Men of Mayhem

by Anthology

  “Are you a Donatelli?” D asked.

  “Dio, no!” The woman let out a shudder. “That famiglia are the scum of the earth. If I could, I’d wipe out every last one of those cockroaches, starting with Matteo fucking Donatelli.”

  “Why do you hate him so much?” D asked, not knowing the man.

  Sadness fell over the woman’s face, making D wonder whether Matteo was her ex. “I’d rather not talk about that bastardo,” the redhead said. “I’d much rather talk about you.” She reached out, brushing her fingers over D’s cheek.

  D jerked back. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “You have such beautiful skin—a hint of chocolate in a sea of olive. I can’t place your ethnicity, well, other than you’re obviously part African American. Are you also Sicilian?”

  “No, and it’s none of your business what I am.”

  “You don’t have to be rude, I was just making conversation.”

  “I have no desire to talk to you, so take your drink and find someone else to bug.” D turned away from her, noticing a dispute happening in front of the stage. A group of women were yelling at some mafia soldiers. They probably thought they were bouncers, since they gave that appearance.

  “I wonder whether those women think Vincenzo’s being hurt,” the redhead said, not sounding offended at being told to leave.

  D ignored her, knowing the soldiers wouldn’t hurt Vinnie. They would’ve carried him to the band room, locking him in there until he sobered up.

  “Your vodka is here,” the redhead said.

  Still not acknowledging her, D continued to watch the distraught women. One of the soldiers picked up the loudest of the pack, forcibly carrying her out of the club.

  “Why did Vincenzo dump you?” the redhead asked, recapturing D’s attention.

  “How did you know that?” she snapped.

  Smiling, the woman took a sip from her cocktail, staining the glass with her red lipstick.

  “Answer me!”

  The woman sneered at her. “You ignored me, now you want me to talk? Make up your mind, dear.”

  “I’m not your dear, bitch.” She leaned her face closer. “And don’t make me ask again.”

  The woman returned her glare. “I saw him pull you into the band room some weeks back. But you were obviously a lousy lay, since you’re talking to me instead of fucking him. By the way, he’s heavenly to ride.”

  D clenched her hands, barely resisting punching the bitch. “Say one more thing about him and I’ll fuck you up.”

  “Sorry, dear, I’m not into women, but…how do you Americans say? Whatever floats your boat?”

  “More like I’ll sink your boat, bitch.”

  The woman tsked at her. “Here I am being nice and you continue to insult me.”

  “You’re not being nice, you’re trying to pick a fight with me, and if you know what’s good for you, you’d leave before I plant my fist in your smug face.”

  “You’re seriously threatening me?” the redhead asked, appearing amused, infuriating D even more.

  “You bet I am.”

  “That wouldn’t be a wise decision on your behalf, Viper, because my soldati will be onto you in a second.”

  D’s eyebrows shot up. “How do you know I’m a Viper?”

  “After I saw you with Vincenzo I did a background check on you. People call you D because you don’t like your name Daphne. You’re twenty-three and from Chicago.” She smiled. “By the way, I was playing with you before, because I already know you’re not Sicilian. You’re half Puerto Rican, on your father’s side. I saw a picture of him. He’s rather a handsome man, though orange really doesn’t suit his complexion. Did you visit him in jail?”

  D bolted to her feet. “Shut the fuck up about my father!”

  A large man in dress pants and a black T-shirt appeared by the redhead’s side, his dark eyes warning D to lower her fist. D glared back at him, daring him to throw the first punch, because she would have the fucking last one.

  “Ooh, you’re a live wire,” the redhead said, sounding pleased with herself.

  D’s eyes snapped back to her. “What is your game, lady?” she growled out.

  “I like to know everything about my enemies.”

  “I didn’t even fucking know you a few minutes ago, so piss off.”

  The bitch smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving. Though, be a dear and pass on a message to the Santini for me. Tell the Don he should kick you and the rest of the Vipers out of his house or he’ll bring the wrath of the Black Russian down upon his famiglia’s heads.”

