Her step away from him was instinctive, and she felt the bed hit the back of her knees. Nowhere else to go. She was debating the merit of screaming like crazy and hoping for a miracle when someone spoke up beyond the man’s shoulder.
“Dante. What are you doing?”
She dared a look over the man named Dante’s shoulder and spotted another man, this one slightly smaller, although he had the same dark hair.
When she looked back up at Dante, his eyes were still on hers. It seemed like an eternity before he took a step away from her.
“Nothing. Giving the girl food like the boss said.”
The other man folded his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t take five minutes to hand someone food.”
Dante turned around to face the other man. “Fuck, Luca. What are you? My babysitter now?”
“I’m responsible for her, too,” Luca said. “Let’s go.”
Dante looked back at her. She had to fight not to shudder. His eyes were almost reptilian, and a chill slithered up her spine.
“Fine,” he said, turning away and heading for the door. “She’s just a spoiled bitch anyway.”
Luca held the door open for Dante while Angelica clutched the paper bag to her chest. When Dante was clear of the room, Luca met her eyes.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
She nodded, which was ridiculous since she was nowhere near okay.
“Eat,” he said. “You need to keep up your strength.”
She didn’t have time to say anything else before the door closed. A second later the lock clicked into place.
She dropped onto the bed, exhaling a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.
4
They brought her lots of food after that; cold take-out hamburgers, hot dogs, sandwiches, and once, spaghetti. She stopped eating somewhere around the second day. It was the only way she could protest, the only way she could gain some kind of control over the situation.
She hadn’t tried banging on the door or yelling again. She was too afraid it would bring Dante back into the room. She could still see the dead look in his eyes, feel the hard crack of his hand across her face. Instead, she stayed quiet, trying to strategize another way out. It must have worked, because he hadn’t been back since the first day. She started to feel a little safer. Luca was polite, and she thought she saw something kind in his blue eyes when he entered the room to give her food.
She’s used the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth with the toothbrush left there, but she hadn’t dared to shower. The idea of stripping when she had no idea what was going on beyond the walls of her room, no idea who was holding her or why, made her feel vulnerable and scared.
Refusing to eat was a last resort, and she spent the time between Luca’s drop offs sitting on the bed or pacing the room, thinking about her father and brother, wondering if they knew she was missing. She didn’t have many friends, just Lauren, a fellow holdover from college. Would she be worried when Angie didn’t return her texts? Would Angie’s boss, Josh, check up on her when she didn’t show up for her next shift?
Thinking about the few people who might miss her only made her feel worse. She’d been living like a shadow since college. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself. The truth is, she’d had trouble connecting with people since the death of her mother, and while she’d hoped college would be different, it was obvious now that nothing had changed.
When wondering what was going on outside started to make her crazy, she replayed everything that happened the day she was kidnapped, searching her mind for a clue to the question of why somebody would want to hold her hostage. It didn’t take her long to land on the only logical answer.
Someone was holding her for ransom.
Her father wasn’t a billionaire or anything, but he was rich. Really rich. Responsible for the development of half the Boston skyline, he had enough money for limos and private jets, expensive boarding schools, and vacations at private, far-flung resorts usually reserved for celebrities trying to avoid the paparazzi. It was why she’d decided to go to a state school in New York despite her father’s protests. She wanted to be normal for awhile, minus the paranoid eye of her father’s bodyguard and all the people whose only purpose, it seemed, was to make sure she and David had anything and everything they needed.
It was only their father’s presence, his attention, that was out of reach.
But she’d stopped feeling bad about that a long time ago. She wasn’t going to play the poor little rich girl card. She knew they were lucky. Knew there were people who went hungry in every city in America, not to mention the whole world. If the price she and David paid for their security was their father’s absence, well, it seemed like a lot smaller a price than most people had to pay for their survival.
The idea of a ransom gave her comfort. Her father would pay whatever they asked. Despite the recent awkwardness because of the situation with David, they were loved. Her father would do anything to get her back.
The sound of a key in the lock broke her away from her thoughts, and she scrambled to her feet, bracing herself for the door to open. A couple of seconds later, Luca stepped into the room. His eyes dropped to the unopened paper bag on the floor.
“Still not eating?” he asked.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not hungry.”
His brow furrowed a little while he considered her words. “The boss wants you to eat.”
“The boss?” She uncrossed her arms, surprised by his admittance that there was someone else working behind the scenes.
“You’re going to want to eat.” He glanced back at the half open door, then looked at her, speaking more softly. “You don’t want to make him mad. Trust me.”
“Dante?” she asked.
He shook his head. “The boss makes Dante look like two-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. Just eat. You’ll be out of here before you know it.”
“Tell me why I’m here,” she demanded.
“I can’t,” he said.
She recrossed her arms. “Then I can’t eat.”
He sighed, and she didn’t think she was imagining the concern in his eyes. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m trying to help myself.”
