Kiss & Control: A Mafia Romance Read online

  I pinch the space between my eyes, flustered. I can’t take care of a girl and chase down leads. Besides, the cabin is too far from the city to pop over whenever I want. Someone will know something is up after a few trips. “How are you so sure they’re related? Maybe Lombardi shorted one of his men and…”

  “No one crosses Antonio for money. They know better. This is bigger than that.”

  I pull my hand from my face, remembering the Russian fuck that waved a piece at me this morning on my way to my parents’ house. Papa brushed it off when I brought it up, but every lead needed to be run down. “Bratva?”

  He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Please. If it was those idiots, you would’ve heard them bragging a mile away. They’re too messy. They wouldn’t kill the girl, either. She’s worth more for their whoring operation alive than dead.”

  “Other than Lombardi, they’re the only group we’ve had any issues with after crushing the Polish pricks.” Repeated, ongoing issues that seem to escalate by the day. They blew into town like a sour wind and lingered.

  Torin eyes me critically. “You don’t have any men pulling away recently? Nothing out of the ordinary?”

  I shake my head. “Honestly, after the Polish shootout, everyone has seemed checked out some days. Even Pop. There’s no incentive to stay with the family other than loyalty. Lombardi has the money. Bratva have the pussy and drugs.”

  We have an alcoholic leader with an anger problem and a wave of old blood in our crew that’ll likely leave whenever he croaks. The newer generation knows it, too. Without Aidan, we’re completely off-course. Nolan is next in line, but he doesn’t give a damn about anything but drinking and having fun. I wouldn’t be shocked if he runs off to Vegas for a life of booze and gambling. I won’t blame him, either. At least he won’t have a target on his head there. Seeing Aidan this morning might’ve been the final straw for him. He doesn’t want to be next, and neither do I.

  “You don’t kill Antonio’s daughter for all the pussy, drugs, and money in the world,” he scoffs. “I need to go. I’ll be in touch. I grabbed basic supplies and stocked the place. It’s enough for a few days.”

  I’m assuming by stocked, he means the two plastic grocery bags discarded in a corner next to the firewood stand. The rest of this place is a ghost town of cobwebs and dust.

  “Where the fuck are you going? You can’t leave me with her. I have an operation to run.”

  He narrows his eyes. “She’s contained. You don’t need to babysit. Just leave some food out every few days, and like any scared dog, she’ll eat. She has a toilet, too, so you don’t need to walk her.”

  He’s too flippant about the whole thing and it makes me want to put his head through a wall. He kidnapped Antonio fucking Lombardi’s daughter and plopped her in my lap like a cat with a dead bird. “And when this is done? Do we let her go run back to daddy to tell him how we held her captive?”

  He chuckles, reaching for the front door’s handle. “We’re an hour from Atlantic City. When the time comes, we get daddy’s little girl drunk off her ass, give her some happy pills, and drop her off at a casino. It’ll look like she went on a wild bender. She’ll say such nonsense that Antonio won’t believe a word she says.”

  “Tor…” I trail, but he shakes his head.

  “We need to do this for Aidan. Let me do what I do best. You do what you do best: keep your mouth shut and ears open. I’ll be in touch.”

  He slips out the door, leaving me alone in the gritty shack that reeks of dirt and neglect.

  The only cabinet in the place sits on the far wall with its door hanging off the hinges, a flashlight atop its stained counter aiming at the ceiling to supply light. The cabin has a small propane generator to run the plumbing to the well and septic tank, but other than that, it lacks wiring for lighting or appliances.

  A moan comes from behind the bathroom door, pulling my eyes from the disrepair.

  Fuck.

  I hoped for a little more time to come up with a plan before facing Lombardi’s kid. I’m not in the right headspace to deal with another crisis. All cylinders are still moving at full steam over Aidan. I want to kill someone, not care for someone like a pet.

  Torin said she was contained, but I highly doubt that means just locked in the bathroom. That’s too simple. Knowing him, he has her in a fucking dog cage with a collar.

