Hard Knight: Dark Mafia Romance

by Faye Pierce

  “I’d suggest we get you to a hospital, but you’d have too many questions to answer when they report the gunshot wound to the authorities. I’ll call ahead and have Dr. Manning waiting for us when we arrive back at the house. I don’t think the bullet is still in there. I got three of them, but two got away in the melee,” Leo informs.

  I can’t think straight, but I know that Hugo is sending me a message with some degree of certainty. He didn’t want to kill me. That would be too easy. He wants me to be running scared. His effort to take out my right-hand man failed but not by much. He’s systematically trying to get me to make mistakes so that he can capitalize on them.

  I look over my shoulder to see pockmarks in the glass behind me.

  My fingers pop the buttons on my shirt to reveal the lightweight flak jacket underneath.

  “Well...I guess you do know how to listen,” Leo says with a smile.

  “It just missed the vest by a couple of inches. I think it might have clipped the strap and saved my life,” I say.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were wearing it? I’m guessing you didn’t want to admit I was right, and you were wrong. It’s typical, but I don’t judge you unfairly for keeping it a secret from me. It’s not a sign of weakness to protect yourself. Nobody needs to know. I would say the bleeding has slowed down. That’s a good sign,” Leo replies.

  I sit back and listen to the drone of the engine with my eyes closed. I’m trying to remain focused on everything around me.

  Valeria

  I hear his scream and run into one of the guards, practically knocking him off his feet.

  I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I race down the hallway toward his voice.

  I barge in to see him on top of the dining room table, biting down on a piece of wood.

  Leo prevents me from going any further. “It was a through and through. The doctor is sewing up the wound and giving him something for any possible infection. What he needs right now is a good night’s sleep. I have to go out for a while. Do you think that you can keep an eye on him until I return?”

  “I don’t need a nurse,” Caspian grunts.

  Leo goes over to him and lifts his head with his hand on the back of his neck. “It’s not fun getting shot. Just think how embarrassing it would’ve been if they had shot you in the ass instead of the shoulder.”

  Caspian laughs and begins to choke with his hand slapping vainly against Leo’s tattooed arm. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much. Where do you think you are going at a time like this?”

  “I need to shake a few trees to see what falls out. Follow the doctor’s orders to the letter, or you’ll answer to me,” Leo says.

  The doctor in jeans and a T-shirt hands him a couple of pills in different colors.

  “The next 24 hours are crucial. Don’t do anything to damage my handiwork. Those stitches need to stay in place for the next few days. I know it won’t do any good me saying this, but you must stay off your feet and don’t do any strenuous lifting. Take these every four hours for the pain and these to ward off any infection.”

  Caspian chases the pill with some water and then struggles to a sitting position. The bandage over his shoulder is a little concerning, but the smile on his face tells me his strength is going to persevere.

  “Tell me what you find out. Somebody is going to pay for this,” Caspian calls out to the retreating Leo.

  Leo waves his hand while walking hurriedly down the hallway.

  “I’ll take it from here and make sure that he takes his medication at the right time. Leave by the back door. I don’t want Midnight knowing anything about this,” I tell the doctor.

  He nods politely and packs up his things in a black bag before going down the hallway to the back stairs.

  I try to help Caspian, but he refuses under some mistaken belief it makes him look weak in my eyes. It’s actually the exact opposite. The danger surrounding him is nothing compared to a bullet wound. My body craves to let him make beautiful music until we are both satiated in a pool of sex-soaked sweat.

  “I don’t agree with keeping my sister in the dark about anything, but I know your heart is in the right place. She doesn’t need to know about this. I’m glad we’re on the same page but don’t think for one moment we are equals. Take me to my room,” he urges.

  He stubbornly walks on his own while I try helplessly to put his shirt on. He’s mumbling under his breath but somehow fights the pain until he sits on his bed, looking a little dazed and confused. It has to be the medication.

  I barely have to touch his chest with one finger before he falls back onto the mattress.

  I lift his legs and cover him with a thin sheet before crawling into bed beside him. I wrap my arms over his chest and tuck my head into his shoulder blade. I realize he’s not untouchable. He needs me, and it makes me want to be there for him.

  It’s still late, the grandfather clock indicating the witching hour.

  I wake up when he nudges me accidentally with his elbow.

  “Stay away from her. I won’t let you hurt her. No,” he repeats the same thing over and over again.

  His body is twitching, and his hands throw the sheet onto the floor.

  He’s reliving something from his past. What other horrors has he seen in his life? The only thing I can do is hold him tighter to keep him from falling to the floor and hurting himself even more than he already is.

  “No, daddy...not the belt?” He mutters under his breath.

  This is the first time I realize my feelings are more than skin deep.

