Chapter 32 – Ilya
“ O nly you.”
That mass of silky dark hair was pulled up high on her head. Her skin shimmered under the streetlights. I should have left a mark, evidence of tonight. Because she looked completely unfucked—
And I took her hard. Mine to claim, but how could that be if no one knew? Next time, I would leave a mark.
“No one else…. Only you.”
I studied her, happy and seemingly carefree as she joked with the others, teased the boys, and giggled with the girls. The mirth didn’t reach her eyes, and her lips were strained in a tight smile. That tall lanky fellow had nothing on me. Special was how she’d describe the don’s only son. Yeah, I could see it. No matter the hours at the gym or the lessons his daddy gave him—and I saw the bodies afterward—there was no making that soft lump of flesh into the hardened criminal Alonzo needed to be to survive, let alone lead, in this underworld.
Memories trickled through my mind. There had been a boy like him once. He never grew that tall, never saw that many turns of the calendar. No one could save him. Pitted against the commander’s ravenous dogs in a ring, he never made it through that frigid winter night decades ago.
I shoved those memories deep in my mind. That war camp was another lifetime, faded now to bad memories that would rise from their tombs to haunt my dreams.
Isabella exercised the same protective instinct over her fiancé as her brother. She looked up and down the street. Her gaze flickered over the shadows concealing me.
Can you feel me, siren?
It was hard to be jealous, when I understood all too well what was running through her mind. There might be four seemingly strong males in the group, but it was the lioness who defended this pride.
Still, this prick wasn’t ending up with my woman.
Am I willing to end him?
Turning away in disgust, I drove my fist into the side of a bus stop enclosure. I was on the warpath to destroy her world. Why did the idea of hurting those closest to her give me pause? Because it would cause her pain? Without admitting it to myself, I knew I wouldn’t hurt the don’s son, just like I wouldn’t hurt Isabella’s brother. It might be seen as a weakness, but I knew it was something far worse. Madness. I scrubbed my hands through my hair, pulling viciously on the strands. I was in over my fucking head. I should walk away. Go back to Chicago where my routine made sense. This world of chaos was messing with my control.
But I’d tasted her again! It was too late to leave. The rusalka smiled, beckoned me into the dark, and broke all my resolve.
I went into that damn ship to kill the sons of the inner circles, only sparing her brother and the don’s son per her requests. The other young men in her group were marked for death as were the four Conti brutes. I told Isabella it was dangerous for her to be out and about during times of war. What I’d conveniently forgotten to mention was that I was also a threat the organizations would never see coming. Such a massacre as I planned tonight would have set the fragile alliance in flames and made another active enemy for the Rinaldi Mafia.
Instead of crippling the mob and causing conflict with their newest ally, I let her tempt me into the dark, where I found myself unable to resist her.
Which meant the Conti men survived tonight, and the Rinaldis weren’t blamed for their deaths. The Contis left the haunted ship with their lives, driving away to the safety of their neighborhood. A beautiful plan to sew chaos and eliminate more of my enemy abandoned. No matter, the Rinaldi Mafia’s days were short-lived. Only the complete and utter destruction of that organization would ensure Isabella’s, her brother’s—and yes, even her soft fiancé’s—lives were safeguarded in the future.
I couldn’t fake their deaths and kidnap them. I had to behead the serpentine monster and burn the kingdom to the dust.
That was my sole purpose here. That and winning Isabella’s heart.
Back slumped against the wall of a building, I rolled my head to the side, casting one last, lingering look at the diner the Rinaldi group was entering. Their laughter and boisterous energy trickled through the night street. Once the door fell shut, the silence snapped its reign over the neighborhood.
Something was off.
Senses honed from the war camps, strengthened in the service of the bratva, and made lethal in the illegal fighting rings, buzzed through me. I listened to the warning, body going suddenly still and gaze peeled sharp. The street wasn’t as empty as it seemed. Shapes moved along the sidewalk. The mutter of Italian floated on the wind.
I frowned.
There were ten of them, splitting into two teams. I didn’t need to see their weapons to know they were armed to the teeth.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mumbled.
Whatever mess the Rinaldi don was involved in, it was rippling into Isabella’s world. Those goons had followed the friends, no doubt an assassination squad. They moved like a tactical team, ready to strike. I knew the maneuvers. Well, they didn’t know I was here, guarding her.
Four assailants fanned out in front of the diner. I crept forward, sneaking up behind the one positioned at the street corner. I didn’t reach for a blade or the gun on my chest holster. Clapping one hand on the top of his head, I drove the palm of my hand under his chin. When breaking a neck, it was better to go up and twist.
A satisfying pop filled the night air.
Lowering the body to the ground, I sprinted to the next target. There was a patch of light between us from the floodlight on a building. I reached into my waist for the hilt of my blade as I bounded through the air. My arm came down in a smooth arc, and the blade sank into the side of his head. I wanted to avoid the mess of throat-slitting. Wrenching my blade free, I bounded after the next.
