Dancing with the Mob: A Dark Mafia Romance Two-Book Collection Read online

What do you really want, Mia? Do you even want him long term, or just a fuck? You could get a fuck anywhere...

  I’d drawn up the pros and cons of the idea in my mind now. Anytime I wanted something, I always did this. Nothing came without a price, so I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t just following the throbbing between my legs when it came to wanting Jack Slade.

  If he was to become beneficiary to the family share of the business, that could be a very useful ally to have. Excellent for business. It could also prove disastrous for business if things didn’t work out. Plus, I still wasn’t sure if he was actually still entitled to anything. And ultimately, the lawyer had been found dead, and I didn’t know where the papers were.

  I fought off feelings of helplessness, not knowing the answers to certain questions as I casually paced the room, reasoning as many possibilities as I could. I did know for sure, that Jack could be counted on, and that my father’s judgment had been right in that department. Maybe I could make him head of security at Mia Bella, too. No. That wouldn’t work. I was a bitch sometimes at work, okay, a lot. I didn’t and wouldn’t want someone I had strong feelings for to be subjected to that. It happened when Mikey tried working for me.

  Mikey.

  Shit.

  The mere thought of him sent my mind spiraling away from the control I’d fought to regain. I sat down on the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths. Listening for the clock.

  In. And out… In. And out… Maybe just focus on the Jack page for now, huh, Mia?

  Good plan.

  The second type of distraction started to creep in. Thinking about Jack always made my tummy tickle, then a line of prickly heat would shoot down from my belly button, right to my clit, making me instantly horny if I thought about him for too long. I struggled to get back to the business theories, mindful of the cameras, too.

  I heard the door buzz, the swish open again. Another trolley. More food. Are they fattening me up for Thanksgiving? What the fuck? I just ate already!

  As soon as I smelt the food, I realized how hungry I was. Hours must have passed by since the breakfast they’d brought me. I had been pacing, visualizing, and thinking about Jack the whole time.

  The three men were like stones, not an expression or single look from one of them. I could see past the frame of the door, and another sleeve with the spiraling wire of communications on it. This place was crawling with men in suits --with guns. My hopes for an easy escape seemed to have some holes in it.

  Within a half a minute, I was alone with an enormous quantity of food again. Maybe this guy did his homework? I knew --right then, that he had turned over every stone. In fact, one of the main reasons I went to therapy, willingly, was to overcome my issues with food. I had been binge eating and I needed help. Addiction ran in the Leone blood like the color red. If it wasn’t booze and coke, it was food, or sex, or murder; or all of them. I forced myself to only open one of the gleaming, rich-smelling, silver domes. I had a little lasagne with some salad, and I put the lid back, wheeling the trolley over to the door. Nobody came for it.

  Keeping my back to the food, I went back to my breathing and visualization. The smells of the rich foods were a distraction. I had to try and make a connection as to why I was taken. Why would Bernardi do something so stupid, what could he possibly gain?

  C’mon, take the fucking trays already. I’m done!

  I started to pace again, keeping my eyes away from the trolley. I wracked my brain, but it still didn’t make any sense. The Bernardi’s had taken over the narcotic side of business, in this town, anyway. It was all theirs. Mia Bella was a legitimate, hugely successful, global company in fashion. It didn’t interfere with any of the Bernardi dealings. Not that I could think of, anyway.

  I paced, I thought. I thought and paced some more. After what felt like the best part of the day had passed, I was starting to feel like I’d had enough already. I couldn’t answer my own questions. I was trying to fill in details, and the huge gaps of the Bernardi’s motives were driving me crazy. I felt the pressure rising up inside me, including the anxiety, wanting to scream or shout to be let out. Each time I felt this; I’d close my eyes and see myself walking out with Jack. He had to come. The sooner the better, too. I was having some serious doubts as to how long I could keep the plastic Mia suit running for the cameras.

  A third tray, for dinner, never came. I waited, reasoning that plenty of time had passed, and that it must be well past dinner. I was tired, too. I felt like sleeping again. I picked at some more of the food, but the smells had changed. It was cold now, greasy, and congealed with a smell that wasn’t so nice. I had some more salad, and promised myself I wouldn’t lift any more lids.

