CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
LUCA
The restaurant’s twinkling lights create a glow around my wife. Her blonde waves are organized in a complicated design on the back of her head with soft tendrils framing her cheeks, and the intimate lighting from above blankets her in gold.
With our inconspicuous beginning, I’ve been determined to woo her with date nights and orgasms. A slice of normal in an otherwise unconventional life.
We’ve even spent a few Sundays with her parents at their house for dinner.
They’ve thawed considerably since our first meeting, but I’m not sure we’ll ever have a close relationship.
“Did you enjoy your meal, Butterfly?” I signal our waiter for the check after our dessert plates are cleared.
“You know I did,” Eden says, sharing a private smile with me. Her moans of delight had been a highlight of the evening, leading to a secret game of light caresses under the table.
She likes to pretend I’m the bad influence in our relationship, but my wife has a naughty streak she only lets out for me.
My Butterfly spreads her wings with each new day.
Gently guiding her toward the exit with a palm to her lower back, we collect our jackets from the coat check and step out onto the sidewalk. I texted our driver that we were ready to go, and he pulls up to the curb as the valet waves goodbye.
Our driver ducks his head while opening the back door, and an itch forms on the back of my neck, but I dismiss it. There’s no reason to be paranoid. The man is Blackthorn, one of our security detail.
“Everything alright?” Eden can always tell when something is on my mind, and I never imagined how comforting it’d feel to be known so well. My brothers are good at deciphering my moods, but it’s not the same.
This is Eden.
This is my wife .
“Yes, it’s fine.” My hand cups her bare knee and squeezes. Her burgundy dress has tempted me all evening with its deep vee and peeks at her lush thighs.
Settling in the backseat, I inhale a slow and steady breath through my nose before releasing it through my mouth—reaching for the previous calm I felt at the restaurant.
The drive home is thirty minutes without traffic, but this is Friday night in Boston, so cars line the road, keeping us from speeding toward evening plans involving my face buried in my wife’s pussy.
When the driver takes a right turn instead of left, that gut warning reemerges. Stronger and unwilling to be sidelined again. “You were supposed to go left back there,” I say, leaning forward.
“Change of plans, sir. You and your wife are expected at the D’Amora estate.”
The fuck?
Eden straightens beside me, confusion clouding her eyes. “Your father?”
Brows knitting as my mind races to piece together the endgame here, I shake my head in bewilderment.
“If Enzo wants to see me, tell him to set up an appointment rather than playing games while I’m out with my wife.
” I’m regretting leaving my weapons at home.
Sure, I could reach out and break the man’s neck with no problem, but that would leave Eden and I at the mercy of a runaway vehicle.
One going nearly sixty miles per hour as the driver picks up speed on the highway.
I’m not willing to risk our lives on such a slim chance of survival.
But once we reach Enzo’s? We’re screwed.
I’ll only have my hands to protect Eden.
Reaching into my coat pocket, I withdraw my phone to text an SOS to my brothers, but the driver clucks his tongue and lifts a gun into view. The barrel points at my chest, never wavering despite us rapidly changing lanes.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Growling, I drop the phone in my lap and glare at the man. Hat pulled low. A number tattoo on his neck. That’s probably what I noticed was off when the car appeared at the restaurant.
The Blackthorn soldier who originally chauffeured us downtown didn’t have a tattoo there. I wonder what happened to him. If this guy killed him before stealing his place in the driver’s seat.
The D’Amora man grins to reveal a row of chipped teeth. He must have been someone’s punching bag over the years, or maybe he reveled in getting his ass kicked no matter how many teeth got knocked loose or cracked. It’s obvious he’s enjoying his rush of power over us.
The signs overhead show we’re headed toward Weston as downtown Boston morphs into suburbs then mansions surrounded by trees and iron gates.
I recognize this route. Enzo has a colossal estate hidden in the dense forest, in addition to his Beacon Hill brownstone.
If memory serves, Enzo also bought Fabian a property out here.
