Sold to Moretti Mafia

Julian

Three Weeks Later

Sitting at my desk, I watch the amber-colored liquid swirl around inside the crystal glass. Zeke Black sits across from me. Xander Rossi says he’s the best at what he does, and that’s exactly what I need. Someone good enough to find Romero without spooking him. I want him brought to me alive.

“Xander tells me you’re good at what you do.” I look up at him over the rim of my glass.

“Good is an understatement, but I don’t want to be boastful.” His features are stoic.

Zeke is pretty young to have the rap sheet he has, but I guess I’m pretty young myself to be the head of this family. From the little background Xander shared with me, he grew up being tossed from foster home to foster home. He’s worked as a hitman for years and is damn good at what he does.

“This is going to be a bit different than what you’re used to. I don’t want him dead. I want to be the one to deliver that blow. I need you to find him and bring him to me.”

“Whatever you want. You know my fee.” I nod. “Then we’ll be in touch. I’ll get to work sniffing around. If you have any information or know anyone who might know where he’s hiding, pass the info onto me.”

I nod again and peer into his dark gaze. Even as a paid killer, I can see there are still shreds of a soul that lives inside him. He’s not as far gone as Xander or me. Not yet, at least.

“I mean it, Zeke. I want him alive. Don’t screw this up.”

“I won’t,” he growls and shoves out of his chair. He leaves my office without speaking another word to me, and his attitude is almost dismissive. I don’t like being blown off, but I’ll deal with it for now.

Even here, in this gigantic mansion, hidden away from the rest of the world, I still don’t feel like I can keep her safe.

Since arriving home, we’ve had two breaches. The men died at my hands, but I still don’t feel like their deaths are enough payment. I want revenge, and I won’t rest until all my enemies are dead, starting with Romero.

Tapping my fingers idly against the wood, I grit my teeth, rage festering inside me. The fucker could be out there anywhere, and all he’s doing is hiding. He hasn’t tried to contact me, not even to check and see if Elena is okay. Not that I’m surprised he ran like the coward he is instead of caring for his daughter. Most likely because he knows his end is near and as soon as I find him, I’ll be putting a bullet in his head.

I’ve abandoned the thought of making a big show at the wedding. The need to make him suffer has died down, and all I want now is to wipe him off the face of the earth and move on with my life.

While my need to make Romero suffer is gone, my obsession with his daughter has only grown. I’ve spent every minute I’m not working with her, tending to her every want and need. I’ve eaten almost every meal with her, held her every night in my arms, and have taken her on walks around the property every day.

She’s recovering well, and I’ve enjoyed taking care of her for the last three weeks. She has opened me up in ways I can’t even put into words. I enjoy her smiles, her lingering looks, and every touch, no matter how small it is.

My need to consume her, to strip her bare, and own her body all over again rises with each sunset, and sunrise. I want her, need her, and as soon as she is well enough, I will have her again. The seconds on the clock tick by as I reach the end of my workday.

Ha, I say that like I’m working in an office and not breaking kneecaps, and laundering money across the country. Bringing the glass to my lips, I down the rest of the amber liquid and let it coat my insides with warmth before placing it back on the desk.

Another day without a single lead on Romero, and another day without my revenge, I try not to let the bitter anger consume my emotions as I shove out of my chair and come to stand. In the end, I still have the most precious thing he owns.

His daughter.

Leaving my office, I lock the door and saunter down the hall, stopping in front of the door to our bedroom. Grabbing the iron handle, I twist it and pull the door open. As I enter the bedroom, Marie jumps up from the chair that’s beside the bed.

“Good evening, sir,” she stumbles over her words.

“You’re dismissed.” I wave off her fear. She is scared of me, and rightfully so. I don’t like her, but I tolerate her because I know Elena cares for her. They have become friends, and since that makes Elena happy, I’ll allow it.

“Okay,” she squeaks and scurries out of the room with her head bowed. With her gone, I turn my attention back to Elena.

Her adorable little nose is wrinkled as if she’s smelt something bad.

“You don’t have to treat her like that. She’s my friend.”

