Both Frank and Benito’s faces turn white. Carlo’s turns red and he pulls out a pistol, holding it at his side and racking a bullet in the chamber. “You have something you want to say to me?”
Frank works his meaty lips and seems to come to some kind of internal decision, nodding and stepping to press his chest into Carlo. “Yeah. I want to say you’re an asshole, and if your uncle wasn’t the boss, I would’ve kicked your ass a long—”
Carlo tries to smash his pistol into Frank’s face, but Frank blocks, knocking the gun to the ground. Benito shakes his head as the two men struggle, and the man who had been yelling at Roman to pee turns to watch the brawl, smirking.
While they are all distracted, I inch toward the gun that’s sitting on the ground. No one notices until it’s too late, and just as Frank lands a devastating punch to Carlo’s face, I pick it up and aim it at Carlo. If he’s related to the boss, I figure he’s the most valuable target.
“Roman, run!” I shout.
He runs, and the chubby man nearest to him chases after him. I’ve never shot a gun before, and I don’t dare risk shooting anywhere near my son, so I have to hope that he finds a way to hide while I take care of the rest of these men.
Carlo grins up at me, holding his palms toward me as he rolls out from under Frank, who is standing on his knees, fists still clenched. Benito’s hands are frozen, no doubt ready to pull his gun free the moment I show weakness. “Stand here,” I say, pointing to the ground in front of me and jabbing my finger at Carlo.
He slowly moves to stand, stepping in front of me.
“You two, drop the car keys and your guns, and run that way, as fast as you can,” I say.
Benito laughs. “Or what? You don’t have the stones to shoot him.”
“Shut the fuck up and do what she says,” hisses Carlo.
Frank stands slowly, menacingly, moving his hand toward his pocket. “She doesn’t have the—”
I aim the gun down to the back of Carlo’s thigh and fire. His pants rip open and smoke trails up from his skin as he falls to the ground, squirming and cursing.
I aim the gun at Frank, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Do I have the guts to shoot people? If it means protecting my son? Yes. I’ll kill them with my bare hands if it means keeping Roman safe.
Frank’s eyes dart to Carlo and then back to me. He lets his hand relax to his side and I nearly sigh with relief. I don’t want to have to shoot anyone again. My hand still tingles from the recoil and my ears are ringing. I’m worried reality will crash in on me any second, making me drop the gun and run away from what I’ve just done.
“Keys. Guns. Then leave,” I say.
Frank slowly reaches into the pockets of his slacks and drops the keys in the dirt. Both men reach for their guns. “Wait!” I say. “One at a time.”
Frank looks to Benito, who nods back at him. Benito slowly pulls his gun free with forefinger and thumb, dropping it to the grass. Frank does the same.
“Now run,” I say.
Both men set off at a jog, not exactly running, but getting the job done anyway.
“You going to just let me bleed out?” asks Carlo. His face is white and I feel a little sick when I see how much blood is already staining the leaves. Did the bullet hit an artery? Jesus…
“You have a phone,” I say, kneeling and taking the two guns on the ground, throwing them deep into the brush. “Call 911. Tell them the woman you kidnapped just shot you in the leg and you need help right away.”
I run off in the direction Roman went, knowing every second could count. The gun feels heavy and strange in my hand. I’m afraid to point it anywhere, as if it might go off without notice. It’s only a minute later when I see Roman being dragged kicking and screaming back out of the woods and toward the road. I freeze, making sure I’m not heard, wondering if I could shoot the man dragging my son. There’s no way I could make the shot, and if I show myself, the man is just going to threaten to kill Roman if I don’t give myself up.
All I can do is creep along, trailing behind them in the forest, struggling to think of any plan that doesn’t involve just watching this man drive off with my son. It feels like only seconds later when Roman is being thrown into the back of the car, but I still can’t risk taking a shot. I could easily miss and hit my son. Instead, I’m forced to sit, waiting and watching the license plate as the car pulls away. I watch as they take my son away, and I can’t do anything to stop them. I memorize the plate numbers as quickly as I can, stomach feeling like it’s full of acid the whole time. I hope to God I just made the right decision.
