. She’s a lot more industrious than I first assumed, and she continues to surprise me with how quickly she adapts.

  You could call this a test to see if she’s worthy of moving forward with me after we get the money, but it’s more of a necessity. All I can really do is hope that she sticks this out so that we can enjoy the fortune together. I’d like to have her on my side from now on.

  I hold the small flashlight out in front of me, scanning the area for any signs that someone has been through this entrance in the past ten years. I figured that it was possible that someone had found out about the catacomb entrance by now, but they wouldn’t have found the safe.

  I know because it would’ve collapsed have the catacombs due to the explosion.

  “Where are the bones?” Shaye whispers from beside me.

  “Further down. The reason nobody knows about this entrance is that they can’t take shit from here. People typically break in through one of the main entrances and dip into a different section of the place if they want to steal,” I explain. “Of course, once we go further down, there should be bones.”

  “People steal bones?” she asks.

  “Oh yeah, loads of them,” I say. “It’s a good business if you can find regular buyers. Skulls go from five hundred to a thousand euros apiece.”

  “Shit,” she mutters. “I’d be too scared of getting cursed.”

  I chuckle. “I’ll keep you safe from the spirits, but I wouldn’t be too worried about those down here.”

  “What would you be worried about.”

  “Other people,” I reply. “So, let’s go.”

  Shaye follows me closely, brushing up against my arm every few steps with her painting, but I don’t mind. She seems to be struggling a bit with the painting, but I can’t help her with the heavy can sloshing in one hand and the flashlight in the other.

  “Want to trade?” I ask, lifting up the paint thinner.

  “Not a chance,” she says, putting an extra inch of distance between us.

  I laugh. “Okay, but that looks heavy.”

  “I’m not letting you take it from me,” she says.

  “I wouldn’t steal it,” I say, a little offended that she’s still distrustful of me now that we’re in the catacombs. If I really wanted the painting, she’d already be dead.

  But I’ll let her cling to whatever comfort she can find.

  It’s not a pretty place to be, but I personally find the catacombs soothing. They’re so far removed from the living word that I imagine death couldn’t be more peaceful than this. I’m sure Shaye doesn’t quite feel the same.

  I only wish we were completely removed from the living world. As it turns out, we’re not.

  Voices echo down the tunnel we’re marching through, and my first instinct is to freeze, turning off my flashlight and slapping a hand over Shaye’s mouth. “Don’t fucking make a sound,” I whisper, but I’m not sure if I have to be the one to tell her that. She’s frozen in place with me, her body as rigid as the bones that line the upcoming walls.

  The voices get louder as the people who own them get closer, and I don’t like the way that they sound. They’re low and gruff, joking and laughing as they walk. They’re not the voices of teenagers or artsy people who decided it was a good idea to visit the catacombs to get some pictures for their blog.

  I tuck the flashlight into my pocket and opt for something with a bit more firepower. Shaye might not like this, but I don’t want to get caught off guard by a couple of lowlife criminals who just happen to stumble upon two witnesses, one of them being a very attractive woman.

  Bad things happen to women down here.

  I remove my hand from Shaye’s mouth, pulling back the slide on my gun and letting it pop back into place as quietly as I can. She takes a sharp breath in but doesn’t say anything. She’s still frozen to the spot.

  A light dances down the narrow tunnel, indicating that whoever is coming is heading out way. We don’t have time to run back to the entrance because the tunnel is mostly straight, and we’d be seen anyway. I’d rather not be shot in the back.

  I push Shaye against the wall as the lights come around the corner. I’m not risking her in all of this. I’ve put her in enough trouble already.

  She lets out a squeak as her back hits the cold stone wall, the painting sliding out from under her arm and clattering against the dirty floor. It’s enough to alert the people coming toward us, but they would’ve seen us in a moment regardless of the noise.

  Three men come around the corner, carr
ying with them large trash bags filled with what I assume to be stolen bones. One of them has a face I can’t forget, his nose still bandaged from the punch I threw at the nightclub.

  He points a finger at me before he sees the gun, shouting insults in French. I smirk, holding up the gun and aiming it squarely at his chest. I have nothing to lose down here and everything to gain from killing each and every one of these motherfuckers.

