Ensnared: The Mafia's Prisoner (Book One) (A Dark Mafia Romance)

by Raven Dark

  One thing is for sure. The killer who took those pictures knows about Aurora, and he’s not only sent to take me out, but he may have been sent to kill her.

  Or to cart her off to whomever put the hit on me. I’m about to turn and race back to the lodge when footsteps brush the carpet behind me. Then a gun cocks, the weapon clicking behind my ear.

  Lightning fast, I spin around, grab the gun before the shooter can fire, and twist the weapon from his grip. I toss the gun aside and throw a kick into his chest, sending him slamming into the wall behind him.

  He grunts in surprise and pain.

  I point my gun at his head. “Who are you?”

  When his dark eyes narrow with a mutinous look above the scarf that covers his face, I rip the cloth down, revealing dark, olive skin and a black, two-day beard.

  I put my gun’s safety on and shove it into the back of my pants, then slam him against the wall hard enough to rattle the plaster loose and bring a grunt from him. He swears in Italian. I push my arm across his throat, pinning him against the wall.

  “Who. Are. You.”

  He meets my eyes, unflinching, and says nothing.

  Obviously, he doesn’t care if I kill him, which, for a man who’s been sent to kill a future kingpin, means he’s been either hired by someone scary enough that he’d rather die than talk, or he’s been trained to die before he talks. My money is on the latter. But the pictures of Aurora say there’s more to this than a hit on me.

  “Who are you working for? Who sent you? And what do you want with Aurora?”

  His lips pull into a grin. “Go ahead, Volkov. Kill me. You know how this works. I’m not telling you shit.”

  “Da. I know how it works. Death before defiance. But you will talk, when given the proper incentive.” I release him only to slam his head into the wall hard enough that he screams. “What do you want with her?”

  It ticks me off a little that I’m acting like a pissed off boyfriend and not a captor, but it achieves the right affect, because I can see fear behind his eyes even before I put my gun to his forehead.

  “Go fuck yourself, Volkov,” he says.

  I shrug. “Okay. Clearly, this is going to take some time.” I shove the gun into my belt again. Then I whirl around and toss him across the room so that he crashes into Jack’s coffee table. The wood cracks and collapses under his weight.

  Before he can get up, I pull a rolling chair over from the desk in the corner, toss him in it, and kick it up against the wall.

  The man grunts and then lets out a peel of laughter. I offer him a smile that stops him cold.

  “He was right. You are crazy,” he mutters.

  “He who?”

  When he doesn’t answer, I throw my fist into his gut.

  “He who?” I repeat patiently.

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  I smack him around a little until his nose bleeds and both of his eyes are swollen. “He who?”

  He spits blood at me. It splatters my white hoodie with crimson.

  One more time, I throw my fist into his gut hard enough that he won’t be going anywhere. Half conscious, he groans and slumps in the chair. I hunt up something to tie him with, and find a line of fishing wire from Jack’s tackle box on the desk. When both of his arms are tied to the chair and his ankles are tied to the legs, I squat in front of him.

  “I would have liked to talk about this like gentlemen, but obviously you’re not that kind of killer. So we’ll try it this way.”

  “What way?” he slurs.

  I grab two of his fingers and bend them back just enough that his eyes go wide and his face loses all its color.

  “This way.” I bend them a little more. “You have ten fingers. How many do I have to break before you start talking?”

  “Fuck you. And fuck your cunt girl.”

  The insults to Aurora send protective instincts I’m not supposed to have going off like firecrackers in my head. He’s playing tough, but he’s also shaking like a leaf, and trying to rip his hand out of mine.

  I jerk two of his fingers back until bones snap.

  He howls.

  “It doesn’t matter what you do,” he huffs, his eyes glazed with pain. “I won’t tell you shit all. And it doesn’t matter if you kill me. He won’t stop.”

  “Who is your employer? Who won’t stop?”

