Dark Blood: A Mafia Hitman Romance (10 page)

W
e leave
the brothers with specific instructions and head in silence to my father's car. I leave my own vehicle in the street and I open the passenger door and plunk down into the seat. I don't need to give my father directions where to –go – it looks like he knows the way.

We drive in silence. I don't fucking know what to say. There doesn’t seem to be any words. The first girl – no, first woman – I could possibly have feelings for, has just disappeared, and it’s possible she’s hurt somewhere. It pisses me off, and a deep overwhelming need to find and help her is eating away at my insides.

Half an hour later, my father parks in front of Da Costa's house. Our car is immediately surrounded by guards, and when they see who we are, their eyes widen in shock. The men draw and point their guns at us as we slowly open our doors to get out of the car, chattering urgently to one another in heavily accented Italian that I can barely understand.

"We mean no harm," I tell the man standing closest to me. I make sure not to make any sudden movements that could be mistaken as a threat. The man shoots me a skeptical look. "This visit is about Miss Da Costa," I say.

In a motion so sudden that I have no time to react, the man brings up his arm and hits me with the butt of his gun against the left side of my head, causing me to stagger backwards. My father curses loudly and makes a lunge for the man, but another one of the men grabs his arms to hold him back, preventing him from striking.

"Calm down," I appeal to him in Italian. "We are here to speak to Da Costa about his daughter."

"And what the fuck do you want?"

A booming voice interrupts our encounter, and I look up to see a man who looks much frailer than his voice would imply. He looks massive and has broad shoulders, but his face appears almost lifeless. It looks as if he's slowly fading away, barely clinging on to this life.

My father hisses next to me, and the guard finally lets go of him at Da Costa's finger flick indicating his release.

"Let them come closer. I want to kill them with my bare hands," Da Costa hisses, his eyes narrowing to dark angry slits.

I take a few steps forward to approach the man, who I know must be Bianca’s father, but my own father remains frozen in place. I don't encourage him to follow me towards Da Costa knowing he needs time to come to terms with seeing his old friend after so many wasted years of anger. Finally, after several minutes of awkward silence, I hear my father speak.

"Sofia's daughter is missing." My father's voice is loud and clear, but it’s filled with anguish.

"She's my daughter, too." Da Costa gives him a defiant look, sizing him up, and for a long, awkward moment, I'm convinced they’re going to lunge for each other’s' throats at any minute. Murderous intent blazes in both man’s eyes. It’s obvious they want to kill one another, I can tell.

"You don't think I know she's fucking missing?" Da Costa hisses. "You took her, you fucking monster!"

"I did." My father responds calmly, still glaring at his nemesis. "Right from under your nose, you old piece of shit."

Da Costa growls. I take this as my cue to step between the two men, unsure which one of them I'm trying to protect. My priority is still Bianca. I need her back and in one piece. Da Costa might be able to help.

"Bianca was with me until today," I speak up.

"And who might you be?" Da Costa turns toward me and snarls.

"He's my son." My father’s words send shivers down my spine. That's the second time today he's called me his son. It gives me hope for the future.

"Which one?" Da Costa's question is laced with both bitterness and sadness. I know how badly it must hurt him, knowing his sworn enemy has so many sons while he has only a single illegitimate daughter.

"The Hound," father says simply. "My best."

Da Costa’s eyes size me up for what seems like a long time before he nods simply, as if he accepts my father's words. “What do you want from me, then?"

"Why didn't you come to save Bianca?" I ask, surprising myself with my own braveness. I need to know. From what Bianca told me, I'd assumed she was close with her father, yet he didn't make a single attempt to rescue her from my family.

Da Costa looks from me to my father. "You told him about Sofia?" he asks incredulously.

"Some of it." The two men are still glowering at each other. "He knows enough."

"I believed your father would not kill Bianca," Da Costa explains. "I believe he just wanted to be near her. And I believed I owed it to him."

His answer is strange, but I don't argue. I simply nod and deliver the horrible blow, the news that will destroy Da Costa’s world. "Bianca is missing. She disappeared from my apartment this morning."

Da Costa stares at me, sheer terror glazing his eyes. "Gone?"

I nod.

"Just like that?"

I nod again.

He calmly strides over to me and then, without warning, slams his fist in my face, sending me to the ground, blood dripping from my nose. I deserve it. If I’d been more careful, she would still be safe – with me – and our fathers wouldn't be having this stand-off. They might never have had to see one another again. Ever.

