Dark Blood: A Mafia Hitman Romance (2 page)

She speaks to me rapidly in Italian, which I speak fluently, since I spent three years studying abroad.

“Your father is a kind man,” she says. “He is good, and he only means you well. He is broken after the death of your brother.”

“I know,” I reply in Italian. I’m trying to hide the hurt in my voice. It’s always about the men in this family. The women are only supposed to follow along, nod and obey.

But what if I wanted a different life?

What if I wanted to make choices of my own, even if they were the wrong ones?

I’ll never be able to learn from my mistakes now….

The assistant seems to sense my unease, and she rattles on. “Trust your father. You are in grave danger, Miss Bianca. Your life is fragile…. You – ”

“What the fuck?”

My guard interrupts her, and the woman blushes violently. Franco steps in front of me protectively and glares at the poor assistant. “No one gave you permission to speak to Bianca.”

I can tell from his posture that he’s nervous. He only speaks a few words of Italian, and he’s wondering what the woman told me.

“You’ll be punished for this,” he tells her in an authoritative voice, and my blood freezes in my veins. I know the way my family handles punishments and it’s not something I want doled out on this poor, innocent woman. “Get out of the way.”

The assistant bows her head and moves away, without so much as a question. Always with total obedience…. She’s like a trained animal. The sad part is, though I exceed her rank in this house, I act much the same – always following orders.

I follow Franco towards the car and I can tell he’s pissed off. My other guard, Gianni, awaits for us outside. Franco motions for me to wait in the car and he opens the door for me to slide in, closing it behind me. I watch him speaking in hushed tones to Gianni right outside my tinted window.

I’m pondering my own fate when I see several figures approaching us. They’re men I don’t recognize, and they’re wearing expressions that scare me. I’m about to scream or alert my guards to their presence when Gianni drops to the ground and a gunshot rings out in the air.

An ambush. Right on my father’s property.

I don’t dare make a sound. The man who has been by my side for the past ten years is bleeding to death on my daddy’s driveway. Franco is looking around frantically, realizing he is surrounded. A silent scream has become permanently lodged in my throat.

Franco looks right at me, even though he can’t see me through the tinted window. He raises a finger to his lips and motions for me to stay quiet. Maybe they won’t find me.

A rouge flower blooms on Franco’s chest as another shot rings out. There is a huge commotion as daddy’s guards are alerted to what’s going on. My heart is beating faster than it ever has in my life as I watch three masked figures kick my guards’ dead bodies off to the side.

I fight every instinct. I don’t scream. I bite my tongue and I pray for my life to be spared.

A masked face appears in the glass, looking right into the interior of the car. I know he can’t see me, but I can no longer suppress my scream. As soon as the piercing sound leaves my lips, I know I’ve sealed my fate.

The door to the car opens, and large, strong hands make a grab for me. I’m screaming my head off, my mouth opened in a grotesque grimace. I inhale deeply, too late to realize someone’s pressed a foul smelling towel over my mouth and nose. My lungs fill with alcohol and poison, and I see dark spots in front of my eyes.

Darkness and monsters, coming to get me.

One of the monsters has taken off his mask and is staring right at me, a wicked grin painted on his face as I slowly plunge into total darkness.

He is beautiful.

A beautiful fucking monster.

S
he is not a willing victim
.

You would think that given the strength of the drug we used and her frail appearance, she’d go down easy. But the girl has some fight in her and she struggles against me, trying to break free. Finally, she goes under and stops screaming. Thank fuck for that.

Of course, I noticed how beautiful she was right away. It doesn’t make a difference for me.

I’m going to kill her to make my father proud. I’ll take another innocent fucking life, watch the blood leave her body, and dump her corpse in a grave I dig myself. I won’t feel a damned thing. I never do.

I’d killed the girl’s brother only a few days ago. She would be an orphan soon, or so she thought when she walked into daddy’s mansion today. Now, I wonder whether her daddy will be left to mourn her death before his. I know that’s what my father wants.