“I know, and I tolerate that, but she’s still an employee of mine, and when I tell her to leave, I expect her to do it.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she says, “I guess. I just don’t like how scared of you she is.”

I almost laugh. “Many people are scared of me. You were as well once. I don’t trust her or anyone for that matter, so it’s better to be feared than not because if people aren’t scared of you, they think they can get away with things.”

For a fleeting moment, our eyes collide, her striking green clash with my icy blues. She is so beautiful, fragile like glass, a fine jewel. Every day, I’m reminded of how precious her safety is, her life is in my hands, and I’ll be damned if I let her down.Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

Soon, she’ll be my bride, and then she’ll give me an heir.

The day is coming… soon, so very soon.

Breaking the connection, I ask, “Are you ready for dinner? Or would you rather take a walk first?”

“Maybe just a short walk before dinner?”

“As you wish.” I nod and help her from the bed.

She loops her arm around mine and uses my body as a brace to stand. She hasn’t used the wheelchair in over a week now. The brace on her ankle is enough to let her walk slowly and pain-free, but I still maintain a hold on her. There is always the risk that she could trip and fall and injure herself all over again.

“I think I’ll be fine without a brace soon,” she tells me as we walk down the hall together. “My ribs barely hurt anymore.” The excitement in her voice radiates outward. I know she’s ready for me to stop babying her, to do things on her own, but part of me isn’t there yet. With her father out there and enemies coming from left and right, her safety and care is of the most importance.

“I’m happy to hear that. I’ll have the doctor come take a look and make sure it’s okay to take off the brace beforehand.”

I might be overprotective, but I don’t care. Ahead is the staircase, and in my mind, a flashback of that day replays. Her tumbling down the stairs, the horror in her eyes, and how her father tried to kill me. As if Elena can read my thoughts, she perks up and turns her head to look up at me.

“You never told me how I fell down the stairs,” she whispers softly like she’s approaching a wild animal. “I know you would never hurt me… I feel safe with you, but… I just feel like there is something you are hiding from me. Will you please tell me what happened? No matter how many times I rack my brain for an answer or a memory of that day, all I get is a black void. I know something happened; I can tell…”

“It doesn’t matter now–”

“It matters to me,” she almost yells before softening her voice. “Did someone try to kill me again?”

“What? No. You falling was an accident,” I assure her.

She relaxes next to me, but the way she looks at me tells me she still wants to know more. I can’t hide the truth from her forever.

“Then why are you not telling me how it happened?”

I grit my teeth, my jaw becoming steel. “Your father was here.”

Confusion flashes across her face. “My father? He was there when I fell?”

“Yes. He was there, and he saw it happen.”

“Why wasn’t he at the hospital? Did you send him away?” Her tone grows accusing, and anger rips through me. I can’t fucking believe it. She still trusts him more than she trusts me, and that bothers me more than I’d like to admit.

For a moment, I say nothing. I’m caught between wanting to make her see her father for the person he really is and not wanting to hurt her feelings. My desire for her complete submission wins over my need to protect her emotions, and I know what I’m about to tell her is selfish, but it’s the truth.

“Your father was there. He saw you fall. He saw your lifeless body lying on the bottom of the stairs, and instead of rushing to your aide like I did, he left. He didn’t even check on you, didn’t blink, or make a move toward you. One second, he was there, and the next, he was gone.”

Her whole body goes rigid, and she stops walking. I almost cringe at the hurt in her eyes. The last thing I want is to see her suffer.

“Did he try to come to the hospital?” she asks, her voice shaky, matching the pain in her gaze.

“No. He left and went into hiding. No one knows where he is…” And then it hits me. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he would go to hide, would you?”

“No,” she blurts out, a bit too fast, too eagerly.

She’s lying.

My self-control is hanging on by a thread, but I don’t say another word about it as I lead her outside and into the garden. She doesn’t ask any more questions, and that might be her saving grace at the moment. I don’t trust myself to say anything right now. My anger is too prevalent.

She’s lying to me.

She knows where her father is.

Now, I only have to figure out how to make her talk.