A tentative, pink-tipped hand slides over my thigh, but I keep my gaze forward.
Our driver keeps a sharp eye on us through the rearview mirror, halting Eden’s progress toward my cell.
By the time her fingers manage to tilt the phone to hide its light, we’re pulling into a winding concrete drive.
Lights glow from inside the modern monstrosity of gray stucco slapped onto a flat rectangular frame.
“This isn’t Enzo’s house,” I mutter under my breath.
It’s Fabian’s.
The bastard waits for our arrival on the front steps like it’s a damn holiday. Shit. This isn’t good. I haven’t seen my asshole half-brother since the disastrous family dinner weeks ago. He’s been keeping a low profile. No more warehouse fires or movement on the docks.
I’ve been grateful for the reprieve from official Blackchapel Bastards business, but it’s obvious his brief retreat into hermithood was a guise as he geared up for something bigger.
Like capturing me and Eden alone and unarmed.
Un-fucking-prepared.
Eden’s thumb hurries across my phone’s screen then flips it back over to hide her discreet messaging. I’m not sure what she sent or to whom, but I pray it gets to the right people—namely, my brothers.
“Welcome, brother. Sister .” Fabian winks as we exit the sedan amid a waiting formation of five guards. The driver disappears into the house with a sly smirk.
Eden shrinks into my side, and I hold her close, studying our surroundings for a way out of this mess. Extra guards patrol the perimeter, creating a wall of soldiers I’d have to take down while somehow keeping my wife safe beside me.
I’m good, but not that good.
The quantity of hired mercs beats the quality of my training, which stings.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, keeping my body slightly forward as a shield to protect Eden. It’s my only safeguarding option at the moment, and it’s not much.
“Well, since you were so interested in my business by the docks. I thought I’d give my favorite couple firsthand experience at what you fucked up.” Fabian motions to the guards, and we trek inside the gaudy foyer.
We’re shown to the basement where there’s a setup similar to the ones in the ASMR videos Eden used to watch, and I brace for impact.
A camera sits on a tripod aimed toward a raised flatbed with white sheets.
Various bottles of oils and lotions line the counter on one wall, while mirrors form a reflective backdrop on another.
What the hell does he have planned?
“That little rescue mission cost me,” Fabian drawls, rubbing his hands together like your stereotypical evil villain.
He probably likens himself to one. A narcissistic mastermind who can’t be defeated.
“Those women were meant to go to some very eager buyers. They were disappointed that you robbed them of the opportunity to test the whores’ massage skills for themselves.
You and the rest of those Blackchapel Bastards stuck your noses where they don’t belong, and now you and your little wife are going to pay. ”
So, that’s what this is about.
It was a toss-up between me stealing his bride or those trafficked women.
After digging deeper, Rafe had figured out how the seemingly innocuous videos were basically sales pitches with unique hashtags and code words to alert potential buyers of each woman’s price.
It was a disgusting twist to something Eden had previously found comforting, and she hasn’t watched an ASMR video in weeks since learning the truth about some of the videos.
“Time to recoup what you stole. You’re going to fuck your chubby little wife on camera, then I’m going to sell her to the highest bidder before finally killing you.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I warn. My arm moves in front of Eden to gently scoot her behind me.
Fabian gestures to the men blocking the two basement exits—an exterior door and the staircase we came down—and every single hired thug pulls out a gun and turns it toward us. “Strip and fuck, or else I’ll do it. After all, your Butterfly was supposed to be mine in the first place.”
There’s a swift intake of breath from Eden as I contemplate our options.
Unfortunately, we have none.
Reading the seriousness in Fabian’s gaze, I twist to whisper in Eden’s ear while keeping the threat in front of us in view. “We’ll be okay. Mathias and the guys will figure out something is wrong. I won’t let anything happen to you, but we have to play along for now, okay?”
She nods shakily. Fear clouds her amber eyes, but she doesn’t let the tears I see welling around her lashes fall. I know she doesn’t consider herself particularly courageous after living the majority of her life sheltered by her parents, but I know the truth.