I wait for Bianca Da Costa’s body to go limp in my arms. I wait until my team fills the car we’re in and starts driving towards our destination. We don’t speak much – we never do. After all, we’re just trained fucking dogs, left out to kill, kill, kill.

I sit in the back of the car with the unconscious girl. I look at her without any real interest.

She is a unique beauty. Tanned skin, bronzed by sun, not that crap chicks use to get fake color. Her hair is dark, not quite black but instead a rich chocolate brown, glossy and straight. And her eyes right before she closed them were a striking blue color like the sea in my home country.

A pretty piece of ass is all she is. I hear she’s a virgin, too. I wonder detachedly whether one of my men will rape her or if she’ll die untouched.

It’s a shame. She is a pretty girl.

I avert my gaze and look out the car window instead. The scenery is passing by fast as we leave the Da Costa property, the old man’s men shouting and screaming as we drive off. We took her right under daddy’s watchful eyes. I’m a sick bastard and the fact that I stole her turns me right the fuck on.

Even though I shouldn’t, I look back at the girl sprawled out on the backseat. Her white summer dress is wrinkled and riding up her thigh, revealing an inch of tanned skin that is dangerously close to being inappropriate.

Carelessly, I touch the cotton fabric and inch it up a bit more until I reveal her panties. Light pink and lacy. So fucking innocent.

A voice inside my head is screaming at me to rip them off, see how juicy her pussy is underneath the thin fabric. But even I’m not that much of a bastard – though I’m finding it hard to resist.

My cell phone rings, waking me from the dirty reverie. I answer it in a clipped tone.

“Matteo.”

It’s my father.

I already feel nervous, and he’s only so far said my name.

“Yes, father,” I respond.

“Don’t call me that,” he barks, and I curse myself for overstepping. I always make the same fucking mistake, even though my father has made it clear he doesn’t see me as a son.

All I am is a killing machine. A rabid dog sent out to ravage the victims my father chooses. I don’t mind this life. I don’t care that the innocent signorina next to me is sentenced to die. I’ll only deliver the blow.

Then she stirs in her unconsciousness. Her lips open with a soft pop and I’m fucking mesmerized. It’s only for a second, but her glossy, cherry-tinted mouth distracts me.

“Are you fucking listening, Matteo?” my father says on the other end of the line, and I snap back to reality.

Plump lips.

She’ll die in a matter of days.

Her pink lace panties.

She’ll be a pretty corpse, at least. Or maybe not, by the time we’re done with her.

“Sorry,” I say to my father. “I’m here.”

“Everything go according to plan?”

“She’s in the car with me now,” I confirm.

“Did you see the father?” my father asks hungrily in Italian. “Did you see the look on his face when you took her? Was he hurt?”

“No…, I….” I try to interrupt, but my father keeps talking. I let him finish before going on. “He was inside the house. They’ve probably told him she’s gone by now.”

“Good.” Despite his words, father doesn’t sound pleased. He sounds fucking anxious. Why is this girl so important?

My eyes roam over her again. Yeah, she’s a beauty. Maybe there’s more to this than just my father’s rage at her papa. Maybe there’s another story there.

I don’t get another opportunity to think this over.

“Bring her to the bunker,” father continues, this time in English. “Tie her down. Make sure she can’t run.”

“You don’t want me to kill her?” I’m surprised. I thought that was the plan all along. Take her away, kill her, deliver her lifeless body back to her father and watch him fucking weep. Another lost child, another murdered family member. We were making our way through his lineage, and fast.

“Okay,” I say, but Papa has already cut our connection. I stare at the dead phone in my hand and curse inwardly. Of course, I’m too much of a fucking coward to confess that to my father.

I look at the girl again. Bianca Da Costa. She’s so similar to me in so many ways, but so fucking different at the same time.

My papa is a mafia king, too. And I’m an illegitimate child just like Bianca. But unlike her father, mine has an abundance of sons, all ready to take his throne after he passes. He doesn’t need a bastard like me.