"There were signs of a struggle," my father explains. "It appears that we...two old men aren't the only ones with an affection for Bianca."

Bianca's father looks down at me questioningly, and I give him a desperate look as I rise to my feet. His eyes float from my face to my father's, and then he shocks us all by roaring with laughter. Even the fucking guards look uncomfortable.

“What a fucking turn,” he says, shaking his head, still grinning. “What a fucking turn. Abbate’s son…and Sofia’s daughter.”

We all shuffle around uncomfortably while Da Costa scrutinizes us. I don’t really know what to say, and I can tell he’s deciding whether or not he’ll invite us in to discuss Bianca’s disappearance. But this is about the well-being of his daughter, after all, and in the end, Da Costa does the right thing. He signals for his guards to back off before stepping aside and motioning for us to come closer. My father and I follow him like two sheep. We’re at his mercy.

* * *

W
e’ve been sitting
in Da Costa’s study for a few hours now, mulling over our options. Da Costa seems to think the gun we found under the bed in my apartment is a bad sign, but I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Bianca in that way.

The two men are talking between themselves, which is a miracle of its own, when I my cell phone vibrates in my pants pocket. I excuse myself to answer the call in the hallway. It’s Pietro.

“Did you find anything else?” I bark down the line, desperate for more information about Bianca. I can tell by his greeting that he doesn’t have good news.

“Nothing,” he says regretfully. “The neighbors we talked to didn’t see anything and the others are refusing to speak to us about it.”

“Are you still searching?” I ask.

“Yes, but we have other obligations….” Pietro seems nervous, and rightfully so.

“I don’t give a damn!” I roar down the line. “This is your priority. Find Bianca and bring her back to me unharmed.”

“Okay, okay.” Pietro hesitates on the other end of the line, and I wait impatiently for him to finish whatever it was he was going to say. “Matteo…no, it’s nothing.”

“What?” I run my fingers absentmindedly through my hair.

“It’s probably nothing.”

“What? Tell me or I’ll pull your heart out through your throat, you jackass.” I don’t normally treat Pietro this way, but I’m pissed, tired, and I need answers.

“The gun,” he says slowly. “The gun we found in your room….”

“What about it, Pietro?” My patience is wearing thin.

“The gun was planted,” he says flatly.

My heart skips a beat. I furrow my brows and start barking questions at him. “What do you mean, it was planted? How can you be sure? Have you seen it before? Whose gun is it? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

There is silence on the other end of the line. I’ve never been this angry in my life. “Tell me right now,” I seethe at him in Italian. “I need to know. Don’t you understand?” I hiss.

I take a deep breath before continuing. “I love her, Pietro. Fuck! I love Bianca. Tell me what you know.”

He sighs on the other end of the line and I can tell his answer is forthcoming. I wish he’d hurry the fuck up and spit it out, but I wait patiently for him to deliver the news. “The gun…there were no bullets fired,” he finally concedes, then starts clearing his throat. I’m waiting like a viper getting ready to strike for Pietro to make his point.

“The gun is fully loaded. I don’t understand why anyone would leave it behind like that, unless….” Pietro hesitates, and I can clearly hear the discomfort in his voice.

“Unless what, Pietro?”

“Unless someone left it behind on purpose.”

“But why?” I’m overcome with fury and pound my fist into the wall in the hallway. It serves no purpose, except making my fist bleed. The walls here are thick, the sign of a building solidly constructed from expensive material. “Why would someone do that?”

“To plant evidence,” Pietro says. He sounds tired as fuck. “To lead us in the wrong direction. To make us think the gun was fired and she was maybe dead. Make us stop looking for her.”

“Who would do that?” I ask confused. “Why would anyone do that?”

What I couldn’t figure out was who even knew Bianca was in my apartment? Or fuck, who even knew where I lived?

“Someone who wanted to prevent you from coming to find her,” Pietro admits, defeat threading his voice. I hear a commotion in the background and he rattles off something in Italian. “I have to go, Matteo. Something is going on here. I’ll call you back as soon as possible.” The line goes dead as Pietro ends the call.

“No, don’t you dare, cazzo!” I bark, but my demand falls on deaf ears. I curse again, so fucking tempted to ram my fist into the wall a second time. I think better of it since the only damage would be to my already bloodied knuckles. I head back into the study where my father and Da Costa appear to be in the middle of another standoff, or maybe they’re continuing the same one. I sit in one of the plush chairs and wait for them to finish their staredown.