  I cross the room, stopping to listen at the door and hoping she’s just stirring in her sleep. God only knows what the fuck he’d slipped her. He isn’t exactly orthodox in his decisions. The poor girl could have enough horse tranquilizers running through her veins to down a lineup at the Kentucky Derby.

  Another moan erupts with a clank of metal against the wooden floor.

  Reaching into my pocket, I extract my cell, flipping its flashlight on with a deep breath as I grip the door handle. I ease the door open, and there’s another shuffle, the sound coming from the corner by the toilet.

  I shine the flashlight toward it and feel an unfamiliar ache in my chest at the sight. One of pure pity.

  There in a ball sits a woman propped against the wall.

  A girl, really.

  Early twenties at most with cuffed wrists, the binds attached to a chain at their center. The short length of metal wraps around the base of the clawfoot tub, anchoring her like a dog on a leash.

  Dark brown waves hang around her oval face, her cheek bearing an angry welt. Inky makeup streaks from her eyes, their long lashes resting against flawless olive skin. She looks like a doll rescued from the brink of hell.

  I pry my eyes from her face downward, exploring the black dress that barely covers a petite body, the hem bunched on her hips to show off a lacy black triangle between her legs while a plunging neckline reveals tanned cleavage that easily knocks Siobhan off her nicest knockers in Philly pedestal.

  Any man with functioning eyes would give a nut for a chance to fuck her. But my mind immediately goes to the cold. She has to be freezing. It’s October, and this shithole has no heat.

  She’s pathetic. Helpless.

  God, I want to strangle Torin.

  She has no place in our world.

  This is precisely why I have no interest in settling down. This girl could very well be my daughter someday, caught up in some bullshit she has no idea about. Killed for sins she didn’t commit.

  Tipping off Lombardi would’ve been the easier route by a mile. At least she’d be home in her own bed instead of… this. No one deserves what she’ll wake to. Even if she’s a Lombardi.

  Before I can turn away, Sleeping Beauty’s lashes flutter and her lips part with an agonized moan.

  4

  Eva

  Don’t stop fighting.

  No matter how hard I try, my eyes refuse to open fully. The lids are impossibly heavy.

  Everything is. My head. Arms. Legs. It feels like concrete has encased my body.

  I whimper, struggling as my muscles refuse to obey basic commands. All I can do is shiver while a confusing mixture of stinging and numbness ravage my skin from every angle. I’m freezing.

  Musk and earth burn my nose, the scent so powerful that I taste it on my tongue with every breath. I’m inhaling it in gulps. Drowning in it.

  Light burns my eyelids, but I can’t shield them from the invasion. Is it the sun? How is it morning already? I was just at Minerva’s.

  The memory immediately brings knots to my stomach.

  The man.

  He kidnapped me.

  I can vaguely remember waking somewhere cold and dark. I screamed, and he forced something bitter into my mouth. A powder. I tried to fight him off with everything I had before sleep took me again.

  Fuck. What did he give me? I don’t want to die.

  My back presses into something cold and hard—maybe stone or tile—I can’t be sure. I will my hands to move, but the signal misfires, the limbs struggling to make sense of the command.

  I turn to sound, though I’m unable to make out much over the chatter of my te
eth. But what I hear horrifies me all the more, adding a chill down my spine besides the tremors from the cold. Chains clattering.

  I manage a tiny screech. It isn’t much, but it’s something. It’s better than sitting here accepting my fate in silence. I’m Evangelina Lombardi. I’m someone. I won’t go down quietly. If there’s a chance for someone to hear me, I’m taking it.

  “Don’t be scared,” a voice mumbles—one that definitely doesn’t belong to the man from Minerva’s. His was a jumbled mix with clear Irish undertones. This one is straight Philly. Gritty. Deep.

  My stomach clenches as my mouth refuses to form the swears and demands running through my mind a mile a minute. I’m a prisoner trapped in my own skin, forced into silence.

  “I won’t hurt you. You’re safe.”