I double back to Carlo. His face is bone white and his hand holds a phone. I pause, staring in disbelief. He looks dead. But I just shot him in the leg, how could he be dead? I feel sick as I kneel down, checking for his pulse and feeling nothing. How could he die so quickly? As much as I know he deserves it, I didn’t mean to kill him. I never wanted to kill anyone.
My breaths come rapidly, making me feel light headed, but I power through it, turning my back on the body, on the man I killed, and calling Leo’s number.
“Where are you?” he asks immediately, picking up before the first ring even finishes.
I shout the license plate number to him through the phone. “Can you remember that?”
“Yes. Where are you?” he asks again.
“That’s the car that took Roman, please find it.”
“Where the fuck are you?”
“I don’t know!” I shout, “but I’ll be fine. Just find Roman!”
“I’m going to have someone call you at this number and find you. Just hunker down and wait for a call.”
57
Leo
I call my sniffer, Logan. “I need you to track the GPS on Julia Connors’ phone. Her number is 555-7438.”
Logan is quiet for a moment. “Off route 17, near Century Road.”
“Good. Hold on, I’ll call back in a minute.”
I hang up, calling Vince Citrione next.
“Vince, it’s Leo,” I say into the phone as I speed down the highway, weaving through traffic.
“Leo?” asks Vince. “Christ, man. You haven’t called in years.”
“Yeah, well remember that favor you owe me?”
“No,” says Vince. “If anything, you owe me for not castrating you when you walked away from our family.”
“Vince, I need you to do me a favor. I got tied up in some shit, and the Morettis took my girl. I know where she is, but I need someone I can trust to come pick her up. Can you send anyone?”
“Where is she?” asks Vince, his voice suddenly serious.
“She’s off Route 17, near Century Road.”
“That’s not far at all. I can pick her up in less than thirty minutes.”
“I owe you,” I say, hanging up quickly and concentrating on driving again. I call Logan back. “I need you to run some plate numbers for me,” I say, reading off the numbers.
I hear him typing into a computer, not even bothering to respond until he has what I need.
“The car is registered to Killian Moretti,” he says.
“Killian? You’re sure?”
“Says right here, yeah.”
“Can you get me any home addresses in his name? Any properties?”
“It won’t be in his name,” says Logan doubtfully. “But I can trace his bank accounts and see where the money is flowing, it will just take a minute.”
“Do whatever you have to,” I say.
I listen anxiously as I hear him clacking away at keys in the background. “121 Paterson street and 8860 Linwood. Looks like one might be for storage. A lot of square footage, but no plumbing or ventilation.”
If he’s taking Roman somewhere, it’s there. Still, it’s a stretch, but Killian has a reputation for being the cruelest soldier working for the Morettis. Rumors are that he never carries out a hit without torturing the victim first, even if there’s no information to be gained. The sick fuck just enjoys it, and he has my son. My
fucking son. I twist my hands on the steering wheel, pushing the gas even harder.
I make the forty minute drive in fifteen minutes, fishtailing to a stop outside a large square building in the middle of an overgrown field and off a dirt road. Two cars are parked outside, and the plates on one match Killian’s. I pull my .44 free, racking a bullet in the chamber and barely resisting the urge to burst through the front door shouting for him to show himself. My only hope of saving Roman might be in surprising Killian, and I can’t risk letting him know I’m coming.
I move to the side of the building, jumping on a dumpster and using it to look through a window that is nothing more than just a square cut into the steel siding. There’s a tower of pipe and wood scaffolding a few feet from the window and an otherwise open space littered with dangling chains, grisly steel implements, and tall, flat tables stained with red. Fuck. The rumors didn’t even do this creep justice. He has his own personal torture room.
I quickly scan the space and find Killian with his back to me, standing in the corner bending over a table, running his finger along tools. Roman is lying motionless on a table. My stomach clenches when I see him, but I sigh with relief when his stomach rises and falls. Killian must have drugged him. Good. No three year old needs to have a memory of this place.