“What did you find out?” my father asks without shifting his gaze away from Da Costa. I relay the information Pietro just shared, and my father’s jaw tightens. I know the same questions I had are now racing through his mind.

“Do you love her?” Da Costa interrupts, finally tearing his gaze away from my father and turning his attention towards me. “Bianca. Do you love her?” He asks me again.

My intent gaze mirrors his as I mull over his question and how I should respond to it. There is really only one answer. Whether I want to admit it out loud is another thing, though.

When I muster the courage to answer Da Costa, my voice conveys the confidence I feel in my heart. “Yes,” I finally say.. “I do.”

“Good.” Da Costa shuffles through some papers on his desk. “Then we had better find her before I fucking die. My time is limited. I am a sick old man, after all, and Bianca is all I have.”

“Bianca is not all you have,” I mutter to myself, and my father kicks me hard in the shin. “Fuck! Stop that!” I scold him.

“What did you say?” Da Costa raises his eyes to meet mine. I stare at him intently. This man is old, sick and tired. He needs to know. He deserves to know there is another heir.

“You have a son,” I tell him. “A child. A boy.”

I watch his eyes widen as my father groans beside me in frustration. So far, he hasn’t attempted to kill me, which I’m going to assume is a good sign. Da Costa runs his fingers absentmindedly through his receding gray hair, muttering to himself in Italian.

“A boy,” he says, a far-off look invading in his eyes. “A boy. My boy. Another one.”

My phone vibrates again in my pocket signaling another call, and I’m so nervous that I answer it immediately instead of heading to the hallway for privacy. The two older men stare at me. “Yes, Pietro?”

“Did you find the gun?” he asks me, his voice frenzied.

“What?” I’m confused by his question. I’ve no idea what he’s talking about.

“The. Gun.” He punctuates his words heavily. “Did you find the gun or did my brothers?”

“I didn’t,” I answer, furrowing my brows. “I didn’t find it. Antonio did. He said someone kicked it under the bed.”

Pietro curses in Italian. “No one kicked the gun under the bed,” he declares. “Someone planted the gun to throw us off track.”

“Who?” I ask, my voice shaking and anger filling my veins. “Who did that, Pietro?”

A long silence follows before he delivers his defeated answer. “My brother.”

The roar that escapes my lungs is deafening as I throw my phone across the room andwatch it shatter against the wall.

I
've lost
all sense of time. The room I’m being held in is perpetually lit so I can't even tell whether it's day or night. Another meal has been delivered to me, so I can only assume it's dinnertime. The meals are my only way of guessing what time of day it is.

When he came to bring me the food, we didn't speak. He had a smile on his face though, as if I amused him. I didn't say anything and ate my meal like a good girl. He's taking his time with me, which only scares me more. Perhaps it would be better to die fast and not suffer at the hands of a madman.

I keep thinking about Matteo. I think about Daddy, too, but Matteo is at the front and center of my thoughts. I never thought I would feel this way, about anyone – not even the man my dad chose for me to marry. Especially not that old man.

I don't let myself fantasize about ever getting out of here. I know I'm as good as gone, and thinking about the life I could've had with Matteo is just too painful.

I will die a virgin, I realize at some point. But then another thought occurs to me – the man who has taken me captive might try to rape me. Why stop at hitting me? I am completely at his mercy.

I sob into the soft, downy pillow for what seems like hours. I feel so fucking vulnerable in this room. The walls are closing in on me and I feel like I'm just waiting for my execution. Time passes excruciatingly slow. What feels like hours is probably only minutes. The tension is palpable.

I must drift off to sleep at some point because I stir awake when a key starts turning in the lock. I'm instantly wide awake and sitting up, clutching the duvet to my chest and retreating against the headboard of the bed. I need to get away. Every cell in my body is warning me of danger. He's going to really hurt me now. I’m so afraid.

The door creaks opens. The man who took me appears in the doorway. He just stands there, not moving. His dark and quiet presence frightens me more than anything ever has in my life.

He has something in his arms – a belt.

"Hello, little bird," he greets me in a deep, husky voice.

At least he knows I'm not Lottie now. I’m not his sister. I’m unsure if this is a good thing or not.

I've slowly pieced the story together but there are still details missing for me to be able to understand the whole thing. And I need to distract him before he uses that thick leather belt on me.