That’s why he turned me into his personal killing machine.

The car comes to a stop and I snap back to reality. One of my dogs opens the door and I scoop the girl’s frail, lithe body into my hands. I’m holding her tighter than I should, relishing the feeling of her soft, gentle skin on my own. It’s not like I haven’t fucked in a while. In fact, I was serviced by a maid this morning and she chugged down my cum like a professional.

I walk outside and the dogs watch me with their masked faces. We’re on a hill, the grass burnt down to a crisp brown during this unusual summer heat. Someone’s already opened the door to the bunker, and I climb down the ladder, carefully balancing the girl in my arms.

Technically, we’re still on my father’s property. It’s a long way to his mansion, and the grass is greener there – juicy and thick, watered by several gardeners even in the drought. This place out back is a secret, one that my father’s women prefer to ignore. They know what goes down in the cells in this bunker. Rape, murder, beatings, illegal fights…. All things they’d rather not know about. That doesn’t mean they don’t happen.

I reach the bottom of the ladder and my feet land on the ground with a thud. I motion for the dogs to do their own shit. I want to be alone with the pretty girl with the stormy blue eyes. I want to see the fear in them when she wakes up. The thought alone is already making me hard.

I carry her into the cell we’ve chosen for her. It’s nothing more than an empty room with shackles and a scummy toilet in the far corner. There’s no window, no light when I turn off the light bulb hanging overhead. She’ll be fucking terrified when she wakes up here.

For reasons unknown to me, I’ve already decided to wait with her until she wakes up. She’s probably eight years younger than I am, if not ten, and she’s my captive. Still, I want to see those pupils dilate with fear when she sees me again.

I set her down on the ground none too gently and shackle her hands and feet. Her pretty dress gets dirty in a second, and I briefly wonder what kind of stupid prima donna would wear such a thing. One that hasn’t dirtied her hands her entire life, that’s who.

She’ll wake up any minute now. The drug we gave her was only supposed to knock her out for an hour or so, and that’s how long the drive took.

I sit down in the far corner of the room, partially hidden by the shadows. Just in time, too, as she’s already coming to in her shackles.

She’s not graceful when she wakes up. She stirs in the chains, moving this way and that, already panicking. It’s like she’s been expecting this all along.

Bianca Da Costa wakes up from her horrible dream, only to realize she’s stuck in an even bigger nightmare. I grin to myself in the shadows, watching her rip her dress on the shackles. Then I laugh like a fucking rabid dog.

She turns towards the source of the laughter. I can almost hear her heart pounding as her eyes try to decipher my shape in the shadows.

“Hey, beautiful,” I growl, stepping out of the corner.

She cowers at my feet. So fucking vulnerable.

I’m already rock hard.

“W-who are you?” Her voice is hoarse from just waking up. She scrambles on her feet, trying to get away from me. When I step closer, I step on the chain connecting her to the ground to stop her from moving.

“I’m your worst fucking nightmare,” I tell her.

I
’m staring
into the cold face of a killer. There’s no question about it, this man has delivered pain, and now it’s my turn to be on the receiving end.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” I beg him, despite wanting to stay strong. I’m slowly recuperating from the loss of consciousness and the details start trickling back. I’ve been kidnapped in the cold light of day, stolen right from my father’s property.

His foot grinds on the chain and I’m too afraid to look up at him, worried of what will happen when I see his face again. “Why shouldn’t I?” he mocks me.

I don’t have an answer to that, so I just whimper and start saying a prayer my mama taught me in Italian.

“Your god won’t help you now,” the man interrupts me in smooth Italian. “You’re at my fucking mercy.”

I’m trembling as I finally look up again. He’s just as handsome as he was when he took me from daddy’s property. A mess of dark hair and cold brown eyes that are so dark I can’t quite make out the pupils. He’s built like a rock, and any hope of getting past him escapes me as my eyes drink in his form hungrily. Besides, I’m still chained to the ground….