  “Is this why you’re here? You’re working for that bastard? Well, you can tell that psycho my sisterhood will make him pay for what he did to us.”

  “I work for no one. I’m my own boss. But the next time I see the Black Russian, I’ll be sure to tell him what you said.” She put her cocktail down on the bar and rose to her feet. “Stay safe, D…until we meet again.” She wriggled her fingers at her, then disappeared into the crowd with the large man, leaving D fuming and wishing she’d rearranged the bitch’s face. She made a mental note to question the Santini about the tall redhead, wanting to know exactly who the bitch was.

  She turned back to grab her jacket off the counter, intent on finding out ASAP. A scruffy-looking man with a sunburned complexion sat down next to her. “You gonna have that?” he asked, pointing at the vodka.

  She shook her head, not wanting anything from the woman. “You can have it.”

  “Grazie.” The man snatched it up and skulled the drink within seconds.

  D went to leave, stopping as the man brought his hands to his throat, looking like he was choking. Losing balance, he tumbled off his barstool, crashing to the floor. D dropped down to help him, but instead whipped her hands back as he started frothing at the mouth. Not knowing what to do, she jumped up and yelled at the bartender, “Ring for help!”

  Within seconds, the bartender started yelling into a phone, sounding like he was talking to the emergency services. Then he was vaulting over the bar, going to the man’s aid. But it was too late, the poor guy no longer moving. His face had gone a bluish-white, while his veins stuck out, creating a macabre pattern across his pale flesh.

  “What the hell happened?” the bartender said, staring at the man with a shocked expression.

  D focused on the foamy substance dribbling down the man’s stubbly chin. “He looks like he’s been poisoned, because that’s not a natural death.”

  “Merda,” the bartender said, saying shit in Italian.

  “More like murder,” she added, the words sounding similar. D’s gaze moved to the tumbler the dead man had drunk out of—her drink. She jumped up and grabbed it off the bar, sniffing at the glass. A smell she couldn’t put a finger on greeted her, sweet but oddly sour at the same time.

  She turned to the bartender. “Did you see anyone touch my glass apart from the dead man?”

  “Only that redhead. Though, she wasn’t a real redhead. A strand of black hair fell free from her wig. She tucked it back under, giving me a glare when she noticed me watching.”

  D cursed herself for not having noticed, the woman obviously an assassin. The Black Russian would’ve hired her to kill D, her former employer a vindictive man. She’d escaped his palace with her fellow Vipers after he’d murdered their leader and tried to slaughter the rest of them, the battle with his guards wiping a lot of her sisterhood out.

  “What happened?” a man barked behind her.

  D turned to find two soldiers staring at her, the bigger one repeating the question. He was a hairy guy, with an odd shaped beard and a crooked nose.

  “Someone tried to kill me.” She looked back down at the dead man, knowing that could’ve been her lying there.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know her name, but when I find out…the bitch is fucking dead.”

  Irene

  Irene climbed into the back seat of her black SUV, hoping the Viper had drunk the vodka. The woman
deserved to die for touching her Vincenzo. It had taken all of her self-control to sit and smile at the Viper, instead of ramming a knife into the woman’s chest for even daring to go near her man, let alone touch him.

  Two of her soldiers slid in next to her. The one who’d protected her from the Viper closed the car door. He was a muscular man, with a shaved head and dark beard. “What next, signora?” Bernardo asked. “Home?”

  She shook her head, wanting to make a move on Vincenzo soon. “Call in the snipers. Once the patrons have left, get them to take out the Santini soldiers guarding the building.”

  “What time do you want it to happen?”

  “Five in the morning. The staff will be gone by then, with only the soldiers needing to be eliminated. Once they’re out of the way, we’ll walk right in and take Vincenzo.” She smiled, looking forward to returning him to his rightful place—underneath her.

  Bernardo pulled out his phone and called through to base, ordering the snipers. After finishing, he hung up and refocused on her. “What do we do until five?”

  “We’ll sit and wait.” She knocked on the barrier between them and the driver. It wound down, the driver’s fat face appearing. “Drive one or two streets over,” she said. “Make sure you park in a place that won’t get us noticed. We’ll be staying for a few hours.”

