by S. A. Ravel
But the time had come and gone. Neither wytch nor man appeared.
Blessedly finally, the door to the warehouse creaked open and two of his soldiers dragged in Johnny Boy. Eoghan could smell the death on him from across the space.
He swept his eyes over the gathered men and women and they all flinched away from his look. They’d seen him fight his way to becoming Don of Baltimore. He’d ruled them through sheer will alone for a solid year. They knew death could come for them at any moment and they placed their trust in his decisions.
Decisions that had gotten one of them killed.
He snapped the locket closed one last time and stuffed it into his pocket as he rolled to his feet.
“What’s the story?” he snapped.
“He was dumped. Whoever did it knew exactly where we’d be.”
That was hardly a surprise. Nearly everyone with a spark of the Wyrd inside them knew where to find his people. Running the city came with a fair bit of celebrity. He held court in an abandoned warehouse in the port. It gave him and his shifters ample space to change shape if needed and have a degree of discretion for any other business.
Even with the space known to the criminal element, he posted soldiers to look out for any unwanted visitors. He was Don, not an idiot. Best to make any enterprising officer or rival boss work to take him down. Though, with the amount he slipped to the right people, there would be hell to pay if someone even sniffed in his direction.
With the body left behind, it had to be someone like him. Someone was sending him a message. Eoghan rolled his shoulders. Hell would be paid when he found out who dared challenge his control on the city. He looked forward to the fight.
Fury raged inside him and he clenched his fists in his pockets. He waited for the soldiers to lay Johnny Boy out for him to look over. The rest of his soldiers and capos crowded around behind him and his underboss stood only a few feet closer. There was an order to things, even at the height of their curiosity.
Eoghan knelt down and rolled Johnny Boy to the side. The killing blow was on the back of his neck and his shirt was still wet with his blood. It was a clean death, he had to give the attacker that. Sharp cut to the back of his neck, like a knife slipping straight down the spine. Honorable.
It set his teeth on edge.
It happened in threes, didn’t it? Bad luck. It’d followed him around all his life.
First, Maura. Terrible, that. Poor girl died of shame in some back alley. He was too busy to listen to her, too busy to warn her away from the slime who got her with child and left her at the altar. She bled out because he simply couldn’t be bothered to pull his head out of his arse and really see what was going on at home.
Trying to right his sin of distraction brought on his second bout with Lady Luck. Maura’s bastard had too many connections to just slip away into obscurity. Soon as the doctors unwired his jaw, he started spewing names.
Eoghan served time for that one. Learn to calm his jets, the sheriff said at the solemn. He’d learned, ay. He’d learned plenty in those two years. He knew to not leave behind a body, now.
Then came his da. Bad heart. Losing his baby girl and seeing his adopted boy locked away didn’t help. The girls suffered the most for it. His da didn’t have much saved and money quickly ran out after funeral expenses.
So when he got out, Eoghan went to work. Someone needed to care for the family. His ma and remaining sisters needed protecting and it was his duty to provide for them. He was the man of the house, after all, and they weren’t prepared to deal with the rough world.
His da had connections to the Shadow Mob and the local Don was more than willing to lend a hand once Eoghan made his case. The man was loyal and had sisters of his own. He wouldn’t be the one to stop Eoghan making a little something to take care of the women, he’d said, even if they normally didn’t do much business with humans.
From Edinburgh to Baltimore after Maura’s loss became too much to bear, Eoghan worked his way up the ranks. One rough challenge after another promoted him from mere associate to a crew to a full-fledged capo running his own men. It wasn’t often a human could rise to power when surrounded by shifters.
But he wasn’t entirely human now, was he? Fooking Annika had seen to that.
Then Annika strolled into his life.
Tall, strong, and utterly fearless, he thought she was just another hanger-on when she took a job at one of his bars. But it soon became clear she wasn’t attached to any of his men. She slung drinks and fists with equal skill and ferocity.
She lured something out of him, something he thought surprised them both. He certainly hadn’t expected it. Dragon. That’s what he was now. She’d brought the beast out and there was no caging it away again. Her sweet scent enticed him into his Heat and he made the mistake of binding Annika as his mate.
Then she disappeared without a word.
The loss of her festered inside him. He’d run from loss once, after Maura’s death. He wouldn’t do it again. He faced it head on with his teeth bared. His mate had given him the tools needed to consolidate his power. That she wasn’t there to see the results burned him to the core.
Eoghan felt the bad luck circling in the air. It was foul and thick and tasted like ashes in his mouth. It made the others around him fidget. They didn’t like waiting for their brother or the wytch, either.
He eyed the gathered crowd once more. He resisted rubbing away the stink of uncertainty and nerves that filled his nose.
Maybe it wasn’t just the bad luck that made his men fidget.
“There’s a note—” one of the soldiers started.
“I can see the bloody fucking note,” Eoghan snarled without a trace of an accent. Perhaps he was a touch angrier than he thought. The man’s mouth snapped shut with a satisfying click.
He rolled the body over and tore away the note pinned to Johnny Boy’s chest with a rip that sounded loud in the silent warehouse. He swept a glare around the space and all the curious eyes watching him lowered. Respect or fear, he didn’t rightly care at that moment.