  Shaye doesn’t have a gun, but she grabs a rock from the ground and throws it as I squeeze the trigger. My first shot fails to hit it’s intended target, despite my excellent aim. The angry bouncer managed to jump out of the way as I raised the gun.

  The second shot hits his colleague in the chest, dropping him like the bag of bones he’s carrying. I aim for the bouncer again, who ducks down and starts charging for me, but I have to swing my gun to the left to hit the other goon who has pulled out his own firearm.

  I fire three times to make damn well sure that the armed man is dead, but I’m not fast enough to stop the bouncer. He slams into me at full force, knocking the gun from my hand and pushing Shaye to the ground in the process.

  I fall backward, twisting my body before I hit the ground so that we’re both on our sides. I wanted to get him onto his back, but he’s too heavy to turn around completely before our shoulders slam against the hard ground.

  His breath is heavy, like an angry bull, but I haven’t so much as worked up a sweat yet. His physique reeks of unnatural enhancements, abused to the maximum, while mine was built over ten years lifting heavy things and putting them back down in the prison courtyard.

  We are not the same, but I thought I proved that to him last time. Clearly, he hasn’t learned his lesson.

  I fling my elbow up toward his jaw while we’re both on the ground, but he evades it, shoving me away and scrambling to his feet. My eyes dart between him and Shaye, who is still lifting herself from the ground. I’ll kill him if he lays a finger on her.

  Who am I kidding? I’ll kill him anyway.

  I jump toward the bouncer, throwing the same uppercut as I did the night that I knocked him out, but it doesn’t work this time. He moves back, faster than he was that night. He must’ve been drinking then, but he’s stone-cold sober now. This won’t be as easy.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Shaye go for the gun, but I don’t want her to use it. It’s not about showing my strength or proving something to her, but grabbing it will make her a target, and I don’t want that.

  “Stay back,” I shout at Shaye before she can get the gun.

  She springs back, startled by my command. I know she wants to help, but I’d be ruined if anything were to happen to her. I didn’t realize how much a person could mean to me before Shaye was put in danger. Now, I’d gladly fight to the death for her.

  I have got to be out of my mind, but I like it better that way. I fight harder when I’m pissed the fuck off, and I feel fresh and alive as I step toward the bouncer again to throw another punch.

  This time, my fist lands, but I’m not able to hit him in the face. He’s expecting that, so I go for his gut, and he pushes my arm slightly to the side, causing me to graze right below his ribs.

  Still, my punch was strong enough to push him back, and he lowers both hands to cup his injured side. That’s my signal to go for gold, and I come toward him, fists flying like never before so that I can hammer his brains to gravy.

  I’ve been angry before, and I’ve killed plenty of people, but not like this. I slam my fist into the bouncer’s head, knocking him straight to the ground, but I don’t stop like I did last time. He should’ve turned and run, but instead, he put my precious Shaye in danger, and now I’m going to kill him.

  The only witness to the massacre of the bouncer is Shaye, and I already know that she has her back turned. I’m certain she’s not going to be watching as I beat the bouncer's face and throat until he’s gurgling blood. She won’t look as I switch from my fists to my boot, stomping his head in like a pumpkin.

  It’s disgusting, horrifying, and straight-up murder, but I couldn’t care less about any of that. As long as Shaye is safe and we can continue our journey to the fortune ahead, I’ll kill anyone and everyone who stands in our way.

  I use the bouncer’s t-shirt to clean the blood off my hands, but hot crimson still clings to the cracks in my knuckles as I turn around to face Shaye again. She’s standing next to the painting, a hand over her mouth and her eyes averted downward.

  “We’re done here,” I grumble. “Are you alright?”

  She looks up at me, her eyes shining with fear. “Yes, are you?”

  I look back at the bouncer. “I feel better than ever, but we need to move. I don’t want to be here in case someone was waiting for this idiot and his friends to return.”

  She nods, her face changing from terror to sheer determination. “Good call.”

  I bend over, picking my gun up off the ground and tucking it back into my dusty slacks. Shaye doesn’t take her eyes off me, still glued to the same spot I found her in when I finished with the bouncer.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?” I ask, concerned by her stillness.

