“Is Tia with you?” I ask, referring to her sister who lives there. Thank God my aunt stepped in to help after the accident. Mama refused to let me come home and stop my studies after the accident. She didn’t want me to fall behind in my work, knowing how important it was to me to get a degree and to make a career for myself. I’d done a lot of soul-searching since I began my studies at the university, finally deciding on the path of becoming a journalist.
After suffering the misery of losing my father and Tommy, I’d realized how cathartic it was to let my feelings spill onto the pages of countless journals I’d kept over the years and how the writing helped me cope with all of the negative emotions polluting my mind and heart.
My throat tightens as I recall the gift-wrapped journal I’d given Tommy at his house the day of my party with my love sprinkled between the pages.
Another gift he so casually disregarded.
I clutch the phone tight in my hand as Mama tells me about how her work with a physical therapist has actually been helping her make small strides in her recovery.
“Mi amore, what’s wrong? I can tell by your voice that there’s something bothering you,” Mama says in a soft voice, and all I want to do is run home to her and feel her arm wrapped tight around me as she assures me that everything will work out, that life, though cruel, always has a way of making us stronger through our experiences.
But instead, I choose to swallow the anguish. “I’m fine, Mama. Just a little tired. I’ve been working hard on some pieces I’m writing for my internship. I guess I need a little nap to recharge. I promise I’ll be peppier tomorrow.” The lies slip easily from my lips, and I bite down hard to keep them from trembling.
“Okay, sweetheart,” she says. “Get some rest. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, Mama,” I whisper because my voice is damn close to cracking. I hit the End button and stuff the phone into my pocket before turning the corner. The bus stop is only a couple of blocks away, but I have to go through a pretty seedy area to get there. I scrub a hand down the front of my face and take a deep breath, forcing all of the darkness to the back corners of my mind as I walk, making sure my eyes are peeled in all directions. It’s daylight, but the street is desolate and we’re always getting warnings about traveling alone in this area. I grit my teeth. Rage bubbles deep inside of me, and I truly pity the person who would dare cross my path right now,
I’ll just go to my apartment and call the bank to figure out where the hell my money went. Then I’ll make myself some tea and sit down to write. That always relaxes me. I won’t think about school or Mama’s injuries or that scumbag Tommy Marcone—
A dark blue sedan squeals to a stop right next to the curb and I jump with a gasp, stumbling backward over a stray tree branch. I don’t look up, though. You never look up, you just keep walking.
Fast.
So I do.
I hear car doors open and footsteps on the pavement, so I break into a run, darting around the next corner where I come to an empty parking lot covered with overgrown weeds.
Another set of tires squeals and another car, a black sedan, screeches to a halt directly in front of me.
My heart thumps harder and harder as the driver’s side door opens and a tall, bulky, dark-skinned man with a thick mustache gets out and lounges against the front of the car.
This is the problem with all of the good universities. They always seem to be stuck in the middle of shithole areas where you take your life in your hands once you leave campus.
“Gemma Cassarella,” he says in a thick accent, making my knees shake.
I back away from his leering eyes, jogging backward toward the opening of the parking lot until I slam into something hard with a loud thump.
“Oof!” I yelp, spinning around, my eyes wide open in horror as three more men dressed just like the one I just turned my back on creep closer toward me. One opens his jacket to flash a gun and smirks as I let out a shriek. A beefy hand claps over my mouth and drags me in the direction of the black sedan. One of the back doors opens and Mustache drags me over to the car as my feet flail in panic, desperate to make contact with his balls.
“You can kick all you want, but you’re still gonna end up in the back of this car,” Mustache hisses in my ear as I wiggle against his broad chest. “Now, whether or not you live long enough to get out of the car is another question, so I suggest you calm down.”
My chest heaves, my nose working overtime to take in oxygen since my mouth is out of commission.
He peers at me, his beady black eyes slicing through me like the sharpest of daggers. With one hand still clamped over my mouth, he fists my hair with the other, dragging my head back so I have no choice but to look him directly in the eye.
