Hostage of the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Alexis Abbott

  But that just means it’s time to play that card.

  “Dila mshvidobisa, Delaney,” he greets, with a faux-gentlemanly tilt of his head. I damn myself for still thinking him so attractive, even though I now know the true nature of the darkness behind his eyes. I can’t let him see that, though. It would be unexpected, and something he’d use against me.

  “What do you want?” I whimper, holding my own head up high. But I let him see me just a little vulnerable, my hands fidgeting at my sides. He hones in on that small gesture immediately, and I know he’s already thinking he’s won. He’s beaten me. But two can play this game of chicken.

  “Oh, come now. Can’t a man check in on his best girl without some ulterior motive?” Darios asks, spreading his arms open in a gesture of apology. I fold my arms over my chest and poke out my bottom lip ever so slightly, giving him a defiant, petulant-little-girl look.

  “I am not your girl,” I shoot back, glaring daggers at him.

  I can tell he’s at least a little surprised by my response, but instead of being bothered by it, he merely looks pleased. He takes several steps closer and beckons for me to come over to him, but I dig into my position more firmly.

  “Now don’t play coy with me, little girl. I have some lovely news,” he announces, grinning brilliantly. But on him, the smile is less like a pleasantry and far more dangerous and threatening.

  “What? Just come out with it,” I spit, never letting my eyes break away from his.

  “Oh, you’re in a nasty mood today, I see. But relax. We are going on a little outing, you and me. Well, it’s more like a double date, I suppose,” he remarks, shrugging.

  My thoughts immediately sprint off in a thousand different directions. He’s not doing very much to make this prospect sound harmless, and I can tell it’s actually some kind of veiled threat. Perhaps a double date is merely a way of saying he and one of his men doing something downright awful to me and one of my friends. I gulp back a knot of anxiety.

  “Please don’t hurt my friends,” I plead softly, my armor softening for a split second. Even though I liked to play it cool, I really, truly adored my friends. And I feel a heavy burden of responsibility for them, especially now.

  Darios chuckles grimly and reaches out with lightning-quick reflexes to grab hold of my arm and snatch me close. “Don’t you worry. None of your poor little rich girls are going to be harmed too severely on my watch. In fact, I’ve got a wonderful surprise in store for your friend Megan today.”

  My stomach twists and turns. Not sweet, dim Megan. Of course he would single out the weakest link first. “And what might that be?” I ask, almost too afraid to listen to the answer.

  “She’s going home,” Darios replies simply.

  “Wh-what?” I stammer, so surprised that I forget my ice queen demeanor for a moment.

  He pulls me away out the door, his fingers forming an iron grip on my arm as we go. He drags me down the hallway and down a set of rickety stairs. In the lobby at the bottom of the stairs are two burly men from last night, each of them holding Megan by her arms. She looks up at the sound of our footsteps and an expression of wide-eyed familiarity jumps onto her face.

  “Delaney! You’re okay!” she bursts out, straining to get closer to me. But the two men hold her perfectly still. “I was so worried they hurt you or something. Oh god, I’m so scared.”

  “Shh, it’s alright. You’re gonna be just fine,” I console her. Darios laughs.

  “That’s an understatement. Congratulations, Megan, you get to be the first to go home to your parents,” he declares.

  “What?” my friend gasps, looking back and forth between us in shock. “Delaney, did you convince him to do this? I knew you would come through! And you’re coming with us, so that must mean you’re going home, too!”

  “Oh, no such luck for Miss Delaney,” Darios interrupts, shaking his head. “She’s just tagging along as, ah, let’s just call her ‘insurance.’”

  “So you best behave,” growls one of the other men in Megan’s ear. She shudders visibly.

  The men pile us all into one van and we start driving toward civilization. The crumbling villa disappears behind us as we drive down the hill. Megan is seated next to me in the back and she scoots closer to rest her head on my shoulder, her hand slipping into mine. I can feel her trembling fearfully. One of the men sits across from us, his expression stony-faced.

