Married to the Mafia Boss

Dominic

Several guests have come over to ask me why I don’t dance, and several more have tried to get me to drink. I don’t know, maybe because it’s out of my comfort zone, but I just don’t like being at this party. It doesn’t feel right. We should be covering our tracks, getting distance between Jose’s men and us, and lying low-not attending a wild party for people who weren’t even in high school when I was.

That makes me sound like an old man, and I smile. I’ve always been an old soul since I was young and taking care of my brothers. Alessandro was older, but I protected him-it’s what I did. It’s always been that way.

When Sofia sits beside me, I sip on my soda and answer her few questions and statements. She’s even cheekier than usual, and I can’t lie-it’s entertaining.

At least she’s not a wild alcoholic swinging from the rafters singing at the top of her voice. Lord knows I have met enough of those.

She seems to handle her drink well.

I see a few guests leaving, and I comment, “Looks like the party is wrapping up.”

“That’s weird,” she says. “Normally, Carmila throws wild parties that last all night long.”

“Maybe they’ve run out of drugs,” I suggest. “Generally, parties like that are fueled by illegal substances.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe this is just the prep party. Maybe there’s another party happening somewhere else that everyone has to go to. That’s happened a few times.”

I keep my eyes on Carmila, and once or twice her gaze meets mine. There’s something about the way that she looks at me that unsettles me. She’s so casual about me, as though she’s known me forever. Is it confidence? Friendliness? I don’t know, but it’s too much.

“We should move sooner rather than later,” I say. “Moving around is what’s keeping us alive.”

“Can we not just rest for one night?” Sofia asks. Her whining sounds less irritating and more endearing. It’s not a whine. It’s just a request from an exhausted woman-an exhausted, beautiful woman.

I give myself a mental slap. NO! Not going there.

I look at her. “I don’t know, Sofia. I have a feeling. I always trust my gut.”

She puts a hand on my arm again, and there’s that electricity, that spark of something. “We can leave at like five in the morning if you want. Let me just sleep in a bed, please.”

I sigh. “Fine, but we’re leaving at four, not five. I’ll wake you up.”

She nods. “It’s a deal.”

“What’s a deal?” Carmila asks as she walks over. I’m surprised when Sofia answers, “That we’ll be leaving in a day or two.”

Good girl, she’s learning not to trust everyone.

Carmila smiles. “Okay, I’m going to get something quick, then we can take the party inside.”

I wait until she turns around, then stand up. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Inside, down the hallway, second door to your left. But you can use the one in the room we showed you earlier as well,” Carmila says with a friendly smile.

I nod, and I follow her into the house.

By sheer dumb luck, I look out the window and see two cars pulling up quickly.

They’re here.

I glare at Carmila. “You!”

“Sorry,” she says with a smile, “Jose sends his regards.”

I whip out my gun and point it at her head. “I send mine.”

I pull the trigger, and everyone screams at the noise. A few people who look in start crying hysterically and immediately run off.

Sofia comes rushing in and looks between my gun-holding hand and Carmila’s lifeless body on the floor. She glares at me. “What have you done? How could you!”Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

I grab her. “We need to go. They’re…”

A gun is placed against the back of my head, and I freeze.

“We’re here,” a voice says, and I hold my hands up, gun still in my hand.

“Drop it, or I blow your brains out. I don’t mind doing it even if you do drop the gun,” he says from behind me.

I consider whether or not I could disarm him. The problem is that there were many people in the cars I saw.

I drop the gun, and they grab me by my arms, taking my other weapon. They grab Sofia, too, and we’re taken to one of the cars. They slip cable ties over our hands and shove us into the back of one of the vehicles.

I don’t know how long we’re in the car, but we’re dragged out to a room where two chairs face each other. They’re about three yards apart. I’m placed in one, and Sofia is placed in another, silent tears streaming down her face. I hadn’t even noticed she’d started crying. A dull ache echoes through my chest at the sign of her distress.

A few goons come in, and I know what I’m in for when I see one with knuckle dusters on his hands. I look up at them. “Hello, gents, any chance of a whiskey? Maybe some wine?”

One of the large men punches me through the face, and I’m momentarily dazed.

“Where are your brother and his wife?”

I look up again and can feel a bruise forming on my face. “Alessandro and Tatya are in New York, don’t you know that?”

They hit me again. “Where are Francesco and his wife?”

I spit some blood onto the floor next to me. “I don’t know. I’m not in charge of his security detail.”

I get hit a few more times before the next question is asked. “What does Alessandro know about Jose and the people planning to betray him?”

“I’m muscle, my friend, just like you. They don’t tell me their elaborate plans. They point, and I shoot, that’s all.” My one eye is swelling shut, but I’ve withstood worse torture than this.

A dark-haired goon takes out a gun, and I look into his eyes. I’m not going to be afraid of dying. He points the gun at my head, then my leg, and fires. The shot hurts, but the bullet doesn’t go into my leg. “Jesus, can’t you aim! You idiot!”

They move out of the way, and I see Sofia sitting opposite me. She’s gagged. I was so focused on what they were doing to me, trying to keep the pain in my mind only, that I didn’t recall she was here. The sight of her scared, wide-eyed lights a fire inside of me. I have this irrational desire to protect her. I shift around slightly. “Man, this is uncomfortable.”

I have a blade by my ankle. If I can get free and get to it, I’ll make mincemeat out of these thugs before they have a chance to fire off another shot. Hand-to-hand combat was always my favorite thing growing up.

I get punched again, and again, and again. Arm, face, chest, stomach-you name it.

My body is aching, a dull throb, and they repeat the same questions over and over again, but I stop speaking altogether. I don’t answer to anyone except Alessandro, even if that means it costs me my life.

I’m a bit dazed from the blows to the head, and I’m unsure if I can stay awake much longer. But whatever they think they’re getting out of this, they aren’t.