“Like what you see?” he asks me, and I try to avert my gaze. He won’t let me, and he grabs my chin, making me look directly into his eyes instead. “Get a good fucking look, princess.”

“You’re hurting me,” I mewl. “Please….”

“Do I look like I care?” His voice is cold, but I do notice his grip on my chin loosens. He crouches down next to me until we’re eye-to-eye. “I don’t do well with begging, princess. Unless you’re asking for more.”

I don’t want to know more of what.

“Am I going to die?” I ask. I feel almost detached, like this isn’t happening to me. The man doesn’t answer me, his monstrously handsome face devoid of all emotion.

He gets up, and I feel the loss of his strong touch on my skin. It feels even colder and emptier in this cell now.

“Don’t leave,” I say, even though I don’t mean for the words to slip out. I can feel myself blushing, but I keep my eyes firmly trained on the man as he turns around, looking at me with surprise.

“Why?” he wants to know.

“I don’t want to be alone.” My voice is trembling. “Kill me now; just get it over with.”

I’ve been my daddy’s daughter long enough. As head of the family, I know he has many enemies. I don’t need to know who took me, and I suspect I won’t live long enough to find out. I wonder whether this man will kill me, or if he’ll send in someone else to do his dirty work. Since I’ve already seen his face, I don’t harbor any hope of getting out of here alive.

The man doesn’t respond. He just stares at me, standing up above me. He’s so huge it makes me feel like he’s the hunter and I’m the prey. I should be scared for my life, but I’ve already accepted I’m going to die. Maybe I’ve always known somewhere deep down it would happen like this.

“Take off your dress,” he tells me, all of a sudden.

“W-what?” I’m stuttering again, blinking fast. “Why?”

“I don’t need to give you a fucking reason,” he growls.

Now I’m terrified. He’s going to hurt me, for real this time. Feeling brave, I shake my head no in response to his order.

He’s next to me in a fraction of a second, roughly grabbing me by the cheeks. “I give orders, you follow them,” he tells me. “Now take. Off. Your. Fucking. Dress.”

I’m so scared of him I follow his order blindly, but the shackles are restraining my wrists and I can’t pull the dress off. I whimper, and the man furiously lets go of my face. I prepare for the impact of a blow. Instead, he reaches for my dress and has it ripped down the middle within a second.

I’m left exposed in my matching pink lace lingerie set, and I can feel his eyes devouring my body. He doesn’t comment on anything, though. He just turns his back on me and walks out of the room.

Trembling, I tug on the chains and look for a way to escape. I want to get away before the man returns, but I’m quickly realizing it’s just not possible.

He’s back a moment later with a small red box. I’m trembling as he sits down next to me.

“You’re hurt.” His voice is cold. I narrow my eyes at him, and then realize something is aching on my back. I try to look over my shoulder, but the restraints won’t allow for much movement.

“Stay the fuck still,” the man snarls at me. “You have a bad scratch on your back.”

He moves behind me and I tense when his cold fingers touch my scalding hot skin. Something strongly scented infuses the air, and for a moment I’m scared he’s going to drug me again. Instead, he applies something stinging to my skin and starts bandaging it up. I can feel the gash on my back now, and I can feel the blood oozing out.

“Must’ve happened down here,” he says, more to himself than to me. I can hear the sound of glass on the ground. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself. He cleans the glass off the ground and I try not to think about what it was doing there in the first place. Soon enough, he’s back behind me and working on my scratch.

I can’t see him as he patches me up. Soon, the pain is nothing more than a sting on my back.

The man moves back in front of me, his hands stained with my blood. The sight makes me sick.

“Why did you do that?” I ask. “Why did you fix me if you’re going to kill me?”

He looks like he doesn’t know the answer himself. He wipes his hands on a rag he pulled from his pocket, and I sit there, simmering with anger.