  This time, when he doesn’t answer, I rip open his jacket and the button up shirt underneath. There’s a tattoo of three black roses on his left peck. I know that symbol. It’s a tat only three men in the Romano Family wear. All of them are hitmen. I don’t know their names, or what they look like save this one, but I do know they’re Vincent’s men.

  “Vincent sent you?” I demand.

  “What do you think?”

  That sounds like a yes, but it doesn’t make sense. Why would Vincent give Aurora to me and have me promise to keep her alive, then send men to kill us? He’d be risking a war. I can only assume, since those pics are of both of us, this fuck’s been sent to take us both out and not just me. Either that, or he’s supposed to kill me and take her back to whomever sent him.

  “Let’s try again.” I grab another finger and bend it back just enough that he starts thrashing in his chair. “What do you want with her?”

  He shakes his head at me. “If you kill me, he’ll only send another.”

  “Who?”

  Nothing.

  Bones snap. He screams.

  “Seven fingers left. You look like you’re on the verge of passing out. Can you hold out for seven more of these?”

  “Go ahead and find out.”

  Fuck. This is a problem. I’ve seen men like him, men who are trained to withstand torture. It usually results in a dead man and no information exchanged.

  A clattering on the broken down door to the cabin makes me whip around, heart beating fast. Jack’s large husky stands in the entrance, paws on the fallen door, his white coat gleaming in the sun’s glare.

  “Wolf. Jesus.”

  Wolf gives a mournful whine that I can’t help but think means he knows Jack is dead without his even seeing him. I keep an eye on my groaning target while the dog goes into the bedroom. To say goodbye to his beloved master.

  “That fucking mutt,” the hitman grumbles. “He’d have been dead if he hadn’t run off before I shot at him.”

  Anger spikes in me at that, startling me. I snap another finger, and he screams.

  Wolf comes back out of the bedroom, pawing at my leg and looking sadly up at me. His dark eyes are deep an intelligent, tugging at my damn heartstrings.

  Since the hitman still won’t talk, I put Wolf to work.

  “Wolf, stay.” I snap my fingers at the floor in front of the chair. “Watch him.”

  I’m half-surprised when the dog sits obediently in front of the killer. The killer curses at him, drawing back a little too far in his chair, as if trying to put distance between himself and Wolf. The dog lets out a low growl of warning. I can’t help a smile. “Good boy. If he moves, bite him.”

  I go over to the wall and snatch the array of pictures down. I ignore the ones of me, taking the ones of Aurora. I look over them, and then shake my head at the killer.

  “She’s real cute, Volkov. Is she a good fuck?”

  I march over and punch him in the gut.

  He groans and spits blood.

  I shake my head. “No one stalks my woman except me,” I tell him.

  He widens puffy eyes at me. “You’re sick, Volkov.”

  “Your point?”

  I set the pics aside, then return to my interrogation with Wolf looking on.

  Twenty minutes later, and he hasn’t said anything helpful. Five minutes after that, his last finger is broken, and he’s passed out from pain. A minute after that, and there’s a bullet lodged in his brain.

  And I still have no idea who is trying to kill me, and what whomever is behind this wants with Aurora.

  Before leaving, I call Adrian to help me take care of the
evidence, and tell the others to start packing up to leave. When Adrian arrives, we bury both bodies, and I murmur an apology to Jack that I couldn’t save him.

  Wolf watches me bury his master, whimpering mournfully.

  “What are you going to do about him?” Adrian asks, wiping sweat off of his brow and scratching Wolf’s ears with amusement.

  “I dunno. But I can’t leave him here with no one to take care of him.”

  “You could take him. Might be nice for Aurora to have a friend.”

  I glare at him. “Don’t tell me she’s won you over. That woman is my prisoner, not my girlfriend, Adrian. She’s not supposed to have friends, and I’m not giving her a dog.”

  Adrian shrugs.

  I stomp up to the house, find Wolf’s leash, as well as the bags of his food. I find his chew toy, a rubber ball, and toss it to Adrian in the living room, waiting for me with the dog at his side.