“Right now, you’re probably wondering who I am and how I know you.” He smiles, flashing a set of brownish teeth at me. I cringe as his mouth inches closer, the scent of refried beans and tortilla chips on his breath making my stomach roll. “But all you need to know right now is what I can do. So let me just give you a little sneak peek of what will happen if you don’t cooperate with us.” He grins. “Your mother and your aunt? I can have my guys inside their house in seconds, and they will chop them into bloody pieces and stuff the remains into body bags.”
My eyes widen, and I let out a muffled scream into his sweaty hand.
“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d like that too much.” His smile fades. “So do I have your attention now? Are you ready to hear my proposal? Or should my guys start sharpening their machetes?”
Bile rises in my throat and if this guy’s hand wasn’t slapped over my mouth, I’d have already hurled all over him.
“Nod if you’re gonna be a good girl.” His eyes narrow. “And just a spoiler alert for you, if you’re not gonna be a good girl, there’s a third body bag with your name on it. Do you understand me, principessa?”
Yeah, I understand.
But I also don’t give a fuck about his orders.
I’ve been on my own for two years, and I’m not taking anyone’s orders ever again!
I bite down as hard as I can on his fingers, the taste of metal mixed with his high-pitched yell igniting the one tiny flicker of hope still inside of me. He yanks his hand away from me, recoiling and grabbing onto the bloody stump. I duck down low and side-step one of the other goons, clearing a path for myself.
Adrenaline courses through me as my feet pound the gravel, skidding across the uneven concrete. I pitch forward, my knees and hands landing on the cracked ground, sharp slivers of rock slicing at my flesh. I scramble to my feet, ignoring the searing pain, but just before I take off once again, a strong force yanks me backward onto the ground. I slam ass-first onto the gravel and let out a loud yelp just before someone grabs me by the collar of my jacket and drags me back to the guy whose hand I just disfigured.
I should have bitten the damn finger off!
He yanks me to my feet with his good hand, his eyes dripping with malice. “I told you what I’d do.”
“Fuck you!” I scream.
He nods at one of the guys gripping me, and the second guy pulls out a phone. He sticks it in my face and my blood ices in my veins.
It’s Tia’s house.
A sob rises in my chest and I bite down on my lip to stop it from quivering.
Mustache looks at me. “Should we try this again? Or do I give the order to kill off the rest of your family?”
I grit my teeth, knowing I’m trapped and that they’re clearly not full of shit since they know exactly where my mother and aunt live.
“What do you want?” I hiss.
Mustache grins. “I want you to slide your skinny little ass into the backseat of this car. And then we’re gonna take a ride so I can show you.”
I lose track of time as the sedan speeds around Palermo and then into the outskirts. I stare out the darkened window. This is bad. Really bad. I recognize this neighborhood. It’s called Brancacchio, one of the worst areas in the city.<
br />
Tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle as we fly past dilapidated buildings and groups of seedy, menacing-looking men dressed in black leather. And while I can’t see underneath their clothes, I’m sure they’re packing.
Unlike me because I didn’t remember to bring my damn gun with me to school today.
Of all the fucking days to forget it.
We finally pull into a dark underground parking deck, and everyone piles out of the two cars, one of Mustache’s thugs dragging me out behind him.
This time, I behave myself since I have no weapon and pretty much no chance of survival if I fuck around again.
My one saving grace is the fact that they obviously need me for something.
The ‘what’ remains to be seen, but it must be important to them. If they wanted me dead, I’d already have a blade sticking out of my chest, sprawled on my back in that parking lot.
Two guys grab each one of my arms and pull me through a heavy metal door. Jesus, what the hell is waiting for me in there? I wrack my brain, trying to figure out if this has to do with my dumbass brother or my father and the laundry list of enemies he left in his wake. I’m sure there are plenty of people who want to torch what remains of legacy, but they’re in for surprise.