Risking discovery, I jogged up the steps to the front stoop of the diner. At ten at night, the place was packed. No one from the table of next-generation mobsters noticed me as I slipped into the kitchen.
A stout cook waved her butcher knife at the four men in black.
Groaning, I pulled out my gun. Six shots fired in quick succession. The would-be assassins didn’t see their end coming. While it would have been smart to keep one alive for questioning, I didn’t have the setup for that here. Besides, they’d threatened my woman. That was enough to seal their fate.
The old woman with the cleaver didn’t even flinch. She rounded on me, brow arched. “Really, boy? In my kitchen?”
I holstered the weapon. “I’m sorry for the mess, ma’am, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“I don’t like that gang crap in my house,” she declared, hands fisted on her hips. The one still held the butcher blade.
“Not gangs.” I caught the door as a waitress sailed in.
“Suzy, I thought I heard—” Her scream filled the air before my hand clapped down to silence it.
“None of that,” I hissed. “Go out there to the table with the seven younger people. Tell the tall kid that he was targeted by a rival mob, and his daddy needs to come clean this shit up.”
The waitress began hyperventilating.
About ready to lock her in an office, I was saved when the cook ambled over. She snapped her fingers in front of the woman. “Do as he says, Elsie. This is family business, and we need it cleaned up before Kurt finds out and involves the law.”
Chin bobbing, the waitress stumbled away and went through the door.
“Can I trust her not to make a scene?” I asked over my shoulder as I peered through the door.
The old woman cackled. “So long as she’s in shock, yes. Otherwise, that one has a loose tongue.”
The waitress’s voice trembled as she approached the table. “There was an attack, sir. A rival mob. Can you call your father to clean this up?”
The other mafia princesses began to squeak and wail. I winced but cut my gaze to my siren. She lifted her chin, eyes glistening.
I couldn’t tell what she told the waitress, but the woman’s trembling finger pointed to the back kitchen. Isabella rose, snapping orders at the don’s son. The lad faltered, looked at his phone, and then watched his fiancée leave.
My heart pattered a double beat.
Isabella was walking straight to me.
Right now would be the time to make my escape. To continue watching from the shadows. To stick to my plan and destroy the mob holding her hostage. But the grim determination etched into her features gave me pause. The princess was in command, and I was her humble servant, my weapons at her disposal.
“What happened?” Isabella demanded, stopping right before the swinging door.
“There was an assassination attempt on you and your little friends.” I held the door tight, but she took a step forward. “There’s dead bodies back here, Izzy.”
Isabella rolled her eyes. A wave of heat rushed south. Damn, but that was sexy as hell.
“Move, Elijah,” she hissed, using the name the mafia knew me by.
“There are two more out there. Your friends had better move away from the windows.” I couldn’t say why the words tumbled from my lips. The warning wasn’t for their benefit. If the young men of the mafia died by assassin’s bullets, there would be fewer souls for me to harvest.
But her brother was there, sitting closest to the bubbled glass window. And the damn fiancé….
Fuck me. I cared. No amount of blood and destruction could make the death of the weak and innocent okay to me. I wasn’t a sociopathic criminal, just a hardened warrior.
“They might want to come behind the serving counter,” I offered dryly.
Isabella gave me a short nod. She turned slightly and threw a string of Italian over her shoulder. Heads swiveled in her direction, but it wasn’t until the don’s son rose that the others followed.
I could still slip away. The way the door swung, they hadn’t seen me. Isabella reached out, grasping the rubber edge. Her lips pressed in a firm line.
“Let me see the damage, Ilya. ”
It was my name, whispered on her lips. With a growl, I released my hold on the door and took a step back. I was still near enough that her sweet, fruity scent brushed past me. My groin tightened in response.
The seconds ticked by into minutes as Isabella surveyed the bloody kitchen. I absently realized the cook and her cleaver had disappeared. I wasn’t in a hurry to track the grizzly woman down. She could clearly fend for herself.
“Four bodies?” Isabella breathed.
“And two out front.”
To her credit, she didn’t panic, didn’t faint. But her cheeks drained of color. She clenched her fingers tightly as she assessed the destruction in the back room.
The door banged open a moment later. The hero rushed inside, only to stop short as he saw the dead bodies.
“Isabella, come on, let’s go back out front,” the don’s son murmured, reaching for her.
It took everything I had not to snap his scrawny arms like the toothpicks they were.
Isabella stepped away from his reach, swallowing hard. “No, Lonzo. I’m fine.”
“You shouldn’t have to see this,” he protested.
“Are there more?” Isabella lifted her gaze and directed the question to me.
I nodded. “I counted ten on the street.”
“Okay, so they’re still out there—or got away,” she surmised.
“Elijah?” the don’s son exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
Great leadership, kid. He’d just now noticed the true threat standing in the room. “Tullio’s training facility is around the block. This is where I eat.”
Neither of those statements was a lie.
“And you shot these…assassins?” Alonzo drew himself up straight, wrapping a business-like air about himself.