  “What’s next?” I growl at the two of them. “Two-point-o kids? A white picket fence?” It occurs to me I’m saying this in Russian. I’ve switched to my native tongue. Which I only do unintentionally if I’m truly pissed.

  Adrian snorts, and then covers it with a cough.

  I head for the door and signal to the dog to follow. Time to get back to my woman. “All right, you might as well come too, mutt. Come on.”

  Wolf bounds over to me and jumps up, putting his paws on my stomach. I lift my eyes to the sky and mutter a few more curses. Adrian coughs again.

  I push Wolf’s muzzle away with my palm, and he pants and growls playfully, as if it’s a game. My heart gives an irritating twinge.

  “So help me, dog. This is not a permanent situation. I just killed a man. You start chewing on my shoes or smelling up my furniture, and I’ll strangle you.”

  We’re just leaving the cabin when Adrian’s phone rings, chiming out the tone to Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5. The ring tone always catches me off guard, and I screw up my face at him like I usually do when I hear it.

  He ignores me. I shake my head and occupy myself with scratching Wolf’s ears. After half a minute, Adrian mutters a thanks and hangs up.

  “What is it?” I nod to his phone.

  “That guy said “he’ll” just send another, right?”

  I don’t like the ominous tone I hear. “Da. Why?”

  “Then we have a problem.” He holds up his phone. “That was Grigory. There’s another storm coming in within the hour. We won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

  “Shit. We’re going back to the lodge. Now.”

  Whoever sent that killer after Aurora and me, as soon as he realizes his hitman is dead and hasn’t done the job, he’s going to send someone else. Which means we’re stuck here with a storm coming, and a hired killer will soon be closing in.

  A trained hitman who, one way or the other, will take Aurora from me unless I kill him first.

  Chapter 19

  True Darkness

  “Another one?” I groan, running my hands through my hair.

  Having just told me that another storm is coming and it’ll keep us here another couple of days, Joanne stands on the opposite side of the island from me, stirring up cookie dough in a bowl with a wooden spoon. “Would spending another day here with us be so bad?” Her eyes tease, but there’s empathy in her smile, telling me she’s trying to make light of a situation she knows hasn’t been easy for me.

  “With you? No. With Michael…” I shrug. I’m not looking forward to spending who knows how long with this collar on until the next storm dies down, either.

  She puts her head down and begins to scoop spoonfulls of dough onto cookie sheets. The dough is thick and dotted with chocolate chips and oatmeal flecks. My favorite, as I made a point of telling her as soon as she mentioned she was making cookies.

  At her silence, I can’t help feeling a twinge of sympathy. She doesn’t know how to answer, and once again, she’s probably trying to pretend the collar isn’t there. I still hope Michael isn’t manipulating her.

  “You could make it easier by giving me that spoon.” I offer her a winning smile that usually won over my bodyguards as a kid when they wouldn’t let me go where I wanted. I nod to the spoon.

  Her eyes twinkle. “That sounds remarkably like bribery, Miss Romano.” She hands me the utensil, looking happy to do it despite her words.

  I accept the spoon and swipe a big glob of the dough onto my finger, then lick it off. “Well, you know who my father is.”

  She hoots with laughter.

  “Thanks,” I add, sitting down on one of the stools.

  “Fuhgettaboutit.” She puts on a fairly good Godfather accent and hands me the bowl, caked with plenty of dough. “Here you go. Make yourself useful.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” This is the kind of cleaning up I’m happy to perform. “So, where’s my warden, anyway?”

  “Out for on one of his afternoon jogs.” Jo puts the cookie sheets in the oven and sets the timer.

  “In this cold?” I look at the thermostat on the wall. “It’s ten below right now.” The wind is already whipping at the trees outside, and snow is starting to swirl again. The storm.

  “He likes it that way.”

  “Well. I guess that’s what happens when you have ice in your veins instead of blood.” I ignore her lightly scolding smile. “How’s Alicia doing?”

  “She’s—“ Jo stops when the front door to the lodge shuts heavily.

  “Aurora,” Michael growls.