There are hanging sheets of clear plastic blocking off a section of the building, and I know there might be more Morettis behind them, but I can’t afford to wait. I need to do something and fast. A chain dangles from the ceiling not far from me. I eye it, quickly forming a plan. I could try to take a shot at him, but I can’t risk it. He’s too close to Roman, and even if I did hit him, the bullet could ricochet off one of the steel tables. I grit my teeth, jumping to grab the chain and swinging toward Killian.
The large man jolts, turning toward the sound of the chain. He grabs a cleaver and instead of rushing toward me, he lunges for Roman. I let go of the chain, dropping the few feet to the ground. I grab a steel tray full of tools, pulling it back like a frisbee as the tools slide off. I fling it toward Killian as hard as I can. It streaks toward him and he’s forced to lean back, using his arms to shield his face. It’s all the time I need to cross the distance between us. I jump over Roman tackling Killian to the ground.
We land hard, but he’s not phased. He frees an arm and tries to bring the cleaver down on my back, but I’m able to use my leverage to pin him down. I slam his hand hard on the ground, knocking a cleaver free, but the fucker is strong as a mule and he manages to flip me, getting on top of me and dropping a cleaver to clutch at my throat. I reach blindly, hoping to find the dropped cleaver.
My fingertips brush a handle just out of reach, jumping it further. My vision is going black and my throat is on fire. I feel my strength draining with every second he cuts off my air. I free my knee, bringing it up and into his crotch. He bucks, giving me the chance to smash my elbow into his nose and roll out from under him.
I stumble to my feet, coughing and sucking in a breath that burns. Killian stands, reaching to the table and grabbing another cleaver. His face is a mess, covered in dark red blood that streams freely from his nose, dripping from his chin. He runs toward me and I grab the heavy iron hook dangling from a chain beside me, pushing it into him. He dodges, but not fast enough. The hook catches in the black apron he wears, yanking him backwards.
I run into him, using my shoulder like a battering ram. I feel a slight resistance as the strap of his apron rips free from the hook. I slam him into the corner of a metal table, bending him backwards. He tries to swing one of the cleavers at me, but I catch his forearm, using his momentum to slam the blade down on his chest. His eyes widen and he gasps, breath bubbling as his lungs fill with blood.
I leave him to die, turning my back on him and finding Roman, who looks like he’s just laying down for a nap. I pick him up, cradling him against my chest and hugging him tight. My chest swells with emotion. My son. He’s okay. He made it. I still don’t know if Julia and I will be able to work things out, but whether she accepts me or not, I’m going to make sure my son never has to worry about getting food on his plate, and I’m going to make sure his grandma lives a long, long time.
I’m about to leave when I hear a groan. I turn, still holding Roman and looking toward the source of the sound. It is coming from the sheets of plastic. I turn slightly, putting my body between Roman and the plastic sheets, in case someone is waiting for me. I move one aside and have to do a double take when I see Ted. He’s bruised, bloody, and missing a finger. One of his eyes is swollen shut and his nose is crooked and bloody.
There’s a man who looks very dead in the chair next to him, bleeding on the concrete floor. I notice a long hose attached to the wall and a drain in the middle of the floor.
“Please,” says Ted, voice muffled through his swollen lips. “Help me.”
I step toward him, thinking about how much this asshole has impacted Julia’s life, how long he’s blackmailed her, and how much he deserves to be left here to die. A few months ago, I would’ve killed him myself, and I would’ve taken special pleasure in it. Now, I just feel the weight of my son in my arms and the soft movements of his chest. I look down at his face, marveling at how peaceful it is.
I’ve had enough killing. I’ve killed enough for a hundred lifetimes, and now I’m ready to be done. I don’t know if Julia would make an exception to her no violence rule for this prick, but I’m not going to. No more exceptions. No more violence. Well, at least less violence. I’ll still crack anybody’s jaw who threatens my family, but I’m going to find a line of work that lets me keep it to that. I’m going to do it for Julia and for Roman. My son. I still can’t get used to how good that thought feels. He’s my son, and I’m going to raise him to be a better man than I am.