“Just do it!” I scream at him. “Cut me, shoot me, hang me…. Kill me.”

He looks over his shoulder without interest. He thinks I’m just some drama queen, but I’m serious.

At least, I think I am.

“I want to die,” I tell him. I think of what awaits me here, trapped in this horrible room. I also think of the alternative – doing what daddy wants and marrying a man I don’t love. “I want to die,” I repeat, my voice breaking over the words.

He steps closer, a small smile playing on his lips. “You don’t want to live?”

I shake my head no, and before I have a chance to change my mind, he’s grabbed me by my throat and slammed me against the wall. I gasp and all the air deflates from my lungs. The chains are pulling painfully on my arms and legs, and the man is right up in my face. He is even more hauntingly beautiful up close.

“You really want to die?” he asks softly, a sharp contrast to the rough way he’s pressing me into the wall. “You want me to slit your throat, watch your blood stain your skin and that pretty lingerie you’re wearing?”

I can’t answer, even if I wanted to. His grip is too strong. I’m trembling as I shake my head. How fast he can break me. It makes me fear what’s in store for me next.

“You’re pathetic,” he tells me with a sneer. “Don’t make comments like that unless you actually mean them. Ungrateful bitch.”

He’s about to let go of me and let me hit the floor hard when I whimper. His eyes show a flicker of sympathy, and I’m shocked when he sets me down on the ground gently. My heart is pounding and I crawl on my knees into the corner, as far away as I can get from him.

He doesn’t look at me again. Instead, he leans with his palms up against the wall and stares at the floor.

I’m surprisingly calm given the situation. I guess I’ve been preparing for this type of thing my whole life. Losing control, losing my free will. The only change is the man who is in charge.

“Don’t you want to know why you’re here?” he asks me quietly.

“You’re with the Abbate family,” I say bluntly.

He turns around, his motions abrupt. I almost expect him to hit me, but he comes up to me instead, getting on his knees until we’re dangerously close. My heart is pounding and I can feel sweat prickling my back. I feel so vulnerable and exposed…. He did tear off my dress.

“How do you know?” he asks, a genuine curiosity in his voice.

I shrug. “The Abbate family hates my father. I assume Angelo is finally getting revenge for whatever ill he believes my father caused him.”

The man’s fist slams into the wall behind me, mere inches away from my face. “You think the reason is so trivial?” he asks me, then laughs. The sound is bitter.

“I don’t know the reason,” I admit. “But I’m sure my daddy wouldn’t hurt Angelo Abbate on purpose.”

“You’re wrong, little girl,” he says. “So very fucking wrong.”

I raise my head stubbornly, feeling as foolish as I am brave. I don’t say a word though, biting my tongue instead. The man stalks away, shooting me warning glances.

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” he finally asks.

I ponder his question. In truth, I am not afraid. I wanted to get away from daddy’s plans for me. I prayed for a solution every night before I went to bed. I know this is God’s penance for questioning daddy’s way.

“I don’t know,” I tell him softly. “I know I should be. You’re a monster.”

“And you’re the goddamned beauty,” he snarls at me. “Except this isn’t a fucking fairytale, and by the end of the night, you might be dead.”

I don’t react the way I assume he wishes I would. Instead, I stare at my bound hands.

“Do you know what happened between them?” I ask. I’m genuinely curious. The Abbate family has been our rivals for as long as I can remember, but I can’t really pinpoint what started the feud. Maybe this man can shed some light on it.

He doesn’t say a word, his lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, he shakes his head no. I guess he doesn’t know everything either.

I have an idea then. “How much is Abbate paying you?” I ask the man, a feral tone I don’t recognize in my voice. This isn’t just about survival anymore. It’s about freedom – my freedom.

“None of your goddamned business,” the man snarls. “Why do you care?”

“I could pay you more,” I say. “I have money.”

“I don’t want your daddy’s money.”

I shake in the chains impatiently. “Not my daddy’s. Mine. I have a trust fund my mother left me.”