  The whole ride there, the two men in the front speak softly and rapidly in a foreign language that sounds vaguely Russian or possibly even Greek. Either way, it is totally beyond me, and so instead I focus on comforting Megan. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of driving, we pass into the city, the looming buildings of Barcelona on either side. The van pulls to a stop outside a little cafe, and while Darios stays in the driver’s seat, the other two men jump out and come around to escort Megan out and into the restaurant.

  She turns to look at me, mouthing the word help as they latch onto her arms and pull her away, leaving me alone in the van with Darios. I instinctively start to get up to go after her, but my dark stranger clucks his tongue and shakes his head at me.

  “Don’t even think about it, bavshvi,” he leers warningly.

  “Are they going to hurt her?” I ask, clenching my fists at my sides, unable to fully conceal my genuine concern for my sweetest friend. Darios rolls his beautiful brown eyes.

  “Of course not. I doubt her parents would like to buy back damaged goods now, would they? From what my research tells me, they are shrewd businesspeople. They know the value of an item,” he comments, and I feel rage burning in my gut at the fact that he is regarding the four of us like we’re nothing but merchandise. But I have to remain calm. I can’t let him see how much he bothers me. We’re both fumbling for the upper hand here.

  “When do we get to go in?” I press him.

  “Patience, little girl. First we wait for Mr. and Mrs. Reece to show up, and then you and I will make our move. But here is the thing, Delaney. You and I must act like we are merely two people on a date. If you so much as forget to smile, I will make sure you and your friend regret it,” he warns darkly.

  At just that moment, I see through the tinted window of the van that Megan’s parents are nervously shuffling into the restaurant. “They’re here, that’s them,” I remark.

  “I know. But we must not move too quickly, lest they catch onto us. You and I will follow them in and sit down at the corner table. You will order tea and a salad, and you will smile,” Darios commands, slowly getting out of the front seat and coming round to help me out. From the second my feet hit the pavement, Darios’s entire demeanor shifts. Suddenly, his dark clouds are lifted and he gives me an electrifying grin, squeezing my hand fondly as he raises it to his lips.

  It’s unnerving. He’s nearly as good of an actor as me, and I have to wonder how long he’s been practicing. I have 5 years of solid study under my belt, though, and I’m not going to let him win this little game.

  He gently kisses the top of my hand before leading me into the restaurant and I flutter my lashes at him. Just as he instructed, we take our seats at the corner table. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Megan and her parents seated at a booth across the restaurant, her parents huddled in the seat across from them looking absolutely terrified. There is a big brown suitcase propped on the table and the men are talking in low voices. I wish I could read their lips from here, but before I even get a chance to try, Darios is squeezing my hand again.

  He hisses, “Look at me. Not at them. Remember, we must be thoroughly convincing. One wrong move and I will tear this entire operation apart.”

  A pretty waitress steps up to our table and introduces herself in Spanish, asking what we would like to eat. Darios orders a sandwich and a beer and then gently pressed his thumb into the palm of my hand, urging me to order. I glance down at the menu, which is conveniently open to the page depicting various types of salad.

  “Oh — um, could I have — I mean, la
ensalada con fresas y un té, por favor,” I say with a tender smile. The waitress nods sweetly and hurries away to put in our order.

  “Good choice,” Darios remarks, giving me a fond smile which does not match the coldness in his dark eyes. “The strawberry salad is fantastic.”

  “What is going to happen to Megan now?” I whisper.

  Anger flashes in Darios’s eyes. “Don’t worry about that. You’re not here to keep an eye on her. I am. Just sit there and look pretty.”

  Our food arrives soon and we both eat, even though I’m feeling downright nauseous. I’ve never been a fan of hot tea, much preferring the sweet tea I grew up with in Savannah, but when Darios eyes the untouched cup menacingly, I quickly take a sip.

  I know it’s easier for him to appear calm in this situation, even content. He has the upper hand and he knows it. But there’s a chance coming up for me, and I smile sweetly and eat my salad as I bide my time.