The unfolded note revealed looped handwriting and a short message.
Your wytch has been acquired by my order. Your man didn’t go down easily but the fight was lost even before it began. We wish to discuss a readjustment of territory lines. Awaiting your reply.
-Mariko
Eoghan crumpled the note in his hand. Claws he hadn’t meant to unsheathe bit into his palms. The coppery scent of blood hit the air and the men behind him shifted uneasily.
Fooking hell. Mariko. She ran the DC arm of the Shadow Yakuza. He should have known by the killing blow. Woman was fond of her katana.
There had been skirmishes between his men and hers off and on all year. She was testing his borders and reactions, looking for weak spots to make her move. She hadn’t dared to make a kill, not until now.
He’d give just about anything to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze the life out of her. Territory readjustment? He wouldn’t give her a damn inch of what belonged to him.
She was behind Annika’s disappearance. He just couldn’t prove it. He searched the entire fooking city and found no trace of his mate. It was too perfect to be anything but nefarious. Kidnapped or killed, Mariko’s stink was all over it. Her… acquisition of his wytch was all the excuse he needed to put the bitch down.
As much as he longed to track Mariko down and rip her open then and there, the eyes trying not to study him brought his fury from white-hot boil to a mere simmer. They needed him to be smart about his next steps. Anger would lead to mistakes and death. The family had already lost one; they didn’t need to lose any others.
Eoghan addressed his underboss. The man was tough as nails and loyal to a fault. He followed Eoghan as Don when he was still but a human. “Set a meet with Mariko, Gio.”
He turned to the capos and soldiers. No associates tonight, only those bound to the family. White skin, brown skin, blue eyes and black. Even a woman or two, though he preferred the
y stay safe in the clubs and out of the line of fire. They were a crowd of mixed colors and talents and they all looked to him to lead. He wouldn’t dishonor them by allowing one of their own to go unavenged.
He needed to give them encouragement but he didn’t want to reveal his plan. It was a fine line to walk when he aimed to do some murder without Mariko knowing what storm she brought down on herself.
With his fury reigned in, the full weight of his burr entered his voice. “We cannae let this shite go unpunished. Sharpen yer knives, polish yer guns, have a last shag. War’s coming, boys and girls, and I don’t aim tae let the fooking Yakuza take what’s mine.”
It would be glorious to pull answers from Mariko one fingernail at a time. He’d force her to tell him the fate of his mate before he put her to her final rest.
Available Now
DRAGON MOB: CHAPTER ONE
Domenica knocked swiftly on the door. Anna hadn’t explained what she wanted exactly, but she’d sounded very excited on the phone. Then again, when was Anna not enthused about one thing or another?
The door swung open, and Anna reached out and grabbed Domenica’s hand. She dragged her inside then slammed the door behind them.
“Where have you been?” Anna demanded, grinning. Before Domenica could formulate a response, Anna added, “I just had the best idea and everyone’s so excited about it. What do you think of a bachelorette party?”
Domenica blinked. Following Anna’s train of thought was always a little bit of a challenge, but she thought she’d gotten better at it over the years. Apparently, she was wrong. “Who’s getting married?”
Anna’s grin widened. “No one, silly. Of course.”
Of course. Why would someone be getting married? Except… “You said a bachelorette party?”
“Oh yeah, that.” Anna acted as if she’d forgotten what she’d said only moments before. “No one’s actually getting married. But why should that stop us from celebrating our singlehood? Our freedom.”
Touché.
Freedom. Did she really know the meaning of the word? Anna certainly did. Free of any obligations other than those she chose to undertake, Anna was taking her mid-twenties by storm. She went where she wanted when she wanted with whom she wanted. Slept with anyone who she took a fancy to, and told off anyone she didn’t. The sudden desire to trade places with her friends twisted in her gut, and she shook off the thought.
“Anyway, I thought maybe we could hold it at your nail salon downtown since it’ll be closed by then.”
Domenica had a sudden urge to do something crazy. She was a twenty-six-year-old woman—why shouldn’t she stretch her wings a bit? And rarely did such a good opportunity to do so present itself. “I’ve got a better idea.”
Anna stilled, some of her constant energy finally put on hold, and her eyes locked on Domenica. “Oh, Mena, what are you thinking about? You look positively villainous. I love it.”
“Let me make a call.” She whipped out her cell phone and called the venue she had in mind. The club was the talk of the town and would be perfect, so long as they had a big table she could reserve for their group of girlfriends. And this might be her only chance to actually see the place.
The young woman who answered the phone was dismissive until Domenica dropped her full name. A quick hold and the woman said they would be pleased to host their bachelorette party. When the woman pushed for details, like a cell phone number, Domenica passed along Anna’s information.
“Okay, you should be getting a call soon.”
Anna quirked a brow at her. “From whom?”
“You know that new club, Geode?” She passed Anna and headed into her small living room. Anna’s apartment was nothing like the luxury sky-rise flat that Domenica resided in, but it was homey. And, more importantly, it was all Anna’s. No invisible chains were attached to it.