Eden is strong and courageous as fuck.
My hand soothes down her trembling spine. “Good girl,” I praise softly.
“Save it for the video, brother.” Fabian laughs. The rest of his men join in. All that’s missing are buckets of popcorn to complete the distorted scene of a crowd settling in for an entertaining movie.
And Eden and I are in the starring roles.
Sitting on a rolling metal stool, I maneuver Eden so her back is to the camera and gently press on her shoulders, indicating she should kneel. She quietly follows the instruction, staring up at me with trust shining in her pretty eyes.
My fingers caress her cheek before I order, “Take out my cock, baby.”
I’m facing the group of men around us with Eden between my spread thighs. I don’t give a fuck who sees me, but no one will see my wife’s gorgeous curves, so this is the best I can do on the fly—having Eden suck me off in front of our rapt audience.
It’s a good thing I’m always hard around my wife or else we’d really have a problem. The wayward thought is a wisp of refreshing levity before it disappears in the face of reality.
Eden takes a deep breath, and I gently stroke a tendril of hair off her cheek, silently encouraging her to be brave for me. With a slow exhale, her lashes flutter closed as her pouty lips circle the tip of my cock. Someone groans in the background, but I block out the sound.
Her cheeks hollow as she slowly bobs up and down my thick length, drawing out my pleasure and giving my brothers enough time to swoop in and save the day.
The men around us shift, lust permeating the air, and every ounce of my control is commissioned to focus on Eden.
To stop from gagging in awareness of their disgusting desire.
At least Eden isn’t gagging.
These bastards would love to see and hear that.
But she’s being careful not to swallow me too far, though those tears she held at bay earlier are now spilling down her flushed cheeks. I tenderly caress the salty trails with my fingertips. Silently conveying my encouragement.
Fabian leans against the wall with a sneer. Flicking an imaginary piece of lint off his shoulder, he continues lounging to our left like it’s an everyday occurrence for him to watch forced sexual interactions. Hell, it probably is with his latest line of work.
“I should have known it would come to this, brother. Hired help is useful, but when you need something done right, it’s best to do it yourself.
” He waves his gun nonchalantly in the air like it's a damn king’s scepter rather than a deadly weapon.
“Those men in Paris. The team you destroyed at the docks. Two chances to finally put you down, and they failed. You won’t be so lucky to escape a bullet a third time. ”
“Paris? You’re the one who put out the hit on me? Not Enzo?”
Eden pauses her ministrations as I jerk in surprise. Her nails dig into my thighs, a mute hint to temper my reaction.
Fabian’s smug admission sheds new light on the drive-by shooting. It makes more sense that my psycho half-brother wanted me dead versus our father who’s been trying to integrate me back into the family.
“Our father? Kill his golden boy?” Fabian scoffs and stomps forward. “He’s too weak to do what must be done to secure The Family’s best interests. We can’t have a bastard becoming the next don.”
“That’s what this is about? Inheriting leadership of the Boston mafia? Enzo isn’t naming me his heir. It’s going to be you.” It’s what Fabian was raised to do. While our father taught him the inner workings of the mob, his buddy Conrad was teaching me how to murder then dispose of an enemy.
It was never Enzo’s plan to seat me at the top of The Family pyramid.
“That may be what his will says now, but it’s only a matter of time before he changes his mind. He’s already tied you to us with this sham marriage to a Marino. He’s paving the way for you, and I won’t have it. I will be the next don. Me!”
A crazed wildness transforms Fabian’s expression, and dread creeps down my spine. Trapped animals are dangerous and unpredictable, and that’s exactly what Fabian reminds me of right now.
This was already a shit situation, but a part of me had hoped to reason with Fabian. To rely on his desire for approval from Enzo—who would be furious about mine and Eden’s kidnapping.
But Fabian doesn’t give a fuck about what Enzo thinks. He’s basically staging a preemptive coup.
Which means Eden and I are in major trouble.