  Throughout our meal, Darios is shockingly kind and attentive to the waitress, even making harmless small talk with her in fluent Spanish. It’s not flirtatious either, I’m an expert on that, and there’s not a lick of it to be noticed. I’m not quite able to keep up, as I am nowhere near fluent, plus I’m a little distracted by the actual ransom trade-off going down across the room.

  “Pay attention to me, not them,” Darios orders, through a smile. “You can’t see it right now, and neither can anyone else because of this lovely checkered tablecloth, but I’m pointing a gun at you under the table.”

  My blood runs cold as I realize that he’s not lying. One of his hands has been under the table, out of sight, for the entirety of our time here. I can’t believe I didn’t even pick up on it until now. I’ve let my guard down, and now I’m paying the price. So I give him a falsely adoring smile and tilt my head to one side slightly, giggling as though he’s said something very funny.

  I realize once more that I’m out of my league. I thought that I could scream and let the entire restaurant know I’m being held hostage once Megan and her family have left, but he snatched that chance away from me. I can’t do anything but wait and pray.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see movement happening at the table where Megan is seated with her guards. Before I can stop myself, I look over and in a flash instant, I notice something that sends a little thrill of hope through my body.

  There’s something black poking out of one of the guards’ shirts. And I’ve watched enough true crime television shows to know what it is.

  A wire. One of the guys is wearing a wire; a listening device. And something tells me Darios’s operation is not the type to engage in that kind of subterfuge — he seems like a more old-fashioned criminal. But as soon as I turn back to look at Darios, I see that he, too, has noticed the wire. And there is an expression of dark, brooding rage in his eyes. Is there a traitor in his midst?

  5

  Darios

  We Georgians look out for each other here in Spain. We have expanded so very far from our homeland because our network’s influence has extended through sheer willpower and guile. Branches like the one I run are so remote that they are virtually independent, and the sole uniting factor that keeps us together, despite our occasional power struggles, is our devotion to one another based on our ethnicity.

  So when there is a traitor among us, the punishment must be dealt swiftly and harshly.

  It broke my heart to see Sandro wearing a wire in that restaurant. Even so, on the ride back to the compound, it had been a struggle not to take out my pistol and blow him away before we even got out of the city. But that isn’t how I handle my business.

  Once the van pulls up to the compound, I look to Delaney, whose uneasy gaze is watching me carefully. She’s seen the wire too, and she understood what it meant. She’s smart and perceptive, and that makes things more difficult for me.

  I crack a smile at her. Bringing her along with me as I did might have made her more jittery than I’d have liked, but it was necessary. The more I could bring her out in the city and show her I could still keep an eye on her, the less likely she was to run and endanger my whole operation.

  Besides, the little princess was probably suffering without a daily expensive meal out on the town. And I enjoy playing with this one.

  Sandro starts to unload Delaney with the other men to take her to her room, but I speak up before he can slip away, where he would undoubtedly bring his evidence to the attention of the authorities. “Ambrosi, you take the little lady to her quarters. Davit, Sandro, you two come with me. I want the money secured before we turn in for the night.”

  The two men exchange glances and nod, and Delaney watches me as she’s taken away. The look in her eyes is something that piques my interest. I know she saw me notice Sandro’s wire. It would be the easiest thing in the world for her to warn him right now, tip him off in some way. Either way, it would only result in his death, but it might give her some struggling attempt at grasping for power while under my control. Yet as Ambrosi leads her away, she doesn’t take her chance. She eventually lets her gaze be turned away to the front door of the estate as I watch her go.

  The men clamber back into the van, Davit clutching the briefcase of money as we get in and pull back out again.

  From here on out, keeping Sandro calm is the priority. The slightest hint that I know about him could spook him and make this situation infinitely more dangerous. He’s armed, after all. Davit’s presence is purely to ease his nerves, since it’s normal for us to make drop-offs in threes as to minimize the risk of betrayal. Only a handful of my men are entrusted with the location of our dead drop. After today, that number will be one less.