  Was one of them fish?

  I scanned the room more closely. I couldn’t see any ventilation at all. The two times the door had opened, I’d felt a rush of air from the outside. Maybe it was my imagination. There had to be air getting in here somehow, but I couldn’t see it.

  My fear was rising again. It didn’t make sense, none of it did. I felt guilty for starting to think, so soon, that maybe Jack wasn’t coming to rescue me after all.

  Fuck.

  Eleven

  Jack

  I had told the men to be ready for a war, but I hadn’t imagined anything like this. I hadn’t seen this type of gunplay since my combat days. I was immune to it, on a certain level. But seeing my own men hit like that; it was different.

  Rollins looked hopefully out of the chopper’s glass. I knew he’d wanted to stay and help the men back at the Lakehouse, but becoming Don Leone’s personal physician was a promotion he seemed willing to take, mostly at the expense of a few of the men’s gunshot wounds and shock.

  I messaged a few of the men at the Leone estate, to get some other doctors we had on our payroll to the Lakehouse. I hadn’t heard from Rich. The intel from Mia was gold, I couldn’t figure what was taking him so long. But, he did have a whole building’s security to account for. The whole top floor had just been shot up, and his employer kidnapped. I figured he was tied up with the cops. Maybe heading there wasn’t such a bright idea.

  Fuck, Slade. Get a fucking grip! This isn’t fucking day care, with a pretend mommy to wipe the dribble from your teeny wet cock. Man up, motherfucker!

  The one part of my military training that I carried internally was the drill sergeant, Hagan. Duncan fucking Hagan. He was my internal dialogue some days, beating me down when I wanted to feel up. I’d wake some nights, feeling his hot breath on my ear as he’d yell at me to get up, scrub the floor with a toothbrush, then give me fifty push-ups. Or worse. Hagan had been one of the instructors at the military college where Rich and I had practically grown up together. We both thought we’d gotten free of him, but there he was, sneering at us both on the first day of our induction into the services. He’d specifically requested a transfer, essentially following us from the college, and right into the army.

  He was a twisted fucker, and even once Rich and I were big enough to hit back, we didn’t. He held the sway of discipline over us through school, and then threatened us with court marshals once we were in active service. We were still kids. Seeing Rich had brought back a lot of good memories, and it was definitely good to see him again. It also brought up the most terrible parts of myself, of my past that I’d convinced myself were buried. But they weren’t. I could feel the fingers, clawing up through the mud, reaching around the heel of my boot, creeping up the inside of my leg.

  Slade!

  The echo of his yelling always made me shiver, like a chilly wind that had come from nowhere. It came from back in time, from beyond the grave now. Rich and I had put things right. Hagan wouldn’t bother any more young men or boys, at least, not in this lifetime.

  I barked into the mic attached to the headphones, ordering the pilot back to the Leone estate. There was no point returning to the scene of a crime, in which we could be implicated in. Cops and Leone business were never to be carried out in the same building, and especially not at the s
ame time. I hadn’t eaten; I had just seen my best men blown apart by an ambush in our most secure area. I’d lost Mia, too. This was the worst day I’d had for as long as I could remember.

  I felt my guts heave and my head get light as the chopper pitched suddenly. The pilot was none too happy about the sudden change in course, or so I imagined. Army pilots always let you know how they were feeling by how they flew you into a mission, or extracted you. If they were glad to see you, or it was almost home time, they’d carry you smooth as silk. If they were pissed, or felt you’d put them or their bird in danger without good cause, you had to make sure you were prepared to swallow anything you threw up.

  I had managed to piss this guy off, it seemed.

  I had to reach Rich. I punched in his number from memory. It went to voicemail. I rang him again, letting it ring three times, then hung up. He would call. It was our thing. To know it was the other person for sure.

  “Hi, honey! I was going to call you when I got a chance, things have been crazy-busy down here.”

  Good. He remembered to speak in code, and it sounds like the cops are still there.