"Hello," I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He advances on me, slowly. I tremble as I try to scrunch up farther in the bed. "Are you mad about the book?" I ask in a shaky voice. I've never felt so vulnerable.

He shakes his head. "Old piece of shit."

That definitely wasn't his opinion a few hours ago. It scares me how fast his mind shifts, the cogs turning and altering him into a different person minute to minute.

"Are you going to hurt me?" I look up at him, my eyes wide and tears threatening to fall.

"Yes." His answer comes immediately. This is nothing like Matteo. Nothing like the way his strong fingers make me gasp and beg for more. This is darkness personified. Evil. Sinister. This man is the devil, and I'm about to enter hell.

"Please don't," I beg, not caring about my dignity. All I care about right now is seeing another day, even if it is holed up in this cell. "Please don't hurt me. I'll do anything you want."

"Oh, but bird," he grins at me. His face is contorted into a handsome, evil mask. "What I want is for you to be hurt. I want your tears. It's what gets me hard."

His words make my skin crawl, and I whimper, trying to crawl further under the duvet, but there is nowhere for me to hide.

He removes his jacket so he's standing in front of me in only jeans and a T-shirt. I'm just staring at him as he moves closer to me, waiting for the horrible moment when this devil strikes me.

"Strip."

It’s a simple order, yet one I cannot force myself to follow. I shake my head no, and he roars with anger, tearing the duvet away from me. I shriek as he grabs my ankle and pulls me towards him. He takes a pocket knife from his jeans, and in two swift motions, cuts my shirt and then rips it off me. He slashes my pants off me next and then I'm left shivering in only my panties.

"Now we play." His eyes are burning with lust, dark and dangerous.

He rips my bra off next, the delicate lace tearing and exposing my breasts. I reach up to shield my body from his watchful gaze, but he orders me to get on my hands and knees. The panties, my final item of clothing, of protection, are next. He doesn't stop tormenting me until I'm shaking uncontrollably in front of him, naked and vulnerable.

He hasn't physically hurt me yet, but it's the most horrible kind of torture I've ever been subjected to. The mere anticipation of knowing what is to come, is making me shiver.

"You're not Lottie, bitch!" he snarls at me. "Lottie was innocent. Lottie was perfect. Lottie was beautiful." I hear the belt buckle as he picks it back up and goose bumps erupt all over me. I feel like I’m going to pass out from fear.

"And I didn't protect her from him." His voice is sad and pitiful, as if he was griefstricken.

Lottie. His sister. Who hurt her? Despite my predicament, I need to know the answers.

"P-protect her?" I ask, stuttering over my words.

"My father," he says coldly. "My father raped his own daughter, night after night after night."

"And you tried to protect her," I realize out loud.

"Until one night, I couldn't." His voice is breaking.

I take my chance, sitting down on the bed and turning around. "Why are you doing this?" I ask him desperately. "Why Patrizia, Annabella, Kate, Lily? Why me?"

His gaze is nothing more than an empty stare. His eyes appear hollow, even though they're still in their sockets. He is but a shell of a man.

"You need to pay," he says, murmuring the words. "You need to pay for being a whore."

"I'm not a whore."I'm a virgin!" I cry out.

"Lottie?" His stare takes on a glimmer and he looks at me with hope in his eyes. This man is insane. Completely, utterly mad, but I have to play along if I want any chance of surviving.

"Yes," I say desperately. "Yes, I'm Lottie." I reach for his hand even though it disgusts me. "I'm Lottie, and you need to protect me. You’re not like your father. I'm Lottie. Protect me, please."

He looks torn, his crazed eyes dancing over my features.

"I'll do anything you want," I say shakily, reaching for him, my hand landing on his knee. I realize too late I've broken the spell, shattered this illusion he was starting to believe that I was Lottie. He roars with anger.

"Whore!"

He whips me back into place and I crumple to the bed in a heap. He brings the belt down once, twice, three times. It slices across my ass. It pelts across my legs. It strafes across my belly.

"Not Lottie. Not Lottie. Not Lottie." The words punctuate his blows and I whimper, crying as he hits me hard, the pain burning into my skin and assaulting every nerve ending in my body.

"Cry, birdie!" he screams at me with a wicked grin. "Your tears are the only lube you get tonight."

He unzips his jeans and pulls me towards him as I howl in agony, begging for help that isn't coming to rescue me. “Matteo!” I cry out without thinking. “Matteo! Help me!”

