Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
W hile I’m still off balance, a gloved hand with a surgeon’s skill removes my phone.
Pale grey blue eyes shine into mine. Two pairs. Two men.
Dressed in black with ski masks, they both have small automatics pointed at me. They move down the limo to sit in front of me. As they look into my eyes, I know that I’ve seen them before. I try to look ahead and avoid more direct eye contact. But it’s hard to fight my nature.
I’m about to move when one of them tells me, “Keep your hands open and in sight.”
The other one says, “And away from your pockets.”
Glaring back at them with defiance, I tip my chin up. The long car sways as it cuts through the traffic.
Somewhere in all the mob functions, the funerals and weddings, sit-downs and dockside meets, I’ve met these two men. I know them. I know their rough, feral scent, and I know their quick, sharp eyes.
I’ve been close enough to register their traces, their earthy mix of testosterone and something like a damp forest at night. Their names will come to me soon.
Their names will pop up from my memory like Rolodex cards, I know that they will. Keeping eye contact risks them sensing when I recognize them. But I can’t make myself act like I’m afraid of them. I cannot allow them to think they can intimidate me.
That’s probably the smarter instinct. Scratch a man and there’s an animal not too deep below. Mob muscle, even mob aristocracy like I think these could be, the animal is near enough to the surface that it’s ready to break out at any moment.
And if they smell fear, the gleams in their eyes and their teeth and claws will be the last things I see. I know it.
I have an animal just like it, quite near the surface of my own skin. But that’s it. I know now.
As soon as I distracted myself and thought about something else, their pictures and names flashed up in the back of my mind like index cards. I manage not to smile, but I before I can stop myself, I draw in a breath of satisfaction. It’s obvious.
The pale blue gray of their eyes, like lilac. Both the same liquid hue. The same eyes. Dario and Ettore. The Romano twins.
They carry a double reputation for ruthlessness. Cruelty without a second thought. Ski masks mean they probably don’t aim to kill me, though it’s no guarantee. That might change if they sense that I’ve identified them.
My phone rings. The man holding it looks down at the screen. It’s lit up with a picture of Carlo. The man’s finger waves over the red button to reject the call. A delicious sensation of present danger lights up in me as he turns his head and raises his eyebrow.
He’s asking permission. I can almost hear the Sicilian accent in his gesture. ‘ Posso ?’
Tight lipped, I hold out my hand. He doesn’t want to speak more than he has to. Doesn’t want to risk giving himself away.
He passes the phone back to me. I press the green button and lift the phone to my ear. “Carlo?”
“Princess.” The sound of his voice, next to my ear, sets off a simmering, deep in my gut. I take a breath to savor the feeling before I tell him, “Carlo, I’ll call you later.”
Tension, an urgency slides into his tone. “Are you okay, princess?”
I look back at the Romano brothers. From one pair of eyes to the other, and back. And I smile.
“Yes, Carlo. I’m fine.” I can sense him. He understands that I can’t talk, and that it’s not all my choice. I tell him, “Later. Okay?”
“ Mi amore .”
The twin who gave me the phone nods in thanks as I hang up.
Tight lipped again, and without trying to disguise the sardonic look in my eye, offer the phone back to him. I can see his eyes almost smile as he makes an apologetic turn of his head. He swipes his thumb across his palm, though. He would like me to switch it off.
“Of course.” My voice drips sarcasm and I make no attempt to hide it.. “ Certo . ”
We’re heading way out of town. Up into the hills. I can’t remember ever visiting the Romanos’ estate, but I think that”s where we’re going.
The Romanos are the second family in Seattle. Second in this Thing of Ours. I’ve made our family almost their equals in terms of territory, wealth, and business. Power, in other words. But their traditional place is still above ours.
In terms of the order of things, they still have the right to command us. That means in theory, the right to command me.
Fixing that was on my agenda anyway, so perhaps this visit will serve a purpose for me. Assuming my destination is not a deep hole in the woods.
That seems unlikely, though. When someone kidnaps you, someone in the Life, at any rate, if they try to disguise their identity from you, it means they don’t intend to kill you.
Nobody cares about being identified by a corpse.
Of course, that does’t mean they won’t kill you. It’s always a possibility, in an encounter with anyone in the mob. We’re famous for it. It only means that it’s not their Plan A.
The twins move as one, like they’re choreographed and rehearsed. Or like they’re two bodies with a single mind. Two massive, powerful bodies. I feel it as they sit either side of me. They’re close. Their big hands in their laps make me think they could do anything, anything they wanted with me.
One either side, I’m surrounded by them. I wouldn’t have enough strength to overcome them. And, they’re guys. They’re the mob. Brute strength is the main tool of their trade.
They can do what the fuck they like. Whenever the fuck they like. And to whoever the fuck they like. How could I stop them?
Well, I do have weapons. Obviously. And they must know that. to be fair, it’s a courtesy on their part that they haven’t disarmed me. But they could seize me in an instant. Overpower me before I had any chance to resist.
I have to turn my head now to watch their eyes while I let the filthy fantasy play out in my head. They could do whatever they wanted. Take whatever they felt like having from me. Use all the parts of me that excited them.
My face is still, disconnected as I look into their eyes and allow the sweaty, thrashing daydream to wash through me. A delirium of ravenous, greedy mouths and merciless cocks, with my body twisted and used in the most awful ways.
Then, after my clothes are all ripped and torn, after all the hammering, the pounding and beating, all of the clawing and twisted cries, when they’re both spent, I reach for my pistols.
Or perhaps the knives.
No, it’s a show of respect, a gesture of fine manners that they haven’t made any attempt to unarm me, much less to search me. They could so. So easily…
Oh, no wait.
No, I can’t afford to let my mind surge down that road again. Not when we must be getting close to the Romano compound.
Still, as the back of the car makes its majestic sways, hauling up the steeper slopes into the tall trees and the dappled sunlight of the high woodlands, I keep sneaking looks at their hands. Even in the darkness as shadows swing from side to side, identical traces of ink show in the narrow flash of hefty forearms above their wrists.