He gives me a curious look. “You want to pay me yourself…to get you back to your dad? What the hell is the point in that?”

I hesitate for a moment, wondering whether I should tell him the truth. Of course I shouldn’t, he’s a hitman! But I can’t help the words slipping from my lips now.

“I don’t want to go back to daddy,” I admit, probably for the first time. “Just get me out of here. Get me away…. I won’t talk. I won’t come back, I swear. Just give me freedom.”

A thousand possibilities bloom before my eyes. I could get away and start anew. No daddy to keep track of me, and no Lorenzo to make sure I behave. No enemies and no past. A way to wipe away the crimes of the past and pretend I’m the girl with a future.

“You’re delusional if you think I’m going to do that.” The stranger smashes my dreams to pieces. “My father would fucking have my head on a plate.”

I raise my eyes and search his face desperately. “Your father?”

He turns around swiftly and I realize he slipped. He didn’t mean to say that…. But it’s out in the open now. “Your father is Angelo Abbate?” I ask out loud, inhaling a sharp breath.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls in response.

“Are you…?” My breath catches in my throat, and for a second, I’m scared he’ll push me up against the wall again. But he remains standing still, with his back turned towards me and his shoulders nervous.

“You’re Matteo Salini,” I finally realize. I can’t fucking believe it. The Blood Hound.

Matteo Salini is Angelo Abbate’s bastard. One of the unlucky ones, whom Angelo never accepted as his own, hence the last name. Instead of treating him like his own, like daddy did with me, Angelo recruited Matteo to be his hitman. I know, because I’ve heard stories about what he’s done to him.

Matteo was pumped full of drugs and trained to kill like a dog. Smell blood, draw blood, kill, kill, kill. He’s the best hitman there is, the best weapon the Abbate family has.

I’m also certain Matteo Salini, the handsome monster in front of me, killed my brother Lorenzo.

“Did you kill Lorenzo?” I whisper in Italian.

Finally, Matteo looks over his shoulder and his gaze tells me everything I need to know. Desperate, with a sadness deep within but always, always underlined with cruelty. He’s a goddamned savage. He took my brother from me. He sentenced me to the fate daddy picked for me, or to this hellhole of a prison. Two options, two different kinds of death.

“Assassino,” I scream at him. “You killed Lorenzo, you fucking monster.”

He looks broken. Like a sad little boy. But I don’t give a fuck who made him do it. I don’t care if he was on drugs. I will have my revenge for the death of my brother.

“Bianca….” he starts.

“You dare say my name?” I retort.

“You’re the prisoner here,” he snarls in response, darting across the cell to hover directly in front of me. His expressions change faster than the weather. He must be really fucked up.

He’s right in my face, and I feel like I’m being faced with a vicious snarling dog. “You’d better fucking behave.”

I muster up all my courage and spit in his face.

He stares at me for a long moment, then chuckles like I’m amusing him. My spit runs down his cheek, onto his lip. He licks it. I look away, unable to look at him. Disgusting cazzo.

He grips my cheeks again and makes me eyeball him.

“I killed him,” he tells me, confirming my doubts. “I followed my father’s orders. You’re a daddy’s girl, Bianca.” He purposefully emphasizes my name, probably to mess with me because I told him not to use it. Prick. “You should be able to understand what it’s like to follow your capo’s orders.”

I blush and try to look away, but he won’t let me. His grip on my cheeks tightens.

“I am sorry you lost your brother,” he says. “He was a pawn. We all are.”

I stay quiet. I don’t think him worthy of a response.

Matteo’s finger is caressing my cheek. I don’t even know whether he knows he’s doing it. It’s the lightest touch, soft, feather-like strokes. I lean against his hand despite not wanting to.

“What’s this?” His voice is softer, and alarm bells start to go off in my head. “Has beauty succumbed to the beast already?”

I close my eyes, holding back tears. His finger moves to my lips and he parts them softly. So gentle for such a monster.