  “Good call, suggesting we take a bunch of girls from the same traveling group,” Davit says to Sandro as we start down the road. I’m sitting in the passenger’s seat while he drives, Davit in the back. Credit where credit was due — this had been his idea from the start. “Boss, did you see the panic in those parents’ eyes? How much you want to bet all the parents are feeding off each other’s panic over the whole situation?”

  “I was a little distracted with my hostage,” I say in a bemused tone, scratching my jaw with a smile. “But they looked spooked from what I did see. Well done.”

  “Thanks, Boss,” Sando says, but through his tone, I can hear anxiety. This game is far from over.

  “You getting distracted more and more with her around, Boss?” Davit asks, chuckling in the back, but I shoot him a glare over my shoulder that shuts him up.

  “Are you kidding? Spoiled brat like her? The only distraction is how stubborn the girl is,” I lie, my mind drifting to the feel of her sides in my hands. If it weren’t for the gun under the table, that might have been a very nice date out on the town. But then again, making a rich girl like her squirm was almost as entertaining in and of itself.

  “I could stand to distract myself with that for a little while,” Davit chuckles, and I feel an angry boiling in my blood, and I give a sharp grunt.

  “You touch the merchandise, you’ll lose those quick fingers with talk like that,” I say, and Davit quickly shuts up. This is a helpful distraction from what’s on Sandro’s mind, but I feel the strange desire to sincerely get them to back off from Delaney. If someone’s going to toy with her, it will be me. Smiling, I add in a lighter tone, “Just think of the payoff and save your energy for buying a few nights of fun up in France when we’re done with all this.”

  “You know, for all the times we’ve transported cargo through the country, I’ve never stopped in France,” Sandro muses, glancing out the window at the Spanish countryside whizzing by. We’ve driven far enough that we’re starting to see vineyards in the hills off to the side of the road, rolling hills dotted with people tending the grapes. We have a little ways yet to go, into a more remote part of the mountains.

  “Nor have I,” I say, following his gaze. “Never had the chance.”

  “Didn’t have parents who liked to travel?” Sandro asks, raising an eyebr
ow with a smile. It’s a half-joke, I know, and I smile back. I’m not subtle about my distaste for tourists. It’s part of what’s made me so ‘energetic’ about my newfound passion here in Spain.

  “You’ve been to the capital back home, Sandro? Tbilisi?”

  “Of course.”

  “On the outskirts of the city on the north side, there’s a slum that used to be both a home for the factory workers and a refuge for political refugees. Easy place to disappear, if you didn’t mind the rats and didn’t get too close to the open sewer lines. That’s where I grew up. My friends and I, we played on the rusted assembly lines of abandoned factories that no longer had a purpose after the fall of the Soviet Union.” I chuckle, thinking back to what seemed like a brighter time. “We’d have fights in the alleys behind what I think used to be a rug factory. They had a big fenced-in parking lot back there, so we could make ourselves a little arena.”

  “Bunch of little thugs, you were,” Davit laughs.

  “Oh, you’re one to talk — didn’t your parents raise you in a carnival?” Sandro chuckles back.

  “Only for a few years,” Davit says modestly.

  “We drove out the thugs, actually,” I say, putting my hands behind my head and smiling. “Our pack of boys hit our teen years and grew so vicious that even the petty criminals didn’t dare come around our turf. Wasn’t long before the mafia started scouting us out.”

  “Any of them get left behind?” Sandro asks, raising an eyebrow.

  “No,” I say, a wistful tone behind the word. “Richer, younger families started to move in not long after I left — it started just after I was sent to prison, but before the war. Now, none of the poor families can afford the place anymore.”

  The other men grunt their distaste. I know they’ve felt the sting of similar experiences. The rich do all they can to crowd the poor majority out of the world.

  Eventually, after a few more minutes of reminiscing, we come to a stop on a dirt road in a forest and start taking sixty paces off the road to the east, coming to a small hole in the ground we’ve covered with brush. Sandro takes the spade I hand him, and he starts digging.