  He’s a complicated man with a troubled childhood. He’s damaged, but I can fix him.

  His love for his sister confirms there is a heart underneath his gruff exterior. He tries to hide his softer side, but it’s during these times that I can see the cracks in his armor.

  I sigh deeply. It’s not so bad being his wife.

  Chapter Eleven

  Caspian

  It feels like I’m drowning, and I struggle in the pitch black with my arms and legs flailing. Floating in the ether, not knowing where I am, is a little disconcerting. Confused is a good way to describe what I’m going through.

  There’s nothing around me to focus on, but something is grabbing my ankle. It’s very insistent and doesn’t take no for an answer. I try desperately to kick free but whatever is holding me has an iron grip.

  I can’t breathe, and my body begins to shut down in a blind panic. I know it’s a dream, and I’ve been here before, but that doesn’t stop the rising tide of fear holding me hostage by the throat.

  There’s just a flicker of light blinking in and out of focus. I can see it every so often, giving me a little bit of hope to grab onto, even though the thing around my ankle pulls me further away from salvation.

  My eyes adjust to the darkness to see a skeletal hand burning its tattooed fingerprint into my skin. I try reaching down and prying the fingers loose – but it doesn’t come easy.

  I see the disturbing image of the skeleton’s face. Its jaws are moving back and forth, gnashing the air. This is no time to go into shock when I have to be in complete control of my faculties.

  The light is getting brighter, but I still can’t seem to reach out to it. It’s calling to me, and I hear the female whisper of a woman who gave me everything. It’s comforting to hear my mother’s voice. She’s always there when I need her, but sometimes I wonder if hearing her voice is a form of torture to remind me of what happened.

  I’m able to breathe again, and somehow the scene has changed to a kitchen lost in the 70s. The yellow paint and red counter aren’t what I’m looking at.

  She’s standing at the stove, stirring the pot of fresh vegetables while looking at me with a smile. She’s helping me with my homework, but I can’t think straight when I know what is coming. It’s always the same, and when I should run from the room, I stay glued to the chair with my legs curled under me.

  The door opens, and he staggers in, slurring his w
ords. He’s trying to become fresh with my mother. She plays it off, but he doesn’t relinquish his hold. His mood swings are legendary. The sound of the belt being removed and the leather snapping in his hand is enough to make me cringe.

  My hands can’t seem to move from where they sit on the table in front of me.

  The belt buckle hits my knuckles, and I make an ungodly scream which he finds amusing. He continues with my mother screaming at him to stop, but he’s having way too much fun. The bruises turn bloody, with some of the skin ripped clear from the bone.

  I stop screaming and become mute.

  He revels in my tears. Finally, my father tells me to buck up and act like a man.

  He turns around and advances on my mother until he has her splayed out on the kitchen table. Glasses and cutlery become a casualty falling to the floor and shattering into a million pieces.

  A little boy should not see what he’s about to do and something inside of me snaps. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve taken his gun from the holster and pulled the trigger. His body doesn’t register the wound, with the pain swimming upstream against the liquor he’s consumed

  It finally dawns on him that the sound he heard was his gun going off. His legs collapse, and he tries to hold on to the kitchen table with blood smearing the surface. He falls dead at my feet, and I’m still holding the smoking barrel.

  My sister is at a sleepover.

  Something is laughing, and I glance over my shoulder to see the same skeleton now sat in the chair I’d previously been sitting in.

  The bullet echoes throughout the house, and then I see my sister lying on the sidewalk, barely moving with her body doubled over. The same skeleton sits on top of the hood kicking his bony legs against the car.

  It starts to form into something more with skin and bone followed by facial features resembling my own. It turns slightly, and his eyes become red. It’s my alter ego...Diavolo.

  My sister is crawling toward me, leaving behind a trail of blood in her wake. She clutches my ankle and begs me to do something. The only thing I can see is red.

  I suddenly feel restrained, and I fight to the surface of my disorientation. Then, there’s a loud thump, and I blink to see my bedroom. My hands are at my side, grabbing onto the sheets.

  “I was getting worried. You were thrashing and calling out in your sleep,” Valeria says.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “Leo brought you in last night barely coherent. I stayed with you and heard what you said about your father and sister. You must’ve been hallucinating. You did have a high fever, but I managed to bring it down with cool water,” she says with her finger pointing toward the basin of water and the washcloth floating within.

  I’m not sure what to say, but I don’t like the way she’s looking at me with pity in her eyes. I’m not a charity case, and I don’t need anybody holding my hand. It bothers me that she saw me vulnerable in a moment of weakness.

  “You have a perfectly good room down the hall. I didn’t ask you to stay with me. I don’t need you to take care of me. I’ve been doing that most of my life. I appreciate the concern, but you need to leave…now,” I urge.