  “Master’s calling.” I roll my eyes and jump off the stool, a mix of fear and heat flooding my veins. I cover up both with a smile. I put the spoon and the bowl into the sink before heading out to the front entrance, where Michael is removing his snowy boots.

  As soon as I see him, my jaw drops. The front of his white hoodie is spattered with crimson. Blood. My face pales.

  “Michael, what happened?”

  He takes in my gaze, glued to his hoodie. An emotion that looks like worry crosses his features as he looks me up and down, then yanks the hoodie over his head. “The blood’s not mine.”

  A maid is already coming to his side, and he hands her the bloodstained garment with a muttered thanks. The maid vanishes with only the slightest flicker of concern when she looks at the hoodie before she disappears with it.

  When I look at him again, he sets his boots by the door and comes to me, stroking my hair. His knuckles are bruised.

  I swallow, my blood chilling. I’ve seen those kinds of bruises on Gio’s fists after he comes home from a job often enough to know what it looks like when a man’s roughed someone up. “Michael, what did you do?”

  “Not your concern. Be ready to go as soon as the storm dies down.”

  The ice in my veins flows faster. “Are we going somewhere in a hurry?”

  He hauls me against him. “Stop asking questions. Just be ready.”

  “Michael—”

  “Enough! Just do as I—“

  The front door opens and Adrian steps in. Jack’s huge Husky follows on a leash before Adrian shuts the door.

  “Everything’s ready to go, sir.” Grigory stops in the hall and raises a brow at the animal. “What’s with Fido? Isn’t that Jack’s dog?”

  “Jack’s dead,” Michael rumbles.

  “What?” Panic rises in my throat. I look between Michael, with his bloody knuckles, and Adrian, who’s setting a big bag of dog food down. He takes Wolf’s leash off and tosses a ball at him, sending him running after it.

  There’s only one way Michael would have Jack’s dog, and moreover, that he would have food and a toy for him, suggesting he’ll be staying a while.

  “Adrian, make sure she’s ready to go. Make sure Wolf doesn’t cause any trouble.” Without looking at me or waiting for the bodyguard to reply, he heads toward the stairs to the second floor.

  The message is clear. I’ve been dismissed, and he’s not telling me anything about what happened when he was on his run.

  Concern for Jack won’t let me sta
y quiet. I shut down the fear that tries to make a home in my chest and stomp after him up the steps. “Michael, please tell me what’s going on.”

  “Drop it, Aurora.” He makes his way toward his bedroom. “Unless you want to join me in the shower, back off.”

  I shake my head, catching him before he can reach the bedroom and shut the door on me. I grab at his arm. “Michael, did you do something to Jack?”

  He yanks his arm free and turns to me. “Have you forgotten the sting of that cane so soon?”

  That threat should stop me cold, and it almost does. Normally I wouldn’t even press. He’s Bratva and taking lives is part of Mafia life. But killing someone who went against the Family is different than killing a neighbor. An innocent man. The scary part is, I can imagine why he would have done it.

  I wring my hands, looking at the floor. “Did you kill Jack?” I whisper.

  He says nothing and starts for the bedroom again.

  “What happened, Michael? Did he find out about what you’re doing to me?”

  He grabs my wrist and pulls me into the bedroom. “If you won’t learn to keep your place, I’ll teach you.”

  Shit. Now it’s off to the kink chamber we go. I try to pull my arm free. He pushes the door shut and marches across the room, his grip like iron. In his huge en suite bathroom, he shuts the door.

  “If you killed him—” I start in a shaky voice.

  His face is a dark scowl as he puts his palms on the door to either side of me, caging me in. “If I killed him, what?” he challenges.

  I open my mouth several times, only to close it. There’s nothing I can really do to him. The threat, half formed as it is, is empty, and we both know it.

  I glance at his knuckles. That day of my sixteenth birthday floods back on me—the day when he’d ruined it with single act that left his knuckles looking the same way they do right now and showed me how twisted he really was. This isn’t the first time someone linked to me received the brunt of his anger. Only last time, his actions destroyed what should have been one of the biggest days in a girl’s life.