  The driver nodded, the barrier between them once more going up. As the SUV kicked into gear, Irene removed the red wig and shook her long black hair out, amused that the stupid Viper hadn’t realized who she was. But then again, she looked nothing like her old photos, her plastic surgeon having done a brilliant job.

  She pulled out her compact from her bag and removed her pale blue contacts, revealing her emerald-green eyes. They were permanent contacts that had been surgically attached to her brown irises after she’d found out green was Vincenzo’s favorite color. She then wiped off the layer of makeup she’d used to hollow out her cheeks. Once she’d finished cleaning her face, she reapplied a different layer of makeup, this one highlighting her best features, so she looked even nicer for Vincenzo.

  After she’d fixed herself up, she leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, ordering her soldiers to wake her up at five.

  Someone shook Irene’s shoulder, rousing her. She opened her eyes and looked to her left, seeing Bernardo sitting next to her, the other soldier gone.

  “Where’s Filippo?” she asked.

  “Up front, and it’s five a.m.,” Bernardo replied. “I also got a call confirming that the snipers have taken out the guards.”

  “Bravo. We’ll make our move now.” Irene tapped the barrier between the front and the back. “Move to the destination.”

  “As you wish, signora,” the driver replied.

  The engine started up, the driver pulling away from the curb. A minute later he stopped outside the back of H20. Her soldiers climbed out of the SUV. Leaning back in, Bernardo held a hand out for Irene, her personal bodyguard a natural gentleman, unlike the majority of the oafs who worked for her family.

  Gripping onto his hand, she pushed out of the SUV, smiling at the sight before her. Two Santini soldiers were lying in front of the back exit, stone-cold dead.

  “Very nice,” she said, impressed with the snipers, the shots having hit both men in the forehead. “Remind me to give those snipers a bonus.”

  “Sì, signora,” Bernardo replied, his expression impassive. She could never tell what he was thinking, Bernardo having the best poker-face she’d ever seen. He resumed talking. “The guards out front have also been eliminated.” He bent down and searched the dead men’s pockets, finding a set of keys. He pushed up and focused on his cousin, the two men looking similar, their hard faces and muscular bodies giving them a formidable presence. He passed the keys to Filippo. “On three, open the door. I’ll take out anyone in the hallway. Then you go in and sweep the rooms.”

  Filippo nodded and did as instructed, whipping the door open on the count of three. Bernardo fired off a shot, the silencer canceling out the sound. Irene peered around him, seeing a soldier collapse. Filippo entered the hallway, momentarily blocking her view. He started checking the rooms, coming to a stop at the band room, the man Bernardo had shot lying next to it. Filippo stepped over him and tried the door handle. He let go a moment later and signaled for them to approach him.

  Bernardo stepped through the doorway, instructing Irene to stay behind him. She followed him into the corridor, barely containing her excitement at seeing Vincenzo again. She knew he now lived at H20. Her men had been watching the premises for the past two weeks, Vincenzo never leaving it.

  They came to a stop next to Filippo. “What’s wrong?” Bernardo asked.

  “The door’s locked,” his cousin replied. “Stand back. I’ll shoot it.” He lifted his gun and shot the lock.

  Noise came from the other end of the hallway. Filippo whipped his gun around and fired off another shot, hitting a man in the chest as he stepped through the end door. Without wasting time, Filippo turned back to the band room, whispering, “Wait here while I check inside.”

  He lifted his gun and pushed the door open a fraction, peering around the edge, then disappeared inside. Several seconds later he returned. “Only our target is present. He’s asleep on the bed.”

  Irene did a little shake, then pushed past Filippo, eager to see Vincenzo. She let out an excited shout at the glorious sight on the bed. Vincenzo was sprawled out across it, still only wearing his leather pants, the rest of his body laid bare for her.

  She rushed over and sat down next to him. Up close, he looked even sexier, with his mussed up brown hair and unshaven face. Unable to wait a second longer, she leaned down and sealed her lips to his, getting lost in the kiss.