Isabella groaned under her breath.
Her comical reaction sent a bark of laughter through my chest. “Yeah, kid, I did.”
“Well, then, it looks like we owe you quite the debt of gratitude,” the don’s son mused.
He could start by taking his ring off my woman. I clenched my teeth to hold back the retort. I would take her in the end, and this skinny little boy would only survive my wrath and destruction if he stayed out of my way.
Isabella must have sensed the darkness swirling inside me. She stepped between us, throwing me a quick, pointed look. “Let’s go up front and make sure the others are away from the windows. Your father sent soldiers?”
“And a clean team,” I added. The don didn’t need to send fucking soldiers. I was perfectly capable of protecting what was mine.
The back door banged open.
I stepped in front of Isabella, pointing my gun at the opening.
“Put that thing away before you hurt someone,” the cook snarked.
I glowered at her. “You were a hairsbreadth away from meeting your maker, ma’am.”
She let out a hoarse laugh that was roughened by the years of smoking. “The back alley is clear. A Rinaldi car is blocking the entrance.”
“Thank you, Suzy. I’ll personally see to it that your husband’s medicine is paid for the rest of this year and next too.” Alonzo walked over, extending his hand.
The woman’s face softened—an incredible feat, given the aged lines in her features. “Thank you, signore.”
An emotion, clawing and terrible, swelled inside me. My hands curled into fists. I knew this scrawny man was a threat because of his claim to my woman. But it was at this moment that I saw the man come out of the boy’s body to shine at last. There was a redeeming, worthy quality about him after all. He was my equal on some level. I’d done well for myself, carving out a place in one of the bratva organizations of Chicago. We did this kind of thing as well, offering protection and benefits to those in our territories.
My rival was suddenly worthy, and I couldn’t have that.
“Come on,” I said gruffly. “Let’s check on your brother and the others.”
Isabella pushed through the swinging door before I could jump ahead of her. Following, I quickly scanned the restaurant, noting how most patrons had cleared out of the establishment. Italians milled about on the street out front, already picking up the dead bodies.
“What’s he doing here?” Gio challenged.
I cut the puppy a hard look.
Coffee gurgled behind me. The scent was strong and beckoning. I suddenly wanted to drink a cup, maybe even a piece of toast if the old woman in the back deigned to make it for me. If not, I would take it.
“He was at Tullio’s gym,” Isabella explained. “He came here for supper and found assassins ready to take us out.”
“Oh, where’s Cosimo?” Gio asked, leaning around his sister.
A frown curled my lips down. “How the hell should I know?”
“You said you were at the gym. Cosimo was there, working with some of the guys.” Gio flicked a glance at his sister. “That’s why he couldn’t join us tonight.”
One of the other lads murmured in assent.
“I can assure you, the young Fabrizi hasn’t been at the facility all evening,” I said, moving to the coffee pot. Mercifully it was the black-rimmed pot that was freshly brewed. I grabbed a cup, preparing to pour, when I noticed the strange look on Isabella’s face.
Was it because I was taking the coffee?
“No, you’re wrong,” Gio insisted, his voice taking on a petulant edge. He stalked over, thrusting his smartphone in my face.
I couldn’t have read the words if I wanted, but I memorized their shape to input into the voice translator later.
“So?” I growled. “Go check the security footage if you don’t believe me.”
The underboss’s son hadn’t been there before nine, and the trainer was closing the place when I left to stalk my woman and kill the Conti men on the damn haunted ship.
“Let me see that,” Isabella said quietly, snatching the phone from her brother’s fingers. Her lips tightened in a thin line, and something shifted in her eyes that sent me immediately on high alert.
As she handed the device back to the boy, the mob stormed through the front door. I took a long sip of my coffee, letting the black liquid scald my mouth and throat. There would be a volley of questions, and I needed to remember my part as hulking dummy—the oaf-like cage fighter without a brain.
My gaze roved under the counter and landed on the bucket of soup crackers which was right next to the box of square butters. It would work in lieu of toast. Setting my coffee on the counter near a sticky wire basket of syrups, I reached under the counter and pocketed a generous handful of both crackers and butter.
Something soft brushed against my other hand.
I stiffened but didn’t look at Isabella as she passed. The mafia princess wandered to her fiancé, taking a position by his side as he rapidly explained to the capo glowering in front of him in a string of Italian.
I risked a peek at the napkin. More words that I couldn’t read were scrawled on the surface. I ground my teeth, knowing it could be another thirty minutes or more before I could escape and decipher the phrase— I think Cosimo is behind this— with the help of my phone. When we were done here in the East Coast, when Isabella was safe and free, I would devote my immediate future to learning to read. The language barrier, the dyslexia, and the poor education be damned. I would read what this siren wrote to me.
Another long sip of coffee trickled down my throat. At least one small miracle came from all of this. My woman trusted me enough to let me into her thoughts. That revelation alone bolstered me through the interrogation that came next.