  I turn my back to her with my feet planted on the floor and my hands on my knees. The stitches pull, but I hold my tongue despite the overwhelming pain making my arm feel numb.

  “That’s not a very good way to say thank you. I stayed up most of the night, bringing down your fever and holding you close. You screamed several times. I had no idea what your childhood was like because you never talk about it. It hurts me to see you pull away when we are getting closer,” she stresses.

  I grab my watch from the nightstand encrusted with tiny diamonds on the face. It looks like I’ve slept most of the morning. Time is money. Leo will have something to report.

  This is the wrong moment to discuss my feelings. Was there ever going to be a right time?

  “I hope I didn’t offend you. It’s not you. I’m just not used to somebody taking care of me. We can talk about this later. You spent all this time in bed, and we didn’t even put a smile on your face. That’s sacrilege, in my opinion,” I say.

  The drapes open a crack, and I can just make out the orange orb of the sun cutting through the fabric. It’s dark for a purpose… a requirement to block out everything. The blindfold and earbuds are in the drawer, but this is the first night in quite some time I haven’t used them.

  “There you go again, ruining the moment. I don’t know why I even bother. I’ll be downstairs getting breakfast,” she replies.

  “I can’t do anything right. I try to make you understand, but I make it worse. So maybe I should just keep my mouth shut,” I say defensively, once again relying on my hostility.

  She mumbles something, but I can’t make it out. A small part of me wants to reach out to her with compassion and understanding, but I can’t bring myself to chase after her like some lovesick teenager.

  I stand and get a little dizzy with my hand to my forehead. Peeling back the drapes has me feeling like a vampire waking up for the first time in centuries.

  It takes a moment to clear the cobwebs. It finally dawns on me that I don’t have any clothes on. She took the liberty of redressing the wounds and removing constricting items to make it easier for me to breathe.

  I can still smell her with this halo of pheromones floating aimlessly across the room. I breathe in her scent. It’s highly addictive. I drop back onto the bed with a heavy sigh. I have this pounding in my temples. It doesn’t want to abate.

  I walk over to the door and retrieve the white terry cloth robe on the back. It’s cinched tight. I stumble down the hall with my hand on the wall for support.

  I take the stairs one at a time gingerly, with my bare feet warmed by the radiant element underneath the hardwood floors. It was an expense but one that was worth every single penny. Some mornings are colder than others.

  I use the banister to guide me to the main landing of the house. I find it necessary to stop and look at my mother’s reflection in the photograph on the wall. She was always going above and beyond. Why she felt it was necessary to fall on that metaphorical grenade is beyond me.

  She took the blame for something I did.

  A good lawyer was able to convince a jury of her peers that she had temporarily gone insane. She got out of the facility a few months later, but she never returned to collect my sister or me. She disappeared and was never heard of again.

  I don’t like talking about the past.

  I make my way to my office while bumping into furniture and stubbing my toe on the grandfather clock. Somebody is at my desk rummaging through my papers. I quickly grab the fire poker next to the mantle.

  It’s not until I walk into the room that I realize Leo has made himself at home.

  “I was just about to go upstairs to get you up. I checked on you earlier, but you were still sound asleep. I thought it best not to disturb you while you were recovering. I found out a few things, but you’re not going to like it,” Leo says.

  I sit down with my arms shaking and trying to hold up my weight. It’s been a couple of days since I was in the gym. Other things had distracted me, namely Hugo looking to even the score.

  “I’m going to need….” I trail off, spying the steaming cup of coffee on the desk hidden behind a stack of papers.

  “It’s good to see you up and walking,” Leo says.

  “I had to get up. It’s not every day I get shot.

  “I’m sorry it had to happen. It was my responsibility to make sure you were safe, and I failed. I guess we all have off days when we are not running at tiptop efficiency,” Leo says with his hand sliding the black mug with a scorpion stenciled in gold on the front.

  I remember when he gave it to me on my birthday. Horoscopes are not my thing, but my temperament is perfectly aligned with my zodiac sign. I can be quite patient, but I tend to let things build up until they explode.

  I breathe in the aroma of the caffeine before taking
a sip of the potent brew. It’s exactly how I like it black and strong without any additives. It always makes me shake my head when I see the younger generation ordering their custom coffees with whipped cream and shavings of cinnamon. They ruin the texture and the experience by adding unusual toppings for no other reason than being lambs following each other to the slaughter.

  I’m never going to be a follower. Leadership is a heavy crown to wear. Others can’t seem to rise to the challenge, but I feel the power every time I lay down the law to those that disappoint me.

  I’m holding the cup with both hands with my eyes closed. I’m enjoying the brief respite of the caffeine running through my veins.