Misled: A Bad Boy Mafia Romantic Suspense

by Penelope Marshall

  He pushed the door open to a minimally decorated room with a color palette of white on white. The queen bed situated in the middle of the room looked so comfortable, and I wanted nothing more than to lie down and close my eyes. The last few days had been so taxing, both mentally and physically. I wasn't used to the sort of energy a life on the run required.

  "What do you think about this room?" he asked solemnly.

  I walked in and looked around. "I think it's perfect."

  "Then this is our room."

  "Our room," I echoed softly.

  Guiding me in, he closed the door behind us. "I'm gonna shower."

  "Okay," I replied, taking a seat on the bed as he disappeared into the bathroom. "I'll be right here."

  The mattress was so soft and inviting, I decided to steal a moment and close my eyes while I waited for him to come out. I turned and crawled onto the bed, laying my head on the fluffy white pillow.

  My eyes trailed out the window, through the white chiffon curtains, pondering what tomorrow would bring. What would life be like without the tyranny of my brother constantly looming over my head? Would it be relaxing? Would I finally be set free?

  My lids slowly fluttered closed as the thoughts rolled around in my mind, carrying me off to sleep.

  ISAIAH

  I walked out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel against my hair. My lips parted, ready to chat with her about the plan I'd been devising in the bathroom, but stopped when I saw how peaceful she was, lying alone on the bed.

  Throwing on a pair of sweatpants that Sloane kept in the bathroom for guests, I slid into bed, forming my body to cradle hers. Laying my arm over hers, I drew her in, kissing the shell of her ear as I breathed her in.

  "Tell me about your mom," she whispered.

  "No, you sleep now. I didn't mean to wake you up."

  She twisted slightly, resting her head in the crook of my neck. "No, I wanna know you."

  "I pretty much told you everything. She got beat—a lot. Then one day it was too much and there was no turning back."

  "You must've loved her alot?"

  "She was my best friend. Granted, I was only five, so of course my mom is probably gonna be my best friend, but she really was. She treated me like I was the only person in the world that mattered to her."

  She rested her hand on mine. "You were the only person that mattered to her. I'm sure of it."

  "Well, we'll never know now, will we?"

  "Where is your dad?"

  "That asshole was murdered in jail a few days after he was arrested. He talked too much shit and couldn't back it up."

  "How's that make you feel?"

  "I don't wanna talk about it."

  "It'll probably make you feel better."

  I rolled over onto my back, staring straight at the ceiling, letting out a deep sigh.

  "It's okay, you don't have to say if it makes you that uncomf—"

  But before she finished, I interrupted her, "It makes me feel great. I wish I'd done it myself. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

  She turned over to face me, resting her hand on my chest. "If that's how you feel, then that's how you feel. I'm not judging. Look at my past."

  "Unfortunately, it is how I feel. I wish I could have been the one to kill that bastard for taking her away." I pressed my hand on top of hers. "But there are no do-overs—no repeats in life. This is the hand I got dealt and, well…"

  "Well, what?"

  "Nothing." I paused for a moment, trying to stuff the emotion that I'd just let out back in its box so I could, once again, lock it away.

  "Isaiah?"

  I didn't want to talk about my father anymore, so I did the only thing I could do opposite of storming off—which was something I was good at. I changed the subject. "Tell me about your first love. I've never had one."

  "How have you never had one?"

  "Never met the right girl."

  She raked her fingers across my chest, sending chills up and down my body. I knew that she understood what I was trying to say.

  "So—first love?" I queried again.

  "Enzo, my neighbor. He was eighteen, and I was seventeen. I loved him as much as a seventeen-year-old could love someone. I thought we were gonna get married."

  "So, you're saying I could'a lost you?"

  She slapped my chest. "Stop it. Do you wanna hear or not?"

  "Yes, I wanna hear how I almost couldn't call you mine."

  "You keep playing like that, and I'm gonna start to believe you."