  “Rich. Tell me you can do something with the screenshots from Mia. That’s gotta lead us straight to her!?” I could tell he wasn’t on speaker, I could ask what I wanted, but the answers would be coded for the benefit of the city’s finest.

  “I don’t think I can get to the store before they close, hun. I really don’t know how long I’ll be. Maybe you should just order something in, huh?” He sounded vague, or I couldn’t remember exactly what all the code was. Either way, I wasn’t hearing what I wanted to, and I couldn’t go there, or even talk to him on the phone.

  “Rich. When you can, ASAP, use the data Mia sent, it should be able to give us a big clue as to where she’s at. I’m heading back to the Leone estate. I need to regroup, the Lakehouse got hit, and Mia’s brother is now AWOL. I’ve got a full plate, and could use all the help I can get right now.” I felt my voice about to break, gulping down any apprehension I had, fighting off the dark thoughts that were spreading like spilled ink in my mind.

  “Alright, hun. No! I’m fine; it was just a fire alarm thing, a drill. The police are here, yes. But it’s all fine, honey. Okay! Hugs to the kids, I’ll see you soon.” He hung up. I didn’t know why, but I felt less clued in than when I rang him. Something wasn’t sitting right with anything that had happened that day. It couldn’t have gotten much worse.

  The prospect of facing Don Leone with the news was the cherry on the cake of my day. He’d have to be woken up. I had to tell him what was going on. I needed his advice more than ever. If he doesn’t kill me first, that is. Losing his son and daughter in the space of an hour to the Bernardi’s, wasn’t news I wanted to carry.

  The shock might kill him, then what?

  It was too many ifs and what’s. Not enough definitelys. I had to turn that around. It’s what Jack Slade did. He turned a shit sandwich into a fucking buffet breakfast. I felt like rubbing myself for luck.

  C’mon, Slade. You can do this.

  Just hang in there Mia, Jack’s coming. Just hold on.

  The Leone estate looked bigger now. The avenue of lions, menacing in the dark. They looked ready to spring out, to leap up at the chopper, pulling me down, down to be eaten. Devoured like the bears in the fountain out front.

  The helipad on the roof was the only dimly lit area. Everything else was in blackout. My orders. If we were going to be attacked, let them try in the dark, we would see them as much as they could see us, with infra-red and heat sensors which could detect movement for miles. So far, so good, it looked like. I figured that the raid on Mia Bella was what they had planned all along, whoever they were. This was too organized for just a Bernardi grab, and something or someone else was pulling the strings.

  I made my way down to Don Leone’s rooms with Doctor Rollins. On the way out of the chopper, he casually observed that I’d been shot, and was bleeding. Just a scrape, but it could wait until we were inside. Briefed by Black on the way down, it looked like we were already prepared for the worst, but it had happened somewhere else.

  Mr. Black was chief of Leone security in the estate, second to myself, and he filled the role during my absences; which were frequent.

  “Mr. Slade, you’re bleeding,” he remarked, deadpan, as we trotted down the huge oak staircase.

  “It’s nothing; I’ll get a stitch or two after I see Mr. Leone.”

  Black stopped me with his arm, steel on steel. He produced a large white handkerchief, and expertly stuffed it under my shirt, making me wince before I put my own pressure on it.

  “You’re bleeding onto Mr. Leone’s carpet,” Black continued, as we resumed our trip down the stairs. Leone had handpicked most of his staff. And they, like me, took it as a way of life. Even though we weren’t all family members, we took the position with deadly seriousness. If I’d caught anyone bleeding in the house, I’d do more than offer them a ‘hanky.’ Black was showing me I had to take stock. And I would, just as soon as I spoke with Don Leone.

  Black waited outside, while Rollins and I entered Don Leone’s rooms. I could hear him wheezing, the beep of his heart monitor had been switched back up. No sign of the nurse, though. Rollins checked over Leone and his chart as I scouted the rooms for the nurse.

  I heard a moaning, then a bump from behind the door closest to Don Leone’s bed. I drew my gun and listened against the door, holding the handle, ready to burst in, or prevent whatever was coming out from doing so. There was another low moan, then a giggle, and then another little moan.