I'm still in my body but I’m numb. I always thought you would undergo an out of body experience when something so traumatic happened that you couldn’t bear to live through it happened. This is like a curse, a nightmare. And what’s even worse is that I'm going to experience every second of its dark perversion.

"Open up!" my captor orders me, and I cry louder. "Spread those cheeks for me. Daddy's coming home."

I scream louder than I’ve ever screamed.

And then there is nothing. Except for the ringing in my ears. Ringing, ringing, ringing, but that’s all I hear. A flurry of things are happening. People are running into the room. Gunshots. I hear shooting. And then more ringing. Ringing, ringing, ringing.

And then I feel arms picking me up. Arms I know. A blurry face I recognize. Another pair of arms I know places a blanket over me, covering my nakedness. I stop screaming, only realizing I've been doing it when the ringing in my ears finally stops and is replaced by my name.

"Bianca. Bianca. Bianca. Bianca."

It’s like a prayer. “Come back. Be okay. Don't be hurt. Come back to me, princess.”

And that's when it happens. It finally goes dark. The darkness lets go, but yet it embraces me at the same time. I’m safe.

* * *

I
wake
up in a bed I know. A bed I've been sleeping in for the better part of my life. A room that is too girly and too childish for any girl my age. It’s my room at my childhood home.

One thing's different, though. There is a strong pair of masculine arms wrapped around me. I get that feeling again, like I'm going to fall apart if no one holds me together. But I'm not alone now. Someone else is keeping me together.

"Morning," he tells me. His voice is sleepy, husky. I look up at him, and I start weeping. Relief floods my body, relaxing my muscles for the first time in days.

"Is this a dream?" I ask softly, tears streaking down my face.

"No, princess," Matteo tells me, kissing my forehead gently. "I'm really here. You're okay. You're safe now."

I let him hold me until someone clears his throat. I look up to find my father sitting in an armchair on the opposite end of the room. "You all right, baby girl?" he asks me.

I blush, trying not to think of the awkward situation. Instead, I get out of bed, thankful that someone put me in PJs. I rush towards my daddy and hug him close. I need to feel him to know I'm finally home.

"What happened?" I ask.

"You're all right now." It’s another familiar voice. I look up from my father's arms to find Angelo Abbate standing in my bedroom. I nearly choke. These two cannot be in the same room. Surely there must be a mistake.

"What's going on?" I ask, looking from one man to the other.

Matteo comes up behind me, wrapping his strong, steady arms securely around my waist. He lifts me up as if I weigh nothing and carries me to the sofa on the far side of the room. He pulls me down into his lap and I curl up against his chest as the three men start to speak.

"The man who took you, unfortunately, worked for me," Abbate says. "Antonio Romero."

"One of three brothers," I say, nodding slowly. "I saw them.... When I was in the cell. I didn't know which one was which."

"Antonio was unhinged," Matteo says into my hair. "We never knew. He hid it well. Some monsters are apparent to the eye, but others hide in the light. You never know how twisted they are until they strike the first time."

“His sister died,” I say with a heavy heart. “It must’ve happened when he was younger….”

“A sister?” Abbate looks at me questioningly. “I didn’t know there was a sister.”

I nod fervently. “Yes, she must’ve been younger than them all. Their father…he abused her and then killed her one day. I think it’s what spurred all of his issues.”

We all sit in silence for a moment, but I have to ask, I have to know. “What happened to him?” My hands shake in my lap as I wait for their answer. They’re all quiet for a long time, and I grow uneasy.

“He was shot,” Matteo says finally.

“But he got away,” my father says.

“He might be dead,” Abbate tells me.

“But he might still be out there.” Matteo squeezes my hand reassuringly. “I won’t let you out of my sight, though. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you ever again. I will always keep you safe. Always.”

I nod slowly. I have more questions, mainly about the reason why they’re all so friendly – or at least civil – to each other. I ask, but I don’t expect the answers that start pouring from the three men’s lips.

It seems that I am the reason. The hunt for me brought them all together. It’s as if I have a new family. They seem so intent on protecting me, it makes me feel warm inside, but I can’t seem to squelch the nagging fear in the back of my mind. Antonio. It’s better to believe that he’s dead. It’s better to move on.

As I squeeze Matteo’s hand and he returns the motion with a wolfish smile, I know he will keep his promise to keep me safe. Always. There is no way Antonio can hurt me ever again.