  I hugged her tightly. "You should."

  "Can you just lay with me tonight?"

  "And every night after," I whispered back. "So, why did Romeo leave his beloved Juliet? Was it her mob ties?"

  She shook her head. "Sort of."

  "Sort of?"

  "They found him in his car on graduation night with a needle stuck in his arm. He had overdosed on heroin."

  "How's that connected to the mob?"

  "Enzo didn't do drugs or drink. He was getting ready to go to college on a basketball scholarship, and he was crazy about staying healthy and fit, to the point he'd given up fast food."

  "So, you think someone had him killed 'cause of you?"

  "My father never liked him. He was too straight-laced and unwilling to join the family business. He thought if I married Enzo, he would take me away."

  "But I thought your father never wanted a girl, anyway?"

  "Didn't mean he was willing to let me go."

  "True."

  "Like I said—I've been damaged for a long time."

  "Let me be the one who helps you heal."

  She lifted her head and stared deeply into me. I kissed her forehead, then ran my fingers through her soft hair as she gently laid her head back on my chest.

  IT'S A NEW DAY

  MELLISSA

  My eyes opened to a fresh new day beaming through the window. A smile washed over my face as I caressed the strong arm wrapped around me. He had lain with me all night like a gentleman, and I couldn't have asked for anything more.

  A knock pierced through the morning calm. "Guys, are you decent?"

  "Come in, Sloane," I called out, tapping on Isaiah to wake him.

  The door opened and in walked Sloane in a three-piece, navy blue suit. He was holding two phones and the earpieces that went with them. "Here are your phones."

  Isaiah rubbed his eyes. "I only need one."

  I peered over my shoulder. "What do you mean? Why don't I get one?"

  "You can't come, Mel. It's too dangerous."

  The anger in me grew. "Don't you start treating me like they did!"

  Sloane's jaw dropped as he began to back away. "Okay, well, I'll be downstairs while the newlyweds sort through their first fight."

  Isaiah and I both turned to Sloane, and shouted, "Stay!"

  He stopped in his tracks and threw the phones on the bed. "Here, you two decide. I'll be downstairs with the maid."

  "You have a maid here?" I asked.

  "I always have a maid here." He winked.

  Isaiah shook his head and smiled. "What are we gonna do with you?"

  "Hopefully, not kill me."

  I chuckled. "I think Isaiah is passed that."

  "Don't tell him what I'm passed. I'm still thinking about it."

  Sloane turned and waved as he walked out the door. "You two are made for each other."

  "Made for each other? Ha," I chortled.

  Isaiah wrapped his arms around me and pulled me back, sliding his leg between mine. His fingers wrapped under my chin, as he guided my face away from his. Slowly, his lips met my neck, trailing down the soft flesh to my shoulder.

  I pressed my palm to his bare chest, feeling the beat of his heart joining in the rhythm of mine. The soft explosion of desire rumbling between my legs excited me. I looked into his eyes, waiting for him to take me, and do the naughty things a girl like me needed. There was something different about the way he looked at me, though—almost as if I were an old friend
.

  A knock at the door cut through our moment. My hand fell to the side. "Yes?"

  "Ma'am, may I come in with your clothes?" a soft voice filtered through the door.

  I pushed Isaiah off me and fixed my outfit and hair as best I could. "Yes, come in."

  A beautiful, African-American woman walked in wearing the skimpiest of maid outfits, holding a stack of clothes. "This is for the two of you." She set the clothes down on the bed and walked out.

  Sifting through the clothes, a grin fell over my face. "Louis Vuitton. Wow, he really knows how to treat his guests."

  ISAIAH

  She jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, leaving me hard and unsatisfied, but I didn't mind, since she looked happy. I couldn't believe how much this woman had changed my perspective on so many things in such a short time. My sense of right and wrong finally resurfaced after years of hating myself for standing up for what was right.