  I threw open the door, squeezing the trigger to within a fraction to fire. The nurse was there; her huge, naked breasts shook, then stiffened to attention as she froze. I could hear a muted voice on the other end of the phone she held to her ear. Her other hand was splayed across her wet crotch, with her legs at all angles, and awkwardly perched up on the sides of the chair.

  “On your break?” I asked, furiously uncocking my gun and holstering it. I stormed over to her and snatched the phone from her as she covered up.

  “...What’s that baby, you got the set on...? Keep going, I’m just about to...”

  “This is Jack Slade. If I find out you’re in this building, I will cut your dick off and you’ll be fucking yourself with it, do you understand?” The line went dead. The nurse was pulling up her stockings, red as a beet, looking at the floor.

  “My boyfriend,” she offered weakly. He lives out of town. Another state. It won’t happen again.” The pleading in her red eyes let me know she was telling the truth. I slammed the door shut, giving her a minute before she would brief Rollins on Don Leone’s condition and treatments.

  Rollins looked up at me from the chart. “Everything alright in there? Let’s get you looked at, Slade, take off your shirt.”

  “I’m fine,” I growled, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded. The room tilted slightly and I felt a shooting pain in my side, but held myself up using the thick armrest of a chair. “How is Mr. Leone?” I managed, now grinding my teeth as I practically groaned out the words.

  “He’ll be fine. They’ve had him pretty doped up for some reason, he seems pretty healthy, otherw--” He’d lurched forward to catch me as I saw the floor rushing up to kiss me.

  “Easy, Jack, easy!” he said, easing me into the huge armchair. The nurse appeared from behind the door, and I heard Rollins barking some instructions to her.

  But the mist had already crept in underneath the door, or through the window. It was like a spiderweb made of cottonwool that filled my eyes. It made them itch, then made everything white, taking away the pain in my side. I felt myself lurching sideways, like I was back in the chopper again. I tried to call out for Mia, but everything was just white.

  Twelve

  Mia

  I was looking down, into the grave. The coffin which had Mama in it was open. There was a little girl inside it instead; she was curled up, crying. I tried to cry out, to let her know I was there,
but I couldn’t speak. It hurt when I tried to cry out. The coffin started to sink lower, and they played the same aria from the funeral. It was Mama’s favorite.

  I reached out for the girl, trying to scream. She suddenly turned her head. As I saw myself, I woke up with a start.

  My throat was stinging, but it was silent. Silent as the grave. That’s what this room was starting to resemble. It was closing in on me. Stifling hot, with air I couldn’t breathe anymore, only feel. Like a hot blanket forcing its way down my throat when I tried to take in air. Even the food that was going bad didn’t smell as much. I tried to close my eyes again, to go back into a dream.

  I heard myself gasping as the swishing sound of the electronic door brought a gust of icy fresh air into the room. As if the stale death of the grave had been wiped clean with the now fresh, more breathable air.

  I stumbled off the bed, tripping forward toward the open door. Two men, as if choreographed, turned inward from the outside, kind of like two cutouts on springs. I was on all fours, gasping. I felt the hot tears on my cheeks, but I vowed to myself not to cry out.

  I greedily filled my lungs, gulping in air like frigid water. And it burned a little, then got hot inside me. I was so desperate for more that I choked as I tried to breathe in and out at the same time. One of the guards removed the food trolleys. Nothing else was brought in. I knew the door would close again, and I felt my heart sink.

  Oh, Jack. Jack, pleeeaaasse!

  I croaked in disbelief as I saw the door sliding shut, as if it was in slow motion. And the faintest grin was appearing at the side of the mouth of one of the guards, with my crumpled form reflecting back at me in the gray light of his sunglasses.

  I saw myself, from the ceiling, hitting out at the floor, the door, the air. I screamed and cried as loud as I could. From the floor, I turned around, and saw myself seated at the dressing table. I was grinning my plastic grin back at myself from inside the mirror. From inside the mirror, I could see all of them, miniature versions of myself, floating like dust in a white dome, like a snow globe. I held the globe out, watching my own reflection in it, watching as it turned back into the crumpled shape of myself I saw in the guard’s glasses.