A wall came down over his face. “This isn’t the way to do it, but it’s your funeral.”
He retreated from the room and locked the door.
She dropped to the bed, his final words ringing in her ears.
It’s your funeral.
5
Nico bounced on the balls of his feet in the middle of the boxing ring on the first floor. He was dripping sweat, although from the looks of things Marco was no better off. Nico read the other man’s body language, trying to determine Marco’s next move, as they circled each other with their arms up.
When Nico got bored, he stepped forward, opening the round with a vicious left hook to Marco’s face. His neck snapped back, and he immediately put his hands up in front of his face, ready to block Nico’s next move. He was on the defensive now, which was exactly where Nico wanted him.
He faked a right hook, then raised his left leg, kicking Marco in the stomach just hard enough to send him flying into the ropes. He recovered quickly and came out swinging, but he was tired. Nico could see it in his gradually slowing movements, his hands just a little too low to really block his face.
Nico was still feeling good, and he circled Marco a couple more times, still bouncing, trying to wear out the other man before going in for the kill.
The sparring sessions—a combination of Muay Thai and conventional boxing—were part of Nico’s initiative to minimize the use of weapons. The family had relied on them long past their usefulness. Guns were noisy and unwieldy, and knives were difficult to control. Nico’s soldiers were mandated to train in street fighting, tactical combat, and at least one martial art. The massive gym at Headquarters—built by tearing down the walls between three rooms—had become a social hub for th
e organization, and it was almost always full of men working with one of the experts that coached there on a rotating basis. For Nico, sparring with them wasn’t a matter of pride; it was one of leadership. They had to know he could hold his own, especially since he was so young. It was the only way they would respect him.
And he only led by fear when respect didn’t work.
Marco was on the verge of exhaustion now, his feet dragging, arms threatening to drop altogether. Nico backed him into a corner and pummeled him with three quick jabs, then gave him enough room to stumble off the ropes before finishing him with a light kick to the chest.
Marco fell back, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
Nico took off one of his gloves and removed his mouthguard while one of the trainers helped Marco up.
“Good fight,” Nico said, tapping the other man’s glove with his own. “You kept me on my toes.”
Marco took out his mouthguard.
“Thanks, boss.”
They stepped out of the ring. Nico grabbed his towel, stopping to say a few words to the men gathered in the gym, making a point to ask about their families. He’d learned this brand of personal attention from his father, who always said family came first. And he didn’t just mean blood family.
For Nico’s father, anyone working under the Vitale umbrella was family, and he’d spent much of his time attending weddings, funerals, and christenings, always leaving a thick envelope of cash as a gift.
When Nico had first started to learn the business, he’d asked his father why he bothered. He was the Boss. His people followed his orders because they wanted to be in the business—and if that wasn’t reason enough, because they might not see another sunrise if they didn’t. Nico’s father had used violence less than the Boston branch of the Syndicate, but it had still been on the table.
They’d been walking in Brooklyn at the time, meeting a bookmaker his father had suspected was skimming money. They had stopped in the street, and his father had pulled Nico to the side and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
“In the wild, the weaker members of a pride or pack see to the day to day details, details that insure the survival of the group. Why do they do this while their leader sits by and watches?”
“Because the leader provides protection,” Nico had said, chafing at the simplistic description.
His father had nodded. “And in our world, how often do we have a chance to demonstrate a willingness to protect what is ours?”
Nico thought about it. “It depends.”
“It’s a rare circumstance in which one of our soldiers is repeatedly under threat, when we have a chance to prove our worth as head of the family.”
“But going to weddings...”
“Not protection,” his father agreed. “But we prowl the perimeter of our pride, stay on display. Both for the animals who might attack us when we’re not looking, and for those who require reassurance that we’re still vigilant on their behalf.”
Nico swiped bitterly at his face as he left the gym. All of his father’s strategy had been for nothing; his death had come at the hands of someone on the outside. The loyalty of the family hasn’t saved him. It hadn’t saved Nico’s mother either. Their murder made Nico want to rage.
“Nico.”
Luca caught up to him in the hall.
“What is it?” Nico stuffed the memories down as he headed for the stairs.
“Can I have a word?” Luca asked, tucking a large manilla envelope under one arm. “In private?”
“Can it wait?” Nico asked.
Luca shook his head. “I don’t recommend it.”
Nico fought against the weariness that seemed to lurk in his bones the past few months. He was tired. Tired of maintaining a constant wall of strength, of surveying the shadows for the next threat. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. There were supposed to be certain protections inherent in his position. An honor code that insured his safety as long as he followed the rules. The execution of his parents had proved that theory false, but Luca was a good man, probably Nico’s best. If he said he needed a word, it must be important.
“Walk with me to my office,” Nico said, starting up the stairs.