  The shower switched on, and I knew I was in for a wait, so I laid back and thought about the different ways I could kill Sal—a slash to the throat—a bullet to the head? I guess it didn't matter as long as the job got done.

  About twenty minutes later, she walked out of the bathroom dressed in the dark jeans and the white blouse Sloane bought.

  I sat up from bed in awe of how beautiful she was. Her long hair flowed down, framing her face like a Greek goddess.

  Dammit!

  If I didn't have to kill someone, I would've spent the rest of the day in bed with my woman.

  "Well?" she asked, spreading her arms into the air.

  "You're beautiful."

  She smiled. "Okay, get ready so we can get out of here."

  "You're not coming," I said, sliding out of bed.

  "You must be fucking crazy. I want revenge."

  I cupped her cheek in my palm. "I couldn't live with myself if I lost you now."

  Slapping my hand away, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  "Fuck." I grabbed the pile of clothes and headed to the bathroom to get ready.

  The last thing I needed was to have this shit weighing on me while trying to take down a fucking mob boss. I stepped into the shower to wash away the distraction, hoping the water would calm me enough to get me through the day without getting killed.

  The fucking Sabella crime family. What the fuck am I thinking?

  I crossed my arms and stood there for about ten minutes, then got dressed and headed downstairs to find Sloane and Mellissa chatting away.

  "What'd I miss?" I asked, a little green with jealousy, since I knew Sloane and his particular type of charm.

  She giggled. "Nothing. Sloane was just telling me some stories about you."

  "What kind of stories?"

  Sloane stood up and patted me on the back as he passed by. "Oh, you know—the good ones?"

  I shook my head and sat down in front of Sloane's plate, finishing off his uneaten toast. "So, if you wanna go, and you know the risks, then I don't have a problem with it. I know how important this is to you. If it were my father, I'd wanna be there to hammer in the final nail."

  She perked up. "Really?"

  "Really."

  "Do I get a gun?"

  I winked at her. "Don't push it."

  Sloane leaned over the counter and clasped his hands. "So, I have everything set in the phones I gave you. GPS and easy communication with the op center."

  "The op center?" I asked, taking another bite of the toast.

  "Just let me have my moment, shit."

  "Ok, fine, the op center."

  Mellissa rested her hand on mine and smiled. "Be nice," she whispered.

  "What? I'm so fuckin' nice. I didn't kill him, like, three times yesterday."

  "And don't think I don't appreciate it," Sloane chimed in from down the hallway. "I'll meet you downstairs."

  "In the op center!" I yelled.

  I shifted my gaze back to Mellissa. "Are you ready for this? There's no turning back."

  "I've been ready. I wanna do this for my mom."

  "I get it." I nodded, wiping the crumbs from my hands. "Come on. Let's get this done."

  I stood and stretched out my hand for her to hold, and together we walked downstairs to meet with Sloane.

  Abruptly pushing through the door, Sloane was startled and closed out a small popup in the middle of his screen.

  His awkward reaction set me on high alert. "What's going on?"

  "Nothing. Just checking on traffic delays, and potential detours on the road—wanna make sure we get him on the first try."

  "Thanks, Sloane." Mellissa untwined her fingers from mine and walked over to the computer. "So, we're just gonna ram his car or what?"

  I moved toward her. "Something like that. Hopefully, with a little more finesse—but—"

  "Of course, but that's where your skills come in," Sloane interjected.

  "Yeah, my rusty skills."

  Mellissa slapped my arm. "Shut up. You're gonna make this work."

  "I have a surprise for you." Sloane stood from his seat and walked over to a small metal chest that hadn't been there the day before. "Look at these."

  He opened the chest which housed three 9mm handguns and a set of extra magazines.

  "Where'd you get those?" I asked suspiciously.

  "The internet, of course."

  I made my way to the chest to inspect the weapons. "The internet delivered you three guns overnight?"

  "The internet can deliver anything I type into my computer. When are you gonna learn, Isaiah?"