  “Signora, we need to leave now,” Bernardo said behind her.

  Irene ignored him. The time apart from Vincenzo had been excruciating. She’d missed him so much, gone even crazier without him. They were meant to be together, not apart. He was her other half, the one who’d captured her heart, mind, and soul. She loved him more than life itself, more than anyone in the world.

  “Signora,” Bernardo said more firmly. “We need to leave. Now.”

  Vinnie stirred in his sleep, forcing Irene to break the kiss. He opened his eyes and stared up at her, his soft blue eyes hazy, his expression confused.

  “Ciao, amore,” she said, brushing her fingers over his abs. “Did you miss me?”

  Vinnie

  Vinnie blinked, not sure if he was dreaming, or more accurately, having a nightmare, because Irene Landi was staring down at him. He closed his eyes, positive he must be seeing things. He was probably still drunk or even high from the drugs the soldiers had injected him with earlier. Sì, he was hallucinating, because he’d escaped the crazy bitch.

  Hands clamped around his ankles and arms, making his eyes snap open. Two large men Vinnie didn’t recognize lifted him off the bed. He kicked out at the one holding his ankles, hitting him in the stomach. The man swore and dropped Vinnie. The other one let go too, sending him crashing to the floor. He yelped as his head bounced against the floor, hurting it like a motherfucker.

  “You idiots!” a female screamed. “Don’t hurt him!”

  Vinnie looked up, seeing Irene again. The woman wasn’t a dream, but a living nightmare.

  “Get away from me!” he yelled, scrambling backward. He jumped to his feet and held his fists out, his gaze moving between the two men flanking her. They were dressed in dark trousers and T-shirts, and were even taller than him, the massive fuckers looking at least six-foot-five. Vinnie’s gaze shot past them, a body catching his eye. One of his guards was lying in the passageway, most likely dead. Vinnie’s attention snapped back to Irene as she took a step closer to him.

  “Don’t be afraid, Vincenzo,” she said. “My men won’t hurt you.”

  “I’m not afraid, I’m fucking furious!”

  He went for her, wanting to kill the psycho bitch. One of her soldiers shot in front of hi
m, shoving Vinnie against the bathroom door.

  Vinnie lifted his fists again, hollering, “Stay the fuck away from me or I’ll kill you!”

  Irene grabbed the man’s arm. “Bernardo, stand down!” she barked, trying to pull him back. His large bicep bulged against her hand, the man unmovable.

  “He was going to attack you, signora,” the soldier growled, his dark eyes fixed firmly on Vinnie.

  “He wasn’t, he’s just afraid.”

  “I already said I’m not afraid, you deaf troia,” Vinnie spat, calling her a bitch.

  Her emerald green eyes snapped to him. “You should call me amore, not insult me.”

  “You’re not my fucking love! You murdered her!”

  She exhaled loudly, her expression a mixture of frustration and hurt. “Oh, Vincenzo, you weren’t in love with her, otherwise you would’ve taken her back after you found out she cheated on you. If you cheated on me, I’d take you back, because my love is unconditional. I’d just kill the troia you did it with.”

  “No, I’ll kill you!” Without a second thought he charged forward, willing to plow down the soldier to get at her.

  The man shoved him onto the bed. As he went to grab Vinnie’s arm, Vinnie rolled to the side and shot off the bed. The other soldier lunged at him. Vinnie ducked and shot an uppercut into the man’s chin, sending him staggering back. He threw another punch, this time hitting the soldier’s jaw, flooring him.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Vinnie spotted the other man pulling out a tranquilizer gun. Pivoting, Vinnie kicked it out of his hand, then threw a punch at him. Jerking his head to the side, the man grabbed Vinnie’s shoulder and rammed a knee into his gut, winding him badly. Vinnie dropped to his knees, unable to breathe.

  “You bastardo!” Irene hollered at the soldier. “I told you not to hurt him!” She dropped down next to Vinnie and placed a hand on his back, rubbing it. “Take deep breaths, you’ll be all right,” she said, looking concerned.