They made their way to the third floor and Nico’s private suite of rooms. There was an uptown office for MediaComm, the legal arm of the Vitale family holdings, but Nico had the brownstone renovated after his father’s death as a way to bring the family’s other enterprises under one roof. Consolidating the illegal part of the business under the guise of a private residence meant it was harder to get a search warrant, although not by much thanks to Homeland Security. They kept it clean, just in case. The little paper they used was immediately scanned and shredded, and their digital files were encrypted by some of the best coders in the world, constantly tested for vulnerability by two notoriously brilliant hackers, one of whom Nico had recruited from the FBI.
He’d taken heat from some of the other families for his “new age” way of doing business, had even been forced to defend the move with Raneiro, but in the end Nico had been right; the Vitale family was more efficient than ever, and his men—and a few women now—seemed to feel more like a cohesive unit.
The renovation had included a private office for Jenna, who managed his personal affairs, a digital lab for the increasingly important business of cyber theft, and the large gym. The basement was soundproof and held rooms for those occasions when they needed to detain someone—like Carlo Rossi’s daughter, who was down there now. But the third floor was all his, complete with an office, a bedroom, and a private bathroom. In some ways it felt more like home than his penthouse near Central Park. Here he could hear the sound of people hurrying up the stairs and down the halls, could feel the energy of the finely-tuned machine he was building.
His apartment was like a tomb. Silent and sterile.
He stepped into his office and stripped off his sweaty tank top, then grabbed a clean T-shirt from the second drawer in his desk. He would shower and clean up after his conversation with Luca.
“What’s up?” he finally asked.
Luca handed him the manila envelope. “We have a problem with Dante Santoro.”
Nico opened the envelope, skimming the report before he dropped it in the shredder. Then he turned his attention to the photos. He forced his face to remain impassive. The girl’s face was a mass of blue and purple bruises, her lip split, her nose at an angle that could only mean it had been broken. The rest of her body was more of the same.
Nico put the pictures back into the envelope.
“What does he say?” Nico asked.
Luca shrugged, but Nico could see the anger burning in the other man’s eyes. “Sex got rough, but it was consensual.”
“Is she asking for anything?”
“No, but she doesn’t have much. We might be able to offer help with medical bills and something for pain and suffering.”
“Is that what you recommend?” Nico asked.
Luca’s mouth twisted in disgust. “I recommend we take Dante out behind the woodshed and show him how it feels to fight a man.”
“That’s not off the table,” Nico said. He paused. “Has anything like this happened before?”
“A few bar fights, domestic claim from a girlfriend who later recanted, scrap with an off duty detective... but nothing like this, no.”
“Offer the girl cash, and plenty of it. Tell her Dante is being dealt with. He won’t hurt her again. Then you and Marco deal with Dante. Make it look good. I want the others to know I won’t stand for this.”
Luca nodded but made no move to leave.
“Is there something else?” Nico asked.
“Carlo’s daughter still isn’t eating,” he said.
Nico sat back in his chair. Kidnapping Carlo Rossi’s daughter had been a last resort. It was necessary, but that didn’t mean he liked it. And he sure as hell didn’t want anyone saying he’d starved her if she made it out alive.
“How many days?” Nico aske
d.
“Five,” Luca said. “Any word on the old man?”
Nico shook his head. “We put the word out, but nothing so far.”
“You don’t think the bastard would leave her to us, do you?” Luca asked.
“I don’t want to believe it, but it’s hard to say,” Nico said. “Word on the street is the son’s gay. Carlo hasn’t talked to him since he came out.”
“Not surprised. Half the goombahs in the northeast would still feel the same way,” Luca said. “Like it’s the fucking dark ages.”
Nico frowned but let the cursing go. He didn’t allow his soldiers to curse while on the job. It was part of the reorganization—the building of a modern, efficient army with the intellect and respect of a more elegant time. Call it the Broken Window theory of mob management. But he and Luca were alone. And they weren’t exactly boy scouts.
“Angelica is his only daughter,” Nico finally said. “He’d have to be the devil incarnate to leave her with us.”
“From what I’ve heard, that’s not as far-fetched as it sounds,” Luca said. “What should we do about her?”
Nico stood. “I’ll be down after I shower and change.”
6
She was almost elated. Now at least, something would happen. The knowledge that she probably wouldn’t like it was responsible for the knot in her stomach, and she spent the next couple of hours staring at the door, feeling slightly nauseous.
She forced herself to remain seated when she heard a key in the lock on the other side of the door. She wasn’t going to give the asshole—whoever he or she was—the satisfaction of knowing she was scared. But all of her big plans went out the window the moment the man swept into the room.
He was tall and powerfully built, his broad shoulders straining at the rich fabric of his designer suit. Everything about him was leonine, from the thick, dark hair combed back from his face, to the pronounced cheekbones over the strong set of his jaw. He moved quickly and gracefully toward her, not a shred of indecision in his gait.
Ruthless: Mob Boss Book One Page 2