  The man in the alley said the same thing. I’m not safe anywhere but at home. I never should’ve gone to Minerva’s. Papa tried to tell me. I disobeyed, and I'm paying the ultimate price. I’ll die alone, and Papa will never know what happened to me.

  “People are after you. That’s why you had to leave for a little while. You’ll be back with your father again soon. I promise.”

  People are after me?

  Does this idiot know who my father is? There’s nowhere safer than our compound. Papa’s men have more firepower than the entire city’s police force. I’ve seen the assault rifles tucked away while snooping.

  Something heavy and warm drapes over my front, shielding me from the cold. In an instant, it chases away the putrid earthy air, replacing it with spicy cologne.

  “Keep a level head. It’ll be a lonely few days, but you’ll be home soon.”

  Days?

  I struggle against my body’s binds, powerless.

  Had the man paralyzed me?

  Terror courses through me. No, no, no, no. I need to be free.

  “I’ll be back. Take this for now. I’ll bring something better, I promise.”

  A rough warmth trails along my cheek. It takes a second to register that it’s a hand. Every fiber of my being demands I punch the stranger, but my body still fails to react.

  A moment later, he’s gone, taking the burning light with him and leaving me in darkness.

  The sound of rain wakes me.

  Heavy rain.

  I don’t know how long it’s been since the stranger left, and as my eyes flutter open, I realize it isn’t just the sound that’d woken me.

  Fat, cold drops strike my head in a steady rhythm from above.

  I glance up to find the source of the drops, seeing the faint shimmer of water slipping between the ceiling’s logs.

  I take in the dark room around me, piecing together the scene until I figure out it’s a bathroom with a utility sink on the far wall and a rusted-out toilet next to me. The clawfoot tub to my left would almost be welcome if it weren’t for the chain wrapped around its feet that connects to the handcuffs around my wrists.

  The urge to cry comes rushing in, but I bat it away just as fast. Crying won’t do me any good right now. I need to think. To make sense of all this.

  My skin pebbles with goosebumps from the bitter air, the gift from the stranger now pooling at my waist after apparently slipping in my sleep. It’s a man’s gray coat, and I can still smell his cologne on it. If he weren’t a kidnapping creep, I might like the scent. It’s warm and inviting, unlike the sharp citrus that Papa wears.

  Pushing it off, I move to my knees, my body aching from being folded up for so long. I’m still in my dress from Minerva’s though it’s showing a hell of a lot more than it should’ve with the skirt riding up to bear my thong to the world.

  For a moment, horror seizes my core, the fear of rape front and center.

  But with a nervous glance down, everything looks in place. There isn’t any blood, and that area feels fine. Nothing hurts in the slightest.

  Other than stiff joints and a headache, I feel surprisingly ok physically given the circumstances.

  As I inch to my feet, I listen closely, praying my kidnappers won’t come rushing in. I need to think. To assess the situation. Planning an escape takes time.

  My heels are long gone, leaving me barefoot on the rough wooden floorboards. Dirt and dried pine needles coat them, the combination harsh against my skin.

  I barely have two feet of chain to work with, leaving me enough room to waddle to the toilet from the bathtub. Crouching, I study the chain around the tub, touching my fingers to the cool basin and quivering inside. It’s cast iron. There’s no hope of breaking a leg off of it and running. The chain is thick, weighing painfully on the metal shackles around my wrists.

  Checking the cuffs, I mentally kick myself for not opting for an updo last night. At least then I’d have a bobby pin to work with. I don’t know how to pick a lock, but I could’ve figured it out, eventually.

  I’m trapped. Hopelessly.

  And completely at the mercy of my captors.

  “Hello?” I call, turning my back to the tub and looking at the room’s only door, a faint wooden slab I can barely make out in the dim light streaming through a sliver of a window high above. “I’m awake in here.”

  I remember the stranger mentioning it’d be a lonely few days, but I highly doubt someone would leave a prisoner alone.

  “Hurry, already!” I challenge. “You said people call you Death. You can’t just declare that and march off into the unknown and have other people do your bidding, bud.”