  "I'm starting to," I replied as I pulled out a gun and loaded it with one of the mags.

  "Do I get one?" Mellissa asked.

  I peered down at the gun, then back at her. If I didn't give her one, she would be left defenseless. But if I gave her one, I ran the risk of her shooting herself, or even me.

  "Let me show you how to use one first." I stood, handing her the gun, positioning myself behind her to adjust her stance.

  I lifted her elbows, straightening her arms, then showed her where to keep her trigger finger until she was absolutely ready to shoot someone. The short training session was by no means enough to properly teach her gun safety, but it would have to do in a pinch because a pinch was what we were in.

  "Do you feel comfortable with this?" I asked, taking the gun from her to insert the mag.

  "Yes, I've seen Sal and them a million times, but they never let me have one. Sal said women were only good for cooking, and fucking, and we didn't need a gun for either."

  "Sal is a real piece of work, he is." Sloane slid an earpiece in and tapped a few keys on his keyboard. "Put your earpieces in and see if they work."

  We both slid in the small injection molded plastic. Sloane's voice came through loud and clear.

  "Not sure how comfortable I am having you in my head like this, Sloane."

  "You don't know how many women I've heard that from in my life."

  "I probably couldn't count that high." I laughed.

  "I don't think my computer could count that high," he retorted.

  "Okay, boys. How much time do we have?"

  Sloane began to type and Sal's small calendar popped up in the middle of the screen. "Looks like we have an hour to get into place. You guys should head out now."

  I nodded, holding out my arm, beckoning Mellissa to follow.

  "Take the keys for the Hummer. It's on the table," Sloane yelled as I closed the door to his office.

  "Okay," I replied, walking behind Mellissa back to the kitchen.

  "You should really give him a chance, you know. My brother is a scary person, and I really don't think Sloane had a choice."

  "There's always a choice. I chose to follow my morals all those years ago, and leave the only thing that ever gave me purpose."

  "Hopefully, you'll find something else to give you purpose from now on," she said softly, twining her fingers with mine.

  Her gesture made me smile inside. As soon as today was over we
could start our life together—if she was willing to give an old dog a chance, and by the way she held my hand, I knew she was.

  I grabbed the keys and headed for the garage. The Hummer was beautiful and in perfect condition, I almost hated having to use it knowing what was going to happen to it. But we needed a sturdy vehicle, and if a Hummer was good enough for the military, then it was good enough for me.

  Mellissa reached into the glove compartment and pressed the button on the garage clicker. The door lifted from its resting place, allowing the bright morning sun into the garage.

  "Ready?" I asked one last time, hoping she would back out. I knew she wouldn't, but it was a hope.

  She looked straight ahead. "I'm ready."

  I stepped on the gas and headed down the curved street, turning left to leave the safety of the posh estates. It only took a few minutes to get to the predetermined spot where I'd be able to force Sal's SUV off the road. We waited for what seemed like hours for Sloane to report whether or not Sal had left the house yet.

  Anxiously, I tapped my thumb against the steering wheel. "Do you mind if I ask you about Cane?"

  "No, go ahead," she said, staring intently out the window.

  "Something just doesn't sit right with me. Who brought Cane into the family?"

  "My father did. Cane started coming to the house all of a sudden when he was about six—that would make me about ten and Sal, seven."

  "Was his father connected or something?"

  "I don't think Cane had a dad, and if he did, then I never met him."

  "You didn't think it was weird that a mob boss brought a kid into the fold?"

  "No. I mean—I guess, now that I think about it. What are you trying to say?"

  "Think about it—why would a mafia boss bring a kid into his house?"

  She contemplated my question as she peered down at her gun—her grip tightened and knuckles turned white as the seconds past.

  Suddenly, her fingers unwrapped from the gun, and she lifted her hands to cover her face as she began to sob. "It can't be true."

  "It's the only explanation as to why Sal would kill his most trusted advisor and blame you for it."