There’s no legacy left to speak of.
And there sure as hell isn’t any money.
My teeth chatter as I’m dragged down the hallway of this musty-smelling concrete hellhole, my mind working overtime thinking of the vile ways these assholes can violate me in retaliation for whatever my father or Gio did to them. My gut clenches and I gag once more.
Suddenly, my body is shoved around a corner and into a darkened room. I blink quickly to clear my vision and adjust to the lack of light.
I almost wish I hadn’t because the sight in front of me shreds what remains of my sanity.
And heart.
My brother Gio is bare-chested and handcuffed against a blood-stained metal wall. I swallow a cry as my eyes travel over the angry-looking lashings on his skin. His face is a horror show — dark blue and purple bruises covering every inch of his once-chiseled and now very much broken jaw. His eyes are puffy and swollen, barely open a slit. Shallow breaths make his shoulders quake, and I shrug out of my assailants’ grips and run toward my brother, wrapping my arms around him.
Tears stream down my face as I weep into his ear after not having seen him in so long. I didn’t even know he’d gotten out of prison since he was trying to keep us safe by eliminating contact. We barely spoke when he was in jail, and that was his choice. He doesn’t even know about Mama and her paralysis. He’s missed so much… “Gio, oh my God, what did they do to you?”
Mustache steps into the room and walks over to us. “I take it you didn’t know your brother was released from prison.”
I glare up at him. “No.”
“I’m so sorry, G,” Gio mutters. “I didn’t want to cause any trouble for you. I wanted to stay away. I did this. I caused this.”
“Stop talking. Save your strength.” I gingerly stroke the side of his face. “I’m going to take care of you, okay? I’ve got this.” I look back at Mustache. “What the fuck do you want from us?” I growl.
He snickers. “So tough, this girl. I want to see just how tough you can be. Or are you all talk, Gemma?”
I hold onto Gio for dear life, praying they didn’t do any major damage with their beating. He sputters and coughs and a chill zips through me. He needs a doctor. I need to get him help!
“You’re not taking him anywhere,” Mustache says, settling his fat ass into a nearby chair. “Yet.”
“What does that mean?” I say through clenched teeth. “He’s badly hurt. He needs to see a doctor, you fucking monster!”
“He is okay for now. But I can assure you, if you don’t take our offer, he won’t survive long enough to make it outside, much less to a doctor.”
“What offer?” I whisper, panic rising in my chest. “What could I possibly do for you?”
“Well, first, let me tell you why you’re here in the first place.” Mustache lights a cigarette and blows out a thin stream of smoke before pointing to Gio. “Your idiot brother thought he could pull one over on us. Fucking piece of scum,” he sneers at Gio. “Stealing from the cartel after we gave you a job. In good faith, we took him on after your father died. But it wasn’t long before the drugs and the gambling interfered with his work. He couldn’t make money fast enough to pay off his debts, so what did he do?” Mustache gets up and storms over to Gio, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head backward. I gasp, punching his arms to get him to release my brother. It only makes him tug harder.
Sadistic fuck.
“What did you do, Gio?” he yells.
“I-I stole f-from the cartel,” Gio rasps.
Mustache lets go of Gio’s hair and he slumps forward into my chest, his body limp. “That’s right. You stole from us after we paid respect to your father by giving you a job after you fucked your whole family. You pissed away all of that money, too, leaving your mother and sister penniless.” Mustache looks at me. “Did you know that, Gemma? Did you know the real reason why the money dried up?” He nods his head at Gio. “Well, now you do.”
I take in a sharp breath. Yeah, he fucked us, and I’d always been suspicious about the bullshit excuses he fed us about the lost money, but as angry as I am, he’s still my brother. It was just the three of us after Papa died, so maybe I was willing to turn the other cheek because I couldn’t bear to lose anyone else after Papa…and Tommy.
And although I want to kick the shit out of him now, I still feel the same way.