“Yeeess?” Anna stretched out the word. “You didn’t!”
Domenica halted in front of a mirror that hung in the living room. With Anna vibrating with excitement waiting for her response, she freshened her bright red lipstick. “I most certainly did.”
“Your dad will freak.”
“So what if he does? I’m an adult, remember?” she replied, as much for her own benefit as for Anna’s. She was an adult. But that didn’t mean that the idea of angering her father didn’t send nervous tingles down her spine.
“Can you text everyone to let them know about the change in venue?” Domenica had no doubt that when the half dozen or so women found out, her dad would know in an instant. Anna was completely trustworthy, and Domenica trusted her to take any secrets of hers to her grave. The others… well, those who couldn’t be bought could be threatened. And it wouldn’t take much to convince a couple of them to at least report in on anything interesting, “for her own good” as her father would say.
Anna snorted and pulled her cell from her pocket, then sent off a text that was sure to get the attention of Domenica’s father. “You just have to poke the bear, don’t you?”
As if her friend’s words had set off a signal, Domenica’s phone vibrated. She tugged it from her purse and glanced at the screen. Padre.
Domenica smiled.
Domenica steeled her expression and stepped into her father’s office. The room oozed masculinity and wealth. From the oversized desk made from some exotic, likely endangered wood, to the large chair behind it that looked more a throne than an office chair.
Her father didn’t glance up from the letter he was writing with a fountain pen, and she had to take a deep breath to avoid rolling her eyes at him. “You know, most people these days use email.”
“I’m not most people, mia figlia.” Like gravel, his voice ground out of his throat. “Sit down.”
Stomach knotting, she sat. Antagonizing her father was one thing. Disobeying a direct order was quite another.
“I am disappointed in you.”
“Why’s that?” She tossed her hair and smiled at her father.
“You know playing dumb doesn’t work with me, piccolo.”
Her smile vanished. “I’m not little, Father.”
“Ah, but you’ll always be my little one, will you not? No matter how you grow.” With care not to drip ink, he set the fountain pen in its holder and then leaned back in his pseudo-throne. “Why have you chosen this venue for your little party? You know that Don Spadaro owns it, yes?”
“So I’ve heard.”
He leaned toward her, his dark eyes never leaving hers. “Tell me why, then, you would choose to host a party there when your own father owns many such places?”
The urge to vent at him was strong. Overwhelming. “I’m my own woman. An adult. And I’ll host a party where I damn well please.”
Anger flashed, and his eyes narrowed. “You are my daughter—”
“And sometimes I wish to Dios I wasn’t! I’m old enough to make my own decisions, Father.” Snapping at her father wasn’t wise. She knew that. His men knew that. Hell, half the city knew that. And yet, she couldn’t seem to help herself. Obeying silently just wasn’t in her nature. “I run my own businesses, and I stay out of yours. Yet, still I deal with men following me, my movements being monitored every second of every day. I want the freedom of—”
“Of what?”
“Not being your daughter!” She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips, but she couldn’t take them back. Being her father’s daughter was, in many ways, a privilege. While she made her own money with her salon and other businesses, she was under no illusion about where the start-up money for those companies had come from. And she never had to worry about what would happen if she failed—and she resented that. Even as she took comfort in it.
Being the daughter of a mobster was confusing, to say the least.
A flash of something crossed his expression, gone so quickly she couldn’t be sure what it was. Surely, it hadn’t been doubt. Her father doubted nothing. “Some wishes are beyond even my power to grant.”
“Are you admitting you aren’t all powerful?” She gave him her best mock shocked expression, but inside of her, tiny warning bells went off.
“Careful, piccolo,” he warned.
She ignored her internal alarms. “Why can’t you just stay out of my life? Especially with something as unimportant as this party?”
The anger in his expression disappeared, replaced by a blank look she’d seen directed at so many others, but never at her. She flinched.
“Do you really think you would do better without me, mia figlia?”
She met his gaze without flinching—not an easy task, even for her. “What does it matter what I think? It’s not something I’m likely to find out, is it?”
Her father said nothing, and his expression revealed even less. With that, she picked up her purse and left.
From his VIP table carefully placed in a high-set, dark corner of the club—so he could monitor his club without being seen—Giancarlo watched the group of women enter his club. Laughing and hollering at one another, they had obviously already shared more than a glass of wine between them. His cursory glance slid over the crowd, before halting abruptly.
One of the women was neither hollering nor laughing, but her bemused expression revealed she was enjoying her friends’ fun. Her dark, curly hair fell to the middle of her back, stylishly arranged around her beautiful face. She wore a vintage dress and carried a matching handbag. Her heels were perilously high, which might bring her up to his shoulders if she stretched. He couldn’t see from here, but from his memory, he could recall an image of her golden-brown eyes. High cheekbones. A flair for vintage style. And the perfect round ass.
Something inside him shivered with need.
Domenica Todaro.
He more than knew of her, he lusted after the Don’s daughter for years from afar. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that for months, he would appear at functions and parties hoping to catch the slightest glimpse of her. Hell, he’d even stalked her Facebook page like a fucking teenager, studying her pictures far too closely, but again he never dared to approach her directly.
