Stroke: A Bad Boy Romance

by Gabby Grace

  I could hear the trunk pop open, and he ordered me to get inside. “Get in,” he growled.

  “No… I won’t…”

  Then he gripped my hair harshly, forcing my head forward toward the trunk, his other arm wrapping my around my waist and using the bulk of his body to push me inside. I couldn’t resist or fight him. He was too strong.

  My shoulder slammed into a metal hinge jutting down into the trunk, the white-hot searing pain making my eyes water. I watched helplessly, yanking my outstretched arm back in beside me to protect it from being crushed when he slammed the trunk shut. The sound of my breathing and heart pounding was all I could hear as the darkness closed in on me, suffocating me like a heavy wet blanket.

  47

  Frankie

  We quickly made our way across the roof and back to the plank that was still suspended between the edges of the two rooflines. When Vito approached the edge and put his two feet squarely on the board, I thought for sure he’d move across it slowly like when we came.

  I couldn’t be more wrong. He jogged across the plank without fear or hesitation until he was clear on the other side. I held my edge down, of course, and then he held it down for me as I made my way across, moving faster than when I went across the first time, but not that fucking fast.

  We pulled the plank back on our side, leaving it on the roof in case we needed it again. Vito led the way, rushing at a torrid pace down the ladder. Without waiting for me when he hit the bottom, he sprinted through the shadows toward his waiting Mustang. I tried to keep up with him, but he was like a man possessed.

  ____

  If the last thirty minutes showed me anything, it’s that the Ford Motor Company made a vehicle that is highly capable of reaching one hundred twenty miles per hour and above, and in the hands of a madman, it is capable of almost anything.

  Vito got us sideways around the last turn, pegging the gas again as he raced toward the house, cutting the wheel hard to the right and plowing over some small plants as he brought the Mustang to a rest on the front lawn of the house. He leaped out of the still running vehicle, leaving the door wide open and sprinted for the front door. It was already completely open. That’s not good.

  I draw my 9-mil and follow him inside, keeping it leveled in front of me, while Vito keeps calling out Bella’s name, receiving no response. We’ve searched basically the entire house before Vito runs to the garage, then falls to one knee in anguish. “That’s her car.”

  “What about that one we saw in the driveway?”

  “Must be a rental she took to get back from her mom’s.” Vito managed to fill me in completely on where she was and why he was worried despite the high rate of speed he drove on the way over here. “There are two cars she could have used, and she’s not here.”

  “What are you thinking, Vito?”

  “They got her.”

  “Fuck. What now?”

  “They could have taken her anywhere. They don’t know we know about the Compound where Nero Petrone and Don Sirico were staying. She could be there. I doubt they would have taken her back to the warehouse, but what the fuck do I know?”

  48

  Vito

  Another message that came through when Frankie and I were infiltrating the warehouse was from Valentino.

  There was no message other than to call him at the provided number.

  So I did. I knew we would need all the help we could get to not only get Bella back alive, but to shut down this operation – and Don Sirico – for good.

  Still harping on Sirico, I growl, “I will rip that fucker’s heart out. Do you hear me, Frankie?”

  “Just call the guy. We fucking need him.”

  I pull up the message from my texts, hit the number, and then select call.

  “Valentino. It’s me, Vito.”

  He answers back, “Have you found anything out?”

  “They’ve opened up operations again near the docks. Frankie and me broke into their warehouse a few hours ago.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “Priority for me right now is they took my girl.”

  “Took her?”

  “Yeah. Right out of her home. They had hidden cameras in there. They know me, they know I burned down their warehouse, and they know I killed Petrone.”

  “So, they’re gunning for you?”

  “You can say that.”

  “Let’s use that.”

  “How?”

  “Meet me. We’ll hash it out.”

  “The Ponce de Leon Park near the fountain. See you in an hour?” I throw out a place I’ve passed a few times in my travels.

  “I’ll be there.”

  ____

  Valentino was there a bit early, waiting for us, partially hidden in the shadows, leaning up against a tree.

  We shake hands and I introduce him to Frankie. They both look each other over like two criminals do, not ready to trust each other fully just yet.

  “I have an idea, Valentino.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Bella’s cell phone wasn’t at the house, and I even checked her car. She never left anywhere without it.”

  “Are you saying they have it, and do you believe Sirico is there?”

  “I would bet on all of it. Listen, they don’t know about you, or even Frankie. We have that working for us. I call them, tell them they’re a bunch of pussies, tell them I’ll do anything to get Bella back safe, and see if I can set up a meeting with Don Sirico to talk things out.”

  “Why would they agree to that?”

  “I tell them I know stuff about their operation that no one else knows, and I’ll spill the beans to my family unless they agree to meet with me.”

  “How do you ensure Bella is okay?”

  “I tell them I need to see her before I say anything to anyone. Without that assurance, there is no deal.”

  “How do we play into it?”

  “You guys see if you can work your way in without being detected. The way I see it, Don Sirico is the primary objective. If we take him out, the whole operation goes with it.”

  Frankie chimes in. “So while all the attention is on you, we sneak in the back door?”