  She frowns, looking up at me. “You killed those guys – all of them.”

  I shrug. “You do what you have to.”

  “I’m kind of impressed,” she says, a smile finally dawning on her face. “But you really made a mess.”

  I return her smile, thankful that she isn’t angry at me for having killed a few people. It comes with the territory, but she already knows that.

  “The rats will clean these clowns up,” I say. “We won’t have to worry about them.”

  “You’re the boss,” she replies, bending over and picking up the painting.

  My smile widens as I wipe the sweat off my brow. “I’m glad you’ve realized that.”

  She shoots me a critical look. “Now, don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

  “Oh, I reply, picking up the can of paint thinner and stepping forward. “I’m already way ahead of myself.”

  Chapter 35

  Shaye

  Pierre and I creep through the winding tunnels of the catacombs, going much deeper than I anticipated. Pierre seems to know every turn, so I stay as close to him as I possibly can. I’d probably never find my way out of here if I were separated from him.

  He showed some real selfless bravery back there when we were confronted, and I’d thank him again if I thought it wouldn’t go to his head. As it stands, I can be appreciative in silence and let my body do the talking when we get back home.

  I’ll admit that while I’m usually not aroused by violence, what Pierre did was nothing short of exhilarating, and I’m embarrassingly wet because of it. I’m barely even scared of the bones as they start appearing along the walls because I’m so wrapped up in renewed feelings of affection toward Pierre.

  Last night wasn’t enough. I’m going to need more.

  “We’re getting close,” Pierre says, pointing his light toward a mossy arrangement of stacked skulls.

  “How do you remember all of this?” I ask. “Hasn’t it been, like, ten years?”

  “Ten years of going over the path in my head,” he replies. “Besides, I never forget anything.”

  “So, you wouldn’t forget stuff like my birthday, or anniversaries,” I say, trailing off a bit toward the end.

  He looks at me, slowing his walk and frowning. “Anniversaries?”

  I shrink down, the heat of embarrassment washing over my face. “I mean, just in general, you know?”

  He shrugs. “I wouldn’t forget an anniversary. I have a photographic memory.”

  “Really? That’s so cool,” I say, forgetting about my embarrassment in an instant. Honestly, I didn’t need it, anyway. Pierre isn’t the type to make a big deal out of nothing. All said and done, and threats aside, he’s pretty easy going.

  “I remember you,” Pierre says, “Because of my photographic memory. You were at this luncheon event, stealing food off
the tables.”

  I laugh. “Wow, that was, what, like ten years ago?”

  “Something like that,” he replies.

  “I don’t remember you,” I reply, shaking my head. “I don’t even remember that day. My father held a lot of those events.”

  “Well, it’s hard to forget a young woman with her panties showing through her dress,” he says.

  I place my hand over my mouth. “Oh, really? That’s embarrassing.”

  He chuckles. “It may have been if you had realized it, but you were pretty oblivious back then.”

  “I kind of still am,” I admit.

  “Is that why you’ve been stretching out in front of the window without clothes on or was that just to put on a show for me?” Pierre asks.

  I gasp. “You’re not supposed to be watching me like that.”

  “You were the one in front of the window. Anyone could see you at that point.”

  “True, but you already know me. It’s different,” I reply.

  “We can agree to disagree,” he says, “But let’s be honest, you really enjoy showing yourself off to me.”

  “I do not,” I say, jerking my head back.

  “You do,” he insists, glancing towards me with a grin. “You love it when I look at you. You’re attention-starved. I can see it.”

  I don’t like that he’s able to dig into the little bits of truth tucked away inside of me and pop them out to the surface like that. I feel called out but also relieved because I’ve found someone who knows more about me that I’m willing to share. It’s unsettling yet comforting at the same time.

  “I don’t need that much attention, “ I say, trying to soften the blows that Pierre is doling out.

  “I’m not holding it against you,” he replies. “We all need attention sometimes, and I’ve had very little of it, just like you. It’s nice to be around you.”

  “Are you saying that you like me?” I ask.

  “Sure.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yeah, sure. That means yes,” Pierre says, looking over to me again. “Money aside, this has been nice. I asked you to dinner for a reason.”