XIII
Theo Rocco
“ How did they find her?” I ask, playing with my lighter. I sit down on the sofa, next to Andros. He’s busy typing away on his phone, half-listening to us as we discuss updates in the office at the club.
“Fuck knows. Don’t know why they have targeted her either,” Dawson shrugs.
“Someone must have seen us interacting with her,” Atlas mutters. He’s twirling his knife in his hand, a nervous tick he has whenever we’re alone.
“If the Russians know about her, we’ve got to do something, right?” Dawson asks, looking over to Atlas for instruction.
He’s the Don, having taken over from his father at the age of eighteen. Essentially, he has the first and last word but will turn to me when deliberating a decision. Being his right hand means that I am responsible for ensuring his safety, as well as being privy to his plans and interrogations. Andros is our tech guy, after training for years in hacking and privacy intelligence. Finally, Dawson is the top enforcer, the first to make sure the whole family is following the rules of the mafia. He’s also well informed in torture methods and is the best at getting information out of our prisoners.
Atlas rules over the Italian mafia with an iron fist, but the other three of us stand beside him whilst he does it.
“Yeah, we’ll have to monitor her 24/7. But I don’t want any of the soldiers to do it,” he rubs a hand over his face in stress, “It’ll have to be us.”
I nod my head and pull out my phone, checking the CCTV on it. Hazel didn’t know that we could see her as Dawson played with her, but we all have constant access to the club’s cameras wherever we are.
My eyebrows furrow as I watch Denise bump into her, causing the bottles of vodka to fly out of her arms. She jumps back as the vodka splashes up her legs, before looking up to glare at Denise. There’s no sound on but they exchange a few heated words before Hazel rushes back through the door. She re-emerges with her bag and a panicked look on her expression.
Leaping up from my seat, I pocket my phone. The others look at me strangely, but I just mutter that I’ll do the first watch before high-tailing out of there. I try to call her name, but she doesn’t respond. Keeping a steady distance between us as she walks home, I make sure she can’t see me whilst keeping her completely in my line of sight.
She turns a few times, and I watch as her panic increases, the feeling of being stalked consuming her.
After about fifteen minutes, we reach her run-down building, and she fumbles with her keys to let herself inside. I change my vantage point to the side of the building, leaning against a wall opposite her building, in a small alleyway.
Pulling out a cigarette, I light it as Hazel pulls her drapes closed. A small gap remains between the two curtains, and I can see her small body as she walks around her flat. She disappears into the bathroom for half an hour before walking back out in an old, worn dressing gown.
Her partially exposed body drips with water, making her body look even more delicious. She climbs into bed and pulls the covers over her. Unfortunately, she turns away from me so I can’t see her face as she falls asleep.
Once I’m sure she’s not awake, I enter the building easily with my set of keys. Dawson insisted on us buying the apartment block once he found out the state of her living conditions. We strongarmed the landlord with a few wads of banknotes, assuring him he could stay on as building manager if he behaved.
Last time she interacted with him was the last time he was seen alive.
The door doesn’t budge as I unlock the door to her flat, but I use my weight against it to finally break through. Assessing the locks she has, I shoot off a text to Atlas to get a locksmith out here tomorrow.
She needs better protection than a flimsy lock.
With careful footing, I walk over to her bed and bring the chair she’d propped against the door with me. Placing it next to where she’s lying on the bed, I sit down and pull out my phone, dealing with some business as she sleeps.
A few minutes later, she starts to whimper in her sleep, and I pocket my phone, directing my full attention to her. She thrashes around on the bed, whimpers coming out of her contorted, frowning face.
Deciding to make my presence known, I try to call out to her, but it only makes her panic more. Placing my hand on her arm in the hopes that human contact will wake her up, I try to call her again as I shake her.
Finally, it takes me raising my voice for her to wake up. She screams and sits up, but I tighten my grip on her arm, refusing to let her go.
“Are you okay, Little One?” I keep my voice soft, not wanting to scare her anymore than she already seems to be.
She frowns, gasping before turning to look up at me. I tighten my grip again, but she flinches, looking down at where I’m touching her. My other hand moves to brush her cheek where a stray tear has fallen, but she flinches as if on instinct. Frowning, I pull away and sit back.
Who the fuck hurt her?
And who the fuck do I have to kill for hurting her?
“What happened?” I ask, not wanting to pry but also not wanting her to have to suffer alone. She struggles to swallow, her mouth probably dry from screaming.
She tries to smile at me as she assures me she’s okay, but I don’t believe it for a second. I ask her again, my voice more commanding this time, and she reluctantly answers to my narrowed eyes.
Telling me about her nightmares, my hands clenched into fists as I struggle to get a hold of my anger. My blood boils at the possibilities swirling in my mind of how she came to have such extreme nightmares.
When she starts to cry, the anger dissipates for a second and I climb onto the bed to hold her. She curls around me, her small frame so stark against my large, built one. I hold her as if I’ll never let her go as she sobs into my chest.
When her sobs die down, I suggest the one thing I’ve been wanting to do since she came bounding into our office with such determination to get a job.
“Come home with me,” I grab onto her chin, wiping away a rogue tear. Her hazel eyes blink up at me as a multitude of emotions cross her face, but surprisingly she nods.
Taking her decision, I stand up and search around the room for a bag. She joins me, grabbing the stuff she needs to leave. She still shakes but I reach out to her at any moment I can to comfort her.
When she disappears to the bathroom to get her toothbrush and other supplies, I pull out my phone and notify the others that she’s coming home with me. They all have varied responses, with Atlas being his usual asshole, whilst Dawson and Andros have a field day at teasing him.
She comes out of the bathroom, dressed in a black hoodie and some leggings, her hair thrown up in a messy bun. She looks adorable, her face still puffy from crying.
I wish I could make her cry out of pleasure instead of pain.
Ignoring the dark and sexual thoughts in my mind, I grab her hand and lead her out of her apartment. Andros pulls up in one of our SUVs and I put her bag in the footwell of the back seat before helping her into the passenger side.
She curls up in the seat, away from Andros, as I take one of the back seats. He gives me a concerned look in the rearview mirror but I shake my head, my eyes landing on Hazel’s tense shape.
The drive home is silent, but Andros flicks on the radio so she doesn’t feel the need to talk.
When we arrive at the house, she’s fallen asleep against the window. Dawson bounces on his heels outside the front door, looking like a very oversized child as he waits for her arrival.
I climb out and tell him to grab her bag as I walk around to her door. Pulling it open carefully, I scoop her out of the seat and into my arms, making sure not to wake her. She automatically turns into me, nestling her head into my chest as I carry her up the stairs and into one of the spare rooms.
Once I have her settled in the large custom bed we had made for if we ever found the right woman for us, I close the bedroom door behind me and head into the kitchen.
“What the fuck happened?” Dawson pounces on me as soon as I walk in. He hands me a beer from the fridge and the three of us settle on the sofa.
“Has she been crying?” Andros chimes in, looking visibly shaken by seeing her like this. He’s always a mess when he sees any woman cry and must feel worse that it’s Hazel.
“She had a nightmare, so I woke her up. She started crying so I held her and then suggested she came here,” I shrug before taking a long pull of my beer. They sit on my words for a few moments before responding with more questions.
“Atlas is going to go fucking mental,” Dawson grins, wiggling his eyebrows as he brings his bottle to his lips.
“Why?” I frown at him before looking to Andros for the answer.
“When you left, he said we should keep her away from us,” Andros explains, busy typing away on his phone as usual.
I roll my eyes and sip my beer, silently cursing Atlas and his temperamental temper tantrums.