I pull my phone from my pocket and dial 911. “You’re going to need an ambulance at 8860 Linwood, fast.” I kneel in front of Ted.
“Today’s your lucky day, Ted. I’m turning over a new leaf. But you owe me now. And you can bet your ass I will take personal offense if you make me break my new rules to find you and kill you.”
Ted stares, his one eye wide and watering.
“In fact, I think you need to go ahead and sign over the practice to Julia. You can file for bankruptcy after you do and move out of town to get away from the Morettis. They might not follow you.” I lower my voice, leaning closer. “But I will, if you make me. You have one week.”
He nods, whimpering.
“Good talk,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder and making him wince in pain.
58
Julia
I tap my fingers on the glass table in Vince’s living room. Everyone is here. Callie and her husband Damian, Aubriella and her husband Vince. All of their children are with their grandparents, which is good, given the colorful language that flows from the two Citrione men. Being around both of them is intimidating to say the least. Vince has a streak of grey in his hair, but he carries himself with the poise and grace of a man who doesn’t back down from anything. The possessive way he guards Aubriella is cute, never situating himself in a position within the room where he can’t see her, never failing to touch her or speak softly to her when they are within arm’s length.
I can see that Damian is Vince’s brother from his eyes alone. Apparently, all the Citrione men have the distinctive dark eyes that carry so much weight they could knock a woman to her knees with a glance. But the two men are marked by subtle differences. Where Vince wears his power openly, proudly, and without apology, Damian carries a quieter sort of force about him. He isn’t shy about taking appreciative looks at Callie, either. I never knew Vince, except from what Callie told me about him, but I knew Damian. I used to work for him, technically at least. In practice, he was more like the mysterious owner everyone knew was part of the mafia. Now he’s a family man. It’s hard to believe, but looking at these hard men who have softened, at least slightly, gives me hope for what my future could be like with Leo.
Ju
st thinking about him brings my mind to Roman, and thinking of Roman twists my heart. I’ve replayed the image of that car driving away with my baby inside at least a hundred times already, and I’ve relived the guilt of knowing that I couldn’t protect him. I can’t stop thinking of all the things I could have done differently to keep them from taking him. Why did I drive us out of the cornfield the same way we came in? Why didn’t I try yelling for the man chasing Roman to stop or I’d shoot Carlo? The questions swirl in my mind, threatening to drive me crazy with grief.
The only thing keeping me from absolutely losing it is Leo. He’s out there, right now, and he’s trying to save our son. A stranger could look into Leo’s dark, intense eyes and know in an instant that he’s a man who could move a mountain to get what he wants, and he wants nothing more than to save our son. I just hope he can do it.
“Can’t we do anything?” I ask, wincing as I bite my fingernail off too close to the skin.
“I called in a favor from Benny,” says Damian. “He’s got every available man heading to those two addresses, and I called my sniffer, Franklin. If there’s any more information on this guy who has Roman, Franklin will find it. He’s the best there is.”
I nod, still feeling like it’s not enough. Seeing Vince and Damian still here with me irritates me, but I know they both likely wish they could be out there looking, too, and they would if Leo hadn’t asked them to stay with me.
Callie sits beside me on the couch, squeezing my thigh and giving me a serious look. “He’s going to be okay, Jules. We’re going to—”
She trails off when my phone rings. It sits on the armrest of the couch and everyone is standing close enough to see who’s calling.
Leo.
I grab the phone, picking up immediately. “Is he okay?”
“I’ve got him. He’s safe, Julia.”
All the tension I’ve been holding melts out of me. I sink into the couch, clutching the phone tight, but letting my head fall back as I sigh. Tears well in my eyes. Roman is okay. He’s okay. I make a silent promise to myself that I’ll never let a day go by where I don’t tell Roman how much I love him or kiss his little forehead. I’ll never take him for granted. I’ll cherish every moment with him from now on. “Thank you, Leo. Thank you so much.”
Savage: A Bad Boy Next Door Romance Page 31