  “That’s exactly it. Frankie, you’re the best at breaking and entering and beating security systems. And Valentino, you’re here to take Sirico down and avenge your brother’s death. It’s perfect. When you guys get to me, spring me loose and we’ll rain hell down on them until no one is left standing.”

  “Or we die trying?”

  “Exactly, Frankie. I don’t know about you, but I’m done fucking around. They have Bella, their operation is in full swing, and I’m going to put an end to this shit. All of it. So what do you guys think?”

  Valentino and Frankie both nod their agreement, and we have no time to waste. I pull out my phone, take a deep breath, and dial Bella’s phone. It rings three times before it’s picked up on the beginning of the fourth ring.

  “Who this?” It’s a husky voice.

  “I’m your worst nightmare, asshole.”

  The voice on the other end is pissed. “What the fuck?”

  “Listen, dickwad. You have my girl, and I need to talk with your boss. You let me see her, and I’ll turn myself over to you.”

  “Hold on.” I can hear him mumbling something to the person next to him, and then he gets back on the line.

  “Why the fuck would I agree to that?”

  “Because I know everything about your operation. 348 Wharf Way. Nice warehouse operation. I noticed you’re running night shifts there. I know because I was just fucking there. Your Mickey Mouse security is a fucking joke. My boss would love to hear all about your operation, OR, I can keep this between me and you if you get me a meeting with Don Sirico. And no deal if I can’t see the girl.”

  “I don’t have the power to make this call.”

  “You have five minutes, asshole. Call me back.”

&nb
sp; After the longest four minutes of my life, the phone rings and it’s a guy with a name I recognize.

  “This is Tommy Dibullo here.”

  “Vito.”

  “I hear you want to meet with Don Sirico?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you want to see your woman… Bella?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can arrange that. Where are you now?”

  “Ponce de Leon Park. At the fountain.”

  “Are you alone?”

  I eye Valentino and Frankie, then answer. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll send a car. If you try anything funny, the girl fucking dies. No weapons, no tricks.”

  “Got it.”

  The call ends, cut off by Tommy Dibullo.

  I jam the cell in my pocket. “All right, fellas. They’re sending a car for me.”

  Valentino answers. “We’ll tail you.”

  “Headlights off. If you get caught tailing, it’s a bad scene for all of us.”

  “Do you know how many people I’ve dealt with?” Valentino speaks up, maybe insulted by what I just said.

  “No fucking idea.”

  “Too many to fucking count. Don’t tell me how to do my job. I’m the best there is and there’s nothing more to it.”

  I meet him squarely in the eye. “Here’s your chance to prove it.”

  49

  Bella

  Head is pounding… hard to breathe.

  How did I get myself into this? Bouncing around in a bad guy’s trunk with bruises and abrasions all over me. It’s not fair. I didn’t do anything to anyone.

  Except maybe fall for the wrong guy. Right guy? I don’t know. My thoughts are so confused… hate and love and the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I can taste it.

  This is bad.

  I was yelling so much the first ten minutes of the car ride that the guy pulled over, popped the trunk and gagged me with a dirty rag he probably found under the seat.

  I’m no gangster, but I know what happens to people after being abducted, and it’s usually not good. I’m not sure if I’ll survive this. My teeth are chattering and I feel cold and alone, even with the dank stale air of this trunk. It’s the worst of things, to feel defeated. And it’s awful enough to go through something like this, but to be alone through it is ten times worse than anything I can think of.

  I don’t want to be alone. Alone in this trunk, gagged like any criminal, separated from my words, maybe the only power I have left. I can talk my way out of most things, but this, I don’t know.

  The best I could do is maybe plead for my life, but I can’t even do that. All I can do is moan into this filthy strip of rag, each sound and each stream of tears stripping away pieces of my dignity and my will to fight. I have to fight. My life depends on it.

  They took my voice, but maybe I can fight?

  The car is slowing down now, and it’s turning into a driveway maybe? We’re completely stopped. Voices. And footsteps. The trunk pops open. Three guys. Can’t see their faces in the dark.

  “Let’s go.” A man waves his arm to me in a come here gesture. My hands are bound behind my back. How does this guy expect me to get out of a trunk by myself?

  Then he reaches for me, and I shimmy back to the farthest reaches of the trunk, raising my knees as a shield. He lunges for my ankle and I lash out with my right foot, catching him in the hand and shocking him into complete fury and anger.

  He lunges at me, his strong arms breaking through my defenses, throwing his upper body weight into me and rendering me unable to move. Shit.

  One finger is pointed at me. “Lady. I don’t want to hurt you. You kick me one more fucking time, and there’s no telling what I’ll do to you.”

  I eye him back like I want to kill him, but nod yes because I know he’d kill me without hesitation. He has the look of a man who’s killed before.

  He grasps my waist and pulls me out, placing my feet on the ground first so I can stand and walk. My legs are weary and sore from being scrunched up, but my mind and spirit are strong. I will do as they say until I find an opening. I can’t out-muscle them, but I can out-think them.