  I could very well be talking to no one, but I don’t care. I want to punch that asshole in the face. And when I get home, I plan on slapping Perla silly. If she hadn’t snuck off for bathroom dick, I probably wouldn’t be standing here in handcuffs.

  “Come on! Show yourself!” I shout, glaring at the door while wiggling my wrists in the cuffs, trying to fold my hands small enough to slip through them with little success.

  Death is smarter than he looks. The cuffs are snug, and as I give the chain a tug, I realize this isn’t bargain bin material. These aren’t restraints you’d have lying around the house. Not even if you’re kink-minded.

  Staring at the filthy bathroom, reality swoops in. Death didn’t merely snatch me on a whim. He planned this. He’s countless steps ahead of Papa and his men, even if they’re tearing the city apart looking for me. Well, if anyone realizes I’m missing yet.

  The rain makes it hard to gauge the time, but it has to be morning already.

  Someone will realize I’m missing. Perla should’ve already told Papa. I hope.

  Panic sets in, drenching me in a cold sweat. I lift my hands and slam them back down, rattling the chain against the tub. “Help me!”

  If there is any hope of getting out, it’s up to me. Maybe I’m still in the city, in a hovel somewhere. I might be physically helpless, but I still have my mouth and a decent set of lungs. Inheriting Mama’s big mouth might come in handy.

  Again and again, I slash the chain down, screaming.

  I keep at it until my voice is hoarse, and my arms throb from the movement, so tired I can barely lift them.

  It feels like hours have passed.

  And no one comes.

  5

  Fallon

  “Antonio Lombardi’s daughter is missing.”

  Pop delivers the news with a puff of smoke. He sits at his desk, his eyes shadowed in deep circles while his third cigar of the morning smolders between his fingers.

  Nolan’s brows furrow as he sits beside me in one of the leather-wrapped office chairs. “Nikki?”

  Pop takes another draw and pulls his cigar from his lips, releasing a larger plume of white as he looks between us. “No. The younger one. Neither of you know anything about this, right?”

  Nolan frowns, his chest puffing out with offense. “Why? Is the motherfucker trying to blame his whore of a daughter on us now? She’s probably getting banged out by one of his guys.”

  Pop shakes his head, shifting his gaze to me. “She disappeared from Minerva’s last night. Coincidentally, the club’s camera
system was compromised, and no one saw a thing.”

  I cross my arms, playing along. “At Minerva’s? That place is Italian. There’s no fucking way that’s true. Lombardi’s got them all in his pocket.”

  I still don’t know how the fuck Torin pulled off the grab, but the man does things no one can. He’s the underworld’s own Santa Claus that delivers bloody gifts and permanent silence.

  “She was out with a friend when she went missing. According to the rumor mill, Lombardi’s got her and her Irish buddy right now trying to get answers. Do either of you know a Chuckie?”

  Chuckie. It rings a bell. But the problem is, I know about a half-dozen fucking Chuckies.

  Nolan shifts in his seat, agitated. Like me, he hates when Pop drags shit out rather than just saying it outright. “A few.”

  “From the old neighborhood, yeah. What’s it to us? Is he one of ours?” I don’t like this surprise update at all. Torin hadn’t mentioned the girl was out with one of our kind. That throws extra horseshit on top of the already-heaping cart of trouble he parked in our hideout.

  Pop nods slowly, still studying us like we’re lying.

  I am, but I know Nolan doesn’t give two fucks about Lombardi’s girl. The only ones that concern him are ones immediately available to fuck. The one I have chained up is more than off his radar. She’s in another universe.

  “So, is he trying to pin that on us?” I ask, irritated that he isn’t giving us more information. This isn’t a fucking game. “Isn’t it enough that we have to bury our brother? Does he really think we’d go clubbing or give two fucks about his kid?”

  “Eye for an eye,” Pop says with a shrug. “At least that’s what I think he’s figuring. I didn’t accuse the man of being smart or even logical. Someone shits across town and he claims it’s on his lawn half the time.”

  I meet his eyes, the blue beacons glassy with whiskey. “Do you think it’s related to what happened to Aidan?”