Except now he needs my help and I really don’t see how I can possibly offer restitution for him stealing from the cartel.
“If you know he pissed away the money, then you know I have nothing to offer you,” I say, my voice unwavering, my mind flipping the fuck out.
“I don’t want money,” he says, kneeling next to me and cupping my chin and forcing my eyes in his direction.
“I’m not going to fuck you, either!” I shout, twisting away from him.
He eyes me up and down, quirking a thick eyebrow. “Relax. I’m not the one you’re gonna fuck, principessa.” He straightens and looks down at Gio hanging from the handcuffs chained to the wall. “See, your brother was rising up in the organization until he got pinched. Some might say he got pinched because he needed an out, isn’t that right, Giovanni?” He smacks Gio’s head and my throat tightens. My brother barely registers the impact. Jesus Christ, he needs to get to a hospital!
Mustache yanks me away from Gio, and his body hangs over without any cushion. Tears knot in the back of my throat.
He looks dead.
And if I don’t do what this asshole cartel thug wants, he might as well be.
“Tell me what I need to do,” I say, my voice struggling to remain calm when I am anything but.
Mustache grins and makes a big show of leaning into me and taking a deep whiff. “Desperation,” he murmurs. “You fucking wreak of it. It clings to you like a stench you can’t ever wash away. It always hangs in the air around you, choking you until you can’t even breathe. Am I right?” He pulls away, circling me as the scent of his spicy cologne makes my stomach twist like a pretzel. “I know you’re struggling, Gemma. I know you thought your life was going to go in a completely different direction, and when your father was killed, everything crumbled.” He strokes the back of my head, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I know about everything, including your relationship with Tommy Marcone.”
My eyes widen. “We didn’t have a relationship,” I say stiffly.
“Is that right?” Mustache strokes his own jaw. “Because my people told me a very different story. You see, when I go into business with someone, I watch everything — people they interact with, people their family interacts with, where they go, who they go with.” He smirks. “It’s my responsibility to uncover any details that might cause me problems in the future. I ha
ve to be prepared so I can eliminate those problems.”
“Tommy fucked us,” Gio mumbles weakly behind me. “He got caught and he left with his fucking dick between his legs.”
“Your father would be disappointed you didn’t kill him,” Mustache says, still looking at me. “After all, it was because of him that your father was murdered. Two years later, and you still haven’t avenged his murder, Gio. Tsk-tsk.” He folds his muscular arms over his chest. “Something tells me that your sister won’t be as forgiving if given the chance.”
I gasp. “I’m not going to kill him!”
Mustache frowns. “An eye for an eye? No? That’s not your thing?” He shrugs. “That’s fine. I’m happy to do the job myself. But tell me, Gemma. You see him all over the news, all over the Internet, living the high life, women draped all over him, walking red carpets while you’re stuck scrounging for pennies to finish school and to take care of your mother. Doesn’t it make you just a little bit angry to know that he disappeared from your life after making plenty of cash off of your father and then selling out the old man? He fucked you all. He’s the reason why Gio ended up in prison, why your mother is now handicapped. Think about it. Everything that has gone wrong in your life since your Sweet Eighteen is because of Tommy Marcone.” His eyes narrow. “And you don’t want to make him pay for all of that? Don’t you want to see him suffer in a fantastic way that will be witnessed by everyone in the whole world? Wouldn’t that make you feel a little bit better about how he wronged you and your family? Wouldn’t you like to get a sweet little taste of revenge on your tongue and bring him to his knees in front of everyone important to him?” Mustache leans closer, hissing in my ear. “Just like he did to you and your family?”
I swallow hard, my eyes flickering toward Gio, still limp against the wall, arms out, head hanging to the side like he’s just been crucified. Tears sting my eyes. How ironic. A few hours ago, I didn’t think I had anything to lose. Now I realize everything I actually have left to protect.
Taken: A Dark Italian Mafia Romance (Men of Mayhem Book 3) Page 12