  I’m directed by the shoulder along a paved walkway that winds down through some natural, low-lying brush and into what appears to be a mansion overlooking the ocean, perched on the cliffs. I can hear the ocean hitting the rocks below. The soft smell of the ocean, uniquely intoxicating, is something I would usually enjoy, but now it brings with it the thought of dread.

  Just inside the door, I’m met by a man with a humongous, bulbous nose and a large belly and frame to match. He must weigh over three hundred pounds, and he does not carry it well.

  The guy leading me in speaks. “Hey, Tommy. This is the one, Bella.”

  “You think I don’t fucking know that? Fucking moron.”

  He jostles me forward, parading me like a trophy. “What should I do with her?”

  “Untie her.” He motions toward my hands bound tightly behind my back.

  The guy who abducted me reaches into his pocket and flicks open a 6-inch blade. He shows it to me, sticking it right in my face to intimidate me. I fear a lot of things. but above all, I fear switchblades. I can’t stand the thought of that cold steel driving into my flesh and coming out the other side.

  He reaches behind me, and with one cut, he slices the tape in two. I instantly pull my wrists from behind me, tear off the remaining tape, and rub them together furiously to get the blood circulating again.

  It feels good to be free.

  “Take off her gag.” As the dirty rag is yanked down off my face and pulled away, I instinctually lick the corners of my mouth, cloth-burned with tiny cuts from the tightness of it.

  “That’s better. That’s a pretty little mouth you got there. Nice rack, too.”

  His eyes travel up and down my body, as he mentally undresses me. I hold my tongue. Dignity comes from the inside, not from what he says.

  “You talk?”

  I say nothing.

  He moves in real close, his eyes just inches from mine, the smell of meatballs on his breath. His voice is deep and commanding. “You will talk.”

  I bore a hole through him with my hate-filled eyes, revealing my true feelings. He lingers there for maybe ten seconds – I don’t blink – before he steps away from me and states an order to the man standing guard over me. “Take her to the back. Let’s show her how we deal with our enemies.”

  Oh God. This could be bad. These have to be the men Vito crossed. Why else would they kidnap me? He wouldn’t leave me here to these men would he? I don’t think so, but what if I was wrong about him? I don’t really know him either. It’s just been a few short weeks and we’ve had some exchanges but maybe it was all just less than I thought. Even if he did know I was missing, how would he find me? My mind is buzzing with questions, but I have bigger problems to deal with now.

  I’m led by my shoulder to follow a largish-built man back through some plush-carpeted hallways. The carpet turns into cold tile once we reach the large dining room, an unwelcome change for my bare feet. A table that seats upwards of twenty people commands the center of the room, constructed of what looks like old wood, maybe an antique from some old grand mansion in the south of France.

  We exit through some sliding glass doors to the slate patio, a variety of lights illuminating the porch in some areas, while leaving other sections of it in pitch blackness. I can see detail on some items, including some Adirondack chairs and plush-cushioned outdoor couches.

  The ocean breeze rises up to meet me, the salty air filling my nostrils with so many beautiful memories of time spent with my family and friends and long days spent diving in and out of the water like mermaids. My mind is shocked back to reality with a hard nudge forward on the center of my back.

  I’m starting to make out the shape of a figure, definitely a man, who has his back to me and is seated in a cushioned, overstuffed chair. Holding
a drink in his right hand, he raises it to his unseen lips and takes a sip before lowering it and swirling the cubes in the glass, raising it again to his lips to take another sip.

  His gold rope bracelet and multiple large gold rings are the only other identifying features I can see. I’m pushed over to him, shoved roughly in the small of my back by a strong hand that is used to doing dirty deeds.

  Forced in front of this man now, his face still turned down and eyes hidden in deep dark shadow, I wait in silence. I don’t dare open my mouth to cough, speak, or breathe. He slowly, very slowly, raises his eyes first, the rest of his head following suit almost as if his eyes were magnets and his face metal.

  “Bella.” His voice is hoarse and measured, everyone in his presence waiting on his every word, daring not to speak. “I am Basilio Sirico. This is my home. I welcome you.” He gestures with his hand, palm up, moving his entire arm side to side.

  “Thank you.” I don’t know how else to answer, and I certainly don’t want to get this man angry.

  “So, I hear you are mixed up in some unpleasant business that goes against my interests.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” I probably shouldn’t speak, but the words just come out.

  Basilio Sirico smiles. He looks around at the others, expectantly waiting for everyone else to smile, and like puppets, they do. Then he laughs, a sinister and evil laugh, and a deep, sharp chill runs up and down my spine, sending prickly feelings down both arms. That smile and that laugh rock me to the core. I want to run, but I know I cannot. I need to stand here and endure it. It’s all I can do. There are no other options.

  “Your boyfriend Vito.”

  I’m silent and can only stare at his eyes, those eyes that have seen so much triumph and so much pain.

  Because I didn’t speak, he continues. “He went against me.”

  “I wasn’t aware.” I’m lying now. This is dangerous. Very dangerous.

  “We’ve been watching you. All of you.” His prying eyes travel up and down my body, and a feeling of weakness consumes my knees, forcing me to consciously stand up straighter.